|𝐒𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧 - 𝐅𝐞𝐦𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 - 𝐏𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐓𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐞 - 𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐝 𝐏𝐢𝐞𝐜𝐞 - 𝟏𝟖+ 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭| As a young woman living in late-1800s New York, you find yourself under the guardianship and employment of your surrogate sister's widower. Together, you manage a humble estate that boasts a lovely reputation with newlyweds and travelers looking for a quiet stay along the waterfront. That is until a handsome, talented author and his moody companion decide to take up residence for the entire summer. OLD CHAPS ARE BEING RE-EDITED Cross posted on AO3 @ratboiradio Contains: Mature Language, Discussions of Character Death, Physical Assault, Blood, Mentions of Sexual Assault, Trauma/Impact of Trauma, Sexual Content Started: May 2, 2022

Jean Kirstein, a soldier of the royal guard of the kingdom Eldia is granted a promotion. Although he'd normally be thrilled, his new job requires watching over and protecting the princess who has a terrible habit of doing exactly what she's not supposed to. reader discretion advised. all characters 18+, no titan powers, set in fantasy world. smut. content for 18+. talk about death and killing. violent/graphic scenes. cover art creds: gundo_49 on twitter!!

𝙩𝙞𝙢𝙚𝙨𝙠𝙞𝙥 𝙟𝙚𝙖𝙣 𝙠𝙞𝙧𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙞𝙣! Following the disappearance of Marco Bodt at the end of Y/N's freshman year, coming back to campus hasn't been the smoothest transition. Everything seems to run smoothly through the year until she is partnered up with Kappa Titan Phi social chair, Jean Kirstein. Now Y/N finds herself unraveling the past and also her heart.

In search of stillness, you leave Marley behind. Bruised feet, frayed dreams, and all. You land at Paradis University with a ballet scholarship and baggage you never unpacked. There, among paint-stained hands and late-night smoke breaks, you find yourself entangled in the lives of a tightly knit group of students, each carrying their own cracks. At the center of it all is Jean Kirstein: sharp-tongued, cigarette-breathed, and hiding more than he lets on. You're discipline. He's chaos. But the line between stage and studio starts to blur, and what begins as friction might just become a kind of art in itself.