Friendly, and thoughtful, and quite awfully pretty

the way he admires your beauty as you rest peacefully next to him, head resting against his shoulder. the way you always have his full attention when you’re speaking to him. and the way he holds you oh-so-tenderly, fingers grazing along your skin, treating your body as if it was sculpted by the gods– and as far as he’s concerned, you were.

word count: 0.5k

content: jean x reader, alcohol consumption, crushing on eachother

“Be right back, I’m gonna get another drink.,” you shout over the loud music at Mikasa who acknowledges you with a nod.  

Navigating through the sea of people is tough. Everyone is crammed together in the average-sized room; it feels suffocating attempting to squeeze past all the drunk frat boys accompanied by giddy girls hanging off their arms. The smell is dizzying, and a sense of nausea begins to overwhelm you. Peeking over the heads of the crowd to get your bearings proves to be useless as, especially in your drunken state, the flashing lights and constant movement of people disorientate you. At this point, you don’t even know which direction you came from, nor which way you should be going to get said drink.  

You jolt at the feeling of a light touch on your lower back, a stark contrast to the rough pushes and shoves you’ve been subjected to thus far. You turn, eyes darting back and forward, and come face-to-face with one of your friends, Jean. You have to crane your head to make eye contact with him and you see his lips moving, but you can’t make out what’s being said for the loud bass of speakers. It doesn’t help that, even amid intoxicated partygoers and surrounded by the odd decorations within the frat house, he somehow looks stunning, hair messily spread out over his head and a light blush playing across his cheeks.

A hand waving across your vision breaks you out of your trance. You blink at Jean, and he gives you a grin, one that makes you feel pinpricks on your skin. It takes a booming pitch for you to actually hear him. “Did you hear what I just asked you?”

Asked you? You could barely hear the thoughts residing in your head, let alone him asking you a question. He takes your silence as a no, and tingles run up your arm when he grips your hand. You allow him to weave you through the lively crowd. Eventually, you both make it out of the ocean of people and, although there’s still smaller groups standing around, it feels far less stifling when there’s more space surrounding you.  

Your hand in his, Jean continues leading you away. You’re not sure where he’s taking you, but he’s your friend and you trust him, regardless. It’s still difficult to focus in your unsteady state, and you opt for just staring at Jean’s back as he guides you up the stairs. His hoodie hangs loose on his body; the sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, but you notice they steadily slide down his arms with every step. There’s a stain in his matching sweatpants, likely from whatever liquor he’s been sipping all night.  

After what feels like hours, Jean halts in front of a glass door leading out to a balcony. You two slip out and are greeted with the cool night air. It’s far more enjoyable than the dank, humid air on the inside, and you inhale it gratefully.  

Jean hovers over one of the lounging chairs and pats the seat of the cushion. “C'mon. Sit down.”

You collapse into the seat without question, and he tugs over an accompanying chair to sit next to you. That’s how you guys stay for a while; you can see Jean surveying over the dark sky, the moon and the faint strobes of the party being the only illumination you guys have. Although there’s plenty to look at, plenty that isn’t Jean, you find your eyes wandering right back to him every few minutes. Your head lolls to the side ever so slightly and you try to stare at the full moon that’s out tonight, but you still catch yourself glossing over Jean’s sharp features and tussled hair. He continues to look over the railing, and you’re of the belief that he’s either too out of it to notice your staring, or just chooses not to confront you on it.

Your eyes trail after him when he stands up, his arms hoisted above his head in a stretch. His hoodie raises along with them, and you sneak a glance at his revealed waist.  

“I’m gonna go get another drink, you want anything?,” he asks as his hands rest atop his head.  

The way he’s looking at you makes your mouth go dry, and the words you’re looking for roll around on the tip of your tongue. All you can give him is a stiff nod, and you barely utter out that you want a soda. He begins to head inside but, before he completely disappears back into the building, you finally find the courage to call out to him.

Jean turns at the sound of his name, eyebrows raised. ”Yeah, doll?”

Doll. The way he asserts it so naturally has your heart fluttering. You’re glad he can’t see the way he’s making you flustered, you know he’d think you were ill and wasted to be sweating as cold out as it was.  

“Would you get my jacket for me, please?” It takes all your strength to give him a playful grin.

