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eternally yours

☆ pairing: armin arlert x fem!reader ☆

synopsis: the diamond of the season and the classless apprentice physician of the ton—a pair of childhood best friends. nothing more was supposed to happen. what, then, when affections arise as you are favored to marry a royal rather than the man you truly love? what, then, when he decides to leave for your supposed happiness? content: 18+ MDNI, nsfw, eventual smut, angst with happy ending (i promise!), porn w/ plot, second person pov, multiple perspectives, no use of y/n, fem!reader (description of hair, wears dresses), historical au, inspired by bridgerton, reader is daughter of a viscount, diamond!reader, toxic family dynamics (reader's), reader does not like societal expectations, courting, misogyny, traditional gender roles, armin is an apprentice physician, lady whistledown snippets, letters, internal conflict, emotional distress, loss of virginity, first times, emotional sex, unprotected piv (don't do that!), creampie, fingering, not beta read (sigh), cross-posted on ao3 word count: 13.6k author's note: oh my god. i know it has been some time since i’ve last post, but this was actually so freaking hard to write. it took me forever to complete this au story, which i also apologize for, and i still hate how i turned out. if nothing makes sense, i am so sorry, i was totally chugging this out in my exhaustion from classes. i didn’t feel like going back and changing parts because it all looks awful to me. thanks to my lovely roommates for encouraging me to publish this dumpster fire anyway, i will sob in your arms later tonight <3 i hope you all enjoy reading this (even just a tiny bit!). the next fic will be better, i promise! any comments are so appreciated, xoxo! (also, the formatting for the letters looks super weird on the tumblr app, so i am sorry for that, it is actually driving me crazy. it looks normal on the site)

——

dearest gentle reader, yet another season is officially bestowed on our ton. just mere days ago, the newest young ladies of our society made their formal presentation to none other than her majesty, the queen. feather after feather, her majesty searched for her newest diamond of the season. without a doubt in our minds, our queen has found her. who that is, one may question? well, dear readers, none other than the delicate youngest daughter of our ton’s viscount. yes, indeed, the youngest child of the prestigious family has finally made her entrance into the marriage market. the opening ball last night only confirmed her majesty’s decision. our diamond spent the whole evening dancing about with potential suitors. it seems she has even caught the eye of a particular foreign prince, the queen’s guest of honor for the season. rumor has it he seeks a wife for his kingdom. may our diamond be his answer? excitement fills the air as we all watch our prospects and place the proper bets. this author wonders, will the viscount’s family announce an engagement by the end of the season? will other extraordinary young ladies and mamas ruin the chances? or, will we be entirely shocked by how this plays out? let us watch the season unfold. drama ensues, for this is just the beginning. yours truly, lady whistledown

——

“—and you must tell him about your pianoforte playing!“

“i know, moth—“

“oh! and do mention your dance lessons with miss…”

you’re being called on in an hour, and your mother will not stop gushing over it. your first season out, just days after the opening ball, you have caught a suitor’s attention. well, as the diamond, you have caught many eyes, but, apparently, this one matters most.

after all, reiner braun of marley is a prince—tall and handsomely built, neat blonde hair, enough money to splurge on all the ladies in the ton. he’s every girl’s dream.

but, yours.

yet, your mama dismissed you the moment you dared open your mouth to protest with wide eyes. she immediately sent you to your bedroom with your lady’s maids in tow, shouting about retrieving your best gowns from your stuffed, groaning dresser. looking at yourself in the mirror now serves to be disheartening.

the corset squeezes too tightly against your ribs, more uncomfortably than ever. you hold back a wince when one of your servants, the youngest of the bunch, knots the back, consequently sealing your doom for the next couple hours. the other ladies are immediately slipping a heavy gown over your head—adamantly watching out for your meticulously prepared hair when your mother glares—in record-time.

she’s still pacing behind you, still going on about all you must do to secure that marriage, that title—zero regard to your repeated wishes. it is all too much. it is why your eyes flicker to the window, the glass between you and the world.

the… riverbank.

your eyes widen for the nth time as you follow the distant blue of the water, the delicate path forward. a place you might as well call your second home, humble resident being freedom.

is he there now?

——

it seems your deep curiosity no longer matters when you sit across reiner braun in the drawing room, nodding mindlessly at the perfect times and smiling sickly sweet when it is assumed of you.

he talks about home—marley, ships away from the kingdom of eldia, the ton of paradis in which you reside where the queen overlooks the social season. reiner braun is her guest of honor this time around, capturing the attention of every mama and of-age daughter with his dedicated appearances. he comes in search of his soon-to-be princess. you smile when gives you a pointed look at that statement.

he asks about your father, the viscount, and your three eldest brothers. you reply simply and truthfully: the four men are off on a multiple days-long trip for god-knows-what. your mother was initially angered they would miss your official entrance into society, but she seems to not care one bit as she stands by the vast entryway with a grand smile on her sickly lips. she glows more than you do.

he nods along when you annoyingly brag about your talents, just as your mother hammered into your mind. pianoforte. dance. sewing. socializing. ga—

“what do you do for fun, miss?”

you blink at the sudden interruption. even your mother is caught off-guard as she chokes on plain air, fanning her face when you glance at her in confusion for a moment before returning to the deep eyes in front of you.

“uhm—my apologies, prince braun. did… what do i do for fun?"

reiner braun nods with no shame, slight bewilderment across his stoically, yet friendly, features. huh.

you feel your mama burning holes into the side of your head, right about to jump in, disregard his interest. you’re quicker.

“i read by the river. the riverbank.”

you hear your mother inhale sharply, clearly unsatisfied by your answer. at the least the prince seems entertained, an amused quirk in his brow.

“the riverbank?”

you grin, a genuine upward tilt of your mouth, “indeed, your highness, just by the largest tree in our lovely ton. my friend arm—“

of course, your mother ruins the joy in your heart with a loud cough. all heads turn to her as she smiles, teeth and all, before making her way to your side uninvited. “yes, dear, but do tell his highness more of your piano playing. you are quite extraordinary at tickling the keys.”

ah. because that is all that matters of you. of a young woman just barely of marrying age.

you falter momentarily, handing twitching at your lap—mission unaccomplished. the book you were to grab sits silently, mockingly, at the coffee table. dust collects in this short, unfortunate time.

you clear your throat, sitting properly with that orchestrated smile. “yes, mama. your highness, may i draw your attention to a melody?”

——

armin hears you before he sees you—the tree rising above his seated position obstructing you from his view even when he turns—as always. this time, agitation spills beneath your loud breaths and quick steps, not glee or giddiness like most occasions.

he glances up from his notebook as you plop yourself onto the grass in front of him with a huff, zero regard to the very expensive, light-colored dress he eyes frantically. you don’t even bother to brush some dirt away as you snatch a book from armin’s pile, flipping to some random page. armin winces as you treat the novel poorly, a striking contrast to previous occurrences. clear frustration reeks from every action of yours.

you’re not usually this… worked up. you’re even lacking a chaperone, something that would ruin your family’s reputation if ever discovered. however, he’s afraid to even consider asking you what is wrong. armin knows you, and although he would never want you to change, he is quite terrified of you.

he clears in throat awkwardly, setting his journal on his lap. he glances around the otherwise empty river’s edge “where… y-your chaperone?”

you glare at him, a look more of ‘are you serious?’ than anger (a good sign, perhaps?). armin almost retracts his bland remark. almost.

“you’re at the palace often.” you state it as a fact, shutting the book with a definite thud.

confusion fills his gaze, examining your face like something is wrong with you. well, you’re not wrong—he is at the royal palace as apprentice of the highly sought-after physician and self-proclaimed mad scientist hange zoë when they are requested. not often, as you claim, but more than the rest of the ton in spite of his lack of nobility.

