#my insecure needy king | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

aurawrawr · 6 months

Text

Cremate me in your arms

King of Curses Ryomen Sukuna x afab! brown reader

Too much confidence and simping has led to this second part. And I hope to do it justice. The following fic features an established relationship so to understand the dynamics and origins, find the first part here.

Minors, DNI. Word count: 4k

CW: generalized themes of death, murder and the likes, established relationship, dub-con, sex with Sukuna's true form, breast play, PIV, creampie, oral (m! receiving), mutual orgasms, worship, devotion, insecurity, jealousy, arguments, breeding kink, pregnancy, major character death, mention of sati (the ancient Hindu ritual of the very alive, and likely young, wife walking into the funeral pyre of her dead husband)

it gets really dark and angsty towards the end; i'm sorry

King of Curses Ryomen Sukuna who is astounded by how well you take his true form. He stuffs you with one of his cocks while the other slides along your puffy lips. He holds your breasts in two hands, toying with your pebbled nipples, while the other two keep your body in place as he rams into you. He loves your fluttery kisses, the way you grab on to his beyond broad shoulders, struggle to keep your head from lolling, back arching. He has a devilish grin on his face and abs as he empties his heavy tight sacks inside you. Again and again.

Now that he has seen your face at the height of your pleasure, he wants it no other way. He doesn't need a surface anymore, he carries you around as he fucks. And you don't complain. You'll take him as he presents himself to you, human form or curse. You're his to have. But is he yours?

King of Curses Ryomen Sukuna who makes you look at him in front of Uraume-hime, because he knows you're insecure about them. Although, he does get a kick out of when he summons you to his chambers after locking himself in with the Oiran for hours. How needy you become. How territorial. And he pretends he didn't hear your soft pacing outside his doors only moments before, didn't see your shadow pass over the patio. They don't do anything that'd challenge your relationship with your Ryo-sama. In fact, most of the time, he makes Uraume do their books in his chambers just to see your flushed face afterward, your impatient grinding against his bulge, your willingness to take him in your mouth even though you choke every time you try.

King of Curses Ryomen Sukuna who is luminous with bliss about his playful belle. You are ticklish on your tummy and he makes avid use of that when waking you up in the mornings. His extra mouth licks around, dipping occasionally into your belly button, making you laugh and squirm.

"What is this mouth for, Ryo-sama?" You ask once, feeding it potato fritters you had made that evening.

"It's to eat you out a second time when this mouth is tired." Ryo-sama is goofy now. You're no more scared of him like you used to be.

"Ryo-sama!" You've even been given the liberty to rebuke him every now and then, and you take full advantage of it.

He laughs. "It's my mouth, Paro." He points to his face. "This mouth is my brother's. Everything about me that's remotely human is my brother. The monster is the real me."

"Brother?" You've never heard of one before.

"Yes, my love. The brother I ate in my mother's womb. You see, I was supposed to be one of twins but when they pulled me out, I was covered in blood. My mother's, of course, and that of my brother. He reincarnated when I changed, finally enacting his revenge and locking me in this unsightly form."

You drop the chopsticks from your hand, and lean into his frame to kiss his mouth, the one on his stomach. Then, rise to kiss the un-human part of his face, the skin rough to your lips but it doesn't matter to you. To you, it's an act of reverence. He closes all his eyes and you place pecks on the lids of the ones he calls monstrous. "You're the most beautiful man I've ever seen."

Ryo-sama laughs, his whole body shaking. He rests one hand on your shoulder while two others pull you down on him. "That's because, for some inexplicable reason, you're in love with me."

King of Curses Ryomen Sukuna who whole-heartedly supports your new project. It strokes his ego when you show your excitement about your new religion with him as the God. Cult, to be completely honest. Regardless, you've painted him, the form you most wish to worship. Where you see a benevolent guardian deity, he sees a grotesque monster. Really, beauty must be in the eyes of the lover.

"What do you want from me, Paro?" He asks one day, smoking opium from his pipe, blowing it out of the open window. You are writing an essay in Hiragana for your tutor to go over later. Your handwriting has improved a lot; even Ryo-sama acknowledges so. When you look up at him questioning, he sighs. "You know, if you want to leave, I won't stop you, right? I could never bring myself to harm you."

"Why would I leave, my Lord? I want to be by your side. Do you not want me here?"

"I have used your body for my own pleasure since your first day here, demanded that you learn a language to better my experience in the bedroom. I have been miserable to you for several weeks before suddenly springing a confession and my true form upon you. Putting up with me must be exhausting. And yet, you stay. There must be something you want. Fame, protection, wealth, what is it? Tell me. I promise I won't be disappointed."

You're speechless. For as long as you've been with Sukuna-sama, this is the first time his words have hurt you. "You doubt my devotion, my Lord." Your eyes water as you try very hard to keep looking at him. But you can't, so you concentrate on the wavering shadow on the wall behind him. The tears fall anyway.

"Paro, that's not... Please don't..."

Your writing equipment clatters as you get on your feet, running out of his room. The ink spills, seeps into the silk of your sitting mat.

King of Curses Ryomen Sukuna who would kill for you, burn the world for you, and he knows better to do it behind your back because you shouldn't have to deal with the guilt. So he crushes the heads of mortals who speak ill of you, choke to death those who plot to maim you, and put your life in danger. Uraume-hime may not be too fond of you but they're loyal to Sukuna-sama and will execute his orders with precision; they keep an eye out for you, sneer at you when you look their way but protect you nonetheless.

When Ryo-sama finds you that night, you've already been in your bath for far too long. Your skin has pruned, your eyes are red-rimmed from all the crying; your newly appointed lady-in-waiting has requested you to come out several times lest you catch a cold but you've paid her no attention. You want to catch a cold, you want to suffer. If Ryo-sama wants you to leave, then you'll go away for good.

"Kiero." He orders the woman before settling himself beside your tub. Resting his arms and chin on the edge, he looks at you but doesn't say anything. You don't either; you only sniffle and wipe your tears and snot away with the back of your hand.

"Can I get a few days' time to find a job elsewhere before I have to leave?"

"No."

Your exhales are shaky. "In the morning then, Sukuna-sama."

"Sukuna-sama? Is that how mad you are at me?" He holds your face in his hand. You want to flinch, turn away, deny him any touch but you crave for his skin too. If you are to leave in the morning, you will never have it again so you might as well let him take you one last time.

"Who am I to be mad at you? I should have known this was going to happen."

"What should you have known?"

"That you'll lose interest in me. I'm not strong, after all. I don't have Uraume-hime's curse techniques. I'm just a puny, filthy—"

He sits up, offering his lips to you but you don't give in. "I don't want you to leave." If he really doesn't have a heart, what is this tightening around his chest? What is this fear?

"But if I do leave, you won't stop me. That's how unimportant I am to you. That's how disposable."

"I lied. I won't know left from right if I lose you. I have a plan for when, and if ever, you try to leave. It's from that story you told me about your Goddess of Destruction." He smiles against your lips. "I will lie down on the ground, in front of you, like her husband did. And you can't step on or over me, so you won't leave."

"I'll turn and walk in a different direction." You know your heart is softening. You're putty in Ryo-sama's hands, under his manipulations.

"I'll stop you, Paro. I'll change positions, get up and lie down in different spots every time you turn. Can I kiss you now?" His lips are so close but you must hold your ground.

"What about when I die?" You've always known he'll outlive you, and that's the dream of every devoted lover, is it not? But there's another dream you have. You don't want to leave him completely alone when you die. You know he's too strong and doesn't really need anybody, but that doesn't mean he has to be lonely.

Sukuna-sama sits back. There's not a day when he doesn't think about this, when he doesn't shudder just from the thought of seeing your lifeless body, your once beautiful face cold and pale from having your breath snatched from your lungs. The only answer that he comes up with is to use his Reverse Jujutsu and revive you but how many times can he do that? He is stuck in an invulnerable form but you will eventually be too old and frail to want to live any longer. "Whatever you want, Paro. I can bring you back, or let you rest."

You pretend to toy with a thought while he stares at your face. You've had an idea for quite some time. Back home, you'd have had to step into the blazing funeral pyre of your dead husband. But what can you do if he's an undying God? "Fire doesn't harm you, my Lord?" You know the answer, but you still ask to confirm. He shakes his head, wondering where you're going with this. "Cremate me in your arms then, Ryo-sama. I don't want a pyre; I want to be in your arms when I die."

King of Curses Ryomen Sukuna who comforts you, holds your shaking body with all his arms and rocks you when you cry for your mother. Unbeknownst to you, he has sent many of his people — curses and curse users alike — to the brothel in Bengal you had mentioned your mother worked at. But to no avail. He never told you this and doesn't plan to, ever, unless he actually finds your mother. You shouldn't have to know that your fears of never seeing her again might be true.

King of Curses Ryomen Sukuna who knows no real God would ever listen to him. Still, he whispers a soft "Kami-sama" in your name every morning. He doesn't need a God to protect you but why risk it? Your new project has harbored a lot of attention, and not only the good kind. It makes him worry about your safety. He sends two of his most notorious curse-users with you every time you step out of his palace. He throws a fit every time he notices you're dressing for grocery shopping or to go oversee the building of his shrine. He can always send someone else, why do you need to go?

He impatiently paces the yard when you're on one of your trips until he hears the slow drag of the heavy front door, and your cheerful chattering with the guards. How you maintain your optimism and enthusiasm even while living with the epitome of negativity is beyond him. He needs you for this, to clear the smoke of his desolation, the stillness of his immortality.

"Ryo-sama." You walk up to him. "There was good cow meat in the market. What kind of curry would you like, my Lord?"

"You don't have to cook cow for me, my love. Aren't they your God's pets?"

"Yes, my Lord, but for you—"

"It's decided then. We won't consume cows in this household anymore."

You smile wryly. "After I die then."

You have been speaking of your death every so often, to the point where Sukuna-sama has had to summon the medic that he calls a quack several times over a month to evaluate your physical health. And every time, the charlatan has informed him that you're perfectly healthy. So he's decided that every time you say something about dying, he will medicate you in his own way.

He seizes your wrist and pulls you to his bedchamber. He strips you down to your breast band and loincloth. He transforms because he knows you enjoy having him touch you with so many arms that it feels like he's consuming you. But then you say something that makes him stop in his tracks. "Is there something wrong with me, Ryo-sama?"

"Did somebody say something to you?" His voice goes cold. You shake your head but refuse to meet his eyes. "Tell me the bastard's name and I'll send them a nice present."

"It's nobody, my Lord. Just me."

"What's wrong?" He tilts your face upward. He sounds demanding.

"It's... It's been over a year since... since you've first been with me, my Lord. And yet..." Your voice quivers, tears starting to gather on the cusp of your eyelid. "And yet, every month... on the night of the waxing gibbous, I bleed. Why can't I give you a child? What's wrong with me?"

King of Curses Ryomen Sukuna who is bothered by nothing. He's squashed many an eyesore under his thumb. Nothing gives him the ick, except for the water pooling in your eyes. This is the second time he's made you cry and he hates himself for it. For, it's not you who's wrong, inadequate, unfit to have a child. It's him. He's been so afraid of harming you with his cursed essence, he's been manipulating it so as to not impregnate you with a cursed womb.

"We're different, my dear." He tries again. "It's not that there's something wrong with you. It's our union that won't bear a healthy child."

Your heart breaks. Even though you try to hide it, Sukuna-sama sees it on your face. "I see, my Lord. I guess I was worrying for nothing." You put a smile on your face but it doesn't stay. With every passing day, you grow sadder. He notices it in your destitute of smiles, your limp enthusiasm in his arms, your shaky silhouette after he puts you to sleep.

King of Curses Ryomen Sukuna who never, not even during his human life, wanted for a family, but your words have moved him. For a few years of his eternity, he can see himself being a loving father, and a doting husband. So this time, he approaches you.

"Paro." He pulls you to him one night as you two are resting after dinner. You have been fixated on making an army of origami swans but when he seeks your attention, you give it to him easily. You drop your half-folded swan and he springs the question on you. "Will you be my bride?"

You say, yes, because there's no reason to lie.

The ceremony is chaste. You follow rituals of both your cultures. When flakes of his sindoor fall on your nose, you smile. He already loves you; you don't need more proof.

His chambers have been extended to accommodate you and when you get to your bedroom, you notice the flower petals on the sheets, just like you had once told him happens back home. Sukuna-sama takes you by the hand and makes you sit on the bed. He kneels in front of you, like he had the first time he had shown you his reality. By the warmth on his usually hardened face, it's clear he has something to tell you. "Paro," he whispers, "do you still want to have my child?" Again, there's no reason to lie. "It might hurt you, my love."

"I can take it, Ryo-sama." You take his hand. "I... I've seen women in the throes of labor. I can endure that."

"It won't be the labor of a human birth, my love. Or have you forgotten who your Ryo-sama is? It's true that the heart I don't have in me is compensated by the kindness of your spirit but our child will be a monster at its very core."

"You and I will raise them right, my Lord."

King of Curses Ryomen Sukuna who has never been soft in bed but for you and for the child you wish to bear, he is willing to change his ways. He envelopes you with kisses, keeps your hips lifted with a pillow beneath your rear. He whispers your name and you whisper his. You touch his arms, his strong, protective arms, his chest, the heart behind it that only you've seen, his waist thrusting into you so lovingly. "Harder, Ryo-sama." You're aching for him, for the warmth of his seed. "Harder, please." He increases his pace, buries his face in your neck, groans as he releases inside you. He has done this before, every time, but this feels different, it feels fruitful.

King of Curses Ryomen Sukuna who expects himself to keep his calm always. But when you tell him you haven't bled in two moons, he is beside himself with joy. He picks you up in his arms and twirls you, wants to run out and tell the whole world what a miracle you are. But he knows nobody would rejoice in the news of him furthering his lineage. Only you. And that's enough for him.

As the months pass and you grow heavier, his happiness only increases. He makes everything perfect for you, caters to your every need and want. He tends to the ache in your back, relieves the soreness in your breasts, even massages your feet. But he notices changes in your mien. You spend longer outside of home. He knows you're in the new temple but what you do behind the closed doors of the shrine, nobody can tell him. Not even the guards he sends with you. When he asks you, you only shrug and tell him that you've been praying. He knows you have an idol of your God situated in the same chambers as the idol of him and there's also a priest you’ve met recently, so he doesn’t question it anymore.

But when you decide to walk out the night you’re supposed to deliver, he panics. “Where are you going?” He calls out as you’re about to step out of your room. “Shouldn’t you be getting ready to go into the labor room? I’ve arranged for midwives from your home, priests to handle any rituals you want to partake in and yet… It feels as if you have other plans.”

“I’m only going to pray, Ryo-sama.” You drape a robe over your bump.

“Pray here. I’ll send Uraume to get your God.”

“No.” You lose your usual softness. “I’ll only be gone for an hour or so.”

“And what if your liquor breaks in that one hour?”

“The priest will help me.”

“The priest you don’t allow anyone to meet?” He is losing his calm too.

“I’ve told you the reason, haven’t I? It'll be futile meeting the priest who's supposed to carry out rituals in your name.”

He is exasperated. He shouldn’t have let you have this much power over him. “At least let me come with you. I’ll wait outside.”

“That doesn’t look good for the King of Curses, my Lord.”

“Who’s going to tell me that?”

“I will. The mother of your child. Please, my Lord, I beg of you. I know the labor will be easier if I just spend some time with my God alone.”

King of Curses Ryomen Sukuna who knew love is worthless. Then why did he ever let himself love you? Why did he give in to your wishes? Why did he not force your hand when you acted against his orders? Why did he let you be the only human who could make him kneel?

When the hour is up and you’ve not returned, he storms out of his palace, trident in hand. If he has to threaten you for you to come back to him, he will. But he doesn’t get the chance to. When he reaches the steps of the shrine, the dread in his chest rises to his ears, ringing like bells of a temple in the storm. The establishment is in ruins, the guards who were with you had been slashed through their necks so brutally, their heads had tossed away from the rest of their bodies. He rushes up the stairs, trips. His weapon falls from his hand when he looks inside. The walls have been painted with blood. He can tell it’s your blood from the scent. A terror-stricken groan rises from his throat. His chest is even more hollow now.

“Paro.” He finds your mangled body up against the wall furthest from the door and scoops you up in his arms. “Paro. My love. My heart. My miracle.” He cries out. Long gone is the King of Curses; these are the desperate howls of a grieving husband. “Who… who did this?”

There’s some life left in you. And even if there isn’t, he is more than willing to bring you back. Not only because you must live, but also because they who did this to you, must die. And he will do it, he will go to the ends of this world and the next, and find the lowlife who dared to touch his Paro, the love of his immortality, his Queen of Blessings.

He touches your chest to revive you but you seize his wrist. “Ryo-sama.” You gurgle up through the seas of blood in your throat. He leans into you to let you touch his face, rub away his tears like you have removed the darkness from his soul. You manage a smile at the end of your breath. “You were right, Ryo-sama. I birthed a monster. But... he's still... my son.”

