denver

[jeanwrlds]

" ᴛᴇʟʟ ᴍᴇ, ᴅɪᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴇᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ɴᴇᴡꜱ? ꜱʜᴇ ᴀɪɴ'ᴛ ꜰᴜᴄᴋɪɴ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʏᴏᴜ ɴᴏ ᴍᴏʀᴇ "

CURRENTLY PLAYING . . .

all mine by PLAZA

.ᐟ.ᐟ DENVER, twentiez, she/her, ariana grande lvr, jean♡

m.list | byf/rules

©JEANWRLDS 2025

unauthorized copying, plagiarism, or misappropriation is prohibited

[solinadays]

modern!jean k. x gn!reader

m.list

college jean, yeaner jean (cause he sooo is) & i luv him biggest crime was him not officially ending up with someone cause my boy deserves it soo badly playing around with my layout for fics so bare with me here

jean does this thing.

he writes you handwritten letters, like he's living in the 1930s.

it started a few months into dating. it was movie night—his turn to choose—and being the romantic he is (really, he was just trying to impress you), he picked The Notebook.

a classic, of course. one that had you wiping your eyes by the end, head buried in his neck. he chuckled softly, running a hand through your hair.

"why don't people write letters anymore?" you asked, once you collected yourself.

he didn't say anything in response, instead shrugging his shoulders.

you didn’t expect anything to come of it. but two weeks later, you got a letter.

your name written in cursive. a red wax seal on the envelope. you thought it was a prank at first—a silly little joke. you had even taken a photo to send to your friends.

but when you opened it, you gasped.

"to my dear yn,"

you can't believe what you were holding: brown, worn-out paper with rugged edges and a faint smell of coffee clinging to it. you skimmed through the letter, flipping it over to find your boyfriend’s signature on the back.

it was dramatic—over the top even. you could tell by the few sentences you caught: I did not think it possible to miss anyone so much, and words like my sweetheart tossed in like he was straight out of a wartime romance.

tears had welled in your eyes because no one had ever put this much effort into something for you before. you could picture your boyfriend hunched over in his studio, carefully dipping the paper into coffee and hanging it to dry.

you hadn't told him you recieved it. but you could tell he was waiting for your reaction, sneaking in comments about letters all week. fidgeting when bringing up the topic.

you had a plan.

you’d gone to the store, spent a little too much on supplies, and watched countless tutorials on how to write an old-fashioned letter. it came out nice—not as good as his, but definitely dramatic. you even included a small black-and-white picture of yourself to top it off

you sent it randomly, dropped it off at the local post shop, your nerves buzzing as you imagined it arriving at his house.

that’s how it began, really.

it was unspoken—never officially brought up—but every so often, every few weeks (sometimes months), you’d find a letter waiting for you.

you never talked about how it started it. you never needed too.

but the letters kept coming, each one with a tiny piece of him. folded corners, smudged ink, dramatic declarations of love that made roll your eyes and feel hot all at once. and you kept writing back, sometimes late at night when you missed him more than you could admit out loud.

sometimes, the envelopes would come sealed with pressed flowers. occasional sketches of you with cheesy captions like: i could never forget your gorgeous face. once, he sent a pressed page from a book you'd mentioned loving. another time, he sent you a sketch of a place you'd never been—but felt strangely familiar.

you never mention that to him.

but there was something about it all that made you feel like this wasn’t the first time.

like maybe, in another lifetime, you were standing outside the gates of a burning city, clutching a letter that smelled like ash and earth, waiting for a soldier with tired eyes and ink-stained fingers—one who always said too little, but wrote like he meant every word.

maybe that's just how it's always been. two souls writing to find their way back to each other. again, and again.

and maybe this time, you finally did.

[cedakriswrites]

detective au / childhood friends to strangers to colleagues to lovers / slowburn

ongoing 1/? || wc 11k+

angst, murder mystery, forced proximity, second chances, addiction, healing, comfort

⚝ SYNOPSIS

Jean wears a badge. You strip to survive.

Childhood friends, torn apart by a death that shaped you both in two very different ways, reunite a decade later over a circumstance that can only be described as the universe's cruelest joke.

You've thrived in the shadows, always careful to stay beneath the police's radar. But when a string of violent murders breaches your world, Jean seeks your help, offering something you desperately need. And despite wanting nothing to do with him, you can't say no.

