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jkirschteinsgf · 1 year

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Halah Iris - Jean Kirstein x afab!reader 18+ MDI!

okayyyy this is the third part of lily valley, orginally posted here on ao3. im really not excited to post this one even though its my favorite...its just so shitty jfkjrk - 9k words

PART ONE *** PART TWO

(but should i write more of lily valley? thinking about it and some people seem to enjoy it, ESPECIALLY @theragethatisdesire - i consider her my biggest fan rn shes absolutely lovely and so so so so talented and you all know that) and im expecting no one to read/like this but SHE DOES!!

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT - EXPLICIT CONTENT

cw; smut obv, oral sex (fem recieving), unprotected vaginal sex, cringe overload, melancholy?, a little slice of life, fluff at the end (dont read it or ill fucking kill you its so cringe) not that slow of build this time i dont think, kinda rough sex but im bad at writing smut, dirtyyyyyy talk, horrible characterization lets be real, pet names "baby" and "sweets" ofc

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Heavy two a.m eyes, crusted with deep black mascara, stare back at you in a dusty window. With your gentle fingers, you press your lashes up to your brow and your knuckles are left with strays of Covergirl residue. Clump Crusher.

The sill of the window encases you like a wanted poster, but as your lips press to the glass in a goodbye kiss, you’re looking back at yourself once again, seeing a flier for underaged drinking and the dangers of it.

A carnivorous mouth smothered with red possibility and with hair still pinned up between his fingers, even though you’ve left his bed days ago.

You still feel his hands over you, in you, beneath you. Heart beating like the bass on your favorite song under his collar bones and your legs speaking the language of more.

The sandals were ritualistic, they were high heels on a catwalk—slapping against the wooden porch and creaky doors, you really couldn't wear these shoes without feeling your clit twitch. You noticed yourself relating everything to him, sometimes his smile, more than often how he made you feel pretty. You wondered if you'd come back to this place in some time from now and still feel that trembling and twitching all around when you see fireflies and another red mustang.

It's a real good summer.

Change it. Change it. Change it until it's better.

You couldn't say that now, not when dressed like this. Not when countering your comfortable imprisonment with dress-up and colors splattered across your cheeks like animal print.

Not when you had one thing on your mind:

Jean Kirstein.

You were seeing him everywhere, following you around like all your lethal decisions come to life. Even when you thought you shouldn't, you wanted to see him.

With the loaded gun in his nightstand drawer and the wipe of his wrist along his cunt-tasting lips, you left a love note in his bed, your spine writing in cursive as you rolled to your side in his sheets, one last kiss, then another.

It's been only three days since and your skin is still hot to the touch, your eyes seemed to have gone into black and blue bruises, still looking as they did in his dark room at midnight.

They never seemed to light up at anything but him, even as the sun rose through your blinds that morning—you couldn't sleep after that, after him. He forced you into insomnia, into criminalistic sweetness that most girls would be afraid of, and you loved it.

You didn't mind that they stayed rolled back, he said it was a pretty look on you. Or did you say that?

And now you're dressed for him, you've been waiting up all night. Losing sleep, gaining energy. Sometimes you forget.

Just beyond the wooden ceiling fan, you can hear fireflies and singing cicadas groveling against the soil.

Maybe summer was washing away too fast. You wished it would stay a cool, crisp 72 at night then coast across the sky in the afternoon when the 94 degree sun begins to melt off your makeup, taking your bra and panties with it.

Maybe you wanted the summer back a year ago, a month ago. Paint it all over. Relive it again.

A year ago when you were only in swimsuits and tight, ruffled tops. Eating ice cream for breakfast, dipping your feet into the river to escape the heat. Familiar leaves falling from familiar trees. Nobody touched you, men lingered in their reflection off your melted lip gloss, except him. He's there too.

You felt blue, unlawfully beautiful, ribboned up in green marks from cheap rings and the plastic wrap from junk food, shaken in your bathroom, stomach feeling like a snow globe; meditation and medication; reading and responding.

Too bright to not shine, too dim to have rays.

The pristine reflection of the words boredom and longing flooded your mind. There, it was fresh and delicious, new and valued, but cheap. To you, it was blurry and only visible through hand held mirrors at just the right angle under the sun and beneath a waterfall of sprinklers.

If you had one, a bejeweled pocket mirror, you'd shine it up to the sky, treasuring it like a slumber party game. An Ouija board, asking God if he'd ever touched you how you wanted. Light as a feather, stiff as a board. Heavy as man, soft as a woman.

You couldn't speak to anyone about this.

Except, maybe, him. He could hold you in the right hands, listen in ways no one else had. It was different, the way he listened.

Find ways to show him. Ribbons he wouldn't rip.

The clouds looked so clear in his eyes as he laid beside you. He showed you a scar where a dog had bitten him on his knuckles, somehow you never noticed it. Then another on his shoulder, beer bottle glass broken into his skin, streaking down his back like your nails did.

Some were lighter than others, some were deeper than others, like the one on his wrist that he didn't tell you about.

He was so heavy in bed, he was writing his own cursive.

And you missed him.

After three days alone, you missed him. Tenderly.

You missed how he drove you home, watched as you climbed back through your agape window, how he let you cling onto him, no, please, stay here, and how he gave into you in every way possible.

He talked to you a lot after, not through the phone, not through the days following, but as you laid in bed, sweating, the cool air basking the valley of your stomach, he told you little things.

Between the words you know and alright, he told you more about himself. Fleshing out this character you revolved around, he gets nightmares, he couldn't say he liked Jesus, but told his mother he did. He bought his car from his dad before he died. He's true and thinks he's boring, he's everything you imagined.

Before he could say another word, you already guessed it. You knew he liked girls in sundresses. You just did.

You're looking like a tramp, like a video vamp, and you're already opening your legs for him. Already feeling your hips tighten as he plays you like a game. You needed him now. You were growing hungrier by the second, hungry for something that you couldn't pretend was there anymore, hungry for a live show, not a VCR.

Jean Kirstein. You take the keys. Jean Kirstein. A car that doesn't belong to you. Jean Kirstein. You open the door. Jean Kirstein. You close it. Jean Kirstein. Jean Kirstein. Jean Kirstein.

-----

Sitting around a 70s couch with legs spread as wide as a wingspan, Jean drinks icy Bud Lights that crack against the kitchen counter when he pops them open. An ashtray of Marlboros and beer caps, the walls change in silence and he sits, watching TV with eyes so forgetful in the 2 a.m morning. Bonding through the screen, braiding hair.

He thought you were—

Words he couldn't describe. 'Thought' didn't correlate with 'think' in your presence. Vocabulary was shot down.

Men like him have got to fight. To take care of things. To relax with a back rub and long, beautiful legs they eat up, gentle fingers along their callouses. Tight around thick. Soft around hard. Beautiful quiet.

Men don't need much. They don't have much. But for a girl to hold him like a baby, love him like a woman, twist in his arms, and to stand on his shoes while slow dancing, that, they needed.

He thinks he forgot his wallet on the porch.

-----

Your skin itches and your hair sweats with irritability, you scratch and scratch at your forearms until you may be able to fight off your own appetite, biting your lip as a tear into your pleas. You can't think.

Driving a car you didn't have the license for, your sandals pressing the gas faster than he ever did, you wait in aching pain for the street signs you memorized to come into the headlights. A turn. One turn and you'll be there, finding out if a good girl turned insatiable girl turns fed.

Speeding cause he did it too. It didn't matter. It wasn't a big deal.

Once your eyes see just the roof of his house, you feel air coming between your teeth and the corners of your mouth stained with lipstick. You smiled, smiled even wider seeing the living room light on.

You park beside a curb, scraping tires along cement and open the door, not wasting a second.

It didn't matter if he was asleep or that should have called, that you took a car you shouldn't have, that every move you took played before you without conscious nerves that could've been telling you to stop, what mattered was that you were here, stepping up wooden stairs to his porch, feeling lighter than air.

You're now looking at that door, standing under a lantern with mosquitoes and moths fluttering around the glass. Before raising your fist to knock on the door, to pound on it until he comes rushing to you, you look at the two lawn chairs sitting empty. One of them has a leather wallet on the armrest.

You don't think. You open it and see his ID. 21. Gorgeous, looking back at you, wondering what you're doing out here, baby. The smell of money and whatever you could take filled your lungs.

You take a twenty from inside his wallet and leave the rest.

Stuffing the money into your shorts, you raise your hand again, consumed into a figure of light beneath bugs and figments of your bad intentions come to life.

For the third time, you are at a door, halfway between loss and capture.

Just as your knuckles were about to beat on the door, you hear the turn of the door knob—for a moment, you thought it was yourself, stepping out with shoes in hand and a timeless smile, your heart drops.

It opens with a big gust of wind and you're jerked forward with your mouth open and guilty, wide eyes.

Jean.

The light beckoned from the living room curved around Jean and shined on you, your eyes brightening once they widened beneath heavy lashes, shocked he somehow met you halfway yet again.

Some part of you thought he saw you coming from a mile away. Was he waiting on you?

You were ready for the ambition, the ride of your life, a night you'd never forget, pushing out your chest for his hands to find and squeeze, to have him lift your feet off the ground, to do so much more, but he only stepped through the door and walked on the porch towards you.

He says your name, "Jesus, are you alright?"

The screen door left open while the other closed, he took a step near you. He's searching for scrapes or bruises, tears and scars, whispers of something bad, searching if you drew blood and wrote protect me on your arms.

He couldn't find a thing.

It was different than before, outside the store with his car. There, you weren't expecting him. There, you were jittery and unsure how you'd end the night. You were kissing in the rain, unpretty and boyish but passionate and raw. Caught in your habitat, unprepared for him.

Hindsight isn't 20/20, it's waterlogged like an old photograph and unscary like a cheap horror film where the blood looks like acrylic paint. You wondered what the movie would be called if the poster was you and him in the car that night, he looks straight ahead while you look at him; Starry Night, the painting, in the windows, your eyebrows raised, saying, what's next? I'm ready for it.

You wondered what the movie would be called if the poster was this: the height difference, an expression nobody could name on your face, his arms waiting to take you in, lightning bugs and moldy wood—its soundtrack, songs that would sound just like the summer you were living in.

"No." You don't hold back on sincerity.

"What's wrong?" He looked how he always did, unreal and mirrored, looking like a challenge to be won.

"I missed you."

"What?"

"I missed you." You say and Jean feels sorry.

He pauses a moment, looking down at himself from his six foot stature, before gently grabbing your wrist.

Your feelings and thoughts can't be captured, you really couldn't understand what he was doing.

He pulls you into his chest, wrapping his big arms around you and you realize, for the very first time, you were being hugged by him. He was so warm.

You thought he was bringing you into a kiss, molding you into the position he wanted so that he could take you right there, on the porch like the pews at church. Be quiet.

But he didn't. He was being so gentle. His arms are just as heavy as they are huge and you wanted to be somehow even closer.

"What're you doing?" You say, looking at your wrist being bitten by a mosquito as he squeezes his arms around your waist tighter.

"Missed you too."

"You're a creep, Jean."

There's still so much, so many oranges to be eaten, so many shirts to iron, so many lightning bugs to catch, so many records to lull to. Maybe that's on his mind as he does whatever he needs to, hugging you, he leads you into July between his biceps, back to the house where you only watched, never touched.

He pulls away and you're left with a clammy feeling embracing you better than his hug did, a sweater of tremors left on your shoulders and an insulted strum on your heart for some reason you didn't want to explain.

You stand there before him, feeling yourself tied to summer and tied even tighter to what it means.

The bugs sounded louder than before.

Taking Jean's hand in yours, you sit him down in the lawn chair, his big frame occupying it under the light you've grown to like more and more.

You sit on his lap, his legs spread beneath your bare and soft ones, he leans back for a moment, watching your face come in two pieces, one understood, one completely unintelligible, both experiencing an eclipse from the aura around the moon.

"How'd you get here?" He asks, voice just above the buzzing.

"I walked." You lied softly, and he knows. He sees the keys chained to your belt loop then the familiar car parked nearby.

His hands hold onto your waist, you kiss his eyelid, just beneath another fading scar and summer freckles.

"What happened?"

"Nothing." You say and look to the window behind the two chairs.

"Come on," He bumps his knee up beneath you, needing you to look at him, "Don't be like that. Something's wrong."

He's careful with you, swiping away moths that fly around your hair, keeping you up and loose. You watch his face expect some sort of answer, some words to burn and cherish, but you don't say anything, only look at the shadows carving his face, wondering if he'd ever hug you again.

"Stubborn little thing." He sighs and lets you kiss him, not his lips, but his unshaven cheeks and jaw, he lets you claw your fingers into his hair, to get comfortable on top of him.

"You're always some place you shouldn't be, huh?" He laughs, petting your hair as you kiss his cheek.

You couldn't decide if you wanted to say anything or not.

"Don't get all quiet on me now. How're you, sweets?" He asks, nudging his nose against yours. "Hm?"

"Lonely," You whisper the right words, "Alone."

"Oh, you're lonely," His temples pull back, "That's no good." He lets his head fall onto your shoulder as you nuzzle closer to him, not wanting to hear a lecture.

His breath tickles you as he breathes in your hair, glittery shampoo, and he could already see a drawer filled with your things beneath the one with the gun. Why do you have so many pills? Helps me sleep. You barely sleep, though.

"Please?" You whisper, nuzzling your head into his neck, nibbling on his skin. "Please?"

He only hummed and petted your hair, kissing your cheek back when he could.

"Stop it," You laughed, dragging out your words like he was picking you up and wouldn't let you down. "Come on, I'm getting cold."

He didn't say anything, looking away with a smile.

"I was thinking about you all day," You say and he blushes. It's so sweet when a guy blushes. "What, you want me to talk to you?" You play by the rules.

"I'd like to know why you missed me so much, what's on your mind, all that. Why the hell you're here, climbin' on me." He smiles back, playing with your hair, admiring how girly and delicate it looks between his callouses.

Your mind was somewhere, filled with so much you could tell him, but you knew he just wouldn't be able to understand the barrier between dresses and skirts, what makes you happy and what is supposed to but makes you dazed and unorthodoxy. What's on your mind is the taste of blueberries, how good it feels to be kissed while having a fever, and the colors matching your smile. He didn't understand.

"Well, I missed how strong you are..how you take over me. I missed that song you showed me. I really missed being with you. I just can't get enough of you. It's so fun. But, I get so scared all the time, I don't know why. I keep crying. You've got it. I just want to find you everywhere and do it all with you. I don't wanna leave. I've got this… Please. I don't know what to do. Please? I came all this way."

You said all this with a smile, breathy laughs between words. Unintentional. It blew through you before you could've ever caught it and took it back.

A cricket chirps.

"I think that's the most I've ever heard you say."

"Is it good enough?"

He didn't need to know anymore, if he did, he'd be scared. Just a kiss. But don't let it be.

As his hand cupped your cheek, you wondered when you stopped lying.

He couldn't imagine himself telling you no. He couldn't imagine himself pulling you away and doing what was right. He couldn't imagine himself not bringing you into a dreamy, forget-me-not kiss beneath your shimmery halo.

His lips press into yours, a bittersweet kiss, the lingering beer on his mouth and hums of excitement radiate through your skin. It felt not only good, but warm. A kiss over and over. You feel your bones collide into his, your hands drop to his shoulders as if you were falling—caught, helped, freed.

"Jean,"

"Look at you," He whispers, hands touching your waist, "You look like an angel, you know that? A little angel that fell right into my lap."

"Please.."

"Is that the only word you know?"

His voice was gentle, down from the man he was to a man consumed by and beneath your being; the warmth, the curiosity, the perky breasts and small legs broken over his.

And you, lost, knowing where you were headed.

"I'll…" He stops for a moment. "What am I going to do with you?" He smiled and sighed, shaking his head, already knowing the answer.

"I can think of a few things," You both breathe out.

You start to rub your hips on his thigh and he can't take his hand away from the body of your hair, letting it become one entity in his palm, moving on its own.

"You don't have to be scared, baby. Nothing's scary with me. I promise."

You smile, wanting to believe it.

“Let’s get you inside. You can tell me more, huh?”

It was happening so fast, now it was slow—it'd get fast again, then again, and again.

Standing up from the chair, Jean keeps you in his arms and you wrap and cling your legs around his waist. Using only half of his strength, you knew, to keep you tangled around him, he spun around to the door before remembering his now lighter wallet and taking you inside.

He’s always been so strong.

With that, you felt hot and cold as he took you to his room, every so often lifting you up by your hips again so you wouldn’t fall. Kissing your head through your hair, finding some way to say words he hasn't yet, he’s gentle for the moment, but he’s riled up.

And so are you. More so. Undoubtedly, uncontrollably aroused. The words you said before, needy. The visions you remember, anticipating how he gets over the sheets, over you.

He moves without pausing, slow and careful throughout the house. There was so much on his mind.

"Don't wanna waste anymore time." He mumbles, carrying you through the moon-dappled dark bedroom.

Cool wood presses against your thighs, your head leans back to an even cooler wall. He put you on his dresser, you couldn't see a thing. You're kissing him. Your legs spread across the dresser, one sandal dangling off the edge while the other bends up and out, opening up.

It's quiet for a moment. Hums and sighs between kisses, his hands all over your arms and back, your heart beating close to his.

Then, you're gathered in his arms again. Spun around.

You’re placed on your back on his unmade bed, it felt how you remembered, but you don’t let it stick for a second. You move out of his control, sitting up on your knees on the bed, ready to be told what to do and how to do it, you watch with bright eyes as he undoes himself, you could’ve done it for him, but you knew you wouldn’t waste time on undoing clothes.

Through the zipper, you could’ve managed, so long as you felt close enough for your breathing to stop.

He ruffles your hair as one hand takes off his belt after his shirt. You both look at eachother with sweet smiles, knowing every inch of your body better than anyone else. You were on edge, waiting to be satisfied.

"So pretty." He kisses your knuckles.

Maybe you were worse than he knew. Good girls don't steal for the taste of a man, a face fuck at two a.m. No matter how many times he called you it, you weren't a good girl.

You reach out your arms and he comes into them immediately, crawling on top and pushing you to the bed.

His heart beats against yours and he kisses you with either hand on the side of your face. Passionate kisses, his bare chest against your shirt, your enveloping legs wrapped around him so he can't get away. His hips buck into yours, you giggle, he forgot you were still dressed.

"What're you laughing about, hm?" He teases, kissing your neck with a smile, "Want me to get you naked? Nice and ready for me?"

Under his weight, you whimper and nod and feel his hands shaking around you as he gnaws at your neck,

"Lift up for me, baby." He mumbles and you do, you arch and writhe under him until he can take off your tank top, exposing your bare chest above the valley of your stomach.

For a moment, he just looks, squeezing and fondling your breasts between his fingers. You wondered how you'd survive this.

He ran his hot, open mouth over your breasts, breathing out when he could. He took a nipple into his mouth, the intensity of it all sizzled down, his soft lips around the sensitive, delicate skin, and his stubble scraped the underbelly of the swells.

"You feel that?" He asks and you do. "It's all for you. It's gonna fill you up so good."

Between your thighs, you feel his cock growing bigger and harder against your soft skin. And as if in one movement, one turn of his body, he undoes your sandals, catching a glimpse of red painted toenails with little jewels in the dark light.

Then he brings his big hands to your shorts, the denim just begging to be thrown to the floor. You have a painful, wide smile in the dark as he unbuttons and unzips your shorts. They slide off your legs and you push up your hips for him, panties tight around your wet cunt.

His thumb swipes across the pink cotton, remembering these were the ones he dressed you in a long time ago.

"Just wanna tear you apart." He smiles and presses a kiss to your stomach, then another, another and another until at your chest again.

"This pussy missed me, huh?" He nibbles at your chest and you squeeze your legs around his waist, wondering if you could ever hurt him, "Missed how I stretch you out?"

You squirm and whine beneath him, feeling heat pile between you two, even warmer where his hips touch yours. Your nails claw at his back and you move like you're trying to get away, but it's the very last thing you want, and he knows.

"Shh…settle down, okay?"

He pushes himself off of you and you feel his absence, the lack of muscles pressed against your skin. You lean up as he does so, and your mouth feels empty; maybe you've said enough tonight.

But you're laid back again. His palm finds your heart and pushes you to your back. He takes the lead entirely, kissing down your warm belly, finding his big hands to the side of your hips, telling you in every way to stay still.

"Now," He whispers, "Just sit still n' do what I say, alright? You can do that."

Tremors from your ankles rise up to your thigh, nearly to his cheek where he nuzzles his head. You tremble as you feel his hands inch down your body, not willing to stop.

"Jean," You call out, he bites your thigh, making you yelp.

"I know it's hard to relax when you're with me," A kiss left on your clothes cunt drives you crazy. "But you can do it. You can let me. Just let me, baby."

So you try. You keep your legs open between his head as he blows cool air onto you, you play with your breasts and breathe slowly, letting him take his time with the precious view.

He hooks his fingers on your panties and pulls them to the side, smiling at how a string of slick connects to the cotton, just another way of showing him how you fall to pieces in his touch. In his sight.

"You're so messy, baby."

His lips dive into your clit, drowning it in more than what you had been aching in. Your eyes widen, then shut, seeing milky white spots curl around your vision. You seem to come all into his mouth, every bit of you on the roll of his tongue. The skin of your cunt is kissed with each buck of your hips, you just couldn't control yourself, not when it was so soft, so warm, so rebellious.

Like before, he spreads you out while your legs stretch out just the same. A sting of pain, it nearly hurts how good it feels. He was eating you up until he was full and you were empty.

You broke out into moans he was expecting, so were you. Repeatedly, you were whispering his name. Gravely, you were tied to the comfort of his mouth, his tongue, his hums and eagerness.

His tongue flicks your clit just how you like, you press a heel to his shoulder, painted toes curling, arching up into a swollen, moaning position where you have just enough leverage to hear the sizzle of blankets behind your ears and cry out for more.

You feel every sense tingling and coming to life, he sucks and licks your tender clit, the right spots to make you even more helpless. The crooks of your knees try to find something to bend over, each turn of your flesh is out of control, just like your whimpers and moans; you can't stop.

Neither can he. His lips wrap around your clit, making your cunt tighten then loosen inside you, stomach easing and rising. He applied soft pressure while he swirled your clit, knowing how to play with it just how you liked.

He licked and sucked, finding a slow rhythm that ignited your spine up and down. He groans into it, wanting to taste more of this delicate thing, give it more, learn more. His thick, dripping tongue suctions over your clit and you couldn't stop screaming even if you tried. You were lost in the heat of his mouth, melting and unconscious.

Your body was a mess of muscles and skin twisting closer into his mouth, your fingers were like the summer highlights in his hair, you gripped onto it and pulled. Were your eyes open? You could see new colors flashing beyond your vision, exotic and fiery—psycho and wet—he wasn't wasting any time with you, just how he said.

Two long, thick fingers push into you—his middle and ring finger—they pump in and out, being squeezed by your flooded cunt, walls so warm and wet, so small and tight around his big fingers. You couldn't let him go.

Then, you feel it. Faster than before. Faster and faster, warmer and warmer, tighter and tighter. Why was it so fast this time? He's so sweet to you. Your legs tremble and those colors you saw before streak over your breasts. You whimper and whine, noises you forgot you could make as he eats you up more.

It burns. Burns so hot it must be branding you. You're a loaded gun, hot from firing. You need it.

He takes a heavier lick all over your clit before taking it in-between his lips, silky smooth, puffy lips over your clit; they work you until your screaming.

"—I-I'm gonna cum, Jean, please let me cum, I wanna, fuck," The last thing you do is breathe, your chest swells with honey, bubbling up inside you all over.

Jean groans into you, nodding his head, the pressure on your clit ripples throughout your body. You're right there.

His fingers curl up and stay inside while he makes rough, thick noise against your clit. His lips kissing into a flutter, a deep groan, feeling you clamp around him and his tongue to swirl faster, trying to get it out of you, to feel it.

And finally, you feel it hit, just as your breath billows back, choking you, your legs shake and lock over his head as you feel a sick thrill spark inside you, then light up like a trail blaze. It's cosmic, between worlds of his bed and somewhere you thought was heaven, summer but all the time, tan all over; you stretch and tighten, unsure if you were above or beneath him, but you were close and loved, that's all that matters.

You shatter and cum, living it out longer than you remember you did before. He drips with your slick and cum. He groans, deep and low, into your core and you can feel it racing up your body, the vibrations finding the rings of your throat as you arch back further.

Before your world comes back together, it rests in figures of light, broken glass reflected off the sky.

Jean pulls himself away, breathing in what he could in the sultry, sex air. His lungs finally fill as he watches you squirm, riding it out in your twitching nerves.

"You came so fast, sweetie," He whispers, lips messy and shiny with your cum all over him. You're syrupy and washed in waves of pleasure, sweat around your hair and in the dips of your neck. It's wet and hot and only going to get so much better.

As your bones go limp and skin nerveless, he slowly pulls away, kissing up and down your temperate left leg, gentle, knowing you were hot to the touch. You feel a soft, long, caring kiss to the basin of your knee, where there was a bruise. It hurts, but you don't jerk away. You breathe out, in again, missing his weight on top of you.

"Good girl. See? Not so scary. Knew you could do it, just needed a little help."

He slowly takes off your panties. You're wet all around, dripping and coated with slick, still squirming.

Whispering into your ear, you felt Jean's presence closer again. His chest pressed into yours, yours still buzzing with unimaginable pleasure.

Your tired legs find some strength to wrap around his waist, jerking him forward into you. They tighten so he can't get away, every other muscle in your body is restless; you aren't sure if you're breathing or if it's just him, moving you how he wants.

Jean leans up to his knees, out of your leg's lock. You're nearly blind from the mess of your sweat and mascara stinging between your eyes, melting and pressing your lids close.

You don't remember his underwear coming off, but you feel the thick, firm muscle of his thighs pushing against yours with his cock bare resting on your stomach. You could feel it twitch and ache, pulse and push against your belly, right above how deep he'd be.

He slaps it against your belly, "Now, tell me," He has you right where he wanted, "Do you still play with this little cunt while thinking about me?"

You sling your arm around his neck, trying to pull him closer to your small, vulnerable body under him. He lets you cling onto him the best that you can, but that smirk on his face doesn't wash away, even with your neediness begging him to fuck you.

"Come on, baby, you can tell me. You missed me so much. Do you even touch yourself anymore?"

You shake your head, mind scattering and hips bucking up, "Please—"

"No? You don't? Don't tell me my baby doesn't know how to cum all by herself," He laughs, cupping your cheek and rubbing your clit with his tip, smothering his cock with your slick cunt.

"Aww, poor thing. This pretty pussy can't cum without me? These little fingers aren't big enough?"

"Please, j-just put it in…I wanna feel close." You whimper, rubbing your cunt to his tip, trembling all over.

"Shh..no whining, okay? You know how bad I wanna be inside your little cunt, fill you up with this dick, hear those pretty noises you make," He whispers, pushing his cock further into your warm, blooming folds, "You know that, right?"

You nod, feeling the words travel down your spine. He's right there, right between your legs, the apex reaching its highest point, and you reach up to feel him, his stiff, muscled biceps leaning over you.

With one soft roll of his hips, he pushes inside of you.

Fucking Christ.

Through the tight, sloppy ring of your cunt, Jean sheathes himself inside and your legs immediately spark up and wrap around his waist, making you both a mess of flesh and skin, wrapped together by your clammy shins. The breath rises out of you, gasps and inhales of sweat. The heavy weight of his cock inside you makes your stomach twist and clench around him, trapping him there, marinating in your tight walls.

Cannibalistically, you sucked him in. He watched it, your small legs snaking around him, knocking the wind out of him again, not letting him move, just making him burn in it.

"Shit," He groans, "Baby, you gotta, gotta let go of me. Let me—let me fuck you, you're squeezing me so tight."

He sunk into you while you sunk into a different state of mind. He pushes your legs away, they fall back near your chest, knees close to your shoulders, and finally, he's in control.

You squirm under him, he starts to thrust, soft, tender, meaty thrusts into your cunt, splitting you apart with each deep jerk inside you. You clench and squeeze around him, hands trying to press to his chest and get him closer. He pushes them away, they fall back to your chest, everything was heavy and weightless, open and closed.

"Harder, harder, please, Jean," You mewl and squirm, unable to think about anything than how good it stings when he fucks you fast and rough.

He pumps in and out of you, his hands gripping beneath your knees to make sure you stay put, he throws his head back, a deep groan and growl sparking from his throat. You feel his thrusts faster and harder, his skin being slapped against yours, each time rougher than before.

"Harder? That's what you want? Harder?" You clench around him, making yourself only more fuckable, ruinable, a tight, wet cunt for him to fuck.

And then he pulls out, leaving your stomach to empty for a devastating second, before slamming into you so hard your body jerks up, almost like flinching at the feeling. The heavy, pounding feeling of his cock deep inside you, the cracking sound of his skin pummeling into yours—your eyes roll back like a command.

Your twitching palms reach down and feel the bulge in your belly reappear with each roll of his fast hips, fucking you like he was insane. You were. You were, you were really fucking insane for him.

"You feel that? You feel that, sweet baby? Feel me stretching this little cunt out?" He angles you up just a bit more so he can take you into his lips, kissing you, grinding his mouth into yours.

You respond the best way you could, a shuddery scream and a choked-out, messy kiss back into him. He was going so fast, putting you down and slamming into you, the hot, blinding pressure making your head spasm and writhe uncontrollably.

He fucked the words out of your mouth, your throat stung with each moan—moans sounding more like screams, you couldn't take it but it was all you wanted. You wanted to devour and swallow it all the time, your blue turning into an explosion of stars, your pain turning into pleasure. You could take it. You could take it everywhere.

Jean groans and growls into you, each of his movements rigid and tight in his hips, feeling his cock as deep as it can go inside you, but you feel it so much more than he does. It bursts throughout you, your cunt not only experiencing the most exciting thrill of your life, but every curve of your body feeling him.

"Shit, always—always so good, huh?" He mumbles, eyes rolling back, "Bet you think it's real cute to show up here and get me worked up, don't you?"

He doesn't stop there, his fucking becoming harder and faster, making your mind blank and hazy, colorful with whimpers and moans.

"Oh, I know," He's mumbling out words, heaving hot breaths, "I can feel it, you're so needy. Gave you a little—fuck—little taste now you can't get enough." All he wants to do is leave you with this feeling then have you come back for more, squirm and whine just the way you always do, he couldn't get enough and neither could you.

Your arm reaches up between the flesh of bodies, the hard pounding, uncontrollable movements, and finds his throat. Your hand, the curve between your thumb and forefinger, wraps around him, just beneath his Adam's apple. Choking him. Bringing him closer.

It doesn't hurt. Not at all. Your small fingers curling around his neck, he falls into it, a deep and close kiss, unsure who was stealing whose breath. He didn't break that rough thrusts into you, not even for a second, and it was burning inside you.

"Come on, baby, choke me, choke me harder," He groans and you're already there, squeezing his neck just as hard as you're squeezing his cock, so close to that release, that first time again.

He wanted to cum, he could've, at that little sight of you trying to hurt him, those small nails digging into his neck and you're messy pants and moans, he thought it was so cute how you wanted him all to yourself. You didn't want him to get away and he'd let you do whatever you could to keep him with you, choking or worse. So cute.

"Go on, take it." He whispers. Instead of telling you to take it, he tells you to steal it, to bring it back and take what's yours—him.

And you do.

Harden and tense, you take it. Arching back and shuttering, you cum, lighting your body up in the brightest way possible, quivering and shaking, locking and curling, you cum through his thrusts just how you wanted.

Your fingers flex around him, clawing his muscled neck like a man, hurting him just for a moment as your body tensed up then relaxed, coming down from the high like burning yourself with a cigarette, he can breathe again.

"That's it, that's it," His words drift off just as your hand goes limp and falls back to your chest, "Fuck, you're so fucking tight when you cum, fuck,"

For just a second, your heart bursts—into flames or into dust, you don't know.

Before you realize it, his arms hook beneath the arch of your back and jerk you into his chest, the gravity of everything spinning and your heart beating faster than you've ever felt it, all the blood in your body twisting around just as you do. He's picking you up.

You don't feel the comfort of his bed, only the thick muscle of his arms bending around you and the dangerous, dangling wind of being spun around, all you can do is wait for the impact—

He's slamming you onto his dresser, your head rocks against the wall, legs spread out all over, and you're absolutely devoured. Just as his cock thrusts inside you, you're impaired, blind and nearly deaf, tasteful and stuffed full, completely out of breath.

"Yeah, that's what you need," You feel the wet, slippery slick dripping down between your ass and onto the dresser, just as much as you hear the vulgar noises it makes, "Harder, till you can't take it? Till you're crying?"

And, fuck, was it harder—you were unsure where his body ended and yours began, if it even did. You were a tangled mess of bodies with the exception of his cock pounding into you, just the few slips of air before his skin came colliding with yours again.

"Poor baby, you already are," He whispers, knees bruising against the dresser as he pounds into you, "Poor, sweet, sweet baby, crying all over me,"

He wipes your tears, his thumb stained with black, sparkly tears and he pinches your cheek, concentrating on every magical feeling you coursed through him, every bite you managed to sink into his shoulder, he was close.

And you feel yourself drowning in moans, being turned up and down, struck with hard, fast thrust making your knees tense and flex under his hands, dripping and draining all over, taking you for all that you've got.

"Shh.. I've got you, I've got you," He was lightning inside of you, each fuck faster and faster, agonizingly long and thick. Thrusts so quick the dresser rattled and shook just how your body did, the backlash of his hips hitting yours.

"You're shaking," A little laugh stifles through him, "You're shaking all over, you okay, baby?" Each syllable is broken up between the hard hits of his hips into yours, the wood dresser rocking back and forth, your own whines—

And you couldn't remember when it started to bubble inside you again, that ripe feeling wanting to burst, the waves wanting to crash, but as he makes one last motherfucking fucking thrust into you, you cum all over him.

"There you go, there you go," He grits between his teeth, anchoring your hips and knees in place just as he grinds against that sweet spot he liked to touch the most, the spot that made your toes curl and your body sweat all around.

But he doesn't stop, he isn't going to, not when his hips grind and stutter, halting in and out of you. Not when he's groaning and tensed up like that, every vein popping out and every muscle on the verge of flexing so hard they shatter.

You cup his face with restless small hands, massaging his clenched jaw and only sitting up by the invisible string that tied you to him, no support other than his groans and sighs and rough, big hand under your knee keeping you up.

"I'm gonna cum," He whispered into you, fast and all together, "Gonna, fuck, show my girl how much I love her little cunt."

He pulls out and every bit of his body seems to leave his skin just as you feel your cunt clenching around what used to be there, resizing down to its tight channel and sopping wet, feeling the restful emptiness.

He jerks himself so hard and fast, slick drips off of the tip with each rut of his hand, you hear the squelching noise it all makes as his tip angles right to your pulsing clit.

"So warm n' sweet n' tight for me—" His eyes roll back, "You're so good to me, baby, so so good to me, just wanna, fuck, wanna keep you here. Right here. Right here."

And finally, fucking fucking finally, he came all over your cunt, your hot, wet, tender cunt. He jerks out thick, steaming ropes of cum onto your pussy. Half broken, half together, he cums until the very last drop spurts onto you and you're both panting, drinking in the stuffy air, the passionate breathes you both took, coming back to fill your lungs once again—this time used and clouded with cigarette smoke, clouded with sizzling summer.

His breaths deepen and slow, swearing his way through feeling, chest rising in inches, then falling, caving, into himself.

His cum felt cool on you, ice on top of scorching sunburns, the only light and airy part of the room, steaming with sex.

He dips into you, a soft, real kiss over your hot lips. You let it happen, arms too tired to pull him in how you wanted, but it's okay, he did it for you.

Then he pulls away, you look down at the mess on your twitching cunt, wondering what would come next, what one liner would roll off his tongue like a lyric, but it stayed quiet. Sweet humming and his chin resting on top of your head, quiet. Foamy waves and careless hands all over you.

"Let's get you cleaned up."

It was a long night, a long twenty page night.

But it didn't stop there.

It broke the fourth wall and continued, writing more and more. Endless words.

Jean takes you to the bathroom, only then, as the light comes on overhead of you, you realize there's so much of his house you haven't seen. All of it in darkness, in a spinning, moonlit view where everything flashes by, you remember that. But as he places you on the bathroom counter, naked and hot to the touch, you see his home.

Your body glows under the light, legs spreading out, one foot in the bowl of the sink, the other propped up, sticky with sweat. He can't keep his hands off you. Warm, big hands hugging your waist, keeping you from falling apart. You could've, body burning so hot it drips like wax down onto the floor, you could've fallen apart.

Was this part of the movie? The mundane, unbelievable part where he wets a washcloth under the sink, drenching your foot in the process, and bringing it to your face, the waterfall of mascara over your plump cheeks, and cleaning it off. Up. Where he laughs at your smile, kissing your nose and you don't understand, but you don't want the credits to roll yet. Maybe not ever, if he keeps that tooth rotting sweetness.

Where he circled his fingers over the pool of your collarbones, like a lake, if he could dip his fingers in; where he knelt on the tile and rubbed your feet because they ached, the one dripping with faucet water. Where the small window by the shower showed no signs of morning ever coming, only a tall oak tree, blowing in the wind like rolling eyes.

"Stay," He says, "Stay here tonight. Just stay. I love seeing you. I'm glad you're..here. I really am."

Then he takes the soft washcloth to your most sensitive area, but he pulls away, dropping the rag and putting his fingers in.

Sweet tea and minty cookies, not so much junk as it is strange and scary, but delicious. So delicious.

-----

"Heart. Van Halen. The Cars. But I hardly listen to them anymore."

"Guns n' Roses?"

"They're sellouts, Jean. How stupid can you be?"

You were laying on his bed while he rested his head on your stomach, gingerly rubbing circles over the dimple of your elbow. Charmed, you were playing with his hair, rearranging it and putting it back into its place. Perfect place.

You were talking about safe, simple things. Things you let show instead of tell, but it all came out somehow. He got it out of you.

Then, he leaned up from bed and stumbled to his closet, forgetting how to walk after laying on you for so long. You were dressed in one of his shirts, a big, pillowy white button up and nothing else. He wore his boxer shorts. You both felt the cool blow of his fan on you.

He pulls out a box deep from the closet and sets it on the floor.

"Dreamboat, huh?" He mumbles, digging through a milk crate stacked with records, most faded and worn out, writing on the backs of some.

"Here," He had it. Dreamboat Annie. "Take it. It's yours."

"You're a magic man."

-----

Later, you both sat criss-crossed on the kitchen counter. You spoon fed ice cream into his mouth. He did the same to you. Your nerves frayed, in a good way, just as the cherry cordial melted in your mouth.

He'd clean up the mess of pink ice cream around your lips with his knuckles, you'd kiss them every now and then, distracted by the sweet taste down your mouth.

"You know," You say, smiling and spooning more out of the container. "I feel bad."

"Why's that?"

"We haven't even gone on a date yet."

"You're right," He says, taking the spoon you press to his lips in his mouth, "Where to?"

"I don't like dates, I change my mind." You laugh, tucking your legs to your chest.

"You'll like 'em with me."

You lean over the tub of ice cream and kiss him, milky and sugary.

-----

He cuddled you from behind, chin in the crook of your neck and hair billowing out between the bend of his shoulders. His leg was thrown over you, just like his arm. He held your hand. Held it tight.

You were close to dozing off. It was just before dawn and you were warm, not knowing where you were laying, but it was with him, that's all that mattered.

Then you hear him whispering, tingling your senses back awake.

