Jean Kirschstein X Reader - Tumblr Posts

can you do a headcanon of Eren, Armin, Levi and Jean (AOT) with a small girlfriend like 1,50 m (I think It's 5'0)?

Attack on Titan ~With a small reader~

Manga/anime: Attack on Titan

Warnings: nothing

Eren Y.

He loves to pat you on the head

He also loves when you hug him and your head sinks into his chest

When you've on his clothes, he'll blush a lot; once he almost risked turning into a titan: he was hurt and he thought he wanted to hold you in his arms so much that, if Levi hadn't been there, he would have become a titan

He's very, very protective

He loves so much when you grab him by the collar of his shirt to lower him to your level and kiss him

Armin A.

Since he isn't one of the tallest, he's happy you're shorter than him: you make him more confident

He loves when you're curled up in his lap while you two read

He also loves to give you kisses on the forehead: this is the only place he can kiss you without blushing or stuttering

Like Eren, he loves when you grab him by the collar of his shirt to kiss him; every time you do it, he blushes a lot

His nicknames are like "my little one" or "my little ray of sunshine"

Levi A.

Like Armin, he isn't tall, so he's very glad about that

When you need to take something that's higher than you, he has no problem picking you up, so you can take it

He thinks you're cute

He'll pick you up and place you on his desk to kiss you

When you wear his clothes, he'll turn his head away and, if you pay attention, you'll see his cheeks turn slightly pink

Jean K.

He loves teasing you, but not in a mean way

Like Eren, he loves when you hug him and your head sinks into his chest, especially while you cuddle yourself

He loves when you're kissing and you wrap your hands around his neck to pull him closer

His nicknames are like "chibi" or "baby-girl"

He loves a lot when you ask him for help catching something up high (he often puts objects up high so that you always ask him for help)

Thank you for the request and sorry if the characters were OOC. Bye bye!

💮 Rules 💮 Masterlist 💮

DARL+ING

pairing: jean x black! reader

genre: fluff, jean being in love

inspired by: darl+ing by seventeen (stan svt!)

cw: none!

a/n: i love svt so much yall don't understand

you know without you, i'm so lonely

he hated seeing you leave. whether it was you going back home to take care of a few things, or when it was going to work. he didn't care why you leaving, he hated it. hated it so damn much. cause all he's thinking is about when you are going to return back in his arms. he couldn't take being away from you for long.

when you're not here, 911 calling

he sits alone in his room, looking at his phone, waiting for it to have some sort of reaction. he wanted to make sure that you are ok, that you're safe. he knows that you are fine by yourself because he has seen it. But he couldn't help but thinking that something bad happened to you. yes, he's that damn dramatic. but all his worries wash away when you text him. he didn't care about what you texted, as long as he knew that you were still with him.

Into your heat again, i'm diving

you loved jean, and jean loved you. there was never a time where you two imaged being without each other. it's like no matter how many times you two saw each other, you would have the same feelings that you had since the beginning of the relationship. he never fails to make your heart flutter in ways that no one could ever make it.

darling, you, darling, you, baby

jean had realized that he had fallen deeply in love with you. there was no way out, and he was glad there wasn't. he needed to be with you, you needed to be with him, it was common knowledge. it was you, it had always been you, it will always be you that is the one for him. the day you came into the picture was the best day of his life. he hated not being with you, he hated it when you left him. but when you returned to him, all his worries washed away. why? because his darling was finally back into his arms.

© 2023 briology

you were gonna beat the fuck out jean.

like literally, actually murder him.

you huff to yourself as the clock ticked another hour. bye two a.m he finally showed up with a tired look on his face. you rested against your headboard with crossed arms as you gave him a pissed off look.

a smirk does not miss his face as he stares down at your naked body beneath the slightly open robe. he can’t help but be snarky as the next words leave his mouth. “all this for me?”

“nah it’s for my new nigga now, leave me alone,” you mutter, turning your head away from him. “he’s actually on his way right now, so you best get to steppin’ somewhere.”

“say word,” jean teased you with an amused look on his face as he removed his belt. you remained silent at his call of your bluff. with a kiss of his teeth, he leaned on the bed and snuck a quick kiss onto your lips. “i’m sorry, mama,” he apologized genuinely. “you gonna forgive me?”

“what am i getting from forgiving you?” you asked hastily, head still turned away from him. “forgive you when i’m not even getting my pussy ate? fuck you, jean.”

“i’ll eat your pussy till you nut,” jean shrugged casually. the explicit words left his mouth so calmly as he stared in your eyes. “i could fuck sweet girl till she’s clenching around me to stop,” there’s another one. “or you can sit and fuck my face. your choosing, i’m not picky.”

this is what you hated (loved) about jean. you hated how he always acknowledged his wrongdoings and was willing to pleasure you in any way in order to make you feel better.

you couldn’t stay mad at him for long. not when he had your ankles damn near touching your ears as he split you open with the surface of his tongue. he lapped up at your never ending cream mercifully as he flicked the bud of your clit.

“never gonna hurt my baby again.”

you moaned out, exploring the new sensational feeling of his tongue eventually fucking into your seeping hole. jean leaned his head back for a millisecond before letting out the nastiest spit ball ever.

his DNA dribbled along the surface of your pussy as he played with your folds between his middle finger. the bulge in his pants grew bigger by the minute the more he played with his pretty little pussy.

you could never stay mad at that nigga for long.

pretty girl - jean kirschtein x afab!reader - 18+!!!

there's def more eren coming but while that's in the works please enjoy the result of the jean brainrot i experienced the other day. fair warning- it's going to get pretty rough, but that's what you asked him for ;)

pairing: reader x jean kirschtein

wc: 4.6k

DISCLAIMER: this post contains MATURE CONTENT that is intended only for those over 18. if you are a minor, please do not read below the cut.

CWs: smut, consensual hook-up, established relationship (jean's ur gorgeous bf lucky u), unprotected sex, oral sex (male receiving), face fucking, pretty rough sex, vaginal fingering, biting, dirty talk, penetrative vaginal sex, swearing, daddy kink, use of names (pretty girl, crybaby, good girl), very dom jean, multiple orgasm, dacryphilia/crying, creampie

this one was super fun and is very tasty u guys enjoy <3

-

-> be there in 5 babe :)

You are not looking forward to this, to say the least. You pace madly around your little apartment in a massive t-shirt and sweatpants covering the skimpiest lingerie set you own. It’s got all the bells and whistles: a matching garter belt, lace in all the right places, stockings that come up to where your plush thighs are the fattest. You should be looking forward to this, you tell yourself, candles lit and ambient lighting ready to go. You have a gorgeous boyfriend who’s going to “be here in five”, and you should be brimming with excitement. But…you’re just not.

Jean’s been in your life for a few months now. What had started as a run-in at the coffee shop around the corner had turned into candlelit dinners, movie marathons, and exclusive titles, and you adore him. His sandy brown hair, the tattoo on his strong bicep, pretty hazel eyes– Jean’s sexy, loving, sarcastic, attentive, literally everything you could ask for in a boyfriend. Except when it comes to your sex life, that is.

The sex isn’t bad per se, you just can’t shake the feeling that he’s holding something back from you. He’s almost too perfect; he’s gentle with you, always taking care to ask permission before touching you, chaste kisses as he slides in, hand-holding in missionary. He cums every time, immune to the whiskey-dick you’d expect from his bourbon drinking habit, so you know he’s enjoying himself, but he doesn’t always seem all there. The fire just isn’t in him, and you know he has that side to him. You’ve seen those hazel eyes you love so much blaze, in a heated argument, at the gym. Why it doesn’t happen in your intimate moments is beyond you, it’s like he’s afraid to break you, like he’s not doing everything–

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Shit, knocking on your front door is what he’s doing.

You take one last look in the mirror: hair’s casual, but still sexy, makeup to a minimum, all straps and lace covered up by your inconspicuous pajamas. Time to potentially ruin your relationship.

“Hey beautiful,” Jean greets you with an innocent smile, “you look cozy.”

“Feel cozy,” you accept his kiss, chewing on your lip as he comes in. Your heart’s pounding in your ears; poor thing has no idea what’s to come. Maybe it’ll go well, you think; false hope might be the only thing that gets you to pull through with your plan.

“Have any movie ideas for tonight? I was thinking Hereditary, but only if you’re not too chicken…” Jean raises his eyebrows, a taunting smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. Ha! If only he knew all of the things you aren’t “too chicken” for.

You smile weakly, stomach churning. “Maybe. Can we just…can we just talk for a sec?”

Jean’s playful demeanor drops instantly, replaced by a faint frown. “What about?”

You amble over to the couch, playing with the strings of your sweatpants anxiously. How the fuck are you even supposed to bring this up? Your mind’s racing so quickly it draws a blank, and before you can stop yourself, you blurt: “Sex.”

“Sex?” Jean’s cheeks tinge pink. He hasn’t shaved in probably a week, a shadow covering his sharp jawline. God, he’s gorgeous, you can’t mess this up, you really can’t.

“Yeah,” you confirm, “sex. Our sex, to be clear.”

“I figured as much,” Jean’s sat himself beside you now, one eyebrow raised suspiciously. He’s not upset, not yet, but you’ve definitely caught him off guard.

“I– I feel like we’re on different pages,” you stammer– fuck you are so bad at this, “I just feel like sometimes you’re so…gentle, and you don’t necessarily, like, have to be?”

Jean’s frowning full on now, a precious little wrinkle appearing in the center of his forehead. You’ve hurt him, and your heart sinks. Probably should have started with the pros. “Like…what do you mean, by ‘don’t have to be gentle’?”

“Our sex life is great,” you try to smile enthusiastically, as if you don’t actually want to blow your brains out right now, “please don’t think I’m saying you’re bad in bed or anything. I just, like– okay, for example, have you ever tried anything rough?”

His mouth is a flat line. “Like what?”

“Like, handcuffs, or roleplay, any of that stuff.”

“What have you tried?” His voice is even, collected, but there’s something simmering in him that you can’t put your finger on. It’s not anger, but it tastes similar, running in the same vein but not quite there. It’s your turn to feel your face warm.

“I mean, I’ve tried handcuffs before. Some light slapping, spanking.” You’re twiddling your thumbs, confessing into your lap. You can feel his eyes on you.

“That it?”

“I guess.”

“Did you…enjoy that kind of stuff?” He’s taking the bait. You finally meet his gaze and it ignites a little fire in your stomach; he’s never looked at you this intensely, brows pinched together like you’re a puzzle he’s trying to figure out. All of these little mannerisms are tells, you’re intuitive enough to know that, but exactly what he’s trying to convey you just can’t figure out.

“Yeah.”

“How rough are we talking, here?” Jean sounds deeper than normal, the slightest bit of strain to his words. That’s definitely new; Jean’s the most unshakeable person you’ve ever met.

“If I’m making you uncomfortable, I–”

“You’re not making me uncomfortable,” an easy chuckle floats out of his mouth, “just trying to feel you out is all.”

Your brows furrow. “Feel me out?”

“Yeah,” he shrugs, “I’m surprised, that’s all.”

“Surprised?” Your nose wrinkles. “Did I ever give off the impression that I was, like, super vanilla or something?”

“No,” he laughs again, a bit of the tension melting from the room, “no, not that. We’re just still pretty new, that’s all. Wasn’t going to whip out everything in my toolbox ‘til I knew you were okay with it.”

That piques your interest; you think you’d very much like to see what’s in this toolbox of his. “So you do like some of this stuff?”

Jean rolls that thought over in his mind for a beat before responding, a suspicious smirk that you can’t read tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, I guess you could say I like some of this stuff.”

“We’re back to my original question then: what do you like?”

“I’m more worried about what you like,” Jean says, “especially since you won’t come right out and say it. Gonna make me guess?”

That’s your Jean, blunt as ever. The fire in your stomach sparks and spits at the conversation, teasing and tempting. There’s something playful to his words; you can’t shake this feeling that you’re missing something, that he’s toying with you, but you like it. You let him keep pushing, see where he’s leading you. “Sure, guess.”

“Do you like…” Jean trails off, examining you with his chin nestled between his thumb and index finger, “to be dominant?”

“No.”

“Submissive, then.”

“Yeah.” He likes that, you can tell by the way his eyes glint at you. Your teeth sink into your bottom lip.

“Like to be tied up?”

“Already told you about the handcuffs.”

“I bet you have a praise kink.”

That has you flustered. There’s a sinking sensation in your stomach that you’ve underestimated him, waded out too deep into the water, but fuck it, you’re already here. “How’d you know?”

Jean smiles, pleased. “I just do. Overstimulation?”

“Sure.”

“Orgasm denial? Degradation?”

“If I deserve it.” It’s a bold answer, but it makes Jean suck in a sharp “fuck” between his teeth. Oh yes, you’ve definitely underestimated him.

“You like to be punished, don’t you?” His hand has traveled up to cup your jaw, thumb playing absentmindedly with your bottom lip. There’s an anticipatory warmth gathering between your legs, and the air between you both is practically crackling, charged by the tension thrumming through both of your bodies.

“Yes,” it comes out in a breath, almost pathetic, but you can’t help yourself. He looks so good, always does, and now he’s grazing his eyes over you like he wants to take a bite.

“You know how safewords work?” You nod a bit too eagerly. “Ours is going to be red, okay?”

“Okay,” you’re agreeing, but you aren’t entirely sure what to, caught up in the soft rubbing of his thumb over your mouth.

“If your mouth is,” a deep breath shakes through his frame, “occupied, give me a sharp pinch with your nails.”

“I can do that,” the tension between you is palpable now, the room’s so hot that you’re surprised your wallpaper isn’t peeling off.

“Go to your room,” Jean releases you, eyes dark and hungry, “take your clothes off and wait for me on the bed. I’ll be in soon.”

You follow his instructions without thinking twice, as if a switch has flipped in your brain. Maybe it was his tone, an authoritative way of speaking that threatens consequence, or maybe you’re just so ready to see what this perfect boyfriend of yours has been hiding all this time. As you’re getting undressed, you realize he still doesn't know about your lingerie. You bite back a smile, kneeling on the bed. This is going to be so good.

A minute or so ticks by slowly, and just when your legs are starting to ache, Jean’s entering your room. His face darkens in a way you’ve never seen before when he sees your little get up; lightning shoots through your core.

“Put on a pretty outfit just for me?”

“Mhm,” you hum.

“That’s good,” he says in that slow drawl of his, “good girl.”

He’s only testing the waters, but you can feel your body viscerally react to the little pet name, shifting on your knees to mask your desperate attempt for friction, dampness spreading in your panties. Jean sees right through your act, smirking.

Jean joins you in undressing, slipping his shirt over his head. You take your time admiring his torso; miles of long, lean muscle, little ripples by his ribs trailing into a ridiculous six-pack. Jean’s a confessed gym rat, and it shows in every little line along his body. You have to blink and look away before you start salivating.

“Ah, ah, ah,” Jean scolds, tilting your head up towards him, “eyes on me, got it?”

“Got it,” you answer. Jean frowns.

“That’s not very nice,” he says, “try again.”

You go out on a limb. “Yes, sir.”

Jean’s eyes glint again in that mean, pretty way you saw earlier. You did good, you did good for him. “Much better. Get on the floor.”

You slide off of your mattress, practically buzzing with anticipation, settling on your knees in front of him. A low groan rumbles in Jean’s chest.

“Look so good like that, my pretty girl.”

Oh, you really like that, nuzzling against his hand on your head. Jean smiles down at you, inching his pants down until that little thatch of brown hair starts revealing itself. “Open up for me, nice and wide.”