“Who did this to you? The brat?”

You slowly shake your head. “I was… so blind, so foolish. The… the priest. He was… after our son. Promise me… Ryo-sama. You will avenge… me. You… will… protect our son… for me.”

“Avenge you, I will. But right now, I’m bringing you back.”

“No.” You cough up, splattering blood across his face. “I’m… your weakness.”

“No, no–” You shush him with a hand over his lips.

“I am… your weakness. I am your disease. Let me go… and become what you must. For Yuji.”

“Yuji?”

“Our… son. Find him… please… and protect him. Make him… a little human. The priest…” You cough again, clutching the robe at your empty womb. “He had… stitches… across his forehead.”

Sukuna-sama knew him, the curse with stitches on his forehead. He will find him and kill him, even if it takes him a thousand years.

“You… promised me… one more thing… Ryo-sama.”

His eyes water at your request, the bloody smile on your lips he knows will haunt him for all of eternity. Love is worthless but you are not. You’ve taught him hope, you’ve shown him kindness, the selfless love that he knew was not for him to have. You’ve proved to him that to love and be loved is to change. “Must I?” He asks and you nod. He loses to you. Once again.

“I love you. I’ve loved you before I knew you, and I will love you after you’re gone. I will find you if you’re ever reborn but I will pray to any God that listens to me that they don’t send you here again. This world doesn’t deserve you. And I will punish them for it. Sleep well, my love.” He kisses your forehead.

King of Curses Ryomen Sukuna, feared by all, respected by some but loved by one. His atrocities are well-known, written and spoken about through ages. Even years later, people remember the villages he burned that night, the blaze crimson red like the petals of spider-lilies, the screams of the people louder than the crackling of the fire. He did that out of mindless rage, everyone says. They are wrong. He did that out of love.

please don't copy my work, or publish it elsewhere without my consent. all banners are from pinterest.

i'm sorry i had so much fun writing this

tagging (because you guys seemed to like the first part): @ghostslillady @iwonmx @kariatenoh @pearlsxandxpeonies

297 notes · View notes

alqssv · 9 months

Text

Skz reaction to a S/O with a big bum || headcanons (Maknae Line)

Hyung Line

Maknae Line

Warnings: smut, mentions of sexual acts, and a little bit fluff ofc:D ; if you’re under 18 please leave!

Han:

• damn bro

• would tease you in a jokingly way

• would never cross the line though and never make you feel insecure!

• would always want to make you feel loved

• imagine just laying on your bed or doing daily chores and he would just randomly glide over your butt with his hand, give you the BIGGEST squeeze in your life and gives you a kiss and *boom* make out session

• he’s so needy

• like girl chill

• feral jisung mode activated

• omg will be so whiny about it

• “baby i need you”

• GIRL I NEED YOU TOO

Felix:

• nah mate you got him flustered

• will be shy about it

• would never look at your butt because he’s scared to make you uncomfortable

• king

• once you you’re at this point in your relationship where you go the next step ( if you know what I mean *wink* wink*) and get more comfortable with each other you can’t stop him

• is the type to just randomly slap it when you’re alone just for fun

• hehe

• hugs from behind

• would all in all be (mostly) sweet about it <3

• oh why I said mostly you asked?

• well

• I would be lying if I said your butt wouldn’t be a bit of a turn on for him

• would never admit it tho lmaoo

Seungmin:

• heheeee

• would always want you on his lap

• and would always want to hug you from behind

• so fluffy

• always has his hand in your butt lol

• and would gently squeeze it

• he’s so whipped for you

• give him a kiss now hmpf 😡

• anyway seungmin out of the building

I.N:

• aww

• I know this may be unexpected but(t)

• will slap the shit out of your butt

• like for what

• someone take him away from minho

• i feel like he would only do it in private and not in public

• because it’s embarrassing

• for both of you

• I feel like no matter what bum size you have he will be obsessed for some reason

• you thought he was innocent

• BUT(T) HES NOT

• takes every opportunity to slap your bum tbh

• freaky jeongin

a/n: hey everybody! I hope you enjoyed part 2 and I’m so surprised my first post got 50 likes within not even a day, thank you! :0 this defo motivates me to keep writing, feel free to request some things ;D

take care <3

- liss ^^

257 notes · View notes

bucknastysbabe · 1 year

Note

thanks so much! that’s totally fine, it doesn’t even need to be a full blown imagine even just a small blurb will suffice. I just can’t get chubby Aegon out of my head, I feel like he’d be insecure but the reader would make him feel okay about the way he is. And he’d just be so needy for her, but when he sees people trying to steal her from him, another side shows of him & he plays the King card so well.

God just imagine sitting on his thick thighs while he sits the Iron Throne.

THE THOUGHT OF THE THIGHS N THRONE SLURP, sorry if this was super short but I have another one in the askbox for chubby Aegon too hehe

Also I accidentally spent on this adit app best 50 accident ever so I can make someome chonk lmfao

Big king, bigger thighs, biggest throne

Rating: Mature

Tags: TW wg, fluffy, chats of sex, chubby jealous Aegon, hims wife is sweet, general awe, wife reader

Aegon pulled you from the visiting lord of Griffin’s Roost, plump lips frowning. He sternly chided Lord Connington, “Tis’ a bit rude to be openly ogling the King’s wife, hm? Some take it as a punishable offense.” You stared at him in shock, the red-haired man in front of you both apologizing profusely and darting away.

You looked at him in concern, asking gently, “He was being polite Aegon, what’s wrong?”

He was in excellent pouting form, muttering, “I don’t like the way they make you smile.”

You held yourself from scoffing in your husband’s soft, pretty face. His big violet eyes looked hurt. Poor thing was so sensitive and needy when it came to you. Running a hand down his chest you sighed, “Aegon dear, I’m merely doing my duty as queen. Obviously you’re my only love, I take our vows very seriously.”

Aegon frowned harder at your thinly veiled jab about the past, apologizing, “Fine, sorry, can we just go to bed? I’m not drunk enough for all these,” the king searched for a word, “Arses.” You laughed at his eloquent description, grabbing the blonde’s hand. You cooed, “Yes, lead the way.”

Your self-conscious husband’s fit of self pity had increased tenfold upon being alone in your shared quarters. He picked at his tight doublet, sighing dramatically. You toed off your shoes, waiting for the inevitable.

“Is it because I’ve grown fat?,” Aegon whined.

That was different than his usual criticisms of self. You raised your brows in surprise, unable

to come up with a planned response. Aegon’s lips trembled as he bemoaned, “Oh gods, it’s true, you think me a hog!” You held your hands up and yelped, “Stop it right there!”

He paused, face comically quizzical. You stood up to get a better look at him. You were around him all the time, you hadn’t noticed any changes. Aegon whined again, you shushing him, “Quit sniveling, I didn’t notice anything off!”

Your eyes roved his form.

Well he wasn’t fat by any means. But your husband had put on a few. Drinking like a Braavosi sea lord and eating like a king will do that to one’s figure. You slid a finger down his front, noticing his thicker torso. Aegon mumbled, “Say something at the least!”

You made a circle, eyeing his hips and ass. Indeed, he was thicker. Returning to face your husband you shrugged indifferently. He squawked, “What the bloody hells is that supposed to mean?” Stifling laughter your wrapped your arms around his midsection and hummed, “You’ve gotten a bit…podgy. But I quite like it.”

His eyes narrowed in suspicion, arms encircling your own slim waist. Aegon stated, “You jest.” Huffing in annoyance you retorted, “Obviously I don’t care that you’ve got a belly if I’m still riding your cock every night. If you want to lose it then start riding my cunt.” You pinched his fleshy hip and teased, “Lazy.”

He peered down at you, blonde brow raised. Quietly he asked, “Truly? You do not care?” You nodded and kissed his plump lips to seal your point. Aegon relaxed some, his hold tightening on you. He smiled softly, “My perfect queen.”

You pinched his fatty belly and teased, “Someone’s gotta do it, come on my king, take me to bed.” He laughed and drug you along.

After a thorough fucking, you really got to know Aegon’s softer frame and it was delicious. Then blonde was much more sensitive and blushy. Especially when you nipped at his sore pink marks from growth.

#aegon ii targaryen #hotd fanfic #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon ii x reader #asks answered

343 notes · View notes

freshlyrage · 5 months

Text

Running Like Water

The Holiday Special and Homecoming

pairing: Javier Peña x OFC

fic warnings: NSFW Explicit Smut (18+ MDNI) language, strained family relationships, mentions of drug abuse, discussions of insecurities and body image issues, daddy and mommy issues

fic tags: Best friends younger sister, Life-long crush, Friends to lovers, Unrequited love, slow burn, Push and Pull, Small Town Dynamics, Secret Relationships, latina MC, Fluff and Angst, OFC!Jessica Alba face claim, sorry Lorraine I’m bringing you into this, Time jumps, 2 year age gap, pre-canon

word count: 5.2k

a/n:

Merry Christmas to those who celebrate. Happy Holidays to all. Here's my little gift of a few short stories about the holidays in RLW. And yes... finally I have wrapped up the Homecoming story.

I listened to an awful lot of christmas songs while writing this, if anyone is interested I could attach a playlist (The Christmas Song by Nat "King" Cole is a must listen for this).

This is for you @angelofsmalldeath-codeine merry christmas beloved!

Thanksgiving 1977

By the time Andrea begins zipping up her sweater while walking home from school she realizes that perhaps her oh so thrilling friendship with Javier Peña was only a summer thing. On the last sticky day of august he ruffled her hair and joked about her sun freckles. Sitting at the lake’s dock, shoulder to shoulder a thirteen year old Andrea shares an orange with fifteen year old Javier. He tells her, her nose looked like a chocolate chip cookie, god forbid Javier even slightly throws a compliment her way. Andrea balls her hands in fists with a grin when she says thank you, her brother scoffing from the other edge of their lake dock, “He wasn’t complimenting you, you idiot.” He calls with a snort, Genie pinches his arm and he yelps. Javi looks over his tan shoulder at his best friend and laughs along. Her face falls when Javier doesn’t correct Frankie but instead pushes off away from her and runs to the other end and pushes her brother into the murky water with a voice crack laced scream. Andrea and Genie flinch from the splash. She flinches from the weather dropping below sixty, eyes narrow as she walk uphill after being dismissed for thanksgiving break.

That was the last time she saw Javi. He stopped coming to the house to pick her and Frankie up. Two weeks into seventh grade she noticed how strange it was to not be with him. Everyone in the halls at school were strangers, shit, they hadn't even known she spent the summer crushing on Laredo’s cutest freshman. Andrea tries to practice self control by not bugging Frankie about where the hell his so-called best friend was. That was until of course October when Frankie snatched a piece of gum from Andrea’s bookbag.

“Where are you going?” She asks, her head lifting from her damn geometry work. Frankie pops the gum in his mouth and shrugs.

“Homecoming game with Javi.” He says it like its nothing. Her eyes go all needy and in the most little sister voice she begs to come with. Frankie screws up his face, “No. Absolutely not.”

Andrea slams her pencil down feeling betrayed by her brother who just two months ago let her tag along, every time!

“Have you been hanging out, like just you guys?” She asks, sounding more whiny than she wanted.

“Yeah, we hang out every day.” He bends down and tightens the laces to his chucks, his Laredo high school pull string hoodie flopping over his head in the same movement. She remembers her heart sinking at that moment, How dare they leave her out! She stands from the chair, it screeches loud.

“What!”

Frankie laughs and heads out the door with a slam.

So Andrea learns that, yeah, it's a summer thing.

She rewires her brain to believe it stays that way just because she was the only one still in middle school. But she still finds it beyond strange that she doesn't bump into him, not even once–not until thanksgiving. The Diaz household only celebrated christian holidays and occasionally birthdays, so thanksgiving was just another day. Andrea rolls over in bed after a good late afternoon nap, her eyes falling to her year wide calendar. 49 days until she’s fourteen. She prays she grows some boobs, blurry eyes staring down at the mosquito bites under the t-shirt.

A knock at her room door has her sat up straight, patting down the wrinkles in her shirt. “Yes!” She calls, eyes wide and cheeks flush.

“It’s Javi.”

Andrea nearly shrieks at the sound of his voice from behind the door and from the position she had just been in. Up on her feet she hurries to the mirror, “Give me a moment I’m-um-I’m naked.” She blurts, her cheeks heating at her brain's stupid stupid stupid self. Patting her hair in place and slipping on socks, her freckles are long gone. No longer is there a trace of summer on her, what if she was just prettier under the sun.

He chuckles behind the door, “Uh-um okay.”

“Come in.” She shouts instead of opening the door for him. She wonders if maybe she looks more grown, her eyes dance to the mirror and polka dot fluffy shorts that stopped mid thigh, nope definitely not. He opens the door and the sight is absolutely delightful. Javier clad in a flannel and jeans, his brows furrowing at her. Lips quirking into a smile and at that moment Andrea realizes this is Javier’s first time in her room. Her cheeks set a blaze, his eyes scan the place, he smiles lazily at a picture of the summer crew taped onto her vanity mirror. “Sorry, I was just changing after a nap.” Half true. Her eyes bounce anywhere but his own, god Andrea could be so obvious sometimes. Have I no shame?

He frowns, lifting a tin foil plate up, suddenly the smell of Peña fresh pork and rice, and tamales. Andrea’s stomach grumbles cartoonishly and Javier splits into a chuckle. Andrea is utterly gobsmacked at how badly she likes the boy. Is this what love feels like? Like the sound of their makes her ache, was she too young to feel that hard? She giggles anyway, “Sorry I’m so hungry, let's go to the kitchen.” She tilts her head toward the door and he nods, leading himself out. Shamelessly staring at the nape of his neck as she trails him down the stairs. She has a dangerous thought of her lips pressing right there, that thought freaks her out and she feels her stomach flip.

“Why are you alone?” Javier asks as he sets down the plate on the kitchen island. Andrea slept off the annoyance she developed from her mother and brothers yearly antics. Each thanksgiving, the two of them, just the two of them, go out to eat. They call it their mother son day of the year, when Andrea was young she was left with her nanny who took it upon herself to take little Andrea to a movie each thanksgiving. But Andrea was no longer little and the tradition continued, so the past 3 thanksgivings had been spent alone. It was routine to her, she wasn't sure if she was ready to understand her mothers ways just yet.

This Thanksgiving fell on Andrea’s fathers birthday, it's all she knew about him. His birthday and name. Lucas, November 24th. One complicated parent a time, she didn’t dwell this thanksgiving but she’d be a liar if she said she hadn't felt like she was on the verge of tears the entire day.

Andrea peels open the wet aluminum, oh lordy I am thankful, thank you Chucho… for this food, Andrea looks up at Javier who had been staring at her with such contentment, and thank you for making the adonis that watches me now. Grabbing a fork Andrea answers, “My mom does something with Frankie every thanksgiving so I’m left here! God this looks amazing.” She drags her fork at the slab of pork, and it pulls so beautifully she could cry. Javier pulls the plate away from her. “Hey!”

“Is this every thanksgiving?” He asks, shielding the plate with his arm to get her to answer.

She didn't care, “Yes, now move.” Andrea pinches his wrist and he slowly pulls his hand back to his side. Shoveling the pernil in her mouth with an excited mumble. Javi stays silent for her first few bites, just watching Andrea stuff herself. She was so hungry she couldn't bother looking at him. But then he sits next to her and gets a fork for himself and begins eating off the plate with her.

Cheeks bulging with arroz con gandules, her eyes brighten and she smiles. “Happy Thanksgiving.” She says with a full mouth, to anyone it would be a gross act but Javier had thought it was the most endearing sight ever.

“Happy thanksgiving Andrea.”

They eat together in silence.

Javier leaves with his heart beating fast in his chest, his stomach turning in the worst way. He looks at his father in the driver's seat, Chucho rolls down the window. “What took you so long!?”

Javier shook his head, not wanting to risk shouting what he discovered at the lawn of Andrea’s home. He shoots his head over his shoulder to take one more look at the house that contained just Andrea inside.

Running a hand through his hair, Javier opens his fathers truck door and settles in. That feeling, that hole in his chest still in full effect. “Andrea spends every thanksgiving alone.” He says it, his chest rises and falls. Andrea spends every thanksgiving alone.

Thanksgiving 1979

Andrea spends it alone again. Javier sat with his uncle, and dad in Houston, feeling awful homesick. Javier filled out the scholarship to the High School of Law and Justice in March and got free tuition for the upcoming year in late August, he had no time to really tell Andrea. Chucho traveled north for the holidays. Cooking for his helpless little brother who had Javier living off cafeteria lunch and ramen. The house smelled delightful and it truly felt like the holidays, even if he wasn't really home. During grace, with his hand resting on his fathers shoulder, in a warm room filled with home cooked food and love, he realizes she’s likely napping again. Probably sleeping to fizzle out hunger and loneliness.

