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sh1-n0bu · 7 months

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𝔫𝔬𝔟𝔲’𝔰 𝔨𝔦𝔫𝔨𝔱𝔬𝔟𝔢𝔯 𝔬𝔣 2023!

day 30: choking with il dottore from genshin impact

warnings: choking, slapping, usage of aphrodisiac, dottore is a masochist, cockstepping, foot humping, degrading, cumming untouched, reader is a harbinger

notes: can you guys just tell that i fucking despise this rat????

as harbingers of the tsaritsa and a group of very unlovable, twisted, evil and just genuinely not-so-good people, disturbance at workplace was common. of course, said disturbance ranges from a simple hiss of “i fucking hate you. i hope your next mission goes so unwell that the only casualty will be your tattered corpse” to whatever this is. this could have easily been called as something that most people would call as ‘hate sex’ if only the both of you were not fully clothed.

so technically, this would be counted as ‘hate masturbating’? ah, fuck the labels or those things. right now, the only focus on your mind was to put this annoying bastard in his place.

he really thought he was the shit, didn’t he? the absolute galls of this motherfucker to even dare to put you down and insult you in front of your own subordinates. not just that, he went ahead and put aphrodisiacs into your coffee and his own like the absolute lunatic he was.

how badly you wanted to crush his windpipes in. that would oh so easy with your current position of your hand wrapped nicely around his neck like those beautiful chokers you see on some certain accessory shops. or even one that resembles a collar that is bound tightly around the neck of a rabies infested animal. but with a deranged doctor like dottore, the latter description seem to fit well with how he was moaning and wheezing, clothed cock humping your boots as he panted like a dog.

“you really are a detestable creature, you know that?” you hiss in sheer and utter anger, your other hand joining the other to wrap around his throat more forcefully. both hands on his neck, ready to crush his windpipes in if you wanted.

you had the power. a harbinger who’s currently in the position of tenth may be considered weak amongst fellow harbingers but even then, the tenth fatui harbinger is more than capable to shake an entire nation and to be seen as a threat to an archon.

and that tenth harbinger is you.

so even if dottore may be the second, one of the few who has the capacity to rival a god, right now he was nothing more than a pathetic dog who was humping your shoe. panting and whining loudly with his tongue stuck out, the mad doctor only focuses on the feeling of your hands choking him and the hardened leather of your shoes.

“y-yes.. yes yessshh yesyesyesyesyes oh archons, yes. i am. i’m a detestable creature. your detestable creature” dottore chokes on his spit, a wheezing shrill moan escaping his open mouth as his drool drips down his chin. he seems to like being degraded like this, the movements of his humping becoming more and more frantic on your shoe.

red eyes rolling to the back of his skull, sharp gasps and squeals following until he swore he could see black dots in his vision. he didn’t wanted to have the black spots dancing in his vision! because if so, how was he going to see you? he wanted to see you. that look of just pure anger on your face as you choke the daylights out of him and let him hump you like a dog in heat. no, he needed to see you.

“aaANGH—! kyuuck hhang♡︎♡︎ gck! ♡︎♡︎” a loud intake of breath is heard as your hands let go of the position around his neck, allowing him to breathe for a moment. not too long after, without even allowing him to catch a full breath, his head lolls to the side with a stinging feeling on the side of his cheek. did you just…?

“eyes on me. who said you could go around tearing your gaze away from me, rat” he could briefly hear your voice hiss through the ringing in his ears. muffled, faint, hard to tell if the voice was truly falling from your lips or if it was one of his manic episode voices talking.

either way, it was still your voice that was blessing his ears. it was your shoe that was now stepping on his clothed, weeping cock and he was thankful. maniac and downright insane but dottore knows a holy being when he sees and hears one. he may have not worshipped any of the archons, but for you? the mad doctor would gladly kiss the soles of your shoes over and over. hell, he would even thank you just for being in the same room as you.

call him unstable as much as you would like and he knows that. he even revels in the title and he would gladly wear that title for his entire life if he could be with you. dottore always had this odd obsession with you. since your titling of becoming the tenth fatui harbinger, he had developed this odd sense of fascination.

fascination to dottore, but unhealthy obsession to others.

not like the doctor cares. he had long since gave up trying to reason with other beings and had lost almost all contact with social interaction if not for the harbingers gathering or his experiments with his lab rats. until you joined his ranks.

“i said eyes on me, doctor” you grunt, slapping him across his face again. on the other cheek this time. that seemed to have done the work to catch his attention successfully as his hazy blood eyes focus on you. his cheeks were the same shade of red as his eyes, however it was hard to tell whether it was from your forceful hits or his blushing.

“ougck—! yess.. ye-es yes yesyesyesyes, eyes on you♡︎eyes solely on you♡︎” the blue haired man nods frantically, slight twitch and wince in his eyes showing that the added pressure to his cock was just a tad bit painful for him. even a masochist has their limits. but did he care? no. no he absolutely did not care. if anything, the crazy doctor wanted it to hurt since it was you who was delivering these delicious cocktail of pleasure and pain. he wanted it to hurt. he wanted it to feel good.

with another slap to his cheek for his continued disobedience — for constantly trying to look down at where your shoe was stepping on his stained pants — the doctor lets out a choked noise akin to a mewl before his entire body spasms. thighs shaking and twitching before a strangled noise is let out as the stain in his pants become darker and darker. the stain moving and spreading, some of it even seeping through the fabrics of his clothes as it drips onto the floor below.