“well, not often but—“

“what do you know of prince reiner braun? o-of… marley.”

armin’s blue eyes widen, at your question and at your wavering voice. “t-the prince of marley? i can’t... i—”

“armin.” you plead, almost dejectedly. even your shoulders drop in exasperation. armin almost forgets this wholes conversation as he focuses on your eyes.

he coughs again, this time shutting his logbook completely as you watch him, waiting for his answer. his eyes flicker nervously to the river mere feet away, watching the tiny waves, as if they could help him. he silently begs them to help him.

ever the stubborn noble girl—not that he ever minds—you lean forward and nudge his knee with your soft hand. immediately, armin’s attention is back on you, body naturally tensing at the contact.

he should shut up. he should shake his head, dismiss your request and reopen his book, advising you to do the same. in an ideal world, one where he has not fallen for his childhood best friend incredibly out of his reach, armin would do just that.

despite that figurative hange zöe already banging angrily at his skull for his decision, armin looks around—quite nervously, one may add—for any curious eyes or ears. when he finds none, his gaze returns to you, the inside of his cheek caught between his molars.

it is stupid to let his heart decide, but he simply cannot control it. “hange… hange and i have been-been summoned to the palace a couple times since his arrival.”

your hands fidget anxiously atop your smooth dress, picking at some loose thread your maids would reprimand you for later. you lean forward, paying utmost attentiveness to anything the blonde young man says.

his belly erupts with more butterflies. “i-i… he’s… healthy?” of course, you pout. his eyes widen, voice practically rising an octave, “w-what do you want me to say?”

“he’s... he’s courting me! me!” if armin’s eyes could widen even further, they would. one could possibly drown in the swirling blue oceans that they are.

he blinks once. then twice. he waits for you to giggle, pull his leg or something. that beautiful sound never comes. you are dead serious.

armin isn’t stupid—quite the opposite, actually, many would argue. he’s the bright boy that assists the best doctor in the ton. he’s not a son of a royal, nor an earl, nor even a baron. he grew up poor, and if it weren’t for his intrigue in the books and sciences, he would have stayed that way. armin is only respected by nobles because of his skill and intelligence, aiding countless of lineages and family heads in bouts of illness.

he’s not stupid. he knew, one day, you would marry. not only are you the most beautiful lady armin has seen, as the last daughter of the respected viscount, you are expected to marry—in particular, marry up in nobility.

a prince is ideal. perfect, even.

he knew, one day, you would no longer come around to the riverbank. no more reading books together, knees unintentionally knocking against one another coincidentally when your chaperone of the day glances away. no more enlightening conversations in your drawing room when it is pouring out with your mother’s disapproving frowns and sighs in the background.

sooner rather than later, you would be a wife. a mother.

never his.

he knew, one day, this was all coming. armin is not ready for that now. the incredibly near future.

“o-oh,” is all he can squeak out as his eyes fall to his lap. they trace every line and imperfection on the cover, forcing his mind on anything but the situation at hand. he tries his best to sound sincere, “that’s… that is wonderful.”

were it literally anyone else in front of him, they would believe his praise, the practiced tone. he’s quite well at his way with words with those of high class. except… you are you, the girl that has known him for over a decade, ever since you ran away from your mother and duties to the riverbank for the first time.

you let out a shaky breath, one that pulls armin’s attention back on your face, the sudden glistening of your eyes as you look toward the direction of your home.

quietly, you admit, “the… the footman and my mama will be here any moment.” you blink away the tears before glancing back at armin. pleading. “tell me anything you know.”

he has only ever seen you like this the morning your most comfortable dress ripped at eight, the night your mama burnt your books on maths and sciences when you were thirteen, and the evening before your debut at eighteen. the last was so recent, armin hasn’t entirely recovered from witnessing your sorrow.

as always, the sight tugs ferociously at the tight strings of his heart. he could never deny you, especially now.

“he—“ armin glances over his shoulder when he hears the carriage horses in the distance. he speaks faster, quieter, “—he is kind. never… never once shouted at hange, nor at myself.”

armin’s eyes squeeze shut as he forces himself to think about anything but you, “t-the king and queen, yes, of his kingdom… they’ve been wishing him to take a wife, his reason for his presence. a… a beautiful girl for his handsome arm, i believe he mentioned during the examination.”

he cringes when you do, but continues speaking as the carriage pauses at the closet path, “t-twenty…? twenty-two years of age. of money. tall, muscular, uhm…? oh! h-healthy!—”

“armin!”

“—p-perfect,” he blinks at you multiple times, grabbing his book from you as he hears the angry shouts behind him. “prince braun is perfect. f-for you.”

your eyes widen at armin’s words, mouth opening and closing like a fish. if he could take them back, he would. but, what else could he really say without ruining the already timed friendship quicker?

thinking like a noble, you should marry the prince.

thinking as himself—

“young lady! explain yourself!” immediately, your mother is grabbing your upper arm and hauling you up onto your feet with little care. you yelp in protest, struggling in vain. armin stands without much thought, about to butt in about potential bruises (ever the physician), but she is quicker. “you boy.”

right. your mother has never particularly liked armin. she’ll go on and on about how he has supposedly tainted you just because he shares his science books that take time away from your lessons, your preparations for society. for the most part, unless you have run away from your duties like now, your meetings are chaperoned. they are always proper.

even if he wishes the opposite.

the sight now is scandalous, even if it is clear nothing improper has occurred. just you, young lady crowned diamond of the season, alone with a young man is enough for that horrible label.

his eyes widen yet again, quickly bowing before he forgets. he stutters through her title, your shared surname, before rising again. he glances at you frantically. “i…” —remember, gift of gab— “i was just leaving,” he even gestures toward his mysteriously packed bag. ignoring the look of confusion on your face as he continues, your title and name leaving his mouth eloquently, “she had arrived mere moments ago. i’m delighted you’ve found her before nightfall.”

he smiles, and miraculously, your mother believes him. with a confused humph!, she nods at armin and even releases your arm, a bit of satisfaction settling on a broken shard of his heart. she spares you one glance, one final nod toward the carriage that you obey dejectedly.

armin watches as you take a step back, staring at him with wide eyes. he had just saved you from the scolding of a lifetime, from the potential of ruining your family tree for good. he nods at you subtly before you turn away with that solemn ‘i will see you soon’ look of yours.

your mother stays back as he reaches down for the messenger bag, still eerily calm. she clears her throat, standing straighter. “we need more of tea the doctor provides. one weeks time.”

he bows again just as he fixed his stance. “of course, my lady.”

the conversation ends not even a second later as the viscountess simply turns on her heel to trail you into the carriage. his bodily tensions don’t simmer as her reprimands fill the normally peaceful air of the riverbank. it pains him to imagine your position, your worries.

he never liked how this society treats women. they are simply objects to be discussed, practically sold to a man. they are nothing without a man. armin does not want that life for you—you deserve to follow your dreams of studies and proper education on the mathematics.

but, that is impossible for women, impossible for you. if he could, he’d beg the king and queen of eldia to allow for some exception. he could never, especially as a simple physician.

the second best is stability, even if it is far down the favorable outcome. you’ll marry a wealthy man of title and live the most comfortable life possible. even if you hate it, you will never struggle like him.

maybe, you do not want to marry now—such a frightening thought. eventually, you will be happy with this life. you must.

oh, but the truth is far more complicated.

armin doesn’t stick around to listen any further, biting the inside of his cheek as he leaves your tree toward hange zöe’s laboratory-style home.