Now strangers in all but name, your worlds collide as you join his team to deliver justice for those society and law enforcement prefer to forget.

Yet no good cause comes without a cost and working together unearths the past you have fought hard to leave behind.

⚝ read on ao3 & wattpad

⚝ visuals on pinterest

⚝ updates on tiktok

[senseiofbullshit]

Did someone ask for nasty Jean Kirstein headcannons? No? Okay. Well here you go anyway.

Warnings: NSFW, MDNI, fem reader, not spell checked because I'm lazy

You’re usually ‘babe’ or ‘queen’ when he’s messing around, but when he wants something or y’all are intimate, you’re ‘baby’.

“Baby.” “Jean, don’t start with me right now.” “Whaaat? I didn’t even say anything!”

Beautiful happy trail that grows in evenly. 

He tries to keep himself pretty well groomed and trimmed.

He likes hair on his partner. He doesn't mind if it's bald, but something about you being in your natural state makes his mouth water. If you're very bushy, he'll pretend to get a weed whacker/hedge trimmer. Or pretend he's using a machete to cut through the jungle. Or put his face right in it and ask how you think he'd look with a beard. He will make Tarzan noises. He will rain dance. “In the jungle, the mighty jungle, the lion sleeps toniiiiight!” It will still get ate though.

When he was younger and immature, he had the 'I don't like hair in my food' phase, but as he became a man, he got into his 'girl, I'm a grown man and I don't care about hair' phase.

Jean is a grower and a shower. His friends call him horse face but that’s not all that’s like a horse (ahaha). He’s very tall and his cock is proportionate to his size. He tucks it down a leg. You see him on soft and you’re like ‘that’s not that bad’ and then he gets hard and you quickly change your tune to ‘where is that going’? In you, duh. What makes him daunting is that he’s long and wide. He’s got girth on his side. He always warms you up. It’s why he isn’t very partial to quickies. He's scared of hurting you and he knows he requires prep to take. He’s a quick learner so pleasing you and learning what you like comes pretty quickly to him. 

He’s also done some “research” on how to please women. Whatever he doesn’t know from experience, he’s “researched”. 

Taps it on your tongue and on your pussy before sliding home

He can be pretty kinky, but he prefers the basics. He doesn’t get tired of missionary or any of its variations. There’s just something so intimate, so right about being tender and passionate with you.

He considers sex quality time so it doesn’t really matter how he has you, as long as he has you. He prefers to see your face and give a lethal dose of eye contact while he’s in it. He wants you to look into his eyes while he makes you cum. 

Loves when you sit on his face while he touches himself. He won’t let himself cum until you do. He still wants to cum together even when he’s not inside you. Kinda romantic ain’t it?

Presses his hand down on your abdomen when you're close. Really pushes that crazy button. 

He will fuck you deep and slow and maintain eye contact the entire time. 

If you’re in a close missionary position, wind your hand through his locks and give it a nice pull. He’ll moannnn for you. 

He's not afraid to moan or whine.

His absolute favorite thing is when you’re in missionary and he’s hovering so close that your noses are swiping against each other with every thrust, he's propped up on one elbow with your fingers intertwined. He knows you’re about to cum so he presses a hand on your abdomen and is chanting and whining for you to cum for him.

“Yeah, baby? You gonna cum for me? Yeah? I want you to cum for me. I want you to cum for me, baby. You look so beautiful when you cum. I love you. Cum for me, baby. S’good when you cum for me.”

“Cum, baby. Cum. I know you want to cum all over me. Mhm. Mhm. That's it.”

Congrats on the baby lol

If it’s been a while, he’ll be a two pump chump. Sorry to break the news. He’ll slide in and then groan and tell you not to move before he’s pulling back out. He’ll go down on you in the meantime. 

“Fuck, baby. You already have me about to cum,” he’ll say with a chuckle as he pulls out and kisses his way down south.

Eats pussy like he’s making love to you with his mouth. Eats pussy like it’s his job. Eats pussy like it's the last time. Y’all remember that one video of the donut eating contest and the dude was passionately eating his donut? That was Jean. He was having flashbacks. Here to see what I'm talking about.

Jean shudders during that first lick and moans the entire time. He does that thing where his eyes roll back and flutter closed before you looks up at you through a half lidded gaze while moaning.