“You cold?,” he takes a few steps back to approach you, eyeing you cautiously.

You let out a sigh. "Yeah, it’s a little cool out here. Forgot my jacket with Mikasa, I didn’t expect to be coming outside.”

Jean emits a low chuckle that sends shivers down your spine. "You saying it’s my fault?”

This time the smile on your face is genuine. You pretend to think for a moment before answering. “Hmm. Well, I didn’t wanna say it outright, but…yeah.”

There’s a sense of euphoria that fills your body when you feel his hand land on your head to ruffle your hair. You watch him take off his hoodie and for a second you believe you’re about to see him shirtless, but as he slides the garment off, a t-shirt slides down to cover his torso.  

He holds out the jacket to you. "Here, you can wear mine, I’ll just grab a sweatshirt from my room.”

You take the hoodie with a wavering hand and slip it on over your top, Jean watching the whole time. It feels heavier under his gaze. "Feel better?,” he asks.

The nod you give is sufficient, and off Jean goes for the drinks. You’re left alone with some confusing thoughts, like why being around Jean is making your heart race or why him looking so attractive is at the forefront of your mind tonight. You think maybe it’s because you’re tipsy. You’ve only had one a couple drinks, but that must be it. It’s not like you have feelings for him or anything. Of course not. It’s just the alcohol in your system that’s making you feel this way about him.

You sense Jean’s presence even before he speaks. Maybe it’s the loud smell of his cologne, or maybe it’s some sort of sixth sense but, despite not having heard him approach, you’re not startled when he suddenly appears by your side again.

He thrusts a soda your way. "Didn’t know what to get ya, do you like this kind?”

You turn the canned drink over in your hand. Jean hasn’t sat down yet. "What if I don’t?”

His voice is deep and gravelly, and right next to your ear. "Guess I could go get you something else. But don’t get used to it, I don’t wanna be your little errand boy.”

You’re turning in your seat to give him another sassy retort but are stunned into silence when you find Jean leaning over the back of your chair. His face is inches away from your own, and you quickly become aware of your own breathing. You could kiss him. You want to kiss him.

“You’ve been doin’ a lot of staring tonight, babygirl.,” he laughs at your ruffled expression.

“St-staring?,” you manage to sputter out.

He turns his gaze back out onto the night sky. “Don’t think I didn’t notice.”

It feels like someone is turning the heat up around you, and you rush to defend yourself even though you both know it’s true. "I- I wasn’t staring at you! You weren’t even looking at me, so how would you know?”

He gives out another laugh. "How would you know I wasn’t looking at you if you weren’t looking at me?”

Jean’s got you there. You’re sure the look on your face is hysterical; all you can do is stutter and babble, but you can’t refute what he just said without exposing yourself even more. You finally respond by shoving him away from you with a ‘hmph!’, but he continues teasing you.

“It’s okay if you wanna look, I know I’m a pretty pleasant view.,” he says matter-of-factly.

“Oh, shut up!,” you cry at him. "You’re not even that good-looking!”

His mouth flies open in a gape and he dramatically clutches at his chest. ”Wow, Y/N, I’m truly hurt.”

You stick your tongue out at him and go to open your soda. The fizzle interrupts the new silence that is filling the air. You take a sip and smack your lips, enjoying the acidic taste of the soda on your tongue.

“You’re in luck, Jean-boy.,” you tell him. “I like it.”

“Oh, really?,” he replies.

“Yup. Go get me another one.”

You look up at his unmoving form. Jean raises his eyebrows at you questioningly, only for you to clap your hands at him.”Chop, chop, Jeanie.”

“First you insult my looks, now you’re demoting me to a servant?,” he chuckles. "I’m truly nothing to you, am I, Your Highness?”

“Of course not.” is your rebuttal. Then you blurt out, ”I like you. You mean a lot to me.”

Jean sounds shocked when he answers you. “I do?”

You feel a familiar heat on your skin as you pull your knees up to your chin. You yank the hood of his jacket over your head in an attempt to hide. From what though? Jean? Your feelings about him? You don’t know.

You take another sip from your soda and relish the way it feels going down your throat.” Duh.”

Jean doesn’t say anything. You pull your knees tighter towards your body and wonder if you’ve made him uncomfortable. Maybe you should leave? That would probably just make things even more awkward.  

