the cherry game
miniseries masterlist
» [the color violet- tory lanez] «
The bass thumped through the sidewalk long before you reached the frat house. Each step closer, the ground vibrated beneath your sneakers, rattling up your legs like a warning. The entire block smelled like smoke, spilled beer, and the sweet bite of whatever neon punch frat boys brewed in plastic tubs.
You slowed instinctively, tugging the hem of your tank top upwards as if that flimsy fabric could shield you from the chaos spilling out of the house.
"Don't even think about it," Ymir warned, tightening her grip on your wrist before you could make a run for it at the edge of the lawn. "You're going in."
"I didn't even do anything," you muttered, though your frown gave you away.
"You didn't have to," she said, dragging you forward. Historia trailed just behind, her smaller frame tucked safely against Ymir's side, as if she'd never been nervous about anything in her life. She flashed you a sweet smile, the kind that was impossible to argue with. Her presence was part of the reason you were here tonight.
"It'll be fun," Historia said, voice light as the chatter spilling from the porch reached your ears. "Just one night. You need to enjoy yourself a little more."
"I highly doubt that," you replied, ducking as someone stumbled past carrying a case of beer.
"Stop being dramatic." Ymir kicked the front door open like she owned the place. "Reiner throws the best parties on campus. Trust me"
"Besides everyone needs to experience a bit of public humiliation in college. Your ass wont get that being trapped in your room with textbooks."
"Some of us don't want that Ymir" you protested to no avail. You were already dragged into the house. Your fate sealed for the night.
The air inside hit you like a wall—hot, thick with sweat, beer, and perfume, every corner crammed with bodies pressed shoulder to shoulder. A crowd clustered around the living room, chanting over the roar of music while someone stood on the table chugging from a bottle.
"Best parties, huh?" you muttered, adjusting the strap of your tank top like a lifeline.
But Ymir was already weaving through the chaos with Historia in one hand, confident as ever. You trailed reluctantly until a familiar voice rose over the bass.
"Hey! NO WAY!! Didn't think I'd see you here Y/N."
You turned and spotted him instantly: Reiner Braun, his blond head a good half-foot above the crowd, broad-shouldered and grinning wide. Relief washed through you like a sudden breath of fresh air.
"Reiner," you said, almost laughing at how out of place he looked in this blur of strangers. Except he didn't look out of place at all. Reiner belonged everywhere.
He pushed his way through the crowd easily and clapped you on the shoulder with the kind of warmth that made you forget he was basically campus royalty. "Haven't seen you since bio lab last year. How's Professor Zoe treating you?"
"Like we're all half-geniuses who need to catch up," you said with a wry smile. "What about Professor Smith? Still the same?"
"Same old same old." He chuckled, then gave you a quick once-over, eyebrows raising. "Didn't expect to see you here, though. Thought you weren't into the party scene."
"I'm not." You shot a look at Ymir, who was already smirking. "I was dragged against my will."
"Dragged for your own good," Ymir cut in, tightening her arm around Historia. "Someone had to drag her out of her damn goblin cave."
Reiner laughed, shaking his head. "Well, I'm glad you're here. But-" He hesitated, eyes flicking past your shoulder, toward the kitchen. For a second, his expression shifted ,still friendly, but more cautious, protective even. "Word of advice. Stay away from Jean."
Your brow furrowed. "Jean?"
Reiner leaned closer, his voice lowering to a rumble under the music. "Jean Kirstein. You'll know him if you see him. Just... he's not the guy you want to get mixed up with."
You've seen him before, never up close but you knew he was with you in Zoe's Biology class.
Ymir groaned. "Oh boy, here we go. Reiner let the girl get some."
"I'm serious," Reiner said, straightening again but keeping his eyes on you. "You're a good person. He's...complicated." He didn't seem to have heard Ymir or he did hear her and was blatantly ignoring her.
"Complicated?" you repeated, unsure if you wanted to know more.
"Yeah." He paused, like he was weighing whether to add something, then just shook his head. "Look, just... be careful, alright?"
Before you could press further, someone shouted his name from across the room. Reiner gave you one last look, firm but kind, then melted back into the crowd.
You stood frozen for a beat, Reiner's warning lingering in your head like static. You barely knew who Jean was, but now, apparently, you were supposed to avoid him.
Historia leaned closer, her soft voice carrying just enough. "He has a reputation."
"Reputation for what?"
Ymir smirked like she'd been waiting for you to ask. "For firsts."
You blinked. "Firsts?"
"Yeah." She slung an arm around your shoulders, grin sharp and mischievous. "Ask around. You'll hear it."
The kitchen was only marginally less chaotic than the living room, but at least you could breathe here. A few people hovered around the counters, refilling red cups from mismatched bottles and jugs of neon liquid that looked like nuclear waste.
You lingered at the edge, scanning the options. None looked particularly safe.
"Not a beer girl?"
The voice came from your left , low, amused, and a little too close.
You turned, and there he was.
He leaned against the counter with easy confidence, one hand braced on the edge, the other holding a half-filled cup. Strawberry ash hair fell just right over sharp eyes, and the corner of his mouth curved like he already knew something you didn't. He wasn't dressed like he was trying hard , just a fitted black tee and wide legged blue jeans but somehow he drew attention anyway.
You recognized him a beat too late.
Jean Kirstein.
Reiner's warning snapped through your brain like static.
Stay away from Jean.
You cleared your throat and looked back at the counter. "I'm not sure any of this qualifies as drinkable."
"Smart girl," he said, his grin widening. He tilted his own cup toward you. "This is the least dangerous option. Vodka and Sprite. Tastes like regret, but it won't kill you."
You raised an eyebrow. "And I'm supposed to trust you on that?"