My neck, My Back by Khia was written about him

“Thank you for the meal!” And pretends to have a fork and knife in has hands.

After he’s done, pretends he’s dabbing his mouth with a napkin. “Compliments to the chef.”

“10 out of 10. No notes.”

I’ve said it before, but I’ll say it again. He starts tweaking and crashing out if it's been too long. 

“Baby, I’m losing hearing in my right eye. Queen, please.”

“Let me just get a little taste before you go to work. What? Just a taste. Only a taste, I promise. I promise you won’t be late for work. It’ll be quick.” 

Don’t fall for it because he’s 100% lying and you will be late for work.

“You would deny a starving man? You’re so cruel.”

“Oh, your ear hurts? I think sitting on my face would fix that. What? What do you mean it won’t? Try it and see.”

“I think you riding me right now would solve 95% of the world’s problems.”

"This is it. This is the end. I can see the light. Goodbye cruel world.” As he dramatically falls on the ground pretending he’s dead.

He could be on his deathbed and he'd ask you to put it in his face lol

[jeanwrlds]

thinking about fiancé!jean... driving a black ford truck.... onna hot day.... in a wife beater... sweating... and.. and and andns annd

.ᐟ suggestive, modern setting, lower case, <1k words

its 12 pm on a hot, sunny, unclouded day in june. you and jean are in the process of moving into your first house together, closing a chapter in your lives and opening a new one alongside eachother – unwritten but farseeing into a bright future together.

jean gave you a fat, wet kiss on the cheek as he left to get the last few boxes from your old apartment about 20 minutes ago. his black ford truck rumbled down the neighborhood with connie by his side. you miss him already, even though it's embarrassing to admit.

you wipe away the sweat beads over your brow as you go through the moving boxes labeled with 'kitchen', stacking the plates into a cupboard. your bare feet move around on the cold tiles, the quiet clink of ceramic echoed in the space in a place that was filling up with furniture more and more – making it slowly feel a little bit more like yours.

it's a surreal feeling. you sigh and grab some cups, sliding them into the shelves. you hear the low hum of the truck and the crunch of gravel before you see it pull up, leaving the cup you were about to store on the counter. you wipe your hands on your shorts and walk to the front door which you left open to let a soft breeze in. you lazily lean on the doorframe just in time to watch jean and connie hop out of the truck.

the summer heat clings to everything. jean's wearing a wife beater, toned arms full on display, and messy hair courtesy of running his hand through it so much. you watch shamelessly as he moves to the bed of the truck, opening the latch and lifting a box into his arms like it weighed nothing.

it's a kind of sight that makes you weak in the knees: arms flexing, veins showing, the little huff he let out when he readjusted the box against his chest to get a better grip. you're thankful that connie's there, because god knows if jean would've even made it through the door without you pouncing on him.

jean glances up for just a second and catches you staring, smirks and fucking winks. you look away, and fan your hot face, acting like you didn't just mentally undress your fiancé on your new porch.

he looks back at connie, laughs at an off-handed comment he made and the two head inside the house. you move away from the door, stepping on the hot concrete next to the welcome mat, letting them pass by and set the first round of boxes just past the entryway.

connie makes a beeline for the truck, but jean slows near you, stopping right in front of where you stood. his broad shoulders block the sun, casting a soft shadow over you.

his shirt clings to his chest with the kind of effort that should definetly be illegal. and still, somehow, it isn't that that has your stomach turning. it was his eyes – warm, a little tired, but full of adoration. and a little excitement.

you look inside the house behind you both, then back at him “this is a big step,” you murmur.

jean nods. “yeah.”

"what now?” you ask, voice soft.

he leans his back against the opposite side of the doorframe, body turned to yours. his gaze follows the sidewalk for a second, before they come back to you.

"now.. we make it ours." he nods to the big rock on your ring finger. "get married, have a bunch of kids, make sure that our barbecue's are better than eren and mikasas." he shrugs, grinning when he hears you laugh.

you're smiling from ear to ear. "can we get a cat?"

"i'll get you anything you want." he grabs at your hand, pulling you towards him and slinging an arm around your neck.

you breathe in his scent. “that sounds nice.”

