firefly--bright

[firefly--bright]

if I were to write a multipart series of fanfics that have more or less the whole story of you and jean in a non-chronological manner titled "jean's wedding playlist" with different tracks having different meanings would u guys be into that. wud. wud you. please tell ty

[firefly--bright]

writing d2d is so fun omg i just get to talk to the voices in my head uninterrupted. that's crazy

[firefly--bright]

could you do a jean SMAU series? maybe set in uni? or whatever you'd like :))

HI!! i already do have an ongoing series along those lines!! its loosely based off of new girl :D - its called dusk to dawn! d2d for short :3

some of it is in writing, though! if youd like me to make one thats just smau, lmk! i'll see what i can work out :D

[firefly--bright]

HEYY HOW ARE YAAA! 🥹

god yes i miss jean deeply too, could i request hcs of jean spending summer with his s/o (and connie+sasha) ? lemonades, picnics, and cliff diving is the image i have in mind! but feel free to take it in any direction really 💕

love love your works so much and i hope you’re having a good day 🫶

HI im so sorry for the late response i was stuck in employment hell :( BUT this is such a fun ask <3 hope you like this!!

✿ oh these three LOVE summer break. screw the actual weather, but summer, to them, comes with the absolute certainty that everyone will be mostly free - which only means more fun.

✿ every summer, everyone goes to eren's pool house to hang. are these guys sick of eachother after spending the entire semester together? only a little. but, again, theres certainty that it's going to be fun

✿ Sasha indulges in iced beverages. everyday, she tries making a new drink for you to try - coffee, iced chai, some mix of hawaiian punch and cherry Kool-aid. she busts out her old, dusty cooler that has been rotting in the corner of her already-tiny closet and plugs it into the drawing room while you both sip on your drinks while doing eachother's nails. she has a tradition of filling out any and all quizzes she can find (from the ones in magazines to the uquizes online (yes, the bdsm one too. not fr but for funsies)) and makes you do it too to compare your answers and come up with new ones that she think will fit the two of you better <3 love this gal

✿ she cant stand being in the kitchen though, so you have to take up most of the cooking tasks. thats fine, though, because she compensates by doing the dishes with her summer playlist blasting on the highest volume her knockoff jbl speakers can offer.

✿ connie surprises you guys (and himself) with ice cream every night. he brings it over to your guys' apartment with sunglasses on even though the sun has gone down. his usual beanie is replaced with a hat that he makes sure to wear backwards.

✿ you guys go to the beach because he'd been INSISTING. he almmost drowns jean by sneaking up on him and jump-scaring him into submission despite their height-difference. you guys run into armin mikasa and eren completely unplanned. youre the most annoying people on the beach and theres a cooler full of everyone's favourite drinks near your blanket.

✿ if youre more into being in the water instead of chilling on the sand, beware of connie splashing you every two seconds. him and eren team up with their fucking waterguns and enter an unsaid competition on who can target random strangers the most without being yelled at.

✿ at one point, sasha, you, and jean join in with them, competing with eachother. connie loses because a kid cried because he sprayed them square in the face </3 he sulks on the sand and ends up "sunbathing" (he just passed out and now has a blistering sunburn on his back. will not stop complaining about it.)

✿ jean carries a tote bag. what with? you're unsure since you and sash brough all the food and drinks, so really, there shouldnt be much he has to carry except for his wallet and car keys. but he insists on holding onto it. gets a tanline from it, even. he applies and reapplies his sunscreen SO MUCH. like he has a timer on his phone for reapplying it.

✿ he also insists on playing HIS music instead of connie's. also insists on bringing his own (very real) JBL speakers. which you and sasha allow because for all you know, the knockoffs arent waterproof even after claiming to be </3

✿ Jean would also tie his hair up with a hair tie he borrowed from you (which you stole from sasha, btw. its making it's rounds in the friendgroup lowkey). his hair isnt even that long, only enough to fit into a low ponytail, but you allow it because it's attractive.

✿ also wears sunglasses. but ONLY calls them shades. dont ask. (yes he gets a tanline from these also.)

✿ he's such a Boyfriend. he passes you a waterbottle with a straw to sip from every once in a while. if you need to adjust your top, he stands infront of you so no-one else can see. he also flops you into the sea a bunch of times. so theres also that. but then he makes up for it by collecting some shells for you :3

✿ later in the day, you guys eat some sandwiches that you had prepped the night before, and mikasa tells you about her new job and armin and connie are having a conversation about marine biology (armin's major), and its mostly armin talking with connie vigourously nodding. later on you ask him what armin was talking about and he tells you he has no idea but he wanted to be supportive.

✿ so many popsicles are eaten. eren gets brainfreeze multiple times and jean laughs at him but also gets brainfreeze. at the same time. you call them soulmates and they both almost kill each other. it's chill though <3

✿ sasha and connie are dead asleep on the drive back home. stevie wonders greatest hits play on the speakers of the car and you and jean carry a long, soft conversation throughout it all. when you reach back home, mikasa sends you candid pictures she took of the two of you (you make them your lockcreen). jean has to carry connie bridal style but flops him very agressively on the couch when you point it out.

✿ anyway! throughout the summer, jean also takes you to multiple cliche summer dates. picnics, carnivals, festivals, late night drive-in movie places. all of the above and more. he's a romantic at heart, so he upholds that title with secrecy but great pride :3

this lowkey turned into just a beach day hc but hey! its summer! (its raining here 24/7) requests are open!

[firefly--bright]

i see your requests and I am working through them!!!! please be patient:3 thank you for sending them :D

[firefly--bright]

just finished watching adults fx and samir is DO jean coded. oh my god. other than some traits he's EXACTLY like how I imagine jeans personality to be. like he's samir but just a bit more outwardly uptight. someone please agree with me

[firefly--bright]

what do you think of jean & his cooking skills ? do you think he’d be great in the kitchen or not so ?

