Been On A Not-so-short Break And Now Im Bombarded W So Many Fucking Amazing Fic Updates Lately. Like

been on a not-so-short break and now im bombarded w so many fucking amazing fic updates lately. like so many. and YES IM SO FUCKING EXCITED ‼️🤩😭

dear jean (1) 

summary: Two childhood friends—Jean and Y/N—are reunited by a spontaneous letter and eventually find comfort in one another. But in a world where chaos and Titans reign supreme, can an innocent love reminiscent of their last untainted years bear its weight? Or will it succumb to the terrors of their reality?

pairing: jean kirstein x civilian! f reader

genre: childhood friends to lovers, canon-compliant, 18+ 

chapter warnings: mentions of death, angst, depictions of death

masterlist • chapter 2

Keep reading

God ill do anything for them 😩

No because Jean looks like he has a breeding kink

it’s literally written on his forehead! he has a huge breeding kink and has to cum inside you each time you fuck because he can’t help it :( he takes his time and is extra slow so you can feel every throbbing inch of him inside you. you look so pretty all full with his seed, he even dips down to coo at you about how you’ll be the perfect mama <3

HIIII FIRST OFF CONGRATS ON 50!!! Well deserved!!!

I’m so glad I came across your page a bit ago, and I have loved all your content so far! Sorry I’m not in your ask box, I got a lil confused on how to message you from there about your ‘cuffing season’ event. But I was hoping I could request for one?

My favorite characters: Jean or Nanami

Fav color: purple & brown

Fav drink: don’t really have one🥴

Ideal fall date: either like going to a pottery place kind of thing, or going to like a fall festival or horror night

Fall habits: I tend to get more inspiration for my sketching and drawing in the fall. I usually hit a block and around this time I just start filling up my sketch book pages every day. I love baking in the fall, it just feels more homey? What I wear in the fall is a lot of like long sleeves under shirts, crop tops with cargos and like a open button up over with converse or my doc martens. Basically:

With jewelry and changing up earrings all the time with my piercings. The thing I love about the fall is that I feel a lot more relaxed and calm? The weather is colder and the nights are longer, more stars seem to be out. In the fall I tend to get more serious in school though, I make sure to go to like cafes to do hw to prevent me getting distracted etc.

And I’d prefer if this could be sfw.

Sorry if this was too much😭 thank you am if you even took the time to read this<3

thank you sooooo much for participating babe! ugh i literally love this so much!! this was literally so fun to write pls send in whatever anytime u want bbygirl😫😫

word count: 2.6k

content/warnings: jean fluff, it’s literally so soft i can’t, sfw, artist!jean

author’s note: yalll i finished my last school related thing of the week today so now all my time will be dedicated to working on these!! stay tuned and submit if u wanna<3

cuffing season nav page

you hunch over your sketchbook, revealing more of your back to the warmth of the sun. a sigh escapes your lips as the heat already starts to seep through your layers of clothes; so much so that it nearly threatens to make you take off one of them. you shake your head to yourself, sneaking a look at the table to make sure that everything is in its right place. your baked goods were spread before you, on display for the passersby to buy when they craved a treat. jean scoots his chair closer to you, peeking at your drawing through the curtain of your hair.

“watch the table, babe!” you swat him away, covering your unfinished work with a splayed hand. he merely laughs at your meekness, but he obeys you, pulling away to give you space. with an elbow resting on the table, he cradles his head on his hand, watching you through lidded eyes.

“no fair, why do you get to draw?” he pouts at your inattentiveness to him, nudging your boot with his. you shoot a glance up at him, heart skipping a beat at the warm caramel of his eyes studying you. eyes ducking down to your paper once again, you feel a blush rise to your cheeks, a welcome contrast against the nippy autumn air.

“because i bake all the goods, you sell them. that’s how this business works.”

“i helped bake!” the indignance in his voice draws a giggle out of you. his face was clear as day in your mind even though you weren’t looking at him. the way he would grit his teeth, his eyes wide and alight with passion over something so trivial. your eyes roll as you remember the sight that he was that morning as he basically destroyed your kitchen.

“eating batter and spilling a whole sack of flour is not helping,” you point out, nudging your elbow against him. he throws up his hands, giving you an opportunity to lean into him. he stiffens, surprised at how easily your mock anger dissipates, but he relents, wrapping his arms around you and giving a kiss to your temple.