“did you… just cum untouched?” you ask, doing a double take as you lift up your shoe to stare at the white translucent juice drip down onto the floor, leaving a tiny puddle. dottore only giggles, almost as if he was in a drunken haze, as he slowly lifts up his face to stare at you. he looked positively fucked up.

“do that again, pleaasshee♡︎?” dottore drawls out.

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osamucide · 6 months

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crush

good men die too, so i’d rather be with you

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

wc: 3.5k

cw: gn!afab!reader, bathing/washing, alcohol, mild hurt/comfort, fluff, implied/referenced self harm, implied/referenced substance abuse, post-dark era, intimacy, explicit sexual content, spitting, soft (ooc?) dazai

reid: this has been sitting a bit and i finally got around to fixing it up :,) sorry again for my absence i am unwell but surviving and i hope to keep sharing with you guys what i can. thank you for all your patience

. . .

He’s never admitted how much he delights in crawling back to your apartment after he’s been gone for too long — long enough to make you worry a little. It’s cruel of him, really, to keep you waiting around so much. But you’re going to be here waiting anyway! So, he figures, why not? It’s a few miles off Port Mafia turf, and you always have hot food and plenty of sake. Not to mention that your hands were the first to ever hold him so gently — to hold him like a lover — and that’s plenty to keep him coming, even if he sometimes takes weeks at a time to find his way back.

It’s always worth it to have Osamu half undressed in your bathroom. A decent meal and the humidity fogging up the tile walls usually melts his resolve just enough so you can work his crumpled white tee off without him sending you any sort of eyes; tonight though, the human spirit is unbreakable. You brush the small of his back as you lift his shirt and it has him hitching his hips toward yours.

He’s truly a sight.

His brown mop is greasy. Accumulated sweat is beginning to force the dramatic lengths of bandages to curl away from his skin. He looks little more than empty and tired, but there’s a shadow of contentedness in his sharp features — you’ve just fed him seafood boil and a couple of Tokyo Mules (heavy on the American vodka), after all.

You reach down and dip your fingers in the filling basin; scalding, how he likes it.

“Drawers off, please.” You poke his chest with a damp finger pad and disappear into the hallway in pursuit of linens.

Dazai sits naked (save for bandages) and curled in on himself on the edge of the bathtub when you return. You stack a change of clean clothes on the sink, and his ankles knock together as he waits for your attention to fall back on him. Your towels sling over the door before you turn to him with your hands tucked together. He looks uncharacteristically meek, not unlike a fawn before it first walks -– the way he only ever does before what happens next.

He holds his arms out, wrists up, and smiles like the sunshine.

You smile back uneasily, appearing much less enthused than he; you know that sunshine smile well enough to know it only ever comes out as a shield. You know no matter how many times you unwrap his dressings, he's always going to hate it.

So, you start with the butterfly clip secured at the crook of his elbow, and you talk.

"I have a slice of tiramisu in the fridge for after."

"From that place I like?" His eyes get wide.

"From that place you like," you sigh, grinning.

"You must've had a feeling I was dropping by."

You usually encourage him to reuse the strips of fabric when possible, sometimes going so far as to let him hide from the city while you take them to the laundromat with your own clothes, but these ones are far past help —barely white, significantly bloody in spots and dirtied in others, so you just ball them up and toss them in the trash. You're stocked anyway, and you reassure him of this by retrieving a few fresh rolls from under the sink.

"Maybe I did."

You finish one arm and move to the other. Osamu lets his marred, bare skin dangle in the air. The sunshine is gone. He’s zoned out. You know he’s protecting himself.

You push his hand down to rest in his lap and your mind selfishly drifts to later, where you hope he'll sleep without his bandages, too — he had traipsed into your apartment lined up to his fingers, and all you had wished for was that you could’ve felt his palms, his knuckles, his nails when he hugged you back. You take as much of him in as you can in these kinds of moments; it’s just the kind of person you are. Damaged or not, his skin is your favorite place to be. You’ve told him this, but it seems to come across much clearer when you look into his sad brown eyes like they’re the only ones in the world while your fingers trace the tracks across his thighs like they’re no one’s in particular.

“So pretty,” you mumble.

It’s so well received this time around that Osamu sinks into the water with barely a shred of apprehension. Granted, he’s still a bit glazed over.

He really snaps to once his shoulders are beneath the water and you’re lathering shampoo — the coconutty one — between your hands.

He speaks your name with an earnest that’s almost mocking. “What are you doing?” But he knows what you’re doing, or what you’re not doing, rather, and he’s not going to let you get away with it.

“What?” Your hands are sudsy and he has the audacity to be yanking at your shirt now. You bat him away as well as you can, flinging some bubbles at him in the process. “What?”

His bottom lip pokes out as his wet hands find purchase around your wrists. Dazai has manipulated a lot of people with nothing but the look in his eye, but it’s never this one; this specific look is reserved for you, and he figures it’s hardly manipulation if he knows you’d enjoy it too. “Get in with me,” he whines, drawing out his ‘e.’

You grumble something about your soapy hands, something about not wasting a perfectly fine handful of your good shampoo, but it just allows him to insist even more on helping you out of your clothes. You sigh, but really, it’s these silly idiosyncrasies about him that make you cry when he’s gone. So, you indulge him. You commence an awkward and wiggly dance in which his fingers stretch your sleeves over your hands with care. You kick your pants off and shimmy out of your undergarments, feigning annoyance as you give into his whims so easily.

