Armin always jokes that no one loves the balcony more than you, but there's definitely some truth to it. No one in the apartment seems to understand the charm of the bustling city life both below and around you, of the tall, historical-style buildings and the thousands of lives living within them. The lights of Mitras are particularly beautiful tonight, glowing bright behind the frosty air in anticipation for the clock to strike midnight. The street below is busy too, with people wandering around to bar hop and party, and your heart sings at the melody of urban life happening below.
The door behind you slides open, but you don't take your eyes off the city, captivated by life and people and the hope for the new year that settles into your bones like a breath of fresh air.
"Mind if I join you out here?" A deep voice asks. You turn your head slightly, looking over your shoulder at Jean Kirstein.
You nod. "Sure."
He's practically wedging himself onto the small balcony, and you scoot over to give his large frame a little more space. Silence settles as he joins you in people watching. You can spot what seems to be another party in the apartment building across the street, and the bar at the corner is lively, overflowing with the New Year's crowd.
Your breath leaves your lips and clouds in the cold air like smoke, and a shiver climbs up your spine.
Jean clears his throat.
"Um, I'm Jean."
"Hi Jean. I know that," you say teasingly. He looks at you, then scoffs playfully. "Sorry. It's just that I don't think we've ever talked."
"I'm just messing with you," you say, then re-introduce yourself. He repeats your name, as if tasting the syllables on his tongue for the first time. "Nice to meet you again, I guess."
"You too," you murmur.
Jean's eyes flicker to the street, then back to you. "So... what brings you out here?"
"I could ask you the same," you muse, leaning against the railing of the balcony to look at him. He shrugs. "Wanted to smoke. You want one? They're menthols."
He offers you one from a box in his hand and you consider it, before shaking your head. "I'm okay."
He pats his pockets, then groans.
"Sorry, do you have a lighter?"
You're about to shake your head no before you remember. The incense you lit in your room. A hand dips into the pocket of your hoodie before taking a matchbook out and beckoning Jean to lean down, closer to you. He's making direct eye contact with you as you light the cigarette hanging from his pink lips, eyes low and peeking from behind long lashes. After waving around the match to snuff it out, you put it on the ashtray on the little table next to you, picking up your drink and taking a sip.
"Thanks," Jean says, taking after taking a drag.
"Yeah, no problem."
"You didn't answer my question," he asks after taking another. You peek back up at him, surprised at how he was already looking at you. "Eren pissed me off, so I'm here to smoke. Why are you out here?"
"Needed air," you say simply. "It's a bit much in there right now and I'm tired."
"I know," he responds. "Connie's singing is so grating. And Eren can be such an ass, holy shit."
"I didn't say all that." You can feel a grin start to bloom across your face. He mirrors you. "No need to. That's why I said it."
"Just making sure," you hum.
His arm comes to rest on the railing beside you. "Tired, huh? Long day?"
"The longest," you sigh. "I just got back to Paradis today."
"Like from the airport?"
You laugh, nodding in confirmation. "Yeah. Landed and came back here and BAM! Party."
His eyes widen slightly. "You got off a plane and walked into your roommates throwing a loud-ass party in your apartment?"
"It's theirs too, I guess." You frown. He shakes his head in what seems to be disbelief. "Unbelievable."
"It's whatever. At least it's a Friday today, so long weekend." You shrug again, watching the smoke trail up from his cigarette. He smiles softly. "Still an asshole move."
"I feel like you're trying to start something."
"Am not." Jean insists. "Okay, maybe a little."
You crack a smile. The silence settles again, though you can feel Jean's eyes on you every now and then. You try not to look back, especially not when he brushes behind you to put his cigarette out on the ashtray, his hand skimming the small of your back and sending a chill up your spine. You think he's about to leave, to head back inside, when he rejoins you at his spot against the railing.
"Where were you flying in from?"
"Home," you say, telling him your hometown. "Was visiting family and some friends from a design study program I did in the summer."
"Design? Remind me what you do again?"
It's like the man next to you lights up at the mention of the word. You watched your cold breath cloud up in front of you. "Nothing related to it at all. I'm an assistant at a PR and comms firm around here. You?"
"Working in graphic design now."
You purse your lips in amusement, reading his face. Graphic design didn't look like Jean's ideal career choice. You nudge him gently with your elbow, and he looks over at you. "You look like you're not happy with your job."
"You too," he scoffs, before it melts into a sigh. "I don't love graphic design but it pays the bills, y'know? And it's still creative. I'd love to do art full-time, but right now it's just not..."
He trails off and you listen, waiting for him to continue. "I feel like I have my hands in so many projects, but no clue where to take it. I love painting and sketching, don't think I'll ever stop that. I think I need to start submitting stuff for shows and to galleries, maybe vlog it all and show people my process and what it's like to be an artist, y'know? Just haven't been feeling inspired enough to justify renting a studio space for my art stuff, so it's kinda just sitting scattered between my room and my parents' house. I just need to find that 'spark' for it again, you know? So I can get further away from graphic design."
"I don't even know why I'm telling you all this." He huffs like he's exasperated with himself. You click your tongue against your teeth.
"I get it." You say. "I don't love what I do. Are you in-office or do you work from home?"
"Hybrid," Jean says. "I go in office two or three times a week depending on the workload. Can I have a sip of that?"
His eyes flicker down to the lemon highball you're nursing, and you blink up at him, confused by the vibe shift. "What?"
"Sorry, I've just never seen that before. You can say no." He shrugs.
You hand him the can and let him get a try.
"Hybrid's nice. I have to go into the office every day."
"Oh, that's lemon-y." He hands your drink back to you. "Seriously? Where do you work?"
"In the commercial district," you say. You feel your mood souring at the mere mention of your job.
He laughs at your expression. "Is it really that bad?"
"It's just boring. And a lot of work. And traffic there sucks." You look up at him. "It's just not what I imagined myself doing back when I was an undergrad and young and naïve."
He blinks at you, like he's trying to understand the layers to your words. You get the feeling that he does, that there might just be a reason why he's the guy Armin goes to when he wants a second, pretentious opinion other than your own.
"Oh trust me, I know how bad the traffic is. I used to have a car, but my mom uses it now since I can just take the train." Jean hums after a moment. "Even the trains are backed up and crowded—worse when I'm transporting stuff like big paintings."
"You work in the commercial district too?"
"Close by. You know the Garrison building?"
"Yeah! I think I pass it on my way to work." You glance off to the side, then back at him. "You could let me know if you ever need a ride?"
"Really?" Jean frowns against a smile. "You just met me, no offense."
"Yeah, I guess, but I'm getting the sense that you're pretty chill. And Armin likes you, which means you're good in my books." You shrug. "Unless you're not actually chill, then I'm taking back my offer."
"I think I am," Jean laughs. Then his brown furrows. "At least, I hope I am."
The cold air's freezing the tip of your nose, and you burrow yourself further into the warmth of your jacket, feeling the faux fur trim of your hoodie tickling the apples of your cheeks.
"Give me your phone," Jean says. "I'll take you up on that. Thanks."
Your eyes widen, and you check your empty pockets first, before finding it tucked into the back pocket of your jeans. After unlocking it, you open your texts and hand it to him, letting him add his number. "Just text me in the morning if you wanna join. I usually leave around 7:30 AM."
"Sounds good. Thanks again." He hands it back to you, eyes narrowed. "I'm surprised you're so...nice."
"Why is that surprising? " you giggle confusedly. "Do I seriously give off rude asshole vibes?"
You're starting to really like the way his lips slowly curve into a smile and he tilts his head back, tongue darting out to lick his lips. "No! I mean, I don't know. No. It's just never occurred to me that you're this nice. Y'know, since this is the most I've ever talked to you. You definitely intimidate Sasha and Connie, but that might just be because they're idiots."
"Oh." You can't seem to stop the giggles leaving your mouth. "Well, glad to leave a good impression on someone here."
You think the conversation ends there, but then he opens his mouth again. This guy is seriously more talkative than you thought he would be.
"So..." Jean trails off. "Got anyone you plan on kissing to ring in the new year?"
He's funny.
You shake your head, barking out a loud laugh that makes his grin widen. "No. I don't really know anyone in there."
"You don't have to know anyone," he says teasingly. Your brow raises as he continues. "You could just kiss someone just because."
"Like who? The redhead guy with the ugly haircut? Sasha? Connie? Nah, I'm okay."
He chuckles at the way you shudder, knowing fully well it isn't from the cold. You narrow your eyes at his amusement. "What, do you have someone you plan on kissing in there?"
"No," he says, hazel stare landing on you. His eyes flick downwards, before meeting yours again. You look away, back to the glowing windows of the tall buildings across the street with a huff.
He gives you a small, amused smirk. "Not inside."
"You're nosy as hell," you mutter loud enough for him to hear, then finish your drink. A laugh tinges your next words. "Then why are you even asking me?"
"Just curious."
"Hey! Jeanboy!" The door slides open with a small BANG!, startling you and Jean from your spot on the balcony. Sasha shoots you a wide, toothy grin and a loud HELLO! before directing her attention to an unamused Jean. "Countdown's gonna start soon. Come inside!"
She shuts the door, ponytail bobbing as she runs back in. Jean looks at you for a moment, like he's debating something. "Wanna go in?"
"Give me a minute. You can head in," you say. His eyes linger on you one last time before he nods and turns to head back inside. The balcony door clicks shut behind him, and you cast your gaze back to the street, which seems livelier than ever. You can hear the people inside start counting down from ten, then a loud cheer.
Fireworks go off, illuminating the beautiful cityscape with noise and color. It must be midnight. You check your phone, confirming that it is before settling against the railing again with a sigh, marveling at the light and sound painting the night sky.
You wonder if Jean Kirstein kissed anyone tonight.
a snippet from ch.1 of my jean x reader fic RED ORCHID.
summary ; youre good at keeping your distance. you're better at forgetting what they mean. or maybe it's just jean, making you forget, deliberately so.
warnings ; slight astrology hate (I'm SORRY), alcohol mention. massive tw for turning 20 :/
a/n ; I'm so sorry I haven't updated anything in so long I've been so LOCKED IN I lowk might do masters in Europe....haha.... anyway! this fic is so self-indulgent in the sense that most of it has been written with my own surroundings in mind lols <3 I hope you guys like it!
taglist ; @holding-infinity-and-a-book , @jeanscremebrulee , @mrsnobodynobody , @hopeless-anti-romantic-again , @berrijam , @happxme , @cherrypieyourface , @imgayandshesanime , @moonmalice , @raazberry , @kivernova , @potaho3frog , @xakilicious , @gojo-ana , @ppushable , @zombiefiedskeivy , @candleofhappiness , @alt—er—love , @1ovede1uxe , @sevriizy , @toscapaeron , @whoevenisjessica , @simone-tb , @mrsryuguji , @bxsmxx , @mxhemmings-l , @jazfartz2 , @tragicgirl44
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there's always been this distance between you and jean.
you suppose its always been there. Since the start of your university, you and jean were never keen on placing a bond between the two of you, of creating something nameable or worth wanting.
The distance is almost jarring in certain moments. You notice it when you coincidentally hop on the same train as him. the coach is packed with people, formal wear stained with summer sweat and city air, the floors creaking beneath the weight of everything. neither of you say anything at first - like a pre-choreographed dance, you both exchange nods of acknowledgement with tight lipped smiles, squished on the opposite side of the railing, both of your hands grabbing onto the same pole that dances with you, shaking awkwardly and tilting with the train's movements. there's a silence, the same sweaty, stiff air becoming abuntantly apparent as the two of your find any excuse to not look at eachother.
you don't know him that well. he's come to your apartment numerous times in favour of your roommate, but neither of you talk; enough to remain polite acquaintances but not enough to speak meaningfully, usually just about classes and the weather. You run through a list of questions in your head, not knowing what an appropriate one would be, and when you finally open your mouth to speak, his mouth opens too.
“So how was-”
“I didnt know you-” the two of you speak, your voices almost lost with the travelling echo of the underground subway and the creaking of the coaches. You both look at eachother before a smile breaks through your lips.
“You go first,” you offer. Jean is kind enough to not argue, and states, “i didnt know took this train. We shouldve bumped into eachother sooner.”
The sentence sounds a little clunky, like its been dropped on its head. You nod, “yeah. I usually leave an hour before this, so thats…probably why. My classes ran late today,” you say, concealing the detail that you want to clarify but not knowing if youve already spoken enough or too much, or maybe too little. If this were sasha or connie or any of your classmates that you’ve grown accustomed to, youd tell them that this new professor was actually pretty friendly - an old guy that looked like a wizard - and that the reason you stayed back was because he was telling everyone about how he grew his beard out at the age of seventeen because he hated the fact that his father told him “you’ll never get a job if you dont shave.”, and that he gave the lingering few of you some anecdotes that you later hastily noted down in your notebook, the type of advice that only comes with growing up in the industry.
But you dont speak. Instead, you turn the question to him, knowing that those are the rules of keeping new friends - because stranger would be too harsh of a word to call him - at a distance. “You take this train often?”
He hums in affirmation. “I try to catch an earlier one so i can get a seat,” you have a feeling that he’s also concealing information, that he’d like to speak more but is also afraid. Or maybe you’re just projecting.
There’s a considerable gap in your poorly drawn-out conversation. You dont know why youre hesitating so much, why this script doesnt come easily to you as it does with sasha. part of you knows its because you havent spent enough time with the guy, but another part of you argues that you know him better than you know eren or armin with how much time he spends in your apartment. You clear your throat, giving an experimental statement a try.
“So our creative writing professor got fired last semester,” you speak, unsure of what it is exactly that you’re trying to prove. His eyebrows lifted up, and the hand that was directing itself to his back pocket to pull out his phone paused mid-way. He tilted his head, wordlessly asking you to continue, and you jump to the chance.