Javi struggles to enjoy his food.

Homecoming 1979

Homecoming sure felt like a holiday in Laredo, at least within the halls of the school. The week had been full of underage drinking each night, pranks, and defacing the rival schools flag. Andrea couldn’t be bothered with the festivities, she just cared that senior Brian Flores who asked her to the dance. Now she could use this as an excuse to be pretty and maybe, maybe get her first kiss. She attended the game, and met Lorraine face to face for the very first time. Andrea attempted to bite back the jealousy buttering her tongue, and she surely took it out on Javier when he asked to talk after the game. Asking her all these questions that made her feel, for just a second, that he wants to be near her as much as she wants to be near him.

Then he called her kid, and Andrea felt winded at the blow.

“Next time I’ll think twice before I invite my best friend's kid sister to hang out. I apologize for trying to be polite and include you, god knows you used to whine about being left out.”

Javi had distracted her from the handsome boy clad in shoulder pads who asked if she was okay, she couldn't even bask in the feeling because immediately Javier switched to protector mode. With a furrowed brow his eyes darted from Andrea to the grown man attempting to court her, and oh it settled something deep in his stomach he was unprepared to talk about.

“What the fuck was that?”

“What do you mean?”

After a mini tangent and a few curses about him being far too old for her, Javi in a fit of protectiveness asked Andrea just to go with him. His brain completely abandons the thought of his unofficial girlfriend Lorraine. When he watches Andrea’s eyes twinkle for one second, he is reminded of the girl he had spent the last few weeks witj and the feelings he truly felt for the Lor. He wanted to be Lorraine’s boyfriend, he was tired of sneaking around–homecoming would have been his perfect opportunity to just go steady with the girl he had a crush on.

“Please stop acting like you care, I don't feel left out anymore. I have my own friends and life now. You guys only had me around because my mom made you, cus’ i couldn't make friends but obviously-Obviously I’m doing better now, so just please leave me alone” With that all thoughts of anyone but Andrea clears, only panic fills his chest when he watches someone who had never been upset with him, someone who had always been eager to spend time with, reminds him that things have changed and she becomes someone who wants to be left alone.

Andrea heads home and sleeps well, she glances over at the dress she picked out and strangely the twisting jealousy and betrayal she felt from Javier fizzled at the thought of being appreciated by someone who actually likes her. Not so bad for a freshman, she thinks. She dozes off and dreams of Javier. She dreams she accepts his invite–even if it was offered in a white hot moment. In her brain she wears something entirely different and dances with him in their school gym. It’s decorated much more beautifully than she anticipated, but her brain paints it perfect just for them. Javier doesn’t make a move on her the entire night of the dance, it wasn’t his style. When the two decide it’s time to go, he kisses her gently and slowly against the brick walls of the gymnasium. Heart in her throat, she grips to the lapels of his blazer, pointing her foot in a beautiful disney first kiss. What a lovely dream it was, maybe that’s why she feels well rested the next day.

She gets ready with an empty house, Frankie spent the night at Genie’s, again, a photo of Sharon Tate taped to her mirror. Eyes squinted as she messes up with powdered eyeliner for the… eighth time. The guitar riff in Marmalade’s I See the Rain bouncing off the walls of her bedroom. She pats down the wrinkles on the pale yellow dress. Her chest still not quite filling the thing but the built in lace shawl like jacket covers her modestly. Melissa had found too many of the short dresses too grown for a freshman. Andrea’s eyes flick up to her own, then down to her lips. She liked those, pinching her lips together her eyes narrow attempting to give her reflection a sexy pre kiss smolder. Her nose turns up in a cringe. Stomach flipping, will Brian kiss with tongue? He’s seventeen, god, he will for sure. Her eyes survey the room, she is alone… her mom got out of work at 9 pm. Frankie had no intention of coming home until tomorrow.

Screw it.

Andrea bunches her hand, her thumb lapping her pointer. She brings her hand to her lips and attempts to emulate what she thinks a kiss should look like. Her eyes close for just a moment when she feels a rhythm that feels right, hmm this doesn't seem too bad. Hopefully his breath doesn't smell like punch–

“Andrea-what the fu-”

She squeals at the top of her lungs when her eyes fall on a hurried suit clad Javier. Her wet hand is covered in Avon’s ripe cherry lipstick. “Ah! Oh my god.” It's her worst nightmare, her none kissed hand wiping the other while Javier stares with confusion and a hint of amusement. “What-how-why–how did you get in here?!” She yells, jumping to her feet. Javier tugs at his bow tie and stares at her hand for a moment, eliciting an ahem from her throat. His cheeks hint a blush.

“Door was unlocked.” He stated flatly. Andrea blinks a few times, her lashes still wet with mascara, was he really here or had she kept dreaming.

He was just as nervous, as he got ready in the morning he wavered his options. He goes to homecoming and tells her while she’s there with her prick of a date, he tells her everything. He shook his head at that, he knew that could be a mess, it could create a scene. Javier crossed that off the list, he thought of just calling, he let that idea go too. As he crouched down to tighten his dress shoes his eyes caught a glimpse of the dusty space below his dresser, a white border poking out into view.

Javier leaned forward and pulled the thing out from under his dresser. There Andrea is, her hair long and braided, her classic teal bike to her left. To her right is Javi with his arm slung over her shoulders. With a sting in his eye and heart beating in his throat, Javier ran all the way to her, to Andrea.

So without warning to Lorraine, Javier lays it all out.

“You can't go to homecoming.”

Andrea rolls her eyes, “Javi I’m tired of this weird protector complex you’ve developed, but I’m fifteen now I-”

“I won't let you go because that douchebag is being paid to take you, being paid double if he kisses you and triple if he fucks you.” He says it so rushed, just to get her to zip it. He saves Andrea in a sense, she was ready to spill some cliche lines that will have her cringing in t-minus six hours. The urgency was useful only in that facet, because then it hist Andrea all at once. Her eyes fall to the floor, heart dancing in her chest. How could I have been so blind. She knew of the senior bucket list, she knew, yet–

“Oh.” Her eyes screw shut for a moment, really hoping this was a dream. My god was she humiliated. She bought a dress, taped magazine clippings, painted her nails, kissed her hand and pushed Javier away for nothing. For someone to plan to use her for a checkmark on a list, she felt like a total idiot. Javi must think I look so stupid, Andrea thinks. Here in the middle of her room practicing kissing in an over priced dress. And despite her efforts to prove to Javi that she is in fact mature and strong and no longer in need of acceptance, her chin begins to quiver in the same way it did when she was just a kid. Her eyes blurry, she doesn’t even realize Javier is walking over to her with a soft pleading voice. Makeup ruined already, his hand grips her shoulder and instinctively she reaches out to grip his wrist. He’s frantically trying to get her stop crying but she just felt so embarrassed, crying is the only thing distracting from that pain in her chest. He’s whispering promises,

Andrea please stop crying

I’ll stay here or-or we can go together

We can stay in—watch something

We can egg his car—please stop crying.

Shaking her head, her fingers dig into his wrist and he takes it as a sign to gather her up. Pulling Andrea into his chest, she knows her mascara tears must be staining his tux yet he couldn’t seem to care. The ache in his own chest settling the second he flattens a hand on the back of her head. Cheek resting on the top of her head. Andrea leans her entire body weight into the embrace, absolutely exhausted of being the joke, of being a pawn. Tired of being behind and naive. Javier tucks her head below his chin, resting on the top of her head. Ans oh boy is he in trouble because he hadn't thought of Lorraine, not even once.

Despite the circles she’s talked herself into about her need to be self reliant—god did it feel good to just be hugged.

With a squeeze to Andrea’s hip she pulls back, her eyes in all their raccoon glory, somehow she was still so beautiful. "Let’s go downstairs and watch something. Then we can flip through the yellow pages and sign the bastard up for the most incessant and embarrassing subscription with his home phone. How does Cat Scratch sex line sound?” Javier suggests. Just there, she feels it again, Am I too young to feel this much?

Through tears and smudged makeup, her lips quirk at its corners.

“Okay.”

Christmas 1979

Christmas at the Diaz house wasn’t actually so bad. On the eve of christmas Melissa sets out all of the presents she’s bought her kids, then in the corner of her room lays a second pile of gifts for the people of Laredo that she’s made her family. Then she dresses her children, yes, even at their old age, in outfits she bought. The three take a drive to their church’s party and it goes the same way each year. The Smithfield’s lead a prayer, they play their mix of american christmas classics and spanish ones, then they regret serving alcohol at their christmas party.

Two days before the party half of their christmas lights fall and in a fit of anger Melissa calls over Chucho to bring his latter and fix the damn thing. It must be genetic because when the Diaz women call, the Peña men come running. To Andrea’s surprise Javier shows up with his father. The group of friends watch the disaster that is Melissa Diaz with Holiday anxiety.

Melissa stands at the foot of a ladder while Chucho puts up her lights. “A la derecha!” She yells from below, Frankie, Javier and Andrea sit on the lawn watching in amusement. It was chillier, a low fifty, it became Andreas' excuse to wear her lacrosse sweatshirt. Her brother and Javier joke about something that happened in school, something she didn’t witness. So she picks at the grass surrounding her and looks off at the two geezers arguing with each other in Spanish. Nat King Cole and Celia Cruz blasting from inside their house, windows open and in the December sunset their christmas tree twinkles beyond the window.

Andrea decides maybe she likes Christmas with her family, with this family.

She decides to take that statement back when her mother forces her to run the boutique from opening till closing on Christmas eve. Andrea stands behind the cash register wearing a headband with twirly attachments that jingled with each slight movement. If she hears happy holidays one more time she’ll kill Santa Claus herself. So it’s safe to say that when she locks up shop with a daily sale of five thousand dollars, she couldn’t be bothered with seeing half of Laredo in the church basement.

Somehow Andrea finds herself in a stockings and a puffy green dress. She is half asleep by the time she spots the black leather couch at the farthest corner of the large basement. The basement of Los Tres Reyes church was the home of many parties. Many that could be considered non-fitting for a church but to most it was simply just a venue. Considering Lorraine’s father was the english mass pastor and his daughter was the most admired girl at the school, Mr. Smithfield held the Laredo Christmas party-invite only. Contrary to most parties at Los Tres Reyes, the Smithfield Christmas extravaganza (nice dresses and day drinking) was exclusive in Laredo terms.

Lorraine was suited in the prettiest outfit in the room. Too fashionable for this town, plaid flared pants and a cashmere turtleneck. Andrea wants to groan at the silly dress her mom forced her into… and she was so tired. The party began to fill with the most prestigious faces of town, mostly store owners and Lorraine’s friends. Flashes fake smiles at each wave and struggling to stay awake the second she sits down. The familiar crunch of the couch with the sound of the tool of her skirt created a new strange ear splitting sound that has Andrea cringing. Legs crossed she wondered how many feet of tinsel they used for the ceiling.

Fleshy nylon rubbing together with each leg-crossed readjustment. God she wished she had a magazine or something to not look so socially awkward in a setting like this. Deep inside Andrea was praying for Monica or Liandra to show up and save the day. She knew Javier was on his way, she knew she couldn’t bear the sight of the couple, especially how romantic it is to spend Christmas with your girlfriend’s family. Frankie was talking off Genie’s dad’s ear while nursing a beer.

With the Ronetts playing on speaker and the bustling chatter, Andrea finds it awfully easy to drift off. Head falling back against the rest of the sofa.

“My god she’s really sleeping.” Melissa whispers to Chucho about nearly four hours into the party. Eleven pm, nearly Christmas day. “Señor dame fuerza…” Her head falls into her hands while Chucho watches Andreas' fully laid out body in amusement. Her flats fully kicked off and her cheek squished to the leather.

The Peñas arrive quite late to the party. Lorraine dragged Javier to the church bathroom to scold him for embarrassing her. He kissed her hoping it’ll soften her up but she slapped his arm instead. “Don’t be mad please.” He pleads as she opens the restroom door. Lorraine looks over her shoulder with a frown.

With a snapping attitude and sarcasm, “Nice sweater.”

Javier looks down at the thing, his face softening at the sight of his own sweater that his uncle knitted himself. It’s a thick gray cable knit sweater. For a moment Javier wonders why he lets these things slide from Lorraine, just a few weeks before he nearly broke it off after her intrusive suggestion on how to get over his mothers absence.

Javi decides he’ll just drink tonight.

With his hands shoved in his nice jeans, the pants Chucho bought two years ago for him to be forced into every holiday. His keys in his back pocket jangling as he walks down the stairs to a slowly dying party as the night closes. The lights around twinkling and the smell of clove and cinnamon filling his nose. He passes two girls in Lorraine’s friend group, Hilda and Diana. “Do you think she’s drunk?”

“I don’t know, but it’s tragic.” Hilda giggles, sipping her beer. Both their eyes planted on Andrea, in all her Christmas tree glory. Surrounded by her large green dress, socked feet curled and the most peaceful face he’s ever seen. His brows knit together, it was unlike her to fall asleep in a place like this. He shoots a glare over at the two girls and walks straight past them, straight to her. He grabs a cracker crown from one of the tables. Ignoring Lorraine’s call as he makes his way next to Andrea.

For a moment he feels watched, a bit insecure as he surveys the room as people pretend to not stare at the two. He frowns before wrapping his hand around her ankle and shaking her awake. She stirs slightly but just furthers herself into comfortability. He drops his head in an endearing smile. “Andrea.” He calls to her and she jolts at the sound of his voice.

Her smooth nylon clad feet brushing over his lap, causing a flip in his stomach. Something stranger happens in his christmas jeans. “Oh!” She chirped, wiping her mouth clean of drool. “Javi!”

“Andrea.” He laughs moving her small feet from his lap. Leaning forward and placing the gold crown on her disheveled hair. She giggles slightly, and blinks her eyes into full awareness.

“Did I really fall asleep? What time is it?” She flattens her shimmery skirt. He just knows Melissa picked out the dress. He remembers the second summer they spent together, when her style changed completely. He knew she got her mother to back off on the kids catalogs, it seemed she still held higher ground when it came to christmas attire. Despite the forest pooling her body, to him she might have been the prettiest girl in the room, he should ask Santa Claus for a smack upside his head because the selfish thought came quickly and stuck like glue. Her shimmering eyes glance at the clock, fifteen to twelve. “Jesus!” She slaps her hand over her mouth at the decision to call the man out on his name, on his birthday and in a church. “I slept for so long.”

Javier chuckles a hearty laugh, “Yeah, decided to save you some embarrassment, you got quite comfortable.” His eyes fall to her feet. She burns mistletoe bow red and shoves them back into her flats. Still sitting up straight tenser than ever, and it aches his chest. He had her over just a week before, they joked around together in his house over dinner–he invited her to New Years at the bar. Two months before that the two sat awfully close on her couch watching Star Wars: A New Hope and signing up her one time homecoming date to awfully embarrassing subscriptions, using different personas and voices on the phone. Yet here, under everyone's surveillance she sat uptight and all frowning like she was afraid of being under the gaze of others. That drove him a bit crazy, she was his best friend too, hadn't she known?

Silence falls between them for a moment as he nurses his beer and she looks off, her mind running wild.

“You treat me differently when it’s not summer.” He blurts, bringing his drink to his lips. He knows why, he knows deep inside. Their summers together were organic, devoid of outside influences. She could just exist as Andrea, his Andrea. In summer she could just fall asleep on a couch and not have to worry about judging eyes. She could crush on Javier without guilt and restraint. He could call her pretty and not feel like the entire world is watching, prepared to scrutinize him. It was warm, it was easy to be close to one another, easy to ignore what others felt about them. Summers were just for them. It stirred something devastating in the cavity of his chest at the sight of her in a sweaty dress, with her hair done up and perfect posture. It wasn't her, it wasn't like her to be so afraid of him.

Her lips quirk in a polite fake smile, as her eyes survey the room. She’s extremely aware of the eyes on the two of them. Javier’s jaw clenched at the sight of Andrea of all people being fake to him. She clears her throat like he asked her a scandalous question. Then she turns to him all at once and he swears under her makeup he sees a hint of the freckles that deepen under the Texas sun, and her features fall all sincere, like he’s the only person in the room.

And she whispers, “Well maybe I don’t know how to be your friend in the winter.” Her eyes drop and her forehead forms that tiny crease of worry between painted brows. Javier’s stomach pits and maybe the holidays made him feel sentimental, maybe he’s afraid that being in the same school will somehow create a wedge in something he cherishes so deeply, maybe he feels like strangely time is running out. Perhaps he regrets meeting Lorraine at this time. It’s something about being surrounded by love, warmth and home cooked meals. Something about the sounds of chimes, organs and jingle bells in the music filling the air. Something about spending Christmas eve next to Andrea Diaz, something about not being able to kiss her under the mistletoe. Maybe because it actually snowed in Texas this Christmas, small flurries that didn’t stick–but snow nonetheless. He’s never had the urge to before but her, in front of him, at this time, with those eyes–he wonders what he’s doing wrong.