The bath is still nearly boiling. You make peace with it by hissing hot, hot, hot, hot, hot (he chuckles at you) until either of your knees are nestled underwater on either side of him. You rub your shampoo hands together and — now that Osamu’s gotten his way for one of many times tonight, for the millionth time ever, never for the last time — he graciously lets you wash his hair.

You inhale all the little hums and sighs he gives you. He tastes like every emotion you’ve ever felt. Heaven is a bathtub in a crummy apartment.

“You smell much better. Let’s rinse.” You go to push yourself up after you’re finished with him, but Osamu grips you unceremoniously and by both of your ass cheeks, so you look sternly into his face.

“Wait, wait, wait, just—” he pleads.

You flick water at his eyes. “We’re wading in your filth, thank you. Get up.”

“Just a second, damn it.” He clutches you closer, hands clasped behind your back, and you settle with shattered resistance against his chest. He mumbles something about who you think you are, telling me what to do.

Not that you try all that hard with him anymore; you both know well he’ll get what he wants, and right now he’s intent on holding you in the cooling water, so you loop your arms around his neck, unable to help the kiss you press to the side of his jaw or the stifled roll of your hips against his.

He’s silent for a moment as he traces the expanse of your back. You hope his eyes are closed. You know they’re probably not.

“Thank you.”

It’s something Osamu says quite a bit. He doesn’t get terribly sentimental often, but it’s usually after you’ve rid him of those wrappings that he comes close. Although, he never says exactly what for. For bathing him. For feeding him. For loving him. You understand well enough.

He’s still a little shit. He squeezes your ass and bites the shell of your ear.

“That’s it,” you yelp. “We’re rinsing.”

His laugh is whole as you pull the drain and start the shower, dodging your (mostly) dry hair.

The promise of dessert lets you get him into a pair of shorts at the very least. Once again you return to him — you wait on him like he’s a prince, and he looks like one on your bed with the blankets pooled around him as he towel dries his hair.

It’s so unfair, you think, how angelic he gets to be no matter what he’s doing. It’s something so mundane; his scars are on display, he’s tipsy and damp and has your plush cat-printed blanket acting somewhat like a cape, yet he steals your breath as you enter your bedroom. To top it all off, he pretends not to notice your presence right away.

You fold your legs beneath yourself, unfinished bottle of sake in one hand, delicate plate of tiramisu in the other, and Osamu finally acknowledges you with owlish eyes, raised brows, and a grin that reprograms the pattern of your heartbeat. He tosses the towel aside, eager, and reaches out.

“This—” his mouth is full, “this shit is…God. Heavenly.”

“Share.”

“Should’ve brought two forks.” He makes a show of lifting the plate out of your reach. You grasp at it lazily, uselessly, and he laughs, taunting you. You’re tired so you hoard the sake in response, which he’s fine with only until the tiramisu is gone — you only got two bites in — and he goes for that as well.

“Greedy!” you accuse, but you can’t help your laugh. You’re warm — the few swigs from the bottle are doing their job, and you let Osamu know this by giving in; you steady his head with one hand, and with your other you press the bottle to his lips and tilt it up. He drinks like it’s cider, and comes up for air with a soft curse.

The way he licks it off his lips wants to draw a gasp out of you, but you’re trained like a skilled gunman when he gives you targets like these — you’ve built up trigger discipline, and there are some things, you suppose, that you don’t let him have so easily after all.

Nonetheless, it’s like Osamu reads this mechanism working in your mind and takes it as a challenge. The bottle is transferred from your hands to his somewhere in the searing kiss he gives you; you fully register a hunger buzzing between you both that has nothing to do with tiramisu as you reach out for him, fumble toward him until you’re in his lap — you almost overwhelm his lithe frame with your tenacity, but he catches you, bottle tapping your back as you engulf each other.

Osamu is sneaky, he is; he never executes even the smallest action without meticulous thought. The way you end up under him might’ve been planned out from the bath, or maybe even before he was on your doorstep — either way, you give way to his weight; the bottle’s in one hand, somehow your wrists are in the other, and his waist connects with yours.

If nothing else predicts what you say next, it’s his restless hand clutching your hip, pulling at your shirt, clawing up your side.

“Missed you,” you slip into his mouth. You’ve already said this over dinner, but it’s different, heavier, when you’re breathing him in. Osamu lifts away from you for a kiss from the bottle. In brief control again, you wring your hands.

He’s statuesque above you. You wish you could snapshot the seconds in which he tilts the bottle back, where his drying hair falls in those loose waves around his angled jaw and his eyelids flicker. You reach out to trace him. His severe collarbone to his lean shoulder, down the thin valley between his bicep and tricep. You ghost around the fingers suspended in midair and bridge the gap to end on his pretty waist.

The bottle disappears onto your nightstand. Your eyes are wide as he grips your chin. He holds his breath, plants an elbow by your head, thumbs your bottom lip — all a means to waterfall the sake into your open, waiting mouth.

Liquor drips off him, into you; how are you supposed to keep from the way your legs demand his hips toward yours? The way you grind into him from below? You’re a live wire and he’s fraying the hell out of everywhere you end and begin.

You swallow what he gives you before he pulls back. You’re breathless, and he’s laughing. He’s laughing. This is what he does — he gets you under him and he laughs, so beautifully that you can hardly be mad, and sultrily enough that you flush pink.

“You should see your face!” he exclaims. Osamu is truthfully at his most joyous when he’s catching you off guard. “Little too filthy for ‘ya?”

“Please,” you scoff, willing him toward you again as you recover, more from the sting in the back of your throat than anything, pressing all your love into each of his mangled wrists with your palms and fingers. “As if that’s the filthiest thing we’ve done.”