——

dearest gentle reader, love fills the peaceful air of the ton. it seems the rumors are indeed true. prince reiner braun of marley has his eyes set on our diamond. this author expected no less from the beautiful debutante. mamas and young ladies alike murmur in envy at the news. after all, it seems the baron’s daughter is not as successful in the marriage hunt. no suitor will stick around for more than mere minutes before they prance away. her majesty, the queen, herself seems immensely satisfied by the season’s possible greatest success. promenades at the park, visits to the viscount’s drawing room, dances at balls—i can practically hear the chapel bells ringing now. seemingly nothing could ruin this courtship. their blossoming love just overwhelms every ballroom they share. it is a beautiful sight to behold. many might presume it is time to raise wagers. but, this author is not quite sure of the outcome of this season. everything seems just too perfect. could there be more than meets the eye? could our diamond be more than just the sparkle of the ton? it seems we must wait for the gossip to boil until it spills right onto our floors. yours truly, lady whistledown

——

your mother forbid you from leaving the home without her or an equivalent until the marriage is secured. a footman always stands at the end of the hall, more at the entrances and exists as a precautionary measure.

for the next few days, you are completely under her strict control, even when the men of the household return. your father manages your dowry but stays out the rest. your older brothers chaperone when your mother is tending to other matters, all three nagging just as much as her. they do not defend your honor.

she takes you to more fittings than you can count. you promenade the park for hours straight, giggling about with the obnoxious girls your age truly seeking marriage and conversing with the single noblemen. there is caller after caller, including that stupid prince. he’s the most frequent, his visits spanning more than all the others combined.

not once could you go to the riverbank. no rushing water. no birds chirping. no kids laughing. no new books. no armin.

armin.

you haven’t seen him since the day he lied to your mother’s face for you with no hint of hesitation or regret. despite the lack of his physical presence during the week, you cannot stop thinking of him.

no matter what you do, he is there. when you go to a fitting, you wonder if he would like the color of the gown. when you walk with the ladies, you secretly wish he’d pass by on his way to another home. when you entertain a caller, your eyes constantly flicker to the double doors as if he would walk right in.

this isn’t normal. you shouldn’t feel this way about your closest friend. you cannot.

but, your heart won’t listen. even when another heir of a title sits across from you with an arrogant smirk at his lips, when your father and eldest brother discuss your money worth over your head.

it most certainly does not listen when your hands graze the most sensitive parts of your body in the darkness of your quiet bedroom at midnight, when you whisper his name into the emptiness of the space.

you do not want to marry any nobleman your mother would approve. however, when you consider any semblance of a future with armin—

it is safe to say you are miserable.

the supposed-to-be one day of respite from your duties, the day before yet another ball, you find yourself in the morning room with the viscount, the viscountess, the heir to the title, and the two other men in the lineage. the maids serve biscuits and tea, following the filling breakfast from earlier.

you’ve had one bite, one sip. in the time where you can savor the cooks’ efforts, you spend most of it switching between fidgeting with your fingers and counting the thousands stitches of your dress. your family pays no mind, talking about the season gossip, the lady prospects for them.

something about your oldest brother needing to find the most gorgeous young debutant to bear the next viscount following him and his father. the other two nod along, boasting about all the dance cards they’ve signed and girls they’ve swooned.

your mother and father sit further away, judging the neighbors and the neighbors’ neighbors. financial decisions, scandals, potential marriages with loss of rank. anything and everything they could criticize, they discuss. they deserve each other in that manner.

the only person who spares you a wary glance is your youngest lady’s maid, the sweet girl named sasha blouse, by the door. she is just about your age, destined to this life of always serving others. your eyes meet hers and she gives you a subtle smile, tilting her head slightly. you return the gesture, nodding in reassurance.

you owe her a lot. she holds many untold truths of your life—wiping your tears as you ready for the day, loosening your corset just enough when your mother leaves the room, hiding those highly disapproved of books you adore. she even turns her back when she chaperones you and armin—

the door opens suddenly and you look away, already submitting to the chance of another long, demeaning conversation about ‘wifely expectations.’ you lean over as gracefully as possible to resume your practiced delicate stance, teacup and saucer in grasp.

“my lord, my lady,” the footman greets, “the esteemed doctor hange zöe and their apprentice armin arlert have arrived with the requested tea.”

you don’t know what comes over you, it just happens. the next thing you know, the porcelain slips from your hold and shatters when your eyes meet his.

the crash is deafening, deep-colored liquid splashing over the pale fabric of your gown. the silence that fills the room after is worse.

your breaths shake as everything simmers into the background but armin, holding your gaze with concern and fear. you faintly note hange zöe shifting an arm in front of the blonde young man, although you don’t process why. you focus on him rather than the sudden loudness of your family.

his tousled, blonde hair. his blue eyes. his soft cheeks. his parted lips. his gentle body. his clenched fist.

with a blink, you’re back to reality, eyes flickering to the mess you’ve made. your mother hisses at you, your father shakes his head, your brothers snicker.

“ah, always glad to see our presence causes a quake!” thank god, for hange. you’ve never had the opportunity to converse with them much, but you see why armin admires them immensely. they say your name with excitement and a bow, “always lovely to see you, too.”

the tension eases.

you release a shaky breath you hadn’t processed you were holding, the tiniest upward twitch at your lips at their subtle wink. some servants are already cleaning the disaster, another reassuring your mother. sasha curtsies at you, murmuring something about getting you cleaned, a suggestion you obey blindly.

when you return to the room minutes later, the calm chatter from before has resumed, the mess is tidied up, the new basket of tea sits by the biscuits, and the physicians are gone.

——

“armin,” hange drawls as they step out the gates of the viscount’s home, “i need not whistledown tarnishing my reputation any further! what exactly are you doing with the viscount’s daughter?”

armin literally chokes on spit, eyes widen as he accidentally releases the metal gate in a manner that makes it clang against its sisters. he has no moment to process that.

“w-what?” despite the whisper-shout, his voice up an octave again. his mentor snickers before he can even defend his and your honor, “n-nothing!”

“nothing? she just—“ exasperated hands in the air as they keep walking, “—broke a cup for fun? i am a scientist, but even i can read a lady’s eyes, armin!”

“h-hange, please!” he glances around the street, some nosy neighbors already watching the scene unfold. that absolutely cannot happen. he pushes their arms down, making sure they stay down. “we-we have been friends ages… y-you are quite entirely aware of that!”

hange hums in contemplation, tilting their head side-to-side. at least armin is not fibbing about that—everyone with an eye knows your friendship blossomed so many years back. but, hange, too, knows there is more than truly meets the eye.

they cross the street, and hange glances over with her one eye, “she dropped that precious porcelain when she saw you. one glimpse and, bam!—“ more shushing from the blond man ensues, “—tragedy of tea.”

“an accident…” he mutters the correction, holding the strap of his bag by his shoulder. he stares at the ground, a gesture born from embarrassment and—dare he add—hope.

“you are far too intelligent to absolutely believe that,” they respond casually, not even sparing him a second glance as they examine the next destination in their logbook.

armin does not argue back, eyes as big as the saucer you dropped earlier. he clears his throat, and marches beside hange in silence.

he speaks no words but he thinks them all.

since the beginning, armin was doomed to watch from afar. he could peek at you over whatever book he had opened, could make you smile big and bright, but that was that. no matter how he built himself up, society would never agree.

their rules matter more than his love for you. the one that has spiraled way beyond anything platonic.

he can’t exactly pinpoint the moment everything shifted. one evening you were the girl that indulged in his bookworm interests. the next, he imagined an entire future with you, blushing at the thoughts.

no matter when that solidified as a fact, nothing can ever happen. a titleless physician and the youngest daughter of the viscount?

not even in armin’s deepest, wildest dreams.

——

dearest gentle reader, rumor has it our viscount and his family have encountered a tiny incident in their vast home. why, you may wonder, is this news important? well, it seems the youngest daughter, her majesty’s diamond, is quite involved. a shattered porcelain cup and stained dress in the presence of the doctor hange zöe and her brilliant apprentice, armin arlert, looms over the well-respected family. it seems odd to criticize the miss as she reigns over the marriage market with the prince, future king of marley, reiner braun still quite interested in her hand to aid the rule of his kingdom. after all, she has done everything perfectly thus far. shall this just remain a simple mistake or has our diamond begun to lose her sparkle? her majesty, the queen, would not be delighted should it be the latter. is it possible the sparkle has not dulled and rather shines in a different direction than presumed? does she shimmer for the foreign prince or, perhaps, another blonde, blue-eyed young man in her life? other mamas would not be keen of allowing their noble daughters around the likes of a boy without a title, even if he is too intelligent for his own good. it seems the viscountess has turned a blind eye long ago. all in all, no true scandal has grazed over the reputable family. with our handsome prince still seeking our diamond, this all may remain a rumor, a bout of gossip born from jealousy to keep us entertained. one may even suspect the baron and his wife spoke ill of the young lady in response to their own daughter’s poor performance in the market. we shall not expect a marriage announcement from that financially unstable lineage. this evening, the ton’s seasonal gem and other debutantes will enter our lovely countess’s spectacular ball, one all the young daughters have been anticipating for the last fortnight and a half. more likely than not, the former will remain sincere to her highest suitor—no need to disappoint the viscount and his descendants. may we thrum with the anticipation of watching the night with careful eyes. our diamond has turned out to be more peculiar than most. yours truly, lady whistledown

——

sasha is styling your hair for the ball, just you and her in the room, when she asks, “my lady, why did you drop the tea?”

you inhale deeply, already expecting the question from anyone. this is the first time in discussion since the happening yesterday.

