#<3.jean

[flwrbo]

tiktok time

so i saw a tiktok of a chubby woman getting lifted by her boyfriend with one hand and it changed my brain chemistry.... so we're gonna do it with the aot men! - cw : some negative self-reflection briefly in levi's & armin's but it gets proven wrong IMMEDIATELY! , drinking in jean's , hate comments. we do not support self-hate here yall, the more there is to love, the better. (don't get me wrong, this is for everyone but curated specifically for my thick sisters <3) characters : (levi, jean, armin)

Levi ↴

He would grumble about it at first, thinking it was stupid to have to prove to anyone his strength capabilities, especially when the implication was that you were too heavy? Ridiculous. He despised the idea of having random internet strangers view his height and make assumptions on what he was capable of, knowing damn well he could bench press the weight of anyone who would even dare make a negative comment. "It's okay, Levi. If you think I'm too heavy, you don't have to-" That got him to stand up immediately. He could put his slight irritation to the side if it meant proving to you that it was such a baseless issue; of course he could lift you. Over his head, no doubt, but you'd probably squirm too much, and he doesn't want to risk potentially dropping (and hurting) you. So he'd have to put the showboating on the back burner.

"Set the damn camera up." He grumbled, running a hand through his hair. Your squeal and giggle were enough for him to realize that this would be worth it. You did a quick run-through of some semblance of a script, going in one ear and out of the other.

He watched as you tugged at your clothing, fixing your hair in the camera before setting up the song and phone's angle. A quick thumbs up towards him let him know it was on.

You started lip syncing to some song, when he noticed you were moving your hips a little too good. Before he could think about his actions, he was in frame, grabbing your waist with one arm and hoisting you over his shoulder, covering your ass with his other hand protectively. You were politely walked out of frame while he had a scowl on his face.

"Levi!" You giggled, still in his arm as he walked you to the couch. "That was not in the script!"

He just shrugged. "Change of plans."

Safe to say, one take was more than enough. The entire comment section was filled to the brim with "i'm totally not jealous at all." and "we love a protective man". You had more than your share of fun scrolling through the public's thoughts while lying on Levi's chest, giggling at more of the scathingly jealous, hilarious ones.

Jean ↴

Your video wasn’t curated with the idea of being a trend. Your group had been out at the bar, enjoying the feeling of finally not having work to do. One catch-up drink turned into three, which turned into a darts tournament where the losers had to take shots. Sasha was the reigning champion, followed second by your boyfriend. You, however, had been dead last. The drunkest of the group, all walking down the night-drawn city streets. You’d been stumbling, giggling, happy to breathe in the fresh cold air that burned your lungs in the best of ways. You were with your trio, Connie almost as drunk as you, as your arms wrapped around each other’s shoulders, singing along to some random tune the two of you made up.

Sasha had her camera out, taking snap videos which you assumed would be spliced together and posted somewhere. No one ever thought too much about it, happy to just be comfortable and let the excited brunette have her fun.

You’d lost your grip on Connie’s shoulders, stumbling on some randomly placed rock on the ground, but your boyfriend was too quick.

Jean grabbed your arm to stop you from falling on your ass, using his grip to pull you into his arms. A small sound of shock leaves your mouth as your center of gravity is thrown off, found only when you glanced up into your boyfriend’s brown eyes. Your purse is dangling from your hand, strewn over one of his strong arms. “Well, hello, soldier.” You winked, giggling as you fell into his comfortable embrace.

Sasha grinned behind her phone, happy to have captured that moment. Jean rolled his eyes lovingly. “Hello, my lovely drunk girlfriend,”

Your words were slightly slurring as you rebuttal “You’re the one who wiped me in darts. This is your fault,” thrusting a well manicured finger into his chest.

He just smirked and hummed, not showing any sign of putting you down on your feet.

Sasha got to editing when she got home, cutting only the clip of the beginning of your fall. She’d hoped you wouldn’t be mad at her for publicizing her stumble but she’s sure you’d forgive her after seeing how romantic the rest of the video is.

Once her video took off, she sent the link to the group chat. Connie replied with some gagging emoji. You and Jean took a little while to respond, scrolling through the comments.

“They’re eating you up!” You grin, showing him the comment section. Troves of hilarious reaction photos in the comment sections, jokes about not having a boyfriend, and a few people asking where you got your dress from.

He peers over your shoulder, a small laugh pulling from his chest. “They’re giving me too much credit. I just didn’t want to hear you and Connie finish that god awful song.”

You smack his chest, rolling your eyes lovingly.

