#so many ways to connect in miraculous

[aeolianblues]

I'm not an extrovert. At all. In everyday life, I'm a yapper, sure, but I need someone to first assure me I am okay to yap, so I don't start conversations, even when I really want to join in sometimes! It's just the social anxiety acting up. God knows where from and why I lose a lot of my inhibitions when it comes to talking to people about music. I don't know where the confidence has suddenly sprung from. I've made a crazy amount of friends in musical circles, either just talking to people about common music or (since it is after all in music circles) talking to bands about their own music. I let out a sigh of relief any time an interaction goes well, because in truth it's going against my every instinct. I wish I could do that in everyday life

[astrxq]

Soulbound Flames

jacaerys velaryon x reader

words: 15.7k

notes: based on this request!

In the shadowed corners of Westeros, where the ancient blood of Old Valyria still held sway, stories of soulmates and dragon bonds had long been whispered but seldom believed. These tales, passed down through generations like precious heirlooms, spoke of a connection so profound that it transcended the already miraculous bond between dragon and rider. It was said that in those ancient times, a dragon could sense the one person who was destined for their rider – a rare and almost mystical connection, deeper and more profound than anything known to the world of men.

But those days were long past, faded into the mists of time and legend. Few alive still entertained such tales, dismissing them as fantastical relics of a bygone era. Now, these stories were spoken of only in quiet corners, among the old and the hopeful, or in the halls of Rhaenyra's court, where intrigue thrummed like a low, constant hum beneath the surface of daily life.

You were no stranger to these whispered legends, though you had never expected to find yourself at the heart of one. The very notion seemed absurd, a flight of fancy better suited to the dreams of children than the harsh realities of life in the Seven Kingdoms. 

You had grown up in the court of Princess Rhaenyra, a place where politics and power wove through every interaction like golden threads in a tapestry. Your father, a man of keen intellect and unwavering loyalty, had been a member of her council for as long as you could remember. He was deeply entrenched in the delicate dance of alliances and loyalties that made up the backbone of the court, a world you observed with careful, curious eyes from the sidelines.

As his daughter, you were afforded a certain standing -- a place close enough to power to be seen, but far enough that you could move quietly, observing the world around you with a perspective few others shared. It was a unique position, one that allowed you to see both the glittering facade of court life and the complex machinery that lay beneath.

It was there, within the imposing stone walls of the castle, that you first met Jacaerys Velaryon. The memory of that initial encounter was etched clearly in your mind, a moment that would prove to be more significant than you could have possibly imagined at the time.

The prince had been little more than a boy when you first encountered him, his face still soft with the roundness of youth. At one and ten, he was caught in that peculiar stage between childhood and adolescence, his body growing faster than his confidence could keep up. And yet, even then, there was something about Jacaerys that set him apart from the other children of the court.

It wasn't his lineage, impressive though it was. Nor was it the way the adults seemed to watch him with a mixture of hope and expectation, as if already envisioning the man he would become. No, what struck you most about Jacaerys was the intensity in his dark eyes, a depth of feeling and thought that seemed at odds with his youthful appearance. Those eyes, you would come to learn, could convey volumes without a single word being spoken.

Your first meeting had been unremarkable by most standards -- a chance encounter in one of the castle's many winding corridors. You had been hurrying back to your chambers, arms laden with books from the library, when you quite literally ran into the young prince. The collision sent your carefully balanced stack of tomes tumbling to the floor, the sound of their impact echoing off the stone walls.

"I'm so sorry!" Jacaerys had exclaimed, immediately dropping to his knees to help gather the scattered books. "I wasn't watching where I was going."

You had been prepared to be annoyed, perhaps even a little indignant at the interruption. But as you knelt beside him, reaching for a particularly ornate volume on herbal remedies, you caught sight of his face. The genuine concern in his expression, coupled with the slight flush of embarrassment coloring his cheeks, immediately softened your mood.

"It's alright," you had assured him, offering a small smile. "No harm done."

Jacaerys had returned your smile then, a tentative quirk of his lips that seemed to light up his entire face. As he handed you the last of the fallen books, your fingers had brushed against his, and for the briefest of moments, you felt a strange tingling sensation, as if a spark had passed between you.

"You like to read?" he had asked, eyeing the impressive stack of books with curiosity.

You nodded, suddenly feeling a bit self-conscious about your literary choices. "I do. These are mostly about herbs and their medicinal properties. My father says it's important to understand the healing arts."

Jacaerys' eyes had widened with interest. "That sounds fascinating. I've been trying to learn more about dragon lore myself, but the maester says I need to focus on my history lessons first."

The conversation flowed easily from there, both of you discovering a shared love of learning and a curiosity about the world around you. By the time you parted ways, a seed of friendship had been planted, one that would grow and flourish in the years to come.

The whispers about you and Jacaerys had started early, though at first, you paid them little mind. They were nothing more than the idle gossip of the court, after all -- soft-spoken observations about how often you and the young prince seemed to find yourselves in each other's company.

The women of the court, always eager for a new story to dissect and discuss, had their theories. Some said it was nothing more than the innocent friendship of children, a natural camaraderie born of proximity and shared interests. Others, however, hinted at something deeper, more magical. They spoke in hushed tones of the way Jacaerys' dragon, Vermax, seemed unusually interested in you, even from a young age.

"Have you noticed," they would whisper behind ornate fans and goblets of wine, "how the prince's dragon watches her? It's not natural, the way those golden eyes follow her every move."

"Perhaps," another would reply, voice lowered conspiratorially, "there's truth to the old tales after all. Dragons and soulmates, imagine that!"

But you had never paid the rumors much mind. After all, they were just stories, weren't they? Fanciful tales spun by bored courtiers looking for entertainment. You and Jacaerys were friends, nothing more. The notion that there could be anything magical or predestined about your relationship seemed laughable.

And yet, as the years passed, you couldn't help but notice the way Vermax's gaze seemed to linger on you, those intelligent eyes watching with an intensity that was both unnerving and oddly comforting. There were times when you could have sworn the dragon understood more than he let on, as if he were privy to some great secret that eluded both you and Jacaerys.

You and Jacaerys had grown up together in the court, your paths crossing often in the gardens or the corridors of Dragonstone. He had always been kind to you, though shy in his attentions. There was a gentleness to Jacaerys that set him apart from many of the other young nobles, a thoughtfulness that manifested in small, considerate gestures.

You, in turn, had found a quiet comfort in his presence. There was a simplicity to your relationship in those early days, a kind of unspoken understanding that neither of you felt the need to question. You could sit together in comfortable silence for hours, each absorbed in your own pursuits, or engage in spirited debates about everything from the properties of various herbs to the intricacies of dragon anatomy.

But as the years passed, that simplicity began to shift, evolving into something more complex, more charged with potential. The easy camaraderie of childhood gave way to a deeper connection, one tinged with an awareness that neither of you quite knew how to navigate.

Your childhood with Jacaerys had been marked by small, innocent moments that, in retrospect, held far more significance than you had realized at the time. Days spent in the castle gardens became treasured memories, each one a building block in the foundation of your relationship.

You had always been drawn to the quiet magic of the natural world, finding solace and purpose among the neat rows of herbs and flowers. It was there, surrounded by the heady scent of lavender and rosemary, that you felt most at peace. And it was there that you often found yourself in Jacaerys' company, sharing your knowledge and passion with the curious prince.

One particular memory stood out vividly in your mind -- a warm summer afternoon when you were both on the cusp of adolescence. You had been gathering herbs with a care that belied your age, your fingers moving deftly among the fragrant leaves and stems. Jacaerys had watched you work, his dark eyes bright with curiosity.

"Here," you had said, offering him a carefully arranged bundle of lavender and rosemary. "For you."

Jacaerys had accepted your gift with a puzzled smile, turning the herbs over in his hands as if trying to decipher some hidden meaning. "I don't understand," he had said, his voice tinged with a mixture of amusement and genuine confusion. "Why do you always give me these?"

You had shrugged, your hands covered in the rich scent of the earth. "They're for protection," you explained, recalling the lessons your mother had taught you long ago. "My mother used to say that rosemary wards off evil. And lavender helps with sleep and calming the mind."

Jacaerys had laughed then, though not unkindly. His eyes had sparkled with mirth as he asked, "And you think I need more courage?"

"It couldn't hurt," you had replied with a grin, pleased to see the way his face lit up with amusement. "Besides, everyone could use a little extra protection, even princes."

There had been something about that moment -- something in the way his laughter had faded into a quiet, thoughtful smile -- that stayed with you long after. Even then, you had sensed the way his feelings for you were beginning to shift, though neither of you were old enough to truly understand what that meant.

What you didn't know then, and wouldn't discover until years later, was that Jacaerys had kept every bundle of herbs you had given him. He had hidden them away in a small, ornate box beneath his bed, a secret treasure trove of memories. Though their scents had long faded, their meaning lingered, a tangible reminder of the bond you shared.

As you both grew older, the innocent exchanges of childhood gave way to something more nuanced, charged with an energy neither of you quite understood. You began to notice the way Jacaerys' eyes lingered on you a little too long, the way he seemed to find excuses to be near you.

There were times when he would reach out, his fingers brushing against yours as he helped you plant a new seedling, and you would feel a spark of electricity pass between you. It was a connection that defied explanation, a current of energy that seemed to flow between you, dragon, and rider.

And always, always, there was Vermax. The prince's dragon had been a constant presence in Jacaerys' life since he was no more than an egg. The bond between them was instantaneous and profound, as it was with all dragonriders. But there had always been something unique about Vermax, a keen intelligence that seemed to go beyond even the considerable intellect of his kind.

From a young age, the dragon had been fiercely protective of Jacaerys, following him with a loyalty that seemed almost human in its depth. But as the years passed, you began to realize that Vermax's interest in you was not entirely normal.

At first, it had seemed like little more than curiosity. Dragons were intelligent creatures, after all, and it wasn't unusual for them to take an interest in the people around their riders. But Vermax's attention had gone beyond that. There were moments when you would feel the weight of his gaze on you, heavy and expectant, as though he were waiting for something.

It was unsettling at times, though never frightening. In fact, there was a strange sense of comfort in the dragon's presence, as though he were watching over you just as much as he was watching over Jacaerys. It was a dynamic that you couldn't quite explain, but one that felt inexplicably right.

As you and Jacaerys entered your early teenage years, the dynamics of your relationship began to shift in subtle but unmistakable ways. The easy camaraderie of childhood gave way to a more complex interplay of emotions, fraught with the uncertainty and excitement of first love.

You found yourself hyper-aware of Jacaerys' presence, your heart quickening whenever he entered a room. The sound of his laughter, once simply pleasant, now sent shivers down your spine. You caught yourself watching him when you thought he wasn't looking, admiring the way he had begun to grow into his lanky frame, the way his jawline had sharpened and his shoulders broadened.

Jacaerys, for his part, seemed equally affected by the change in your relationship. His usual confidence would falter when you were near, his words becoming tangled as he struggled to maintain the easy conversation you had once shared. You noticed the way his eyes would follow you across a room, lingering on the curve of your neck or the sway of your skirts.

The whispers in the halls continued, handmaids and courtiers alike softly mumbling about the prince's obvious crush. You tried to ignore them, and you liked to think Jacaerys did too, but their words planted seeds of possibility in your mind that you couldn't quite shake.

One particularly memorable afternoon, you had been tending to the castle gardens, carefully snipping away at the overgrown tendrils of ivy that threatened to choke out the more delicate plants. You were lost in thought, your mind wandering as your hands worked automatically, when Jacaerys joined you.

You heard him before you saw him, his footsteps crunching softly on the gravel path. "You're going to turn this place into a jungle," he teased, his voice carrying a warmth that made your heart skip a beat.

Looking up, you saw him leaning against a stone pillar, watching you with an amused expression. His hair was tousled, likely from the wind, and you noticed a wooden practice sword at his side. He'd been training with his younger brother Lucerys, you realized, a fact that explained the slight sheen of sweat on his brow and the healthy flush in his cheeks.

You felt a smear of dirt on your own cheek and resisted the urge to wipe it away, suddenly self-conscious under his gaze. Instead, you straightened up, brushing your hands on your apron. "I happen to think that a bit of wildness adds character," you replied, unable to keep a smile from tugging at your lips.

Jacaerys raised an eyebrow, his own smile widening. "Character, or chaos?" he asked, pushing off from the pillar and moving closer.

"Chaos, definitely," you admitted with a laugh. "But it's the good kind of chaos. The kind that reminds us that not everything needs to be perfectly manicured and controlled."

He nodded, his eyes scanning the garden with newfound appreciation. "I suppose I can't argue with that. As long as you promise not to let the roses take over the entire castle."

You hummed in agreement, though you both knew you had no real intention of reining in the roses anytime soon. Their wild beauty was part of what made the garden so special, after all.

Jacaerys moved to kneel by your side, his hands mimicking yours as he began to help with the pruning. You worked in comfortable silence for a few moments, the only sounds the snip of shears and the distant call of birds.

"How was training?" you asked eventually, glancing at him from the corner of your eye.

He shrugged, a wry smile playing on his lips. "Lucerys is getting better. He almost managed to disarm me today."

You couldn't help but chuckle at the mix of pride and mild indignation in his voice. "I'm sure you'll always be able to best him in something," you teased. "If not swordplay, then perhaps in your ability to brood dramatically while staring off into the distance."

Jacaerys let out a bark of laughter, nudging you playfully with his shoulder. "I do not brood," he protested, though his eyes sparkled with amusement.

"Oh, but you do," you insisted, your voice taking on a mock-serious tone. "It's quite impressive, really. Very princely."

He playfully glared at you, moving to mirror your position and watch as you threaded the herbs in your hands. Jacaerys spoke of the latest lessons he'd been struggling with, his brow furrowing slightly as he recounted a particularly challenging session with the castle's maester. 

"Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever truly understand all the intricacies of statecraft," he confessed, his voice lowering as if sharing a secret. "There's so much to remember, so many nuances to consider."

You paused in your pruning, turning to face him fully. The vulnerability in his admission touched something deep within you. It was rare for Jacaerys to express doubt, especially about matters related to his future role. "You will," you assured him, your voice soft but firm. "You have a good heart, Jace. That's more important than memorizing every law and precedent."

His eyes met yours, a mixture of gratitude and something deeper, more intense, swirling in their depths. "You always know what to say," he murmured, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

The air between you seemed to thicken, charged with an energy that made your heart race. You were acutely aware of how close you were sitting, of the way the afternoon sun caught the highlights in Jacaerys' hair, of the slight quickening of his breath. You cleared your throat, hoping to hide your fluster. 

Suddenly, a mischievous glint appeared in Jacaerys' eyes, breaking the tension of the moment. He reached over and plucked a small, vibrant flower from a nearby bush. With exaggerated ceremony, he tucked it behind your ear, his fingers lingering for just a moment longer than necessary.

"There," he said, his voice soft. "Now you look like a true spirit of the garden."

You felt a warmth creep into your cheeks, your heart fluttering at the gentle gesture. "Thank you," you murmured, reaching up to touch the delicate petals. "Though I'm not sure I can compete with the actual flowers."

Jacaerys' gaze softened, his eyes never leaving yours. "I think you outshine them all," he said, his words barely above a whisper.

You found yourself leaning in slightly, drawn by the intensity of his gaze. For a moment, it felt as though the rest of the world had faded away, leaving only the two of you in this secluded corner of the garden.

But before either of you could act on the moment, a distant call broke the spell. One of the castle guards was approaching, likely with a message for the prince.

Jacaerys sighed, reluctantly stepping back. "Duty calls, it seems," he said, a note of regret in his voice. "But... perhaps we could continue this later?"

You nodded, trying to ignore the way your heart was still racing. "I'd like that," you replied, offering him a small smile.

As Jacaerys turned to leave, he cast one last glance over his shoulder, his eyes lingering on the flower in your hair. The moment may have passed, but the promise of more hung in the air between you, sweet and full of possibility.

The days that followed your encounter in the garden seemed to pass in a haze of stolen glances and lingering touches. Every interaction with Jacaerys now carried an undercurrent of anticipation, as if you were both waiting for something to happen, though neither of you quite knew what.

You found yourself seeking out his company more often, your steps unconsciously leading you to the places you knew he frequented. The library, where he would often be found poring over ancient tomes of dragon lore. The training yard, where you would watch from afar as he honed his skills with sword and shield. And always, always, the gardens, where you both seemed to find a sense of peace amidst the chaos of court life.

The day you felt a shift in your heart, Jacaerys had invited you to join him in the open fields near the Dragonpit. The sun was high in the sky, casting a warm, golden light over the landscape. Vermax, ever watchful, was sprawled lazily on the grass, his massive wings folded neatly by his sides.

You approached cautiously, feeling the familiar thrill of excitement at the sight of the dragon. Vermax lifted his head, his golden eyes following your every movement. There was something almost playful in his gaze, as though he were waiting for you to do something entertaining.

“What do you think he’s planning?” Jacaerys asked, coming up beside you.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s plotting some sort of mischief,” you replied, your tone light. “He always seems to have that look in his eyes.”

Jacaerys chuckled, a sound that was quickly drowned out by Vermax’s sudden, exuberant leap. The dragon bounded toward you, his massive frame causing the earth to tremble beneath him. You shrieked with laughter as Vermax’s warm breath ruffled your hair, and he nudged you playfully with his snout.

“Careful,” Jacaerys warned with a grin. “He might decide you’re his new favorite toy.”

You ducked as Vermax playfully tried to grab your skirts with his claws, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “I think he’s already made up his mind,” you said, trying to catch your breath between giggles.

Jacaerys joined in the laughter, his face flushed with amusement. “Well, if he’s decided you’re his favorite, then I suppose I’ll have to share you.”

You swore your heart almost jumped out of your chest, you noticed Vermax’s huff at the prince’s comment.

At first, it was just a matter of curiosity. Dragons, as intelligent and formidable as they were, often took an interest in those around their riders. Vermax’s gaze would follow you with a keen, almost feline curiosity, his golden eyes tracking your every movement with a level of intensity that was both unnerving and oddly comforting.

You had grown accustomed to his presence. He would appear near the Dragonpit, his massive form casting a shadow over the land. His keen eyes seemed to follow you, watching with an intensity that suggested he was waiting for something. At times, he would perform small acts of assistance – igniting a pile of leaves with a controlled burst of flame or helping clear debris with a gentle sweep of his tail.

The dragon would often follow you, hovering just out of sight, his golden eyes always watching. It was during these moments that you began to realize the depth of Vermax’s fascination. He was not merely curious; he was attentive, almost protective. 

Jacaerys began to notice Vermax’s behavior as well. “He’s been following you a lot lately,” he remarked one day, his voice tinged with a mix of curiosity and concern.

You shrugged, brushing a speck of dirt from your dress. “He seems to enjoy my company. I don’t mind.”

Jacaerys frowned slightly, his brow furrowed. “It’s not just that. He seems… different around you. I’ve never seen him act this way with anyone else.”

You met his gaze, searching for an explanation you didn’t have. “He’s always been attentive. Maybe he just likes being near me.”

With each passing day, Vermax’s playful spirit drew you in further, his antics becoming a source of joy and wonder. You found yourself captivated not just by his impressive size and strength, but by the way he seemed to understand you in a way few others did. The warmth of his golden eyes held a depth that hinted at a connection you couldn’t quite grasp, igniting a blend of curiosity and exhilaration in your heart.

The salty breeze whipped through your hair as you stood atop the cliffs of Dragonstone, your eyes fixed on the horizon where sea met sky. The pungent scent of herbs clung to your fingers, a reminder of the morning spent in your personal garden. You were already making a name for yourself among the castle's inhabitants as a skilled herbalist, following in your father's footsteps but carving your own path in the world of science and medicine.

You breathed in deeply, savoring the crisp air that always seemed to invigorate your senses. It was in these quiet moments, away from the bustle of the castle, that you felt most alive. But as always, you weren't truly alone.

A low rumble from behind made you smile. You didn't need to turn to know that Vermax had followed you out here. Again.

"I know you're there," you said, your voice carried away by the wind. "You're not as stealthy as you think, you overgrown lizard."

Another rumble, this time sounding almost indignant, and you couldn't help but laugh. You finally turned to face the magnificent creature that had become your unlikely shadow over the past few years.

Vermax's scales shimmered in the sunlight, a mesmerizing dance of bronze and gold. His intelligent eyes watched you with what you could only describe as curiosity. It was a look you'd grown accustomed to, ever since the day he'd first started following you around the castle grounds.

"What do you think?" you asked, gesturing to the basket of freshly picked herbs at your feet. "Think we've got enough wormwood for that new tonic I'm working on?"

Vermax tilted his head, nostrils flaring as he sniffed at the basket. You chuckled, shaking your head at the absurdity of consulting a dragon on herbal matters. And yet, there was something comforting about his presence, a constancy in the ever-shifting world of Westerosi politics that surrounded you.

A sudden gust of wind threatened to topple your basket, and you quickly reached down to steady it. Vermax, in a surprising display of gentleness, used his wing to shield you and your precious cargo from the blast.

"Thank you," you murmured, patting his scales appreciatively. "Though I'm sure Prince Jacaerys would prefer you were with him instead of playing nursemaid to me and my plants."

At the mention of his rider's name, Vermax's head swiveled towards the castle. You followed his gaze, your eyes landing on a familiar figure making his way along the winding path towards you.

You felt a familiar flutter in your chest, one that you promptly ignored. Jacaerys had been your friend for years, ever since his family had sought refuge on Dragonstone. You'd grown up together, sharing lessons and adventures. But he was a prince, and you... well, you were just you.

"I thought I'd find you two up here," Jacaerys called out as he drew nearer. "You know, most people would be terrified to find a dragon following them around."

You shrugged, a smirk playing at the corners of your mouth. "Vermax is a perfect gentleman. Aren't you, you big scaly brute?"

Vermax preened at your words, puffing out his chest and eliciting a laugh from both you and Jacaerys.

"I think he likes you more than me sometimes," Jacaerys said, reaching out to scratch under Vermax's chin. The dragon leaned into his touch, eyes half-closing in contentment.

"Nonsense," you replied, busying yourself with your basket of herbs to avoid meeting Jacaerys’ eyes. "He's your dragon. I'm just... a distraction, I suppose."

Jacaerys was quiet for a moment, and when you finally looked up, you found him watching you with an intensity that made your cheeks warm.

"You're not a distraction," he said softly. "You're..." He trailed off, seeming to struggle for words.

An awkward silence fell between you, filled only by the sound of the waves crashing against the cliffs below and Vermax's steady breathing. You cleared your throat, desperate to dispel the sudden tension.

"I've been working on a new tonic," you said brightly, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically. "For headaches. I thought it might help your mother, with all the stress she's under."

Jacaerys’ face lit up, his earlier hesitation forgotten. "She'll be so grateful."

There was that flutter again, stronger this time. You pushed it down, reminding yourself of the realities of your positions. Jacaerys was kind, had always been kind to you. But kindness wasn’t love, and you knew better than to dwell on such thoughts. You were content with the friendship you shared – its warmth was enough.

You crouched down, reaching into your basket to inspect the herbs, trying to focus on the familiar rhythm of your work. The scent of rosemary and wormwood filled the air, grounding you, but you were still keenly aware of Jacaerys standing just a little too close.

"Your garden’s thriving," He remarked, crouching beside you. He wasn’t one for keeping his distance, never had been. It was one of the reasons why you treasured your time together – there were no walls between you. No formalities, just the easy companionship of two souls who had grown side by side.

You smiled, plucking a leaf from a stalk of lemon balm and holding it out to him. “Smell that. Calming, isn’t it? Perfect for stress relief.”

Jacaerys leaned in, the closeness sending an unexpected warmth through you. His nose wrinkled as he inhaled, and you couldn’t help but laugh at his expression.

"Calming? It smells like... old socks."

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Only because you don’t know what to look for. Trust me, in the right hands, it works wonders.”

He shot you a sideways glance, a teasing smile tugging at his lips. "In your hands, I’m sure it does."

The words hung between you, and though they were casual, they carried a weight you couldn’t quite ignore. You glanced up at him, finding his gaze once more. 

You could have let it linger, but instead, you cleared your throat, standing abruptly. "I should head back to the chambers and start working on this tonic. It won’t make itself,"

You started to gather your herbs, your movements quick and purposeful. You tried to shake off the tension that still hung in the air, but Jacaerys’ presence was hard to ignore.

“Wait,” Jacaerys said, stepping closer. “I’d love to help with the tonic, if you’d have me.”

You hesitated, looking up at him with surprise. You raised an eyebrow, feigning contemplation. “Are you sure you want to trade the view of the cliffs for a kitchen filled with herbs and potions?”

He grinned, a playful sparkle in his eyes. “I’d trade anything to spend more time with you.”

The flutter in your chest intensified, but you pushed it aside. “Alright, then. I’ll need an extra pair of hands. But be warned, it might get a bit messy.”

Jacaerys laughed, a sound that mingled effortlessly with the crash of waves below. “Messy sounds like fun. Lead the way.”

When you reached your chambers, you paused by the door, holding out a sprig of lavender. “Here,” you said, your voice slightly hesitant. “Take this for your chambers. It’ll help with relaxation, especially after all the stress.”

Jacaerys accepted the sprig with a genuine smile, his eyes crinkling at the edges. “I’ll make sure to keep it close.”

Without a second thought, he tucked the lavender behind his ear, where it nestled among his dark hair. He offered you a cheeky smile, his gaze met yours, and there was a gentle, playful light in his eyes, as if he had just shared a secret with you and the world around you had receded, leaving only the two of you in its warm embrace.

You found yourself momentarily lost in the way the lavender added a touch of whimsy to his otherwise princely appearance. It was a small, almost insignificant gesture, but it transformed him into something unexpectedly beautiful, a blend of the regal and the endearing.

You couldn’t help but smile, admiring how the lavender seemed to accentuate his features. “You look quite charming,” you remarked, unable to resist the compliment.