“simply tired, sasha,” you murmur, kindly, “i’ve been run ragged from these promenades and suitors. much gratitude for your concern.”

“it only happened when the doctors arrive.” of course. sasha, despite seeming silly and distracted, is very observant. “you’ve been tired for the past sennight, my lady.”

you’re not to sure how to respond, eyes trained on the mirror. your maids have done a splendid job in preparing you for the long night of torture. you look soft, yet just ripe enough for the hungry suitors eyeing your dance card. the empire silhouette dress is a muted blue, the bodice beaded with care only the talented could give.

beauty radiates from you, but you cannot find it in yourself to care. it is not for you, and it will never be for you.

“it’s been well past a fortnight since my debut,” you start, voice as small as you feel, “yet, i feel no excitement like the other ladies around me.”

sasha pauses, moving her lithe fingers completely from your hair. the hairdo is extravagant, only needing the final touch of a silver hairpiece for it will shine where you lack—according to your mama.

she reaches over for the clip, “pressure is natural. whistledown is sticking her neck where it does not belong.”

you breathe out a laugh at the reminder of the society papers from the morning. your mother took them to heart, engraving your expectations more than she already has. it bleeds in your mind, staining even your sacred thoughts of your joy.

the papers have made you confront the longstanding strain in your heart: you want marriage, just not with any of the noblemen wishing for you.

all along, armin has been there. with a smile, with a lesson, with a listening ear—never pressure to be what the ton expects. you find your honest self alongside him, sat at that overgrown tree by the edge of the river.

love is something you have read in novels, the ones hidden underneath a loose wooden slab in the floor. in your eighteen years of living, you do not recall seeing it in those around you.

you have felt it since the moment you and armin met—platonic, at first.

you want love. the true, messy, fulfilling love you feel for armin.

your father, your mother, your brothers would never forgive you if you ever gave into your heart. you’d ruin the family reputation, lose any title, and be completely disowned.

at this rate, that seems more desirable than a loveless marriage with a literal prince. after all, if armin could be yours—if he shared any of your feelings—you would drop everything before your mother could slap you.

but, armin has been nothing but respectful. men make it clear when they desire a woman. he has not done so in any manner.

so, tonight, you will play the part of diamond. you will smile at prince braun. you will dance with him all night. you will get closer to satisfying your family with a marriage proposal. you will push away your own autonomy for a man you do not love.

society has won. you lay beaten on the ground. there is no reason to resist now.

unless.

“lady whistledown simply seeks fulfillment. i cannot judge her.” you speak honestly, gently wiping a tear from your eye before it ruins your flawlessly-prepared look for the night.

sasha hums sadly, situating the piece perfectly. at that moment, you hear your mother’s heels clacking toward your room, arriving just in time for the finished look.

the young maid is quicker, hushed, “armin arlert would melt if he saw you now.”

your breath hitches in your throat as you snap your head around to look up at her, eyes still glistening with some added hope. with one final nod, she steps back as your mama enters the room with a grin.

“is my gorgeous diamond ready?”

——

when the third dance number of the night concludes with polite applause, prince reiner braun leads you toward the refreshments table for a glass of lemonade.

“quite extraordinary, as always, my lady,” he mutters, handing you a glass with a slight bow of his head. you smile, teeth and all, taking the cup carefully. you know all eyes are on you now—you need no extra fiasco in your life.

“ah, only with your steady guidance, your highness.” he smirks, taking a long sip of his own drink. bingo. you predict your mother is beaming as she watches from the sidelines.

when he turns away to greet some of the noblemen of the ton, you drop the smile, eyes trained on the marble floor. a short breather about an hour into the night—likely, it would be the first and only you’d indulge during this crowded ball.

at lady whistledown’s suggestion, all eyes of the ton are on you tonight. whispers fill the cracks of silence between transitions and conversation. they look at you expectantly, some with envy and some with genuine curiosity. you’ve become so important in such little time.

this isn’t for you.

you’d rather be at home, rereading the books on mathematics and numbers. you could spend a whole morrow doing that and would never bore. a mere hour here now will send you to any early grave.

you’d rather be at the riverbank, telling armin about your awful days in the marriage market. he’d listen, as he always does, even placing his books on medicine to the side to give you his full attention. the memory of that makes your heart throb.

you haven’t gone to the edge of the running body of water since the day you ran from home as you’re under constant watch. it has been the single worst experience of your life—the lost of freedom. is this just a trial for the real thing, a marriage to a man who doesn’t truly care for and love you?

reiner pulls you from your thoughts with a call of your name. you glance up with an expectant, trained smile. he returns the gesture, nodding over his shoulder, “i have some short business to discuss with some of the men here. i shall seek you out when the next number is to begin.”

you nod without hesitation, this time out of your own volition. “yes, of course, your highness. i…” you glance over at your chaperoning mother, for the first time this night, distracted by another mama. back to the prince, “i shall be relieving myself.”

he grins before bowing and heading on his way. you barely catch his eyes meeting your father’s, a horrible pit filling your gut. you don’t linger, moving away from the nosy ton. in the moment every mama and daughter stumbles toward the prince, you slip out the entryway.

you find yourself outside, bathing underneath the moonlight. you left out a shaky breath, not even minding the slight chill that runs over your arms. although it will only be a second, you need this.

peace.

walking down the path, you admire the gardens. so beautiful even during the night. you don’t often have the chance to see the little things in life. your mother rushes you from one place to another nowadays. before your debut, you had other duties to prepare for this season. the only calm then was the visits to the river with armin.

ah, always back to him.

you sigh, pausing in front of the last hedge. a small garden, it seems. you turn and immediately yelp when you spot the figure in front of you, hand landing over your heart.

“oh, goodness!” hange zöe jumps too, your formality slipping out their mouth. “there is usually no one out here! i feel like the frogs in my home!”

huh. don’t even question that.

you relax, crossing your arms at the stitches of your dress. “doctor, i… i was just taking a short breath. i was on my way back t—“

“no need.” the dismissal of your excuses catches you off guard. you falter, leaning back just a tiny bit.

you remember hange since you were just a child. their reputation back then was… it is safe to say the ton completely respects them as of recent. they would perform examinations on you and your brothers if ever ill. you sometimes even saw them with armin when you’d play before the books were all of importance to you both. it seems they have always mentored armin for as long as you’ve known him.

hange is a mentor, a guide, you wish you could have. they may be insane, yes, but they are honest. they care. they want the best for everyone. you’d never admit it, but you venerate them more than your own family.

“oh.” you are quiet, rubbing your thumb over your forearm awkwardly. hange notices and juts a thumb toward the swings at the far corner of the garden.

“come on, i’ll keep you hostage for a while.” you nod immediately, trailing them as they walk ahead.

you clear you throat as you take a seat on the wooden slab, kicking slightly. “you aren’t usually at these things, doctor.”

they cringe at the title, waving you off. you take the hint, but they respond, “i’m always invited—bunch of old geezers in one place, it’s perfect!—but i don’t attend. too much ‘mama’ and ‘debutante’ drama.”

you hum in agreement, eyes scanning the stars. “a choice would be lovely,” you pause, sparing them a glance—they’ve been too calm, which is very much unlike them. you continue, “why tonight?”

hange sways on their own swing, their eye following the bugs in the grass. “armin is leaving.”

you heart stops.

what?

everything stops functioning properly. your throat goes dry, your blood runs cold, your hands begin to shake.

