Please a Jean Kirstein fic!! Fluff when they were cadets and she thought he was in love with Mikasa but he actually was in love with her.
3k words — main masterlist
Pining over a boy who had no interest in you.
You’ve spent most of your cadet years watching Jean, sneaking small glances across the training field, sitting closer and closer to him every day in the cafeteria, fuck even going as far as “accidentally” running into him during ODM gear training.
It never seemed to matter.
Because no matter where you stood, no matter how loud you laughed at one of Connie’s stupid jokes or how many excuses you found to strike up a conversation with him, Jean’s attention always wandered somewhere else.
Anyone with functioning eyes could see the way Jean looked at her. The lingering stares during hand-to-hand combat. The way he'd unconsciously straighten his posture whenever she walked by. How he'd try—usually unsuccessfully—to act a little cooler whenever she was within earshot.
Connie certainly didn't help.
"Damn," he'd whistle whenever Mikasa crossed the mess hall. "There goes Jeans future wife"
Jeans face would immediately flush red.
Connie only laughed harder.
The entire table would erupt into teasing while Jean buried his face in his tray, grumbling insults under his breath.
Every single time, your appetite disappears.
Because what else were you supposed to think?
You'd quietly excuse yourself, claiming you had extra training to finish, when in reality you just needed somewhere private to wallow in your own embarrassment.
It wasn't that you blamed Jean.
Beautiful without trying. Incredibly strong. Calm, composed, and capable of taking down half the cadet corps before breakfast if she really wanted to.
Compared to her, you were...
Strong enough to keep up.
Forgettable enough that instructors rarely had anything to say about you besides, "Good."
Never exceptional, never breathtaking...just good.
So eventually, you stopped hoping. You settled for friendship.
Or at least that's what you kept telling yourself—
"You're drifting." Jean's voice snapped you out of your thoughts just before your practice blade collided with his shoulder instead of the wooden sword in his hands.
"You've been staring at me for the last thirty seconds." Heat crawled up your neck.
He raised an eyebrow. "…You definitely have."
"Liar," he said, the word drawn out with a smug little grin that made the corner of his mouth twitch. His eyes narrowed at you in obvious disbelief, and he tilted his head just enough to look annoyingly pleased with himself.
His grin was so smug and unbearably pleased with itself that it made you want to knock it right off his face, preferably with something heavy enough to leave a mark.
Instead, you shoved his shoulder with yours, hoping the impact would wipe that expression off him for at least a second.
Instead Jean barely stumbled, letting out a short breathy laugh.
"There she isss" he drags in words out. A grin tugging at his mouth as his gaze landed on you across the training field.
"What?" you quirk your eyebrow.
"You've been weird all morning."
Jean's voice was light, but there was a sharpness under it as he adjusted his stance, sweat darkening the collar of his training shirt.
"You've been distracted."
He narrowed his eyes, stepping in just close enough to make you shift your weight. "You almost took my head off."
You rolled your eyes and lifted your blade again, trying to sound casual even as your pulse kicked up. "Isn't that the point of sparring?"
"Not if you're aiming for me."
"I was aiming for your ego."
He barked out a laugh, loud enough that a few nearby cadets glanced over before returning to their own matches.
For a brief moment, it was easy.
Whenever it was just the two of you, the stupid jokes came naturally. The teasing, the comfortable silence in between exchanges. Sometimes you could almost fool yourself into believing there was something more buried beneath it all.
Jean's attention shifted for half a second.
It was barely there, so slight most people would have missed it entirely, but you had spent two years noticing every little thing, and that was what made it hurt.
Jean frowned, his brows knitting together as confusion settled across his face.
"I'm tired," you muttered, wiping the sweat from your brow and forcing your breathing to steady.
"You never quit early," Jean said, frowning as he lowered his practice blade.
"I said I'm tired," you repeated, sharper this time, already stepping back and turning away.
Without waiting for another response, you turned and walked toward the equipment racks.
Jean watched you leave, confusion written all over his face.
"You've got to tell her," Marco said, not even bothering to look up from the straps he was tightening around his gear. Jean groaned from where he sat on the bench beside him.
"I know," Jean muttered, dragging a hand down his face.
Marco gave him a flat look, still tightening the straps on his gear. "No, seriously."
