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snowprincesa1 · 1 year

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{A Fool of A Brother (2/2)}

//Grown!Daemon x Grown!F!Arryn!Reader//

Summary: Daemon just cannot bring himself to let you go

[Trigger warnings‼️ contains NSFW and Daemon]

Daemon insisted that your presence was necessary in kingslanding, stating that it would be good for the Queen’s health.

“It would be excellent for her marriage prospects as well�� Daemon said to king Viserys in the comfort of his bedchamber where he sculpted listening to his brother trying to convince him to keep you in the red keep them send you back.

“Daemon, Do you like the girl?” He asked aiming straight for the head. Daemon stayed quiet not knowing what to say or admit

“No. She’s far too different from me, we clash at every corner” he sighed. He later said it would be best to keep you by the queen’s side instead of rotting in the Vale with the painfully dry Vale men. Daemon had somehow managed to stall his marriage to Rhea Royce for even longer keeping the ‘bronze bitch’ in the vale single and unwed.

Daemon had grown much more taller whereas you remained the same height, he grew from a lean teenager to a muscled prince, now when Daemon takes you on walks with your hand resting on his arm you swear you feel muscle and it sends a shameful shiver of lust down your spine. Were you so easily swayed by a man who was both lean and had some muscle? You shook away thoughts of him. You remained relatively the same, gaining more of a womanly figure if anything. You still wore a light veil over the back of your hair with a jewelled headband at the front. You grew quite popular amongst the lords and ladies being unwed you had many eyes on you. You spent your days reading, praying, embroidering and talking with the ladies and being in the company of your sister. The red keep felt like home.

You were praying in a Sept finding a minute of peace when you heard familiar foot steps, you didn’t have to look back to tell who it is “Daemon, go away” You said your hands still clasped together as you tried to concentrate on your prayer. “Are you praying again?” He asked, Was it not obvious? You opened your eyes to send him a glare to which he responded with a cheeky smile. Her sat beside you watching you pray “are you done now?” He asked impatiently. You couldn’t pray with daemon breathing down your neck.

“What is it?” You snapped in irritation, Daemon remained unphased. “I have something for you” you groaned in response “If it is a toad again I will kill you”

“Threatening to murder the commander of the city watch and the prince of the seven kingdoms. You could never change” He smirked “You’re like a tree forever stuck in one spot until someone uproots you”

“If i am not mistaken a tree symbolises qualities like wisdom and stability” You retorted

“None of which you have” he quickly added before smiling smugly “turn around for me” He instructed. You hesitantly turned your back to him when you heard the sound of metal and suddenly felt cold steel at the base of your neck. “Valyrian steel” you gasped looking at the necklace “where did you get this—“

“I had it made for you. I cannot bear to see your neck so bare” he sighed dramatically. Oh yes, another aspect of daemon which came unexpectedly was his protectiveness over you. If your wore anything revealing he would keep an eye out for the lords, the guards, everyone! “You are the pervert, Daemon” You would laugh. He would accompany you everywhere if possible much to your annoyance. If you headed out? He would send his finest guard’s or accompany you himself to the seamstress,,, he said it was his duty as he was the one who took you from the sulking weather of the Vale, which you so happened to miss fondly.

You stayed in kingslanding for about six whole years, now a woman of twenty two and you somehow missed the Vale like a child, you missed your half brother Elys and the rest of your friends there. Your sister Aemma was going through hell losing babies over and over and giving birth to stillborns. You begged Viserys to let Aemma be but he said having a male heir is the duty of the king. Rhaenyra was growing up nicely, she being absolutely fond of you. The hand’s daughter Alicent visited the red keep as well, the two girls often following your trail and copying your mannerisms. Especially Alicent, who was also a devout follower of the faith.

Daemon was..Daemon, he carried out his commander duties brutally maiming almost half the city in a span of single night. Of course it was only the ones deserving of punishment who were tortured, Daemon had single-handedly lessened the crimes in Kings landing. He preferred to spend his night sleeping around with whores in the streets of silk. Daemon’s taste was peculiar, before he had met you he always preferred women with silver Valyrian hair. One night he saw a consort who had the same colour of your hair, not quite the same texture but the thought of you as bare as her sent blood rushing to his lower half. He shamelessly ended up fucking the woman from the back imagining your moans and cries instead of hers. He came with your name on his lips. It wasn’t the same, he wanted to know what you felt like, whether you would be a brat or submissive. Mysaria ended up dying her hair the same colour as yours for Daemon but nothing worked she could never get the prince to look away from you.

Daemon tried so hard to seduce you. His failed attempts were pitiful, you were dead set on following the proper traditions that is sharing a bed with a husband. Daemon could not understand how you managed to push him away? When thoughts of you had stayed in his mind throughout all his days and it was driving him mad. For some reason one day he ended up ‘hugging’ you from behind, in all honesty it was a tackle to annoy you. His head buried in your neck as he tried to keep you still and stop you from whatever the hell you were doing. The scent of you was too much for him, too sweet, now he knew what you smelt like upclose and he wanted more. The prince practically rushed out of the room to deal with his growing ‘problem’ that would keep him occupied for the rest of the day. Your relationship with Daemon was weird, you fought like cats and dogs but yet there’s no one else you would rather spend your time with. Hell you even missed him when he went away. Whenever Viserys was mad at Daemon you would put in a word and calm him down, it was very odd how soft you had grown for Daemon. And Aemma and viserys were not blind to it. Daemon would attend dinners you did and sit by your side, ‘accidentally’ grazing your hands reaching for a dish or passing you the wine. It was driving you insane, these little touches his rough hand gently touching yours, you were not blind to how handsome he had grown. The Gods would have to forgive you for lusting over a betrothed man.

The temptation Daemon posed over you, like a hanging fruit in sight but out of reach for you. He was doing it on purpose you knew, you weren’t daft but God did it work. You started growing jealous about the fact that Daemon spent his nights in brothels, complaining about how it wasn’t right and princely but deep down you were just bitter with jealousy.

Daemon always believed that he was immune to jealousy delusional but that was proved wrong for Rhaenyra’s seventh name day. It was decided that a tourney be held for the Realm’s Delight. Rhaenyra was a mischievous one, often teasing her uncle with you regardless of the lords and ladies in her presence and that set off even more rumours about the two of you, but no one dare say anything to you fearing the rage of Daemon and Caraxes.

You knew daemon was to participate for the tourney so you didn’t bother searching for him in the morning. He was undoubtedly practicing and you didn’t want to disturb him. You were to sit next to your sister Aemma but you suddenly saw a familiar face from the Vale, lords of the Vale had come to participate and bet on the winners. You looked at your sister in delight, it was she who planned this for you because she knew how much you had missed the Vale. You took your seat next to a minor Vale lord talking to him and catching up on all that had happened.

Daemon was watching from the stands as the squire put on his night black Targaryen armour. He looked to see you looking so beautiful in a light purple gown, looking so radiant in the sunlight and then he saw the disgusting man next to you and he saw red. Rhaenyra didn’t help either, she was visibly mocking Daemon motioning kissing signs between you and the lord enraging him even more. He knew you were unwed, he hoped you would not fall for some unknown lord of the Vale.

“You should come back to the Vale, you have spent far too much time here in kingslanding” your friend Gerald said

“I suppose that is true..almost seven years” you muttered “but I’ve been happy” you said looking at Daemon who was getting on his horse.

“You are a maiden of twenty two and still unwed, you should start living for yourself instead of just tending to the Royal family, I’m not saying it’s necessary to marry to be happy..but think of the long run” he said, Gerald cared for you and did not wish for you to be a spinster.

“I know Gerald” you sighed

“You have been waiting for him..but he is betrothed, to another” he said “come back to the Vale perhaps then you could come back to your senses” he said.

“What— prince Daemon? For the last time there is absolutely nothing going on—”

“That I know, and that is the problem. He’s not yours and you’re here all doe eyed waiting for him” you felt all the fire in your soul dampen at his words, the hopes and delusions you had been clinging onto desperately being pulled from beneath you “I did not mean to upset you”

“I’m not upset” you said blinking away tears. Perhaps Gerald was right..you certainly didn’t want him to be. You missed the Vale, a quick trip wouldn’t hurt. It would be rid of Daemon and you can think for yourself and come to your senses just like Gerald said.

“Gerald can I ask you for a favour?” You asked leaning in to tell him something to which he willingly agreed to.

Rhaenyra yelled something in high Valyrian mocking Daemon that made ser Harold have to gently escort her away from the stands. Away from the already fuming prince. What were you saying to that lord? He was upset with the lord and he was upset with you. He decided to get revenge he knew you would expect him to ask you for your favour like he did in the other tourneys but he decided to play with you a little. When riding his horse his lance stopped before you almost as though asking you for your favour, you were about to stand to give him it— when he suddenly tilted the lance towards another woman. The woman blushing gave him her favour willingly. Daemon’s looked at you smirking all the while as he felt as though he had the upper hand. Your face was a mixture of shock and jealousy.