Jacaerys blushed slightly, a hint of pink coloring his cheeks. "You think so?" Jacaerys asked, his voice tinged with mock seriousness as he adjusted the lavender, his smile widening.

"Absolutely," you replied, your own smile growing as you observed the slight flush that colored his cheeks.

“I suppose I’ll have to make sure to wear it often then."

And he did, each time you saw Jacaerys, there was the lavender – a constant reminder of that afternoon. It became a part of him, woven into the very fabric of his routine, and its presence was a silent testament to something unspoken.

You noticed it the first time he arrived at your herbarium, the soft purple hue of lavender peeking from his pocket. It seemed to bring a new kind of lightness to his demeanor, as if the charm of the flower was somehow intertwined with the growing affection you sensed in his gaze. After he saw your faint blush on your face, and the small smile you tried to hide when you noticed it, he’d started to wear it every day.

Rhaenyra’s invitation to join the court had been a momentous occasion for Jacaerys. At eighteen, he was eager to embrace the responsibilities and privileges of a more mature role within the castle, seeing it as a step towards adulthood. 

The dynamic between you and Jacaerys shifted, though the change was subtle and gradual. There was a newfound awareness in the way you interacted, a heightened sense of connection that simmered just beneath the surface of your everyday conversations.

You would find yourselves lingering a beat too long in each other's company, fingers brushing as you passed one another in the castle corridors. Stolen glances across crowded rooms held a weight that had been absent before, and the easy laughter that had once flowed so freely between you now carried an undercurrent of nervous energy.

Yet, through it all, your friendship remained steadfast. You continued to seek each other out, drawn together by an unspoken bond that defied the conventions of court life. Whether it was trading stories in the gardens or simply enjoying the comfortable silence of each other's presence, there was a sense of security and belonging that you found in Jacaerys' company.

It was during one of these chance encounters that you truly began to realize how much things had changed between you. You had been walking through a secluded part of the castle grounds, lost in thought, when you quite literally bumped into Jacaerys as he rounded a corner.

"Oh!" you exclaimed, stumbling slightly. Jacaerys' hands shot out to steady you, gripping your arms gently but firmly.

"Are you alright?" he asked, concern evident in his voice. But as you looked up to meet his gaze, you saw something else there too – a warmth, an intensity that made your breath catch in your throat.

You nodded, suddenly very aware of how close you were standing, of the warmth of his hands on your arms. "I'm fine," you managed to say, your voice barely above a whisper. "Thank you."

Jacaerys didn't immediately let go, his thumbs tracing small, unconscious circles on your skin. The touch sent shivers down your spine, and you found yourself leaning in ever so slightly, drawn by some invisible force.

For a moment, you both stood there, frozen in time. The air around you seemed to hum with possibility, with all the words left unsaid between you. Jacaerys' gaze dropped to your lips for the briefest of seconds before snapping back up to your eyes, a faint blush coloring his cheeks.

"I..." he began, his voice husky. But whatever he had been about to say was cut off by the sound of approaching footsteps and voices.

You both stepped apart quickly, the spell broken. A group of courtiers rounded the corner, their chatter filling the once-quiet space. Jacaerys ran a hand through his hair, looking flustered.

"I should go," he said, his voice tinged with regret. "I have a meeting with my mother and the council."

You nodded, trying to hide your disappointment. "Of course. I'll see you later?"

Jacaerys smiled, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. "Count on it," he replied, his voice warm with promise.

As he walked away, you couldn't help but feel that something fundamental had shifted between you. The easy friendship of your childhood was evolving into something deeper, more complex. And while part of you yearned to explore these new feelings, another part hesitated, aware of the complications that could arise.

After all, Jacaerys was a prince, heir to the Iron Throne. And you, despite your father's position at court, were still just a noble's daughter. The gap between your stations, which had seemed inconsequential in childhood, now loomed large and imposing.

But as you watched Jacaerys disappear around a corner, his tall figure cutting a striking silhouette against the stone walls of the castle, you couldn't quite bring yourself to care about the potential obstacles. There was something growing between you, something that felt important, even vital.

And unbeknownst to both of you, high above in the Dragonpit, Vermax stirred in his sleep, his golden eyes fluttering open for a moment as if sensing the shift in the air. The dragon let out a low, rumbling purr before settling back down, a sound that seemed to echo with satisfaction and anticipation.

As promised, you sought him out, as you walked the castle grounds, you stumbled upon Jacaerys in a quiet alcove, poring over a stack of parchments. His brow was furrowed in concentration, a sight that was both endearing and familiar.

"Hiding away from the world, I see," you teased, your voice light and playful as you approached.

Jacaerys looked up, a warm smile spreading across his lips. "Hardly. I'm simply attempting to make sense of these endless reports. Surely you know how tedious court life can be."

You nodded, settling down beside him on the stone bench. "I do, indeed. But I must say, you seem to be handling the burden with more grace than I ever could."

Jacaerys chuckled, the sound low and rich. "Practice, I suppose. Though I have to admit, it's much easier to bear when you're around to distract me."

The words hung in the air, charged with a subtle flirtation that sent a flutter through your chest. You met his gaze, a playful smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

"Is that so? Well, in that case, I'll be sure to interrupt your work more often."

Jacaerys leaned in, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Please do. I find I'm in dire need of a distraction."

The air between you crackled with an undeniable tension, and for a moment, you were both lost in the intensity of the moment. It was as if the world had narrowed down to just the two of you, your hearts beating in sync as you lingered in each other's space.

Eventually, Jacaerys cleared his throat, a faint blush coloring his cheeks as he turned his attention back to the parchments. "In all seriousness, I could use a break. Would you care to join me for a walk?"

You nodded, the smile on your face widening. "I thought you'd never ask."

As you fell into step beside him, your arms brushing with each stride, you couldn't help but feel a sense of contentment wash over you. The tension may have been palpable, but there was also an underlying comfort in the familiarity of your bond. It was as if you had known each other forever, despite the ever-changing nature of the world around you.

The conversation flowed easily, punctuated by bouts of laughter and playful banter. Jacaerys spoke of his latest lessons and the frustrations of court politics, while you shared tales of your explorations in the city, weaving vivid descriptions that had him listening with rapt attention.

At one point, as you recounted a particularly harrowing encounter with a flock of noisy geese, Jacaerys reached out and gently brushed a stray strand of hair from your face, his fingertips lingering on your skin. The simple gesture sent a shiver down your spine, and you found yourself lost in the warmth of his gaze.

"You know," he murmured, his voice soft and low, "I always enjoy our conversations, but I find myself looking forward to them more and more these days."

You felt your heart flutter, and you couldn't help but lean a little closer, drawn to the intensity of his presence. "As do I, Jacaerys. As do I."

"I thought I'd enjoy court a bit more," Jacaerys confessed, his brow furrowed in a slight frown. "Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful for the opportunity, but it can be… overwhelming at times.”

You glanced at him, sensing the weight of his words. “It’s a lot to handle, isn’t it?” Reaching for his arm, you linked yours together. “It’s one thing to hear about it, and quite another to live it every day.”

Jacaerys sighed, his gaze wandering over the castle grounds, where the late afternoon sun cast a golden hue on the landscape. “I thought I’d be more prepared, but it seems like the more I try to understand, the less I actually know.”

“You spend every day locked in that dusty library,” you made a face, “Perhaps a change of scenery is exactly what you need.” 

Jacaerys glanced at you, his lips curving into a small, appreciative smile. 

“Or a good distraction,” you added with a playful grin.

He moved your linked arms to elbow your side, his eyes softening with gratitude. “I suppose you’ve been quite the distraction for me. And I’m not sure how I’d have managed without it.”

You felt a blush creeping up your cheeks at his words. 

The warmth of Jacaerys' gaze, paired with his words, left you momentarily breathless. There was a sincerity in his voice, a quiet vulnerability that you hadn’t heard from him before. For a brief second, the world around you seemed to blur, the rustling trees and distant clamor of the castle fading into the background. All that remained was the two of you, arm in arm, walking through a world that felt uniquely yours.

“You would’ve managed just fine,” you said, nudging him lightly, trying to keep the mood light despite the flutter in your chest. “But I’m glad to be your distraction anyway.”

Jacaerys' lips twitched into a smile, but his eyes remained focused on you, studying your face as if committing every feature to memory. "Still, I’ve come to appreciate it more than you know."

You turned your head slightly, the afternoon breeze stirring your hair as you walked side by side. There was a new depth to the conversation, an unspoken understanding that your relationship had grown into something beyond friendship. The stolen glances, the accidental brushes of skin, the way your words seemed to hold more meaning than before—it all pointed to a shift that neither of you could ignore any longer.

And yet, you found comfort in how natural it felt. Jacaerys had always been your closest friend, the person you could talk to about anything. That foundation hadn’t changed. If anything, it had only deepened, strengthened by the shared moments and quiet, growing affection between you.

As you passed beneath the shade of an ancient oak tree, Jacaerys slowed his steps, tugging gently on your arm. 

“Wait,” he said softly, glancing up at the sprawling branches that created a cocoon of privacy. The dappled sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting warm golden patterns across his face.

He turned toward you fully, and for the first time, you felt a quiet intensity in the way he looked at you. There was a question in his gaze, though he hadn’t yet voiced it aloud. His fingers, still linked with yours, tightened slightly, and you realized how close you stood to him now, barely an arm’s length apart.

The wind stirred again, a soft breeze that seemed to carry with it the weight of the moment. You felt your heart thudding in your chest, as if echoing his.

Finally, he spoke, his voice low and uncertain, like he was tiptoeing around something fragile. 

“Would it be terribly selfish of me to ask for more of your time? Away from… all of this?” He gestured loosely toward the distant castle with his free hand, the spires glinting in the late afternoon sun.

You blinked, taken slightly aback by the request, though your chest warmed at the sincerity in his tone. He wasn’t asking out of politeness, nor was this a casual suggestion. This was something deeper – an unspoken desire for space, for more moments like this one, away from the noise and demands of court. Just you and him.

“I–” you started, unsure how to respond at first. A soft breeze rustled the leaves above, and you realized you didn’t need to think too hard about it. “No,” you said quietly, your smile gentle. “It’s not selfish at all.”

Jacaerys' expression softened in visible relief, his shoulders relaxing slightly. He let out a small breath, one he hadn’t realized he was holding, and his eyes brightened as they met yours. 

"I was hoping you'd say that," he said, the familiar warmth returning to his voice, though the undercurrent of something more remained.

His hand, still linked with yours, tightened ever so slightly, as though he feared you might pull away. But you didn’t. Instead, you found yourself leaning into the connection, the warmth of his touch grounding you amidst the fluttering of your heart. 

The world seemed to slow around you, the gentle breeze playing with the strands of your hair, the golden sunlight casting a soft glow across Jacaerys' face. His eyes, those deep, dark pools you had known since childhood, held something new now – an intensity, a vulnerability that made your breath catch.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The leaves above rustled softly, and the distant sounds of the castle faded, leaving only the steady rhythm of your breathing and the quiet tension that hung between you. You could feel the weight of the moment, the way everything seemed to hinge on what might happen next.

Jacaerys stepped closer, just a fraction, but it was enough for you to feel the warmth radiating from him. His free hand lifted hesitantly, as though he wasn’t quite sure if he should, and then he gently brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. The touch was feather-light, but it sent a shiver down your spine.

“I think,” he began, his voice barely above a whisper now, “that I’ve always wanted more time with you. I just… I didn’t know how to ask.”

His words, so simple yet so full of meaning, sent your mind reeling. You had always been close, always shared moments of laughter and quiet companionship, but this—this was something different. It was as if the lines you had both drawn so carefully over the years were blurring, fading into something neither of you could fully understand, but both were willing to explore.

You swallowed, your throat suddenly dry, and met his gaze. “Jacaerys,” The words caught in your throat, unsure of how to express the swirl of emotions inside you. But the look in his eyes told you that he understood, that he didn’t need you to say anything just yet.

His hand lingered near your face, his fingers lightly grazing your cheek. For a moment, it seemed like the whole world held its breath, waiting to see what would happen next.

But before you could speak again, before either of you could close the distance between you, a voice called out from the castle. A courtier, no doubt, summoning Jacaerys back to his duties.

The moment shattered like glass, the spell broken by the harsh reality of the world beyond the oak’s sheltering branches. Jacaerys pulled back, his expression one of reluctant resignation, though his fingers lingered on yours for just a heartbeat longer before slipping away.

“I…” he began, his voice strained. “I have to go.”

You nodded, the warmth of his touch still lingering on your skin. “I know.”

But as he turned to leave, he hesitated, casting one last look over his shoulder. His gaze met yours, and in that moment, it felt like a promise, unspoken yet understood. There would be more time, more moments like this – when the world didn’t press in so tightly, when you could simply be Jacaerys and yourself, without the weight of court life bearing down on you.

And with that, he was gone, his figure disappearing down the path toward the castle, leaving you standing alone beneath the oak, the fluttering leaves above a soft reminder of what had almost been.

As the days turned into weeks, you found yourself increasingly aware of Jacaerys' presence in your life. 

You began to notice the little things, the small gestures that spoke volumes about Jacaerys' growing affection. The way he would seek you out in crowded rooms, his eyes lighting up when they found yours. The gentle brush of his hand against yours as you walked side by side through the castle corridors. The way he listened intently when you spoke, hanging on your every word as if they were precious gems.

One particular evening, you found yourself in the castle library, surrounded by towering shelves of ancient tomes. You had been searching for a specific book on herbal remedies, standing on tiptoe to reach a high shelf, when you felt a presence behind you.

"Allow me," Jacaerys' voice came softly, his breath warm against your ear as he reached past you to pluck the book from its perch.

You turned, finding yourself face to face with the prince, barely a breath of space between you. "Thank you," you murmured, your voice catching slightly as you met his gaze.

Jacaerys’ fingers lingered on the spine of the book, his proximity causing your pulse to quicken. You could smell the faint scent of leather and parchment mingling with something distinctly him, a subtle warmth that made the space between you feel smaller, more intimate. The soft light from the library’s candles flickered, casting shadows on his face and highlighting the sharp lines of his jaw that had grown more defined with age.

"You're welcome," he murmured, his voice low and filled with an unfamiliar weight. It was his nameday today, turning nine and ten, and though the castle had been buzzing with celebration all day, it was this quiet moment in the library that felt the most significant. The festivities seemed far away, drowned out by the quiet hum of his presence beside you.

You felt a nervous flutter in your chest, one you couldn’t quite control, as you tried to speak, to break the silence that hung between you like a fragile thread. “I didn’t expect you here,” you said softly, your fingers brushing the edge of the book he’d handed you. “Shouldn’t you be at your nameday feast?”

Jacaerys smiled, a small, almost sheepish curve of his lips that sent warmth through you. “I should be,” he admitted, his eyes holding yours. “But I needed some air... and maybe a bit of quiet. It’s overwhelming sometimes.”

You nodded, understanding immediately. The weight of expectation that came with his name, his birthright, was always heavy. "I imagine it must be. All those people, eyes on you."

He let out a soft sigh, his hand brushing against yours as he shifted the book to you more securely. “Exactly. And... well, I was hoping to find you.”

Your heart skipped at his words, and you blinked up at him, momentarily lost for a reply. 

“I’m glad you did,” you managed to say, your voice quieter than you’d intended.

Jacaerys stepped just a fraction closer, the space between you shrinking as he tilted his head slightly, his expression softening. His lips quirked into a playful smile, the kind that had always made your heart stumble in your chest. 

"You wouldn’t believe the amount of gifts I’ve been forced to graciously accept today," he said, his voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper. “Half the court is vying for a chance to be in my good graces, hoping one of their children might become my future Hand when I take the throne.”

He chuckled softly, shaking his head as if the thought were absurd, though you knew the pressures that came with his title weighed on him more than he liked to admit. There was something in his eyes – an unspoken weariness, a hint of the heavy responsibility he bore, even as he tried to make light of it.

You couldn’t help but smile, the image of Jacaerys surrounded by lavish gifts from eager courtiers painting a rather amusing picture in your mind. "Let me guess, dozens of finely crafted swords, books you��ll never read, and enough embroidered tunics to last you a lifetime?"

“More than I know what to do with,” he said with a dramatic sigh, leaning a little closer, the warmth of his presence wrapping around you. “One lord even gifted me a statue of a dragon, carved from some rare stone. It weighs more than Vermax himself, I swear.”

You laughed softly, the sound mingling with the quiet of the library, and for a moment, it felt like the world had melted away, leaving just the two of you in this small, secluded space. “What are you going to do with all of it?”

“I’m thinking of donating it to the maesters,” he said, his voice playful but with an undertone of sincerity. “They’re always looking for more clutter, aren’t they?”

His humor was infectious, and you found yourself grinning, shaking your head at him. “They’d probably find a way to use it in some lesson about the history of Valyria.”

Jacaerys chuckled, his eyes sparkling with a mix of amusement and something softer, deeper. The air between you grew thick again, the earlier tension returning, but this time, it felt different. Less uncertain, more sure. 

He lifted his hand, slowly, tentatively, as though he were testing the boundaries of whatever was blossoming between you. His fingers brushed lightly against your wrist, tracing the skin there in a way that sent a shiver down your spine. The gentle touch was intimate, delicate, as though he were savoring the moment, reluctant to let it end.

"You know," he began, his voice barely above a whisper now, "all those presents – they don’t mean anything. Not really." His gaze locked with yours, the intensity in his eyes making your breath catch. "I only wanted one thing today."

Your heart raced, your pulse quickening under his touch, and you found yourself leaning in ever so slightly, drawn to him in a way that felt both natural and terrifying.

“And what’s that?” you asked softly, your voice barely more

Jacaerys’ eyes never left yours as he spoke, his voice low and soft, a quiet intimacy threading through his words. “You,” he said, the single word hanging in the air between you like a confession, vulnerable and raw.

Your breath hitched, heart pounding so loudly that you were sure he could hear it in the stillness of the library. For a moment, you couldn’t speak, couldn’t think. All you could feel was the weight of his gaze, the warmth of his hand against your wrist, and the undeniable pull that had been building between you for what felt like years.

His fingers tightened ever so slightly on your wrist, a silent plea, his thumb tracing slow circles on your skin. 

“I’ve spent so much time in the court,” he said quietly, his voice low and filled with the weight of his thoughts. “Handling affairs, playing the part of the prince, always doing what’s expected of me. But lately… I’ve missed you.” His words carried an ache, as if the time apart had been a slow, painful realization of what he truly wanted. 

Your heart fluttered at his words, the depth of his confession settling over you like a warm blanket. You felt a tightening in your chest, the emotions you’d been trying to keep at bay now rushing to the surface.

Taking a deep breath to steady yourself, you reached into the folds of your dress and pulled out a small, carefully wrapped package. You had agonized over this gift for weeks, wanting it to be perfect.

"I have something for you," you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "For your nameday."

Jacaerys' eyes widened slightly, a mix of surprise and curiosity crossing his features. He loosened his grip on your wrist, allowing you to place the gift in his hand.

"You didn't have to–" he began, but you shook your head, silencing him with a gentle smile.

"I wanted to," you assured him. "I suppose you can add this to the mountain of gifts you've received today. Though it might get lost among all those rare stone dragons." you jested.

Jacaerys chuckled softly, but his eyes remained intense as they held yours. "Anything from you could never get lost in a pile," he murmured, his thumb tracing gentle circles on your wrist. "It already stands out from anything any lord could offer."

Your breath caught at his words, the depth of feeling behind them unmistakable. Jacaerys glanced down at the small package in his hand, his fingers running over the careful wrapping.

"Aren't you going to open it?" you asked, suddenly feeling a bit nervous about your choice of gift.

Jacaerys shook his head, a soft smile playing on his lips. "Not yet," he said. "I want to savor this moment a little longer."

Your heart raced as you realized how close you were standing, the warmth of his body radiating towards you in the quiet of the library. Without overthinking, you leaned in and pressed a soft, quick kiss to his cheek.

"Happy nameday, Jace," you whispered, your lips brushing his skin as you spoke.

You pulled back slightly, meeting his gaze once more. His eyes were wide with surprise, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. For a moment, neither of you moved, caught in the charged atmosphere between you.

Then, gathering your courage, you took a small step back. "I should go," you said softly, though every part of you wanted to stay. "You have a feast to return to, after all."

Jacaerys nodded, seemingly still stunned by your gesture. As you turned to leave, you glanced back over your shoulder. Jacaerys stood there, the small package clutched in one hand. The look on his face was one of wonder and longing, as if he had just been given the most precious gift in all the Seven Kingdoms.

He smiled to himself, a mixture of joy and longing filling his chest. As he finally moved to rejoin his nameday feast, he knew that this moment – this gift – would be the one he cherished most from this day forward.

In the days that followed your moment with Jacaerys in the library, you noticed a distinct change in Vermax's behavior. The dragon, always attentive to you before, now seemed utterly determined not to let you out of his sight.

It started the very next morning. As you made your way to the herb gardens, a familiar shadow fell over you. Looking up, you saw Vermax circling overhead, his bronze scales glinting in the early sunlight. You thought nothing of it at first – the dragon often flew over the castle grounds. But as you reached the gardens and began your work, you realized Vermax had landed nearby and was watching you intently.

"Hello there," you called out, amused by his intense gaze. "Come to help with the weeding?"

Vermax huffed, a puff of warm air ruffling your hair. He settled himself more comfortably on the grass, his tail curling around him like a cat. His golden eyes never left you as you went about your tasks.

As the day wore on, Vermax's presence became a constant. When you moved to a different part of the garden, he would follow, sometimes knocking over pots or uprooting plants in his eagerness to stay close. You found yourself having to work around him, like a gardener might work around a particularly large and scaly cat.

"You're being rather clingy today, aren't you?" you muttered, reaching around his massive form to grab a watering can. Vermax merely blinked slowly at you, looking utterly content.

The pattern continued over the next few days. Whenever you left your chambers, Vermax would appear, following you around the castle’s outings with a single-minded determination. He would curl up outside the great hall while you dined, much to the bewilderment of the other courtiers. During your walks in the castle grounds, he would lumber along beside you, occasionally nudging you with his snout as if seeking attention.

One afternoon, as you sat in a quiet corner of the courtyard, attempting to read, Vermax decided your lap looked like the perfect place to rest his head. You found yourself with a lapful of warm, scaly dragon, your book forgotten as you absently stroked the ridges along his snout.

"What's gotten into you?" you wondered aloud, scratching behind one of his horns. Vermax rumbled contentedly, his eyes half-closed in bliss.

It was during one of these moments that Jacaerys found you. His eyebrows shot up in surprise at the sight of his usually aloof dragon behaving like an overgrown housecat.

"Well, this is new," he remarked, a hint of amusement in his voice. "I've been looking for him all morning. Should have known he'd be with you."

You felt a blush creep up your cheeks, remembering your last encounter in the library. "He's been... rather attentive lately," you explained, trying to keep your voice steady.

Jacaerys moved closer, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Attentive? It looks like he's adopted you."

Vermax opened one eye to look at his rider, then promptly closed it again, snuggling closer to you. You couldn't help but laugh.

"I'm not sure what I've done to deserve such devotion," you said, your fingers still absently stroking Vermax's scales.

Jacaerys' expression softened, his gaze moving from Vermax to you. "I think I might have an idea," he said softly, so quietly that you almost missed it.

For a heartbeat, you didn’t dare breathe. You had heard the whispers – the soft murmurings that floated through the halls of the castle, spoken behind fans and shared in hushed tones over goblets of wine. They were the same rumors that had always been dismissed as mere fables: ancient tales about dragons and soulmates, myths that most of the court laughed off as fantastical relics from a bygone era.

You had grown up with the legends, just as any child of Westeros had. It was said that in the ancient days of Old Valyria, dragons could sense the one person destined for their rider, a bond so profound it went beyond even the magical connection between rider and dragon. This connection was rare, deeper than anything known to man, and some believed it tied the fates of the rider, dragon, and soulmate together, forever.

But those were only stories, weren’t they?

The thought made your heart race, even as Vermax nudged your hand, demanding more attention. 

Jacaerys seemed to sense your hesitation. He sat down beside you, his shoulder brushing against yours, the warmth of his presence both reassuring and unnerving. The weight of those whispered legends hung in the air between you, heavy with possibilities neither of you dared voice. You could feel the question in the space between you, but neither of you seemed willing to give it life, to allow the old stories to weave themselves into your reality.

Vermax huffed contentedly, his golden eyes half-lidded as you continued to stroke his scales. The warmth of the dragon’s presence, combined with Jacaerys’ closeness, made the world feel smaller, more intimate. And yet, the thought of those legends, of the connection they hinted at, stirred something deep within you.

But you weren’t ready to confront that – not yet.

Jacaerys cleared his throat softly, breaking the silence with a casual tone, though you could hear the undercurrent of something more in his voice. "Vermax has always had a mind of his own. I suppose it’s not so strange that he’s taken a liking to you." His words were light, but there was a subtle tension in them, as if he, too, was choosing his words carefully.

You let out a quiet laugh, grateful for the shift in conversation. "He’s a bit of a menace, truth be told," you teased, brushing some dirt from your hands. "I don’t think I’ve ever had a dragon try to uproot my herb garden before."

Jacaerys grinned, his eyes twinkling with amusement as he glanced at Vermax. "He has a habit of getting in the way. I’m surprised you’ve managed to work around him."

You shrugged, smiling despite yourself. "I’ve learned to make do. Besides, it’s not every day you get a dragon for company. He’s surprisingly good at weeding, though I’m not sure he knows that’s what he’s doing."

Jacaerys chuckled, and the sound eased the tension in your chest. For a few moments, the weight of the unspoken words between you lightened, and you both fell into an easy rhythm, the kind that had defined your friendship over the years.

"I suppose I should count myself lucky," you continued, your voice teasing. "Not many people can say they have a dragon who’s decided to follow them around like a lost pup."

Jacaerys leaned back on his hands, gazing at Vermax with a fond smile. "I think you’ve charmed him," he said, his tone playful but gentle. "Though, to be fair, you tend to have that effect on people."

