PLEASE do pervert Hange headcanons ill do anything 🙏🥹 and pervert Jean if you can..
Of course!! And I’m so very sorry this took so long!
Is the queen of fingering. With how much training she had with multiple different types of weapons, she’s learned to move her fingers in ways you didn’t know possible, plus, she’s learned from fingering herself too.
Loves eating you out. She also loves receiving, but she would gladly suffocate between your legs if it meant getting one more lick at your pussy.
Very dominant. Don’t get me wrong, she doesn’t mind having you on top or occasionally being sub, but she’s way too good at being dominant, so why not let her.
She’s very silly in bed. Always cracking jokes, (and you), making you laugh and get distracted when you’re on the verge of your climax, then you have to start all over again.
Loves a two sided dildo. Loves pining your legs down and fucking you with one end while she bounces on the opposite end.
Very gentle. Of course, she can be rough, but all-in-all, she’s super sweet and gentle. The second she hears you truly whimper or cry out, she stops and makes sure you’re ok before continuing, and if she really did hurt you, then she apologizes nonstop and cuddles you all night.
Likes making you wear a vibrator in public while controlling it by the remote. Turns it up if you’re ordering food and checking out and chatting it up with the cashier, and lets you hide against her when you finally cum, whispering sweet nothings in your ear to calm you.
Likes roleplay a lot. She really likes nurse/patient, you’re the patient, obviously, and she’s the doctor. Likes giving you pussy and breast examinations while pretending she’s “just trying to help you feel better.” cuz that’s what good doctors do.
Loves playing with your pussy for no reason. You’ll be laying in bed, head in her chest as you watched a movie, and she’s rubbing your clit like it’s nothing. Always has to have her hands on you.
Jean Kirstein:
Titjob addict!! He doesn’t care how small your breasts may be, he’ll make it work and he’ll get off all the same. Just loves the feeling of your skin rubbing against the little sensitive spot under his tip.
Also loves pussyjobs, any kinda job really. Blowjob, titjob, pussyjob, handjob, etc. loves the feeling of your bodies colliding in more than just one way.
He thinks it’s oh so funny when he hugs up on you after a sweaty workout, what he doesn’t know is how much you love it. Love his natural musk and sweat or his glistening body flex those muscles he just worked so hard on for you.
Favorite position is cowgirl. Duh. Loves being able to grope your breasts, ass, sides, whatever he wants really, while also being able to watch your body and see your pretty facial expressions.
Loves seeing you in lingerie. Especially a dark red or white lace set, he’s a goner.
He really loves when your wear his clothes, like if you wear one of his shirts, especially with nothing underneath the clothes.
Really kinky. Into semi-public sex. Making love in bathrooms, at the dining table some fingers may “accidentally” slide in.
Im so sorry i haven’t posted in a while yall!! I haven’t felt motivated and I’ve been so busy and with my job, but i hope u love it!!
Jean tugged at the solid metal encasing his wrists. He looked up at Reiner, who pointedly avoided his gaze while tucking him into the blankets. Feeling some of his strength come back, Jean flailed, yanking on the shackles and struggling.
Though he wasn't entirely sure why he bothered anymore. Reiner always found him, always prevented his escape, his salvation.
Reiner sighed as Jean kept pulling and twisting around. He was so busy trying to escape his bonds that he completely missed the other crossing the room and pulling out a vial and syringe. He only realized what Reiner was doing when he called out to Bertholdt.
"Jean is acting up again. Hold him down so I can sedate him."
He yelled, kicking his legs when Bertholdt got close. The anxious beanstalk responded to this by initially flinching, then carefully maneuvering around Jean.
"Just relax." He soothed. "It's just a little sleepy juice so you can calm down."
Jean growled, tired of these two.
"Why must you be so dramatic?" Reiner groaned, flicking the end of the needle. He turned to Bertholdt. "Let's switch, I'll hold him down and you inject him."
"Okay."
Reiner didn't hesitate, didn't flinch, didn't react at all to Jean's protests. He grabbed his shoulders and rolled him onto his front, easily pinning him down as he pulled down his pants to reveal the meat of his thigh.
Panic filled Jean as he felt the wetness that accompanied the shot. He wasn't afraid of needles, but he was terrified of what these two would do while he was helpless to stop them! He struggled, screaming and crying out to Marco who was too heavily sedated to respond to him.
