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tatter-muse · 2 months ago

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Jean Kirstein's Wedding Playlist

jean kirstein x fem!reader, modern au

♪ Track One ; Figures Cant Calculate (The Love I Have For You)

playing on jbone's iphone

warnings ; none!

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Jean’s hands shook in anticipation as he corrected his tie for what seemed like the thirtieth time, blowing a sigh at his inability to stay still when it counted. His feet swiped against the floor, softly recreating dance steps that he’d been preparing for a month.

Marco glances at the mirror where jean stands, fidgeting with the flimsy forestry green piece of fabric, tangling and untangling in between his fingers, his eyes glancing at his best friend’s figure in a scrutinizing amusement. “Dude,”

Jean’s ears were unaffected, no trace of recognition in his features and he continued with his useless fiddling. “Jean.” he tried again, taking a step towards him.

That seems to get his attention, honeyed eyes finding darker ones. Jean’s face is as readable as it could ever be - something marco found happened more often when his friend thought about you - despite his openly anxious demeanor, jean’s feet wouldn't stop moving against the invisible beat of a song that was sure to play out during his first dance with you. More than that, though, was the undisguisable excitement that flooded jean’s veins without control.

“Relax,” marco called out, sitting on the chair closest to the groom. There was still a good hour and a half to go until the ceremony began, giving jean’s fluttering heart more than enough time to stop beating so rampantly against the cage of his ribs. “You got this.” he said, slumping against the chair as jean finally stopped relentlessly attacking his tie. Without taking his eyes off the mirror, jean shook his head, confused at his own state. “Im not even scared. I’m actually feeling completely normal,”

Marco hummed; an encouragement to continue. Jean moved a single strand of hair that had escaped onto his forehead, pushing it back until it held into place. “I just… i dont know. I dont wanna mess this up.”

There was a short pause where jean could swear he could hear your laughter three rooms down the hall, bright and vibrant and bringing a hidden life to his chest again, his lips quirking up at the sound.

Marco breathed out a laugh too, “you’ve been ready for this ever since you first met her. I dont think you’ll mess it up.” he says it like its fact.

Because it is.

The day was not on jean’s side.

He should've known to carry an umbrella. He should've known to check the weather that day - but he really didnt want to blame his planning, or rather, his hopefulness - it had been bright and sunny all of freshman year summer break, the skies deciding to turn sour during the first week of college, as if the universe was waiting to give the students a cruel reminder of their reality.

Or maybe he was just stupid and too arrogant to admit it. Whatever the case was, he decided as he ran to his pre-planned destination, it wasnt his fault. Totally.

His phone screen getting dangerously close to drenched, he switched it off before swiftly stuffing it into the pocket of his jeans, dark splotches decorating its cuffs. His hands provided a useless shield against the pattering, his hair sticking to his forehead as he approached the diner - out of breath and disgustingly rained-on.

He braced his palms on his knees as he caught his breath under a sizeable shade that the red and white awning graciously provided. With his chest still expanding and contracting wildly, he lifted his head up, only then noticing a presence next to him.

Just like him, you were also catching your breath. Your hair was a little frizzy - from the looks of it because you had also gone through the rain - as you shook all the moisture away from it, doing the same with your clothes, though they seemed to be too far gone to save, just like him.

Similar darker splotches decorated your own clothes, a sense of camaraderie filling the air between the two of you, matching each other's actions unknowingly. And when you finally exchanged glances, a wordless acknowledgement, you both smiled with tight lips, the kind that were appropriate for a stranger that could have the potential to be a named face.

“Should’ve brought an umbrella, huh?” you commented, and he breathed out a polite laugh, surprised at your further interaction, but welcoming it with warmth nonetheless.

He nodded, same small smile gracing his lips, “yeah,”

You had held the door open for him then. He would later recount that he wanted to do that for you, but you took the opportunity before he could even see it. With one more adjustment to your hair, you were going to depart from your stranger, but your name rung out loudly against the semi-packed diner, bringing your attention to the girl that was waving an arm in the air to get your occupied attention.

