#jean x reader

[tragicgirl44]

what my frnd who only knows abt jean thru my writing thinks abt him 😢 also she said + he's too sad

[m4gicalgirlm4tcha]

YOU FEEL IT (JUST LIKE ME), jean x reader

Jean asks you to pick him up after another failed night out. You didn't expect to stay the night, but if your best friend needs you there, then how can you say no?

modern au, artist au - (SFW, slightly suggestive, mentions of drugs and alcohol)

Downtown Mitras is still alive at 2:45 AM.

You only drive around for about 13 minutes, but in Jean’s drunken state, it feels like much longer. Even then, he doesn’t want it to end. He stares out at the city beyond the walls of the car, at the twinkling lights and neon signage of late-night restaurants, clubs, and bars. The streets are much less clogged, and of course there aren’t as many people milling around as there were at the beginning of the night, but Jean can feel the energy coming from the city’s nightlife through the open windows of your car. It’s nice to just observe, to people watch. You’re playing some laid-back R&B playlist with a lot of good beats and synths, which adds an even nicer buzz to the feeling in Jean’s veins as he watches the world around him.

Then, he glances over at you. You’re quiet as you focus on the road, eyes tired and face fallen into a soft pout as your head bops gently to the music. Jean’s stomach flutters at the pretty sight beside him.

He likes the world when it’s like this: just the two of you in your own pocket of space. It’s like nothing else exists, like no one else exists in these hazy little moments. He’s had this feeling from the start, back when you were this pretty mystery neighbor who lit his cigarette on New Year’s Eve. He felt it again that night at the bar when you first became friends, then when you spent Valentine’s Day being alone together, then again at the museum, in his art studio, over and over, again and again. Who knew that match would spark everything, spark all of this up to now?

He wonders if you felt it back then, if you feel it now, just like he does.

“You know how you’ve mentioned feeling lonely?” he murmurs after a second. The music isn’t loud enough to feel the need to shout. It’s soothing, soft, a peaceful backdrop for wherever this conversation may go.

“Yeah.”

“Do you still feel like that?”

You click your teeth against your tongue. You don’t comment on the drunk slurring in his voice. “Yeah.”

“A lot?”

“Kinda, yeah.”

“Even with me?”

“Less with you.”

Jean hums and stares back out the window. He likes that. He knows he’s probably not some cure-all for something as isolating as loneliness and not belonging to a completely different city, but he’s content with being the reason why you feel less-so. It’s similar to the way you make him feel, especially when he’s as in-his-head the way he was this past week leading up to Marco’s birthday, how he’s still feeling right now.

“I feel that way too sometimes,” he says after a moment. Your brows raise. “Really?”

“Yeah. But less with you. A lot less with you.”

“Me too,” you say softly. “I feel that a lot less with you too.”

You don’t indulge him any further. It’s not like you’re hiding something, but more like you’d prefer not to think or talk about the loneliness any more than you have to. Jean gets it. He does it too, pushes the feeling down and keeps moving forward, keeps reaching and grasping and working for things that’ll make him feel better, feel more accomplished, feel like he’s moving on and away from that ugly lonely feeling. And while he wishes you’d talk more about it, he knows you’re not going to unless it reaches a breaking point—because he’s the same.

Still, he wishes you’d talk to him more about this.

“What do you mean?” you ask out of the blue. “I do talk to you. We talk all the time, don’t we?”

Shit, did he say that out loud?

“Yeah, you did,” you huff in amusement, glancing over at him again. He groans in embarrassment at the realization that he just did it again. “You’re funny when you’re drunk.”

“And high.”

“And high, sure.” You laugh aloud at the blasé way he says it. It makes his heart feel light, makes him feel a little bit giddy. “Anyway, what did you mean by that?”

Jean licks his lips. “You’re kinda like me. You don’t like to open up.”

You don’t deny it. You tilt your head from side to side, not even looking at him. “I don’t. Maybe that’s why we get along so well. I don’t like to dwell on things.”

“I wish you did. Even just with me. I wanna know what bothers you,” he mumbles. Your jaw drops slightly in obvious surprise and Jean continues. “I know your mom bothers you. I know that you hate your job. And being here alone is hard and I know that bothers you too, but the way you say things is so…”

He pauses, trying to find the words in his scrambled brain. “It’s like you’re trying not to make a big deal of things that upset you.”

“Because it isn’t really that big of a deal.”

“It is to me though.” He frowns, sinking deeper into his seat. “I think you’re a big deal. Everything you do is.”

You blink at him curiously, then nod as you reach another stoplight. “Okay. I’ll try to talk to you more. It’s just hard sometimes.”

Maybe you’re only saying that to placate him in his drunken stupor, but he doesn’t mind. It’s some reassurance. He continues to observe you, even in the comfortable silence.

“I know.”

You look pretty. So tragically pretty. Jean’s fingers twitch as your eyes flicker and linger on certain lights, how the red stoplights cast a glow on your face and how the neon signs create a soft, blurry halo behind your profile. He yearns for the weight of his paintbrushes in his hand, for the smell of paint freshly squeezed out the tube. He wants to immortalize you in this moment, wants the world to see the beauty of the city in your eyes and projected on you, wants to capture the way the lights from outside hit your skin and the night shadows fall across your face.

Most of all, Jean really wants to hold your hand.

He wants to feel the weight and the comfort of your hand in his again. He’s yearning for it, desperate for it. He wonders what it would be like to hold it once more, to feel the tender scratch of your nails on the back of his hand, to play with your fingers, to press his lips against your knuckles. A shiver crawls up his spine as he can practically feel the ghost of your touch on his hands. He wonders what it would be like to kiss you, to pull your hand and bring you closer to him. The idea of it all is so tender and intimate that it makes his head spin just a little bit—in a way that the drugs or alcohol can’t do.

He feels a little bit guilty for thinking it, for desiring this type of touch as bad as he is. Is a friend allowed to think that about another friend? Probably not, honestly. Could this be the loneliness finally getting to him? He’s not sure.