Armin ↴

This was more or less his idea. He saw a comment on one of your videos of a cute outfit check together, a less-than-graceful comment implying he wouldn't be able to lift you. He tried to ignore it as much as he could, but he couldn't wipe the thought from his brain. He considered bringing this new video idea up to you, but wondered if it would be pushing you too far.

He brings it up on a lazy day, the two of you just relaxing. "I have a TikTok idea, would you like to make one with me?"

Your eyebrows raise, surprised. Armin was always more than happy to indulge in your content when it pleased you, but he was more comfortable on the sidelines to support you. So, you bit.

He pulled up his phone to show you the trend someone else did, watching your reaction closely to make sure he wasn't crossing a boundary he didn't know about. Your eyes held a lot of emotions in a quick flash, but the video didn't finish a second loop before you shrugged your shoulders. "If you want to, let's do it!"

You weren't exactly excited about it, but in fear of coming across as if you were doubting your boyfriend's strength, you agreed. Every decision Armin made was calculated and thought out. He never bites off more than he can chew. So, you trusted him.

He grinned, wiping his hands on his bottoms. "Let's go, then!"

Your eyes glanced down at your lazy day outfit, then back to him. "Like this?"

Blond hair takes over your sight, his lips pressing to yours. "Absolutely. You look perfect."

He sets the camera and sound up on your phone while you sit and wait, happily. He beckons you over, pulling you into frame. The camera has already started, you realize out of the corner of your eye as he leans down to kiss your hand. Your feet suddenly sweep from under you as he uses that hand to pull you up into his arms, cradling you sweetly. He sends a syrupy sweet smile to the camera right before the song cuts off, and a replay of the video starts.

You look up at him, bewildered. His smile morphs into something softer, a sweet kiss being placed onto your forehead before your feet touch the floor again.

You don't realize until later, once the algorithm lifts your video into the high heavens, that Armin had attached that video to the hateful comment. Your eyes widened when the original commenter left a new one on the post. "My bad." With no less than a hundred people at his throat in his replies. The rest of the comments were applauding you two, calling you a power couple. When you flash the comment in Armin's face with a quirked eyebrow, he has a glint in his eyes. He removes your phone from your hand and forces your attention onto the television instead. "Don't worry about that, beautiful." He handled it already.

[flwrbo]

and you still want it (the inner sanctity)

jean kirstein x f!reader (1.5k words) smutty & angsty

(summary : you know jean loves her, and you know you'll only ever have a small piece of him. but for now, that's okay. based on twilight by boa)

cw : unhealthy situationships , cigarettes , non - graphic smut (mdni)

The door shuts behind you as you walk in, throwing your work bag down on the table with a heavy sigh. “Jean?” your voice calls out through the empty hallways. You pull your hair out of its ponytail as you walk up the staircase, sighing the long day out of your body.

You make your way to his bedroom, seeing the door slightly ajar. The shower can be heard through the open bathroom door, steaming the mirrors up. You pretend not to see the knit sweater or smell the flowery perfume in the air as you shed your work clothes off, heading into the shower.

“Hi there,” The brunette smiles down at you, water glistening on his skin. “You scared me.”

Your hand moves before you can stop it, pushing his wet hair out of his eyes. “Sorry,” you mumble.

He catches your hands in his, squeezing softly before running it down your forearms, down to your hips. “S’okay,” A kiss is pressed to your forehead. “How was work?”

A heavy sigh leaves your body once more, melting under his gaze and the hot water. “Really exhausting. Customers become so bitchy around the holidays, you know?”

“So much for festive spirits,” He snorts, pulling you into his body. You hum in response, enjoying the contact. He turns your shivering body in his, your back now under the shower head. Jean separates from you, grabbing some of the shampoo you’d stashed there, and rubbing it in his hands before massaging it into your scalp.

The stress from the day melts away under his hands, and you fight your hardest to keep your eyes open, watching as he looks down at you with soft eyes.

These were the moments you didn’t understand. He was so soft, so sweet, so willing. It didn’t make sense in your brain that he didn’t want this. Or more specifically he didn’t want this with you. But you knew it had less to do with you and more to do with the owner of the sweater that was left over his banister.

You try to will those thoughts away as he rinses the soap off, smiling lazily down at you. Your matching smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

You signed up for this. There was no room for complaints, tears, or negotiations. The love that thrums through your veins wasn’t enough for you to go back on your word, to scare him off. You knew where you stood in his life, just as he did.

He knows you love him, as much as you could love someone. As close as you could get to that strangled word that never made sense to you, or him for that matter. But the semantics didn’t make a difference. He loved her, her long black hair, her sparking black-brown eyes, her straight-lipped smile.

And you couldn’t do a single damned thing about it. Isn’t that the kicker of it all? But it didn’t matter to you, because you were here, in his arms, in his shower, with his lips pressing against your temple.