HI ANON sorry for the late reply I have been whisked away with work (I had to make my wholeass portfolio 💔)

OKAY. let's get into this. i think canon!jean is really good at cooking. he had to cook for his mom alot growing up since she was always either working or whenever she was sick, so he got a pretty good grip on classic nutritious meals. even though he obviously doesn't get the time to make meals, everytime he does, he makes sure everything is perfect for you to enjoy

modern au!jean however. bless his heart he tries really hard. listen he's not bad at cooking. infact, he's pretty good at it - he has a set roster of dishes that he knows how to cook really well and does so almost regularly, but you won't see him getting too creative in the kitchen

there are times where he wants to impress you by cooking you a really high class meal but ends up not being able to figure out the exact timing of it and has to settle to making you his famous omelet. which mind you, isnt bad at all, but not what he had in mind

that being said though, I think despite all of this, he does have a knack for baking. he doesn't usually go for baked goods, but since there are sometimes super strict instructions to follow, it's easier - and once he's memorized a recipie, he keeps making that on repeat as well

side note I think modern au!jeans mom used to own a bakery and so he lowkey feels like it's in his blood so everytime you compliment him on his baking skills he's just like "lol yea what did u expect" even tho his cheeks and ears are burning red at the compliment

overall, he's not an absolute dunce in the kitchen but he's not an expert either. but if he's with you, he loves doing anything - even if it's just washing dishes and putting them back in their places in the cabinets. he actually finds himself wanting to cook more after you guys get into a relationship because again he wants to impress you

once he randomly made this really REALLY good pasta dish that left you speechless but he can't remake it because he doesn't fucking remember what he put in there and how much of it he added....rip jeans pasta u will be missed

even if he sometimes doesn't excel in cooking tho he does make up for it by buying groceries and doing other chores around the house while you cook. domestic labour chore chart split and divided evenly he's respectful as hell

anyways. that's about all. i hope you enjoyed my lil ramble :p headcanon reqs are open as always! pls be patient with me tho I have to find a way to be employed <\3

[firefly--bright]

headcanons are open!! pls feel free to request anything for jean :3 i miss him deeply

[firefly--bright]

head over heels!

jean kirstein x fem!reader, modern a.u., b99 a.u.

summary ; detective kirstein has a nice ring to it, you think, and jean thinks you light up the dingy apartment that you had turned into your home. warnings ; not proofread </3 too tired a/n ; this has been in the drafts for so long i miss my man. i will be making a part two/series of this, but for now, meetcute to quench your (and my) thirst :3 taglist ; @holding-infinity-and-a-book , @mrsnobodynobody , @hopeless-anti-romantic-again , @jeanscremebrulee , @berrijam , @happxme , @cherrypieyourface , @imgayandshesanime , @moonmalice , @kivernova , @potaho3frog , @xakilicious , @katestrophes , @gojo-ana , @ppushable, @candleohappiness , @zombiefiedskeivy , @1ovede1uxe , @sevriizy , @toscapaeron

✿ masterlist is in pinned post! ✿ enter my taglist! ✿ requests for headcanons are open! ✿

middle tile art creds @/sonagee on twitter!

“this is fucking disgusting, horseboy,” eren says, stepping into the suspiciously smelling apartment building, his boots scruffing up against the poorly maintained floors. 

jean snatched the green juice back from him. “fuck off, Yeager. it's called being healthy on duty.” 

“yeah?” eren scratches behind his ear, “take a sip, then,” 

jean scoffs. “You take a sip.” he retorts, childishly, holding up the picture of their current victim - a woman in her late thirties, blonde hair that barely touched the top of her shoulders, a mole under her left eye. Their carpeted footsteps stumbled through the narrow hallway and jean gulped down the urge to gag. Not because of his green juice, but because of the smell of… ammonia and what jean guessed to be rust in the air. At least, he hoped. 

Eren knocked on the door infront of him, three loud raps against the quiet afternoon air - suspiciously quiet for being in the city, but jean rolled his shoulders back to appear more intimidating. “Pdp,” eren called out, bored. Turning to jean, he mumbles, “do you smell that?” “yeah, probably your fucking perfume.” before the door opens, cutting off anything eren wouldve liked to argue. an abysmally loud creak pierces through jeans ears and he winces, his eyes shutting involuntarily.

“hello miss,” eren speaks directly to the person infront of him, the door letting out the smell of apples and…cinnamon? was he smelling it right? suddenly the smell in the hallway was just an echo, and jean opened his eyes to find you in front of him, hand on the door as if you're physically keeping it in place, and you're speaking. you're saying something but jean can't hear. 

a detective with six years under his belt, sixty something arrests - sixty seven, not that he's counting, of course, but eren only has sixty six - and he gets flustered over a girl. 

granted, a very pretty girl.

“sorry about the door,” you say, knocking on the heavy wood, “everything in this building is dying.” 

“speaking of,” eren says, small smile on his face as he turns towards jean with his palm upturned. jean blinks. what does he want? 

“oh,” jean hands him the picture of the victim - Elizabeth Schafer - “have you… seen her anywhere, around here, maybe? or…or y'know, ever?” jean stutters through his sentence, making two questions of a statement that was supposed to be just one. out of his periphery, erens smirk gets more demeaning. a bait to tease jean until the end of time, again.

you hum in thought. “she was the upstairs guy’s girlfriend,” you say, shrugging, “I used to talk to her sometimes. is she…” you trail off, keeping the word as heavy as death away from the comfort of your box apartment. jean could only nod with pursed lips, glancing down at his feet. 

“yeah… if you know the victim, we have a couple questions to ask you,” eren said, filling in the gap left in Jean's inner, panicky monologue. should he compliment you? that wouldn't make sense, would it? you're just wearing pyjamas, he'd come off as a creep. so what should he do? just ask the questions like a professional, hoping that you'd see his stoicism as mildly attractive and ask him for his number? or should he poorly attempt small talk as he usually did when he saw pretty people across the bar near the 104th, which seemed to work only on two percent of the people he tried to talk to.

“sure!” you say, interrupting his thoughts, your eyes flash to his briefly, and his heart almost skips a beat. biologically almost impossible, but then why did the English language make it up? whatever. his mind is going in uneven circles, his skin crawling with warmth. he hates this. “do you guys wanna come inside till then? if it'll take a while?” you ask, thumb pointing behind you in invitation. 

eren glanced at jean, and he regretted the moment he signed up to the Paradis 104th where he'd be assigned to detective eren Yeager, like a turbulent marriage, and erens expression reflects it because he knows what jean is thinking about. looking back at you, ignoring how hard jean’s heart is beating out of his chest, he smiles wide enough for it to be considered slightly cocky, a bit too all-knowing, and says, “sure, your house smells better than the whole building.” 

jean hates to admit it, but he hates how much better eren is at talking to pretty people than he is. jean may have more arrests (just one, but it still counts), but eren knows how to charm people into talking, fool them by being their friend to get an unknowing confession. 

they work well that way, jean thinks as he steps inside your apartment, holding the door open with his back, his ears turning warm at how you say “thank you,” to him, as if holding the door open was a big deal. 

the door closes shut almost as soon as jean steps in, and you continue your conversation with eren, telling him how you had to combat the bad smell somehow so you purchased almost a lifetime supply of candles with coupons you had scavenged. soft music that jean guessed sourced from your bedroom, seeping out into the small living space. jean looked around as eren kept asking you questions. he should shut the fuck up, but then again, jean didn't know how to fill in the gaps of the conversation. 