After a moment, you glance over at him, eyes widening slightly when you realize his eyes have lingered on you this entire time. You shake your head ever so slightly.

“Uh, are you ready to go home now?”

“Yeah. I think so?”

“Okay. Let’s go home then.”

As you make your way back down the familiar route back home, Jean melts into his seat with a sigh.

“I wish you came with me.”

The ghost of a smile crosses your lips. “You’re joking.”

“Why would I joke about that? Shit’s not even funny.”

You just laugh, giggling over the music playing in your car. Jean licks his lips as he watches you, a pleased smirk making its way onto his face.

“Hey,” he says. Your eyes flicker over to him. “I’m curious. Why didn’t you wanna go? You were so excited the first time.”

“You have a lot of questions for 3 AM.” You snicker. “I told you I was tired, right?”

“Yeah.”

There’s a pause. You pull up to the apartment and park your car. Jean manages to get out of his side by himself as you grab your bag from the backseat. You head inside and into the elevator, which is when you glance up at him and sigh.

“I wasn’t just tired. I just didn’t want to be forgotten again. Not like last time.”

Jean’s chest clenches. “What?”

“Last time, I thought we were having a good time dancing. Then you left, and it’s like your friends completely forgot I was there. I know it’s stupid to still feel weird about that—”

“No, it’s not—”

“Let me finish,” you huff before he can fully interrupt. “I…I already have an issue with being alone and feeling like I don’t belong here, which is kinda dumb, but it’s the truth. And I was getting thrown around and touched by strangers and I kept seeing all your friends checking in on each other and having fun…and it felt like I was all by myself because I wasn’t."

You shake your head. “I didn’t want history to repeat itself. It felt so shitty then. I just…I don’t know how to deal with the feeling.”

The both of you walk (stumble, really) down the hallway to his place. He stares down at you, heart heavy as he looks at you, at the way you shrug and act like it hurts less than you say it does. Jean thinks to himself. He didn’t go home with someone this time. He didn’t even want to be there. Maybe things would’ve been different this time if you had gone with him.

“I wouldn’t have left you this time.”

“You say that,” you giggle half-heartedly. “I can say that I’d follow you even if you did, but we’ll never actually know.” You shrug again. “…Didn’t want to risk it. Just in case.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” You hum. “It is what it is.”

He wants to hold your hand again. He wants to hold your hand so badly that his chest aches and his fingers twitch.

So he does.

You glance down in surprise. In a flash, Jean’s hit with the sudden, terrifying feeling that you might let go, but you don’t. The ache goes away when your fingers squeeze his back gently. In his still-drunken stupor, he’s not able to unlock the door, meaning you have to do it. Once it’s open, he turns slightly to face you once he feels your hand tug at his.

“Okay. Here we are. Goodnight, Jeanboy.”

He steps past the threshold of his apartment and accidentally bumps into the wall. He doesn’t want to be alone right now and a needy, desperate part of him hopes that you don’t want to either. While he doesn’t say it, everything about him practically screams for you to come inside with him. So you do. You take your flats off and push the door shut quietly with your free hand. Jean’s fingers move with a mind of their own, tapping against the skin of the back of your hand as his hazel eyes linger on you. He can still taste the alcohol on his breath and winces as he realizes he still probably smells like it too.

“Do you have to go?”

You giggle softly. Under the dim apartment lighting, Jean’s struck with how badly he doesn’t want you to leave. He doesn’t want this night to be over, doesn’t want this image of you in your ridiculous t-shirt and sweats with your tired eyes and your little pout to become just another memory to lock away in his head.

“I have to go to bed, Jean. My beauty sleep…” you joke, though the exhaustion is too clear in your voice.

“You can sleep in my bed.”

Your brows shoot up.

“You need to sleep in your bed. I already know your hangover’s gonna be crazy tomorrow. Plus, I’m only one floor down, so it’s not like I’m far. You can just text me if you need me—”

“Don’t go.”

Jean’s voice is firm but quietly desperate. Pleading. He looks at you from beneath long lashes, brows furrowed and jaw set. His eyes are smoldering, and his touch burns where he holds your hand.

“What?” You don’t move from where you’re standing. It doesn’t seem like you want to either.

“I said don’t go.”

“Jean…” you move your wrist. His grasp is loose enough where you could definitely pull your wrist free, but you don’t. “Jean…I don’t know.”

“Please.” His voice cracks ever so slightly. “Please stay with me. Don’t go.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re my best friend,” he says. “You’re my best friend and I need you. I don’t usually tell people I need them or want them around. I don’t tell people to stay with me. But I want you to stay. Don’t leave yet.”

“This might not be a good idea.”

“Stay,” he murmurs quietly. His fingers play with yours mindlessly. “Just for tonight. I don’t wanna be alone right now…and I don’t want you to be alone either.”

You frown, though it looks like you’re genuinely considering it.

“I shouldn’t…” you say half-heartedly. It’s like you’re saying it out of obligation rather than actually being against the idea. Jean huffs.

“We can share the bed. It’s not like we haven’t slept together before.”

Your brows shoot up and you bark out a laugh.

“What are you—? Not like that!” Jean’s face heats up in embarrassment. His cheeks are probably pink now. He can feel the heat crawling under his already drunken flush. His voice pitches to a low whine. “Stop laughing at me!”

“My sleep clothes are at my place,” you say once you calm down a little bit. It’s like you’re grasping at straws, trying to find any flimsy excuse to convince yourself to leave. Even though he’s having a hard time standing up straight right now, Jean can see right through you.

“You can wear my clothes, I don’t care.”

You scrunch up your nose. “You still need to shower. You stink.”

“I will if you stay.”

You laugh again. The sound makes Jean’s chest feel warm. “Ew! You’re such a boy sometimes. The fuck do you mean you’ll only shower if I stay?”

He cracks a slight grin.

You sigh. “Okay. Fine. Just for tonight. Don’t get used to it though.”