Gerald leaned in “I told you” he said before your face completely fell in sadness. You looked away from daemon. Daemon should have relished seeing you upset like he did at that moment, but instead it tore him up in the inside. It was too late now, he would have to apologise for this he knew. Lord Gerald spent the rest of the tourney cheering you up and you even ended up giving your favour to a lord from the Vale itself, but of course he was upstaged by daemon’s battle skill. Daemon felt like he had lost seeing as to how you ignored him. When the tourney ended Daemon had won. He raised his lance in the air listening to the claps of the audience. He turned to look at you but saw that your seat was empty. You were now sitting back next to your sister telling her something, Aemma looked upset but seemed to agree nonetheless. The feast would be a perfect opportunity to try and make up for what he’d done, perhaps he could kiss your hurt better, he fantasised for himself as the squire took off his armour. How would your lips feel on his?. God forbid he sees you with that lord, he’d probably pull you away there and then and take you somewhere more private where just the two of you could spend time..but then again you’d never allow it. Daemon was surprisingly introverted, only ever trusting a few of his guards and his family and never bothered to converse with anyone else. You on the other hand though reserved, loved making conversation and talking to all the people. He thought more about you, a part of him felt smug over the fact that you were upset that he didn’t ask for your favour. Perhaps instead of apologising…he should tease you. Yes that would be much more preferable.

Daemon arrived late to the banquet, nothing unusual making his way into the hall stealing the attention from Viserys as usual. Rhaenyra was busy eating the lemon cakes, Daemon looked around he didn’t see you— anywhere for that matter? Were you so upset you were crying in your bedchambers? He should go see you and kiss your tears away if you let him of course.

He didn’t want to ask Viserys where you were, as the king already had doubts that he bore affections for you and he wanted to avoid providing his older brother more information on how he feels for you. Daemon slid his way to the dessert section where little Rhaenyra was, Rhaenyra looked up at her uncle with a smirk.

“Where is she?” He asked folding his arms

“With lord Gerar- Gerarld” she completely destroyed his name as she put a spoonful of cake in her mouth. Daemon couldn’t believe what this had come to, getting teased and mocked by his niece. He sends her a glare before taking the plate from little Rhaenyra as his pitiful sort of revenge. “That’s mine!” Rhaenyra yelled as he walked away.

He looked around to see Aemma and Viserys give him a look for taking a plate of cake from their seven year old daughter. She deserved it, he thought. He took a piece of cake eating it as he walked to his brother.

“Where’s the lady Arryn, she’s late” he said “I think you should let me discipline her for her tardiness..it’s unfitting for a lady like her” he said pulling a chair next to the married couple who he third wheeled. The Gods, Viserys and Aemma just wanted him to marry and go away at this point.

“Lady Arryn? I have no idea” Viserys said “and no you will assort no punishment of any sort” he said

Daemon looked to Queen Aemma who averted her gaze somewhere else “you know something regarding this, my queen?” He asked leaning on the table to intimidate her and get a response

“Don’t bother my wife..” Viserys sighed smoothening his scrunched up forehead.

“Does nobody in this fucking hall know where she is?!” He yelled causing the lords and ladies to look at his outburst. “Excuse me brother” he said leaving the banquet hall. He stormed out essentially. He was going to march up in your room but for some reason he had a bad feeling in his gut..why were you late? You were never late? The headache you caused him. He pushed open your bedchamber doors wide.

“You! Where have you been!” He asked “you didn’t congratulate me on my win or tend to me when I fell off my horse” he scolded you “what are you doing?” He asked with wide eyes, bags, packed bags. Your room was being emptied. “What is all this?” A handmaiden entered the room to take another bag wherever.

“I’m leaving Daemon” you said “is it not obvious?”

“No. No I will not allow it”

“I do not need YOUR PERMISSION and it’s already decided”

“What of your sister? What if she becomes with child again? She would need you by her side?”

“Daemon— she has maesters and—”

“What of Rhaenyra? The girl looks up to you! And you are just leaving like that!” Daemon sighed exasperated waking closer to you but still a distance apart

“I’m going to the Vale. I’m going home. You would not understand because you’ve lived here all your life! I miss home. I cannot be here any longer” Lie. You were running away because you could no longer wait around hoping that one day Daemon might cancel his betrothal and somehow marry you instead. Stupid dreams and fantasies.

‘Your home is here with us, with me’ is what Daemon wanted to say “you want to go to the Vale? Let us go on Caraxes!” He yelled

“I don’t want to!”

Daemon’s anger morphed into realisation.

“You don’t want to be around me” he said chuckling why else would you reject his excellent idea, who would give up a ride on a dragon? “Have I bothered you to the point you have to run away from me? When have you been such a craven!”

“Why shouldn’t I go!”

“I just told you the reasons!” Daemon yelled back “your sister! The queen! Your niece! Viserys!” His name being stuck at the back of his throat “maybe even me” he finally choked out as his hand went to reach for the valyrian necklace encircled around your neck. “You cannot even get rid of me entirely, you still wear my necklace like a collar”

“Maybe is not enough for me to stay!”

“Very well then, you want a reason to stay?” He asked now towering over your figure his nose almost touching yours “let me give you one”

He tilted your head upwards giving you a breath stealing kiss, his arms wrapping around your body holding you close to him. You kissed back with all the anger all the love you feel. “I cannot let you leave” he said in between kisses, the two of you barely parting for air. Daemon pushed you towards the bed “you and your stupid morals” he insulted kissing you deeply “you and your stubbornness” he said pressing his face in the crook of your neck. “You never know what’s best for you” his hands grabbing a hold of your thighs slapping the fat of it.

“And what is best for me?” You asked looking at him

“Staying here with me” he said his hand thumb sliding into your mouth your soft lips wrapping around his thick finger “suck” he ordered before switching his thumb for his index and ring finger. His fingers gagged you shutting you up, your mouth drooling from the intrusion. “I suppose a holy maiden such as yourself has never experienced pleasure? Tell me have you ever touched yourself?” You refused to answer the question “I suppose that is a no” Daemon smirked “Do you know what that means?” he asked pushing his hand under your skirts. You shook your head anticipating his next action

“It means that will be the first and last person to touch you here” he said his thumb pressing at your weeping entrance, your cunt clenching around nothing begging for more of his touch. His fingers spread the wetness around teasingly almost entering you making you gasp “Take off your gown for me and make it slow” he ordered taking his hand away from your needy parts. With shaky legs you stood unclasping your light purple gown letting it drop to the floor. Your mind filled with lust, what was one time? One time with the man you loved? Surely the Gods can find it in themselves to forgive you for your wanton nature.

“I said take it all off” he said motioning for you to take off your last small clothes leaving you bare and exposed in your bedchambers. The only thing that rested on your neck was the necklace he gifted you. Daemon rested on the bed with his legs spread his eyes looked at every part of you. Your neck, your chest, your tits, your ass, your legs, your cunny. It send jolts of pleasure down his body his dick hardened and a bulge forming in his breeches “Gevie” he muttered, this was better than what he had imagined. His hand reached out for you pulling you by the hips as he placed kisses on every part of your body in sight. He made sit on the bed, making you spread your legs for him showing him your leaking cunny. Before you knew it his hands were wrapped around your thighs and his head in your centre licking a strike of your entire cunt with his tongue. You tried to push yourself away at the foreign sensation but Daemon wasn’t having it. His hands preventing you from going any further away from him. He sucked on your clit watching you squirm and arch your back “Daemon” you moaned. You were in literal heaven. Why had you denied yourself of such pleasure. Daemon licked, sucked and kissed your cunt making you come twice on his tongue, your legs were shaking around his head as you begged saying you couldn’t any more. Daemon licked up all of your release before he pushed a finger inside your cunny, you gasped at the stretch, seeing you were adjusting to the feeling he added another finger, telling you to relax and enjoy the feel his tongue went back to work licking your poor little overstimulated pearl over and over your hole clenched tightly around his fingers he knew you were going to come again, his movements were fast and hard making you roll your eyes at the back of your head as you came hard all over his fingers. The bed soaked with your juices. Daemon’s face wet, he wore a devilish grin on his face. He climbed onto the bed pulling off his benches to show his recent thick length. Hell would that even fit inside you?

“Lie on your back” He ordered and you followed obediently Daemon hovered over you, you finally got what you wanted the sinful proximity between the two of you. His hands intertwined with yours as he distracted you by kissing your lips passionately. You felt him enter, he was so much bigger and he pushed himself in slowly “breathe, my love” he said before pinching your tits hard causing you to gasp. He slid in fully. You couldn’t keep your eyes open, your arms still being held by daemon who now pinned them over your head. The stretch of his full cock in your walls, breaking your maidenhead he let you experience the burn, the pain, the pleasure all together. Daemon let out a moan as he felt you clench around him tightly. This was what he always dreamt about. What he always wanted. You.

Daemon had been patient enough, his slow and firm thrusts quickening. Every thrust hammering your insides as your tits bounced, Daemon was enchanted. He help your hips tightly pounding into you even reaching further, making your back arch and you begged Daemon to let you touch him. Daemon, Daemon, Daemon. The only thoughts that ran in your head as he kissed you his tongue finding it’s way into your mouth as he pounded into you. He let out little moans as he pressed his forehead against yours. As he made love to you. The moment he saw your jaw go slack, he knew you were close. He kept his rhythm steady feeling your orgasm release all over him and the sheets. He left you whimpering underwing him from the overstimulation “good girl” he said plopping on the bed his cock still erect and heavy “can you ride a dragon?” He said leaning on the headboard. You wanted to please him nodding as you straddled his hips pressing the head of his cock into your entrance as you lowered yourself onto him. The position made your toes curl, the way you sunk onto him and lifted yourself over and over. Daemon couldn’t help but watch how your slick pussy gushed all over his cock. His moans increased as he felt his eyebrows press together, he held your hips tightly thrusting harshly into you, it was too much for Daemon, he could no longer hold back he released his hot seed in the walls of your tight cunny, your cum from your fifth orgasm oozed out. White sticky fluids from your puffy folds. Daemon had seen no better art piece, you would be a muse for any artist.