"You said you kept crying." No. "You know you can," Don't say it. "Talk to me." Fuck you. "Whenever.. I'd like it if you did. I don't know why you don't call me, but you can—"

"You wouldn't understand."

Another cricket chirps.

"I'd try."

And suddenly the shift turned.

"Tell me about your wrist, and I'll tell you everything."

"Okay."

He got up and told you. So you did too. You stayed up just to hear it. To tell it.

-----

It was noon, maybe later, but it felt blaringly hot when you woke up. It was him, behind you, holding you still just how he did when you fell asleep.

You woke up gently, in a furnace of muscle over your dainty, sweet skin. Flashes of dark light come back when you see his arm slung around your chest, the skyline of his side huddling into yours, you remember everything, even in sleep. How he pulled you closer, how you rolled the back of your head against his firm chest, how sweat still managed to creep into the bends of your body, suffocating, inhaling.

Long, sleepy breaths pour onto your ear. He was sleeping. You've never seen him sleep. Never seen him so peaceful, no longer with a clenched jaw, confused or soft or piercing eyes, never felt his heart slow—you felt like a real being beside him, capable of seeing him in tender and vulnerable states, how he saw you. It was just the begining to a new thrill. A new summer.

You could see it, domestic, almost. Dinner and music, colorful and weary—mornings like this. Afternoons. Without sex. Stupid.

You knew you'd be sick of him in a week.

You crawled out from his arm and leg to find the ground, unsure when the last time you had walked was. You look around, everything else coming to thick, auburn colors; you feel stiff as you stand, only wanting to get back in bed with him again, you already feel his absence around you.

You find your shorts and dig through the pockets, then apply lipstick. You were blood sucked, it felt, when you weren't wearing that.

Then, too quickly, you heard the shuffling of sheets behind you. Jean. He was lulled, hazy and unopened yet, and searching around the bed blindly, trying to scoop up what wasn't there beside him.

"Baby," He mumbles, starting to lean up and rub his eyes. "Jesus, where are you,"

You look at him, half formed man in bed. Why was he so handsome? What're you even doing? You crawl back into bed with him, sitting on your knees as he comes to life.

He feels the weight of you near him and his arms, one half asleep, sling around your waist. The sun came in through blinds, you hugged him back, his nerves silently rolled back down his spine once a blanket slid off of him. It was good.

"You're so cute when you're tired." You whisper, letting him nuzzle into your waist.

"You're the cute one." That almost made you sick how sweet it was.

You scratch him behind the ears, like a dog.

"I took the car back after you went to sleep." He says, reminding himself of whatever happened after you slept. He inhaled your scent, it was stronger than the shirt you were wearing, and it was all he wanted to smell.

Oh, you think. You hadn't even thought about the car.

"You must've been tired." You rub his head.

"I was." He kisses your knuckles.

And suddenly, like every sound dropped and shattered on the floor, you hear knocking at the front door.

Despite being in heaven, you can never get a moment’s peace.

You both lean up and turn to his bedroom door, as if the knocking was so loud it was right there, disturbing you.

You didn't want to think about the outside, you didn't want to be there. Knowing that last night was fading away and soon you'd be cleansed and refreshed and no longer clouded minded was horrifying. If you could have one more hour with him before you're looking for a new piece of candy to suck, if you could lighten and pull back summer skies, maybe it'd be alright.

But you were being pushed into it, the outside again. Just by that knock.

But you were cool about it. The curve of your hair, your back twisting away from him, he'd never be able to tell. All you wanted was one more hour in bed before life goes on.

"Fuck, I forgot," He rubs his eyes, "It's my buddy, I forgot he was coming over."

A beat passes of him really coming awake.

"Could you let him in for me? Tell him I'll be out in a minute."

"Of course." You kiss his forehead and he falls off his elbows to his back, spreading out in his bed. You put on underwear and look back one more time; hoping today was the last you'd see him. A few cards and a letter and one long distance call, we drifted away like the leaves in the fall.

You walk through his house, a path you've remembered, feeling like you'll hate yourself for this years to come, but it doesn't matter now.

Your heels spin against the tile, your flimsy and awake, it feels like morning, but it isn't. You look like hell, but he doesn't think so.

"And bring me a beer, baby," He calls out, you laugh and sigh.

How'd that song go, Well, summer lover passed to fall, Tried to realize it all, Mama says she's worried, growing up in a hurry

As you walk towards the door, you feel an awful amount of wet arousal fall down your cunt, staining your underwear and making you shudder at each step.

Your hand curls around the doorknob and you swing it open, not a thought in your mind.

"Hey there."

Look away from the sky. Chase dreams. Chase ghosts. Sacred and scared. You've had enough.

97 notes · View notes

jkirschteinsgf · 1 year

Note

Omg I’m ovulating and I need Jean right now 🥸could you pls write something about country boy Jean and a shy reader 🙈 I just know he is so charming, low key kinda cocky, and drives a pickup truck 😿😋

Your wish is my command

Save a horse Ride a...

WC: 5.5K (i promise its worth it)

Summary: city girl reader comes home to her family far and sees Cowboy Jean

CW: finger-sucking, cunnilingus, creampie, slut, good girl, princess, sweetheart, Jean has a huge cock, slight dumbification, slight degradation, doggy, spanking. NSFW MDNI 18+!!!

It’s been a few months since you’ve been home but you’ve really been missing the small back-roads town you grew up in. Growing up, generally, no one really left your home town so it was rather unusual for you to take a job in a big city a few hours out. No matter how hard you tried to convince yourself you knew in your soul you longed for the sound of the crickets at night under the full moon, the one diner in town with the absolute best burgers and shakes, the smell of your family’s farm wafting through your open window at night, and how much brighter the stars shined under the wide country sky.

You missed it more than you cared to admit, so coming back home to work on the farm for two months this summer didn’t sound too bad. Your mom posed the idea one night when you were ranting to her about the stress of your “big city job” over the phone and she suggested you were just homesick and needed to take some time off, get back to your roots, and she was right. So here you were driving down the interstate through miles of nothing on either side in your fancy new car that dramatically contrasted with the dusty environment around you. You knew you’d hear a bunch of grief from your friends and family about how you dressed now and the loss of your sweet southern accent but you were prepared. Pulling into the long gravel driveway of your family's farm just on the outside of what was actually considered “town” you saw your dog run down from the front door to excitedly greet you. You walked out slamming your car door and slinging your bag over your shoulder before smothering your best friend with pets and kisses “Wish you’d do that to me sweetheart” came from a low raspy voice behind you in that signature cocky southern tone, you didn’t even have to turn around to know who it was. Of course, it was him, your father's favorite farm hand, Jean. How could you forget that he’d be here?

You and Jean had a long history, and by history you mean the ongoing phenomenon of you secretly pining after him for years as he worked for your dad and him constantly flirting with every woman he laid his eyes on. He was very popular around town, especially among the girls. When you were home you’d always see Jean dragging back a different girl to his cabin next to the horse stables and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes, deep down feeling just a twinge of hurt that it wasn’t you.

You just rolled your eyes and stood up, walking towards the front door of the big white house you grew up in “C’mon darling, I don’t even get a proper greeting?” He said smirking while leaning his right arm against your car “I’ll see you later when I go to help out with the stables Jean..” you replied in a mildly annoyed tone promptly reaching the door of your house and slamming it shut behind you. You were already stressed out about your job the last thing you needed to be stressed about was Jean fucking Kirstein.

You walked up the rickety old stairs stained with splotches of paint, dirt, and who knows what else before reaching your room, the first one on the right, unfortunately with a perfect view of Jean’s cabin through your big, open window. You quickly shut your curtains and turned away from the view. You were not doing that. Not again. You didn’t need to know who Jean was gonna bring home tonight and cry into your pillow like you were 16 again.

So you unloaded your things onto your bed and walked back downstairs to your mom who had already prepared a huge lunch for you. She insisted working in the city with such a stressful job had made you far too skinny and you needed to “put some meat back on those bones” so she sat you down at the round dining table in the corner of the kitchen and placed a cornucopia of your favorite foods from when you were little, her famous southern mac n cheese, a few tenders of fried chicken, some green beans for vitamins, and of course a slice of apple pie complete with a scoop of vanilla ice-cream and a coke. “I’m never gonna eat all of this mama” you giggled looking down at the absolute feast laid in front of you, god you’d been here for maybe 15 minutes and your slight accent had already made a comeback. “Well baby whatever you don’t finish we’ll have for dinner how ‘bout that hm?” She said sweetly stroking your arm “Saw you talking to Jean out there. Such a sweet boy, that one. I know your father likes him a whole lot.” You laughed softly to yourself at your mother’s comment of Jean being a “sweet boy” not wanting to get into an unnecessary argument, all you asked in response was where your father was, considering it was strange he hadn’t greeted you in one of his famous bear hugs yet. You were informed he went into a town a few towns over to pick up some more cows for the farm and wouldn’t be back for about three days. Three whole days you will have to work on the farm with just Jean, without the presence of your father as a buffer. Great.

You scarfed down the delicious meal your sweet mother so graciously prepared for you, maybe she was right, you hadn’t been eating enough. You put what was left over in your oversized fridge and thanked her once again for welcoming you back with such open arms. You did the dishes and took your dog for a run, trying to put off your farm responsibilities until tomorrow mainly for one reason in particular. Unluckily for you the path you took on the run winded through Jean’s smoking spot when he was in-between tasks, how could you forget that?

“Hey, princess why don’t you take a break and sit with me, hm? Got an extra cigarette just for those pretty lips.” He exhaled, smoke ghosting over his lips as he patted the spot next to him with his large hand. As much as your heart longed to find some semblance of affection in Jean’s flirtation you knew you weren’t special, he flirted with every breathing female who crossed his path, and playing into that would only hurt your feelings more in the long run. So no you would not smoke with him, you had things to do, none of them being Jean Kirstein.

“Don’t smoke anymore, ‘ts bad for you, you know.” You remarked annoyingly trying to come off completely disinterested in his advances. “Oh, I see, the big city’s turned you into a good girl huh?” he teased taking another long drag, god he looked so good like this. All sweaty from working outside all day, tan with a slight sunburn across his nose dotting just a few freckles, his hair pushed back. “I’m not about to take advice from someone with a mullet” you scoffed and continued your walk as he protested behind you, it was hard to walk away from the opportunity to sit with him but you had to do it. You couldn’t run the risk of being any more captivated by him than you already were.

After you returned from your walk and had been sulking in your childhood room a few hours later the time had come, like a doomsday countdown your mom stalked your door and asked why you hadn’t been out to see the horses yet. “They miss you a whole lot honey, don't know why you’re leaving 'em all high and dry like this.” She said with a slight tone of disappointment. She was right, it had been forever since you’d been in the stables and you couldn’t let Jean keep you from the horses forever, besides that wasn't fair to them. You’d just have to tough it out. Who knows maybe he’ll be somewhere else when you decided to go check up on them and perform your chores.

You agreed with your mom and sighed as you pulled your body away from the soft comfort of your warm bed. It was boiling hot out so you needed to change it if you were going to be doing any actual work. You threw on a tank top and pair of old cut-offs you’d cut from jeans when you were 17. You looked pretty good you weren’t gonna lie to yourself. You headed downstairs out the front door and into the stables. Luckily it appeared the only living thing inside was the horses. You breathed a sigh of relief as you greeted each of them, pressing soft kisses to their noses and scratching the special spot they like behind their ears. You noticed at least two of them needed a bath, god does Jean even do anything around here besides antagonize you?

You set your hat on a fence post and led one of the horses out into an open area where she could be bathed. You grabbed the hose and went to work scrubbing her silky mane and making sure to get her hooves as well. While you were diligently working on the task before you, Jean returned from wherever he was previously causing trouble. You caught him out of the corner of your eye just outside the big open doors of the stables talking to a tall blonde girl. “Yeah baby ‘ll see you later tonight all right,” he said in that sly seductive tone as he pushed some of her fried blonde hair behind her ear, and even worse you could see his large calloused hand resting on her ass. God you wanted to disappear right then and there, why did you have to be subjected to Jean’s promiscuous affairs? You pretended not to notice and continued working a brush through the black main of the horse in front of you “Can you believe him” you whispered to her “You probably can I guess, you must see it all the time” you said as you began to work little braids in the freshly brushed out mane. “Hey Princess picking up my slack huh” his voice came from the open doors as he stomped his way towards the other horse that needed to be bathed. “Not really, I’m just doing what needs to be done around here. Someone has to.” You scoffed in response to his obnoxious comment, how could you be so into him when he’s so aggravating?

You couldn’t stop thinking about his hand on that girl’s ass and his promise of seeing her later tonight, the look of lust behind his pretty amber eyes. Why couldn’t that be you? It’s not like his standards were high and you weren't ugly… why had he never chosen you. “What you thinking about over there pretty girl?” he said “Nothing just trying to get my work done so I can go back home” you replied nonchalantly not wanting him to see behind your facade. So you finally got your work done and succeeded in avoiding Jean for the rest of the night. You kept your promise to your sweet mom and ate your leftovers with her at the dining table before heading up to your bathroom for a hot shower. As you soaped up your body you thought of his hands, how they would feel against your soft skin, what his lips would feel like against yours, then you thought of her. About how he’s probably bottoming out in her as you were showering and the thought made you shiver. You could always check… He left his curtains open all the time, you could see what he was doing right now. No that’s pathetic. You're not 16 anymore. You quickly finished your body and wrapped yourself in a warm towel before walking back down the hall to your room to get dressed for the night. You finished up your nighttime routine, brushed out the long locks of your thick hair, and threw on a big comfy shirt you kept from one of your past boyfriends.

Walking to your bed to scroll through your phone for a little bit the curtains blew open from the movement of the air and you could briefly see into Jean’s window. You didn’t turn around, for about 5 minutes that is. You couldn’t stand not knowing what he was doing. You had to know if he kept his promise of meeting that girl, so you slowly walked over to your window and took the thin fabric of the curtain between your fingers, carefully moving it to the side.

Your fears were confirmed when you looked straight into his bedroom and saw his slender fingers digging into the hips of some girl with a terrible fake tan. Her face was contorted in pleasure and you could even hear them as Jean was making her scream around him due to their proximity. You saw his face too, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration and little strands of his brown hair making their way into his eyes, a red tint across his cheeks from exertion and a slight glimmer of sweat against his skin. You shouldn’t be watching this, this is a private moment between Jean and whoever his girl of the night was, but you couldn’t help yourself. The way his hips snapped up into her with delicious fervor just had your mind wandering about how that would feel if it was you instead. His abs contracting with each thrust had your hands wandering down the hem of your cotton panties as you sat back on the edge of your bed. Your eyes were glued to him the entire time as you slowly played with the wetness pooling between your legs, dipping your fingers inside yourself imagining they were his. You felt yourself getting closer and closer to orgasm as your breathing grew deeper and more labored. His grunts and groans were music to your ears as you felt yourself slipping over the edge. You called out his name as you let go, your body shaking with pleasure.

Your eyebrows now too were furrowed in pleasure as you watched him please the girl bouncing on top of him, You briefly shut your eyes as you got closer to your approaching high, imagining he was thrusting into you, whispering nasty things about how good you were for him. You wanted him- no you needed him so badly. As you came on your delicate fingers you opened your eyes to the pornographic scene displayed through your window, and whether you imagined it or not you could've sworn for just a second that Jean’s eyes were on you, watching your body heave up and down at the pleasure you gave yourself. But just as soon as it happened it was gone, he was whispering dirty inaudible things to the girl below him, you weren’t sure if he spotted you watching him at all.

No, he didn’t, it was just your imagination, you decided. Jean’s never been in your room, he doesn’t know you have a view of his house from your window so why would he look in your direction at all? It just doesn't make sense.

Having found comfort in your conclusion that Jean had not caught you touching yourself for him while he fucked another girl, you quickly washed your hands and tucked yourself in for the night, dreading having to see him tomorrow. You lay in the dark and thought about the situation. You wondered if you should confront him or just pretend it never happened. Your heart raced as you tried to decide what to do.

Unfortunately, the sun rose the next morning, bringing about a new challenge of having to face Jean after the last night. You slept in for as long as you could, hoping to burn the daylight and not face him any sooner than was absolutely necessary. Your mom, however, knocked on your door around 10:30 to make sure you were feeling okay, as it was unusual for you to sleep in on the farm, thus beginning what would be a painstakingly long day. You ate a quick breakfast of microwaved oatmeal, you figured if you had to face him, it would be better to get it over with, kindly declining your mother's invitation for a home-cooked breakfast. You made your way back upstairs and threw on your uniform of a tank top, hat, and jean shorts before slowly walking towards the barn to begin your tasks for the day. Surprisingly Jean wasn’t in the barn when you arrived and instead were two new farmhands your dad recently hired from town. Teenage boys, looking for a little extra money on the side. This happened occasionally when the farm was under a little more stress than usual. You just tipped your hat to them and went on with your work as they did theirs.

You were lugging bales of hay into a pile in the corner when you finally heard him arrive. The sound of his old pickup truck sputtering to a stop could be spotted from a million miles away. He stepped out and into the barn and surprisingly, he barely spoke to you all day. No sarcastic comments, no flirting, just a “Scuse me” every now and then when he’d accidentally bump into you.

It was nearing the end of the day which had gone at a surprisingly fast rate without being taunted by Jean. You were wrapping up your chores and started to say your goodbyes to the farm hands when he walked up to you. “Hey princess wanna come back and have a drink with me on my porch, we gotta lotta catching up to do. Wanna talk to you before you run off again.” He said in a more sincere, but slightly arrogant manner, a tone of mystery to his voice. You decided you’d have to talk to him at some point and after last night you’d have to get over your stupid little schoolgirl crush on him. You figured actually having a conversation would be good exposure therapy to get a head start on getting over him.

So you followed in his large footsteps back to his rusty old truck he’s used to pick up countless girls and sat down in the front. He pulled out of the driveway of the stables and it was a quick 3-minute drive back to his house. The drive was quiet and the expression on Jean’s face was one you hadn’t seen in all your years of knowing him. It looked like there was a marble rolling around in his head. What was he thinking about? God, what you would do to find out. He stepped out of his old truck and swung open your door for you, what seemed like a sincerely nice action, very out of character for the Jean Kirstein you knew. You quietly followed him up the wooden stairs to a set of old dilapidated rocking chairs on his front porch. He motioned for you to take a seat, and he sat in the chair next to you. You both sat in silence as if he was waiting for you to say something. You braced yourself for whatever it was he wanted to talk about.

As you sat he flung open the screen door to his house and returned a minute later with a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. He poured two drinks and handed you one. He held his glass up and said, "Cheers." You clinked glasses and sipped your drink, still anxious about not knowing what was on his mind. He leaned back, drink in one hand and the other behind his head as he rocked back in his chair. Suddenly the realization of what was happening hit you, what do you even say to him Do you know I’ve liked you for 5 years? Why were you banging that trashy blonde girl last night? Did you see me touching myself for you? Your thoughts wandered everywhere except acceptable conversation topics. You opened your mouth to try to say something, but nothing came out. You simply stared at him, unable to process the situation and all the emotions running through you, eyes focused on his piercing amber gaze.

"Missed having you 'round here princess," he said nonchalantly as he rocked back in his chair, seemingly lightening the mood. He felt the tension too and wanted to make you more comfortable. You swallowed the lump in your throat and found your voice again. You managed a small smile and replied, "Missed being here I guess." You shrugged and looked up at the ceiling before swallowing a large sip of the whiskey, hoping it would give you a little liquid courage. "Big city girl now huh? Not used to being back on the farm." He chuckled and you could feel the tension dissipate slightly, yet still uncomfortable. The question had been stirring in your brain all day. Had he seen you? Is that what he wanted to talk about? He handed you the bottle and you both sat in a brief silence, watching the fire flicker in the lanterns lighting up the doorway. "I'm still me Jean, just been gone a while that's all…” you trailed off awkwardly “Still know my way around the farm." He smiled and you felt an overwhelming sense of relief wash over you. You smiled back, grateful for the reminder that you were still the same person underneath it all. "Seems like you forgot your manners, sweetheart." He chuckled as he stretched his arms over his head, revealing the little trail of hair hiding just above the hem of his jeans as you tried not to stare for too long.

Taken aback, you tried to understand what he meant had you said something? “Well I don’t think I’m the one who’s been rude lately Jean, you barely looked at me all day. Might’ve said all of three words.” You said with furrowed brows, your voice trailed off sounding a little angrier than intended, accidentally letting your frustration out. “Oh yeah? And why do you think that is princess?” he said a small smirk forming on his face as he sipped his whiskey. “I dunno” you whispered under your breath as you looked down at the floor to avoid his intense glare, feeling your heart speed up. “Didn’t your daddy ever tell you it’s rude to look in people’s windows” and with that your heart stopped, your hands grew clammy and you couldn’t swallow the lump in your throat.

He knew. Fuck. Of course, he knew. That’s what this is all about. “Jean I-” you started to say before he cut you off. “Don’t apologize, princess, you think I haven't seen you staring at me, hm? Watching me workin’ out in the sun probably getting all nice and wet for me.” “I’ve been watching you too sweetheart, walking around in those tight little shorts basically beggin’ me to fuck you right there.” He said nonchalantly as if he was just asking how your day was, sipping his drink.

Were you dreaming or did Jean Kirstein, your father's favorite employee, just say he wants to fuck you. You didn’t know how to respond so you simply stuttered out what came to your mind first “B-but that girl th- the blonde one-” you said shakily, not having looked up at Jean once since the conversation took this turn.

He stood up from his creaky chair until all you could see were his muddy boots next to yours. He grabbed your face gently with his tough, calloused fingers to make you look up at him “Wanted to put on a good show for ya. ‘Was thinking about your pretty little body under me the whole time. You know how cruel you are wearing those tiny ass tank tops, showing your tits off to all the farmhands? Know how many times I’ve thought about you wiggling under me, hm? I don't give a fuck about any girl I bring back, how could I when I'm thinking of you the whole time?"

With that, as you were about to respond Jean yanked you up to stand beneath him, smoothly catching your lips in a sloppy wet kiss. The taste of whiskey on his tongue made it all the more intoxicating, the way his hands roamed your body. You couldn’t help but moan into the kiss as his tongue explored your mouth, teeth lightly grabbing your bottom lip between them.

Without saying anything Jean lead you into his house straight to his bedroom and sat you down on his creaky bed, towering over you. He removed your clothing painstakingly slowly as his lips ghosted your neck before taking in the view below him “Even more fuckin’ sexy than I imagined” You could see him growing hard against his jeans as you tugged at his waistband “N-need you Jean, need you so bad” was all you managed to whine out. As he removed his dirty work clothes before you your eyes wandered over his toned muscles, your mind roaming a million different places from his fingers inside you to his huge cock.

You reached for his thick cock, pretty pink tip absolutely dripping with precum but he tsked “Uh uh baby, I’m here for you, alright? Now why don't you show me how you play with yourself for me, hm?” He whispered in your ear, chill bumps racing down your spine as a vibrant red blush crossed your face. The thought of touching yourself for Jean made you both extremely embarrassed and extremely turned on

“C’mon princess you weren’t too shy last night now were you?” He said as his teeth lightly scraped the sweet spot on your neck making you let out a soft moan. You simply shook your head and leaned back against his pillows. You took your bottom lip in between your teeth and slowly lowered your dainty fingers down to your core, you could feel your pussy already dripping down your soft inner thighs as Jean’s gaze stayed locked on you. You began rubbing slow circles on your needy clit as you looked up at him “This what you do when you make yourself cum for me?” Jean asked, his signature cocky tone returning. You nodded and started to dip one of your small fingers into your aching pussy softly whining out “Jean..” “Yeah what do you think about baby, hm?” he said inquisitively, watching every movement of your hand on your messy pussy, making him harder than he thought possible. “Think about y-your hands and how they’d feel, s-so big and strong-” you whimpered out as you added a second finger to your sopping cunt. “Yeah just my fingers, princess?” He asked cockily, already knowing the answer but wanting to hear you say it. “N-no, think about your cock too a-and your mouth…” you trailed off, voice getting quieter as you felt a familiar knot begin to build in your stomach.

“Mhm and what about my mouth?” The thought of you getting yourself off to him turned Jean on so much and he needed more, needed to know exactly what you thought about. “Y-your tongue, all over my pussy a-and sucking on my clit-” you were cut off as your orgasm ripped through you, overcoming you like waves crashing on a beach, eyes squinted shut. you were accustomed to making yourself cum fast due to your very little free time.

Jean saw you unravel beneath him, mouth slightly agape as your juices pooled around your small fingers. As you pulled them out Jean replaced them with his rough thumb, rubbing lazy circles on your over-sensitive clit. You wined out and dug your fingers into his muscular back as he touched you “If you can’t take this baby, how are you gonna take my cock?” He chuckled as he squeezed one of his long slender fingers into your tight cunt. “So fucking wet for me…” he said pulling his fingers out and spreading them in front of you to showcase your wetness before sliding them into your mouth “Be a good girl and taste yourself for me m’kay?” He said eyes filled with lust as you sucked his long fingers deeper into your mouth, swirling your tongue around them as you tasted the tangy stickiness of your cum.

“Such a good fuckin’ slut for me aren’t you?” He said as he removed his fingers, shoving them back into your pussy harshly making you gasp “Probably thought about this a million times huh, me having my fucking way with you. ‘M gonna fuck you like the slut you are, always teasin’ me when I’m at work” your pussy clenched at his words and he chuckled “yeah you like that don’t you? Like me calling you a fuckin’ slut” You nodded as he removed his fingers and moved your hands to your knees “Hold these pretty legs open for me while I eat this pussy okay baby?” He said in a commanding tone before using his ring and middle fingers to spread your pussy open for him “So fuckin pink and wet for me god, this is the prettiest fuckin pussy I’ve ever seen” he said before lowering his mouth onto your swollen clit, tongue doing figure eights all over your dripping pussy. You could feel his scruff against your skin as his hair tickled your soft thighs “Taste so sweet for me baby, said you want me to suck on your clit right?” He asked making direct eye contact with you as you nodded, he removed his mouth from your desperate pussy before saying “Good girls use their words, sweetheart" with a deviant smile “Y-yes Jean I w-want your tongue on my clit” you said, embarrassed at how he had you sprawled out in front of him, already willing to do whatever he wanted. “That’s a good girl” he smiled before attaching his mouth back on your sensitive pussy, sucking and lapping at you like he was never going to eat again. It felt so good you couldn’t control yourself as his skilled tongue ran over you, tears forming in your eyes, knees shaking as his name rolled off your tongue like a mantra.

Before you knew it you were cumming all over his face “Yeah there you go princess, give me all of it, want all of your fuckin’ cum” he said as his tongue continued to assault your swollen clit, riding out your orgasm until he was completely satisfied. You looked so fucked out beneath him and he hadn’t even given you his cock yet, but you needed it, you craved it. Needed the way you knew it would stretch out your tight walls. “Turn over for me baby,” he said placing a soft kiss on your cheek, wiping away a stray tear that has fallen on your flushed face as a result of your earth-shattering orgasm. You turned your body over onto your elbows, chest flat against the bed and round ass in the air as you heard Jean stroke his cock a few times. “Been thinking about fuckin’ this tight little pussy for so long baby” he said as he caressed the soft skin of your ass before pressing a harsh slap into the skin, seeing it turn red for him. “You want my cock, huh?” he asked cockily as he spanked you again. “P-please Jean I need your cock” you managed to whine out “I can tell baby, your pussy is just fucking dripping down your thighs onto my sheets, making such a fucking mess.” He chuckled as you moaned at his words, dragging his aching pink tip up and down your wet slit just to tease you. "P-please Jean, I need it-" you begged before he slapped his fat tip against your clit making you whimper. "You need it huh? Beg me, baby, beg for my cock." He smirked as you bucked your hips backward hoping to feel him enter you "Please Jean, please, fuck I need your cock so bad, wanna feel it stretch me out, please please please." You whined pathetically under him before he harshly thrust his painfully hard thick cock into your aching pussy, molding you around him. You screamed as he bottomed out in you immediately, making you take every inch “C’mon baby, weren't you just beggin' for this? Take it like the good little slut you are.” he said as his hips picked up their rhythm, snapping his long cock into your tight cunt, tight balls hitting your clit with every thrust making you go absolutely brain dead for him. You loved the way he stretched you out, his thick cock bullying his way into your tight pussy had you screaming for him so loud you were sure the neighbors could hear.

“So. Fucking. Tight.” He said punctuating each word with a thrust rougher than the last “Wish you could see this tight pussy creaming all over my cock” he said, eyes focused on the white ring forming at his base from both your cum and his. “Fuck, not gonna last long with you squeezing me like this princess,” he said, spanking your ass, making you moan into his sheets. “J-jean ‘m gonna..” “I know baby, I can feel that tight pussy squeezing ‘round me” he replied squeezing his eyes shut from the pleasure, going faster as his thrusts got sloppier. You came quickly at his increased speed, releasing your juices all over his cock. This turned him on more than he thought was possible

“Fuck ‘m gonna stuff you with my cum okay? Gonne cum deep inside this pretty pussy” You didn’t reply as you were completely fucked out, soon he released deep inside you, balls tightening as he pumped every last drop of his hot sticky cum inside you. You could feel his warm seed paint the inside of your walls white so deep inside you. He fucked his cum deep inside you, riding out his orgasm before pulling out to watch it drip down your thighs. “So pretty for me,” he said turning you back over onto your back before placing a soft, romantic kiss on your lips. “You gotta stop wearing those little shorts ‘round here okay? Makes me fuckin’ sick seeing the other guys stare at you like that.” “Oh you jealous?” you giggled, feeling a happy warm feeling at the thought of Jean being possessive “Damn right I’m jealous. From now on I’m the only one that gets to see that ass okay?” He said as he pulled you closer onto his warm chest, wrapping his strong arm around you. You could smell the strong scent of his masculine cologne and closed your eyes next to him “Mhm” you nodded as you started to drift off to sleep. Jean didn’t usually let his hookups sleepover, he knew you would be more than that.

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jkirschteinsgf · 1 year

Text

Lemon Muffins - Jean Kirsten x afab!reader - minors dni 18+ (Banana Malt pt 2)

alright someone asked for this and im like WHAT THE FUCK?? how the hell do you think this is good...but here it is! and i really hope yk it only gets worse from here (pt 3 is so bad but its my favorite)

pt 2 of banana malt, 10k words i think

also posted here on ao3

MINOR DNI - EXPLICT CONTENT

cw; smut, bad writing, unprotected sex, slow build sorry, oral sex (fem receiving), vaginal sex, again dirty talk because im filth, pet name baby, reader is crazy, is this lana del rey vinyl

How it burns..

You think about him when you cry. He touched you there, deep down there, touched you anywhere, touched like a sunburn. Every color streaked down your legs like poured wine and it is always behind your eyes. Four weeks and it still burns.

————

In the dark of your room, the end of his cigarette blossomed red in your mouth. The lighter was for candles but it rested on your naked knee with the residue of heat burning on the metal after you had just torched the nicotine and put it to your lips.

There were stars in the sky but it was only midnight, either way they shined through your curtains like dirt stuck to a window. No, it's the streetlights, not stars. Well, there's a few stars.

You couldn't hear cars over the blow of the A.C, but you knew they were there. They'd come rolling through the streets after a few silent minutes. There were probably girls in them. Girls from Connecticut or Texas or Hawaii who had it all ahead of them, they party, they laugh, they aren't upset. They come to life when Stevie Nicks appears on the radio and everything is forever and ever.

The smoke blew out your mouth like a restless fog.

Smoking sounds about right.

You were almost out of cigarettes from the only pack you had. You stole it from him, remember? Fuck, how could you forget? Never.

The wave of the lighter reminds you of his breath. A lot of things remind you of him.

Sucking in that nicotine for the fourth, fifth, time gave you enough time to debrief everything he’d done, everything you’d let him. Then, as the lighter burns against your thigh, you think about the handwritten note. His number. His number that you never called.

He left you with only half but after trying the first one, you just couldn't stop. It felt like another kiss. Then another, then another, then another.

You didn't call Jean the day after. You didn't call him at all.

You drew an idle star in the sinuous smoke as it floated above your head. You wondered if your walls would stain yellow if you kept this up. But it’s fine, you’re moving soon anyways. If someone were to burst through your door and see you sitting, knees clutched to your chest on the floor and cancer falling down your throat…

It's midnight. 12:04. You have money. The corner store is open. Wanna go?

It closes at 2 a.m. Better leave soon.

You can walk there. It isn't too far.

Go on.

The weather's been in the high eighties for a while, kissing ninety-one or ninety-two each time you think you've caught a break of the heat. It's the kind of summer that stands still and is pushed out by September's wind rather than fading.

The fan is on and it's still warm. Embracing you in a blanket of dizzy heat that even a frosty ice cream cone couldn’t soothe.

Night is nice and cool. A silver lining.

Your legs broke out into goosebumps once each limp reached out the window, they felt like new born cacti. It's cool enough to shiver at the abrupt feeling, but it's nothing foreign. Your feet touch the rugged ground and you slide out further, feeling your back getting scraped up by the window sill.

You stand up right and look back through the open mouth of your window, expecting a flashlight to shine in your eyes or the glass be so tampered with that it snitches on you and shatters, waking the whole house, but you've learned, too recently, how much you can get away with.

Your fingers play with a twenty dollar bill as you stand, completely outside and alone. Don't be shy now. Your phone, your money, your (his) cigarettes. You're all set.

You walk.

You're breathing and a part of the world.

Jean wasn't. His red, old Mustang was too nice to be touched by anyone else. You've seen it when he pulls in, he steps out and with the slam of his door, everything else is gone besides himself.

You were familiar with painting Jean to be perfect, reveries of him were never flawed, yet now, you can only imagine him being angry with you.

Maybe you should be a nighttime backseat gal, where the lights are dreamy and the drinks are tasty because they're free. But they'd call. They'd call real quick. Run to the landline and punch in the numbers, listen to each ring with a bitten lip, jump up and down once they hear the man's voice. Hey, there.

You should call. Oh, you should really fucking call.

It's been four weeks since he handed you that strip of paper. Four weeks and not a call, not a wave, not a postcard.

You didn't have any particular reason why Jean's number never ended up in your phone, why you weren't jumping up and down, or why you never bothered to at least say hello to him. All of that stayed within the realm of that day, it stayed fictional as long as it stayed written on that paper.

Maybe you couldn't look him in the eye after all the things he said.

Maybe he was tangled in someone else's arms. Under, over, together.

You walk the cornucopia of the store, shuffling through the aisles over bright linoleum. You felt bolstered as pints of ice cream looked up to you, which made up for the lack of atmosphere. Lack of music and complexion.

Maybe you're scared.

————

Sea salt caramel, mint chocolate chip, cherry cordial.

You didn't mind being alone, as long as you got a taste of someone every once in a while. Jean took it too literally.

The colors of the two, three dollar candy burned your eyes along with the flickering overhead lights. It felt too cold in the store rather than the muggy chill outside, but you took your time anyway. You realized what you had been wearing the moment you stepped inside. Shorts, a tank top, sandals, an outfit that seems to be your favorite. It was a bit dangerous.

You reach for a laffy taffy but drop it and instead go for a Reese’s Cup. Gummy bears for tonight, chocolate tomorrow, something spicy after.

You walked past the rest of the salty, sweet, and savory junk, eyeing the maraschino cherries and Cool Whip for some other time, and slid your food all over the checkout counter.

The man rang you up and you saw something that made you sick.

A red mustang, low and dark in the light, comes rolling in through the bay, its high beams illuminating the chalky oval of the parking lot.

You freeze.

You know exactly who rolls like that. Rolls like thunder.

This whole time, you could imagine Jean spread out on his couch, reruns of M*A*S*H and The Andy Griffith Show on the television as he sleeps and his cat knocks down his left-over beer. Did Jean have a cat?

You should be at home. He should be at home.

You always wondered if Jean would let you drive his car. Steer a little. Here you are again. Last time you wondered what he would do, you found your answer pretty quickly.

His car parks far away from the entrance but there's no mistaking it's his. No avoiding it. You've been avoiding it for nearly a month.

God, this is a small fucking town.

Jean bought a new pair of jeans.

He checked his cell as he tried them on. He saw a text, but it wasn't from you. He put his phone down.

"That'd be all?" The cashier asks and you don't turn away from that view of his car outside.

"No, a lottery ticket. Whichever one."

Parts of your vision fades between the reflection of the glass and the dark outside. It's just sitting there, not how it does in the heat—not how the sun falls over the right curves and edges. It’s one of those scenes that God does just right in the afternoon.

You know he's there. It's terrifying.

More teeth than tongue, you bite your lip until it reaches a deep, saturated color; there's more than one reason for this.

Journals have heard all about him. He said that and told me more, the sun was in your chest. Marked and left. Your pen ran out of ink.

Nothing moves. For once, you can't distract your mind with a dizzy thought from the past; watercolor memories and icy reveries, bands where most of the members are dead, sports and pastimes.

You just stare at that car through the glass door. You haven't gotten this far, you've gone further. Feels like you skipped something.

You wish you could say the weather doesn't matter anymore, but once you step out that door, summer afternoon will come back like a heavy wave and you'll be pouring ice water again, the back of your mind afraid to sing at parties and wishing for spring thunderstorms and rushing water so your body will shiver for the good reasons.

Seems like town hasn't been the same.

It's time to step out. Twirling in this store won't help you, just go.

Baby, you've gotta walk away.

You pull your plastic bag around your wrist and let it sway side to side as the door appears closer. His car sits there like a dinner plate waiting to be devoured. It was probably spotless inside, you couldn’t imagine those thin, delicious, Wet ‘n Wild girls over his lap, their dirty shoes smearing the leather seats—he’d hate that.

The door closes behind you and you can't see inside his car.

The driver's door opens.

Shooting stars were nothing to count on—waxy birthday candles and blowing dandelions never seemed to do you any good—but as you looked up to the sky for one last answer, you wished on the brightest star you could see.

Please, don't let him be mad at me.

He strutted out of that car and it was like the very first time. Wind swelled in your nostrils and flowed through the tight crook of your shoulders and you anticipated every single move. His arm swung around the frame and he stood there like a 70s rockstar, towering over thousands of people. Confident. Sauve. Silk.

You really forgot about everything tethered to him, what was keeping you afraid before washed away as you softly smiled, as if you were finding him in your home again and you still had all your cards in hand.

Sometimes you're not so strong, sometimes you're just a girl with records, a messy room, sweaty skin, and an empty mouth.

Sometimes you're not in armor of makeup and high heels, a chest plate of a push up bra and a Trojan horse of waxy lipstick.

Sometimes, you're just breathless.

He puts his hand, God, those hands, on his hips and the other on the roof of his car. He looks at you, your bag, your dazed smile.

"What the hell are you doing out here?"

You felt like you didn't have a good enough answer for that question. The way Jean shook his head side to side, pressed his fingertips to his temple, and just stood there, had you thinking that despite it all, the cigarettes and hand written note, it never even happened.

If he had been touching you again, scooping you up in his big arms and brushing his stubble against your soft cheek, you would have known what to say.

You look at him like you had just opened the front door.

"Oh, fuck."

Jean's face didn't relax, like he was searching for some composure or the explanation you didn't seem to want to give.

"It's late."

Oh, Jean. It is late. It really is.

“Not really.” You said, shaking out your wrist, “It’s only eleven.”

With his tongue between his teeth, Jean couldn’t help but look at you with disapproval. It was odd, if you were anyone else, it’d be, so we have sex and you don’t call? What are you, a guy? And then it’d be back to the old house where it smells like bleach with hyacinth Febreze spray over top the furniture like dust.