A hand rests under your chin to tilt your head upward. Jean looks down at you, a red blush still prominent on his face, but somehow you know it’s not from the liquor.

“You mean a lot to me, too.,” he murmurs.  

You cast him a doe-eyed look. Your words are failing you again. A nervous smile stretches across your lips; it’s all you seem to be able to do. Jean returns your smile and takes his seat next to you again. He goes back to staring out into the night sky, and you wonder how he can appear so nonchalant about this whole thing, You feel like you’re about to combust, and he’s acting like he merely asked you what time it was. It gives you a slight sense of unease on how he’s seemingly handling this so well, but you force yourself to ignore it.  

To distract yourself from the strained atmosphere, you nurse the flavorful soda he provided you with. Every fizzle and gulp feels like it’s being projected with speakers through this empty air.  

Before long, the can is empty. You reach your hand over to place it on the table, not turning your head but instead choosing to just look from the corner of your eye. In the dim light, you notice Jean’s hand resting on the table, the other he’s using to straighten out his hair.  

You feel a boldness you haven’t felt all night. It’s the alcohol again, at least that’s what you choose to blame it on. It’s the few drinks you had nearly an hour ago that prompts you to place your hand on top of Jean’s. Definitely the alcohol.  

You don’t spare Jean a look, not even a glance. You wrap your other arm around your knees and gaze at the bright moon hanging in the sky. He doesn’t say anything, but he also doesn’t move his hand. That’s how you guys sit for the rest of the night: hands together and enjoying the serene ether, illuminated by the bright moonlight. It feels good.

he’d swing by to pick you up just as the suns setting, gets out and greets you with a kiss bc he’s a gentleman like that.

makes a playlist just for you<3 and knows all the words to the songs by now because it’s on everytime you’re in the car.

has your drive thru order engrained in his mind but never lets you pay for it :(

has a habit of holding his hand out the window on an open road, he likes the feeling of the breeze on his open palm. he does it less since you watched Hereditary together.

finally decided to get the windows tinted because of the road head you gave him ‘oh shit–– shit we’re gonna die this is so unsafe this is––” whole time he had one hand on the back of your head to keep you going? sir focus on the road. he had to pull over and fuck you in the backseat to remind you of road safety.

always has a pine air freshener hanging from the mirror, and backups in the glove box.

pouts and mopes when you start taking driving lessons bc he loves driving you around :( your new car ends up sitting in the driveway gathering dust bc he insists on always picking you up.

he knows how to drive manual, but prefers automatic (no stick shift means he can rest his free hand on your thigh or lace your fingers together<3).

he loves going through the car wash with you bc you climb onto his lap and makeout the whole time.

doesn’t get road rage or anything, huffs and curses under his breath when some dickhead cuts him off. when he has to slam on the breaks he reaches out and pats you on the head muttering ‘sorry baby’ as if it’s his fault :(

does the hand-on-the-back-of-your-chair-when-reversing thing but he’s a fucking dork ‘did that look hot?’ ‘oh soo hot babe~.’

𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 | (jean kirstein x reader) wc: 0.7k+

“calmly reassuring the other it’s okay when they drop a glass, gently checking their hands for any injury” from this list of prompts

“Fuck—”

Your voice echoes throughout the apartment, abrupt and alarmed. It makes Jean’s heart skip a beat before it’s immediately followed by the sound of glass shattering. 

Trying not to panic and overreact while simultaneously listening intently for your next move, Jean warily calls out to you. 

“You alright?” his voice slightly shakes as he awaits your response. 

“Shit. Shitshitshit,” he hears you curse from the kitchen, your panicked tone indirectly answering his question. 

He bolts out of bed in a hurry to locate your cursed sighs. When hearing your shaky exhales from the kitchen, he rushes to meet you where you stand by the sink, hands slightly shaking as they remain held outwards but unoccupied. Your palms are facing yourself as your eyes vividly scan the floor around you. Jean takes a quick glance at where you gawk—tiny little shards and scraps of broken glass littering the hardwood by your feet. 

He’s quick but cautious as his sock-clad feet step around the mess and gently pull you away from the wreckage, “Hey, what happened?” His voice is soft and concerned, eyes rapidly searching your frame for any sign of injury or hurt. 