You lay on top of daemon who stroked the back of your hair “you were perfect. You are perfect.” he smiled his dimples showing. You were breathless, tired, exhausted passing into unconsciousness. Daemon chuckled wrapping his arms around you. You were his. And he was going to go to hell and back if he was denied you.

Daemon had ordered for all your clothes to be moved into his bedchamber, he told lord Gerald that you had no intention to leave kingslanding as you were to marry him. The whispers between the servants reached the ears of Viserys thanks to his hand Otto Hightower.

“WHAT WERE YOU THINKING DAEMON!” He yelled at his younger brother who was making arrangements for you in his room “you have dishonoured her! And you take no effort to even hide the fact!”

“I have every intention to wed her, brother” Daemon said rolling his eyes at the king.

“you are betrothed to ANOTHER” Viserys’ blood boiled. How could he have done such a thing to his own family to you! When he knew damn well he was meant to wed another.

“Another who is not of my choosing!” Daemon said to his brother losing his patience.

“The marriage pact with Rhea was settled years ago! We cannot go against our word” he argued

“You are the king, the blood of the dragon runs in you. You do not need anyone’s permission! Your word is the law, the truth”

“Daemon, I have spent a life time defending you! But your heart is even blacker than I thought”

“Wed her to me..I want to marry Lady Arryn”

“You think I don’t know that, you fool?! But you have wronged lady Rhea! Kept her waiting for years!”

“I have bedded her already brother. It is done. It is decided” Daemon said

Viserys slapped him across the face for his insolent behaviour.

“Tell me brother..” Daemon said holding his cheek pressing on the hurt part of his face. It didn’t hurt at all he just wanted to get some sympathy from Viserys “what of how you wronged y/n” he chuckled “when you passed her over for her younger sister”

“That was different!” He thundered at the accusation thrown by Daemon

“Make it right, wed her to me. I’ll take her as she is and wed her in the tradition of our house. Give me Y/n to take to wife and we will return the house of the dragon to its proper glory” he said almost begging his brother.

It was no secret that Daemon and you had strong chemistry, Viserys and his wife Aemma often joking about making a mistake betrothing Rhea to him instead of you. He supposed he always expected his younger brother to pull this sort of move. And he unfortunately had a very good point, you were passed off for your younger sister which was an insult by itself, being rejected by the king.

“Fine, I will allow this marriage to take place, but just know that it is not for you but instead Lady Arryn” he sighed. “And I don’t want to hear any complaint from now onwards? You will obey my every command henceforth if you are to marry lady Arryn” daemon would definitely do as he pleases, but he nods hugging his brother “you were always weak when it comes to me, brother” he smirked looking at his brother. “Showing empathy is weak now?” Viserys smiled patting Daemon’s shoulders. “Are you sure marriage is what you desire?”

“Marriage matters to me when it is with her..” he smiled “I am serious about her brother.”

“I will talk to the Royce’s and make it up to them somehow” he said “how excited was she when you proposed?”

“Oh I didn’t propose” Viserys wanted to chuck Daemon out of the window. This whole argument when you hadn’t even consented to the marriage “DAEMON!”

“She’s asleep brother. You cannot expect me to disturb her!” Viserys at that moment wanted to put down his crown and run away to Essos. How much more of his brother’s idiocy could he handle? Well anyways he’s your problem now.

Needless to say the marriage took place swiftly thanks to Daemon’s groomzilla tendencies. The man wanted the wedding to be private between only the families. You were more than happy to comply. Daemon and you still didn’t cease your nonsensical arguments, now finding new ways of letting out that anger and love in bed together.

Daemon wasn’t a perfect husband, he was irrational, emotional, pessimistic, but he stayed the loyalest of all the husbands in Westeros stopping all his trips to the streets of silk rather spending them with you, the woman he loved so dearly. With each passing year Daemon grew even more mature with the birth of your first child a baby girl who you both named Baela who inherited that fire and passion of your husband who was also spoiled rotten by him with gifts.

Daemon proved to be the best husband you could have ever asked. You would always remember to tell him that when he took you for rides on his dragon Caraxes and whispered sweet promises to you. You had no doubt about it, marrying him was the best decision he had ever made for you. You knew he would put his life on the line for you or Baela if need be, he was your fiercest protector.

“Did I ever mention I love you?” You asked looking to your husband as you both flew on Caraxes. Daemon knew you often felt like you under appreciated him when you really did love him.

“More times than I can count” he chuckled kissing your cheek

“Perhaps I should stop then, I can’t have you growing indifferent to my love”

“If you do anything of the sort, just know that I cannot promise you that I will not exact revenge” he smiled kissing the top of your head.

“And what revenge would you take against me, your wife?” You asked smiling back

“I will teach Baela cuss words” he said smirking triumphantly.

“DAEMON DON’T YOU DARE!”

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whorefordaemon · 2 years

Note

Reader is Daemon's daughter who's obsessed with her daddy and vice versa and now she tries to convince him to not let her marry and bear 'half-blood' Green's baby. She wants a pure-blooded Valyrian babe (3 Guesses where she did her Targaryen supremacy course from).

"You're the only one for me."

Includes: smut, breeding kink, creampie, incest (duh)

Words: 1.6k

Daemon watched as you barged into his chambers, all nervous energy and barely contained rage.

He didn't rise from his chair as you wrought your fingers together and paced around. "You can't do this to me! I'm a pure blooded Targaryen! You dare insult me by selling me to that half blooded one eyed bitch!" You raged, throwing the letter at his feet. You let out a frustrated scream before stopping and facing him. You took a deep breathe before slowly walking upto him.

Daemon straightened himself in the chair as his beloved daughter kneeled next to him. Putting your hands on his knees, you bat your eye lashes at him, showing him your teary eyes. "Kepa please, please don't send me away. From my home. From you!" You placed a soft kiss on his hands. Then his thighs.

Daemon further relaxed into the chair, giving you easy access to crawl into his lap, all while you kissed his clothed chest, shoulders and finally, as you settled on his lap, kissing and sucking on his neck, right where you could see the lump in his throat.

Daemon groaned, wrapping his arms around you, holding you to himself. "My sweet dragon.." he whispered, voice raspy.

"Please don't send me away from you Kepa." You whined, pulling his face towards yourself, looking deep into his eyes.

So similar. You were so much like him. The same long, straight silver hair, same bright lilac eyes and the same soft lips. You stared at him as you leaned in to lay a kiss onto his lips.

You moaned as his grip on you tightened and he pulled you closer. Opening his mouth you slipped your tongue inside.

Pulling at his hair to bring him even closer as if that was even possible. Moaning into his mouth as he refused to let you pull away.

You vaguely recalled the doors were still opened as you pulled away.

Still in his lap, lips puffed and eyes dark with lust, you ask him. "You really want to sell me off to a Highcunt?" You asked brokenly.

"Never my love. My sweet Dragon, all mine." He caressed you gently before suddenly grabbing you and pushing you down onto his still covered cock. Making you grind onto him. "You'll always be mine. I cannot marry you, but I'll have you in every way imaginable. You'll have my sons, not some worthless cunt's."

You sucked in a breath at his words, feeling shivers run down your spine as you felt his hard cock dig into your skirts.

"But Rhaenyra said, she said I'll be married off to her half-brother. That half blooded cunt will father my children."

Daemon growled at her words. "Never! So long as I'm alive, our pure blood will not be tainted." You nodded with him. Thank the Gods he understood.

Of course Rhaenyra wouldn't understand, having had half blood bastards of her own.

"So, will you be the one to give me a babe, Kepa?" You whisper in his ears, smirking when you felt him twitch beneath all the layers of clothes. "A pure Valyrian blooded son! All mine! All ours."

He suddenly rose from his seat, carrying you still in his lap and setting you down onto the table. He stared at you, "Yes. A babe of our own." His hands went under your skirts as he grabbed your thighs and pulled you closer, making you wrap your legs around his waist.

He pulled up your skirts, exposing you to the cold air. You shivered, taking your arms around him and pulling him closer. "Kepa.." you loved calling him that. A reminder of the unbreakable bond between you two.

His fingers found your folds, slowly rubbing them. He stared at you before again pulling you forward and causing you to fall onto the table.

"My beautiful girl." He whispered, increasing the pressure he was applying to your sweet pearl. A shiver went down your spine, the electric shocks making you shake violently.

"Please.." He smiled before going down on you. You leaned on your elbows so you could watch him better.

You tried to keep your eyes open and not miss a moment of his tongue swiping at your folds, but you had to throw your head back and moan.

He bit your thighs to prevent himself from laughing at your reactions. Before he began to loudly suck onto your little pearl of flesh.

You screamed out loud, hand going to grab at his hair, unsure if you were trying to pull him closer or push him away because the sensations were too much to bear.

Your thighs were being forced open by him as you unconsciously tried to choke him with them.

"Even if you did, I cannot imagine a better place to die than right here, inbetween your thighs." He had claimed once.

You screamed as you hit your peak, your thighs and insides all wet and your eyes glassy before Daemon rose up and you watched with hooded eyes and he began to untie his breeches.

You bit your lip in anticipation of his cock. The only you had ever wanted.

"Let me look at us as we join." He smirked before pulling you up into a sitting position.

You both watched with rapt attention as his long, thick cock rubbed at your wetness before slowly easing in.

You groaned as you felt him enter you, toes curling in pleasure and your hands gripped his shoulders so hard, you knew you'd leave bruises.