It’d be that. But it wasn’t.

It was, “It’s one o’clock in the morning.”

“Oh.” You mumble as your fingernail digs around the tight curve of your ear, you don't even know what to say.

You hear the gentle hum of Warm 98.5 in an excruciating moment of quiet leering. The way he looks at you, the very core of your stomach in particular, has you feeling guilty for something far worse than you've ever done.

"You're alone." He states, disappointed.

"Yeah." You answer, your words falling into a breathless sigh. You thought you were going to say more.

"Why?"

He looked at you so blankly, with no expression in his eyes, you were sure he was about to climb back inside his car and drive away, leaving you with a question that you had no idea how to answer.

Being alone is lovely. It's reading your favorite book while Let The Light In plays, and you certainly do. It’s so absolute. Let the light in through the windows, through the fuzzy hair on your legs you can't quite reach, through the number you chose not to call.

You're letting the light in, even at a time like this.

Through his headlights and his blue jeans, he's letting the light in.

You swallowed.

"You're alone, too."

He didn't even know what to say.

"Are you going home?"

"Yeah."

"I'm not letting you walk home like this." He threw his hand up. You knew what like this meant. "It's not safe. C'mon."

He nodded his head towards the passenger side. You didn't move.

"Get in, I'm taking you home."

After an uncertain pause, you step down.

You walk towards the car, afraid to even touch the handle, afraid that if you did, it'd break and you'd ruin it all. You feel your insides trembling as your fingers ghost over the cold latch. You love that feeling.

Nothing told you to stop.

Your heart didn't beat like a bird trapped in a cage. You felt safe with him, better.

A part of you wanted to apologize.

A part of you didn't want to bring it up at all.

You just wanted to sink into him.

You open the door and climb into the seat. There's no other way to put it, this car is your dream.

You take in every bit of it, you don't feel Jean's eyes on you.

"Listen," He says slowly, you turn to him, and, oh God, he puts his hand up. He wanted to touch your back under that tank top, but he knows he shouldn’t. His hand drops to the gear stick and shifts it into R.

"We don't have to talk, just put your seatbelt on and I'll take you home, alright?"

You put it on and stay quiet as the car, the car, reversed through the parking lot. It rolls so smoothly and you couldn't believe you were here. The leather seat stuck to your back like an orange peel and you couldn't look at him.

"Besides, you shouldn't be out here by yourself. You don't know what could happen."

You don't say anything, marinating in his lecture.

"You could've gotten hurt."

Or worse.

Then, as Jean's big hands turn the steering wheel, you imagined him bandaging your scraped knee and telling you how good you were doing for him as you stayed still. Something pours over you that sizzles and burns and you start to cry, he'll kiss away your tears and hold you until you fall asleep, sore and aching.

"Thought you didn't wanna talk." You aimlessly said, running your fingernails over the coarse fabric of the seatbelt.

"We can, but I just didn't think.." You waited for him to finish.

Considering that you never called. Everything that has rang through your head was on the tip of his tongue, you just knew it. You were unsure what feelings were in the air; disdain, the sort of affection you’d find in the bottom of an empty drink, or concern like you were passed out at a party with The Smiths playing—really in trouble.

You watch the headlights fire up the long, twisted road, then you watch Jean still on his words.

“I didn’t think you’d want to,” Jean quickly cleans that up, “You look tired, that’s all.”

And when he said that, you were hoping he was imagining what you were; how easy it'd be to take you back to his and keep you in his arms all night.

“I’m not." Jean drives slow with the soft voice of Rush telling you all about the vital signs and you turn behind you, looking around the dark backseat for any endless, skinny legs with sparkly high heels thrown over each other like wood in a fire pit. You didn't see any.

Jean couldn't help himself, looking at your small body turned around, so, so close to his shoulder. He spoke again.

"Did I drag you away from something?" You breathe in as he talks, "A party, your friends, your boyfriend?"

Maybe this is what girls do. They sleep with guys. Nothing ever happens. Jean taught you that.

Jean taught you that?

"No, I'm just bored."

Jean raised his eyebrows, alarmed. "Bored?" He scoffed, "There's so many other things you could be doing than sneaking out."

"Hm?" You hum, interested in what he had to say.

"You shouldn't be out by yourself." You felt there was more. He was trying to instill this message, engrave it on your hand, and keep you safe.

"So you've said." Your mind was somewhere else, at the plastic ashtray pulled out beneath the radio, at the veins of his hands. "You're alone too."

"Yeah?" Jean takes his eyes off the road, looking at you like a challenge. "I'm a man, I have a car, I'm not a girl with no protection."

"Why are you so concerned?"

"I like to know you're safe."

"Try not to make me cry, huh?" You smile and throw your hand up like he does, speaking the language you remember.

"I wouldn't want that." He mumbles and you sense that the same memory is on your mind.

Through Jean's eyes you could see the tall sagebrush and red fern passing you by, he drove so slowly you could count each leaf and spur on the stems. You wondered how they'd look going fifty, sixty miles an hour.

You couldn't deny it. You didn't want to go home.

"I could go anywhere with a car like this." You whispered, slumping back into the seat.

"Well, don't get any ideas." He said, so authoritatively that it sounds like a joke. "You're going home and going to bed."

"Don't remind me." You pushed your head back, Tim Morrison's low voice was like a lullaby in your ears. You could have said something else.

You looked at Jean, his summer highlights falling over his ears, you've felt them before. Between your fingers like rushing water, against your bare chest like a thick wool sweater. You wanted to touch it again.

You've never felt such withdrawal, four weeks sobriety and you didn't care if it hurt.

"Can I steer a little?" Just a little, I never get to do this.

You were drunk on his grown-up life, his inhibitions, and all that immature maturity.

"Yeah.." He said and you quickly reached over to grab the curve of the wheel, but he softly pushed your hand away, "Just be gentle with it."

"Okay," You nodded, then watched his right hand slowly loosen its grip off the wheel and made room for you.

You grabbed the steering wheel tight enough to make it in your control, not his.

And when your hand grazed his, it felt like June, not June first or June second, it felt like when spring finally starts to bloom and you’re out of that chilly winter season. Four weeks.

It was aching in your head. You're awful and you used him and he's being so sweet to you.

You barely touched him, but it sizzled between the both of you and suddenly your body was too close to his, and you were soft. So soft and so small.

"Careful," He said softly, bumping his knee up to the bottom of the steering wheel to help guide you.

"I know what to do." And Jean understood, he pulled his hands away and let you steer by yourself.

Both of your arms reached over the middle console and you leaned close to Jean's body to get better grip on the steering wheel, your seatbelt cut deep between your chest, but you didn't mind.

"That's it, not too close to the.." The curb. Jean let himself relax, every bit of him besides his big Chuck Converse pressing on the gas pedal. Size twelve and a half, you guessed.

"Just like that," You want him so bad you might die. "You don't get to do this often."

"No." You say, not daring to blink, afraid that if you did, you'd wake up elsewhere. You felt constrictions in your chest as your hands grew clammy and tense, breathing felt so difficult beside him.

Through the thin shirt you wore, Jean could see your spine stretch up to your shoulders. He wondered how it'd feel to hug you so tightly that it'd pop and you'd be lifted off the ground. He could do that.

Your fingers stressed over the steering wheel, your wrists rocking forward after each lapel slipped with an ounce of sweat beneath your knuckles. Jean hummed, watching you stay steady on the road but twitch and hesitate every movement.

Coming to a turn, you pulled your hands away so quickly, it was like a fire. You tried to lean into your seat, letting him take care of it, but Jean gently pressed his hand over your back and pulled you in place.

"No," He whispers, "It's okay, don't be scared. It's just a turn."

His hands flow down your arms and he places your palms over the very top and very bottom of the steering wheel, he shows you how to turn with his hands over yours.

"Nice and slow." His voice was so close to you. "Thatta girl," But it sounded like, that's my girl.

He releases pressure from the gas pedal and your skin falls limp against his arms and you can feel his hands keep you together like clay, as if every bone in your body would fall out of place if his hands ever left you.

You felt a light, warm and oval, like the setting sun over a marsh, be swept up to your eyes from the very bottom of your stomach. It makes your eyes flash open, then close, and you feel a starving lick in your mouth.

Your ribs, your spine, your heart, your blood, your shoulders. You never knew every bone in your body could be so hungry.

You aren't sure where he's looking. You wonder if it's your throat, where you wanted to feel his breath pouring down again.

You have something to say. It's begging to be let out.

"Jean," You turn to him, "Thirty days and I never called."

"Twenty-eight." He touched your heart.

His lips are parted and damp like he just took a long sip of something. He did.

"Twenty-eight days and you never called."

Stop sign.

You watch Jean's leg press on the brake and it burns. You aren't sure what possesses you to do this.

As if branching out from each and every direction, you seize the gear stick and shift it into park, and with the shattering sound of your seatbelt coming undone, you fight your way into his lap.

You took him in your mouth, took the collar of his shirt into your tendril like hands, took his breath then your own. The music was replaced with his sweet, awed noises as he sprung his hands up. You kick and dig, pull and preach into him, each muscle of your lips kissing into his like a visionary.

You didn't want a longing moment where you look into his eyes and fall in love all over again. You wanted to feel his mouth like it was yours.

Through your skin, your heart felt ruptured. Along with his. You were sure to feel pieces of his heart stab into your chest each time it heaved up. Every breath he tried to catch seemed to be just outside his grasp.

You kissed and wrapped around him so intensely it seemed like the car spun and rolled. He kissed you back, again and again until slowing you down and your hips rise and fall onto him.

Your lips trembled but didn't stop; you moaned into him, wanting more, wanting him to put up a fight and touch you there again. But he didn't.

He bit your lip, making your hips melt and your fingers ache as they let go of his collar.

He grabbed you. Stop.

You didn't.

You couldn't.

You wouldn't.

"Baby, we've gotta get you home." He couldn't speak without mumbling with your lips pressed to his.

"No, I don't wanna go home." You shook your head, staying stiff once his hands tried to pull you away.

"Yes, you do. You have to."

He had a look on his face that reminded you of what a sweetheart he is. You kissed him as if he had flavor, honey, sugar, vanilla, or peppermint, between his teeth.

Every movement of your moment was one that fought to be closer to him. He wasn't having it. He knew what was best. He was stronger than you, you tried and tried, but he kept your arms away.

"I want you to go home.." He breathed, looking at you try to yank your wrists away, "And get undressed,"

Vocal.

You were close to him, but not nearly enough. He watched you sniffle and quiver your lip over top of him, "Get in your little panties and stay quiet."

You tremble.

"Get in bed.."

Like the stripping of a worn, familiar bed or the peeling of an orange, you come undone. It happened soft and sweetly, but it burned.

You're waiting for him to give in.

"And forget this night ever happened."

It stopped.

Through the gleam of the moon and clouds, you imagine a hawk watching over the still car like a buried shell in the deep shore. You're trying to gouge it out, keep its whisper of the ocean in your palm, but it doesn't want to move.

He tells you, just by the lack of touch and air between you both, that it's over. He knows best. It's better to come.

His breathing slows and you think, it's over. You can't salvage it for the life of you.

Your wrists go limp and he holds them in his hand, bringing them down to your shared lap, where your eyes both seem to land.

You swallowed a mouthful of spit, some of it belonged to him.

Feeling his lap, his denim, his firm thighs, you knew your fingertips would have been cold if you were touching him again. It was all you could think about.

He called you baby.

Oh, you wanted to use his shoulder as a pillow and wreathe over top of him until he's yellow like used sheets. Then, it'd feel more like home.

He's close enough to call him home.

Jean played with your small fingers, bending them together and back and making them curl into your palm.

It didn't matter what he said. You may have not called him how he wanted, but radio silence was just as pathetic as begging. You knew that was what he wanted. You had it laid out in front of you, every curve you could kiss, every word you could scream, every high you could chase. Jean could not say no.

"Please.." You whispered, rubbing yourself against his lap. "You can't leave me like this."

"I know." He didn't mean to say that. He couldn't help it as he watched you try to get comfortable over him, that heat between your legs mixing with his.

"I was," Bad. "But please," You think of anything you can say to get his lips on you again. "I can be quiet.." That too. "And in my panties.. just how you want, I can do anything you want. I just don't wanna go home."

"You don't?"

"Jean," You whined, nodding and aroused. "It hurts."

He gave you a look that you couldn't help yourself from. "Where?"

You had him then.

You push and grab Jean's hand to your knee and you lift yourself up, just enough to feel his fingers run up your thigh. He touched you like you were hot, or as if his fingertips would leave deep, ugly cuts into your pretty skin. Just the very tip of his fingers, nails and all.

They weren't cold like you thought your own would be.

Gently, so gently, you pressed his fingertips to the edge of your shorts and he took the lead then. Your hand dropped beside you as he reached beneath your underwear. You were so warm there, your cunt rested in your arousal and he could imagine how pretty it looked as he touched it, but he never kept his eyes off yours.

Once he knew you weren't hurt, Jean explored more. It was so warm between your wet folds. He touched your clit and felt your tiny legs press beside him, clamping all around him.

"There." You breathed in. "Right there."

"There? It hurts right there?"

You nodded and he couldn't bring himself to leave you be. He did more than leave you like he thought he should have, he played with your soft, tender clit through your wet underwear and you whined, trying to rub yourself into his hand and get what you've been missing so much.

"Poor thing," He kissed what he could. Anything but your lips. Your fingers, your nose, the soft skin beneath your breasts. "I don't want it to hurt, not unless.." He didn't finish.

You reach to touch Jean's hair and breathe it in, you missed it so much, but he swats your grabby hands away and keeps you still and whining over top of him.

"No one's been taking care of you, huh?" His fingers slipped away from your clit and rubbed all around your messy folds, covering his fingers in that tasty arousal.

You felt so tense, yet so mellow at the same time, your legs jerked and your spine shuddered, but your heartbeat slowed and your lips pulsed as slow as he was moving. So warm.

He brought his clean hand to your lips, you melted into his touch. You're there, finally, you're there.

He coaxes your cheek to turn for him and you give him wide, puppy dog eyes. At each little whine and look of yours, he feels himself get hard under your thighs before you do and his hands find your ass to pull you in closer.

You whimper into his ear and tremors rise from his neck, to his heart, then to the length of himself you sat on. Kissing his ear, he felt it even more. Shivers, ones you've felt before, crawl down his spine and he brings his hand to your waist, strong, as if he were going to pick you up.

"Please, I wanna—"

"You're so soft.." Like flowers, like chocolate, like Valentine's, like crying. "And warm. So warm."

His hands lift up your shirt, showing off your belly to him. You stretch forward, arching your back so your ribs jut out like you were starving. You were.

He rubbed his hands over everything, keeping you in place just how he wanted.

"What do you want, baby? You gotta tell me so I can help you."

"Please.."

He rubbed circles into your waist and didn't kiss you, you don't feel his big hands on your cheek or anywhere near your face. It's torture.

You lick your lips, but don't say a word. Only rubbing closer and then falling back like a swelled up wave. You touch his jaw with your fingernails, so slightly he might have missed it, but he didn't. He tilts into it and so do you. Prayer.

"What? You still need help? Can't use your words?" You shook your head 'no', waiting for him to map it all out. "Mhmm.."

He grabs your hips and swirls you around his warm lap, over his hard cock, and you felt so light when he touched you. It made you shudder, feeling your cunt grind over his cock, knowing he wasn't going to give it to you yet. You wanted it so bad.

"Ah, you feel it, don't you?" You nod with open lips, expecting his mouth to come just a bit closer into yours. "Yeah, I know you do."

"You wanna feel it inside?" He gently nodded, coaxing you to do the same. "Hm?"

His eyes were on you. The street and the rearview mirror, your home and bed he had wished you were safe in, were all miles away. Beyond an oasis, caught between each kiss and stroke, caught between the bruise of your knee and every part of your body you wanted to be kissed, there was your bed. Empty.

He was waiting for an answer. He wouldn't feed you anything before he heard your pretty voice again.

"Jean," You said, sitting down on him and hugging him with your thighs, "It doesn't feel the same without you, you know how to do it so good." Everything "Please, don't leave me alone, I know you're mad at me but it hurts so bad, 'just wanna feel good..make you feel good."

"Fuck."

Jean harshly grabs and yanks you into his chest, keeping your arms behind your back, tangled up between his big hand as the other grabs ahold of the steering wheel.

The mustang revs and his leg presses the gas pedal harder than you've ever seen. You only feel it as it rises in speed down the suburban roads. Thirty to forty, to fifty, to sixty—leaves flying towards the sky after each storm drain you pass by, the red silhouette of the car racing down the street like blood splattering through the air as it reaches seventy, and you can't see a thing.

You try to move your arms, to lift your head and kiss him, but he keeps you still and quiet with just one strong arm wrapped around your back. Just above the loud hum of the car, you could hear Jean's deep breaths; frustrated.

Against the windshield, you hear the wind resistance beating towards the glass. It's everything you've imagined before, only you never knew what excitement would boil in your body as the dial rises throughout the gage. Higher and higher, faster and faster.

He took every turn you didn't recognize, speeding out the suburbia and into the yellow-trodden roads.

"You just couldn't do what I said, couldn't listen to me." His arm flexes around your back. "Guess I'll have to fuck some sense into you."

Jean wasn't sure what he was doing. He drove fast. Jean knew what was best for you. Though he knows for certain, as he finds his neighbors' homes getting closer and closer, if he had taken you home, there'd be a string pulling him to your bed alongside you. That'd be worse.

All that was on his mind was your little cunt that he wanted to fuck so badly. His chest lit up when he felt it rub against him, rutting like a bitch.

He was sure he needed you tonight.

He gives you a harsh slap on your ass, making you curl wince and curl your toes. It all goes to your cunt, everything he does, every way he moves.

And abruptly.

The car jerks forward and comes to a stop over a gravel driveway. Your heart drops, so low you're sure he could feel it. Every thought you had of this moment redistributed to a thick batter in your stomach and ringing in your ears. You have it. Time to take it.

Jean opens the car door and keeps you tied up between his arms as he walks towards his porch, you see a little flash of a light beyond you. You cling to him and feel his legs hurry up a small set of stairs before opening the front door.

He carries you in. The door slams and everything else is gone. You both know just what you're here for.

You catch glimpses of interior. A fan. His chest. Curtains. His biceps. The world spins in every direction you've never felt before.

Jean presses you to a wall and takes your mouth in his, eating up your breath, taking what he wanted. You moan and moan, he doesn't stop. It was such a relief to feel him there again, no matter how rough it is. No matter—rough doesn’t mean a thing with him.

He kisses you with a grip both on your waist and your cheek, then your hair, down to your shaking knees, each nerve in your body is touched yet it all seems to happen within one consecutive movement. Not a moment wasted on reassurance of his hold on you. He knows where to touch.

You're twisted to another wall, no, a cabinet. The kitchen.

He pushes you against the fridge, your feet dangle above the linoleum and your head rocks forward the back, feeling the cool air from the freezer door blow onto your neck. Your breath is anywhere but your lungs.

Your eyes, your lips, your hums, your moans, you hold him as best as you can, but every muscle in his body moves too fastly—he's uncontainable. If you had any response building in your chest, any blood-pumping seductiveness, he made you forget all about it. He made you forget to put in any work that would have gotten him riled up more, he was already there. He didn’t need a trailer or a synopsis, or a 555 wet dream, for everything you were going to give him. Enough teasing.

He's rough with your body, ripping off your shirt, leaving you bare and cold against the fridge but with warm handprints all over your chest. Then your shoes. Left in shorts. Left in him.

Finally, finally, finally.

Unexplainably, your leg kicks out towards the counter and a knife holder falls to the floor. You jump in his arms, metal scattering along the tile with a loud shatter, but you only thought, drown me in it.

His lips never leave yours, his hand takes control of your body, pulling and pressing you in every malleable way against the surface of the fridge.

"M-more," You hum into his mouth.

"Fuck," He breathes and it feels like the very first time, "I don't wanna hear anything about more from you. You know you'll get it, just how you want. I'll give it to you."

Each kiss was him writing into you, I'll do things you'll never forget.

You're pulled into his chest again, spun until in the open ended passage of a hallway.

You're aching for him, the border between his cock and your needy cunt is only the fabric of clothing—it needed to be off.

You feel the salt on his lips, you wondered if they were bleeding from how hard they had been sucked and licked. Every glance of furniture your eyes can see is like a strobe light flashing, brighter than black. Lighter than day.

And then Jean turns the handle to his bedroom door, he thinks of something to say.

"I could've been giving this to you every single fucking day."

He wants to shake you, to make you realize, to make you call. He’s getting sick of that word.

You're tossed into his bed and you're excited. So excited, you're nearly biting your lip. You're wiggling your hips and spreading your legs, forgetting about the shorts you're still in. Jeanjeanjeanjeanjean.

He's undressing so quickly within a second his tanline is revealed then the springing of his hard cock as his boxers drop to the floor. With the awful lack of light, his skin is dark and washed out but you can still see every dent of his muscles.

So, so naked and so, so full. Full of you, your voided chest, your scrambled lists of wants and needs. You're putting a vein in his forehead.

He kneels onto the bed as you lay, pressing his hand to the dune of your stomach where it billowed back into a smooth ribcage.

“You’re gonna feel so good, okay? I know what to do.” For a moment he was warm and patient, ready to drown you in pleasure—pleasure as soft as you were down there, as gentle as your little cunt needed to be kissed.

He’s going to lick you, going to eat you up, slow at first then harsh once you start to..

You whine and squirm into the bed as he kisses down your stomach. One kiss closer to your burning and soaking cunt. One kiss closer to where he needed to taste the most.

Jean reaches the loose band of your shorts and takes them off, along with your underwear, in one tug. He stares at all that shiny wetness built up along your folds, liken to toppings on his favorite dessert. Syrup and whipped cream. Chocolate and cherries.

His mouth waters at the sight, "Poor baby.." He whispers, beginning to kiss the soft skin of your thighs and lift your legs up to your chest.

It sticks out so nicely for him, he gives your clit a wet and sloppy kiss, enclosing it in his mouth with a little vibration. You gasp as the very softest yet striking feeling you could have ever felt. Your stomach, the angled and empty walls inside of you, overcome with a deep heaviness that soothes only once he pulls away.

“Mmm..” He brings both of his hands to either side of your cunt and pulls back the thick, pulsing skin, spreading you out for him like the opening of a flower. “Tastes so good, baby, y’know that? So good.”

And, fuck, does it feel good. Your trembling hands come to squeeze your tits and he stretches your folds out further, getting the best view up close that he possibly could. His thumb swirls your clit with an extreme amount of pressure, like he was pressing deep down onto your most nervous spot just to see how you could take it.

You realized then, as your eyes shot open and his tongue licked up the slick inside and beneath you, that your fingers could never feel as good as this. No amount of lotion or salvia spat onto your fingertips could ever resemble his warm and alive tongue.

You seek it out, more of his kisses and licks on that special spot. Pushing your hips into his chin and your cunt more into his mouth, his tongue finds the perfect little suctioning spot to suck your clit and lap around it.

It's so direct, you can't help bucking your hips into the endless, torturous lips he had wrapped around you.

"J-jean…" You tried to keep your legs up, but you wanted so badly to wrap them around his neck and keep him buried between your thighs, eating you like a starved animal. You didn't want him to breathe.

It's as if his tongue knows you better than your own fingers would. It swirls around your clit in all the right, sensitive places, stroking the most needy nerves that have your legs undoing and your hands wrap around your breasts.

"I've never," Another flick. "Mhmmm!" You roll your eyes back, arching up, yet somehow making it harder to reach your swollen clit that he couldn't pull his lips away from.

Your thighs come to wrap around his neck, squishing his hands out beneath you and his mouth only further in. The silky brush of his top lip into your clit had you moaning and crying for more, he rubbed his face in like he was washing himself in it.

"How's that feel?" He mumbles, the words only whisper into your clit as his lips swirl it around deeper.

"F-feels like I wanna.." He breathed you in deeper, rubbing his tense tongue all along your drenched cunt, tasting you with each roll and lick of those muscles he ate you with.

You feel every bit of your strength building to one spot in your body, you couldn't tell where all that blood had rushed to as your eyes go blind for unexplainable moments. It buries and tightens up, like a perfectly ripe orange waiting to be cut open and squeezed of all its juice.

You just wanted that sweet release and for it to happen all over his face. His hand presses down on your thighs, keeping them held down as he sucks you even harder. It was torture. Being forced into stillness as he worked your clit, as he made you his own little dinner to eat up and lick clean. All for himself.

He was right, could've had this every fucking day. He'd never get sick of his own little four-course meal.

"I—I'm gonna cum, Jean," You rub your cunt into his face and his tongue kisses and slobbers all over your clit, begging in his own way for your cute little pussy to cum on him. "I'm right there, m'right there!"

He nods into you, saying, that's it, that's it, and pushes two big fingers inside your cunt, wanting to feel it.

Your cunt squeezes around him, tightening and constricting down onto his fingers, so tight that it's hard to move them inside. He curls them up, feeling the heartbeat inside of you race faster and faster—not a single part of him stops.

Those fingers, those amazing fucking fingers, stretch out your walls until finding the sweetest, most precious spot inside you that ignites in most scorching hot thrill all throughout your body until your spasming into his mouth. Cumming and cumming and cumming.

He licks all the strength you had, leaving you in restless relief as his fingers drown in your cum and you ride it out all over his mouth. Your cunt floods and streaks down his and your crooks of skin, you shatter, you cry, you numb the pain with the only remedy you have; his name. You repeat it until it douses the fire inside of you, find it in every curve of your trembling limbs.

Everything comes back to you; his tongue is relaxing and flattening down on your throbbing, pulsating clit, his fingers are still tightly wrapped in your cunts walls, your thighs clamped against his jaw and going limp after each second passes.

"Jean.." You whisper, legs falling to the side of him. You feel his fingers pull out of you, leaving you to pulse around your own flesh as he takes them to his mouth, licking up all the slick he loves so much.

He kisses your folds, letting your most sensitive spot rest for more later, then moves to your thighs, little hums you can finally hear again.

He kisses all along your leg, down to your ankle, before leaning above you just to coast his eyes down your body. You were tired, so tired, but never felt such an urge to stay awake in your life. You reached up, wanting to say something, but he looked at you like he already knew.

You still feel the warmth of his mouth on you, it warms your body up like alcohol. An embrace all over you, another kiss as he puts his weight on top of you.

He spreads you open, moving your body because he knows you're too tired to do it yourself. You're rubbed and stroked all along your dewy skin, beneath your hot knees and tight ankles, pulling you in the right place for him.

Jean was still hungry even after eating every bit of you.

You could just tell, through your hazy eyes, how badly he wanted to feel inside you again. The way he smiled at your body when he touched and teased it, how he placed you just how he wanted, he was ready.

"I'm gonna fuck you now, okay? Had to," He groaned, "Had to be careful with my baby before I give it to you rough."

"Please, Jean," You kiss his cheek, messily searching for any taste of him, "I want it, want you so bad."

"For someone who wants it so bad, you sure do have a way of showing it."

Jean leaned up to his knees between your spread open legs and pulled your limp arms away from his neck they hung around, placing them to your chest, making you feel all the skin he felt and loved.

He rubbed the tip of himself to your dripping wet cunt, you bite your lip and whimper under him eagerly as his thick, swollen cock rubs further and further into you.

Your insides wait for it, for the familiar feeling you've been missing so much.

"Come on, baby," He pinched your cheek, making your eyes even more blurring, "Be a good girl for me and say you're sorry."

"Th—" You grasp out, your legs trembling, and you hear a filthy sound of Jean smearing your slick all around your cunt, "Thought you didn't wanna talk.."

"Hm? What was that?" That smile began to look like a smirk. His hand comes to pet your hair, admiring all the cuteness he saw even though you were a mess.

"I'm sorry.." You whisper, spreading your legs further for him.

"I know," He lines himself up properly, lifting up your knees and putting them to your chest just like last time. Just how he likes it. "I'll make you remember how good it feels."

Slowly, so slowly, Jean pushes his cock inside of you, stretching out your saliva-wet, warm folds, causing your back to arch into him and his head to fall back.

You moan and gasp at the easing feel of his cock inside of you. Jean instinctively holds your hands, unsure if he was capable of his own movements—he felt every bit of muscle memory take control of his mind as his hips thrust into you, slow and tight at first until he finds leverage over your hips.

His lips press to yours and you squeeze his fingers at the big feeling, you'd think he'd be trying to suffocate you if it weren't for every quick moment his mouth backed away from yours.

Your legs try to wrap around him, but he wasn't having it. He needed you still. Between the thick ridges of his rib muscles and your tense legs curling around him, he couldn't fuck you how he wanted. He wanted you to take it.

"On your stomach." He nearly demanded. "I need you on your stomach."

That order blazes through you, but not fast enough. Not nearly as fast as he'd want you to be. He grabs you by your shoulders, just beneath your armpits, and wraps his hands around you so tightly you could've thought he was trying to bruise you. He wasn't.

Jean flips you to your stomach, yanking your hips up until your ass and cunt is on full display for him. He could see it spread, warm and needy, opening up just for him.

"Your hands," He mumbles and you could just barely hear him over the static of the pillow in your ear, but you put your hands behind your back for him. He keeps them bound together like rope between his fingers. "Just like that."

You feel his cock nudge against your cunt again and you want nothing more than to feel it fill you up, it has you arching up further and savoring each breath you hear him take.

"Tell me if it hurts, okay?" You nod. He's confident.

As Jean's cock thrusts inside of you, the fabric of the pillow sounds less like static and more like every song you know all the words to, it sounds like rain and vibrators, everything that keeps you calm but heated, alive but dead. It sounds fucking amazing.

It feels fucking amazing as he treats your poor cunt rough, every way you've been missing. You know he's watching it suck him in, wrapping around his cock up like a slippery wet ribbon.

You choke on moans and Jean only goes harder, pushing you into the bed until he has complete control of your body. Your eyes roll back and hair falls over your face, you weren't even close to ready for how Jean pushed your back down, giving him all the room to angle himself deeper and deeper until—

"Such a pretty little body," He slams into you, "Could be filling you up all the time, but your poor head doesn't even know what it wants, huh?"

Until he nearly reaches your cervix and you feel a tight riff strum down your spine and spread all over your cunt. It's arousal, it's sopping wet slick, it's all over his cock as he fucks you harder, feeling even warmer inside you.

"It's alright, baby. I know what you want. You want me. You want my cum deep inside your belly n' you wanna be taken care of,” You nod and nod, “Just too scared to ask for it, that’s all.”

His hand presses to your clit from beneath you, and you flinch at the sudden touch of his thumb swirling your tender nerves after he had just sucked it to satisfaction.

"What, too much? Poor baby."

His hand pulls away, giving you just the right amount of time to breathe, deep and between uncontrollable moans. He seemed to satisfy and suffocate each nerve in your body, you're sweating beneath him, beneath each hard slap of his body into yours, you feel damp and hot.

He hits that perfect, juicy spot inside, that spot that's been neglected from your tiny fingers, that spot that only he can touch.

You whine and wiggle your hips closer to every thrust, it wasn't soft or tender and you didn't want it to be. You were doing every move a pornstar would, a stripper upside down on the pole, sexy and desired, desiring more, desiring money, desiring him. You could almost feel the metal along your legs as you grind your cunt into him, hungry like an animal.

As if every move in your body is one coherent sentence, Jean understands how world-shattering good this feels for you. He only pounds his hips in harder, leaving you limp and burning lulled after a long line of coke shot up your nose.

"It's so hard to not fuck you how I want, y'know. I'd be making you scream my name and cum until you couldn't anymore, you know that? I'd never let you forget how good I am."

You can only suck in more breaths as his thumb touches your sensitive clit again, testing what it'd feel like.

"But," He whispered, kissing your ear and neck from behind, "I know it's too much. Some other time."

You shake at the feeling of his fingers against your clit, but he doesn't stop this time. God, no, he wouldn't stop. Nothing stops. It only goes harder, swirls faster, and spreads you wider.

A wet, sloppy kiss comes behind you and nearly licks your cheek, wanting to bite you, wanting to eat you whole. You push your head into it and whimper, stretching your neck until it curves upwards, Jean doesn't stop. He plays with your clit more and more, rubbing it until his cock is soaked in every bit of your wet cunt.

"Y'know, there's nothing sweeter than when I get this tight little pussy creaming all over me, it's so pretty."

For a moment, you're deaf.

"You're gonna cum for me again, okay? I wanna feel it."

And it only takes a few hard, unforgettable fucks into your cunt to have you spasming and shaking beneath him, dripping with sweat and your own cum, and you're seeing stars.

Stars that weren't there before, stars you forgot about, stars you want to hold and suck and keep inside you forever.

And, Jesus-fucking-Christ, does he feel it. He feels it better than before, better than anywhere, he feels himself being sucked further in, only enticing him, not to slow down, but to fuck you harder and repeatedly faster—he's wringing your cunt for every drop of slick he could want, drenching your mouth for more moans and whines, sighs of pleasure—

Jean's throat tears into a breathless groan as he fucks himself into you, as deep as he could go, as deep as your tiny body could let him, you'd let him anywhere, everywhere, if it meant he'd keep groaning like that.

"Fuck," He nearly stutters, clenching his jaw and fists, but loosening his hips as they slap into your ass at a sloppy and messy pace. "You-your pretty pussy—missed it so much, baby."

That tight hold and then release your pretty pussy had on him made his hips stutter and move like waves. The grip on your hands fell and you were left to pushing your ass up for more. Grinding and rubbing, your cunt clamped around his cock and he grabbed a fistful of your hair, back in control.

Jean leaned down and pulled your head to the side, sticking his tongue in your mouth and kissing you so messily, it was like art.

He moaned into you, you moaned back, pushing out all your breath in one exhale and impairing you with too many blinding disabilities to speak.

He finds one last thrust into you, pushing both of your sweating, lush bodies into the bed as if it were grass. You want to pull him closer as you feel him still and his cum pump deep into you, he shudders and is on top of you entirely, holding you tight beneath your ribs and keeping you there, letting it all soak inside you.

For a moment, as Jean's head rests on your shoulder, you think about the lottery ticket you bought at the corner store. You could throw it away, you already won.

He gives you one last cute, small kiss on the cheek before rolling off and beside you. Your legs press together and you feel everything. It's all wet and you think you could drown in it, it all reaches up the curve of your ass and you're afraid you might stain his sheets.

"Jean.." You whisper, as breathless as he is, watching his eyes squeeze shut so hard, you could've mistaken them for a lemon. He smiles with his fingers pressed between his temples.

"Fuck," He's so quiet, you can barely hear him, "C'mere, closer." His arm opens up for you to crawl into, "You always win."

You laugh a little, playing with his hair and running your fingers over his stubble, making him smile more.

You wondered if baby would fall off his lips again, or if that was too much to be said now.

Jeans leans up and stretches over you on the bed and reaches for something on the floor. You run your hands over his big strong arm, like a ray of sunlight, you thought.

He picked up your shorts and reached into the back pocket. Marlboro reds. His. Stolen. Yours. Theirs. Ours.

"Knew you took these." He mumbles, throwing the shorts back to the floor. You smile, caught.

He playfully smacked the packet on your head, “Really, smoking and stealing?”

"Just can't get enough," You laughed and reached for the pack, but he pulled away.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"Gettin' it regular," You said with a Brooklyn accent, shaking your palm, "What do you think?"

"I'm not giving these to you, they're bad for you."

You're bad for me.

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jkirschteinsgf · 1 year

Text

Banana Malt - Jean Kirstien x afab!reader - minors dni 18+!!

hi i wrote this a longggg time ago...like april and i like to think my style has improved but this work is like ENGRAVED in my mind and i wanted to share here on tumblr!!

some plot - word count of 11k

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT - EXPLICIT CONTENT

CWs; smut, cringe writing, unprotected sex, a little slow build, oral sex (male recieving), sorry face fucking, really cringe, dirtyyyyyy talk, vaginal sex, LOSS OF VIRGINITY, dacryphilla and voyeruism (a lot of voyeruism) pet name 'baby', corruption basically

summary; reader has a desperate crush on jean, one day he finally comes knocking

orginally posted on ao3!! right here (theres a part two and three! its a series called lily valley but there's not any real plot)

Words tumble out his mouth into the hot summer’s air as he takes his shirt off. He’s speaking to his mother. Momma’s boy. He visits nearly every other weekend. You have watched him grow into a man as you followed behind, letting the rural sun bake you into a woman. Younger. Ripe.

You're watching him sit on the porch from an indoor window. All too familiar.

There goes that boy who has lived enough to call himself a man.

He has lived across from you since you had been born into this dusty world. You still remember how your feet burned against the street as you ran to meet him as a kid. A kid then turned into a quiet, pretty teenager once he had begun to live like a young John Wayne—pretending to forget your name as you waved, chasing too many girls at once, getting drunk in his old red mustang with a few friends. A careless seventeen year old too cool for home. The blazing hot boy under the blazing hot sun.

That was years ago.

He grew up tall, grew into his muscles, grew up like a real man.

Now, you are both older. He has matured, but, of course, you still have that girlish wonder of the world, of sex, of boys. That coolness of bathroom tiles on your fresh feet; drinking from the kitchen sink; drool all over your mouth as you watch a porno; eating brownies at midnight; all that dazzle of innocence that you can’t wait to rid yourself of.

Jean could take that away. Make you into a woman.

He is the man of your fantasies, shirtless, sweating in the summer salt, drinking a lemonade as he spreads his legs wide open. You wondered what he’d say if he saw you. It has been awhile since he has even looked across the street, though he sits in your direction, you are sure he is looking past your roof and into the afternoon sky, bright and blue and, as you can remember, raining down fire; scorching every bit of pavement in your way of meeting him.

Would his mouth fall open at your developed body? Agape like an idiot, as if he was back in highschool, all horny over an older woman. Yes, you are older now. Christ, you thought you belonged plastered on a poster like Megan Fox and Halle Berry (though that was your stupid, childish confidence diluted from a feeling you couldn’t quite name. Confidence in front of a mountain of insecurity, like the air in a syringe before a dose of awkwardness and awareness. Jean Kirstein. That’s all.)

It was bittersweet, staring at him as he stared at the sky, knowing he'll be gone after he says goodbye to his mother and you'll just have to await his return until next weekend and then watch him like your own personal movie. But you couldn't be drawn away from your spot against the window. The perfect view. You just wanted to lick the sweat off of him, say some disgusting things right to his handsome face, watch it get all inflamed and frustrated, then go get a strawberry milkshake…let it drip down your mouth as he watched, getting revved up like his fucking mustang.

You wanted him to just flicker his eyes towards you, just for a second, so that he'd see your flirtatious gaze, that little bitten smile on your lips, leaning so close to the glass you could smell the cleaning supplies last used on it.

Come on, Jean.

Look over here if you wanna fuck me.

Come on…

But, succeeding your unfortunate expectations, he just finishes his drink before heading back inside. He was never going to look. You groan, push yourself away from the window, then find yourself in your bed, lolling and bored. You hear him pull out of the rocky driveway and he drives away into a world you aren't familiar with.

As the day went dark, you listened to the humming of bugs like crickets and fireflies coming to life from their hiding spots underground. They’re better in the vernal season.

Buzz buzz buzz.

He'd look.

One way or another.

————

His arms are huge. They stretch out over the hood of his car, a farmer’s tan all along his oil-stained forearms.

You're sitting outside this afternoon, watching from a porch chair with a soda in your lap.

