Jean Kirstein f!reader 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔
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.
“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.
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 😔.
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