Your jaw’s dropped, mouth open and tongue out, expectant. Jean smiles wider, sharp and dangerous, pulling his cock out for you. He taps the head against your tongue a few times, even slaps you with it, facade faltering for a fraction of a second to gauge your reaction. You’re good for him, sitting still and patient with your mouth still open, a drop of drool starting to slide off the end of your tongue. Jean makes a sound that’s somewhere between a groan and a chuckle.

“Oh, you’re an obedient little thing, aren’t you?” Your panties grow impossibly wetter, you wiggle on your thighs under him, earning yourself another slap of his cock on your tongue, heavy and drooling. “Gonna fuck this pretty face, okay?”

You close your mouth around his head, sucking lightly to show your approval. He’s not even touched you, not so much as a kiss, and your brain’s foggy, running like a hamster on a wheel chasing the circular thought of be good, be good, be good. Jean grabs your hair none-too-gently, tugging it at the roots, and starts canting his hips towards your mouth, muttering under his breath about how good you are, how good your mouth feels on him.

You lower your jaw ever so slightly, and before long, Jean’s picking up speed, knocking your gag reflex here and there and making you cough around him. He doesn’t seem overly concerned; in fact, he grins cruelly down at you when he hits an extra-sensitive spot, making you hunch and gag on him.

“Look at my pretty girl, so happy getting her mouth fucked,” he hisses when you moan around him, feeling the vibrations up his cock. He’s moving faster now, rougher than he’s ever been. You’re gagging with some regularity, tears welling up in your eyes and threatening to spill down your cheeks. You expect him to let up, give you some air, but it only spurs him on, and before you know it, there are thick streams of tears running down your face. Your jaw aches, your knees burn, but you stay, letting him use you how he pleases.

“Fucking crying on me,” Jean growls, “my cock too much for you?”

You try to answer with a shake of your head, but he’s relentless, fingers tightening in your hair and cock shoving to the back of your throat, making you retch.

“No, you love it, don’t you? My little crybaby.”

You’re so wet you can feel it gathering on the insides of your thighs, entirely soaked through your panties. You move your hips subtly, this way and that, desperate for friction. Jean notices, pulling out of your mouth but staying connected by a string of your spit.

“You squirming, pretty girl? Need some attention?”

“Yes, sir,” you rasp, nodding eagerly. Jean helps you up onto the bed, lays you back against his chest facing the mirror on top of your wardrobe. It’s a terribly lewd sight; you spread out in front of him, face swollen and teary, the telltale glisten of wetness glittering on your thighs.

Jean slides a hand down your body, rubbing you over your panties and nibbling at your ear. “You’re gonna watch me make you cum, and if I see you look away, I’m fucking you ‘til I cum, and you’re not getting a damn thing. Got it?”

“Yes, sir,” your voice wobbles pathetically. Jean seems to like it; his cock twitches in interest against your back. He pushes your panties to the side, flicking his fingers faster over your clit. Embarrassingly enough, you’re already nearing your halfway point from the face-fucking, moaning and grinding up into his palm.

“Need something?”

“Mhm,” you grit out, jaw clenched. Jean slaps your pussy; not too hard, but firm enough to make you jolt, bring you a moment of clarity.

“Manners,” he reminds you sharply.

“I’m sorry, I– can I please have a finger?”

Jean’s placated, slides one finger into you and laughs hot against your neck at the obscene sound that tears from your throat. “What do we say when we get what we ask for?”

“Thank you– fuck, thank you,” your words are coming out in puffs of breathe. Jean has long, skilled fingers, a fact you’re already familiar with, but the position he’s put you in has you dripping onto the sheets: forcing you to watch as he pumps in and out of you, grinding into your clit with the heel of his hand. You’ll be lucky if you last another minute.

“Feels good, doesn’t it? My pretty girl likes being full, right?” Jean murmurs, hot against the shell of your ear. “Tell me.”

“Yes, sir, I– I like it, I need– fuck!”

“What do you need?” Jean coos, entertained, as if he’s not unraveling you with just the one.

“I want one m-more finger, please,” you stutter, relieved you’re able to get the words out at all.

“Learning so fast,” Jean kisses your shoulder, granting your wish. His fingers are thick, the slight stretch making you throw your head back against his shoulder, hips rolling into his hand of their own accord. “Still looking?”

You force your head back to its upright position, mindful of the threat in his tone. His fingers work faster at your obedience, curling insistently against the gummy spot inside your walls that makes you see stars, makes you a little out of your mind with need. It’s that out-of-mind dizziness in your head that causes your little slip-up:

“Fuck, please, more- more, Daddy.”

Jean’s fingers still; it’s not until you’re halfway into a whine of disappointment that you realize what you’ve said. Your face burns; you meet his eyes in the mirror, yours shot wide and embarrassed. You trip over your words, trying to explain yourself. That definitely hadn’t been mentioned in your earlier conversation.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to say that, I just–”

“Just what? Already so fucked out you can’t think straight?” Jean curls his fingers pointedly against your walls, punching a groan from your chest.

“Yeah,” you sigh, head growing cloudy again.

“Say it again.” That definitely isn’t what you expect to hear him mutter against your neck. Jean works a third finger into your cunt with some difficulty, stretching you to your limits. “Fucking say it, or you’re not cumming.”

“Oh my God, D-Daddy,” your cries are pathetic, punctuated by whimpers. The bubble in your stomach is about to pop, the tension growing unbearable. You’re almost there, grinding into his hand pitifully and babbling, when Jean takes one of his hands to grab your throat roughly. He holds you captive, staring at your own stretched cunt on display for you in the mirror.

“Good, good girl,” he says, “now watch Daddy make you cum.”

The band inside you snaps viciously; your back arches away from him, and you squirt, gushing all over your bed sheets, inhuman sounds tearing from your throat where you struggle under his hand. Jean’s working you through the whole thing, still steadily pumping his fingers and whispering dirty little nothings into your ear. It finally begins to quiet, overstimulation washing over you. You push urgently at his wrist, mumbling something or other about “too much, too much”.

Jean mercifully obliges, pulling his hand from you with a shameful sucking sound, giving your pussy another light slap.

“Such a good girl for me, yeah? How you feelin’?”

“Good, so good,” you slur, “I’ve never– never…”

“Never squirted?” Jean’s eyebrows shoot up at your answering nod before a smug expression settles over his face. “Such a fun little toy, aren’t you? Just wait, you’ll get used to it soon enough.”

Your cunt clenches around nothing; so he can make you do that? Again? Jean’s slid out from behind you and is repositioning your limp body, dragging you down the bed by your ankles to line you up with his cock. He bends your knees up, pressing them close to your head. Jesus, he’s going to kill you at this rate.

“Want me to fuck you?”

“Please,” you hate the begging lilt to your voice, but you’re beyond fighting it. You gave up the reins a long time ago when you knelt for him, let him call you a good girl, let him fuck your throat.

“I’ve got you, pretty girl, Daddy’s gotcha,” Jean starts bullying his way into your pussy, still tight and pulsing from your orgasm. “Shit, got a tight little cunt, don’t you? Feels so good– fuck.”

You’re simpering under him, barely able to process the stretch of his cock in you. He’s well-endowed and you’re overwhelmed, a dizzying combination for your fucked-out brain to handle. Just when you think he might be in your throat he’s so deep in you, his hips press to the back of your thighs, both of you letting out a long groan at the feeling.

“So pretty,” Jean muses, not moving yet, just placing a thumb on your clit and absentmindedly playing with it, “such a beautiful pussy.”

You whine, frustrated. He glares at you, landing a harsh smack to your inner thigh.

“I’m not going to warn you again.”

“Please fuck me, oh God, please,” you pant, past the point of humility. Jean licks his lips, presses his palms deep into the backs of your knees, practically folding you in half. He gives you what you ask for.

You’re jolted back and forth on the mattress, mouth hung open in a silent scream as he splits you open on him, forces every inch deep into you. His tip’s kissing your cervix, pain blooming in your abdomen, but you don’t even care, so lost in the rhythm of his hips.

“Jean, I– oh my God,” you try to tell him how good he feels, but all you get is a firm hand around your throat.

“Who’s fucking this pretty cunt up, hm? Fucking you good and deep? Who is it?”

“Daddy,” you choke out, breathless, “Daddy’s.”

“There you go,” Jean’s focused on where you’re connected, eyes never leaving the frothy white ring forming around the base of his cock. You’re crying again, vaguely aware of the streams of tears running down your temples, into your hairline, but fuck, he just feels so good your brain can’t even process it. Jean takes notice, wipes one of your tears and licks it off of his thumb. “Cute fucking crybaby, all happy and cockdrunk, aren’t you?”

You whimper some semblance of an agreement, feeling the band of tension in you already getting stretched to a breaking point. He’s at an angle that allows him to hammer into the most delicious spot inside of you, rubbing against it with each thrust.

“Gonna cum soon, I– I’m gonna cum soon,” you manage, locking his gaze.

“Let me feel it, go on, do it for me,” Jean pants, squeezing your neck tighter. The lack of air goes to your head; the room spins until all you can focus on is him pounding into you. You cum violently, throbbing around his cock, thrashing against his strong arms. Jean fucks you through it, never losing his pace. “Good fucking girl, just like that.”

You’re practically wheezing as your senses return to you, clawing at Jean’s arm on your throat. He lets up on your neck, smiling down at you. “Feel good?”

“Mhm,” you hum, blissed out and half-asleep until Jean flips you, forcing you to prop up on your hands and knees. “Wait, Jean–”

“Wait?” Jean scoffs, sliding back into you. You let out a little cry, and he smacks your ass sharply. “This is what you asked for, right? Said I was being too nice to you.”

“I didn’t– oh my god…” your eyes roll back into your head, a well-placed thrust cutting your words off. “It’s so…it’s so much, Jean.”

Jean lands three more sharp slaps to your ass, already thrusting into you at a brutal pace. “What was that?”

“T-too much, Daddy,” you collapse, face shoved into the bed to mask the pitiful cries leaving your mouth. It is too much; if you tuck your chin to your chest, you can see a little bulge in your tummy where he’s fucking into you, another orgasm already building in the pit of your stomach. You feel like you might pass out if he makes you cum again, but he’s ruthless.

“Too much?” Jean coos, fisting your hair to turn your face. He’s glaring down at you. “You were practically begging me for it, and my pretty girl gets what she wants, right? Said you wanted it rough, so you’re going to fucking take it.”

You nod miserably, fat tears rolling down your cheeks. Jean hisses when you clamp down around him. “Squeezing me so goddamn tight, this pussy.”

You feel a hand start thrumming insistently against your clit and nearly shriek; your pussy’s so swollen, so sensitive already. You claw at the bedsheets, feeling something warm and wet swelling inside of you.

“Daddy, I– fuck, it’s, it’s–”

“Gonna make you squirt again,” it’s a promise from behind your ear, “you’re gonna squirt on my cock and Daddy’ll cum for you, okay?”

“I can’t, I–” you’re wailing, words cut off by your own moans. Jean loves it, you can feel his thrusts growing more urgent against your hips, so deep in you you could choke.

“You can,” he corrects you, hand moving faster, “want Daddy to cum in you?”

“Yes, please, p-please,” You cry, letting him use you as he wishes. 

“I’ll give it to you, gotta cum first, you can do that, can’t you? Taking me so well, pretty girl, just need you to cum one more time for me.”

“Uh-huh,” the edges of your vision are starting to close in. He’s ruthless, hips slamming into yours hard enough to bruise, cock stretching you out so nicely, you can’t hold it, but you know, somewhere deep in this primal part of your brain, you need to be good, need to ask him. “Need to cum, Daddy, please– please let me, I–”

“Go ahead,” Jean shushes you, hips moving impossibly faster, “be a good girl, let me feel it.”

That tips you over the edge and Jean makes good on his promise; your cum is dripping out of you, spraying onto his thighs and ruining your sheets. You’re thrashing your head back and forth and sobbing through your orgasm, pinned and powerless under him. Jean swears at the vice-like grip you have on him; it doesn’t take him long to follow suit, pressing himself as deep as he can go, cumming in you. He bends over you as he does, grabbing your jaw and forcing you to him, kissing you hard in a mess of tongue and teeth. You feel it warming your stomach, moaning appreciatively until you both collapse in a sweaty mess of limbs, gasping for breath and clutching onto one another.

Jean allows himself a few moments to catch his breath, and then he’s pulling out of you, leaving you empty and whimpering. He shushes you, holding you close to his chest and letting you work through the intense session in his arms. You’ve never been so fucked out, nuzzling into his chest and simply letting him hold you, letting the aftershocks wrack through your sore body. After a few minutes you’re coming to; the haze begins to lift, and you peek up at him, unsure of where to start after…that.

“You okay?”

You turn the words over in your mouth before you can get them out, still feeling a bit like you’re floating. “Yeah, yeah, I’m okay. That was…wow.”

Jean, the man that just held you down and forced what were probably life-threatening orgasms out of you, blushes. “Yeah, it was really something.”

“Yeah, it was,” you agree, giggling despite yourself. Your mind is still a little cloudy, a little soft after everything. “But it was good. So good.”

“Yeah?” Jean grins, hoisting you up into his lap so you can both sit up, still cradling you to his chest. “Not too gentle, was I?”

Your face grows hot, you want to hide it behind your hands. “No, not too gentle.”

“You were right earlier,” he admits, “I was definitely holding out on you just because the way I like to…I mean, I don’t think I need to get too into it, you were there. It can be a lot. Didn’t want to push you too far.”

You hum contentedly, playing with the little gold chain he always wears. “I understand that now, but I’m a big girl. I can handle whatever you want to give me, promise.”

“Don’t say that,” Jean groans, “too tired for round two.”

Your hand falls into the mess between your thighs, and you wince. “Maybe after a shower?”

“Greedy,” Jean tuts, scooping you up with him to make the journey over to your bathroom, “my greedy, pretty girl.”

hi hi i’d like to request a personality based matchup for jujutsu kaisen and attack on titan please. i’m an infp, i’m bi so i don’t have a gender preference for who i am matched with and i’m ok with poly ships if you do those for matchups. i go by she/they pronouns. i am 5’2. i have brown curly hair with tinted highlights and hazel eyes. im pretty soft spoken tho depending on who im around i can be louder than usual. im kind, creative, patient, loyal, smart, and easy going. i try to be nice to everyone and not judge them based on meeting them once. my friends say im a ray of sunshine and that im the mom friend of the group. i like photography, hanging out with friends, going on walks when it’s nice out, listen to music, reading, watching anime, shopping, and baking. i like wearing oversized sweaters and hoodies. i like boba and different kinds of sweets. i don’t like confrontation and i try to avoid it when i can. when it comes to relationships i look for someone that i vibe with someone that i can feel comfortable around. my love languages are quality time (giving) and physical affection (receiving). thank you so much!!

Hey hey! Absolutely. I will say for AOT I dragged my friend in to help me lol I haven't written/seen AOT in so long so I've forgotten a lot of their personalities. Also apologies for making you wait so long!

Anyways, for JJK I match you with... *drum roll*

❥Megumi Fushiguro and Yuji Itadori!