The distance remains. All the way back to your home - he insisted to walk you, “i want to know what happened next,” he had defended when you said he was being too much of a gentleman - there was a gap between the two of you. Your feet fall in unsynchronised beats, two sets far apart from one another, distanced even in the realm of sound. Neither of you tries to change it, not wanting to match eachothers pace; fearing it would be too gentle too soon, too soothing too fast.
when the door of your apartment closes, however, there's no mistaking it. Sashas voice greets you from the kitchen but your feet still try to trace his stance, hoping to walk with him soon.
he sits in front of you next.
it's been a couple months. many months, but you don't keep count. its cold enough to almost snow now, by the space between you and jean remains the same.
there's a dingy little diner next to your college campus - far away enough to not bump into someone you know and make it awkward, but near enough to walk - to which your little haven has visited far too many times after far too many occasions. the tables are marbled, menus worn; the type of place you have to go to the counter to order something, the type of place that gives you a discount if you speak the same language as the person behind the counter.
your faces are too familiar there. you suppose that's a good thing as Connie and sasha argue about the game on connie’s brand new phone, marco snoozing on the table with his hands crossed under his chin for cushioning. Armin, eren and Mikasa had gone to their hometown to visit erens mother for the long weekend, which left only you and jean coherent and awake at the table, waiting for food.
your knees almost touched. you tried to keep yours tucked to yourself. jean looked at you with his arms on the table after sliding the menu shut, an unknown familiarity in his eyes that you hadnt seen directed towards you before; the making of something you didn't dare naming. too gentle too soon.
“so….is the new creative writing professor doing his job well?” he asks. there's music in the back, some old tune you don't fully recognize, and despite the cold, reflective marble separating you from him, he allows his voice to create your own world in the centre of it all. the collision of two worlds, the making of something alive and different and familiar all the same without an explosion to sound it's entrance, rather marking itself with a low, comforting hum. you realise it's your own, as your voice traps itself under your smile.
you wonder if he feels it, for a moment. your hands trace the shining white streaks contrasting the dark smooth surface of the table, and you tell him, “very well, actually. what about your Theory of Structures guy?”
he scoffs. “guys a fucking dork. he talks about astrology in his lectures as if-” he makes air-quotes around his words, “‘-aligning our chakras’ is going to teach us how to build a good foundation.”
you breathe out a laugh. “maybe he's on to something.”
“really?” he asks, teasing, relaxing his back against the faux leather of the chair, crossing his arms over his chest. the world between you stretches to accommodate the wider space between you, rotating and evolving all the same. “how so?”
you shrug, leaning forward. the world does the same. “you can't build something without making sure mercury isn't in retrograde,”
“the drink?” Sasha says, momentarily losing interest from connie's screen.
neither of you explains. her eyes quickly avert themselves to temple run again, claiming, “it was my turn you fuck!”
“no, this time he called on one of the girls in class and asked her what her birth date was. and then asked for the time of her birth too, but then she told him that he has to be a…. leo? to be acting the way he is? I honestly don't know, but everyone laughed anyway. it shut him up.” he says, a smile lingering on his face as he leaned back into the table.
“I don't really understand any of it.”
“yeah, me neither. All i know is that im an Aries.”
“What does that even mean? For you, i mean.”
He pauses. “ i dont really know.”
“Hold on,” you say, pulling out your phone from your pocket, “we have the infinite power of google in our hands-”
“I fucking hate their AI shit,”
“-me too….okay, aries. It says your element is fire.”
“Is that good?” he asks, and you smile at the fact that he suddenly sounds a little nervous. Too curious. You shrug with the same smile, reading further.
“As the first sign in the zodiac, the presence of Aries always marks the beginning of something energetic and turbulent. They are continuously looking for dynamic, speed and competition, always being the first in everything - from work to social gatherings. Okay, zodiac sign dot com.”
He laughs, covering his mouth with a loose fist. “Alright, atleast its not insulting me.”
“Wait! Biggest flaws… 'Aries’ fiery passion is often a positive trait, but it can turn into anger or competitiveness. Competition is not a bad thing — this can be the fire that fuels a great project or a new career move, but avoid getting unnecessarily competitive’” you look up from your screen to see his expression shift.
“Bullshit. Theyre trying to sugar coat it too,”
“I.. jean, i think this is scarily accurate.”
“Huh?!” he exclaims, leaning in further, trying to catch a glimpse of the letters on your phone.
Your smile grows, cheeks pushing into the corners of your eyes. “I mean, ive never seen you get more passionate than when you and marco were playing uno,”
“Uno literally requires you to be competitive!”
“You sulked for half an hour when he beat you-” you point out.
“I wasnt sulking, i was…. thinking of a game plan for next time.”
“Sure. next time you’re gonna, what, shove the cards up your ass when no-one's looking?” you ask, your right hand pushing itself forward slightly, bumping into his hand. It’s warm. Your fingertips shock themselves with the surprise, jutting themselves back.
“Get out of my head,” he grumbles. His hand remains in the same spot, and he rests his chin on the palm of the other one.
“Your fries,” the server says, breaking you out of whatever had pulled you to spill parts of yourself so easily with jean. Even though you hadnt outwardly said anything too revealing too soon, the ease of conversation flowed through the two of you without hesitation, an act that was rare for you.
The server sets down the rest of the orders, connie and sasha digging in almost immediately. You and jean manage to poke marco awake, making him eat something before knocking out again out of sheer exhaustion.
You always knew distance was easy.
Sasha had a new walking companion. Atleast, for now. Nicolo walked with her as her hand lay comfortably in his. He was speaking about some song he’d heard and about how it felt like home, with sasha listening contently, matching the pace of his walk.
Marco and armin were right behind her, a couple steps away. You could hear them talk about a manga leak for their favourite series, how the author was “out of his mind” for introducing a new character so deep into the series, and marco’s hands gestured wildly infront of him to drive his point home, armin nodding at every move.
You and jean - somehow this became normal - fell into step behind them. January air nipped at your nose, the scent of a new year, and consequently, growing up almost suffocating you with its realisation. Only one more year of college left, one more year of certainty, one more year of free learning without real consequences. Youve let yourself rot behind the walls that you made for yourself for a long time, and the arrival of your twenties brought about the arrival of the realisation to be vulnerable without forcing regrets upon yourself. When else would you be able to be selfish? When youre old enough to no longer be able to count the number of greys in your hair? Or maybe it was the newness of it all, the turning of the clock making you question every time you kept silently to yourself, too afraid too soon.
“Any resolutions, horse-boy?” you asked, turning your head to look at him. The slope of his nose wrinkled at the sound of the nickname, making you almost laugh with selfish amusement.
“To not be called that fucking nickname.”
“I dont think you have any control over that, unfortunately,” you said, a bit too satisfied. Jean gulped. His strides were a bit longer than yours, mismatched from your own.
“Dont seem too happy about that.” he remarked, turning his own face to you. You could see his scowl that was stained with his smile, giving away his softness, wearing his heart on his worn-out sleeve.
You realised this also - there was no need for you to be intimidated by jean. Winter was thick and heavy as the group of you trudged through it, in need of alcohol to warm you up and excusing it as celebration. The space between the two of you still remained, but it was easier to ignore the more you walked.
“Dont tell me what to do,” you bit back.
He shook his head, rolling his eyes, pretending to be fed up. If he really was, you knew he wouldnt hesitate to walk away from you, to stop talking to you entirely, but he didnt. A testament to his character, he kept walking by your side, bumping his shoulder with yours. “Fuck off.”
“Telling me what to do again-”
“-well, someone has to.”
“Whats that supposed to mean?”
“You dont wanna run your mouth and get yourself in trouble, do you?”
“No, but youre not going to give me trouble. Are you?” you ask. Its almost tender - trust that colours your voice, a sort of knowing that isnt given a name by either of you for fear of it being too soon.
“You never know.” he says, but he’s losing his conviction. You both know it as you laugh and shake your head.
“You didnt answer my question.” you say, softly, turning the conversation on it’s heels.
He takes a moment to answer.
“Call my mom more.” he breathes out, as if it’s been weighing on him. His voice grows a little quiet, the confession being too important to mingle with the rest of the conversation that was taking place all around you.
You hum, just as quiet. Its enough of an agreement, prodding him to continue. “I… when i went back home during the holidays, i realised just how much everything had changed. She’s seeing someone. Hes a good guy. He asked me… well, he wants to marry her. He asked me if that was alright.”
You nod slowly, saying nothing. Youre good with words; you speak your mind when you feel necessary, knowing your passion needs a voice, sentences that could make your feelings far more tangible than theyd be if they remained in your head, a trait the two of you had in common, too similar, too far. You know what words to use and when, but you also know when to let them lie in between your throat and your lips. You keep looking at him, however, letting your body do the rest of the speaking.
He glances at you from where his eyes had taken interest at his feet. “I said yes. I mean, they’re grown adults. My mom knows what she’s doing and i trust her judgement. But… i dont know, the thought of everything happening so fast made me realise i havent been with her in a while. Id like to be her friend again, not just her annoying son.”
Theres a brief silence again. Connie laughs from somewhere up ahead, and you bump your shoulder with jean’s in silent comforting. “Good resolution,” you finally say. You know - or rather, bravely assume - that he doesnt need you to patronize him by calling him brave, by saying he’s a good son, by telling him that growing up is scary but exciting or any of the nonsense youre sure would be viable in this situation.
“And,” he says, licking his lips against the cool, looking at you with an unreadable expression - your brave assumptions going astray - “to be open to new experiences.”
Your footsteps sync. Boots against pavement matching with thick sneakers, even and matching.
You hum in agreement, nodding happily, slowly.
“What are yours?” he asks, fixing his gaze ahead again.
“To not be afraid of doing something different.” you say easily. The truth has been running rampant in your head, youve been too scared to do anything of much importance to you. Jean nods, a movement you can see from the corner of your eye, and you take it as a sign to continue. His shoulder is warm against yours. Theres familiarity every time they brush, your world beating and alive.
“Ive been too… hesitant in doing things that need courage. Like, i kinda grew up in my own shell, building walls where they werent really needed, you know? I dont know, i figured… theres no harm. Im not hurting anyone.” you say, shrugging. “Fuck around, find out.”
He breathes out a laugh, eyes crinkling at their sides, his face turned to look at you. Distance was always second nature to you, to keep everything at arms length meant comfort, meant reassurance of never being too hurt, too fast.
But - and you named this because of your brave assumptions - the soft, kind warmth that jean showed you was worth so much more than that, a regret you knew would never form even if you wanted it to.
“Fuck around find out.” he spoke, confirming your eloquent statement.
You begin questioning what distance ever meant.
Your shoulder sagged down from the weight of your bag, only having the energy to wear one strap. Your hands stuffed themselves comfortably into the pockets of your coat, playing with a ball of lint in it, the movement being the only thing occupying your mind that seemed to be shouting at you only a minute ago as you placed one step in front of the other. Your eyes were locked below, scrutinizing every sound that your boots made against the uneven pavement, grass growing in-between the cracks of the sidewalk that you were too unbothered to step over. Your slow blinks stirred an unsettling burning behind your lids.
You were tired.
The walk from campus to the subway was short when you had your friends with you. You could almost soothe yourself with the thought; the wish of having sasha beside you, having your hand laced with hers as you crossed the road, knowing she wouldnt check the road to walk further, having connie by your side as he explained some part of his day in great detail to the both of you. Neither of them accompany you now.
Sasha lies on the couch, chewing on her bottom lip, knowing she wont be able to submit the assignment before the timer is up, connie finishing up his shift at the local mart.
You reach the crosswalk alone. Curse yourself for having forgotten your headphones at home. Your fingers, having lost the lint in the deeper crevice of your pocket, now focus on worrying onto themselves, nails digging into the other’s beds. Despite there being no cars on the road, your legs refuse to cross the street, staring at the green pedestrian walking sign in front of you. You had four meetings today, almost back to back, and college admin had refused to give your club any funds to function further, leaving the rest up to yourself to decide. To top it all off, you had only finished about two thirds of the submission that was due tonight, the weight of knowing you’d only be greeted to more work when you reached home far heavier than the day that had occurred before that.
Your name was called out behind you, too softly, too warm.
You turned. Jean stood, with his own hands in his pockets, a beanie covering his hair, protecting his ears from the biting cold of the snowfall.
“What are you… it’s late,” he says. City lights are awake behind him, some golden and some blinding white, fading into eachother, blurring your vision and creating a silhouette against him, framing his form in pure light.
He stepped towards you. You stood silent as he stopped a couple inches away from you. His eyebrows were scrunched together, and you wouldve named the action as worried, but you didnt. Afraid of it being too knowing too soon.
What was soon, anyway? You questioned the time. Ten pm on a weekday was really late for you to be out in the now-gathering snow, and knowing jean for six months was not soon. The time seemed to drag on as he opened and closed his mouth ineffectively.
Neither of you could count on the words you so heavily used; him for his headstrongness, and you for your ambitions, both of you wanting to prove yourselves competent by using words against argument, against judgement. Being too similar, too close. But those same words failed you two now, where gentleness was needed rather than teasing. Where you had to tell him of your exhaustion, where he had to soothe you out of it.
The world between you almost stopped on its axis, unsure. The green light blinked red. Snow kept falling. A beat passed where nothing but everything moved, the space between you obvious and breathing alive.
Fuck it.
His hands freed itself from his pocket, pulling off his forest-green beanie from his head. His eyes remained trained on you, soft and knowing and warm, so warm, brows doing that gentle thing where they twitched upwards a bit and showing tenderness you had never known about. With the same gap between your feet - your scuffed boots and his worn-out converse - he fixed his beanie on your head.
The world between you spun it’s easy rotation, squeezing itself against both of you. Jean wondered if this was enough. If you could hear his thoughts, if you could find the words he’d lost a while ago, searching for something better than himself.