Jean came abnormally today. It's been only a few days and he's back. It’s a perfect day, your neighbors behind you are having a cookout, meat sizzling on the grill just like the soda in your mouth as you take another sip, leaving a ring of sticky lipstick on the edge of the can. You're admiring the show as if it were opening night and you had snuck into the theaters, watching from afar. Your legs had been folded for so long you thought they might stick together in the heat. You stretch them out, the skin peeling away with a red underbelly left on your thighs like the sunburn you'd get at the pool.

You can feel those clouds creeping in. Your sandals dangle off your feet and you watch in giddy amusement as he wipes his forehead with a dirty rag from within his toolbox. How could he be doing this to you? You were sitting right there. Tight little shorts. Home alone. Come on, Jean, just this once.

Your eyes close behind your sunglasses and you remember a plentiful memory that you replay in your mind every so often like an old home VHS tape captured on a digital camera. It was a summer like this one years back, the hot July sun gave you a shimmery tan along your cheekbones, making you all bronzed like a supermodel, and Jean had been working at a car wash in the city. You would peek around a corner to watch his muscled back stretch out over car’s windows, his chest getting stained with bubbles that he’d wash off with a hose at the end of his shift, all while you envisioned his weight on yours, his sharp, humble, and muscular body yanking you into his bed, squeezing your ankles, making you feel things you never have before.

That was the first time you imagined Jean fucking you. He, in the limelight of your eyes, was perfect.

You knew he fucked and that he fucked good.

You prayed each night that he’d be dreaming of your fruitful body despite being who you were and, to your utter despair, younger. Just by two years. Two years. You would scoff at the idea of those two pitiful years. Scoff at each girl that you’d see wandering around his home aimlessly, scoff once you heard he was off to college, scoff every time he drove away. It got old, but touching yourself never did.

Wide-eyed, you gasped at the feeling of your underwear suddenly getting wet.

You laughed behind a bitten lip and began rubbing your legs together, slightly, but just enough to feel the seam of your shorts scratch up against your clit, swirling it into that soft cotton with just enough harsh pressure to get you sweating.

Your toes begin to curl and can’t stand the idea of getting caught like this, broad daylight, but it took so much resistance to stop your legs from pleasing yourself. You imagined it, all the dirty words he’d say, the disgusting positions, bending you so far back or ahead that you’d surely break beneath him, but all that did not matter, despite how much you wanted it. What you wanted, truly, was the loss of your innocence by his hands.

Call it a sacrament, call it “what a girl wants, a girl gets”, call it Drop Dead Legs.

Call it whatever you want, but you need him.

You needed him.

And you were gonna have him.

One way or another.

————

You were born to have sex, as gentle or as sloppy as you wish. Just how the fresh grapes of Greece and Italy are grown to be crushed into wine, just how fire is meant to burn, you are meant to be fucked.

How could anyone deny that?

How could he ignore your fecund virgin body?

You didn't cum just by rubbing your legs together, no, that'd be insane. It had started like that but ended with you riding the couch while peering out a window, legs straddling either side of the armrest, head thrown over your shoulders as you whined his name.

Give it to me, Jean

You were like an animal.

You remember how your legs went limp, shaking and kicking as you came, but then still as if they were broken. Your head shot up, dizzy and satisfied, and you frowned once you saw that Jean was gone. His car laid in the sun, the red paint starting to shimmer into a bright orange, just how it was when you were humping that poor couch, except the hood was closed and Jean was nowhere to be found.

Thinking about it then, as you fell into the cushions of the couch, putting your head on the same armrest that you had just cummed on, you figured that Jean would never devour you how you wanted. You knew he could eat you up until you squirted, then spin you around, slam into you, and fuck you until you were screaming, but you also knew that he wouldn't.

In your dreamy and fuzzy headed mind, you had grown up with Jean like vines entangled on the sides of a house, tendrils twisting over one another, stretching out so far you couldn’t tell where one began and the other ended.

But it wasn’t like that.

It wasn’t so intimate, never was.

And never could be, you reminded yourself.

You suppose you were never close. You trailed behind him as kids, watching him as he watched the distance ahead of him—whatever it was, he took it head on. A woman, a man, death, living, anything that scared him. You envied him.

Some things never change.

Still watching him as he watches what comes next.

That's all it is. A show. A play about a silly virgin resting her head on something hard and comforting, imagining it was the lap of the man of her dreams who'd come save her from her boring and childish life shortly there before putting his cock inside of her.

A TV show about his big, strong hands squeezing the bars of your ribs, fingers fitting like piano keys between the bones as he holds you up over his lap.

A movie about how he teaches you anything and everything you want to learn.

And suddenly, like every sound dropped and shattered on the floor, you hear knocking at the front door.

Despite being all alone, you can never get a moment’s peace.

How'd that song go, Standin' in the noon-day sun tryin' to flag a ride

As you walk towards the door, you feel an awful amount of wet arousal fall down your cunt, staining your underwear and making you shudder at each step.

You swung the door open and as the sight of Jean fucking Kirstein standing there in all his glory washed over you, so did the scorching heat of the outside.

And, fuck, you were taken so aback, it was written all over your face.

You really could not believe he was there. His tall, hot body blocked the sun rays from pouring onto you while also eclipsing the light, dimming his and your own features, making his face a bit unreadable at first like a drawing smudged in a sketchbook. As you peer up at him, his defined and muscled body reminded you of something you, truly, had never thought of: Jean was no longer an actor through the screen of your window, or the common denominator of your nostalgia, or even just the man you think about when you want to cum, he was there. So close yet so far. He was there in your doorway, there right across from you, there—everywhere.

It all, suddenly, felt too real.

“Hey, there.” He said.

Where did all that confidence go? It was just air, wasn’t it? Air before a dose of embarrassment. Before a dose of a loss of words. You felt that syringe stab right into your heart and then inject you with every feeling that had you breathless and downright ashamed.

It felt like the very first time hearing him talk. It's been so long. His voice had gotten deeper, rich and smooth with that slow, sultry style.

"Jesus." You said with absolutely nothing else on your mind other than your astonishment. It was almost as if you weren't just cumming from the sight and thought of him.

Almost.

"What're you doing here?" You asked, not having a clue in the world what the answer might be.

"Ouch. Thought you would've been glad to see me." You were going to be sick.

A ray of sunshine melts my frown, blows my blues away

You blinked and said nothing as you shamelessly coursed over his muscles with your eyes. Why did he have to come here shirtless? His chest, as smooth as coconut oil and as firm as rock, his blue jeans fitting tightly around his waist, that slender and more vulnerable part of his waist where it curves inwards to reveal a perfect, defining set of hip bones. You couldn’t ignore the happy trail, it was so hot it was unreal.

He was perfect.

"Is that yours?" He pointed and it took you a moment to register everything. The soda can you had left outside.

"Yeah."

If you were just a bit closer, you could have seen the reflection of yourself in his eyes. All the things you didn't even know were there laid smeared all over your face, your blushed cheeks, salty lips parted with a loss of words, eyes wide like cherry pies. You looked like hell.

You were the agape-mouthed idiot, not him.

He takes a swig of your drink, downing the very last of it.

"Asshole." You say, completely unconfident in whatever situation you've found yourself in. So many thoughts raced through your head, but, somehow, began to slow as he spoke.

"Mhmm. You bet." He said, looking directly at you, so direct that you almost regretted all those times you prayed his eyes would meet yours.

Almost.

It was intimidating.

"Long time no see,” Hardly, you think. “What’ve you been up to?” He asks, leaning on the door frame and crossing his arms.

"Oh, you know, I just like to do whatever…" You say and shake your hand, emphasizing that you are cool. That you are blowing in the wind. "Nothing interesting."

You should be sent to prison.

"Do you wanna come in?" You shocked yourself that you'd even ask. "I can get you something to drink. You look…” Looking him up and down, you thought of every synonym for sexy. Hot. Fuckable. Perfect. “Thirsty.”

His eyes didn’t even flash to the driveway, he didn’t even check if anyone else was home. He answered. “That sounds good.”

As you turn and walk towards the kitchen, the leather of your shoes slapping on the tile, your name comes out of his lips, each syllable falling off his honeyed vocal cords. He says your name as he trails behind you, but you don't even hear him.

And, really, he didn't even want you to hear. He only said it because you were on his mind. He was admiring everything in the house, scattered and thrown around. The imprisonment, the freedom, the sweet little thing you were.

Your name blows through him and sits in the air as you fill a cup with ice and water. You hand it to him and you pray to God that he hadn't seen.

He didn’t see. He takes the glass.

The curtain had been open, but he didn’t see. He sips.

Your head was thrown back and you'd never be able to be certain, but he didn’t see. He swallows.

He was directly across from you, but he didn’t see. He smiles.

He could have, but he didn't. He says thank you.

Jean’s eyes riveted towards the hallway. You, for no particular reason, thought he was searching for your bedroom. Was he hoping to see your bedroom door open, revealing a messy and cramped space, spillage of underwear and stuffed animals all along the floor, cracked and dried makeup thrown together, a bed with twisted up blankets, and sillage of a girly effluvia (maybe your deodorant and perfume, or lack-there-of, he couldn't guess). Was he?

But the door was closed and his eyes turned back to yours. He made no comment about whatever was on his mind.

"Looks like you're all alone, huh? Didn't see a car in the driveway." Why did he have to say that?

"Yeah, pretty lonely."

"Bet you're glad I'm here, then."

"Always." It was so truthful, you could be a saint.

"Yeah," Jean steps to stretch out his arms and back, as if he were just waking up. His ribs jutting out, skin growing transparent over the bones, he groans and you think you can see his heart beating through his chest. If it was there, you wanted to eat it.

“Yeah,” He continued throughout his stretching, “Who wouldn’t be?”

Jean began to walk towards the living room and you saw a pack of Marlboro reds in the back pocket of his blue jeans. He was too perfect. You walked slowly behind him, taking in this savory sight. His back muscles popped like blood vessels. Boom, boom, boom.

If you didn’t like him so much, you would have stolen a cigarette or two from him.

Jean sat down on the couch and you stood there dumbly, picking at your fingernails and flexing your knee, you tried to think of something to say; lust wasn’t on your mind, you wanted to apologize and drink an Alka Seltzer until your stomach stopped twisting, you felt as if something was eating you alive and you’d be swallowed whole before you could even say a word.

And suddenly, as if the world saw this awful event unfolding and finally granted you a single yet beautiful constellation, Jean smiled softly and said, “You look good, you know.”

At that, you would’ve thought a natural disaster would occur, that the ground would cave in until your house split in half and dug its own grave in Hell, but absolutely nothing happened. Clouds passed the sun outside and, through the windows, you stood in the pleasant warmth of new sunlight, it shined on you and you only.

Nothing happened.

“Thanks, that’s really…” You sit on the couch. Somewhere in the very far distance, you hear Everlong by the Foo Fighters begin to play. “That’s really sweet.” You couldn’t speak with any brevity.

"I'm a sweet guy."

Jean sat still as you squirmed in your seat, folding your legs together, hugging yourself so tightly you thought you might just disappear. You were asphyxiated, he just couldn't stop staring. He had a hundred different ways of tearing you apart.

You were still nervous. How could you not be? You had no idea what to say.

His gaze was so intense. He licked, stroked, and fucked you with his eyes alone.

You wanted to crawl into his lap and rest your head on his shoulder. His palm would be on your ass as he tells you a story about something him and his friends did a while back. They stole something. Isn't that crazy? Fuckin' guys, can't believe I still hang out with them. Would you…maybe wanna meet them?

"Haven’t seen you around here lately." Jean says, never taking his eyes off you.

"You could've. I've been here."

And much to your shock, after a minute of only buzzing from the outdoors and a prolonged sigh, Jean asks: "It's a nice day. Why aren't you out with your, uh, boyfriend?"

You try to find some expression in his eyes. His arm draped over the couch, extending towards you like a ray of golden sunlight. The skin above his collarbones sinking into itself. The spreading of his legs. You watch.

"I don't have a boyfriend." Your words are just as small as you are.

You see an amused, tender, and overly kind look crawl onto his face.

"Oh, come on. I bet you have a whole line up of guys trying to get in your panties." His hand moves over to pinch your arm, pulling the skin with just as much tease as his words carry.

You felt cold tremors all along your arm as his touch lingered. You wanted to shudder, to cry, to bite his shoulder. You wanted to ask him if he knew.

Panties. Why was he thinking about your panties? What color were they now? It didn't matter. They were soaked. You felt that slick consistency pile up between your folds as you writhed your legs back and forth. You looked in all places of your body where that Jennifer Check sort of confidence should’ve been. Where was your Playboy bunny mouth, “oh”ed in a little flirtatious manner? Your blood red nails?

Anything?

“So, tell me, what’s his name?” He tempts you with a low, nasty laugh and a lick of his lips.

“There is no he, Jean.” You said, innocently and defensively as ever.

“I don’t believe that for a second. You’re a little liar.” Fuck you. “What, worried I’ll tell your parents?”

You still had sandals on. The straps wrapped tightly around your ankles and you suddenly felt naked, like he could see right through you.

Cute, he, admittedly, thought you looked. He wasn't lying.

When you didn't have any words to say, Jean smiled and spoke again. "Don't worry. Your secret's safe with me."

"Funny." You filled your eyes, trying to be a little more comfortable in your body. It felt as if everything were closing around you, your skin tightening and your hair pulling off your scalp.

"I was the boyfriend, I snuck around, too." He says, reminding you of every girl you've seen crawl through his window in the last years when he had still lived at home.

"Believe me, I don't do any of that."

"Bet you want to." He fucking winks.

"What makes you think I would even have a boyfriend?" You ask softly, hoping he feeds you a little compliment. You wrap your arms around your clammy shins and hug yourself tighter.

"You're pretty, real cute."

“No, stop, that's…” You trailed off, finding yourself smiling through a bitten lip. That was much better than 'you look good'. So much better.

"But," He yawns, "You probably want a real man, huh?"

"Like I'd find one around here." You feignedly scoff, rolling your eyes to avoid his face. He was warm, but his eyes were cold; almost as if you could see something behind them, but it was too piercing to stare right at.

"A real man to help you when you get all riled up. You're pretty wild."

"I wouldn't say so." You ignored the first part.

"Oh come on, touching yourself all the time. Pretty wild. Pretty obvious."

Your eyes stayed still on his, widened with fear and embarrassment, there was no way of hiding. He smelled of pasture. At that moment, your world existed of only his body heat, his fuzzy aroma. He was warmer than the sun.

You should've been thinking of a lie. You should have laughed and made him the idiot. This should have been the moment where he bites you, and you bite him back harder.

But you didn't.

In response, you couldn't even speak above a whisper. "What?"

What he had said was so slight, it left you rerunning every definition of each word he said in your mind, every word, how it came so swiftly off his lips. He spoke as if the words meant nothing. As if he were asking what you had for breakfast. What did he mean?

No, you didn't want to drown the feelings you had for him. You were horny and he's too attractive to just be the boy next door. You're a girl. You're a slut, a bitch, a sweetheart, a whore, a baby. You have needs. What did he expect, flaunting his perfect self around like that?

You're getting defensive.

At every thought, you twisted yourself around and then back some more. Just those simple words had your world collapsing.

"What, you really think I didn't see you? You left the curtain open."

He knows.

He saw.

There were miles between you. That was it. The house broke in half, a tornado formed in the distance, you were being suffocated. Tears started in your eyes. You can only think to cover your face in your hands, your cheeks burning like asphalt, tears, thin and salty, dripping down into your mouth.

You think of every word to describe yourself.

A pervert, a filthy sex-addict, a spoiled little degenerate.

Like an award winning actor, Jean was plastered in any scenario you wanted. It all flashed before you; Jean taking you out at midnight, spinning you all around in a flowy dress, telling you that you’re beautiful, that he loves you. You colored him a rainbow, a chameleon. But he wasn’t. He really wasn’t. He is the hot boy in blue jeans. He’s angry.

He had to have felt objectified, right? He wasn't a movie star and you weren't going to get what you wanted.

You were silent, but you certainly couldn't hear anything besides your pathetic whimpering and sniffles. You were miles beyond just embarrassed, you were ashamed of yourself. Reality, the reality that you hated so much, came crashing in and, no matter how much you covered your face, cried, or eventually apologized, there was no outrunning it.

Jean sighed.

You always thought Jean could turn you into a woman, but crying then, you never felt more like a child.

How could you be so dumb? Riding the couch like a fiend? Curtains wide open? Who else could've seen it? You’re horrible.

You feel his hand come to touch your elbow, tugging at the curve before pulling you towards him.

"Come here." He says, but you don't move. He sighs again. "Stop crying and come here."

With the guidance of his light squeeze on your arm, you crawl towards his side of the couch until your head was beneath the heavy crook of his armpit and his arm hung around your neck. It was quiet. The silence got louder. Your cheek was pressed against his warm and firm flesh, he could still feel tears pouring down beside him. Jean's arm felt you up and down. This was a nice memory, one to be played again and again like another VHC tape.

He gave you those moments of pale reassurance before his hand began to play with the hem of your shirt, pulling it up slowly to reveal the skin of your waist. He let the skin touch the cool air, only the smallest bit. It was as if he were baptizing you, little by little.

Jean hummed at the sight before touching you more. "Shh…" He cooed, "It's alright."

It took you far too long to realize he was beginning to sit you on his lap.

He grabbed you under your armpits, like you were a toy. Your legs moved how he wanted, not fighting or hesitating once his big hands found your knobby knees and yanked them until you were straddling his lap. You couldn't even look at him.

“You don’t need to cry.”

"I'm sorry, Jean." You said, looking anywhere but his face.

"For what?" Tears slowed.

You had absolutely no way of answering a question as infinite as that. You put your hands over your face and dug your knees into the cushions. Your voice came out broken and insecure. “I am so goddamn stupid.”

"No, you're not. You're just…" He gently squeezes your dainty wrists together with one hand, pulling them away from your face and gliding them to his neck, you feel his pulse beating as your fingers begin to spread out beneath his hair. "You're just curious. That's all."

You feel your nose dripping, the skin above your lip getting puffy and wet. You looked pathetic.

"You're such a baby." He whispers, wiping the last of your tears with his thumb as he kisses the tip of your nose.

"Let me help you out, yeah?" Jean's heavy hand pinched your cheek and shook the skin between his fingers. "If just looking at me gets you all horny, I wonder how you'll be if I do this…"

His hand drags down your back to the curve of your ass, grabbing the flesh through the thick fabric of your shorts. You melted. You swallowed something in your throat and your legs felt heavy like weights as you tried to keep yourself up.

His hand squeezed your ass, he looked to you as your body rolled closer to his chest. You felt him everywhere, he kept you still as his big hand rubbed your body, the underbelly of his forearm feeling cool against the back of your thighs.

Slowly, so slowly, his hand dragged just a bit further down your ass and found the warm spot between your legs. You sucked in a breath, scared of how easily he played with the creases of your shorts.

Then, you felt it. Those fingers spread out around your covered cunt and you felt them all individually, each warm, long limb pressing between your messy folds.

"Ahh, that's it," He says, groping you real tightly and rubbing his fingers over the numbing clothing, making you shudder and kick your legs. More.

Out of the red, out of her head.

You thought he might stop.

"You're so needy, getting yourself off like that." He said as his thumb put some pressure on you, "Can't find someone to do it for you?"

It all rang in your head louder and louder, he knew.

You withered into yourself like you were in pain, he saw it all over your face. You were begging for him to not bring that up.

He pulled his hand away and you could finally breathe again, though you had just begun to sink into his fingers.

"It's for me, right?" His hands ran up and down your arms, squeezing the parts he liked the most.

"All for me, you must like me alot." He spoke gently, stretching out his words and keeping them soft to not scare you. "C'mon, you know I like it, too."

He played with your hair, hoping you'd say something.

“I'm not mad, y'know. It's the best compliment I could've ever gotten." He wanted to add more.

That felt a little better. "Can you look at me, baby?" Your fingernails dig at his neck once you hear that word again. It’s what you are. A baby.

You viciously shake your head, whimpering 'no' beneath your breath, but that doesn't stop him. He forces you to. He grabs your chin and you're met with the most intense gaze you've ever seen.

Tawny eyes, lips whispering, hair falling.

"You need someone to help you out, don't you?"

You nodded, the anticipation growing over you, heavier and heavier. What was he going to do next?

Jean kissed you. It was cooling and soft, like pressing your cold fingers to a feverish body. It was wet. Gentle and long. He let you taste him. Your chest stopped and broke open. Despite how soft it felt in your mouth, this was your revolution, it made your insides flip. You licked him like the icing off a birthday cake. He was so sweet, vanilla and maybe lemon frosting. It was so good.

He held your wrists in his hand, afraid you would have gone to flight, but you didn't move. You let him kiss you again, you drank in whatever he poured into your mouth, the kisses growing deeper and deeper after each one.

You feel so good, Jean

Keep doing that, please

His kisses eventually fell into a sweet and indistinct blur, your legs felt restless, your eyes didn’t bother to open once he pulled away for those quick, airy breaks. If it weren't for his hands moving to hold you up, you would have fallen into his chest and crawled down between his legs and done something you have no idea how to even begin.

But you would have done it.

Jean pulled away indefinitely. You were left with a heartbeat in your tender lips, like all of your blood rushed to your mouth and begged for another taste.

For a moment, his face didn’t seem so real; it was French and too flawlessly carved like an antique of the modern woman’s ideal man. But then as he spoke, it reappeared with a bright, dilated spark in his eyes, making himself much more alive.

"I'm gonna make you feel so good, alright? I'll give it to you like you want, I'll take care of you… teach you stuff, make you feel better." That was all you've ever wanted to hear.

You choked out a small ”okay” before leaning into him for another kiss. You wanted it so badly. They were small and desperate little kisses all along his lips, his cheeks, then to his jawline, you had gotten comfortable with the ridges and muscles beneath your mouth.

His skin was endless, it just didn't stop. You've never been more thankful for his bare skin than now. You tasted salt, you hadn’t even noticed how far you had kissed down his neck until you were met with the basins of his collarbones.

His arms wrap around your back, pulling you against his chest and stopping you from moving any further.

“I guess I should've come over a long time ago."

“Can we…” You look up at him, eyes big and pleading, your hand drawing circles in his skin, “Go to my room? Please?”

“Of course."

He picked you up and it felt too good to be true.

Your head laid on his shoulder as he carried you and everything in the distance appeared as an oily painting of too many colors, orange and shimmery gold all along the floor, moony white and icy blue on the walls. You would have, erroneously, decided you were dreaming—or that this was still part of your reverie on the porch—if it hadn’t been for each little stroke on your back, like he was playing guitar.

Your legs wrap around his waist tighter and tighter and you hear the door of your bedroom open. Before he can say anything else, you press your lips to his again. Again and again, harder and harder until the lyrics are too relatable and the guitar riff is beating in your chest. You just can't stop.

Jean sits you on the edge of the bed despite your efforts to cling on his body. He was right, you are needy. You watch him, biting your lips in suspense, as he strips in front of you.

The denim of his jeans falls onto the floor heavily, punctuating every last of his movements. You stare at his perfect physique, his muscular legs, toned abs, his boxers wrapped tightly around his thighs, it was too good.

He was fucking hard.

“You like what you see?” He asked, cocky and vain as usual. “Yeah, I know you do.”

Jean gets on his knees in front of you as you sit, breathless, on the bed. He holds your ankle up and takes off your sandals, then the other, while kissing the length of your shin, smiling up to you with warmth and sweetness. He unbuttons your shorts and pulls them down over your legs, he squeezes the slender part under your knees and you feel cold in your panties.

You impulsively want to cover yourself, feeling embarrassed of your body, knowing that he knows all the things you’ve done to the thought of him.

Jean seems to like it.

“Don’t be shy now.” Yeah.

He stands and you could feel the heat off of him, the flow of his body, blood pressed against his skin, you just wanted him to pick you up again, to give you another kiss, and take the lead. To help and talk you through it.

His hands touch the soft part of your neck and he pushes your head towards his hips that stand in front of you.

"I don't," You whisper, "I've never.." Shame filled your face. You looked up to him with big, precious eyes all while tugging on his wrist that held your head in place.

He pinched your cheek and ran his fingers through your hair. "I know, I'll show you how," He says, "I just want you to try something for me, okay?"

The flag was waving.

"M'still sorry.."

"Shh, it's alright." He spoke slowly, "But if you really wanna show me you're sorry…"

Jean smiled as he pulled down his boxers completely. You really couldn't believe what you were seeing. He was so perfect, you just couldn't describe it. He was big, could you even take it? You pictured him stretching you out, your cunt wrapping around his cock as he fucked you rough and hard—just how you wanted. It wouldn't fit, would it? He was twitching and swollen, like he was aching. You wanted to touch him.

Jean pushed himself to your lips, you felt the silky tip of his cock pulse against your drooling mouth. You stuck out your tongue and licked around the delicate flesh, unsure what to do. He groaned. It all felt too foreign, but so tasty.

He grabbed himself, pulling away from your lips and to your, utter, utter surprise, he slapped his cock against your cheek, the same one he had been pinching earlier like a baby. You felt the sting in your skin, you whimpered at the slight pain and looked up to him for an explanation. Were you being a good girl for him? He smiled, he was amused.

He did it again, precum sticking to your face.

He likes getting you all dirty.

"Look at you," He laughed, "Open up, get your tongue out."

You did. You let your jaw fall slack and tongue lap over your lips as his big hands placed themselves on either side of your florid cheeks, guiding your mouth to his cock before pushing your head down onto him. It felt firm and warm in your mouth, you took as much as you could, you couldn't help how your tears welled in your eyes and how your hands grabbed onto his thighs. You looked desperate. You were.

Some part of him wanted to lay you on the bed and force himself down your throat until you couldn't breathe, keep you on edge with a little stroke on your clit to have you squirming and crying under his weight. He wanted to feed it to you. Just how he said, teach you.

But this was good enough for him. Too good.

You choked, he didn’t stop. He dragged you up and down the length of it, spit watering in your mouth and overflowing down onto your chin. You knew that no other part of his body could compare to what was in your mouth, his fingers were deft and veiny, you could lick up and down his abs like a sugar coated piece of candy, you could give him a hot-blooded kiss, but this was incomparable.

He was so big, so tasty, so fresh.

"That's it, put that pretty little mouth to good use for me, just like that." He sucked in a breath between his teeth, hissing as he finally felt his tip touching the very back of your throat.

You could tell how he liked that.

"Taking my dick all by yourself, what a good girl," He wanted to kiss you again, "Tastes good?" You looked up to him and nodded your head eagerly and sputtered out a pathetic "Mhmm".

You gagged and choked on his cock as it hit your tight warm throat again and again. His hand touched your blemished cheek, the one he had caressed and abused, he felt how his cock filled up your mouth and created that bulge under your flesh. Each time he forced himself down your throat, he touched the swelling beneath your skin and admired how small you looked below him.

As his gaze met yours for a quick moment, you hoped he could see the desperation that clouded your eyes. You could hardly keep them open, but throughout the restless aching of your jaw and burning of your cunt, you kept your eyes on his. He liked making a mess of his new favorite virgin, you could taste the excitement dripping off of him.

You have to get dirty to get clean.

“Yeah, that’s it," He threw his head back, "You’re too pretty not to have my dick in your mouth.”

You grabbed onto one of his hands, holding it and interlacing your fingers, feeling the big curves of his palm around yours. Why was he so comforting?

He squeezed your tiny fingers between his. He groaned, he pushed and pulled your poor head deeper and deeper. He made sure you wouldn't forget how he tastes.

You whine and try to get his attention, high pitched hums and small tugs on his hand. He groans and lets you paw at him.

He savored the sight of you being so sweet and obedient and pretty for him. He could've looked at it all day, your eyes big and pleading, your mouth filled with his cock, making the cute little virgin next door into his own little slut.

"Better hope no one comes home, you wouldn't want anyone to see how dirty you are. 'Less it's me, right?" He laughed and you moaned around him.

He could've cum. He really could have.

Jean pulled out of you, leaving your face sloven and smeared with glossy saliva all around your chin, a string of it had even stuck to his cock as he pulled away. He couldn't wait anymore.

You looked up to him as he stroked himself, you thought for a moment you could hear his breath, aching and sore. You reached your hand up to his rosy tip, it looked swollen and desperate for more.

Your fingers played with the soft ridge over his slit and you, wanting to be a little porn star, pressed your lips to his tip and gave him a messy little kiss. An opened and sloppy kiss, like you were ready to put him back in your mouth.

”Fuck."

Jean grabbed you and pushed you to the bed, making you spring up and giggle at his impulses. He was on you like a cannibal. He tore off your clothing, the drenched underwear and little shirt you had been wearing, and threw them aside. He kissed and kissed and kissed you, roughly and almost as if he were discipling you. Don’t tease was the lesson here.

You whined and tried to grab him, pull him closer, but you were instantly put back into your place. He did what he wanted. You laid on your back, he spread your legs wide and open until the skin of your thighs stretched into a tight burn.

“You’ve got the cutest little pussy I’ve ever seen. Bet it's nice and tight for me, huh?"

He felt you up. He spread that heavy arousal all around your cunt, teasing your clit but smiling and ignoring you every time you began to quiver against him.

You were so open.

Touching yourself is different, it's a secret. Late at night through your pajamas, holding back a whimper, legs spasming up against your blankets. An ugly and satisfied smile at the end.

But this, Jean on top and you beneath, the comfort of your own home, the need, his fingers instead of your own, was intensely different. You felt hot.

He held your hand, just how he learned you liked, and began to run his cock up and down your wet folds, you felt your heart nearly stop and cave in. He knew what to do. Everything happened so fast.

Jean had leaned up, gotten a good look at you, and exhaled. A long and heavy exhale, you could almost feel it pouring onto you.

He pushes your legs until they're completely out of his way, you find yourself squirming against the mattress, biting your lip, and running out of patience.

"Please, Jean," You squeeze his hand as hard as you can.

"Mmm," His eyes, bright with an awful amount of amusement, flash to your face, he could see the frustration, embarrassment, and need. Just how he liked. “Wanna beg for me some more? Show me how much you want me to fuck this sweet little pussy?”

You whined like you were about to throw a fit.

”Jean!” You called his name hopelessly, you almost wanted to hit him. You’re so needy, just give in already, Jean.

“Stretch it out? Make it mine?” He taunts and taunts, rubbing your clit with the tip of his cock as he ignores your little whines and pouts.

“So sensitive,” He smiles, watching your legs jerk and fight the teasing pleasure, "So pretty.." He hums, swirling your clit with his cock, "You're gonna take me all in 'n you're gonna love it, I promise."

”Uh huh, I will, please, I want it,” You beg and beg, hoping it’ll get you somewhere.

“Gotta work for it.”

He prods himself at your cunt, his cock spreading out your messy folds and pushing the thick skin into the crease of your thigh. You feel your cunt pulse at the pressure, he’s so close.

“I want you, Jean, so bad." He loves being loved. "Nobody wants you like I do." He rolled his head back, you spoke in such a whiny voice it made him want to tear you apart so much more. He just wanted to fuck you dumb and listen to you flatter him all along the way, each little word adding to his virile ego like an ordainment.

He wanted to hear you beg for his yummy cum all over your face, even though it hurt you, even though you were crying. There was just something about being needed that had Jean more obsessed with this moment than he already was. He is a movie star, he has every girl screaming and ripping their hair out, becoming a groupie and throwing their panties at him. I need him! I need him! Don’t you hear me, I need him! And you have him. He’s whatever you want and so much more. So go on, tell him that he isn’t just a drop of water in the ocean, nobody compares to him, and your little world is his tonight.

"For so long, too, you know that. You're my favorite..so handsome, so strong,” You take his hand you had been holding and push his fingers into your mouth. You liked tasting the callouses, the dirty flavor of a man in your mouth, different from his dick down your throat. It was all the things he’s touched, every time he’s gotten into a fight, every girl he’s fucked, every time he’s worked on his car. You washed it off and swallowed it whole.

He moves them slightly, letting you do whatever you want to him. You suck and lick his fingers. Slow, how you wanted it to be.

He didn't even look at you, but he knew you wanted his attention. He savored what you had said to him. You’re just so nice.

"That's it, that's it, don’t you stop.”

"You could make me feel so good," You try to speak as his fingers press against the inside of your cheek. "Better than anyone—mmph!"

Jean had pushed himself inside of you without even a warning.

Your head perked up at the feeling, but then spun out completely. Those strong, big hands held you still as he stretched your virgin pussy out, but he hadn't even been fully inside of you yet.

He kissed you like he really wanted you to be safe against his body. Where you were soft and fragile, he was strong and handsome, just how you said. The kiss was affectionate and deliberate. It was so sweet, it almost distracted your poor little head from what was inside of you.

He was so deep, you felt it; it was yours and yours only. It hurt a little. You panted and choked on your own breath. It was better than you could have ever imagined.

You squeeze around him so good, but he wasn't finished. He wanted to feel all of you.

"B-big, y-you’re big.." You whispered into his messy mouth. That’s what he liked to hear the most.

"Mmmm," Your warm little cunt felt so dreamy wrapped around him, he loved it so much. "A little more, alright?" He murmured and thrusted his hips until his cock was completely inside of you.

He exhales between a laugh, happy and satisfied he was your first. You felt him in places you've never felt before, all that weight, the heat, the skin was so foreign, but it didn't scare you. It became obvious that Jean knew what to do, where to feel you up, how to make you feel better and safe and warm and safe safe safe.

His forehead lays pressed to yours, your eyes are closed but foggy with the golden, lingering light of his presence close to you.

"Feels good," You say, the 's' sharp. You give him a tender kiss. He's careful with you. You'll get used to it.

"Me too, baby, you feel so good." He pauses, letting you nuzzle into his neck. "Gonna move now, alright?"

“Alright.”

"Just hold on to me, it'll feel even better."

Jean started moving his hips, he was gentle with you, but he couldn’t wait to fuck you rough and harsh and do things you’d never forget.

He knew what to do. You felt his cock slide throughout your warm, pulsating cunt, stretching it out just how he said he would. You felt all of him. At each thrust, his cock rubbed against something so deep and special, it had you wrapping your legs around his waist and pulling him in for more.

He took his sweet time with you, making you take all the sloppy pleasure of his cock fucking your precious little cunt. You heard light slapping of each time his skin touched yours, you struggled to keep your eyes open

You took it so well. You wished you could have responded, but all you could focus on was those dizzy eyes he looked at you with, along with his smiles and small sighs of pleasure falling off his lips.

Jean

"Fuck, Jean," You squeal out and you feel a sick smile form against your neck. Even after all the things you've begged for and done, he couldn't help but laugh at your swearing.

“Watch your fucking mouth.”

He explored what you liked, testing your limits of how much love was too much. A bite on your neck, hot air into your ear, making you shiver and curl your tiny body closer to his. He drove into you deeper once he saw how much you fought against the pleasure, trying to deny yourself of what you wanted most.

“Aww, you like that? You like taking me in deep?" Smiling, his hand swept down the gorge of your bodies and found your needy clit. You spat out a deep, breathy moan, so genuine and different that what you’ve ever felt before.

He rubbed it and you pressed your body back into the bed at the feeling. He could do anything to you; hurt you, kiss you, fix you, dress you. He could do anything, as long as he kept doing that.

Your body felt puffy and smooth against him, each swirl of his fingers and thrust of his hips made you more vulnerable than ever. All you did was hold onto him, just how he said, and he looked at you as if you were tied down and helpless.

His fingers on your clit eased you so well, he could feel you gush around his cock. You felt relaxed and warm down there as your clit was swirled beneath his fingers, making you whimper and hold him tighter.

"There you go, baby," He whispered, "Love getting your clit rubbed, huh?" Your arms wrapped around his neck as tight as rope and he loved how desperate you were for his body to be closer to yours.

"M-more, please." You whimper shyly and he smiles at you before giving you another kiss, his lips sticky and warm and seasoned.

If you were anywhere else, it would have felt just as good—on his bed, in his house, over his blankets—but it wouldn’t have smelled nearly the same. Your scent on the windowsills and your hair wrapped in your hairbrush wouldn’t have been there. This is good. Really good.

He leans up and grabs ahold of your ankles real tight and lets one of them drape over his shoulder like a tunic as he begins to treat you how he’s been wanting. Your eyes are hazy and you aren’t sure what to do with your hands, you feel his fingers touch your raw, sensitive clit as his thrusts become harder and harder.

He plays with your clit and you grope the curves of your breasts, loving the lack of control you have over the pleasure. It was so easy for you, you did everything you ever dreamt of and did it exactly how he wanted.

He fucked you hard, you could feel him in your stomach, so deep you nearly choked. You hiccup out moans and whimpers, your thighs sting with each harsh slap of his skin to yours.

Your body jerks each time his hips slam into you, your head hits the same deep and fluffy part of your pillow and you swallow a moan, hoping he kisses you again.

And just he loves it so much, "Fuck, you're tight. Guess your little fingers don't do the job, can't stretch you out like me."

Jean groaned through his clenched teeth and muttered to himself, "Yeah, yeah, that's it," He leaned down and kissed you again, taking your legs with him and pressing them to your bare chest.

You felt his lips all over you. He kissed beneath your jaw, that hard to find skin where you've never felt lips before.

You gasped and suddenly his fingers on your clit felt heavy, he rubbed it in circles with just enough pressure to have you pulling on his hair for the life of you.

He sucked a breathe through his teeth as he pleasured your neck, he touched and kissed and fucked you like he was insatiable for your response. Every fucking bit of you shivered and ached for more.

Your smooth legs rubbed against some part of his muscular body, you curled around his ribs and snorted him like cocaine. Between it all, you could only focus on how his fingers made a mess of you. They were sloppy and wet around your clit, applying pressure in every place possible.

Jean leaned up to his knees again and held your legs out of the way, he just couldn't help himself from the view.

He liked watching you take him in so well, your face in new expressions at each thrust and swirl of his body into yours. Nobody else has seen you like this, nobody but him.

"Right there! Fuck, Jean, right there!" You whined and whined, he kept hitting a good and deep spot inside of you.

"Right there? Yeah, you like it right there, don't you?" He grabbed your ankles and held them above your head, everything felt so tense and tight besides that perfect, slutty, wet, and warm spot he fucked.

"Fuck, baby, stay still for me, yeah? Can you do that?"

"I can't, I can't, it's too much,"

"I know it's too much, I know," He didn't stop. "But did you really think I'd go easy on you after all the shit you pulled? Fucking tease."

"Mhmmm, M'sorry, please, please," You sobbed and begged and felt familiar tears coming to your eyes then rolling down the dip of your temple. Fuck, you couldn't help yourself.

He heaved, lungs empty but blood pumping with adrenaline. You could see through your tears the veins on his forehead and arms. You knew he had to say something. He rolled his bottom lip through his teeth and pulled himself out of you.

You squirmed at the empty feeling, but could hardly move as his strong hands kept you held in place.

"Stop." He said, pushing himself inside you so hard his legs slapped yours and jerked forward. He watched the light in your eyes grow brighter at the feeling of his big cock fucking you again.

You babbled, but didn’t get a chance to say another word.

He harshly squished your cheeks together, making you look stupid and tiny beneath him, desperate and helpless. He kissed you and you couldn't do a thing about it. He handled you like you were his own little doll, you thought you might break at any moment.

"All that fucking crying," He said between clenched teeth, "Thought you'd be taking my dick like a good girl, but it looks like you want me to stop, huh?"

"No! Please, no, I-I can take it, it just…" You're pathetic.

He laughed as you cried and moaned for more, your tits bouncing with each thrust.

"I know, baby, I know you are," He bites his lip, "Don't worry, I won't stop. Your little cunt's too warm n' tight for me to ever wanna stop."

"I wanna…fuck!" You drank him in for another kiss, "Wanna cum, Jean,"

He smiled nice and big and you could see words reflecting off his teeth, How bad?