I feel like these two, in their own rights, are perfect for you in JJK

Yuji and you both share some stuff in common, and he himself is a little ray of sunshine, so you have some common ground there

Megumi would also 100% provide you with oversized sweaters. I feel he likes it more than Yuji does sometimes

Both Yuji and Megumi would be down for some sweets though!! They both like sweets. They like them even more with you <3

They both are also loyal to you and each other, of course

Megumi would probably be a little more thrilled than Yuji to go on walks, but they'd both still go with you

Yuji is more of a manga reader, but Megumi is more of an anime watcher, so Megumi will watch with you while Yuji struggles not to make foreshadow-y jokes in the corner. It's really hard for him

I feel like you could get Megumi into photography, but I feel Yuji is more of a drawing/painting kinda guy. Regardless, he'll marvel at the photos you two take, and might even paint some of your photos as a surprise.

When you go to hang out with friends, Megumi has to stop Yuji from constantly texting you every hour. Megumi also misses you, but respects your space.

They both love to mess with your curly hair, and sometimes tease you on your height, but immediately stop if they see you're getting upset about it. Regardless, they never make more than a few jokes, and both encourage you to make jokes about them as well. Otherwise, they'd feel really shitty about it.

Megumi can understand being softer spoken around some people and louder around others, and doesn't exactly need any kind of explanation. Yuji however, will ask you directly, sometimes in front of other people, possibly embarrassing you. Megumi, of course, will come to your aid by smacking his fist on top of the bubblegum boys head and telling him to "cut it out."

Megumi shares your dislike for confrontation (source: Todo) but Yuji doesn't. If something happens that you need to confront directly, Yuji will offer to do it for you a million times over, seeing your discomfort in doing so. Whether or not you let him is up to you.

Yuji's main love language is definitely physical affection, so he's got you covered there. Megumi might take a little bit to get there, but his own main language is probably words of affirmation or acts of service. Doesn't mean he can't adapt tho!

Megumi and Yuji can both vibe with you, it's like a little party everywhere you go! They both like how nice and happy you are, and not a day goes by without them doing something with you.

• ───────────────── •

For AOT I match you with... *drum roll*

❥Jean Kirstein!

God I'm so jealous

This love-awkward fool stumbles over his own two feet and words whenever you are around.

I feel like he would have already been into photography before he got with you, but now that you're together, all he wants to do is take pictures of you. His favorite (you with a sunset behind you) is kept in his wallet at all times, and framed in his home.

He has a couple of oversized sweaters and sweatpants, but he labels those as his pajamas. He has no problem parting ways with them if you want them, though. He thinks they look better on you anyways.

Jean is grateful to have someone as smart and loyal as you. Being with Eren for long periods of time wears this poor man down.

He'll also tease you about your height, but thats just because he's so tall. He's also one to encourage you to make jokes right back at him though, it's only fair. But he absolutely loves your hair, always notices when you get it cut or styled a new way, and always compliments your eyes. He is rarely seen without a smile plastered on his face when around you.

I personally believe that Jean's favorite time of the day is sunset, and he loves taking walks with you around that time. It's how he got that photo of you in the first place. He'd also love to share music with you, and wants to hear the music you like. Jean is also a big reader, and would love to trade books with you.

Sometimes, Jean will take you to bookstores and you two each buy a book you both think you'd like, read them separately, then trade them and read the others' book. It's so fucking cute wtf

Jean would've watched some anime before you, but never really got into it. Now with you around, he might watch some of it with you, some of it not. It just depends. He's like those husbands that swear up and down not to be interested in their wives' reality tv shows, but still sit with her and ask her questions like he is interested. Because he secretly is. He might take better to manga, though. He never really thought to try that.

Jean would love to help you bake, but I feel like if he tried alone, he'd be shit at it and accidentally burn whatever he was baking. Poor guy. But, he's just happy to do something with you.

Jean doesn't have too much of a sweet tooth that I'm aware of, but that doesn't mean he'll turn down candy. He'll also never turn down your baking, even if its a flavor he doesn't like. The only way you'll know if he doesn't like a particular flavor is through either Connie or Sasha.

Jean is also another one who will offer to deal with the conflict himself, but if you decline, then he'll encourage you to get it over with, saying he'll be there as your support, and that everything is going to be okay. If you still decline, he'll give in and respect your wishes.

I feel like Jean's main language is quality time, in all honesty. Physical affection is a close second, though. So he'll be happy to give you all the physical attention you want.

Jean is all around very easy to get along with, unless you're Eren. He's very respectful and is crazy down bad for you, he'd do almost anything for you, and I mean that.

• ───────────────── •

Here is my JJK Masterlist and my AOT Masterlist in case you want to request, or look for more of your favorite character!

❝Summer Days Passed, When Jean Kirstein Loved Me.❞

Among these pages you shall find ...

eighteen plus materials; minors do not interact + female reader + forbidden love + period appropriate gender roles/clothing/skills + reader with a backstory + mentions of arranged marriages + love at first sight + unrequited love + loss of virginity + masturbation + oral (giving and receiving) + period appropriate slang + general regency era customs and traditions + some angst.

Length ...

20,016

Before you read ...

Hello dearest reader, before you dive into this fic I would like to mention the obvious inspiration from Bridgerton (the show) as well as more specific regency era customs so, before you reader please consider taking a lot at the grimoire which will provide some further background information as well as a glossary for some terms used in this fic, it will be found linked in a reblog which will also contain my tag list as well as a playlist you can listen to whilst reading! To additionally preface this fic does exist in the same universe as my Prince Sugawara fic as such there will be some spoilers for that fic. I do hope you enjoy as this is my pride and joy, another testament of my love for my friends and this au I've created <3

❝You too often longed for more out of life, dreaming of the day when you no longer would be a prisoner in your own home. Perhaps after one fateful day, a knight assigned to keep you safe, and a bounty of dreams, maybe your life would change and you could fall in love.❞

Living life in a bubble was no way to live life at all.

But the King and Queen of Gardenia didn’t seem to view your predicament that way. How could they? You were their daughter and they loved you more than they loved anything else in life. But as days turned into weeks and weeks into months you realized that you were trapped. Within the four walls of your bedroom was everything you had, forbidden to step out into the courtyard, or even allowed to eat dinner with the rest of the castle’s occupants.

A prisoner in your own home.

“Mother, I do not understand why I can’t just come with you!”

You broke on your Wednesday morning tea with your mother. Frustration boiled over as your mother spoke at length about the upcoming coronation taking place in the Kingdom of Pastoria. You so desperately wanted to join in the festivities but your mother didn’t seem to feel the same way. She shot down your dreams before you even had the chance to fight for them.

She was always good at keeping up a stone wall, her brow barely quivered as you slammed down your cup, tea sloshing over the rim and onto the pale yellow table cloth. Then again she was used to your outbursts and weathered the storm while your father left for another room, pretending like nothing ever happened at all. That was how they dealt with everything but never spoke about it.

“You know why,” she sighed, placing her cup back onto its saucer, “It’s much too dangerous for you to leave the castle let alone travel. You know this.”

That was their excuse for everything, that it was dangerous. In their eyes, you were nothing more than a precious piece of porcelain to keep safe, not a human with wants, with dreams. Merely a decoration to sit on their mantle, pretty and perfect.

Their secret.

“How am I meant to be a leader if I’m made to spend my entire life as a shut-in?”

Your mother sighed, resting her palm against her temple. Every conversation you had with your family always seemed to circle back to this topic. It was inevitable and unavoidable. You were restless in your plight, trying to claw your way through the miles of locked doors in your way.

“It’s not safe for you to leave. Not after everything that’s happened,” your mother said, rising from her seat, “You know that dear. We do this because we love you.”

Leaning back into your chair you huffed, fingers drumming against the arm, “A parent's love does not make up for their child’s suffering,” you sent your mother a pointed look, “You may not see it but I may as well be locked up in those dungeons you claim to be unused.”

“I’m not in the mood for your dramatics,” your mother huffs, placing her cup onto its saucer, “You know what happened in Camellia, to their daughter, what kind of mother would I be if I allowed the same to happen to you!”

“I’m not her!”

The anger that festers inside you makes your skin broil, leaving you uncomfortably hot beneath the layers of clothing your sport. Your nails dig into the palm of your hands, tearing at the flesh from how tightly your fists are clenched. You’d never under the rational or the fear your mother felt and though you were sympathetic, you were ready for life. At twenty years old, you’d never done anything unless it was under the watchful eyes of your mother and father, every part of you ached for something more, craved to feel the sun on your face and the grass on your feet but no amount of begging and pleading would break them.

They were the true stone walls, cold and unmoving. No comfort to be found in their rigid embrace, their resolve forever unchanging.

It was maddening.

“I will never be her,” your groan, tears of frustration welling up in your eyes. Cursing under your breath you tilt your head back to stare up at the ceiling, “I am no longer a child, Mother, please just try to understand.”

If you gazed upon her sullied expression you might have broken, given in as you did every other evening when this very argument broke out.

“If you need me, I’ll be in my quarters.”

As a child, it wasn’t so bad —you had cousins, other children within the royal court too, all of whom you’d sneak around with. Childlike wonder and a keen sense of curiosity only possessed by the purest of minds kept you from seeing the true scope of your predicament. Then, you hadn’t understood how heavily iron-clad doors weighed, it was all a game and you were intent on winning. The thrill of sneaking below the radar, and poking around all the rooms off-limits was enough to keep you sane until that too went away. Some were married off and others had an early start to whatever duties they’d be raised to fulfil and though you tried to understand as your youth dwindled to a past memory, you still felt betrayed as you were the only one left captive between the stone walls of your castle.

The burden of being a princess only seemed to grow as you had aged— you began to understand why a canary lost its will to sing when trapped between metal bars when you found yourself to be nothing more than a prized bird expected to put on a show.

Though, the fire within you dwindled you never did stop pushing for your freedom. To be nothing more but a downtrodden animal was a future you would never allow yourself to have, not when you dreamt of drinking in all the sweet elixir the world had to offer.

They avoided your gaze as you trudged through the castle halls, you could feel it, the pity that most felt when they laid eyes upon your woeful expression. Those occupying the castle grew used to the screaming matches you had with your parents, though they’d deny any knowledge of it if you asked. Rather than offer any amount of reassuring words or even a shoulder for you to rest your weary head upon, you were met with stone pillars who crumbled when your eyes met for a moment, too afraid of the king's wrath to do anything more than meekly watch as your dignity was chipped away.

Your handmaiden offered you a smile when you stumbled through your chamber doors, silently brushing past you with a basketful of soiled linens to wash. A soft breeze billowed in through the window, with it carrying the saccharine tendrils of spring. With a forlorn sigh, you make yourself comfortable on your window seat, the layers of your skirt dramatically swishing and puffing up around your frame. In the courtyard below you catch sight of the latest recruits fresh from Pastoria’s knight academy, they bumbled around in their chain mail, unused to the weight of it on their bodies. You couldn’t stop that laughter that bubbled up in your chest, it’s not like they could hear you from all the way up here, giggling as the bald one stumbled forward, taking down several other knights with him. The laughter stopped when you caught sight of a taller one, light brown hair brushed to the side, yelling at the group for goofing off. He was cute, you thought, though it startled you. Cute, your cheeks grew hot as you watched him run his fingers through his hair, one hand on his hip as the others struggled to compose themselves.

You could hear their laughter ring out, it was boisterous and filled with glee. They pay no mind to their friend scolding them. They simply brushed themselves off and continued to play around for as long as they could. The one with the long brown hair tackled the bald one to the ground once more in what you assumed to be a fit of lighthearted payback. Dirt and dust fly up around their bodies as they tussle on the ground, carefree. The other two that had fallen shuffled aside, the two men brushing off the dirt and trying to rid themselves of the grass stains that soiled their brand new uniforms. He has golden hair, the shorter of the two and has to all but restrain his friend from chewing the others out or perhaps from joining back in on the shenanigans. Even from all the way up here, you could see the mischievous glint in his green eyes but you didn’t focus on them for long. Like magnets your gaze settled back on the tall one, watching the way his muscles grew taut beneath the meagre white tunic he sported.

As if he could feel your eyes on him, the knight turned to look up at the tower where your window resided, using his hand to shield his eye as he scanned the brick wall ‘til he landed on you. Ducking down you held in a shriek of shock. Time and time again, you were told it was unbecoming to spend your time gazing mindlessly out the window, still, you found some comfort in others' joy. But, to have been caught was unthinkable and by a knight nonetheless. Slinking away, you hoped you were able to salvage enough dignity, though you supposed there was nothing dignified in crawling along the length of your chamber floors in shame. Sighing to yourself, you laid flat against the sleek hardwood floors until your heart has steadied and the heat in your cheeks faded away.

But, you could not rid yourself of the dopey smile that stuck to your berry-stained lips. The corners of your mouth no matter how you tried, remained upturned at the thought of being noticed. Whether intentional or not, you were noticed by someone and though the thought of your parents scolding you remained an ever-present worry it felt good to be noticed.

For whatever reason, on that day while you watched the world pass by as you did most hazy afternoons someone looked at you for whatever reason he did. You might have called it fate if you were in particularly bright spirits though you knew if you confided that sentiment in your only friend, Lady Historia Reiss, she’d have guffawed at the mere suggestion. Historia didn’t believe in fate or magic or any of the childish lies you told yourself so you wouldn’t lose hope. But today, you’d like to believe that by some miracle someone didn’t look away but rather, they looked towards you.

Though the circumstances thrust upon you were less than ideal, you’d do your very best to remain upbeat by losing yourself in the romance novels your mother deemed too frivolous for you to read but you did it anyway. Biding your time with fantasies that made your heart race and your cheeks filled with heat was better than staring at the bleak four walls of your bedrooms.

And, fantasy was too often better than reality.

That much you learned when wisps of freedom began to slip through your fingers as you age. Though that was not why you tore into every novel you could get your hands on, was because real true love was hard to come by and when it did, it was always fleeting.

Historia fell in love once— barely fifteen and as quiet as a mouse, she had yet to truly understand how cruel the world could be. A chance meeting with the castle's private blacksmith led her to meet Ymir, the girl who’d steal her heart. You remembered how giddy she had been on those rare evenings when the two of you had a chance to roam the castle unchaperoned, her cheeks were round and red, her sky blue eyes practically filled with stars. But she aged with you, and when she aged she realized that it was difficult to be with the one her heart longed for and the sneaking was not romantic, it made Historia sad.

Still, she let soot-covered hands run through her lemon-coloured hair and kissed all the callous’ and scars that littered them despite the lingering scent of ash and copper. As the youngest of the Reiss brood and an illegitimate one at that, she already had endured so much. To bring pride to the Reiss name, is all she longed for and so though her heart belonged to Ymir she made her debut into society when she was barely eighteen.

Declared the diamond each season since her debut, she was yet to find a suitor worthy enough of the Duke’s daughter.

So, on the rare days, the two of you met, Historia didn’t take kindly to the enamoured prattle you’d spew. The stars that made themselves home would fade one day just as they always had, Historia was sure of it. Still, you rest the palm of your hand upon your bosom and let out a sigh.

Tomorrow you’d call for her and hope she’d be content sipping tea while gazing upon the lawns perhaps so you could get another glimpse of the knights.

When night had fallen and the next morning had come you had been summoned before the sun had even begun to rise. Your handmaid barely had finished lacing your corset before she was ushering you to the throne room where the entire court had gathered before your parents. Straightening your spine, you keep your chin pointed upwards as you carefully tread across the plush velvet carpet. Standing off to the corner was the group of knights you spotted the previous afternoon. They looked even younger up close, their expressions wobbly and sweat beading beneath the layers of clothing they sported, their swords looking entirely too large no matter how tall they were.

Offering your parents a brief curtsy, tucking your hands behind your back as you wait for them to address you. At the beckoning of your mother, you rest upon the steps leading up to their thrones, smoothing the layers of your skirt down to ensure you reflected the mirage of the prim and proper woman that your governess raised you to be. Your mother's lace gloved hand strokes your cheek, drawing your eyes to her.