With his heart in his throat he can only muster out one thing.

“Merry Christmas.”

Christmas 1980-85

Houston isn't home. The holidays become a brain splitting headache he ignores for years to come. He's no longer seventeen. He had one holiday with her, and it wasn’t really with her, yet he can't imagine having one without her.

What a scary feeling.

#javier peña #javier peña x ofc #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena x you #javier peña smut #ao3 #fanfic #javier peña narcos #javier pena x reader

39 notes · View notes

late-to-the-party-81 · 4 months

Text

A mountain to climb

AN: It might have taken me 8 months to get to it, but here is something that @lauratang asked for last year as part of my Inspire Me event. I’m afraid this turned more angsty than the pure smut I had planned, and isn’t exactly what was requested, but I hope you all still like it. Blame the characters, I just work here. Anyway, without further ado, it’s time to return to Wakanda and see how M’Baku and Sabi are adapting to some significant changes. This is part four of the story so far.

Feel free to send asks about these two.

lauratang asked: So, okay, first idea for your Inspire Me Event ❤️ First, I would to see some M’Baku x reader! That man is just 😫🫠🥺 So how about some brat taming, maybe? Maybe reader has been pushing his buttons all damn day, riling him up by bending over any chance she gets, swaying her hips every time she walks by, and constantly caressing his arms, chest and thighs, but as soon as he tries to reciprocate she leaves? And he just snaps? 😌❤️

Unbeta’d, so sorry for any typos or rogue commas.

Likes are loved, reblogs are golden

Mood board by me and dividers by @firefly-graphics

Join my tag list here

Master list | Series Master list

Relationship: M’Baku x Female Journalist Reader (Sabi)

Word Count: 4.3k

CW: Lots of Angst, Insecurity, Childish Behaviour, Teasing, mild D/S, under negotiated kink, spanking, pussy spanking, vaginal sex, crying, fucked unconscious.

You were bored. So very bored.

And restless.

You were sitting in the library in the palace at Birnin Zana, practising your Xhosa by reading through some of the official histories, but you couldn’t seem to concentrate, staring off into the distance every few minutes and sighing loudly.

What you needed was M’Baku. Your king. But at this moment in time, that wasn’t possible.

“I’m sorry, Sabi,” he’d said, as he’d slipped from the bed this morning. “But today is going to be very busy. I’d like nothing more than to stay here all day with you. Kissing you,” he leant over and brushed his lips over yours. You wound your arms, needily around his neck, arching your body up to his. “Touching you. Listening to your sweet cries. But I am King now, and I have many more responsibilities than I had before.”

You understood. You really did. But you missed the routine that you and he had had back on Gorilla Mountain. The warm, dry heat of the Golden City felt strange to you after all your months spent in the snow and ice of Jabari Land. You missed cuddling up to M’Baku under piles of furs as a fire crackled in the background. You missed the tranquillity that life without advanced technology had given you. Coming to the capital for a few days every couple of months was one thing, but living here full time was something else entirely. You felt like all eyes were watching you - the foreigner who warmed the King’s bed. The Jabari had accepted you as one of their own, but you didn’t know if the rest of Wakanda would follow?

You’d pouted anyway, scratching the back of his neck with your nails, and watching him shiver at the sensation as his eyes closed. You’d hooked your leg around his hip and pulled him back onto the bed, back on top of you, and let needy whimpers spill from your lips.

“Sabi…” he’d growled out, warningly, and then it was you who’d shivered. M’Baku didn’t often overtly dominate you, mainly because you’d both break out into a fit of the giggles, but at that moment in time, something about his tone of voice, the way he’d held the tension in his body, caused your heart rate to pick up. “Now is not the time to play the brat.”

You’d known that he’d meant it. With a huff, you’d released your hold on him and he’d pushed himself up, giving you an indulgent smile as he did so. “Once I have finished I promise I will return as quickly as I can and you will have me all to yourself. We can go out for a walk, or just stay here. Whatever you want, my desert rose.” He’d given you a chaste kiss goodbye and then M’Baku, your lover, had been replaced by M’Baku, King of Wakanda, and you‘d watched him make his way from your suite.

You’d dozed for a bit after he left, dreaming of the way he touched you and worshipped you, and how you did the same to him in return. When you’d woken it had been with his name on your lips and an ache between your thighs that you couldn’t quench on your own. In the end you’d had to settle for sating your physical hunger, indulging in a variety of fruits and yoghurts that had been laid out on a platter for you, before washing and getting dressed.

Surely there must be something you could do to occupy you for the day, you’d wondered, which is how you’d ended up in the grand library. However it was nothing like the smaller, cosier one you were now used to and you found the differences too jarring. You let out another sigh and shut the book in front of you with a snap.

By all rights you should be thrilled to be here, especially in the privileged position you had. While you had taken a step back from your job, you hadn’t quit altogether, and were perfectly placed to provide the world with insights into this unexpected turn of events. Yes, the death of King T’Challa had been shocking and upsetting, but no-one could have foreseen the subsequent death of Queen Ramona and that Princess Shuri would abdicate her right to the throne.

However, despite the fact that you’d been born and raised a world away, these were now your people and Wakanda was your adopted home. If M’Baku asked you to present something to the rest of the world using your connections, you would, but there was no way you would do anything to impinge on the nation’s privacy by acting on your own. You respected him and the country he led too much to do that.

You were sad though. Sad for the loss of everything that you’d acquired, even if it was quite by accident, after catching the eye of the leader of the Jabari and becoming his lover. A working trip had turned into an extended holiday and had now morphed into something that felt much more permanent. However, the recent changes had made you doubt the foundations of it all. So much about your lives was different now. Yes, M’Baku loved you, and you loved him, but could your meeting of worlds survive this latest upheaval?

Shaking away your maudlin thoughts, you decided you needed to occupy yourself some other way, and what would be better than feasting your eyes upon any glimpse of your lover you could get? Although you knew he was busy, you also knew that most of the meetings and forums he was taking part in were not private ones with the leaders of the other tribes, held behind closed doors. No, today was all about visibility, with the opportunity for the common folk of Wakanda to meet and question their new King. With that in mind, you made your way along the corridors of the palace, familiar enough with it now to only take a few wrong turns, until you got to the viewing gallery that overlooked the great hall.

You picked your way along the rows of ornate wooden benches far up near the ceiling, until you found a spot away from the few others who’d decided to come all the way up here - most of the viewers were using the lower gallery, where they could get a better look at King M’Baku in all his finery.

However, you didn’t need to be close to know how he looked. You knew the texture of every piece of fur, of every feather, that adorned him. No-one else present but you knew how it felt to caress the soft skin that overlaid his strong muscles. No-one else had ridden one of those thick, wonderful thighs until completion. No-one else had had their inner thighs rubbed almost raw by the burn of his facial hair while pleading for more. You bit your lip as you drifted off into your own daydreams, inhaling sharply through your nose to fill your lungs with more oxygen.

In theory, you were too far away, too insignificant to the proceedings, for M’Baku to spot you, but as you looked down at him, your eyes roaming unabashedly over his form as he held court, his large body owning the throne he sat in, his own eyes darted upwards, capturing your gaze for a few heartbeats before he turned his focus back to the person asking him a question.

He was radiant and with the light shining in through the windows behind him he even seemed other-worldly. You ached to reach out and touch him, to feel the warmth of him under your fingers, but you’d have to wait.

Instead, you leant forward in your seat, resting your arms along the railing, and continued to let your gaze feast upon him. It was only when his eyes flicked back up at you again, but stopped shy of your face, you realised that the way you were perched pushed your breasts right up to the neckline of your top, almost threatening to spill over. You should behave with more decorum but an imp on your shoulder egged you on. You shifted again, slowly easing your top until it barely covered your nipples. At the same time you put the tip of your thumb in your mouth and took it between your teeth, ready to flash him a coy look the next time he glanced up.

When M’Baku’s eyes went wide, his nostrils flaring at the same time, you felt a flash of satisfaction. You continued to make eyes at him over the next hour, subtly shifting whenever there was a lull in proceedings, so that you almost exposed yourself on a number of occasions. When you saw your King squirm slightly, moving his legs so that the cloth that covered his crotch wasn’t so flush against him, your sense of triumph increased.

When the session came to a close you couldn’t help but tease him with one more thing. As the denizens of the city exited and M’Baku’s advisors rose from their seats to speak to him, you stood from yours. Carefully you climbed the steps that lead to the exit from the upper stalls, but just as you reached the top you ‘tripped’. Your hands went out in front of you, stopping you from actually injuring yourself, but you knew the action had caused the fabric of your skirt to pull tightly across your ass. Standing back up, you dusted off your hands and chanced a brief look over your shoulder. M’Baku was still in conversation, but his eyes were firmly fixed on you. You threw him a smile and made your way out, down the corridors and back to your suite.

Launching yourself down on the bed, you indulged in further daydreams of how your royal lover would behave once he returned to your shared chambers. Heat spread through your body as your thoughts raced. You didn’t know whether you wanted him to worship you or the other way around. Or what if he just lifted you in his strong arms and fucked you against the wall, his thick thighs doing all the work to make his hips snap up into you? Each thought was as equally delicious as the next, and you ran through them all in your mind as you waited.

And waited.

With an exasperated sigh, you turned your head to look at the clock. An hour had passed since the forum session had ended and M’Baku hadn’t returned. Where was he? You pushed yourself back up and looked at the doors to the suite, hoping that just by doing so he would appear.

Nothing.

A scowl appeared on your face and you pursed your lips. What was taking him so long?

Frustration, both emotional and physical, welled within you and you rose back to your feet. A shower would be a good way to while away some time and, if you were lucky, he might return while you were part way through. Luck, however, wasn’t on your side, and by the time you got out from under the steaming spray - which to your mind couldn’t hold a candle to the hot springs of Gorilla Mountain - you weren’t just frustrated, you were downright cross. You needed M’Baku here with you and he wasn’t. He’d promised, and he’d never broken a promise to you before. You recognised you were being childish, but it still didn’t alleviate the hurt at apparently being forgotten. Once you’d uttered those three words to each other, back in his private room on the mountain, you’d thought this thing between you could work, but there was a vast difference between being the consort of a tribal leader and the consort of a King.

You were so lost in thought, pacing up and down and chewing on the nail of your thumb, that you didn’t notice the door to the suite opening. It was only when it swung closed with a loud thud that you became aware of M’Baku’s return.

You’d been waiting all day for this, but now he was here your thoughts were swirling too much. You were frustrated, your confidence was at rock bottom, and all you could do was blink at him blankly as he stalked towards you, a sly smile on his face

“I see you found a way to keep yourself occupied, my Sabi Star. Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

He reached out toward you, aiming to stroke your cheek with the back of his knuckles. His actions snapped you out of your stupor and all your emotions came rushing back in. For the first time ever, you stepped backwards, away from his touch. You were feeling hurt and your pettiness was winning out. You wanted him to be hurt too

“No.”

You ducked around him and moved towards the dresser and your jars of cocoa butter. You let the towel drop from your body, stretched, and then lifted one of your feet onto the stool and proceeded to start moisturising your body. From the corner of your eye you saw M’Baku raise an eyebrow, before he followed in your wake to stand right next to you, his eyes roving over the expanse of your bare skin.

“No?” he questioned, incredulously. “This morning you implored me to stay in bed, despite my duties, then you put on that ridiculous display in the public gallery, which, by the way, had the effect you intended, and you have nothing to say?” He stepped behind you, wrapping his large arms around your waist and nuzzled behind your ear. “Do you know how hard it was to leave you lying in our bed? Do you know how much I wanted to dismiss the forum and take you right there on the throne room floor? I burn for you, Sabi.”

You felt the truth of his statement, nudging up against the back of your thigh, but you were still in a petulant mood, so you slipped from his embrace and began to tidy up the room, making sure to bend over right in front of him as you retrieved your towel.

“Well, that’s too bad. Because I’m not in the mood.”

M’Baku let out a bark of laughter. “My love, you have never been a good liar, but at least try. In all the months we have been together, I have never known you not to be in the mood. Even when your monthly courses come you still wish to touch me, ride my thighs and worship my body.”

“There’s a first time for everything,” you shot back, but you didn’t look at him.

“Sabi, if for one moment I actually believed you I would accept what you’ve said and leave you be, but there is something else going on here. Why are you acting like this?”

All of your feelings started to bubble up. He was being too nice. Too sweet. You wanted his responses to match yours. You wanted some fire. You lifted your head and looked him straight in the eye. “I’m not talking about it, and you can’t make me.”

For a moment M’Baku just looked back at you, his gaze searching yours, but you knew the moment he realised what you were unable to verbalise. His eyes narrowed and darkened and he took a menacing step forward. You sucked in a sharp breath and took an instinctive step back. Fuck! He was so big and looked so dangerous. You felt a tingle start between your thighs.

“Do you really want to test that assumption, Sabi?” His voice, so deep it sent a pleasurable rumble through you in normal circumstances, lowered even further, with a sharp, menacing edge to it.

Your mouth went dry and your eyes darted around the room, searching for escape. However, before you could make a move, M’Baku proved why he was a formidable warrior. He moved faster than you’d think possible given his size, snatched you up and tossed you over his shoulder. You squealed and rained feeble hits down onto his shoulders with your balled fists.

“Let me go!”

A loud crack rang through the air and a sharp pain bloomed across your right buttock. It took you a second to work out what had happened, but then it was like something snapped inside you. You started to kick, shout and wriggle, but it was all in vain. In a moment, he’d sat down on the edge of the bed and manhandled you face down across his lap, his left arm holding you tight to his thighs.

“If you want to act like a child, be prepared to be treated like one,” he ground out, and with another crack he spanked you again, pulling another shriek from your throat. “Talk to me, love.”

“No!” you shouted back, still trying to twist in his iron grip.

Crack. Crack.

He peppered two smacks in quick succession, landing on the delicate skin at the tops of your thighs.

“Sabi….” he growled out warningly, but you just shook your head.

Pain spread across your ass and thighs as he spanked you, stopping every few smacks to implore you to talk to him, but you couldn’t. You didn’t have the words and your body’s reactions were confusing you, because as he continued, despite the fact that the pain should have increased, it didn’t. Instead you found yourself arching up into the contact. Your legs slowly moved apart, and when the cool air of the room flowed over you, you realised you were wet. This fact didn’t escape M’Baku’s notice either.

“Who’d have thought that this would have been the thing to get you going. But don’t think I’m going to get distracted yet.” With that he brought his heavy hand down again, and spanked you right on your weeping pussy. You yowled, but despite the sharp burn you wanted it again. You wanted his strength, his passion. Craved it. “Tell me what is wrong.”

Tears were running down your face, your chest heaving, and with a few more smacks the damn broke. You started to sob - loud, ugly noises of raw emotional pain - and in an instant you were turned upright and pulled into your lover’s embrace. Your fingers curled into the furs and leathers of his clothing, their familiar texture and smell surrounding you as he petted your hair and made soothing noises.

“Speak to me please, my love.”

God, you loved him so much, but you couldn’t find the words, so instead you turned your face up and pressed your lips to his.

“I need you. Don’t let me go,” you whispered against him before putting all of your emotions into your kiss. He returned it with rough ardour, his lips devouring yours, and you turned in his embrace so you could straddle him and press your body closer. The heat between you flared, the pent up energy and emotion from both of you fanning the flames higher.

M’Baku’s hands roamed over your soft, bare skin, stroking and groping, and when he touched your sore ass, the jolts of discomfort went straight to your core, morphing into more heat. Your own hands slid under his clothes, desperately trying to close any remaining distance between you. You rocked against his covered length, whining as it knocked against your clit and your impatience won out.

You slipped a hand between you, pushing up the leather of his skirt and freed him from the soft fabric of his undergarments. M’Baku grunted against your lips as your fingers closed around him, moving with purpose. Your thumb swiped through the precum that was dripping from his tip, smearing it all over, and then you were lifting yourself and angling him towards you. His hands moved to your hips, at first steadying you, but as your body began to engulf him, he used his hold on you to pull you all the way down until you’d taken all of his cock inside you.

He turned his face into your neck, gently worrying the skin of your throat with his teeth as you rocked your hips. Your fingers curled into any part of his own flesh you could find, the need to mark him as yours blazing in your mind like a klaxon. You felt feral. He was yours and you were his and you wanted the whole of Wakanda, the whole of the world to know it. Your movements increased in ferocity as you rose up and plunged back down on him, scratching him with your nails, and it was as though M’Baku knew exactly what you were thinking, as he urged you along.

“Yes, ododo mi. Take what you need. I’m here. I am yours. Mo ni ife re.”

The coarse hairs at the base of his cock brushed back and forth over your clit as you moved and you couldn’t hold back your moans and cries, so close to your peak you could almost touch it. Then, when you didn’t think you could take it any more, M’Baku moved his hand to grasp at your breast and rolled your plump nipple between his finger and thumb.