Once he felt the sharp, cold pinch he knew it was over. His body weakened, his eyelids grew impossibly heavy. Reiner shushed his sobs, stroking his hair and putting another pillow under his head.
He was so tired.
He couldn't fight this.
"Bert, keep an eye on him while he's sedated in case he has a reaction."
Jean mumbled incoherently, swinging his working arm and grabbing onto the nearest thing. His fingers caught fabric, the warmth of a body bleeding through. He blinked, his sluggish brain struggling to catch up to the present.
He remembered something tugging on his arm, and a pop, and a fall-
Warm hands grabbed him, careful to avoid his painful shoulder. "Jean, you need to lie down. You can't walk around yet."
"Hunh?"
Dark emerald eyes came into view. They were a touch too dark to be Eren's, the face also too old. This man had visible laugh lines, and his hair was longer.
"Ere… Dad?"
He pulled Jean close, shushing him. "It's okay, just lie down."
He was laid against something soft, blankets pulled up over his chest. Eren's dad ran a hand through Jean's hair. "Wh-whur…"
"Just relax." He soothed. "I'm gonna try to pop your arm back into place, okay?"
"Huh?"
A white hot, electric pain burst through Jean's side. It sobered him up quickly, shooting through his body like a burning star through the night sky.
He screamed, trying to pull away.
"Jean! Stop! You'll make it worse!" Someone shouted, but the words were far away.
Several people started yelling, and many hands held him down. A sharp pinch bloomed in his thigh, and it all faded out.
Jean's knees trembled as he slowly trudged through the thick snow. He'd long since lost the feeling in his feet and legs, his hand froze to the wound in his side. Still, within his body, fever fought the icy cold. He breathed heavily, each gulp of air making his lungs ache.
He's exhausted.
But he can't stop. Can't rest here. He has to keep going, keep running.
Stumbling and tripping over his own numb feet, he collapsed into the snow. Despite his best efforts, the parasite remained. It fed on his body, stealing everything he had. He felt weaker as the days went on, it was rotting him from the inside out.
He was withering away.
Staring up into the light of the moon, the icy cold snow suddenly felt comforting. The quiet winter night slowly lulling him to sleep. He knew it wouldn't last, Reiner was a freak, he would find him. Find him and drag him back, and tie him up until he can no longer fight against the parasites.
As he began to close his eyes, something lurched out of the darkness. At first, Jean had thought it was Reiner's titan coming to get him. But- it looked off. The beast stepped silently through the snow, it knelt over Jean and stared down at him. He felt his heart rate pick up, energy filling his cold limbs.
Somehow, without saying a word, it was telling him to fight.
And it would not let him give up.
His half-formed arm twitched and began pressing against the ground, his other limbs weakly following. Steam rose off his skin, color returning to his extremities. He breathed, his lungs burning, smoke coming from his nostrils. The titan leaned back, letting out a thunderous roar as he got to his feet.
Neither Death nor Reiner would take him so easily.
Jean knelt by the carved stone, he dropped flowers onto the dirt, resting a hand on the epitaph. His shoulders rolled and shuddered, a weak noise coming from him. Slumping forwards, his forehead pressed against the stone.
As if to make the scene more miserable, rain began to fall from the sky. It pummeled the earth, and drenched Jean, causing his hair to fall limply across his head and face. But, he remained still, resting at the epitaph and whispering something to it.
Marco watched from a distance. His whiskers twitched, picking up on stress hormones wafting off of Jean. His sharpened nails dug into the tree he was hiding behind. He supposed it made sense that they had assumed he died. Hell, he thought he had died for at least a week.
As Jean simply laid there, embracing Marco's own epitaph, he wanted to run over and hug him. Hug him and never let go, to remain tightly bound together until their bones can no longer be told apart.
But he couldn't.
The hunger, the driving, burning, relentless hunger for flesh wouldn't let him. There were too many questions he couldn't answer, and if he went without meat for too long, his taste for human flesh would become too intense. He couldn't do that. Not to his friends, his comrades-
To Jean.
Still, it touched him that Jean kept coming to his grave. Kept saying things to the empty ground that he wasn't buried under. Even though he wasn't there, it was the fact that he cared. That he still cared.