“How did you sleep dearest?” she questions, tilting your chin up to examine your face for any blemishes, “You missed dinner last night, you must have been tired.”

Swallowing, your force a tight smile, “I slept well, thank you, mother.”

Your father clears his throat, commanding that all eyes fall upon him. His presence is intimidating, you feel uncomfortable beneath his lifeless gaze but you learned long ago that to quiver beneath his gaze was to be undeserving of the crown which laid on your head.

“Your highness,” you mutter, dipping your head into a slight bow.

“As per your mother's mention, it has come to my attention that you feel constrained under the rules we set in place when you were a child,” your father states, though it sounds like a question you know that it is not, “After some careful consideration, I agree with your discontent.”

You perk up and nearly lurch forward in shock. When you were called down to the throne room this morning you could not have imagined that this is what your parents wished to discuss; your freedom.

“Since, you’ve reached the mature age of twenty it is high time that you are debuted into society beneath your mother's guidance,” pausing to stroke his beard, your father casts his glance towards the gaggle of knights who have begun to lose interest in your father's musings, “As such, to ensure that our precious daughter may be safe we are entrusting a knight to act as her personal guard until a union of marriage has been ensured.”

Offering you a smile, your mother turns your head to face her, “Your father has decided that you shall be in charge of picking whom you’d feel most comfortable with.”

At the flick of the king’s wrist, the knights stumble forward, three of them stepping up before the throne, settling down on one knee as they bowed their heads. In the middle was the knight that refused to entertain his comrade's antics, the one who looked at you.

“I’m to choose now?” You stutter, nervously wringing your hands together.

“Yes now,” the king barked out, “Hurry up child, I do not have all day.”

Your chest tightened, the weight of the entire court's eyes searing through your body and leaving you cold all over. This was an important choice and for a moment you wondered if it was appropriate, the majority of the knights offered to you were men, never had you been unchaperoned in the presence of a man, it was improper but now you’d have to pick one of them to remain by your side for an unforeseeable amount of time. You wondered if it was a trap or perhaps a trick if you picked incorrectly whatever freedoms you may have been offered to be stripped until you had nothing.

Releasing a shaky breath, you pointed to the man in the middle, the one with hair like caramel, “Him,” you declared, “He shall serve as my guard until you give me away to my husband.”

“You there,” the king snipped, “Introduce yourself.”

Dipping his head even lower, the man smile, “Kirstein, Jean Kirstein of Eterna,” lifting his head to meet your father's gaze his eyes flash something akin to pride, “I was ranked within the top ten of my class in Pastoria’s training academy, number six to be specific,” turning to your mother, the slightest sliver of teeth peek through his grin, “It is such an honour to be chosen for this position, and if granted I promise to do everything in my earthly power to keep your daughter out of harm's way.”

“Approach.”

The chainlink and metal armour he sports clangs awkwardly together as he shuffles up the steps.

Jean presses his lips against the gaudy ring your father sports and leaves a kiss against the back of your mother's hand. They seem pleased with his manners and he looks clean, and well put together too. In the past, most knights you’d come across were buffoonish, entirely too busy ruining the prospects of the village girls in their free time to ever be considered for a position as highly regarded as this. The new academy the recently anointed king and queen of Pastoria created seemed to have fostered a group of exemplary young men and women for the first time in your life span. Rising to your feet, you offered your hand to the knight, fighting the urge to keep your eyes glued to the floor. Your face grew warm, uncomfortably so as he slid his hand into yours, his lips planting a kiss on your gloved hand. Jean’s hot breath sent a shiver through your spine.

If he recognized you, he hid all indications; the mirage of perfection standing tall before you as he returned to formation.

Lacing your fingers together you tuned out the commands your father barked out, addressing the knights and their new postages throughout the castle, their schedules, and whatever dull matters you were sure was important for them to know. It wasn’t until Jean was addressed once more that you began to listen in once more, threats interwoven with lengthy explanations of the ins and outs of his post. It was made abundantly clear to everyone in the throne room that should Jean fail to uphold his honour or in any way was less than a gentleman, he’d be strung up and flayed for the entire kingdom to bear witness.

One by one, servants, members of the royal court, and the knights filed out of the throne room until all that was left was you, your parents, and him; yet to be dismissed.

“Mother,” you pipe up, nervously glancing at Jean, “May I call on Lady Historia for a round of tea today?”

“Very well.”

Resting her chin upon the palm of her hand she waved you off, Jean in tow as you head off to find a maid.

“Might I have your name?” Jean asks, tightening his grip on the hilt of his sword, “Ahem, may I have your name, your majesty?”

You almost laugh from shock, pausing to turn to him, “My name?” you ask, tilting your head to the side, “Should you not already know the name of your future ruler?”

“Truthfully, I had no knowledge of you until today, your majesty.”

This time, you cannot hold back the laughter that bubbles up in your throat. It was fitting that outside the court, your existence was all but moot. Surely, news of an heir had to have made its way through the kingdom though you were not a boy but still you offered him your name between giggles, trying your best to compose yourself.

Sinking to his knee, Jean took your hand and pressed his lips against your hand uttering your name beneath his breath until the taste of it on his tongue felt familiar, “Your name, it's fitting,” Jean grinned.

“How so?”

Your heart pounded against your chest and your cheeks burned uncomfortably once more, silently you began to curse whichever narcissistic king decided that this should be customary.

“It’s beautiful, you’re beautiful,” he says, his thumb stroking the back of your hand, “So, it is fitting your highness that your name is as beautiful as you.”

Tearing your hand away from him, you turn, “We must make haste,” your fingers shake and you’re sure he can feel the nerves popping off your skin, “Come now, don’t just stand there I must change before I may attend to callers.”

“Oh! Right …”

Scrambling onto his feet, Jean brushed his hair back with his fingers jogging for a moment to catch up with you, shortening his strides to match yours.

“Must I change?” he asks, thumbing the hem of his tunic, “Surely I’m too look as well as my mistress.”

“Don’t.”

You cringe to yourself, “Do not call me mistress, you may address my mother as such but not me,” pressing your hand to your chest you inhale deeply, “You may call me by my name or your majesty if you must, I care not for such formalities.”

You knew if your father heard you declare such things he’d have half a mind to give you a lashing, appalled by your carelessness, though in truth you held disdain for the usage of titles. They felt cold and impersonal, leaving so much to be desired when it felt like everyone existed at an arm's length from you.

“Additionally, you’re to remain in your uniform whilst working unless the event calls for it.”

“Why’s that?” Jean asks, and it's apparent just how fresh he was.

“Should someone threaten my life you are to intervene,” you explain, “If you wore anything but your chainmail and armour your earthly existence would surely end before you’re able to draw your sword,” stepping closer to him, you press your hand to his chest, “We don’t want that, now do we.”

He shakes his head and smiles. When he does, he looks more boyish than ever before.

“Before I call upon my handmaid, may I ask you something?”

“Anything you wish to know, your majesty,” Jean is still too nervous to use your name so informally, but he remains close to you though he shouldn’t.

“How old are you?”

His eyes narrow for a moment before he responds, “Two and twenty,” he says, his chest puffing with pride, “I know what you must be thinking, so young and in the top ten of his class,” he grins, “Quite the accomplishment, right?”

“Indeed.”

You hum, slinking down the hallway to find your chambers.

“I’m to dress,” you state, biting your lip, “If you would, I’d appreciate it if you would escort Lady Historia to the back gardens, my handmaiden shall escort you once we’re done here.”

Giving you a salute, Jean left you to the capable hands of your maids. Pulling all the latest fashions from Camellia, tightening your short stay to push your breasts closer together. In all of an hour, they had you adorned in twinkling jewellery and a frilly bonnet to match with your pale pink frock. White flowers and crystals which sparkled beneath the sunlight made you the vision of perfection, a matching parasol thrust into your hands before you stumble into the blinding summer heat.

Sat in the shade of a large weeping willow was Historia, a sneer on her face as she watched Jean with a fierce intensity. When you entered her eye line, she perked up, “Your majesty!,” she shouted across the yard, “Come join us!”

“Miss Historia, how good it is to see you,” giving you a quick bow, she wraps her arm around yours, “I take it you’ve made Jean’s acquaintance?”

“I have indeed,” she grits, but elaborates no further since he remains within an earshot, “And, I have a great many questions dearest but first, how are you doing?”

Making yourself comfortable among the fluffy blanket, you shrug your shoulders, “I’ve been as well as I can be, the castle has certainly been lively in preparation for this season,” taking the cup of tea with a smile, you circle your finger the rim, “There's a great deal of talk these days, everyone wonders if her majesty the queen may finally pick a new diamond of the season.”

Historia rolled her eyes, taking a particularly rough bite of the strawberry scone she had been nibbling on.

“I do wonder what you may wear to the ball, perhaps silver?” you suggest, giggling when she crushes the scone between her fingers, “You looked absolutely darling last season in the gold but I think silver may be more reminiscent of that stunning dress you wore at your debut, don’t you think?” you put on your most pretentious voice in an attempt to mimic your mother, “You’re not a spring chicken deary, you ought to look as young and darling as you can.”

She snorts into her cup, quickly covering her cheeks in shock, “Oh hush you!” Historia exclaims, “You’ve yet to debut so truly what shall you know about the ordeal.”

Jean casts the two of you a look but remains silent aside from the stifled scoff he lets out.

“As heir to the throne I think I should not have to prowl for suitable prospects don’t you think, Historia?”

“I suppose so, though I believe that most should yearn to be sought after,” Historia sighed, taking a long drink from her cup of tea, “You’re quite lucky, you’ve managed to avoid the tortures of high society and the marriage-minded mama’s who’s surely flock to you with their inept sons in tow.”

The scoff Jean lets out is louder, drawing the attention of your companion but before she could say anything you laid your hand on her shoulder, it was not an endeavour worthy of either of your time. Taking one of the brightly coloured macarons you allow yourself a displeased sigh.

“Ah, well there certainly are some perks to be derived from living with little life.”

Historia is quick to note the way your face has fallen, still sorely from the predicament, you found yourself in, “Indeed, you’ll forever be spared from the rakes that toy around with all the eager young ladies they cross paths with,” she nods her head in an attempt to get you to nod along, “Nor should you have to endure the whispers of jealous debutants with all the charm of an iguana.”

“One should hope they shall not speak so unkindly of their highness,” you snicker though you know how society enjoyed all the gossip that crossed their paths, “Speaking of rumours, I heard Miss Petra has light skirts, the poor Earl must be devastated but perhaps there will be a wedding before the season has even started.”

“One should hope …”

Brushing a few wayward strands of her silken hair from her visage, Historia lowers her voice, leaning in close enough for you to catch a whiff of the delicate scent of rose petals wafting off her, “Say, with this new fellow by your side may you finally be allowed to attend the events of the Ton?”

“Hm, I shall hope and pray on all my luckiest stars that I might.”

“I'm hopeful, I’m in desperate need of some good company,” Historia sighs, gently placing her cup onto the table before laying upon the ground, “Oh my dear, they’re so dull … I find myself losing all the good sense I have each time I’m there.”

“Surely they’re not all bad.”

Laying beside her, you tuck your hand beneath your head.

“How about Lady Finger?” You question, trying to drum up all the names you could remember, “Or the Viscount Braun? His title is recently acquired, is it not?”

She lets out a sound of disgust, shuddering for some dramatic effect, “It is indeed, his papa recently passed but he’s been after since my debut and I can assure you he’s to find another,” resting her hand upon her chest she frowns, “They’re all worst than the last I tell you, the Galliard brothers? Utter rakes but you should see their close friend the elder Grice boy, he’s jug-bitten!”

“Dearest, how are you ever to find a match if you cannot look past their vices?”

“Should they not be so awful I might be able to,” Historia’s bottom lip wobbles, “But as you know it matters not how perfect any suitor is, my heart is already spoken for.”

She laughs to avoid the tears that threaten to bubble up and spill past her lash line. Taking your hand in hers, your stroke her gloved fingers until she composes herself. It was rare that she truly told you of how her heart ached so terribly, much too content with playing pretend. If she acted as if everything was okay, then it would be.

“Perhaps sweet Frieda may take pity on you and enlist you to be her governess,” you suggest with a smile, “She has what, five children now? Surely they need some assistance.”

“Her last pregnancy blessed the family with twins so she has seven children now!”

Your eyes widen in shock, “That’s … spectacular!”

The idea of that many children was startling, as an only child, it was difficult for you to imagine being just one of seven let alone raising that many children. You supposed that one day you’d have to consider this, how many children you wished to have, how they’d be raised, who if not the eldest would take the throne once they were of age. It was terrifying, you couldn’t help but shiver despite the pleasantly balmy breeze. Those sort of decisions always felt far away to you, but one day you were to be the queen, and a wife, and then a mother – all of those things at once, perfectly. Your future was not another lifetime away but it was now; it had to be, you were certain that was why your mother persuaded your father to shorten your leash.

“Dear, you musten pretend with me,” Historia coos, giving your hand a squeeze, “You’ve turned green, it’s terrifying isn’t it.”

“... It is indeed.”

Pressing your forehead against hers you let your eyes fall shut, content with listening to the soft rustling leaves and the sound of chatter the wind carried to your ears.

“Would you like to hear all the reasons why Mister Hoover would be a most disastrous match for me?” She whispers, giggling when the corners of your lips tug upwards, “Ah well I suppose he’s now an Earl!”

“Oh pray tell, in detail too! I must know is the way he chews unattractive? Or is he too soft-hearted like the Baron Bodt?”

Jean clears his throat, turning to the two of you, “Ahem, your highness the hour has passed and you’re due back in the castle,” he says, ushering over the maids that slowly approached, “So, say you’re goodbyes.”

“Ugh, you hear that? He’s already giving you commands!”

“Hush you,” rising from the ground, you smooth out your dress, “He’s nothing more than a lady's maid ensuring that I don’t miss my pianoforte lessons.”

Wrapping her into a quick embrace you force an amiable smile to your lips, opening your lacy parasol the moment you’ve stepped out from the shade of the trees. You and the knight walk toe and toe, silently until you’re both out of an earshot of any other living soul.

“She’s quite the chit.”

“I pray my ears deceive me, sir!” You gasp, “You may not speak ill of my bosom friend, to me or anyone else!”

He tilts his head to the side, you’d think the gesture was cute had you not been inflamed with anger, “You majesty I mean no offence, does chit not mean chatty?” Jean questions, “Given your expression, that must mean no…”

Pressing the heel of his hand to his forehead, Jean groans.

“That should be the last time I ever listen to that blockhead!”

Catching sight of your now confused expression, Jean bows his head with a frown on his lips.

“Excuse my impertinence, one of the men I trained with seems to have led me astray on the definition of the word.”

He looks remorseful and his cheeks are tinged with red that cheeks up the back up his neck and tickles his ears. You supposed he was being truthful, it’d be unsensible to speak ill of those in the Ton or the court if he wished to remain employed and in good standings with you. Though you did not know him well, you would not have pegged him to be so careless but that may have been the naivety that lived within you. There was something about this man that made your heart feel like it was lit aflame, something that made you believe that magic did exist. So, it may have been that small whimsical part of you that forced you to only see the good in him, to believe that he truly meant no harm and was not the kind of man who went around speaking ill of highly educated women simply because he was jealous.