“Jog my memory,” he suggests as he puts his smile back to yours, and so you work him out of the shorts you just got him in less than ten minutes ago.

As for yourself, well — you’re only naked from the waist down before you’re working your own slick up and down on him, biting your lip with anticipation, all but pulling him into you. You don’t even care if it hurts, and you almost say it, but you don’t — everything you’re doing is saying it for you — you just want him in you right now, right now, and he touches you between the gasps you draw from him; he watches the way he slides into you like you’re meant for him, like he’s meant for you, and you dig your heels into him as you whisper his name.

“Baby,” he whispers back. Those sad brown eyes flicker, shut, open, find you. “Oh.”

He rocks into you softly, such a contrast from the urgency with which he was kissing you mere moments before. Osamu’s a natural at giving you whiplash, sometimes in ways you didn’t know him to be capable of. He’s concentrated; you watch him, the slightest bit confused as his lips purse shut. You want to hear him, he knows, but it’s all welling up within him, he can feel it on his lash line, so he tucks his face into your neck and hopes you won’t say anything. You don’t, not for bit. You just circle your arms around his neck and groan at the way he grips you, feels you all over; you clench around him and pretend you don’t feel the tears beading along your shoulder.

“Too filthy for you?” you finally tease, but gently; you cup his face in your hands, push his hair from his forehead, and kiss the wetness away. He half-laughs, half-sobs. He obviously wasn’t expecting this. “Oh, ‘samu. Honey.”

“Don’t know what the fuck’s going on.” It’s his way of apologizing. He sniffles and follows it with an explanation. “You feel so good.”

You know they’re not tears of pleasure, but you let him write it off as he fucks into you. “You- uhn- you feel so good,” you echo.

It’s not unusual for him to be vocal — he moans, he gasps, he gives you delicious noises to make up for the words he can’t ever find, but tonight is so different; you don’t know what it is, but he talks. He’s talking, and it’s not the lewd musings you expect from Osamu Dazai, much less while he curls his hands into your hair and begins to pound into you. Yes, it’s much different tonight.

“Missed you too,” he finally gives you. “Missed you. So fucking much- fuck- I’m- oh, fuck…”

“Stop leaving,” you say breathlessly. “Stop leaving me. Just move in.”

“Shit, I might.” His hair is your lifeline. You knot your fingers in it like you hope you become part of it. “Might just have to come home to this every day. Y’take such good care of me. Don’t know wh- hah- what I did to deserve this pussy.”

“Please, please, Osamu.” You’re begging for more than one thing. “Fucking stay.”

So he keeps his pace, staying in one way or another — at least he can say he’s done that much. Whether or not you’ll wake up next to him tomorrow morning doesn’t matter right now; right now he’s fucking you, right now he’s yours, right now he’s ripping himself open a little further to let you see his rotten soul and you’re giving him everything he could never ask for, everything he doesn’t think he deserves — it’ll be enough, you’re sure, even though it’ll hurt when he disappears again; at least you’ll know you opened up in return, reflected his rottenness in the way that you know how. You’ve made a place for him in your home. You’ve made a place for him in your heart. He knows you want him to take it. Take it.

“So pretty, my baby, takin’ it so good.” He looks at you with those wet eyes between pressing bruising kisses to your lips, chin, neck. “Y’feel like fucking heaven. God, fuck. Don’t know if I- don’t know if I deserve it. So fucking good. So good. So good.”

“You d- you don’t have to do anything to deserve it- just fucking stay, please,” you plead with him. You’ll plead with him until he understands. “Oh- Osamu- ah!”

Your hands flail for a resting place — his head is restless with his kisses, his calloused hands and ridged arms are moving too fast for you to keep up with, the expanse of his back isn’t nearly close enough amid his wild pace, so you claw into the peaks of his shoulders and give all your sound and breath back to him while he rains praise upon you. He’s almost frantic in his task, like he needs you to know.

“Need you to know how much I love comin’ back here.” Osamu grabs one of your hands and guides you to your clit. “Touch yourself, please- please- want you cummin’ on me, baby, give it to me. Please.”

He pleads with you until you do.

You’re well aware that everything you can give him might not be enough to convince him. Convince him he’s not rotten. Convince him he does deserve it. Convince him he’s worthy of love. You know the best thing you can do for him right now is rub yourself quick and hard in time with his heavy thrusts. You keep giving him what he needs — you give him all your moans, grunts, curses, and he reflects them right back — you match each other, sobbing, twitching, biting, heaving until the wave rolls over you and you’re collecting him, throbbing around him and telling him it’s all for him, he’s so perfect, don’t stop, it feels so good while he spills into you, fills you up in that familiar way you don’t think you want to live without for weeks at a time anymore. Osamu’s tense as he drags both of your climaxes out for as long as he can; you’re crooning out his name and Osamu’s panting out yours and he’s so beautiful as he cums, he’s so beautiful while he cries, he’s so beautiful when he’s raw and selfish and fucked out of his brain, he’s so beautiful, he’s so beautiful, he’s so beautiful.

“So afraid to hurt you, baby,” he mumbles into your cheek minutes later, half-asleep and tipsy and still pulsing inside you. “You don’t deserve my shit. Get caught up in my shit.”

You don’t care about his shit, is what you tell him in return. You want him. You want to show him all the wonderful things he does in fact deserve.