“Jẹ ki lọ, Sabi. Let go for me.”

You felt yourself shatter into a million pieces, only able to babble his name in between incoherent noises. The world shifted on its axis as M’Baku rolled you both over on the bed, easily manoeuvring you to where he needed you to be, so he could cage you in with his broad arms and continue thrusting firmly into you.

“I love you, my precious desert rose, who blooms in adversity and survives hardship. It is you that I want.”

Tears streamed down your face, your emotions ripped from the depths of you as M’Baku told you with his words and his body how much you meant to him.

“But you don’t need me,” you sobbed, your fears finally able to be spoken aloud.

“Isọkusọ! I will always need you. Always.” His hips snapped and you clung to his biceps. “I may have duties to carry out, and there may be times when I can’t be with you, but that does not change how I feel about you. How important you are to me. Say you believe me, ododo mi. Say it.”

You nodded vigorously, your lower lip clamped tight between your teeth until he thrust into you sharply, causing your mouth to open wide as you sucked in a breath.

“Words, ifemi. I need to hear you say it out loud.” The speed of his movements increased, and started to lose their rhythm and you suddenly found yourself on the cusp of orgasm once more.

“I b-beleive you. Oh gods! “

“What do you believe? Tell me.” It was clear he wouldn’t be satisfied until you did what he asked.

“You n-need me. Y-you love me! Oh! Ọba mi!” You crashed over the edge once more, tumbling in the waves of pleasure and sensation as you held on to your one and only constant, M’Baku. Your lover. Your king.

You were aware that he also reached his peak, his thick cock swelling inside of you, flooding you with the satisfying warmth of his spend, but then everything went black.

You came to surrounded by warmth and the sound of humming. As you blinked your eyes open you found yourself pulled to M’Baku’s chest, his arms around you as he nuzzled your hair and hummed in your ear. At some point he’d rid himself of his clothes, and your legs were tangled with his amongst the rumpled sheets. When the hair at the tops of his thighs brushed over your ass you winced and turned over in his arms.

He ducked his head down and brushed his nose alongside yours. “Welcome back, Sabi. I don’t believe I’ve ever fucked you unconscious before.”

You grabbed a pillow from behind you and smacked him over the head as the pair of you chuckled.

“Feeling better now, my love?”

A feeling of embarrassment crashed over you, and you tried to bury your face into his chest, but M’Baku was having none of it, tucking his finger under your chin and preventing you from hiding.

“I’m sorry,” you uttered, feeling your cheeks heat.

“Nothing to apologise for, Sabi. I might be the King, but that isn’t all I am, and I was so focussed on my new role that I didn’t stop to assure you that nothing would change between us.” He hand moved from your chin to brush over your hair. “That being said, I think that while I have all of these things to organise, that maybe you should go home for a short time. You’d have more company - things to occupy you.”

You cocked your head, considering what he was suggesting. “I suppose that wouldn’t be too bad. It’s not like it would take long to travel between here and Jabari Mountain when we wanted to. I’d miss you terribly, though.”

“And I too, my love, but you misunderstand me. I don’t mean our home together. I mean your home. You have been here for more than a year - surely you must miss your family, and would welcome the opportunity to spend time with them?.”

You looked at him in shock, your jaw dropping and your eyes going wide, not believing what you were hearing.

“You’re sending me away? After what we just did? You said you needed me!”

Had he just been humouring you? Inflating his own ego?

“I do need you, my love. But it isn’t just about me. I am not the one separated from my country, my culture. I have been selfish about keeping you here, and not giving you the opportunity to make a balanced decision.”

Had you been in a better state of mind, you might have been able to see the sense in what he was proposing, but in your currently fragile emotional state, all you heard was that he thought it would be better if you weren’t here with him. You pushed away from his embrace, jumped from the bed and ran into the bathroom, locking it behind you, ignoring his pleas as you sank to the floor and your tears began anew.

How were you supposed to go on?

Ododo mi - my flower

Mo ni ife re - I love you

Ọba mi - my king

Jẹ ki lọ - let go

Isọkusọ - nonsense

Ifemi - My love

Tag list: @galactusdevourerofworlds; @km-ffluv; @wheezy-stucky; @mrs-illyrian-baby

#m'baku #m'baku x reader #[river deep] mountain high series #m'baku x female reader #m'baku x you #late writes

23 notes · View notes

thedreamsmith · 2 years

Text

Aemond Targaryen NSFW Alphabet

I am a godless heathen and am currently procrastinating my WIP

Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

If they’re in their chambers, he will be the king of aftercare; cleaning his lover up and post-sex cuddles. If they’ve been teasing him and it’s after a quickie somewhere in the Red Keep, he’s more liable to tuck himself back together with a smirk and leave them wet and needy until later.

Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Aemond has trained both his body and mind into formidable weapons, but if he had to choose, he would say the physical strength in his arms – not only is he capable of besting almost everyone in the training yard, but also holding his lover against walls with minimal efforts and ensuring they can’t wriggle away from his clever tongue.

On his partner, he’d probably say their mouth, but not for the reasons you’d expect. It is so expressive, smirking when they’re being clever, tongue poking out when they’re concentrating on something. He adores it and how vivid their expressions are. It’s no surprise that the mere thought of their lips wrapped around his cock can get him hot and bothered.

Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

Aemond isn’t hugely bothered about siring children anytime soon, but his favourite place to cum is still deep inside them; feeling them pulse around his cock as he brings them to the point of oblivion with pleasure.

Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

A consummate overachiever; rider of the largest dragon in the world, spending every moment training or studying, you’d assume Aemond felt the need to be in charge in every aspect of his life. For the most part he enjoys being the more dominant one in the bedroom, but every once in a while, he asks his lover to take the reins, and will gladly do anything they wish so long as they treat him nicely.

Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

After his less-than-stellar introduction into carnal pleasure on his thirteenth name-day, combined with his persistent insecurities about his eye, Aemond has very little practical experience with lovers of either gender. That being said, he is a very quick learner and has read more than a few books on the subject (not that he’d admit it, but he has been known to read torrid romance novels every once in a while)

Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

When he is feeling dominant, he enjoys having his lover perched on a desk or table, legs wrapped around his waist as he pounds into them. He enjoys having unrestricted access to their neck and breasts; marking them up in ways that are difficult to hide, showcasing to all who they belong to.

When he’s being submissive, Aemond prefers to have his lover on top, riding him as filthy praise spills from his lips. With hair like his, it’s no surprise that he enjoys his lover pulling his head back by the roots, exposing the column of his throat and leaving marks upon the pale skin.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

While Aemond is a generally serious man, he does have a sarcastic, dry sense of humour that often shows itself when he’s taking his time with his lover – teasing them and mocking their desperate noises as he denies them pleasure.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

Definitely clean and tidy. The man spends far too much time on his hair to leave anything out of place.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

Aemond isn’t one for casual sex. Even when things are fast and rough, he will still worship his lover’s body more devoutly than any shrine to the Seven. His first time with his lover is tender and emotional – it’s probably one of the first times they’ve seen him without his eyepatch, baring himself both physically and emotionally.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

Aemond prides himself in his self-control, especially compared to his brother. So when thoughts of his lover consume him more and more often, he finds himself overcome with desire and needing to relieve himself far more often than he is normally accustomed.

Once he has become intimate with his lover, he much prefers to use them to sate his lust, rather than his own hand. He does enjoy it when his lover instructs him to touch himself, setting the pace and when he can cum using just their verbal commands.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Bondage, without a doubt. This goes both ways – both restraining his lover and being the one tied down. Also edging, when he’s in the mood to be cruel.

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

Aemond is, above all, the perfect gentleman. He much prefers to be intimate within the privacy of his own chambers, but if tormented enough, may give in to his desire in order to put his lover in their place.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

He is a consummate instigator and shit-stirrer. Getting his lover frustrated is a sure-fire way to get his dragon-blood burning.

Also, if his lover has any martial prowess, sparring with them and forcing each other into submission gets him going like nothing else.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Aemond does not share. Asking to bring another into their bed will be met with outright refusal. Also, he does not like to degrade his lover, or be degraded. A lifetime of torment has made some things too tender to be arousing.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

A God at giving head and he knows it. Will happily pin his lover down and eat them out for hours. Likes them to anchor their hands in his hair as he does so.

He cannot get enough of his lover’s mouth, and swallowing down his cock is a sure-fire way to remove every coherent thought from his mind. Would usually prefer to be inside their cunt instead, but seeing them on their knees before him gives him a rush like no other.

P = Pace (Are they fats and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

Depends on his mood. If he’s come back from the training yard, high on adrenaline, or has had an argument with his nephews or brother; he is likely to be fast and rough, relieving his frustration with the sharp snap of his hips, fingers gripping hard enough to bruise.

In the mornings, or during particularly tender moments, he’s more likely to be slower and softer; savouring every inch of his lover’s body and the way they feel in his arms and around his cock.

If he’s in a teasing mood, he’ll combine the two; pulling out all the way, agonisingly slowly, before slamming back in just to hear his lover scream his name.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

Much prefers to be able to peel his lover apart slowly, taking his time, but will occasionally indulge in a quick fuck or blowjob in a hidden corner of the Red Keep.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

He’s game to try anything once, especially if his lover asks. He prefers not to get down and dirty anywhere they may get caught, however, as he is acutely aware of his brother’s reputation and has no desire to be spoken of in the same manner.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

He is in peak physical condition, and the blood of the dragon besides; Aemond can go for hours. Even if he has already found his pleasure, he greatly enjoys wringing orgasm after orgasm from his lover until he’s ready to fuck them once more.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

Frequently enjoys restraints and blindfolds. Other than this, he doesn’t use toys very often. Doesn’t really have any strong opinions on being pegged, but would likely try it if his partner asked, in one of his more submissive moods.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

The king of the shit-eating grin. Aemond’s temper is not explosive or violent, if his lover has displeased him, he will methodically spend hours either edging or overstimulating them, until they are begging for his mercy.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

Quiet, at first, but once he becomes more comfortable with his lover, or when particularly turned on will be much more vocal. Tends to babble rather than moan – strings of praise and dirty talk falling from his lips as he comes increasingly undone.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

Will absolutely bring daggers into the bedroom. Also has a fantasy of stealing his brother’s crown for a night and having his lover suck his cock while he wears it.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

Big dick energy and the hardware to back it up. Thicker than expected for his slender frame, and at least 7-8 inches.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

Until he fell for his lover, his sex drive was something he could easily push aside in favour of his studies or martial training. However once they’ve caught his eye, it’s hard for him to think of anything else.

Regular sex may calm him down, but he’s far more acutely aware of his lust once he has someone to stoke it.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Likes to hold his lover against him afterwards, also enjoys reading them stories until they’ve fallen asleep. Has a hidden protective streak that means he prefers to see his lover comfortable and asleep before he lets himself drift off.

#aemond targaryen #aemond #prince aemond #aemond smut #aemond one eye #aemond fic #aemond fanfic #hotd #house of the dragon #Aemond headcanon #aemond headcanons

218 notes · View notes

celticcrossanon · 1 year

Text

BRF Reading - 29th of March, 2023

This is speculation only

Cards drawn on the 29th of March, 2023

Question: Why did Harry come to the UK? Was it just for the court case?

Note: The energy from this reading is vile and toxic. I got a headache the moment I laid the cards out, and it feels like my head will split in two. I also feel very heavy - there is a heavy, oppressive energy here that wants to suffocate/smother all opposition. My throat closes over when I touch that energy.

I felt incredibly light headed for this entire reading, so my apologies if it lacks some structure. At times it was a struggle to type a coherent sentence. The disconnect with reality is very strong in Harry's energy.

Interpretation: Legal matters do not appear in this reading at all. This was a vendetta against his family.

Card One: The Queen of Cups in reverse.

This can be a person, and in the reverse it means wanting to take that person down, for them to be weakened or overthrown or pushed into the shadows or something like that. Upright is happy, healthy, doing your own thing and enjoying it, just being you, and reversed is the opposite - unhappy, stressed, unable to be yourself, unable to enjoy things, etc.

The Queen of Cups is my card for the sign of Cancer, and we have two living Cancerians in the BRF - Camilla and William - and one dead one, Diana. This is either plotting to take Camilla and/or William down, or using Diana to take Camilla and/or William down (I got a blast of hatred just then - Harry hates that his mother and William share a zodiac sign - he hates any link between them).

The suit of Cups is all about emotions, so whatever Harry is plotting comes out of some very strong emotions.

The Queen of Cups in reverse is someone who is insecure, needy, overly emotional, depends on others, makes themselves into a victim, and who is over sensitive. This is a description of Harry's current state - making himself the victim, feeling sorry for himself, dependent on Meghan, over sensitive to any sort of criticism or anyone disagreeing with him, insecure and needing constant reassurance and emotional propping up from anyone and everyone around him. He is clinging to his dead mother for all he is worth. I would not be surprised if we get images of him visiting her grave while he is in the UK, or posing by her statue, or something like that.

Card Two: The Seven of Wands in reverse.

The Seven of Wands is a card of conflict, especially PR conflict, and here in the reverse it has the energy of stepping up the conflict, increasing the intensity of the PR battle. The Seven of Wands upright is about holding your ground and defending your territory, and the defending your territory bit is coming through strongly. Harry is desperately trying to hold on to what he regards as his - his former position in the BRF, his place in the parades and on the balcony, his position as the most popular prince, 'Hero Harry" etc - he wants to defend all that and take it back from the BRF, who he sees as having stolen it from him (my headache is getting worse as I write this - this is all emotional based without an iota of logic or rational thought in it). The Seven of Wands in reverse is a card of giving up and admitting defeat, and while Harry has not given up, not by any means, this reversed card tells me that he has, on this occasion, suffered a defeat, and he will not be able to do everything he planned to do when he came to the UK , using the court case as an excuse to cover his actions.

Card Three: The King of Cups in reverse.

The King of Cups is my card for the zodiac sign Scorpio, and it is my card for Charles as a father and as a person, not in his role as King. In reverse, this card tells me that Harry planned to overshadow his father on this trip (yes, I know that would not happen, but this is Harry and his delusions we are talking about). It also tells me that some of Harry's other plans were thwarted by him not being able to see his father.

The other meaning of the King of Cups in reversed is someone being overwhelmed by their emotions, not being able to control their emotions, being anxious, manipulative, and selfish, and again this energy comes across as how Harry is feeling right now, especially the manipulative and selfish bits. I think that Harry feels he is being very clever and he is laying schemes that he thinks are very devious and sure to succeed, while in reality most people can see right through him and his plans.

Cups can represent drugs or alcohol, and I swear Harry is on one or both of those as I do this reading. My headache gets worse with every card and I feel completely untethered, spacey, as if I am floating away - I have to keep stopping to ground myself and the headache recedes, and then I pick up the card and it starts all over again. If this is Harry's energy then he is completely disassociated from reality at this moment - not so much "off with the fairies" as "off his face and orbiting the planet". Everything is swimming around me and it is a fight to hold a coherent thought. It is a revolting feeling and if that is what Harry is doing to himself then I am surprised he can function in everyday life.

Underlying Energy: The Chariot in reverse

This is the only major arcana card in the reading, so it is a main energy of the reading. The Chariot is the card for Cancer, the same as the Queen of Cups, so again this is a mix of dead mummy Princess Diana issues, a desire to take Camilla down, and a desire to take William down. However, the Chariot is reverse is also a card of being stuck, of not being able to go anywhere, of having all the wheels fall off your chariot/plans and ending up just sitting there in the road, unable to progress. Whatever plans Harry had in mind when he came to the UK, they have comes to nothing. The have been stalled or blocked and he is unable to bring them to fruition. This will leave him feeling very frustrated, while the rest of us will give a sigh of relief. Whatever Harry wanted to do, particularly in regard to his brother William, is not going to succeed and it will end up making Harry feel more stuck and frustrated than he was before.

Major Suit: Cups. This trip was all about Harry acting on his emotions and emotional impulses. rational thought is, sadly, lacking.

Reversals: All the cards in this reading are in the reverse. That is unusual for an entire reading and it does not bode well. Harry is going to be very frustrated as his plans are going to go awry.

Conclusion: Harry definitely had other plans for his trip to the UK, plans to work against his father, his stepmother, and his brother. While he obviously enjoyed the attention he gained from attending the court case, that was not his primary aim in coming to the UK. The Queen of Cups and the King of Cups make a pair, representing the current Queen and King of the UK, Camilla and Charles. Harry came here to stir up PR conflict around them, as represented by the Seven of Wands. The reversal of the Seven of Wands shows that his plans failed - he was met with defeat.

His reasons for working against his family are emotional and based around his ideas of his dead mother. His plans are not going to work this time, they will be blocked and thwarted and Harry will be left frustrated.

The Chariot card in reverse at the bottom is giving me Prince William energy. Harry's plan in creating conflict for his father and his step mother was also to hurt/overshadow/destroy his brother in some way. Again, this did not work and he was blocked from carrying out his plans. He is stuck in the same place as when he started and he has not been able to make any progress towards his aims.