Marco's vision blurred, he blinked the tears from his eyes. Sucking in a breath, he slowly backed up into the darkness and disappeared.
|| Jean came home from work really stressed out and needy for you.
[oral f receiving]
a/n: is my first time writing smut, I hope u enjoy it!!
It was past ten and he still hadn’t arrived. You had been checking the time several times while waiting for him. You were wearing only an oversized shirt and your black lace underwear. Already irritated, you headed to the kitchen to make yourself some tea before finally going to bed. The atmosphere was calm and still smelled of the incense you had lit earlier, yet you were annoyed. Almost eleven and he still hadn’t called or even left a message. You were stirring your tea, letting the chamomile aroma fill the room, when you heard the door open. You decided to ignore it and keep stirring your tea in annoyance, though now you were just staring at it fixedly. Then you felt Jean’s large, warm hands wrap around your waist. You felt a shiver. Jean pulled you against his chest and buried his face in your neck, letting out a tired sigh. With him so close, you could smell his cologne and the scent of the shampoo he had clearly stolen from you.
—Sorry for not calling you…— you felt his warm breath against the skin of your neck; it seemed like all the irritation you had felt earlier had vanished.
—How was it?— you said in a soft voice, already a little nervous from how close he was.
—It was shit— he said irritably —my boss piled work on me, I didn’t even have time to see your messages…— that last part he said as if it hurt him.
His lips brushed your skin; they were soft and warm. You felt him leaving small kisses against your neck, each one longer than the last.
—I missed you all day— he said in a tired, deep, low voice as you felt his hands slide down to your hips, caressing your skin in circles with the tips of his fingers —please forgive me for making you wait…—
—Jean…— you said when you felt his body press closer to yours, when he pressed his already hard erection against you. He kept kissing your neck and moving up behind your ear, his hands still tracing circles as they descended to your inner thighs, touching your already damp underwear. You could feel a smile form on his face.
—Mmm… that fast?— he whispered against your skin —Did you miss me too?— One of his hands returned to your waist while the other slid up to the elastic of your panties, slipping his hand inside. His thick fingers touched your wet folds; he let out a growl at how wet you already were. He rubbed his fingers in circles against your clit, making you let out a small moan. He stopped and pulled his hand out of your panties with a frustrated groan. Then his hands returned to your waist, turning you around so you were face to face. One of his hands gently caressed your cheek as if you were the most precious thing in the world.
—You’re beautiful…— he said as he pulled you closer to him. Your arms wrapped around his neck and he lowered his hands to your thighs, lifting you as if you weighed nothing.
—Jean…— you whispered, your breathing already a little uneven —shh— he silenced you while leaving a kiss on your neck as he moved forward —let me take care of you…— he said in a hoarse, desperate voice. He headed to the bedroom and gently laid you on the bed you both shared.
The room was lit only by your night light and a candle beside the bed. After laying you down, he began lifting the shirt you were wearing until he removed it. His hands trailed over your abdomen, his kisses going lower and lower—from your neck to your breasts, then to your abdomen, and still further down to your thighs. Each of his kisses made you shiver; they were delicate and sweet yet full of need for you. When they reached the inside of your thighs you let out a small moan. He settled between your legs, spreading them with his warm hands, and left a kiss on your still-covered mound.
—Fuck… I missed you so much— he said in a needy voice, his breathing accelerated —let me taste you, I need you— he murmured in a deep voice against the wetness of your entrance.
Before you could say anything he pushed your panties aside, leaving you completely naked —you’re perfect— he stayed admiring you for a moment. After a few seconds he lowered his head; you felt the warmth of his tongue tasting your juicy entrance. You let out a moan full of pleasure —God, Jean… please keep going— you said as one of your hands grabbed his hair —you’re so sweet, you look so pretty from here— he said, looking into your eyes while he continued licking your entrance. He started eating you in earnest, his tongue deep, rising to your swollen, throbbing clit, thrusting in and coming back up, tracing circles that made you arch your back from the pleasure he was giving you. His hands squeezed your thighs, spreading you wider so he wouldn’t miss a single drop. Every one of his moans vibrated against you; it was clear how much he was enjoying it and how needy he was after a shitty day at work. You were his favorite dessert —look how you’re dripping…—
The only things coming out of your mouth were moans, each one louder than the last —I love you, let me hear you…— he moaned against you, speeding up the rhythm, licking faster and sucking harder. He slid two fingers inside you, moving them quickly and hitting that spot he knew gave you so much pleasure. Every one of his movements made your orgasm feel closer; your breathing became irregular and your hips pressed themselves even more against his face. He moaned from the pleasure of having you so desperate.