“I offer you my sincerest apologies your majesty,” Jean says in earnest, “I grew up in a very small village, I know little of the world you were raised in, all I know of etiquette and language is from the academy,” he explained, his hands restless at his side. He looked ashamed to admit such things to you, “So I promise I meant no offence, I simply meant to say that Lady Reiss was very chatty … You two are close.”

Tentatively reaching out to pat his shoulder, you give him a sympathetic smile, “We are close, she’s admittedly my only friend,” letting out a sigh, you try to remain upbeat, “She’s the only reason I understand all the nonsense of high society but don’t tell anyone I said that …” Giving him a playful wink your shoulders slump as the two of you head into an empty corridor, “Truthfully, etiquette and language are difficult, I had to learn it all from her and the conversations I overheard because I was raised outside it all.”

Nodding his head, it’s Jean’s turn to give you a sympathetic smile.

“So, just as Lady Historia taught me, I shall teach you. After all, we’re to be close now that you’re my personal guard, right?”

Jean takes your hand before you even have a chance to extend it to him, silently accepting your offer, “I’m your faithful servant,” he says with a grin, “I shall put all my trust in you as my teacher, all that I ask is that you is that you tell me of this rake business so I may never become one.”

You raise a brow at him, “Oh of course Sir.”

It takes you three months to mould Jean into the perfect gentleman. Not that there was truly anything wrong with him before, however now should he ever be in anything other than his knight attired, he surely could have charmed even the coldest dowager. In truth, your motivations for even suggesting that Jean should learn proper etiquette were more for your benefit than his. In the late of night after many long hours spent with heads bent together beneath the tepid spring breeze, you’d lay awake and envision what it may be like to be swept up by the sweet embrace of romance with him.

You’d imagine that he would charm your mother and father and by some miracle, the two of you may have some sort of life together.

Though you’d not dare to admit it out loud, you fancied yourself a fantasy far too often.

It didn’t help that when the lady’s maid stepped away for a moment and the two of you were left unchaperoned he’d turn to you and practice. Sweet words like that of the finest poetry spouted with nothing but the truest intentions for a short moment before a footman breezed through with their noses stuck to the ground in search of gossip. There was no reason for it, but he enjoyed pretending to court you, showing off his talents when you were off perusing the castle grounds and he was reunited with his teaming buddies. When you’d promenade, he’d pick flowers from the bushels decorating the length of the bridge and offer them to you no matter how you’d protest.

It was a strange relationship that you’d dare suggest border too closely to courtship than simply that of a knight and his employer. Even friendship was far too scandalous for a lady and a man to have and yet the whispers of gossip never seemed to circle anything but the miracle that was your existence. Too enraptured in the mystery and curiosity that brewed when the announcement of an heir came twenty-some years after their birth. So, you’d relish in the delights of sweet nothings whispered in your ears though they were empty, and counted down the minutes for you and him to part ways each evening so that he may leave you with a tender kiss to the back of your hand, another to the palm, and one last left inside your wrist; for no reason other than to watch your body shudder and shy away from him.

Jean enjoyed the small comforts just as much as you did, some days you’d think he enjoyed them more. Sneaking him sweet cakes and tarts and all the other delights a man of his standing had never been afforded during all of the days of his life. He’d often boast to his friends whenever the two of you strolled past their postings, how lucky he was to lay in the lap of luxury so often just to see them sweat and pout, waffling about when they’d shared all the hard work they’d just finished. And then, when the two of you found yourself alone once more, the cocky grin he sported dropped and he took your hands, pulling you dangerously close and promising that all the boastful words he spewed were nothing more than falsities. He simply relished in how they whined after three long years of mockery aimed at him.

You didn’t care much for the words he expelled at the expense of others, you told him just as much but he still pressed his forehead against yours and swore to you, though you’d never ask that of him.

With a sigh, you shut the novel in your hand. Stood at the doorway of the library was Jean, quietly chatting to Armin the knight often stationed there. He offered you a smile, turning his head to face you when he could feel your eyes on him. Stepping away from the table, you breeze through the doors and hovered near their side. Mikasa, another knight, bowed her head as she passed, whisking Armin away with haste. You didn’t catch what she muttered though you caught the name Eren, Jean’s eyes followed after them with a certain sense of longing until they were out of sight.

You liked them, his friends.

They were funny and charming all in their own right, they’re enjoyable company that you desperately wished to meet them. Jean spoke so highly of them, you felt as though you had already known then though you merely met another's eyes in passing. The confines of polite society never felt as strict as it did when it came to Jean and those he loved. He was improper company outside of your arrangement as were his friends, you were forbidden to even try though as you quickly learned in the time you had gotten to know Jean, they were often far superior to even the most well-endowed gentry.

“How were your studies, princess?” He asks, offering his arm for you to take, “If I recall, Lord Byron was on the schedule?”

You nod, tucking your arms behind your back.

“It’s so very romantic though I do wish the reading materials I was supplied with had some substance.”

“Oh, don’t you know your mind is much too fragile for that,” Jean jests, “Flowery words and romance are what shaped a queen, remember?”

Rolling your eyes, you sigh, “Of course, how could I ever forget.”

Taking hold of your arm, Jean pulls you into the first empty room he can find. It’s one filled with paintings and a few other art materials but they’re covered by white cotton sheets. Your chest is flush with his, but his grip does not waver even when you try to shimmy away.

“I’ve brought this for you.”

Produced by one of his pockets is a stack of string-tied pamphlets, thrusting them towards you, Jean tries to get you to take them.

“What is this?” You ask, tossing a glance over your shoulder as you grab hold of them.

“All the reading materials one with an enlightened mind should have.”

Thumbing through them you frown, “Jean, I am serious!”

“As am I,” he shouts, “Look, they’re all the most popular philosophical and political musings going around these days.”

“And? What shall you expect me to do with them?”

Thrusting them back into his heads you let out an exasperated sigh.

“Read them,” Jean grits, flicking in the forehead as though you’re some petulant child, “What else are you to do with them?”

Shaking your head, you step away from him, “I shall be in such trouble if anyone were to learn I’m reading the musings of madmen?”

“I should not like to hear such nonsense, your majesty, you wish to be well educated this is how.”

Capturing you by the arm, Jean all but towers over you. He’s always been quite tall, looming over most at a whopping 6’5 but you’ve never felt small beneath his gaze as you did now. His breath is warm as it fans across your cheeks, shoving the stack against your abdomen, Jean sighs and his face grows near. There’s a spattering of freckles dotted along the bridge of his nose that you had never noticed before and a scar that is mostly faded but it’s still there just beneath his right eye. Your breath catches in your chest when you gather up the courage to meet his brooding gaze, they’re like pools of molten gold rather than the usual brown that occupies them but with the warm light filtering in through the large rounded windows illuminates– Jean positively glows before you.

Taking your chin between his fingers, he keeps you focused on him, “Trust me when I say I did this for you,” he says, softly calling your name, “I see how you long for more every day, so please take them.”

He’s grown too close to you know, you can smell the faint scent of his soap. Citrus, it’s bright and airy, almost disguising the musk of sweat and dampen wool. You wish to take it in more closely but you pull away quickly. All you could find yourself thinking of was his small, pouty lips. You want to kiss him, to know how they feel against yours but you’re struck with the horrifying reminder that the door was open and even a princess shall not be spared from the ruthless hands of gossip should anyone catch her in such a compromising position.

“Thank you …” You mutter, your eyes cast to the ground, “You’re dismissed sir, I should like to retire to my room.”

“You’re majesty-”

It’s torture being so close to him yet so far away.

If only you just reached out, he could be in your grasp; yours not only in employment but in something far closer to love.

At that moment as you stare at him, you know that you have to kiss him, just once, on the lips. If you didn’t kiss you feared you might explode, the forbidden feeling of desire overwhelms you, burning you from the inside out until you feel as though you’d do something you’d regret if you didn’t leave now.

“Good day, Jean.”

Stumbling into the hallway, you blindly rush up to your room with alarming speed. Your heart pounds against your ribcage and you feel as though you could not breathe not even when your chamber door was shut and you found yourself alone in the sanctity of your own private space. Frantically pulling off the tight diamond necklace clasped around your neck, you shudder and shake with such intensity you fear you may just cry. The perfectly coiffed hairstyle and attire your maids worked so hair to create crumble within seconds as you tear off all the constricting layers of fabric until you’re left in the thin muslin chemise.

The smooth wood of your door soothes the heat that dances on your skin.

You wished to kiss him, Jean.

He was certainly handsome, that much you allowed yourself to accept the moment you first laid your eyes upon him but you fought every stray thought of him that manifested. They were dangerous and however tempting all the daydreams may have been, you only allowed yourself so far. Romance and marriage were tangible, you knew of how saccharine it should be but anything more you could not. Perhaps it was innocence or maybe naivety but you knew nothing of what lay beyond lingering glances that had you feeling as though your soul was on fire, however kissing was reserved for weddings, touch for its eve, everything else was but a well-kept secret by all the Lords and Ladies. To feel as though your heart may leap straight from its chest at the prospect of pressing your lips against another's was utterly terrifying.

Grabbing the stack of pamphlets from where you’d tossed them, you shove them behind one of the many books scattered across your bookshelf.

You can smell the faintest traces of citrus and his musk, it’s intoxicating and you feel dizzy.

As you pull off your chemise, you riffle through your drawers until you come up with a thin but frilly nightgown, one best suited for the summer but you cannot bring yourself to don it.

You wish for the burning to stop but you feel as though your entire body was doused in flames, they lap at your bosom and the unruly tuft of hair between your legs. You’ve never felt this way and you quickly pray to each star in the sky that you never feel this way again because it’s unbearable but the longer your mind lingers on Jean the tighter your stomach grows as if it were tied up in hundreds of knots that plague your body.

Tossing yourself upon your bed you sigh, trying to cast all thoughts off him, but it proves to be impossible.

You see his smile and hear the soft lull of his voice when he whispers to you as though he were in your ear now. The man in your mind whispers devilish things to you, coaxing your hand between your legs and crafting images of himself before your very eyes. He’s even more handsome than even that of the most carefully sculpted statues, stripped bare before you. Guilt, that is all that threads through your veins the longer your mind wanders and the further your hand slips.

Like honey, his name drips past your lips; they’re bitten and dotted with blood as you mercilessly tear into the flesh.

“Jean …”

You sigh, spreading your legs open to relieve the pesky ache that drives you mad. Your body jolts and your chest heaves upwards when the tips of your fingers graze against a hardened bundle of flesh. Images from a crude anatomy book you once laid your eyes upon long ago and you moved your fingers about until pinpricks of pleasure dared to slither up your spine.

Wrenching your hand away, you force yourself to stop, to deny yourself of all your deepest desires. Your skin is soaked with sweat and when in a few hours, your lady’s maid gently knocks on your door to check on you, you allow her to run you a bath. The cool water and strong floral scent clears your mind and you’ve decided you’d be content to return to your past circumstances rather than bring shame to your family’s name if you could not rid yourself of these feelings for Jean.

As the season grew near it proved difficult to hold either of your parents' attention let alone a private discussion on the state of your affairs but it was even more difficult to cast Jean away.

No matter what excuse you gave him, he was set on remaining by his postage.

Late one evening, when all had laid their head to rest, Jean made it his duty to get you alone.

You weren’t supposed to be there, in your mother's study. It was to be yours when you took to the throne but as of now, it was to collect dust. The queen seldom made use of the space and you figured it could not hurt to become acquainted with all the ins and outs of the space. And it seemed that Jean followed all of the breadcrumbs to find you, still sporting your evening dress, tearing through a novel. The room was bathed in warm candlelight that bounced off the jewels of your necklace.

“If I were to recall, this room is off-limits.”

You nearly jump out of your skin at the sound of his voice, far too distracted to have noticed the sound of his footfalls heading your way.

“My goodness, you frightened me, sir!” You hiss, pressing a firm hand to your chest until your breathing steadies, “You’re not to be here Jean, you were relieved of your duties for the evening in case you forgot.”

“Well, that makes two of us,” Jean chuckles but it feels hollow.

Stepping into the room, he shuts the door behind him.

You know you should scold him, perhaps even yell so he may be reminded of how ruinous this all was but you lost your voice as he grew closer.

“Now then, since we’re hidden from prying eyes and eager ears, so do tell me what I’ve done to deserve your cold shoulder,” Jean frowns. Taking the book from your limp hands and blocking your way to the door, “If I’ve done something to upset or offend you, you just tell me so that I may be able to rectify it.”

“It’s not that …”

“Then what is it?”

His hands tremble and he sounds utterly desperate for an answer.

“It has been maddening not being able to speak with you!” He shouts, his bottom lip quivering, “You’ve driven me mad! So please, your majesty, tell me what I’ve done wrong.”

Shaking your head, you sigh, “You’ve done nothing wrong, sir,” you force yourself to say, his name feeling too intimate on your tongue, “I just was in need of space.”

“Do not lie to me, friends do not lie to friends.”

Grabbing your chin, Jean tilts your head upwards so that you have no choice but to take in his anguished expression.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he wails, “Handing me off to others and hiding away in your room whenever you were unable to rid yourself of me!”

Shutting your eyes, you take in a shallow breath, “Let go of me Jean,” your voice wavers but you pray that he listens, “This is improper behaviour and should you like to remain employed within Gardenia you shall listen to your future queen.”

“You do not frighten me,” Jean says, whispering your name when your resolve does not break, “I shall stay here all day and all night if that is what it takes for you to talk to me.”

“And ruin my prospects?”

You force a laugh and sink further into the chair.

“A good friend should not do such a thing.”

Your heart pangs and tears prickle the corner of your eyes. It is shame that you feel, it has swallowed you whole and spat you out, pathetic and snivelling and positively ridden with guilt. You cannot meet his eyes though he pleads with you. You’re a hypocrite and you wish to spare such a good man of the misfortune of reality, that even a princess can fall victim to the sins of the flesh. Not nearly as illustrious as you’re said to be, because surely once he learned of your improprieties he’d have no qualms of tossing you to the wolves.

“I take it you heard me that evening,” Jean mutters, stepping away from you, “Your majesty I assure you that I did not mean to impose or spy, I was simply worried that you left in such a hurry.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“The evening after I gave you the pamphlets you fled from me in such haste, I promise I shall tell no one what I heard.”

“What you heard?” You echo, stepping from behind the desk, “What exactly did you hear Jean?”

Shaking his head, Jean nervously laughs, “That is most improper discussion your majesty,” he says, “Rest assured that I understand one has needs and I do not judge.”

You let out a choked chuckle, overcome with sheer shock.

It is then you’ve decided that now there is truly nothing left for you to lose. He knows and though the red on his cheeks might very well be from the heat, he seems less disgusted than you imagined. Too many nights you laid awake, torturing yourself at the thought of how he’d hate you should he become privy to your one moment of weakness but now you felt no shame now.

Tugging on his lapel, you shudder. You’ve lost count of how many times Jean has dared to stand so close, but now your lips ghost over his. His breath smells of mint and his lips are coated in a thin pomade, a rare luxury for him you should think but you’re not. You clumsy press your mouth against his, your hands pressing flat against his chest. Though he’s swathed in layers you can feel the lithe muscles beneath them. Your bottom lip quivers and you gasp when his calloused hands press against the small of your back. His touch is warm and inviting, easy to fall into and melt against his more than capable hands. But he is fervent, fingers digging into your hips and his mouth mashing into yours, desperate to taste you.

Your name is moaned against your mouth, Jean squeezes you so tightly you worry he’s afraid that you’d slip right through his fingers.

But it is when you return his name, your jaw falling slack that Jean jumps away as if your very being burns his skin.