"I think it’s the herbs. Maybe he likes the smell."

Jacaerys turned his head slightly, his eyes meeting yours with a softness that made your heart skip. Your heart raced as Jacaerys' eyes dropped to your lips, his breathing slowing ever so slightly. 

You watched as Jacaerys’ gaze flicked back to your eyes, the intensity there nearly making you forget how to breathe. For a moment, you thought he might kiss you. His face leaned closer, his lips only a breath away from yours, and the heat of his proximity made your pulse quicken.

Vermax, sensing none of this, shifted lazily beside you, his warm breath ruffling your hair as you absentmindedly stroked his scales. The dragon’s presence had always been comforting, but now, with Jacaerys so close, you felt a different kind of warmth, one that had nothing to do with the huge dragon lying next to you.

Jacaerys cleared his throat again, but this time, the sound was more hesitant, as if he were about to wade into dangerous waters. He glanced down at his hands before turning back to you, his voice quieter now, almost cautious. 

"Have you ever… thought about marriage?" His tone was casual, but you could hear the tension beneath it, the way he was testing the waters with the question.

Your heart skipped a beat, and you blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in conversation. You hadn’t expected him to ask something like that – not after years of avoiding the topic, of keeping your interactions light and playful. The mention of marriage, especially from Jacaerys, felt like stepping too close to the edge of something vast and unknown.

"Marriage?" you repeated softly, buying yourself time as your mind raced. 

You glanced at him, searching his face for clues, for some indication of what he was really asking. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes held a strange intensity that made your stomach twist with nerves.

"Yes," he said, his voice steady, though you could sense the underlying current of uncertainty. "I mean… you must know it’s a topic that comes up often in court. Especially for someone like you. I imagine there have been offers."

You hesitated, unsure of how to answer. It wasn’t that the subject hadn’t crossed your mind – of course it had. You were of an age where most noblewomen were already spoken for, and though your father had never pressured you, there had been whispers, suggestions from the court that a match should be made soon. But you had always brushed those conversations aside, content with your life, with the simple joys of herbcraft and your time with Jacaerys.

"Offers, yes," you admitted after a moment, your voice quieter now. "But I’ve never taken any of them seriously."

Jacaerys tilted his head slightly, his eyes searching yours as if trying to read your thoughts. "Why not?"

You shrugged, trying to maintain some semblance of nonchalance, though your heart was racing in your chest. "I suppose I’ve never felt… connected to them in that way." The words felt heavier than you intended, and you quickly glanced away, focusing on Vermax instead of the prince beside you.

For a long moment, Jacaerys said nothing. You could feel the weight of his gaze on you, and though you were tempted to fill the silence, something held you back, as if speaking too soon might unravel whatever fragile thread was holding the moment together.

"I see," Jacaerys finally said, his voice soft but laced with something unspoken. 

His eyes searched yours, as though he were trying to decipher the meaning behind your words – your hesitation, the quiet way you had admitted to have been looking for love. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, and though Vermax lay contentedly beside you, his warmth comforting, it did nothing to quell the flutter of nerves building inside you.

"What about you?" you asked, your voice softer now, almost hesitant. "I imagine you've had many offers as well."

Jacaerys' expression shifted, the playful edge that had always been a hallmark of your friendship disappearing entirely. His face grew serious, his gaze lowering as he seemed to consider your question. For a moment, you thought he wouldn’t answer, that perhaps you had ventured too far into territory neither of you were ready to explore.

But then he sighed, his voice quieter than before, almost reflective. "There have been offers," he admitted, his tone neutral but with an undercurrent of tension. "Plenty of them, actually. It comes with the title. People see a future king and want to secure their place in that future."

His words felt distant, like they belonged to someone else, someone far removed from the boy you had grown up with. You could hear the weight of his responsibilities in his voice, the burden of being a prince, always expected to make decisions not just for himself but for an entire kingdom. 

"And yet," he continued, his eyes lifting to meet yours once more, "none of them ever felt right."

Your breath caught at his words. You hesitated, unsure of how to navigate the delicate tension between you. "Why not?" you asked softly, echoing his earlier question to you.

Jacaerys smiled, though it was a small, almost wistful expression, as if he were contemplating something he wasn’t sure he should say. His hand, which had been resting on the grass beside him, inched closer to yours, the tips of his fingers barely brushing against your own. The touch sent a shiver through you, a subtle but undeniable connection.

"I suppose," he began slowly, his voice thoughtful, "I’ve been waiting for something… more." He paused, glancing away for a brief moment before looking back at you. "Someone I feel connected to. Someone I trust. Someone who sees me, not just the prince."

You opened your mouth to speak, but no words came. The silence stretched on, charged with the unsaid, the emotions neither of you could fully express. The space between you felt smaller, more intimate, as if the world outside this moment had faded into nothing.

Jacaerys shifted slightly, his hand finally closing the distance between you, his fingers curling around yours. The touch was gentle, almost hesitant, as if he were still testing the waters of whatever was growing between you. His thumb brushed lightly over your knuckles, and the simple gesture sent a warmth through you that had nothing to do with the dragon resting beside you.

"Do you think…" he began, his voice barely above a whisper now, "that it’s possible for someone like me to have that? To choose for myself?"

Your breath hitched at his question, and for a moment, you were unsure how to answer. Jacaerys, the future king, bound by duty and responsibility, was asking you something so personal, so vulnerable. The weight of his title, his future, pressed down on both of you, and yet, here in this quiet moment, it felt as though it was just the two of you, free from the expectations of the world.

"I think," you whispered, your heart pounding in your chest, "if anyone deserves to choose, it’s you."

Your words seemed to settle over him, a quiet reassurance that made the tension in his shoulders ease just a fraction. He gave you a small, grateful smile, one that made your chest tighten with something you weren’t ready to name.

Finally, Jacaerys broke the silence, his voice soft and filled with a quiet resolve. "Maybe one day," he said, his thumb still tracing slow circles on your hand, "we’ll both get to choose."

The weight of Jacaerys' words lingered in the air between you, a tangible presence that seemed to weave its way into the very fabric of the moment. You could feel the quiet intensity of his gaze, his thumb still brushing against your hand, a gentle, rhythmic motion that seemed to steady both of you.

His hand remained entwined with yours, and you noticed the way his fingers moved, absently tracing the lines of your palm. There was a tenderness in his touch, a delicate acknowledgment of the closeness that had grown between you.

As if to seal the moment, Jacaerys leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to the palm of your hand. The sensation was warm and electrifying, sending a shiver up your arm. His lips lingered for a heartbeat longer than necessary, and the intimacy of the gesture made your heart race. His fingers played with yours, the touch light and exploratory, a silent communication that spoke volumes more than words ever could.

Jacaerys’ eyes met yours, and in that look, you saw a reflection of your own feelings – a mixture of hope, uncertainty, and an undeniable connection. His hand remained in yours, a comforting presence that felt both familiar and new.

The quiet was filled with the unspoken, the space between you charged with possibilities. The weight of your shared silence felt like a cocoon, wrapping you both in a moment that was yours alone, away from the eyes and expectations of the world outside.

Finally, Jacaerys’ lips curved into a small, genuine smile, and he gave your hand a gentle squeeze. "I should probably go," he said softly, though he made no move to leave. "There's a council meeting I'm meant to attend."

You nodded, understanding the weight of his responsibilities, even as a part of you wished he could stay. "Of course," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. "Duty calls."

Jacaerys sighed, his eyes never leaving yours. "It always does," he murmured, a hint of resignation in his tone. But then his expression softened, and he added, "Though I find myself wishing it didn't, at least not when I'm with you."

The admission hung in the air between you, laden with unspoken meaning. You felt a flutter in your chest, a mix of excitement and nervousness at the implications of his words.

Vermax, who had been contentedly dozing beside you, stirred slightly. The dragon lifted his head, his golden eyes flickering between you and Jacaerys as if sensing the shift in mood.

"I think someone's getting jealous," you teased lightly, grateful for the momentary distraction from the intensity of the moment.

Jacaerys chuckled, reaching out to pat Vermax's snout. "He's not the only one who enjoys your company," he said, his voice low and tinged with meaning.

He stood slowly, reluctantly releasing your hand. As he did, his fingers trailed along your palm, a lingering touch that sent shivers down your spine.

"Perhaps," he began, a hint of hesitation in his voice, "we could continue this conversation another time? Away from prying eyes and dragon chaperones?"

You nodded, a smile tugging at your lips. "I'd like that," you replied softly.

Jacaerys' face lit up with a warmth that made your heart swell. He took a step back, his eyes still locked with yours. "Until then," he said, his voice filled with promise.

As he turned to leave, Vermax huffed, a small puff of smoke curling from his nostrils. The dragon's gaze followed his rider, then settled back on you, as if to say he'd be keeping watch.

You sat there for a moment longer, your hand still tingling from Jacaerys' touch, your mind replaying the conversation. The weight of what had transpired, of the words spoken and unspoken, settled over you like a warm blanket.

The days passed in a haze, the absence of Jacaerys more palpable than you had expected. His words, his touch, the warmth of his presence lingered with you, like a song you couldn’t quite shake from your thoughts. Every hour felt drawn out, the stillness of your chambers amplifying the emptiness that came with his absence.

You tried to busy yourself, distracting your mind with small tasks, but nothing seemed to quell the gnawing sensation that something was missing. Jacaerys’ parting words had left a subtle hum beneath your skin, a quiet longing that you couldn’t quite place, or maybe didn’t want to.

By the time night fell, the soft glow of the candlelight casting long shadows against the walls, you found yourself sitting by the window, your thoughts wandering back to him. You hadn’t expected to miss him this much. The bond you shared had grown in such a quiet, natural way, yet now that he was gone, the absence felt stark and undeniable.

The evening stretched on, and you were beginning to resign yourself to the solitude when a soft knock sounded at your door. Your heart leapt before you could even think.

Rising quickly, you crossed the room and pulled the door open, and there he was – Jacaerys, standing in the dim light of the corridor, a smile brighter than the candles behind him. His eyes sparkled, and there was an undeniable energy about him, a joy that radiated from his very being. 

"Jace," you breathed, a wave of relief washing over you. You hadn’t realized just how much you missed him until now, until he was standing here, looking at you with that familiar warmth in his eyes.

He stepped inside before you could say anything more, and the door closed softly behind him. There was an almost giddy excitement in his movements as he crossed the room toward you. 

His eyes were bright, his smile wide and unguarded in a way you'd rarely seen before. There was a lightness to his steps, as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

"I've missed you," he said softly, his voice filled with a warmth that made your heart flutter. He reached out, his fingers brushing against your arm in a gentle, almost reverent touch.

You felt a blush creep up your cheeks at his words and the intensity of his gaze. "I've missed you too," you admitted, surprised by how easily the truth slipped out. "You seem... happy."

Jacaerys' smile grew even wider, if that was possible. He took another step closer, closing the distance between you until you could feel the warmth of his breath. 

His fingers, resting against your arm, traced a soft, soothing pattern, the touch sending a shiver down your spine. "I am happy," he said, his voice low, filled with that same lightness. His eyes held yours, and for a brief moment, it felt like there was no one else in the world, just the two of you standing in the quiet intimacy of your chambers.

You felt your breath catch in your throat as Jacaerys took another small step closer, closing the already narrow gap between you. His hand slid gently down your arm, capturing your hand in his, his fingers lacing with yours as if they belonged there.

“I’ve been waiting all day to see you,” he admitted, his voice dropping to a whisper, and there was something in his tone that tugged at your heart – something deeper, more meaningful, than just his words.

Your pulse quickened at his closeness, at the way his gaze never left yours. “It’s only been a few days, Jace,” you teased lightly, though the emotion in your voice betrayed the longing you had felt in his absence.

He chuckled softly, his thumb tracing circles on the back of your hand, a familiar, soothing gesture that now held an extra layer of intimacy. “A day can feel like an eternity when you’re away from someone important,” he murmured, his eyes softening with sincerity.

There was something about the way he looked at you tonight, something in his touch, in the subtle tension between you that felt different – heavier, more charged. As if the unspoken things that had lingered between you were finally on the verge of surfacing.

“What happened today?” you asked quietly, your curiosity growing stronger. He had been away all day, and yet here he was, practically glowing with happiness. It was as though something had shifted, and though you didn’t know what it was, you could sense the importance of it in every move he made.

Jacaerys hesitated for a moment, his smile faltering ever so slightly, as if he was carefully considering how to answer. His hand squeezed yours gently, reassuringly, before he spoke again. “I spoke to my mother,” he said, his voice holding a note of quiet significance.

You tilted your head, your brows furrowing in confusion. “About what?” you asked softly, though your heart was already beginning to race, sensing that whatever conversation he had with his mother had something to do with you.

He exhaled slowly, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips, though there was a flicker of nervousness in his eyes now.

Jacaerys took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving yours. When he spoke, his voice was soft, filled with a tenderness that made your heart ache.

"Do you remember," he began, "when we were children? How I used to follow you around the castle, always trying to be wherever you were?"

You nodded, a fond smile tugging at your lips. "Of course. You were like my shadow."

He chuckled softly, his thumb still tracing gentle circles on your hand. "I was, wasn't I? Back then, I didn't understand why. I just knew that being near you made me happy. It was... instinctive, I suppose. The way love often is for children."

Your breath caught at the word 'love', but Jacaerys continued, his voice growing more earnest.

"As we grew older, I started to hear the whispers. The stories that would float through the halls, passed between servants and nobles alike. Tales of a connection so rare and profound that even dragons could sense it."

He paused, his eyes searching yours, as if gauging your reaction. "I never put much stock in those stories. They seemed like fairy tales, meant for songs and legends, not for real life. But then..."

Jacaerys' free hand came up to cup your cheek, his touch feather-light and reverent. "Then I realized that after all these years, I still feel the same way. That instinct to be near you, to seek out your company, to find joy in your presence – it never faded. If anything, it's only grown stronger."

Your heart was pounding now, each beat echoing in your ears. Jacaerys' words hung in the air between you, heavy with implication and unspoken emotion.

"Jace," you whispered, your voice barely audible. 

He smiled then, a soft, vulnerable expression that made him look younger, more open than you'd ever seen him. "I spoke to my mother today about something I've known in my heart for a long time. Something I think – I hope – you might feel too."

Jacaerys took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving yours. "I asked her for permission to court you. Properly, openly, with the intention of... of marriage, if you'll have me."

The world seemed to still around you, narrowing down to just this moment, just the two of you standing in the soft candlelight of your chambers. Jacaerys' words echoed in your mind, each one carrying the weight of years of unspoken feelings, of a connection that had grown so gradually and yet so powerfully that it took your breath away.

"Jace," you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper. "You're the prince, the future king. Surely there are political considerations, alliances to be made-"

He shook his head, cutting off your words with a gentle squeeze of your hand. "I don't care about politics or alliances," he said firmly. "Not when it comes to this. Not when it comes to us. I want to choose for myself, remember? And I choose you. I've always chosen you."

Your heart felt like it might burst from your chest, a mix of joy and disbelief coursing through you. "And your mother? What did she say?"

Jacaerys' smile widened, his eyes sparkling with barely contained happiness. "She said yes. She said she's known for years that this was where my heart lay. And she... she approves. Of you. Of us."

You felt tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, overwhelmed by the enormity of what Jacaerys was offering. A future together, open and acknowledged, no longer hidden in stolen moments and meaningful glances.

"I... I don't know what to say." you murmured, your free hand coming up to rest on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm. 

He leaned in closer, his forehead resting gently against yours. "Say yes," he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. "Say you'll let me court you, that you'll consider a future with me. That's all I ask."

The joy that lit up Jacaerys' face was radiant, brighter than any dawn you'd ever seen. He pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around you in a tight embrace. You could feel his heart racing, matching the rhythm of your own.Your throat tightened, words catching somewhere deep inside as you stared into Jacaerys' eyes. His forehead pressed softly against yours, his breath warm and steady, while your heart raced uncontrollably. The truth of everything he had said wrapped around you, too much to process all at once. You had dreamed of this – of him – but you never imagined hearing it, feeling it, like this.

Your chest swelled with emotions too big to contain, the joy so sharp it almost hurt. A smile tugged at your lips, so wide it made your face ache, but you couldn’t stop it. You didn’t want to stop it.

Jacaerys was offering you everything. A future, his heart, and the freedom to choose him. His words echoed in your mind, soft but sure: I choose you.

You didn’t know what to say, didn’t trust yourself to speak without your voice cracking. All you could feel was the overwhelming happiness surging through you. He wanted this. He wanted you. The enormity of it all made you dizzy.

Without thinking, without planning, you moved – instinct, just like he said. Your hand tightened slightly on his chest, pulling him closer, your heart hammering as you closed the distance between you.

Jacaerys barely had time to react before your lips met his, soft and sudden, a rush of emotion driving the kiss. His breath hitched in surprise, but it only took a heartbeat for him to respond, his free hand sliding to the small of your back, gently drawing you closer.

His fingers pressed gently into your skin, grounding you both in the here and now, in the quiet certainty of what was happening between you. What started as a tender, soft press of lips quickly became more – a release of everything unsaid, everything that had simmered between you for so long. His mouth moved against yours with urgency, one hand cupping the back of your neck, the other tightening its hold on your waist, pulling you impossibly closer.

Your hands found their way into his hair, fingers tangling in the dark strands, tugging slightly, and you felt Jacaerys’ breath hitch against your lips. His mouth parted, and without hesitation, you responded in kind, the kiss growing wetter, more breathy as his tongue slid against yours in a slow, tantalizing dance. The taste of him, warm and intoxicating, made your knees weak, but Jacaerys held you steady, his body pressed firmly against yours.

The room felt smaller now, the air charged with the heat between you. His touch was everywhere – his hands roving across your back, your sides, as if trying to memorize the shape of you. You gasped softly into the kiss as his fingers trailed down your spine, the sensation sending shivers through your body. 

Every breath was shared, every movement synchronizing as you poured every unspoken word, every hidden desire, into this moment. His lips, soft and insistent, claimed yours with a raw, palpable need, his tongue flicking gently against yours, teasing, exploring, drawing small, breathless sounds from you that only spurred him on.

The world outside ceased to exist, fading into nothingness as Jacaerys pressed you back against the nearest wall, his body solid and warm against yours. His kiss grew more passionate, his breath ragged as he angled his head, deepening the connection between you. The taste of him, mixed with the faint scent of salt and wind from the sea, enveloped your senses, making you dizzy with want.

You could feel the rapid rise and fall of his chest, the warmth of his breath mingling with yours as his lips parted further, the kiss becoming open, wetter, more desperate. He kissed you like a man who had waited years to do so – his lips, his tongue, exploring you with a reverence that made your pulse race, made your skin burn.

His hand slid down your side, lingering at your hip before pulling you flush against him, and the feel of his body pressed against yours made a low, breathy sigh escape your throat. You felt Jacaerys respond, a soft groan rumbling deep in his chest as his hand slipped beneath your tunic, his fingers skimming the bare skin at your waist. The touch was gentle, reverent, but it sent a fire through your veins.

He broke the kiss for only a moment, his forehead resting against yours, both of you gasping for air, breaths mingling in the heated space between you. His eyes, dark with desire, searched yours, and in that brief moment of silence, you saw everything – years of unspoken feelings, of longing, of love. 

Jacaerys' breath came in short, ragged bursts, his forehead still pressed against yours as he tried to steady himself. His fingers, warm and trembling, grazed the skin at your waist, the sensation grounding you both in this fragile, beautiful moment. 

When he finally spoke, his voice was hoarse, breathy, but filled with a raw honesty that made your heart clench. "I used to believe," he whispered, his lips brushing yours as he spoke, "that you were a gift... sent by the gods." His thumb traced a slow, reverent circle along your hip, his gaze searching your face like he was still in awe that you were here, with him. "Even when I was little, I thought... maybe they made you just for me. Maybe that's why... I could never stay away."

His words wrapped around your heart, tightening with a tenderness that made your breath hitch. Jacaerys had always been a steady presence, always at your side, but to hear it now – to hear that he'd felt this way, even as children – left you speechless. 

His hand cupped your cheek, thumb brushing lightly over your skin as he stared into your eyes. "I’ve wanted this for so long," he murmured, voice shaking with emotion. "Longer than I even understood."

His confession hung in the air between you, soft and fragile, yet so filled with meaning it made the weight of his feelings unmistakable. You could see it in his eyes – the years of unspoken longing, of a quiet yearning that had finally spilled over.  

As Jacaerys held you, his breath fanning over your lips, you became aware of the subtle scent clinging to him – the faint, calming fragrance of freshly picked lavender, mingling with the salty tang of the sea. It was an unexpected but gentle contrast, delicate yet grounding. The lavender must have been tucked in his pocket, its presence weaving into the natural scent of him, a gentle reminder of the day you told him it suited him.

Jacaerys’ thumb continued to trace slow circles against your cheek, his eyes still fixed on yours with a look so tender it made your heart ache. The lavender lingered, soft and sweet, mixing with the warmth of his body, the salt of the sea. It was intoxicating, wrapping around you like the feel of his arms, like the weight of his confession.

In the quiet of your chambers, with the soft glow of candles casting a warm light around you, you and Jacaerys held onto each other, savoring the start of something new, something that had been years in the making. And somewhere in the distance, as if sensing the shift in the very air around you, you could have sworn you heard the contented rumble of a dragon, approving of the love that had finally been acknowledged between its rider and the one who had stolen both their hearts.

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[abysswalkerastraea1]

Concurrent Resurgence

A staggering impossibility had occurred on the night of your death. And now, reborn and unhinged; bound to that creature they call the Miles County Clown, you'd witness first-hand just how far your depravity could go.

17k words

Size kink

Art is so dominant I needed an outlet to express this

A staggering impossibility had occurred on the night of your death. Just like any regular woman, you screamed and cried and ran from the miles county killer, in a state of frenzy and terror up until the very end.

Your life hung on the precipice as you lay upon the ground, torn open from the midsection and gasping on wet breaths, watching that demonic clown hunker down low, leaning over your friend Vicky as he devoured her face.

You remembered the world becoming dimmer and dimmer, wondering when you'd be devoured next, hoping to God you'd die first so that you didn't have to feel the excruciating pain Vicky had.

Your wish had been granted mercifully, the sound of police sirens and shouting fading out as you heard the final cacophony of a gunshot, and then your world turned black.

Lying as a bloodied corpse in the morgue, you didn't expect to open yours eyes ever again, life beating steadily throughout you even as something dark and heavy like lead anchored you boundlessly to miles county.

You came to the conclusion that you and Art miraculously died at the same time, yours from your injuries while his was from a gunshot to the head. You both breathed your last breath, and now you were both alive.

It was as though his dying soul had latched onto your corpse, a shard of it replenishing what should have been dead and burdening you with rot, decay and evil.

Art had tried to kill you on many occasions since then. He was pleasantly surprised at seeing you whole again, grinning and waving jovially, eager to murder you all over again, only..

You couldn't die, it was as though you were both the oxygen and the blood that keeps one another alive; if one dies, so does the other.

It took some back and forth, cat and mouse antics to learn this. He'd try and catch you, gripping you by the hair with a mallet in the other hand, bringing it down in a devastating blow. You think he realised something had changed when you caught his wrist with an incredible strength you never used to possess and forced his head through a break wall.

Art had given you something, and he cursed you because he knew he could never get it back.

You were two halves of the same coin, polar opposites and yet vastly similar now. Humanity remained within you, somewhere, but your emotions became dim, your morals deathly low, and evil began festering.

You became violent. Explosive, uncharacteristically wrathful. It didn't feel wrong, either. It felt good, and the effort it took not to absolutely maim someone was immeasurable.

Still, humanity lingered in certain things you did, and especially the way you processed emotions, even if they were as muddled as dirty water.

You and Arts lives were intertwined now, and although he had eventually gotten over the fact that he couldn't kill you, you saw him more often than you liked, your meetings often tedious and full of hate.

For the most part, him seeing you often resulted in the biggest, most dramatic eye roll you had ever witnessed, his middle finger sticking right up at you. He didn't find you fun anymore; you were as immortal as him, and that meant you were untouchable, as was he.

You don't know if it was coincidence or some sort of fucked up connection that made you cross paths so often. It made sense, considering a part of him lived within you.

And just like always, Art was there to make everything worse.

For the longest time you tried avidly to enter civilisation again, whether that be from trying to get a decent job, to going to parties and attempting to make friends, or even just simple things like getting your hair done and a manicure.

Half of you wanted your humanity to be in complete control again, enjoying the freedom of joy and life. The other half began condemning regular humans, wanting to be forcefully ostracised from society and it's confinement.

Parties didn't help. On your list of things that did help, partying was the absolute rock bottom. Your alcohol tolerance was still horrifically low, and your ire and hate for the people around you jumped tenfold.

So, all that would really happen is you'd try as politely as possible to make friends at a party, get rejected, and savagely smash their heads into nearby picture frames. Or whatever happened to decorate the wall.

You'd then drink, alone, and become devastatingly drunk. And of course each and every time, Art would find a spare minute or two to observe you once you made your horrible walk of shame home, appearing from the darkness just to point and laugh at you and buckle over.

With your newfound strength and wrath, this often led to fights with you being the instigator.

Bottle in hand, you smashed it into the clowns face viciously, watching his expression turn to one of dramatic shock as he fell backwards from the force, your drunk self falling with him.

You were so intoxicated that once you hit his body you could hardly stand back up. Head laid against his shoulder awkwardly, you groaned and tried to ground yourself with a hand against his chest, collapsing with your feeble attempts.

You winced as your face made contact with the floor all of a sudden, Art having pushed you off roughly with a grimace.

Art knew he couldn't kill you, but he could break your ribs for good measure, grinning at the sickening crack of his boot ramming into your side. It caused you to vomit and go unconscious.

You woke up the next day in broad daylight, laying in the piss stained alleyway littered with rats. Chunks of your vomit and dirt spelling out 'Whore' across your forehead.