Jean let out a tired breath and leaned back against the bench, staring up at the ceiling as if it might offer him some kind of answer. "I know."
"You've been saying 'I know' for six months."
Jean scrubbed a hand over his face.
"I don't understand what happened."
"She used to..." He swallowed hard, staring down at his hands as if the right words might be hiding there. "...Smile more."
The confession came out so quietly it was almost swallowed by the chatter filling the training field , and Jean’s voice softened with the kind of nostalgia that made it sound like he was reaching back for something he could almost touch—you'd sit next to him, wait after drills without being asked, actually start conversations that made the long days feel lighter, and every memory seemed to linger on his face like he was only just realizing how much he missed the way things used to be.
"Now it's like she's avoiding me."
Marco sighed. "Have you considered asking her why?"
Jean gave him a look. "Brilliant. Really, Marco, I don't know how I ever would have survived without that insight."
"I'm serious," Marco said, finally looking up from the straps he was tightening.
"And what do I say?" Jean asked, throwing his hands up in frustration.
"'Hey, why do you keep running away every time I get within five feet of you?'"
Jean let out a dry laugh.
It was childish. You knew it.
But every smile felt dangerous now. Every conversation gave you hope you couldn't afford to have.
So you started sitting with Sasha instead, partnering with Historia during drills, volunteering for different squads whenever assignments allowed.
If Jean wanted to talk to you, he still could. You just weren't going to make it easy anymore.
If he was going to fall in love with Mikasa eventually...
You figured it would hurt less if you started letting go now.
It was hard for Jean not to notice everything you did.
The first day of cadet training? He noticed how you would always bite the inside of your cheek when anxious or concentrated.
The moment you two officially became friends? He noticed how the flesh beneath your eyes would crinkle together whenever you laughed.
The minute you stopped sitting at his table? He noticed.
He figured you simply wanted a change of pace. He'd watch you laugh with Sasha from across the mess hall and told himself he was reading too much into it.
By the end of the week, you were volunteering for different training groups, disappearing before he could catch up after drills, and somehow always finding a reason to be somewhere else whenever he walked into a room.
He'd be lying if he said it didn't bother him.
Connie looked up from his lunch, a half-eaten bread roll dangling from his fingers as he chewed lazily.
Jean nodded toward you across the mess hall.
Connie followed his gaze. You were laughing quietly with Sasha and Ymir now, despite having started lunch on the opposite side of the room.
"And she keeps switching partners during training."
Jean's brows pinched together.
"So... she never used to."
Every morning, you'd somehow end up next to him. During training, you were always his partner. At meals, you'd claim the seat across from him before anyone else could. Study sessions inevitably found the two of you shoulder to shoulder, bickering over notes more than actually studying. It had become so routine that Jean had stopped noticing it—until it was gone.
Now, you always found someone else to stand beside, someone else to laugh with, someone else to fill the seat that had once felt naturally his.
Connie slowly lowered his bread.
"I think she's avoiding you."
Jean let out a humorless laugh.
Connie raised an eyebrow.
"I mean..." Jean rubbed the back of his neck. "Maybe? But I didn't do anything."
"I barely even talked to her this week!"
"Exactly," Marco muttered from beside him, not even looking up from the notebook he'd been reading.
"What does that mean?" He spits, eyes narrowing.
Marco finally lifted his head, giving him a patient look—the kind reserved for someone spectacularly missing the obvious.
"It means," he said, closing the notebook with a soft thud, "you went from talking to her every chance you got to... what? A few greetings in passing?"
"I figured she'd understand."
Marco let out a quiet sigh, setting his notebook down on the table.
"Jean, people notice when your behavior changes. Especially when that behavior revolves around one specific person."
"I wasn't acting differently."
"You were," Marco replied calmly. "Maybe you didn't mean to, but you were. You stopped seeking her out. You stopped waiting for her after drills. You stopped talking to her unless she spoke first."
"Especially girls," he added through another bite of bread. "Trust me, they notice everything. You can think you're being subtle, but if you suddenly stop doing something you've always done? Yeah, they're gonna notice."
Jean can only remained quiet while his friends tore him a new one.
"You still haven't told her?" Macro groaned.