He laughed, the sound warm but edged with something teasing. "You wound me." He pauses dramatically placing a hand on his chest. "I've got no reason to lie. Unless you're the type to think I drug people for fun."
Your eyes snapped to his, sharp.
"Relax," Jean said quickly, holding up one hand. "Kidding. Mostly."
"That's not a funny joke," you said flatly.
His grin softened into something less cocky, more thoughtful. "You're right. Sorry. Bad habit."
Silence stretched for a moment, filled only by the bass thudding faintly through the walls.
Jean broke it first. "You're in Zoe's bio class, Y/N right? You always sit by the window."
That startled you enough to meet his gaze again. "You know that?"
"Of course." He sipped his drink casually, like it wasn't a big deal. "Hard not to notice someone who actually pays attention."
You felt heat creep into your cheeks, though you couldn't tell if it was embarrassment or annoyance. "I didn't think you'd know who I was."
"Why not?"
You gestured vaguely at the crowded house around you. "Because you're... you."
His smirk returned. "What's that supposed to mean?"
You opened your mouth, then shut it again. There was no way you were about to blurt because you're the guy who supposedly collects firsts like Pokémon cards.
Instead, you settled on, "Because you don't exactly blend in."
Jean tilted his head, studying you with an intensity that made your pulse quicken. For a second, you thought he might press further, but then he just chuckled, low and satisfied.
"Fair enough," he said. "But maybe you shouldn't believe everything you hear."
Your heart skipped, just once. Did he know what you'd heard? Could he tell?
Before you could answer, a group of people stumbled into the kitchen, chanting for another round of shots. Jean straightened, setting his cup on the counter.
"Guess that's my cue," he said, but not before leaning in close enough that his words brushed your ear. "See you in class, window seat."
And then he was gone, swallowed up by the noise and the crowd, leaving you clutching an empty cup and trying to steady your breathing.
Across the room, you caught sight of Reiner again. He met your eyes for just a second, his expression unreadable — until his gaze flicked toward the doorway Jean had disappeared through.
The warning echoed again.
Stay away from Jean Kirstein.
» [haunted - beyonce] « 3:00 ─〇───── 6:09 ⇄ ◃◃ ⅠⅠ ▹▹ ↻
You tried to lose yourself in the crowd after that, hovering near Ymir and Historia as they claimed a corner of the living room couch. Ymir was well within her element, bantering loudly with a couple of guys you recognized as Bertolt and Porco while Historia sat close, smiling softly at everything Ymir said like she'd heard it all before. Which she probably did.
You wished you could settle in just as easily, but your mind kept drifting back to the kitchen.
To him.
Jean Kirstein.
You hadn't expected him to be... well, like that. You'd expected smugness, maybe sleaze, someone who would leer and push until you left. But he wasn't gross. He was confident, sure, but not in a way that felt fake. He'd noticed you. Knew your name. Knew where you sat. Knew you paid attention.
And the way he'd leaned in, low-voiced and casual, like you were sharing a secret. You could feel a blush creeping up your cheeks.
You cut yourself off with a sip of the beer Ymir had shoved into your hand, grimacing at the taste.
Bad idea. Thinking about him was a bad idea. A very tantalizing bad idea.
"Hey," a voice said, low enough that you startled.
Reiner had reappeared, towering over you with that same steady presence. He wasn't smiling this time.
"You talked to him, didn't you?"
You blinked. "What?"
"Jean," he said flatly. "I saw you in the kitchen."
Heat prickled at your neck. "We just talked. It's nothing. We're in the same class that's all."
Reiner exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "That's all it takes with him. Look, you're smart. Smarter than half the people in this house. Don't get caught up in his bullshit."
Something in his tone made you straighten. "What's your deal with him anyway?"
"It's not just me," Reiner said, gaze steady on yours. "He's got a pattern. He finds people who don't know better and---" He cut himself off, jaw tight. "Just trust me, alright?"
You wanted to push. To demand more. Were the rumors true? But before you could, Ymir shouted your name across the couch, waving another drink in your direction. The music swelled again, the crowd roaring with it, and Reiner was already turning back toward a group of his teammates calling him over.
You sank back onto the couch, trying to ignore the uneasy weight in your chest.
But when you glanced across the room, you saw him.
Jean stood near the hallway, half in shadow, his drink dangling carelessly from his fingers. He was talking to someone else, but his gaze flicked up, locking on you through the crowd.
That grin curved across his mouth again—slow, sharp, like he already knew you'd been thinking about him.
Your stomach flipped, equal parts warning and thrill.
Reiner's voice echoed in your head.
Stay away from Jean Kirstein.
But Jean didn't look away.
And neither did you.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
Jeans POV
Jean wasn't surprised to see you at Reiner's party.
Okay—maybe a little surprised, because you didn't look like the type who wasted time on cheap beer and bad music. But he'd noticed you long before tonight. Zoe's bio class. Window seat. Quiet, but not invisible. The kind of quiet that meant your brain was running circles around everyone else's. He'd noticed you weeks ago. You were the kind of quiet that made him curious.
Most girls sought him out. You didn't.
And that was why, the second he spotted you hovering by the drinks, Jean knew he'd end up right beside you. He couldn't help it—it was the challenge, the intrigue, the... firsts.
He just hadn't decided what to do about it.
Not until now.
Because when you looked at him, you didn't look flattered, or hopeful, or easy. You looked like you were already questioning everything about him.
And Jean couldn't help himself.
The corner of his mouth curved as he leaned in, low enough that only you would hear.
"See you in class, window seat."
He pushed away from the counter before he could say more, before he could tip his hand too soon. But as he slipped back into the crowd, drink swinging loosely at his side, Jean knew exactly what this was.
It had been a while since someone gave him a reason to play.
And he was going to enjoy every second of chasing you down.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