But your head bumped into his chest, shoulders relaxing, letting yourself fall into him a little. Your eyes closed, breathing even. The light behind you blinked back to green again, and jean’s hands circled your frame, chin tucking itself over your head. His heart stuttered as he breathed, his exhale creating a cloud of warmth.
words didnt need him. world leapt through the space - now too narrow - and away from your bodies, and your minute reactions felt too important, too strong. jean had to remember to breathe, because if he forgot, he knew - and he presumed this bravely - that you'd forget too. in and out, the soft waft of air from his nose and the loud beating of his heart in his ears became the only proof of his existence as his hands rested against your back.
he'd be happy just like this. holding onto you, doing good on his new year's resolution even in the midst of February, arms open to new experiences. arms open for you.
City lights made everything blurry around the edges. glowing orbs of headlights whizzed by the two of you countless times. when you pulled apart, there were no tears in your eyes, your shoulders felt a little more relaxed, you walls crumpled without regret. distance restoring itself anew, knowing too little, too late, that distance never meant anything when it was just the two of you.
your couch was a small space.
you realised this months ago, when you first moved in. most of your friends’ knees bumped against yours and sasha had settled on laying her legs on your thighs completely.
even now, as you sat with just jean sitting on the opposite end, resting his back against the cushioned armrest and reading a book that he'd selected from your bookshelf, you realised the space was too tiny.
your thighs were covered by a fuzzy blanket. his arms held a pillow under the book that you had filled with notes and annotations that you couldn't help but now be too aware of, but you didn't mind. the awareness only brought comfort, knowing jean would read your little quips in the columns and understand their blatant meanings.
forgotten coffee on the table beside you rested alongside the similarly forgotten music playing from your phone. a book of your own sat resting on your lap, your legs outstretched, copying jean’s stance, toes touching eachothers.
there's still distance. the same space. between the two of you - always just the two of you - there lay the same silence that created its own world, a low hum without any explosion or grandiose marking, just simple recognition.
your book settled close. you made no effort to mark it with anything, knowing that you had just started. your head rested against the backrest of the couch that was covered with a poorly crocheted blanket made up of different granny squares that you couldn't quite get right, taking a moment.
you're not sure how long you stare at him. blinking slowly, soft against your own eyes, as if your eyelids decided, now, suddenly, after twenty years of life, that they'd be more gentle on you if you would allow them to look at him without restraint.
the middle of his brow was crinkled with focus, something you knew, a little too soon, that he did a lot. his lips were parted by a milimeter or two, and you could see a little bit of the white of his teeth peeking out from them. his jaw was snapped shut, but he wasn't grinding his teeth like he usually did when he was sitting idle. you wondered why that was. what changed? why? his cheeks were tinted a slight warmth under the glow of the lamp beside him, yellow laying on his own flesh. one of his fingers was stuck between the page he was currently reading and the rest of the book, in preparation to turn it, eager to know. he was only a couple pages in, but still completely hooked, and you realised, too little too late, that he was more engrossed in your scribblings than the carefully written and precariously edited contents of the page.
he caught you staring right as he was about to turn the page. you figured this was it - that he'd smirk and tease and ask if you found his face handsome, and that you'd have to deflect and throw insults at him till his ego shit back down to the couch you sat on. but he did no such thing. surprising you, he set the book down and looked right back at you, blinking.
the corner of his lips lifted slightly, fighting against themselves.
“what's up?” he asked.
you shook your head, resting it on the fist that you had made of your hand, your elbow resting on the back cushions. your socked feet played an unnamed tune on his, and he didn't seem to mind.
distance spread the two of you apart. despite that, however, you still chose to be close without hesitation.
neither of you say anything. music plays regardless, the world spins slowly, and the coffee sits on your table, getting colder. nothing changes. everything does, too much, too soft.
“do…. are you freaked out by it too?” he asks, uncharacteristically shy, looking almost past you.
“a little.” you say. you both know what you're speaking of, afraid of naming this closeness without ruining it.
“I’m… I've never….” he says, trailing off. closing his eyes, he shakes his head in frustration, wanting to give up but knowing he won't.
“jean,” you say. his name is distant, but he knows it's his because you say it with familiarity that shakes his bones.
he says your name just the same. his eyes don't leave yours and he thinks of how he has to do this, how he has to put a word to this before it takes him by the throat and threatens to drown him completely until he's unable to talk about anything, losing his voice.
fuck around find out. be open to new experiences.
“fuck, I think I'm in love with you.” he says. it's all in one breath, now in the space between you, floating in the air before crushing itself with its weight. the cushion does nothing to support it's fall, but your voice catches it just in time.
“Im in love with you too.” you say.
there they are, the words you know to speak, now against eachother, between the distance that you created. there's no kiss, no closeness but the intimacy that your words themselves create without any intervention of your bodies.
the kissing can come later.
for now, you're content with this. his toes against yours, his smile - soft, tender, warm and sweet - ever-present.
the world spins. coffees are getting cold. music keeps playing.
summary ; youre good at keeping your distance. you're better at forgetting what that means. or maybe it's just jean, making you forget, deliberately so.
warnings ; slight astrology hate (I'm SORRY), alcohol mention. massive tw for turning 20 :/
a/n ; I'm so sorry I haven't updated anything in so long I've been so LOCKED IN I lowk might do masters in Europe....haha.... anyway! this fic is so self-indulgent in the sense that most of it has been written with my own surroundings in mind lols <3 I hope you guys like it!
taglist ; @holding-infinity-and-a-book , @jeanscremebrulee , @mrsnobodynobody , @hopeless-anti-romantic-again , @berrijam , @happxme , @cherrypieyourface , @imgayandshesanime , @moonmalice , @raazberry , @kivernova , @potaho3frog , @xakilicious , @gojo-ana , @ppushable , @zombiefiedskeivy , @candleofhappiness , @alt—er—love , @1ovede1uxe , @sevriizy , @toscapaeron , @whoevenisjessica , @simone-tb , @mrsryuguji , @bxsmxx , @mxhemmings-l , @jazfartz2 , @tragicgirl44
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there's always been this distance between you and jean.
you suppose its always been there. Since the start of your university, you and jean were never keen on placing a bond between the two of you, of creating something nameable or worth wanting.
The distance is almost jarring in certain moments. You notice it when you coincidentally hop on the same train as him. the coach is packed with people, formal wear stained with summer sweat and city air, the floors creaking beneath the weight of everything. neither of you say anything at first - like a pre-choreographed dance, you both exchange nods of acknowledgement with tight lipped smiles, squished on the opposite side of the railing, both of your hands grabbing onto the same pole that dances with you, shaking awkwardly and tilting with the train's movements. there's a silence, the same sweaty, stiff air becoming abuntantly apparent as the two of your find any excuse to not look at eachother.
you don't know him that well. he's come to your apartment numerous times in favour of your roommate, but neither of you talk; enough to remain polite acquaintances but not enough to speak meaningfully, usually just about classes and the weather. You run through a list of questions in your head, not knowing what an appropriate one would be, and when you finally open your mouth to speak, his mouth opens too.
“So how was-”
“I didnt know you-” the two of you speak, your voices almost lost with the travelling echo of the underground subway and the creaking of the coaches. You both look at eachother before a smile breaks through your lips.
“You go first,” you offer. Jean is kind enough to not argue, and states, “i didnt know took this train. We shouldve bumped into eachother sooner.”
The sentence sounds a little clunky, like its been dropped on its head. You nod, “yeah. I usually leave an hour before this, so thats…probably why. My classes ran late today,” you say, concealing the detail that you want to clarify but not knowing if youve already spoken enough or too much, or maybe too little. If this were sasha or connie or any of your classmates that you’ve grown accustomed to, youd tell them that this new professor was actually pretty friendly - an old guy that looked like a wizard - and that the reason you stayed back was because he was telling everyone about how he grew his beard out at the age of seventeen because he hated the fact that his father told him “you’ll never get a job if you dont shave.”, and that he gave the lingering few of you some anecdotes that you later hastily noted down in your notebook, the type of advice that only comes with growing up in the industry.
But you dont speak. Instead, you turn the question to him, knowing that those are the rules of keeping new friends - because stranger would be too harsh of a word to call him - at a distance. “You take this train often?”
He hums in affirmation. “I try to catch an earlier one so i can get a seat,” you have a feeling that he’s also concealing information, that he’d like to speak more but is also afraid. Or maybe you’re just projecting.
There’s a considerable gap in your poorly drawn-out conversation. You dont know why youre hesitating so much, why this script doesnt come easily to you as it does with sasha. part of you knows its because you havent spent enough time with the guy, but another part of you argues that you know him better than you know eren or armin with how much time he spends in your apartment. You clear your throat, giving an experimental statement a try.
“So our creative writing professor got fired last semester,” you speak, unsure of what it is exactly that you’re trying to prove. His eyebrows lifted up, and the hand that was directing itself to his back pocket to pull out his phone paused mid-way. He tilted his head, wordlessly asking you to continue, and you jump to the chance.
The distance remains. All the way back to your home - he insisted to walk you, “i want to know what happened next,” he had defended when you said he was being too much of a gentleman - there was a gap between the two of you. Your feet fall in unsynchronised beats, two sets far apart from one another, distanced even in the realm of sound. Neither of you tries to change it, not wanting to match eachothers pace; fearing it would be too gentle too soon, too soothing too fast.
when the door of your apartment closes, however, there's no mistaking it. Sashas voice greets you from the kitchen but your feet still try to trace his stance, hoping to walk with him soon.
he sits in front of you next.
it's been a couple months. many months, but you don't keep count. its cold enough to almost snow now, by the space between you and jean remains the same.
there's a dingy little diner next to your college campus - far away enough to not bump into someone you know and make it awkward, but near enough to walk - to which your little haven has visited far too many times after far too many occasions. the tables are marbled, menus worn; the type of place you have to go to the counter to order something, the type of place that gives you a discount if you speak the same language as the person behind the counter.
your faces are too familiar there. you suppose that's a good thing as Connie and sasha argue about the game on connie’s brand new phone, marco snoozing on the table with his hands crossed under his chin for cushioning. Armin, eren and Mikasa had gone to their hometown to visit erens mother for the long weekend, which left only you and jean coherent and awake at the table, waiting for food.
your knees almost touched. you tried to keep yours tucked to yourself. jean looked at you with his arms on the table after sliding the menu shut, an unknown familiarity in his eyes that you hadnt seen directed towards you before; the making of something you didn't dare naming. too gentle too soon.
“so….is the new creative writing professor doing his job well?” he asks. there's music in the back, some old tune you don't fully recognize, and despite the cold, reflective marble separating you from him, he allows his voice to create your own world in the centre of it all. the collision of two worlds, the making of something alive and different and familiar all the same without an explosion to sound it's entrance, rather marking itself with a low, comforting hum. you realise it's your own, as your voice traps itself under your smile.
you wonder if he feels it, for a moment. your hands trace the shining white streaks contrasting the dark smooth surface of the table, and you tell him, “very well, actually. what about your Theory of Structures guy?”
he scoffs. “guys a fucking dork. he talks about astrology in his lectures as if-” he makes air-quotes around his words, “‘-aligning our chakras’ is going to teach us how to build a good foundation.”
you breathe out a laugh. “maybe he's on to something.”
“really?” he asks, teasing, relaxing his back against the faux leather of the chair, crossing his arms over his chest. the world between you stretches to accommodate the wider space between you, rotating and evolving all the same. “how so?”
you shrug, leaning forward. the world does the same. “you can't build something without making sure mercury isn't in retrograde,”
“the drink?” Sasha says, momentarily losing interest from connie's screen.
neither of you explains. her eyes quickly avert themselves to temple run again, claiming, “it was my turn you fuck!”
“no, this time he called on one of the girls in class and asked her what her birth date was. and then asked for the time of her birth too, but then she told him that he has to be a…. leo? to be acting the way he is? I honestly don't know, but everyone laughed anyway. it shut him up.” he says, a smile lingering on his face as he leaned back into the table.
“I don't really understand any of it.”
“yeah, me neither. All i know is that im an Aries.”
“What does that even mean? For you, i mean.”
He pauses. “ i dont really know.”
“Hold on,” you say, pulling out your phone from your pocket, “we have the infinite power of google in our hands-”
“I fucking hate their AI shit,”
“-me too….okay, aries. It says your element is fire.”
“Is that good?” he asks, and you smile at the fact that he suddenly sounds a little nervous. Too curious. You shrug with the same smile, reading further.
“As the first sign in the zodiac, the presence of Aries always marks the beginning of something energetic and turbulent. They are continuously looking for dynamic, speed and competition, always being the first in everything - from work to social gatherings. Okay, zodiac sign dot com.”
He laughs, covering his mouth with a loose fist. “Alright, atleast its not insulting me.”
“Wait! Biggest flaws… 'Aries’ fiery passion is often a positive trait, but it can turn into anger or competitiveness. Competition is not a bad thing — this can be the fire that fuels a great project or a new career move, but avoid getting unnecessarily competitive’” you look up from your screen to see his expression shift.
“Bullshit. Theyre trying to sugar coat it too,”
“I.. jean, i think this is scarily accurate.”
“Huh?!” he exclaims, leaning in further, trying to catch a glimpse of the letters on your phone.
Your smile grows, cheeks pushing into the corners of your eyes. “I mean, ive never seen you get more passionate than when you and marco were playing uno,”
“Uno literally requires you to be competitive!”
“You sulked for half an hour when he beat you-” you point out.
“I wasnt sulking, i was…. thinking of a game plan for next time.”
“Sure. next time you’re gonna, what, shove the cards up your ass when no-one's looking?” you ask, your right hand pushing itself forward slightly, bumping into his hand. It’s warm. Your fingertips shock themselves with the surprise, jutting themselves back.