Like the picturesque breakfast you cook him after you do wake up next to him in the morning. Like the tender way you rewrap his dressings as the afternoon sun gleams in white columns through your window. Like the first day he spends completely sober and well-fed in a long time.

“I don’t know if I deserve it.” All this, he means. You, and how wonderful you are. He says it again and again.

“I don’t care if you don’t deserve it.” You secure the butterfly clip in the crook of his elbow and meet his eyes. Far off. Waning sunshine. “Wanna give it to you anyway.”

For a moment the sunshine returns, and for the first time in a long time, if not ever, you see it reach his eyes. They don’t look so sad. Big, brown, maybe hopeful. Maybe sweet with preemptive regret. You hug Osamu in the still air of your apartment.

“Stay,” you whisper.

He hugs you back, limply, like he’s scared to break you. He trembles out, “I will.”

#bsd dazai x reader #dazai x reader #osamu dazai x reader #dazai smut #bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #bsd smut #nnnsfw.ᐟ #with love—reid

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allthornsnopetals · 2 months

Text

Being Jealous

:Includes:

E.Bridgerton

D.Bridgerton

V.Bridgerton

:E.Bridgerton:

She simply cannot help it, especially during the debutante season.

She understands that ladies of the Ton are expected to search for Suitors and marry, after all, it is the marriage mart. But it doesn't stop the gnawing at her gut or the heated glares, that she is rather terrible at hiding.

Eloise knows, that you love her, and would 100% dodge every man in and out of the Ton for her, simply because your heart has already devoted itself to her, but again it does not dampen the rage, and her mood.

She would let the feeling simmer, simply because in society she can't do anything.

She does not mean to let it grow, simply wanting to avoid confrontation, and trying to remind herself that what you are doing is simply a ruse, and to avoid suspicion of your relationship, but that all goes to hell at some point.

It builds up over time and eventually blows up, during a ball or gather of some sorts when she finds you dancing or chatting with another eligible Suitor, who is rather obvious with his intentions.

She storms out of the room, of course with you noticing and excusing yourself, searching for her in a hidden hallway, in order to make sure that she is okay.

"El, are you okay? Is something the matter?" Said Y/n, finding her love weeping angry tears.

"Yes, everything is just fine. It's just the dust, it's burning my eyes."

Y/n chuckles, finding her poor attempt to lie, rather amusing. She drew closer to her, wiping her tears away with the pads of her thumbs, and handed her a handkerchief, tucked away in her purse. "I love you Eloise Bridgerton, but you are a terrible liar." She held her close, rubbing soothing circles on her back.

Eloise pulls away, cleaning herself up. "Well, tell that to Lord kiss-my-ass. Tell him that your heart is already full, occupied by another." Her tone was rather blunt, angry and even sad.

But Y/n simply grinned, cupping her cheek, and pecking her cheek. "If you are jealous, my love, we can leave. I can inform my mama that I am feeling unwell. And perhaps I could show you my love in a more private setting."

It takes a lot of kisses, yearning touches, and perhaps a week in the country together to reassure her.

Next time, do better at lowering your number of dances and Lords you interact with, just in case.

:D.Bridgerton:

It isn't jealous but doubt with her.

Daphne is a lot more challenging to convince, in my perspective. She begins to question your love, thinking that you would slip away from her, and marry a Lord, duke or even a prince.

Her desire for love is rather a large part of herself, so when she begins to think that you do not love her, it gets a bit sticky and even messy between you and her.

She isn't angry, like Eloise but sad, feeling as if her heart is shattering, thinking that you have changed your mind about devoting your heart to her.

She might withdraw herself, becoming distant and even avoiding you at times.

But her mama is always watching, and she notices that something is wrong.

Violet noticed her daughter longingly staring at Y/n, clearly missing her, and wanting to be near her dear friend. She does not know what is truly between them but she can tell when someone yearns to be in the presence of someone extremely dear to them.

"You have not spoken to Miss Y/n in sometime. Has something caused a breaking between you and her?" Said Violet, sitting beside her daughter, watching Y/n frolic and interact with a possible Suitor.

Daphne shook her head, but her pout made Violet think otherwise. "Sometimes friends fight, misunderstand, and even begin to feel unwanted by the person they cherish most." Violet held her hand, drawing her attention.

"Whatever it may be that caused such a drift, perhaps talking might just fix it. It might just fix the spoken feelings as well." She stood, withdrawing herself, and allowing Daphne to think.

But that is all it took. She did not want to feel this way anymore. She wanted to know if her love's heart still yearned for her, perhaps even shattered without her. She needed to speak to Y/n, and she was going to do that, now. Pulling her away without another word, Daphne guides Y/n and herself somewhere more private, away from nosy ears and eyes.

Once secure, she turns, going in for the kill. "Do you love me?" She said straight forwardly. "Do you even want me? Or even need me, like I need you?" Daphne stared right at Y/n, never tearing her gaze away from her or spilling for air.

"Am I your air as you are mine? Can you sleep without me polluting your dreams, because I cannot. You are my air, but am I yours?" Her chest batted, heaving to her uneven breaths.

"Well, tell me. Do you love me?"

The shit eating grin, curving Y/n's lips confused Daphne. "This is why you avoid me? You feel as if I do not love you? Does this have anything relating to the men of the Ton calling for me, dancing, and even socializing with me?" Y/n steps closer to her, her smile so teasing it made Daphne's heart clench so giddily, and stomach twist. She was beginning to feel, rather foolish.

"My darling, are you jealous of the men of the Ton?" Y/n caressed her cheek, causing her to draw closer.