“l-leaving?”

“i’ve encouraged it, as his mentor,” hange admits, still not meeting your glassy eyes. “he’s brilliant, as you already know. he needs proper education to further his knowledge on the sciences and medicine.”

of course. education. you and him talk about it often—his desire to study across the sea, your desire to simply have the opportunity to study anywhere. one day, it would happen. you did not expect it now.

“but,” hange continues, snapping you out of your thoughts as they finally glance over at you, “he is not thinking rationally. i did not anticipate his rush to set sail.”

you look away, staring at your feet as you process their words.

armin is leaving.

“when…. when does he go?”

“by the next new moon.”

the tear slips down your cheek on its own, eyes squeezing shut. you hold the ropes of the swing tightly—you think you would slip off otherwise.

by the next new moon—less than a fortnight?—you are likely to be engaged to the prince. eventually, when you marry and leave for marley, you would lose armin. he is leaving before then. you’ll lose him sooner.

the friendship is crumbling, has been crumbling since the morning of your debut. you’ll lose your freedom and your best friend all at once, the latter loss not gradually as you expected.

“i’m telling you this, here, for a reason,” hange says after a moment, focusing on the constellations now.

they don’t expect a response for you, which you are grateful for. if you were to speak in this very state of mind, you would break completely and be unable to reenter the ballroom at all. that alone would still be a grand challenge—going back there, pretending everything is fine, and dancing with the man who’ll rob you of your barely-there independence.

“i’m insane. that’s a known fact. so, i’ll say it with pride: choose yourself. for once, do that,” they pause, looking at the distant mansion, “’princess’ doesn’t suit you.”

you don’t even take offense. you already know.

“eh, i still wouldn’t blame you if you chose that marriage, that title. the—“ air quotes, “—‘happy’ and stable future… it’s been forced into your mind since you were born, as it has been for all the ladies in there,” a small sigh, “you’d be a winner in their eyes.”

but, not yours, they did not need to add.

you inhale sharply, head snapping up to look at hange as they stand. you wipe away the tears, composing yourself as best as possible. “i will succeed. that’s all my family wants from me. i’ll make them happy for once. i’ll satisfy them. i’ll... i’ll—i am going to be a princess!”

hange tilts their head, cocking a brow incredulously, “that seems likely, yes.” they take a step back. “armin would be incredibly elated for you.”

and, suddenly, all the fight is gone.

a whimper leaves your colored lips as you cover them with one hand, the other reddening on the rope. you double over, body shaking with sobs. you don’t even process hange’s arms around your trembling frame.

you’re not marrying armin. you’ll never marry armin. the one man who does not see you as a potential housewife and bearer of children will not be your husband. you’ll marry that stupid prince that doesn’t care that you will live a horrible, loveless life with him.

armin would care. armin would let you decide how to live your life, even married. armin would never force anything upon you. armin would simply love you as you, not a farce.

armin is who you want, who you could never possibly have with hange’s devastating revelation.

so, when you return to the ballroom, face bare of the smudged makeup hange helped you wipe off, your actions are robotic—just as you had been trained. you’re perfect, so much so that your mother even dismisses your sudden disappearance and change in appearance.

after all, you are just a doll in society’s hands.

when the final dance of the night with prince reiner braun ends, you hear hange’s final piece of advice ringing in your ears:

the hardest decision of your life is likely the right one. (but… i’m just a mad scientist, who am i kidding!)

——

dearest gentle reader, our diamond has completely silenced the critics. efforts increased tenfold, it is clear who has won the grand title of ‘princess of marley’. there is no announced engagement, yet, but listening ears heard the viscount discussing a hefty dowry with his highness, prince reiner braun. the youngest daughter of the family would be the first of the four children to marry, as her brothers display rakish tendencies with no signs of marriage this season. she simply shone the brightest in the countess’s ballroom last evening. many mamas and daughters were crying tears of defeat at the sight of the soon-to-be couple dancing at the center of the marvelous floor. her majesty, the queen, must be ecstatic with the delivery of the news by the one and only host, the countess. the queen’s words, yet again, rule. on the opposite aspects of the season, this author hears the doctor’s apprentice boy, armin arlert, makes his preparations to soon travel the sea in search of an education that challenge his brilliance. quite coincidental he embarks in this journey when his childhood best friend, our diamond, is about to engage. has something shifted between the pair?—i am sure so many mamas remember the two playing by the riverbank all those years ago! then, do the wedding bells toll like funeral bells for mister arlert? has his decision to leave encouraged our diamond to rapidly secure the greatest marriage? ah, of course, all of this is just tittle-tattle. entertainment, one could say. or, maybe, this author has uncovered the truth. yours truly, lady whistledown

——

your mama is too elated by the first part of whistledown to care about the latter—her daughter is too perfect, gossip must try to ruin her!

you do not correct her.

instead, you take this to your advantage. you slip into the morning room as she hosts some of her dear friends. you curtsey as they bubble on about your successes. you’re sure they are truly green-eyed that their daughters did not wow the prince, but you show no signs of distaste. your mother could take care of the bragging.

“mama,” you turn your entire gaze to her, blinking at her calmly, “i’ve nothing to do today. may i visit… may i go to the riverbank? miss blouse could chaperone to not take from your day.”

your heart pounds as your mother drops her smile just a moment. you can already hear the ladies murmuring to each other—the riverbank? where she goes with that boy armin arlert?—the request likely to reach whistledown.

you’re quicker than them, “i simply wish to walk. the eastern side.” away from the tree. “i presume i will be too busy for that, soon enough.”

with your mother, the ladies in the room smile, falling for your lie. they are just so simpleminded, you could almost feel bad.

“ah, yes, my diamond,” your mother replies, kissing your cheeks gently. “be back by supper, your father wishes to discuss important matters.”

you smile, ignoring the sour taste in your mouth. “of course, mama.”

by the end of the hour, you’re walking toward that godforsaken tree, cloak and hood over your form—there is no one around, but it is just in case.

sasha did go with you. however, she was more than happy to accept the treat you gave her, sending you a wink before running along with her friend and fellow servant, the young footman jean.

when you spot him, he’s sitting with his back against the bark of that tree, jotting something down into his journal resting on his bent knees. there are two other books open on the ground in front of him. he is hunched over slightly, longer pieces of hair almost covering his eyes.

he is a sight to behold.

when a leaf crunches beneath your heel, armin jumps, peering over his shoulder with visible shock in his round orbs. it doesn’t go away when he sees you, confusion now added to the mix.

“w-what...?” he squeaks out, graphite slipping from his dainty fingers. he looks around frantically, hoping no one is around to see you. “y-you can’t be here…!”

you pout, lowering yourself onto the ground. “no one comes by here, armin.”

“gosh! you cannot actually believe that! if w-whistledown—“

“oh, please do not wish her into the air!”

“then, why—“

“i had to see you!” you finally admit, backing down when he actually freezes. your cheeks flush as you turn away in shame. “you… you are leaving.”

you hear the thump of pages pressing against one another abruptly. you feel the nudge of his shoe against yours, calling your attention back on him, just as warm in the cheeks as you.

“i did not mean for you to find out through gossip.” he sounds honest, voice meek in some sort of shame.

you shake your head, “hange found me before then.” he tilts his head at the disclosure but does not comment on it.

“i… i have the opportunity to go. ideal timing, too, since you and the prince will—“ he stops himself with a sharp inhale, increasing the distance between your bodies.

you watch him with a solemn expression, the shadow of your hood exemplifying the emotions on your pretty features. “he’s not proposed y—“

“the entire ton knows he will.” you’re taken aback by the exasperation in his voice. deep down, you are aware of the truth his claim holds.

you bite your lip, running your fingers over your palm over and over again. the gesture is meant to be soothing. it is not.

“when—“

“before the fortnight.”

you nod without missing a beat. you don’t trust yourself with any extra moment of hesitation. “i am happy for you.”