“‘course it’s nice,” he says, leaning in to press a slow, warm kiss to your lips. you sigh against his lips, melting into him and locking your fingers behind his head.

when he pulls back, he stares at you for a second longer – eyes flicking between yours. then, a familiar little grin tugs at the corner of his mouth.

“so… wanna break in the new couch?”

you let out a short laugh, shaking your head. “you're such a dork.”

“yeah,” he shrugs, wrapping his arms around your waist and tugging you gently into him, “but i'm your dork. in our house. with our couch.”

from the truck, connie yells, "you know guys, they invented doors for this exact reason!"

jean and you stare at each other, breaking out into a laugh. you step away from him to let him get back to work.

"i'll be inside," you say, now atleast a foot away from one another, dramatically gripping his hand, letting it slip out and your fingers drag against each other.

he watches you for another moment, huffs out a laugh and shakes his head lightly as he steps back, ready to sock connie's face 'cause he's making gagging noises.

you look away just in time to hear connie scream mercy! i'm fragile! and you snort, going back into the kitchen to finish up sorting everything.

and yeah – you definitely broke in the couch later.

[jeanwrlds]

raw edges ᯓ jean k. x fem!reader

.ᐟ details: smut (18+ MDNI), unprotected sex, vaginal fingering, oral sex (f. receiving), riding, creampie (?), uuuhhh

.ᐟ brief: after eren's raid on liberio leaves you gravely injured, a certain ash-brown haired man makes it his mission to care for you – despite the heartbreak you left him with four years ago, back in the walls. with old wounds still aching – on your back and in his chest – what begins as reluctant aid slowly turns into something more; a boiling pot of heat and unspoken feelings, dangerously close to spilling over.

.ᐟ wc: 3.7k+

.ᐟ log: uuhhhmhmh first post hi :3 *wipes sweaty hands on pants*

It’s become a routine by now. Jean comes to your room after everyone goes to bed, tends the wounds on your back with – what feels like – fewer words exchanged each time, and then leaves with a muttered good night.

That’s all it is. And that’s all it has been for the past week and a half.

You barely remember how you ended up on that airship – only that your body was screaming. The hook snagged on the frame of the airship mid-lift, dragging you mercilessly over a field of rubble remains of war before Jean spotted you. The damn gear was busted – stolen from a dead scout and barely functional. You weren't even fully conscious when he grabbed you mid-air, cursing under his breath as he hauled your bloodied mess into the airship.

Your back was flayed open raw by then.

Now, days later, you’re recovering slowly inside what remained of an old Scout HQ back inside the Walls. You haven’t been to Paradis since Reiner had decided to unveil his and Bertholdt’s purpose for being sent there in the first place, four years ago.

Born in Marley and raised to serve your part in the military, you knew exactly why and for what purpose you were sent to Paradis Island alongside Reiner, Bertholdt, and Annie. You weren’t special. The blood in your veins didn’t carry the power of the Titans like theirs did. You were simply sent to protect them if needed. To sacrifice yourself, if it came down to it.

A proud Marleyan at heart, you couldn’t say no to the opportunity of joining your closest friends on that mission – even if it meant dying in the process.

What you didn’t plan for, though, was falling in love with an Eldian boy named Jean Kirstein.

The boy you shared whispers with beneath your blankets, stolen pieces of bread or meat from dinner for, whose hands stuck flowers found during training in the hair above your ear. His fingers always brushed yours a second too long, and he looked at you like you were the only quiet thing left in a world tearing itself apart.

The boy whose heart you broke into pieces when your true reasons for coming here were revealed.

The building groans with age and war, but it’s a shelter. Jean made it his personal mission to help you, always there with gauze and ointment. Much to your confusion, he’s gentle. Too gentle.

And tonight, like clockwork, you’re waiting.

You just got out of the shower, towel clutched around your body, water dripping from your hair down your spine, stinging a few not-so-healed wounds. The room is dim, lit by a single candle on the dresser, its flame flickering like a heartbeat.

Usually, Jean shows up the moment the sun disappears over the horizon, leaving the Shinganshina district draped in a dark blue hue. So, you time your showers accordingly, making sure to clean yourself thoroughly and put on a fresh pair of sleeping attire.

The door creaks open.

You turn, startled. Jean freezes in the doorway. His amber eyes widen at the sight of you – damp, half-naked, hair dripping.