"Perhaps a little." She confessed, making her love chuckle.

"Come here, you bimbo." Y/n drew her into her arms, swaying them both, soothing her back. "Let us stroll, I do wish for a break from the Lords and their blistering egos." Daphne chuckled, taking her darlings arm.

It took a lot of alone time together, kisses, and even gifts.

It also meant a visit to the country side for a long while, with her family of course, but mainly you and her, mending the misunderstanding.

In this she learns to trust her love, to build and understand the purpose of talking, instead of avoiding and withdrawing.

A lot of reassuring glances, touches that cannot be read more than something friendly, seeking each other at balls, and spending time together when you are both back in society.

She just wants to be 100% sure in her love, so it does take a lot of time, even after talking about it and mending a few things, to truly reassure her.

:V.Bridgerton:

You and Violet go way back, as in before the marriage mart, and the search for husbands.

Your heart will always be devoted to her, and her alone, but society is cruel, so when it is time for you to marry it makes things a lot more complicated for both you and Violet. Marrying into high dynasties, but yearning for the other.

Violet has buried her jealous glares, heated anger, and built up sadness for more than ten years.

You were both respected ladies of the Ton with children and many eyes on you. But that never stopped the hidden glances, calling hours, and nights spent with each other.

She just wished she could have you all the time and have you like your husband has you, which is why in my perspective she struggles with jealousy.

But she would never voice it of course, because this is how it is supposed to be: A lavender marriage, affairs behind their husbands backs, silent yearning, and performing their duties as ladies of their houses.

The only thing that reassures her of your love is the fact that you name one of your children after her, but this comes about when she is feeling the most insecure, and heartbroken.

"You are expecting!" Agatha squeals, pulling Y/n into a bone crushing embrace, rendering her breathless.

"This is exciting news, indeed. Isn't that right, Violet?" Said Agatha searching for the other woman. Violet blinks, her eyes becoming glassy with her throat running dry. She nods, breaking her trance. "Exciting, indeed." She chokes, sipping her tea, fighting back tears.

She was losing Y/n, sealing both their fates with her pregnancy, something she thought would be a lot easier to digest. She smiles weakly before excusing herself for the chamber pot.

Y/n knew better. She knew that the news would be hard for Violet to hear and even understand. So after the ladies visit, during the night Y/n waited for Violet at their usual spot in the gardens.

Violet was late of course, making Y/n think that she would not show up, but she did and the look on her face said it all. Pulling her into her arms, Y/n reassured her of their love, trying to convince her that it would not change how her heart beats for her.

"Why did you not tell me earlier? Why not inform me alone?" Violet questioned, sitting with her, staring out at the stars.

"I wanted to keep it a secret, until I was sure. And I also want you and Agatha to hear together, she is also my friend, Vi. It is news to be shared with my most favored girls." Y/n explained, holding her hand and resting her head on her love's shoulder.

"Lord Bridger, marries you, sleeps with you, and finally impregnates you. How do you think I am to feel about the news?" Her tone was torn, sounding like shattered glass.

Using her fingers to guide her attention back to herself, Y/n pecks a quick but loving kiss to her lips. "I did not expect you to be happy, but I do hope that you be with me during this journey. Because if there is anyone I want most by my side during my pregnancy, it's you, my love."

She still envied your husband, even after his death when it left you a shattered widow with four children.

You mourned him, as she did Edmund, making her think that you did not just care for him, but loved him.

You named your only daughter after her, as a declaration of your love, which served as a reassurance.

For Violet it is a long process of reassurance, healing her insecurities, and finally talking through it, after so long of harboring her feelings.

Violet is just very sensitive and perhaps insecure, after all, loving some of the fairer sex is challenging in your society.

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howcouldmuffin · 29 days

Text

First Choice III

[ Chapter 3 : The Burden of Promises ]

You resolved to start fresh, determined to leave the past behind. Meanwhile, his actions only deepened your confusion, leaving you puzzled about his intentions and why he couldn’t let you move on.

PAIRING : Jacaerys Velaryon x Fem!Reader

WARNING : Kiss, Targaryen Incest, Non-canon

AN : It’s giving me so many emotions right now. The scene I’ve envisioned in my head is making me internally scream with excitement. I hope you enjoy this piece of writing.

CONTENTS : Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

please be kind to me English is not my first language.

“Why am I here?” you questioned yourself while at the celebration for Corlys Velaryon’s naming day. You barely knew anyone present. You were invited to the event with Jacaerys, who was now dancing with your cousin. Lucerys was talking with Corlys, and you felt out of place among the shipbuilders who eyed you with a somewhat menacing look.

Once you felt you weren’t being watched, you discreetly slipped away from the celebration. You had heard a lot about this place, High Tide, a castle built by Corlys. You decided to explore a bit, enjoying a sip from the drink you had brought from the party.

The castle had a distinctive scent, characteristic of its coastal location. It was quite damp and musty, but the people had been welcoming. After wandering for a while, you thought it might be time to return to the great hall.

Opting for the quieter balcony walkway, you enjoyed the romantic view of the sea at night. The moonlight reflecting off the water created a diamond-like sparkle. As you noticed a couple ahead, you decided to let them pass before continuing.

However, you encountered your betrothed and Baela, who were very close to each other. It was impolite to spy, but they were clearly visible despite the darkness. The prince leaned in close to her, and you were shocked. The drink in your hand fell, causing them to separate and turn towards you. Ignoring the spilled drink, you hurried back to your room.