That only enticed him further, like you were teasing him in your own sick way. Just those little words were his idea of red lipstick and short skirts and batting eyelashes.

"Holy fuck," He tried gathering words but couldn't concentrate on anything besides making you cum. He just wanted to give you a little reward for being so sweet to him.

"It's so big, so good, so good," You breathlessly whispered to yourself, but Jean trusted that was for him. Like you said, it was all for him.

You could feel it then, your body tensing up and you hear that voice singing. Maybe it's Dave Grohl, but you hope it's Robert Plant. You flex and contort your muscles to try and hold the feeling as if it were going anywhere.

Your face is a mess and his fingers never pull away from your needy clit.

"I'm so fucking close, Jean, don't stop,"

"God," He spits, "Can't believe you've been keeping this perfect pussy away from me, I could've been making you feel this good a long time ago, y'know that?"

You tried to nod your head, knowing all too well that Jean could have been doing this and so much more, but you were fuzzy headed. It just felt so good.

You couldn't stay still for the life of you, your legs twisted in his grasp and he knew what that meant. It only made him fuck you harder and rub your clit with more pressure than before.

That look on his face made your eyes burn. You rolled your head back and let the pleasure nearly drown you. If you could just feel this all the time. Behind your ears and in the shower, everytime something good happens, it'd be so much better.

"You're gonna cum?" He asks and you just look at him with the answer written all over your face, "Yeah, that's it. I want you to cum all over me, alright? I know you wanna." Real hard and messy.

You're seeing stars.

The last thrust of his hips into you that does it, you'll never forget. Your head dug into your pillow and breathed like you had been held underwater for so long that your vision had gone black and your life flashed before your eyes, but then you felt a hand saving you from drowning. You crawled out wearing the most flattering swimsuit along with the prettiest, white smile. It's summer and it feels good.

And the livin's easy. (Says he's gonna teach me just what fast is).

You licked your lips after whispering "I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna cum", feeling your body come back to itself in damp, sultry skin. You felt endless.

You breathed, grabbing onto his arm, and finding your eyes in the back of your head. Was it supposed to feel so good? So colorful like how acid is in movies? Maybe some people can't cum like this, that's why they get high. Do drugs and have fun. But this is good enough.

Jean didn't stop, he slowed, but didn't stop. He just couldn't. He rutted himself into your pussy as it came around him, he felt it squeeze and release. He wondered if you thought about anything. Maybe California.

He wanted to feel it too.

"How does it feel, baby? Better than you imagined?" He gave you the kind of smile you'll think about for the rest of your life.

Slowly, you heard the slaps of his skin against yours getting faster again. Your legs had gone so weak and limp, they slid right off his shoulders, along with your jaw going slack.

Uh huh

"Fuck, I'm close, baby," Jean said, "You're gonna let me fill you up with my cum, right?"

That'd be perfect.

You wipe your tears and whisper, "Yeah, I want it." Real bad.

He bent down and gave you a sweet kiss before picking up his rough pace, "You want that? Want my cum?"

Poor Jean, you have no idea.

He fucked you harsh and messy, making you cry out and find his lips again. You kiss and kiss them, making him closer and closer.

"Jean, please, want it inside me. All of it." You kiss his forehead through his hair, it was laced with sweat. No one wants it like me.

Christ. His cock twitched and his hips stilled before one last hit inside of your warm cunt. It spurted and he moaned like you did, he whispers fuck followed by your name as his fingers curl around yours.

You couldn’t say or think anything, your mind was filled with the only peace you’ve known. You won. His body, though hot and stiff, pressed against yours, was less like the asphalt street or the tropical sandy beach in a distant memory, it was more like a crepuscular basking. It was warm, but chilly between the pockets of air that pool around your belly; it was really nice.

He struggled to catch his breath and was more concerned with his lips on yours. Your neck, your chest, your cheek, your lips, your lips, your lips.

It was too good.

Your blankets beneath you felt burning hot. He stretched his tall body over you before pulling out and laying beside you.

You heard his and your own breath, you looked over to his chest. He looks like a Polaroid. You put your hand on his hard abdomen and run your fingers over the bumps of muscles as they rise and fall with each breath.

You swallow as he stays quiet, you think he might fall asleep. But he isn't tired, only exhausted with the best sex he's had.

He felt cinematic.

"I can't…" He opened his hazy eyes to you, "Christ, that was," He pauses again.

"Good. Fuck me, you're good."

"Yeah," He laughs, "I know."

His body shines and you aren't sure what time it is. Your mouth is completely empty, you don't even know what to say. All those times thinking about him, you've never thought about what would happen after.

His hand grabs your arm and pulls you into a soft kiss on your side.

"Do you have my number?" He holds your hand.

"No." you say.

"I'll write it down."

"I like the taste of you."

"Thanks," He scratches his neck, "Fuck, thank you."

You laugh and kiss him again. His skin feels soft like cobwebs under his stubble and you hope it'll rain soon.

Jean crawls out of your bed and dresses himself, you watch him get distracted as denim pulls over his legs. He looks all around your room, the xylophone of his spine stretching as he turns in place.

He walks towards your dresser and opens the top drawer. You lean up on your elbows, smiling at his curious thoughts.

You see him dig carefully through your drawers before finding your underwear, you laugh to yourself and watch him pull out a pair he seems to like. It's nice and pink.

Then he crawls on the bed with it in hand, it's so delicate in front of him. You think it's cute how a man like him could find something so feminine but normal that doesn't belong to him and handle it with such care.

He grabbed your legs and slid the panties onto you, maybe he didn't think about how wet they'd get with his cum leaking out of you.

He rubs your thigh after putting them on you. You're shirtless like him, but in pink.

"Do you really have to go?"

"Sorry." He kisses your forehead. "Be good while I'm gone. I'll be back." He walks towards your door.

"Wait, Jean,"

"Yeah?"

"Come here, please."

And he did. He sat on the bed as you laid, he went to give you another kiss, but you crawl into his lap and place your arms around his neck.

Despite what he had said, I’ll be back, you figured to yourself that this had been a one time thing. A one and delicate, amazing, and maybe a bit illicit, time thing; but it didn’t matter.

You could turn this day back over in your head hundreds of times and never have it feel rotten in your mouth, like you had been sucking on it for too long.

You could roll your hips to the thought of his Mustang speeding on free, desolate roads. Don’t put your feet on the dash… Oh, well at least put your seatbelt on, just in case.

"I'm not a baby anymore."

Then you steal the pack of Marlboro reds that had still been in his back pocket. He doesn't notice. You'll smoke them later.

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jkirschteinsgf · 1 year

Text

yawne

Requested by @therroseandthethorn :

Shy Neteyam who doesn’t know how pretty he is with Aonung determined to claim Neteyam as his mate and away from wondering eyes ASAP. With overprotective Sullys (parents and siblings) interfering whenever they can. Smut to if possible. Please and thank you.

Notes: so I went a lil crazy on this and tbh I think it's more fluffy than I anticipated BUT I'm very happy with it so I hope you are too, THANK YOU I loved this one

Warnings: aged up characters, fluff, feelings idk, bit of smut

Ao'nung has been pining over a certain Omiticayan Na'vi for a while and has decided to make a move. But it seems Eywa (not Eywa) is against him on this one. (Ao'nung is 20, Neteyam is 19 almost 20.)

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

(Yawne: beloved | eveng:child)

Ao'nung stomps along the sand, Roxto trailing behind him (he snickers to himself, watching the anger near roll off of his friends shoulders). Ao'nung is muttering to himself and replaying what had happened no more than 10 minutes prior.

•••

He's nervous, but giddy, Ao'nung grins to himself as he traces his fingers along the beads he had hand crafted, a pair that, coincidentally happened to match the beads in his hair, along with a beautiful necklace, a pearl nestled in the center with gorgeous shells and threading framing it. He had been so nervous, watched Tsireya show him but had insisted he do it himself. After nearly 3 weeks, he had finally finished the necklace, finally satisfied with how it looked.

He takes a deep breath, puts the beads into a beautiful seashell he had found while diving with the object of his desire.

Ao'nung huffs out a breath, then quickly gets up, accidentally knocking over some things, startling Tsireya and his mother quirks am eyebrow his way, questioning. He grins at them, cleans his mess and darts out of the pod, going off to find the one the gifts were for.

After speaking with a few of the villagers, some girls his age attempting to woo him and some of the elders lightly scolding him to go and hunt more, he finally finds himself at the pod he'd been looking for.

He glances in, looking for his target.

But someone spots him first.

"What is it, Ao'nung?" Lo'ak speaks, yawning,"It's too early to go hunting."

Ao'nung chuckles,"it's near noon, skxawng."

The younger one huffs, rolling his eyes, but his eyes land on the shell clasped between Ao'nung's hands,"Bro, what's that?" He stands up, trying to peek at it.

"Nothing, back off," Ao'nung says back, swerving his body back away from Lo'aks gaze. He decides to peer in the pod, searching, and his eyes land on who he'd been looking for.

Neteyam. Oh, Neteyam, who'd have thought that the son of Tonowari would fall for someone who'd punched him in the face only a few years ago?

Ao'nung's ears perk up, visually showing his glee. His tail flicks behind him and he shuffles in place.

Neteyam sits on the other side of the pod, Tuk is sitting in his lap and he's fixing her braids, Kiri sits besides him and Neytiri is kneeled behind Neteyam, fixing his braids. He hisses as his mother tugs a bit hard, then chuckles as she swats him in the head lightly. Kiri is talking to them, Tuk barely listening only to interrupt with her own addition or her own story.

Ao'nung feels a grin slide onto his face, followed very quickly by a frown as Lo'ak moves to stand in his way. The younger one has partially filled out, less lanky but still a long ways to go as Toruk Maktos youngest son, but he's large enough to block the view Ao'nung had of Neteyam.

"Sorry, Neteyam isn't here," Lo'aks ears flick back, he narrows his eyes just slightly. He had caught on a while ago to Ao'nungs feelings for his older brother, and honestly, he was annoyed. He didn't want fishlips over here to become his brother through mating! Also, frankly, he didn't think Ao'nung would be good to his brother.

Ao'nung feels his jaw drop a little,"He's literally right there," he points behind him.

"Nope, sorry, just me, Kiri, Tuk and mom," he shrugs,"But I can make sure that he gets that," he reaches for the shell.

Ao'nung smacks his hand away, nearly dropping the shell in the process and hisses lightly at him.

Lo'ak just glares, seemingly puffing himself up.

Just then, Ao'nung hears his father calling his name, and he huffs out in anger, turning and storming off.

Which brings us back to now.

"Ao'nung, there's always another time," Roxto tries to reason with him, jogging lightly to catch up.

Ao'nung sighs, slowing to a stop. He looks down at the beads and necklace, his anger simmering. He nods, before continuing to his pod to put the gift away.

Roxto trails after him, and they end up going hunting per Tonowari's request.

Another time comes after several other attempts, nearly 7 days afterwards.

Ao'nung tried to find Neteyam that afternoon, but coincidentally the latter had gone out on a flight on his ikran. Ao'nung huffs in annoyance as he goes back to his family.

The next few days, Ao'nung tries many times to catch Neteyam alone.

Lo'ak keeps getting in his way. And Neytiri, surprisingly.

She keeps sending him to the wrong place, apologizing and brushing it off later. After the third mistake, Ao'nung decides he won't be asking her where Neteyam is.

Other times, he's able to find Neteyam but he's swept off by Lo'ak, their dad or even some other Na'vi of the village dragging him into conversations with poor attempts at wooing. His stomach twists in jealousy but he pushes it down whenever the Na'vi leave, upset. He grins to himself.

When Ao'nung sees him another time, Neteyam is not alone. One of the fellow warriors, Aki'li, is with him, smiling and laughing with Neteyam. She's grinning up at him, talking kindly and hands him something, and Ao'nung feels his body freeze up, red hot anger filling in his gut. Neteyam smiles back, before nodding in thanks. She grins before nearly skipping away, saying goodnight as she goes.

Ao'nung briskly turns around, heading into the water to cool off. Lo'ak spots this, snickering to himself.

Another time, Ao'nung had gone off to the sullys, and had bumped in to Jake, Toruk Makto himself. Ao'nung was always a little intimidated by Jake, but over the years it had dwindled as the former chief and his father had grown to be close friends.

Ao'nung mustered up his courage and asked,"Is Neteyam courted?"

He feels the air freeze, he swears to Eywa. And Jake turns to him, his eyebrow raised as he stares down at him.

"Why." Is all he says, and Ao'nung nearly dies inside at his tone of voice.

He stammers, "Was just, um, wondering, as one of my friends was curious," he diverts his gaze.

Jake narrows his eyes, before sighing and chuckling, his head bowing,"well, tell your "friend" that no, he has not been courted yet, as far as I know."

Ao'nung nods in thanks and books it out of there.

And the last time he tried to get Neteyam alone, was just earlier yesterday.

He wasn't alone though, Neteyam and Tuk were in the water. Neteyam chuckled as Tuk tried to grab his ankles under the water, only for him to drag her up by hers and tickle her.

Ao'nung approaches, waving as Neteyam smiles at him; he silently thanks Eywa.

Tuk shrieks and giggles, throwing herself at Ao'nung and insists on protecting her. Ao'nung grins, lifting Tuk onto his back and getting into a defensive position against Neteyam.

"How am I the bad guy, Tuk?"

She sticks her tongue out at her brother,"You keep tickling me!"

Neteyam gets into a defensive position too, he grins at Ao'nung.

"Only because you keep grabbing my ankles!"

Ao'nung dramatically gasps,"Tuk! How dare you, grabbing his ankles?"

She giggles on his back, and Neteyam takes this chance and attempts to grab Tuk. She shrieks, Ao'nung winces but manages to twist his body around, avoiding Neteyams hands.

Neteyam groans, and Ao'nung books it through the water, holding Tuk as she squeals with laughter.

Neteyam chases after them, and soon enough Ao'nung stops abruptly as Tuk scrambles on his back and he stumbles forward as she shoves herself off of his back; Neteyam tumbles into his side. They crash into the water and Tuk gasps, giggling behind her hands.

Ao'nung lifts his head, spitting out water and groaning. He chuckles, and Neteyam lifts himself.

They lock gazes and Neteyam smiles so sweet, his cheeks a darker hue,"Sorry, Tuk betrayed you."

They chuckle and Neteyam slowly lifts himself off of Ao'nung. He offers a hand and lifts him up, and he can't help his gaze locking onto Neteyams waist.

Eywa, he swears his hands could wrap around Neteyams waist.

Ao'nung feels his face warm, surely a darker teal hue covering his cheeks and he brushes off any thoughts that'd make Eywa blush.

He just gazes at Neteyam as he chases his little sister, the water droplets gradually coming down his skin and his loincloth is soaked, clinging to his inner thighs. Ao'nung swallows, turns his head and groans as Lo'ak comes towards them, Tsireya, Kiri and Roxto not far behind.

They end up all swimming together, Lo'ak making sure to keep the space between Neteyam and Ao'nung as his. Kiri rolls her eyes at this.

The next morning, Ao'nung is so frustrated. That stupid gift stares him in the face. He smacks a hand over his face, before getting up and going to find Roxto to go hunting.

Only then, Neteyam had tried to find him a little while later.

Ao'nung and Roxto return hours later, and a celebration is commenced.

All of the hunters had caught great amounts of fish during the past month and the chief had wanted to celebrate the young hunters skills.

Ao'nung and Roxto were celebrated too, having brought back several large fish and a net of smaller ones as well.

Ao'nung felt great, he wanted this to impress Neteyam, so he brought the Sullys one of the larger fish that he had caught. (He also brought the seashell, beads and necklace hidden in the pouch on his hip).

Jake had patted his shoulder, thanking him, Tuk following by giving him a high five (four?), as confusing as that was, and Lo'ak smirked and nodded at Ao'nung. Neytiri had smiled gratefully, her eyes bore into him, reading his motives. She narrows her eyes, judgeful. (Plus, Lo'ak had told Kiri earlier of Ao'nungs affection for Neteyam and Neytiri had happened to overhear.)

Kiri, being one of the chaotic sullys, had taken it into her own hands and dressed Neteyam up beautifully for the celebration, specifically in Metkayina clans tradition.

She had made a whole show of it, calling her family to look, grinning as everyone turned to see Neteyam. She nearly cackled out in laughter at Lo'aks face alone. His eyes shot open; and Ao'nung. Well.

Ao'nung had thought he'd gone back to Eywa, because wow, Neteyam was beautiful.

He had been gifted a new loincloth ages ago, a beautiful deep green blue, and it was beautiful along his darker blue skin. Jewelry hung around his hips, seashells and crystals beaded together that clinked softly as he walked. He has an armband around both of his biceps, similar to his fathers, and he wears a beautiful tunic around his torso, and Ao'nung realizes that it's one of Tsireya's creations. He sends a thank you in his mind to Tsireya. He also wears anklets and two matching bracelets, beautifully crafted beads framed his ankles and wrists.

Neytiri smiles so wide, rushing to her son and cupping his cheeks,"You look so lovely, ma 'eveng."

He smiles at her, nodding in thanks.

Kiri grins, before hissing as Lo'ak elbows her. He glares at her and she just smirks back before elbowing him back.

Neteyam then spots Ao'nung, and his ears flick back, eyes widen and what seems to be a darker blue hue covers his cheeks. He turns to Kiri and glares lightly at her and she nods her head towards Ao'nung.

Kiri then stretches,"C'mon guys, let's go cook this fish!" And drags Lo'ak out of the pod. Neytiri nods, taking Tuks hand and Jake follows. They pat his shoulder before whispering,"be good to him" and "don't hurt him". Ao'nung shuffles where he stands and they're finally, finally alone.

"You wen-"

"You look-"

They both speak, and chuckle. Ao'nung nods to Neteyam.

"Sorry, I had tried finding you this morning, but you were hunting, huh?" Neteyam steps closer, only a few feet away now.

"You did?" Ao'nungs ears flick forward, tail swishing behind him.

"Yes, Tsireya and Kiri told me that you had wanted to talk?"

"OH, oh, um," he feels the nerves rise up, and he stares down at the ground for a moment for shaking it off and opening the pouch on his hip. He carefully grabs the seashell, and holds it out for Neteyam. He hears a soft gasp and glances over at him.

"Ao'nung," neteyam says softly.

"I've wanted to give this to you, but never found the right time to," he says,"but now works perfectly," he grins.

Neteyam carefully takes hold of the seashell and picks up the hair beads, smiling so soft and Ao'nung can't help but gaze at him. The deep blue of his skin, the bright yellow eyes, his perfectly placed freckles seemingly done by Eywa herself. Neteyam was beautiful.

Ao'nung doesn't realize he had said that last part out loud, Neteyams ears flick and he gazes up at him, a darker blue covers his cheeks.

"Sorry, did I say that outloud?" They chuckle together. Neteyam ends up clasping the beads into some of his hair framing his face, then turns to him.

"Could you put this on for me?" And hands him the necklace. He carefully slides his arms around him as Neteyam lifts his braid, clasping to necklace around his throat and its a perfect fit.

He's fixing Neteyams hair over his shoulders when the tail in front of his flicks between his legs, curling lightly around his mid thigh. He apologizes, ears flicking back in embarrassment.

The necklace goes surprisingly well with the outfit adorning Neteyams figure, and Ao'nung is beyond happy.

"Neteyam," he starts,"this is one of our courting gestures."

Those golden eyes stare into his soul.

"If you're accepting, may I court you?" He stumbles over his words,"You have caught my gaze since you've arrived, it's been torture watching others try to get your attention, I wish nothing more than for a chance to see me the way I see you. You're so beautiful," they're gently holding hands by this point,"I see you, please allow me a chance to gain that back."

"I know this is a courting gesture of yours," Neteyam grins, he's blushing, then walks out of the pod before turning and offering his hand to Ao'nung,"and you already have, yawne."

They arrive, hand in hand, an Ao'nung swears his heart is in the clouds.

Lo'ak decides to sink that feeling by being an annoying ass the entire night.

He sits right next to them, talks in their conversations and Neteyam just ends up brushing him off.

It doesn't help that multiple young villagers have seemingly, suddenly, taken an interest in Neteyam. (They have before, but Ao'nung swears it's more than usual.) Seemingly everyone wants to talk to him, attempt to woo him.

Lo'ak ends up dragging Neteyam off later on into the night, insisting he meets with Aki'li. Ao'nung watches, upset and annoyed and Kiri approaches, watching the scene.

Aki'li is grinning as Neteyam speaks with her, before she hugs him tight and Ao'nung scowls. He walks to Neteyam and thankfully Kiri grabs Lo'ak, scolding him.

Neteyam spots him and meets him halfway, smiling so prettily up at him before he's dragged off and they're suddenly on an Ilu, Ao'nung and him going wherever he leads.

They arrive around the rock formations near their spirit tree, and Ao'nung helps Neteyam up on the form. They sit together quietly for a few moments.

"Aki'li likes someone else," Neteyam speaks softly, peering over at him,"she has been asking for advice."

Embarrassment crawls into Ao'nungs gut, his ears flick and he groans, cupping his face.

Neteyam just laughs lightly,"she actually gifted me this jewelry, said it'd be sure to get attention. Who'd have thought it'd catch yours?"

Ao'nung lifts his face, gazing over at him,"You've always had my attention," he gently takes his hand in his,"I guess you're just too beautiful."

Neteyam chuckles, shaking his head.

"I mean it, 'Teyam," he leans closer, thumb rubbing over his knuckles gently,"unfortunately that means everyone else sees it too."

Neteyam chuckles, turning his gaze away and his ears flick back.

Ao'nung just gently grabs his chin, tilting him back to facing him.

"You are so beautiful," he gazes all over his face, mapping every freckle, every mark,"May I kiss you?"

Neteyam is surprised, ears flicked forward,"Sure, yes," and he's interrupted as Ao'nung gently grips his cheeks and pulls him into a searing kiss. It's soft, so filled with emotion and Neteyam gasps into it.

The kiss grows more passionate, they lean into eachother and grip eachothers arms, hips, arms wrapping over shoulders, anything to press themselves so close to eachother. Ao'nung licks into Neteyams mouth and kisses him deeply, his hands grip his hips and he groans at the fact that his hands could nearly wrap around his waist.

Ao'nung disconnects his mouth and sits back, dragging Neteyam to sit on his lap. Their tails lightly entwine and they leap back into kissing, gasping into eachothers mouths as they continue to touch eachother.

Neteyam backs up to breath and Ao'nung takes this opportunity to kiss down Neteyams neck.

"You are," kiss,"so beautiful,"a nip,"ma'Teyam," a sucking of a hickey right below his jaw.

Neteyam tilts his head up, sighing open mouth before covering his mouth and moaning quietly. His hand is pulled down moments later.

"We're alone, ma' yawne," Ao'nung whispers, kissing over his knuckles,"let me hear you."

Neteyam breathes out a shakey sigh, gazing down at him before tilting his head up and kissing him sweetly.

They continue to kiss, holding eachother as it grows hotter than before, and soon enough Neteyam shifts and gasps as he feels his crotch brush Ao'nungs. They're both breathing shakily, gazing at eachother and nodding at one another.

Ao'nung makes the first move, his hands trailing along Neteyams sides, brushing his waist and hips causing the man above him to shiver; he brushes his hands along his stomach and traces his fingers along the hem of his loincloth, teasing.

Neteyam huffs in frustration before untying it himself, peeling it off of his body before he glances up, asking silent permission.

Ao'nung feels himself harden up even more, if possible. He nods before just soaking in the view on his lap. He gasps as his loincloth is yanked off his body and their cocks rub against eachother. Neteyam wraps a shakey hand around their lengths, moaning breathlessly. He gently jerks both of them, his head tilts back a little and he moans lowly and openly.

Ao'nung grips his hips, there's sure to be some lightly visible marks by the morning, but he relished in that. He continues kissing along his shoulders, nipping lightly here and there before gliding down to his chest. He kisses so lightly over Neteyams pecks, lingers over where he feels his rapid heartbeat before kissing over his nipple.

Neteyam gasps, his hand freezing momentarily and Ao'nung grins before flicking his tongue out and licking over the pointed nub. He engulfs Neteyams hand around their lengths and coaxes him into moving again, jerking them both off. They both groan, and Ao'nung continues teasing. He lightly bites over the nub then sucks over it, his tongue flicking around the nipple. Neteyam moans louder, his back arching forward.

Ao'nung pulls back,"ma'Teyam," he whispers into his neck,"so beautiful, so good to me."

Neteyam gasps out another moan, shaking his head,"yawne, please," they're both so close, that coil winding up in their bellies and Ao'nung brushes Neteyams hand away before speeding up his own hand over their lengths.

His hips buck, so does Neteyams, and the latter wraps his arms around Ao'nungs neck, burrowing his face into his neck. He moans and pants into his neck, kisses lightly and grinds his hips forward.

"So beautiful, so lovely," Ao'nung whispers into his ear, and suddenly the coil snaps and Neteyam moans, his head tosses back and he finally cums, landing across their bellies.

Ao'nung keeps stroking, shuddering and groaning as it snaps only a few moments later, he's groaning into Neteyams shoulder as the pleasure simmers.

They take time to breathe, kissing over eachothers shoulders and Ao'nung whispers sweet nothings.

"Yawne," Neteyam whispers,"I see you."

"I see you, ma'Teyam."

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Part 2 mayhaps?

Let me know!!

I think I definitely went more soft with the build up but let me know your thoughts! And keep sending requests my way! (I think I fixed my page I'm not sure tho)

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jkirschteinsgf · 1 year

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concept: aonung and neteyam wearing each other’s armbands in the same (but definitely more obvious) way human soldiers wear each other’s dog tags.

imagine them being war leaders in the fight against the sky people and a hot topic for entertainment in every war camp they stay in is the ongoing betting pool on whether or not they’re together.

the armbands are only the start. they keep accidentally switching knives because of how often they hunt together. aonung suddenly has wooden beads braided into his hair. sometimes, the warpaint on neteyam’s chest will be in the distinct metkayina style and aonung will glare at any warrior that stares at it for too long.

neteyam comes out of aonung’s tent one morning and for the rest of the week every metkayina and omatikayan na’vi is asking both chief’s sons if he’s perhaps courting someone. or is he mated already? is there anything you want to announce? should we keep an eye on somebody for you, in battle?

tonowari sporting the most smug grin on his face when he goes to ask aonung why neteyam spent the night and jake laughing so hard he wakes up half the camp because it turns out neteyam just came in before dawn to discuss battle strategies and came back out to get breakfast, father, truly!

their mothers (and families) trying to speed up the process. lo’ak and tsireya conspiring to get them to confess because they’ve heard the “one-sided” pining for too long damn it.

just. the idea of the two eldest children being so clumsy when it comes to pursuing happiness that might belong to only themselves. it would be so cute.

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jkirschteinsgf · 1 year

Text

Five Times Jean Teased You

Part Two

Pairing—Jean Kirstein x fem!Reader SMUT Camp Counselor AU Word Count—6k cw: teasing, explicit content, explicit language, oral sex (male receiving), vaginal sex, teasing, dirty talk, sexual tension between colleagues, unprotected sex, jealousy, cockwarming, alcohol use, slight degradation Header credit: f4rm 18+ only, Minors DNI part one link ao3 link

Summary [part two]: [...and the one time you teased him]

In hindsight Jean should have known this would catch up with him.

The game he’s played with you during the summer was due to reach its twist. With your legs straddling his hips, pinning him to the mattress, Jean is not mad about the turn this game has taken. The strain in his pants serves as an indicator for how desperate he is to fuck you.

And the tension you’re stirring, it’s clear that you know how much he wants to take control again.

Two Months Later…

Karma slowly catches up with Jean.

Although everyone exchanged contacts on their last day of camp, the counselors went back to their regular lives on Paradis.

Sasha back to Dauper, Marco in Jinae, Jean in Trost, etc. etc.

Remembering that you lived outside of Trost, by some cosmic intervention, Jean had hoped he’d run into you.

To his chagrin (and the source of blue balls), he hasn’t. The biggest lesson he learned from the summer was that fate was a tease.

Summer turned over into autumn, and you entered his mind daily like you did during camp. Thoughts and memories of you ran so rampant that Jean lost count of the amount of times he had picked up his phone to type out a message.

Each time, he set his phone down, unable to bite the bullet.

He’s surprised himself with how restrained he’s become. At camp his confidence overflowed in excess, bordering arrogance. Maybe because the job was temporary, nothing held Jean back from teasing you all summer long.

The teasing wore on, and while Jean did his best to hide it, he had worked himself up from his own game. Now, months onward, the confidence that guided him had fizzled out along with the summer’s heat.

Despite her cruelty, fate offers Jean some grace.

Connie sends out a group message the first week of October. It’s the first time anyone from camp has reached out. Intrigued, he reads the message.

How’s my camp family doing?

We’re due for a reunion… :o

I’m throwing a party next weekend at my place in Ragako and want to see you all there!

Let me know if you can make it :P

The last details of the message are of Connie’s address.

One by one, responses fill the chat to RSVP. Eren, Reiner, Sasha, Hitch, Marco.

And finally…you confirm your attendance.

Opportunity is knocking and Jean types out his response in a heartbeat.

I’ll be there too.

……

Walking into the house, Jean’s not surprised by the turnout. As the certified jokester at camp, it’s clear that Connie makes friends everywhere he goes, judging by the size of the crowd at the party.

He doesn’t recognize a single face he passes, snaking through the throngs of people gathered in varying spots—the steps on the staircase, on the wall beneath the banister, the entryway— he even catches three girls lingering in the powder room, chatting idly with the door left open, sending him favorable looks.

Using his height to his advantage, Jean peeks into the living room, a myriad of unknown faces plunging his sights, but no one from camp.

Music blares somewhere in the house, pounding like a hammer against Jean’s skull. He’s not drunk enough to handle the overstimulation yet.

He finds his way into the kitchen, much bigger than he thought, and also crowded. Though, that’s where it’s less rowdy and where he sees the first familiar face.

Standing at the corner of the counter space, just past the sink, you’re sipping from a solo cup, chatting with someone.

His chest flutters, but when he gets a better look, the step he takes cracks like glass.

Reiner leans close, too close, Jean thinks. A hand is planted on the kitchen cabinet, a hairsbreadth away from your face, while he lowers himself to whisper something into your ear, and you smile bashfully.

Jean’s temper flares. Reiner? What the hell?

Jean backpedals, pushing past others to reach the kitchen island at the center. He doesn’t bother poring over the selection of liquor and chasers, filling his solo cup using the whiskey bottle within reach and adding a splash of pineapple juice.

It tastes foul, but he downs it begrudgingly.

You haven’t noticed him yet, smiling and nodding at whatever words Reiner regales you with, though the brute has pulled back to give you some space, except his hand still rests on the cabinet, caging you in.

You and Jean had left camp on good terms, better than anyone else, or so he thought. There was a spark at orientation that crackled as the summer wore on and when you went your separate ways, things between you both were left in suspense, like unfinished business.

Now, Jean wonders if that was wishful thinking. Or if that’s what he gets for teasing you all summer long. Either way, he reaches for the same bottle of whiskey and crafts another revolting cocktail.

The pat on his shoulder steals his attention.

“Look who it is.” Marco raises his cup in greeting.

Jean’s mind lags, sneaking another look at you.

Marco’s gaze follows and he clears his throat. “Don’t bother saying hi or anything.” Jean blinks, grumbling into his cup. “Hey, Marco.”

A saint, Marco doesn’t comment further on Jean’s dry reunion. “Was wondering when you’d show up. Everyone’s here.” He gestures around the kitchen. “But I see you only came for your favorite counselor.”

Heat warms Jean’s face, gulping his second round. He groans at the taste. “Shut up, I don’t have a favorite.” But his eyes flit back to you and Reiner, betraying his words.

Marco heaves a sigh. “Uh-huh…go talk to her.”

Jean brushes Marco off. “I’ll catch up with her later.” Unable to help himself, his gaze crawls back, forgetting that he’s in the company of others.

Marco hums, amused. “You can catch up with her now. Reiner’s not going to bite.”

“What?” Jean hisses.

Marco pays no mind to Jean’s mounting annoyance. “Reiner’s a nice guy, and it looks like they’re being friendly.”

Are they? Jean thinks.

When it came to camp responsibilities, it was clear Reiner’s dedication to being counselor of the year was an understatement. Great with kids, quick calls to action, a team player, and Jean doubts he’s ever heard one gripe from Reiner about anything. While he and the rest had their fair share of complaints about the job, Reiner was a natural, practically made for the role. Off-duty, he was the same, treating everyone equally.

There isn’t anything to not like about Reiner. Still, Jean would have never expected you and Reiner cozying up to each other. Then again…

A few memories prick his brain. Interactions between you and Reiner that he had noticed during camp, but at the time swept under the radar because of how innocuous they were.

At mealtimes, you two would often exchange a few laughs that never lasted long enough without the interruption of one of your campers. You both tended to hang back after the evening huddles to chat. While everyone headed back to their cabins, you and Reiner lagged behind at the end of the trail. Not to mention, the few times you offered to share your canteen bottle with Reiner during hikes.

Again—innocuous, logic whispers into Jean’s ear.

But a burning curiosity worms its way to the forefront of Jean’s mind. “Do you know if they stayed in touch?”

Marco purses his lips, shrugging. “No clue.”

He gives you and Reiner another discreet onceover. Both enraptured in conversation, it’s like no one else at the party exists.

Jean sighs, trailing towards defeat. Setting his cup down, he reaches past Marco to refill his cup of the same shitty cocktail.

“Another one already?” Marco sounds impressed.

Jean grumbles. “Yup…”

Quick to read the mood, Marco covers the rim of Jean’s cup. “Slow it down for now, Jean. When you get your chance to talk to her, you don’t want to be sloshed for it.”

Jean winces inwardly at the mention of you. But Marco’s right, he needs to slow it down whether or not he gets a chance to talk to you.

“What’s his problem?”

Eren appears, along with Hitch and Sasha.

“Why the face?” Eren presses.

Jean clicks his tongue. “What face?”

“The sulking,” Hitch provides. “It’s weird to see you so moody. At camp, you were always relaxed.”

Jean raises his hands in a careless shrug. “Not at camp anymore.”

Hitch, however, is right. At camp, Jean was the picture of laid-back. The campers, the supervisors, his clashes with Eren weren’t enough to dampen his spirits. Feeling this dejected is new to him.

“Well, shit,” Hitch scoffs. “Is it because your girlfriend is talking to someone other than you?”

Eren raises a brow. “Jean has a girlfriend?”

“None of your business,” Jean drawls, eyeing the bottle of whiskey he used earlier.

“Then who—?”

Marco steps in with a wave of his hand, subtly sliding the whiskey bottle from Jean’s reach. “Let’s drop it.”

Sasha’s brows rise, shuffling closer to Hitch. “Don’t think that’s a possibility.”

“Why?” Marco says.

Hitch points, drawing everyone’s attention to you smiling and walking over with Reiner.

“Shit…” Jean seizes the bottle of whiskey, pouring more than a shot into his cup.

You greet Hitch and Sasha first with a warm, group hug.

Reiner does the same, sliding past you and the ladies to gather the men in a group embrace. Jean stiffens, his grunt of displeasure falling on deaf ears.

“The gang’s back—reunited at last!” Reiner lets go, taking stock of the group. “Ladies, glad to see you here as well.”

“Sorry we didn’t say hi yet.” You wave casually at Eren and Marco before nodding at Jean. “How’s everyone been?”

A synchrony of ‘good’ echoes among the group.

“And you?” Eren adds.

“Good. It’s surreal to see everyone again, outside of camp.” You look to Jean. “You finally made it.”

Jean nearly chokes on a gulp of his drink, however he manages to swallow down the concoction without a grimace. “Better than late than never.” The weight of alcohol slowly tickles his nerves, distracting him with your attire.

An oversized denim jacket hangs loose along one shoulder, a thin strap, a sorry excuse of fabric, the only thing covering your skin. Not that he’s complaining as his eyes dance to the neckline, less scandalous than the thin straps, but still grabs his attention. His breath hitches, finding your thigh hiding under the hem of the slit of your dress. It’s autumn and yet the only seasonally appropriate thing you’ve got on is a pair of ankle boots.

He looks up, meeting your eyes that are unreadable at first, but the longer you hold his stare, he reads the familiar glimmer of mischief.

He suddenly remembers Reiner at your side, his arm brushing against yours.

“You two been hanging out?” He points, sizing the man up. He knows Reiner is harmless, but the bitterness on his tongue lacks rationale.

Your brows raise, trading looks of confusion with the others and turning to Reiner. “At the party. It’s my first time seeing everyone since summer.”

“Saw her catching up with Connie earlier before he disappeared,” Reiner says, nonchalant. “We’ve been catching up and she’s the one who saw you all hanging by the island.” He leans against the island’s edge between you and Jean.

Straightening to his full height, Jean never noticed before, but he’s taller than Reiner (by a hair), restoring him with a grain of satisfaction. It’s a shallow victory, and Jean couldn’t care less.

Why are you entertaining him in the first place? Jean’s standing right here…

“She was sharing her favorite camp memories.” Reiner’s hangs an arm along your bare shoulder and the solo cup in Jean’s hand dents. Reiner is none the wiser, carrying on. “It was a fun experience, I got to meet you guys, I’d do it again.”

Hitch shrugs. “It’s not a bad gig while you’re in university. Plus, it looks good on your resumé. Personally, not sure I’d do it again.”

Eren smirks. “I would. The lake’s the best part. If only enough people had balls to come out for a late-night swim—”

“Get over that, Eren,” Marco says, lightheartedly. “You’re lucky none of you got caught.”

“Hate to say it, but Jean has more edge than the rest of you.” Eren utters your name with approval. “And of course, the swim was better with you there.”

You raise your cup in a toast, taking a sip. “If someone tells me to jump in the lake, I do it. It’s a shame, we didn’t get to go skinny dipping though.” You cut a glance at Jean from the corners of your vision.

Jean balks, puzzled at the turn the conversation has taken. Are you flirting with Eren? What about Reiner? What about him?

“Told Jean three’s a crowd,” Eren supplies, tone turning sensual. “If you’re ever in Shinganshina, I know a few spots we can make that happen.”

Marco takes Jean’s drink from his hand, slyly setting the mangled cup down on the kitchen island. “Eren’s joking,” he says under his breath.

“Is he?” Jean pipes up without thinking.

“Is who?” Reiner perks up.

Realizing he spoke out loud, Jean clears his throat, folding his arms as he leans against the island. I’m still taller like this…he muses.

“Count me in,” comes your answer to Eren’s previous statement. Your lips curve into a smirk as you turn your attention to Jean again, paying no mind to his renewed sulking. “So, Jean, how’s life post-grad?”

There’s an odd shift in the air. While he should be pleased that you’re finally talking to him, he’s suspicious. “Nothing to report. I’m still looking for a job in my field. You?”

You purse your lips, shrugging. “Same here. Reiner said he’s been looking at jobs in Trost. I told him that I spend the weekends there sometimes. Since that’s your turf, do you have any recommendations for him and me to try out?”

Jean has no clue what to make of this whole interaction. He wonders if you’re the same person he met at camp. The friendly, mild-mannered, albeit a little rebellious colleague that was so easy to tease and fluster. This person that he sees, looks the same, but a layer is slowly unraveling, revealing a side to you that he’s curious to know more of.

However, he’d be remiss to say that this side to you doesn’t make him nervous or…doesn’t irritate him.

“You spend enough time in Trost, you don’t need my input.” He can’t help the petty undertone.

You take it in stride. “Thought to ask, and it would have been cool to drop you a visit.”