Since then, you and Art had toned down your rivalry somewhat, no longer fighting like cat and dog every other night, viciously finding ways to carve each other up.

You avoided each other for the most part. On occasion Art would seek you out just to be an asshole, slicing your cheek with a scalpel just after you'd finished doing your makeup, which infuriated you. Or after having your hair freshly done, he'd smear questionable substances all over it.

You had gotten so angry at that, that you'd went to his rotten workplace and tore half of it down before he managed to stop you.

Art - having realised the repercussions of having an enemy that he could not kill, that would be around with him forever and that would ruin his artisan-level work - certainly toned down his pestering.

You didn't see sight of him for a month after that. Let the asshole cry and lick his wounds, you had thought joyfully.

And now, he breaks into your home like it was his own, eating from your fridge and using your shower. You detested it at the beginning, throwing fully fledged tantrums at the fact that no matter what, you could not kill him. And hurting him too badly would in turn hurt you.

It was something you came to accept. After almost a year of fighting and stubbornness, you both began to yield, realising a stalemate when you saw one.

Art no longer smeared literal shit in your hair and you no longer broke his weapons. Seemed fair.

On the two year mark, Art frequented your home even more. Probably because it had everything he needed, and it had gotten to the point that you didn't even bat an eye at him. You'd still fight, where he'd end up laughing and mocking you and you'd end up furiously screaming at him, but it never really escalated from there.

Physical confrontation did happen rarely, but nothing..drastic. That shard of him within you had made you struggle to control your anger even after two years.

And then other times you sat silently on your settee, blanket drawn up to your chin as you watched a horror film alone. Just like every night, Art would come in and ignore you, but sometimes he'd be curious as to what you were doing, and flop down beside you far too casually.

You'd spare him a neutral glance, carelessly throwing the end of your large blanket at him. He'd excitedly accept it. He viewed it as one of your ritualistic customs when watching something you deemed as scary. Him accepting the blanket meant he was curious to know just what this 'terrifying' movie was about.

"Okay so, they can't find the key to unchain themselves to escape, so that guy has to saw his leg off.", you elaborated quickly, watching the scene unfold.

It wasn't your favourite film but it was on TV at the moment. Art folded his arms, watching patiently as the story proceeded. Your attention eventually faltered as a text message came through.

You responded promptly before putting your phone down. Then, another came through, and another, and you'd giggle to yourself quietly, typing. Art lolled his head back and to the side, watchful. You never really used that device anymore, he wondered what it was that gripped you so much.

He didn't have to wonder much longer as he ripped your phone from your hands and darted up, standing to his full height as he swiftly perused the text messages.

You jumped up after him, reaching a hand up to grab at him only for him to lift the phone above his head, gaze staring up to read them.

"Give me my phone now! I swear to God Art I'll fucking--", the rest of your complaining fell on deaf ears. Art rolled his eyes, all you ever did was pull tantrums and shout. And you never shut up, prattling on about one thing or another, screaming profanities and empty threats that Art didn't even deign to laugh at anymore, that's how common they were.

Eyes scanning the messages, a grin began to grow on his face, until full fledged laughter erupted silently. You seethed at him, clawing at his hands to try and grab it. Art eventually gave in, rolling his eyes at your continued threats, putting a hand against your shoulder and roughly shoving you away, phone thrown into your lap as you fell against the settee.

Before he left, Art turned back with his horn held between his legs obscenely, stroking it with a surprised face, eyebrows high and lips forming an 'o' shape.

You glared at him, but couldn't deny the way your cheeks reddened as his stroking got faster and his eyes rolled back in mock euphoria. You folded your arms and shrugged; you had nothing to say to that. Yes you were sexting some random guy and yes you wanted some dick.

Art tipped his hat with a dead expression, his mimicry representing a gentlemanly 'farewell and adieu', and his expression reading 'desperate whore'.

Before he finally departed, Art held up a scissors in one hand and a pliers in the other. He snipped them sassily, threateningly, grinning all the while.

"Yeah, well, if he's shit you're more than welcome to use them on him." You assured, and you meant it too. This guy seemed a little odd anyway, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

Art seemed pleasantly happy with that, giving you a thumbs up with his back turned as he left the house in his Santa getup.

It was probably because you were overly horny, but...

No, you shook your head. Now is not the time to think of him like that. Honestly, you were getting more depraved every week.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You don't know what you were expecting, but it was.. anticlimactic.

You had become so sinful since your rebirth, average sex no longer doing it for you. The first guy was okay, an asshole, but okay. You tried so hard to be pleasant and normal but frustration and an unhinged desire coursed through you desperately.

It wasn't as though his dick wasn't to your liking, he was just so average and fucking human that you didn't even manage to get to the part that you desperately craved, your disgust evident.

Anyway, he seemed to think you had a bad attitude - you did - which led to arguing. You were not backing down and neither was he.

Raised voices turned into insults, both of you storming out of your bedroom and down the stairs as you reigned your anger in and told him to get out.

You could see Art from the front door, he must've came home at some point, focus taken from the TV as he watched you both scream at each other, boots propped up on your fucking coffee table which you told him not to do so many times-

And then your cheek was turning as this assholes hand met the side of your face.

You could feel your teeth clenching. Your face remained stoic, eyes burning with fury. You could see Art chuckling cruelly in the background, shoulders moving silently, incredibly invested in how this is going to play out.

It was only then did the asshole seem to notice a flash of black and white in the background, turning with an ugly scowl to the clown who now suddenly stood with a large smile, hands clenching and unclenching in anticipation.

He faltered, mild confusion and anger still evident in his scowl. An angry finger pointed in the clowns direction. "Who the fuck is that? You got a queue lining up after me, honey?" He spat the vile words at you, acidic and full of disgust.

You didn't have a chance to respond, lips quirking in mild amusement and eyes smouldered like a fiery, dark pit. The man scoffed, rolling his eyes at the demonic clown, before gazing back down at you with his lips snarling enough to bare his teeth.

"I knew there was something off about you, you fucking slut. Too proud to put out and, let's be honest," the man gave you a slow, disgusting once over, "not much to look at."

Something in you snapped, but all that came out was a gentle, breathy laugh, your eyes shining and dancing with a peculiar emotion. You wonder what it reflected. Judging by the way Art tilted his head from afar, assessing, before beginning to chuckle to himself even more, it must've been something ominous.

"What the fuck are you laughing at, asshole? Want me to come over there and give you something to really laugh at?!" The man roared at Art from across the room, utterly furious, fists clenched until the knuckles turned white.

Art began pointing and laughing now, wide eyed and crazed as he nodded vigorously as though to say 'please do!'

Before he could, you gripped his arm gently; your expression depicted a mocking sense of disappointment. "I've ruined your night, and wasted all of your precious time." You huffed, throwing your hands up in the air in defeat for him, indignant at yourself. "And like you said, I'm really not looking my best, am I? I apologize.", you smiled sweetly up at him, eyes squinted almost cutely.

The man paused at your admittance, evidently not used to any woman ever agreeing with him. He relaxed somewhat, nodding to himself as though to say yes, you are the problem, not him.

Arts dark eyes bored into your form, entranced, unsmiling, deadly.

"I'll make it up to you."

Your smile spread eerily wide, slow and deliberate and full of glee, frozen on your face. There was something ominous about you, mouth spread so far it looked as though you were doing a poor imitation of how a human should smile. It was too wide, too happy, unnatural. Slowly, you made your way to the kitchen.

The man appeared shocked and faltered, squinting at you as though to decipher what's going on. It felt like his eyes deceived him, searching desperately. Did he hear wrong? Did he miss something? Turning back towards the clown for some semblance of an answer, he seemed to have vanished. There was no trace of him ever being there, and there was no sound.

All was too silent, too calm, and it made his nerves stand on end, unsure, horrifically uncertain about everything he had just witnessed. He needed to leave.

The man tensed, back stepping at the sudden eeriness. It was so quiet, in fact, that part of his mind doubted that he had ever spoken to someone in the first place. Shaking his head, he turned to leave. There had to be a logical explanation for all of this. Without another thought, he turned and made his way to the front door.

If not that, then the knife embedded in his back surely did.

His keys suddenly dropped to the floor from his hand. The sound was loud, and would probably shock anyone out of a daydream.

Though, a second later, the horrific cry that surely tore his vocal chords was loud enough to make it evidently clear that this was all very real.

The life that had been temporarily drained from the house now sprung to life viciously, all at once.

Gripping a fistful of his hair, you dragged him roughly through your living room, kicking him so hard in the chest he convulsed, air struggling to enter his wheezing lungs. Blood covered his chin, eyes wide and unable to comprehend these sudden events; Questions swirled in his horrified orbs.

Lips curling in disgust, you jumped on top of him and began violently beating him. The man struggled hard, trying to buck you off of him and attack you back but to no avail. You were as immovable as a wall, face stoic and nonchalant as the man flailed back and forth, desperate to escape.

His eyes were wide, terrified, blood pouring down his face. In a flash, you held his fist tightly, catching it before it could make contact with you. You began to chuckle, mirth dancing in your irises, squeezing so hard you could feel the bone snapping.

It wasn't normal, this level of power, but it felt so beautifully natural to you, something dark and radiantly evil crying out in glory at your actions, delightfully satisfied.

He roared in pain, tears involuntarily streaming down his face, hand mangled and deranged looking as he cradled it to his chest. He shuddered violently, eyes wild in horror. "What the fuck are you?!"

"Me?", you thought aloud softly, bloody hand to your chin contemplatively as you stared up at Art, who was so suddenly by your side that it made the man flinch and choke on his breath in fright.

"I'm a..slut, right? That's the word you used?" You looked at the man for confirmation, who shook his head swiftly in regret, face contorting miserably as he realized his grave error. He began to sob.

You gazed up at Art, who was clenching his hands rhythmically again, laughter shaking his shoulders. There was more than satisfaction at watching this asshole get beaten; almost a hidden connection of evil sparking between you both. He was corrupting you, but you yourself made these choices. You, avidly, enjoyed this outcome.

"Is that right, Art? He said slut, didn't he?", you hummed in thought, scratching your head for an answer. Your crimson hands dyed your hair a terrifying red as you curled a lock thoughtfully between your fingers.

Art nodded slowly, unable to take his eyes off the way your blue orbs became corrupted, like sediment contaminating a clear pool. They shined as black as his now.

"It's funny," you began with a dreamy sigh, eyelashes fluttering back down at the miserable sight below you. The whites of your eyes appeared disturbingly bloodshot. "For being such a slut, I haven't managed to get a good look at you yet. We didn't get too far earlier, did we?"

The man below you was hyper ventilating now, shaking his head furiously, knowing and fearing where this was going. His mangled hand joined the other in what looked like to be a feeble prayer, chest rising and falling rapidly. "I-Im sorry! Youre not a slut, you're--youre stunning and I'm so, so fucking sorry--"

Your act dropped then, eyes dead and void. A sense of dread hung heavy in the air for this man; There was no way out, and no amount of pleading would change that. You lifted your knife carelessly in the air, twirling the weapon hauntingly. The look the man gave you would stay in your memory for a while, it was full of pure, unadulterated terror.

You brought the knife down, slicing in his groin. The man screamed so loud you thought his vocal chords had torn. Blood pooled around you, soaked you, bathed you in a pretty crimson to match your nails.

Art was a hysterical mess, hunched over and pointing and laughing, miming a condescending, fake sobbing at the pathetic man. He held a sinister mirth in his eyes, absolutely buckled.

Grotesquely, you dug your hands into the gaping wound you had made in the man's genitals, rummaging around with the sounds of squelching blood permeating the air. Finding what you were looking for, you held it up high between your finger and thumb, expression holding that all too familiar disappointment.

Your lips quirked, "Not such a big man now, are you?"

Art was rife with laughter and joyfulness, and before you knew it, your giggling turned into cackling, blood smeared all over yourself as you held your stomach, tears falling down your cheeks in sick, dark satisfaction.

You hadn't laughed this hard in years, hadn't felt this liberated and happy in a while. Everytime you calmed down, giggles becoming quiet, Art would hold up the castrated organ absurdly, wiggling it like an ugly worm with a look of surprise on his face, eyebrows high and mouth open, and you'd be on the floor cackling madly once again.

It must've been a grotesque sight, you on your knees upon the floor, blood sinking so deeply into your clothes you wondered if it would come out, wiping tears of laughter away only to smudge deep streaks of red across your cheeks. You looked like an animal, rabid and violent.

Art gazed down at your crazed form with a smirk of satisfaction, chaos swirling in his eyes. It was as though he had been waiting for that part of him to corrupt you, for your anger to explode, for your unhinged desires to manifest.

After some time, everything fell peacefully quiet. It was comfortable, and dare you say amicable. Your breathing was the only sound in the room, slowing down as you gazed down at the way your feet were absolutely soaked red.

Leaning back on your hands, you caught sight of the demonic clown with his arms folded, leaning against the wall. He seemed serene, no longer smiling but definitely not frowning either. His black eyes perused the coating of blood on the floor, making their way up to study you deliberately.

His stare was intense, and you couldn't stop your cheeks from lifting upwards into a smile. Pushing yourself to a stand, you grimaced at the mutilated body on the floor and shivered in disgust.

You nudged at the corpse with your foot, cringing. "Maybe mortal men just aren't for me, anymore. "Though," you began as an afterthought, "even if I had a boyfriend, you'd probably kill him anyway." You sighed, fully acknowledging this.

You weren't even aggravated by that fact anymore. It would've really angered you once, but what's the point? You and Art seemed bound together forever, by the looks of it. You couldn't imagine him sitting idly with another person in the house. But then again, neither would you.

Art deliberated, gazing upwards in brief thought, before shrugging too. Yeah, probably. Just to get under your skin, mostly. And maybe an inkling of something else. He finally nodded, eyes staring down at you from his nose, like an old librarian with their glasses on the end of their nose. Snobbish. He had a reputation to up hold, you know. His nonchalant expression read 'well, you're not wrong.'

You scoffed, though offered a small smile nonetheless. He was amusing. For a silent clown, he was awfully verbal with his theatrical ways.

But now you began to think solemnly; What you just did - the killing, the maiming, the castrating - was vile. It was unforgivable, sickening. Your human half knows this, and something is conflicted within you. It felt like two halves of yourself were at war.

Even still, you felt joy. And you know that's wrong, and it's absolutely maniacal. But what's even more astounding is right here, on a late Saturday evening, you and that stupid clown stood with an air of tranquillity and comfort, together. If this was two years ago, you'd be within inches of maiming each other.

Like a domesticated couple, Art got to work on disposing of the body, dragging it with ease to your back door, before disappearing. It left a streak of smudged red on your tiles. You got to work cleaning, rolling your sleeves up as you hunted for something to make your floor shine again. It took a while, but he was gone for some time anyway.

By the time everything was relatively tidy, it was past midnight. The stain on the floor had disappeared thankfully, and you felt refreshed after a hot bath, changing into comfortable pyjamas and fluffy socks.

You sat in your bed, blankets pulled comfortingly up to your stomach. Your bedroom was filled with dim lights, and they had their necessary effect of making you feel content.

You had chosen a random film to watch on tv. It didn't really matter which one because your thoughts were otherwise occupied. It played serenely in the background, but something was bothering you.

A part of you felt slightly deflated. You were still undeniably frustrated and borderline desperate to have this desire quelled within you, and now that you had a moment to yourself, it barrelled to the forefront of your mind.

It was a ridiculous feeling, but you couldn't help that you were so pent up. Maybe you were ovulating. That did tend to make your hormones go haywire.

Even still, you hadn't long killed a man. It would be wrong to..indulge after that, wouldn't it? You pursed your lips in thought, two sides of yourself fighting menacingly. You couldn't tell if your good was being corrupted, or if Arts evil that had tainted you had brought out repressed, dark feelings that most humans surely kept hidden.

You didn't feel guilty, which was peculiar. Your nature before meeting Art often held a lot of empathy. You could feel yourself shifting, but you could never pinpoint the change until it had already been demonstrated. From the way Art pierced his black eyes into you, you bet he could see the transformation easily.

Your thoughts were interrupted as the background noise of the TV suddenly became incredibly interesting to your brain. You paused, peering at the TV as the sounds of quiet gasps and sloppy kissing filled your room.

It wasn't even particularly erotic, but..

Even just the sounds had your pulse increasing ever so slightly. In your desperate state of mind, it was easy to imagine how that messy kissing felt, tangled up in somebody else, remembering the feel of bolts of arousal shooting down your body in tingles as it became more passionate, more eager.

You were in a trance, frozen as you watched and drank up every detail. Male hands gliding down a womanly figure, cupping her heavy breasts and listening to the shaky inhales and exhales she made, back arching into his hands needily.

You felt a hot warmth bloom in your abdomen, a pulse beating steadily between your thighs. How were you so affected by this? You weren't even just mildly turned on, you were in a state of full blown arousal, a stickiness oozing between your legs. You felt like some of that was from earlier, mostly from the anticipation of sex rather than the futile attempts that asshole made on you.

The image now depicted the man positioning the woman on her hands and knees, readying her. You gripped your blanket, wanting so badly to be touched like that again and actually enjoy it.

Your eyes were fixated on the screen, hyper analysing every detail you could take in. The world around you faded.

The actor on screen gripped the woman's hips roughly, situating himself behind her. He gave her no time to prepare before sinking in slowly, and you watched the way her lips spread open in a quiet moan, brows furrowed and chest rising and falling rapidly.

A wave of heat flashed through you, making you warm enough that you had to kick the blanket off your person. What film was this? It was incredibly pornographic, not that you were complaining..

Your bottoms were next to go, tossed haphazardly to the floor; you were sweltering. Granted, the room was far too warm anyway, but what you were witnessing on screen had you in a completely different state of over heating.

All you had on now was a pair of black, silky underwear and an oversized top. You felt dishevelled, and sighed as the scene ended far too quickly for your liking and the TV adverts started to play.

You watched on in boredom as Christmas adverts began popping up colourfully with the sound of bells ringing. You felt mildly irritated, your arousal fizzling considerably, but still prominent. You were left with the sticky reminder between your thighs, head lolling back against your bedframe.

Your head rolled to the left, eyes staring down your nose at the sight of your bedside drawer. Specifically, the one that held a lot of intimate objects. You felt a little cautious using the vibrator because knowing Art, he'd curiously come up to see what the noise was; he seemed to have acute hearing.

But if you went under the blankets, vibrator hidden between your thighs, there's no way he'd hear that. Your door was firmly shut and the buzzing was incredibly muffled under your duvet. You'd be quiet and keep it on the first setting.

You were astounded once again at just how wound up and sensitive you are, vibrator delicately touching your clit as your phone displayed a pornographic video.

The cock on the screen was a good size, and as you watched it's girth spread the woman's puffy labia, a sudden desperation gnawed through you. You pressed the vibrator onto your clit more directly, the bottom of your t shirt caught between your lips as your tits jutted out prettily on display, nipples pert.

You bit down on the fabric to quell your whines of delight, breathing sharp and fast through your nose as the vibrating against your clit became over whelming, body alight with a white hot fire that spanned from your abdomen down to your toes.

Your sodden hole clenched needily, you wanted to be filled but you needed a man to do that. You wanted to receive a worthy dick that would split you in half just like the woman on your small screen.

The scene changed abruptly, and what was shown next had your hips bucking desperately into the vibrator, teeth now clenching the fabric hard as your breathing became heavy through your nose, pleasure intensifying.

The man had the woman on her knees, his member shoved ruthlessly into her mouth as he gripped a fistful of her hair and used her like a toy. Saliva decorated her mouth, and you watched with rapt attention as the mans heavy balls slapped her chin; it all seemed degrading, but..

A moan escaped you, muffled, and your back arched as you moved a hand between your thighs and touched the outside of your entrance; you were absurdly wet, sinking straight through your underwear and smearing your inner thighs.

You so desperately wanted to grab the dildo from your draw and push it deep within yourself, hard, but you refrained. Your climax was approaching anyway, and you could hardly stop yourself from whining at the thought of being the woman on the screen, sucking a hard dick as you made a messy pool of wetness below you, begging to be split apart.

From there, it was a hasty descent into blinding pleasure, your wariness dimming as low moans escaped your lips. Your eyes were shut now, permanent soft frown creasing your eyebrows as you were so close to your peak, cresting at the very precipice--

A loud bang resounded in your room, loud enough to drag you out of your delirious stupor. Your eyes shot open in annoyance, wondering if you had kicked your remote control off of the bed, but then your blood turned to ice in your veins.

In fact, you sat so absurdly shocked that all movements ceased, eyes wide and unblinking at the now ajar door of your bedroom which you definitely, without doubt, unequivocally, had shut earlier.

You blinked rapidly, vibrator dropping from your hand. It buzzed obscenely on the bed with a sheen of lubrication covering the tip, but you hardly registered it.

The door was less than halfway ajar, your dark hallway the only thing you could see, and..

A hand flew to your mouth in utter mortification, cheeks flaming crimson. You felt dizzy with a multitude of emotions.

A messy, hand written note was celotaped to your door. In jagged, capital letters spelled 'Art was here'. With a crude, childish winky face drawn beside it.

Your breathing increased suddenly, limbs shaking with not only the almost-orgasm you were about to receive, but also the unusual fluttering of your stomach in nervous humiliation and something else.

You felt severely perplexed, biting your nails as you tried to reminisce, tried to pinpoint when and how he had opened the door without you knowing and celotaped that preposterous note to your door. How was that even possible?

Clearly, Art wanted to grab your attention just as you were about to orgasm, most likely banging your wall from the hallway, hard. It sounded like a picture frame had fallen.

That made sense. At the very least, one thing did. But what about the rest, how was he able to furtively open your door, noiselessly, undoubtedly watching you?

You bolted up straighter, eyes darting around anxiously. Oh my God, he hadn't just intuitively known you were touching yourself, he must've heard something. Were you loud? You couldn't remember, you were so dazed.

Your mind created pictures of your thoughts, envisioning him opening your door just a crack and--

Your hands covered your face. You were so embarrassed. Had he been watching you? He surely had. And alongside this humiliation, why did you feel a flutter of nervous excitement roll through you? Were you so depraved?

Your hands kneaded your blanket, gripping handfuls and releasing rhythmically. Holy God, Art had made you feel many things over the years.

Hatred, annoyance, recent joy and laughter, fear, anxiety, you could go on and on, but this?

This was something new. And yeah, maybe he only did it to get under your skin. What better way to mortify a woman than catching her red handed, touching herself, and calling her out on it?

But..

Your thoughts took it a step further.

Was there..any other reason?

You bit your lip in contemplation, arms wrapped around yourself comfortingly. At some point over the past two years, brief thoughts of the demonic clown had entered your mind, fleeting sexual thoughts that left as quickly as they came.

Because, well, you were evidently desperate at this point. And he had a certain charm about him, once you got passed the ire you once held for him. And he was a man, or in a man's body, anyway.

Your mind swirled with questions, dirty thoughts, and unending embarrassment each time you realised he probably saw everything that you did.

And he probably saw the way your teeth gnawed into your shirt to silence yourself, heavy breasts poking out beneath, fully exposed, expression one of unbridled, desperate pleasure.

Your heart beat felt like it was in your ears, anxiety high. The door remained open for a reason. He wanted you to come out, and then wanted to absolutely humiliate you.

You got along a lot better now, as evidenced earlier, but that didn't mean that he'd stop messing with you.

Begrudgingly, you knew that even with your enhanced abilities and strength, you were no match for him. If he wanted to truly be hidden, he would. If he wanted to truly be swift and unseen in his movements, he would be.

You often found your bizarre abilities only worked when you were angry, or felt some sort of negative emotion.

Otherwise, you were just a regular human, having no control over that shard of terror that lingered within you from your rebirth.

Steeling your nerves, you took slow steps towards the door. You were still clad in your long t shirt and fluffy socks, and schooled your expression into one of stern stoicism.

You couldn't avoid that asshole forever.

Gripping the door handle, you stepped fully into the darkness of the hallway, enveloped. Standing still for a few moments, you realised he obviously wasn't outside your door, waiting to terrify you.

Swallowing nervously, you made your way downstairs. The stairs groaned and creaked like they always did, but it sounded absolutely deafening to you as it signalled your descent.

Out of everything that he had ever done to you - from killing you, to breaking your bones, stabbing you and everything else - this made you feel the most vulnerable.

Your living room was pitch black, not a single light illuminating the area. You held your breath, listening as intently as you could.

Silence.

Your throat felt too dry to call out to him. You knew your voice would shake, your words would stammer. It would make the situation even more shameful, so you remained quiet.

Your eyes surveyed the living room in darkness, honing in on any unnatural shadow that seemed a little too eerie; he wasn't here. That frightened you more than if he had taken this moment to jump out at you.

Uneasy frustration welled up within you. Not only had your pleasure been ripped away from you, your legs uncomfortably sticky, but now you felt incredibly exposed.

Inhaling deeply, you glared holes into your kitchen door. Two things could happen here: Either he was in there waiting to scare the hell out of you, or he wasn't in there at all, making you more on edge.

You pushed the door open, trailing inside with faux confidence, switching the lights on.

Nobody was here.

If anything, the kitchen was still surprisingly how you left it earlier - clean. Eyebrows drawing together into a scowl, you grabbed a glass of water, chair screeching as you took a seat.

Art must've pulled that trick on you and then promptly left, entering the night to no doubt destroy another victims life.

Brushing your dishevelled hair out of your face, you sat back against the chair defeatedly. Well, your emotions aren't going to change what's already happened, and you'd have to face that asshole at some point.

Evidently, tonight was not the night.

Glancing at the clock, you couldn't believe that it was already 3am. Your eyes felt heavy, your limbs felt weary and you were burnt out.

Peering around the kitchen, you realised that you must've left your phone upstairs.

That's fine, you needed to sleep anyway. Pushing yourself to a stand, you trudged sleepily up the shadowed stairs, rubbing at your burning eyes with the back of your hand.