“Get out of my head,” he grumbles. His hand remains in the same spot, and he rests his chin on the palm of the other one.
“Your fries,” the server says, breaking you out of whatever had pulled you to spill parts of yourself so easily with jean. Even though you hadnt outwardly said anything too revealing too soon, the ease of conversation flowed through the two of you without hesitation, an act that was rare for you.
The server sets down the rest of the orders, connie and sasha digging in almost immediately. You and jean manage to poke marco awake, making him eat something before knocking out again out of sheer exhaustion.
You always knew distance was easy.
Sasha had a new walking companion. Atleast, for now. Nicolo walked with her as her hand lay comfortably in his. He was speaking about some song he’d heard and about how it felt like home, with sasha listening contently, matching the pace of his walk.
Marco and armin were right behind her, a couple steps away. You could hear them talk about a manga leak for their favourite series, how the author was “out of his mind” for introducing a new character so deep into the series, and marco’s hands gestured wildly infront of him to drive his point home, armin nodding at every move.
You and jean - somehow this became normal - fell into step behind them. January air nipped at your nose, the scent of a new year, and consequently, growing up almost suffocating you with its realisation. Only one more year of college left, one more year of certainty, one more year of free learning without real consequences. Youve let yourself rot behind the walls that you made for yourself for a long time, and the arrival of your twenties brought about the arrival of the realisation to be vulnerable without forcing regrets upon yourself. When else would you be able to be selfish? When youre old enough to no longer be able to count the number of greys in your hair? Or maybe it was the newness of it all, the turning of the clock making you question every time you kept silently to yourself, too afraid too soon.
“Any resolutions, horse-boy?” you asked, turning your head to look at him. The slope of his nose wrinkled at the sound of the nickname, making you almost laugh with selfish amusement.
“To not be called that fucking nickname.”
“I dont think you have any control over that, unfortunately,” you said, a bit too satisfied. Jean gulped. His strides were a bit longer than yours, mismatched from your own.
“Dont seem too happy about that.” he remarked, turning his own face to you. You could see his scowl that was stained with his smile, giving away his softness, wearing his heart on his worn-out sleeve.
You realised this also - there was no need for you to be intimidated by jean. Winter was thick and heavy as the group of you trudged through it, in need of alcohol to warm you up and excusing it as celebration. The space between the two of you still remained, but it was easier to ignore the more you walked.
“Dont tell me what to do,” you bit back.
He shook his head, rolling his eyes, pretending to be fed up. If he really was, you knew he wouldnt hesitate to walk away from you, to stop talking to you entirely, but he didnt. A testament to his character, he kept walking by your side, bumping his shoulder with yours. “Fuck off.”
“Telling me what to do again-”
“-well, someone has to.”
“Whats that supposed to mean?”
“You dont wanna run your mouth and get yourself in trouble, do you?”
“No, but youre not going to give me trouble. Are you?” you ask. Its almost tender - trust that colours your voice, a sort of knowing that isnt given a name by either of you for fear of it being too soon.
“You never know.” he says, but he’s losing his conviction. You both know it as you laugh and shake your head.
“You didnt answer my question.” you say, softly, turning the conversation on it’s heels.
He takes a moment to answer.
“Call my mom more.” he breathes out, as if it’s been weighing on him. His voice grows a little quiet, the confession being too important to mingle with the rest of the conversation that was taking place all around you.
You hum, just as quiet. Its enough of an agreement, prodding him to continue. “I… when i went back home during the holidays, i realised just how much everything had changed. She’s seeing someone. Hes a good guy. He asked me… well, he wants to marry her. He asked me if that was alright.”
You nod slowly, saying nothing. Youre good with words; you speak your mind when you feel necessary, knowing your passion needs a voice, sentences that could make your feelings far more tangible than theyd be if they remained in your head, a trait the two of you had in common, too similar, too far. You know what words to use and when, but you also know when to let them lie in between your throat and your lips. You keep looking at him, however, letting your body do the rest of the speaking.
He glances at you from where his eyes had taken interest at his feet. “I said yes. I mean, they’re grown adults. My mom knows what she’s doing and i trust her judgement. But… i dont know, the thought of everything happening so fast made me realise i havent been with her in a while. Id like to be her friend again, not just her annoying son.”
Theres a brief silence again. Connie laughs from somewhere up ahead, and you bump your shoulder with jean’s in silent comforting. “Good resolution,” you finally say. You know - or rather, bravely assume - that he doesnt need you to patronize him by calling him brave, by saying he’s a good son, by telling him that growing up is scary but exciting or any of the nonsense youre sure would be viable in this situation.
“And,” he says, licking his lips against the cool, looking at you with an unreadable expression - your brave assumptions going astray - “to be open to new experiences.”
Your footsteps sync. Boots against pavement matching with thick sneakers, even and matching.
You hum in agreement, nodding happily, slowly.
“What are yours?” he asks, fixing his gaze ahead again.
“To not be afraid of doing something different.” you say easily. The truth has been running rampant in your head, youve been too scared to do anything of much importance to you. Jean nods, a movement you can see from the corner of your eye, and you take it as a sign to continue. His shoulder is warm against yours. Theres familiarity every time they brush, your world beating and alive.
“Ive been too… hesitant in doing things that need courage. Like, i kinda grew up in my own shell, building walls where they werent really needed, you know? I dont know, i figured… theres no harm. Im not hurting anyone.” you say, shrugging. “Fuck around, find out.”
He breathes out a laugh, eyes crinkling at their sides, his face turned to look at you. Distance was always second nature to you, to keep everything at arms length meant comfort, meant reassurance of never being too hurt, too fast.
But - and you named this because of your brave assumptions - the soft, kind warmth that jean showed you was worth so much more than that, a regret you knew would never form even if you wanted it to.
“Fuck around find out.” he spoke, confirming your eloquent statement.
You begin questioning what distance ever meant.
Your shoulder sagged down from the weight of your bag, only having the energy to wear one strap. Your hands stuffed themselves comfortably into the pockets of your coat, playing with a ball of lint in it, the movement being the only thing occupying your mind that seemed to be shouting at you only a minute ago as you placed one step in front of the other. Your eyes were locked below, scrutinizing every sound that your boots made against the uneven pavement, grass growing in-between the cracks of the sidewalk that you were too unbothered to step over. Your slow blinks stirred an unsettling burning behind your lids.
You were tired.
The walk from campus to the subway was short when you had your friends with you. You could almost soothe yourself with the thought; the wish of having sasha beside you, having your hand laced with hers as you crossed the road, knowing she wouldnt check the road to walk further, having connie by your side as he explained some part of his day in great detail to the both of you. Neither of them accompany you now.
Sasha lies on the couch, chewing on her bottom lip, knowing she wont be able to submit the assignment before the timer is up, connie finishing up his shift at the local mart.
You reach the crosswalk alone. Curse yourself for having forgotten your headphones at home. Your fingers, having lost the lint in the deeper crevice of your pocket, now focus on worrying onto themselves, nails digging into the other’s beds. Despite there being no cars on the road, your legs refuse to cross the street, staring at the green pedestrian walking sign in front of you. You had four meetings today, almost back to back, and college admin had refused to give your club any funds to function further, leaving the rest up to yourself to decide. To top it all off, you had only finished about two thirds of the submission that was due tonight, the weight of knowing you’d only be greeted to more work when you reached home far heavier than the day that had occurred before that.
Your name was called out behind you, too softly, too warm.
You turned. Jean stood, with his own hands in his pockets, a beanie covering his hair, protecting his ears from the biting cold of the snowfall.
“What are you… it’s late,” he says. City lights are awake behind him, some golden and some blinding white, fading into eachother, blurring your vision and creating a silhouette against him, framing his form in pure light.
He stepped towards you. You stood silent as he stopped a couple inches away from you. His eyebrows were scrunched together, and you wouldve named the action as worried, but you didnt. Afraid of it being too knowing too soon.
What was soon, anyway? You questioned the time. Ten pm on a weekday was really late for you to be out in the now-gathering snow, and knowing jean for six months was not soon. The time seemed to drag on as he opened and closed his mouth ineffectively.
Neither of you could count on the words you so heavily used; him for his headstrongness, and you for your ambitions, both of you wanting to prove yourselves competent by using words against argument, against judgement. Being too similar, too close. But those same words failed you two now, where gentleness was needed rather than teasing. Where you had to tell him of your exhaustion, where he had to soothe you out of it.
The world between you almost stopped on its axis, unsure. The green light blinked red. Snow kept falling. A beat passed where nothing but everything moved, the space between you obvious and breathing alive.
Fuck it.
His hands freed itself from his pocket, pulling off his forest-green beanie from his head. His eyes remained trained on you, soft and knowing and warm, so warm, brows doing that gentle thing where they twitched upwards a bit and showing tenderness you had never known about. With the same gap between your feet - your scuffed boots and his worn-out converse - he fixed his beanie on your head.
The world between you spun it’s easy rotation, squeezing itself against both of you. Jean wondered if this was enough. If you could hear his thoughts, if you could find the words he’d lost a while ago, searching for something better than himself.
But your head bumped into his chest, shoulders relaxing, letting yourself fall into him a little. Your eyes closed, breathing even. The light behind you blinked back to green again, and jean’s hands circled your frame, chin tucking itself over your head. His heart stuttered as he breathed, his exhale creating a cloud of warmth.
words didnt need him. world leapt through the space - now too narrow - and away from your bodies, and your minute reactions felt too important, too strong. jean had to remember to breathe, because if he forgot, he knew - and he presumed this bravely - that you'd forget too. in and out, the soft waft of air from his nose and the loud beating of his heart in his ears became the only proof of his existence as his hands rested against your back.
he'd be happy just like this. holding onto you, doing good on his new year's resolution even in the midst of February, arms open to new experiences. arms open for you.
City lights made everything blurry around the edges. glowing orbs of headlights whizzed by the two of you countless times. when you pulled apart, there were no tears in your eyes, your shoulders felt a little more relaxed, you walls crumpled without regret. distance restoring itself anew, knowing too little, too late, that distance never meant anything when it was just the two of you.
your couch was a small space.
you realised this months ago, when you first moved in. most of your friends’ knees bumped against yours and sasha had settled on laying her legs on your thighs completely.
even now, as you sat with just jean sitting on the opposite end, resting his back against the cushioned armrest and reading a book that he'd selected from your bookshelf, you realised the space was too tiny.
your thighs were covered by a fuzzy blanket. his arms held a pillow under the book that you had filled with notes and annotations that you couldn't help but now be too aware of, but you didn't mind. the awareness only brought comfort, knowing jean would read your little quips in the columns and understand their blatant meanings.
forgotten coffee on the table beside you rested alongside the similarly forgotten music playing from your phone. a book of your own sat resting on your lap, your legs outstretched, copying jean’s stance, toes touching eachothers.
there's still distance. the same space. between the two of you - always just the two of you - there lay the same silence that created its own world, a low hum without any explosion or grandiose marking, just simple recognition.
your book settled close. you made no effort to mark it with anything, knowing that you had just started. your head rested against the backrest of the couch that was covered with a poorly crocheted blanket made up of different granny squares that you couldn't quite get right, taking a moment.
you're not sure how long you stare at him. blinking slowly, soft against your own eyes, as if your eyelids decided, now, suddenly, after twenty years of life, that they'd be more gentle on you if you would allow them to look at him without restraint.
the middle of his brow was crinkled with focus, something you knew, a little too soon, that he did a lot. his lips were parted by a milimeter or two, and you could see a little bit of the white of his teeth peeking out from them. his jaw was snapped shut, but he wasn't grinding his teeth like he usually did when he was sitting idle. you wondered why that was. what changed? why? his cheeks were tinted a slight warmth under the glow of the lamp beside him, yellow laying on his own flesh. one of his fingers was stuck between the page he was currently reading and the rest of the book, in preparation to turn it, eager to know. he was only a couple pages in, but still completely hooked, and you realised, too little too late, that he was more engrossed in your scribblings than the carefully written and precariously edited contents of the page.
he caught you staring right as he was about to turn the page. you figured this was it - that he'd smirk and tease and ask if you found his face handsome, and that you'd have to deflect and throw insults at him till his ego shit back down to the couch you sat on. but he did no such thing. surprising you, he set the book down and looked right back at you, blinking.
the corner of his lips lifted slightly, fighting against themselves.
“what's up?” he asked.
you shook your head, resting it on the fist that you had made of your hand, your elbow resting on the back cushions. your socked feet played an unnamed tune on his, and he didn't seem to mind.
distance spread the two of you apart. despite that, however, you still chose to be close without hesitation.
neither of you say anything. music plays regardless, the world spins slowly, and the coffee sits on your table, getting colder. nothing changes. everything does, too much, too soft.
“do…. are you freaked out by it too?” he asks, uncharacteristically shy, looking almost past you.
“a little.” you say. you both know what you're speaking of, afraid of naming this closeness without ruining it.
“I’m… I've never….” he says, trailing off. closing his eyes, he shakes his head in frustration, wanting to give up but knowing he won't.
“jean,” you say. his name is distant, but he knows it's his because you say it with familiarity that shakes his bones.
he says your name just the same. his eyes don't leave yours and he thinks of how he has to do this, how he has to put a word to this before it takes him by the throat and threatens to drown him completely until he's unable to talk about anything, losing his voice.
fuck around find out. be open to new experiences.
“fuck, I think I'm in love with you.” he says. it's all in one breath, now in the space between you, floating in the air before crushing itself with its weight. the cushion does nothing to support it's fall, but your voice catches it just in time.