Jean’s eyes practically light up as he stumbles into his room, and you giggle as you drop your purse on your desk and practically push him into the bathroom to shower. Jean pretends like something as simple as your little bag placed among all his things doesn’t do anything to him, doesn’t make his heart skip a beat at the domesticity of it all.

“Your clothes?” you ask.

“Shirts are somewhere over there…I have some shorts there…uh…”

He’s blabbering at this point, pathetically pointing in the general direction at his drawers to let you know where he keeps his clean clothes.

“Hold on. You’re okay with me digging around? You don’t have any weird shit hidden in here right?”

“Like what? Sex toys? You think I just have them laying around?” he snickers with too much candor and an eye-roll. “No, obviously. Unless you wanna see ‘em…”

You laugh again and point at the shower.

“You’re ridiculous. Go shower. You smell like shit, horseface. And brush your teeth while you’re at it, my god!” you snicker. He flips you off and shuts the door to his bathroom. By the time he reopens the bathroom door, you’ve already changed into one of his college t-shirts and a pair of basketball shorts, slung low on your hips and so baggy that you’re basically swimming in the fabric. You look like you’re about to doze off any second, even as you freeze mid-crawl onto the bed.

His heart squeezes in his chest at the sight.

“You look kinda cute like this,” he says, eyes trained on you. “You’re a real fashion icon.”

You roll your eyes and take a seat on one side of the bed, pulling the blanket over yourself. “Stop, you sound like Ymir when she’s blowing smoke up Levi’s ass.”

“I’m just saying. Nice outfit,” Jean laughs. He’ll neither confirm nor deny the way he’s blatantly checking you out if you confront him about it. You don’t.

Your eyes flicker down his torso before meeting his again.

“Nice shirt. I’m loving the view,” you say back. Jean looks down, only for his face to redden at the sight of his bare torso. He reaches into the nearest drawer, pulling out a white tank over his muscular chest with a soft, “Oh!”

He can feel the burn of your stare on his skin the entire time.

Jean stares at you with low eyes as he trudges to the bed and plops down unceremoniously with a groan. You settle against the pillows beside him, never breaking eye contact. Your faces are so close, and under the stream of moonlight and the twinkle of the city lights outside, Jean can see the curve of your lips and the flutter of your lashes and the reflection of the light on your sleepy eyes.

Beautiful, he thinks. So beautiful.

He wonders what it would be like to kiss you.

“You smell better now,” you say quietly, but so drily. Never mind, he thinks to himself. Jean whines and pushes his head into the pillow again as he covers his face in embarrassment. He cranes his neck to face you. “Oh, shut up.”

“What? I’m just saying. You smelled like someone poured an entire bottle of tequila on you earlier.”

“Basically,” he huffs. “Didn’t you say you were tired or something?”

“Still am.”

He rolls his eyes. “Then go to bed.”

“I’m trying. Some dumbass with a mullet keeps talking to me.”

Jean rolls his eyes and pokes the tip of your nose.

“Good night.”

He feels you poke him back, your finger jabbing his ribs under the covers. You melt further into the sheets and shut your eyes. Your voice barely comes out, petal-soft as you say, “Good night, Jeanboy.”

You fall asleep almost immediately, face finally relaxing and melting into something much softer than your usual sharpness. Jean can’t help but look at you one more time, even as his eyes grow heavy and his vision fades. All he can hear is your combined breathing, the rustle of the sheets, and the gentle ambiance of the city outside.

There’s only one thought going through his head by the time he actually falls asleep. Maybe it’s only there because he’s still drunk and still feeling the effects of everything in his body. Maybe when he wakes up in the morning, the thought will have faded away. Jean’s not so sure. It feels wrong of him to think, but he can’t help it:

He’s never wanted to kiss you more than he did tonight.

[myzterymeat]

Jean Kirstein x reader fic out now!

A chapter from Attack on Lemon!

🔞 Attack on Lemon (aot/snk x reader) - Chapter 3 - Mystery_Meat - Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan [Archive of Our Own] 🔞

[m4gicalgirlm4tcha]

orchid girl: red orchid!reader moodboard

read RED ORCHID, jean x reader (artist au) on wattpad & ao3! CH 31: JEANBOY AND ORCHID GIRL out now :)

[haven-in-havoc]

jean x reader "best junkie you adore"

may expand upon this, may make it a short story, may leave it as is. who knows

tw: drugs, doing gross things for drugs, breakdowns. just angst and i guess comfort but it's a rough situation to comfort

jean x f reader ; will make a graphic later for this

He’s never known a version of me without powder on the rim of my nose or my hand around a beer. I used to be classy, a woman who drank daiquiris and didn’t snort off toilet seats for a free line. My humiliation cost more than hundreds of dollars a gram and yet I did it. I did it twice, three times—more than that. I watched him run his hands through ginger hair while cackling, a man with dilated pupils getting not nearly as much of a kick out of it. 

Floch and Eren, the terrorists on campus. Or in my case, my first line of enablers.

He’s never known the girl who used to watch the classroom for my teachers, the girl who had only A’s until depression grew too strong to fight, the girl who smiled so bright a boy said I swallowed the sun. There’s only the slightly yellow teeth from smoking pot and nicotine, the crooked grin I have when drunk, the bitter taste of depressants dripping from my nose down the back of my throat. 

He’s left with the worst parts of me. The parts I mistook for the best of me. The competence my body has when high, the kindness on my tongue on ketamine, the ditzy vacancy behind my eyes when I’m floating from a headrush to nic-sickness. He’s left with the vomiting in the bathroom, the hollowed cheeks, the burn of another night I made a dumb mistake. Another night of babysitting his girlfriend, another night of me not getting better. 

“I’ll never change.” My voice is sparse, between dry heaves, and there’s an emptiness in more than just my belly. 

He’s brushing my hair off my shoulders with a hand, his touch gentle. I’m so embarrassed, so ashamed. Not even an hour ago I was doing lines off the brim of this toilet seat for a few free lines. I’m still orbiting but everything else I’m on has crashed. I’m circling the drain, stuck in a hole. My vision is fuzzy and I think I’ll die here. 