He blinks once. Twice.

You stand there, caught like a deer in headlights.

“I– I can come back,” he mutters, already stepping back, looking everywhere but at you.

You aren’t sure. Maybe it’s the way he swallows thickly as he looks at you. Or the new candle you had lit tonight, coating the room in a musky, dizzying scent. But you shake your head, the word no rolling off your lips so quickly, you couldn’t have stopped it even if you tried.

Jean freezes, looking at you like he isn’t sure if he heard you correctly. You clear your throat lightly, moving to the edge of your bed.

“Let’s just get this over with–”

Still in only the towel, you perch yourself on the bed on your knees, back turned to him, hiding your burning face by staring at the wall in front of you.

The silence is deafening.

Jean steps inside, the door clicking softly shut behind him. You don’t turn around, but you hear the soft rustle of his uniform as he removes his belts, the clink of buckles as he sets his gear aside. The warmth of the room shifts as he approaches, the scent of him – leather, pine, and something so unmistakably Jean – invading your space.

He takes a seat behind you, dragging a chair over from the lone table in the corner. You can feel his eyes on you. You gather your hair in one hand and sweep it over your shoulder, exposing your back.

Another moment passes.

“Are you just going to stare,” you ask, glancing over your shoulder, “Or are you going to do something?”

The tub of ointment is in his hands, albeit unopened. Staring at your covered back and the balm like he’s hesitating. His eyes snap up to meet yours, and the corner of his mouth twitches.

“Drop the towel for me, will you?”

Your breath catches in your throat. He said it way too easily, way too quick.

You hesitate a beat too long before facing forward again. Then, without a word, you let the towel fall, letting it gather loosely at your waist. Cool air kisses your skin, and you don’t know if that makes you shiver or the fact that you could feel his eyes rake over your back.

The chair creaks.

He starts with the upper scars, like usual, his fingers deft and steady. The ointment is cool at first, a thick clear goop that warms beneath the slow pressure of his hands.

When he reaches your lower back, the towel still covers you modestly, though it’s also covering the last few scars. You take notice of that and are about to move it yourself when his hands gently push the fabric lower, careful not to expose more than necessary. He tucks the towel along the crease of your hip, knuckles grazing bare skin.

If he hears your breath hitch, he doesn’t make it known. He just keeps going, his fingers slowing and lingering, deepening the circles. Apparently, he gets lost in the sensation, too, because he presses too hard on a not-quite-healed scar. You hiss.

“Shit– sorry,” he murmurs, both hands now sweeping up your spine. “You okay?”

You nod, humming and immediately getting engulfed in the feeling of his calloused fingers running up your spine.

His thumbs find your shoulders and begin working out the tension there, drawing slow, firm circles into your skin. You melt. Your eyes flutter closed.

You don’t want to ruin this – whatever this is.

But the question has been living in your bones since the moment you woke up in the airship. You buried it under irony and silence. It festered there, quietly, a wound of its own.

His hands work methodically, almost reverently, and your body betrays you.

“…Why did you save me?”

The words slip out – barely a whisper. You feel his hands pause on your shoulders, and your body almost betrays you again when you have to bite back a whine.

The silence that follows was so loud you almost wish you could take it back and just pretend you said nothing.

He exhales through his nose. You startle when his hand comes over your shoulder to gather your damp hair again. He lets it fall down your back like a waterfall, covering the scars.

You feel his hesitation before he finally answers.

“I didn’t think. I just…” He combs his hand through your damp strands, once, twice. “…saw you.”

Your breath hitches at the same time he removes his hand from your hair.

An arm moves up to cover your chest as you turn slightly to say something – anything – but froze.

Jean is standing up. You’re face-to-face with his crotch, his body towering over you. You look up slowly, heart slamming into your ribs. He stares down at you, eyes locked with yours and gaze carrying an emotion you can’t quite pinpoint.

You swallow. “Thank you.” A weak attempt of trying to lighten up the sudden and heavy semblance your question spurred.

He doesn’t answer. Just swallows thickly, throat bobbing, and nods tightly once.

He turns to put the supplies away, and you pull your towel back up – but only barely, clutching it with one hand. You lean back on your other arm, watching him.

His sleeves are rolled up now, veins and muscles flexing as he moves. You’re shameless as you watch him, a fleet burst of heat runs from your neck down right into your abdomen.