“as am i.”

it is silent after that. armin looks away, watching the stream behind you that mirrors his own irises. you stare down at your lap, tracing the elaborate embroidery of your dark cloak.

there’s so much you could say.

do not forget to write.

i’ll miss you.

i hate this.

do not go.

stay.

stay with me.

i love you.

but, none of that comes out, just, “we shall make the most of these days.”

armin looks at you, brows furrowed in confusion. “i-i’m sorry?”

you bite your lip, glancing up at armin softly. “like old times. sit by the river. read those books of yours,” a pregnant pause, “...talk.”

he searches for any ounce of dishonesty evident in your face—your eyes, your cheeks, your lips. he finds none. “what… what about his highness?”

“you are far more important.” it spills out before you can stop yourself. it is too late for regret.

armin doesn’t necessarily react. his eyes blink shut, maybe in contemplation, and he nods. when he opens his eyes, there is something there that you cannot describe.

you smile—a tiny smile—and point at his book. “tell me about your latest discoveries.”

he smiles back, timidly.

——

you have always been the ideal daughter, according to other mamas in the ton—speaking only when spoken to, following three steps behind the man, playing the part of beautiful object. your family detest you for not being pretty enough, not worthy enough, not good enough at your lessons. they thought you would ruin the viscount family reputation.

none of that matters now that prince reiner braun wants you as another trophy to display. suddenly, you are the pride and joy of the home after years of living in the shadows. you are important when you most want to hide.

promenades with reiner are more frequent. he visits the home every morning, sometimes going directly to your father and brothers rather than speaking with you. you stop entertaining other suitors, at your mother’s insistence—you are not sure if you can label that an actual win for you.

for once, they seem to care. for once, you do not even want that. not from them, at least, for they always disappoint.

you started running from home years ago, the reason you met armin. as you got older, as your mother started hounding you for more and more lessons, you left home unannounced less. with this busy season, one would think you have no opportunity to escape.

everyone would be sorely mistaken.

you’ll forever be thankful to your loyal servants—sasha, jean, connie. with their jobs and freedom on the line, they help you enjoy your last times of true freedom. they help you leave the secure mansion.

prince reiner braun arrives in the mornings and stays for a couple hours. some nights, you must attend those lavish, mind-numbing balls. other middays, by your mother’s words, you assert your diamond status in public areas. in simple words, you are incredibly busy.

that could never stop you.

the hardest decision of your life is likely the right one.

amidst downtime, you find yourself with armin. inconceivably, you’ve made it work. you’re not too sure that was the right choice anymore.

every moment that you are with him, your love for him grows. the disdain for the housewife life increases simultaneously. you are destined for that hell and you are making it worse for yourself. yet, you don’t stop seeing armin.

most times, you meet at the river. he would bring some of hange’s personal books, pointing out spectacular writings. if it were written by the doctor themself, you would gasp at the craziest descriptions he recited. maybe the title of ‘insane’ is warranted.

once, armin let you read one of his scientific pieces. you read the entry over and over until he pulled the journal away from you, tips of ears a deep red. the shade spread to his neck and face when you gushed out compliment after compliment. you assumed he was simply not used to praise.

on the rare occasion the weather proves itself foul, armin leads you to the laboratory. you’d examine everything, fascinated by all that goes against your honorable title. you hold the jars with… questionable contents. you sniff odd mixtures, coughing so much armin is forced to pat your back. hange even lets you watch one of their failed experiments. you laugh so much, you start crying.

by this time next year, you’ll be trapped, a caged bird to never fly again. you’ll be in a new ton, surrounded by strangers who only see you as a pet. you’ll be days away from your best friend.

that is the worst part of all this. it all goes back to losing the safest place—person—in your forever-controlled existence. he helped you feel alive, even if it wasn’t his intention.

with him, you discovered the complexity and beauty of life beyond the superficial. you discovered love could be real, not just something you read in some long novel. it is a feeling you will cherish, will teach your future children to value more than any honorific they could receive.

so, in the meantime, you pretend this glimpse of your desired future will last forever. while you’re certain armin does not love you in a similar fashion as you love him, mourning that now would make the ending worse.

so, in the meantime, you pretend.

you do not notice armin’s gaze on you the entire time you are together. hange would tease him after you rushed home to ready for whatever event was next.

he’s starting to believe he is making the wrong decision—leaving the ton means leaving you. for good. staying means he could possibly see you when visiting from your new home in that faraway kingdom. even a passing word from the woman he will forever love would suffice. after he leaves, there is no telling if he will ever see you again, even if he returns to paradis someday.

no. he has to go—before you wed. he wouldn’t survive merely reading it through the letters of gossip. even just knowing is difficult enough.

your time now is enough to quell his thirst—he must believe that. the looks that last far too long to be innocent. the lingering touches that make his skin burn when you pull away. the warm feeling in his lower body when he sees your natural beauty.

at some point, he was close to giving in—when you stared up at him silently, something unknown in your pretty eyes. hange broke another beaker and he moved away clumsily. he spent the night with his hand down his drawers, profusely ashamed.

but, if his torture rewards him with your honest joy, then armin would endure it a thousand times over. for now, he does what he knows best.

armin writes.

——

armin is to leave in the early hours of the morning. his few significant items are packed, other less important taken to burning.

you’ve not had the opportunity to stay goodbye, and you do not think you will as the queen’s ball happens to be the evening right before the anchors lift. the universe points and laughs at you when you connect two and two.

you will never see him again.

by now, playing pretend is your specialty. looking your absolute best, you wow the ton. however, your eyes aren’t really there. you’re in some distant place in your mind, imagining any possibility of life but your reality.

it catches you by surprise when the earl’s son, eren yeager, bumps into you by the left wing. you don’t see him too often, but you know he is one of armin’s only noble friends—besides you, of course. he’s always been kind and respectful, also one seemingly against the standards of society.

he bows politely, “ah, it’s been far too long.”

you curtsey, “my lord, it indeed has.” even with him, you subconsciously dazzle as the diamond—her majesty is watching you tonight, still and all.

he scrunches his nose at the title, scanning the room for some reason unbeknownst to you. “i’m surprised his highness let you out his sight. you deserve a breath of fresh air, not just the stench beneath his shoulder.”

you let out an unexpected snort, covering your mouth the next breath in shame. eren smiles down at you, letting out a soft chuckle of his own.

at least you are not the only noble child with a brain.

“oh, my gosh,” you giggle out, still hiding beneath your hand. “you are cruel.”

the heir to the earl title shrugs, amusement gleaming in his colored eyes, “but, not wrong.”

another short huff before you compose yourself. that small interval of peace was a distraction from your mind. you see why armin is—

armin.

the smile drops abruptly. eren catches the change immediately, mimicking your own expression. he keeps his eyes forward, as he murmurs, “i am here because he asked me—don’t look at me, pretend i am speaking to myself.”

you obey, grinning and nodding at passersby despite the nasty churning in your belly. eren’s voice lowers further, “he wrote a letter. for you.”

your head pounds as fast as your heart. you don’t turn to the yeager boy, focusing on the most important aspect of society at this very moment.

diamond.

armin.