“You won’t always be like this.” It’s meant to be a comfort but it isn’t. 

“I will be.” I’m crying, the tears a rarity with how dehydrated I always am. My stomach twists into these painful knots. 

“You have to want to get better to change.” I don’t like when he’s right, when his words align with truth. They do more often than not. I love that about Jean, how much of a realist he is, but it’s the pessimism of reality that drags me down. I hate knowing I’m wrong. That I’m the problem. 

“I’m here for you. I just…” Jean’s hands are warm against my skin, clammy and paler than it ought to be, and his voice sounds tired. He looks tired. Eyebags and his stubble has grown to a shallow beard and his hair is rugged. I think I woke him up when I called him here. I feel awful to bother him. I bother him more often than I don’t. “I need you to want to change. I can’t help you if you don’t want to be helped.” 

His lips press against my forehead, like a promise, and I don’t know how he could stand to kiss me. I smell like vomit and maurijauna and alcohol and everything he’s given up to be a good example for me. He doesn’t even smoke before he paints anymore, giving up the vibrancy of his oil pastels to free me from temptation. Yet I still find it. In every invite to Eren’s parties, to every offer Floch gives me, in every excuse to talk to Connie in hopes for a free smoke session. I’m the worst of everyone I know. 

“Jean, I’m so sorry.” He’s used to those words. I’m sure they’re tattooed across his skull, memorized like a script he never asked to read, with how often I’ve said it. I say it once a week, usually upwards to five times a week, and I hate myself more than I could ever communicate to him. Even with the cigarette burns on my wrists or the thin lacerations down my thighs. There’s nothing that’s enough to translate this mental anguish to a physical plane. I don’t know why I can’t give up all these awful habits. 

“I know.” It’s all he says now in response. He used to tell me it isn’t my fault, that my upbringing of watching people medicate through unregulated pills was to blame. That I am a victim. I don’t know when Jean stopped seeing me as a victim. I think he’s switched his thinking to viewing me as a perpetrator, as the person ruining his life too. I hate myself. I hate what I am. I can’t seem to stop even with all the hatred slowing my heart. Or is it coming off? 

Jean’s arms are around me. There’s spit shining on my lip and my lipstick is smudged. I can see the color matching the smear on the toilet seat from where I accidentally brushed it in doing my line. I’m so embarrassed, I’m so ashamed. I can’t stop even with all these negative feelings swirled inside of me. I am a mosaic of the worst moments. Of all the moments pointing to Jean leaving me in the end. Who wants to be around this? Who wants someone as flawed as me? 

“I’m here because I love you.” Jean’s a mind reader. He knows when to say what. “I want you to get better because I love you.” My body is slumping against his now, my head falling against his chest. I’m cradled like an infant and I wish I could relive innocence. “This could never make me stop loving you.” His hand lifts to brush my hair from my face again, my dazed eyes staring into his clear eyes. Like molasses, his eye color and the patience he has for only me. I’m so special to him for no valid reason. “I adore you. I want to adore you for as long as I can.” 

I don’t have the heart to tell him it’s closer to a short time than a long time. Between everything I do, every powder and every pill, I don’t know when the bandaid will be ripped off. I can’t tell him that. I can’t tell Jean I can’t stop, that I sold my soul the first time I snorted. 

So instead I cry. I cry and cry in his arms while Jean holds me close, holds me upright, and I already feel closer to a corpse than a real living woman. I sold my childhood for alcohol, my boyfriend for maurijauna, and I’ll die doing lines of ketamine to an audience of laughing assholes. 

I don’t know how—with everything I’ve done and can’t stop doing—he still loves me. 

“Stop thinking.” Jean’s words are like a quiet plea rather than a command. He’s asking me to do another thing I can’t manage. I’m always thinking, my mind on a treadmill set to the highest setting. It’s why I drink, why I snort, why I can’t fucking stop. “I know you’re scared. I know you feel bad. None of it matters, not now.” Jean’s kissing my cheek, not minding the drool of my lifeless complexion. “You’re the only important thing to me here.”

[aliceluxom]

✧ 𝙹𝚎𝚊𝚗 𝚡 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 ✧

(One shot! Word count: 2626)

𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚜𝚢

𝙰𝚘𝟹

You were face to face with the lens of the camcorder now. You could just see Jeans neatly trimmed chin just under the device. That smirk he always had, was fixed on you.

"Come on sweet baby smile for them."

You knew it was just a part of his fantasy. He would never share this video with anyone, he loves you too much. But he'd been begging you to let him make a sex tape with you. A few weeks had gone by and all you'd said was a teasing little 'maybe'. Every time it had killed him.

The dam broke when he'd come through your door an hour ago.

You were getting dressed when you heard a knock on your door. You knew he was coming, so you had his favorite tight lingerie set on, under his big college sweater. The black garters squeezed your thighs in a way that could make him cry. The first time you had shown him he'd nearly busted in his underwear.

"Let me in, I know you're there."

You just stood against the door, giggling lightly.

"Fine, be that way." He feigned irritation.

"Ok ok I'll open the door." You let it swing open.

His hair was so perfect, and he was wearing that stupid cowboy hat you'd won him at a fair. Even that couldn't mess it up.

"Hi cowboy." You said. Smirking back at him.

Jean just scoffed and lifted you, his broad hands sliding up your sides. As he carried you into your dorm, he chuckled.

With his hands up your sweater like that surely he would notice you weren't wearing shorts...

As soon as you had the thought, you felt his fingers tighten slightly against your flesh.

"Aw baby." His voice was close, his breath was warm on your neck. He'd sat down on the bed, and your legs were around him.

Jean had his hands rubbing up and down your back lovingly. He has such a soft spot for you, moments like these were enough to make him cry, and you knew it.

You pulled away from his neck slightly. This haircut was new, and over the past month he'd started with this facial hair. You didn't need to know what it's called to love it. So you leaned in and nuzzled his cheek, without having to look up, you ran your hand up through his hair to knock the hat off. You could hear his breath hitch, and feel his chest rise.