“i was gonna make some hot chocolate right now,” you mention, slipping away into your kitchen - if it could even be called that - and pulling out three mugs from your cabinet, without even waiting for confirmation. your easy smile made jean dizzy. he could use some hot chocolate right now. “would you guys like some?” you asked, but the answer was already assumed because your hands moved towards the fridge before he could say “yes, yeah. sure.” 

good. casual. eren bumped his elbow into Jean's arm, prompting him to say something interesting, but all jean could muster up was a side eye with a scowl to his partner. 

“you said you knew the victim?” “you've got nice taste in music-” the both of them said, jean trying to take the professional route while eren opted for something immature.

you didn't seem to be bothered. your hands moved on their own, breaking apart a bar of chocolate and putting it in a pot with a little bit of milk. you glanced up at them, smiling even wider at the weirdly thoughtful compliment - dammit, eren - “thanks, it's a playlist my friend made for me. and I mean…I didn't know her that well, just as an acquaintance. she was really nice though. one time, she helped me with the groceries, my hands were full and the paper bag was ripping from the bottom so I had to hold it-” you held your hands infront of yourself like you were holding an invisible baby - “like this. and she helped me carry my other bag upstairs.” you said, hardly looking at the both of them. eren continued to glance around, seeing the way you decorated your place. books, posters, plants, pictures. a small tv, an open drawer with stationery almost spilling out of it. candles, two of them, lined up against your small window, and the smell now mixed together with melting chocolate and brown sugar and cardamom in a pot you were brewing. it was beautiful. 

your hands moved like habit over the small stove, and jean gravitated towards the counter. he could almost feel erens snark from where he was, still observing your apartment from a little ways away. 

jean cleared his throat, an attempt to get your attention. put on his best im-here-to-help face, and asked, slightly trembly, “do you need any help?” with his hands on his hips because he didn't know what else to do with them. 

you turned your head to him with a smile, “not really. I'm almost done, detective…” “kirstein.” his voice broke - “jean. jean kirstein. just jean. is fine.” he said. pathetic. god he wanted to die. 

you didn't seem phased, not even a laugh at his voice crack, and turned back to your mixture in the pot. “alright, jean. kirstein. detective.” you looked back at him, “which mug would you like?” as if that was a hard decision. but jean looked at it as if it was, scrutinizing the three mugs infront of him. 

one; dark green with yellow polka dots. cute. the next was a light blue with a white strip going around it, something handwritten that he couldn't quite read across the white band. the third; a clear one with small white and yellow flowers over it. there was a thin crack running on the bottom of the mug - something that told him that this was the most used out of your collection. good. he wouldn't touch it then. 

he pointed to the green one. “this,” 

you smiled. “final choice?” he nodded once, sure of himself, and he almost forgot that this wasn't his house he was in, “I like the colour.” 

“hmm, I can tell.” you said, and he blinked, furrow in his brows as he glanced at you. your strained the hot chocolate into the mug, “you're wearing it,” 

“ah. right. good observation.” “thanks, I could steal your job,” he laughs softly, “please don't, I can't afford to be fired right now,” you look at him with a smirk that he wants to capture in his brain forever.

“okay. I'll spare you. here,” you say, pushing the cup towards him. before he can take a sip, however, you're already walking towards eren with his own cup - the blue one - and jean inwardly cheers at his correct solve of the clear one being your favourite. 

“thanks,” he says, blowing over the steam with soft, gentle breaths. you wave your hand dismissively. “eh, it's nothing. anyway, sit.” you say, lightly demanding, and jean crosses the room in large strides to follow your order. eren has a perpetual smirk on his face. jean wants to smack it away. you sit on the chair next to the sofa, folding one leg under your thigh with your cup in your hand, and jean would be scared of you spilling it if it wasnt for your surprising steadiness. maybe he was just easily impressed with everything you did.

eren sips loudly from besides him, making jean scrunch up his features and look at him with disdain. He did this just to get on his nerves, he's sure. 

“jesus, that's good,” he praises, making you raise your head with a small, knowing smile, “thanks, it's my recipe.” you say, shrugging as if you’d already gotten this compliment multiple times and knew the exact way to handle it. jean didn't know why but the thought made him warm. maybe he had a type - people who were sure of themselves. or maybe it was particularly you, he wasn't sure. you had a charm to you, a familiarity he couldn't quite place. familiar enough for him to know he'd seen you somewhere in the city of thousands of people, unsleeping, bustling, crowded. but then there were pockets of warmth - your apartment being one of them, with your body situated comfortably on your chair - that reminded him of what hes doing this for, that reminded jean of old friends that he no longer held contact with. he couldn't put his finger on it. 

“-it was an easy solve. child's play, to be honest,” eren said, eyes closed with his chest puffed up with pride, describing a story that jean barely listened to but knew that he'd heard it a million times before. 

he rolled his eyes. “the only type you can solve.” he said. your shoulders shook with a poorly contained laugh, making jean smirk into his green, polka-dotted mug, inhaling the scent of sweet chocolate. “shut up horseboy.” 

“horseboy?” you asked, tilting your head with your eyes slightly squinted at him. not really judging, more of a curious questioning, ears perked up with interest, and jean almost groaned in embarrassment. 

“he looks like buchwald-” “don't,” “-who got a medal of valour the same day as him-” “Yeager I swear to god-” “- and outranked jean,” “he didn't even fucking do his job.” jean said, settling into the couch - which he hoped would engulf him wholly - in embarrassment, cheeks ablaze. 

you snorted out a laugh, which spurred jeans next statement, “yeah? we'll atleast I didn't get my eye almost pecked out on stage-” “that was a targeted crime of passion!” “no it wasn't. you had bird food on your fucking hair-” jeans smile widening when he heard your burst of laughter, “-which made even more birds enter the damn place,” “it wasnt even my fault!” 

“you're both accomplished detectives-” you started, your voice broken by a laugh, “- and yet you couldn't stop animals from ruining your ceremonies?” 

“act of passion,” eren muttered, scowl on his face. jean smirked, weaving a hand through his hair, and your eyes on his face made him lick his lips consciously, “act of passion alright. the birds loved you.” “i hate them.” eren said, and you breathed through a small laugh, eyebrows scrunching in slight disbelief. cute.