“I’m sorry your highness.”

Jean mutters, his gaze cast to the floor. He sounds numb, perhaps even riddled with shock. You feel it too, half out of your mind because you cannot believe that you kissed him. For the first time in your life, you did what your heart desires in spite of the consequences. It felt good but when Jean stared so woefully, you could not help but feel doubt begin to creep up your throat.

None of that mattered though, the moment his lips touched yours, you felt more alive than you ever had. Your very soul was on fire as you dared to take a chance, following what your heart longed for, for the very first time in your life. It felt good, you wanted more.

Now that you had him, you could not live without him.

“No one shall ever know.”

“Jean,” you call, desperately grasping for him, “What

ever are you sorry for?”

“You’re ruined, I ruined you just as you feared!”

“But I kissed you first,” you grit, “You did not ruin me, I ruined myself.”

“I did this!”

You don’t mean to shout but you do.

“I made this choice, Jean, the only choice I’ve ever made for myself.”

Taking his hands in yours, you hope to reason with him.

“And I want you.”

“You want me?” He asks, his eyes falling to your lips and then slightly further down, “Truly?”

Your eyes grow lidded and your breath laboured as he takes your face into his hands. Gently caressing your cheek, Jean sighs pleasantly.

“Yes, truly.”

Though he kisses you unabashedly he remains restrained, his body tightly wound as though he’s scared to love you fully.

Nipping at your bottom lip, Jean shudders. For a moment he pauses, his forehead against yours, soulful eyes peering back at you. And it is in that moment he decides something for himself, you’re unsure what but whatever it is, has him pressing his hips against yours. He’s hard and you can’t help but gasp.

“I pray that you allow me to have all of you,” Jean whispers against your mouth.

“Speak plainly Jean, for I do not understand …”

It is then as he stares at you with utter desire in his eyes that you remember there is still so much that you do not yet know, it frightens and excites you all at the same time. Your heart pangs in your chest and you feel your skin grow hot but you do not shy away from Jean’s piercing gaze though every fibre of your being screams at you to shrink before him and simper to disguise what you truly felt.

“I wish to take you in all the ways that a man can have a woman,” he says, his hands falling to your hips, “To know you and your body better than you know yourself,” Jean gulps down a breath, ducking his head down before he peers back at you, “To show you all the earthly pleasures that you’ve denied yourself.”

“Jean…”

It’s all you can say, his name. Too taken with him to say anything else.

“I’d like that very much.”

Pushing your skirt up to your hips, you beckon him forward. Jean takes the opportunity to tug your bloomers down your legs, gently helping you step out of them. There is something about the sight of Jean knelt between your legs, cheeks flushed as he gazes up at you.

“May I, your majesty?” He asks, and you cannot help but chuckle.

Nodding your head, you cover your mouth with your hand, “Do as you wish, Jean,” you suppose you should have felt shy or even nervous but you didn’t, “I’m yours.”

Nothing bad felt more natural than being there, in that room with Jean.

When he slid his hands up your thighs, his stubbly cheek rubbing against your supple skin. His head ducked beneath the hem of your dress his breath hot against your sex. Jean plants a flurry of balmy kisses up the expanse of your thighs, tapping your hip to silently instruct you to spread your legs just a bit.

“Can I …” You trail off, “What are you …”

Your words are cut off when you feel his tongue against your quim. Hot and wet, a shudder trickles up your spine and his name drips from your tongue, languid and drawn out like hot wax spilling across parchment before it’s sealed. The wood of the desk chips beneath your fingernails as your grip on the edge tightens. Your hips buck on their own accord, twitching towards his mouth. Your head is foggy and you cannot compare this feeling, it’s far better than the timid touch of your fingertips, Jean is anything but timid, sure in himself as he lavishes his tongue over your slit and presses the calloused pads of his fingers into the fat of your hip.

Jean moans into your cunt, the vibrations dizzying.

“That feels … You’re too…”

A shrill gasp chokes you when the tip of his nose bumps against the throbbing bundle of nerves that forces your stomach to tighten. It's uncomfortable for just a moment, but that tight feeling loosens, steadily unravelling each time his nose pressed further against your clit. His tongue probes at your hole and the butterflies that have long since made a home in your ribcage crawl up to tickle your throat.

Guiding your leg over his shoulder, Jean pokes his head out from beneath your skirt, “Use your words, princess,” he grins too cocky for your liking but your need is far too strong for you to dare consider some snippy remark to remind him of his place. But you should, he lives and breathes to serve you and only you, he belongs on his knees for you, servicing you, he just needs your guidance.

Threading your fingers into his nearly coiffed hair you push his hand back between your legs, a mumbled “Oh hush up,” spat from your lips, quickly replaced with a wanton moan.

Jean chuckles but he’s twice as eager to please. Twisting the silky strands of hair between your hands, almost pulling a bit roughly when your back begins to arch. The knot in your stomach threatens to make you double over, your legs wobbling. You have to place your weight on the desk so you don’t stumble.

“Like that,” you sigh, your jaw falling slack, “Please Jean … Don’t stop!”

Your body seizes for a moment, all the muscles in your body going tense for a moment as pure bliss washes over you. Stars blind your eyes and flames lap at your abdomen and you can feel yourself gush. It makes you flush– your skin burning uncomfortably hot, the obscene sounds that came from Jean and your cunt make your ears burn in embarrassment but he pays no mind to your coquettish squeals, his tongue swirling around the engorged bud and then back down to your hole until he is satisfied.

His lips are coated in your essence, as is his chin and cheeks when he pops back up from between your legs, leaning in to kiss you with no second thought. The taste of you still lingers on his tongue but you do not shy away, twice as eager to have him in your arms, his mouth on yours.

“Was that?” Jean trails off, “Was that good for you.”

You nod, pursing your lips to kiss the top of his nose, “It was, thank you, Jean.”

His hands rest on the desk behind you, caging you in. Jean looks utterly enraptured, content to stare at your face though he yawns and it’s evident he’s grown just as tired as you have. Footsteps heading towards the study pull the two of you out of your thoughts, the two of you rush to blow out the few candles scattered around the room and wait in silence with bated breath until they’ve passed.

Cupping your cheek, Jean presses his forehead against yours, “I will see you in the morning,” he whispers, though you can tell he’s nervous, “Until then.”

With one last kiss, he slinks out of the study and down the hall. You don’t think you’ll be able to find respite in your room and you find yourself correct when sleep hesitates to find you.

Instead, you’re plagued with too many thoughts. You wonder what it means, how things will change for the two of you if you love Jean. All you’re certain of is that it was most improper, that you’re compromised but you don’t feel afraid of that fact. It doesn’t scare you, nor does the prospect of whispers and rumours. No matter how life plays out, you’re to be their queen, finicky remarks and gossip mean little you shall one day hold all the power.

But, what scares you is love.

You’ve never seen much of it, love existed solely within the well-worn pages of novels and poems, they were pretty words and nothing more, that much you knew. Marriages were out of convenience or they were well-crafted business arrangements by men who sought to increase their fortune. Your own parent's marriage was a match made solely for the benefit of Gardenia. If love exists you were certain it was reserved for those who could withstand heartache and you were unsure that you could.

If you loved Jean, surely the two of you would have to part ways somewhere down the road.

You did not know if you were willing to open your heart up to him if one day it would break. What you did know is that you cared for him and he you, all the rest mattered not, so long as the two of you would always look after one another.

But, you liked to think maybe you could be loved by him.

That is what kept you up at night, it’s far stronger than any ounce of frightening thought that you could terrify yourself because when you allow yourself to indulge, you find that you quite like the idea of being loved. Jean was a good man, the best man you’ve ever known, it was an honour to be loved by him.

You consider yourself lucky that he was yours because if one day you’d be forced into a marriage for the sake of your kingdom, then at least you’d have him and this summer to hold close to your heart. And on the nights when you’d feel lonely though there’s another in your bed, you could remind yourself that you were worthy of love, that you had been loved.

When morning did arrive though you were still left with so many worries you felt lighter than you had in a while.

And you’d soon learn that sneaking around as an adult was far easier than when you were still in lead strings.

As spring turned to summer and all eyes were turned to the simpering debutants, they slipped off of you for a moment though however fleeting you found yourself indeed, most gracious to your mother and father for being so adamant that you remain far removed from society. The castle was quiet, most of the court and its servants readying themselves for soirées with frequent trips to the modiste or they were out in the fresh air, promenading beneath the wisteria trees. There was always something or other that drew all the focus away from talks of you. Though you sometimes dreamed that you may dance while bathed in moonlight, spinning in circles until you grew dizzy but you were most grateful more often than not.

The feeling of freedom was far greater than the fleeting high and adrenaline of parties that you had the rest of your life to enjoy.

And, more importantly, it left you and him, alone.

The days grew long but the two of you found solace in the quiet time, pouring over whatever novel has captured your attention at length. In the evenings when all had laid their head to rest, Jean found himself scampering into your bedchambers. He always left before the sun rose, fixing your blankets and planting a firm kiss on your forehead before he left. Though his side of the mattress was cold by the time your lady’s maid came to help you ready for the day, it was nice to be held in such a warm grasp as the sound of June bugs and crickets lulled you to sleep. Soon, your bed grew worn on both sides and you decided that it was far better than your mattress wearing unevenly.

“Would you like to formally meet them?” Jean asks one morning, the grass is wet with dew and the sun has begun to spill over the horizon. Your cheeks are numb from the morning chill but you hadn’t yet wanted to bid him goodnight though sleep called to you so fervently, “My friends, that is.”

Before you even had a chance to reply, Jean began to scratch the back of his neck, bashfully shaking his and protesting, “That’s a most preposterous idea, the knight barracks is no place for a lady of your standing.” He forced a laugh and cast his gaze away from you.

“I would very much like to meet them, Jean,” you frown, curling closer to him as a particularly strong breeze bristles through the trees, “They’re important to you so I should like to meet them when they’re off duty when they’re most comfortable.”

“Truly?”

You nod, the pads of your fingers grazing across his stubbly jaw as you turn his head to face you, “Yes, truly,” offering him a chaste kiss, you smile, “You’ve met those important to me so it is only fair that I extend you the same opportunity.”

“You mean your one friend? Miss Reiss?”

Feigning a look of offence you nudge his shoulder with him, “Counting you, I have two friends do I not?”

“Well, I find that I dislike if you were to refer to me as simply a friend,” Jean muses smiling when your quirk a brow at him, “I should like if you called me anything but friend.”

“Shall you be my enemy then? Or perhaps rival, that's far more amiable I think.”

Biting your lip you conceal the giggle that crawls up your throat as he tosses you a faux glare. As you step away, he holds you by the wrists tugging you flush against him, his lips ghosting over yours.

“Then you should be my most favourite bluestocking.”

“I’d be offended if I weren’t,” you chuckle, patting his cheek before you tear yourself out of his embrace.

The ends of your nightgown grow damp with dew and mud and you’re sure you’d have to hide it from the maids less they become privy to all your adventures. Sparing a glance over your shoulder, you wave to Jean and call out to him, “Do let me know when we shall party.”

On a whim, you blew him a kiss, something all the most infatuated heroines did in romance novels. You longed to do something like that, it filled you with such glee to have the chance despite only you and he was the only one there to witness the affection the two of you held for one another. Your cheeks burned when Jean pretended to catch your kiss, pressing his hand to his heart like he'd been struck by an arrow, utterly enraptured.

With your hands clutched to your bosom, you swooned. Shuffling through the back garden doors, you hummed beneath your breath, and carefully ventured through the halls though you were certainly lost in thought. You hadn’t heard your name be called until two hands grabbed at your wrist and tugged you around the corner bend.

“Historia!” You sputter when you find yourself face to face with your friend, “What ever are you doing here!”

She shakes her head, “I ought to ask you the same!” Historia grits, “I’ve been looking all over for you, why on earth were you out in the gardens so early?”

Taking her hands in yours, you rush her up to your quarters, the door locked shut behind the two of you.

“You must never tell anyone that I was out there,” you hissed, tugging off your soiled nightgown and kicking it beneath your bed, “Promise me, Historia, please.”

Historia sighs but mutters out a small promise to you. Helping you into a fresh nightgown, she wraps her arms around your torso, “There is something I must tell you,” she whispers, sighing a bit, “I’m engaged … That is why I’m here so early,” though you cannot see her, you can hear how she begins to tear up, “Your mother had my family and I stay the night so that the engagement may be announced to the court and Ton during an impromptu luncheon.”

“Oh, dearest,” you murmur, twisting around in her arms so you may wrap her in your embrace, “I am so sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

Historia says but when you try to dry her eyes tears continue to drip past her lash line.

“What happened?” Cupping her cheek, your thumb swipes away the lingering traces of rouge still on the apples of her cheek, “If my mother forced this match upon you, I shall do whatever I can to rectify this.”

Shaking her head, Historia frowns, “No it was my choice, Marco and I … he’s like me, in love with a man from the lower class,” she says, “So, we agreed upon this ruse, a marriage only on paper,” your brows stitch together and you wonder how she could have known but you keep your lips pressed in a firm line, “We’ll have children to ensure the Bodt linage does not end with him and we both shall be free from the constraints of society and I may love Ymir as long as she’ll have me.”

“And the Baron, his heart belongs to another as well?”

“Yes, but you cannot tell a soul.”

Holding your pinky out to her, you press your other hand against your chest, “You know I would never,” the sigh she lets out comes from within her very soul and though she isn’t wholly relieved you can practically see the weight lifting off of her chest, “Every secret of yours is a secret of mine, another soul shall never know.”

“Thank you!”

“So tell me,” you ask, gasping a bit when she squeezes you even tighter, “Have you told Ymir?”

Historia nods, making herself comfortable in your bed, “Yes, I suppose you wouldn’t know since we haven’t talked since the beginning of the season but I convince my father to hire her as my lady’s maid,” she laughs because the idea of her beloved as a lady maid is still so hilarious, “She hates it and misses working with her father and the other blacksmiths but now we’re able to spend every day together,” bouncing on the bed she exclaims, “Oh! but she is glad that we shall be whisked away to the Bodt’s ancestral home in the countryside following our impending nuptials, it’s quite the trip but I’m sure you’ll be able to visit once you’re married.”

“Who knows when that will be.”

You laugh but Historia furrows her brows in confusion.

“What do you …” She murmurs, “Your mother announced last night at the Paradis ball that the search for a spouse has begun,” Historia laughs nervously, her lashes fluttering as she sputters, “You’re to be married before the season is over.”

“You did not know.”

“I did not know.”

Stepping away from your bed you begin to pace the length of your room. This was not happening, there was no way that now your mother and father should think you were ready for marriage.

“I’m sure they were going to tell you,” she said, wringing her hands together, “Things have been so busy lately.”

You can’t help but laugh, shaking your head in disbelief, “Oh I doubt that,” you grit, your fingernails digging into the palm of your hands, “Every decision ever made for me has been by them,” Historia frowns, you can tell she feels bad though it is not her fault, “Even Jean … they picked him before I did that was why he was stood near the front … I am such a fool!”

“You are not!”

The doorknob jiggles and someone knocks on the door. Casting Historia a hurried glance you usher her into your dressing room, opening the thin screen to hide her from view.

Opening the door you find Mina Carolina your lady’s maid, with a box from the modiste in her hands.

“I’m not feeling well,” you feign a cough, and press your hand to your forehead, “My head aches, I don’t think I shall join mother and father to break our fast.”

“I will let them know,” she says, attempting to open the door even wider, “For now let us get you dressed, and show you this gorgeous new gown your mama would like for you to wear tomorrow evening.”