Fuck, it felt so good..

He didn't take his eyes off your cunt until his cock was fully sheathed in. Your folds were red and puffed from having to endure his length, too big for your small, lithe body.

He let out a deep breathe. "So tight...my sweet." He pulled out just as slowly, watching as you tried to pull in in again.

"Give me a babe Kepa." You whimpered to him.

His hands went to your ass, grabbing a handful and using it to thrust inside you hard and fast for the second time.

"Oh, uh, uh..." you groaned as his thrusts became faster and harder.

Soon he was pulling in and out of you at heightened speed, the loud sounds of flesh smacking against one another, the wet noises making you blush.

Gods, this was so wrong. But you just couldn't help yourself!

"Harder, harder please Kepa harder!." He laughed only obeying you and gripping you so tight, pushing himself into you so deep, both your hipbones touched.

Your sweet spot was being brutalized and you love it. This was unbelievable, how close and one you two were.

No one could take you from him. Not the Greens, not the jealous Rhaenyra, no one.

You grabbed his hair, making him look up at you as you kissed him. He groaned, your tongues battling for dominance.

Your still covered breasts bounced, the fabric hurting them but you weren't in a position to let them escape.

Perhaps your Kepa could later suckle and fondle them. You giggled at the thought.

His thrusts became rougher and quicker and you tensed.

Hiding your face in his neck, eyes closed tightly as sparks shot down your body. Then you came.

A second time you screamed him name, begging him to fill you up as your legs sagged around his waist, too tired to hold onto him.

His thrusts only sped up and he let go of you, letting you lay back down as he grabbed your hips and pulled you closer to himself, grunting and breathing heavily as the first flow of his seed shot up into you.

He came hard, pushing deep inside you as he gripped the table.

Both of you screamed as you felt his seed shoot all the way up into your body. Your womb.

Where you'd grow your pure Valyrian babe.

You waited until he calmed down, before pushing him backwards, into his chair where he collapsed and breathed heavily.

You jumped from the table, legs wobbly and almost falling face first.

You giggled before moving closer to him, shrugging off your dress so your tits were finally free.

You sat on his lap, loving it as he wrapped his arms around you and caressed your long hair. "We made a baby. Don't take moon tea from tonight, up until your wedding." He commanded. You nodded softly, glad to know your blood wouldn't be sullied by some half blood.

You never noticed the door had been left open the whole time.

You kept your promise. Never drank moon tea. Played the perfect daughter and humbled yourself before all the half bloods and ambitious snakes.

And your Kepa kept his promise. Giving you his seed every night, though you were certain he had succeeded the first night, he insisted they keep trying. "Ensure the deed was done."

He fucked you in his chambers at Dragonstone, in the smaller caves surrounding Dragonmont, in the dragon pit, on your quarters in King's Landing.

Even on your wedding day, in your wedding dress.

You barely looked at Aemond as he put the cloak on your shoulders. Not wanting your hatred to be seen by him.

Eight moons later, you welcomed your babe. It was like looking at yourself. Like looking at your Kepa. "Only Daemon is the perfect name for him." You declared, proud.

#Daemon Targaryen #Daemon x reader #Daemon Targaryen x reader #Daemon Targaryen smut #Asoiaf #Smut #writing smut #father x daughter

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putellas11 · 1 year

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A/N: Finally! So happy I was able to get this up in time to celebrate Alexia's return!!! Similar to Just a Girl, this was a big challenge for me and I was determined to see it through. This is a story of how love can shine a light in the darkest of moments. btw this is a long one so settle in.

The Missing Piece (Alexia Putellas x Reader)

In the blink of an eye, everything changed.

A life once lived passionately and carefree, now overwhelmed with uncertainty and trepidation. How else are you supposed to feel when faced with the possibility of losing what you hold most dear? If you lose your guiding light, will you make it on your own or will you wander aimlessly through life?

These are the questions that have invaded your mind. It’s all you can think about. They keep you up at night and leave you exhausted the following morning. You feel their weight on your shoulders dragging you down. They leave you gasping for air as you struggle to just keep your head above water. And the one person who can help you and protect you from it all, is the very person you’re at risk of losing.

The only thing that can distract you, even if it’s for the briefest of moments, is art. It’s the only way you can convey what words simply cannot express. When you feel crippled with pain and see no hope in sight, art is your only escape. With your brush, you create a world filled with light and hope. Because unlike life, art is forgiving. When you make a mess, you can paint over it. You can try again.

Unlike life, art gives you second chances.

"Dios mio, that storeroom is a mess!" your coworker, Carla exclaims, appearing by your side. She drops a box of coffee beans on the floor and with the back of her hand, wipes a drop of sweat from her brow. “Took me 10 minutes just to find this.”

Behind the counter, your attention is on the sketchbook in your hands. When the crowd dies down and you get a little break from taking orders, the small sketchbook comes out from under the counter. Everything from the small details of the cafe to the faces of those who visit it, are you sources of inspiration.

“You mean the one we spent all night organizing last week?”

Annoyance radiates from Carla. “That can’t be us making all that mess, right?” she says, hands on her waist and her foot tapping repeatedly against the floor. “I’m convinced someone is sneaking in at night and trashing the place.”

The absurdity of the statement makes you laugh, and she finally gets your full attention. “So, they don’t sneak in to steal anything? All they want to do is make a mess?”

Carla nods with confidence. “It’s the only logical explanation.”

How she manages to keep a straight face, you do not know. But her eyes certainly give her away. Like you, Carla has no intention of being a barista forever. Put two people together who don’t take their job too seriously and what do you get? A messy storeroom.

“You’re ridiculous.” With a smile, you shake your head and return your focus back to the sketchbook.

Carla leans in to take a peek at what you’re drawing, and it doesn’t take long for her to pick out your subject: a young woman sitting by the window, completely immersed in a book. You picked her out because of her auburn hair and the way it shines so bright bathed by rays of sunlight.

"How's the exhibit coming along, by the way?" Carla asks.

It's a simple question that elicits a deep sigh from your lips. Just the mention of it forces you to close the sketchbook and tuck it away under the counter. "It's going...good."

Carla raises her eyebrow, catching on to your very obvious hesitation. "But…" she says, encouraging you to spill whatever it is that’s bothering you.

"I've gotten great feedback from everyone I've shown the pieces to, but I can’t shake the feeling that something is missing. It's like there's something else I need to say, but for the life of me I can’t figure out what that is."

It’s been nothing but sleepless nights staring at a blank canvas just waiting for inspiration to strike. All the other pieces came so naturally to you. Granted, all of them are dedicated to your mother. But still, you've never experienced something quite like this and with the exhibit only a few months away, you're getting a little restless.

You hope Carla might have some words of wisdom to break you out of the funk you’re in, but the door of the cafe creaks open, and a woman walks in.

Break time is over.

Like clockwork, Carla takes her position by your side at the brewing station, ready to prepare whatever order the customer might want.

"Hola! What can I get you?" You give the woman the same greeting and smile you give to them all.

The woman glances at Carla, and for a brief moment, it gives you the impression that there might actually be some meaning behind it. But you dismiss it — it's probably nothing.

"Just a cortado, please."

"And the name for the order?" you ask, busy staring at the screen.

"...Alexia."

It takes the woman a second too long to say her name, but again, you pay it no mind. You've taken thousands of orders by now, and they're all a little different from the last. Some customers are chatty and some straight to the point. Either way, you take their order and send them on their way. You don’t have the energy for anything else.

Carla, an expert by now, has the order done in a second and leaves it on the counter. She shares a look again with the woman, and this time it does spark your interest. You make a note to ask Carla about it later.

The door opens and closes, and now there's one less customer inside the cafe to worry about.

"You know," Carla says, swinging her arm over your shoulder, "that thing you're missing? It might just be standing right in front of you."

You scoff in response, "if only it were that easy."

Carla's expression hints that she wants to say something else, but instead, she gives you a comfortable squeeze on the shoulder.

You’re about to ask her about those looks she was sharing with the woman, but you’re interrupted by the phone vibrating inside your apron pocket.

It’s a simple message and it doesn’t deliver any bad news, but no matter how many times you receive it, your heart drops to your stomach.

"Todo bien?" Carla asks.

You nod, typing away your response. "Mama just finished her treatment. Tia is taking her home now." Tucking the phone back in your apron, a soft "merde" escapes from your lips.

Only a year ago, you were living in France with the world at your fingertips. Everything was absolutely perfect. It’s where you went to art school and poured your heart and soul into every sketch and painting with the ultimate goal of perfecting your talent. And when you graduated, all your hard work paid off when Cécile Guth — a painter you deeply admired — granted you the opportunity to be her apprentice. In France, life was art, and art was your life.

But that all changed when your mom got sick.

Leukemia.

That’s when everything came to a halt. The cloud you had been living on suddenly evaporated, and you came crashing down, face first into a harsh reality. You had no choice but to leave France. At first, you didn't miss the life and dreams you left behind. You were so focused on taking care of your mom that everything else was deemed irrelevant. But as the months have gone by, you wonder if you'll ever be able to return. And if you ever do, you fear you might not be the same person.

"How's Lídia doing?" Carla asks, bringing you back to reality.

"She's a fighter," you say with a sad smile. "She tries to be strong for my sake, but I can see she's suffering. Chemo is supposed to help but honestly, I feel like it's hurting her more than that damn cancer ever could."

Without a second to waste, Carla opens her arms and pulls you into a hug you so desperately need. You've only known each other for a year, but she's been by your side during the most difficult time of your life.