"Oh Jean I love you." You let your fingers twirl around in his hair.

Again his fingers tightened, this time in your clothes. His head turned for his lips to peck yours. Catching the hint you melted into him.

He breathed in when you fisted his shirt with one hand. That dusting of hair on his face felt so good under your fingertips. His jaw moved with yours, his tongue moving with you.

Barely pulling away he muttered."Angel I missed you."

You decided to show him your response. Jean made a sound when you fervently leaned back into him, your mouth hot on his soft lips.

You could feel one of his hands creeping around to massage your thigh. Fingers slipping underneath the tight garters lace.

"Mmm come on baby lay back."

Immediately you nod. The pillows were soft and fluffed, perfect for you to lay back against. Jean just watched you obey him, that smirk hadn't left his face since he walked in.

"You know what I'm going to ask you." He sat back on his heels.

You knew he was right, you knew what was coming. And this time you didn't have the strength to say no. You didn't want to.

"I brought my camcorder..."

If you were going to say yes, you might as well get even more out of it.

"Yes I know Jean.. I'll say yes to making our... film. If you let me do this one tiny fantasy without teasing me. Not one word."

You waved your finger in front of his face. 

This particular "fantasy" was nothing more than little worshipping. As long as you had known him, Jean had always had that one part of his body... that muscle that bulged from his hip and spanned into his pants. That stupid trail of hair that followed it drove you crazy. It had been the center of dozens of your late night dreams.

All you could do now was pout and bat your eyes. He folded.

"Ok yes baby anything for you." He let his body curl over and lean over you. His hands on the side of your face.

"Say the word and I'll do it baby."

He was looking up at you now.

"Ok then. Go get your little camera." You couldn't hold back the giggle when he shoved his face in your belly.

"Ahhh jean." You swatted at his head as he nuzzled you down into the mattress.

"Thank you thank you thank you."

You could only just make out his words from the fabric.

"Come on come on set it up."

You whined.

"Eager now. So you were just teasing me this whole time. You know you want it. Naughty thing."

He tried to make it sound chastising but he was smiling to hard.

You watched him set it up while you got your phone out and connected to the speaker. You scrolled to your playlist and shuffled, 'Every1's a winner' by hot chocolate started playing through the room.

You threw the phone and started waving your hips playfully. Bringing your fingertips under the hem of his sweatshirt you gracefully pulled it over your head. 

The whole time he watched you, a wolfish expression on.

"Don't even look at me like that pretty boy." You wagged a finger at him.

"As soon as you set that up you listen to me."

He just chuckled and tightened the tripod. "You know that's not gonna last long." Yeah you knew. He has a dominant streak that will never fade.

He straightened, showing he was done. You could tell he was getting an eyeful of you now even more bare.

You started before he could. "Baby, I really want you to strip completely. But leave your jeans on. Then lie back on the bed. Okay?"

Crawling on your knees you made room for him to lay.

"Yes ma'am."

Both of his arms raised and he lifted up that shirt to reveal his torso. God he knew he looked good, he just continued to smirk at you before he laid back. For some reason it was frustrating, you straddled him a bit forcefully.

"Easy rider." He brushed some hair from your face and cupped your cheek. "You are so beautiful. I thought I'd let you know just how whipped I am for you before I tear you up."

You gasped dramatically. "Jean." You brought a palm down to cover his dirty mouth. You'd almost forgot about the stare of the camera. You looked back at it and wiggled ur behind teasingly for future Jean.

Again his fingers crept up your thighs, now landing on your plush ass. "Ok let me work." You whispered before wetting your lips and kissing his. Feeling your chest against his was overwhelming. The feeling of his fingers rubbing all over made your stomach quiver but still you kissed lower. Licking across his jaw, and down to the crook of his neck you could hear him whine.

The smell of his sweat and musk mixing with his cologne made you light headed. You could feel him swallow and see his Adam's apple moist with sweat.

It was too much you couldn't help it, you let your hips rock into his slightly.

"Oh come here sunshine." He brought you back up. His tongue licking on yours, huffing breaths together. You could tell he felt a little out of place not being in control, but from the way his dick had been trying to dig through the denim of his jeans for a half an hour, Jean clearly wasn't against it.

Manicured nails slid down his chest, down, down to his muscle and that trail of hair. Teasingly you massaged through the hair lightly. Breaking away for a moment was all you could bare. You glanced down and unbuttoned his pants, to shimmy the denim down half an inch.

It was comfortably silent, both were processing the feelings.

Flashing knowing looks up to him, you pulled a leg around, reverse straddling his chest.

Feeling like the wind had gotten knocked out of him, Jean watched the curve of your waist, now the feeling of your wetness on his skin nearly bust him out of his jeans.

He whined. "Come on baby let me." He plucked at the side of your lace. You nod and quickly he strips it off.

"Oh shit." You could feel his muscles under your palms flex and release.

Again you wiggled your ass in his face. "What is it Jean."

"Oh god don't tease me too much I can't."

Sparing him you nodded and lightly set your hips down to his chest, and your mouth to his v-line.

Your wet tongue pressed into his warm skin, his scent filling her mind. Lapping up his scent got her even more drunk than the whiskey she's had before he came.

Now moving onto the more focused line of hair, you made sure to nuzzle into his plush skin, the feeling made his insides melt.

Jean let it wash over him, maybe he was feeling blurred at the edges like you, it was as if everything was sliding into place.

Running your ringed fingers down his strong thighs, you positioned yourself over his trail.

He realized what you was doing,

"You want to use me baby?" He was wrong.

Instead of that bubbling laughter, it was a trembling sigh, "Wha- no- ah- I've just always found this part of you- mmm particularly -attractive." The last word came out in a squeak, your legs were becoming weaker, the once rough feeling hair, was now soaked as you continued to gently grind on it.

The camcorder was watching it all. Mapping each moment for later. It watched as you made a mess all over your lover.

Dragging your pearl down to kiss the chilled top of his silver belt, you sighed. The intense cold sending wave after wave of sensations through your legs, "Oh baby, Ah." Your hair fell down your smooth back, hips tilting to grind down on him again they met the soft tendrils. You were covered in goosebumps and your hairs were on end from all the sensation.