Harry sees himself as a victim that everyone has to reassure and he expects everyone to adjust their life to his demands. Those around him see him as selfish, manipulative, unable to stand any criticism or perceived negativity, dependent on others, overly sensitive and overly emotional, throwing himself a pity party at the slightest provocation (or even none at all), insecure and needing 24/7 reassurance.

72 notes · View notes

risathefairyofshampoo · 1 month

Text

Chanelle as a girlfriend ♡

(April 8th, 2024) Requested

Disclaimer: Everything is based on tarot and my intuition. I don't know these idols personally. Take everything that I say with a grain of salt. Let's get started! :)

Queen of Cups R, King of Swords R, Three of Wands, The World, Five of Swords R, Six of Pentacles

I think that Chanelle can get pretty jealous and that she would like to have some kind of control in the relationship. That's why she can come off as cold.

This might also end in a lot of conflicts. But she will talk things out and will try to find boundaries with her partner

She is very sensitive and needy.

But I also think that she thinks about the future a lot... Like with her partner. She asks herself if she really wants to be with her partner in the long run.

Chanelle seems to be very charismatic once she is in a relationship. I think she is very romantic

Seems like she likes to share. I especially see her sharing her clothes with her partner but also her wanting her partner to share their clothes with her.

I got a very 'hard' energy from her. It felt very suffocating... Like having no air. Therefore, I think Chanelle is very insecure, and that's why she wants all that control. She wants to know who her partner is with, where & when. Just a little side note from my side ^^

#runext chanelle #chanelle moon #chanelle #r u next?#kpop tarot #tarot #kpop #kpopidol #music #aesthetic #tarot cards #tarot reading #hybe labels #kpop gg #risathefairyofshampoo

13 notes · View notes

thechangeling · 1 year

Text

I'll stare directly at the sun but never in the mirror

Alyssa Reyes finds herself in some trouble and finds herself seeking help from The Unseelie King.

Cw: Sex mention, binge drinking mention, mentions of ableism and racism, autistic dehumanization, and what I like to call enneagram four trauma.

Song title is from Taylor Swift's Antihero.

For my fellow autistic enneagram fours. 💜

Alyssa raced across the winding dirt pathways, frantically brushing past bushes and low hanging branches that were obstructing her way. Her chest heaved rapidly as she gasped for air.

Damn she really was out of shape, and now she was paying the price for it.

Her lungs burned so badly that she was almost considering stopping for just a moment. But the sounds of the Seelie soldiers chasing her quickly deterred her from making that choice, so she pressed on, heaving and kicking up dirt as she ran.

This was all her fault. She had made a stupid and impulsive decision in the middle of wallowing in despair and now naturally she was suffering for it. Granted she thought the soldiers were a slight overreaction, but Janus really didn’t mess around.

Janus. Fucking hell. He was real. Like literally real. He looked exactly like the pictures she had seen of Jace Herondale in books on The Mortal War. (Alyssa had commented that he looked like the kind of guy who would call her a slur to her face and Ty had shoved her lightly, shaking his head.) Ty had told her stories about Thule and how there were other versions of them. How the alternate Jace had managed to escape here and was now rumored hiding out in Seelie, plotting with the queen.

As it turns out that rumour was pretty fucking true.

Aly stumbled over a messy patch of weeds and immediately shot out her hand to balance herself against a nearby tree trunk. Pure boiling panic was searing through her skin, like it was burning her from the inside. She knew she should probably just transform to her wolf form. That way she would be faster, and she could even defend herself if she absolutely had to. But she knew killing Seelie soldiers when they were technically just exercising their right to defend their territory would probably not go over super well with The Clave. She wasn’t even supposed to be here at all.

Once again, she was kind of amazed at her own stupidity. Had she really needed sex that badly? The answer was no, of course not. But in the moment she had wanted to cling to someone, to be close. Whenever Alyssa was feeling wounded, she always looked for someone to give her attention to make her feel better. She felt needy and insecure, so she would grab whoever she could, some random person to call her beautiful and funny and interesting, to make her feel like she mattered. Then her impulsivity due to her ADHD would lead to making shitty and questionable choices and whoops!

She frantically looked up ahead. The checkpoint between Seelie and Unseelie was now in her sights, guarded by Unseelie soldiers. If she could just get there, get to Kieran then everything would be ok. Aly knew it might be stupid to put so much faith in a stranger, but the way Ty talked about him made her feel like she could trust him. And if he knew she was a friend of Tiberius Blackthorn, kin of his beloved Mark, then he would be inclined to help. At least she really hoped.

But at this point, she really didn’t have any other options.

There was a dark whispering in the back of her head, telling just to give up. Telling her to let death come for her because what was the point?

“There she is!” she heard a deep voice call from a few paces behind her. “Surround her! Do not allow her to escape!”

And just like that, Alyssa’s feet were moving again.

When she finally arrived at the checkpoint she was panting and drenched in sweat. Kieran’s redcaps immediately tensed at the sight of her, falling into a combat stance and drawing their weapons. They were dressed in dark red and black armor, with dark red velvet capes. Spikes adorned the pauldrons and there was an intricate engraving of the Unseelie broken crown on the breastplate. Some soldiers carried swords, and some clearly favored the bow. She slowed down against her better judgment and immediately registered the burn of her calves. Alyssa could still hear the Seelies on her heels.

She took a gasping breath. “Please.”

“Identify yourself!” The Redcap at the front snapped, eyeing her suspiciously.

“I-” Alyssa fought for the words to come to her, but her brain was too foggy and exhausted.

“She is a werewolf! She has no right to be here,” one of the soldiers exclaimed, pointing at the scar that ran across her collarbone, down towards her chest. Aly’s lungs still burned as she took giant heaving gulps.

“Please, I need to see Kieran!” she finally managed.

The leading Redcap scoffed at her. “You cannot simply demand to see the king.” There was a chorus of chuckles from the rest of the Redcaps.

Aly’s knees chose that super inconvenient moment to give out. She collapsed forwards, falling onto her palms. Her whole body was doing that annoying shaking thing it did when she was completely burnt out.

She forced herself to speak. “I’m a friend of Tiberius Blackthorn, Mark Blackthorn’s brother. The king will not be pleased with you if you turn me away.” She glared at them. “ If I die here, Ty will make sure you pay for it. Not to mention, the entire New York Pack will seek vengeance.”

But was that really true? Would Ty really seek vengeance in her name? Would Maia or any of the others? Was she really important enough to anyone to receive that kind of devotion and loyalty?

Would her death even really matter at all?

She shook her head aggressively. That was the voice talking. She couldn’t let it get to her. “Please,” she said desperately. “Do you hear those men back there? They’re coming after me. I need to see your king. I need his protection and a way back to my world, to my home.” She tried to appeal to the humanity of the soldiers, if they had any. She had to believe they did, she had to believe that most faeries weren’t naturally evil.

“I understand you’re protective of him. It’s your job to be. If you want you can bind my hands. I promise you I am no threat to him.”

The Seelie soldiers behind her were closing in and by now they could clearly see that she was at the checkpoint and in the custody of Unseelie soldiers. She hoped that would give them pause. The Redcaps exchanged reluctant looks amongst themselves. Alyssa could hear her heart hammering against her chest like a rabid animal trying to break free of its cage.

She closed her eyes and considered sending a silent prayer to God. Instead, even though she knew he wouldn’t hear her, wouldn’t receive this message, she whispered.

“I’m sorry Ty.”

“Very well” a voice jolted her back to the present. Her eyes flew open as the Redcaps were pulling her to her feet. She watched as one of the soldiers grabbed one of the vines growing nearby and tied her hands together in front of her.

“We shall let the king decide your fate.”

Alyssa was tediously marched along the aggravatingly long road to the Unseelie court. She and the Redcaps walked past tall trees and vast rivers and ponds filled with Nixies and Mermaids as well as some creatures she couldn’t even recognize. She could see villages with little stone houses with luxurious gardens and children playing games outside. There were faeries everywhere, working, talking, painting, laying together in the grass staring up at the cloudless sky.

It was honestly beautiful. She could see why Kieran had fought for this place, fought to protect it and its people. She was almost a little jealous, jealous that she didn’t live here, that she didn't have something of her own that she felt so in awe of. Alyssa was always seeing what could be, always wanting things to be better, more beautiful, brighter and more extraordinary. She was never satisfied. Nothing was ever good enough for her and she hated to feel this way, hated to be such a pessimist.

People stared at her as they passed, children pointed and their parents whispered to each other frantically. Alyssa knew she must look like absolute shit, her hair a mess, her clothes dirty and covered in sweat. She also wondered how many of them had ever seen a mortal before, let alone a werewolf.

As she was dragged through the woods towards the outdoor Unseelie Court, she couldn’t help but beat herself up again for letting herself get into this situation. Sometimes it seemed like no matter how hard she tried not to be, Alyssa was just a problem. A mistake. Her parents certainly felt that way. She had been reeling from the effects of a rather suffocating dinner with her family where she once again dealt with questions of marriage and her education, a future career. Little pokes and prods and disapproving looks accompanied by remarks like, “why can’t you just be more like your sister?”

Alyssa knew it came from a place of caring. She knew that they were only worried about her and wanted for her to have a good life. A life where she could be successful and have access to opportunities they didn’t at her age. But it hurt to know that because of her brain and the way it worked, the way she was, she would never fully be accepted or understood by her family. She didn’t want the life her parents wanted for her, she didn’t even think she could reasonably achieve it without completely burning out.

She knew there were doctors and lawyers with adhd and/or autism, there had to be. But she was never a brainy type. Not smart like Ty. She didn’t come with her own special skill set that could be useful to capitalism. Just a love of alt rock, Buffy the vampire slayer, and a penchant for driving away the people she loved. So she turned to partying, to drinking, dancing and flirting just to feel something other than crushing disappointment at herself. At her own life, and at the world around her.

This place was fucked. This society was fucked. The worst part was Alyssa knew it could be so much better. She could see it. It could be glorious.

They finally came upon the Unseelie court, there were tents pitched in rows, most likely belonging to the gentry and the soldiers. Alyssa knew that most of Kieran’s brothers had gone into hiding after he had ascended the throne, but the ones that were left were most likely here as well. Not that she could recognize them. She could also see stalls similar to the ones at the shadow market selling their wares. Nobel fae wandered about, conducting their business. This time no one stared at Alyssa. No one even paid her a second glance. They were probably somewhat used to seeing criminals and prisoners of Unseelie being dragged before the king.

And there was the throne, a massive towering stone structure. It was currently empty. Kieran was probably in his tent which was obviously the biggest and the grandest, covered in golden and black silks with the broken crown emblem stamped on them. A Redcap broke away from the crowd to approach Kieran’s tent, most likely to inform him of the situation and summon him to his throne. It was then, Alyssa realized again that perhaps leaving her fate in the hands of a stranger was not the smartest plan. Once and a while those old naive autistic tendencies that she thought she had successfully stamped out with a healthy dose of paranoia reared their ugly heads. The urge to trust and believe in people, the goodness of people. It was pathetic.

Well there really wasn't much she could do about it now as she watched Kieran emerge from his tent wearing beautiful dark clothes made from silk and a long velvet red cape with the broken crown embroidered in gold. He was quite beautiful. She could absolutely see what Cristina and Mark saw in him.

He also looked exhausted. Exhausted and pissed by the looks of it. His hair was jet black and his mouth was set into a fine line.

Well that didn’t exactly bode well for her.

Shit.

The instant he spotted her, a look of complete bewilderment fell across his face which was almost a little funny. However he quickly shook it off as he ascended the throne and one of the Redcaps blew a horn. Alyssa didn't know what it was for, but as the members of the gentry exited their tents and began to line up on either side of the throne, she could guess. This sort of thing was supposed to have an audience.

Kieran continued to narrow his eyes at her as the members of the court settled down.

“By all the gods, could someone explain to me what I am looking at?” He asked flatly.

“Um... Alyssa?” she offered.

“She is a werewolf, Your Highness,” One of the Redcaps chimed in.

Kieran rolled his eyes. “Yes thank you I am aware of that fact. I was of course referring to, why she happens to be presently standing in my court.”

The Redcap behind her, roughly pushed her forward. “ Your Highness, she was running from the Seelie court, pursued by their soldiers. She claims she connected to The Blackthorns and demanded to speak with you.”

Alyssa scoffed. “I wouldn’t say “demanded,” ok? I was just kinda stressed out at the time.” She found that talking with her hands tied as an autistic/adhd person was incredibly hard, but she managed. “Look, I can explain.”

The Redcap who had pushed her instantly grabbed her by the neck and squeezed. “You will speak when the king permits it!”

“That’s enough Winter!” Kieran snapped. “Unhand her at once.”

Winter. As in General Winter. Aly had heard Ty mention him before.

General Winter reluctantly obeyed his king, releasing her and letting her splutter.

“Please,” Kieran gestured casually in front of him. “Explain.”

Aly sighed. This was going to marginally suck. But if everything went her way, she would get to leave her with her head still attached.

“I was at a party last night, where I met a Seelie,” she began. “We started talking and we really hit it off.” She instantly realized that certain mundane phrases like “hit it off” might not make sense to most faeries. But Kieran was used to spending time around mortals, and he was probably used to hearing people talk this way. “I thought he was attractive, he seemed to feel the same way about me, so the evening turned sexual and he invited me home with him.”

Kieran raised his eyebrow at her. “You were under the impression that traveling to another realm to pursue sex was a perfectly logical decision?”

Alyssa blew air out of her lips in a huff. “Look I wasn’t really thinking clearly at the time. I was like, five shots of tequila in and I don’t know if you know this but tequila is evil! It will fuck you so hard and not in a fun way!” She found that in order to compensate for having her hands tied, she had started to sway back and forth a little when she spoke.

Kieran looked like he was trying not to smile.

“And anyways, I was just in like a really bad mood last night. And I didn’t want to think, I just wanted to feel good. I just wanted to stop hurting," she trailed off realizing she might be giving too much information.

But Kieran was staring at her with a strange look on his face. Like he understood.

"So I went back with him to a house in Seelie, which seemed kind of hidden away. Which in hindsight maybe should have been a giant red flag but I'm famous for treating red flags like welcome signs," Alyssa said with a self-deprecating tone. “So we slept together, had sex, made love whatever you want to call it and then-”

Kieran interrupted her. “Was it enjoyable?”

Alyssa faltered for a moment. “Huh?”

Kieran was leaning forward in his seat. He appeared to be thoroughly invested in her story. “The sex I meant, was it enjoyable? I was merely curious.”

Alyssa bit her lip to stifle a laugh. She had almost forgotten how casual and no BS faeries were about these things. She and Ty often spoke at length about how they were usually judged and considered freaks for speaking openly about sex. Allistic people called it “having no filter,” Alyssa called it being straightforward and not beating around the bush. She would never understand why alistics love to play 3D chess in their everyday interactions, also coding messages within other messages and then getting offended when someone didn’t realize what you secretly meant.

It was ridiculous.

But faeries weren’t like that at all. Alyssa could definitely get used to this.

She smirked. “I mean, yeah it was good. I tend to prefer women, but it was actually really good. Still debating whether it was worth it given my current situation,” she gestured with her bound hands.

Kieran laughed. “Of course my lady. Winter if you wouldn’t mind cutting our new friend’s bindings?”

Winter clearly looked displeased by this, but obeyed the command.

Aly wrinkled her nose. “I’m not a lady,” she grumbled, immediately wiggling her fingers once they were free.

Kieran looked taken aback for a moment, then nodded. “Apologies, how shall I address you?”

“I’m just Alyssa,” she said with a shrug. “ Or Aly. I’m not anything.”

Kieran studied her for a moment in silence. Alyssa avoided his gaze, fiddling awkwardly with her hair.

“That is not true.” He spoke passionately. “Your presence is a delight.”

Alyssa couldn’t help but instantly snap her head back up, staring at his face. She still couldn’t bring herself to make direct eye contact especially now that she was trying to unmask. But she found the dark abyss of his Onyx coloured eye did not put her off in the same way.

And there was something about his voice. The pure emotion of it. It uncomfortably reminded her of a time long ago, before she knew better. When she was so brutally open with her feelings, her bloodied bursting heart. She would show it to the world without a care, without thinking it through and then suffer the consequences. Kieran was a king. He should know better.

“Go on then,” Kieran encouraged her. “What occurred afterwards?”

And yet it was intoxicating in a sense. Being given permission to be genuine when she thought she had lost the ability to do so.

Alyssa sighed. Now she had a choice. She could be honest and reveal the truth about Janus finding her there and explain why he was so furious. She could explain that the man she had gone home with was not just some common Seelie or even a member of the gentry, but the prince himself.

Ash. The son of The Seelie Queen and Sebastian Morgenstern.