"On a happier note, the flyers for the class are done," you say, wiping away the single tear from your cheek.

Carla, sensing the need to lighten up the mood, claps her hands excitedly. "I'm telling you, you should have had them made a long time ago!"

It was Carla’s idea to have flyers made to promote your small art class, The First Brushstroke. Working at the cafe isn’t exactly making you rich — not that you need to be, but you definitely need an extra source of income with your mom obviously not able to work.

“I’m picking them up on my way home. If I can get just three more regulars, I’ll be good.”

Carla waves your doubts away, “trust me, I’m a genius. I bet that you’ll have to find a bigger studio in a few months.”

The door opens once again and it’s time to repeat the routine all over again. You’re not sure how much longer you can take this.

“I hope you’re right.”

__________________________

Once again, you find yourself sitting in front of a blank canvas, just staring at it intently with no hope in sight. All the colors and shapes that once flowed so naturally through your mind seem to have vanished. You’re left staring at nothing, feeling frustrated and helpless. Every time you dip your brush into the paint and make a few strokes on the canvas, it feels forced. Art isn’t supposed to feel forced. It’s meant to feel effortless and natural.

With a sigh you set down your brush and lean back on the chair. Looking around the room, you see a clutter of art supplies and splotches of paint decorating the floor. Very few traces are left of what was once your childhood bedroom. It was actually your mom’s idea to turn it into a little studio when you moved back home. Her way of helping you keep your passion alive, you suppose.

Admitting defeat, you stand up and walk away from the canvas. The missing piece yet to be found.

You find your mom in her room, tucked under the blankets with a book in her hands. Physically, she has changed so much. A strong woman capable of running mile after mile is now barely able to walk a few feet on her own. Thick, luscious hair is now thin and falls off at the slightest touch.

And yet, in her eyes, you see the same woman who used to run all over the house with you playing hide and seek. The same woman who held you on her hip as she made pancakes with chocolate syrup smiles. Inside, she still has that raw passion and intensity as when she danced flamenco. She’s still your mom but it’s like you lose a little more of her with each passing day.

“Hi, mama,” you greet her, peeking your head inside the room.

The moment she sees you, a big smile appears. “Hola, mi vida. Come in.”

The book is placed to the side, and her arms welcome you as you lay down next to her. She doesn’t want you to ask about today’s treatment or how she’s feeling. She’s tired of only giving you bad news. Even when you’re the one that is supposed to look after her, her priority is still looking after you.

So instead of asking, you let her gather her strength and run her fingers through your hair. She asks about your day, and you tell her everything to the smallest detail. She gets a nice chuckle out of Carla’s suspicions about who keeps messing up the storeroom.

“And that missing piece of yours?”

You shake your head. “Still missing and I’m just about ready to give it up. Honestly mama, I think it’s just me being a perfectionist.”

She hums but doesn’t say anything in response right away. “I think…” she says, “that if that heart of yours is telling you that something is missing, you should listen.”

Growing up, your mom would never allow frustration to consume you to the point of giving up. She would guide you through whatever you needed until you came out on the other side. She has always been your guiding light when you just can’t seem to find your way.

You look up at her and smile. “You’re so wise.”

A familiar mischievous glint that you rarely see nowadays appears in her eyes. “Well, one of us has to be.”

“Mama!”

But the two of you share a laugh, and it’s a sound you hope to hear forever and never forget.

__________________________

Tuesdays are slow. The early morning rush of customers has come and gone, and now the café is left with only a few scattered customers. On days like this, there’s only a need for one person behind the counter, and today that lucky person is you.

With Carla not around to keep you company, the only goal is to keep yourself busy. Occasionally, you’ll take out the sketchbook, but nothing seems to maintain your interest for long. You’re in a proper funk, and rather than fight it, you have decided to embrace it. Even though you still can’t shake the feeling that you’re missing a piece for the exhibit, at this point, you’re only driving yourself crazy.

If the missing piece wants to be found, it will make its way to you eventually.

The door of the coffee shop swings open, and it takes you a second, but you recognize her as the woman sharing those looks with Carla.

“¡Hola, bienvenida!”

The woman gives you a soft smile, “Hi,” she says, tapping her fingers on the counter, “A cortado, please.”

With a nod, you input her order on the screen, “name for the order?”

Once again, the woman takes just a second too long to respond. This time you glance up just in time to catch a glimpse of sadness in her eyes.

“Alexia,” she says with a breath.

As you prepare the order, you can see her taking a keen interest in one of the flyers for your art class. You left them up on the counter so that everyone could see, but as you expected, barely anyone has paid much attention.

Alexia, on the other hand, not only takes one from the stack, but she seems to be genuinely curious. If Carla was here, she would urge you to talk to her. But the truth is, you’ve never been good at selling yourself. You’ve always preferred to let your art speak for you, and for itself.

You place her cortado within Alexia’s reach and as casually as you can, ask, "Interested in taking an art class?"

Alexia shifts her weight nervously and chuckles, "I'm not very good."

Out of fear that you’ll come off too eager and scare her away, you grab a towel and start wiping the counter that clearly doesn’t need much cleaning. “More reason to sign up.”

“I’ll sign up if you ask me to.”

Your hand stills at her words. “Um…” Something about the way she said them makes you hesitant to look at her. “Yeah... you should sign up.”

But she doesn’t let you off the hook that easily.

“Look at me and ask.”

And when you do look at her, you’re left speechless by what you see. This is the first time you look at her — really look at her, and it makes you feel vulnerable, exposed. Alexia’s not just looking at you - she’s looking through you. All of your flaws, insecurities, and imperfections seem to be on full display.

You feel seen.

You struggle to speak, the words seemingly stuck in your throat. “Please, sign up for my class.”

“Finally.” Alexia says and she doesn’t say anything else for a few seconds, almost as if she’s relishing the moment. Eventually, the corners of her lips tug upwards in a smile, “I’ll think about it.”

You want to say something to convince her, but you’re left speechless. No one has looked at you like that in a very, very long time. It's a scary feeling, but at the same time, there's a sense of excitement brewing in the pit of your stomach.

With the flyer and coffee in her hands, Alexia gives you a little nod. “Nos vemos.”

You watch as she walks out of the cafe, leaving you to grapple with the unexpected feelings she sparked in you.

The rest of your shift goes unbearably slow. With barely any customers to keep your mind busy, it keeps wandering back to Alexia. The exchange was confusing, unexpected, and strange. And yet, you want to talk to her again.

It’s only when you get home that you’re distracted enough to not think about her, and it’s not for a great reason.

Your mom has good days and bad days and when you got home, your aunt’s expression told you all you needed to know. Today is a bad day.

On the bad days, there’s very little you can do besides make sure she is comfortable. These are the days that hurt the most. You feel powerless and the questions that keep you up at night gain power over you. You try so hard to put on a brave face for her. She can handle the cancer, but not the sadness in your eyes.

After dinner, you’re lying in bed with her watching a movie. It’s a bad day ritual. It’s the perfect way to embrace a new world — a new reality in which your mom is not sick and everything is as it should be.

Halfway through the movie, your phone buzzes softly beside you.

A notification lights up the display: Alexia Putellas has registered for The First Brushstroke class.

A warm, tingling sensation spreads through your body as you read her name. You can't help but whisper it out loud, "Alexia."

Your mom's voice, curious and gentle, interrupts your thoughts. "Did you say something, mija?"

Quickly you lock the screen and shake your head. "It's nothing, mama."

There's no point in explaining how one simple look from a stranger has shaken you to your core. How can you possibly explain something you, yourself don’t understand?

__________________________

There’s a vibrant energy that flows through the narrow, winding streets of La Vila de Gràcia district. Before moving away, Gràcia was where you would spend most of your time. You felt understood and encouraged by all of the artists displaying their artwork on the streets. So, when you moved back and needed to find an art studio to host your class, you knew exactly where to look.

The art studio itself is small but fulfills your needs and most importantly, it’s within your budget. The walls are decorated with various pieces of artwork, from sketches and charcoal drawings to oil paintings. At the bottom right corner each one are your initials, and the only hint of the paintings being created by your hand. At the front of the room is a large wooden easel, holding a blank canvas that in a few hours will be brought to life with vibrant strokes of color.

The class is for beginners, so you don’t put too much pressure on yourself. There’s no need for everything to be perfect. In fact, you encourage mistakes. Most often than not, mistakes have the potential to become something unexpectedly beautiful.

With the class set to begin shortly, those who signed up start trickling in. A couple takes a seat in the back of the room and right away you can tell it might be their first date. He hesitates to scoot his stool a little closer to her, and she tries to hide the blush in her cheeks when he finally does.

A few of your regulars have the confidence to immediately go and collect their paint brushes, tubes of paint, and containers of water without being told to do so. Their confidence spreads through the room, and eventually, everyone has what they need to start the class.

Only one easel stands alone.

You glance at the clock on the wall and feel your heart sink a bit. It seems Alexia changed her mind and won’t be coming after all. You try to pretend it doesn’t bother you, but disappointment is an unwanted visitor tonight. Still, you gather the supplies she might need and leave them for her by the easel. Just in case.

“Hello everyone, thank you all for being here” you offer a smile to the faces looking at you with anticipation, “tonight, we’ll be focusing on blending colors to create a gradient effect. If this is your first time —”

The door swings open and everyone's heads snap in its direction. Alexia steps inside the studio and you forget whatever it is you were about to say.

She stops at the entrance, her eyes locked on you.