With a tender hand to your jaw, a silent plea for you to look his way, Jean turns your head and tries to catch your eye. But your pupils continue to frantically shake and search everywhere but his own. 

“I—I don’t know,” you stammer out, “It just slipped out of my hand and—I’m sorry, I don’t know how I did it,” you desperately try to explain the mess you’ve made. The jagged pieces of glass surrounding the two of you look a bit like glitter through your watery eyes and shaking head.

Though he’s unsure as to why you’re so frazzled, Jean’s confusion doesn’t prevent him from doing his best to calm your nerves. 

“It’s fine,” he tenderly insists, trying to gently grip your shoulder and pull you into his embrace, “It’s just a glass.” A glass he could care less about, in fact. He’s far more concerned with your worried state, rather than some stupid kitchenware. 

Unconvinced with his forgiving reaction, you find yourself breaking more than the glass wreckage across the floor. 

“No, because now it’s all over the place,” you slightly snap, pulling yourself away from him as you avoid his gaze, hectically searching for something to collect the sharp fragments with. Apologizes continue to spill from your mouth like water rushing from an open dam. 

“I’m sorry, fuck, I’ll clean it, okay? I’m sorry, just gimme a second—”

“Baby, I don’t care about the glass,” Jean cuts you off with a stern sincerity. 

A little taken back with his tone, you’re pulled from your worry-clouded mind with a newfound confusion. “What?” you quietly shrink in his hold. 

Jean’s fingers brush the blades of your shoulders in a grounding manner as he presses, “I’m not worried about the glass,” he repeats, “I’m worried about you.”

It takes your brain a moment to read the situation, to catch up and register that he’s not mad at you. He’s not worried about the glass. His words echo in your brain like a scratched record on loop. He’s worried about you. 

His cautious voice wavers as he pulls you from your thoughts, motioning to your trembling fingers. “Lemme see your hands,” he carefully pleads. 

Without your eyes straying from his worried expression, you slowly reveal your palms to Jean. He holds them in his own, carefully and meticulously inspecting your skin for any cuts, grazes, or blood. 

“It didn’t get you anywhere?” he confirms, more so clarifying for himself, as he turns your hands and does one final glance over them. 

You shake your head.

“Okay, then that’s all I care about,” he promises you, placing a kiss to each of your tender knuckles. 

Still a bit shaken up from the accident paired with Jean’s unexpected reaction, you stammer a bit as you try to grasp the situation’s turn.

“But I—” you stumble on your words, “I broke it,” you clarify, as if the remnants of glass scattered across your floor weren’t enough proof of your mistake. 

Jean shrugs, a soft smile creeping on his face as he silently chuckles beneath his breath. “Yeah, but it’s not like you did it on purpose,” he reminds you. 

You bite back your sarcastic reply of no shit when you see his grin, full of love and adoration, void of hostility or anger, all because you broke a simple glass. 

“And it can be replaced,” he concludes with a kiss to your temple, “You can’t be, right?”

fem!reader, sfw, domestic fluff, jean with baby fever, mentions of eremika

☆*ﾟ ゜ﾟ*☆*ﾟ ゜ﾟ*☆*ﾟ ゜ﾟ*☆*ﾟ ゜ﾟ*☆*ﾟ ゜ﾟ*☆

husband!jean that…

always uses the term ‘wife’ when referring to you in the honeymoon stage, even if he’s just talking to his close friends. “alright, Con, I’ll be sure to let my wife know. . .what? We’re married now, what else would I call her. . .her name? I mean yeah, I could do that, but. . .”

drinks with his left hand to show off his wedding ring when he’s out with his friends

brings you breakfast in bed on special days

cooks with you! Once you walk into the kitchen, he’s following you like an excited pup. You mumble the menu for the day and he’s already grabbing some ingredients; vegetables, sauces. Then slicing some carrots while you beat some eggs. It’s one of the norms in the house.

is great at making his tie, but prefers when you do it, so he can bend down and surprise you with kisses as your eyebrows furrow in concentration. he loves to see the shocked expression that appears for a second before a smile forms on your lips and then, your on your tiptoes, asking for another kiss.