But if she did tell the truth, Alyssa would be putting Ash in danger by revealing his existence to The Unseelie Court, to the enemy of The Seelie Queen. She hadn’t known Ash for very long but it was long enough to know that he wasn’t evil like his mother. Or at least he appeared that way.

But what was the point of being loyal to a man she had just met? Especially when she had been burned so many times before. People loved to say, trust your gut, trust your instincts. But she was autistic, her instincts were fucked, like a compass that was incapable of finding true north. She trusted Ty. He had earned that. Possibly Anush now as well, but everyone else was suspect. But Ty trusted Kieran. Ty considered him family and she had to trust that.

The soldiers were getting restless with her lack of response.

“She is lying, Your Highness!”

“You cannot trust this outsider!”

General Winter moved to grab her again, but one raised hand from Kieran stopped him in his tracks and silenced them all. Aly was almost a little envious of how clearly adored he was by his people.

“Are you afraid?” He asked her.

“To die? No, not really.”

A kaleidoscope of emotions crossed his face, he appeared both horrified and understanding at the same time. Kieran was silent for a moment, and then.

“How would you feel if we were to speak privately?” General Winter immediately began to protest. “Guards will be posted outside of course,” he stated pointedly. “Given your current state, you must be eager for a bath and a clean set of clothing.”

Aly blushed. Right she had almost forgotten how crappy she must look. Normally she wouldn’t. Normally her appearance was crucial for striking the right image, making people see what she wanted them to. But the excitement of the last few hours had distracted her. She nodded.

Kieran nodded back at her. “Very well.” He waved a few servants over. “Bring her to my tent, have her bathed and dressed. I shall join her shortly.”

Alyssa scoffed. “I don’t need people to help me bathe.”

The women Kieran had summoned all looked completely baffled at the way she was speaking to The King, but he just smirked.

“Very well. They shall draw your bath and then leave you alone. Has anyone ever informed you that you possess quite a prickly disposition, dear Alyssa?”

“Yup,” she answered, deadpan.

Kieran grinned at her. He grinned and in that moment she saw why he was so beloved. By his people, by Mark and Cristina, even by the Blackthorns. His smile had a way of reaching deep down inside of you and causing something to bloom. A compulsion of some sort. A compulsion to be near him and to keep him smiling.

She had almost forgotten the Redcaps were still there, until General Winter not so gently nudged her towards Kieran’s tent.

Aly had a complicated relationship with bathing. As an autistic person it was sensory hell and as an ADHD person she had a hard time remembering to clean herself often. Also due to “the incident”, she had a hard time being submerged in water. But she was also incredibly vain and obsessed with looking good, so her image required her to maintain cleanliness. So in order to deal with this, she often played music while she showered or bathed to distract herself and make it more fun.

Tonight she was playing “I’m only happy when it rains” by Garbage as she scrubbed the dirt from her body. Her phone thankfully wasn’t dead yet, although it obviously didn’t get any service or wifi in faerie. She tried not to think about if she was being missed back home. If Ty and Anush were up in arms trying to rally a search party to go and find her.Not that it would amount to anything, most of the shadowhunters at that God forsaken place were at best, indifferent towards her. Or maybe they hadn’t even noticed she was gone. She could see Ty, too deep into a case to remember to eat let alone notice her missing presence. And Anush?

Well they were getting along better now sure, for Ty’s sake. But Aly wasn’t really sure if they would be classified as friends. Not that she really understood the concept of friendship anyways. She had always struggled with knowing when it was ok to call someone a friend. She almost always got it wrong.

And there was this barrier between her and most people. One she couldn’t seem to break. Ty had a version of this as well, but even he seemed to be ok at making connections after enough time and effort had been put in from the other person. Alyssa was distrustful of most people and resentful of any attempts to truly know her or understand her. Because it was fake. Because no one would ever be able to understand her. But she still wished she could be understood. She still wanted to be seen and known. To be loved. In her mind they were almost the same thing.

How long now had she been mistaking attention for genuine care? Attention for love?

She felt disparate, needy and pathetic. She latched onto whatever she thought would make herself feel better. Whatever she thought would dull the pain of normality. Of the boring dreary day to day mundane activities of this world. Nothing was ever special enough. She wasn’t even special enough. And she wasn’t normal, she was a freak who didn't fit in anywhere but she still wasn’t extraordinary.

She was just a mistake.

Every day it was like she was in mourning. Mourning the loss of her true identity, her true potential, whoever she was supposed to be. She was mourning the death of that girl. And now she just felt like a walking corpse. Like a ghost or a vampire.

There was this theory discussed in disabled communities about being considered “socially dead.” Useless to society, useless to capitalism and therefore basically dead. Alyssa resented the idea being applied to other disabled people and she cursed the despicable nature of society, being so inclined to give up on so many wonderful, brilliant, intelligent and passionate people.

But not her. She could see the worth and the significance in almost every person, even the ones she hated. But not her.

As she bathed and dressed in the dress the servants had brought her she couldn’t help but feel abandoned. After all, if anyone was looking for her, Ty or Maia, or anyone really, wouldn’t she have heard about it by now?

Well fine then. Fuck them.

After brushing her hair out, which was made more wavy by the water, Alyssa stared at herself in the mirror. Most of the time she hated looking at her reflection because it felt like looking at a stranger. She could never find herself in the mirror. She stared at the dress instead of her face. It was long, white and silky with a baggy long sleeve. There was a scratchy material laid over the front skirt of the dress which had a sparkle to it. Aly found herself grabbing at it and rubbing it between her fingers. It felt good.

She snuck a glance back up at the mirror and was startled to see Kieran’s face as well as her’s, staring back at her.

“Jesus!” She exclaimed, grabbing at her chest as if she could calm her racing heart. “You scared the crap out of me!”

“I apologize, Alyssa. I had assumed that you would hear my approach.”

She was still watching him in the mirror. He seemed almost transformed, a completely different man from the one who sat on that throne. He seemed shy and gloomy, his shoulders hunched and his gaze dulled. Once again Alyssa could see that exhaustion prominent on his face, carrying throughout his entire body.

Kieran sighed and ran a hand through his hair, which had shifted to a more stormy colour. A deep dark blue. “May I sit?” He asked, gesturing at the bed.

Alyssa then finally turned around, staring at him properly. “It’s your place, you don’t really have to ask for my permission.”

Kieran smiled a humorless smile. “Perhaps not, yet it is still polite to ask.”

Alyssa couldn’t help but feel a little warm and fluttery at that. He was the kind of person who didn’t want to take advantage of his position to get things, to make people do things. Even though he probably could. She knew from Ty a lot of Kieran’s brothers were absolute dicks, using their royal status to abuse and manipulate people.

And yeah sure, Kieran didn’t deserve a gold medal for not being a complete asshole. But Aly couldn’t really remember the last time she had experienced genuine kindness from someone who was basically a stranger. A person who had no expectations of getting something out of it. At the Scholomance she wasn’t exactly well liked by most people other than Ty and Anush. Most strangers either found her weird for being autistic in public or they were being flat out racist and decided to judge her based on preconceived bias or shove her into a stereotype. She had kind of almost gotten used to it in a way.

Aly still didn’t believe in the monarchy or support it as a valid form of government, but maybe Kieran was the only person who actually deserved to be king.

He smiled at her again. “Won’t you sit? We have much to discuss.”

She flopped onto Kieran’s bed, pulling her knees up to her chest. “Right, you want to know about the Seelie.”

Kieran nodded. “But we need not discuss it immediately. I thought I should let you know that I have written to my Lady Cristina informing her of your situation. She will get in contact with Maia and have her come to retrieve you.”

Alyssa noticed that Kieran used more casual language with her when they were in private. Maybe he had become used to that way of talking from being around The Blackthorns. It also made her feel a little better to know that Maia actually wanted her back.

Kieran was studying her intensely. “Forgive me but. I thought you would be more excited at the prospect of going home.”

Alyssa sighed, trying not to let her emotions overwhelm her. The last thing she needed was to start sobbing in front of Kieran.

“I am, it’s just sort of hard to explain.” She gnawed at her bottom lip.

Kieran gave her another one of those unsettling stares. It was almost like he could see right through her. “Would you care to try? We have time.”

And normally Aly wouldn’t fall for this. She would go back to masking, put up her fake smile and her stupid manufactured persona and tell everyone that she was fine. It was no big deal, she was just being overly dramatic like always. Make a joke, give a well timed smile and hair flip, and then distract by changing the subject.

But fuck it. Faeries appreciated honesty right? And she would be gone by tomorrow.

“Do you ever feel like everything is meaningless? Like your life is meaningless and this world is meaningless and no matter what you do you will always be in pain because you’re like, inherently unlovable or whatever?” She asked.

Kieran’s gaze shifted to something that felt solemn as he nodded. “Yes I do feel that way sometimes. More so when I was younger.” He paused. “I came from a family that was incredibly cold and unnurturing. Such is the way of royalty I suppose. My mother who might have loved me was killed by my father when I was very small, and he only ever saw me as a burden or competition. Cruelty and neglect became the language of my upbringing, my childhood. I had no understanding of what it meant to love and be loved in return.”

Aly wasn’t really sure what to say. She had never been great at comforting people.

“Man that really sucks,” she said with a grimace. “I feel guilty for whining now, my childhood wasn’t nearly as bad as yours.”

Kieran shook his head firmly. “No, do not diminish the importance of your pain. It is not a competition.”

Alyssa felt tears well up in her eyes. Not once had anyone ever said anything like that to her. Everyone was always telling her to be grateful for what she had. She had a family, a mother and a father who for the most part really did love her and were not abusive. They tried their best. She had a sister who she knew despite their differences and their fights, really did care. And now she had friends! Something she had been deprived of her entire childhood. She was given a good life with plenty of opportunities and everyone always reminded her of that every day.

Not once had anyone ever told her that she was allowed to be angry or resentful or in pain. That she was allowed to feel what she felt. No one, not fucking once had ever told Alyssa that she was entitled to feel like she deserved better. That she had experienced genuine emotional trauma and that she was allowed to be traumatized and it didn't mock the lived experiences of other people.

Until now.

Aly wiped her eyes. “My whole life, I always felt so alone, like nobody really understood me. I felt so alienated by my parents and my sister. My aunts and uncles, my grandparents, none of them really saw me.” (Lola and lolo, her brain supplied. But she doubted Kieran would know the Filipino words for grandma and grandpa.) “I guess that’s still true even now.”

Kieran nodded. “I was also misunderstood throughout my childhood. Everyone thought me to be far too emotional, too sensitive, too whimsical even.” At Aly’s confused look he laughed. “Yes, I lost that last one rather quickly as I aged.”

Alyssa grimaced. “Yeah me too honestly.” She worried about sounding too self centered. People had always told her that she was always taking over conversations and making everything about her. She never meant to, it was honestly just how she tried to relate to people.

Kieran’s hair began to change to a more cobalt colour. “I also felt as though it was my doing. This abandonment and rejection I was experiencing. I felt as though it was my fault. If only I could simply just act differently and be what they wanted then perhaps I would be worthy of their love and acceptance.”

“Yeah,” Alyssa chimed in. “Like if you could just mold yourself into what they wanted then suddenly it would click and you would feel like you belonged. You feel like maybe it’s your fault for being incapable of true connection, like maybe you did this to yourself and if you could just stop being such a brat and let people try to be intimate with you then suddenly you would feel whole.”

“But that never happened. It was never enough, I was never enough, and my father only ever saw me as a threat to his power. He sent me away to the wild hunt out of fear that I would take his crown,” Kieran lamented.

“But then you did,” she pointed out with a smirk.

“Well yes. Because he did not deserve it. Because he had no love or genuine care for this land or its people.”

“But you do?”

“Yes I do,” he hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “I see so much beauty and promise in this place. In every person, every living creature, every little piece of this realm. It is all sacred, filled with the beauty of both the extraordinary and the mundane. Many mortals think us cruel and uncaring, but perhaps that is only because it is the only way we have known for centuries. In order to secure our own survival. I would like to show them another way. A better way. Perhaps it is a flightless fantasy, born of childish optimism. But I would like to try.”

Aly was pulling at her hair, twisting it into knots. It hurt to hear him talk like that. To be so optimistic and positive. To have belief in something.

“How can you be so positive? After everything you’ve seen? Everywhere I go I’m just so overwhelmed by how wrong everything is. How stupidly common and bleak and shitty this world is. It’s not what I want. It’s never been what I want. I’ve always wanted to make things better, to make myself better but it’s never good enough. I’ll always be broken.”

Kieran reached for her out of concern, but she swatted his hand away. Alyssa didn't like to be touched randomly, especially by people she didn't know well. She stood up and began to pace in the room. She knew this was a messy and slippery slope that she really didn't want to be on. If nothing we do matters then all that matters is what we do. It was the mantra from Angel she repeated to herself over and over on days like this. But sometimes it just wasn’t good enough. She felt more like Faith.

There’s just pain and hate and nothing you do means anything!

“Listen to me Alyssa,” Kieran’s voice was like a calm and steadying force that guided her back to herself. He pushed himself off the bed and carefully approached her. “I am not always so positive, as you said. I miss my Mark and my Lady Cristina. Terribly. I am constantly overwhelmed by my royal duties and the nagging questions of whether I am making the correct choices. And sometimes I feel as you do. That the world is hopelessly mundane and full of, as you said, "shit."

She smirked at the sound of him swearing. “You’re lucky you know. That you have them.” She wasn’t jealous of the romance. That wasn’t something she ever wanted. But she was jealous of their relationship in a sense. The feeling of being truly supported and loved was something she had never really felt.

It was hypocritical as shit for her to feel snubbed by Ty for his lack of overwhelming emotion and affection for her when she constantly dragged Kit for his reaction to the same thing. But that was always the way with Aly. There were different rules for her then there were for everyone else because she was a self obsessed, horrible person.

“Do you not have someone of your own?” He asked non-judgmentally.

Aly shrugged. “I mean not really? Which is fine because I've never wanted a “person” in a stupid cliche romcom way. I’ve never felt like that about anyone and I don’t want to. But-” she trailed off. “I wish I didn’t feel so alone. I have friends, I have Ty which I'm grateful for. But.. I don’t know.”

Kieran stared at her knowingly. “You feel as though something is missing. You need more.”

Alyssa groaned and rubbed at her face. All of her makeup had been washed off in the bath and she felt strangely naked without it. “I don’t hold it against him ok? It’s not his fault. He’s just a head type, and I'm more heart. I live by messy bleeding emotions and sometimes Ty just doesn’t get it or know how to handle it. And sometimes I feel like I can’t keep up with him either, you know?” Alyssa didn't really feel like explaining the nuances of autism to Kieran, but honestly that was probably part of it. Each autistic person had such a unique and separate inner world that no one else could really break through.

Like, sure they understood a lot about each other and related to each other but it wasn’t perfect. And maybe that was ok, perfect was probably a lot to ask for. But Alyssa still wanted it. Felt like she needed it. And at the same time she knew she would be furious with Ty if he tried to claim he understood her and what she felt, what she was going through. Because he didn't. No one did and no one ever would.

Aly didn’t even think she wanted to be understood at this point.

Kieran looked like he wanted to reach for her again, but was restraining himself. This time she reached for him tentatively, testing the waters. His hands were cold against hers, she was always burning hot no matter what she did. He laced his fingers firmly in hers and swallowed.

“It is painful, to say the least. To feel as though no matter how loved you are, no matter how many new lives are intertwined with your own, no matter how much less alone you feel, you will always be separate. You will never truly be known. At times, it feels almost impossible to become a we.”

“And then you just decide that there is no we,” Alyssa chimed in. “There is only me. There’s me, and then there’s everybody else, and we’re never gonna merge.”

Kieran made a humming sound and frowned at her. “Perhaps. However I would invite you to ask yourself if feeling truly connected to other people in every sense of the word is necessary. Is it essential for true happiness?”

Aly scowled at him.

Kieran squeezed her hands. “Hear me, dear Alyssa. When I first laid eyes on Mark Blackthorn I was convinced he was my salvation. The answer to all of my troubles. I felt as though after a lifetime of loneliness and abuse, he would be the one to finally understand me, see me for who I was and tell me who I was meant to be. However I quickly realized that Mark was just a man and his love could not magically fix me, or give me all the answers I sought, and powerful love could still exist without a full understanding of one another. I learned this lesson once again with Lady Cristina, for she and I are even more different.”

Alyssa dropped his hands. “How the hell did you go from accidentally getting Julian and Emma whipped by the wild hunt because you were trying to drag Mark back to you out of jealousy and paranoia, to feeling like this?”

Kieran’s eyes widened in shock. “How did you hear of this? Tiberius was not present. How did he learn of the events that transpired?”

Aly threw up her hands, flighty and casual. "I don't know? Maybe Mark told him? All I know is Ty definitely knows because he told me.”

Kieran’s shoulders slumped a little as he sighed. “Well? What was your opinion of me once you learnt of this foolish and barbarous act? I must admit I am surprised you still sought me out.”