“Im in love with you too.” you say.
there they are, the words you know to speak, now against eachother, between the distance that you created. there's no kiss, no closeness but the intimacy that your words themselves create without any intervention of your bodies.
the kissing can come later.
for now, you're content with this. his toes against yours, his smile - soft, tender, warm and sweet - ever-present.
the world spins. coffees are getting cold. music keeps playing.
तू जुगनू चमकता, मैं जंगल घनेरा, मैं तेरा / you're a shining firefly, I'm your dark, dark forest 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔
Jean Kirstein's the boy everyone in the 104th cadet avoids like a damn plague. A rude, vain and selfish asshole who thinks he deserves a place in the military police. God help him—there's no way that big head of his would ever fit in the interior walls, or whatever Eren said. You never once thought he was wrong, and you sure as hell smirked behind your stew in the mess hall whenever those two got worked up.
And you? you're the girl who's too nice to say a thing. So, so nice—you could be a saint . A second Historia if you will, just a little double-faced. In the way you don’t really like him but end up sitting next to him in class and walking around the training grounds as the evening sun rests. You swear you don’t like him—the arrogance, the vanity and the way he acts like Eren’s every breath is an offense against him. But your mouth opens before your mind can think, and you laugh a little harder and make one too many jokes.
This is who you are. A little liar, a dishonest girl who doesn’t listen to herself. No one can betray you better than you do. You become a foreigner to yourself the day your gaze meets another.
Pray for the wicked who dare to fight back the force of love.
And this is how it always goes—you look past every roll of Sasha’s eyes, laugh it off when she spots the both of you together. And Jean? He scoffs back even harder. Their eyes crossing swords over a secret rivalry—it’s not jealousy, it’s about who can glare the hardest.
“What? Worried I’ll steal your bestfriend?” He scoffs, his casual smirk replaced by a determined scowl. “C'mon, it's okay, you can sit with us, right Y/n?”
“Huh? What makes you think she likes you better than me?” Sasha bites back, “And no—thanks, and this table fucking reeks of hay.” not even sparing a glance at you she brushes past you, Jean and Marco's table with a bitter look on her face. Because, to be honest; getting on his nerves is the real deal—not fighting over you.
You lightly chuckle at her childish choice of words, eyeing at Marco who's across you who silently does the same. And later, she's going to ask you if she looked cool saying that. Your answer's going to be the same—a quick flick to her forehead and a "Yeah, had that bastard choking."
“There she goes, she didn’t even look at you, you sure that’s your bestfriend?"
“You can see it for yourself when she comes back to steal my bread.” you lean closer, voice low and careful.
“Then I guess I can steal her bestfriend, right?” he looks at you, like really looks at you, and you think—has he always been this beautiful?
All he asked was to be your bestfriend, but why did you feel like he was asking to split your heart in two? Quietly, carefully—ruin you with his gaze alone.
Part your mouth open and crack a clueless grin. “Sure can.”
But you crossed your heart and said you were only joking when you said you like-liked Jean Kirstein, so what was happening right now?
Call it teenage stupidity, call it mediocrity disguised as a pretty sight with ashen hair and wild eyes and a sharp tongue that speaks of trouble.
Then why did you moon over his lazy grins and the way he always found a way to make you feel at home? At sixteen, there was no helping your heart that beat out of your damn chest and your body that erupted in flames when his hand found yours. Rough, scratched, they’re difficult not to flinch at, but these are the only pair you wish to hold onto hell and back. And finally, you realise—falling in love wasn't something you could fight back. Not even as a soldier who's all clean cut strikes and logic.
This is how you exist, in perfect harmony. A wild song that strains the highs and lows of your friendship, cadence high as you two erupt in laughter, filling in each other’s jokes, low as you sit together silently over the ache of your fallen comrades and feel Marco's spark fizz out like a light keeping a dark room together.
And just like that, years flew over the both of you like mornings drifting into darkness of the nights and you were a lovestruck fool before you were a soldier on the fronts. He says he’s strong and will never wind up dying on the battlefield, says the stars are damned if he does. But never once do you take your eyes off of him at the frontlines. He’ll scoff before crying if you tell him you’re scared of losing him out there, but this is how it works.
Because he’s a shining firefly.
And you’re a dark, dark forest.
Who's scared that this warmth won't last forever.
Now, as you swim in his warmth, thousand fireflies blinking all around, your head is a scramble of thoughts and haze. And for the first time in your nineteen years you realise what it feels like to be drunk—it gives you courage and wobbly knees and a mouth that runs too slow and fast all at once.
You look overhead through your half lidded eyes, there's a soft auburn glow of the bulb overhead that keeps this tethered tent together—then beside you, Jean lays flat, just as drunk as you are, blabbering nonsense low as his suit wrinkles everywhere, his collar popped and hair messy like it's been through war. He'd clearly enjoyed this night without any regard for himself.
Lazily, you reach out for his collar, fiddling with it as you try to straighten it with your wobbly hands. You're gonna fail.
“S-so fucking careless…what am I–what am I gonna do with you, mhm..?”
He cranes his neck to your side, half lidded, he says, “What're ya…my mom? Leave me alone, yeah.” he brushes your hand away from his collar, letting it rest above yours beneath his collarbone. The touch is familiar, electric—you know it all too well but your stupid heart still skips a beat. “Always so…damn bossy, do this, do that. I'm —”
“I'm gonna go over there.” you manage, not minding his rambling as you look over to a pillow that lays between Eren’s ankles, one of his legs tossed over Connie. The stones beneath the layer of this rickety cloth inside the tent were pricking your head and back. You were drunk, yes. But clearly not drunk enough to rest without twisting and turning at the pain. That pillow could do you justice.
“Stop—no, stay.” Jean mumbles, his slurred words coursing through your being like a rush of early winter air. That same hand makes a weak effort to catch yours and you comply.
“Yeah?”
“Where ya goin’?” “There, my head hurts…like hell—floor's too hard…” “Then–then come here…okay? Don’t you dare go.” he extends his arm towards you with a dazed grin. And you, with your liquid courage, slowly motion towards him and let your head rest on his bicep. The prickly stones replaced by his warmth. Unaware of the total bliss your head was in as you grin against his collar like a child being handed candy. He smells faintly of alcohol and cheap cologne that’s wearing away as time drags on.
He rests his face above your hair, nose deep into your hair like he’s meaning to inhale you whole. His hand finds your waist and rests against it, not demanding, not possessive. Just...warm and benign like you’re some fragile dove and he’s asking if he's allowed to touch. So careful, so soft, so Jean.
“You mad?” you softly shake your head, leaning closer as your body further relaxes against his. “Nuh-uh.”
“Yeah, don’t go then…don’t go.”
“No one’s goin’ anywhere, Jean.” you want to laugh. How dare he doubt you?
“Good cuz, I’m always going to be…right here…for ya, don’t worry about me.” he brings his large hand over to brush your hair in lazy motions, you feel every muscle of your body tense against his touch.
And you feel your body erupt in flames again, and let the smoke engulf you whole with his words, and let the fire brand you with the proof that you’re loved.
God, you’re loved and you have to deal with it whether you like it or not. “No, cuz I-I, cuz I love you. Mmh. Yeah.”
"N-not as a friend, never did."
A beat. Sober Y/n wishes she had been this brave. And this is who you become now, a drunk gallant knight who doesn’t fight it anymore, a dishonest girl who doesn’t lie anymore. Who stopped fighting long ago.
“I know…I do too.” he says, and your fist curls around his dress shirt and you think you are falling down hard. “Yer something…always so damn clueless, you thought I didn’t know?” his hand is still tangled in your hair, caressing it.
“I…hate you.” you flutter your eyelids close, grinning.
“C’mon it’s okay…you know I do too.” he says, and he catches you just in time, arms wrapping around you as his body shifts closer, and for the first time you don’t think about the warmth not lasting forever. Fireflies rising in the forest, flashing forward infinitely.
“I love you too.” he says, and you think it’s heartless that the world didn’t explode with thousand blooming flowers and the night sky didn’t beam with firecrackers. But it’s alright, you only need these warm arms and Jean’s light.
Not even the moon rests here, no one dares to get this close—but Jean’s light does. Beautiful things, Y/n—they don’t last for too long. So… you're going to do anything to stretch this night longer.
Tonight though, you don’t have to do anything—because right now, right here in his arms the night is infinite, and you have the whole world cradled right into your much smaller hands.
𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔 MASTERLIST
HIIII OMG this was so fun to write. like usual i took inspo from a bollywood song. usually i make like 100 edits and add extra stuff but not this time, im gonna post it bc idgaf 🔥and prob regret not editing later. so im srry if the writing is awk 😔.
summary ; hidden beneath his skin, everything wants you.
warnings ; umm mentions of blood and flesh but nothing gorey. yearner jean :)
a/n ; when i finally DO have time to write i find myself having no ideas at all. i wanted to write something fluffy to commemorate the season and i hope this is alright. happy holidays!!! im sorry for my absence, but expect a d2d chapter soon :)
taglist ; @holding-infinity-and-a-book , @jeanscremebrulee , @mrsnobodynobody , @hopeless-anti-romantic-again , @berrijam , @happxme , @cherrypieyourface , @imgayandshesanime , @moonmalice , @raazberry , @kivernova , @potaho3frog , @xakilicious , @gojo-ana , @ppushable , @zombiefiedskeivy , @candleofhappiness , @alt—er—love , @1ovede1uxe , @sevriizy , @toscapaeron , @whoevenisjessica , @simone-tb , @mrsryuguji , @bxsmxx , @mxhemmings-l , @jazfartz2
masterlist is in pinned post! ✿ enter my taglist! ✿ requests for headcanons are open! ✿
“Where are these damn decorations?”
Jean grumbles, rolling his sleeves up to rummage through the dusty attic without a proper light source.
At a last ditch effort of spending some time during the holidays, everyone had decided to meet up at eren’s cabin in the woods - an old structure that lived on the outskirts of the city, directly facing tame wildlife - that was only really visited for a week during summer break, before being left vacant for the entire year. As the sole inhibitors of the place, the cabin proved to be… bare, save for the essential furniture, towels and utensils. Hardly a homely place, but the contents of the place went unnoticed after being full to the brim with your friends who laughed and spilled and pranked and ran through the halls of the home without any care in the world. College kids during the holidays, left without supervision.
In the pocket between new years and the start of the second semester, everyone took some time apart from their families to meet, driving and picking up everyone else along the way.
“Maybe it’s- oh!” your suggestion was cut-off by the discovery of the pull switch hitting you square in the face. The lightbulb flickered on, warm glow now coating the old wooden floors that smelled vaguely of rain and mildew. Jean’s head turned toward the source, eyes squinting, face scrunching up. He remained in his position on the ground, hunched over what you assumed were old blankets.
His eyes caught yours. “Come help.” words between a demand and a plead.
Nodding, you walked over to him, crouching down to his level.
“Didnt realise the floor was so dirty, now my pants are getting dirty,” he muttered.
You snorted out a laugh. “Good luck. And i dont think there are any christmas decorations in that box,”
“Know-it-all. You arent even trying to find them.”
“Yes i am! That’s why i turned the lights on, like a smart person.”
“Sure. its called procrastination.”
“Whatever you tell yourself, jean.”
You made your way over to the mishappen cardboard boxes with writing on them, the sharpie ink having aged with time. “Why’d they make us do this, anyway? I’d much rather be baking cookies in the kitchen with nic,”
Jean scoffed. “It’s eren’s house. How are we supposed to know where the christmas decorations are?”
You shrugged despite your back being turned to jean’s. “Seems like some sort of scheme.”
You hear a huff of air. “Scheme for what?”
You remain silent, letting the question lie in the still, cold air. Your eyes travelled to the lone, tiny window, watching the snow fall gently to the ground that you couldnt see. The sky remained a deep, calm sense of blue that was present when you first entered the house, and you could hear the distant shrieks and laughs downstairs, the occasional creak of the wood below you and reiners deep snoring in one of the rooms under the attic. Poor guy had passed out the moment he stepped foot in the cabin, after having driven the farthest to get here, waking up at 4 a.m just to reach at twelve pm.
There was no real reason for you guys to be meeting so soon before the semester would start. Everyone had their whole suitcases packed, ready to go back to the dorms directly after this outing, so you’d meet them either way. But mid-terms and the end of the semester had taken a toll on all of you, and the usual going-away meet/reunion turned into a nap day, and all everyone ended up doing was having one drink, promising to not fall asleep, but then doing so anyway. The moment sasha closed her eyes, you followed, and then everyone else. So, as a way of making up the time lost, everyone decided to camp together at eren’s almost abandoned cabin.
“You wanna ditch this and go out? Make snow angels or some shit?” Jean said, catching you looking at the window, a small smile on his face. There was always something soft in his features - the soft crease the formed at the corner of his lips when he smiled, or the way his eyes remained warm and inviting despite him hurling friendly insults at Connie.
You smiled back, “nah. Let’s get this over with, then we can go.” you said, making no effort to move, secretly enjoying the quiet and softness that came with being in a room with him without interruptions. Instead, you stepped closer to the window, your chilly fingers resting on its sill, tapping out the tune of the song that had been stuck in your head. Your skin ached for contact that wasnt just your palms, tired of having to keep your hands as loose fists in constant defense with everyone but him. With your muscles now wanting movement, inching closer to him in your own way - subtle and never quiet there, but enough for him to know.
Jean followed you. You could see his reflection in the glass, faint and doubled, his shadow following himself, his eyes fixed to your frame as you tried not to feel warmth engulf your flesh. His shoulders came to rest on the left of the window sill, arms crossed over his chest as his gaze eventually shifted to the scene you were engrossed in.
“Offer still stands.” he spoke gently, his voice carrying over to you without urgency, making you smile slowly. “We can ditch this and go downstairs. Tell everyone we couldnt find the decorations.”
You breathed out a laugh. “You wanna lie to our friends?”
He shrugged. “Not a lie. I cant find the decorations. You cant find the decorations."