All you could focus on was the stream of juice you were leaving all over his stomach.

Like a predator, he could smell it from his position against the headboard.

"That good? Yeah I know it is." He had one large and gentle hand on your lower back, and another on your heel. Now he slightly pressed with his fingertips, Helping you rock back and forth.

You'd gripped him tight with those manicured fingers again, you had a vice grip on his heat and refused to let up. The bulge felt so good you wanted him to need you.

Exhaling whimpers as you went, you let your mind wander to pulling away the frustrating denim.

"No." Spank.

He had never done that before... but the strong and firm hand continued guiding your hips, and your heat still dripped.  "No baby focus, I want you cumming on my stomach, now."

The words shocked air out of you. All you could do was gawk and nod. "Y-yes."

"I'm almost- almost-"  he cut you off with a gasp.

"Oh god look at you pretty baby."

That reminded you of the camcorder recording your every move. All you could do was continue the grinding. your breathes came faster, and your back arched and he could see the pulsing of your flesh.

You twisted his bulge, breath coming out in tiny puffs now. Jean gave a rougher shove and you were done for. Along with the blood rushing into his ears he could hear the deep groan you let out, and feel the hot spurt of essence released. Your head was spinning in the moment, but your thoughts were still clear, so you peeled the denim back more. The pure heat that was now in your fingertips, heated up the silver on his buckle. It flings open and the zipper nearly caught itself. The first thing you noticed about it, was that it was just how you had remembered. Tall and dripping, your hair fell over them as you twisted your neck to face him.

"Come on baby girl. Do that pretty split for me hunny." Jean always had Smooth words that got you to obey. Now on his knees Jean kneeled over you, gripping your  waist, his cock poking your back, dripping down your flesh. Again his breath kissed your cheek, his flushed tip dragged down the curve of your spine. Jean's strong fingers lifted you effortlessly "oh! Jean." He slid you down on him.

"Yes we both know you can take it. Now be a good girl and ride me in that split." Jean was grinning at the camcorder putting on a show for future you. You did your best  in the compromising position, your hands were barely on the sheets and your leg stretched out in front and behind you. Jean was absolutely in control, he was manhandling you in every possible way.

With your face turned as far as possible, you buried your face in his hair, eyes shut tight with sensation.

"Your so light baby, oh so easy to love." Part of him wanted to lean back and pound into you til you creamed all over, but he knew this was how it was meant to be. Your  body spread over his.

He couldn't help it he needed to break you. Jean sat up and pressed fully into you, leaving you in the splits, right on his dick. With one leg still stretched perfectly in front of you, you squeaked in confusion.

"Jean? Please I need you to keep going. I was so close."

He just rubbed the small of your back and took the leg that was still stretched behind you, and bent it up until your foot nearly touched your hair. Your breasts ached each time they bounced, the roughness forced little noises from your chest.

"Uh uh uh uh j-j- Jean"

Everything was pushed to the limit. Pulled tight, your mind fuzzy and overwhelmed. Jean laid into you, lips against your throat he groaned. Never stopping the momentum. Each thrust moved your hips back and forth, rubbing your clit on the sheets.

"So good so good baby girl."

"Jean! Jean! I- I can't handle I-"

"Yeah baby girl." Jean shook his head, mouth open and eyes shut, he groaned deeply. His baby hairs were drenched with sweat sticking on his skin. Another squeeze from your cunt sent him over. He struck into a frenzy, the squelching building into a gush.

"Good girl good girl baby." Your legs convulsed, soaking all over his mound as he pumped his seed into you. Deep.

You came back to the world with his soft lips on her pulse. Your joints sore from holding the position like that. You were both covered in sweat, his cum was leaking from you.

"I love you." He nuzzled into your neck.

The woman stroked his silky hair, they had gone a bit static from the intense heat. You couldn't control yourself, you nuzzled his scalp and sniffed a small cry. "I love you too Jean . I love you."

"Smile for the camera."

@angeliicide

✧𝙳𝚖 𝚘𝚛 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝚏𝚒𝚌𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚌𝚑𝚘𝚒𝚌𝚎✧

[tragicgirl44]

jim teacher jean and school schl nurse reader 😆😆😆😆😆😆😆😆😆😆😆😆😆😆😆😆

[multixkaisen]

Art Hoe Ch. 1

pairing: classmate!jean x female!reader , classmate!choso x female!reader, classmate!jean x female!reader x classmate!choso

warnings(not chapter specific): 18+, mdni, sexually explicit content, use of y/n insert, eventual smut, friends to lovers, porn with a plot, college au, jjk x aot crossover, art student jean, art student choso, love triangle, multiple partners, jealousy, possessive, mutual sexual tension, grinding, teasing, oral(f + m receiving), mdom, fingering, aggressive sex, unprotected sex, neck holding (slight choking), hair pulling, slapping, multiple orgasms(f + m), eiffel tower

summary: You’re already late on the first day and get stuck sitting in the center of the classroom. It can only go up from here, right? Three new friends, and two potential romances doesn’t seem too bad after only two days of class.

a/n: hi guys! this story will have about 3-4 chapters, maybe more. i’m not to sure yet. I have already started the second chapter, but lmk if you would like to see pov chapters from jean and choso. thanks for reading and hope you enjoy🫶🏽!

word count: 2.8k

You jolt awake and look at your phone to see what time it is. It’s 08:43 AM, and your class starts at 09:00 AM.

“Shit!” You practically jump out of bed and grab the first pair of pants and shirt you see lying in your chair. You throw them on and make your way to the bathroom to brush your teeth and do your hair. By doing your hair you mean slapping it into a bun and pulling out a couple strands in the front. You had no time for makeup, and you were wearing a blue sweatshirt and gray sweatpants, paired with some busted Converse you’ve had since sophomore year of high school.