He turns – and stops cold.

Jean finds his mouth dry as he allows his eyes to roam over you – softly, heatedly. The towel barely clings to your body, a sliver of skin visible at your waist. Your legs are relaxed across the sheets like some work of art.

You look straight out of an oil painting. The candle’s warm hue casts over your totally immoderately covered body–

He shakes his head and steps forward slowly, gaze still locked with yours. When his shins hit the bed he reaches out a hand and places it over yours – the one holding the towel with a grip that makes your knuckles white.

You don’t look away. You can’t.

“Jean,” you whisper.

It’s like the way you whisper his name makes something stir inside him. He just pulls your hand away, the towel falling open. Your nipples are pulled taut and your chest rises and falls with each breath you take – you could almost say you’re panting.

He doesn’t allow himself to look, though. Instead, he’s watching you. Watching your face. Your lips. Like he’s giving you an out. Like he’s giving you a chance to lift the towel back up and to tell him to leave, to get out–

But you’re not taking that chance.

It takes minimal effort to raise yourself up on your knees and to press your lips to his in a soft, slow kiss.

You only part for a second or two to catch your breath, when Jean pulls you back to him by your shoulders, slamming your lips together in a messy kiss.

It’s all teeth and tongue and spit but you couldn’t care less, not when you feel hot all over and his stubble tickles your chin and he’s so careful not to touch your back after all the good work he did by cleaning your wounds up.

You claw at his uniform, then. Nimble fingers work at his shirt and you run your hands under it, over his built chest. Jean groans into the kiss when he feels your nails on his stomach, his cock getting harder with every passing second.

“Off,” you mumble into his mouth, impatiently pulling the garment up. He complies, breaking the kiss, but following it with a wet peck right after. Like he can’t not kiss you right now.

You fall back on your ass and move up to the headboard, watching him strip from his shirt and moving to take off his pants, too. You forget all about the few unhealed cuts you still have on your back and lean into the bed, stopping short when you feel a pinch in your lower back.

Jean, working on getting his pants off now, hears your hiss and snaps his head up, concerned gaze fleeting over your face.

“Shit–” He stumbles, almost ripping the second pant leg off and climbing on the bed and over your form. “Careful,” He urges, lifting you into a seated position by your shoulders.

“I’m good, I just–” you start, pushing yourself upright, unfurling your spine as you try to stretch as gently as possible. “My lower back–”

He cuts you off by swiftly flipping you around on your stomach and pushing you down into the mattress. You barely register it, trying to push yourself up, ready to snap Jean a questioning glare when– oh.

Your whole body shivers when one of his hands moves your hair out of the way, while the other rubs at your inner thigh – dangerously close to your aching core. You gasp and arch your hips off the bed when he moves to the other thigh. “Jean–”

“I got you.” A whisper, followed by a feather light kiss on your shoulder.

He places kisses all over the wounds on your back, and keeps rubbing your inner thighs. You’re all over the place, panting and dripping without even being touched where you needed it most.

Head dropping into the pillow, fingers twisting in the sheets – you let out a long moan when he finally pushes in a finger, not wasting time in pushing in a second, too.

“Fuck,” Jean curses, watching in awe as your cunt squelched with every thrust. “This all for me?”

You nod feverishly, pushing yourself slightly onto your knees and rocking back onto his fingers. “Yes,” you gasp, and he adds another finger, all three of his long digits reaching the gummy spot in your walls easily.

He senses that you’re close and quickens the pace when you start chanting something along the lines of yesyesyesyes and jeanpleasedontstop’msoclose. You almost scream when he replaces his fingers with his mouth, licking and eating you out through your orgasm which hits you full force.

Eyes squeezing shut and legs almost locking around his head, you ride your high out on his tongue, only stopping when the overstimulation is too much.

He gives your clit one last suck before removing his mouth with a wet plop. He clambers over your body up to your face, and finds you already staring, eyes glossed over and lower lip flushed as if you have been biting down on it.

His lips lift up into a dorky smile. “You taste so good,”

You snort, reaching your hand back and pulling his face down to yours, messily kissing him, not at all caring about your slick that’s all over his lips and chin.