You felt content at the moment to sleep off the crazy events of the day and worry about them tomorrow. Your door was open, just as you had left it, and the comforting glow of your warm lights that emitted from inside welcomed you with open arms.

Stepping into the safety of your room felt relieving, and as you turned back to close the bedroom door firmly, you came face to terrifying face with a chest.

You froze, mind pausing in fright at the sudden, tall body that blocked your doorway. You blinked rapidly, face displaying astonishment, and snapped your head up at the perpetrator, wide eyed.

What stared back down at you made caution well up inside you. Art stood tall, appearing out of thin air clad in his absurd Santa costume. It suited him, and the bulky material only served to make his structure appear even bigger, more menacing.

Your eyes fluttered up at him with uncertainty, darting rapidly between his face and his chest as you struggled to maintain his intense eye contact.

The clowns face was all sharp contours, edged smile of amusement plastered to his face as he leaned his shoulder against the doorframe, arms crossed languidly across his chest, widening his overall structure considerably. Has he always been this big?

He watched you with a wide, salacious grin, eyes alight and unwavering, and from the glint in his eye you knew what was about to come.

You swallowed, feeling your mask of neutrality betraying you as your body heated up, displaying a pink hue to your complexion. You didn't know what to say, how to act. Art could see this, the way you'd open your mouth only to close it, eyes darting around nervously.

You were usually so full of complaints, insults and incredibly argumentative when he had 'crossed the line', as you so often called it. As he so often did. Since your rebirth, you were all fire and wrath, near enough ripping his head off for something as simple as leaving a bloody mess on your floors or your door handles, if he didn't clean it anyway.

Of course, Art had begrudgingly agreed with you long ago to cease the truly harsh fighting, but that didn't mean that you didn't bicker, in a sense. He liked your ire, the way your teeth would grind together in anger, the way you'd go into an absolute fit if he threatened to childishly mess with your makeup and clothes, or anything you held valuable, really.

It was funny, and he knew you secretly got a kick out of it. Once the cat and dog game was over, you'd snap back to being a sweet, little human. It was interesting, and so amusing.

But this? Art peered down at you deliberately, perusing your flushed exterior with a smug, self satisfied grin.

He had been looking for new ways to get you to crack. So far, everything annoying he did was met with your aggressive screeches, and that was fine. But he needed something juicy, needed something that would really bother you, rile you up.

For a while, he struggled to find anything. He couldn't go too far with his schemes - you were both bound together, after all, so that would be met with futility.

He truly enjoyed bothering you, that was true, but his methods got boring. What could he possibly do that would make you think twice, or go silent? What would really shock you, make you revert back into your humanity, so full of emotion?

As a point of reiteration, he could have done many crude, evil and horrific things, but he couldn't because of your peculiar connection. So, he had to settle for something that was..bearable to you, but also astounding.

He came across this opportunity by pure chance. He knew what you got up to behind closed doors, you were a needy thing, but he didn't really think twice about it. He kept the knowledge of it quiet, however, just in case he ever needed to utilise it for fun.

It didn't interest him, initially. He enjoyed inflicting pain, mentally and physically, so the fact that you would so often touch yourself to induce pleasure wasn't particularly within his territory of fixations. He had other things that kept him occupied.

However, hearing your laboured breathing and quiet little moans had piqued his interest on this particular day. He had no reason for that, other than the simple fact that he wanted to spy on you. It was an urge that came by on a whim; it meant nothing, it is nothing, but Art often acted spontaneously on how he felt in the moment.

Mortal flesh did so often have its urges.

And a light bulb certainly lit up within his mind - this was the perfect way to humiliate you.

He had watched the way you gnawed at your t-shirt to keep quiet, pretty pert tits on display as you brought yourself closer and closer to completion. Art had grinned wickedly at the scene, hands fisting and shaking in excitement at the thought of never letting you live this down.

But, upon watching further, witnessing the way your head lolled back pleasurably, back arching and legs splayed wide in pure need, he couldn't deny the barely restrained desire to storm in and tease you until you were wracked with sobs.

Art had frowned in puzzlement at that feeling - it was incredibly rare for him - but his smile soon returned, shrugging as he accepted his feelings. If anything, this would only serve to embarrass you even more, he thought.

And now, dark eyes trained on your rapidly warming face, Art was enraptured by the amount of emotion that seemed to demonstrate itself. Your expressions changed quickly, and the details were minuscule, but he could see you entering a vicious cycle of bewilderment, embarrassment, anger and self consciousness.

It was as though your brain didn't know whether to lash out or guard itself. It was entertaining.

The silence hung heavily. Arts position remained the same, leaned casually against the doorframe, and yours remained as rigid and tense as ever. Your mind felt muddled. With a slow breath, your expression fell flat. Even still, you couldn't look him in the eye, and instead glared heavily at his chest.

"Stop it.", you began with a quiet, indignant scowl, chastising him. Your eyebrows drew together, so incredibly uncertain. His eyes bored holes into you and it was making you squirm. You were too stubborn to turn away.

Even still, you'd admit defeat temporarily. You didn't have the energy to battle him right now. With a huff, you turned on your heel and made your way to the bed, exasperatedly throwing your arms up into the air.

"Fine, stay there and stare all night for all I care; I'm tired." But you did care, didn't you? It gnawed at you.

Barely making it to the bed, you stopped abruptly at the sound of fingers snapping at you once, twice, seeking your attention. With a roll of your eyes, you slowly turned to look at him, expression thunderous. "Art, I'm not in the mood for this, and-- is that my phone?"

You barely breathed the question in masked panic, eyes wide once more as your phone dangled teasingly from his fingertips, wide grin stretching impossibly further.

The clown shrugged softly as though to say 'maybe', shoulders beginning to move rapidly, rising and falling in laughter as he held a hand to his mouth in faux astonishment at whatever was showing on your phone.

He feigned a look of bashfulness, fanning his face for a moment, eyes fluttering, before pointing and laughing at you some more. Your face twitched in it's attempt to remain calm and neutral, but Art could see right through you.

Covering his eyes obscenely at whatever was on the screen, but still very clearly peeking through the gaps in his fingers, Art swiftly turned the phone around so you could have a look.

That's when your mouth went dry and heat began to pinken your face even more. On the screen displayed the porn you were looking at earlier. You must've forgotten to close the tab, leaving the video running.

The volume had been turned up far too loud, the sounds of slurping and moaning vibrating through your skull deafeningly. A woman on screen had her hair gripped hard in a fistful, the man above her sliding his thick length between her lips. The sounds were filthy, and so so loud. You gripped the sides of your face loosely in devastation.

This time, you stormed up to him furiously, lunging and making a grab for your phone. "Stop it!", you repeated, shrieking this time.

You missed the phone entirely as he lifted it higher. You seethed, teeth clenched in frustration as the sounds continued, except now they had increased exponentially. From the way the screen turned down at you, you could see the man lifting the woman's thighs over his shoulders before he--

You shook your head furiously, shame blooming deep within your chest as you roughly slapped a hand against his chest for leverage, trodding onto his boots on your tiptoes to try and make another grab for your phone.

The attempt was futile, art was so tall and his arms were so long that you could never reach it. Your body was pressed up against his own, stretching high to make even minor progress in retrieving your phone. You could feel your anger boiling, scowling as you reared an arm back and aimed a punch for his sternum.

Everything happened incredibly fast after that. Before you could make contact, your forearm was gripped hard, your body was spun and your arm was wrenched behind your back.

You yelped, back pressed firmly to his front. You jerked side to side rapidly, releasing a cry of frustration in your attempt to get out of his iron grip, but to no avail.

"Let me go right now!" You attempted to sound demanding and aggressive, but it came out whiny, your voice shaking. You could feel the clowns body vibrating with laughter behind you, hand so tight around your arm you couldn't move at all.

On any other day, when you and Art would undoubtedly get into situations like this due to his pestering, you had a far better chance of escaping because you were often angry.

But today, you felt..more vulnerable than anything. You felt so puny, so small and human and fragile. It was a dirty trick on his part, and it prevented your usual unnatural strength from bursting forth.

Well, even with that strength, you don't think you could truly win against Art anyway.

Tossing back and forth regardless, you huffed and cursed at him repeatedly, knees slightly bent from the way he held you tightly and put pressure on you.

"You're a fucking asshole!", you seethed, practically feeling the mirth roll off of him in waves at your predicament.

A strong hand wrapped it's way around your delicate jaw, holding firmly but not painfully. Your head was pushed upwards almost playfully, fingertips tickling the underside of your face.

You met your own scowling expression in the body length mirror that decorated your wardrobe doors. It was as long as the doors and just as wide, giving you a clear view of Arts smirking face hovering above you.

You took in your dishevelled complexion, hair a wild mess, face lightly perspiring and your long pyjama t shirt barely reaching just above your knee.

You were hunched slightly due to being immobilised, and the hand that cradled your jaw looked absolutely massive. It was big enough to crush your skull if he wanted to, big enough to easily smother your mouth and nose without actively trying to.

Your scowl had lessened considerably at this point, that vulnerable expression returning once more. From this view, you hadn't realised just how tall he was compared to you. He was lithe, but wearing that Santa costume made him fill out a little, appear wider.

On a normal day his size would swallow your stature whole, casting a shadow over you, but in that costume?

He looked huge.

The stark realisation of this, paired with the absurdly intimate way he had your back flush to his chest and his calloused hand wrapped around your jaw with a salacious smirk, forcing you to stare at him in the mirror - you couldn't help but flush.

You found that you couldn't look away, your head attempting to move only to have his grip tighten, his grin sharpening. He loomed above you like an evil blight, eyes dark and calculating.

The sounds of the video continued in the background, a particularly loud cry having drawn you out of your thoughts, and it caused you to flutter your eyes to the floor and away from his charcoal irises.

You couldn't deny the heat that began to flourish within you.

It only increased tenfold at the feeling of a firm hand slowly gliding it's way from your jaw, descending directly to your waist, then further to your hip, squeezing.

Your eyes widened, head snapping back up at the mirror in bewilderment. You were met with the sight of his rough hand caressing you, smiling all the while.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" You spat rapidly in disbelief, words shaken and sounding far weaker than you would've liked.

He had never done this to you before. Art liked to cause pain, not..

Not this. Not any semblance of pleasure, of intimacy. Your lips opened in a quiet gasp, body tingling as the heat of his hand drew circles along your hipbone before delving lower.

You jerked in his grasp, flushing heavily at the sight of his hand gliding lower and lower until his fingers played with the hem of your t shirt.

"D-dont you dare!", you squeezed your thighs together, body squirming against him with struggle. He had long since released your numb arm, and instead opted for wrapping a long arm around your waist, your head resting against his chest as his daring hand gripped the fabric of your t shirt and teasingly went to lift it, only to stop, awaiting your reaction.

His shoulders began to move with glee, chest vibrating. Your reactions were priceless as you squirmed and attempted to back away from his hand, only to back further into his body.

This infuriated you, your flushed complexion displaying panic and bashfulness.

Those mischievous fingers danced along your thigh, lifting the fabric once again, higher this time, before dropping it. His expression held one of mock surprise, lips downturned neutrally and eyes wide, eyebrows lifted.

"Don't-- don't do that! I mean it!", you whined miserably, heat encompassing your body. It caused him to pause, eyes snapping from your almost exposed thighs to your pleading gaze.

That sharp, predatory grin returned. The heat of his hand squeezed your thigh and slipped under the fabric, tickling the edge of your underwear, fingers playing with the intricate, laced detail.

Your breath shuddered, eyes wide, and you unconsciously moved a hand to grip at his wrist. Whether to push him away or pull him in, you didn't know anymore; you felt overwhelmed, and the way your chest rose and fell rapidly portrayed that.

Art snickered, unwrapping himself from your body and taking a step back, his boots thumping. With a playful roll of his eyes, he held his hands up in mock surrender, as though to reassure you that it was all a harmless joke, and attempted to smile softly, innocently. It made him appear all the more sinister.

You spun around on your heel, taking a step back yourself as you scrutinised his display of surrender. It was uncharacteristic. Despite that, Art shook his hands exasperatedly in the air, sighing as though to say 'it was a joke, don't you believe me?'

You shook your head slowly, lost for words. You couldn't speak, throat dry and mind racing. You wanted to run away.

Art rolled his eyes up to the ceiling, before rolling them back to you dramatically, grin plastered on his face. At your retreat, he experimentally took a step forward, rather comical if not for the situation, and chuckled at your jittery self.

You furrowed your brows, not falling victim to this act anymore. You were going to kick his ass tomorrow, but for now you needed to retreat into the safety of your blanket, tail between your legs. "Get out.", you pointed towards the door sternly.

Arts eyes followed your finger to the door, before blinking over to you once more. His gaze swept over your form, head tilting in thought. He began to smirk.

Before you could react, Art leapt forward three steps, making you yelp and scramble backwards, narrowly missing falling over the edge of your bed as you backed your way towards the wall.

The clown snickered again, standing up tall and no longer doing that comical hunched appearance when he lunged at you. Now, he stood to his full height, back straight and stature big, before his boots thudded along your floor as he slowly advanced in a predatory fashion.

"I swear to God if you come near me--", you pressed yourself against the wall, watching his looming figure get taller and taller.

Your neck craned upwards, stare defiant as he hovered above. Heavy hands suddenly planted themselves violently either side of your head, crowding you in.

You flinched, blinking rapidly at the way he leaned down to become eye level with you. Your cheeks were pink again, eyes darting across his face for an answer to his weird behavior. What the hell was going on?

He was alluring, you thought, and it made thoughts race in your mind. Was he going to suddenly hurt you? Was he truly just playing? Was he actively flirting with you in his sick type of way? You had never fell this silent in front of him before. You needed to gain equal ground against this asshole.

"That's enough. What, are you interested in me now?", you scoffed, daring to lean forward into his space, face so close to his you could feel his silent breath; it was a front, you felt jittery even now, but you wouldn't allow him to mess with you any longer.

Art grinned, not at all reacting to your faux bout of confidence. He shrugged half-heartedly, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. It left you dumbstruck. What he did next made heat spread so unbelievably throughout your body.

You were so flustered your head felt heavy, and it only increased tenfold as your wrist was gripped in his big hand, fingers limp and relaxed, before he brought the digits you had touched yourself with to his lips and slid them in slow.

You shuddered, inhaling sharply at this display of intimacy. His grip was slack on your wrist, seeming to omit to the fact that you could escape if you really wanted to.

But you didn't want to. The thought didn't even cross your mind, and his eyes narrowed in a knowing sense of smugness at that.

Arousal swelled in your lower belly, pooling between your thighs as Arts tongue danced between the seam of your fingers, the ticklish feeling sending tingles through your nerves.

Art peered down at you, mouth full of your fingers, his grin turning nasty as he bit them lightly. Despite the clear threat that he could rip them out of the socket, your eyes remained lidded, pupils blown wide and hand lax as you let him caress you with his tongue and teeth. Crowded so close together against the wall, he could hear your heart beat thumping.

Dropping your wrist from his grip, Art reached down, bending at the knees to hook two hands below your thighs. You cried out as you were lifted high, legs resting in his grip.

He did this with ease, as though you were weightless. Sitting down on the bed, he adjusted you so you could sit on his lap, facing away from him. You could see yourselves in the mirror.

Art hooked his legs between your knees and spread them open. You wiggled against his hold, embarrassed at your exposure. Your black, lacy underwear was displayed, t shirt bunching up at your hips. You couldn't bring yourself to snap at him to stop fucking with you because..

Well, you were eager, far more eager than you thought. Had you always harboured this feeling towards the clown?

You were crimson faced, lips quivering as you tried to make your expression as neutral as possible; He had you on his lap like he was actually Santa, and you were the one telling him what you wanted for Christmas.

The thought had you lowering your head in bashfulness. No innocent Santa would have you spread and bared like this one.

The expression Art made in the mirror was one of mock surprise, eyebrows high and mouth forming like a circle. Before you could even ponder about it, a large hand was brought down to your inner thigh, fingers inching their way further in, caressing the sensitive area before cupping your clothed sex.

You held your breath, staring stubbornly back at him in the mirror. His hand was warm, and you couldn't help but shudder at the feel of his hand trailing upwards slowly, dancing over your clitoris briefly, then your mound, and up to the waistband of your underwear.

His fingers dipped below the waistband, gauging your reaction, but you refused to give one. Cocking an eyebrow in curiosity, you felt his hand descend, lower and lower, fingers gliding over your silken lips before delicately resting over your hole.

You flushed darkly, gritting your teeth as Art made an even more astounded expression, shaking his head slowly as though to admonish you for the mess between your legs. His fingertips rubbed circles in the lubrication oozing out of you, dipping in slightly but never far enough.

A small sound escaped your throat, barely audible, but loud enough for him. A slow, smug smirk stretched his face wide, and you could only huff defiantly. "I-- That's not because of you! I was like this before you rudely interrupted, remember?" You pouted.

Art rolled his eyes, nodding his head in quick succession with a look of mock belief at your words. He knew you were lying and so did you. Then, with a sly grin, two fingers glided upwards towards your slippery clit.

You gasped that time, quiet but still embarrassingly deafening to yourself, gripping the fabric of his forearm tightly.

A tingling sensation flooded your system, your body shifting and legs widening. He continued to massage the area, direct and blissful. You bit your lip, unwilling to let him see how much you enjoyed this.

Art chuckled, shaking his head at you with a nasty grin, eyebrows low and cynical. His dark eyes swirled chaotically, full of challenge and amusement and something else.

Hand descending further into your soaked underwear, two fingers dipped into your slit, thoroughly lubricating his calloused fingers.

Art paused, winking at you in the mirror. You attempted to glare back at him in the reflection, but you lacked the effort, and instead your eyebrows were drawn together softly, lips parting as two fingers slid into you to the knuckles, delving deep and curling sinfully against your greedy walls.

"Oh!", you moaned, hips lifting instinctively. Art began to thrust his fingers into you deep and hard, listening to the lewd squelching and how it seemed to fluster you terribly.

The feeling was intense; you hadn't been properly touched in so long, so to feel his thick, rough fingers curling rhythmically within your hot core, it made your nerve endings sing and your hips buck.

You gripped his arm hard, gasping, body fully resting against his own, head lolled back against his shoulder. Arts shoulders shook with laughter, terribly amused by the sight of you falling apart, but he wanted more from you. He wanted to break you, he wanted to make an unintelligible mess of you.

You were so prideful, you'd never live this down.

A fist gripped your hair roughly, tangling the locks before his fingers began to pummel into you expeditiously. It was too much, too fast, and you couldn't help but kick your legs uselessly, crying out.

"Ah, ahh-- Stop it, too much--", you whined, panting as the sounds of your wetness became loud, thighs drenched. You could see in the mirror the way his hand moved ferociously, molding the fabric of your underwear.

Your pleas made him speed up, thrusting so hard and so fast you wailed, thrashing upon his lap and dampening the fabric of his costume.

This was what you wanted, you thought heatedly. You wanted someone to render you immobile, shatter your mind. The view of his sinister smirk boring holes into you was alluring, head forced backwards with the grip in your hair. It made heat prickle along your spine.

Your hips began to move with his fingers, desperately seeking more, any semblance of pride vanishing as you chased your high. Your constant grinding made you feel the thick, long length pressing up against your ass, and you couldn't help but moan wantonly, pushing yourself into it with need.

His hand was drenched in your fluids, and it made him snicker. If this was you now, imagine you later when he forced you to take his cock.

Suddenly, your underwear was torn off of you, exposing the image of his large hand going in and out, curling, and thrusting deeply. The visual was arousing, your eyes half mast and dilated.

His palm lifted suddenly and jerked back down with a quick, firm slap. You jolted, wincing at the sting it caused, but before you had a chance to return back to contentedness, it struck again.

Those sinful digits eased their way out of you, smoothing up the length of your puffy labia, cupping it soothingly. You sighed, panting lightly, body relaxed and pliant.

His hand was hot and it made you feel content.

This time, it was sharper, and you gasped, scrambling to sit up but being forced to remain where you were as an iron grip wrapped it's way around your midsection.

Again, that firm hand slapped your sensitive folds, and you whined miserably at the pain and pleasure it caused.

Your lips were beginning to darken red from his assault, and yet you were still undeniably wet from his ministrations.

Your legs began quivering from the overstimulation, and you drew them together, trapping his hand. He seemed to let you, tilting his head with a quirk of his lips.

"S-stop tormenting me. Can't take it, not today. Please, just..", you paused, gnawing at your lip; you didn't want to admit to him what you really needed.

Art blinked rapidly, almost innocently down at you. He held a cupped hand to his ear, his other hand waving for you to continue, as though to usher you to speak the words he knows you're going to struggle to admit.

You pouted petulantly, eyes sparkling with unshed tears from frustration and the light stinging of your folds. Your peak had been building, only to be abruptly halted.

"No," you groaned weakly, "don't make me say it, you asshole." Your words lacked any real ire, and instead sounded exhausted. You were so pent up, so desperate at this point. As soon as the offence left your lips, two fingers began circling around your clit, refusing to touch directly. Art all but smiled at you patiently, face splitting with glee.

You sighed softly at the soothing pleasure, head lolling back against his shoulder. It felt so good, and you tried to buck your hips to make his fingers slip over your clit, but to no avail.

This caused you to release a frustrated whimper, feebly bucking your hips again, but this time Art stopped his stroking altogether, fingers hovering above the area you needed them most.

"No, I-I'm sorry!", you rushed out insincerely, desperate for his touch. You could feel tears dancing along your lash line, threatening to spill pathetically.

"Don't stop. I.. I need this so badly. Please.", you relented, biting your lip nervously, eyes fluttering to the floor in shame. You felt that familiar vibration; he was laughing at you.

Even still, the clown did deliberate. On one hand, he could continue tormenting you. That would be fun, and it was the initial plan, but even he couldn't deny his mortal desires. He had a strong threshold for such matters; he wasn't often interested enough.

If anything, he never paid enough attention to whether it was a man or a woman that he was maiming. That only goes to prove how disinterested he was in the whole affair of carnality.

This situation was unique, however. He was bound to a human he had once killed, who had just as miraculously as him managed to rise from the dead, and was stuck with you for ever. And, you are a woman. He couldn't damage you terribly, and he couldn't kill you. What better way to make you submit to him than by fucking your prideful, spiteful, hot-headed little self into the bed?

You were so easy to aggravate, spitting venomous insults and screeching in anger at him. That was all well and good, but he wanted to see the look on your face when he pummelled you dumb.

If death was out of the question, then immobilising you with his own body would have to do.

Gripping your waist tightly, Art maneuvered your body with ease, spinning you in his lap until both your thighs sat either side of him. A hand held your lower back firmly against his body, standing up halfway to tug down the bottoms of his Santa costume. They fell to his knees, and he promptly sat back down, grinning.

You hovered over his thick length, flushing red in anticipation. Hands finding leverage upon his shoulders, you let your wet lips rest against the tip, shivering as you did.

He felt big. You hadn't really managed to look at it, but from the feeling you knew he was going to split you open.

He seemed to be barely touching you, grinning cheekily as he awaited your next move. His cooperation made you uneasy, you wondered what he had planned.

The thought disappeared swiftly as you bared your hips down onto him, letting the tip nudge past your swollen lips, sinking in an inch or two.

You inhaled sharply, feeling the beginning of his girth and pausing in your descent. "I-I haven't done this in a while and you feel--mmm-," you bit your lip, sinking down a further inch, your insides pulsating and stinging.

You squeezed him tightly, walls rippling and attempting to mold to his shape. You gasped again, lips parting in surprise as you lowered slowly, delicately, his size stretching you.

You gripped his shoulders, fabric bunching up in your hands. Your thighs were shaking from the effort it took to descend patiently. Even with how wet you were, his hot length dragged against your insides, another inch being enveloped in your tight heat.

"Nng, its--so big", you breathed shakily, eyes glistening again. Art observed your pained expression in awe, smirking and winking at your compliment.

Two hands held your hips tightly, fingers digging in to the delicate flesh. You sighed delightedly at the contact, not at all preparing yourself for the sinister spark in the clowns eyes, before he slammed your hips down into his forcefully, tearing through you and settling within you to the hilt.

You cried out woefully, arms instinctively wrapping around his neck as a pained sob was wrought from you. He could feel you shaking against him, panting against his ear, and couldn't help but chuckle nastily at your pain.

"W-wait, I need to adjust--", you began softly, voice quivering, but was given no time as Art lifted you up to the tip then dropped you back down. Your soft ass slapped against his lap, a horrible pain mixing with pleasure inside of you.

"It hurts! You're too big--!", you whined pitifully, tears dripping from your eyelashes. You gripped around his neck hard, body contorting in pain, shallow breaths hitting his ear.

Art knew this. You were so tight he had to grit his teeth, but he revelled in the concoction of pleasure and pain that wracked your body. You were too weak to fight him, trying to lift yourself off of him only to collapse back down, crying out as he filled you again. He could feel your tears soaking into his costume, and it made his cock fill with blood.

You were so full, the stinging sensation unbearable, and as he lifted you again, dragging your sodden hole off of him, he thrust up into you, letting your hips drop as he met you halfway and slid in.

A surprised moan was torn from your lips, a boiling heat enveloping your body as pleasure tingled and spread throughout your nerves. Art enjoyed your pitiful, pained cries, but he knew that the pain began to melt away as your breathing went from shallow, pained pants to breathy exhales.

The stinging became a dull sensation in the background, your insides igniting blissfully as those strong hands lifted you up once more, sliding all the way out before filling you up rhythmically.

"Mmm, Oh-", you moaned breathily, lips permanently parted. You no longer contorted your body awkwardly and instead began to melt against him, curling about his form needily.

Your hips began to take control, moving up and down his rock hard length, eyes closed against his shoulder as he emptied you and filled you over and over, thrusting up to meet your downward motions hard, filling you deep.

"Yes--Oh--", you couldn't stop the noises tumbling out. He wasn't even doing much, merely meeting your thrusts, but he was so big and long and thick and mouthwatering-

"Need more", you whined weakly, nuzzling your face against his neck, the fur of his Santa costume tickling your nose. "Please.", you added softly, thighs shaking so badly you didn't have the energy to lift yourself up fully.