“I should like to rest some more, I’ll take the dress and hang it myself.”

“Your majesty-“

Taking the box from her hands, you keep the door flush against your hip, “I insist Mina, and I ask that you please send Jean up here,” clearing your throat you wear a pleasant smile, “Since I am sick, I would prefer that he spends his day looking after Miss Reiss.”

At the mention of your friends, Mina lights up, “Have you heard the joyous news!” she exclaims, “The queen is quite pleased that her incomparable has finally picked a husband! I hear she’s planning to host the wedding herself.”

“Yes, I heard, so do you mind?”

Bowing her head she nods, “As you wish, your majesty!”

As soon as the door is shut you toss the box to the floor, leaning against the wall, “You can come out,” you call, “I think it best you find your way back to your room.”

“Shall I instruct Jean that he find his way here?“ Historia questions, picking up the box and placing it neatly on the bed. Lifting the lid, she takes a peek, “Oh this dress is absolutely gorgeous, you better not throw it to the floor again.”

“Please do!”

The palms of your hands are dragged down your face as you sigh.

“I mean it about the dress!” She shouts before slipping out of your bedchambers and all you can muster up is a half-hearted noise of affirmation.

When you finally did have the nerve to look at the dress, you couldn’t help but find yourself less upset. It had taken a lot of convincing on your end to don the latest styles from Camellia since the low neckline was considered far from modest and the lack of corset showed off your true figure but now your mother had willingly had a dress drawn up for you just how you liked it. The gesture however sweet it may have been had you not been so infuriated by the audacious idea that you were now set to marry. It was your fathers doing, it had to have been, however, your mother agreed upon it. She was always so embarrassed that she never had the chance to shepherd you into society and find you a love match. That was all she wanted, for you to be her incomparable— to be her diamond.

Smoothing your fingers over the jewels sewed onto your dress, you sighed.

There was no fate worse than a life confined to another when there was no affection there. That was why the heir to Dulcis had gone away with the heir to Eterna; they couldn’t bear to be apart from one another so they fled. Surely you’d never be able to pull it off but you still found yourself being eaten away by nerves. If you were lucky, perhaps you may find yourself lucky and promised to a man like Baron Marco Bodt. Though, you weren’t feeling so optimistic; given your history, it felt rather fruitless to dare to dream any longer.

It felt like an eternity had passed by the time Jean was finally able to make his way to you. By the time he had slipped through your door, you had dressed in an utterly garish ensemble, feeling the need to make yourself feel good with the clothing you wore. Delicate diamond earrings and a heavy necklace glittered in the bright sunlight and for the first time in ages, you place your crown on your head.

“Is something the matter?” Jean pants, rushing towards you in a frenzy, “Miss Historia didn’t … She said you were …”

“I’d like to meet your friends, now while the court and Ton are distracted by the celebration.”

His hands are warm where they settle on your hips, and he doesn’t quite match your seemingly calm disposition but he says nothing.

“Are you alright?” He asks, his usually well-styled hair falling into his eyes as he knocked his forehead against yours, “I’m worried but if you would rather not speak about it, I shall not press you into it.”

You kiss him not because you wished to shut him up but because if today should be your last day of freedom, you wanted to relish all that life had to offer before you’d never be able to again. And, you liked kissing Jean, his lips were soft and he had a habit of biting on your bottom lip when he became particularly enraptured. It made your heart pound and your skin hot, and though you did not know why he seemed to enjoy it, you liked it, just as you liked how his hand fit in yours.

“I’m okay,” you smile, squeezing his bicep to reassure him, “Thank you for asking Jean, I just wish to spend more time with you.”

“You missed me that much?”

He jokes but you can see how his grin does not reach his eyes.

Biting your lip you nod, “I did miss you,” your gaze falls onto the floor and you feel a familiar heat creeping up your neck, “And I think tonight I’d like to lay with you…”

“Are you in earnest?”

You nod bashfully, nervously bouncing on your heels, “I am indeed,” Jean attempts to disguise the almost overjoyed expression he sports but the noise of surprise and utter excitement that radiates off him gives him away, “Though I’m afraid you’ve seen all of my nightgowns so I have nothing to surprise you with.”

“As if I would care about that,” he grins, his nose squishing against your cheek as he kisses your jaw.

You feel strange as the two of you sneak out the back of the castle in search of the knight’s barracks, lighter than you’ve ever been but your chest twinges with discomfort. Though, try as you might, your hands shake and your breathing refuses to remain even. When Jean looks over to you in concern, you placate him with a smile and an excuse, something about nerves, you’re nervous to meet the people he considers family though you’ve seen them in passing. Perhaps you’re afraid of being caught, surely then your hubris would finally come crashing down and implode before you and yet your travels run smoothly. All eyes and ears turned to your parents and the happy couple just as you predicted.

They’re kind just as Jean said, though they cease in their merciless teasing in the presence of you; their future queen.

It might have been their own nerves though it’s more likely that Jean asked them to be on their best behaviour and they were.

Sasha, who you remember as being the girl knocked down on their first day in Gardenia, was kind enough to offer you all the rations she had tucked away, insisting you take something no matter how many times you assured her you were perfectly fine. Connie and Armin were his closest confidants though the two could not be more dissimilar, they talked your ears off; Connie relished in poking fun at all of Jean’s past faults as a young man and Armin with stars in his eyes told you all about the sea. Neither of you had ever had the chance to see it but that did not stop the two of you from dreaming. You liked Armin, though you could not help but wonder why he’d choose to become a knight. The Arlert’s were not the most well esteemed after some schemes committed by his mother and father but you knew his grandfather was liked enough and had more than enough fortune to cover his studies.

It wasn’t until you met Mikasa and Eren that you understood.

They were his closest friends, the only people in the world that he could not live without. When Eren decided he would like to pursue a career as a knight, they too decided they would follow him. Eren certainly was not lacking charm, it was quite clear how one could find themselves enraptured with his whiles and wishes. Though the way his piercing green eyes lingered on your frame bothered you some, he stared openly at you as though he were trying to figure you out. Jean didn’t like it, he sneered and held you close, sure that their lips would be sealed. Everyone had secrets, that much you knew but still you couldn’t help but feel worried.

“Quit it,” Jean grunted, flicking the back of Eren’s head, “Didn’t your mother tell you staring is rude?”

Eren rolled his eyes, “I’m an orphan you dumbass,” though you thought he ought to be sad, you could see the traces of a smirk on his lips, “Did you seriously forget already.”

“She passed when you were ten, it’s not like you were raised by wolves your whole life.”

Jean’s fingers dig into your hip and you shift uncomfortably under their charged stares, “I think it’s time we take our leave,” you suggest, smoothing out your skirts, “If we should like to ensure that we’re not caught.”

“That’s a good idea.”

Jean kisses you, openly like your his to kiss whenever he pleases in front of whomever he pleases. You can’t deny that it makes your heart jump and your belly flutter, but you wonder how it might feel if this arrangement wasn’t temporary. The longer you pondered your upcoming nuptials that seemed to have been set in stone according to Historia, you wondered when you’d have to say goodbye if you’d have to say goodbye. You were stirred from your thoughts by someone grabbing your hand.

It was Eren, who kneeled before you, “Have a good evening, princess,” he mutters, looking up at you through his long, pretty lashes, “Should you tire of Jean’s company you know where to find me.”

With a wink, Eren disappears into the bunks leaving you and Jean alone.

“God, I hate that guy.”

Jean stews, his jaw tight and the muscles in his neck taut. You find yourself wringing your fingers together as the two of you leave. Eren wished to get under Jean’s skin, that much was evident but you didn’t understand why Jean let him, the more he reacted, the more Eren pushed.

“You know, he only teases because you can’t help but react,” you hum, trying to rid your thoughts of Eren and replace them with what lies ahead, “I find it endearing but perhaps next time you should ignore him.”

“You find me endearing?” Jean grins, and you laugh. Of course, that was what Jean would take away.

Humming you smile, “You ask too many silly questions, I wonder if that helmet is leeching your smarts,” you jest and he laughs, “I find you very endearing, Jean but if you preferred I showed you I will.”

“I believe it is I who shall show you this evening.”

You tut, not missing the way he chokes and waffles in his assertion but you’re sure he will. After all, Jean was a man of his word.

Jean proved it to you time and time again and he does once more when the two of you find yourselves holed up in the one place you may find even a moment of solace. He isn’t rough but he is firm as he pushes you against the wall, hands eager in their exploration of your body, and lips greedy as they steal the breath from your lungs. Jean kisses you like he may die if he does not, teeth nipping at your mouth and his tongue warm and wet, desperately lapping at your mouth. But he is gentle, softly squeezing your breasts and hips, and when you let out tiny sounds of affirmation he grows shy.

The two of you never dare traipse past searing kisses and wandering touches, he’d never seen more than the sliver of skin your nightgowns afforded him since that day in the study. Jean certainly wasn’t shy, he enjoyed lounging about your room in a state of undress, but the thought of it all had him halting, his breath stuttering as he held you in his embrace. Slipping off your sheer silk shawl, you took Jean’s hand in yours, guiding it up the length of your body so it rested against your bosom.

“You can touch me wherever you please, my lord,” you say, batting your lashes as you peer at his flushed skin.

You’re unsure why you call him that– lord, it isn’t his title nor is it yours to give but you like how it rolls off the tongue and the mere idea of relinquishing all the power you held to him. Though there wasn’t much to give but it was always you who extended the first olive branch, you who kissed him and dared to leap over the edge all for the chance that you may taste all the pleasures life had to offer.

Jean gently squeezes your breast, you hardly feel it through the thick material of your short stay but the calloused pads of his fingers press into the fat of your tits that spill over your neckline.

Taking his other hand, you hold it against your hip, “Where ever should please you.”

His leg slots between your thighs, the fabric of your dress bunching up in his hand as he exposes your supple skin.

You let out the softest of sighs as he feels you up, your hands trailing down the expanse of his broad chest. Jean dressed so handsomely today, his starch white blouse sheer enough to offer you a view of his lithe muscles. Carefully you remove his cravat from his neck, nimble fingers skating down to unbutton and untuck his shirt from his trousers. Jean shivers when the blunt edge of your nails scrapes against his abdomen, pert pink nipples hardening as you press your cold hands to his chest.

“I’d rather like to please you,” Jean groans, nuzzling his face into your hairline, “Heaven knows there are a great many ways to please one's lover.”

You squeal when his hand wraps around your back, quickly undoing the buttons on your dress ‘til it slipped down your shoulders, “And you know them?” You can’t help but ask, pushing his shirt from his shoulders. They’re broad and freckled, a few scars are spattering across them and his arms like he’s been on the receiving end of a loss one too many times, though he has admitted that he was not the most adept in his early days of knight training, “My, I wouldn’t boast unless you’re certain you can deliver.”

The beginnings of a fire blazed within the depths of his amber eyes, his brows quirking upwards as you posed a challenge to him. It invigorates him and you can’t stop the gasp that tears through you as he tears the strings of your short stay to shreds, your clothing slipping off your frame and onto the floor. Holding a hand to his chest you shake your head and step out of your chemise.

“While I enjoy your bravado, I quite like this chemise.”

Jean laughs but that doesn’t stop him from plucking your hairpins out and tossing them aside like they’re nothing. Pushing his shoulders, you force him to walk backwards until his knees hit the bed and he succumbs to the plush mattress that calls for him. You quickly remove the rest of your jewellery, taking a quick breath when butterflies threaten to make you sick with nerves. You’re bare before him, goosebumps dotting along your arms and stomach from the cool breeze. His eyes are everywhere on you, watching your each and every moment as you kick off your shoes and pull off the white thigh-high stockings that cover your legs.

The floorboards creak beneath your feet as you scuttle over to him, your heart pounding though you don a plain face. Tugging on his suspenders you laugh when he jumps back, a loud sound emanating through the room as it smacks against his skin.

“You’re a cruel mistress,” he whines, pulling them off his body, “That hurt.”

“Hush my lord, consider it retribution for the short stay you ruined.”

Resting your hands on his thighs you watch as Jean unclips his trousers, helping him shimmy out of them as he slides further up the bed. At that moment, it all feels too real. You were about to give yourself over to him, allow him to further ruin you and long ago you supposed that you would not have considered it, the idea laughable because he was just a man you gazed upon out your window but now he was your friend, a confidant, and something of a lover. You trusted him to take the utmost care of you, just as he promised to your parents so long ago. Had it been anyone else laid in your bed you would have been nervous but now as you stared at the rise and fall of his chest, you felt nothing but the tendrils of anticipation dance upon your skin until you were positively craving to have him.

“You’re beautiful,” Jean says suddenly, his eyes softening and you know he truly means it. Hooking his hand around your waist, Jean pulls you on top of him, his lips smoothing against your shoulder, “Absolutely radiant, did you know that.”

Your stomach flutters and you allow yourself to glance down between your two bodies. His cock lays against his pelvis and you think he looks like something straight out of a painting, not too far off from all the bodies you gazed upon in the wing that was supposed to be off-limits but you still found yourself there. Jean with all his devastatingly good looks, is far more beautiful than even the most carefully crafted image of a man and you find yourself lucky that you have your own work of art splayed before you.

It had to have been illegal for a man to be so good looking and you briefly wondered just who he prayed to, to have been blessed with such good looks.

“You’re not too bad yourself.”

You can’t find it in yourself to say the thoughts that sent you into a hazy fog of lust but you pray that he can read between your words and knows all the things that you cannot bear to say aloud. His stubble tickles the palm of your hand when you caress the side of his face and your heart pangs when he turns to kiss it. Jean was so big beneath you, the heat from his body seeping into yours. You felt intimidated, the feeling registered within you so suddenly but you forced yourself to ignore it because the feeling of freedom was far too sweet and Jean was so easy on the eyes there was little to truly stress upon.

Jean grins up at you, “Thank you, your majesty.”

Rolling your eyes you chuckle.

“Might I service you?”

“Pardon,” Jean chokes, his body going rigid when your fingers are pressed against your pillowy lips. Your tongue lolls around them, coating them in saliva, your eyes never leaving his, “Forgive me but I pray you may enlighten me.”

And you would.

Slinking between his legs you take his length in your head, pleased with how he shivers and shudders, your name but a gasp on his lips as the breath is stolen from his lungs. A pearlescent fluid leaks from the tip of his cock when you gently squeeze him as your hand slowly works up and down his length.

“Is this enlightening enough, my lord?”

“Your majesty I promise you that you do not….”

Jean is quick to shut up when you press your lips to the flushed tip of his cock, “There are a million things that I should not have done,” you declare, your piercing gaze unwavering, “Including being here in this vary room so trust me when I say that I wish to show you how deeply my affections for you run.”

It’s true, the both of you could list a great many things deemed unladylike and improper by society but you cared little what others had to say when it was just you and he in your bedchambers. All that mattered was how the two of you felt about one another.

“Fuck,” Jean curses, the muscles in his pelvis tightening when you take him into your mouth, “Truly you do not have to…”

He finds himself silenced and his nervous chatterings lost between the bliss that is your tongue lavishing his cock. You find yourself grateful that all those romance books you read had far too many erotic scenes for you to learn from. Though, no one aside from you truly needed to know that.

Your head rests upon his thigh, and though you’re a bit clumsy in how you stroke him and lick up his cock, Jean fists the sheets below him, itching to push your head down his length but he busies himself in relishing the heat that builds deep within him. His hips twitch upwards when your free hand drifts upwards, idly twisting and tugging at the curly patch of hair that thins the closer you get to his belly button.