“unrequited love always hurts,” you speak, taking another sip of your drink, palm covering the heat of your cup, much like jeans. “you said this was your recipe?” jean asked, a prompt for you to start the origins of your hot chocolate concoctions. “well, a little, I was trying to make chai, but I didn't have tea leaves. i did have chocolate, though, and the weather was just right for it, so I thought a substitution wouldn't be too bad. and it wasn't, and it turned out good enough for my college roommates to wake up from their after lunch naps and ask me for a sip,” you take another gulp, “and now it's the most go-to thing they ask me to make. honestly, I should charge them for it.” you say, shrugging.

jean smiles. “you should. if you sold these on the street I would pay good money for them.” you hum in response, “my goods are better than to be sold on the streets, detective.” 

Jean's eyes widen. did he offend you? fuck. he didn't mean to, “I mean, like, if you- you know if you, opened a shop, or a cafe, or something. i would come there. every morning. or like, the day, just for this. if you…wanted, uh, to.” he said, his hands sweating, making him wipe the free one on his pants. eren snorted inconspicuously. 

your smile softened. “i was messing around, jean.” 

oh. your said his name like he thought it was meant to be said. how? was it warm in your apartment? warmer than he'd like? heat crawled up his neck and he took a deep breath in, nodding, breathing out a laugh that he thought would suffice, “I know that. i was joking too,” he said, digging his grave deeper. 

eren cleared his throat. 

“getting back on track,” he said. jean nodded, refusing to make eye contact with you, who still had a small smile over the interaction. “did you see Elizabeth anytime before noon yesterday?” jean picks his head back up, placing the now only half-full mug on the small coffee table infront of him, fishing out a small black notebook from his pant’s pocket, uncapping the pen hooked onto his front pocket. 

“right. i saw her i think, in the morning? at around seven, I just came back from walking around the block, and she was….she looked kinda uncomfortable?” you spoke, concern laced in your features. jean wondered if knowing the outcome of the interaction made you think about her even more now, but then you continued, “maybe…I mean I could've asked her how she was - I usually do, or, did, I guess, when I bumped into her, but… I don't know, she didn't seem like she'd be in the mood to talk. and then my neighbour… I don't know their relationship status. maybe it's, like, a situation ship that got out of hand or a friends with benefits situation - I don't know, but she didn't… like both of them got really awkward one time when I asked them in the elevator,” you explained, shaking your head, your hands waving in the air with the progression - or divergence - of the story. 

he knew he should be paying attention. really, he is paying attention, but most of it is captured in every movement of your hands, every adjustment in your shoulders. 

eren nodded to your descriptions. “so, that's all?” your eyes wandered up to the ceiling in thought. “kinda. i mean, treger - her… uhm, friend? followed after she got out the apartment, but he wasn't like, chasing her. just calmly walking behind her. and then I didn't see him. or wait-” you said, sitting up straighter, brows furrowed a bit more seriously this time, and jean leaned forward to listen, his elbows resting on his knees. your eyes locked in his for the next part and jean tried not to overthink that action. “no, yeah, I saw him later… at night? i mean, I came home from work…and then I saw him on the staircase, kinda, just, with his head in his hands. uhm… I asked him if he was okay, I thought - I kinda guessed something happened between them? like, maybe they broke up or she's mad at him or something, and then he just looked at me for a good five seconds. and didn't say anything, just stood up and left. i didnt think much of it cause he's kinda…weird? i mean, not in a degrading way, unless he actually committed a crime, then I do mean it in a degrading way,” jeans lips twitched at the way you said it, a little rambly, just a little out of breath, your eyes looking right at him as if his partner wasn't even present in the room. 

“but… I don't know. he's had this sort of…vibe around him. i don't go out of my way to talk to him, is all.” you say, shaking your head before taking another sip of your hot chocolate. jean notes how you sip slowly, savouring every bit, and how while he was half done with his cup, yours was only quarter empty. 

eren nodded slowly, and jean looked at him knowingly. this was useful, good information. “that's very helpful,” eren said, nodding to you. you shrugged. “anything else I can answer?” 

eren looked at jean impatiently, questioning. jean’s jaw locked in place, and he shook his head a little - a silent conversation. 

ask her for her number, horsey. 

no. 

why?

unprofessional? are you insane?

come on! she seems interested in you, too. 

whatever, man.

jean looks back at you, shaking his head. “nah, I think we're done.” 

“unless you see something weird.” eren says, perking up in his seat as jean stands up, “here's my number.” his partner says. 

what a bitch. jean scowls, permanent, unwiped disgust on his face. 

“oh,” you say, a little surprised, glancing at jean, and then handing eren your phone. “sure thing.” 

he types in his number, every digit a nail in Jean's coffin, a grating noise in his skull. divert her attention. away from Yeager and his fucking pretty green eyes. 

he clears his throat. “thank you for the hot chocolate. I'd still pay for it,” he says, calling back to your earlier interaction, which makes you smile and laugh softly. “it's alright. next time.” you say, shrugging, and jean gulps under the connotation of it all.

“there.” eren says, handing your phone back to you. “eren Yeager.” you repeat, reading his name from your phone. And then, with another biologically unexplainable heart-skipping beat, you look at jean while pointing your phone towards him, the keypad open, “and jean kirstein? Detective? Just jean?” you say, a little teasing, but jean cant help but find the endearment in your voice. Rolling his eyes with a smile, he says, “yeah. Detective jean kirstein,” and holds your phone, afraid of breaking something that belongs so closely to you, and puts his number with a smiley face after his name. Just a little treat.

Eren’s eyes are out of their sockets, and jean tries not to let the image of it all affect him, but he cant because he wants to ingrain this, tattooed under his eyelids so he can see it every night before going to bed, the picture lulling him to sleep and keeping his slow blinks some company - eren with his jaw slackened, eyes wide in surprise, brows flown upwards, and you, infront of him with your phone in your hands asking, though indirectly, for his number in your phone. Your. phone. 

“Right.” he says, handing you your phone back, a small smile playing on his lips. A beat of comfortable silence passing between you, eyes locked, before eren opens up his smelly mouth and says, “alright, we’ve got to go.” making you turn at his direction, humming in agreement. 

“Thanks,” jean mutters, finally, and you glance at him with a smile. “Youre welcome, detective.”