Instead, you lifted your hips half heartedly, attempting to at least try, feeling that over whelming pleasure every time he thrusted upwards into you.

Each downward pull made you needy, and each thrust had you seeing stars. You could feel the grin on his face beside your cheek, body moving with silent chuckles. You were so responsive, feeling those big hands trail from your hips and down to your soft globes, pulling the cheeks apart.

You could feel your hole opening, feel his rigid length sinking in even deeper. You realised that he could probably see himself driving into you from the mirror reflection, your sopping core on full display as it sucked him in greedily.

You peered over your shoulder curiously, lidded eyes honing in on the mirror. The erotic visual had you writhing in his grasp, gnawing at your lip as he stared right back at you, lifting a hand to wiggle his fingers at you.

It was weirdly humiliating, but before you could turn away to nuzzle back into his neck and hide, his hand was brought down sharply in a loud slap upon one of your round cheeks.

You gasped, lips parting as your gaze remained frozen on his slowly retreating hand, waiting with bated breath, before it bared down upon your jiggling flesh again, and again, and again.

Your body jerked each time, a gasp escaping upon each impact, but your eyes couldn't leave the sight behind you, infinitely aroused at how displayed you were, at how massive he looked below you.

Art soothed the red handprints on your cheek with a gentle rub, looking at you in the mirror with mock concern, lips pouting out at you as though you were the cutest little thing.

You couldn't handle the embarrassment any longer, and turned back around to wrap your arms around his neck, thighs giving out below you. Two hands returned to your ass again, before gliding up into you faster this time, one thrust after another, drawing longer moans out of you.

The increase in pace made you writhe upon his lap, mewling in delight. You let yourself be manhandled, swiftly reaching down to grip two hands at the bottom of your t shirt and rip it over your head.

Your breasts bounced free, nipples teased against his body with each thrust, igniting a white hot sensation directly to your clitoris. You moaned a lot deeper this time, mouth below his ear, gasping and mumbling pleas.

Art reached a fist into your locks and wrenched your head back, hearing you wince and watching the sultry way you bit your lip at his rough actions.

You finally made eye contact with him, face to face, your complexion a dark pink. You put up no fight against his hold, even as he wrapped his fist tighter and pulled your head back hard. Your neck was bared, and you watched those charcoal eyes drop smoulderingly to your jiggling breasts.

His teeth attached themselves to your neck, biting and caressing the column of your throat, before finding an appropriate area and sinking his teeth in hard.

You cried out noisily, the sound pleasurable but stunted by pain, sounding more like a yelp. The harder he bit, the faster he fucked you, and you were soon delirious on the pain and pleasure, feeling his teeth latch on harder and harder until warm liquid oozed from the puncture of your skin.

Tears dripped from your eyes, cascading down your cheeks as you hiccupped and sobbed, your neck pulsating painfully. You didn't fight him, so caught up in the way he split you open.

The demonic clown paused, drawing back from your bruised and swollen neck, eyes flickering from the blood trickling down to your collar bone, and all the way up to your sparkling eyes, tears streaking your cheeks.

You winced, hair still wrenched back, moaning weakly at the pain, your breathing turning shallow again.

A hand cradled your jaw, thumb wiping a stray tear, and you couldn't help but nuzzle into the warm palm, comforting and big. It wasn't often he got to see your tears. The sight made him want to make you cry more, spill those fat droplets from your eyes.

Art tilted his head a fraction, inquisitive at your display of affection. You seemed to latch onto him, needing to be touched, gripping at him and melting against him. It was a far cry from your usual self.

His fingers moved down to the puncture wounds on your neck, pressing onto the tender flesh and making more tears spring from your eyes. It felt bruised and the skin was beginning to rise.

Blood dripped down your neck, and he used two fingers to swipe a clean line up your neck, coating his fingertips in the red substance.

Your eyes honed in on his crimson fingers, alight with need. Art tilted his head the other way, deciphering, and burned his gaze through your intimate display as you gripped at his hand and brought his fingers to your lips.

You suckled the tips, cleaning the crimson off of him, before taking his fingers into the back of your mouth, lathering them slowly.

Your own fingers dipped into the wound, wetting the digits red, before you hesitantly brought them towards his lips. His thrusting slowed, eyebrows lifting minimally, a shard of surprise running through him at your carnality. Your blood was alluring enough to halt his ministrations.

Finally, that dangerous mouth opened, slowly enveloping your smaller digits, tongue curling around them sinfully.

Your stare was unwavering, blinking from his mouth to his eyes before settling on those wretched depths. They swallowed you whole, scrutinizing your own visage. His smiling had long since ceased, a stern neutrality overcoming him even as you drew your fingers back and wrapped your arms around his neck to press your bloodied lips onto his.

The urge overcame you, tongues battling against one another messily. The remnants of your blood mixed between your lips, a soft moan of delight escaping you.

You never thought you'd be kissing this maniac. It sent heat coursing through you, borderline delirious from the feel of being so wrapped up in a being that was so dangerous.

Your passion resumed, hips lifting enough to feel the drag of his dick in your tight heat, before gliding back down with a light slap of your ass against his lap.

You were so wet it began to lather your inner thighs, dripping down your legs and coating his balls.

Your desire began to reignite, no longer a simmering heat and instead increasing to a boiling wave that overcame you. You grinded your hips, breaking your lips apart to gasp at his depth.

Art became watchful of your eager display, letting you pleasure yourself with his body. You leaned back, arms around his neck and extended straight so that you still had some leverage, and moaned wantonly as your position changed and his cock began to stimulate that lovable spot deep within you.

"Oh fuck--mmm--", your head lolled back, tits bouncing rhythmically as you increased your pace. You could barely hold your moans in now, overwhelmed by the pleasure of his length hitting you just right.

Art recognized the increase in your pitch and the way your body moved desperately upon his, and grinned. He wiggled his eyebrows playfully, gripping handfuls of your jiggling ass and beginning to meet your movements with his own, fucking up into you hard.

"Yes, right there, oh my god-", your legs were no longer folded below you, resting back on your knees. You had swiftly moved them, sitting fully into his lap now with your legs extended either side of his waist. This added even more depth to his movements. You could no longer grind your body against his, simply taking whatever he gave you.

"It's so deep, oh-" you began to quiver, needing so much more,  but all he could do was smirk down at you amicably, as calm as ever, watching you fall apart as each thrust directly pummelled into that spot.

You felt like ripping your hair out in frustration, body squirming upon his own in distress. Each thrust was like a shot of an addictive drug, filing you up and making you feel so high, but you needed that unrepressed carnality that you craved.

Shaking your head with a pinched expression of dismay, you leaned forward to wrap your arms fully around his neck once again, head resting on his shoulder as you whimpered.

His rigid length bruised against your cervix, hands on your hips and holding you down just to get that inch deeper. You were shaking, exhaling little 'ohh's into his neck, eyes squeezed shut.

"Don't care anymore; Need it harder", you whined pathetically, warming his neck with your hot breath; you were starting to crack. "Please fuck me. Need you so bad. Making me feel so fucking good-Oh--"

Your waist was gripped in a bruising force, lifting your body up and down like a pliant doll, fucking you vigorously. Your sweet admittance sent a thrill through his body, so he supposed out of the kindness of his heart, he could cease his teasing. For now.

Art gave you a lascivious smirk, eyes twinkling mysteriously. With a slight shrug and a nod, he seemed to silently agree with himself that it was time to get serious.

The world around you blurred as you were thrown onto the bed, hips forced into position. Your body bared itself on hands and knees and you tentatively peered upwards towards the mirror, fists clenching into the quilt in anticipation.

You watched the large, looming clown settle behind you, swallowing your body whole. With a playful wave at your watchful gaze, Art thrust forward and buried himself within you.

Your breath escaped your lungs in a silent gasp, body lurching forward from the force as he held you in place and began fucking you deep and fast.

He didn't tease you this time. Everything that had happened previously had been leading up to this moment, and it was mind shattering.

Repetitive 'uh's and 'ohh's sprung from you at each thrust, his cock splitting you open well and good just like you've craved for so long. He felt massive in this position, your velvety insides hot and tighter.

Gliding out until the tip, he'd push back in smoothly, coated in your arousal. It drove you wild, the lewd smacking of skin and wet squelching that increased more and more as he drove in faster, harder.

Your knuckles were white from how hard you gripped the bedding, unintelligible praises falling from your lips at the way he made you feel.

" 'm so full, oh my god-", you cried almost lovingly at the sublime feeling of him tearing through your snug heat, near enough bruising your cervix.

With a cynical pout down at you, mockingly awed by your kind praises of his ample size, Art reached forward to grab a fistful of your hair, wrenching your body backwards so your back bowed enticingly. It made your ass look rounder, made it jiggle and ripple more against his unrelenting thrusts. It hypnotized him, his cock rock hard.

Your upper body was suspended by the hand in your hair, and you could now clearly see how ravaged you looked in the mirror. The looming Santa behind you dwarfed your figure, all jagged smile and wiggling eyebrows at your pleasured expression.

Your tits bounced prettily in the reflection, witnessing the way his normally piercing gaze faltered and darted down to the erotic scene, before darting back up to your face. His smirk appeared lascivious at being caught, and he gave a comical, light shrug.

For some reason, an infernal fire roared within you at that; This creature was evidently attracted to your feminine form. It made you moan louder, reaching forward to play with your round globes teasingly, jiggling them with your incessant fondling, biting your lip at him in the mirror.

You were becoming feral for him.

Art cocked an eyebrow, head tilted in rampant interest at your display. That same jagged smile returned, and almost as a reward, he leaned forward and circled two calloused fingers over your sensitive clit.

Your reaction was instantaneous, legs shaking and body jerking at the intense pleasure. It made you nearly collapse forward if not for the grip in your hair, his cock still relentlessly spearing you.

"Fuck, just like that, ohh--", you cried blissfully, shuddering. Arts expression appeared sternly concentrated on your exclamations and the way your body sucked him in greedily. His thunderous expression was terrifying, but it only served to increase the heat within you tenfold, your body pliant and melting into his ministrations.

He shattered your equanimity, your mind turning to mush and only thinking of his thick hands and his fat cock-

Your thighs were violently quivering, struggling to not collapse. Your moans increased in pitch, high and breathless and weak.

" 'M so close, your cock feels so fucking good and I'm going to cum, im--ohh!"

Your body was roughly dropped, a violent hand forcing you into the bed. Your ass remained high while your cheek laid itself upon the blankets, face contorting in mindless, pleasurable relief as those murderous hands gripped at your hips and began fucking into you so expeditiously you wailed.

His heavy balls slapped your clit with each filling thrust, teasing the bundle of nerves to the point your knees began to quake, on the brink of collapse.

"Fuck, fuck!", you shrieked in repetitive succession, breathing erratically as his thick, long, veiny cock fucked you so good that you just burst-

Your knees did collapse this time, but firm hands kept your hips situated perfectly to receive his godly pistoning. With a high, keening noise you didn't know you could ever make, so desperate and whorish, your pussy contracted and gushed.

Your thighs were soaked and dripping, your bedding ruined. You could feel the way his grip tightened bruisingly on your hips at the feeling of your insides pulsating steadily, milking him, demanding he fill you up like you craved.

Your self consciousness and any semblance of pride were shattered into a million pieces at the mind numbing euphoria you felt. It enveloped your entire body in a blanket and made you feel like you were floating. Your insides fluttered intensely making your breathing erratic and short.

Your face was forced even further into the bed as you reached two arms back, planting a hand on either side of your round cheeks.

With a flushed, fucked out visage staring back at Art from the way your face was turned on its side, you spread your enticing cheeks apart, moaning. "Need you to fucking fill me, need you to fuck me so full please please-"

Art couldn't deny the intense arousal that shot through his body and engorged his cock unnaturally further. Your dainty fingers spread your cheeks so far apart he could see the way your hole split around his length, the muscles parting forcefully at his intrusion. Your virgin, tight puckered hole caught his attention the most, and he moved a thumb to rub the area tenderly, a promise that he'd make you scream yourself hoarse the day he managed to fit his cock into that narrow passage.

You'd cry, he'd make sure of it, and the thought and the visual in front of him was enough to have him seizing your hips so strongly that they would bruise, fucking you brutally and hearing your sobs of pain and pleasure, before his hips stuttered once, twice against your cervix and a flood of hot, ropey squirts painted your insides.

He filled you so deeply it made your body think it needed to pee, if only to expel the amount of cum within you. It was unnatural, but he wasn't a mortal. If anything, the absurd amount made you melt dreamily into the bed, thoroughly fucked and bred and satiated for the time being.

You felt the clown retrieve himself, sliding out with a lewd squelch. Your hole gaped and quivered, his cum oozing out of you messily and coating your thighs. You moaned pleasantly at the feeling of two fingers scooping out the sloppy mess, coating his fingers with it before pushing them into your mouth. You accepted the gift, a noise of delight escaping you.

It made you want to suck his cock and have him fill your mouth until you choked. The thought was arousing, clitoris pulsating lightly as you reached down and rubbed it in lazy circles.

His body moved behind you, two hands gripping your ass cheeks before a hot, long tongue nudged your fingers aside and lapped at your clit. You moaned wantonly, pushing your hips back into his ministrations, feeling that heat invade your abdomen again, signalling another orgasm.

"Oh God, fuck, your tongue feels so-feels so--", you cried out as two fingers sunk into you to the knuckles, pushing the sloppy cum back into your hole dirtily, all the while his tongue lapped at and lathered your clitoris, licking broad, rough stripes up the bundle of nerves until you were a whining mess.

"Fuck, fuuuck, don't know if I want your tongue or your cock more, mmm-"

Art chuckled into your sodden pussy, eyebrows low and sinister. You were shameless, your pleasure ridden brain void of anything else other than the need to be fucked dumb.

A high pitched cry of pleasure tore him out of his condescending thoughts about you, his mouth drenched in your splattering orgasm. His fingers curled within you, brutally fondling that area that had you outright weeping into the pillows.

Little 'too much!'s and 'stop!'s were cried out to him desperately, your body convulsing as though you were possessed. Wiping his mouth, Art sat back and admired his work.

You were panting, pleading in a high pitched, pathetic tone. Your body was overwhelmed, tired and bruised, and Art sat back on his knees and thought for a moment, hand to his chin.

His eyes rolled up to the ceiling in brief contemplation, and then he shrugged, situating himself behind you again.

You whimpered at the feeling of him forcing his sturdy cock into your puffy walls once more. The sound you made was strangled and weak, drool dripping down your chin shamelessly, body losing function of itself. You were crying openly, brought deeper and deeper into a submissive sort of headspace.

He grinned sharply, his cock hardening at the sight of your pathetic state. He bet he could make your body lose all inhibition and piss itself. You'd be so ashamed, and he'd make you lick the liquid off of his cock; a good girl for Santa.

He began to fuck you, patting your messy hair adoringly. You whimpered and wailed, pleading for more, pleading for less. But he found that he wasn't finished with you just yet. You wanted this, didn't you? You told him so yourself.

With a comforting stroke of your hair, Art smiled mockingly down at you, pouting his lips out at your cuteness. He couldn't go back on his word; he was going to fuck you until you couldn't walk.

Thrusting into you, your mouth opened in unbridled pleasure.

The comforting stroke of your hair turned sinister, gripping a fistful up to the root.

Your pretty, wet eyes stared back at him over your shoulder, lips quivering.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

Epilogue

You had fallen unconscious. He had drawn orgasm after orgasm out of you to the point that you begged him to stop, crying so much that you couldn't breathe. Art adored your tears, awed and fascinated by them. The only reprieve you were given was your exhausted, slumped body falling soundly asleep. It was exquisitely blissful, but too much to bear.

You awoke with a weak groan, pushing yourself up to a seated position. You were naked in the blankets, but Art seemed to have the decency to clean you up slightly, your inner thighs dry and not at all the mess that they were a few hours prior. That was oddly sweet of him. And unexpected.

You wrapped a dressing gown around your body, wincing as you stood on shaky legs. Your insides felt battered and bruised, your hips dark with fingerprints. Making your way downstairs, your eyes were sleepy and lidded as you switched the kettle on to make yourself a coffee.

You had a moment of peace to yourself, or so you thought.

In came strolling that demonic clown, looking as fresh as a daisy and wide awake as he bounced preppily over to you, plonking his cup down beside yours in a silent request that he, too, wanted something hot to drink. Preferably hot chocolate.

He no longer adorned his Santa costume, instead dressed as he usually was in that monochromatic suit, face paint as immaculate as ever. He smiled down at you dazzlingly, or as brightly as a demonic entity could, patting your head like you were a golden retriever before grabbing the hot chocolate that you had barely stirred with your spoon and taking a seat at the table, newspaper in hand.

You eyed him warily, exhausted, and felt a small amount of embarrassment flourish within you at how normal he was acting and how drained you felt and looked and..

Not to mention the memories of last night either. You promptly locked them away in a box and threw away the key for now.

You reached up to grab a box of cereal from the shelf and sighed. You couldn't be bothered to eat right now, even though your stomach was grumbling noisily.

What you didn't expect was for a white hand to flash in your peripheral, grabbing it for you, before gripping your hips and spinning you to face him.

The pressure on your hips made you visibly wince, and Arts expression turned to one of shock, mouth an 'o' and eyebrows high. You frowned weakly at him before pushing his hands off of you with barely any effort behind it.

"Hurts." You pouted up at him, shaking your head lightly. You felt so weak, you really needed to replenish yourself and eat something.

Art cooed down at you, pinching your cheek lightly. You scowled now and moved away from him, thoroughly drained. He could sense that your usual fire had been doused at the moment, and held a finger up to represent a lightbulb moment.

Before you could contemplate it, you were picked up bridally and sped into the living room, making you squeal and giggle breathily. Art dumped you onto the settee, turning the TV on and putting on a horror film.

He jumped beside you, blanket covering both yours and his legs, and you couldn't help but smile dreamily at him.

He fucked you good and hard last night, and now wants to watch one of your favourite horror movies? What a gentleman. Art deadpanned at your bizarre expression, clicking his fingers in front of your eyes to snap you out of it. You only smiled wider, eyes crinkling.

"You know, you're sooo sweet when you want to be."

Art comically guffawed at your admittance, shaking his head swiftly to deny such a thing, lifting a finger to the side of his head and twirling it in a clockwise motion to signify you were crazy for ever thinking something like that.

The overly dramatic, rare expression had you giggling again, soft and sweet. Art rolled his eyes at you, waving you off as though to say 'yeah, okay, don't get used to it'.

Seeing this as a prime opportunity to tease, you were swiftly silenced as a slice of cake was shoved into your mouth. You don't know..where he got that, but he was a clown, after all, and it tasted edible.

Sighing contentedly, you chewed the sweet treat slowly, watching as the scene on TV displayed a possessed woman in the shower, scorching water melting her skin as she carved her mouth apart with glass.

You loved this movie, and Art seemed intrigued, cackling silently beside you. Wrapped up in the blanket, you leaned against him comfortably, and he seemed unperturbed by it, eyes honed in on the screen.

You don't know why he was being so gentle with you. Art never did things unless he wanted to, and that was enough of an answer for you; he simply wanted to act this way right now. Even still, it made you feel warm, and you supposed living eternally together wouldn't be so bad.

Well, that was until you fell asleep, awoken by the chill of having your thighs spread apart and cake smeared all over your puffy, abused folds.

"Art! What the hell are you doing?! I told you I'm in pain--"

Art chuckled evilly, leaning down to lick a gentle stripe up your icing covered lips, savouring the sweet taste.

Your breath hitched, but you still held your hands against his shoulders, faced etched with nervousness. "P-please don't. Can't..can't handle it right now."

Art tilted his head a fraction, staring up at you in awe. You had retracted to that submissive headspace again, and he found that he relished it. Repressing a cheeky grin, Art held his hands up placatingly, schooling his expression to one of neutrality, or rather barely masked amusement, and used his finger to draw an imaginary X over his heart.

"You mean you won't..be too much? Really? I'm having a hard time trusting you, you're literally grinning at me right now..." You huffed, expression incredibly wary.

Art covered his mouth with the back of his hand, teeth clenched as he grinned and laughed. Even still, he coughed once, face falling flat to prove he was.. moderately serious about being gentle with you.

In truth, he just wanted to eat your juicy pussy and hear you moan his name again. He bet he could get you to ask him nicely to fuck you.

For added effect, Art splayed his wide hands on your thighs and tickled the skin with either thumb, rubbing soothing circles into the flesh. Again, you had that dopey, dreamy expression on your face, and he began to think he really did damage your mind last night.

"Fine, just..be gentle, okay? I'm in no mood to quarrel today."

Art shrugged lightly. He kind of felt the same. It was refreshing hearing your soft voice instead of your screeching one of anger, or seeing your fluttering eyes at him rather than your stone cold ones.

Who knew that fucking you silly would make you so tame, so pliant. It was rather funny. Guess it proves that all you needed was a bit of dick to calm you down.

And Art was feeling surprisingly generous today. With a quirk of his lips, he settled between your thighs and placed them onto his shoulders.

Tongue darting out to lick up from your hole to your clitoris, he lathered the nub gently, lowering his lips to suckle it.

You gasped softly, widening your legs for him and biting your lip. The pleasure was instant, a heat boiling in your abdomen and fluttering down to your toes.

He was good at playing the part of devoted and gentle, and gripped at your hand delicately, lacing his fingers with your own in an intimate display. He watched you blush a pretty pink, mouth parting in awe at his uncharacteristic tenderness.

As you stared into his smouldering eyes, he smothered your clit beautifully, making you moan and buck your hips up into him.

He knew the moment your moans turned deep and sultry as he prodded a finger at your entrance, that you'd soon be backtracing your words and pleading with pouty lips that he fuck you gently.

There was an undeniable connection between you both; you were bound, after all, and even he wasn't immune to the effects of it. He'd still aggravate you, and absolutely wreak havoc on your wanting body, but he also rather enjoyed the peaceful tenderness of these moments, save for your breathy moans and the sounds of someone dying on the TV.

It made him feel peculiarly content. With a smirk into your sodden folds, Art thrust a finger into you deeply, standing between borderline pleasurable and 'too much', as you had said.

You had yet to berate him, he noted.

Within a few minutes, you were a mess down there, soaked and sticky with cake. He remained true to his word, not at all being rough, and instead holding you delicately in warm hands as he sucked and licked at your glistening folds.

"Art, it's the best part of the movie- Ah--"

He rolled his eyes at you, though did spare a single glance at the screen when he heard the sound of a chainsaw.

In no time, you were panting and reaching your peak, soft cry breathed into the air as his fingers curled and pumped into you, tongue massaging your clit. You gushed down his wrist, quivering.

Art smiled innocently up at your flustered self, imitating dabbing his mouth clean with a napkin. He jumped up and sprung beside you once more, pulling you into his sturdy lap and leaning back comfortably.

His eyes didn't leave the screen, fully focused.

You shifted, wiggling to get comfortable and felt his hard dick pressing against you. You bit your lip and glanced at him guiltily - you had just proclaimed that you were in pain today, and now you were having thoughts of him fucking you?

You settled back against him, flushed and buzzing with arousal. The film was almost over. Art grinned behind you, eyes ablaze with mischief. He knew what you wanted, but like you said, he was missing the best part of the movie.

Maybe if you're lucky, he'll fuck you later. But for now, you'd sit tiredly spent against his chest, chuckling at the brutal massacres on screen. More cake miraculously appeared, which always helped. It was pressed against your lips forcefully and you were more than happy to take it, humming in delight.

"Who'd have thought that you killing me all those years ago would evolve into this.", you smirked at him, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. "You're actually really cute. No idea how I never noticed it before." Your girlish expression lit up your face, eyes sparkling.

Art looked exasperated at your comment and shrugged. He smiled cheekily, pointing at himself as if to bashfully say "who, me?"

Your giggles rung throughout your home, his silent laughter making your body move. You felt a sense of contentment - a partner in crime to maim people with and to fuck you dumb.

Your eyes swirled black, corrupt and tainted, and promptly shut sleepily.

What could be better than this?

i need him so bad. this is pure smut. i made an epilogue to add fluffy things but it turned into smut 💀

also this isn't related to sporadic contingency at all, its just a standalone fic x

[astrid-goes-for-a-spin]

Something that’s hilarious about Miraculous Ladybug is when you first watch, you’re so grounded in Marinette’s POV that Adrien feels untouchable, unattainable. Any attention or affection from him is hard-won, a miracle, he’s so busy and so important and Marinette is just Marinette

And then you rewatch and you realize Marinette’s perspective here is incredibly wrong. Adrien views her as a close friend, someone in his inner circle. He goes out of his way to connect with her and is always appreciative of the many, many hangouts. You could easily argue Marinette is a closer friend to Adrien than Nino is and always has been 😭

TLDR: Marinette’s self esteem sucks and Adrien clearly adores her even before there’s any romance

[wndaswife]

Wanda returns to bad habits after her breakup with you.

Tags: references to smut, lot of angst!, self-destructive habits, toxic relationship, abuse, possibly triggering topics, unhealthy sex, cheerleader!wanda, references to fem!reader

Word count: 2438

Before being with you, Wanda didn’t know that there was any other way of having sex. In fact, she didn’t think sex was something one could even tie emotional connections to. 

You and Wanda never had sex until she was the one who brought it up, nearly two months into the relationship. Granted, in the beginning, Wanda never regarded it like a real relationship, taking your feelings for her for granted, using your love for her as entertainment. 

She was uncertain when you first had sex; you asked if she was feeling alright, if you were making her feel good, and you were gentle, taking time to run your hands over her body and get to know her in ways you hadn’t before. 

It made her feel so seen, so thought of. 

Wanda wondered about a lot of things for the first time when she watched as you kissed down her body, carefully undressing her and treating her delicately. 