"Told her what?" Connie asked, looking between the two of them in genuine confusion.
Jean answered before Marco could intervene.
Jean frowed at how dense his friend was. "What do you mean, who?"
"Who do you like?" Connie pressed on.
Jean stared at him as though the answer was painfully obvious. "..Her.." Jean nodded his head, pointing across the mess hall where you sat with Sasha, Mikasa and Ymir.
"...Jean." Connie looked at the ash-brunette dumbfounded. "There are four girls over there..."
"Jesus christ connie its [name]" Macro puffs out in frustration.
Connie's brows furrowed as if he was in deep thought, eyes moving back and forth, finally putting the pieces together as he mouth agapes.
Jean lunges over, slapping a firm hand over Connie's mouth before he could spill the secret.
"Shutthefuckup" Jeans words mesh together in a low, harsh whisper as he releases the mans face.
"You like [name]?" Connie with wide eyes and dropped jaw asks. "...hold on." his brows pressed together once more.
Jean immediately didn't like that tone "What?"
"I thought you liked Mikasa"
There was a long silence between the three of them.
Not the comfortable kind. The kind that made even Marco stop turning the page of his notebook.
Connie frowned as if Jean was the strange one.
"You know....The staring...and the blushing..."
Jean and Macro only stare at The bald man in front of them.
"The whole..." Connie waved both hands around dramatically. "'Looking at her every five seconds' thing.
"I have never liked Mikasa"
For a moment, Connie just sat there in silence, looking genuinely betrayed by the information. "Then why are you always staring at her?"
Heat grows upon Jean cheeks, not from embarrassment, but from the prickling frustration of over-explaining himself. “I’ve been looking past her…at [name]“
Connie shoves the last bite of his bread roll into his mouth, chewing obnoxiously before swallowing the dry dough.
“Well, does she know that?”
Marco lifts his head up from his notebook slightly to catch a glimpse of his best friend’s eyes. The realization hit them harder than bricks.
Across the mess hall, your laughter had grown faint, with the noise of distant chatter and the sound of Mikasa's name catching your ears, you knew what the boy who had captured your heart was talking about.
The weight sat deep in your core as you tried to push through it, tried to laugh at whatever joke Ymir was spitting out to ‘impress’ Christa, or what food Sasha was scarfing down in such a hurry, or who mikasa was so fixated on—
Your thoughts were scattered, heart threatening to beat right through your chest and hands fidgeting on the hem of your blouse as your feet moved on their own.
“I’ll be right back” your voice is small amongst the crowd as you make your way out the crowded mess hall. Soft brown eyes follow your every movement, jeans heart beating in the same rhythm as yours.
The voice was disoriented. Merely mumbles compared to Jean's overwhelming consciousness
Does she think I’ve been looking at Mikasa this whole time…?
His eyes were only for you.
The way he straightened himself when you were around? Was for you.
The way he would make Connie laugh extra loud at one of his jokes? Was for you
Fuck, he would even save the last few bites of his food just for you—despite Sasha complaints.
Marcos' voice rings loudly through the mess hall, catching the attention of the other cadets before they go back to what they were doing in the first place.
“Jean, what are you doing?” Marco groans in frustration, “go after her”
And without hesitation, Jean is on the move. The bench scraped loudly against the floor as he shoved himself upright, nearly knocking it over in the process.
Connie rested his cheek on his folded fist, "Look at him go", a grin growing on his face.
Marco could only pinch the bridge of his nose, "It only took him two years"
The afternoon air was cool againts your skin.
You hadn't realized how fast you'd been walking until the mess hall had long disappeared behind you, replaced by the quiet stretch of dirt path that led toward the training ground.
You stopped near the wooden fence overlooking the fields, gripping the rough wood until your knuckles turned white.
You squeezed your eyes shut.
It wasn't fair to cry over someone who'd never never been yours.
You knew Jean liked mikasa. You knew for years. So why did hearing her name still make your chest ache? It's nothing against her, it's not her fault the boy you love wants her.
Your entire body stiffened. You turn slowly.
Jean stood several feet away breathing harder than he should have been from such a short run—probably all the nerves—His chest rose and fell quickly, strands of ash-brown hair sticking to his forehead.