“I didnt even try to yet.”
“Exactly. You couldnt even try to find it.”
You laugh now, shoulders shaking lightly, weightlessly. Jean’s world almost shook with the movement, watching your lips stretched into a careless smile, spinning jean’s heart on its axis, tearing it apart from the nerves that connected it into place.
“I mean,” you started, making jean’s muscles involuntarily lean towards you, neck tilting to hear your voice better, still maintaining his distance. “It is….kinda stupid to put up christmas decorations on the second of january. But its kinda nice. Like we’re spending the actual holiday together. Cheesy as hell, but nice.” you spoke, jean picking up on every letter and word and keeping it locked inside his chest.
He hummed. “Stupid fucking idea from the both of them, but I guess eren and connie can be…thoughtful sometimes.” he said.
“Holy shit.” you said, turning your head towards him, mouth agape. “You said something nice about them.”
“Shut up, im nice.” he argues weakly. You scoff, smile refusing to move, and jean finds it hard to stop smiling too.
“Hey, i made you that bracelet, didnt i? That was plenty nice of me.” he says, nodding to your wrist, adorned with a bracelet that he’d learnt how to weave after having received an impromptu one for you. There was a small flower charm that he’d spotted at a thrift store, and he’d spent around three hours trying and failing to make something competent. He ended up doing the easiest knots with two colours that he knew you’d like, locked away in his own room till late hours of the night.
“Yeah. it was. And now we match.” you say, holding up your left wrist so that the dim light caught on the charm that hung from the bracelet, a little off centre. Jean held up his own wrist next to yours, a similar accessory adorning his own wrist; red and green threads intertwined with a small butterfly charm - an inside joke after you found out that jean was afraid of the insect and made relentless fun of him. He dropped his takeaway cup of coffee when you pointed to a blue monarch butterfly sitting peacefully on his shoulder, swatting at his shoulder and shuddering afterwards. He tried to claim that he was just surprised and shocked, but you could see right through his charade, as you always did.
“Last year was crazy.” you said, placing your hand back where it was. Jean stepped next to you, copying your pose, hands almost mingling, shoulders brushing.
He hummed. “I never imagined getting close to you.” his fingers tingled comfortable next to your cold ones.
“Youre saying it as if its an insult.” you say incredulously, making no moves to shift away from him.
“You’re the one that hated me!” “lies, i only found you mildly annoying. “Mildly my ass.” “shut up,” your sentence is interrupted by your laughs, gentle puffs of air that fogged up the frosty window slightly, living proof of your happiness.
Jean’s own proof - his own laugh - mixed with yours, the warmth of his breath fogging up next to the proof of yours, intertwining. Your pinkie finger moved towards his.
And there it laid. Everything together, everything still and slowing, mingling together. Two separate beings touching the air next to the other’s, carefully, gently. Jean’s thoughts cut short, folding into themselves as the movement of his shoulders fell in sync with the movement of yours, and jean knew he didnt believe in mythology or stories of the skies and the soulmates that were one person with four limbs that had to be cut into two, loose halves of the other, lost and apart, but he swore that his veins were meant to hold yours. The gross and unsightly organs that lay under his skin and flesh and everything that caged him from speaking his mind until it was free knew that it was lost without yours.
Wordlessly - as if reading his covered brain - you turned your palm up to face his own, and as touching something holy as he could muster, he wrapped his fingers over the back of your hand, resting his warmth against your cold.
Everything disgusting in him wanted to be near everything disgusting in you. Every ridge and wrinkle of his fingers lay together with yours, beating and alive, watching the snow kiss the tops of the trees and tangle itself in its leaves. Everything remained quiet and unsaid under the flickering warmth of the attic, the only movement and sound coming from the roaring of jean’s heart against his own ears, wanting to rip that wretched organ and throw it on the ground as if to say “see? It wont shut up because of you.”
And it didnt. It continued to beat loudly, obscene, unsightly. All your fault. Every small movement of your body - the one against his hands and the one that now lead you to rest your head against his shoulder - made his chest shudder, his stomach uncharacteristically warm.
It didnt matter where the christmas decorations were, or why the rest of the house felt suddenly quiet. Jean’s head rested against yours, breathing slowed, everything in his body layered and alive to the silent sound of your blinking, dancing with the rhythm that you set as you tapped your fingers against the back of his hand, bones colliding.
Everything disgusting and hidden but alive and free in him met everything disgusting and hidden but alive in you.
summary ; the universe maybe doesnt hate jean as much as he thought it did, he thinks, bumping into you with too much in his hands.
warnings ; not proofread. HEAVY YEARNER jean
a/n ; i had a lot of fun writing this :3 ive been so extremely stressed lately and i wrote this as a break on the metro ONCE and genuinely got into a flow state. anyway, i hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as i did writing it.
if you saw me posting this before, no you didnt. tumblr is being so weird.
taglist ; @holding-infinity-and-a-book , @jeanscremebrulee , @mrsnobodynobody , @hopeless-anti-romantic-again , @berrijam , @happxme , @cherrypieyourface , @imgayandshesanime , @moonmalice , @raazberry , @kivernova , @potaho3frog , @xakilicious , @gojo-ana , @ppushable , @zombiefiedskeivy , @candleofhappiness , @alt—er—love , @1ovede1uxe , @sevriizy , @toscapaeron , @whoevenisjessica , @simone-tb , @mrsryuguji , @bxsmxx , @mxhemmings-l , @jazfartz2
✿ masterlist is in pinned post! ✿ enter my taglist! ✿ requests for headcanons are open! ✿
★ CHAPTER ONE ★
middle tile art creds ; @/yuka_levi on twitter!
The universe hates Jean.
The line to Sina Bakery was abnormally long. And Jean would know, being a regular with his guilty indulgence - he'd rather take a bullet to his head than admit that he liked the sweet iced mocha, especially to Sasha - especially during lunch hour.
Sina stood to be a tiny-ish bakery tucked away in the quieter street down the block from the precinct, and proved itself as Jean’s favourite place to go. At least once a week, he'd catch himself almost drooling over their flaky pastries and sweet drinks as a stark contrast to his green juice which, yes, he definitely likes because it makes him feel healthy.
his hands fidget with the lint in his jacket pocket as he waits in the line that now extends beyond him, with only two people before him. He needs a win this day, especially after the week he's had.
First, he's slacking on the amount of cases he'd solved as compared to Eren. The whiteboard held the proof of his sore losses, the black ink becoming a menacing presence that Jean couldn't blink without seeing. Second, his alarm has stopped working, making Captain Ackerman squint at him with disappointment clear in his steely eyes, Sasha and Connie snickering in the background as he got a talking-to in the office. Then there was…. the pretty stranger. The taste of the hot chocolate still coated his tongue, and he was well aware that it was incredibly weird of him to miss the smell of an apartment that he had been to only once in his life.
And then, lastly, the thing that occurred this morning. God, Jean shudders as he recalls it.
Sasha had bet him, childishly, saying she could eat his lunch in less than three minutes. Jean liked to think he was a decent cook, giving his mother her due credit for his albeit limited skills, and he liked to pack at least two lunchboxes just in case he was planning on staying in the precinct till late.
He was so certain she couldn't finish it in three minutes.
What a barbarian. She completely demolished his lunches in two minutes and fourty-three seconds.
Which is why it seemed like the entire universe was against him this week.
“Oh, hey Mr. Kirstein!” Falco greeted, a pleased smile gracing his face. Jean had gotten used to seeing him and his friends even more over their spring break; the fact that the kid remembered him was only a testament to the amount of times he visited this place.
“hey, Falco. how's it going?” he asked, a small smile curving his mouth involuntarily. Falco reminded him of Marco - always trying to keep the peace, always the best communicator of the bunch.
The kid shrugged as a loud crash sounded at the back, followed by a frustrated grunt. A small, muttered “sorry,” echoed in the silence, and Gabi hunched over the shot of espresso that now lay spilled over the counter.
Falco turned back to Jean, painting a nervous smile on himself. “hah, can't complain,”
the familiarity of it all made jean almost want to laugh. “i think you should,” he mutters, “she’s kinda like Yeager,”
Thankfully, Falco finds this a little funny, his shoulders shaking with a small laugh. “that says alot about me. anyway, should I put in the usual today?”
jean chooses not to ponder on the former part of that statement. “actually, do you guys have two dozen donuts?”
that makes Falco pause, eyes widening a fraction either by surprise or by disbelief. “two dozen?”
jean nods, pursing his lips together without choice. not only did he now not have any lunch, he was spending money for the bet that he lost.
the kid hums in consideration, turning his head over his shoulder to call out to gabi. “do we have two dozen donuts in the back?”
“I'll…go check,” she says, heaving a sigh as she finishes cleaning the marbled counter.
only about fifteen minutes later, Jean's hands are now heavier with two boxes of assorted donuts, a cup of iced mocha balanced on top of the lid, his wallet significantly lighter.
tossing a loud “thank you!” to Falco and gabi, jean makes his way out of the bakery, balancing the donuts in one arm, the other hand holding his coffee to his mouth, barely noticing the fast approaching body in front of him.
before jean had a moment to relax and enjoy the cool mocha, the wind was knocked out of his lungs, half his drink spilling onto the stranger, and, god, now the sleeve of his jacket was wet.
“watch where yo-” “I'm so, so sorry,” the warm familiarity of your voice makes him snap his mouth shut, his rapidly increasing annoyance quickly diminishing to nothing.
he felt like he was in a stupid romcom. not that he'd know, he doesn't watch that many, much to Connie’s dismay, but with the wind whipping his hair away from his forehead, kissing his cheeks with redness that he wished would leave immediately made him feel like the cameras were on him, catching his fluster by the throat, he felt like he was living in a cliche with cameras pointed directly at him.
“Detective Kirstein.” you speak, and he watches the softness of your lips pull apart and together to spell his name. Such little effort that still made jean want to legally change his first name to Detective.
He mumbles your name sheepishly, his hand still dripping with the residual coffee. “Good to see you again,”
“Im so sorry, i was barely watching where i was going- let me make it up to you,” you said, looking at his stained arm. Thankfully, wearing a leather jacket had somewhat protected him; he could just wipe off the residue and then send it to the dry cleaners. He’d received the jacket as a birthday gift from his sister as soon as jean graduated from the academy and it soon became a part of his daily uniform, and the fact that your hand was now touching it was sending shivers down his spine more than the coolness of the drink.
“There's… no need, really-” “-come on, i wasted your 6 bucks,” you cut him off, and if this was anyone else, he’d argue more. If this was anyone else, he would've grumbled at them to pay attention for bumping into him and went on about his day, but no, it was you, and selfishly, he wanted to spend more time with you.
“If you insist.” he conceded with a soft smile, taking you up on your invitation without an ounce of remorse. The universe’s apology for a shitty week came to him with a casual smile and a light blue sweater, now dabbing off the coffee with a cloth, holding his left hand with a gentleness that he’d never felt before.
“Y’know,” you spoke, making him look into your eyes. He wondered if you knew that you were still holding onto his hand. “I didnt know that the stereotype was true.”
Jean tilts his head in confusion. “Stereotype?”
“Youre carrying two entire boxes of donuts… as a cop.” you point out, head nodding towards the boxes, forgetting that he was carrying them in his right arm, gripping them into reality.
He breathes out a laugh, shoulders shaking softly.
“Hey, in my defense, these arent for me.” he says, shrugging, an easy smile on his lips.
“Oh? Who are they for, then?” you push, brows shooting up; not with curiosity, but with challenge.
Oh, jean liked you.
“Theyre for my friend. We had this stupid bet where i didnt think she could finish my lunchboxes - two of them, by the way, and full portions - in less than three minutes,” you smirked knowingly, as if you were in on it. “I guess it was my bad that I underestimated her. She finished it with seventeen seconds to spare and gloat.” his annoyance was warranted, yet his voice still held the affection he couldnt shake off for his friend.
You hummed, “sounds like she came prepared.”
He scoffed, “i dont doubt that. She eats in a way that gets me scared of her ending up in the hospital.”
“And yet you dared her,”
“Hey,” he says, tone defensive. His smile never slips, however, “that was more of a rhetorical question than a challenge. She told me, i can finish those boxes in like two seconds,” his voice pitches up almost comically, trying his best to impersonate his best friend. You laugh without constraint as he continues, making him smile wider in the process, a little proud, “and i said, i dont think you can, and then bam, before i knew it, eren and connie - my other coworker, were recording her and timing her.”
“Truly traumatizing,” you say, laughter softening.
“The worst ive ever faced in my career.” he says, earning himself another laugh. Youre still holding onto his hand and he wonders if he can feel his pulse beating under his skin, if you can sense it going in sync with the sound of your laugh. “Come on, lets head back in, i’ll buy you another iced… whatever that was.” you say. Your voice makes it sound like its not even a command - which it’s decidedly not - but the gentle tilt of your head makes him think he’d follow you anywhere youd ask him to.
Describing the situation later was not easy.
Sasha almost demanded an explanation for why her donuts were cold and late, why he left for the bakery almost an hour before and returned with a brighter mood and a small smile.
Connie made kissing noises from his seat as they huddled next to jean (without his consent, he’d like to point out), marco joining from his desk as well. The rest remained seated at their own places, but he knew their ears were peeled for the latest - and probably only - update on jean’s non-saucy, non-descriptive love life.
“Thats it, she just… bought me a black coffee,” he said, lying straight through his teeth. Marco smiled earnestly, but sasha rolled her eyes. “Bullshit. There has to be more.” “was this a date?” connie asked, his elbows leaning on the back of his chair as he sat backwards on the worn-out cushions.