“Here!” she exclaimed with a smile brighter than the summer ever could've been, and jean glanced at the interaction, connecting dots that were clear and visible to him. You were the girl that sasha was mentioning earlier; the one who had just moved into her and mikasa’s apartment, the one that baked banana bread on the first day and made the house smell heavenly against the downcast weather.

He didnt know how he could forget. Sasha - bless her heart, really, because she did this with everyone she met that was even remotely disconnected from her large network of friends and acquaintances - had shown him a picture of you that she had only just gotten after asking for your socials.

Your smile was soft in the picture, unlike the one you had shown him only moments before, jean realized, as you walked toward your room mate.

Right. That made sense. God, was his first impression on you going to be a guy who was both running late and unprepared enough to not grab an umbrella despite the warnings?

You sat down beside sasha, leaving the only available seat to be the one next to you against the corner of the leathered booth. Jean slipped in beside you.

It seemed like you had also connected the obviously visible dots. You welcomed him now with a smile that was more like the picture he was familiar with; easy and soft at the corners, small wrinkles apparent as a proof of all your years under the sun. your smile reminded him of a petal, he had decided - the shade of your lips reminding him of the one he had grown up with in his garden, a common pink calla lily that his mother had been particularly fond of.

He’d smiled back. You’d later note that you knew he’d been giving you one of his real, impolite and informal smiles because the corners of his eyes had crinkled. He wondered how you’d grown to know him this unabashedly, to be so close to his heart without being afraid of it’s monstrous thrums that soon only beat for you.

The night was beautiful. He wouldn't realize it in the moment - no, good things are never ones to make themselves apparent - but your voice had carved itself into the notches of his spine. Not too deep yet, but the markings of a future etch were evident.

And he’d allow it.

You’d continued to introduce yourself, mingling with him and his friends as an exchange student without much knowledge of Paradis. Connie had made a passing comment about Trost’s beautiful gardens, pointing to jean, to which you turned to his direction with sparkling eyes and a french fry in your hand, forgotten to be devoured until after jean spoke. And he did, albeit stuttered, somehow managed to string together a coherent enough sentence to validate your admiration, telling you about the same calla lilies in his mother’s backyard.

You didnt back down, taking the conversation head-first and asking him about any memories he’d had with his hometown that stuck out to him, which had gotten him to speak - almost a little too passionately - about him and marco and the other kids that werent in Shinghanshina university, about how he’d picked some flowers from the garden without his mothers knowledge to impress a schoolboy crush on a girl who’s name he couldnt even remember.

You had laughed and told him about the guy who you’d share your lunches with in kindergarten. You, like him, dont remember his name either, but would always remember the “who has the longest noodle in their lunch” competitions.

And for a moment, everyone else had been forgotten. With your own little secret conversation, jean found it easy to talk to you. Sitting close to you also meant hearing your muttered quips that went unheard by everyone else but him, which he’d appreciate with a small smirk or a breath of laughter that was also only noticed by you.

No, Jean wouldn't mess this up. It was fact.

♪ fic playlist ♪ main masterlist is in pinned post! ♪ enter my taglist! ♪ also on ao3 ♪

taglist ; @holding-infinity-and-a-book , @mrsnobodynobody , @hopeless-anti-romantic-again , @jeanscremebrulee , @berrijam , @happxme , @cherrypieyourface , @imgayandshesanime , @moonmalice , @kivernova , @potaho3frog , @xakilicious , @katestrophes , @gojo-ana , @ppushable, @candleofhappiness , @zombiefiedskeivy , @1ovede1uxe , @sevriizy , @toscapaeron

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tatter-muse · 2 months ago

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😼

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tatter-muse · 3 months ago

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hooray!✨✨✨

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tatter-muse · 3 months ago

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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tatter-muse · 3 months ago

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head over heels!