“fine, fine, you win,” he cedes into your hair. you straighten up at the sight of a little boy and his mother coming to buy your goods. jean assumes his role as a salesman, releasing your frame to attend to the customers. his smile flashes bright as a summer day as he easily pursues banter with the family, complimenting the woman and chatting with her son. your mind flies back to that morning as you idly doodle in your sketchbook.

both of you had gotten up early to prepare for the festival. jean was more than happy to assist you, but his talents, when it came to the kitchen, were for cooking only. put a baking sheet in his hand, and there’s no telling what he would do with it - anything but baking.

you had made your perch on the countertop, taking a break from scurrying around the kitchen with your last batch in the oven. jean was clutching his stomach, complaining about a stomach ache. you teased him relentlessly, knowing it was the amount of batter he had ingested whenever you weren’t looking.

he had attempted to help you clean up, the first thing being to help you put away the old ingredients that you didn’t need anymore. he went for the flour, and then somehow, it slipped out of his hands. the bag blew up in a cloud of white dust on the floor. you could only imagine the image of your face at the sight of jean standing there, hands still open, now covered head to toe in the substance.

but still, you tousled his hair and planted kisses on his lips, grimacing at the gritty sensation of the flour. not wanting to get too carried away, you gave him a great mock scolding and told him to clean up and shower. you ignored the fact that he argued that a man covered in flour would make the goods easier to sell, because “it looks like genuine effort.”

jean finishes his sale, somehow managing to seal the deal on the family taking almost half of your goods. after they leave with a whole box of pumpkin-decorated cupcakes, he turns to you with a cocky smile. you merely roll your eyes at him, then get back to the work at your fingertips.

he gives you a few minutes of peace and quiet, enthralled by your focus and the way your pencil flits gracefully across the paper, guided by the hand of the most beautiful visionary. the festival was nearing its least popular time, with not many people milling around as they had earlier. jean takes the time to memorize every inch of your face, every mannerism you execute.

you still hadn’t looked up at him after five minutes, which he obviously took offense to. he invades your personal space again, so you jab the eraser end of your pencil into his chest to ward him off, drawing a winded exhale from his lungs.

“ow, y/n!” he whines, giving you the saddest puppy look you’d ever seen displayed on his face. it obviously didn’t hurt him, but he was exceptional at being dramatic.

“just let me draw, dummy,” you tease, batting your eyelashes at him before you turn back to your work. his fingers lace underneath your chin to turn your head towards him. he lifts it in different directions as his eyes study the beauty he beholds.

“but it’s really slow right now,” he breathes, fingers ghosting across the side of your face as his hand withdraws from the contact. “how about i draw you?”

your lips press into a hard line. in all the time that you and jean had been together, not once had he revealed to you any of the work he had made of you (if any of it actually existed). but, curious to see how it would turn out, you humor him.

“okay, fine,” you huff with a bright smile, “i’ll draw you too.”

you hadn’t noticed that his sketchbook was sitting on the corner of the table until he retrieves it, flipping through the pages to find a blank one. you abandon the page of doodles you’d been idly working on in favor of a clean sheet. the two of you situate your bodies to face each other, and the magic begins.

your idea is to draw jean with his arms crossed behind his head, laying on the leaf covered ground. you don’t need to look up at him, as you have his features well-memorized, but you do it just for fun. it seems that your brains are connected; everytime you steal a glance, so does he.

every so often, you look up to find him in a trance as he relishes in your features. your heart threatens to give out at the amount of times it skips a beat at his loving gaze. no one else disturbs your focus, with the festival being pretty empty at the time.

you bask in the intimacy of it all, at the fleeting glances and lengthy stares. how jean’s determination was etched into the space between his eyebrows and his laughter lines. how his tongue sticks out in focus at the particularly difficult points of his sketch.

the pencils tell stories of features that had long been burned into your memories. you could draw jean without needing to look at him. the sharp curve of his jaw, his strong nose, deep, soft eyes; but you like to be reminded of his beauty in those short glances you steal.

your two dimensional jean stares back at you with a playful air as you dust off the eraser shavings, revealing the whole picture. you set your sketchbook on the table, far enough away to prevent him from stealing a glance. he notices your movements and finishes off his drawing quickly, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he scribbles furiously. you wonder what his drawing will look like with those violent flicks of his pencil.

he straightens up with a triumphant smile, patting the sheet gently. his eyes rise to meet your gaze as he grins and grips the sketchbook with excitement. a laugh flows through your nose while a gentle smile blesses your lips at his adorable mannerisms. he takes in a big breath, then shoves the sketchbook towards you with an exuberant flashiness.

“okay, here it is!”

the smile on your face is quickly replaced with a grimace at the sight of what jean had drawn. it’s a childish sketch, at best. you lean forward to study it, completely missing how jean covers his mouth to contain a loud guffaw. the drawing doesn’t get any better close up.

you assume that it’s you, since it’s a barely developed stick figure, sitting in a chair. you can make out the table on your right, decorated with poorly drawn cupcakes. the expression on your face can only be described as devilish - because he had drawn devil horns on your head… mature. your mouth is open and bearing sharp teeth as your eyebrows turn down into a malicious v.

the speech bubbles that flutter around your head are littered with censored expletives, expressing some kind of rage that you didn’t understand yourself. jean loses his control over himself, doubling over, snorting with laughter. you pull back, still utterly confused at what he had done. your eyes flit back to your sketch, heart sinking slightly at the unrequited effort.