“There isnt more, and even if there was, i-” jean says, eyeing the rest of his coworkers suspiciously. Eren was tilting a little too much towards jean from his seat, armin glancing back to his work, and reiner unashamed about his public eavesdropping. Jean shifted closer into his huddle, mumbling, “i wouldnt say it here. And it wasnt a date, connie,”
“But you like her.”
The pause before jean's answer sealed his fate more than any word he could utter. “No,” another blatant lie, one which he knew none of them would buy as they leaned back into their chairs almost simultaneously.
“HA!” eren’s voice was loud and mocking, and he now made no attempts to cover up his own nosiness, the rest of the bullpen now suddenly finding themselves near jean’s desk. Before jean could even argue, however, eren continued his mocking.
“You shouldve seen the guys face when we met her! He was all moon-eyed and he couldnt even ask her basic questions.” he boasted, a laugh punctuating the end of his statement.
“I was not moon eyed-” “-oh my god, i can so see that!” sasha speaks, followed by an infuriating “jeanboy's in looooooveee” by connie.
“Im not-”
“impressive as hell, kirstein” reiner says, nodding his head to god knows what. “How is it impressive?” marco says, and to jean’s surprise, he finds himself a little offended at that question.
“I dont know, finding love in this landscape-” reiner starts. “like, politically?” armin asks, followed by a, “no, i think he means sexually.” by eren.
Everyone falls silent at that, chairs creaking as all of them turn to eren’s mumble.
He looks up from his paper, noticing the eyes on him. Glancing at reiner, almost shrinking in his seat, he says, “no i mean… because your last crush was… yknow,”
“A lesbian,” mikasa uses her rare words to describe the Sergeant's situation. It seemed to be all the speak last month, with reiner never shutting up about his crush on historia, the pretty blonde with a stolen - and very expensive - purse.
Reiner cleared his throat. “Whatever,” he muttered, turning back around to his desk.
“How do you know she's not a lesbian?” marco asks, leaning his weight on his left arm, elbow resting on the bent plastic of his chair.
“No!” sasha exclaims before jean can even try to think about his question.
There’s another pause in the precinct. Sasha defends herself with a anxious laugh, “i mean, she clearly seems to be reciprocating,”
“Yeah, she wouldn't have asked to buy you a coffee otherwise!” connie says, uncharacteristically nervous, jean and marco glancing at each other with suspicion. Reiner - now standing against his desk, arms crossed over his chest, looks just as suspicious as the other two. “Is that wishful thinking or are you just that desperate for jean to get a girlfriend?”
“Hey!” jean did not appreciate his love-life being put on full blast without his consent. “For the record, i dont think she’s a lesbian either-” “-is what reiner thought too-” “-fuck off, yeager. But i agree with connie. She wouldnt have offered to buy me black coffee otherwise.”
“Kirstein, Yeager, what’s the update on the Hoffmann murder?” Captain Ackerman’s voice booms across the precinct, cold and demanding. Connie rolls back to his desk, struggling to scoot his body back to facing his desk. Jean and Eren stand up, backs straight, faces serious.
“We have a lead,” eren says, beating jean to it.
From his spot near his cabin door, Captain Ackerman nods. “Come into my office to discuss it. And kirstein?”
“Yes, sir!”
“Stop pretending you drink black coffee.”
“...yes, sir,”
Everyone snickers.
The universe still hates jean, he thinks. But your smile flashes into his mind, a gentle sway of his heart following it. Maybe the universe doesnt hate him too much.
summary ; falling in love with jean kirstein was too easy. trying to believe that he could ever love you back, however, was impossible.
warnings ; unrequited? love, mentions of alcohol, angsty, self-image issues, heavy (?) NOT PROOF-READ
a/n ; everythings ok! im using this fic/fic series because i need to get this shit out of my system because im #emo like that. anyway. im not expecting a lot of traction of this fic, i think i might lowkey delete it in a week or so. im unsure. hope you guys like it nonetheless.
taglist ; @holding-infinity-and-a-book , @jeanscremebrulee , @mrsnobodynobody , @hopeless-anti-romantic-again , @berrijam , @happxme , @cherrypieyourface , @imgayandshesanime , @moonmalice , @raazberry , @kivernova , @potaho3frog , @xakilicious , @gojo-ana , @ppushable , @zombiefiedskeivy , @candleofhappiness , @alt—er—love , @1ovede1uxe , @sevriizy , @toscapaeron , @whoevenisjessica , @simone-tb , @mrsryuguji , @bxsmxx , @mxhemmings-l , @jazfartz2
this can be read as a standalone fic, or as a part two to this fic! ✿
masterlist is in pinned post! ✿ enter my taglist! ✿ requests for headcanons are closed! ✿
Falling in love with jean kirstein was catastrophically easy.
Being self-destructive was almost in your nature. In your several years of living, you couldnt harbor even a singular lovable bone in your body, the lowly creature it was. It was a commendable act, really, your inability to be someone that somebody else could potentially want, and your stubbornness could be admirable in a better light. But it wasnt, and the lights that shine on you right now are residual - the streams coming from the living room, shining across your face in a way that made you wonder what you looked like from the outside of your cracked open ribs.
Were you beautiful?
You wanted to be. Commendable if you werent, stubbornness that could be admirable if it wasnt for that light hitting your face. Your eyes only fixate on the peach drink in your hand, the one that jean had handed to you without any hesitation. Under the dimness of the kitchen, the artificial orange of the liquid looked like a darker void of itself. Connie’s arm slinked around jean’s shoulders, the two of them arguing about something you were sure was far more significant than you.
You spare a glance back up at jean’s eyes. In this light, he looked beautiful. The residual light of the living room that spread into the kitchen in singular, countable streams, seemed to light up the corners of his pupils, tinted them in a slightly purple hue. He looks at you for help, asking for silent escape from the back and forth he was having with his best friend.
You smile, half-there, and shake your head. “I dont think thats the point, con,”
“No, i think the point is that he’s a pussy-” “-oh shut UP springer, i once saw you run away from a cat.” “i dont want rabies!”
You take a conscious sip of the now-dark peach drink. In the circle of your close-knit friends, you were probably the weakest link. Everyone had the ability - the comfortable, safe choice - to pair off with someone else. Eren and mikasa, armin and annie, jean and marco, connie and sasha. Convenient pairs, peas in a pod. It was a little cruel on your part, excluding yourself on purpose to be in your own - however disastrous - comfort. Any feelings that bubbled up would simply simmer under the lid that you forced on the feelings that you begrudgingly admitted to, smashed between a fire you knew was too strong to be extinguished and an equally strong want to be left alone as you inevitably would find yourself.
The music hurls itself into your ears. Everything has become an act of hesitant unacceptance, and jean, as always, pulls you out of your tightening spiral.
“Its your favorite song.” he speaks. Connie is no longer against him, now laughing maniacally yet warmly with some of your other friends, bright vessels as they all were, and you dont even notice the shift in tune and the way the beats have become more familiar, far more comforting under your feet, strong enough to shake your ribs.
You smile at him in realisation. “Right,”
He clears his throat. “You wanna… you wanna dance?” he asks, his hand scratching the back of his neck.
You dont dance. You’ve got two left feet, unbothered to change, and your body slinks itself awkwardly and without purpose on the dancefloor. But you - hesitantly - accept his offer, because its his offer. Maybe in this light, the one he’s pulling you towards, you look less stubborn and more just put-together. Maybe you could have the ability to be graceful if you just pushed yourself hard enough for it to be true and maybe if you lied to yourself enough about these things, you’d become everything you’d hoped to become.
Brighter lights shine on you. Were you beautiful? You keep forgetting. There arent any reminders for it, but your feet move against the shake of the ground, jeans shoulders moving with yours. The beats are almost nonexistent to your ears, all that you can hear being the slow and rhythmic vibration of your heart. Your ribs - a prison of themselves - feel like theyre expanding to accommodate your now larger muscle as jean grabs your hand in his, light as a feather, almost non-existent, just enough to keep you anchored more than your feet.
Your cups are long forgotten on the kitchen’s island, and your feet do that uncomfortable shuffle, undecided with which one to go right and left on what beat.
And then, just as you start to get uncomfortable in your own skin again, wanting to crawl out, jean’s other hand finds itself on your waist.
Finds itself, really, because he’d forgotten what being in his own body felt like until he met you. Your clothes wrinkle under his touch as he guides you, unsure, to the song, the meaningless sound of these berating lyrics echoing against your skull, and you sway in symphony of his own sways. Creating your own kind of music, something softer, only heard by your unwilling ears, blood rushing through them, clearing your doubts for a brief, wonderful moment.
For a brief, wonderful moment, you were as beautiful as youd hoped. For a brief, wonderful moment, your passion is tangible and loud. For a brief, wonderful, divine moment, you were considerably loved.
Jeans hand rested there, a comfort without any disgust. Warmth made its way from his palm to your heart, burning a hole through it, making the perfect place for him to sit there, treat your organ like his throne. Or maybe, more humanely, his home, if he’d let you coax him into it.
Your own hand, the creature of itself, fingertips always purple and cold, rests on his all-too-there shoulder, mimicking his own touch, copying him as it was used to. His eyes seemed to reflect your own, and those pools of purple-tinted gold, you figured youd find yourself. If no-one, jean saw you. If no-one, then jean chose to look at you, at the hollowness under your own eyes, at the unwanted stray eyebrow hair that always seemed to grow in the middle of both your brows, at the dryness of your lips, at the blackheads on your nose, at the way dirt clung to your neck and collarbones, at the way your hair never seemed to lay the way you wanted it to.
He saw it. All of it, and kept choosing to see it despite there being a million, thrice more beautiful things in the world to choose to look at, his eyes found yours and the truths that swam under them.
The song ends. You blink, as does jean, and your hand feels heavier on his shoulder, making it easier to slip off of him, reluctance clinging to your stony bones. He licks his drying lips, clearing his throat again, going unheard against the sound of the next song, and his smile - even if it was barely there - crinkles the corners of his eyes, lips quirking up, cheeks pushing against his eyes. You smile back, lacking the detail on your face that you had noted on his, and your other hand still lingered next to his, fingers still tangled with his, knuckles against knuckles.
The car was warmer than the outside. Maybe it was because of his presence inside it, offsetting your own, the disgust you felt towards yourself slowly crawling onto your skin but out of your body. The leathery seat rubbed against your thigh, and if you were with anyone else, you wouldve tightened the coil that kept spiraling in your head, thinking and thinking and thinking.
Your vehicle was stationary in the lawn, the party still pulsing inside, though dying a little, people stumbling out just as you had. Every movement in your body also halts slowly, considering the careful importance of jean next to you, sitting in the seat next to yours, the backseat of his old, worn car felt more like the comfort of your own couch. Your shoulders are against jean’s, and the discomfort that so easily clings to you without permission finds itself against him, pressed in the gap between your side and his.
You wonder, now more than ever, if youre beautiful.
Its pressing. The question is evident and bright - does he think youre beautiful? Every prickly tear you had stuffed down through your life for a time that would be better than the one you were living, every hair that you couldnt reach to smooth over, every passing but suffocating thought that you couldnt find yourself living without, every stray eyelash that fell on your cheeks, every gasp you took with a shudder that was left unseen, every uneven nail.
Did he find you beautiful? More importantly, even if he did, did he find you beautiful despite or because of your numerous flaws? Or did he not see them at all? Which would be worse?
You sigh without reason. The sound floats in the air before jean picks it up. His head turns to yours, softly, the back of his hair being ruffled by the leather of the seat. “What’re you thinking about?” he asks, as if he wants to know.
The discomfort; the one you knew shouldnt be there, the one you were trying so hard not to notice, comes out of its hiding.
Falling in love with jean kirstein was so easy. Having anyone fall in love with you, however, was impossible. Not with all your lack-of-beauty, not with your endless doubt, not with your persistent discomfort.
Not with you.
“Nothing,” you say, shrugging, not meeting his patient eyes.
Theres a pause before he speaks again, and you can feel tears burn up at the back of your throat, prickly and demanding.
“Liar.” he says, deciding your fate.
You laugh despite yourself. A puff of air makes its way out of your nose with a small smile. “Okay.”
“Whats on your mind?” he persists.
Hesitance sits on the shoulder that rests against his. You close your eyes, as if not seeing the ceiling of jean’s old, worn, loved car would make your existence a little easier, a little less of a liability. “Nothing important.”
“Then why are you thinking it?” persists.
You shrug. Hesitance rises with it. “I like to indulge in unimportant things sometimes,” you say, shooting your shot at being poetic for once, of saying something a little meaningful.
This time, though, unlike all your previous attempts and failures, it doesnt go unheard.
Jean hums, considering.
“Indulge me, then.” persisting.
You let his words soak into you, pores opening without difficulty to breathe him in. “would it be… narcissistic if i said i was thinking about myself?” your honesty is repulsive.
He still sits beside you. “How is that unimportant?”
Fuck. falling in love with jean kirstein was so easy, because saying smaller, meaningful things came easy to him. Because he didnt consider that you werent meant to feel considered or felt or heard, that you were meant to be stagnant and far away. Falling in love with jean kirstein was so easy because you knew there would never be an inverse.
Your finger scratches the tip of your nose, unable to provide him with an answer that could help.
He continues, taking your silence as a cue. “What exactly were you thinking about yourself?”
His voice had its way around you, cornering you for an answer that you knew youd never give to anyone but him. It makes you angry; how easily he could reach himself around you, how easily he could find himself in your mind. It frustrated you beyond comprehension, how hed do all of these things unknowingly and then have the nerve to ask you what was on your mind.
You know he’s going to persist. You know that the ugly thing thats taken its shape as your heart will keep pounding, unable to come up with an answer good enough for your lips and his ears. Your shoulders slump with inert exhaustion, discomfort morphing into its tired self.