Jean lays down next to you and you break the kiss, looking down to see a tent in his boxers, a dark patch on the tip of it. You place your hand on his abdomen, raking your nails over his happy trail and enjoying the way his breath hitches and his cock twitches in his briefs.

Reaching into them, you grab his stiff cock and pull it out, while Jean helps by pulling his boxers down completely, throwing them somewhere off the bed. He’s leaking like crazy, a drop of precum escaping his flushed tip.

He releases a shaky breath when you start pumping him up and down slowly, squeezing every time you pass his tip. At one point he grabs your chin and turns your face towards him, kissing you sloppily and groaning into your mouth.

You kiss down his neck and twist your hand around his tip, slicking up your own fingers with his precum.

“Shi–it,” he stutters, grabbing your wrist to halt your movements. You stop your sloppy kisses and sucks on his neck and look up at him, confused. “If you keep doin’ that ‘m not gonna last long.” He’s panting, swallowing to keep his throat from drying up.

With one movement you throw your leg around him, settling on his legs, his cock standing up straight right against your stomach. Jean watches with a slacked jaw as you move your hair to drape along your back again, giving him a full view of your body. The way your tits bounce at the act, and the way his tip almost reaches your belly button. Almost.

You perch your arms on his abdomen, his hands grab at your hips, your waist, your tits, groping them and running his thumbs back and forth over your nipples. You squirm, your cunt still dripping with arousal and coating the hairs on his balls.

“You’re unreal,” he swallows. “Fuck.”

You bite your lip to suppress a smile, but it comes through anyway. Lifting your hips, you align his tip with your entrance and sink down languidly. The moment his tip slips into your hole, Jean hisses and grips your hips, nails digging into your skin.

“Oh my fucking–” He starts, getting cut off by a moan that climbed up his throat. As he watches himself disappear into your cunt he has to stop himself from slamming you down his whole length himself. When you finally bottom out, the two of you moan. You throw your head back and grind back and forth a few times, getting used to the delicious stretch.

You sink back up and down again, quicker this time, and repeat that motion a few times until you start riding him fully, supporting your weight on his chest. Jean’s deep groans make you ridiculously wet, his cock slick and sinking into you with an obscene squelsh.

“Jean,” you mewl, digging your nails into his chest. “You’re so–” your gasp cuts your sentence short when his cock hits that velvety spot inside you so good you cried out.

“I’m so what?” he asks, halting your bouncing and moving you back and forth, down onto his pelvis, his thumb catching onto your clit and rubbing it in circles. He watches your expressions closely, the way your eyes screw shut and your mouth drops open. “Hm?”

You mewl as he presses down on your clit harder, opening your eyes to look at him. “Big, Jean. You’re so big.” You accentuate your words with a particular hard grind and a grip of your inner walls that made Jean moan out and throw his head back.

“Baby,” Grabbing your jaw, he pulls you down to his face and kisses you feverishly. Jean then reaches between you two, splaying his hands on your ass cheeks.

He bends his legs at the knees, plants his feet on the bed, breaks the kiss and all in one motion delivers a harsh thrust up into your cunt. Your brain turns into mush right then and there. You drop your body onto his and stutter out a moan, forehead meeting his shoulder.

The sudden brutal pace he decides to set makes you squeal followed by a shout of his name, forgetting all about the other scouts in the next rooms trying to sleep. There’s sweat beads building up on Jean’s forehead, and his brows are furrowed, focused on the task at hand.

He lets out a deep growl when he feels your nails dig into his shoulders, followed by your teeth sinking into his skin to muffle your moans. His cock hits deeper with every thrust, abusing your g-spot as if it knew exactly where to find it.

“Yesyesyes–” you babble to your best ability, with your jaw still biting down on his flesh. “Oh, ‘m g’na cum,”

“Yeah? Shit,” He keeps hitting that spot in your walls that makes your eyes roll back into your head and your toes curl.

Jean abruptly sits up with you, moving his hands to your hips and helping you bounce in his lap. You latch off his skin and lock your arms around his neck, lifting your hips and smashing them back down to his.

“Gonna cum with me, yeah?” He asks breathlessly and you nod, moaning with each thrust. You lock your lips with his when you feel the white-hot pleasure building up in your abdomen, gasping into his mouth when it travels all the way up your body.

His lips part from yours when he feels your body shudder, and removes his iron grip from your hips to grab your face, combing back your hair to witness the pleasure glaze over your eyes as you come undone on his lap.