“i was meant to wait, until after the ship departs. i simply believe he is stupid for suggesting so.” eren takes one final precautionary glance around the massive room before slipping his hand underneath his carefully adjusted tailcoat. “turn.”

you do as he asks, trusting him senselessly. you pray no one questions this very instance. the next thing you know, eren passes you a folded page. he stands close enough to cover you from attendees, far enough that call for scandal is not just.

for a brief second, you consider crumpling the slip and shoving it into eren’s chest. you should go on with you life, forget that classless boy that kept you happy for the years before your true duty—just practical, not permanent.

you are not your family. the sheet falls open almost on its own.

dearest, i was not going to write this, let alone deliver it to you. i am still unsure if you will ever receive this. this ton is not for people like myself, lacking some type of noble title. everywhere i went, the nobleman and woman reminded me that i could never belong. i kept to myself, with my books and scribbles at the riverbank. it would have been enough. then, you ran along, insisting i let you read with me. there was apprehension, at first—your family could have faced a scandal early on just because of your acquaintance with a boy like me. i realized, not even an hour in, that you are completely different than those around us. from that day forward, we were friends. the bestest, as you proclaim. i am most glad for your initial insistence. you are the most magnificent girl i have ever met. too kind to a fault. more brilliant than most men i know. strong. more beautiful than the skies and the seas. in simple words, you are nothing like those around you. with all honesty and respect, i cannot stand the hierarchal state in this ton. multiple times, i considered joining hange on creating that ‘bomb’ of theirs. you are more than enough to sway those thoughts away. i have spent years trying to uncover why you matter so much to me, treating it as if it were some impossible theorem i need to solve. i would review our time together—conversations, laughs, even the moments of silence—and chart it out all over the laboratory floor. nothing was truly adding up. the answer came to me naturally in a moment. no intervention. no evidence. not even a hypothesis beforehand. i just needed you. all this time, all these years, i have always loved you. you are everything to me, like the air i breathe and the food i eat. my mind is at ease only around you. my heart beats for you. my body aches for you. these feelings have been budding since the day we met. i was afraid to name it, unable to fathom it until your debut. until the day that set our demise. i thought i could stay around you, support you in this journey as a friend should. when your mother kept you home for that sennight, when whistledown kept reporting your affections for the prince, i realized it was all too much. you aren’t even married yet and i already hurt. it is absolutely ridiculous. my heart, i mean. how could you ever love someone like me? i am nothing compared to that prince or any man the viscount and viscountess would approve of. so, i am running like a coward. no man, including myself, wants to see the woman he loves love another. our friendship was never meant to last. i was just too selfish to let it go sooner. this past decade or so has been the honor of my life. there is nothing i regret. whoever you marry is the luckiest being in the universe. oh, how i wish it were me. i wish you the best. i will not write. i love you. eternally yours, armin arlert

you cannot breathe.

you cannot function.

the ball around you is muted. the world keeps spinning but you are frozen in place. you can only read the suddenly blurring words, some ink smudged by wetness coming from your eyes. you reread the last, scratched line.

all this time, armin has loved you. he loves you. he—

“darling!”

you’re spinning around in an instant, eyes wide with tears slipping from the corners. you don’t care to wipe them anymore.

it’s your mother who calls for you, clearly too ecstatic to notice your state. she grabs your arm without hesitation, dragging you away from a wildly-concerned eren. you’re clutching the letter, mind still somewhere far away.

the lights blind you. the noise disturbs you. the shuffling nauseates you.

then, you are at the center of the ballroom, everyone parting like the red sea. for you, the queen’s diamond. the very woman who watches the scene with a curious gaze.

does no one see your tears? does no one care?

a low, steady tune fills the air. you whip your head, searching for the disturbance. you only spot prince reiner braun approaching you.

no. god, no. no, no, no, no, no—

“my lady,” he starts, as if announcing it to the entire ton. he’s not even seeing you. this is a spectacle. you are the main show.

“you are quite a beauty—“

more beautiful than the skies and the seas.

“—smart amongst women—“

more brilliant than most men i know.

“—kind, only to those worthy of it—“

too kind to a fault.

“—you are intriguing—”

you are the most magnificent girl i have ever met.

“—marry me and i will make sure you are always taken care of. join me on the throne of my kingdom, marley, and belong to me.”

whoever you marry is the luckiest being in the universe.

there is a moment where no one so much as breathes, watching the grand proposal of the season. some mamas silently criticize the beat of silence. most young ladies pout, wishing they were you. many nobleman nod along with the prince despite their own jealously. the queen frowns after five seconds. eren has left the room entirely.

no one in the room wants this less than you.

god, you can practically hear your mama yelling at you. her frustration is radiating off her body feet away toward you.

beside her, your brothers clear their throats loudly, the youngest of the three even coughing more than once. you know it is them.

your father taps his foot obnoxiously, the throbbing in your head worsening at the rhythm. yes, he is extremely wealthy, but your dowry was not inexpensive.

the only thing you feel is the paper in your hand, threatening to rip from the force of your grip.

everyone waits. armin waits.

your breath hitches—

eternally yours.

—and, you run.

——

your feet take you where your heart desires.

by the time you are entering the rickety building, you are soaked—your cloak, your dress, your hair, your heels—and shivering from head to toe. the only dry article on your body is the letter you tucked in your bust, one you are pulling out once again.

you rush up the two flights of stairs, praying you have made it on time. only that matters now. your mind is already set.

the hardest decision of your life is likely the right one. could you even consider this the hardest with how relieving it felt?

you drip water on the rotten wood as you hurry down the hall, scanning every door and number. the moment you spot the door, you knock frantically.

please, please, plea—

the door opens. in front of you is armin, blue eyes scanning over you in shock. as if he could not believe you are actually there.

“w-what—“

armin has no chance to finish his sentence as you scurry forward and crash your lips onto his soft ones. he chokes—shocked—but doesn’t move away. instead, he presses deeper.

the kiss is clumsy, to say the least. neither of you have any idea what you are doing—lost in the emotions, in how right it feels.

this is what you have been missing, what you have been needing. everything feels right as once, even after the chaos you have created. that is the last thing on your mind. armin is there. armin is present.

armin loves you, and you love armin.

you drop the letter. as it floats down just inside the threshold of the room, your hands seek purchase on his biceps. armin cups your jaw, pushing your hood off when his fingers thread through your damp hair.

he pulls away first, eyes wide and cheeks flushed. “m-my lady, i am so—“

you push your lips against his once again, this kiss more than the last. teeth clash, salvia slips from your mouth into his and vice-versa. his nose nudges yours and you huff out quietly.

you pull away next, his forehead landing your own. you hold onto him as you lean back for the proper contact, head tilted back to see his handsome. you both pant, eyes wide. he awaits an answer, you await him.

“i-i want to go. w-with you.”

he gasps quietly, searching for any signs of tipsiness as he runs his thumbs over your cheekbones. when he finds none, he examines you for dishonesty. nothing.

“y-you… you cannot be serious, my lady—“ you interrupt him with your name. he hesitates, but corrects himself. it is such a beautiful sound, you could die happy hearing it everyday.

you nod, eyes dropping to the letter on the floor. “i… i ran. the prince… he proposed as soon as i r-read your letter.”

armin is slightly embarrassed you read it before he left. only slightly because this is happening now. ah, he must be dreaming, of course. when he bites his lip, nothing occurs. his breath hitches. you are really here.

“p-proposed?” he stutters out, eyes falling shut as he repeats your words in his head.

you ran when the prince proposed. you ran. when the prince proposed. everything for your future was set and you ran.

for him.

“did… did you m-mean everything?” you murmur, suddenly very worried when armin freezes. unbeknownst to you, he was seriously unsure if this is reality or one of his many dreams of you.

“e-everything.”

you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, an almost-laugh thread within in. the tears slip out without permission. “i have been waiting to h-hear that.”

armin huffs out a laugh himself, “y-yeah?”

“mhm,” you sniffle wetly, biting the inside of your cheek as your gaze drops to his wet, plush lips. “c-can—“ you glance up to his eyes, brows furrowed, “—can i kiss you…?”

armin bites his lips and nods. you don’t know who moves first but your lips meet again, slower this time. you are both learning as you go.

he sighs into your mouth, you lean closer into him. armin takes a step back into his lodgings, you take one forward. he is uncoordinated, trying his best to stay against you as he moves backwards. you do not mind in the slightest. you are as inexperienced as him, if not more.

when the door thuds shut with you inside, armin pulls away as if suddenly remembering the situation at hand. “y-you’re soaked.” he doesn’t mention his own dampness due to your condition and his proximity.

you look down at yourself in the dim light of the candles. you feel wet, in more ways than one, but you’d rather not catch a cold now. your eyes meet armin’s as you whisper, “disrobe me.”

it seems a lot shocks armin this late evening, early morning. he swallows before nodding. he’s been dreaming of this night for years, nevertheless.

he starts with your cloak. he shies away from your stare, cheeks flushed as he pulls the fabric over your head. you assist him by lifting your arms when he struggles. once off your body, armin drops the heavy mantle onto the wooden floor, a resounding plop! echoing around the small space.

armin sees you as if you were already naked. you are not, not yet, with your moist dress covering your most indecent parts. his eyes land on your plump cleavage.

you turn wordlessly and armin follows, his hands tracing the delicate patterns until he finds the ribbon. with one tug, your dress loosens enough to pull it over your head. that, too, has a final thud as it meets the ground.

you are in your corset and undergarments when you face him again. he’s at a loss for words. you are just so…

“beautiful.”

you smile shyly before reaching for the buttons of his shirt. you move slowly yet efficiently, savoring the moment as if it were the last. you both know that is far from true.

armin lets the cloth slide off his shoulders as you focus on pulling off his undershirt. he has you turn once more to untie your corset.

you bite your lip as you stand restlessly in anticipation. “i have never done this,” you murmur into the air.