“jean, what the hell is that?” you can’t help the anger that laces your voice, with undertones of disappointment. he straightens up, wiping a tear from his eye. tossing the sketchbook on the table, he crosses one leg over the other.

“it’s you twenty minutes ago,” he shrugs nonchalantly. you feel like such a baby at the sensation of tears prickling in your nose, but you grab your sketchbook anyway, flipping through the pages of idle doodles to find your work of jean.

“well, i hope this guilt trips you,” you shoot at him, turning the pad around to reveal your art. his eyes widen; he takes the piece to study it up close. you sit back and cross your arms over your chest, still wildly indignant at the lack of effort he put into drawing you. after he had practically begged you to let him.

“y/n…” jean’s voice had softened as he looks back up at you. your heart skips a beat at the admiration on his face at the wonderful portrayal you had made of him. he gently hands the sketchbook back to you, your fingers brushing together. your cheeks warm as your heart relents in your feelings towards him - making him happy makes you happy.

jean flashes a devilish grin at you, grabbing his notebook once again. he flips manically through the pages before finding what he wanted. taking a dramatic deep breath and closing his eyes, he rests the book face book on his lap before making an obnoxiously loud announcement.

“i hope you dont have socks on!” he declares, eyes still squeezed shut. a smile rises to your face as you interrupt him before he can speak again.

“of course i have socks on, babe,” you counter, stifling a giggle with your palm, “it’s cold.”

he slouches, defeated by your impeccable logic. “okay well, you see,” he begins, eyes opening to gaze into yours. “i already had this done before we started. i was just messing with you with the other one.”

your heart flutters in your chest as he picks up the notebook, about to turn it around to show you what he had seriously done. a ball of excitement bursts in your chest; you attempt to stifle it, not wanting to get disappointed like the last time, but something tells you that this will be different.

“go on, let’s see it.” you try to put on a strong face, but you crumble as soon as you see the first inch of the page as he slowly turns it around.

“ta-da,” he cheers quietly, face softening at the sight of you beholding what he had drawn. you scoot in to get a closer look, resting a hand on his thigh. his hand comes to clasp yours, gently rubbing his thumb in circles across your cold skin.

you’re still in disbelief as you pore over his drawing. it was of you, sitting cross legged in your chair, your sketchbook in your lap. overall, the sketch was done so gracefully, so softly, and that translated to a portrayal of yourself that you had never seen before. you’re enthralled by it all, the cascade of your hair into your face, the gentle curve of your smile as you sheepishly grinned at the beholder.

you look absolutely radiant, like an angel fallen straight from the heavens. jean’s admiration of you is painfully apparent in the drawing. he surrounded your frame with stars, the shading around you appearing to be as if you were physically beaming with the rays of the sun. you run your fingers over the page, heart expanding to fill your whole chest cavity.

when you finally bring yourself to tear your eyes away from the drawing, jean is gazing at you with an immeasurable amount of love in his eyes. tears gather along your waterline, threatening to spill out as he swoops down to press a gentle kiss on your lips.

“wow, jean… it’s…” you can’t even finish a sentence before you choke up, a baby tear escaping your eye. you brush it away quickly as jean plants a kiss on your forehead. he gives you time to process the drawing, gathering a piece of your hair and twirling it around his finger.

“it’s the most beautiful i’ve ever seen myself.” it was the only way you could describe it. you didn’t think you ever looked that gentle, that radiant, that alluring. he portrayed you with such an angelic aura that you could barely believe that he had actually drawn you. a soft sigh escapes his mouth as he cups your chin, bringing you to face him.

“it’s how i see you all the time.”

you think that your heart must have exploded in your chest at that very moment.

you throw yourself onto him with such a force that you knock over his chair; and soon the two of you are rolling around in the crunchy leaves, laughing. the joy you felt was nothing compared to anything else you had ever experienced, being the dazzling vision in the life of someone you loved with your whole heart.

after the sappy scene of affection, the two of you go back to manning the table, occasionally picking leaves out of the others’ hair as the customers begin to trickle through the grounds for the end of the festival. jean’s hand rests on your thigh, squeezing the muscle every once in a while, hearkening you back to his love for you, begging you to be reminded of the adoration he beheld you with every moment of every day.

and at the end of the day, after you had packed up your things - or lack thereof, since jean had managed to sell every last treat - the two of you head home. your heart beats fast in your chest as you imagine what else jean had drawn of you. a soft smile makes its home on your face, basking in the simple show of love he had showered you with. finally, as the two of you settle into bed, jean wraps his arms around you, surrounding you with a protective barrier of adoration and whispering praises into your ear, even long after you had fallen asleep.

© all work belongs to starryenigma. do not copy and repost.