Jean watches in admiration as your brows furrow, gaze traveling all over his face, moaning through your o-shaped, almost raw-kissed lips. You’re still bouncing on his dick, fucking yourself through your orgasm.

In the midst of all this, Jean feels his own orgasm building up, moving one hand back down to your hip to guide you to bounce quicker, harder. With one last, particularly hard slam down onto his lap, he buries himself deep within you, releasing a guttural moan as he fills you up.

Your cum, as well as his, slide down his balls as you both try to catch your breath, sweat-slicked bodies pressed together. Your forehead drops to his and you give him a chaste kiss on the lips.

When you two part, you look into his eyes and sigh. He watches you intently, his fingers lightly trailing up and down your back.

Jean says your name at the same time you say his, and you two break out into a little laugh. When he motions for you to go first, you open your mouth and let the words you’ve been wanting to tell him for so long slip out.

“I’m really sorry. For–” You shake your head, looking down at his Adam's apple bobbing up and down in a swallow to avoid his intense gaze. “Everything. I–” You choke up.

“Hey,” Jean cooes, moving a hand to your jaw and tilting your head up so he can look into your eyes. “Don’t– don’t do that right now, okay?” He shakes his head at you, genuinely hating the way your eyes gloss over.

He knows exactly what you’re referring to. He wants to talk about the betrayal and anger he felt four years ago as much as you did, but he just wants to enjoy this moment a little longer.

And as much as he hated to admit it; he missed you. Way too much to be deemed healthy.

You stare at him, swallowing down any sobs that were building up in your throat. His heart clenched. “Whatever you want to say – we’re doing that tomorrow, alright?”

Nodding, you slide your hands down to his chest, suddenly extremely hyperaware of your and his slick sticking to your thighs. And apparently, he is too.

“..And preferably not when I’m still inside you.” Jean says, a lazy smile growing on his face.

You snort.

You and him both hiss as you raise yourself to stand on your knees to let his softening dick slide out of you. Jean grabs the back of your thighs as he stands and lifts you with him, relishing the way you squeal at the sudden movement.

“C’mon,” Bouncing you up once in his arms, making you laugh. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

[jeanwrlds]

GENERAL BLOG INFO

hi welcome to my blog! i am fairly new to this whole writing thing but have been on tumblr for a good 2 years or so and got super inspired to start writing myself! i wrote down some ideas of fics i wanted to write and thought, why not share them with the world !!

.ᐟ this blog will be focusing on (smutty) x reader fics, and since im pretty new to this whole thing i will (for now) be writing about female readers only, cause its easier for me. cos im a girl :p

.ᐟ dark content is something i don't/will not write. that includes any type of abuse (sexual, emotional, physical), grooming, kidnapping, stalking, dubcon/noncon, any cests there are such as incest, stepcest, etc etc.

.ᐟ excludes: underage (sex, drinking), addiction (drugs, alcohol) -> though these are excluded, i'm not gonna be primarily writing about these nor are they reoccurring topics in my fics, but i am not opposed to them and will try to include them once in a while, if i can execute it well!

.ᐟ i have absolute no schedule and order that im posting in, but i will try my best to update frequently!

.ᐟ i will mostly do drabbles/one shots.

.ᐟ i apologize if i dont tag something right/dont tag it at all. this whole thing is a learning by doing for me so figuring out how to tag correctly is part of it lol. if i forget a tag in a story pls make sure to lmk!! and i will edit accordingly.

.ᐟ the character i primarily write for is (surprise surprise) jean kirstein (wether its in the aot setting or modern au). however i rlly js switch it up once in a while depending on who my current obsession is.

RULES

.ᐟ absolutely no homophobia, racism, any hateful comments towards religions, zionism or political themes allowed on this blog. if ur acting one of these out in my asks or my comments, you're getting blocked.

.ᐟ if it hasn't been obvious: MDNI!! ageless blogs will also be getting blocked.

.ᐟ like i said i post irregularly, so please don't try to rush me or beg for part 2's of one shots i don't want to do part 2's for. if i state i'm gonna make one, then i will.

.ᐟ you can send me porn links through asks.

.ᐟ no comparing to other authors/author's works.

BTW

i will be updating this as i go so some things might change in the future!