Until Jean finally caught his break and broke the silence. "..You've—ha—been avoiding me" he gasps between the words. Like a dying campfire throwing off its very last spark.
You scoff as if what he just said was a lie, as if you haven't been purposely switching training partners or changing your seat just to avoid him.
A small arrogant smirk spreads on your face, brows furrowing ad your head tilts back in disbelief. "No I havent" you huff.
"Yes". Jean bites in frustration, his eyes never leaving yours.
"Yes, you have." he voices softer this time.
You look away faster than needed too, "I've just been busy, Jean...you know trying to get into Levi's squad is tough" you chuckle a little, trying to ease the tension with senseless humor.
Jean lets out a breathy "Hm", a sound of amusement from your joke.
He's always admired that about you, how you could smile through your own hurt, tuck your feelings away behind a quiet laugh, and convince everyone around you that you were perfectly fine. Even now, standing in front of him with that same practiced composure, he could see the strain beneath it. The smile didn't quite reach your eyes. Your fingers gripped the fence just a little too tightly.
And suddenly, every speech he'd rehearsed on the run over here felt pointless. He didn't want to dance around the truth anymore or waste another second pretending. If he didn't say it now, he wasn't sure he'd ever find the courage again. So he swallowed hard, met your eyes, and decided to cut straight to the chase.
"Do you think I like Mikasa?" He blurted before courage could fail him.
A short, disbelieving laugh escaped you. You shook your head, almost smiling despite yourself. "I mean...it's kind of obvious."
He frowned and tilted his head, "Obvious...?"
"Your always staring at her, you blush whenever she's around, you get all weird whenever she talks to you and half the cadets think you've been in love with her since we enlisted a-and--
"You" is the only word the lump in his throat will let him speak.
The word cuts you off from your previous sentence and train of thought. You blinked, the smile slowly fading from your face as you looked at him.
Jean swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. He hadnt meant to interrupt you so abruptly, but the way you spoke--so certain, so convinced that every look, every blush, every moment had been for someone else--made something in him ache.
"Ive been in love with you since we enlisted" His voice was quieter this time.
Just as he was before, you now had that very same lump in your throat.
Jean stared at you for a moment, like he was finally seeing how badly he had let you misunderstand everything.
"I've been trying to tell you for so long," he admitted, the words suddenly spilling out faster than he could control. "Every time I looked at her, you were standing there. Every time I got nervous, it was because you were around. I never cared about Mikasa like that, I was just too much of an idiot to realize you thought I did."
He let out a shaky breath, running a hand through his hair.
"It's always been you. The way you laugh, the way you pretend everything is fine even when it's not, the way you somehow make everyone around you feel better without even trying. I don't know when it happened, but somewhere along the way, you became the person I looked for in every room."
"I've been in love with you for years."
And before he could continue, before he could start rambling his way into another explanation, you grabbed the front of his jacket and kissed him.
All Jean could do was freeze. Completely, utterly speechless.
When you pulled away, he blinked at you in disbelief.
"...Was that your way of telling me to shut up?"
A small grin tugged at his lips. "...I was making a really good point."
You raised an eyebrow. "You were rambling."
"You were rambling while confessing." Jean sighed, but the smile on his face gave him away. "You're never letting me forget this, are you?"
"Not a chance." A wide smile plasters itself on your face, making the apples of your cheeks pop.
He shook his head, letting out a quiet laugh as he looked at you."Unbelievable."
"You love me." The words slipped out so naturally that they caught both of you off guard.
Jean froze for a moment before his expression softened. "Yeah," he admitted quietly. "I do."
There was no hesitation this time. No nerves, no second guessing, no trying to hide behind excuses.Just the truth. Your smile grew as you stepped closer, your hands finding their way back to the front of his jacket.
"Because I love you too" the words aren't higher than a whisper, ghosting his lips as you pull him down to capture them once more.
This time he didn't freeze.
Jean's arms slowly wrapped around you, pulling you closer as if he was afraid this moment would disappear if he let go. The warmth of you against him felt unreal—like something he had only ever imagined during the quiet moments when he allowed himself to hope.
authors note — in the process of cleaning out all my asks and drafts 💔
turnnoffyourmind
germansingergirl
discoholicmusic
gummygunk