When she laid on her back, her hip bone became more prominent and casted a shadow over a birthmark she had on her left hip, making it seem like it disappeared. Would you notice it while you were taking your time unbuttoning her pants and kissing her lower stomach?

She felt her bottom lip tremble and the back of her nose tingle with incoming tears when you pressed a kiss to it, your thumb brushing against it softly as you descended further. 

In some way, it felt good to have her clothes taken off of her so harshly her thighs burned briefly against the denim waistline of her jeans, to have nails digging into spots you would kiss tenderly, to know her body only ever belonged to you in the way you took her because she was only treated so harsh when she wasn't with you.

Wanda wasn’t close to the boys she slept with, though after being with you she didn’t quite have the same interest in being with as many as she used to. 

Vision was the only one Wanda had enough energy to see. He intellectualized his violence, at least — tried to explain that he couldn’t help but want to claim her and make her his. When he was able to pull at her hair, bend her how he wanted, slap her, spank her, redden her skin and bruise her flesh while he claimed her until he was fatigued, she belonged to him. 

She understood the rationale, enjoyed the distraction of being someone else’s rather than belonging to herself, or having to come to terms that she didn’t know herself enough to be anything on her own, or to be forced to realize that in her lack of herself, there was a lack of you too.

Why didn’t you fuck her until she was telling you it was too much? Why didn’t you make her question whether she’d reached either her threshold of pain or pleasure when she told you to stop?

Which she never did, because she never had to. 

It was miraculous the things you could read in her body — the twitching of her hips away from your fingers or a furrowing of her eyebrows.

You knew when she had enough, and when she needed more. 

Why didn’t you treat her like everyone else did?

“Was Y/N boring?” Vision asked, wrapping an arm around Wanda’s body and pulling her against his side. He took her chin in his hand and turned her head to the side to press a kiss to her lips. 

Wanda felt a pain in her chest when anyone mentioned you; the only role you had in her life now was when other people brought your name up. She was only able to interact with you through discussing her time with you in the past tense. 

“No,” she answered. “She wasn’t boring.”

He reasoned, “She didn’t know you at all.”

Wanda didn’t know whether she wanted to protest and give away what was special about her relationship with you to someone else. But then he added, “The CD she put together for you, the poems and all those dull gestures — you don’t like that.”

“And you know me better?” Wanda retorted, frowning and attempting to pull away from him slightly, only to be pulled back by how his arm wrapped around her shoulders completely. 

“I know how to treat a girl.”

She held back a scoff, mostly because she wasn’t interested in arguing about you; you were too precious of a memory to discuss in argument. 

You were a memory that was hers and hers only. 

But she couldn’t help but come to your defense, for a part of her did want to talk about you, to keep you in her life that way. 

“She tried her best,” she said, leaving out the part that you’d tried your best in spite of how terrible of a girlfriend she was to you, how she used you and your feelings for her to entertain her friends. “She cared.”

Some time close to the end of the first month you were together, you put together a CD of songs for her. Wanda had never been given something like that before, didn’t understand the significance nor what you were trying to do by gifting it. 

‘For Wanda,’ it said — so simple.

She didn’t think twice before giving it to her friends.

One of them put it into their laptops and they listened to it together, wanting to see what kind of things you put together for her for your sham relationship Wanda hadn’t been putting any effort into, though a part of her was curious in a way that her friends weren’t. 

After the first two songs, skipping through most of them to get a general idea of your effort, they moved onto something else, even resolving to throw the CD out. 

Wanda argued that that would’ve been a bad decision in case you asked about it or wondered where it had gone. 

When she got home, she put it into her own laptop, her chest filled with a feeling she couldn’t explain but often felt around you when she looked through the songs and found that a majority of them were ones you or she had mentioned before. She remembered you asking if she’d ever heard of some of them. 

She listened through the entire CD that evening, laying in bed as she did. 

It felt like every word was made for her, and it felt special; you listened to all of them too, picked them out, and put it together just for her. 

She loved them all. 

Vision’s expressed contorted. “Cared about what?”

“Cared about me,” Wanda spoke quietly. 

When she thought of you, the way you made her feel, the way you cared for her, Wanda wasn’t able to do it without the inevitable following of pain. 

You cared for her like no one else had ever, treated her so gently and loved her selflessly, and now you couldn’t, and now you didn’t. 

But to voice it out loud, to speak it out into existence that she had known your love, and more than that, to know that it was no more, felt different than just reminiscing, allowing her memory to form your love into a reality in which, maybe, you just didn’t love her as much as she remembered you did. 

As much as she knew you did. 

Did she ever make you feel loved?

One afternoon, the day the two of you were planning on going out for a picnic, you came to her apartment looking conflicted and confused and upset. One of Wanda’s friends had told you about how the relationship was initially meant to be a joke, that Wanda was dared to go out with you once one of her other friends noticed that you were into her.

The things you were told and then repeated to Wanda made the things she had done to you so much more real, for in the beginning, she didn’t quite take things seriously, so the terrible things she had done almost didn’t exist.

It almost felt like she had done it all to someone else.

For her, the relationship didn’t really start until she started falling in love with you.

Suddenly, you knew that she had cheated on you several times during the first month you were together, that she had shared your poems and the CD with her friends, that she repeated all the sweet and thoughtful things you did for her to them.

At the time they meant nothing to her — how could you love her, anyhow, how could the things you did mean anything to you?

They thought the dedication and feeling you put into a fake relationship was funny. Maybe they also couldn’t fathom Wanda as deserving of that kind of love either.

Wanda never thought it was funny so much as she thought it was absurd. It was as if someone was speaking a different language to her.

“How did she care about you?” Vision asked, sounding slightly defensive. “Did she treat you like I do?”

What a fucking joke, Wanda thought, for him to place himself in your likeness, even by distant comparison.

Wanda was becoming irritated, and she would’ve much rather when he told her that she was made for getting slapped around, forcing her to swallow the truth that she liked when he did. 

But her mind flooded with memories anyways in spite of her annoyance at Vision’s prodding. 

You’d called her beautiful before, so it wasn’t the first time she’d heard it, but there was once after you’d had sex for the first time that Wanda often thought about. 

She was laying on her side, cuddled close enough to you that she could lay the back of her hand against your stomach, close enough that your hair brushed against her forehead when she adjusted her head on her pillow. 

The both of you were under her blankets. She felt warm, wrapped in your body heat as your arm draped around her naked waist. 

Your arm unwrapped itself from her and Wanda opened her eyes. She hadn’t been sleeping, but she liked how it felt not to talk and not to go anywhere — just to be close to you. 

She thought you might be leaving, but instead your hand came to her cheek, your palm warm from how it had been laying against her lower back. 

You brushed her hair away from her eyes. 

She couldn’t explain the way you looked at her; it wasn’t with any sort of intention to dominate or claim or dissect her. 

You were just looking at her, taking her in. 

At that moment, she felt a sort of pressure to perform, wondering if she should smile or blush or ask what you were looking at, but she could only look at you back, in silence. 

You’re so beautiful, you said. 

“She treats me nothing like you do,” Wanda presently told Vision, slightly resentful as she spoke. She was silent for a moment before adding, “She… made me feel special, and important.”

He could only scoff. “That’s pathetic.”

How could it be pathetic, the way you made her feel? The gentleness of your hands, the curiosity in your eyes, how loving your kisses were, how you made her feel beautiful.

Wanda laid, bored and as pathetic as Vision had said, as he unwrapped his arm from around her and turned her onto her stomach. 

Maybe if she was able to hate herself enough, she could prove you wrong, recall the memories of your love and see you as a liar or as deluded, in order to deal with the fact that she no longer had you.

Vision was good at it — making her feel deserving of hatred and filth. He would hurt her and spit the most degrading insults at her, and he’d tell her how wet she was getting, how he could feel her twitching around his cock, slap her across the face and feel her tighten, pull her hair and feel her pushing her ass back against him.

She felt the hatred and the degradation and the objectification, and each time, hoping that it would recode her body, recondition her skin to know only violence and hurt. But each time it only reminded Wanda that the feeling running through her wasn’t what she felt with you.

You’d never do these things to her, never make her feel this way.

Everything that distracted her from you could only ever be defined as a lack of you.

Anything different from you, wasn’t you.

To remedy that, she tried to think of how you might react to seeing her this way. She only felt shame; you’d think she was a monster, as fucked up like Vision had said.

If you saw the things she let happen to her, listened to the words she got off on, would you still love her, think she was beautiful?

Once, Vision asked if maybe Wanda would’ve liked you more if you’d treated her like he did. Maybe she wouldn’t have fucked around with your feelings for her if you treated Wanda as he knew she deserved.

The idea of those horrible words coming out of your mouth, the anger and the violence and the disgust, made Wanda nauseous. She remembered going home the night he suggested it and throwing up. 

You would never.

You’d never.

She tried to redefine you, thinking that maybe if you hated her you would, that you fantasized about hurting her, but even then, Wanda couldn’t imagine it. She couldn’t because she didn’t only see you as the way you loved her, but as who you were.

You were kind and gentle.

Every time she left Vision’s place, she thought every moment of her interactions with him over, trying to hate herself for things he did to her and things she let him do because she liked them. She wanted to go back to when the things you did for her meant nothing, when your love was a language she couldn’t understand.

But she couldn’t erase any of it from her memory, couldn’t rewrite it, couldn’t pretend it didn’t happen.

Anything she felt and experienced after you broke up with her was only an absence of you.

Wanda wondered if you often thought of her, or if she even crossed your mind. Maybe you were glad to have gotten rid of her. She hoped you hated her, so that way she could imagine that she didn’t cause you pain.

She hoped you might just forget about her altogether.

[seaslugandscylla]

Some notes under the snacking issue of Sebastian post caused my brain to weeoweeo it way too much than I expected, so well here are the continuing of topic xd

Sorry it's an essay because I can't write succinctly

1. How did the evil corporation(insert it’s name please) feed?

As far as I’m concerned, the shady corpo experimented on him to check/make people to able to breathe under water. Keeping him alive was quite crucial to success so I think they would provided him with proper amount of of food or at least the full nutrient content preparation. However, it changed when his body started to rapidly mutate, grow and evolve into what he’s now. The vast increase in his need of food and the fact that the gills didn’t develop very well, due to the scientists not very smart move - mixing his DNA with atmospheric oxygen snake and whale, caused the team to shrink his portion and gave him bare minimum in form of drip-feed… Auch

2. How didn’t he die from literally any nutrient deficiency sickness?

As I said it before I do not know the lore very much only basis. So forgive if I mess up some facts about the events. Going back to topic, after the event of beating the life out of his guards/special troops everyone left the lab immediately. Leaving everything behind including the rations, which were sent there for the staff to eat, all kind of medicine - pills, drops, syrups, injections etc. and whatever crops left( no idea if in the game is any „farm” but the transport would be extremely expensive so I think they would love to slash costs especially when there are vertical farms which are efficient, cheap and easy to maintain and during evacuation they could simply destroy it if nothing like this exists there). He simply gain most of crucial elements via all those supplements. Especially via drips which are the least painful without activating all digestive track. I like to think the reason why his extra arm is in the bandages is the fact that he often injects himself with various needles and his veins are in horrible state. At some point point all these supplements will end and it won’t end well for him, but not yet. That’s solves a bit the issue of lack of scurvy, nyctalopia and any other issues alike. Here’s the misery fish and his banana bag of lovely Zn and vit C

3. Another snacking issue

He is in constant state of hunger. No escape from it. The small human stomach ruthlessly dictates the size of his next snack and for how long he cannot eat, because it’s full, but it’s better to have at least one full than none. That could cause another big issue which is connected with the unconditional reflex - food in mouth equals activiting the synthesis of digestive enzymes and HCl in both tracks at the same time. Both are connected to one nervous system and the information goes to both, no matter if only one should start working. Not good situation, one belly is digesting itself,easy way to get ulcers or esophagitis, which not only are extremely painful but also deadly especially in his case with no health care or even chance to get any. He had to figure it out quite quickly how to make his eating as harmless as it’s possible. The easiest way I think would be simply some herby stomach drop, the one which highers the ph and stops HCl from being created. But I fear it works on human part- So he had to create strict timetable - when he eats, when he takes drops, when he can eat again. To keep the snake stomach in check and never letting it be fully empty and miraculously avoid the sinister autodigestive ideas of snake element. So his best friend is a tiny bottle of disgusting drops from a nurse office

4. How not to starve to death with body like that?

Dense soup. Maximum proteins in the smallest velocity and in easy to consume and digest way. It passes both stomachs faster because tough long chains are already broken into smaller ones so it can be faster absorbed and used. It’s also very easy to make and can contain many ingredients giving the biggest diversity in one sip. Still starves because it’s not enough, but there is no better way :”)

And no he wouldn't threaten anyone that he would add them to his soup. He was a human and he exactly knows there are too many weird fellas out there. No way he'll risk getting new traumatic event, he won't take it anymore-

The last thing is this two sentences:

Honestly I wasn't prepared to read something like this with straight face at 6AM. It wasn't in my weekly bingo card, but jup it made my day, thanks

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

hi mr sex witch! i was wondering if there is a reason for disconnect in arousal (yknow, like when you are suddenly super wet for no reason or turned on mentally but showing no physical signs)

hi anon,

GREAT question!

arousal in a complicated process, and it takes place on two distinct fronts: both physically and psychologically. the two are connected in intricate ways and can definitely feed into each other, but as anyone who's ever gotten a boner in the middle of math class can tell you, it's 100% possible to experience one side of arousal without the other.

the physical side is, largely, basic response to stimuli. a seam in your jeans rubs your clit and you get turned on even though you're in the middle of a deeply unsexy work meeting. the temperature in a room might plummet, leaving your nipples hard as a rock while you're trying to give a presentation. the jets in the hot tub are a little too bubbly and now you're rocking a boner surrounded by a bunch of random elderly people. none of that is on you; sometimes your body just feels the tiniest hint of stimulation and immediately assumes that means it needs to get ready to fuck, because your body is so SO good at so many things but it critically lacks the skill of social discernment.

meanwhile the wonderous meat of your brain sometimes can come up with nastiest, hottest shit possible without getting a peep out of your body, because it's simply not always going to react the way you want it to - as anyone who's ever experienced the frustration of trying to jack off only for their bits to remain bone dry and completely soft can attest. the spirit is willing but the flesh is weak, and all that. there can be any number of reasons for that, ranging from stress to hormones to medication to your body just giving you a big ol' shrug emoji for no immediately obvious reason.

bodies: they're miraculous, and also just totally unpredictable.

[clockwayswrites]

Like Betta Fish Do - Part 29

WC 2500, Masterpost

A Press of the Button:

An Exclusive Interview with Jason Wayne and Danny Nightingale Following the Infamous New Years Eve Choice

By Clark Kent

“I’m going to throw up.”

I’m sure that I wasn’t supposed to overhear that; it’s not exactly an auspicious start to an interview. Here inside of Wayne Manor’s stately halls the noise of the crowd of press outside of the gate has fallen away and the words from the other side of the door are clear. The voice isn’t one that I recognize, so I place it as the young man at the center of the event: Daniel Nightingale.

“Danny, please, I’ve never liked Daniel,” he’ll introduce himself to me once I’m inside the sitting room. Jason Todd is at his boyfriend’s side, looming like an avenging angel. Or, since we’re in Gotham, a very large bat.

When I was assigned the interview, I hadn’t been sure where it would be held. As readers may know, Jason Todd hasn’t lived at the Manor since his miraculous return from the dead. There were, as he said, too many memories in the Manor for him to return. At the time he had still been struggling to overcome the unfortunate amnesia that he had suffered during his brutal abduction as a teenager.

Whatever trauma is still lingering, it’s clear that both young men are taking comfort being in the manor. The proverbial wagons have been circled inside of the family home. Even cleaned up the sitting room shows signs of a rotation cast of family keeping the pair company: a plethora of blankets, stacked board games, feel-good food, and, of all things, a plush trilobite.

As we take our seats, Danny leans unconsciously into Jason’s space like a flower to the sun. His nerves are clear in the way that his fingers fidget restlessly with the edge of his sleeves. The red sweater is far too large for him and hangs off of one thin shoulder. I have to guess that it’s Jason’s sweater and worn today for comfort. I doubt anyone could blame Danny seeking comfort wherever he can find it.

Less than a week ago Danny was abducted from the Wayne’s New Years Eve party by a Gotham villain known as Two Face. The villain came into being after Harvey Dent, a district attorney in Gotham, was traumatically exposed to a toxic chemical. (More about Two Face can be read in the article ‘A Flip of a Coin’.) Danny had been taken off site while a handful of party goers were strapped to an explosive device.

Presented with the horrifying choice between his boyfriend or his father and youngest brother, Jason had pressed the red button connected to Danny’s trap.

Danny Nightingale had been electrocuted to death.

And survived.

It’s the perfect sort of awful story to capture the attention of the public and press alike, and it’s the reason that I’m at Wayne Manor now.

Hoping to make Danny feel more settled, I start off with some pleasantries before going in with a soft question. How is he doing with all the attention that the event has been getting? It must be overwhelming.

Danny glances towards the front of the house where outside lies the front yard, the protective gate, and the press. “It is. I feel like I’m still getting used to living in a city as big as Gotham, so all of this suddenly… yeah, it’s a lot.”

Danny grew up in a much smaller city in central Illinois called Amity Park. He moved to Gotham in the late summer of last year to continue his education at Gotham University. It’s a change that he describes as good, even as overwhelming as it is.

“Gotham has been surprisingly easy to fall in love with. I can see why Gothamites are so protective of the city,” Danny explains with the first hint of a smile on his face that I’ve seen since I came through the doors.

When I ask him if he hopes to stay in Gotham long term, Danny glances at Jason and blushes faintly. “I’d like to, if I can find work. There’s a lot here worth staying for and the city is just part of that.”

The words cause the first blush I’ve seen on Jason’s cheeks since he was new to the Wayne family and a little overwhelmed himself. Clearly Jason is one of the things worth staying for.

We talk a little about how Danny likes the Wayne family. He admits that he’s still getting to know them. He’d only been introduced to most of the family at the end of last year, right before finals. Already, though, there are stories to be told about board games and good food. Beyond the Waynes, Danny has someone else very important in Gotham.

“Your sister is in town, isn’t she?” I ask. “I imagine having her here during this has been nice.”

“It is. I was actually supposed to go and see her after New Years, but obviously…” Danny clears his throat and Jason takes one of Danny’s hands in his. Danny instantly relaxes into Jason’s side. “But yeah, having her here is really nice.”

“I take it you two are close then?”

“She was my anchor growing up,” Danny says with a little smile that’s tinged with sadness. “I wish she hadn’t had to be. Now that I’m older I know how unfair that was to her, but I’m so lucky that she did. She could so easily resent me for it, but she doesn’t at all. It makes it really easy to love her.”

“Not that it’s hard,” Jason adds with a chuckle. “I think her and Dick have already made an oldest sibling club and Damian thinks both Nightingales hung the moon, I swear.”

“Speaking of Nightingale, that isn’t your original last name, is it?”

It’s been an item of note in the recent write ups on Danny that both of the siblings had changed their last name to Nightingale from their birth name of Fenton. Their parents, doctors both, still go by Fenton. In Gotham, at least, the Doctor Fentons would be described as mad scientists. The so-called ‘ectobiologists’ have made their life a study of ghosts. In Amity Park, ‘the most haunted town in America’, they’re just part of the atmosphere.

Danny sighs and glances away. “No. Jazz and I both changed our last names when we turned eighteen. Jazz had wanted me to change it and go with her when she turned eighteen, but she had this great scholarship for college and she’d taken care of me enough. I couldn’t put that on her too, so I refused to until I was eighteen.”

“So you didn’t actually emancipate yourself?”

“Nope. One day late for that. But I moved out the same day I changed my name.”

“How did your parents take that?”

A wry smile twists Danny’s lips. “They didn’t notice until months later when the lab had gotten too dirty.”

“The lab?”

“It was one of my chores to clean it; another thing that I get was messed up now that I’m older and away from there. We, um, think that it was my exposure to all those chemicals that made me a meta.”

By all accounts, Danny’s meta status is how he survived the electrocution. It’s a label that he looks slightly uncomfortable with.

“It’s not that I mind being a meta,” he’s quick to assure me. “It’s just that… what actually made me one was an accident in the lab. I was electrocuted.” He raises his left arm up. The overly large red sleeve pools down to reveal a branching network of faint silver scars tracing his skin. “It’s hard right now to think back to it, after what happened. I really didn’t know if I would survive… either time. I’m lucky that all I have are scars.”

“But you thought that you might survive.”

“I did,” Danny says with a little shrug. He seems almost at ease with that question, unlike Jason.

Jason has to take a moment to press a kiss to Danny’s temple.

“After the first time I was electrocuted,” Danny explains, “I became a little more resistant to electricity— little shocks and things. It’s not like I ever tested it out with anything big. I guess it was just a feeling I had.”

When I ask Danny if he’s alright to talk about the night of the party he looks stressed by the idea but still gives a little nod. As he points out, it is why I’m there.

“I was getting some fresh air,” Danny explains. He’s picking at the sweater again. “The night was really lovely, but it’s just not the sort of thing I’m used to, you know? So I just wanted a moment to gather myself. I guess… I guess they were already watching me, because they knocked me out before I even really knew they were there.

“I woke up strapped to a metal chair. They’d taken my shoes and socks off. I couldn't understand why, but then,” Danny has to pause here and take a moment. Jason pulls him closer. “Then I noticed that my feet were in water and there was a wire in the water too. The wire wasn’t live but it’s… I mean it wasn’t hard to put it all together.”

“That must have been terrifying.”

“Yeah.” Danny looks over at the windows and the gray winter day beyond them. “I didn’t know who had taken me or why. I could hear some people close, talking about waiting for a signal, but it wasn’t much. When my eyes adjusted I could see a camera on a tripod and a laptop. I didn’t know what was going on, not until it turned on.

“Two Face was on it. I guess you know I’m not a native Gothamite that it took me a moment to recognize him,” Danny said with a weak laugh. “He explained what he was doing.”

I ask Danny what his first thought was when hearing the plan.

“Worry for Jason. Which I know sounds insane, but I guess… I guess I had already accepted the circumstance I was in. I just didn’t want Jason to have to go through that choice.”

“And then Jason was on the screen.”

“Yeah.”

“Jason, what were you feeling at seeing Danny on the television?”

“What do you think?” Jason asks, frustration lacing through his voice. “I was pissed off. I was scared. I was… I hated myself.”

“Why?”

“Because Danny was only in that situation because he was dating a Wayne. Because he was dating me. And there he was, a few seconds from death, bleeding, and… and telling me that he loved me.”

While Danny sounds almost detached talking about it, possibly a coping mechanism, Jason sounds like every wound is still fresh. It paints a terrifying picture of what it’s like to be the one to die versus the one who presses the button.

I turn back to Danny. “You said something to Jason in the video after that. There's been a great deal of debate about your words. Do you feel alright discussing them.”

Danny nods. I read out the quote: You know what you have to do, don’t you?

“Danny, what did you mean?”

“That Jason had to press my button,” Danny says with surprising ease. It’s clear that the order was one that he still stands by.

I ask about that certainty.

Danny gives a little shrug. He tucks himself back further under Jason’s arm, but I'm certain that the move is more for Jason’s comfort. “It was me or a group of other people. That would have been enough. I would never put myself first like that, but then you add in Damian and Bruce being part of that group? I couldn’t ask Jason to choose me over his family and Jason knows I wouldn’t.”

What about the chance of survival?

“Jason and I had talked about my accident before. Death… it’s something we both get, you know? So we both knew that there could be a chance of me surviving, but there was never any guarantee.”

“Are you going on record that you told Jason to press the button, knowing it could kill you?”

“Absolutely.”

And how did that insistence make Jason feel? Right then it seems all Jason can do is curl up around Danny, as if he can shield him from the past.

“Fucking horrible. Danny just looked at the whole situation and made the choice for me. I don’t know, maybe I should think that was freeing, but I still had to press the button.”

I point out that he could have made the other choice and he just shakes his head. “And make Danny live with that? He had made his choice. He didn’t want to trade his life for theirs. I hated it, but what sort of person would I have been if I didn’t let Danny take control of his own life? I knew I wouldn’t be able to live with either choice, so at least… at least I could listen to Danny.”

So Jason had pressed the button, Danny had been electrocuted (he refused to speak on the experience), and Jason had attacked Two Face. The man had ended up with a broken jaw and fractures in the orbital rim. It was while Jason had been sobbing in his father’s arms that they had gotten the word from one of Gotham’s local heroes: Danny was still alive.

“What did I feel? Hope,” Jason said with an almost despairing laugh. “I don’t… hope and I don't do well these days, but I felt hope. I don’t know if I believed it until I was actually holding his hands.”

“I was a little out of it when they got there,” Danny admits, which seems more than fair considering everyone else would have been dead. “But I’m so grateful to Nightwing and the paramedics taking care of me and letting me see Jason before the hospital. I really… I really needed him right then.”

And now?

“I’d like to say that I’m alright, but,” Danny shrugs, “it’s a lot to go through. But I know I’ll be alright. Jason and his family are amazing and I have Jazz here. I’ll keep healing, physically and mentally, and so will Jason. I know the internet has a lot to say about it all, but I think they need to understand that this turned out the best way that it could have.”

Jason kisses Danny’s temple again with a slight smile. He seems to be in agreement with everything his boyfriend said.

“I suppose I have just one more question,” I say after a moment of looking over my notes. “Why do you call Danny ‘fish’?”

I don’t get an answer, but maybe hearing those two able to laugh so soon after such a traumatic event is better than a story.

---

AN: *flops dramatically* darlings, this chapter is finally done! Thank you to @chromatographic and @mokulule for cheer/beta reading for me. This one was really hard to write since it's out of the normal style wise for me, but it felt like the best way to tell the story right there.

I hope you enjoy it!

I no longer tag, you can subscribe at the masterpost!