Unfamiliar with the layout but still finding your way with accuracy, you rushed to your room, the prince following and pleading for you to stop. You ignored him, entered your room, and locked the door. You collapsed on the floor and cried, despite his pleas to open the door and explain. Eventually, the knocking stopped. You lay on your bed, exhausted from crying and unsure of what to do next.

You spent the entire night crying and avoided leaving your room due to swollen eyes. You told the maid that you were unwell and requested breakfast in your room. According to the schedule, you were to leave today, which you planned to do after bidding farewell to Lord Corlys. You applied a cold compress to your eyes, which improved slightly by morning. Dressed and ready, you went to the great hall to say your goodbyes. Jacaerys watched you, and for the first time, you saw him separate from Baela. You chose to ignore it and planned to address everything properly upon returning to Red Keep.

“How was Driftmark, Your Highness?” Vidah asked as you rushed into her embrace. She held you tightly, sensing your distress.

“It was awful, Vidah.” you sobbed. “So very awful.”

“I understand, Your Highness.” she said soothingly, guiding you to sit on the bed. “Please, tell me what happened.”

“He… he almost kissed Baela,” you said, your voice shaking with emotion. “I don’t know what to do. I know he doesn’t love me, but I can’t seem to get over it.” You buried your face in her lap, the tears flowing freely.

“We can’t control our feelings.” she said gently, stroking your hair. “Sometimes, the best thing is to let things unfold as they will.”

“I’m thinking of ending the engagement or at least letting him be with someone he truly cares about while we’re married.” you said, lifting your tear-streaked face to look at her. “I need to find someone I truly love, someone who makes me feel the way he never could.”

“Have you truly made up your mind, Your Highness?” Vidah asked, carefully wiping away your tears. “Then be resolute and act on it.”

“I just can’t bear to see him right now, or for some time.”

“Promise me, Your Highness, that you’ll only take a brief respite and not avoid the problem forever.”

“Yes.” you agreed, your voice firm despite the lingering sadness. “I promise.”

Every practice, you were absent. Every sword duel, you stayed away. Whenever Jacaerys was around, you were nowhere to be seen. You went out of your way to avoid him, sometimes even retreating to Helaena’s quarters to dodge his attempts to catch you.

Two weeks had passed since your return from Driftmark, and you remained resolute in your avoidance. You found refuge in Aemond’s library, more than ever before. Your brother, perceptive as ever, noticed something was amiss but chose not to pry.

“Sister.” Aemond remarked as he entered the room, his gaze shifting to you with a touch of amusement. “You seem to be avoiding the sun these days.” He selected a book from the shelf and settled beside you. You closed your own book and looked up at him.

“I simply prefer the quiet of the castle.” you said.

“Very well.” Aemond replied, flipping through the pages of his book. “He’s been pestering me about your whereabouts so much that it’s disrupted my training.”

“He doesn’t know I’m here, does he?”

“I told him you were in the castle.” Aemond admitted, “but I made it clear he wasn’t welcome in this room.” He glanced at you briefly before returning to his reading.

“Don’t you want to know why I’m avoiding him?”

“I have no desire to delve into your personal affairs.” he said nonchalantly. “By the way, Father wants us to join him for dinner tonight.”

“Again?”

“It’s just once a week.” he said with a smirk. “And don’t forget to sit next to your fiancé.”

“I’m not feeling well, I can’t go.”

“Stop being irresponsible.”

“Fine.” you said, standing up and returning the book to its place. “At least it will give me the chance to confront him directly.”

“You mean about how much you adore him and wish to marry him?” Aemond teased with a chuckle.

“No, I intend to end the engagement.” You thanked him for the book and left, determined to face the confrontation head-on.

“Stop staring at me, Prince.” you said, struggling to keep your voice steady as you sliced through the meat on your plate. The dinner conversation felt like a monotonous drone, and you were eager to escape.

“Uh.. I’m sorry.” he said, a flash of surprise crossing his face. “Would you care to dance?”

You placed your utensils down deliberately. “Yes, Prince.”

Despite the turmoil within you, you knew you had to confront him. It was time to face the issue directly.

“I believe we should annul our engagement.”

“What?” His eyes widened in shock.

“We need to end it.”

“No, no. Why would you want that?”

“You have feelings for Baela, and I’m clearly not the one you desire.”

“And how do you plan to achieve that? No one defies the king’s command.” he retorted, a tinge of anger in his tone.

“What about the prize from the hunting competition?” you suggested. “We haven’t claimed anything yet.”

“No way.” he declared, abruptly halting their dance. “If you believe you can wield that as leverage to dissolve our engagement, you are sorely mistaken.” With that, he turned on his heel and strode away, leaving you alone and bewildered in the midst of the dance floor.

You returned to the dinner table, where everyone’s eyes were on you.

“It’s nothing.” you said, trying to sound nonchalant. “He just remembered something he forgot.” As everyone resumed their conversations, you were left to ponder your next move. If he wouldn’t end the engagement through negotiation, how would you achieve it? You were willing to let him follow his heart, but the pain of watching him with someone else was a bitter pill to swallow. Love was proving to be a labyrinth of difficult choices and tangled emotions.

You awoke in an unfamiliar yet oddly familiar setting—an ancient, stone castle. This was Dragonstone, the venerable seat of your family. Before any questions could form or confusion set in, the door creaked open, and Jacaerys appeared.

“Where are the others?” you inquired, sitting up in bed.

“It is only us and the servants for now.” he answered, setting a tray of food on a nearby table. “We shall remain here together for a spell.”