[firefly--bright]

re : the world.

jean kirstein x reader, modern au.

summary ; sasha introduced the two of you as complete opposites, two different worlds. but you'd disagree, especially since it feels like jean creates a new world just for you. warnings ; a little too self indulgent? aka reader likes peach flavoured stuff. also mentions of drinking, nothing graphic. a/n ; erm! haha. sorry for my absence again. i promise im still writing d2d and blooming hearts. pls be patient with me you guys r saints. thank you. enjoy this as i run away. hc reqs are still open hmu babes i lowkey want d2d to blow up a little. like okbambi. throwaway thought. continue reading. thx taglist ; @holding-infinity-and-a-book , @mrsnobodynobody , @hopeless-anti-romantic-again , @jeanscremebrulee , @berrijam , @happxme , @cherrypieyourface , @imgayandshesanime , @moonmalice , @kivernova , @potaho3frog , @xakilicious , @katestrophes , @gojo-ana , @ppushable, @candleohappiness , @zombiefiedskeivy , @1ovede1uxe , @sevriizy

masterlist is in pinned post! ✿ enter my taglist! ✿ headcanon requests are open! ✿

Jean has this habit.

Its not well concealed - hell, you're sure he doesnt even realise it himself, a muscle memory that seems to replay against his tendons, condensing him down to his action. You dont realise it at first either, but patterns have a tendency of making themselves apparent, especially since its about him.

The scene plays out something like this - kitchen lights are warm and shining, clinging onto the apples of your downtrodden cheeks, unheard and tired problems that weigh down your organs now find themselves boring down on your skin, a more physical proof of your labour. The week - scratch that, the month - had been rough. There's a cup of coffee against the palms of your hands, the tips of your nails a little blue from the cold you had just endured outside. Inside, its warm, your friends sit huddled around the coffee table that holds an unnecessarily important game of monopoly. The community chest cards were more than half gone, and Sasha sat with her back resting against the foot of the couch, tongue poking out of her lips thoughtfully, subconsciously. Your eyes blink blearily, steam from your coffee doing the exact opposite of it’s entirety, and Jean mixes just a splash of creamer into his own cup - just how he liked it. 

His eyes have been passing glances across your body, slumped with your back against the marble of the kitchen counter, picking up on something you refuse to be seen putting down. He clears his throat - an opening for a potential conversation, a test to see if you’ll take the bait and turn to him - and when you do, because of course you will, there's a victory that lifts his shoulders and puffs up his chest, muscle memory, tendons tightening. 

But youre so tired. He can see it in your eyes and under them, so when he asks his question, he does it so in the least gentle way possible. So he’ll get you to talk, because he knows that cornering you might be the only way he can get a real answer that lays unfiltered, beating still as it slips out of your mouth. 

“What is it this time?” he asks. His voice covers any unhindered iciness that his statement might hold, making it warm and curious instead of cold and blunt. Or maybe that's just how you see it. Maybe he’s a well meaning asshole who you’re accustomed to, whose language you’ve come to know well. Alphabets memorized.

You sigh. You wonder if your sigh itself could be an alphabet, if he understands all the frustrations underneath it. Your tongue can't conjure up anything else for a brief while, and for the same brief while, jean looks at you. Wholly, fully, more than you’ll ever be, though his eyes scatter themselves across your body. Your nose, your lips, your hair, your clothes, a slight sense of disarray but comfort nonetheless because the disarray meant that you had lived in it long enough and that you trusted your clothes and your hair and your nose and your lips more than enough to be here right now.

“Yknow.” you say, unsure of whether or not its a start of a statement or the end of an unsaid one. You decide to let it linger, staring into your cup until you find the words to say something important, clambering to find meaning that your voice somehow always inherently lacks. Theres a lump in your throat that’s small enough for you to ignore it, and then you begin speaking again, “i don't feel like im… enough for this.” you say. You're aware that it's unimportant, words lacking meaning. They always have, especially now.

“For what?” his voice asks, and you wish his reflection could share the same space as yours in the cup, make his space yours, but he doesn't. Instead, his shoulder presses against yours, which you suppose is better. An anchor, you think to yourself, even though he doesn't realize it. 

“All of it. Like, somehow… i keep trying, right? To be a good student, to be friendly and kind and just… try - like being good at work and at talking and all of it. But i’m not, even though sometimes i think im finally, finally making some progress, it all just comes crashing down on me and i feel so…dumb about it. Like im incompetent. Like all roles are too important for me to get them.”

It doesn't feel like the world is off your shoulders. You wonder why everyone always told you to talk about your feelings; claiming it’ll make the burden lighter. But the process of doing that would include giving it to someone else who’s less likely to have had a bad day and making their day worse by association. It felt like a math formula, another thing you were inherently struggling with.

No, the world feels all too real, all too heavy, all too present and pressing against your shoulders, the hurt seeping to the ends of your collarbones.   

“Incompetent.” he says. Its not a reply, neither is it a question. Like he knows exactly what you mean and is contemplating on it. Considering it. Then he shrugs. Sighs through his next statement to make it sound less like a confession of admiration, “you're not incompetent.” 

A pause. You don't believe him, and he knows it. And before he begins his strategy of building you up; he does it. 

Turns his back to everything else. Stands in front of you so he can be the only thing in your eyesight, his back to your friends, to the rest of the world as he makes his attempts to lessen the weight of yours. And surely - and you know he knows it, realises it just as you do - you lift your head up, eyes directed to his, your face pointing to your world, directly to him. In that action, you match each other perfectly well, even if Sasha introduced the two of you to each other as complete opposites. You wouldn't necessarily agree with her, especially not now, when both of you create your own world so easily, with the least amount of the hesitation that easily comes to the two of you.

He speaks quietly. Almost under his breath, as if they're truths that are heavier than his words, “you're not. When you talk, its clear that you're passionate, knowledgeable. Even if you don't realise it. Somehow you convince people to believe in you everytime you speak. It's one of the things i like about you. You-” he weaves his hand into his hair halfway through; an action he only commits to when he’s passionate about the topic he's speaking about, “you could make an atheist believe in god. Maybe because you have bits of truth hidden in there, whatever it is, but you're fully lying if you think you're incompetent. Or dumb. You’re not. You're good. Fucking brilliant.” he says, scoffing as if its a universal fact that youre unknowing of. The sun rises in the east and sets in the west, the earth is round, and jean believes youre ‘fucking brilliant’. 

You blink. Before the gears in your heavy machinery of a brain can move, he says, “i know you wont believe it, so let me do the believing for you. Depend on me a little, yeah?” he asks, like it's a plea. And honestly, you give in, without hesitation. 

His back faces the world and there’s a resolution in your eyes as you face your own world, smiling gently.

The next time is one you can particularly take note of. 