Aly laughed humorlessly. “Honestly? My first thought was that I could see myself doing something like that. Out of desperation, out of pure selfish need. Out of fear of losing him.” She gravitated back towards the bed and plunked herself down.

"I've always had this feeling my whole life, of needing to keep this death grip on the people I love. My family is a different story, they can’t leave me. We’re stuck together, that’s the whole point. But my friends, however few I’ve had over the years, I’m always so paranoid about being abandoned. So I get annoying and needy, and desperate even sometimes cruel and I end up driving people away. It’s kind of a miracle that hasn’t happened with Ty yet.”

Kieran pondered this in silence, watching her. “It was one of my worst moments,” he stated solemnly. “One that I will regret for as long as I live. But we are not defined by our worst moments.”

Alyssa scoffed. “Oh yeah? What if all you have are just worst moments? Just consistent fuck up after fuck up? When does that become who you are? She gripped her hands into fists.

Kieran winced, looking down at where her nails embedded themselves in the tender flesh of her palms.

“And the truth is I'm never going to change because I just don’t have it in me. Because I don’t want to change. As dysfunctional as it is, this is what I'm used to.” Tears began to cloud her vision as the truth of the situation hit her. Why was she like this, too stubborn to change or too afraid of things being different?

“I have been like this for so long, bitter, jaded and miserable, that I don’t actually know who I would be if I was different. If I was happier and healthier." A pause. "I’ve spent so long building my identity around being the broken girl, the sick girl, that I don’t know who I’m supposed to be without those things. I don’t even know if that girl would really be me, or if I would like her. And it doesn’t matter that I don’t really like who I am now because at least this is mine. And it’s been mine for as long as I can remember.” She cried. Kieran watched as a silent shine took to her cheeks.

“I’m scared of letting it go. I’m so scared to change that I would rather be a monster because it’s what I know.”

Kieran looked like he was fighting off tears as he shook his head feverishly. “No.” He rushed to her, taking her face into his hands and cupping it gently. His body was shaking slightly and Alyssa felt it vibrate through her at his touch. “No, sweet girl,” he cooed. “You are not a monster. There is nothing wrong with your heart.”

“Yes there is!” she spat. Alyssa had no idea why she responded so badly to people making statements about her so adamantly. But she hated it. Maybe it was the idea that someone knew her.

Kieran thankfully, didn’t argue with her, or try to convince her otherwise which kind of surprised her. He stared at her, his gaze full of contemplation and sorrow before he finally seemed to realize something. He carefully wiped her tears and pulled her closer to his chest, letting her rest her head on his shoulder. “You have every right to feel as you do,” he murmured. “I would not insult you by pretending to know precisely how you feel, as I know I myself have never appreciated when others would do the same to me.”

Alyssa hummed in agreement against his shirt.

"I do wonder, have you ever been asked what you needed? What you wanted? Or have other simply attempted to impose their solutions upon you?"

Alyssa looked up in shock. He honestly had a point. Ty notoriously was bad at just being with her in her shitiness and always tried to solve her problems for her. And she got it. He was just trying to help. But most of the time it wasn't really what she wanted. People were always trying to give her advice. Take this pill, do this therapy, try meditating, keep a journal etc.

Not once had anyone ever just let her feel. Just let her be in her emotions. Just grieve.

"I want to be heard," she admitted. "I just want someone to listen to me and be with me. To let me just like, sit in my emotions and just be. Like, just let me grieve."

Most people really didn't get her need to just sit in her feelings and allow herself to feel whatever she was feeling. Ty fondly accused her of brooding. Her parents called her moody and sensitive. Her older sister loved to accuse her of, "thinking she was the main character," or "living in a fantasy land."

Kieran didn't do any of those things. He didn't ask her what she was grieving. He just sat down on the floor at her feet and smiled at her. "Alright. I am listening."

So she joined him on the floor and told him everything. She told Kieran about the judgment and the isolation, the bullying, the fake friends and the abandonment. She told him the story of how Aly wrote that letter to her new friend in fifth grade, pouring with love for her and how the other girl started ignoring her afterwards.

She told him about the crippling loneliness and self hatred, and the rage. She talked about how kids used to come up to her and pretend to be nice to her as a joke, asking her questions about her passions just to laugh in her face when she got excited and began to answer. How she was always the last one picked for everything and the one left without a partner for class activities and how teachers used to have to guilt trip people into playing with her at recess.

She even admitted to him that after a while she started to pretend that she didn’t like playing with the other kids to avoid this. She pretended that she thought she was better than them. They were childish and immature and she was above all of that. She was above having friends, needing people. It was so pathetic, and none of them could ever really understand her anyways so what was the point? Alyssa told him about Kayla and the mistake she made by letting her guard down with her.

She almost didn't tell him about the water, but Kieran created this calming nonjudgemental presence that was rare. Maybe it helped a little that she knew he couldn’t lie to her. So Alyssa let herself cry as she told Kieran about that night. How Kayla and her stupid friends had forced her head under the water, holding her down as she thrashed and kicked. She hadn’t known if they were ever going to let her go, hadn’t known if she was going to die there. She could even feel her lungs fighting for air a little as she told the story.

Kieran didn’t say anything. He just held her hand and when he squeezed she found she could breathe a little easier. He told her a story of his own about how one night he woke to his brother holding a knife to his throat. He couldn't remember what Eric had been so angry about, but it was the reason that now he often had trouble sleeping deeply. He told her about his father’s resentment and anger at the common people’s affection for Kieran. How he knew that no matter what he did, he would never win his father’s love or respect. In his eyes he was just a mistake to be erased.

He told her of how he was the target of anger and animosity from some of his brothers, or just plain indifference from the others. All his life he had only ever gotten things as favors with an expectation that they would one day be returned, or because he was a prince. No one had ever done anything for him for the sake of being genuinely kind until he met Mark.

He talked about his mother and how he was pretty sure he father had her killed and he still didn’t fully know why, and now he never would.

“But the truth of it is, beyond all of this I am just simply exhausted,” Kieran murmured. “I am so tired. Sometimes the weight of it, the weight of everything feels too heavy to bear. Do you ever feel as though at times everything is just too hard?”

“I do,” she admitted. “A lot actually.”

“Then what do you do?”

Alyssa sighed. “I mean, I don’t know, different things I guess. Like, doing the stuff I enjoy, being around the people I love, listening to music also really helps. But sometimes I’m just so depressed that I don’t feel like doing any of those things. But the stuff that works for me might not work for you.”

She knew that most of the things that lifted her spirits and kept her breathing were influenced by her autism and her ADHD. When she was spiraling out of control she could put on Season six of Buffy and take comfort in the fact that she had her life support hooked up.

She could hear the lines and recite them along with the actors under her breath like a prayer. And when she needed to cry, no one could judge her.

Kieran nodded. “Thank you Alyssa. I must admit I find it difficult to find anyone who is willing to give me honest advice in this place. Yes faeries cannot lie but we are the masters of avoiding the truth and twisting it. I suspect most are too frightened of my position to…what is the human expression? To level with me?”

Aly giggled a little in spite of herself. “Yeah, people tend to be afraid of royalty Kieran, you have the power to murder them all in their sleep if you wanted.”

Kieran sighed. “Yes I suppose you are correct. Although I would never do that. And you may call me Kier, if you wish.”

Alyssa felt something flutter inside of her. That was the nickname Mark came up with, only reserved for family and close friends.

Friends.

Were they friends? She tried not to get hopeful.

Kieran rose from her side. “Forgive me, you must be exhausted. It will be quite some time before your people are able to come and fetch you. I told them not to hurry.”

She looked up at him suspiciously. “You did? Why?”

He should have looked imposing and maybe a little scary towering over her like that. But Kier just looked shy.

“I confess, I was curious about you. I wanted to spend more time together.”

And oh, didn’t that just sting in a peculiar way. The realization that someone actually liked her and she hadn’t even tried. She hadn’t even needed to try. She didn’t need to pull out her usual tricks and masks with many faces or even resort to bribery or flirting. He just liked her. He just liked being around her.

And maybe, just maybe she liked being around him too.

Alyssa smiled shyly. “I guess I don’t mind that.” She pulled herself up off the ground, wincing a little.

“You should rest my dear,” he chastised her.

She stretched out her arms, “I think i’m ok,” she mumbled. This unfortunately was undercut by a yawn which sort of undermined her point. Now that she thought about it she couldn’t really remember the last time she slept.

Kieran gave her a look. “You remind me of Mark when he was younger. It was often a great challenge getting him to lie still.”

Aly shrugged. “I don’t sleep great. I get nightmares. My life is kinda just a giant game of “how long can she stay awake before she passes out?”

Kieran stared at her in barely masked horror. “That is very concerning.”

She scoffed. “My life is concerning.” She was starting to feel her exhaustion creeping up on her as her words became more and more slurred. Alyssa made her way over to the bed again and sank down into the softness and silk.

“I could stay with you,” Kier offered. “Just until you fall asleep.”

Alyssa laid back against the feathery pillows. “Don’t you have more important things to do than babysitting me?”

He shrugged, a weirdly human gesture. “ Perhaps. I would much rather be here though.”

She had no idea how to respond to that, not to mention she was becoming far too tired to think. Aly hummed softly, closing her eyes. She felt the bed dip beside her as Kieran lay down.

And then, just like a lightning strike, she remembered.

Ash.

Alyssa shot up like a rocket. “Holy shit. I almost forgot to tell you.”

Kieran seemed merely annoyed by her outburst, narrowing his eyes at her. “What?”

Alyssa felt the energy surge through her as her hands began to move. She grabbed at her hair pushing it back a few times. “The Seelie! I almost forgot to tell you! I wasn’t sure if I could at first!” she rambled. “But then there was the trauma sharing and the bonding and you said you like being around me and like, I don’t know I just- you need to promise not to hurt him unless you have to ok? Promise me!” She waved her hands around frantically as she spoke.

Kieran was looking at her like she was insane. “Hurt who exactly? Alyssa what is happening?”

She took some breaths to steady herself. “He’s the son of The Seelie Queen and Sebastian Morgenstern and his name is Ash. He’s hiding out with an alternate version of Jace Herondale from another dimension.”

“Janus? He is here?”

Alyssa winced sympathetically. “Yup. Sorry. I don’t think he’s here to check out the sights and do touristy shit. I think he and The Seelie Queen are planning something, something bad. With Ash.”

Kieran pondered this. “I met Ash several years ago. My father was holding him hostage to use his blood. He was instructed to kill me, however before he could Annabel whisked him away to Thule.”

Alyssa blinked rapidly. “Do you think he would’ve actually gone through with it?”

“He was hesitant, but my father can be very persuasive,” Kieran said with a dark, far away look in his eyes. “I do not blame the child, I know what it is, to be manipulated by the court.”

Alyssa scoffed. “Really? If someone tried to kill me, I wouldn’t just forgive them.” She must have looked disgusted because Kieran gave her a stern look. It was almost parental.

“You are not a very forgiving person are you Alyssa?”

“No,” Alyssa curled in on herself defensively, wrapping her arms around her legs. “I think people should suffer the consequences for their actions.”

Kieran pressed his lips together, studying her with a calculating look. “Suffering? Do you truly believe that is the best motivation for change? Do you feel as though punishment promotes real genuine change? Has that worked on you?”

Alyssa glared at him instinctively. Maybe he had a point. But she just couldn’t let it go. “He had a choice. He made the wrong one. That was on him. Sure it wasn't a good choice, sometimes you don’t have a good choice. But you always, always have a choice.”

To suggest otherwise is to make yourself an object at the mercy of the universe. Alyssa had developed most of her ideas on morality, philosophy and the idea of right and wrong from watching Buffy the vampire slayer and Angel as a kid. Sure she believed in redemption, but it was something you had to work for. This was also possibly the result of having a Catholic upbringing.

And then of course there was the autistic morality of her brain that had evolved naturally. The black and white, good versus evil, messy and vengeful part of her that wanted revenge because it was just and right and she wanted to feel vindicated after so much pain. After she had been hurt so many times.

Kieran shook his head. “I am not disputing that. You always have a choice. However, I would argue that the circumstances we often find ourselves in are unfair and inequitable, as well as not of our own making. Ash did not choose to grow up the way he did in the environment he did, neither did I and neither did you. And I truly believe that when it comes to suffering, we are all closer to becoming monsters than you may believe.”

Alyssa was instantly struck by a memory. An exchange from a scene she was ashamed to admit she had almost forgotten.

“She’s a monster.”

“She is an innocent victim.”

"So were we. Once upon a time."

Kieran re adjusted his posture, fixing his rumpled shirt. “I believe that the important thing is to be focused on just taking one small step, whatever form that step may come in, towards being a better person. Towards being better than you were the day before. Change is gradual, and many do not have the patience it requires.”

Alyssa smirked. “Yeah I’m really not a patient person.”

Kieran laughed a little at that. “But quite frankly Alyssa, it is not about you. It is a matter of belief. Not your belief in a person that they can improve, but their belief in themselves. You spoke earlier of forgiving Ash. It is not a question of forgiveness, mine or anyone’s. One needs to wish to become a better person, not merely for the validation of others or out of fear of punishment. But simply because they want to.”

“No one ever wants to.” she protested. “Believe me Kier, I've seen what people are like when they’re left to their own devices, and now I'm in therapy. So don’t bullshit me about the goodness of humanity or whatever.”

Kieran’s gaze fell in sorrow. “I understand why you feel the way you do. I understand why you would never wish to believe in those who harmed you.” He paused for a moment, his face shifting into a soft remembrance.

He smiled. “But I also know that there was a woman who once reached for a man who had shown her nothing but contempt, and touched him oh so softly, who bandaged his wounds and never expected a thank you. I once thought shadowhunters were all horrible monsters who hated those that were different, soulless warriors who knew nothing of pleasure, or beauty, or love.”

“I told myself that Mark was different, because he was half Seelie. It was not until I met The Lady of Roses that I realized I had been wrong. We are merely moments," he said softly. "Just one moment after the next. Some may be good, some bad. But as long as time continues to progress, there is always the capacity for change."

Alyssa let his words sink in. She could relate to that. She felt the same way about Ty. He wasn’t exactly a beacon of kindness, but he was good. He tried. He always tried so hard to be good and not to cause harm. But lately Alyssa had been wondering if it really mattered in the grand scheme of things. After all, what was one boy, one man against an institution built on prejudice and bias. She hadn’t met Cristina but from what she heard, she sounded like an amazing woman. But not every shadowhunter was like Cristina.

Being the liaison to the scholomance had shown her some of the ugliest kinds of behavior, and after everything Alyssa had already experienced, that was saying something. After doing the job for 2 years, (nearly three now) she was starting to wonder if there was really a point to it. Aly probably would have left ages ago if it wasn’t for Ty. If she wasn’t clinging to him like a lifeline.

Alyssa sighed, too tired to keep arguing.

She honestly just wanted to sleep.

"I just figured I should tell you about Ash," she said with a shrug. "Be on the lookout for fuckery."

Kier grinned at her. "I shall. Now you must rest my dear."

Aly slowly lowered herself back into the fluffy embrace of the warm bed, pulling the covers over her. She almost groaned in relief as her muscles relaxed and all the tension she had been carrying finally started to flee from her body. Kieran gave her a ghost of a smile, barely visible. But she could still read his face. She had been an expert in reading faces and body language for years now as she studied them constantly.

Kieran stared at her with a familiar fondness that was hard to place. She was used to people treating her existence with either dehumanizing disgust or idealization and awe.

She could be extraordinary, she could be beautiful and entertaining, (keep them looking, keep them laughing) she could be monstrous and cruel, strange and off putting, the subject of gossip, (did you hear about what Alyssa Reyes said to the principal the other day, did you see what she was wearing, did you hear about the time she punched that guy, do you know who she slept with?) People were always telling stories, always crafting narratives, especially about people they didn't understand and Aly couldn’t help but notice that people seemed to prefer the idea of her rather than the actual person.

People were always telling stories about autistic people, as elusive mysterious others, as phantoms. As creatures to be pitied or geniuses to be idolized but never understood.

It was a rare thing to just be given the permission to be the girl in the white dress, exhausted and drifting off to sleep in the presence of a friend. An equal.

For the first time in months, Alyssa Reyes slept soundly.

AN: I swear if someone doesn't pick up on the "you are not a monster Kier," reference from LOS I'm gonna eat my liver.

The quotes in italics are from Angel the series.

Tagging: @lavender-scented-rat @littlx-songbxrd @have-a-holly-jolly-angstmas @amchara @wagner-fell @sandersgrey @the-wckd-powers @spooky-drusilla @arangiajoan

#not tagging this with the fandom tags because frankly i know how niche this fic is lol #not me putting a pro vs. anti restorative justice debate in this fic for some reason #alyssa reyes #alyssa is my oc #fours unite!#alyssa with kieran: you are like me! (affectionate)#alyssa with kit: you are like me (derogatory)#kieran kingson

18 notes · View notes