Eren chimes in, snatching your attention once more. “Trost is boring anyways. Shinganshina is where it’s at, closer to the beach, bigger space, and more things to do…”

Jean tunes out Eren’s voice, unable to look away from you. He doesn’t notice that Sasha has started chatting with Reiner who’s now lost your interest in favor of Eren’s rambling. Marco and Hitch, meanwhile, watch the interactions unfold with the former clapping a hand on Jean’s shoulder.

“Connie’s probably on the hunt for you. We should find him.”

Jean hedges, looking back at you as you listen to Eren yammer on.

Defeated, he nods, following Marco and Hitch out of the kitchen and into the living room.

……

Connie appears out of thin air, juggling cans of hard seltzer. He hands Jean, Marco, and Hitch a can each, briefing them about his plans to apply for graduate school in the area.

It doesn’t take long for another partygoer to call Connie’s attention, and he excuses himself to carry on with his hosting duties.

“At least he’s thorough.” Marco cracks the seltzer can. “I doubt he’s neglected a soul here.”

“He’s a popular guy,” Hitch adds. “No offense to Eren, but Connie would have been a better co-counselor.” Your name slips from Hitch’s mouth. “She was lucky to have him.”

Marco snorts. “Thanks.”

But the comment strikes a nerve with Jean. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Marco and Hitch exchange looks.

“Easy, Jean,” Hitch says, resting a hand on his chest. “Your jealousy is getting old fast. This is supposed to be a party.”

Jean scoffs. “I’m not jealous.”

“Right…” Hitch rolls her eyes.

A reply hangs off the edge of Jean’s tongue, though it never lands. He stares at the unopened seltzer can with disinterest, setting it down the pool table—a graveyard of discarded, unfinished drinks.

This isn’t how he expected the night to go.

He thought it’d be a renewal of the chemistry you two shared during camp. You had never left his mind since the end of summer, and the same doesn’t appear to be the case vice versa.

It’s his own fault. The least he could have done was cherish getting to see you again, even as friends, acquaintances, ex-colleagues, or former quasi-flings.

Eren and Sasha have resurfaced.

Eren scans the room. “Have you seen Connie around?”

Marco nods amid another sip. “Oh yeah, we’ve seen him around a bunch of times. He’s keeping busy.”

Eren clicks his tongue around your name. “Not the same kind of busy as her and Reiner.”

Jean clenches his jaw. For all the bad takes Eren has, this is the worst one. And yet it doesn’t stop him from demanding, “What?”

Hitch cackles, leaning onto Sasha’s shoulder. “Her and Reiner? I mean he’s cute, not someone you’d kick out of bed…good for her.”

“The hell are you on about?” Jean stalks forward.

Marco anchors him with a hand on his shoulder. “Whoa, relax. Eren’s jumping to conclusions.”

Eren jerks his thumb back. “C’mon, be real. Reiner was eye-fucking her, and I saw them head upstairs on my way out of the bathroom. A couple of minutes ago.”

Jean grits his teeth so hard it could shatter. He mulls over the likely scenario. Eren could be lying. Regardless of how much he wants to latch onto that possibility, it doesn’t sit well with him.

Reiner’s interested in you from the way he hung back, arm over your shoulder, probably horny like a dog, and if you both went upstairs, there’s only one explanation as to why.

Miraculously, Jean reins in his temper enough to ask in an even tone. “Where’s the bathroom?”

“There’s the powder room by the entryway, but every time I pass, it’s occupied,” Sasha supplies.

Marco, however, is not gullible. “Jean, they’re probably just talking, it’s no one’s business—”

Jean motions forward, continuing the act. “The whiskey ran through me, I need to take a leak. Eren, where’s the bathroom?”

The brunet glances at the others, ignoring their looks that demanded ‘don’t encourage him’.

But Eren’s not like them. A wry grin crosses his face, an instigator at heart and the only time Jean can call him an accomplice. “Second door on the left, across from the master bedroom.”

Jean pats Eren’s shoulder as his way of gratitude, stalking away, leaving everyone else’s stunned faces in his wake.

He ignores two women that try to flag him down to chat, scaling up the steps without a care who he’s bumping into.

At the top of the landing, there are more people mingling in the hall.

He finds the second door where the bathroom is, sharply turning in the opposite direction.

Pressing his ear against the wooden frame, it’s impossible to hear anything with the party’s noise. Despite the adrenaline pumping in his veins, Jean’s manners slow him down.

He knocks. Once, twice, no answer.

Whirling his sights, a few people give him odd stares. When some random guy suggests people are fucking inside, Jean’s restraint withers.

Taking the knob, it turns with ease. Softer lighting enters his sights as Jean slips in, shutting the door to muffle the noise and he finds you laying on the queen mattress, scrolling on your phone…alone.

Reiner is missing.

You draw your phone away, propping yourself up on your elbows with furrowed brows. “Jean?”

Now he feels foolish.

You slide to the edge, the end of your dress fanning around your thighs. “What’re you doing here?”

He pads along the floor with less urgency, weighed down with confusion. “Um…Eren said he saw you come upstairs.”

You lean back on your hands, staring up at him, breathing a laugh. “He was right. I’m upstairs and so are you.”

“And it’s just you here?”

You look around before meeting his eyes. “Looks like it.” Your voice drips with a patronizing tone that Jean’s unfamiliar with, and slowly it grates on his nerves.

“Where’s Reiner?” He steps closer.

“Not sure.” You shrug. “Probably somewhere enjoying the party.”

Jean can’t bring himself to say a thing. You watch him with curiosity that Jean believes is sincere. The rush of adrenaline leeches away.

However, it doesn’t make sense why you’re here alone.

“So…” Jean pauses. He doesn’t have a right to ask, but he does anyways. “Why are you in this room?”

“No reason…” Your expression becomes unreadable as you narrow your eyes. “What about you? Why are you really up here?”

Jean’s nerves go numb for a moment, unaware that he’s stepped closer that he’s now looming over you, his hand reaching to stroke your face.

You watch him with the same eyes that hung with anticipation for his touch at camp, and the longer you hold his stare, Jean’s confidence slowly renews.

You raise an impish brow. “Did you come here to fuck me before Reiner got his chance?”

The hand on your face goes still. Jean gulps, face warming so easily at the bold vulgarity. “Yes.”

“And you were going to do…what?”

This is a game he’s familiar with, this time the roles are reversed. However, he cautions indulging in this again. He’s learned his lesson.

“It’s obvious,” he says, bluntly. “I wasn’t going to let it happen.”

“You wanted to cockblock us? I’m a free agent, Jean, I can fuck whoever I want.”

Jean bites his lip, feeling every drop of blood travel south. Although he misses the coy counselor he met at camp, this self-possessed confidence is making him hard.

You scoot over, inviting him to sit.

Jean sinks into the mattress next you, and you press closer to him, a hand crawling up his chest and the other stroking his jaw.

Jean leans into your touch, blood spiking.

You brush your lips against his. “Lay next to me.”

Jean blinks watching you crawl up the bed, and the sight of your ass under the dress is more than an incentive.

He slinks up the bed, his long legs crowding most of the space.

You kiss him softly, warm, and how he remembered kissing you the first time by the campfire.

He gathers the back of your neck to deepen the kiss, savoring the slow, steady rhythm in a different setting.

There was a thrill at the places he’s touched you at camp, but they pale in comparison to lying next to you on a bed where he can take his time with you.

You pull back, throwing a leg over to straddle him.

Jean swallows a grunt, hands running up your thighs to peel away your dress.

His wrists are seized and pinned above his head, leaving him stupefied. He can easily free himself and roll you over. The fiendish smile you bear down on him scratches a dormant need he never knew he had.

Slowly, you let go, ensuring that Jean keeps his hands above his head with a sharp look. Satisfied with his obedience, you shift your hips, seated atop the growing bulge in Jean's pants.

“Jean,” you purr. Fingers dance along his chest, stopping to flatten on his shoulders. “Do you remember when you made me ride your leg?”

How could he forget? It plays like a highlight reel in the back of his mind, hardening the shaft of his cock every time he revisits that memory, along with every other thought involving you.

He nods, hands itching to grab your hips to relive the memory.

You pin his wrists again to keep him still. “And when you ate me out in the boathouse?”

His dick stutters, seeking the warmth between your legs.

“I remember too,” you continue. “You want to do it again?”

His hips buck up in answer. The moan you swallow makes him dizzy with unbridled desire. He wants to touch every inch of you, no interruptions, and no games.

You smirk, sinful as a succubus. “I touched myself in the cabins thinking about you.”

From the drag of your hips along his crotch and the mental image of you pleasuring yourself, presses a groan to climb up his throat.

“I touched myself before the party. But I didn’t finish…I was hoping to have some help.”

Gulping, Jean stammers. “Let me help you out. I’ll please you all night long.”

“You will?” You tilt your head in mock disbelief.

Jean’s hands move slowly, gauging whether you’ll swat them away. When your smirk widens, Jean takes your thighs, hissing at the feel of your flesh between his large hands. The hem of your dress drapes along your core and his fingers pull at the end.

Your hands stop him. “Or are you going to tease me again?”

Jean shakes his head. “No, no I promise I won’t do that anymore. I promise I’ll make you feel so good, I’ll take care of you.”

You purse your lips, humming in consideration. “But you like teasing me. You enjoyed treating me like a toy.”

When it came to Jean, your pride never stood a chance. He could have had you like this several times already, even on the first day if he tried. And you’re not naïve. Jean enjoys seeing you flustered, edging you in the smallest ways like a game.

In hindsight Jean should have known this would catch up with him.

And the tension you’re stirring, it’s clear that you know how much he wants to take control again.

“Let me return the favor, Jean.” You let go of his hands, shimmying off his crotch, lower and lower, until you’re straddling his thighs.

His attention is laser-focused, skin burning with thrill as your hands reach the buckle of his belt. Darkened eyes, pupils blown wide like a beautiful void, ensnare his gaze.

“May I?” you murmur.

“Yes.” Jean’s voice escapes him like smoke.

The belt comes loose in seconds, and he nods when you look up at him, restraining every muscle in his body to not rip both his and your clothes off.

Dragging his pants and boxers down, you laugh nervously, gawking at the size of Jean’s dick, rigid, hard, and aching.

His dick twitches, spilling pre-cum, and Jean’s smug watching you swallow as though bracing yourself.

“You going to take my dick in that pretty mouth?” The tease tastes like honey on his tongue, and he bites back a groan seeing you flustered.

Your eyes flit over in challenge. Your tongue sticks out playfully, hot breath coating the tip of Jean’s dick.

He shudders, holding his breath.

Instead of taking his dick in your mouth, you cock your head to the side. Your tongue runs along the shaft in a long, painstaking drag.

You’re breathtaking like this, he thinks.

You continue the slow, thorough strokes of his length with an open-mouthed grin each time his dick spasmed, seeking more stimulation.

Jean’s a patient man, he believes. He’s held off all summer from fucking you in every way he can possibly imagine, to his own detriment. Now that the roles are reversed and you have him at your mercy, Jean is willing to pay for the teasing, as it’s only fair.

But since seeing you again for the first time tonight, his resolve continues to be tested, and he resorts to biting his lip—and bucking his hips.

“What’s this?” you say, giving a kiss to the tip of his dick. “You need to fuck my mouth?” Without waiting for a reply, Jean’s dick is engulfed in warmth.

Your lips wrap along his length, too big to take it all that the tip pokes the side of your cheek.

Jean’s flushed from the sight, remembering how he fed you the popsicle. It was the first time he left you without a word, growing hard, he took solace in the showers to chase after the pleasure.

“Jean…” Your voice vibrates. “How does this feel?”

Jean nods, words nowhere to be found on the edge of his tongue, but low groans that encourage you to keep going.

“Fuck—” Unable to help himself, he cants his hips, and you respond with fondling his balls. “Fuck, fuck—”

You pull away slightly, swiping your tongue along the tip a few times and Jean is so close to seeing stars.

Suddenly, your mouth disappears. Relief and frustration wrestle for Jean’s attention, but when you remove your weight to slide off the bed, through heavy-lids, Jean catches you discard your jacket and slip out of your lace underwear.

Tension boils over, hotter than the summer heatwave. The sexual chemistry has reached its tipping point. It’s been a long time coming.

You’re back on his hips, hard dick pressing into your inner thigh, so close to your pussy. Jean wastes no time meeting your lips, helping you undress him in a flurry. His jacket meets yours on the floor and his shirt is tossed elsewhere.

Sitting up, Jean’s hand holds your nape to keep you from coming up for air. Breathless kisses turn sloppy and needy as you wrap your arms around the back of his neck.

He slithers another hand up your dress. Again, you pull away, lips puckered from the passion.

You exhale, taking the moment to admire him. Catching your breath, you take the sides of his face, purring, “My handsome boy…are you ready to fuck me?”

Jean lifts you up to free himself from his pants and boxers and he slides your dress over your head, pausing appraise your naked body for the first time. Despite getting personal with your form in the past, Jean only saw glimpses of your body.

“On your back, Jean.”

Jean blinks, a hand hovering inches from your breast. “Hm?”

You smile into his lips. “On your back.”

Bewitched, he allows you to push him lightly, his back hitting the mattress, though he feels like he’s floating.

“Pretty girl,” he hums, reaching between your legs. You’re soaked and aching, having edged yourself before the party. “Good girl. You got yourself wet for me?”

You give him a coquettish shrug.

There’s the counselor he teased all summer.

He remembers the looks you gave him, eyes coy one second and devious the next. Your energy was silent but effective in enchanting him. He may have been the tease all summer, but it was you who had more control than you realize.

And with that control, he watches you lift your hips, stroking his dick a few times and rubbing the tip along your slit.

Jean sucks in a hiss of pleasure around your name. “Please…let fill you up. I want to feel you.”

Lining up his dick, you exhale, walls stretching around Jean’s endowed length.

Your tight pussy feels better than Jean could have ever imagined it to be.

“Easy,” he coos, rubbing your thigh in a soothing gesture. “Take your time.”

Another moment and you’re seated fully, you and Jean sighing in delight.

Fighting the ache in his cock, Jean waits for you to get more comfortable. A beat passes and you give an experiment shift of your hips.

Jean moans, dick twitching deep inside of you.

However, you don’t move again, keeping your hips still, gauging Jean’s reaction.

He’s confused at first, a flicker of worry crossing his mind, concerned that you’re not comfortable.

You prove that’s not the case, leaning back to rest your hands on Jean’s legs, pussy clenching around Jean’s cock, but not adding any momentum.

Jean bucks his hips in an attempt to fuck into you, but you lean forward, planting your hands on his chest, tutting.

“Stay still for me Jean.”

Jean breathes a choked laugh. “Let me fuck you, baby.” He lifts his hips to emphasize his point.

Biting your lip, it’s as though you’re fighting the desire to forsake control. And yet, you resist.

Leaning closer, your kiss is chaste yet heated. Jean’s not sure which he wants more your lips or to fuck you.

You don’t stop there, peppering kisses along his face, trailing down his jaw.

Jean releases a sigh of bliss, desire building from the affection. These delicate, tender gestures are an aphrodisiac to him.

The kisses travel to his neck. Buried deep inside you, his dick spasms when your lips suck on his throat.

“That feels good…” he hums, drunk from your soft touch.

Pulling away, you bring your lips to his ear. “I want you to use me. I want you to fuck me. I want to be your camp whore.”

A switch is flipped, and Jean rolls you onto your back in a flash. He gets to his feet at the end of the bed, taking you by the ankles to drag you along with him.

Your legs are anchored at the knees along his arms, and Jean catches your shiver of excitement.

“You want to be fucked like a whore?” Jean grins.

You nod eagerly, biting your lip. “Please, Jean.”

He yanks you closer, grin turning devilish at your surprised yelp. “Don’t take your eyes off of me,” he utters, sliding his dick back inside.

Your lips part at the renewed stretch and Jean spares no time.

He fucks you with fervor, need, and urgency—a build-up of the tension his teasing had brewed.

“Were you talking to Reiner to piss me off?” he grunts.

A slap to your clit cuts your breathy laugh short. “Maybe…”

“Oh, so you were trying to piss me off?” Jean continues with authority though it lacks bite. “Doesn’t matter. Like I said, I wouldn’t have let it happen. Even if I found you like this getting fucked by him.” He rains another slap. “I would have taken you for myself.”

“Jean…” you gasp. “So...close…”

He quickens the momentum, reaching over to rub your clit in a frantic pace. “Let me see you come for me.”

Another few harsh thrusts and you climax, lips parting in a sharp gasp and eyes alight.

Jean is quick to follow, pulling out with one arm holding your leg while the other pumps his dick, spilling his cum along your stomach.

“Fuck—fuck…” He heaves a heavy sigh, blurry vision slowly returning from his release. When he regains his sights, he pauses, jaw unhinging.

You scoop up his mess with your fingers to lick them clean, pinning him with a wicked smile.

“You’re a deviant,” Jean whispers. He collapses, catching himself on the mattress to loom over you. He presses a kiss to your lips. “A fiend.” Another kiss. He holds your stare, running his fingers along your face. “I’m sorry for being a tease.”

You pout, though Jean knows it’s lighthearted. “You should be. I could have been getting railed by Reiner.”

Jean’s brain lags. “Reiner?”

You snort. “Yeah. Remember him?”

He rolls his eyes, all jealousy washed away from the storm of ecstasy. “Where did he go?”

You play with the light scruff on Jean’s chin. “Connie caught up with us and had a friend with him. A friend that wanted to get to know Reiner better.”

“Shit…atta boy. But what brought you in here?”

The bathroom across the hall was occupied and Connie said I could use the one in this room. Got a little bored of the party so I hung back and got stuck scrolling on my phone.”

Like Marco said, Eren was jumping to conclusions. Though if it weren’t for him, this wouldn’t have happened the way it did. He doesn’t know whether to kill him or thank him.

“So…” he says, shifting the topic. “I have a few places in mind for your next visit to Trost.”

Your smile brightens. “Tell me more.”

Fate may be a tease, but from the lesson Jean’s learned, she’s forgiving.

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jkirschteinsgf · 1 year

Text

𝐢 𝐜𝐚𝐧'𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩 𝐦𝐲𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟

for the 𝐝𝐞𝐛𝐚𝐮𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝 collab <3

summary: you've always been fond of your step-brother, jean, despite how much he tries to avoid spending time with you. he finally reaches his breaking point when he sees you talking to eren, though.

warnings: step-cest, slight manipulation (reader), possessive behavior, teasing + edging, fingering, oral sex (m receiving), degradation, rough sex, creampie, jean is a good boy and reader is a fiend

author's note: i hope everyone likes this!!! i'm thinking about creating a step-cest series, let me know who should be next! tagging the lovely @yeagerslut & sending a big thank you for creating this collab! <3

Jean can never really peel his eyes away from you, no matter how hard he tries. At first it was subtle glances, like staring at the exposed skin of your supple thighs from his place beside his mom, when she was first introducing you and your father to him.

His first thought, besides the fact that it’ll be nice to have a sibling in the house with him every once in a while, is that your dress is incredibly short. So short that he wonders how you’re allowed to leave the house in something like that. If it was up to him, he wouldn’t let you, that’s for sure.

He quickly remembers that it’s not up to him, and that it’s not his place to be worrying about the length of your hem. Jean tries to suppress the strange, sudden burning feeling in his chest when he thinks about you wearing something as short as that when he has his friends over. No, that won’t be allowed.

He’ll have to tell someone about it, at some point, because he can’t stand the unusual jealousy he feels stirring at the idea of one of his friends looking at you while you’re wearing that.

His thoughts are cut short when his mother tells you two to get acquainted, while your dad and her head to the kitchen to prepare dinner. Jean almost doesn’t want them to leave, doesn’t want to be left alone with you and those legs and that dress, but he doesn’t have any say in the matter.

Your first words to your new step-brother are carefully calculated. In fact, you've been deciding everything carefully. The way you did your hair, the dress you’ve chosen that’s much too short for a family dinner but it’s not like someone can stop you, even the pink lip gloss you reapplied in the car before entering the house. Everything has its purpose, its place, with one goal in mind: see how long it takes for Jean to crack.

“I’m so excited to finally have a big brother, Jean!” you let out in a cheerful, chirpy voice that doesn’t match your insidious thoughts at all. You close the bridge separating you two with a few steps, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him down into a hug.

It’s so sudden, so unforeseen that he stumbles a little, letting his tall figure be pulled by your efforts and arms wrapping around your waist for support. And before he knows it, the sweet smell of your perfume is invading all his senses and leaving him with nothing to think about except you.

He takes it all in, the lingering scent of shampoo in your hair, something fruity, he thinks off-hand, the feel of your soft skin on the back of his neck, your cheek against his, but especially the way your breasts feel against his chest.

He pulls away before you want him to, and you begrudgingly allow him to, recognizing what a challenge it’ll be. But you’re always up for a challenge.

The first few months pass by in the blink of an eye for you, and dragging on and on for him. Jean tries to avoid interactions with you since that first meeting, but it’s hard to when you’re living in the same house as him. Even harder when your bedroom is right next to his, his mother offering up his assistance to help you move boxes and get settled while she and her new husband go out to dinner.

It’s ridiculous, the way he flushes bright red when he opens boxes and suitcases filled with clothing he doesn’t want to look at, all short skirts and sun-dresses and delicate panties that he tries and fails not to stare at.

You keep your gaze away, knowing exactly which suitcase you had given him to unpack, while you organize books on the shelves of the room and sort knick-knacks.

“Won’t it be nice sharing a wall?” you comment, adjusting a frame on your nightstand and not meeting Jean’s eyes. “I think it’ll be fun to have you so close.”

Jean chokes on the water he was drinking, gasping for air and trying to process your words all at once, when you finally turn around and smile. A smile that he thinks should be illegal, given the way it’s innocence personified when you’re actually a little devil.

He leaves a little bit after that, calling out that he’s not hungry when you knock on his door for dinner, but you don’t miss the way he sounds breathless, or the panties missing from your drawers.

Every challenge gets easier, right?

It doesn’t take long for your behavior to get a little out of hand, especially when the two of you have so much alone time together. Your parents are gone all the time, frequenting dinner parties and double dates, and not coming back until late at night.

Jean tries his best to keep away. While he had once been the friend whose house was always available for sleepovers, movie nights, and the like, he was now keeping everyone away. Every time your parents’ car left the driveway, Jean followed suit, either hopping into Connie’s Jeep or walking the short distance to Sasha’s place and leaving you alone.

He was hoping no one would notice, but of course someone did, and of course that someone was Eren.

“We can’t do my place again,” Sasha says, absentmindedly reaching for the bag of chips which Connie yanks out of her reach. “My dad’s having people over.” A swat to the back of Connie’s head gets her back the snack quickly.

“How come we can’t do Jean’s place like usual?” Eren asks, reclining back in his seat and enjoying the panicked expression on Jean’s face. “There something wrong with that new sister of yours?” Jean chokes back a cough.

“No.”

“Does she always have friends over, or something?”

“No.”

“Then it’s settled,” Eren says, bringing his hands together. “Jean’s place it is.” Shit, Jean. Better come up with something quick.

“We- we can’t do my place!” he sputters out much too loudly, meeting the gaze of every person in the room.

“Any reason why, Jean-bo?” Eren asks.

“I- we- what if she’s not okay with having a bunch of loud-mouthed idiots sleeping over?” Shitty, but it’s the best he can think of when he’s so concerned with keeping everyone away from you.

If you behave like that with parents in the house, how are you gonna behave with his friends around? He doesn’t wanna take the chance to find out.

“How about you call and ask, dumb-ass?” Connie suggests, shoving his phone at him and waiting with a confused look. Jean lets out a defeated sigh, knowing how this phone call will go.

Your loud, chirpy “I’m perfectly fine with that, silly! I’ve been waiting to meet your friends..” can be heard through the phone and answers Eren’s question.

Jean searches for a reason, any reason really, to keep this sleepover from happening, but realizes that he’s failed miserably when all his friends appear, clad with pillows and overnight bags, on his front door. “So,” Eren begins, with a wolfish grin on his face that Jean wants to punch right off, “Where’s the sister? It’s only polite to say hi, right?”

As if you’d been waiting for the cue, you poke your head out from the living room, that very same innocent and sweet smile gracing your face.

“Hi,” you, stepping out to greet his friends in the foyer. “It’s so nice to meet you all.”

Jean immediately regrets the fact that he never had that conversation with you about the length of your dresses. It always sat in the back of his head somewhere, though it was incredibly easy to dismiss when you would come sit next to him on the couch, dress riding up frequently and exposing more skin that he somehow always found himself entranced by.

Today the dress of choice is yellow, and though it does, in fact, cover everything it needs to, it doesn’t leave much to the imagination either. Jean almost feels like a schoolboy again, blushing at exposed shoulders and thighs, but he can’t help it when you’re clinging right to his side as you greet his friends.

“I’m Eren-”

“Hi, I’m Connie-”

“Ignore these two, I’m Sasha-” All meet each other at once. You let out a laugh at your step-brother’s funny friends, glancing up to see his expression, but all you see are signs of anger. Your smile dims a little, but picks right back at up when you notice the way Eren looks at you, and the way Jean looks at Eren.

A plan is working itself into creation in your head before you can help it, deviousness taking a hold on you as you smile brightly in favor of Eren over Jean. Your step-brother’s been keeping his distance all this time, but you’re about ready to force his hand.

You don’t miss the way Jean’s jaw tightens, his hand clenching into a fist at his side as he guides the group to the living room. Your original plan changes quickly, following them into the space and taking your usual place on the couch as you scan the various video games laid out.

“Eren, will you sit with me?” you ask in a gentle tone, one that Jean is all too familiar with. “I don’t know this game, can I watch you play first?”

“Don’t you have work to do, or something?” Jean blurts out without thinking, his only thought centered around getting you out of the room and as far away as he can.

“What work? It’s summer,” you reply, watching your step-brother’s cheeks turn red.

You’re not helping matters for Jean, as he watches Eren sit where he usually does, teeth clenched so hard his jaw hurts. He doesn’t think he could get more angry, until he notices Eren’s hand move to your knee, squeezing quickly but lingering entirely too long. There must be steam coming out of Jean’s ears at this point, watching this interaction between you two.

“Yeah, Jean, she can stick around to watch. Anything for your little sister, right?” “I’m not that much younger than you guys, you know,” you reply with a laugh, adjusting your position on the sofa and purposefully lifting the skirt of your dress for a second before letting it settle. If someone were looking, which both Jean and Eren were, they’d catch a glimpse of black panties, and they both did.

Jean is seeing red now, standing up without realizing why, ready to yank Yeager away from you, when the doorbell rings again. It stops Jean in his tracks. “That must be Marco,” Sasha reminds, looking up from the games to glance at Jean with confusion. “Aren’t you gonna go get that?”

“Y-yeah. I’ll be right back.” Jean locks eyes with you as he leaves the room, and you dejectedly sigh, leaning away from Eren. It’s no fun to mess around with another guy if Jean’s not there to see.

He guides Marco into the living room, and you greet him with a quick smile before giving your full attention back to Eren.

The next few hours are fun for you, and unbearable for Jean. Every time he spared a glance to you, you were pouring over Eren, asking questions about the game and insisting on clarification, leaning in much too close and supporting yourself on his shoulder as he explained another trivial rule to you.

Jean didn’t like any of it, not the way you laughed sweetly and played with your hair while talking to Eren, not the way your legs were on display and Eren’s sleazy hands kept finding its way back to them, none of it. What he couldn’t stand, though, was how you didn’t shy away from his touch and found any and every way to keep it going.

He’s at his limit when you go to your bedroom after dinner to change into pajamas, knowing what to expect from your nightwear. If he’s lucky, you’ll pick a big t-shirt and shorts, but he’s seen first-hand the silky slips and cotton sets you prefer to sleep in.

Jean doesn’t think he can handle the look on Eren’s face if you come down the stairs wearing one of those, so he lets his anger do the thinking for a minute when the others are fighting over snacks and who gets the couch versus the floor.

Eren’s waiting near the bottom of the stairs, looking at something on his phone when Jean approaches and glances quickly to make sure you’re still in your room.

“You better knock it off, Yeager, I’m serious,” he says, trying to contain his anger and keep his voice down. His words come out in a low grumble that he barely recognizes, body stiff and trying his best to intimidate Eren. It doesn’t seem to be working. “Knock off what?” Eren questions nonchalantly, amused that his suspicions were proving to be correct. Looks like Jean had a little thing for his step-sister after all.

Jean’s eyes unwittingly flit to the top of the stairs again, before he forces his gaze back to Eren, but the quick gesture isn’t missed by his so-called friend.

“Oh, I see. You want me to stop being so buddy-buddy with your step-sister, huh? You better tell that to her first, you know. She’s been all over me since the minute I met her.”

The sly smirk playing on his lips only makes Jean want to cave his face in all the more.

“You better watch it, you son of a-” Eren clicks his tongue to interrupt Jean.

“Come on now, Jean, you can’t really expect me to stop. I mean, it’s not like she’s my sister, right?” Eren says, with a strange look in his eyes as though he was tempting Jean to blow his cover.

Eren walks away to rejoin everyone in the living room, leaving Jean seething by the stairs and you in your bedroom, pressed against the door and clinging onto every word.

All night you had known Jean was getting agitated by your constant flirting and touchiness with Eren, but he hadn’t been close to cracking, or so it seemed. The fact that he even confronted Eren had your heart pounding in your chest, wondering if tonight might finally be the chance you had been waiting for. You hear Jean’s heavy foot steps walk away, and you decide that it’s all or nothing, now.

You leave your room and close the door gently, dressed in a pink camisole and shorts that were sure to get Eren’s attention for long enough for Jean to finally crack.

Just as you began the descent down the stairs, you heard footsteps coming back and were greeted with Jean at the foot of the stairs.

The look in his eyes was something you hadn’t seen before, something entirely different from the reserved, hesitant Jean you had gotten so used to.

No, this Jean was someone else, a mix of want and desire and shame pooling in his pretty eyes, looking at you as though you were the prey he had finally cornered.

Before you know it, Jean is in your bedroom and your back is pressed against the door roughly as his lips stay on yours and refuse to pull away. His tongue is hot in your mouth, and his hands feel as though they’re burning your skin with the heat they are radiating, groping your ass and the soft skin of your back as he explores your body. All the things he’d wanted to do for these last few months, that he’d forced himself to repress, finally coming out.

You moan into Jean’s mouth at the sudden feel of his hands on your tits, grabbing blindly and pinching your nipple roughly and suddenly, causing the moan to turn into a loud squeal. Jean clasps his free hand over your mouth.

“Shh, now,” he begins, staring into your eyes and making your core heat up uncomfortably as you realize your little challenge was finally over. You feel the wetness between your legs growing, pussy throbbing just at seeing Jean be so dominant for once. “We don't want anyone to hear, do we?”

You shake your head quickly to answer his question, having completely forgotten about the multiple guests just a floor away. You expect Jean to pull away, to tell you that he’ll take care of you after they’re all gone, some other time, but he doesn’t.

He pulls his hand away and leads two fingers to your mouth, guiding them into your willing mouth, latching your lips around them and sucking while swirling your tongue, getting them wet as he wanted.

“You know how long I’ve wanted this? Huh? Since the day I met you, that’s how long. And you’re such a fucking tease all the time, you know how unbearable it's been?” Jean says in a deep voice, his eyes observing your mouth continuing its work. You moan around his fingers, wanting to speak but no words come out.

He pulls his fingers away and leads them straight to your throbbing pussy, running one up and down your slit teasingly as you hold back a loud moan.

“P-please, Jean, please do something, I- oh!” Jean shoves the two digits into your tight hole without any warning at all, causing your whole body to shake at the sudden fullness.

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it, you dirty slut? You wanted your big brother to get fed up and fuck you senseless, didn’t you? Say it,” he orders, fingers pumping in and out and his hand grazing your clit with every motion, causing you to moan as your body tenses. You can hardly process his words because of the pleasure you’re feeling, but his other hand finding your throat brings you back quickly.

“Say it. I won’t ask again.”

“Y-yes, Jean, I-I wanted big brother to fuck me, oh, yes-” You lose your thoughts again as his pace increases, making you squeal again before you clamp your mouth shut to make sure no one hears you. Your stomach is tensing and you know you’re so, so close, one more touch from Jean would have your orgasm washing over you like lightening spreading through your body, when he suddenly stops.

You gasp loudly at the sudden emptiness, feeling your orgasm dissipate as you buck up and clamp down against nothing at all. Jean’s fingers are in his mouth, tasting your wetness as you try to catch your breath and protest against the way he’s teasing you, but your pleas are met by deaf ears.

“Jean,” you moan desperately, clinging to his shoulders, “please, please, let me cum, please-”

“No. Filthy sluts that mess around with their big brother’s friends don’t get to cum,” he says gruffly, as you whine again and try to release yourself from his tight grip. It’s useless since he has you caged in, firm hands on your waist dragging you to the bed and throwing you on top of the soft covers.

“Please, I promise I’ll be a good girl,” you plead, using your sweetest voice and big. teary eyes to win Jean over, but it’s still useless.

“I said no,” he repeats, hovering over you and his hands finding their way to the bottom of your camisole. He pulls the skimpy top off of you quickly, revealing your tits. Your nipples harden at the sudden cool air, and Jean’s fingers find them once again, pinching and teasing as you moan into your pillow, desperately bucking your hips up for contact between your legs, to no avail. His hot mouth finds your nipple, flicking with his tongue as his hand plays with the other, before he pulls away quickly.

You whine again at the loss of stimulation, before you see Jean pulling down the band of his grey sweatpants and leaning back against the headboard.

“Prove to me that you deserve big brother’s cock,” he says, revealing his hard dick as it snaps against his stomach. “With your mouth. Now.”

You don’t need to be told twice. You reposition yourself, ass in the air and head at Jean’s crotch as you stare at his pretty, pink cock with wide eyes. You’d expected him to be big, but not like this, though you don’t have time to dwell on it as he grips it firmly and taps the angry, pink tip against your lips.

You hang your tongue out, spit collecting and falling all over his length before you finally take as much as you can into your mouth, sucking and swirling as your hands move up and down the rest that you can’t take.

“Just like that-” Jean begins before breaking into a loud moan. You pop him out of your mouth and keep stroking with your hands as you whisper for him to shush.

“What happened to being quiet, and everyone downstairs will hear, and-” You’re interrupted as Jean grips his cock and shoves it back into your mouth, gagging suddenly at the unexpected movement.

Jean stares at your obedient mouth, following his instructions without any sign of the brat he was so used to. As you cup his balls in your hand, he feels them tighten and knows he’s not gonna last much longer like this. He guides your head away from his cock, admiring the drool and spit on your face and the glassy eyes he’s longed to see.

“Jean, I wanna-”

“I don’t care what you want, sweetheart,” he says, a false sweetness in his voice that’s making you feel dizzy. “You’re gonna ride me now, you got that?”

Jean’s hands are firmly set on your hips, positioning you just as he wants as you hover above his leaking cock. You grind down quickly, desperate for friction on your throbbing clit, before Jean stops your motions with the tight grip he has on you. “Are you gonna make me repeat myself?” he questions, in a tone that makes you positive that you don't want to make him angry. You shake your head immediately, taking his dick in your hand and lining it up with your wet hole, before slowly sinking down.

“Oh, god-!” you let out, before clasping a hand over your mouth. You had never felt quite so full before, the stretching burn making heat course through your whole body, as you bottom out and clench hard. “Come on, baby, you know how long you’ve been begging for this? Don’t get shy on me now,” Jean says, and you regain your senses slowly. You start moving, up and down, just like he wants and speeding up as you feel your cunt gush against Jean.

You’re sure to be making a mess, but you can hardly care when your brain feels so cloudy and distracted at how good Jean feels inside you, and you start the grinding movement again. Jean entertains you for a minute, before grabbing your hips even tighter, nearly at a bruising grip now, and snapping his own hips to thrust into you.

You’re blabbering now, utterly senseless as Jean fucks you mercilessly. You know you’re being loud, but you just don’t care, not when Jean is hitting that one spot inside you that has you seeing stars before you know it, your hands on his shoulders and holding on for life.

“Are you close, baby? Are you gonna cum all over your brother’s big cock?” Jean teases, feeling you clench down harder and knowing he won’t be able to hold on much longer either. “Yes, yes, yes! Jean! Oh, Jean-” you finally feel the tight coil in your stomach snap, unaware of your own movements and surroundings as you focus on the pleasure Jean’s giving you. You yell out, cumming so intensely and shaking on top of Jean, twitching once more when you hear Jean groan and feel hot ropes of cum inside you.

Your throat feels dry and scratchy, heart pounding as you come down from your high. You feel Jean’s grip, much softer now, lead you off of his cock and lay you next to him on the bed. It’s a mess, and you don’t know how you’ll clean up with everyone downstairs and surely they’ve noticed you’re both still gone-but you still don’t care.

All you care about is the sound of Jean’s heart beat from your position on his chest, and the way his hands feel on your skin as he holds you close to his warm body.

“So,” he starts off quietly, “was it how you’ve been imagining it all this time?” You’re not looking at him, but you know he’s smiling.

“Mmh,” you hum contentedly, “even better.” You feel his body rumble with a laugh, and his hand reaches to cup your face and lean into you for a kiss. Just as your lips meet, you hear a sharp knock at the door.

“Might wanna hurry up, you two,” Eren calls out from the other side of the door. “The others are getting suspicious.”

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jkirschteinsgf · 1 year

Note

no thoughts, just pissing jean off. bratting and flirting with his friends until he goes quiet. when the two of you get to your shared home, you know you’re royally fucked. literally. he holds you down with strong hands and makes you cream on his fingers and tongue twice before the two of you make it to your bedroom. mean jean, who uses your mouth and throat until he’s done, making you hump his leg for the friction you so crave. mean jean who fucks into you hard and steady, holding your throat and whispering what a filthy slut you are. he doesn’t let you complain or whine, telling you “shut the fuck up, i don’t wanna hear it.” so you have no choice but to cry and let him use you.

i swear if this is the same person who sent me the armin pegging thirst… you’re a god. if not, ur still amazing and you deserve to get your ass ate either way

NSFW LINKS (that i think fit the theme): here, here, here

content warning: breeding, degradation, slapping, names like whore and slut, mean mean jean kirstein

note: might make this a full length fic, this thirst was wildly detailed i’m in love i had sm fun writing this short drabble

oh you’re so fucked. you knew it was petty of you to sit on eren’s lap during karaoke, giving him peppery kisses on the cheek all because your actual boyfriend hasn’t been giving you attention all night.

he glared at the sight of you sitting on another man’s lap, you had no clue what was coming. you and eren had a past, so when jean saw you being all touchy with him, he thought that he’s losing to eren all over again.

he thought that you were a good for nothing brat that needed some taming.

“jean, fuck!” it’s so much cum plunged inside you. it was leaking out your hole only for jean’s fat cock to fuck it back inside you. your legs felt numb, knees bent against your chest as jean kept his hand wrapped around your throat.

“what’s the slut saying now?” he pulled out of you, flipping you over to lay on your stomach on all fours, not giving you a chance to catch your breath before shoving himself back in you.

“nnghh! jean— you’re so big,“ you scream, a strike of a palm hitting the skin of your ass making you yelp against the pillow.

“you fucking scream one more time, i dare you. you want our neighbors to hear just how much of a whore you are, hm? is that it?” another slap hits the bouncy flesh, you had no choice but to bite your lip and hold your noises.

he moved with steady speed, his cum from previous orgasms coating his cock each time he pulled out. he felt another load busting out of you, your moans getting significantly louder and your body collapsing completely. you came so fast, it’s only been seconds since he changed positions.

you rested your eyes only for your pretty ass to get struck by jean’s huge veiny hand again.