“Not the best look for a fashion major, but it’ll have to do for today.” With pursed lips and a raised brow, you step back for one final look before you head out the door. Looking down at your phone, you see it is now 08:52, and you still have to make it halfway across campus. You start sprinting, praying to whatever higher being that would listen so that you make it to class on time. After sprinting for what felt like an eternity, you finally made it, but to your dismay the only open seat was smack dab in the middle of the class. The seats were in 7 tiered rows, arranged in a U-shape with the instructor’s podium front and center. You make your way down the steps to your seat and look at the clock. Right on time. You immediately feel eyes on your back, but as you turn to look, the teacher claps their hands together and announces the first assignment.

"Hello, my fellow artistes! I am Mrs. Carter, and today you will be choosing someone, or something, in the room to illustrate. These will be due at the end of class, so please be sure you include your name and date somewhere on the page. The best pieces will be displayed on the board tomorrow morning. Ok, let’s get busy!”

You scan the room looking for the best outfit, for obvious reasons, and your eyes land on a guy in the front who seems really invested in the decor behind Mrs. Carter’s desk. He was wearing a ribbed, green vest over a white button-up shirt. He wore khaki pants with a brown belt and brown boots to match. The green vest really complimented his eyes. His shaggy ash-brown hair was styled in a mullet that reached down to his shoulders and a clean-cut goatee. He was a fairly handsome guy, and apparently he knew how to dress, so you decided he was a good choice.

You begin to sketch from his neck up. You start sketching the base of his face, then begin working on his eyes. They were the perfect shade of caramel brown. The shape was slightly sharp and upturned, giving him a look that probably should have scared you if you made eye contact, but you think it had the opposite effect. His face was a bit long, but the goatee added some much-needed contrast. The bridge of his nose was straight, so that was pretty easy to draw. Looking at him as a whole, he was pretty average, but the way he presented himself was what made him so attractive. You move on to his hair; it looked well kept, and he had it slicked back with the ends flowing down.

You looked up and realized just how long you had spent on his face, so you quickly started on his outfit. That was the easy part, so maybe it was for the better that you did it last.

As you start adding more detail to your work, you feel the eyes from earlier on you once again. Trying not to be obvious, you look behind you, and to your surprise you see everyone immersed in their pieces. You shake it off and focus on your own. Once 10:30 comes, the teacher asks everyone to leave their completed work in the box beside the door before leaving.

You finally make it out of the classroom and realize just how hungry you are, so you pull out your phone and look for the nearest place you could find that has food. You see a place that was actually right beside your dorm called “Muffin Tops." It was a cute little spot that had posts of tasty-looking pastries and sandwiches but, most importantly, coffee. You most definitely would have stopped there this morning if you hadn’t been late. You make your way to the cafe and see that there aren’t many people there.

Thank goodness. You didn’t think you could wait in a line. You were starving.

You start to scour the menu, and you feel the eyes again. This time you wait until after you order to slowly turn in the direction of the gaze, and you finally see him. He locks eyes with you but just for a moment before he refocuses his attention on his sketchbook. You furrow your brows and laugh to yourself. He was a big guy and he looked pretty intimidating, but he seemed more afraid of you than you were of him. You hear your name called and go grab your food, then find a table at the same side of the cafe as the mystery guy. You don’t sit too close, but just close enough that you can get a good look at him.

He had dark hair, lots of tattoos, and it seemed like he had a piercing to go with each one. He was tall and muscular, but still slender. He had his hair in a loose bun similar to your own. He had heavy eyelids that looked like they had a bit of eyeliner and eyeshadow on them.

That’s hot, you thought. His face was very symmetrical, his brows perfectly matched each other, his nose was straight and pointed, and his jawline was crazy sharp. There was one tattoo that stood out, mostly because it was directly in the center of his face. A long vertical stripe, sprawling across both cheeks and ending under each eye. You felt like a creep for staring, so you realign your eyes to the delicious food in front of you and lick your lips.

“I’m so sorry, you beautiful sandwich.” Anybody who might have been paying attention probably thought you were crazy, but you didn’t care. You were so hungry. The fake apology was short-lived as the food was now being shoved into your mouth.

After eating you felt much better, and you decided to do a little work for your other classes while you were here. You probably spent a good two hours doing work, and you thought that was enough, so you packed up and headed back to your dorm.

Today wasn’t terrible, just a bit odd because of the mystery guy. He was pretty, but he could have just said something instead of staring. He didn’t seem like the type to be nervous around girls.

Was he the same person who was staring at me in class? You hadn’t thought about it before, but the way his gaze felt was the same way the eyes from class did.

Oh, well! You shrug and find something else to do to occupy yourself. People watching doesn’t sound too bad. You grab your sketchbook and headphones, then head out to the courtyard. There was an open bench on the far side, and you head that way. Once you sit, you see that it was the perfect spot. You could see everyone laughing, smiling, talking, and studying, and some just sitting in silence, enjoying the fresh air. You don’t even realize someone was standing beside you until they toss their bag on the ground.

“Is this seat taken?” You jump a little, not expecting someone to be there. She was pretty, very tomboyish, though. She had long, cherry red hair, which wasn’t her natural color. You knew this because you could see the black peeking through at her roots.

“No. You can sit.” You scoot over to give her a little extra room and laugh.

“Sorry if I scared you.” She chuckled at your shocked expression. “My name is Reese; nice to meet you.”

“Y/n.” You extend your hand to her, and she takes it, giving a firm shake. You two talk about your majors, and you find out that she is also a fashion major. You would have never thought that based on how she dressed, but you didn’t really look the part right now either. She offers to show you her designs, and you’re not one to say no, so the two of you share your designs and brainstorm ideas together. It was nice to have a friend who also happened to be going into the same major. You lose track of time, and pretty soon it is 04:00 PM.

“This was fun. We should hang out again sometime.” You and Reese exchange numbers before you head back to your dorm. Once you get back, you put on your favorite movie to relax a little. Halfway through it, you get a text from Reese.

This was going to be your very first college party, so obviously you had to go. You already had so many outfit ideas. After the movie you shower and change into a baggy t-shirt and some shorts. You check your phone to make sure the alarm is on for tomorrow and go to sleep.