Alexia’s presence sparks an excited chatter amongst the class but their voices are muffled in your ears. You’re entirely captivated by her.

“Hi,” you greet her.

“Hi,” she says with the softest of smiles.

Finally taking notice of the others in the studio, Alexia gives them all a quick nod before taking a seat.

Before, everyone’s eyes were on you. Now, you see them all taking not-so secretive glances at Alexia. You can only assume it’s because she made a late entrance, but deep down, you have a feeling there might be more to it than that.

You clear your throat and bring everyone's attention back to you. “Um… yeah, I as I was saying,” but it takes you a second to regain your train of thought, “right — if this is your first time, feel free to follow along to what I paint, it will be something really simple. But, if your mind or your heart calls out for something else, don’t hesitate.”

As promised, your painting is of a simple sunset with silhouettes of pine trees. You show the students how to mix the colors together with a blending brush, starting with a light shade and gradually adding darker tones for a seamless transition. A painting of this simplicity would normally take you a few minutes, but you take your time to explain the different techniques and all the possible color combinations.

With the painting done, it’s time for you to walk around the studio and give each student your individual attention. You encourage those who are hesitant to be bold and give praises to those that show improvement since the last time you saw them.

Eventually, you make your way to Alexia. When she notices you, she looks down somewhat embarrassed.

“It’s so bad,” she says softly, avoiding your gaze.

You take a closer look at her painting. It's a striking red and blue background with the silhouette of a young girl holding a ball against her hip. Despite the simple composition, there's something poignant and personal about it. From your experience, most beginner students choose something generic, easy. But It's clear that Alexia’s painting is anything but.

"It's not bad," you say gently, placing a hand on her shoulder. "It's personal, no? I think that’s what makes it beautiful."

Your words seem to give Alexia a little bit of confidence because she looks up at you, “gracias.” Her eyes drift down at your hand still on her shoulder, a soft sigh through parted lips.

Fearing you might have crossed an invisible line, you pull away swiftly and give her a little nod. “You’re welcome.”

The rest of the class goes by in a blur but all throughout you feel overwhelmed by Alexia. You feel her eyes on you the entire time. And while you certainly hope you didn’t make it too obvious, every time she flicked her hair, you noticed. When she scrunched her eyebrows in deep focus, you noticed.

The students stand up and get ready to leave, but before some walk out of the studio, they do something that surprises you. They walk up to Alexia with a glint in their eyes, and ask her for a picture. She complies with every request.

Clearly, Alexia is someone important and you feel embarrassed for not knowing why.

Only the couple and Alexia remain in the studio. You start cleaning up all the supplies scattered all while pretending not to listen. With what you do manage to catch of their conversation, your best guess is that it has something to do with a football club which is something you know very little about. Sports are not really your thing and it has nothing to do with being forced to play goalie once when you were six, and then proceeding to get a ball kicked at your face. Repeatedly.

Alexia and the couple exchange farewells and the conversation comes to an end. With your back turned, you only hear the sound of the door opening and closing and then, a brief silence.

“Do you usually stay and clean?”

Alexia’s voice startles you, causing you to jump and let out a shriek. You assumed she had left like everyone else. It’s not like she has a reason to stay.

“Oh!” she says, taking a step closer with a look of concern, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Slightly embarrassed at your reaction, you take a deep to calm your beating heart. “No, uh,” you say with a light chuckle, hand on your chest. “I stay and clean up. It’s part of the gig.”

Alexia looks around, noticing all the dirty brushes and containers that will surely keep you occupied for another hour. Without a word, she follows your lead and starts picking up as well.

“Wait, you really don’t have to.”

She stops and looks at you with the same intensity she did at the coffee shop. “I want to.”

Once again, you're left speechless by one simple look and unable to make any further protests. Alexia seems to have this power of you that you find both unsettling and strangely exhilarating.

With all the brushes and containers in the sink, you notice she has no intention of leaving until the task is complete.

“I wash, you dry?” you suggest, turning on the faucet to allow the water to remove the excess paint from the brushes.

“You wash, I dry.” Alexia stands next to you, her arm bushing ever so slightly against yours.

It’s a small studio, so it’s a small sink. You’re acutely aware of the warmth radiating from her and you feel it spreading through you.

"I know it's a little obvious since you're the teacher and all," Alexia says, meticulously cleaning the brushes with a level of care and precision most people wouldn't exhibit. "But you’re really talented."

Your laughter is warm and appreciative. "That's quite a compliment based on just that small painting I did."

Alexia shakes her head slightly and her gaze drifts up to the paintings and sketches adorning the walls of the studio. "These are all yours, right?"

You don't bother looking up at the paintings. You're well aware of the pieces she's referring to. Instead, you fix your eyes on her, astonishment subtly etched on your face.

"You noticed."

Alexia meets your gaze. "Hard not to."

For a brief moment, both of you remain silent, allowing the compliment to linger in the air. But you feel flustered, so you look away and try to think of something to change the subject.

"Do you mind if I ask what you do?"

Alexia straightens her posture with an unmistakable hint of pride. "I play for Barça."

And you feel like idiot for not knowing that. "No wonder everyone was so starstruck when you walked in."

Alexia's lips curve into a tight, shy smile. "Yeah, I'm sorry about that," she says, as she finishes drying the last of the brushes.

"Don't be," you say, shifting your weight against the sink. "I should apologize for being from here and not recognizing you. I feel like I'm committing some sort of crime."

Her laughter is light, and she leans in ever so slightly. "You know, I think there's a reward for turning in people like you," she teases.

Biting your bottom lip to stifle a grin, you reply, "And if I offer a better reward for keeping my secret?"

Alexia edges slightly closer, curiosity dancing in her eyes. "What do you have in mind?"

Her proximity sends butterflies fluttering in your stomach. "How about a private class next Friday? You'll have the teacher all to yourself."

Alexia pretends to ponder it for a moment, but eventually extends her hand, and you take it without hesitation.

"We have a deal."

__________________________

Over the next few days, you find yourself more attentive than ever at who enters the cafe. Every time the door swings open, your head instinctively turns in its direction. Not only that, you’re so lost in thought that you struggle to remember even the simplest of orders.

After you botch the third order of the day, Carla's curiosity gets the better of her. "Okay, I have to know," she says, her arms crossed over her chest, "what's got your head in the clouds?"

"Sorry... I just have something on my mind, that's all," you reply, trying to dismiss it. "It’s stupid."

She seems willing to let it go, but when you reach for the whole milk, she has to intervene. "He asked for oat milk," she points out, swapping the milk cartons for you. "Alright, spill it — and I don't mean the drink."

With the customer only a few feet away, you lower your voice so only Carla can hear. "I met someone…"

Carla's eyebrows rise in intrigue. "I like where this is going."

You quickly complete the order under Carla's watchful gaze and hand it to the customer with an apologetic smile.

Once he walks out of the cafe, Carla swivels back to you. "You were saying."

"She was at my class last week even stayed to help me clean up. You know I haven't exactly flirted with anyone in a while, but I'm pretty sure that's what happened. And now…" you take a deep breath, "I can't stop thinking about her,” you say rather quickly, almost embarrassed.

“It doesn't help that she's a regular here so I'm expecting her to walk through that door any second, and it has me on edge."

"Wait," Carla says, holding her hand up, "she's a regular?"

You nod. "Yeah, it’s Alexia. I think you know her actually."

You still haven't forgotten the glances her and Alexia have shared in the past. But with everything that has happened, you never had the chance to ask Carla what it all meant.

Upon hearing Alexia's name, the broadest grin spreads across Carla's face.

"What?" you ask, puzzled.

"It's about damn time!" She exclaims, a tad too loudly. The few customers in the cafe glance her way, and she quickly apologizes.

"What do you mean, it's about time?"

After releasing her excitement with a few soft claps, Carla places a hand on your shoulder. "Querida, Alexia has been coming here for like two months just to see you and you barely paid her any attention. La pobre, she would get so sad whenever you asked for her name."

It all starts to make sense. So much has been happening around you but you’ve been oblivious to it all.

You playfully slap Carla on her side. "Why didn't you say anything?!"

Carla shrugs, her smile beaming. "What can I say — I'm a romantic! I didn't want to force it." Her smile dims slightly. "Besides, I figured you had a lot on your mind with your mom and the exhibit. I didn't think you were all that interested in dating."

Carla's right: dating hasn't exactly been a priority. You haven’t gone on a date in a year and it’s a fact that hasn’t exactly kept you up at night. How can you seek out love when your heart is in danger of being broken in a million little pieces? If your worst fear becomes a reality, there might not be a heart left to give. But even so, you cannot deny that while it still remains in tack, it beats a little faster at the mention of Alexia.

"You're not wrong," you concede, "but a woman like that is worth moving up the priority list."

Carla snickers and wiggles her eyebrows. "She's gorgeous, isn't she?"

"Very."

__________________________

It's Friday night and you can’t stop staring at the clock in your art studio. Its hands seem to mock you. Each tick echoes through the empty space, driving you mad with anticipation. It's your fault for arriving an hour early, but you just couldn't bear waiting at home any longer. You haven't felt like this in so long, and you just don't know what to do with yourself.

Back in France, you only dated casually. Some relationships were more serious than others sure, but you never really saw a future in any of them. Your heart and mind were too committed to your art, so it was difficult for anyone to compete.

But this time it feels different. Your art, which used to consume you, now seems to be somewhat in the background, and thoughts of Alexia have taken center stage.