“ah, me neither,” armin breathes behind you, shoving the stutter down his throat with a whisper of your name. “we will… we shall learn together.”

you nod, picking at your nails as you let him work. you do not feel nervous. if anything your heart beats rhythmically with his, signaling your excitement with these upcoming sensation with him.

only a minute later, he succeeds at the task. the corset slips off, leaving your upper body completely bare. you breathe once more and turn.

the adoration in his eyes is enough to make you tear up once again. armin releases a shaky breath before reaching for your face. he kisses you once more, confidence skyrocketing.

you moan into his lips as he guides you toward the shaky bed. you could be doing this by the river and you’d never complain. as long as it is with him. he pushes you back gently, letting you accommodate to the stiff mattress before settling half atop of you.

one hand holds him up, the other slides over your softness. he starts at your neck, feeling your pulse there for a second—you are real. his fingers trace lower, ghosting over your chest before pressing more firmly against the fat there. you whine into his lips when he grazes your nipples.

he tugs each peak once, twice, thrice, just to hear your angelic sounds. he commits them to memory. then, his hand moves lower.

all the while, you begin removing his trousers. you giggle against his lips between the soft pecks when he awkwardly shuffles out his pants. you both only wear undergarments.

you both gasp at once—your palm pushes against his bulge, his fingers glide over your covered slit. you toss back onto a pillow, a sweet sound leaving your swollen mouth.

armin watches you carefully, fingers dipping underneath the waistband of your final garments. he drags them down your legs, smiling when you raise your hips to help. dangling at your ankle, you are completely nude, legs spread just enough.

another shaky breath, armin looks at you for confirmation. when you nod, he looks down. the sight is one to behold. he may have to pick up sketching and painting to keep this sight forever.

you bite your lip and turn your head when armin pushes your thighs apart. he breathes, “god.”

his dainty fingers move carefully toward your center. then, he drags the tips over the folds. you gasp, back arching spontaneously.

“mm, armin!” you whine, belly caving in with your quickening breaths. he doesn’t stop, observing your every move, every reaction. he must know what makes you feel good. when he rubs over that little button, you shake even more.

he lets you enjoy that for a bit, rubbing your clit just right. when he sees your fold glisten some more, he shifts his hand slightly. his thumb touches your bundle of nerves while his middle finger presses against your entrance.

“tell me to stop… anytime…” you nod frantically at his words, breaths breaking into a cry when his finger pushes forward.

this is a new feeling, a very welcome one. he is invading you yet it does not feel wrong in any matter. if anything, it feels incredibly right. he pushes slowly until the knuckle, pausing there. when you adjust, and your hips shift for friction, he moves.

you gasp into the air, your own hands moving to cup your tits. “a-armin…” you’re not sure why exactly you call his name. it just feels so right.

he moves perfectly, hitting a spot inside your pussy that makes you jerk and gasp. he hits it dead-on every time. eventually, a second finger makes its way inside you.

it doesn’t take long for that warm feeling in your lower belly to grow like an uncontrollable fire. with tears sliding down your temple and a cry of his name, you cum around his fingers. you shake, but he armin does not stop, not until you push his wrist away.

you pull him into a kiss, reaching down to shove off his underwear. he kicks them off with a huff, impossibly hard. you wrap your hand around him and he whines. you smile into the kiss.

armin pulls away, forehead pressing against yours as he gasps when you move your hand up and down his shaft. his eyes flutter shut, moans escaping freely.

“is that good?” you mutter, genuinely curious. he nods only because he does not trust himself to speak. his hips rock back and forward, seeking more sensation.

this went on for a bit. you both pant heavily when he holds your hand still. “i-i’ll finish if you don’t s-stop.”

your mouth opens slightly and you nod, pulling your hand away. you glance down to look at his length. it is so… pretty. long, pale, pre-cum leaking from the pink tip. “how will that fit?” you mutter mindlessly.

he groans at your words, swooping you into another kiss. you giggle again, armin joining you this time. you kiss a bit longer before he finally reaches down, grabbing himself to guide inside you.

“i-i heard this hurts,” he strains out, notching his tip at your entrance. you whimper, nodding subconsciously. “tell me if—“

“i know… i-i trust you. fully.” one more nod, and he drives his hips forward.

the feeling is unlike anything you’ve felt in your life. it feels… perfect. like you just found your way home. there is a slight sting alongside these emotions, but you do not care. if anything, the pain feels as good the pleasure.

you given yourself to him. all of you. it feels good. perfect. right.

you moan freely, hands clutching his shoulders. armin whimpers, forehead dropping against your shoulder. he cannot cum just yet. he bottoms out soon enough and you feel so warm, so soft, so amazing.

this is it. this is love. were it anyone else, you think you’d hate this. with armin, it feels like a final declaration of love.

“i love you,” you moan, squirming for some type of friction.

armin whines, clutching your thighs tightly. he jerks forward then back, again and again. your proclamation heightens every clench of your walls, every nudge against your cervix. he moans, “i-i love you, more.”

you reach up, cupping his face, the sweetest of smiles on your lips, “why are you crying?”

armin gasps, seeing his tears on your chest and face. he acknowledges your own tears at your waterlines. he shakes his head, kissing you once more and he moves steadily.

when you both eventually cum, it feels as if the gods have rejoiced. his seed fills your fluttering hole, moans slipping out mouths into the others.

i love you, repeated over and over again until you don’t know where you end and he starts.

he loves you in a way no one can. fully, completely, vulnerably. he is the one person you’ve ever desired. the marriage market… the noble ranks… it would have never worked. not when your heart belonged to armin.

this type of love is eternal. no boundaries, no hinderances.

just you and him.

——

dearest gentle reader, this season has taken a drastic turn, one most unexpected by majority of the ton. it seems her majesty’s diamond of this martial season has completely vanished. it seems she took off as his highness, prince reiner braun, asked for her hand in marriage during our very queen’s ball. it seems she has received the gossip and drama she yearns for. rumor has it our shining star was spotted at the docks in the early morning hours, boarding a ship directed across the sea with the one and only armin arlert. some of her belongings were seemingly delivered by her loyalest servants, although their identities remain unknown. the pair of ‘childhood best friends’ seemed quite cozy together as they left the ton they once called home. my sources tell me she looked the happiness they had ever seen her. it seems the viscount’s family is in now shambles. with their youngest daughter gone with a classless boy after rejecting a prince’s proposal, her majesty, the queen, has questioned their entire lineage to find reason for her diamond’s abrupt exit. the viscount has reportedly lost deals with other noble families. even the most desperate ladies no longer wish to pursue the single, eldest brothers, with emphasis on their rakish behavior. the viscountess, herself, has been spotted wandering around the riverbank, seeking her daughter—not out of care but out of spite. one mustn’t forget the family shall have to find out which maids and footmen helped the young daughter disappear. the season comes to an end soon. after all, there will be no grand proposal as even the prince of marley has announced his own timely departure. he has taken a grand hit to his ego after the wordless rejection from our extraordinary diamond. this author always knew this diamond would turn out quite special. how could one rip a woman’s love from her heart and not expect backfire? i wish every young lady the best for the conclusion of the season. some proposals would be delightful, but nothing could beat the gossip of our diamond and her classless lover. after all, the ton dulled her sparkle. she shines brightest away from here with her truest, everlasting love. yours truly, lady whistledown

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