“get up. ‘not done using you yet, darling.” he said firmly, forcing you up by grabbing your arms and pulling them behind, your back against his chest and lips right next your ear. you can always say the word and he’ll hop off you, but you don’t. after all, you’re nothing but a filthy slut, deserved to get your cunt overfilled with cum of the person whom it belongs to.

he seethes, whispering right in your ear, one of his hands slapping your breast only to squeeze it. “now. you’re gonna take it like the slutty girl you are, alright? your mouth is only for moaning, otherwise i’ll make you fucking regret it.”

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jkirschteinsgf · 1 year

Text

warnings: smut, dark nsfw, fem!reader x jean kirschtein.

jean kirschtein just cannot stop thinking about you.

since he put his eyes in your pretty face, something awake inside of him. something, obsessive, almost — definitely — sick, insane. but he can’t help it, not when you have the shyest gestures and the most innocent eyes. always so good, too good.

he caught himself furiously jerking his cock, with your delicate panties stuffed in his nose, smelling the most delicious thing he ever had. he probably didn’t even noticed how wet was the sounds coming from him, jean was just thinking about how your tongue would feel in his mouth. how your nipples would be good taken care of in his hands, lips. how he would get rid of your skirt, and after, your panties, and, finally, your pussy all exposed for him. jean’s mouth get salivating and he painfully close in the thought of eating you out. his tongue sucking and fucking your hole in the sloppiest way possible while you moan and whine that you’re too close with that beautiful voice of yours. god, imagining your hand in his hair, while your legs shut in his head, you all clenching in his tongue and you bucking your hips in face…

“fuck fuck fuck, y/n!”

was all too much and now thick white liquid is getting his abdomen all messed up and your name is being said just like a beg.

for jean, just the sight of you getting pleasure was enough for him, enough to get him hard as a rock and he coming all in his big hands. he just cannot help it, he was a man that enjoyed the pleasure of his partner, that was obsessed for giving what them deserve, a devout. giving what you deserve, your devout.

maybe — definitely — he shouldn’t thinking about you in this way, have a album pics of you, saving all your pics and videos possible, create a note with all your things you said you liked, giving you lovely gifts. and, mainly, scaring all the boys that even glanced at you, acting like your bodyguard while he himself was stealing your panties! god, he felt just like a perv. and maybe he was, but just for you.

and maybe wasn’t that bad. you wouldn’t know about it and he never would hurt or force you, never! jean wasn’t that bad, he just liked you too much.

the only thing that he don’t thought was that sometimes he can be too loud saying your name, too distracted having his cum being all spilled on him, and you can be walking in the hall in the same exact moment!

god! seeing by the frame of the door, your sweet and big stepbrother with your pink panties in his nose with his big cock in the other hand, was something you never thought you would ever see! you have just already imagined it.

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jkirschteinsgf · 1 year

Text

⌗︙・domestic jean⸜⸜・

i need more domestic jean with a pregnant partner. just imagine your cute boyfriend latch onto your belly and talk with it for the whole day. he describes his day, how you two met, the moment he realized he's in love with you, etc etc. sometimes he can even get a bit annoying, for example the time he bought expensive cousioned chairs because he thought you could gonna hurt yourself on normal ones. but overall you find his behavior adorable, especially when you wake up from your sleep because your baby kicked you, only to find jean with his hand on your stomach and whispering, "baby, you can't do that. mommy is very brave and she had a long day. let her rest. daddy's here with you now."

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jkirschteinsgf · 1 year

Text

⌗︙・jean has a soft spot for you ⸜⸜・

jean is a player and he knows it. but there's something so soft about you riding his dick. your hands rest on his chest and you try your best to bounce on his cock. your legs hurt and he knows it but you're still doing as best as you can to please him and yourself. jean thinks you're the prettiest thing like this. he has always seen you as another girl who's willing to spread her legs. but even since you started coming to his room late at night, begging for him to make you feel good, he changed him mind. you are just so more delicate than the others, he can break you faster than the others. but he doesn't want to do that. you're the first girl he wants to make love you.

"sweetheart, let me help." the nickname makes your heart beat faster. he pulls out of you, laying you underneath him. he slips into you again, but this time he's slow. he slowly fucks you to your orgasm. he can see how tired you are and his only goal is to make you cum before you fall asleep.

"are you close, my love?" he asks you but you're too tired to hear the nickname. you still nod at his question and he finds your clit to massage it. it doesn't take long before you squeeze on his cock and cum. he pulls out of you, running to the bathroom to clean your body. he pulls a blanket over your body, kissing your forehead.

"you're still hard." you say sleepily and you reach for his cock to stroke it. jean chuckles, pulling your hand against your chest.

"you don't have to, im gonna jerk off in the bathroom. just sleep."

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jkirschteinsgf · 1 year

Note

Based on this post…Jean who hasn’t worked up the nerve to confess his feelings for you yet. Has the filthiest wet dream about you, so when he wakes up he can’t help but shove a hand down his pants to give his aching, leaking cock some relief.

Cute little virgin Jean who can only fantasize about how wonderful you’d feel under him, crying out his name, and holding onto him for dear life as he plows your tight little pussy.

That alone is enough to make him cum hard, trying his best to imagine how good your pussy must feel, how it’d hold his cock snug like a warm, wet sleeve. Like you were made for him, and he for you. He’s whimpering into a pillow so the other guys don’t hear him. After he’s come down from his orgasm he feels so ashamed. He feels like he’s dishonored you, even though it was all in his imagination. You’re the woman he’s fallen so deeply in love with; he doesn’t want to get off to these fantasties of you. It seems almost insulting.

But he can’t help himself. He wants you so bad, and that insecure side of him fears this is the closest he will ever get with you. He wants to fuck you senseless, absolutely. But he also wants to make love to you, soft, slow, and sensual. He wants you to know exactly how much you mean to him, not just with words but with action too.

Unfortunately, this was the first of almost nightly wet dreams of you. Under him, riding him, sucking his cock while you stare seductively up at him with half lidded eyes. Hearing you moaning for him. Moaning his name. They varied, but they had the same effect on him each and every time: He has to relieve himself when he wakes up.

He sighs, staring up at the bunk above him. He has to do something soon. Anything. He needs to figure out where he stands with you, before he goes insane.

YOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

It has taken me six hours just to peel myself off the ceiling and try to answer this ... it's perfect. OMG HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Ok, so first... Jean having wet dreams and humping his pillow while he's cumming so hard? SDFKJSDFLDSHFOSADFA LORD YES OMG I can just imagine that even though he tries so hard to muffle his moans, someone has to hear him.

(CW: male masturbation, wet dreams, fantasizing)

One early morning before the sun has risen, he's in his bunk with his cock in his fist again. He tried to wait it out. Tried to visualize anything else to distract himself from the throbbing erection he's cursed with every morning. Every time he closes his eyes, the images of his dream flood his mind again... your soft breasts jiggling under his hands while he rails you in missionary. Your perfect round ass bouncing against his hips as he fucks you from behind. He can imagine the taste of your sweet kisses on his lips, how he'd take you in every position. He'd fuck your brains out, then make sweet, slow love to you, then fuck your brains out some more. And just like that, he's cumming so hard, moaning your name into his pillow again.

When he regains control of himself, he can hear the faint sound of someone stirring in their bunk. Oh shit, he thinks to himself, and tries his best to clean himself up while pretends to sleep.

Later at breakfast, Armin gives him a sympathetic smile and his handkerchief. Eren and Connie are grinning like fools, nudging each other when Jean passes by. Reiner and Berthold give him unsolicited advice about where to find extra towels and sheets.

"OK, what the hell is going on?" he says as he sits next to Marco. "Why is everyone acting so weird today?"

Marco smiles at him. "Seems you were mumbling this morning... in your sleep."

Jean's face goes ghostly white. "Wh... what did I say?" he whispers.

"Oh, I'm not sure. I wasn't awake yet. Eren thinks you said something about--"

Eren barges in and sits across from Jean. "You were totally moaning your crush's name while you were yanking it again, man. When are you going to tell her you like her so we don't have to hear you every morning?"

Jean wants to crawl under the table, and even more so when you walk by and wave at him, flashing that adorable smile. Marco and Connie are on either side of him now, elbowing him.

"Go get her, man!" Connie's shoving him toward you now, until he sits down with a thud next to you.

"Hi, Jean," you blush as he crashes into your side. "What's all the commotion about?"

Jean's face is every shade of red now. He tries to play it off like the boys are just being stupid again, but he also notices how you haven't scooted away from him. Your knee is pressed against his, your hand on his back to catch him when Connie practically shoved him into your lap. You lean into him a little when you ask if he's ok.

Is he ok? He's not sure. He's dying of humiliation. But he's also closer to you than he's ever been; so close that he can smell that heavenly perfume that haunts his dreams. Maybe this is a dream. His cock twitches as if to agree that it might be, and maybe he'll wake up with his hand stuffed in his pants again. But your soft touch on his knee, the way your hand lingers there with your thumb brazenly tracing circles... it's so real.

Maybe that literal push from Connie was what he needed after all.

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jkirschteinsgf · 1 year

Text

a matter of convenience

➭ “The weekend you planned your long-anticipated move into your new apartment, your university town is being hit with the worst heat wave it's seen in thirty years.

And of course, your A/C is broken.

Fortunately, the convenience store across the street has cold A/C and even colder slushies to get you through the heat.

The boy behind the counter is just a bonus.”

☾ pairing: jean kirschtein x reader ☾ fandom: attack on titan ☾ genre: convenience store au, romcom, smut, strangers to lovers ☾ wordcount: 15.6k

[crossposted from AO3]

** warnings: slowburn(ish), annoyingly flirtatious banter, frat party hookup, fingerfucking, customer service to lovers, jean wearing a uniform vest

It almost surprises you how neatly your entire life’s possessions fit into boxes.

The totality of your childhood bedroom, admittedly forgoing your rather impressive collection of stuffed animals, fits more or less into 12 boxes - along with a couple of suitcases that you use to transport your clothes, and your backpack stuffed to the brim with notebooks, your laptop, and a lonely pair of socks you forgot to put in with the rest of your apparel.

The heaviest boxes are those containing your plentiful collection of books: a mix of well-loved and re-read novels, and the textbooks you accumulated in your first year of university. The lightest box is the one you’d packed last, stuffing odds and ends into that you’d forgotten to put into other boxes - including a last minute addition of your favourite stuffed teddy bear from childhood, named Oscar, who you couldn’t bear to leave behind (no pun intended.)

All in all, it only takes the movers you hired around 45 minutes to unpack the contents of the small box truck and lug it up to your new apartment: a quaint two-bedroom on the third floor of a building not too far from your university’s campus. You thank them when they leave, offering them each a cold bottle of sports drink you’d made a point of setting aside in the fridge before they arrived - they accept both the beverages and your words of thanks gratefully.

After only an hour, the move that you’ve been anticipating for the better part of the summer is finally over.

You’re then left with the challenge of unpacking.

The apartment is already mostly furnished by your new roommate, Sasha, who has been living there for a year already. When her previous roommate moved out at the end of the school year prior, she’d made a post on your university’s Facebook group advertising a room for rent. Though you didn’t know her particularly well, you were coming off a year of living with a terrible roommate in a cramped dorm room with abysmal campus food, and jumped at the prospect of better living conditions.

You met for coffee one afternoon before the semester ended late in the spring, toured the apartment quickly, and had already made plans to move in at the end of the summer by the time you’d made it back to your residence.

Sasha seemed nice enough: outgoing, relaxed, and with a serious appetite judging by how quickly she scarfed down not one but two pieces of cake in the cafe where you met up just down the road from the apartment. You’d only exchanged a few texts in the weeks leading up to your move-in, to coordinate getting a set of keys and various other logistical details, but she seemed nice - leagues better than your last roommate - and you were looking forward to getting to know her better.

The move went as smoothly as it possibly could; the boxes were packed ahead of time; the movers were highly rated, punctual, and professional; and everything was neatly labelled so that when it came time to start unpacking it would be easy to do. You're a notorious planner, so you’d accounted for every possible misstep and planned contingencies in the case they occurred.

One thing you hadn’t planned for, however, was the heat.

It made sense that the one singular thing that you had absolutely no control over would be the thing to go wrong; the weekend you planned your move, your university town was being hit with the worst heat wave it had seen in thirty years.

And of course, your A/C is broken.

“The landlord said he’ll send someone over to look at it on Monday,” Sasha says, sweeping a hand across her perspiring brow as she stands near the front door.

The movers had just left, your furniture and boxes all piled high in your new bedroom, and Sasha was just about to head to work for the day - having informed you on first meeting that she works part-time through the summer at a bakery a few blocks away with her boyfriend, Niccolo.

It’s only Friday, which means you’ll have to suffer through another excruciating four days of heat before you have any hope of reprieve.

“How nice of him to come fix it after the worst of the heatwave has passed,” you grumble to yourself, pulling the material of your t-shirt away from the sticky skin of your abdomen.

Sasha laughs a little at your bitter response. “The bakery has A/C - you should come by later if you need to cool off!” she says with a smile, which you endeavour to reciprocate in spite of your disgruntlement. With a final wave of her hand she ducks out the door, leaving you to the heat and your boxes.

You pad across the apartment, back into your bedroom, tugging your shirt off as you go.

It’s simply too hot for clothes.

You survey the boxes around the room warily, and with a long world-weary sigh you set to work unpacking.

Twelve boxes had been easy enough to move, but were a hell of a lot harder to unpack when the air felt as thick as concrete.

You make good progress throughout the day, and when four of the twelve boxes have been completely unpacked you take a much needed break to chug the last sports drink in the fridge and sit on your new balcony to cool off.

You’d stripped down to the absolute barest amount of clothes human-decency allowed while you worked: a simple pair of athletic shorts and a sports bra. But it still feels like too much fabric given the oppressive heat hanging in the air.

You watch the people passing by in the streets below from your seat on your apartment’s balcony, scraping your bare toes across the concrete beneath your feet - even in the covered shade the ground is still hot to the touch.

As you sit out in the practically non-existent afternoon breeze, you find your attention particularly focused on the people entering and exiting the little convenience store on the corner across the street. You watch as people duck into the sliding doors of the store, emerging minutes later with plastic bags dangling from their hands. Some people emerge with popsicles, others with cold drinks - most seeming to turn to the convenience store to help them survive the veritable hellscape that wasn’t set to pass for at least another few days.

You make a note to run over to the shop yourself and grab some more drinks before the day is over, knowing you’ve completely depleted your stock.

You don’t linger long outside, realizing that thanks to the stagnant air there’s little difference in temperature between your bedroom and your balcony, heading back inside to return to the task of unpacking.

The fifth box you begin unloading is full of books - you take your time slotting your collection of titles neatly into the bookshelf you’ve set up beside your desk, organizing them alphabetically by author’s last name.

You’re halfway through authors whose names begin with the letter N when your phone starts ringing. You look around your new bedroom from your place on the floor - sitting cross legged among short stacks of books still waiting to be shelved - spotting your cellphone on the other side of the room on the edge of your bedside table.

You nearly trip over a pile of books (authors with last names beginning with R) in your haste to retrieve the device.

“Hello?” you ask, a little winded, when you finally manage to answer the call.

“Hey!” Sasha’s voice greets you from the other end of the phone. Her tone is chipper but subdued, and you distantly wonder if she’s making the call in secret while she’s still on-the-job. “My friend Connie left his phone charger at the apartment the other day, do you mind if he swings by to grab it?”

“Of course, I’m just unpacking. He can come by whenever!” You nod your head, though you realize a moment later she can’t see you.

“Okay!” Sasha chirps happily. “Oh! He has his own key, also - I probably should have told you that before you moved in.”

You pause, unsure of how you feel about some stranger having a key to your apartment, but if Sasha has already entrusted it to him you suppose you don’t have much ground to complain.

“Okay cool, that’s fine. I’ll just be in my room.”

You hear someone call Sasha’s name irritatedly in the background of her side of the call and she squeaks out a parting before the line clicks dead - you laugh lightly as you look down at the Call Ended screen on your phone.

Since you’re already up, you take it as an opportunity to pad out to the kitchen and get yourself a glass of water. As you let the tap fill up the glass in your hand, you note again that you really need to run to the convenience store to get more drinks. You take a long gulp of your disappointingly tepid water as you shuffle over to the living room.

You set your glass of water onto a coaster and flop down onto the couch - turning your head to watch a bead of condensation roll down the side of your glass and pool on the coffee table below.

Everything feels heavy as you lay reclined on the surprisingly comfy sofa: the air, your limbs, your eyelids.

Your eyes flutter closed for a moment, and before you know it you’ve fallen asleep.

When they open again, there’s a stranger’s concerned face hovering over you.

“Ah!”

“AHHH!”

The stranger echoes your own shout of surprise as you roll off the couch onto the floor, your hip colliding painfully with the blunt edge of the coffee table.

You scramble up to your feet and find yourself face-to-face with a guy around your age with his hair cropped close to his head in a buzz cut.

His tongue is purple as he yells: “I’m sorry! I thought you died!”

“I was sleeping!” you yell back, “who the hell are you?”

“I’m Connie! Sasha told me she’d tell you I was coming over, I’m so sorry!” he apologizes profusely once more, his hand raised in what you can only assume is a stance intended to make him look as unintimidating as possible.

You blink, remembering your phone call with Sasha earlier in the day. Your mind is hazy from the heat and the sleep and the fright you’d just experienced, but you recall it after a moment.

“Oh, right. She did tell me you were coming over. Sorry, I must have dozed off,” you say, relaxing slightly and feeling the tension in your shoulders dissipate.

Connie mirrors this deflation, head drooping a little in relief. He shoots you an easy smile. “It’s hot as hell in here, I don’t blame you. Sasha wasn’t kidding when she said your air-con was busted!”

At the mention of the heat, it seems that you suddenly both become aware of how underdressed you are - you both look away, your arms crossing over your barely-covered chest.

You only look back at him when you hear slurping sounds from across from you.

“Is that a slushie?” you ask curiously, noticing the drink in his hands that you must have missed in all the excitement.

“Uh, yeah. I just got it from the convenience store across the street,” Connie says, holding it up a little for you to see.

“Huh, nice.” You can’t remember the last time you had a slushie - it had to be a good couple of years - maybe even since you were a kid.

“Well, it was nice to meet ya! Sorry again for the scare!” Connie waves from the door, the charger that he’d come to retrieve clutched in his hand that wasn’t holding his drink.

You laugh a little, pushing your hair back from your face. “No worries.”

After your unexpected visitor leaves, you go back to unpacking - but you can’t seem to tear your thoughts away from the slushie Connie had been sipping. After a while of lusting after an icy beverage of your own, you push yourself up from your seat on the floor - resolved to do something about it.

You take a brief, delightfully cold, shower and then throw on a flimsy sundress and a pair of sneakers.

You head out with your new set of keys in hand.

The A/C in the convenience store is so strong that you shudder when the sliding doors shut behind you, the perspiration on your skin cooling quickly under the burst of unexpectedly (but very welcome) cold air.

You head right to the fridges along one side of the store, grabbing a few more bottles of brightly coloured sports drink and some green tea, and then you continue towards the slushie machines lining the walls on the opposite side of the store.

There are four flavours for you to choose from: grape, cherry, blue raspberry and orange. You fill the largest size cup available with blue raspberry, watching as the icy blue slush pools in the waiting cup below the dispenser.

One the drink has been filled and you've popped on a domed plastic lid, you tote your purchases over to the checkout counter, and get in line behind an old man who seems to be arguing with the shop attendant over lottery tickets. You try to ignore it, but can’t quite tune it out as you wait only a few paces behind the scene.

The drinks in your arms are cold as you hug them to your chest, and you wish you’d grabbed a basket as you squirm against the chill seeping through the thin cotton of your dress. You should have put a bra on before leaving your apartment - but the very notion of putting one on fresh out of the shower had sounded so torturous you simply couldn't bring yourself to do it.

Eventually the cranky customer ahead of you in line shuffles out the door - tickets in his hand and muttering under his breath about the injustice of lottery odds.

“Sorry about that,” the young man behind the counter sighs when you finally step up.

“I’m sorry you had to deal with that,” you laugh lightly, dropping your purchases onto the surface in front of you but keeping your slushie in hand.

He begins scanning your items, tawny eyes flickering up to you as you take a sip of your drink.

“It’s pretty gross out there today, huh?” he asks, making polite small talk.

“Absolutely disgusting,” you agree, chewing on the end of your straw as you glance out through the windows lining the front of the shop. “I just moved into an apartment across the street and our air-con is broken.”

“Brutal,” he winces sympathetically.

You sigh with a nod. “It is, so I’m grateful for an excuse to hang out in the cold - even if it means seeing you get bullied by a pensioner.”

“Well, Mr. Tompkins comes in every afternoon around this time if you’re hoping to catch a repeat viewing,” the young man quips, and you laugh lightly.

Your eyes scan the front of his blue vest where his name tag is pinned. Jean.

“I might take you up on that,” you say, eyes flickering back up to his, “at least until Monday when the A/C is fixed.”

He smiles, reading you off your order total. Your brow furrows in confusion.

“I think you forgot this,” you say holding the slushie up, the total too low to have included it.

He shakes his head, smirking a little. “Don’t worry about it - consider it a house warming gift.”

“My house is already pretty warm,” you reply dryly, handing him over some cash.

“Fine, consider it a gesture of goodwill to help prevent you from getting heat stroke.” Jean drops the cash into the drawer of the register before handing you your purchases in a plastic bag.

“What a good samaritan,” you snort, before softening appreciatively. “Thank you. You might have just earned yourself a return customer.”

He grins, a brow quirked curiously. “So, see you tomorrow around the same time?”

“If I don’t die of heat exhaustion,” you muse, holding up a finger in warning, “and I’m paying for my slushie tomorrow.”

“If you say so.”

///

You don’t pay for your slushie the next day.

Or the day after that.

You do however get a rather spectacular viewing of an argument between Mr. Tompkins and Jean over the price of a carton of milk while you sipped an orange slushie - Mr. Tompkins having some choice words about the effects of price inflation - and then another about how Mr. Tompkins swore there was usually a senior discount at the convenience store, and Jean assured him that there never had been and never would be one.

You fall into this routine: you show up, pour yourself a large slushie from the self serve dispensers lining the far wall of the store, stand behind Mr. Tompkins as he argues with Jean for anywhere from 5 to 10 minutes, and then you step up to bicker about whether or not you should pay for your beverage. Jean always wins.

It’s pretty dead in the store that Sunday, just an old lady browsing the aisles, so you don’t feel bad about staying and chatting for a while after you pay for your bag of pretzels and two bottles of tea - and once again lose the argument about paying for your sweet, frosty drink.

“Does Mr. Tompkins really come in and pick a fight with you every day?” you ask, leaning against the counter as you sip on your slushie. You had chosen cherry that day.

“Hasn’t missed a day that I can remember since I started working here Freshman year,” Jean nods, eyes flickering over your face as you swirl the straw through your drink.

“Oh, are you in uni?” you ask curiously, looking up and catching his eyes on you.

“Yeah, going into senior year,” he nods, looking away. His cheeks go a little pink.

It’s cute.

“You?”

“Yeah, going into second year,” you reply. There’s only one university in your town so it isn’t hard to guess that you go to the same one. “What are you taking?”

“Business,” he replies, scratching absentmindedly at his ear.

“Capitalism is a plague,” you sniff indignantly.

“Capitalism gave you that slushie,” Jean reminds you pointedly, a smirk tugging the corner of his lip upwards.

“You didn’t charge me for it, so technically this is a radical act of anti-capitalist rebellion,” you reply.

“The slushie cost 2.99 - it’s not like you assassinated Jeff Bezos.”

You stick your red-stained tongue out at him.

He laughs.

“So what are you taking?” Jean asks, tilting his head to the side.

“Dietetics,” you say, smiling.

“You consume a lot of sugary drinks for someone studying nutrition,” Jean snorts.

“And you sure give away a lot of those sugary drinks for someone studying a free market based on the exchange of goods and services for profit,” you bite back.

“I only give them away to you,” he says with a light chuckle.

You blink, processing the admission. You seem to realize at the same time exactly what he’s said and the both of you look away, suddenly unable to meet the other’s gaze

“I can’t believe classes start up again in two weeks,” Jean complains, swiftly changing the subject as he raises his arms over his head in a stretch. Your eyes catch on the way that the white t-shirt under his convenience store vest rides up, revealing a patch of skin at the bottom of his abdomen. You tear your eyes away once more, taking a long sip of your icy drink to douse the heat you feel kindling in the pit of your stomach.

The little old lady who’d been browsing leisurely around the store chooses that moment to shuffle up to the counter.

“Hi Jeannie,” she coos as she begins slowly unloading her purchases onto the counter from the basket in her hands.

“Hi Mrs. Jones, how are you doing today?” Jean asks, smiling warmly at her over the counter.

“Oh, same as always,” the elderly woman croons with a chuckle. “Roger sent me out to pick up some bits and bobs - I think he was just trying to get me outta the house again.”

“I’m sure Mr. Jones wouldn’t do that - not to as sweet of a wife as you,” Jean chirps, exuding a sort of effortless charm as he interacts with the woman - clearly a regular customer.

You smile as you watch the exchange, stepping back towards the exit. You pause, waiting for him to glance up at you. When his eyes flicker up to meet yours, you raise your hand and wave, which he reciprocates while ringing Mrs. Jones’ purchases through. She’s still prattling on as you slip through the sliding door back into the heat outside.

Jean does seem like the type old ladies would fawn over.

You’re still smiling as you make your way back into your apartment, hardly even noticing the sweltering heat anymore as you shuffle through the door.

You leave your convenience store bag on the kitchen counter and cross the room towards the balcony to crack open the door and let a bit of breeze in - not that there’s much reprieve in doing so, the air outside is just as hot as the air in your home.

You pause in the doorway, peering across the street towards the convenience store as your thoughts flitter back to the boy behind the counter.

At that exact moment, the doors to the store slide open and Mrs. Jones dawdles out with a plastic bag in her hand. You watch as she gets a few paces away before the door slides open again, Jean darting out after her with another bag in his grip, his blue vest flapping behind him .

They exchange a few words, Jean handing the plastic shopping bag to her which she takes gratefully - clearly she’d forgotten it in the store and he’d rushed out to return it to her. You watch as the elderly woman reaches up to pat Jean’s cheeks appreciatively, he has to dip down so she can reach him.

You catch yourself smiling to yourself as the two part ways, ducking back into your apartment out of sight.

You swear the red slushie tastes even sweeter after that.

///

Jean isn’t working the next day when you go into the convenience store, and you can’t help but feel a little disappointed. Mr. Tompkins is there though - and he spars with the man behind the counter about how sales tax is a scam for a good nine minutes before the clerk shoos him out of the store.

You pay $2.99 for your slushie. You got grape that day.

Connie is at your apartment when you return home, sprawled across the sofa like he lives there - which you’re beginning to think he might as well.

“Hey, new roomie! Good to see you’re still kickin’!”

“Barely,” you laugh as Sasha shuffles out from the kitchen. “Still no A/C?” you ask turning to her, misery heavy in your tone. Your maintenance man had been working on the cooling unit for the better part of the afternoon before you went for your daily visit to the convenience store, but now he was nowhere to be seen and your home was still unbearably warm.

“The guy said they have to order a part but that it should be here by Wednesday,” she says, equally downtrodden, and both of you share a sort of commiserating look.

You’re in this hell together, after all.

“You guys have plans for the night?” you ask, dropping your tote bag on one of the stools at the island in the kitchen, unpacking your drinks onto the counter.

“We’re going to see a movie with some friends! Wanna come?” Sasha asks.

“What movie?” you inquire, yanking on the handle to the fridge and luxuriating in the cool air that spills from inside.

“The new zombie one! 'Redemption of the Undead - Part Five’!” Connie says excitedly, popping up over the back of the sofa to grin wildly at you.

You wince - you’ve always been a bit of a baby when it comes to scary movies.

“I’m not much of a horror gal - real life is scary enough,” you say, shaking your head a little.

“Awwww come on! You can meet the rest of the gang!” Sasha says, “plus you can get in on our bet to see how long it takes before Ymir and Historia start sucking face!”

“Who?” you ask, confused as you don’t recognize the names.

“Our two friends! They’re… y’know…” Connie flips his wrist.

“Ah,” you say, nodding in understanding. “Well, as fun as that sounds, I’m still pretty wiped from the move. I’ll probably just stay home and get a good night’s sleep.”

Connie and Sasha nod, not pushing the offer, and you shuffle off towards your room as the two of them fall back into conversation.

You pause in your doorway, grape slushie in hand, debating whether or not to ask Sasha and Connie if they know anything about Convenience Store Jean, before thinking better of it.

Yeah, you may all go to the same school, but you hadn’t met either of them before you moved in, so it stands to reason that they probably don’t know him either. You shake your head a little to yourself, slipping into your room for another quiet night, languishing in the heat.

///

As the start of classes draws ever nearer, your friends from school start to come back to town.

A few days after moving into your own apartment, you spend the day with your friend Hitch - who you’d become fast friends with the year prior after suffering through an introductory level biology class together - helping her move into her own (thankfully air-conditioned) apartment.

The two of you are standing in Hitch’s new kitchen, unpacking a very Hitch-appropriate set of pink dishes into her empty cupboards, while you listen to her recount her various summer sexploits in painstaking detail.

She’d just finished telling a particularly spicy story about a lifeguard who worked at a beach near her family home, who had been all too happy to give her a bit of mouth to mouth, when you put the last pink bowl onto it’s new shelf and close the cabinet door.

You turn to her, an eyebrow raised. “So, what about Marlowe?”

You watch as Hitch freezes, a mug dotted with a pastel flower design in her hand, unwilling to meet your gaze. She immediately gets cagey at the mention of the boy, spluttering out something evasive and non-committal. The two of them had been partnered up the year prior for a group project in one of their classes, and had remained friends even in spite of their drastic differences in personality. You strongly suspect there are some unspoken feelings between the two of them that neither of them have yet had the courage to act on.

You smile a little to yourself but don’t press it when she clearly side-steps the subject.

“So, what about you? Any juicy boy news?” Hitch asks, nudging a drawer closed with her hip after half-assedly dumping her silverware into it. You bite back a comment about her terrible system of organization, mulling instead over her words.

“Not really,” you trail off, nibbling on the edge of your lip as you fiddle with a spatula in your hands.

Hitch catches the ambivalence in your words right away. Like a hunter stalking its prey, she pounces on the moment of exposed vulnerability without any hesitation.

She sidles up alongside you, leaning close to your face, her bright eyes sharp and prying.

“Doesn’t sound like it,” she purrs, pressing the tip of her pointer finger to the crease that had formed in your brow, her nose practically touching yours.

“Okay, okay!” you bat her hand off your face, sliding away from her to put a bit of space between your bodies. “There’s this guy… who works at the convenience store across from my new place.”

“The convenience store?” she asks flatly, clearly unimpressed with the decidedly unsexy profession.

“Yeah, he’s really… nice.”

“Nice?” she parrots back monotonously.

“Yeah he always chats with me.” You continue to chew on the edge of your lip as you think about Jean and the strange relationship the two of you have cultivated over the past week or so.

“Honey, I hate to break it to you but that’s called customer service,” Hitch says, her tone gentle as though softening a blow.

You roll your eyes and throw a nearby roll of paper towel at her. It hits her head dully and bounces off, making her squeal. You can only laugh in response.

“Is he hot?” Hitch finally asks, having grappled a second roll of paper towels out of your hand after she saw you reaching for another.

“Extremely,” you sigh, though you sound a little miserable as you say it. It’s undeniably true, and has caused you more than a little bit of agony over the past few days.

“Well, then all hope is not yet lost.”

The two of you continue unpacking for the better part of the afternoon, though you do take a break to order some food through a delivery app. You sit together on her kitchen floor eating and gossiping about your friends and classmates that you’d been keeping up with over the summer as the afternoon sun sinks lower on the horizon outside her windows.

You get a text from Sasha late in the afternoon when the sun has almost completely disappeared from view in the sky, asking if you want to join her and her friends at a frat party that night. She knows you’re hanging out with Hitch, and tells you to invite your friend along too if she wants to come.

You’re not really a fan of frat parties, having very quickly come to that conclusion in your freshman year, but you know that it’s probably not going to be too crazy seeing as not everyone is back on campus yet. You mull it over for a moment after receiving the invitation, before eventually extending the offer to Hitch.

“What frat is it?” Hitch asks curiously as she unpacks a box of blu-rays on her living room floor.

“Uh, Alpha Omicron Tau?” you reply uncertainly, scrolling back in your conversation with Sasha just to confirm.

“Annie’s boyfriend’s best friend is in AOT - you know, Eren?”

Annie was Hitch’s roommate freshman year, and though the two of them had been an absolute nightmare to deal with for the first few months of living together, they ended up unlikely friends. You eventually formed a friendship with Annie as well, by proxy thanks to Hitch, and you had also met her boyfriend Armin - whose smiley personality and gentle demeanour is as shockingly different to Annie’s as you could have possibly imagined.

“Oh, the one who looks like he hates the world?” You have a vague recollection of a surly guy you’d met through Armin the year prior. He was a little unpleasant to be around, but his quiet dark-haired girlfriend seemed to be cool.

“That’s the one,” Hitch snorts.

Hitch eventually agrees to the party - deciding that the two of you deserve an evening to let loose after all of the hard work you’d put in that day. You don’t point out that you spent the majority of the afternoon laying on her floor watching TikToks together, and that the better part of her belongings are still in boxes.

The two of you spend the rest of the evening getting ready - you borrow some clothes from Hitch to avoid making a trip back to your apartment - and you split a few bottles of wine between the two of you before taking an Uber to the party.

It’s busier than you would have thought as the two of you approach the house on Greek Row - the street just off campus where all of the frat and sorority houses were situated. The music pulses loudly into the hot summer night, and there are plenty of people lingering outside the entrance to the house as you make your way in.

“Let’s find Sasha so I can introduce you!” you say, raising your voice a little to be heard over the music, tugging Hitch along behind you through the crowd.

After a bit of searching, you find Sasha, her boyfriend Niccolo, and Connie all seated around a red cup covered coffee table with two other girls.

“Hey new roomie!” Connie cheers at your arrival - still having yet to drop the nickname. You notice he's wearing a shirt with the frat's insignia on it - clearly Sasha's connection to the party in the first place. “Glad you made it!”

You smile, tugging Hitch up alongside you.

“This is my friend Hitch!” you say, making their introduction. Everyone greets her warmly.

“These are our friends Ymir and Historia!” Sasha says, pointing out the two other girls who were joining them - a dark haired girl with sharp eyes and freckles dotting across her cheeks, and a petite blonde perched atop her lap with her arms circled protectively around her thin waist.

“Nice to meet you guys!” the blonde, who you’re pretty sure is Historia, says to you both warmly.

You catch Connie flicking his wrist in your direction from behind them, in what was probably the most pitiful attempt at covertness you’d ever witnessed. You suppress the urge to roll your eyes at him and instead smile at them, returning the girl’s sentiment.

From the corner of your eye you see two other figures approach the group and Connie breaks into a grin.

“And here are a couple of my brothers!”

You turn and have to keep your jaw from falling open in shock.

“I see the resemblance,” Hitch teases, earning a bit of a laugh from everyone gathered.

Two other boys had approached the group both also sporting frat shirts - one with short dark hair and freckles on his cheeks, smiling warmly at the two of you.

And the other is Jean.

The two of you blink at each other for a moment like some sort of standoff, totally unaware of the conversation continuing around you. After a moment you both smile, laughing a little.

What are the odds?

As the group is chatting, you and Jean find yourselves standing off a little to the side next to one another. He crosses his arms over his chest, fiddling with the red cup in his hand.

“Hi,” he says quietly, keeping his voice low as to not be overheard by the rest of your friends. He smiles down at you from behind the brim of his cup, glancing at you from the corner of his eye.

“Hi,” you repeat his own word in reply, feeling the telltale warmth of a blush sting your cheeks. Your eyes flicker over to him, trailing to the t-shirt that covers his broad chest. “Weird seeing you without the vest.”

“Weird seeing you without a stained tongue,” he quips back dryly.

You stick your aforementioned tongue out in response, which earns you a laugh from him.

“So you’re Sasha’s new roommate, huh?” Jean asks, absentmindedly ruffling the hair at the nape of his neck. “Small world.”

You hum in agreement.

Sasha says something, evidently recounting the harrowing tale of your broken A/C unit to the group at large, pulling you back into the conversation to share in the woeful retelling.

You like Sasha’s friends. They’re nice, and funny. Connie, having evidently had quite a bit to drink that evening, is even more boisterous than usual and his relationship with the other members of his frat is fun to watch.

You gather more information about the boys of AOT as the evening progresses: a big blonde guy named Reiner is the frat chapter president, and you catch sight of him with his righthand man Bertolt - vice president, and very possibly the tallest guy you’ve ever seen in your life - on and off over the course of the party. You also find out that Connie, Marco, Jean, and Eren (who you haven’t yet seen but are sure is also in attendance) all pledged together first year. They’re a rather mismatched group, but you can’t help but notice that they all seem to complement each other well.

Reiner and Bertolt approach your group later in the evening, giving you and Hitch the chance to be properly introduced, however briefly. Marco is quickly called away to help Bertolt with some drunk guy stuck on the roof again - to which you had, rather incredulously, muttered ‘again?' only to find out that it was a semi-regular occurrence at the frat house’s infamous parties. You choose not to pry into it any more than that.

As Marco, Reiner and Bertolt begin to shuffle away, Reiner looks back over his shoulder towards Jean.

“Make sure to show our guests where the drinks are!” he calls to the boy beside you, who nods dutifully.

As Jean offers to lead you and Hitch through the party to where the drinks are found, Connie pops up and opts to tag along as well - and as you cross the crowded house, he and Hitch fall eagerly into a conversation about third-wheeling because Connie didn’t want to be stuck alone with the two duos of Niccolo and Sasha, and Ymir and Historia.

The four of you step into the busy kitchen and make your way to a counter covered in bottles of practically every type of liquor imaginable, all while Connie and Hitch are still loudly complaining about the indignity of being forced to spend time with people in love.

Connie had just made some comment about how annoying it is listening to people talk about how much they like someone when Hitch nods eagerly in agreement, a finger reaching out to point at you accusatorially.

“Tell me about it! She’s got a big crush on some guy who works at a convenience store, and I had to listen to her talk about it alllll afternoon!”

Your eyes widen immediately at the comment. First of all, because she’d been the one to pry the conversation out of you in the first place, and secondly because that “some guy” happened to be standing only a few feet away. You find yourself grateful that Connie seems to be too drunk to put the pieces together, and Jean doesn’t seem to have heard the comment at all.

“Hitch!” you hiss at your friend through your teeth, reaching out and clutching her arm tightly - willing her to sense the ‘shut the actual fuck up’ vibes you were sending in her direction.

“Yeah, yeah I know: he’s cute or whatever!” Hitch says dismissively, shaking her arm out of your grasp. You don’t dare to cast another glance towards Jean, who you know must have been close enough to hear that comment.

Connie snorts, jutting his thumb out towards Jean. “Yeah well he’s obsessed with some hot girl who keeps coming to his work to buy slushies!”

Both you and Jean freeze.

A few things happen then in rapid succession: Hitch sees Annie across the party and runs off to greet her; Connie gets distracted by people doing keg stands and forces his way over to participate - yelling something about how he doesn’t want anyone to beat his record; and finally, Jean’s large hand circles your wrist easily - tugging you towards the doorway.