The art studio is still. The easels and art supplies waiting in anticipation for Alexia. You set two easels in the corner next to the large windows that reveal the night sky, dotted with stars.

And if you're not staring at the clock, you're staring at the blank canvas, trying to envision the scene you want to create. But of course, your thoughts drift to Alexia, and all you can see is the curve of her smile and the sparkle in her eyes.

The door to the studio opens and Alexia walks in. Immediately, you feel the heat rise in your cheeks.

"Hi," she greets you, choosing to remain standing by the door.

You fight the nerves threatening to consume you and take the necessary steps to reach her. "Hi," you reply, hands intertwined nervously behind you.

Alexia looks at you for a moment, a smirk teasing her lips. There's no doubt she can sense your nerves. "You know, I ran into some officers on the way here."

"Oh yeah?"

She hums and nods her head, "They were actually looking for someone that reminded me a lot of you."

You bite your bottom lip to suppress your laughter. You've missed being teased like this. "Well, either you led them right to me, or you kept your end of the deal."

Alexia takes a moment, a mischievous look in her eye. "She's right here, officers!"

This earns Alexia a playful nudge on her shoulder. "Alright, you got me," you admit, your laughter filling the studio.

“Are you ready to get started, captain?”

Alexia nods and follows you to the easels by the window. She doesn’t try to be slick when she scoots her stool closer you. She makes it very obvious and, you of course, make no protest.

In the beginning, you focus on giving her a few pointers on how to work with charcoal. It's all very professional, which does help calm the butterflies in your stomach.

But then Alexia glances over at your canvas and asks, "How do you do that shading thing you do?"

You give her a smile and lean in closer to her canvas. With the proximity, you can smell her perfume, her breath against your hair, her knee pressed up against yours.

When you finish explaining, you turn to Alexia, only to realize that she hasn't exactly been paying much attention to what you were doing.

"Did you listen to a word I said?" You ask teasingly.

Alexia blushes, a sheepish smile on her face. "Sorry, I got distracted," she admits, her eyes flickering to your lips for a moment. "Show me again."

And you do so, not just because you want her to learn, but because you like the feeling of having her close.

After a little while of working in peaceful silence, Alexia decides to speak up. "So, in the last class, you mentioned that you moved back here from France?"

You give her a nod, "Yeah, almost a year now."

"Why did you come back?"

Your hand stills and hovers above the canvas. It doesn't matter how much time has gone by or how many times you've had to talk about it, your mom's illness is and will always be difficult to put into words.

"You don't have to answer if you don't want to," Alexia says, sensing your hesitation.

But you shake your head and smile, your eyes glistening. "No, it's okay," you say, voice soft but steady.

"My mom was diagnosed with cancer, and of course I had moved back to be with her. I used to say that it would take something really big for me to move back here, and… it turns out I was right."

Alexia listens intently to your every word. "I'm really sorry."

You finally gather the courage to look at Alexia, and you see two things: a sense of understanding and a little smudge of charcoal on her cheek.

"Thank you," you tell her with a small smile, which only grows bigger the longer you look at her.

"What?" she asks, confused.

"You have a little charcoal…" you tell her, pointing to the smudge on her cheek.

"Oh," she says and immediately tries to clean it off herself but fails to actually reach the spot.

"Let me help." You lean in closer to her, and with a soft, careful touch, you reach out and gently wipe the smudge away with your thumb.

Time seems to stand still as you both sit there, faces close in a moment of pure, unspoken emotion.

Slowly, you pull away, your cheeks flushed and your heart pounding. The moment is broken, but the feelings remain palpable.

“Gracias,” she says, her hand on where she felt your touch.

Unlike the last class, this time there's no excuse for Alexia to stay and help you clean up. So, with the drawings done, you're both just standing a little awkwardly by the door, unsure of what to do next.

"Would you like to go for a drink? I know a bar nearby."

Your eyes widen in surprise, and then a smile lights up you face. "I'd love that."

And that’s how the two of you end up at Las Vermudas, a cozy bar tucked away in the Gràcia district.

You follow Alexia to a booth in a far corner of the bar. Once you both have settled in, the bartender comes over to take your orders. You can’t keep your eyes off her as she orders her drink and when she catches you looking, she smiles.

It’s like the two of you are in your own little world. The conversation flows effortlessly and eventually, it leads back to your return.

“I felt so settled back in France. Everything just made sense. I was making all the right connections through Cécile, my mentor. It’s actually thanks to her that my work will be featured in an exhibit in a few months. Now, I have no idea where or who I’ll be next year.”

Almost like she can read your mind, Alexia asks, “What are you afraid of?”

“When I go back — if I do ever go back, I m scared that I just won’t be the same. That nothing will be the same. And that maybe I lost my chance to be truly great. It’s not just talent to succeed in my world, it’s a lot introductions with right people.”

Once again, you see nothing but understanding in Alexia. Her finger trails the edge of her glass, eyebrows slightly furrowed in thought.

"You know, there was a time when I wasn't sure I'd ever play again," she admits, her voice wavering slightly.

Your eyes widen in concern, and you lean in, eager to hear more.

"Two years ago I suffered an ACL injury and I was out for almsot a year. No matter how many times I told myself that I would come back stronger, there was still that little bit of doubt that would keep me up at night. I was so scared that I would not be the same player and my career would just be a what if."

“And are you the same player?”

A smirk tugs on her lips. “No,” she reaches for her glass and takes a small sip. “I’m better.” she says, and her smirk transforms into a proud smile.

And so you raise your own glass to her in admiration. It’s one thing to overcome an injury, but it’s another thing entirely to overcome the doubt that so desperately wants to hold you back.

After a little more back and forth and occasional teasing, you feel comfortable to bring up something that’s been on your mind.

"So, I have to admit something," you say, hesitating slightly. "You know my coworker, Carla?”

Alexia shifts in her seat “Si, we’ve talked a little here and there.”

You have a pretty good idea of what they’ve talked about — particularly how blind and clueless you’ve been for months.

But even though Alexia is no longer a stranger and you know for a fact that she’s interested in you, it doesn’t make it any easier to take that leap forward and be vulnerable with someone.

“Well, I kept getting distracted at the cafe, like I couldn’t get an order right to save my life.” You look down at the glass in your hands, “and I’m not the best barista by any means, but Carla could tell my mind was somewhere else.”

Alexia remains silent, but you feel her scooting a little closer to you.

“What were you thinking about?”

Your finger taps the glass repeatedly as you prepare yourself to reply to a question Alexia probably already knows the answer to.

“I was thinking about you.”

She scoots again a little closer, but this time actually reaches for your hand. It gives you the confidence you need to look away from the glass, and into her eyes.

“And when I told her I was thinking about you she got really excited, because as it turns out… you’ve been thinking about me too.”

A light blush spreads across Alexia's cheeks. "I thought you’d never notice me,” she says with a light chuckle. “I wanted you from the moment I saw you.”

Your eyes drift down to your hand and you watch how delicately Alexia trails over your knuckles.

"Every time I saw you at the cafe, I would try to find the reason to talk to you, but you wouldn’t even look me in the eye. So, I just waited and hoped that maybe, just maybe, you'd just look up."

Unlike so many times before in the cafe, this time you do look up. The intensity in her eyes no longer scares you. You welcome it and embrace it as the urge to close the distance and taste her lips becomes irresistible.

Everything indicates that she feels it too. You don’t think about it too much. You just do it.

When your lips finally meet, it's as if a spark ignites, sending a wave of warmth and desire throughout your entire body. The kiss, tender and sweet, makes the world around you fade away, and all that exists is the sensation of her lips.

When you pull away, breathless and exhilarated, you rest your forehead against hers and whisper, “I don’t think I’ll ever notice anyone else ever again.”

__________________________

With Alexia by your side, life takes a pleasant turn. After months of nothing but stress and just expecting the worst, she has brought a little light to your darkness. Not because she showers with grand gestures of affection. No, it’s the little things she does that mean the most. Like waiting for you outside the cafe after your shift so you’re the first person she sees. And it doesn’t matter how tired you are, seeing her waiting for you is like a breath of fresh air.

Because she makes you feel like this, it’s easy for you to embrace her world and her passions even though they differ so greatly from your own. It took a little bit of convincing and a lot of kisses, but you eventually agreed to let her teach you how to play football. You stumble and fall more often than not but Alexia is patient and encouraging. However, it’s hard for her to suppress her laughter at how many times you miss the ball and just kick the air.

But what surprises you the most, is that other than at the First Brushstroke, you’ve had no interest in painting. No longer are you driving yourself crazy with the exhibit and the damned missing piece.

“Oye,” Carla calls out to you, “stop thinking about Alexia and help me stock up the pastry shelf.”

You roll your eyes with a smirk in response but don’t bother to defend yourself. She’s right after all. “Fine, fine.”

“By the way, the owner just texted me that he might stop by tomorrow,” Carla informs you and her expression shows that she’s not all that pleased.

You throw your head back and groan, “of course he is.”

Every once in a blue moon the owner of the cafe decides to show up and pretend like he actually cares about the place. Just the mention of his possible visit makes you want to take off your apron and quit.

What makes matters worse is that Alexia won’t be waiting for you outside today. She’s traveling back with the team and you expect her to go straight home and get some rest.

The two of you are just about done restocking the shelf when the door to the cafe opens.

“Ale?”

Her eyes immediately find you and she gives you a big, beaming smile. Your heart skips a beat as you return her smile, a tangible connection passing between you even from across the cafe.

“Hola, preciosa.”