You're at some party that eren was throwing - pre halloween, everyone in costume, the song from the speaker so loud that the ground beneath your shoes was shaking, etching a reminder of tonight on it - a typical college-like event. Everyone was having a bubbling and tipsy conversation amongst themselves, connie and eren arguing over the music that they put on, sasha fawning over mikasa who could be seen blushing lightly even under the flashing lights, reiner with his arm around someone you knew from class - and admittedly set him up with - as you try not to let a proud smile set over your lips at the fact. You had a bet with Marco, another inside conversation that had been had all the way to the party; you bet on reiner finally “getting some” tonight, and marco betted on him not. Which, he clarified, was not because he didn't believe in the guy, but because reiner had a way of… being awkward when he was tipsy. Fifty solid dollars over this. You weren't going to lose.

Your head bopped to the argued-over music, scanning the crowd for jean, who claimed he was going to find you a drink you’d actually enjoy sipping on through the night. He knew you well enough, so you’d allowed him to, posing it to him as a challenge that he took with a cocky smile and a self-assured confidence that you were tempted to break.

You weren't going to break it. Of course not. Not unless he won. 

Bert asks you about your plans after the party. You tell him that you’d probably go home with the girls - unless they find their own plans for the night, which, you hope they do - and ask him the same, and he tells you he’ll go home with reiner, unless the obvious were to happen. You shout at him above the music about your bet with Marco because you know your voice wouldn't be carried to his ears otherwise, and he smiles and says - rather wisely, despite his slightly slurred speech - that you’d probably win. You tell him that if Marco were listening you’d flex about it. He laughs a little before someone from his class waves him over and you're left to your own devices again, scanning the crowd for a familiar head of soft hair that you imagine far too much running your fingers through.

And you find it. Shoulder the crowd, holding two glasses of his concoction, heading straight towards you, making sure not to spill even a single drop. You applaud his persistence, and he reaches you with the same smile he left you with, eyes sparkling and soft around the edges, looking at you like the world’s been tuned out, handing you your cup.

“Peach sparkling…spirit.” he says, not having had a single thought about naming the drink, but nodding once in satisfaction after it slips out of his mouth. You nod back, impressed, and look down at the ice floating in it. “Ice so your iron deficiency has something to chew on.” he completes with a laugh, one that you playfully punch him for as if your insides dont melt at the fact that the drink is more of a symbol, really, of how much he really knows you. peach , your favourite flavour, to dilute the wretched taste of alcohol. The coolness to keep you awake, and the ice floating at the top just as he said, because you liked chewing on it.

And as if just that much wasnt enough, he does it again.

Back to the world, he faces you completely, now closer than ever. Chest to chest, not because there were people unknowingly pressing your back from both sides, but because you'd be that close by choice either way. He traps you, but youre a willing accomplice, guilty of the same crime, and you create your own worlds with none of the hesitance that you both so frequently carry with everyone else as if this is the easiest thing youd ever do. As if its always been easy.

You tip your glass to his, and he clinks the rim of his cup to yours, lifting it to his lips with the same smile, now softer, gentler, because he knows only you're looking, because he knows he’d let you. 

The drink tastes divine. The completeness of knowing you, fully, wholly, without hesitation, the peach mixing with whatever cheap vodka he could find, knowing just how strong to make it so you wouldn't scrunch your nose at it’s burn but rather enjoy it, knowing you'd nurse the same drink for the rest of the night, close to your chest as it would vibrate not to the sound of the music but to the sound of your quietly beating heart because out of everyone, jean made it. 

Despite the drink's coolness, enough to freeze your fingertips, your insides felt. They felt, every organ - your lungs, your heart, your liver, your kidneys - felt, conscious and whole, flipped inside out and alive. 

Your back to the world, you and jean creating your own. 

Habits have a funny way of catching on, jean noticed, as you made a knowing decision to turn your own back to the world that you knew to be so large and unknown, opting for the warm one that jean hoped to preserve for you.

He notices, too. The first time you do it, its september. Your boots scruff up against the harsh of the pavemented sidewalk, orange and red leaves under your feet, with a cup of coffee in your hand, the one that he happily paid for like it was muscle memory. There could be silence between you, sure, because he knows that even that would be pleasant. But there isnt, and hes glad nonetheless, bringing his cup close to his lips, knowing that yours have touched the same rim to get a taste, hoping it would cover up the small smile that creeped onto his face, threatening to stay against his cheeks for you to notice, because of course you would. 

You finish the end of your sentence. Something about autumn, he knows, and your shoulders are brushing his as they perpetually are, coat against his, and he swears a world is created because of it, the lint of your fabric almost like magic when it presses against his, even if brief, because it cant be anything short of it with the way he’s feeling. Comfortable, whole, significant. He licks his lips, cleaning off the residue of the coffee and tasting the lingering of your lips indirectly on his like a revered devotee, a saint waiting for sacrifice, and says something probably insignificant. About the rain? He’s not sure. And then it turns into, “one time, connie - i think in middle school? Like back when i first met the guy - had his mouth wide open under the sky so he could get a full gulp of direct fucking rainwater in his mouth because we’d just learnt about… the water cycle. I think.” he says, and you laugh.

And then it happens. You do it, and he takes notice, because of course he does, of course, because its you. Turning on your heel, your back facing the world, as you fall into step, still beside him, walking backwards just so you could face him. For a moment he’s concerned - youre not the most synchronised person in the world, he once watched you stub your toe fully on purpose while trying to prove a point of how you’re not that navigationally challenged - but he shakes the thought out of his head as a slew of others fill it instead. You trust him. Enough to be a slight nuisance, enough to know if there was anything blocking your path that your back was facing so you wouldnt stumble, enough to know that he’d find this enjoyable rather than annoying. And then another larger, overwhelming thought.

You noticed. You noticed him doing that to you - turning his back to everything else, willingly, wholly, so you knew his attention was pinned on you and you only - and wanted to repay the insignificant favour.

And then he continues. As if nothing had occurred, as if a world just hadnt opened up and swallowed him up, organs flipping inside out. “And then when i made fun of him, the fucker went out there again, waited for the rainwater to fill his mouth up fully, and spit all of it on me.” he said, your laughter continuing to bubble and pour out of your lips and onto his, infectious as he thought it was, your shoulders shaking, no longer pressed against his, but he felt it anyway. Straight to his heart, his hand aching to cover it because his hesitance was carved onto his bones, but his choice to let it beat for you overwhelmed his tendons. 

He wondered if you knew. If you somehow, in your own way, knew that he’d always hold out for you as a knowing choice. That he’d went out to buy that peach drink for you to mix into the cheap vodka that eren had on his kitchen counter. If you knew that he’d never known what the right words to say were until you taught him a whole new dictionary, a vocabulary he’d somehow been blind to. Hes fluent now, he thinks, because he knows you fully, wholly. A world created and burnt into places, because both your backwere against the world you both knew.