—Come in my mouth, come for me… please, baby— he begged without leaving your clit. You were getting closer and closer; your hands pulled his hair even harder and your legs began to tremble. A long, shaky moan left your throat when the orgasm hit. Your tight entrance clenched around his fingers, gushing against his tongue. He swallowed everything, not stopping until he felt you finish. Only then did he slow down, leaving you breathless, and cleaned you with his tongue, savoring how wet you were. He rose and left a sweet kiss on your lips —I love you…— he whispered in a hoarse, tired voice full of the genuine love he felt for you.
He was walking across campus with Connie, coffee in one hand, backpack slung over one shoulder. Connie was talking with his entire body, waving his hands around dramatically.
Jean laughed.
You loved his laugh.
Warm.
Unrestrained.
Real.
You looked away before he could catch you staring.
Three...
Two...
One...
"Morning, Y/N."
There it was.
You turned as if you hadn't been waiting for it.
"Morning."
He slowed his pace for just a second.
"Ready for Smith's quiz?"
You groaned dramatically.
"No."
He laughed.
"Same."
Connie looked between the two of you.
"You guys have Smith together?"
"For about two weeks now," Jean answered.
"Oh." Connie shrugged. "Cool."
Then they continued walking.
That was all.
Thirty seconds.
Maybe less.
You watched them disappear around the corner.
He could've just nodded.
Instead—
He stopped.
He greeted you.
No.
Correct yourself.
He greeted you first.
Would Jean greet everyone he knew?
Probably.
Would he stop walking for everyone?
...Maybe.
Don't assume.
Never assume.
«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»
Tuesday.
The cafeteria.
You were sitting with your girls when Jean and the others walked in.
Sasha waved enthusiastically.
"There they are!"
The boys approached.
You smiled politely.
Jean looked at everyone.
Then his eyes found yours.
"Hey."
"Hi."
It happened so naturally no one even reacted.
The conversation moved on immediately.
Connie complained about a group assignment.
Hitch argued with him for absolutely no reason.
Sasha nearly choked laughing.
Normal.
Perfectly normal.
Except...
When everyone stood up to throw away their trays, Jean picked up your empty cup too.
You blinked.
"Oh."
He looked down at it.
"You were done, right?"
"Yeah."
"I was going anyway."
He walked off before you could say anything.
Tiny.
Completely insignificant.
Yet somehow...
You thought about it for the rest of the afternoon.
Was he just being polite?
Probably.
He was raised well.
You'd seen him hold doors for strangers.
Carry an older professor's supplies.
Help Connie when he dropped half his sketchbooks.
This was who he was.
Don't romanticize kindness.
You repeated that sentence three times.
It didn't help.
«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»
Wednesday.
Art history.
He arrived six minutes early.
Like always.
You were already there.
Like always.
He smiled as he took his seat.
"Early bird."
You looked up from your notebook.
"Someone has to make sure you don't oversleep."
He chuckled.
"You think I would?"
"I think you'd blame traffic."
"I don't even drive."
"Exactly."
He laughed again.
God.
You were becoming addicted to making him laugh.
The lecture started.
Halfway through, Smith asked a question about Renaissance composition.
Jean answered first.
Then paused.
"...Actually," he said, turning slightly toward you, "didn't you say something about visual balance last week?"
The professor looked at you.
"So, Miss L/N?"
You answered.
Smith nodded approvingly.
"Exactly."
Jean glanced at you.
"See? Told you."
It lasted two seconds.
But he remembered something you had said last week.
Your stomach fluttered.
«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»
Mid-week, on a cloudy Thursday morning, you arrived at the usual spot near the arts building a little early. Jean was already there, two coffees in hand. Your heart stuttered when you saw him.
He walked straight up to you, that confident smirk already in place. “Here. Vanilla latte, extra caramel. Figured I owed you one since I’ve been keeping you up at night.”