He washes your body for you without you even having to ask, from your neck to your ankles, adoring every soft inch of your body. Sweet kisses are occasionally pressed here and there, on moles, freckles, and scars. And you just didn’t get it.

It’s not that he didn’t like you. Of course, he liked you, liked you enough for you to be here with him in the sanctity of his home. He liked the way your eyes crinkled when you laughed at one of his dumb jokes, the way you talked in your sleep, the way you knew exactly where to touch him and when.

But he didn’t like you enough to do a thing about it, clearly. So you take what you can get.

He shuts the water off when it starts to run cold. “C’mere,” He whispers, pulling the towel he’d brought for himself over him, wrapping it around you.

The two of you dry off quickly, in comfortable silence. “Can I steal something?” You ask, already toying with the handle on his dresser.

He hums out in approval, pulling a grey hoodie over his head. You eye him out of the corner of your eyes. “That looks comfy,” He can’t stop the goofy grin from overtaking his face.

“What’s wrong, you’re jealous?”

“Of you, or the hoodie?”

He snorts, throwing his head back as you pull the drawer open. You tug some sweater over your head, letting it drape over you before going to his top drawer. You steal a random pair of boxers, sliding them up before huffing and throwing yourself back on his bed. You’re burrowed underneath his fuzzy navy blankets in no time, only your eyes and down uncovered from the warmth, crinkled at the corner from happiness.

“Room for one more?” He asks, before throwing himself on the bed beside you.

“Mm,” You shake your head, pulling the blanket around you tighter.

A small oh, yeah? is able to be heard before the warmth of the blanket is suddenly torn away from you.

A gasp leaves your mouth at the cold, and you send a jokingly angered look his way. “How dare you?”

Jean means to have a smart comeback, truly, but it fizzles out on his tongue when he takes the sight of you in. His shirt is ridden up on your hips, his boxers filled out so cutely by your thighs. Your cheeks are a little red from the cold temperature of his room, your hair in disarray… eyes wide as you stare up at him.

“I’ll warm you up,” his voice is gruff as he envelops you with both his body and the warm duvet. His hands, somehow always warm, rest themselves on your thighs, rubbing and tracing there. “We’ll start here,”

His hands feel big and warm, soft. The feeling of his warm hands on your icy thighs causes goosebumps to rise on your arms. “And go here…” he drags to your stomach, rubbing softly up and down, teasing the bottom of your bare breasts. The combination of his hands and the frigid air of the room causes your nipples to be hard already.

His fingers trace upwards, rubbing over them softly. You pant lightly at the stimulation, rubbing your thighs together. “Look at you, Bug,” one hand comes back down to grip your thigh. “You’re gonna start a fire.” His hand moves down to cup you between your legs. “My, you are very warm down here,” He juts his tongue in his cheek, a goofy smile on his lips. “You must not need me to warm you up anymore.”

“Touch me, please,” And so he does. Gasps and moans fill the room as the two of you become acquainted with each other’s bodies that you both already know so well. His fingers, well longer than yours, touch and caress you in ways you could never perfectly mimic. His mouth is hot as he kisses you deeply into the pillows, wet hair sprawled around you. He travels down your body with wet presses of his lips. You try not to think about where his mouth may have been tonight; if it kissed her as sweetly as he kissed you between your thighs.

Your hand presses to your mouth as a stray tear falls down your cheek, closing your eyes as you succumb to the pleasure of his tongue.

You pull him back into your body, hand tracing the side of his face where his stubble is growing back, handsome as ever. Silent prayers are sent above that he can’t see the fresh tear streak down to your temple. If he sees it, he doesn’t say anything about it. He simply shucks his freshly placed sweats down his hips, pressing himself into you as you look deeply into his eyes.

He doesn’t think about her. Or the way he remembers her voice breaking as she tells him he can’t do this to him anymore. Or the pain he felt in his gut when she finally admitted that she loved someone else. He doesn’t think about the sweater she’d left on his stairwell as she fled the scene, like a killer ashamed of what she’d done.

Instead, he lays it all into you. Deeply, harshly, drowning all of the pain out with his bruising grasp on your jaw and powerful thrusts with his hips. And when he finally finishes, he looks into your wide tear-streaked eyes, and all he can think about is how pretty you looked like this.

The two of you sit on the balcony after, half-dressed and wrapped in a thick blanket as cigarette smoke wraps around you. The words can’t stop themselves as they force themselves out of your throat.

“I think I love you.”

He doesn’t say anything. For a minute, you think the two of you would pretend it didn’t happen at all. But instead he says, “That’s okay.”

And you finally begin to think it will be.