Because jean saw you as his. And he knew - a new vocabulary - that you saw him as yours.

Back to the world, chest to a new one, your steps sync together, smiles the same on your lips as they were on his.

[firefly--bright]

the file's name is "jean stankface"

[firefly--bright]

french!jean kirstein

— consider this the lore for this thing that I wrote about a little while ago. i don’t even think this is enough to be considered “lore” but whatever.

warnings: sfw, mentions of alcohol, cursing

+ my masterlist

Jean’s voice has you hooked from the very first time you meet him.

It’s not a sultry tone or deep pitch that has you hanging on his every word, but rather the melodic, smooth inflection of his sentences. The way his words seem to come from deep in the back of his throat and the slightly nasally pronunciation of his vowels.

You never mention it to him until an offhanded comment slips out after a few drinks while the two of you are sitting on Sasha’s apartment balcony, tucked away from the rest of the party. Even through your drunken daze, you still notice the way Jean’s ears burn red at your confession of not being able to get enough of his voice.

It’s not until much later that you uncover the mystery of Jean’s addicting enunciation. By now, the two of you have been dating for a few months thanks to Connie forcing Jean to “man up” and finally ask you out.

Jean begging you to watch his favorite movies with him has become typical in your relationship, and tonight is no different as you’ve given in to watching Transformers. Your movie night is interrupted though when Jean excuses himself to answer a phone call from his mom.

And then you hear it. He’s leaning against the wall in the next room speaking into the phone with a hushed voice but you can’t make out anything he’s saying. At first, you think your ears are just betraying you or maybe you can’t hear clearly over the sound of the television. Until you realize you can’t even recognize the language he’s speaking.

Your mouth falls open slightly as it suddenly clicks in your brain that your boyfriend has a French accent. By the time the realization hits you, Jean’s already hanging up the phone and returning to his spot next to you on the couch.

“Sorry about that, what’d I miss?” He asks, throwing an arm around your shoulders and pulling you close.

Jean’s brows furrow as you pick up the remote on the coffee table in front of you, pressing pause and looking him straight into his eyes.

“Jean, are you French?”

Your boyfriend sighs as a familiar blush creeps onto his cheeks. You sit up, landing a harsh slap on his shoulder.

“What the hell, what was that for?” He whines at you dramatically.

“You asshole, why didn’t you tell me?” You say, getting up from your seat to stand in front of him.

“I don’t know, it just didn’t come up.”

“Jean. I literally told you I was in love with your voice like three weeks after we met,” you deadpan, recalling your embarrassing, alcohol induced admission. “Why didn’t you say anything then?”

“Okay well it’s just not something I ever really talk about.” He replies, leaning back into the couch cushions. “Plus, my name is Jean. How did you not piece that together already?”

You stutter at his words. Admittedly, it was a bit obvious and you should have known. But you’re still peeved that he never told you he could speak another language after all these months.

“Okay you’re right but that’s not important right now,��� you mumble, earning a chuckle from the man in front of you.

“Why don’t you talk about it more? Your accent is so cute, do you not like it or something?”

Your eyes soften at the possibility of Jean being insecure about something you’ve grown to love so much.

“It’s not even that, it’s just a childhood thing. People just always made it too big of a deal so I started to get annoyed when they asked about it.”

“Should I just drop it then?” You mutter, beginning to regret ever bringing it up.

“No, baby, you know I don’t mind if it’s you.”

Your face breaks out into a grin, and he already knows the interrogation is coming.

Jean lets out another sigh, shaking his head while smiling adoringly at you.

“Go ahead and sit back down so I can answer all one thousand of your questions.”

[firefly--bright]

jean is lowkey like ben wyatt from parks and rec. like if my hc version of jean was real it would be VERY similar to ben wyatt. crazy

[firefly--bright]

Hii, how are you?? I saw that your requests are open, can I ask for some headcanons about how the birthday boy would ask reader to be their s/o, plss??

I love your Jean fics btw❤️❤️

HII I'm currently dying again when am I not tbh ʕ⁠´• ᴥ •`⁠ʔ

but fuck yes. here to fulfill my duty

✿ he would be thinking about it so much. like so much. it consumes him, and he doesn't want to admit it

✿ like genuinely he's the type of guy to write both your initials with a heart. he does the FLAMES things with your names, feet swinging and giggling in bed just thinking about you and him being eachothers. ykwim

✿ god forbid he says allat out loud though. GOD FORBID.

✿ anyway. he wants to ask you in this grand, beautiful, memorable way. wants himself to be the best person you've dated bcs he's competitive as hell. he's fighting ghosts at this point

✿ he plans out a picnic date with you, tells you it's a surprise. asks you to "wear anything you want queen you'd look good in anything" over text bcs if he has to ask you out for this face to face he would piss himself and die

✿ you tell him you're going to arrive naked. he texts back, "ur a public nuisance" and then panics and adds "a pretty one" ok man. sure

✿ THE DAY HAS COME and he had called his mom like three hours before he had to leave to make sure that he knows how a picnic works. like he has all the food prepared and the blanket washed, anything you'd need to be comfortable outside, he has. digestives. painkillers. epi pens LITERALLY EVERYTHING LMFAO bcs he's thinking of all worst case scenarios. what if a bee bites you and you die.

✿ he hopes you don't. when he comes to pick you up, his breath is taken away from him. he's stuttering over his words to call you a compliment fit for a poetry award, but all he's able to come up with is "your... you're good." that's all. you're good. well atleast he means it

✿ god he's such an idiot. right anyway so the entire picnic, you're making jokes and conversing and he's having such a good time and the weather is actually so perfect, there's gentle wind ruffling your hair when your hand finds its way into his and for a moment he stops listening to the story of how your pranked your cousins once, because all he can think about is how perfectly your fingers interlock with his, calluses and wrinkles laying over his. how many worlds had to have collapsed and remade and how many fates and futures had to be adjusted over and intricately woven together for the two of you to be sitting here, at that moment, the picture of what jean thought to be confusingly perfect sitting next to him, talking to him. his heart simultaneously sped up and slowed down.

✿ okay and this was his plan, right - he'd wait until the end of the date to properly ask you to be his partner. there was an ice cream parlor next to the garden you were sitting in, and he'd made sure they had any of the flavours you usually go for, after which he'd take you for a little drive if the weather permitted, and then drop you back home, which was when he'd ask you. if you said no, then the both of you could have a quick escape (you could simply enter your apartment and he could wallow in self pity in the privacy of his car) and if you'd say yes, he could hold your face and kiss you as he always did, and your apartment would welcome him with its infinite warmth.