Everything has its slow way of coming to a halt. Your body does just that, against your will, and your head bumps against jean’s waiting shoulder. Youre unsure of any tears that escape your eyes, or if he wipes them out of obligation or concern or maybe - and you say this to soothe yourself - indifference. Maybe to him, this is who you are.
In his car, maybe he decides to see you as the creature you’ve deemed yourself to become. Maybe he decides to stay next to you nonetheless. Maybe he wraps his arm around your shoulder because youre showing parts of yourself he knew were there all along. Maybe - and you say this to soothe yourself - he wraps his arm around your shaking and shuddering and prickly and disgusting shoulders because he cares.
Falling in love with jean kirstein was easy, you say to soothe yourself, because he cradles you to almost-sleep in the leather backseat of his car, trading his warmth for yours.
Maybe - and jean thinks this to soothe himself - maybe now you’d let him in.
summary : The four times he asked and the one time you answered.
warnings : none
✩‧₊˚ aayat ki tarah.
[🌻]
modern au, fem!desi!reader
summary : the tinkling of your payal in Jean's hands
warnings : none
✩‧₊˚ no big deal (i love you) 🌷
[🌻]
modern au.
summary : jean loves you. you know it. you love jean. he knows it.
warnings : none tbh, just pure fluff and maybe a little too wordy. oh and mentions of religion. read author's note for specifics!!!!
✩‧₊˚ sight 🌷
[🌻]
modern au.
summary : Jean's eyes were always a sight to behold.
warnings : use of the word 'eyes' too much (?)
✩‧₊˚ lover
[🌻]
modern au, jean's birthday special!
summary : two artists being each other's muses.
warnings : maybe writing inconsistencies (?) not proofread.
✩‧₊˚ from the start. 🌷
[🌻]
modern au
summary : Jean's love for you outweighed his hate for the rain.
warnings : reader loves rain (is that even a warning?), the slightest mention of thunderstorms
✩‧₊˚ like the movies.
[🌻]
modern au
✿ requested by anon : Hi there! Saw your drabble prompts, and if I may, could I request one for Jean Kirstein using the prompts 2 and 5?
summary : Jean's niece is a sweet handful. thankfully, jean has an extra pair of arms to help him.
warnings : none!
✩‧₊˚ flaws. 🌷
[🌻/🌼]
summary : it's a cool night, but jean warms you, body and mind.
warnings : self indulgent so.... proceed w caution. mentions (slightest) of nudity and sex (this fic is completely sfw, don't worry :) ), kind of sad-ish hurt/comfort type fic.
✩‧₊˚ a safe pair of hands.
[🌼]
modern au
request by @robynnnhooddd : One of the main traits of Jean is his self-doubt: always feeling like he's not good enough for something/someone; always feeling like a second choice. Could you possibly do a hurt-comfort one where Jean avoids the reader after hearing a comment from someone (either in a joking or serious manner) that the reader's too good for him/reader doesn't deserve him/anything really that makes him kind of doubt whether he is actually good enough for the reader? Then reader is puzzled about why he's been avoiding them, and when Jean opens up why, reader comforts and reassures him that he would always be more than enough for them.
warnings : talks about not being good enough.
✩‧₊˚ lovesick. 🌷
[🌻]
modern au
summary : jean always felt like a fool around you. you've been a fool to not see it.
warnings : very slight themes of religion (expected atp.)
✩‧₊˚ peeks and blinders (you know me) 🌷
[🌼]
modern a.u.
summary : being loved required patience and time and hope. luckily, jean provided all of them, without hesitation.
warnings : feelings of being deeply alone, heavy, hurt/comfort but mostly hurt, reader might sort of have depression
✩‧₊˚ all my daughters
[🌼]
modern a.u.
summary : the crushing weight of everything and everyone changing is a bit too much. jean wants to bear the burdens with you.
warnings : hurt/comfort, mostly just therapy for my crumbling mental state, amateur symbolisms (?), established relationship, no use of y/n (im trying smth new) not proofread!!!!!
✩‧₊˚ heaven. 🌷
[🌻]
modern a.u.
summary : inspired by this mitski song
warnings : none!
✩‧₊˚ the great pretender. 🌷
[🌼]
modern a.u.
summary : you're left written by an unknown author, feeling like a lost letter. jean helps you find a home, helps you feel real, even for a second.
warnings : hurt/comfort, kinda sad, reader might have derealization (?) there's literally no real "ending" written to this.
✩‧₊˚ ur so pretty.
[🌻]
modern a.u.
summary ; jean liked to drive alone, to sit in his thoughts for a while. it's getting harder to think when he can't stop himself from thinking about you, though.
warnings ; jean is canonically left handed (yes this is a warning)
✩‧₊˚ witness marks.
[🌻]
modern a.u.
summary ; witness marks are usually used for antique clocks, to tell the functioning of the insides so it would be easier for them to be repaired, usually indicated by little scratches or wear-and-tear, and it's clockwork how you love jean. its a choice against your will, but neither of you would have it any other way.
warnings ; reader like the rain (again)
✩‧₊˚ carry me out 🌷
[🌼, 🌻]
modern a.u.
summary ; you've let your predetermined, statistical thoughts on being loved carry you out for a long time. maybe you realise that jean should be an exception.
warnings ; HUGE trigger warning for suicidal thoughts, especially in the beginning. overall very angsty, but slight comfort at the end. no pre-existing relationship, only the indications of one. underage (?) alcohol consumption (please be safe n responsible with alcohol!)
✩‧₊˚ etymology of acting
[🌼, 🌻]
modern a.u.
summary ; the lights are out but you've never been able to see things so clearly. his silhouette isnt just a shape anymore.
warnings ; nothing more than some hurt/comfort as usual
✩‧₊˚ september coffee
[🌻]
modern a.u.
summary ; september feels alot like the start of the year. jean brings you pastries while you make coffee, and september feels less daunting than january.
warnings ; none!
✩‧₊˚ unearthed
[🌻]
modern a.u.
summary ; you dont know just how many watchful souls listen to you and jean speak, waiting, watching. maybe it's just you, but the prison air feels warmer.
warnings ; mentions of violence, a little horror (? literally just the tiniest bit), talks of death. cringe humor.
✩‧₊˚ winter sun
[🌻]
modern a.u.
summary ; wintery sunsets and a cold walk with jean, secrets being peeled apart.
warnings ; none!
✩‧₊˚ sound//waves 🌷
[🌻]
modern a.u.
summary ; each sound has it's own shape, something tangible for you to feel. Jean's shapes are weightless but important, and you find the importance of your own shapes through him.
warnings ; reader being self-conscious of her voice :')
✩‧₊˚ forwards, beckon, rebound 🌷
[🥀,🌼]
modern a.u.
summary ; falling in love with jean kirstein was too easy. realizing and living with it, however, was more difficult than ripping your own heart out of your chest - veins and all.
warnings ; unrequited? love, mentions of alcohol at the end, a little angsty.
✩‧₊˚ re : the world. 🌷
[🌻,🌼]
modern a.u.
summary ; sasha introduced the two of you as complete opposites, two different worlds. but you'd disagree, especially since it feels like jean creates a new world just for you.
warnings ; a little too self indulgent? aka reader likes peach flavoured stuff. also mentions of drinking, nothing graphic.
✩‧₊˚ head over heels! 🌷
[🌻]
brooklynn nine-nine au!
status ; part two in the works! last updated May 19th, 2025
summary ; detective kirstein has a nice ring to it, you think, and jean thinks you light up the dingy apartment that you had turned into your home.
warnings ; not proofread </3 too tired
mini series ;
✩‧₊˚ knowing (1)
[🌻]
summary ; to love someone is to know someone, fully, wholly, and jean fulfills this, wholly, knowingly.
warnings ; (not in this part but) eventual smut (this part is sfw!!), descriptions of religion as a concept
✩‧₊˚ come january (2)
[🌻, SMUT MDNI PLEASE]
summary ; to love someone is to know someone, fully, wholly, and jean fulfills this, wholly, knowingly.
warnings ; badly written smut, MDNI. ive never written smut before so its probably going to be bad. please tread carefully. literally the most vanilla sex u can ever imagine. too wordy.
✩‧₊˚ belonging.
[🌻,🌼]
modern au, academic frenemies/rivals to lovers
status ; part two in the works! last updated 26th September, 2022
summary ; how was he so good at everything? how did he manage all of it? how did he make you feel like this? how did he see you?
warnings ; strained parental relationships, highschool angst, academic pressure, mild eren yeager slander. part two in the works!!
✩‧₊˚ blooming hearts 🌷
!!!UNDER MAJOR EDITING!!!
[🌼,🌻,🥀]
reincarnation au
status : in-progress, last updated october 20th, 2024
summary :
you never thought that the scent of spring flowers and routine of freshly brewed tea would take you home - take you to the one person you wanted to meet the most. your meeting with the universe was commemorated by him giving you his name.
✿
in other words; a reincarnation a.u. where the characters remember each other after hearing their names for the first time.
general warnings (updated chapterwise too) : angst, canon typical aot violence, mentions of death of loved ones, grief, character death(s), hallucinations, mentions of suicide, depression, REALLY SAD
✩‧₊˚ Jean Kirstein's Wedding Playlist.
[🌻,🌼]
modern au
status ; ongoing, last updated July 2nd, 2025.
summary ; how was he so good at everything? how did he manage all of it? how did he make you feel like this? how did he see you?
warnings ; strained parental relationships, highschool angst, academic pressure, mild eren yeager slander. part two in the works!!
series ;
✩‧₊˚ dusk to dawn !
[🌼,🌻,🥀]
fem!reader, modern smau + writing, inspired by new girl, friends to lovers.
status : part three in the works, last updated July 29th, 2025
summary :
you always believed that you couldn't choose who you loved. sometimes they chose you. and sometimes it's just because you got a really great deal on Paradis Community Posts.
you did find a great deal on Paradis Posts.
you found all of them.
general warnings (updated chapter-wise, too) : terrible cringe humor, kys jokes, mild angst, familial issues, talks of depression and overworking, burnout
✩‧₊˚ masquerade.
[🌼,🌻,🥀]
fem! reader, regency a.u.
status : ongoing, last updated July 15th, 2025.
summary :
your life had always been under some guise, had always been a performance of one show or another. what good can a run-away artist amount to? at the very least, your life was better played in your hands than anyone else's.
but this stranger's hands were warm and calloused and dirtied with charcoal. your plans change because of him, and for once, you find yourself glad for that fact.
general warnings (updated chapter-wise, too) : angst, hurt/comfort, some historical inaccuracies but we do it For The Plot, mentions of sickness, death of loved ones, class differences
shorts ;
✩‧₊˚ how he kisses you [🌻]
✩‧₊˚ modern au boyfriend headcanons! [🌻]
✩‧₊˚ road trip headcanons! [🌻]
✩‧₊˚ playing games [🌻]
✩‧₊˚ christmas morning [🌻]
✩‧₊˚ snow angels [🌻]
✩‧₊˚ christmas eve with his family! [🌻]
✩‧₊˚ new years and jean [🌻]
✩‧₊˚ how he'd ask you to be his s/o [🌻]
✩‧₊˚ his cooking skills [🌻]
✩‧₊˚ how he'd like to spend his bday! [🌻]
✩‧₊˚ summer with the trio [🌻]
⤷ ✩‧₊˚ more jean summer headcanons :) [🌻]
misc ;
✩‧₊˚ jean kirstein x reader texts!
part one ✿ part two
✩‧₊˚ modern a.u. moodboard!
✩‧₊˚ playlist I think he'd listen to/his music taste!
✩‧₊˚ speci-fic ideas! (1)
brooklynn nine-nine au hcs - meeting ✿ thanksgiving and halloween ✿ angst hcs ✿ fluff hcs ✿
brooklynn nine-nine au doodles!
Reiner Braun
shorts ;
✩‧₊˚ modern au boyfriend headcanons!
✩‧₊˚ winter moodboard and headcanons
✩‧₊˚ gym moodboard and headcanons
✩‧₊˚ bf!reiner texts!
✩‧₊˚ regency era a.u. moodboard and headcanons
Five Hargreeves :
Oneshots :
✩‧₊˚ in your arms
[🌼]
request - Hey Firefly! ✨ Could you please write a Five x fem reader with the prompts 22. “What do you mean you can’t find them?” and 10. “You’re safe, you’re safe. I got you.” Thank you! Hope you have an amazing week! 💙
summary : five shows you he's not going to loose you ever again
warnings : blood, wounds, mentions of gunshots, canon typical violence. a little bit of angst, but it all works out in the end.
✩‧₊˚ hate and love
[🌻]
summary : five hargreeves didn't like the world he was put in, but he didn't know that someone could change that.
warnings : none
Series ;
✩‧₊˚ only you, darling
[🌼,🌻]
status : incomplete.
summary :
five hargreeves was...complicated. but you still loved him, and promised yourself you'd help him prevent the apocalypse.
"I'm sorry I didn't say anything sooner, but I-"
"I love you too," you said
general warnings (updated chapterwise too) : gunshots, wounds, blood, death, canon-typical violence. typical tua stuff
line dividers credits unknown, please let me know if these are yours.
OMGGG i found your blog from the newest chapter of dawn to dusk and just wanted to say ive been thinking about it since i found it i love it so much omg.
AWW IM SO GLAD YOU LIKED IT!! im glad I cud be of service to you (人 •͈ᴗ•͈)
hi omg I just read the newest chapter of dusk to dawn and I'm so happy you've updated again!! just wanted to ask if there are going to be any more character intros? im sooo excited to see how you write the rest of the group 🫶🫶🫶
HII!! first of all THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING :") and enjoying the fic sm!!! im so so so glad you got to enjoy it :D
also yes!! there are going to be alot more characters introduced! they won't happen all at once, so it will take a while to get to know everyone that was in the canon universe, and I'm also adding a couple more ocs hehe :3