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

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

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

middle tile art creds @/sonagee on twitter!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

granted, a very pretty girl.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

he pointed to the green one. “this,”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

eren cleared his throat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

ask her for her number, horsey.

no.

why?

unprofessional? are you insane?

come on! she seems interested in you, too.

whatever, man.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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tatter-muse · 4 months ago

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re : the world.

jean kirstein x reader, modern au.

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

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

Jean has this habit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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tatter-muse · 4 months ago

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Sasha looks like she’s gazing into the face of God

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tatter-muse · 5 months ago

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Bad Boys can be 👼 good too!!

( b-day gift for @l1p3k4 !!! )

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tatter-muse · 5 months ago

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【AOT】 Team Meeting

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tatter-muse · 6 months ago

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Jean teaches Marco how to cyber bully on Roblox

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tatter-muse · 7 months ago

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thank you #aot The Musical🧡🧡🧡

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tatter-muse · 8 months ago

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chessmaster hange <3

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tatter-muse · 8 months ago

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going to the cinema!

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tatter-muse · 8 months ago

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omg meeting jean’s family and spending christmas/new years w them ??

YES i went with spending christmas eve with them!! this might be a bit too specific but its something ive been thinking about for a while :D thank you for the ask!! :33 taglist ; @holding-infinity-and-a-book , @mrsnobodynobody , @hopeless-anti-romantic-again , @jeanscremebrulee , @berrijam , @happxme , @cherrypieyourface , @imgayandshesanime , @moonmalice , @kivernova , @potaho3frog , @xakilicious , @katestrophes , @gojo-ana , @ppushable, @candleohappiness , @zombiefiedskeivy , @1ovede1uxe ❅ masterlist is in pinned post ❅ enter my taglist ❅ requests for headcanons are open! ❅

❅ backstory on his family a bit first! okay so in my head it. it was was him and his mom at first. his dad wasnt in his life all that much and would only show up randomly. right. caused issues in his psyche. more about this in upcoming dusk to dawn chapters (PLEASE BE PATIENT W ME GUYS)

❅ and so when he was like. 13 or something. already hormonal teenager, his mom married this guy who already had two daughters, one of whom was older than him and one was younger.

❅ anyway. it took him a while to be okay with all of that, because he got really protective over his mom at one point and threatened his now stepdad with the whole "if u hurt my mom i will hunt u down and make u wish u never lived" mind u hes like 14

❅ ANYWAY so in my head he has an older sister who older to him by like 5 years and younger one is like 3 years younger than him. they didnt get along at first, obviously, being kids and allat. none of them were okay with this but with coaxing from their parents they found out that they werent terribly company, actually. again more on this in dusk to dawn upcoming chapters i swear

❅ ok so back to the request!! christmas in the kirstein household is beautiful ok. their house isnt super duper big but is well off enough, and jean's parents always go full out for it. lights and beautiful decorations, one of the prettiest houses on the block. youre obviously super nervous even if you had talked to his mom a couple times on the phone when she forced jean to give it to you. his sisters knew about you on social media and whatnot but thats way different than meeting in real life

❅ and jean tells you that his mom already loves you so you have nothing to worry about. "but what about your sisters and dad?" "my dad trusts my mom and will literally do anything she says so he will love you. my sisters will love you because youre you, stop worrying so much." he says even though everytime he has to talk to your family hes also scared shitless.

❅ you see their house and your jaw drops to the floor. he mumbles something about how they outdid themselves and how he's pretty sure theyre the ones trying to impress you. you only half listen to him tho

❅ anyway!! his mom opens the door and immediately hugs you. WARMEST HUG EVER BTW. cold outside be damned and she hugs you for a good two minutes before pulling away and then scolds jean for not wearing a beanie. "so i just dont get a hug?" and thats when she hugs him.