✿ but things don't go as planned with jean. they never had ; he's had to change his major atleast three times in his freshman year, his old crush (whom he'd hopelessly planned to run away with) barely even acknowledged his existence, his childhood plans of wanting to help his mother out with her bakery business, plans of finding out where his biological father went - none of them went the way he wanted. so it was no surprise to him (atleast, not as much as a surprise as he'd expected) when he just blurted it out. mid sentence, stopping your dwindling story that you could tell his mind wasn't in, he had asked "be my partner." it wasn't a question, not that you mind too much, but he said it with pleading hidden under his tongue anyway.

✿ there was a best of silence where jean allowed himself to panic and remain hopeful at the same time, contradicting his situation and feelings as he often found himself doing. but then your thumb traces a circle on the back of his hand, and then another, and then your lips were on his cheek, placing a small, inaudible kiss there.

✿ "ask me again. how you want to." you tell him, and god he likes you so much - bordering hopeless again - because you knew, without words exchanged, almost psychic, that he'd actually been thinking about this for a longer time then he let on, that he had a plan, one that he willingly ruined.

✿ he nods slowly, abiding your statement. you continue with your story after a little bit of a pleasing silence, and jean takes you to the ice cream parlor he'd checked out (as expected, you had ordered the chocolate and mocha flavours scooped together), drove you around while telling you about how his sisters absolutely tortured him while soft music played through the speakers, and then before leaving you, infront of the door of your apartment with its inviting warmth, under the best version of a porch light that urban decency could provide that was lined with two moths, he asked you. a proper question, without hesitance but nervousness still, "would you like to be my partner?"

(⁠人⁠ ⁠•͈⁠ᴗ⁠•͈⁠) happy birthday to that guy. i love him. i hope you enjoyed this!

[firefly--bright]

omg hi boo! how do u think jean would like to spend his bday w his s/o ??

HII!! sorry for the late reply </3 school work is crushing me :') also i didnt know if you wanted canonverse or modern au, but i went with modern au because i cannot take the pain canon brought to us. lmk if youd like the canonverse hcs tho!

✿ okay, so jean would def be one of those people who says "guys cmon its not that big of a deal, i dont need a huge party," but 100% wants a big party. or atleast big enough to where all his friends are present.

✿ so naturally, connie takes the lead on that, and since he's the worst at keeping surprises, it eventually slips out. jean gets to know (through the grapevine, he'd claim, but you and marco exchange a knowing glance that knows that connie told him. right from the source.)

✿ anyway. since he knows this now, he lowkey just wants a chill day in with you before the party actually starts. he doesnt want to do much except for maybe spend time with you - in any form.

✿ you surprise him in the morning by waking him up with kisses and some breakfast. he's not the best at staying awake, so naturally he had slept the night before as soon as the clock struck 12. honestly, considering him, it was commendable. so this was the first birthday wish he got, and he was glad it was from you :3

✿ he wakes up a little grumbly, asking you for "five more minutes," with his head stuffed into his pillow by the end of that statement, and youre kind enough to give him five minutes exactly. but whoops you dont want the food to get cold and you miss his stupid fucking face. so you wake him up again through his complaints, and have to resort to waving a peice of pancake under his nose s othe smell would wake him up.

✿ he's forever a topless sleeper. sorry i need you guys to imagine that. he wakes up with a sleepy smirk, right, and youre like "ok im gonna get ur special bday breakfast" and he stops you with his hand on your wrist and asks you to "stop running away from me," "im literally just gonna bring you breakfast." "later. c'mere. bday boy rules." god hes such a bitch. and you have to compy because of the afforementioned bday boy rules.

✿ anyway. by the time he gets to the pancakes, theyre cold. oh no. whoops. haha what can you do about that. he nods with his eyes closed at his first bite, giving you all the approval you needed even before he opened his mouth.

✿ the party started at like. 7 pm. right. but till then, jean wants to spend the day attached to you. hip to hip. lip to lip honestly, with this guy, but you had to bake his own cake which he wasnt letting you do

✿ he plays his favourite songs on the record player that he stole from his dad and asks you for a mandatory dance - and again, how can you ever refuse - and yes, you trip, and yes, he shows you how to do it "properly" and yes, you make fun of the fact that he took dancing lessons like three months before prom jsut to "be prepared".

youre in-between laughs as the record spins under the needle, saying, "i mean, its sweet," and he's rolling his eyes, "i was a teenager and sweaty and embarassed about the fact that i couldnt - can you stop laughing-"

✿ anyway. even while youre baking the cake, he's stealing bites of the whipped cream and the chocolate. not because he truly is hungry, he just really wants to annoy the shit out of you. he'll never admit it but he loves the look you get on your face when youre annoyed, looking at him with an unimpressed expression. he thinks its cute.

✿ you guys get ready for the party together, and right before that, you ask him if he wants to do face masks with you and he thinks youre joking at first but youre dead serious. he complies. acts like he doesnt like it. flinches a little at how cold it is when it first touches his face. idiot. but then he gets into it and is like "are you not gonna make me wear those hairbands?" "...you want that?" "no, just... like what if my hair gets in the way, yknow? just so it doesnt... get in my eyes." "right. just because of that."

✿ anyway. did i mention before that he's clingy in an observant way. like he wants to know everything youre doing, right, so while youre getting ready after he's done, he's observing everything youre putting on. every outfit decision, every jewellery. "i think you should go with the other one." "yeah?" "yeah. goes with your eyes." and he doesnt realize that its. that he's saying something meaningful to you. idiot i hate him

✿ before you leave, you give him his gift - a perfume is the obvious choice because he just in general likes them, but you'd also made him a very elaborate card along with those rings and candles that he'd wanted but would never buy for himself </3 he almost cries at the card and it's contents. his hand is over his mouth and his blinking them away at every turn ugh.

✿ oh best believe his mom also had called him in the morning to wish him. after saying his thank yous and talking a bit though, she immediately wanted to talk to you. he got lowkey a lil pouty after that. not that he cares though, ofc. ofc.

IM SO SORRY this took so long :( i hope you liked it though! i love this guy. i hope he never dies

[firefly--bright]

happy Birthday to my gorgeous wife. he's so beautiful I hope he never dies.

headcanon requests are open

[firefly--bright]

i miss jean so much. i think he'd annoy you with facetime calls everytime Connie's in the kitchen. i think he'd come to your room just to lay a kiss on your cheek before leaving.