kisses you goodnight n goodmorning twice: when your asleep and awake

sings while making breakfast. it’s usually a sound you wake up to every morning he wakes first; using the spatula/spoon as a mic as he’s jamming.

is surprised and flustered the first time you walk into the kitchen while he’s deep into the music. After a while, he’s unashamed, and would stop mid-song to ask you to join him and you happily accept, grabbing a random object next to you and sing along

comes back home tired, seeking your comforting hugs and attention. Sometimes a hug from you is enough to get his energy up again. “how was your day?” you’d ask as he’s lazily slipping his shoes off. He’d mumble “tiring”. And you already know the drill, opening your arms and he smiles, sighing.

that admires how you look when you’re holding a baby (Eren and Mikasa’s baby), he whispers to you: “want one?” and you smile. sometimes he would joke to Eren that he would steal their cute kid. “let’s take this one home, too”.

that once bought baby’s clothes just for funsies and bc he thought they were hella cute.

i did not proof read this because if i have to deal with my mistakes so do you

warnings: none really, but jean does get a little drunk at the end so alcohol use i guess? would you like some fluff with your angst?

no bc this man has never been someone number one choice and it kills him. especially when it comes to love because he’s a hopeless romantic and his love language is acts of service, even if that act means stepping to the side and letting that over person be happy with their first choice.

and it’s kills him, everytime he sees that person he likes with someone else. someone other than him. someone better than him. and then you come into the picture and he’s absolutely head over heels but he knows how this story goes, hell he’s been the fucking star in it his whole life.

but you surprise him. and this little spark of hope grows in his chest. when your group of friends goes bowling and you quickly grab his arm and, in the most adorable way, call out jean’s on my team! and iean fucking sucks at bowling, why the fuck would you wanna be on his team?

or when you go to the movies and the seats are separated by twos and you make sure that jean and you are sitting next to one another because you “want someone to make fun of how dumb this movie is gonna be with me”

or that one time you didn’t feel like going out with everyone and called jean begging him (not that it took much to convince him) to just come hang out with you instead. and you two spent all night playing mario kart and watching bad movies until you fell asleep together on the living room floor.

or when your whole friend group all went on vacation together and you asked jean to room with you because you said you only wanted to room with your best friend. and he was astounded because you considered him you’re best friend? out of everyone in the group, you liked him the most?

but it all comes to the forefront when you guys are at some party and he sees you talking to some guy who is very clearly into you. connie makes some offhanded comment about how it would be you to snag the hottest guy there. sasha smacks him in the arm as jean walks away, scolding him about “knowing how jean feels about them.” and jean is tossing back drinks like it’s nobodies business. until he can’t think about you or that guy you’re talking to or anything. he gets so drunk that he doesn’t realize it’s you walking him to your car until he’s inside the passenger seat with your hand in his hair, soothing him because he’s feeling so nauseous he can barely keep his head up. you’re trying to get him to drink some water from a water bottle you had in your back seat but he’s refusing over and over. “don’t want it, i don’t want it” and you get irritated because you’re just trying to take care of him “what do you want then jean?” his head tilts to the side, eyes half lidded staring into yours and he can’t help himself “just want you” “…what?” “just want you to pick me” “jean” “no one ever picks me” you watch him pull at his hair and ask him “what makes you think I wouldn’t pick you?” “you already didn’t. that guy. at the party.” “jean” “it’s happening again” “jean” “there’s always someone else” “JEAN” your tone is more aggressive this time. you grab his face to make him look you in the eye. “there’s no one else” “what?” “only you” “only me?” “only you.” “…only me.” and for the first time ever, jean is someone’s first choice. and even though he’s puking his guts up the next morning, it barely phases him. because honestly, having you take care of him is kind of worth it.

i had a real bad brain day today and i love jean and this is how i am coping. please say nice things to me. wc: 1.4k cw: reader mental health episode

You felt fine when you woke up. You rolled out of bed and moved about your morning routine as normal-- maybe a little sleepy, but nothing out of the ordinary. It wasn't until you got to work that you felt it coming on-- like a weight blanketing your body, it was crushing. You fought not to buckle under it-- the paperwork and the emails felt trivial when you were struggling to keep your head up off your desk. It wasn't sleepiness anymore. The feeling that flooded all of your senses was far darker.