“Did you abduct me here?” You sprang from the bed, attempting to make your way to the door. “Mother will certainly scold me.” But his swift hand seized your arm, causing you to stumble and fall into his embrace.

“No one will reprimand us.” he declared firmly, his voice resolute. “It is the king’s decree. Upon our return to the Red Keep, we shall wed.”

“And you did not refuse this arrangement?” you questioned, struggling against his grasp. His strength held you firmly in place.

“I desire to marry yo.,” he stated plainly. “That is why I did not refuse.”

“But I no longer wish for it. Release me.” you demanded, writhing in his arms. “Though I once loved you, if your affections lie elsewhere, you should set me free.”

“I love you.” his confession stilled you. “I cannot bear the thought of losing you.”

“How am I to believe your words?” you asked, your voice trembling. “I witnessed you nearly kiss Baela.”

“If you had truly observed, you would have seen a mere insect upon her, which I was brushing away.” he explained, loosening his hold. You stepped back, maintaining a safe distance where his presence could no longer impose upon you.

“How can I trust you?” you inquired. “I have never felt the depth of your love.” He stepped closer, and you instinctively retreated.

“I have realized that I cannot endure the thought of you betrothed to another. I cannot bear the notion of you not being my wife.”

“Enough.” you interjected. “We shall discuss this later. I am hungry and wish to partake of my breakfast.”

“Of course, Your Highness.” he said with a slight bow, drawing out a chair for you at the table. He seated himself opposite you, his gaze unwavering as you ate.

After the meal, you resolved to bathe and change attire. You remembered being brought here upon Vermax, recalling only drifting into slumber and awakening in this new setting. He claimed to love you, but how could you trust his words?

He had been unkind, maintaining a delicate boundary between you—never more than friends or siblings. Now, his declarations of love seemed contradictory. Perhaps you had misjudged his intentions.

Donning a casual yet elegant dress, reminiscent of those worn in King’s Landing, you awaited his presence. The door opened to reveal Jacaerys. He nodded to the departing maid and approached you. You remained by the window, contemplating your next move.

“Is escape truly impossible?” you asked, turning to him. “I rode Vermax with you.”

“Indeed, you cannot escape.” he replied, closing the distance between you. “Nor can you evade me.” His fingers gently lifted your chin, leaning in close.

“Is this truly what you desire?” you questioned, meeting his gaze as he drew near.

“I desire you.” he murmured, inching closer until you turned your face away and stepped out of the room, not daring to look back. Your cheeks flushed and your heart raced uncontrollably.

“I… I am heading to the library.” you declared, exiting swiftly. Though his charm was undeniable, you resolved not to be easily swayed. He might be feigning affection to secure your marriage, but you intended to make your decision on your own terms.

Upon entering the library, you took a moment to admire its quiet charm before selecting a few volumes to peruse. Soon, Jacaerys entered, but he did not intrude; instead, he settled himself with some paperwork, a reminder of his princely duties. As you both worked in silence, the library’s serene atmosphere seemed to hold a delicate tension.

The peaceful scene was disrupted by the subtle, but persistent, awareness of Jacaerys’s gaze. Each time you glanced up from your book, you would catch him watching you with a mixture of curiosity and something more tender. The dissonance between your practiced composure and the fluttering hope in your heart left you at a loss. Could it truly be that the man you had admired from afar for so long might harbor affection for you in return?

“What are your thoughts on where we might travel after our wedding?” Jacaerys’s voice broke the silence, his words punctuating the stillness. “Pentos, for instance, has a certain appeal.”

“I cannot say.” you replied, closing your book with a thoughtful sigh. “I have yet to see much of the world beyond these walls. My experience is limited to the confines of King’s Landing and the occasional hunt.”

“Would you like to explore all the realms?” he inquired, his tone hopeful.

“Are you suggesting we visit all seven kingdoms?” You approached his desk, curiosity piqued.

“If that is your desire, I shall ensure it is so.” he promised.

“You must keep your word.” you said firmly, standing before him. “Do not break it as you have before.” You turned back to your seat, attempting to re-engage with your reading. The memory of past promises lingered, and Jacaerys, ever perceptive, noticed your pretense.

The prince rose and approached, seating himself beside you on the sofa. His presence was both comforting and unsettling. You shifted slightly, accommodating his proximity. Resting his head gently on your shoulder, he took your hand in his, clasping it with a reassuring warmth.

“I owe you an apology.” he said, his voice low and earnest. “I was at fault. I failed to prioritize you as you deserved.”

“I was never your first choice.” you replied softly. “Could you place me at the forefront of your considerations?”

“From this moment forward, you shall always be my foremost thought.” he assured you, pressing a tender kiss to your neck. “It may seem strange, but my affection for you has been steadfast for some time. You have held a special place in my heart.”

“But when you appeared to disdain me, you would not even converse with me.” you said, a hint of sadness in your voice.

“I was uncertain of how to approach you.” he confessed. “You have grown into such grace and beauty, and I was at a loss as to how to act with the woman I love.” His lips traveled a gentle path from your collarbone to your neck and then to your cheek.

“Someone might witness us.” you protested gently. “This could cause complications.”

“Let them see.” he said with quiet determination.

“I am not ready.” you said, rising and retreating to your chamber. You locked the door behind you, leaving Jacaerys standing alone. In the solitude of your room, the lines between affection, duty, and his true intentions remained blurred. Your heart was a tumult of conflicting emotions, and trust in his promises was still elusive.

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#‧⁺◟ lyn writing table *•#jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys velaryon x reader

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