He guides you along behind him through the halls of the crowded frat house, pausing every so often to glance back and make sure you’re okay, make sure you’re still there, make sure you’re still real - you aren’t really sure. Eventually the more crowded space of the main living area turns into a labyrinthine series of dimly lit and sparsely occupied halls, and soon you find yourself being pulled into a room with the door shut behind you.

Your pulse is pounding distantly in your mind as you survey the room, like the music playing somewhere far away in the house, only the dull thrum of bass meeting you so far from its source. You’re in a bedroom, you realize that much quickly - with two beds pushed on either side of the room, one made and one unmade. There are various trinkets you’d expect to see in a bedroom - textbooks, pictures and posters on the wall. There’s a shirt crumpled in a heap on the floor and a backpack hanging from one of the chairs pushed under one of the twin desks set side by side along one wall. You know Jean shares a room with Marco, and it’s not hard to gather that this is where you presently found yourself.

“Did your friend mean it?” Jean asks after a moment of you looking around curiously. You peer over to see him standing almost comically far from you on the other side of the room.

“Mean what?” you ask him uncertainly, tilting your head slightly.

He shoots you an exasperated look, as though frustrated he has to spell it out for you.

“You know, that you… think I’m cute or whatever.” He suddenly seems exceedingly bashful - all of that confidence he’d had when he dragged you along behind him to his bedroom seeming to have abandoned him when he needed it most.

“Dunno,” you murmur, toeing idly at the dingy beige carpet underfoot, “when Connie was talking about the hot girl with the slushies… was that me?”

Jean sucks in a sharp little breath of air, looking away as he purses his lips thoughtfully.

“I mean, you were technically hot. We’re in a heat wave and your air-cond-“

You shoot him an unamused look, and he cuts himself off before he makes it any worse for himself.

Jean sighs.

“And what if he was? Talking about you, I mean.” He seems to muster up a bit of courage, holding you in his stare. “What if I told him about you? What then?”

He takes a hesitant step towards you, and then another - slowly gaining confidence until he has you practically pinned against the door.

A moment passes as you acclimate to the weight of his words and to the staticky hum in your ears at his sudden nearness. You’re not even sure if you’re capable of stringing together any coherent sequence of words, but you force something out anyway.

“Well, I guess I’d have no choice but to admit that you’re the cute convenience store guy.”

Jean breaks into a crooked grin above you.

Something flutters in the pit of your stomach at the sight - a flicker like a flame, only this time you don’t have a slushie in your hand to douse the kindling hazard.

“I mean, it’s not like I was talking about Mr. Tompkins,” you mutter, your lips pursing into a little pout.

“I sure hope not, because that would make this pretty awkward,” Jean sighs and before you have a chance to ask him what he means, he's dipping down to crash his mouth to yours.

You’re taken aback for a moment, hands flying to grasp the tops of his arms. You aren’t sure if you’re going to push him away or pull him closer, but one gentle brush of his fingers against your jaw makes up your mind for you as you melt into him instinctively. He cups your cheeks in his large hands, tilting your face up to meet his as your lips part against his own.

You know this is probably not a good idea. You know that you have a house full of your friends just a floor away, likely wondering where the two of you have disappeared to. But even knowing that, you kiss Jean like you have all the time in the world; moving at your own pace, savouring it like the weight of your hasty decision couldn’t rapidly creep up on you at any moment. You lean into it, you reach for it blindly, clinging to him like he’s the only thought you’ve ever had.

The way his lips mould to your own, alternating between parting and suckling; licking and biting; giving and yielding. You allow yourself to get lost in that, until the voice of reason in the back of your mind has be drowned out by the thrum of your own pulse.

You’ve had your fair share to drink that night, but you know that the way your head swims, the heat that pumps steadily in your veins and paints your skin in a flush that you can feel crawling up your neck, that’s all Jean’s doing.

“Fuck, hold on to me,” Jean mutters, finally pulling his lips from yours.

Two strong hands slide down your hips to your thighs, hiking them (and you by extension) up around his waist. He holds you up with one hand, the other bracing himself against the wall beside the door. Your own arms reach up to loop around his neck, your chest pressing flat against his from your newfound elevation.

You hold a little tighter to him than you had been a moment prior - instinctively seeking his mouth again with your own, chasing the warmth and the wetness. He laughs a bit at your eagerness, kissing you again, though this one is slightly more chaste.

You sigh as he moves to trail his lips along the line of your jaw, sliding eventually down to your throat. He leans down to mouth against your collarbone and you crane your head back, arching your spine to give him better access to the sensitive skin at the base of your neck. He places a kiss there, and then another, and another - tracing a warm line back up again where he finishes the sequence with a gentle suck to your pulse point.

You keen at the feeling, a whiny unintelligible sound peeling from the back of your throat. Your hips shift forward as your wrap your legs a little tighter around his waist, unconsciously seeking friction. In response, you feel Jean drag his teeth against the skin of your neck, biting down lightly as a groan rips through his own chest.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this,” Jean mutters the words directly into your stinging skin, fervid and reverent. The hand he’d been using to support himself against the wall trails gently over the skin of your shoulder, sliding his fingers under the thin straps of the slinky dress you’d borrowed from Hitch for the evening.

“How long?” you gasp out, breathy and exhilarated.

Jean pauses, peering up at you through his long lashes as he flicks his tongue over a bite he’d just left against your clavicle. His long, lithe fingers continue their journey downward, tracing lightly over the visible peak of your nipple beneath the material of your dress.

“Since the day you walked into the store in that little sundress, the air-con so strong these were peeking through,” he pinches lightly at the bud he’d been idly tracing, earning a squeak from you. “Fuck you were gorgeous.”

“I was?” you ask breathlessly, and he nods.

“You are.”

You seek his mouth again, pressing your lips together to stifle the moan that he coaxes out of your throat as he grinds his hips up against yours. He pulls you away from the wall, your arms winding tighter around his neck as both of his own hands press against the curve of your ass. He carries you over to the bed, laying you down with a surprising degree of gentleness.

You stare up at him as you lay flat against the cushy surface of his mattress, chest rising and falling rapidly as your eyes trace the lines of his handsome face. His own eyes trail down your body, settling at the tops of your thighs where your dress has ridden up, exposing a peek of the panties you wear beneath.

“Can I?” Jean asks quietly, hooking his thumbs under the hem of your dress as he peers down at you. You nod eagerly, helping him tug the garment up over your head before tossing it somewhere onto the floor behind him.

His own t-shirt soon follows, revealing the muscular planes of his chest from underneath and the sparse line of hair that trails from his navel down below the waistband of his jeans.

That’s as far as the two of you get before you’re eagerly reconnecting your mouths, having gone too long without the feeling of his lips on yours - though the newly exposed flesh of your bodies brings an added level of excitement as you feel his warm skin meet yours.

His hands find your thighs again, drawing them up around his waist as his fingers dig into the plush thickness of them. Your ankles cross behind his back as he grinds his hips down into yours, making you gasp against his lips. It feels entirely different than it had when he had you pinned against the wall - now, with the entirety of his weight on top of you, with only the thin material of your panties between his touch and your skin, it’s like something has ignited inside you.

You suddenly feel hotter than you had at any point in the past week, heatwave and broken A/C be damned.

But this is a nice kind of hot, building in the pit of your stomach like you’re burning from the inside out - a slow simmer that turns scorching and all-consuming with only a couple grazes of his hands along your skin.

“Want you so bad, it's been hell,” he murmurs into your mouth as his fingers slide up the inside of your thighs towards your core. His touch ghosts over the damp patch that has formed at the centre of your panties, the fabric clinging to the skin beneath it.

You whimper against his lips, and he pulls back a little, settling on his haunches so he can watch the movement of his own fingers between your legs. His eyes are dark and ravenous as he observes the way your thighs twitch with every careful graze of his fingertips along your slit.

“Watching your tongue turning all those different colours and wanting to taste it.”

His fingers press a little firmer against the fabric, tracing along your covered cunt until he finds the raised bud of your clit, rolling it under his thumb. Your hips shift into his touch, desperate for more contact, more pressure, more friction.

“Watching the way you bite your straw when you’re thinking.”

You teeth dig into your lip as Jean traces a firm figure eight with his thumb, tearing a moan from your throat.

“Please,” you whisper, breathy and pleading.

He’s quick to appease you, looping his fingers under the band of your panties and tugging them down your thighs, finally ridding you of the final layer of clothing between his touch and your skin.

“Perfect,” he sighs as he admires you bare beneath him, firm hands pinning your thighs back so he can appraise your dripping, aching core.

His fingers snake down between your legs once more, orbiting your clit a few times more before swiping down to coat his fingers in the slick that has been rapidly accumulating along your slit. A single finger traces around the dripping entrance to your cunt which has you clenching impatiently around nothing, whining at the insufficient contact. He chuckles at your eagerness, but it’s barely more than a breath of air huffed through his parted, kiss-slick lips.

Suddenly two long fingers slide in, crooking up inside you, and the sensation sends you reeling.

“Fuck,” you both hiss at the same time as you clench around his digits.

You want more.

More, more, more.

You feel gluttonous at your first proper feel of any part of him inside of you - and you’re suddenly unsure if you’ll ever be sated by your fill of him.

“Kiss me, please,” you keen, desperate and sweet, and Jean almost moans as he eagerly obliges, jerking forward and catching your lips in another searing kiss as his fingers curl inside of you again.

Your hips cant up with every snap of his wrist, chasing the fullness and the bright spots that spark behind your heavy eyelids every time his long digits brush against a particular spot inside of you that you could never hope to find on your own.

Jean slowly but methodically takes you apart with his fingers until you’re whimpering and babbling unintelligibly against his lips - a brush of his thumb against your momentarily neglected clit is all it takes for the flames that had been licking you to swallow you whole, a silent scream tearing from your throat as you cum.

Jean’s fingers don’t pause their careful ministrations, working you past your peak until you’re trembling and mewling for him to stop.

“S’too much, too much,” you whisper, voice weak and quivering, shaking your head from side to side as dampness collects along your lash line at the oversensitivity.

Jean kisses the corner of your mouth with a chuckle, withdrawing only at your insistence. He leans back, bringing his hand up to his mouth where he wraps his lips around his still glistening fingers.

You watch, enraptured, as his tongue eagerly laps around his knuckles to clean every last trace of you from his skin. The sight is sinful and lewd - and has that same fire that had only just subsided in the pit of your gut fanning alight once more.

The hand not presently between his lips travels to the button of his jeans, undoing it.

He pops his fingers from his mouth, staring at you intently.

“Is this okay?” he asks you carefully, hesitantly. “We don’t have to do any more if you don’t want to.”

“Want to,” you hardly even sound like yourself now as you rasp out your broken reply. “Want you.”

He groans, palming his clothed erection through his jeans.

He doesn’t even bother shucking his pants completely, too frantic and incensed by the earnest, needy way you replied to him, tugging his jeans and his underwear down to his thighs impatiently.

His cock bobs free and you take a moment to appreciate it. He’s long - though you’d surmised as much from the impressive bulge he’d been sporting since you were grinding on each other beside his door. His dick is slightly curved, the head pink and glistening with beading precum as he gives it a few cursory strokes once he draws it completely from his briefs.

He leans over you and quickly retrieves a condom from his bedside table, his scent and his warmth suddenly overtaking you as he reaches across your body. You watch intently as he rips into the foil package with his teeth, rolling the rubber deftly down his impressive length.

He catches your eyes watching him and smirks a little, dipping forward to kiss you again while grabbing a pillow from behind your head. He tucks it under your hips, a large, domineering hand on either side of your waist as he angles you just the way he wants you.

You feel the thick head of his cock run through your slick folds, nudging against your still-swollen clit and you keen a little - sensitive from the orgasm you’d only recently come down from.

But you want him.

He clearly feels the same desperation that you do, because suddenly, without much further preamble, he slides inside the welcoming walls of your cunt.

If you thought the depths his fingers could reach were impressive, it was nothing compared to this.

Jean’s forehead drops to your shoulder, cursing as you envelop him, clenching down instinctively against the sudden intrusion.

“Feel so good,” he moans, his words practically slurring in pleasure as his hips jerk forward shallowly - like he’s trying to hold back but can’t.

“Jean, g-god 'm so full,” you whimper as you try to shift your hips - you're not sure if you're trying to push yourself away from or further down his length, but his hands on your hips keep you pinned down in place either way.

“Hold on, baby, give me a minute,” he says, his voice very nearly cracking as he pleads with you, his grip on your waist tightens slightly. He sounds as wrecked as you do already.

He shifts after a quiet moment of panting breaths and racing pulses, rolling his hips against yours with more haste this time, and your fingers twist into the sheets underneath you at the sensation of him properly filling you up. He seems to gain confidence after the first few thrusts, building into a steady rhythm that has you choking on his name at the back of your throat.

Jean uses his grasp on your hips to pull you down to meet him as he ruts into you desperately. Your hands reach for his, wrapping tight around his wrists as he holds fast to you. Every fibre of your being feels like it’s on fire again, the heat that you’d thought had subsided reigniting with even more ferocity than the first time.

You can’t help but think you’d happily allow yourself to be incinerated away into nothingness beneath him if it felt as good as this.

His grip remains tight on the curve of your waist, but his roughness only serves to further fuel your pleasure, each harsh meeting of his hips against yours bringing you closer to the brink of release once again.

Your chest bounces with each thrust; Jean fucking you down into the mattress with such a fervour that you can hardly catch your breath. Your nails bite into the skin of his arms, desperately trying to ground yourself as pleasure singes through your veins, his name slipping from your lips quietly on every stroke.

He reaches his end before you see another - a carnal moan ripping from his chest as you feel his cock pulse inside of you. You suck in a sharp breath, the feeling of him finishing within you unexpectedly causing your walls to flutter, clamping down around him.

“Ah, fuck,” Jean hisses, pulling out from inside you as the feeling grows too much in the wake of his orgasm, smearing some of your own arousal down the skin of your thigh.

He makes quick work of pulling off and disposing of the condom in the trashcan beside his nightstand. Once he’s done so, he leans back on his haunches and brushes his hair back from his face, a few strands sticking to the sweat dampened skin of his forehead while he catches his breath.

You feel empty without him inside you now, the second orgasm that you’d felt building only moments prior ebbing away beyond your reach, but you can’t deny that you feel distinctly satisfied as he flops down beside you in his bed. Your chest heaves with every inhale as you try to calm yourself down - or at the very least get your heart rate to return to a pace that wouldn’t get you admitted to a cardiac intensive care unit.

Jean shifts slightly from his place beside you at the head of his bed, turning his chin down to look at you lying next to him. Just as his lips part to speak, there’s an unexpected knock at the door.

You jolt in surprise and instinctively reach for the sheet twisted under your bare legs, yanking it up to cover your chest. Jean shifts, sitting up in the bed and angling himself between you and the door to shield you behind his broad back - though it remains closed.

“Uhhh, Kirschtein?” a somewhat reluctant voice calls out from the other side of the door. "If you’re in there, the breaker flipped and there’s no power in the kitchen again. Bert’s still trying to get that dumbass from Sigma off the roof so you’re the only one tall enough to reach the box.”

Jean sighs deeply, a resigned sound. “Yeah, I’ll be down in a sec!” he calls back gruffly, thinly veiling the annoyance in his tone as he reaches for his t-shirt that had been unceremoniously discarded on the floor.

“Sorry for interrupting!” the voice calls sheepishly while Jean pushes his arms through the sleeves of his shirt. You almost snort at the sincere remorse in the boy’s words.

You watch as Jean hastily redresses, knowing you should do the same. Hitch is probably wondering where the hell you went, since you hadn’t gotten the chance to tell her about Jean.

Jean turns to you as he stands at the end of the bed, now fully dressed - stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

“Uh, the bathroom’s through there if you wanna clean up a bit,” he says, nodding towards a door on the other side of the room. “Sorry if it’s a mess, Connie’s room is on the other side and we share it, just make sure you lock both doors.”

You nod in understanding, rising from his bed on unsteady legs. You almost stumble a bit, though you catch yourself at the last moment, but Jean takes a step towards you anyway.

It’s a little bit awkward.

You don’t know what else you expected, sleeping with a guy at a party who you barely knew.

And who you’d now be forced to see on a semi-regular basis thanks to your mutual connections.

Yeah, you really hadn’t thought this one through.

Jean quietly excuses himself, slipping through his bedroom door which you lock again behind him. You gather your clothing from around the floor, perching on the edge of his bed to quickly tug them back on - resolved to find Hitch and get the hell out of there as fast as humanly possible.

This doesn’t prove to be a particularly difficult task: when you return to the party downstairs you quickly locate Hitch entirely too drunk for her own good - which is almost impressive considering you hadn’t even been gone that long.

You send a text to Sasha to let her know you’re leaving and that you’ll see her back at home the next day, and then maneuver Hitch out the nearest exit - eager to take your leave.

You soon find yourself walking down the road on greek row, Hitch’s cellphone in hand as you order an Uber to come and pick you up.

It’s Hitch’s cellphone and not your own for two important reasons: the first being that since she’s too drunk to make the walk back to her place, she can be the one to pay for the cab. The second being that you confiscated the device when she made an attempt to drunk dial Marlowe on your way out of the frat house - leaving the two of you to squabble over it as you make your way down the cracked pavement of the sidewalk.

“Hitch, it’s almost 2 in the morning - the poor guy is probably sleeping,” you say exasperatedly, trying uselessly to reason with her. You finalize the Uber request so it will pick you up on the corner down the road from the Alpha Omicron Tau house as Hitch makes another attempt to wrestle the phone from your hands.

“Annie would let me call him!” Hitch jeers back defensively as she trots along behind you, though her steps are staggered.

“Annie would leave your drunk ass on the curb,” you say flatly in response, pausing your stride to look at her pointedly, stuffing her phone safely into your purse.

Hitch pouts, knowing you’re right but still crossing her arms over her chest indignantly. Suddenly her eyes narrow - head tilting as a comedically blatant expression of realization dawns on her.

“You look like you had sex.”

You start walking again, unconcerned as to whether or not she’s following you.

“I did have sex,” you reply flippantly.

Hitch audibly guffaws, sputtering incomprehensibly for a moment before finally forcing out a coherent: “with WHO?”

“Jean,” you say simply, still walking down the sidewalk.

“What about convenience store guy?” Hitch protests in outcry, suddenly up in arms in defence of your otherwise unnamed crush. You finally pause your steps, sighing, and turn to her.

“He IS the convenience store guy, genius.”

Hitch’s bleary eyes go wide as she processes this information.

“That tall guy? From the party?” she asks, seeking clarification. “That’s him?"

“Uh huh,” you say with a nod, tone slow and movement exaggerated as though speaking to a child.

You watch her as she mulls this over, practically seeing the gears turn in her alcohol sodden brain.

Finally her lips purse, and she nods a little - as though in support of your decision.

“You really weren’t kidding when you said he’s cute, huh?”

///

You spend the night at Hitch’s apartment, having fallen asleep in her bed shortly after she locked herself in the bathroom with her cellphone to call Marlowe.

You wake up side by side, reaching over and ending the 6 hour long phone call that lights up the screen of her cellphone beside her on her pillow - with only soft snores coming from the other end of the line. You laugh lightly after you hit the red end call button, shaking your head at your friend’s obliviousness to her own feelings - and to those of the boy who had answered her call at three in the morning and stayed on the phone with her all night.

You spend the day helping Hitch nurse her hangover and doing a bit more of her unpacking - though not without making sure to remind her that you still have your own unpacking you could be doing at home every time she flops down onto her sofa to complain about her headache.

By the time you get home that evening, you shuffle in the door of your apartment and feel an immediate rush of cold air.

It seems that in the two days you’d been away, your A/C had been fixed.

You call out for Sasha, but quickly realize she’s not home - you wonder if she’s working or if she ended up spending the night at Niccolo’s and hadn’t made it home yet, and make a note to text and ask her.

You head into your bedroom, luxuriating in the deliciously cool atmosphere in your apartment, and flop on top of your bed, exhausted.

As you lay flat on your back staring up at your ceiling, you can’t help but find your thoughts drifting to the convenience store across the street.

Truthfully, a lot of your thoughts that day had been dedicated to the subject - or rather the boy in the blue vest who worked behind the counter.

A quick glance at the clock on your bedside table tells you that Jean’s shift has probably already ended for the day.

You gnaw on the corner of your lip as you mull this realization over.

Even if it hadn’t, would you go?

You’ve had almost a full 24 hours to process just how awful your decision making skills had been the night before, and have come to a few conclusions:

1 - Hooking up with your new roommate’s friend was unlikely to end well, and was asking for a mess.

2 - Hooking up with a guy who was supplying you with free slushies was borderline prostitution.

3 - In spite of points 1 and 2, you thoroughly enjoyed yourself the night before, and you have absolutely no idea what you were supposed to do about it or what it meant.

These three points continue to loop through your mind on repeat.

You’d been making daily trips to the convenience store since you’d moved in, and you know that after a day or two of not showing up that Jean would be likely to put the pieces together himself.

You know you need to come up with some sort of plan to address the anxiety you feel knotting in the pit of your stomach, but instead you choose to ignore it for a little while longer - resolving to deal with it the next day.

By the time the next day rolls around - which feels all too soon considering you're no closer to coming up with a plan - you pace around your room for a bit as you once again contemplate whether or not to go across the street.

It’s right around the same time that you’d usually show up, and you know Mr. Tompkins is probably already there giving Jean hell.

You should go.

You know you should go.

But you don’t.

Instead you opt to unpack a box of your school papers, setting up your desk. It takes you longer than you expected (certainly not because you were intentionally drawing it out) and by the time you finish, the sky is dark and Sasha has arrived home from work. The two of you decide to watch a movie in the living room, and you force the thought of Jean to the back of your mind again.

But you know you can't keep doing this forever.

It takes you three full days after the party before you finally muster the resolve to drag yourself to the shop across the street.

You stand outside the door to the store for a while, equivocating on whether or not you have the courage to step through it. You’re sure people think you’re up to something weird, hovering around outside the door to the convenience store like a teenager trying to find someone to buy them cigarettes, so you take out your phone and scroll through your email’s junk inbox for a while to make it look like you aren’t just loitering.

You scroll past your fifth email from some Nigerian prince who wants to sell you weight-loss tea when you finally decide against going in for a multitude of reasons - it’s a stupid idea, you’re not ready to face him, you have no idea what you’re even going to say - and so you step back towards the crosswalk to head home, head hanging in defeat.

You pause as the light above you turns green to cross the road, staring at it for a moment but not moving. You know your time to walk is running out, the person on the other side of the road having already made it halfway across the intersection in the time that you’ve been hesitating, and before you can think any better of it you’re spinning on your heel and stomping towards the convenience store again, stepping through the door.

But he’s not there.

The air-conditioning is as cold as you remember it being, only it somehow feels a little bit more frigid and unwelcoming now as your eyes sweep the store. The kindly looking woman behind the counter greets you warmly, though eying you a little warily as you stay firmly planted in the entry-way. You mumble something about forgetting your wallet and duck back out through the door into the heat of the summer evening.

In spite of leaving the convenience store empty handed, you’re carrying something heavy in your chest.

You head back across the street to your apartment, slumping through the door lethargically.

Of the 12 boxes you’d moved in with, you only have one left to unpack - some photos and decorations you’d brought along with you to make your new place feel a bit more like home. You unpack it slowly, taking time to arrange the photos and trinkets in just the right places.

Even in spite of the painstaking care you devote to the task, you soon find the final box emptied.

You sit on your bedroom floor, peering around your new room - full to every corner with pieces of yourself, your friends, and your life. You smile a little to yourself, though still feel suspiciously blue.

After breaking down the final box and adding it to the pile of cardboard recycling you’ll need to take to the garbage the next day, you pause.

What now?

You’ve finally exhausted your primary source of distraction that you’ve been relying on to keep your mind off of things for the past few days.

Well, thing.

You flop atop your bed with a miserable groan, and reach across your sheets to clutch Oscar the Bear to your chest.

“I think I might’ve really gone and done it this time, Osc,” you mutter quietly into the plush fur between his ears.

“I’m home!” A chipper voice suddenly calls out from the other side of your closed door - the muted sound of keys jingling as they’re dropped and shoes being kicked off reaching you shortly after.

You sit straight up in your bed, Oscar tumbling off the edge to the floor, frightened by Sasha’s unexpected arrival.

“Connie and Jean are here too!”

Oh.

Good.

You panic a little, hopping out of bed and pacing the length of your floor as you grapple for what to do. You wring your hands nervously as you try to come up with some sort of plan.

Should you act like you’re not home? No, your shoes are at the door and your keys on the counter - Sasha has to know you’re already there.

Do you pretend to be asleep?

You’re just contemplating feigning slumber when a knock at your door startles you, a little squeak slipping from your lips. You slap your hand over your mouth.

“We’re ordering pizza! Do you want in?” Sasha’s voice calls cheerfully through the door - having seemingly missed your sound of surprise.

You clear your throat a little, trying to keep your voice steady and unsuspicious as you reply: “Yeah, I’ll be out in just a sec!”

You can hear the trio’s voices conversing from the living room as you lean your forehead against your door, mustering every shred of resolve you have to force yourself out into the main area of the apartment. You take a shaky breath, yanking open your door and stepping out.

“Hey!” Sasha says happily when she catches sight of you - she’s in the kitchen rifling through the cupboard where she keeps her snacks. “They’re just going through the menu over there!”

Your eyes turn to the living room where two sets of eyes are waiting to meet your own.

Connie grins, waving enthusiastically. Jean smiles a bit too - though it looks a little pained.

“Come look!” Connie beckons you over, holding up the takeout flyer for a little pizza place down the road from your apartment.

You pad towards the couch, leaning over the back of it to scan over the menu in his hands while the four of you decide amongst yourselves what to order.

It’s a bit awkward between you and Jean; neither of you really acknowledge the other, though you can feel his eyes on the side of your face as you read the menu. It seems that you’re both trying to play it cool and not let on that anything has transpired between you around the other two people in the room.

Once the order is decided upon and called into the restaurant, an argument breaks out over who should be the one to go and pick it up. Connie and Sasha eagerly volunteer, which surprises you until you find out that the nice Italian man who runs the shop always gives them extra breadsticks.

Jean is rather unwilling to let Sasha go to retrieve the order, which turns into a spirited spat.

“She’ll eat half the pizza before she even makes it back!” Jean argues, pointing accusingly at Sasha as he looks at Connie - who has somehow been deemed adjudicator in the matter.

“Will not!” Sasha counters, but no one in the room quite believes her - not even you, and you’ve barely known her for a week.

“If you go, you’re not allowed to eat a single piece of pizza on the walk home,” Jean says warningly, and Sasha gasps in dismay.

“What? How can you expect me to make the whole walk home and not eat any of it?” she defends herself ardently as though he’s asking her to work a miracle, and not make a five minute walk home without eating a slice of pizza. She puts her hands up in a concessional kind of way, tone softening as she tries to strike a compromise. “How about no more than three slices?”

“One,” Jean counters.

“TWO and TWO BREADSTICKS.”

“Fine, but if there isn’t any marinara dipping sauce left by the time you get home again I’m making you walk your ass back and get more,” Jean rolls his eyes as he concedes, though you suspect it’s mainly because the argument has gone on for so long that the pizza will soon be ready to be picked up.

“Deal,” Sasha says happily, grabbing eagerly his hand and shaking it like they’ve sealed a business deal - he rips it from her grasp with a laugh, shoving her by the shoulder.

Sasha and Connie begin pulling on their shoes when you all seem to come to the same realization at the same moment.

“Oh, are you cool hanging out here with Jean?” Sasha asks you, looking up as she slides her foot into her sneaker.

Your heart feels like it’s been dropped off the top floor of the Empire State Building, plummeting down all 102 floors of it towards the asphalt below.

What the hell are you even supposed to say to that? No? How weird would that look?

Your lips part, but no sound comes out.

“This way you guys can get to know each other since you didn’t really get to talk much when you left the party early the other night!” Sasha adds, and it’s so absurd that it’s almost funny.

Almost.

She wasn’t wrong in saying that the two of you didn’t talk much at the party, but it’s precisely because you had been “getting to know each other.”

In the biblical sense of the word.

You simply settle for a nod, forcing a smile that you hope doesn’t look as anxiety ridden as you currently feel. Evidently it doesn’t - either that, or Sasha is so preoccupied with the thought of pizza that she doesn’t care to investigate - because soon her and Connie are slipping out the door with one final wave back and the promise to return soon.

The door swings shut with a gentle thud behind them, leaving you and Jean standing alone in the apartment which suddenly seems much too small for the two of you.

You keep your eyes fixed on the back of the closed door for a moment, your breath stuck painfully in the back of your too-tight throat.

“Do you want a beer?” you ask quietly without looking to him.

“Yeah, that’d be great,” he grunts out a reply and you shuffle towards the kitchen.

You hide with your burning face tucked behind the door of the fridge for far longer than you need to, eventually forcing yourself out again. You feel Jean’s eyes on you as you cross the kitchen to the drawer with the bottle opener - popping the tops off both bottles you’d retrieved from the refrigerator.

You have no choice but to look at him as you hand him his drink.

“Thanks,” he says, warm eyes boring into yours as he reaches for the outstretched beverage.

His long fingers - the very ones that had been consuming far too many of your waking thoughts over the past few days - brush against yours as he takes the cold beer from your hand.

You suppress a shiver.

“Wanna go sit on the balcony?” you ask him quietly, nodding you head towards the other side of the living room. He agrees, and the two of you make your way towards the sliding doors.

“It’s warm out,” Jean remarks idly as the two of you step out into the balmy night.

“Not as bad as it has been, thank god,” you say with a little sigh, taking a long swig from your drink - if for no other reason than to give yourself something to focus on that wasn’t him.

The two of you sit side by side on the concrete ground of the balcony, your knees brushing against his as you sit cross-legged, his own posture mirroring yours.

“You haven’t been in to get your slushie the past few days,” he finally says after a few moments of quiet. “Are you avoiding me?”

You choke a little on the mouthful of beer you’d been in the process of swallowing.

“No,” you reply, too quickly to be sincere. “I was… worried I was cutting into Mr. Tompkins’ argument time.”

“Is that so?” he asks, head tilting. If his tone isn’t enough to tell you he doesn’t believe you, the playful glint in his eye as he pauses with the lip of his bottle poised at his mouth sure is.

You hum a little, focusing your eyes on the convenience store on the other side of the road. You take a moment to appreciate the way that the fluorescent light from inside the shop filters out into the street, washing the pavement just beyond its walls in a soft light and casting shadows into the street as the occasional car drives past.

You have been avoiding him. You both know it.

“I think you might be lying,” he doesn’t hesitate to call you out on the truth, and his forthrightness surprises you a little.

You knew the conversation would end up here eventually, but it didn’t help you feel any more prepared for it.

“You’re right,” you sigh, setting your half-drained bottle down on the ground beside you. You place your hands flat on the ground behind your hips, leaning back against them and letting your head loll against your shoulder to meet his stare. “I finally looked into the nutrition of those things. Turns out drinking 24 fluid ounces of pure sugar every day is pretty bad for you, who knew?”

He only snorts in response, draining the last mouthful of his beer.

You watch as his eyes shift a little, flickering down to your lips as he sets his own emptied bottle aside. Your tongue peeks out to moisten them without thinking, and you watch as his gaze follows the motion.

“What - so now that your air-con is fixed you don’t need me to get your fill anymore?”

He inches closer to you than he had been a moment prior.

“Don’t sound so sad, what we had was special while it lasted,” you muse, though you’re undeniably affected by the dwindling distance between your bodies. “You even put your job on the line for me and everything - you must have cost Big Convenience a whole nine dollars not charging me for those slushies.”

“It was worth it, if you ask me,” he laughs a little as he says it, and he’s so close now that you feel the burst of air hit your parted lips.

“Really?” you ask quietly, still feigning as though you’re not wholly and helplessly tormented by the way you can almost taste the beer he’d just drained on his lips.

“Every penny,” he breathes, eyes scanning your face for just a moment before finally leaning down to press his mouth to yours.

The brush of his lips against yours is hesitant - measured almost - as though he’s not certain if he should be doing it at all. This moment of doubt quickly melts away, like ice on a hot sidewalk - dissolving into a puddle and then evaporating into nothing but raw want.

Your hands reach quickly to grip the material of his t-shirt, pulling him closer. His own hands rest on the ground beside your thighs as he dips down to meet you from his towering height.

You should have known that this is how things would end up.

Though you can’t say you’re disappointed in the slightest.

Jean’s tongue swipes along your lips, which part eagerly at the call - allowing him to steal the breath straight from your lungs.

Your arms reach up to loop around his craning neck, and with an unexpected dexterity he picks you up by the waist, pulling you into his lap to straddle him. Your bare knees scrape uncomfortably against the rough concrete below them, but you hardly notice as his hands find the curve of your ass - large palms moulding to your flesh through the denim of your shorts.

It’s hot, only amplified by the warmth of his body pressing into yours. You feel the slight perspiration at his nape as you curl your fingers through the ends of his hair, tugging gently to pull his head back - separating his lips from yours and earning you a groan that originates somewhere deep in his chest.

The material of your tank top clings to your body as you move your lips across his lightly stubbled jaw - you can taste salt on his skin as your lips brush the column of his throat, but you like it.

He only allows you to run the sharp point of your canine across his pulse once before he’s impatiently catching your mouth with his again - his hands gripping you a little tighter from their position on your ass.

You continue like this for a while - teasing and tasting and seeing which noises you can pull from the other with a graze or a nip or a particularly pointed suck. Eventually you can no longer tell if the beer you can taste in your mouth is from his or from yours - and frankly, you couldn’t care less.

It goes without saying that this can’t continue on forever.

The making out and the… whatever else was going on between the two of you.

You brace your hands on his shoulders, fingertips pressing into the firm muscle you can feel beneath them as if to ground yourself.

You pull away a fraction of a millimetre, his hot breath still breaking across your lips on every exhale.

“For what it’s worth,” you mumble into his mouth, and he pulls away just a little bit more to hear you clearly. “I would still like to get my fill from you every once in a while… if the offer stands.”

His eyes, lidded but attentive, watch you carefully as he processes your words.

“We’re open seven AM to midnight every day,” he teases, tilting his head to bump his nose against yours gently. “You know where to find me.”

You huff, hiding your suddenly flushing face in the equally warm crook of his neck. You draw in a breath that smells like laundry detergent and lemongrass and you wonder idly what kind of soap he uses.

“I wasn’t talking about the slushies,” you mutter after another moment of quiet.

He laughs, a warm breath of air ghosting across the shell of your ear as he leans his head towards you.

“Neither was I.” He presses a fleeting kiss to your temple - barely more than a brush of his lips against your skin, but surprisingly tender.

Your fingers tighten in the material of his t-shirt and you smile.

///

“So,” Connie draws out the monosyllabic word with a stilted sort of nonchalance as the four of you sit around the coffee table of your apartment’s living room some time later, sharing the pizza that he and Sasha had returned with not long prior. His eyes flicker between you and Jean as he says it, a slice of pizza poised halfway to his mouth. “Do you guys want us to like, pretend we didn’t see you two making out on the balcony while we were walking home, or wha-OW!”

Jean immediately reaches over and smacks Connie on the back of his buzzed head in response to his unfinished question. You can’t help but notice the taller boy’s cheeks have flushed a sweet shade of pink in spite of his annoyance, but he avoids your gaze.

Connie ruffles the side of his head that was just so unceremoniously accosted. “I was just asking because I was trying to have some tact, thanks!”

“Yeah, real tactful,” Sasha snorts from beside you through a mouthful of food.

“Says the girl who almost choked on a breadstick when we saw them swapping spit,” Connie mutters lowly, taking a large, resentful bite of his pizza.

It’s quiet for a moment as you all chew over the food in your mouths and the comment Connie had just made.

You’re the first to giggle - the sound slipping through your lips before you can stop it. You immediately press the piece of paper towel you’re using as a napkin to your mouth in an attempt to cover the sound, but it does little good.

The rest are soon joining in.

This seems to shatter the heaviness that had momentarily settled over the four of you - everyone relaxing a little as the laughter peters out.

You and Jean’s eyes meet as Sasha leans forward to grab another breadstick from the pile on the table in front of you. There’s a rosy hue flooding the apples of his cheeks that you’re certain is just as apparent in your own, his tawny eyes crinkled at the corners in a smile.

You’re not used to this; jumping into something so risky, so impulsive, headlong and without forethought. It’s unlike you - and goes against what you normally stand for: stability, predictability, certainty. But as Connie launches into a terrifying (though almost inspirational) story about how he once watched Sasha devour two entire large pizzas on her own - which the girl beside you makes no effort to refute - you can’t help but feel like things are gonna work out okay even in spite of your complete lack of a plan.

After the pizza is finished and the mess mostly tidied up (AKA moved from the coffee table to the kitchen counter to be dealt with later) the four of your settle in to watch a movie, dimming the lights in the living room as Connie scrolls through whatever streaming service he’d elected to browse for the evening - whose membership you were likely stealing from Niccolo.

“Oh, god. Not a horror movie,” you groan, burying your face in your hands as you see Connie’s attention linger on some terrible looking movie about a little ghost girl that you know will inevitably leave you with nightmares.

“Come on, new roomie! It’s not that bad! I’ve seen this one a million times,” Connie says with a laugh, hitting play - and you have no choice but to go along with it.

Connie is seated on the floor - propped up on a bunch of throw pillows and blankets he’d dragged off of the sofa to burrow into. Sasha was seated in the armchair just behind him, having already moved on to her second course of the evening: the largest bag of gummy bears you’d ever seen in your life. Jean on the other hand was seated at the opposite end of the sofa from yourself, an entire cushion’s length between you.

Unspokenly you seem to have agreed to maintain a safe distance - things are still new, after all.

As the movie plays you relax into your seat a little, though you do keep a pillow clutched to your chest should you need a place to burrow your face and hide from whatever frightening scene lights up the screen.

Throughout to film, you draw your legs up into your seat with you, though eventually you find them stretching out towards the other end of the sofa and the boy who’s seated there - never close enough to touch, but nearer than they had been when the movie started.

During a particularly scary scene, you jump in your seat - even Sasha squawks from her own seat across the room, and Connie laughs maniacally as a result. Your face is burrowed into the pillow in your lap, your cheeks burning and your pulse pounding in your ears.

But it’s not because of the movie.

It’s because suddenly there’s a warm hand settled on your thigh.

You pull your face slowly out from the pillow, your eyes flickering over to see Jean smirking. His eyes are still glued to the TV, but his hand is undeniably resting just above your knee, his thumb idly sweeping across the smooth skin beneath it.

You go to push him off in annoyance, thinking he’s making fun of you for being such a baby when it comes to horror movies - but before you can do so, his hand grabs hold of yours and twines your fingers together.

He shyly looks at you from the corner of his eye, almost as if to ask if it’s ok.

You purse your lips, turning your own attention back to the movie in front of you, but you’re undeniably trying to fight off a smile.

An even scarier scene comes on not long after Jean took your hand, and you’ve got his fingers in a veritable vice grip as the eerie music plays - tension building for what you’re sure is about to be an even worse fright than the last. Even Connie is hiding behind Sasha’s legs - who’s shielding her own face with a slice of leftover pizza.

Suddenly there’s a loud thunk, and a garbled hissing noise.

Then complete silence.

A girl on the screen in front of you screams - high pitched and shrill - but none of you are paying much attention to the movie anymore.

Slowly, everyone’s eyes turn up towards the air-conditioning unit overhead.

It had stopped.

“Oh you have got to be kidding me.”

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