“Do you feel good, my lord?”

You ask, looking up at him through your lashes.

Jean nods, his face red and lips spattered in bite marks from where his teeth tore into the flesh. He finds himself barrelling towards his high far too quickly offering you a weak smile when he asks that you stop. His knuckles have gone white from how he grips the bed, his cheeks puffing up and all the muscles in his body are so tightly wound you can see veins popping up along his forearms.

“I do,” he whispers, kissing you without care for where your mouth had just been, “But I think, I’d much prefer to be inside you.”

Helping you onto his lap, Jean now flicks his tongue over his fingers– his slips between your thighs spreading your labia and drawing slow circles into your clit. You jolt and your thighs quiver, your body feeling much too sensitive for him to touch. Jean does it anyway, toying with your cunt until you’re wet and aching for more. You preen and your back arches before you’re wracked with a shudder that spans through your entire body.

“So, what are you waiting for?” You’re unashamed of your whine, your hips rocking to meet the rhythm he sets.

Your stomach tightens and utter need thrums through your veins, nails bite into his biceps and your honeyed sighs are like music to his ears. But Jean likes how you whine, and how your eyes grow rounded and watery when drags things out. Rolling your clit between his fingers and pinching your nipple with his other hand.

“I’d like for you to be trembling before I fuck you,” he says and you cannot help but flush at his crude words, “You’re not trembling, darling.”

But you are; every bit of you aches for more of him, dying a bit when you find yourself without him.

Knocking your forehead against his you pout, “Please Jean, I cannot bear it,” you whine, squealing when he touches you just right, “I need you more than I need air to breathe,” gulping, you pry his hand away from your cunt, “Don’t make me beg, you’re a gentleman aren’t you?”

“But you sound so cute when you do.”

If your face could get any hotter, it would have. But your skin was so hot you’d begun to sweat. Your lips tug into a pout and you have half the mind to pull rank just because you could, though that would certainly suck the fun out of things. You weren’t used to his teasing, never ever truly told no or to wait. Jean, oddly enough quite liked it; teaching you all the ways of the world, but mostly that life was not fair and sometimes … you’d have to wait to get what you wanted.

Jean bites your lip, grinning at the petulant expression you wear.

“You forget yourself, your majesty,” he snips, the tip of his cock rubbing against your slick folds, “I was taught to be an honourable man but I am no gentleman,” the sound of shock you make is muffled when you drop your head into the crook of his neck, “You know that, so you should know I like to have my fun.”

The hand on your hip is soothing as he guides you down on his cock, balmy open mouth kisses are pressed to your collarbone and the underside of your jaw and Jean is slow in his efforts to push your hip down. The stretch stings and it brings tears that prickle the corner of your eyes but you’re distracted by the momentary pain when he presses his thumb to your engorged clit. Your spine is stiff but your legs are jelly and they tremble far too much for your liking.

“And I’m the cruel one?” You spit out, a coquettish squeal escaping you when he pinches your bum, “Jean, you are certainly cruel.”

Your words turn into a sob, it wracks through you and for a moment you cannot breathe. A slew of curses slips out when he finally thrusts into you and you can feel him so deep within you that you find yourself blinking in shock.

But you enjoy it, the slight pain dissipates and you’re left with nothing but pleasure. All at once, you understand why sex was society’s best-kept secret. Surely a kingdom could not be run when lifes most pleasurable pursuits were so enjoyable. And you wondered just how good sex could become once Jean learned your body, beaming yourself five years into a future that the two of you did not have, solely because the fat, bulbous head of his cock rubbed against something within you that had stars blurring your vision, your back arching.

And Jean laughs when you let out a pathetic strangled sound, revelling in how you tug the hair at the back of his neck and moan his name like it is the only thing you know how to say. You suppose you should have been embarrassed, reduced to a needy chit who grew cock-drunk. It was far more enjoyable than being the kingdom's show pony.

Digging your teeth into the supple skin of his shoulder, you groan.

“Are you sure?” Jean questions, certainly feeling emboldened to do so, “That’s not what your body is telling me.”

Jean suddenly isn’t so sweet and a part of you is grateful for that.

Lust with no love was something that you’d be able to cherish, had this evening been something so romantic you were unsure that you could go along with your parent's plan to wed you off. You couldn’t bear it, to be left lovelorn with nothing but memories of when someone loved you.

“What is my body telling you?”

You ask but you know exactly what it’s saying. Your mind is hazy and you feel dazed, all other thoughts but him and how he feels melding away until they were nothing but a bad dream. You kiss him because you can, moaning into his mouth as your bravado crumbles. Your arms give out and leave your breasts squished against his chest, doing your very best to keep your legs steady for him.

“You’re close,” Jean whispered against the shell of your ear, his tongue flicking out to taste the salt of your skin.

The noise of affirmation you make is more of a moan than anything else and you can feel his chest rumble when he chuckles. It melds into a moan as you melt against him, your slick velvet walls fluttering around his cock. He’s close too, the grip he has on the fat of your hips strengthens and his thrusts grow sloppy. He’s close but he won’t say anything, perfectly content in goading you to completion, That’s what matters, you, your pleasure, the perfectly sweet sounds you make just for his ears.

“Cum for me princess.”

Jean’s words are saccharine, coated in the sweetest of honey and you have half the mind to do as he says just to please him. You’ve never longed to please a man more than you did at that moment, your breath staggered and your moans pitchy. Desperate and eager, all for him.

You think you do, you’re unsure because your vision has gone a bit spotty and your hips begin to twitch. It’s similar to that night in the study, blinding waves of pleasure coursing over you and leaving you limp on top of him, your chest heaving until your breath steadies. You vaguely register his cock slipping out of your hole, something warm spurting out onto your backside but all you can think is how you begin to miss the feeling of being so deliciously full.

“I love you.”

Jean whispers, you’re sure it's because he thinks you won’t hear him. His arms embrace you and your two sweaty sodden bodies meld together as they always had. Your heart pangs and you feel guilty because you cannot bring yourself to say it back at least not when he’s awake. When sleep calls for him, Jean does not fight it, slipping straight to dreamland in a mere matter of minutes. The familiar sound of his snores reaches your ears and you suppose you should say it too.

“I love you, Jean.”

It feels foreign and wrong like you were never meant to say those four words.

And you realize you were infatuated, it was not love nor was the thrill you felt when the two of you snuck around. You may never know what love is or what it felt like, every moment of these last few months felt straight out of a novel and yet you didn’t feel like they did. You cared so deeply for Jean and you were satisfied with the choices you made because they were your choices but a part of you like this was all wrong.

It may have been the shame that was so deeply engrained within your being but all you knew is that you were wrong to do this to Jean.

A man so easily in love was hard to come by and you were certainly cruel for allowing him to fall when never stood a chance.

Jean was gone when morning came, a small hastily written note tucked beneath your pillow and suddenly it was like nothing had changed. You thought you might feel different that maybe despite your worries that Jean would stay and fight for you, that he would dare declare so publicly that you were his but he didn’t. And you could not expect him to, not if you had any ounce of sense left. Jean deserved a good life and being employed beneath the crown offered him that, a life as runaways did not.

Mina helped you bathed and she dressed you in the pretty new frock that came straight from the modiste yesterday. She was so excited as she dotted rouge along your cheeks and pomade to your lips but all you felt was dread.

Each step you took felt worse than the last and you felt sick to your stomach by the time you arrived at the throne room but you could not let it show.

With the court's eyes on your frame, you had to be the image of radiance and perfection. That you would be, with diamonds clasped around your throat and adoring the ornate crown on your head you were. Though their stares are heavy there was no malicious beneath them, perhaps envy or even awe but never anything more.

“Mother,” you say as your bow to them, “Father, to what do I owe the privilege.”

Your mother sprung out of her seat, caressing the side of your face with a look of pure excitement. It had been some time since she last truly saw you, you wondered if you looked different. You felt different than you had the last time you stepped into this throne room. Historia is there, Marco at her side. Her smile is nervous and you see right through it but you don’t allow yourself to focus on her face for too long.

“Dearest, a fine young man has come to ask for your hand in marriage!” She exclaims, grabbing your hands and giving them a squeeze, “Your father and I would like for you to meet him, he’s come so far to see you.”

In front of the entire court? You think to yourself, trying your hardest not to openly huff in annoyance. Nothing could ever be a private affair unless they decided on it.

“I see,” you nod, straightening your shoulders a bit, “And where does his highness hail from?”

“Eldia, your majesty.”

A familiar voice calls as he steps through the doorway– It was Eren, one of Jean’s fellow knights.

It takes everything in you not to gape or allow your jaw to drop in shock. If you thought him handsome before now he was quite the vision now in a perfectly fitted jacket and starch white blouse. You must have still been dreaming but you were proved wrong when he knelt in front of you, taking your hand in his and kissing it.

“I’m the second-born son to the King Grisha Jäger of the Eldian Empire,” he explains, flashing you all his most dashing smile, “Since my brother Zeke was to take the throne I took to travelling and when I heard the King and Queen of Gardenia had a daughter my age, I must admit my curiosity got the better of me.”

He was lying, he had to have been.

Perhaps there was some truth but you knew that the knights had many years' worth of memories with him but his response seemed to placate your parents. They were hooked, eating up whatever Eren said.

“I’ve never heard of Eldia before,” you snip, your eyes searching for Jean among the crowd, “Where exactly is it?”

Eren smiles, “It’s an island just off the coast of Marley which is southeast of Alicante,” placing his hand on his stomach Eren turns to your father, “I’d be more than happy to provide you with a map that spans far past Alicante’s border.”

“There's no need,” your father said, “Your mother, Carla wrote to me some time ago to expect your arrival.”

“She did?”You ask, “How long ago?”

“At the beginning of the season.”

It began to make sense, Eren must have caught wind of your existence when Jean had been entrusted to you, perhaps writing to his mother and father but you could not fathom just what he was doing now.

Eren bows before your father, “I’m sure she’s told you a great deal but as you know, I am here to ask for your daughter's hand in marriage,” looking up through his green eyes, he looks over at you, “Though should she prefer, I take no issue in courting her before asking for her hand.”

“I think it most sensible,” your mother grins, “What do you think?”

“I think I’d like to speak with his highness if he finds that agreeable.”

“I do.”

Offering his elbow he guides you to the drawing-room adjacent to the throne room, Mina stands in the corner to chaperon you two but with how she’s gazing at the painting above the fireplace you know her mind is elsewhere.

“Are you mad?” You shout the moment the door has been shut, “You know Jean warned me that you were quite the reckless one but asking for my hand when you know that I’m-”

You couldn’t finish, not because it would be unwise or because Mina would gossip. It was because you were not spoken for, not in the way it would matter.

Eren shakes his head, “That is precisely why I have reclaimed my title,” he sighs, “Jean talked at length about you but I did not believe him, only a fool would fall for someone so recklessly!”

“You wish to marry me but you insult me?”

“Listen!”

Lowering his voice, Eren steps closer to you. He smells nice, far better than yesterday when he reeked of sweat and dirt, “I understand that one cannot control one's heart,” he pants, “You and he can never be together and from what I gather you wish to one day take the throne so,” Eren pauses, taking your hand to pull you closer, “We shall marry and you can have your throne, and Jean if that is what you please.”

“And what of you, what do you get out of this?”

“A beautiful wife, a companion, same as you,” Eren says, “And all the funds my father saved for me, they shall be ours.”

“So, it’s about money then.”

Shaking his head, Eren frowns, “No, I’m merely trying to do something kind,” you want to believe him but this sounds all too perfect, “I’m a good man and I’m sorry if my impression has left you thinking otherwise but I seem to have lost myself amongst my comrades,” you notice that his hand is warm when he holds yours, comforting too as he strokes you with his thumb, “But I assure you that my intentions are pure.”

“We’ll have children to carry on the linage but our marriage shall only be paper if that is what you wish.”

“But what do you wish for Eren,” you shake your head, “This is entirely too kind and I cannot fathom how you’d signed yourself away to a loveless marriage for someone you hardly know.”

“Call me a fool but I wish for your happiness.”

“Why?”

Eren swallows, casting his gaze aside, “I believe in something called love at first sight,” he says, his cheeks blooming a bright red, “I have been taken with you since I first laid my eyes upon you so many months ago when you picked Jean to be your knight.”

“You say you love me yet you’re willing to allow me to be unfaithful with another man?” You laugh, “You think me a fool, your highness?”

“Quite the opposite actually but I’d do it if it meant your happiness.”

It felt too unfair but perhaps this was what love was, sacrifice. The willingness to wallow in agony if it meant your paramour may be only touched by warm sunlight and happiness. However idyllic, you could not accept such an agreement. To have two men who loved you, was selfish when some did not even have one, and for Jean to be nothing more than a secret well you do not think you could live with yourself if you did such a heinous thing. Jean deserved to be loved by someone who he could proudly claim as his, someone who did not have to hide their love from all.

Jean deserved far better than you could ever offer.

You knew that the moment your fairytale had begun but you let yourself and he believe that you loved one another more than anyone had loved. It may have been true for him but the doubt that constantly shrouded you was more than enough proof that you were always playing pretend. You liked the attention after a life of hiding away but it was not love.

True love did not hurt nor did it disparage.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” Eren echoes.

“I shall marry you,” you mutter, swallowing thickly, “But I do wish that you shall court me like you would any other, I’d like to get to know you before I call you my husband.”

“Are you sure?”

Shaking your intertwined hands, you nod, “I am,” you have to be, “Though that fortune your father intends to give, I’d like it to be given to Jean,” Eren cocks his head but he remains quiet, “Eterna has been in shambles ever since the heir ran off with his lover the second-born son is much too young to take the throne, so I’d like him to be relieved of his duties here so he may bring his wealth to his family.”

“You’re awfully kind,” Eren remarks.

“No kinder than you.”

In truth, you were selfish.

You couldn’t bear to have him witness what was to come so he’d be shipped home. It was a selfish thing to do but if you could spare him even an ounce of hurt, then you would. Jean would be okay, they’d need knights in Eterna but with the riches, you were certain that he could shoot even higher than he ever dared to.

That thought is what kept the guilt from eating you alive when you announced your new relationship to the court. In a matter of days, all of Alicante would know but none of that truly mattered when the man you cared so deeply for gazed upon you with such horror and betrayal.

But, it was for the best.

Sasha had told you, once upon a time he had been taken with Mikasa Ackerman. With you and Eren gone, perhaps he had a chance at the life he envisioned for himself when he was no more than a boy. That’s what you told yourself when you let Eren kiss you though Jean’s eyes burned holes through your body.

Jean would have everything he had ever wanted and more thanks to you, and that's what love truly was.

Giving up all that you had so someone else may be happy.

Eren would be good to you and in time you would love him too. He was charming, well studied, and quite the conversationalist when he didn’t spend all his time staring at you. An amiable husband was more than you could have asked for, so there was no need to pout because in due time you’d forget all about the adventures of your youth. Every detail of Jean that you swore you’d memorized gone with the wind, time was sort of funny that way but perhaps it was because you had to memorize the flecks of blue amongst Eren’s eyes instead.

Either way, it didn’t matter.

You had your summer of romance and would grow content in your partnership, just as all the heroines had done before you. Certainly, you would have learned that your happy end would be just the same as theirs but you were naive back then, too innocent but now you knew.

Love and happiness laid not within the sweeping romance that only existed within the paged of a story but within the bed, you made for yourself.

And you did love Eren, he made you fall in love.

So, though so much had changed it was what you always wanted. A marriage not of convenience but out of love.

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