❅ the inside of their house is just as decked out as the outside. their christmas tree almost takes up the whole room. imagine those cozy romcom houses on christmas :') his dad is chilling by the record player (that jean has told you about) and gives jean the. guy hug like the two pats on the shoulder one. welcomes you in, shows you to you room, tells you to treat it as your home because it is your home. theyre all such warm people honestly

❅ his little sister isnt there to greet the two of you until after youve almost settled into jean's old room. its just big enough for the two of you and youre going through his old posters and things on the walls while jean tells you that "that was just a phase, honestly, haha, im not even that person anymore.." as if u dont kow everything about him already. and then his little sister walks in with some hot cocoa in her hand and looks at the two of you for a couple seconds and then says "how did this ugly ass bag you."

❅ anyway. turns out his older sister is going to be there by evening time so you help out in the kitchen, and jeans mom shoos him out of there coming up with some excuse of how his dad needs him or something. and then she tells you about all the times he wet his bed as a kid. this woman is dead set on embarassing her son tbh. i love her

❅ youre bonding over having a shared love for baking and shes giving you tips when his little sister walks in again. "did she tell u about how many times he used to wet the bed?"

❅ you find out shes studyinng to be a lawyer, in her first year of uni rn so shes super busy. his mom says shes very smart and shes just bashful and says "im not that good," waving a hand infront her face and you cant help but note that jean does the same fucking thing when someone gives him a genuine compliment. except that he usually follows with "i mean- unless youre into that." or something that ruins the soft moment.

❅ anyway. you meet his older sister soon, and she's almost identical to mama kirstein, mannerisms wise. the same laugh, her voice just a little bit deeper, the same sense of style, almmost everything. she embraces you in her warmth as soon as she steps in, tells you how excited she has been to meet you and that jean cannot stop telling her about you. she asks about your career and you find out shes also like jean with her passion and drive in her own career, and you get into an indepth discussion about it over a glass of wine until its time for dinner

❅ dinner is fucking beautiful. mama kirstein only let you help with the smallest things because you insisted, and she paid attention to any and all dietary restrictions you might have. sibling fights w jean and his sisters and you figure out why he hates his hair being touched (because his sisters always mess it up. thats literally all its not even that deep) jean and his dad eventually have a discussion about wines and stuff and its so obvious. right. they comb their hand through their hair in the same direction in the same way and youre like OH THAT MAKES SENSE.

❅ at one point you fix jean's collar and his sister is like "man u cant even do one thing right" to him, and his mom brings up marraige at the same time and jean chokes on his food. its not why she asked it that shocked him its just how she asked it. its so casual - "youre such a child, jean," his younger sister says, and his dad is talking over them, "alright, just because his collar is a little dishevled," and jeans glaring at his sister as you fix it and theyre all kinda talking over eachother right and you fix it and its like a little soft moment and he mumbles a "thank you" and his eyes are like shining and his hand is on your thigh and you roll your eyes in fake annoyance. and his mom is just, "so marraige."

❅ LMFAO moving on. theres dessert. you help with the clean up and jeans sister tells you that when they were small they used to make pancakes for their parents and jean got flour everywhere and she was always the one who cleaned it up. jean would worry about the presentation more than the taste and their younger sister would make the coffee, accidentally putting in too much sugar which went unnoticed until papa kirstein had to gulp down a wince at how sweet it was. speaking of, jean and him were in the living room and you could hear his voice clear as day complaining about how he just doesnt have enough vinyls and his dad telling him exact coordinates of where he'd find them <3

❅ and theyre all SO SWEET UGH like you can clearly see eahcother's influence in them. of course this cant be complete without mama kirstein showing you his old baby pics. hes so red in the face when his mom points out how chubby his cheeks were and his older sister pinches his cheek and he swats her hand away which turns into a small cat fight. dont talk about it. his dad puts some music on and claps his hands, "monopoly, anyone?" which then turns into a whole game night :')

❅ complete the night with a movie where you and jean fall asleep on eachother halfway through the movie, and his younger sister takes like 2000 pictures of the two of you with different filters on. as blackmail.

❅ bonus you wake up to pictures sent by an unknown number with different pictures of jean throughout his embarassing teenage years and his (gasp) emo bad boy phase in highschool... cringe...

god i love this man. i want him and his family so bad. anyway! thank you for the ask!! and for your patience :333

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