You moved through the day on autopilot. Everything in you screamed at you to tell your boss there was an emergency that you needed to attend to, to do anything to leave as soon as possible. But you figured if your options were to stay at work and be sad, or go home and be sad, you might as well get paid for it. It was difficult, though-- all of the words in your emails jumbled together and you greeted your coworkers with a plastic smile and a mouthful of sand. You'd hoped they couldn't tell, but a part of you had wished that someone would notice something was off. It was the longest 8 hours of your life.

Pulling into the little lot next to your apartment, you wondered if it had been safe for you to drive in the state you were in. Guess it's too late now, you thought. You could've called Jean, but you weren't sure if he had anything planned for his day off, and you didn't want to interrupt it for something like this because they were so few and far between. He deserved to rest. He'd worry about you, and that wasn't what you wanted. You were looking forward to peeling off your work clothes and burying yourself in your bed.

You took to the stairs slowly and jammed your key into the lock, twisting it and letting yourself inside. You were greeted to the sight of Jean in your kitchen, humming to himself in front of the stove, stirring what looked like dinner for the two of you. It wasn't often that he surprised you like this, usually opting to let you know before he let himself in. You could do nothing but stare at him, and your brain told you, distantly, to force a smile, to at least look happy to see him. It never came. He turned to you and his smile went straight through your heart.

"Hey darlin'! Oh-- you alright?"

ft. reiner, bertholdt, and porco

cw: same as last time, implied nsfw, tease reader, horny dramatic boys.

YOU GUYS. your tags and stuff on your reblogs of part one have been so effing cute😭 i love making you guys happy so much so i hope you like part two at least a little bit as well!

reiner

♡ when you yank reiner towards you by the belt, he assumes he’s about to get scolded. when you kiss him instead, he’s happily anticipating a short walk to an open bedroom. when you give him absolutely nothing, he’s heartbroken.

♡ he will just stand there with his jaw dropped, unable to fathom the fact that you just did him like that. when he’s done being a greedy man, the intrusive thoughts start. “what if she hates me? oh my god, i did something wrong. i kissed bad. i-” blah blah. meanwhile you’re vibing wasted asf LMAO

♡ “baby, did i do something wrong? i-i’ll make it up to you, unless you don’t want tha-”

♡ the only way to shut mopey reiner up is to take your shirt off, so you fulfill his fantasy by dragging his emo ass to the nearest closet.

bertholdt

♡ don’t do this to him. please. he’ll pass out. actually, he might just stumble out of your grip and knock the speakers over. just don’t set him up for embarrassment this way ;-;

♡ this giraffe is so dumbfounded by the idea that you’d do something so risqué here and now, at a party in front of everyone on campus. are you insane? that’s his only logical conclusion.

♡ “y/n, are you out of your damn mind?! no more party, no, no more party! it’s bed time!”

♡ even though you’ve reassured him you’re fine and (almost) fully stable, bert is ready to go home and cuddle. he’s not really one for parties in the first place, so embarrassing himself was the final straw. please make him a warm drink and tell him he’s not a huge loser LOL.

porco

♡ though he’s usually quite an angry drunk, porco will immediately switch to a sad drunk once you pull him in by the belt for a kiss. like really? got him all excited for what? for what? for what? he’s waiting☹️

♡ wipes your lipstick off his lips and accidentally gets it all over his cheek, so it’s a bit hard to take him seriously. but damn is he not having it.

♡ “very funny. get in my damn car, i’ll see you there in a minute.” he’d whisper meanly, walking off to go do god knows what.

barista!jean who teaches you all the secrets to working there which range from dealing with angry customers to easily memorizing the ingredients to the different coffees. 

barista!jean who has your back whenever a customer tries to get rude with you. He’s no pushover and he’ll be damned if someone’s gonna berate you over the prices of a coffee. His big and intimidating height definitely comes in handy then.

barista!jean who unsuccessfully shows you how to make latte art and then poorly hides his reddening ears when you laugh at the ‘dog’ he’s made in the coffee. And he’s even more embarrassed when you somehow do better than him on your first try.

barista!jean who makes being there enjoyable. His jokes, gossip, idle chatter, and pretty face distract you from how mind-numbing and monotonous the job can be. Playfights with you sometimes, but only in the back so you both don’t end up getting in trouble.