You took the cup, fingers brushing his deliberately. “You didn’t have to.”
“I wanted to.”
He stepped a little closer, voice dropping low. “Don’t tell Sasha.”
The way he said it—conspiratorial, intimate—made heat pool low in your stomach. Before you could respond, his hand moved. A subtle, warm squeeze on your waist, fingers pressing just enough through your sweater to feel possessive. The touch lingered for a heartbeat longer than necessary.
You only nodded, eyes locked on his.
Jean’s smirk deepened, satisfied. “Smart girl.”
He pulled away slowly, like he knew exactly what he was doing to you, and the two of you walked into the building side by side. That single squeeze stayed burned into your skin for hours.
«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»
After that moment, something shifted.
Jean became bolder. More confident. Like confirming you’d keep the secret had unlocked a new version of him around you.
In the next class you shared, he sat right beside you again without asking. His leg pressed against yours under the desk the entire time. When the professor turned to the board, Jean leaned over, lips close to your ear.
“You smell good today,” he murmured. “New perfume?”
You shivered. “Maybe.”
He chuckled softly, low and warm, before pulling back. But his hand stayed near yours on the desk, fingers occasionally brushing yours “accidentally.”
Later that same day in the hallway, he caught you alone for a moment. “Got any plans this weekend?” he asked, leaning against the wall, eyes tracing your face.
“Not really. Why?”
“Just wondering if I could steal some more of your time.” His gaze dropped to your lips for a split second. “You’re becoming dangerously distracting, you know that?”
You smiled sweetly, tilting your head. “Is that a bad thing?”
“Not at all.” He reached out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. The touch was light, but the intention behind it wasn’t. “Just dangerous for my focus.”
«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»
The flirting escalated in small, maddening ways.
He started texting you late at night again, but never followed up directly on the red wine proposition. Instead, he teased around it.
Jean: Can’t sleep. Keep thinking about that conversation we had.
You: Which part?
Jean: All of it. Especially the part where you called me cute when I got awkward.
«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»
He’d send good morning texts with compliments:
Jean: That smile you gave me yesterday is still stuck in my head. Dangerous.
In the cafeteria once, when your groups crossed paths briefly, he made sure to stand close. His hand brushed the small of your back as he reached past you for a napkin. No one else noticed. But you did.
Another day after class, he walked you part of the way to your next one.
“You’re really easy to talk to,” he said quietly, shoulder bumping yours. “Didn’t expect that.”
“What did you expect?” you asked, looking up at him.
He shrugged, but his eyes were intense. “Someone more… guarded. You’ve got this whole composed thing going on. Makes me want to see what’s underneath.”
The words sent heat rushing through you. He was messing with your feelings on purpose—giving you just enough to keep you hooked, pulling back at the perfect moments, always leaving you wanting more.
And you let him. You played along perfectly, sweet and responsive but never desperate. Every time he touched you—subtle hand on your waist, fingers brushing yours, a lingering look—you melted internally while keeping that calm exterior he seemed so fascinated by.
«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»
One evening he texted:
Jean: You busy right now?
You: Just sketching. Why?
Jean: Nothing. Just wanted to hear your voice. But I’ll wait for that in person.
«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»
By the end of the week, the tension was thick and sweet. Jean had you completely twisted up—in the best way. Every casual text, every lingering touch, every bold compliment felt like another thread pulling him closer.
You kept Sasha completely in the dark. When she asked how things were going with “the new friend group,” you smiled and said everything was great. She didn’t need to know the rest.
In your room at night, you replayed every interaction, every message, adding new screenshots to your hidden folder. The obsession burned hotter than ever, but now it had fuel—real reciprocation, real tension, real progress.
Jean was messing with your feelings.
And you were loving every second of it.
You buried your face in your hands.
"This is ridiculous."
You were analyzing a smile.
A smile.
Somewhere deep down, you knew the truth.
People didn't accidentally become part of each other's days.
They didn't naturally start saying "see you" instead of "bye."
They didn't remember coffee they owed over a throwaway comment.
They didn't ask questions just to keep conversations going.
You smiled despite yourself.
Whether you were overthinking or not...
One thing was undeniably true.
A month ago...
Jean probably wouldn't have noticed if you walked past him.