The next morning you wake up, on time, with the help of your alarm. This time you actually get to pick an outfit. You choose a red tank top with white polka dots and a black shrug top to go over it. Then you grab a black skirt and a cheetah-print tie to use as a "belt." It was really just for looks, but it was important. A pair of red heels catches your eye, and you slip them on and start to do your hair. Two loose, low buns seem cute, and you leave a couple of strands out in the front. For makeup, you just do light foundation, a smidge of blush, some mascara, and a smoky eye. Was the outfit a bit much? Yes. Did you look good? Also yes. You brush your teeth before slapping on some red lipstick and grab your things for class. This time you can walk, which is nice. The courtyard was so pretty. It was full of gorgeous flowers and a beautiful spiral topiary.

That would be a good spot for some pictures. You continue on to class and arrive 10 minutes early. There are a few students already sitting and waiting for class to start. Once you get to your seat, you look up to the board and see a drawing of a beautiful girl. She looks a bit frazzled. Her hair was a little messy, she had rosy cheeks, and she was vaguely familiar.

Mrs. Carter looks up and gives you a smile. “You must be the girl in this drawing," she says over the speakers. Your blood runs warm, and you feel the redness creep up your face.

Holy shit! She was right. You force yourself to return a smile and try to calm back down.

The next few minutes drag by, and finally Mrs. Carter starts.

"Ok, class! I want everyone to look up to the board at these 3 illustrations. Of all of the pieces from this class, these stood out the most to me, but this one,” she says, pointing at one of you, “this one is absolutely stunning!”

You slump down into your chair, hoping no one else realizes that it’s you. Unfortunately, you notice the guy that you drew turn around, and he seems to see the resemblance. Then Mrs. Carter calls out the name of the artist, and you immediately start looking around.

“Choso Kamo? Come down here. I want the class to see you for the talented young man you are.”

You hear a chair squeak across the floor behind you, and you turn around so fast you almost fall over. Then you see him. It’s the mystery guy. He doesn’t look up and walks to the front of the room. Your eyes don’t leave him once.

Choso, you thought, That’s different. It fits him, though.

Mrs. Carter begins clapping, and the rest of the class joins. The guy in the front is now fully turned to you while clapping.

This class was going to last forever.

10:30 comes, but not soon enough, and you practically sprint to the door. You make your way to the cafe hoping to see Choso there. You wanted to ask him a million questions. You feel like you’re being followed, but not in a weird way. Someone was watching you, waiting for the right time to approach. You tried not to think about it much longer and continued on to “Muffin Tops."

You order a caramel latte, with extra caramel, and step aside to wait for your drink. As you’re waiting, you hear a voice from behind.

“Nice choice, though I prefer my coffee black.” You turn around and he smiles. The guy from the front row was here.

“I’m Jean.” He gives a nod and gives you an expectant look.

“Y/n” You return the nod and laugh.

“What’s so funny?” He asks, but you realize he’s serious.

“You were the one following me.”

Jean’s eyes widen and his mouth falls open, but nothing comes out. His cheeks became bright red and he started to rub the back of his neck with his hand.

“Yeah, sorry about that. I wasn’t trying to be a creep, but I couldn’t think of a way to start the conversation.”

You just laugh, “Mission failed successfully I guess.” You tease him and pick up your drink. You sit at a table, Jean following behind you. When you sit, you look to the corner where Choso sat yesterday and get a little more excited than you should have when you saw he was there. He was already looking in your direction, but he looked a little upset. You wave him over and ask him to join the two of you. He sits beside Jean because he didn’t want to be weird and sit by you after the whole drawing thing.

Seeing them side by side was so strange. They were so similar, yet different. Both of them were tall, muscular, and very handsome. They had the same sharp gaze and brown eyes. Jean was more ""clean"-looking, but Choso was more on the rough side. Jean was a bit more talkative, and Choso would barely look up, let alone open his mouth. The major similarity was that they were both hot. Extremely hot.

You look to Choso and cock an eyebrow.

“You know you can talk to me, right? I won’t bite.” You tease him and you see his cheeks flush.

“Yeah, yeah.” His voice was deep, not too deep, but deeper than you expected.

“You’re really talented. That drawing was amazing. I didn’t even realize it was me until Mrs. Carter said something.” You didn’t see it, but Jean was getting jealous.

“Yeah man! That was some crazy line work. What’s your major?” Jean chimed in, because he felt like he was being forgotten.

“I’m planning on getting a bachelor's in fine arts and then trying to land an apprenticeship at a tattoo place. I want to have my own shop eventually.” He replies and shrugs, “What about you?” He looks to Jean and waits for his reply.

“I’m gonna be this generation's Pablo Picasso.” He gives a half hearted smirk and points finger guns at Choso, who rolls his eyes. “No, but seriously I’m thinking about getting a masters in fine arts. I want to be an art professor.”

Both men turn to look at you and wait for your answer.

“Is it not obvious?!” You laugh and shake your head. “I plan to go to fashion school eventually. I’m just getting my basics out of the way and beefing up my portfolio before I try.”

They both nod and you all continue to make small talk for a few minutes. Jean ends up mentioning the party Reese told you about.

“You should come y/n.” He looks at you and gives a smile.

“My friend already invited me, so I’ll be there. What about you, Choso?”

“Not really my scene, but thanks for the invite.” He gives a little smile and takes a sip of his coffee.

“Yeah, you’re right.” You look at Jean and laugh.

“What’s that supposed to mean?!” Choso asks accusingly.

Jean almost spits out his coffee trying to hold back a laugh, and Choso jabs him in the side.

“Hey! She said it, not me!” Jean busted out laughing at the sight of Choso’s cherry red face. You giggle and roll your eyes.

You say nothing, stand up, and give a wave while saying goodbye to the boys. The excitement of going to your first party is growing by the second. As soon as you get back to your dorm, you take everything out of your closet and start working on a new outfit.

You were going to be the hottest girl there.

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works