[bitebitekxll]

SAGAU || When they’re in your party

Razor • Kaeya • Barbara • Xinyan

Notes: this isn’t about party comps, just the single character being in your party regardless of who else is. Starting with these 4 cause they’ve been my party since I started playing in 2020.

Also you can see this as them being your main or just constantly in your party, I think it works either way. Baby’s first tumblr post let’s goooo, maybe one day I’ll figure out a theme

Razor doesn’t really get the whole Divine Creator thing. He knows you’re important, of course he does. You’re his lupical, but with more authority than even Andrius. You take care of him, and everyone in Wolvendom and the city, and everyone everywhere as well. But, when it comes to some of the specifics… Razor gets a little confused.

He knows you’re called Grace— Teacher always corrects him, but he doesn’t know why adding ‘your’ in front is so important —and that there are festivals and traditions connected with you like there are for Barbatos. But Razor can never remember any of the prayers or songs. Bennett and Fischl took him to the Church once, but the Sister speaking used a lot of words he didn’t know the meaning of, and spoke in long sentences he struggled to focus on.

Andrius says the human customs don’t matter, because Razor has been chosen. Not only as a vessel, as someone marked by the Creator and strengthened with Their power, but also as one of your favoured vessels. Teacher explained how most people, vessels included, couldn’t feel you as strongly as he did, weren’t offered the same kind of strength he had been given since gaining your attention.

Razor knows some people don’t like how you take such good care of him. He’s different from the other people in Mondstadt, unsure of how to even be a person and constantly disturbing others with his cluelessness about human customs. Sometimes he feels guilty, that he doesn’t know how to properly thank you for all you’ve done, doesn’t even fully comprehend what you are and how he should think of you.

But then he feels his claws of steel and lightning grow stronger, feels his injuries miraculously healing after a bad fight, and he thinks that maybe he doesn’t need to know.

Maybe Razor will never get the whole Divine Creator thing, but he loves you, and he can feel how you love him. And Razor is happy.

Kaeya feels like he’s constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop. You’re a god, the god; there’s no way you don’t know what he is. And yet, he was one of the first to become your vessel.

He had expected you to strike him down right then, the moment he felt your presence. But instead, nothing happened. He had stood there outside the Temple of the Wolf, watching the Traveler and Paimon wander away while he was paralysed with fear. The cavalier smile that had protected him for so many years faltered as he struggled to breathe, terror crushing his lungs. Kaeya had thought that was your doing— that you had decided his punishment for existing would be a slow suffocation. But when he finally managed to inhale, he realised that was not the case.

He thought maybe you actually didn’t know, and soon you would lose interest with him and turn your Gaze elsewhere. Except… he continues to get stronger, continues to feel your presence increasing in his life: what once started as a flickering flame now a blazing inferno.

Every time the swing of his blade seems to hit harder than it did the previous day, every time he notices he’s tiring slower than he ever has before, he feels dread creeping up his shoulders. If you don’t know about his heritage, then the more attention you give him, the sooner you will eventually find out.

And if you do… Kaeya doesn’t know what that would mean for him.

He is not made for worship, for reverence, he doesn’t know how. Even if he grew up with his surrogate father teaching him— the Ragnvindr household being a devoted one to both you and Barbatos —prayer always burned his tongue, bitter and acidic. He could never tell if it was because he didn’t wish to be a devotee or because he knew he didn’t deserve to be one, impostor that he was.

So Kaeya waits for the day you finally show your wrath, waits for the day this game comes to an end and you cast him down like all the sinners before him. And, deep inside where he will never bring himself to admit it, he waits for the day where he can finally believe that he, too, is worthy of your care.

Barbara has never had a greater honour than being one of your favoured. When you began claiming vessels, granting people your presence and lending them your power, she did not expect to be included among them. Amber, Kaeya, Noelle: they were all amazing at protecting the people of Mondstadt, doing so much for the community. Even Lisa, who never hid how she enjoyed slacking off, was a force to be reckoned with when she finally decided she needed to take action (usually when it concerned her books).

Barbara, however, wasn’t a fighter. She was a good healer, and tried her best to make others happy as an idol, but did that really warrant Your attention?

Apparently, it did. And the love she felt for you was enough to make her dizzy, equal parts grateful for the gift of your power and terrified she would disappoint you.

But deep inside, beneath the nerves and melancholy that plagued her heart each day, beneath the desperate need she felt to make others happy and help them, she couldn’t help but feel a quiet, selfish glee. She finally had an area she surpassed her sister in, a sign that she was good enough. Not only was she beloved by the city, but she was beloved by You, the highest ranking divinity in existence.

When she felt exhausted from her duties or her depression threatened to creep in outside of the thirty seconds she allocated for it daily, the ties she held to you, the attention you gave her above anyone else, comforted her more than anything.

So even if it’s hard for her to keep a smile on her face every day, she keeps going anyway. Because you believe in her, and she won’t let you down.

Xinyan is not the kind of person who gains the favour of the gods. The way she dresses, the way she talks, her knife eyes and frightening smile; she’s the furthest thing from ‘holy’, the furthest thing from the upstanding folk who are assumed to be the Creator’s favourite. The Divine Creator likes elegance, refinement, not loud and excitable, brash things like her.

At least, that’s what everyone else said. From a young age, Xinyan had resolved not to worry too much about it. She appreciated you and Rex Lapis, respected how Liyue was protected by the gods and the adepti, but she never revered any of them as much as some others did.

But somehow, she became a vessel anyways. And sure, some people garnered your attention only to be left alone after; Xinyan expected to be another one of those cases. Until she kept getting stronger, her shields going from a light shimmer to a solid protective bubble, the flames her vision summoned growing every week. It’s great for her shows— both the pyrotechnics and the turnout after word got around about someone like her being a favoured vessel. But, for Xinyan herself, it’s confusing.

No one knows why she has been chosen, especially not her.

At one point she thinks maybe she should focus more on her gentler hobbies: cooking, sewing, things that match the respectability that is expected from a vessel. Except she doesn’t feel Your presence when she’s at home working on her embroidery; she feels it when she’s performing, or fighting, or just running around Liyue (accidentally) causing trouble.

So sure, she might not be the typical candidate for a vessel, and she might have no idea why you picked her, but damn what anyone else has to say about it.

With the warmth inside her chest and the strength in her vision, she knows you’re happy with your choice.

[buttahpie]

i’ve never believed in soulmates but…

there’s something two motherless boys from liverpool—of all places—stumbling upon one another like lighting catching in a bottle and instantly having this connection.

people blabber about post-war england and pre-civil rights america and how at just right the time in just the right place two teenagers miraculously met and maybe they didn’t fall in love with eachother but they fell in love with the others minds, brains and words… enough to create the biggest band on earth from just a couple of guitars and a dream.

and they were so close, attached at the hip, staring into one another’s eyes as they wrote, sang and performed. their own hands being mirrors of one another, like two halves of one soul was split into two boys and their dominant hands were the looking glass into their hearts.

“bigger than elvis” they’d say… and they were.

until eventually, people came along and two little motherless boys from liverpool grew up and one person saw that no matter how badly they needed john, as long as paul was in john’s life john could never be fully devoted to anyone.

and so they were split apart. blame it on what or who you want but it doesn’t matter,

they were split apart.

people go their entire lives searching for their soulmate and many never find them but these two souls found one another and we’re taken from the other.

years go on of pain and frustration and anger and betrayal and it isn’t until the souls start to rekindle again that john is killed.

not just passing away… but brutalized.

perhaps that’s why paul can find a way to bring john up in every interview because even forty years later he is still living with the grief that his soulmate was taken from him not once but twice and horrifically murdered. perhaps paul feels guilt… like it should have been him. he’s lived more of his life without john than he did with john. and i can imagine how that haunts him in his old age. how there’s a hole there that can never be filled.

i’ve never believed in soulmates…but if anyone were to convince me, it’d be john lennon and paul mccartney.

[frickingnerd]

no more secrets

pairing: luka couffaine x gn!reader

summary: luka almost gets akumatized after you reject him for viperion. but that misunderstanding soon leads to an identity reveal for the two of you

tags: angst with a happy ending, identity reveal (mutual), miraculous user!reader, kiss (to stop the akumatization), use of y/n, confession (reader to luka), lovesquare with reader & luka

a/n: i was torn between writing an identity reveal and writing luka getting akumatized, so i did both 👉🏻👈🏻

“i'm sorry luka… there is someone else…”

after crushing on luka for so many years, you would've never expected that you'd reject his confession. especially not because of your newly developed crush on viperion, your superhero partner. but what you had least expected was that luka was so hurt by your rejection that he'd end up akumatized…

by the time you saw the akuma flying into luka's room, it was already too late. a purple glowing mask covered luka's face – a sign of people that were about to get akumatized. luka seemed to struggle, as the voice in his head offered him powers to get his revenge on you. but you could only hear luka's response to a voice you couldn't hear.

“n-no–! i… i won't hurt them… n-never–!”

luka held his head and yelled, trying to fight back against hawkmoth. usually, people didn't struggle as much. or rather, they couldn't. but luka was strong.

“l-luka… i'm sorry for what i said! please, you have to fight back! i know you can do it–!”

luka's eyes met yours, a pained expression in them. for just a moment, your words made an impact on luka. enough, to make him pull off his bracelet and toss it towards you.

“h-hawkmoth can't… g-get his hands on this! run away and keep it safe–!”

confused, you picked up the bracelet. you only needed to look at it for a moment to recognize what it was: a miraculous! you had one of your own, so of course you'd recognize it. especially since it belonged to viperion.

“you are…!”

you quickly made the connection you should've made way earlier. luka and viperion. viperion and luka. they were the same. the boy you loved before and the boy you loved now. they were one and the same.

without hesitation, you grabbed luka's face and pressed a kiss onto his lips. you wished your first kiss could've happened under different circumstances, but this was the only way to make him snap out of it.

“y-y/n…”

luka softly whispered your name as he pulled away from your lips after a couple seconds. when you looked at him, the purple glow around his face was gone and the akuma flew right out of the window again. relieved that it had worked, you wrapped your arms around him.

“i-i'm so sorry–! this is all my fault…”

you clung to luka, muttering into his jacket. you didn't want to let go of him again, too afraid that he'd get akumatized again.

“please… don't apologize! it's not your fault for feeling the way you do. i can't force you to love me…”

as luka said those words, you quickly pulled away again, so you could look him in the eyes.

“but… i do love you, luka! or rather… viperion”

luka awkwardly lowered his gaze, looking at the bracelet in your hands. his miraculous, that he had given you moments prior.

“do you only love me because i'm a hero …?”

luka still didn’t get the full picture. you opened his hands, placing the bracelet back in them, before pulling out your necklace, hidden beneath your shirt. luka only had to look at it for a moment before he recognized it as well.

“no way… you are–”

genuine surprise was written on his face. but soon, he began to laugh and shook his head. seems like the penny had finally dropped.

“i think… it’s only fair you got to reject me as luka, after i turned you down so many times as viperion…”

“well, how could you have known that your superhero partner and your crush were one and the same person~?”

the two of you laughed softly, before the absurdity of the moment had slowly begun to fade.

“about my rejection earlier… do you think there's a chance i can still take it back?”

luka smiled at your question. there wasn't even a bit of doubt within him.

“of course you can… but promise me, no more secrets when we're dating, alright?”

luka reached out his pinky finger towards you. you smiled too, leaning in and interlinking fingers, before softly whispering:

“no more secrets, promised.”

[psychomusic]

oc time again! + her town & culture (heavily inspired by pre-roman italic populations)

she is suri sauthon. her story is linked to my swtor imperial agent, tar'x, but most of her life except for the one year away where she meets him, is spent in a town in the mountains of mirial.

despite mirial being cold and desert, and many cities developing underground, her town flourishes thanks to a force nexus, venerated in the form of an ancient, sacred, alive crystal. the ecosystem of that mountain depended on what "the horned crystal" was capable of giving them, but mirialans couldn't live off of that alone, so they developed trade and some rudimental technology, even if oftentimes it was bought thanks to the highly profitable trade of a plant used to make medicines that slowed down aging and had overall healing properties.

note: everything that's generated by this nexus has these healing properties BUT they have to be processed, except for those who bathed in the waters of the cavity under the crystal - the "real" nexus, but not the worshipped one. the waters were sacred but they were not thought to be miraculous, unlike the crystal, who instead was thought of as the keystone of the ecosystem: without it, everything would fall apart (and that is partially true: the cavity was the "real" nexus but thanks to the crystal, also strong in the force, the properties were spread all over the mountains). those who bathed in the cavity's waters - so, all of the town, who had a sort of baptism there - could eat the plant, make whatever food with it, and not only that plant, but everything generated by the nexus, that, again, had similar properties. this allowed people to live up to normal life-spans without advanced medicines or, much, really. to those who didn't live there, though, after the processing, had incredible effects, slowing down aging - for those who took it regularly - and making people able to live up to half a century more than the average]

originally, there were four tribes of nomads that lived thanks to horned farm animals that decided to settle down into one bigger town and other smaller settlements, to live off of transhumance. this division of the tribes stayed into the political and social organization: every person belonged to one tribe specifically, and had slightly different rituals and culture. for examples, each tribe had their own priests and healers, with different techniques and traditions. the town, tho, was guided by a group of people in the high priesthood, a position you could reach only by having earned the trust of all tribes. those high priests had many roles: they guided the people into sacred processions common to all the tribes, they managed the trading with outsiders, they did the maintenance of the temple of the summit (the one that functioned as casket to the crystal) and created a special liquid to offer the crystal that helps it grow.

this particular temple was important because 1. it was very visible, from every angle of the town, and it became an important identity symbol; 2. it stored the venerated horned crystal; 3. it had the altar where sacrifices were made for the crystals. that altar had a hole connected to the cavity, that allowed the liquids to reach the underground; 4. it had various symbols: statues representing each tribe + the high priesthood, and typical mirialan tattoos carved into the wood of the trees that served as columns for the temple, symbolizing 8 values that who dared to enter HAD to have; 5. it was on the way to an important lake (called "mother lake" because the lake the town was built around to depended on the waters of that other lake) where they traveled to in important processions; 6. it was said that a the wizard who unified the tribes made it with its magic, making the plant grow to hold the temple's roof. this wizard was, actually, a force user, obv.

BACK TO HER THOUGH: she's daughter of one of the high priests, who was in charge of managing the trades with outsiders, and lives in a house on the mountains with her mother and him. her parents are from different tribes (that's one of the things that earned him trust from the 4 tribes): when a child is born from two different tribes, they don't pick one to allign to, but they're usually linked automatically to the one with more relatives in it (in her case, the father's tribe: she had many uncles and aunts on his side while her mom only had one sister).

later, though, she got quite tied to her mother's tribe due to a mysterious illness that only her mother's tribe healer was able to cure. she spent 4 years (from 10 to 14 years old) living with the healer and learned her secrets. to better study, she wrote them down. when she returned home, she studied to become a priestess with her father. at 22 (the average age: you can't become priest before your 20s), she was supposed to take a test and become a priestess, but the healer of her mother's tribe died and the tribe asked her to take her place. she couldn't technically do that, but both tribes estimated both her and her parents and she was allowed to become both. she then decided to try to become a high priestess, and became one at 25 (a quite young age). being part of the council, she tried to convince the various tribe healers to unite their knowledges and write them down, and eventually made it. healers still remained tribe based but they now had an "upper, inter-tribe level" similar to high priesthood.

years later, the sacred horned crystal is stolen from the temple by some Hutt mercenaries looking for a profit. given the trust she has earned from all the tribes and the fact that her father is the high priest that deals with outsiders (and she's been hearing stories and advice about it since she was little), she is the one tasked with getting it back. without the growing crystal, the keystone to their ecosystem, the village would have lasted only a few years. in hrr quest, she meets imperial intelligence agent tar'x laran and, as they "solve the mystery" and fight to have it back, they get closer. they'll get married and have a daughter, Vegoia (who's the only one who actually will get to the plot of my story. this was all background)

[deathbxnny]

Thoughts on Aventurine with a S/O that like Kirari Momobami from Kakegurui?

(•̀ᴗ•́)و🎤

(Side note the Kanna Kamui reader was so cute!)

Oooh!! I certainly love this ask, Anon!! I'm excited to share my hcs that immideatly entered my head after seeing this one, especially as I really enjoyed Kakegurui.

Content: A little bit of an enemies to a lovers' situation?, romantic relationship, Reader is a bit of a sadist and evil (Aventurine is the exception), gambling, sfw

Reader has no set pronouns!

((Not proofread))

Aventurine definitely disliked you at first, and the feeling was mutual, to say the least. He saw your cruelty first-hand, the way you kept people under your thumb and on tight leashes, something he always hated, until he eventually noticed that your intentions were alot more complicated than that.

He finds himself bonding with you over your love for gambling, your feelings developing over many late night games accompanied by long, sophisticated talks that bordered on near offensive to the IPC itself. Your secret, layered hatred was shared.

After countless casual games of cards later, he finally made a bet that peaked your usually rather indifferent interest in him. If he won the next game, he'd win your heart. You ofcourse found it amusing, going as far as agreeing as you believed yourself to be unbeatable... until you weren't. Your loss was met with an amused laugh, however, an evil grin on your lips, as you simply agreed to be his in your own twisted ways.

Your relationship was purely transaction for a while but eventually developed into a much deeper connection. Romance was hard for the both of you, and yet you still found an irreplaceable bond no one else could ever replicate for the both of you.

People outside of your relationship definitely think that you're using each other when that is far from the truth. You keep him safe from the IPC's wrath whilst he keeps you safe from any dangers from the outside of the organization.

He knows that he's miraculously spared from your cruelty for a reason and sees it as your way of proclaiming your love for him whilst he spoils you rotten.

No one may understand why you two are together, but you don't care, as long as you have each other in the end.

I really love this dynamic, anon! It's really interesting considering Aventurine's past, but I still think it could work with enough time and patience... with that said, thank you for the great ask, and I'm glad you loved my Kanna Kamui Reader!!<33

[marinettesaltprompts]

Marinette Salt Prompt: Breaking the Norm and Breaking Fate

Since the Miraculouses were created, there has always been the idea of "True Holders". Those who were destined to have a defined connection to one specific Miraculous and could unlock far greater powers than any other user in their lifetime.

Unfortuately however, True Holders often brought more trouble for those part of the Order. Many a miraculous holder were chosen to wield a miraculous, only to be removed because a True Holder was found for their miraculous and were rightfully considered the better fit. Though some willingly gave up their miraculous, others were left in grief and denial, especially when the reveal of the True Holder meant that one or more holders were discarded, simply because they weren't enough.

In a few rare cases, a true holder meant that partners who held a miraculous were forcefully seperated once a True Holder came into the scene. These event usually resulted in heartbreak and revenge, as either the ex-wielder (or even their partner) went rouge against the Order and used their powers selfishly, often resulting in death and destruction.

Of course, that wasn't to say the Kwami's took it any better either. Some like Tikki just accepted it and moved on, while other Kwami's like Plagg hated the fact that many wielders were taken for them just because they weren't a "Perfect Fit"

Even when the Order fell, this dilema still remained in the latest chosen heroes:

Ladybug was a True Holder. Chat Noir ... wasn't. In fact, if Plagg was being serious, Adrien never felt like a fit for the Miraculous of Destruction at all. He was too soft, and too caring of others.

Fu knew this, having continued to search for the True Wielder as the heroes continued to take care of Hawkmoth, knowing of the eventual fate that Adrien would eventually be replaced, thus unwilling to confide in him the same way he did Ladybug.

Ladybug had begun to realize this as well, if only subconciously. As her power grew, the unknowing gap between them grew as well, as she began to see him as ... lesser. Less of a partner and more of a subordinate, someone who she felt only had to know about certain topics when it was needed (at least, according to her) rather than it being shared as partners. Even if Hawkmoth wasn't an issue, Plagg was sure she wouldn't be open to sharing her identity with Chat Noir, leaving herself vulnerable to someone unequal to her.

Hell, even the people of Paris seemed to notice the gap. Ladybug just seemed to glow and take all the focus when she appeared, and Chat ... was just there.

To anyone else, the fact that Adrien wasn't a True Holder was a sign he was always meant to be a temp, and that Plagg should just accept that.

Yet ... despite all that, Plagg refused. He thought Adrien was the best chosen he ever had. Though Adrien was emotionally a bad fit for destruction, he was a wonderful kid who took really good care of Plagg (and not just because of all the Camembert he could afford). Not to mention that the lack of a killing intent had meant his powers were held back, to the point where they were unlikely to hurt anyone if accidentally used on them (which was honestly a good thing, because Plagg's powers were beyond dangerous).

Yet, Plagg knew it wouldn't last long. If Fu and Ladybug had their way, Adrien would soon be gone, replaced by another holder. All while Adrien would be left oblivious to the situation until it was too late.

Plagg wasn't going to let that happen however.

And so... the little Cat Kwami began to plan as his wielder slept unawares.

If Adrien was not a True Holder, Plagg would go against fate and make him one. Fu and Ladybug be damned.

(Might add more later, but for now I thought I would share my initial idea. Let me know what you think!)

[fortuna-et-cataclysmos]

S5 finale: wrapping up the "running out of time" theme

So I have been mentioning frequently that there is a theme of "running out of time" in season 5, but I wasn't able to make out the meaning of it, until now.

We can say that there are three situations where the theme explicitely manifests:

Gabriel: After receiving a cataclysm wound in Destruction, we often hear Gabriel repeat that he is running out of time. The entire Intuition episode is based on that premise.

Ladynoir: This is the most obvious manifestation of this theme. In Jubilation, Ladybug and Chat Noir live a dream just to be constantly reminded that their perfect life together will end when they wake up to reality. I call it Ladynoir, but actually it is Maribug's love and romantic relationship with Chat in general.

Adrinette: This is the most subtle one, but it is there. Notice how Marinette needs to ease into a relationship with Adrien, and Adrien is doing his best to cut her slack, so much so that he says in Derision, and I quote: "We've got time." Soon after, Adrien is sent to London.

If you think I have forgotten other strings of running out of time, feel free to let me know!

Now let's look at these three strings individually:

Gabriel running out of time

This one is the simplest one as it starts very early on in the season, with the episode Destruction where he gets the cataclym wound, and ends in Recreation with his "sacrifice." Also worthy noting the names of the episodes. What starts as Gabriel running out of time in Destruction is concluded in Recreation with him making his wish, accomplishing his wish, and dying. We can consider this thread concluded.

2. Ladynoir running out of time

Of course, the first episode that comes to mind is Jubilation. In Jubilation we (and the blorbos) learn that they actually desire to be together, romantically. And indeed they get to live a perfect little life in their dream, ignoring the increasingly bigger alarm clocks that are trying to wake them up. Except that at the end Ladybug realises that they must wake up (duty calls!), and she abandons Chat Noir in the dream universe, broken.

From here on, nearly every episode is a warning for Marinette against being romantically together with Chat Noir:

Determination: Marinette accepts that she has feelings for Chat Noir, her reaction to that is crying

Passion: Ladybug's crush on Chat Noir leads to her being distracted and making many critical mistakes in their fight

Reunion: is a cautionary tale about Ladybug and Cat Miraculous holders falling in love

Illusion: (I haven't watched this in a while but I think nothing relevant happens here)

Elation: Marinette is nearly akumatised because of her love to and rejection by Chat Noir

The overarching message from Jubilation to Elation is that: if Maribug ends up with Chat Noir, it'll be a disaster.

So Marinette decides to close up her heart to anyone, and after a brief depression, Adrien finally convinces her to be with him and they become an official couple. From this point onwards, the key ship becomes Adrinette.

Does that mean that Ladynoir has run out of time? Not necessarily. They just decided to love each other in a different way. I should remind here that even though we tend to polarise the sides of the square as fandom, the creators have repeatedly told that the love square is one, there is one love.

The Ladynoir relationship has a direct connection to the Adrinette dynamics because after all, they're the same two people.

3. Adrinette running out of time

Now that Adrinette is finally together, they should have all the time in the world, right? Right? It's what Adrien says, after all.

But I couldn't shake this sense of urgency throughout this season. Every time they said that they had time, it made me feel like they actually don't and they don't know it. And it was exactly what they wanted to make us feel: with Adrien's move to London, it turns out they didn't have time. Worse is that, Adrien actually knew that he'd need to move to London but he couldn't tell it to Marinette, he kept it a secret all the way till he was shipped off to London.

And there is a parallel between Jubilation and Revolution here: in both episodes, their dream is shattered, they share one last dramatic kiss, and they are torn apart from one and other (@asukiess had a big brain time and pointed this out back when Revolution aired).

But now, in Recreation, Gabriel is gone. Everything is fixed? Everyone will be happy, right?

Well... No.

As I pointed out in a previous post, the world that Gabriel creates is a bit too bright, too perfect. The show is notorious for associating the sun with fake happiness at this point, while the "real" moments are rainy and/or dark. And let's see the colour palette in the end:

Another detail that makes me put on my tinfoil hat:

They're not very visible on the static image, but there are white butterflies flying over the flower arch. Those could be symbolising the end, as a reference to how Ladybug releases the purified akuma at the end of each episode. But it might also have a second meaning, a reference to how this world was in fact created upon the ideals of Gabriel.

And that can't be good for anyone. I explain more the consequences and aftermath of this episode in the post I mention above, but basically this world is Gabriel's ideal, and it is far from being a good place for neither Marinette, nor Adrien.

One main reason why: Gabriel has left Marinette with the truth about the Monarch, and she agreed to keep it a secret from Adrien. But we know that it will eventually come out. Either she tells it to Chat Noir, or maybe Lila plots something, but it won't remain a secret forever. And when it does... it will have tremendous impact on not only Adrinette, but also Ladynoir.

This world is a fantasy world where Marinette and Adrien have ended up together, just like in: Chat Blanc, Ephemeral, Oblivio, Jubilation. And at one point the alarm clock will ring, the hammer will drop, and both Ladynoir and Adrinette will run out of time. Except that this time, we may not be able to revert back to the status quo.

Gabriel has left them with a tickling time bomb.