Within a second you’re in her arms, face nestled in the crook of your neck. “You’re back,” you mumble against her skin, giving a quick peck on her cheek.

“I am,” she says with a little squeeze.

Behind you, Carla clears her throat to get your attention. "Hey, can you bring out the rest of the apple puff ones from the back? I'll cover the counter."

You glance at the shelf and see more than enough of the apple puff-pastries and you, of course, catch the hint. “Will do,” you reply with a grateful smile.

You take Alexia’s hand and guide her towards the storeroom. As you pass Carla, you faintly hear Alexia say “thank you,” to her.

The moment the two of you step into the room and the door closes, your hands reach up to cradle Alexia’s face and pull her in for a slow, passionate kiss.

It’s as if all the days you've spent apart melt away. "I missed you," you murmur repeatedly against each other's lips, the words barely audible.

Alexia with her arms around your waist, draws you even closer, and you lose yourself in the warmth of her embrace.

When you finally pull apart and catch your breath, you can't help but playfully reprimand her. "You had such a long flight. Why aren’t you at home and in bed right now?"

Alexia shakes her head as if that was the last thing in her mind. "I wanted to see my girlfriend,” she says as she trails gentle kisses down your neck.

Your eyes widen in surprise at her words. Gently, you grasp her face with your hands, "I'm your girlfriend?" This is the first time the title has been uttered, but it has certainly been swirling around in your mind.

She nods with an undeniable confidence because to her, it's the most obvious thing in the world. "Yes, and I am yours."

There’s a saying: actions speak louder than words. So, rather than proclaim how much her words mean to you, you capture her lips once more for a kiss. Hands find their way underneath her shirt, tracing the curves and lines you've come to know so well. And as the intensity continues to build, Alexia attempts to back you against a wall, but when you take a step back you end up tripping over a box, stumbling backward.

Alexia tries to catch you, but her foot gets caught up in something and she ends up losing her balance as well. You find yourself in a tangled mess of limbs and unable to control your laughter.

“You weren’t kidding,” she says, extending her hand to help you up. “This place is a mess.”

You nod in agreement, hands on your hips, "Someone keeps sneaking in at night and turning the place upside down."

"Really?"

“No,” you drop the facade and smirk, "Carla and I are just incapable of cleaning up after ourselves."

Alexia chuckles and shakes her head, a fond smile playing on her lips as she takes in the chaos that surrounds the two of you.

"I've got to go back” you wrap your arms around Alexia's neck, drawing her closer for a quick peck on her cheek. “Duty calls.”

Alexia nods in understanding. "Can’t leave our girl stranded.”

Walking out of the backroom, you’re relieved to not see Carla overwhelmed by a long line at the counter.

“We really need to get that place in order,” you tell Carla, pointing back to the stockroom.

Carla grimaces, “I know,” she says, “I hate to say it, but we might need to stay late today and clean up in case that idiot actually decides to show up.”

Alexia, who has been listening to the conversation, raises her hand. "I’m happy to help if you need an extra hand."

Carla looks at Alexia, then back at you with desperation in her eyes, “we definitely do.”

A part of you wants to say no because you know Alexia needs the rest, but you can already feel the muscles in your back start to tighten from all the heavy lifting that awaits you. With Alexia's help, the task of cleaning the backroom would be much more manageable.

So you give in, “Ok,” you point your finger at Alexia rather sternly, “go home, get some rest and we’ll see you here at closing.”

"So bossy,” Alexia playfully blows a kiss to you and says, "I’ll see you soon.”

Again, it’s the little things that make you fall more in love with her day by day.

__________________________

Tonight, your mom is teaching you how to cook her famous Fideuà which also happens to be one of Alexia’s favorite dishes. So, it’s only fitting that she’s by your side, helping you cook and correcting your many, many mistakes.

“Now, add the stock and wine and bring it to a simmer.”

Your mom, feeling a little too weak to stand, sits nearby at the counter, offering her guidance and expertise on the dish.

The atmosphere in the kitchen is light and filled with laughter as your mom and Alexia tease you mercilessly. The two hit it off right away, so much so that sometimes you feel like the third wheel. And while you may pout and complain, you love to see your mom regain that spark in her eyes that you love so much. All she’s ever wanted is for you to be happy. Your happiness is her happiness. So, when she sees you with Alexia, laughing and smiling, she’s satisfied.

“Oh, my beautiful daughter has always been a handful, Ale. I remember the day I found a nude magazine under her bed.”

Alexia chokes on the wine, a little bit spilling from the corners of her lips.

“Mama!”

Your mom brushes you off, a smirk on her lips. “She gave me this ridiculous excuse, saying it was to study the female form for a painting she was working on.”

“It was!”

“Mi amor, you’re a woman — all you had to do was look in a mirror. You didn’t need three magazines for that.”

You cover your face with your hands in embarrassment, “dios, please make it stop.”

Alexia shares a look with your mom, and they burst into laughter.

Thankfully, the teasing comes to end, and you can focus back on the dish that you so desperately don’t want to mess up again.

"I tried so many times to make this when I was in France, but wow, it tasted terrible," you confess, shaking your head.

Your mom speaks up, her voice gentle but firm. "You see, that’s why it's important that I teach you these things while I can."

Feeling as though someone has punched you in the stomach, you turn your back to her, and you try to suppress the tears that threaten to spill. Her words serve as a painful reminder of the possibility of losing her.

Alexia quickly notices your distress and kisses your shoulder, providing you with that little bit of comfort you need to gather your emotions. To lighten the mood, she shares a few of her own cooking horror stories, making you laugh and successfully distracting you from the sadness that had momentarily gripped you.

After dinner, you take Alexia by the hand and lead her to your childhood bedroom turned art studio. Her eyes go wide with curiosity and admiration. "So, this is where the magic happens," she says. "I love it," Alexia breathes, her gaze darting around the room, taking in every detail.

You walk over to a corner where several canvases lean against the wall, each one partially covered with a cloth. Gently, you pull them away to reveal the paintings you've been working on for the upcoming exhibit.

Alexia gasps in awe, her eyes drinking in the vibrant colors and intricate details of each piece. "Incredible, mi amor.”

You feel your cheeks flush at the compliment. "When I got the news of my mom, I felt like I didn’t have anyone to talk to. I had so much built up and I needed to just let it all out. And this is what came out.”

It only takes Alexia a few seconds to understand the meanings behind every piece. She reaches her hand out to you, and you take it seeking the comfort you can only get from her touch. She wraps her arms around your waist and rests her chin on your shoulder, "I can’t tell you that everything will be ok, but I can promise that I will be here for you, no matter what."

You believe her.

__________________________

Your favorite nights are the ones spent with Alexia. In her arms you feel safe and at peace. Somehow, she keeps your anxieties and worst fears far, far away. As your fingers gently trace the contours of her face, you feel a warmth and happiness you never want to go a day without. It turns out this isn’t just a fleeting infatuation, after all. Your love for her is real.

"I love you," you murmur, voice warm and sincere.

Alexia eyes flutter open and she smiles, "I love you too.”

Her words ignite something in you that has laid dormant in you for far too long. Your mind begins to race with ideas, colors, and compositions. It's as if a dam within you has burst, releasing this desire to express your love for her through your art. It's a powerful sensation that you simply cannot ignore and it demands you to act on it immediately.

With a sense of urgency, you jump out of bed and run to grab the sketchbook you carry with you everywhere in your bag.

“What are you doing?” Alexia calls out, her voice full of curiosity and a hint of amusement.

With no attempt to explain yourself, you reach for her vanity stool and place it a few feet away from the bed. The pencil in your hand starts to glide across the paper capturing the lines and curves of her body. Carefully, you study the gentle curve of her neck and the way her hair cascades over the pillow.

Alexia, now catching on to the reason behind your outburst, remains still. A comforting silence takes over the room, broken only by the sound of the pencil dancing across the page.

But the more you look at her and take in every detail of her body, the more restless she becomes. Her hands grip the bed sheet, teeth tugging on her bottom lip. With one swift motion, the sheets that cover her body fall to the ground as she gets up from the bed and walks over to you.

Hovering above you, she takes the sketchbook from your hands and sets it aside. Looking up at her, she brushes a strand of hair from your face and tucks in behind your ear. “I love how you look at me,” she whispers.

Her touch is so tender, and her words so genuine that makes you feel like the luckiest woman in the world.

You feel compelled to drop down to your knees.

Hands run up and down the back of her thighs, nails digging in ever so slightly into her skin. You press your lips against her navel, and then trail down ever so slowly.

Alexia’s breath hitches with each kiss. She rests her hand on your head, her fingers threading through your hair as she gasps your name. The sound of her voice, breathy and filled with desire, sends a shiver down your spine.

When your tongue reaches her most sensitive spot, Alexia lifts her leg and rests it on the vanity stool, allowing you better access to her.

“Oh…”

With every gentle stroke and teasing touch, you proclaim your love. And in response, Alexia's holds you firmly in place, a clear indication she has no interest in ever letting you go.

And then her eyes lock onto yours, you see that same intensity that left you speechless when you first saw her — really saw her, but now you also see love in her gaze. Ever since that day in the coffee shop you have been at her mercy. But now as she trembles with pleasure by your hand and tongue, she’s the one begging for it.

Throughout the rest of the night, you take your time exploring and memorizing every curve and dip of Alexia's body with your lips. You're determined to commit every detail to memory to ensure that when it’s time, you’ll be able to capture her image her to perfection on the canvas.

__________________________

With a step back, you take a moment to appreciate the progress you've made on the painting. In a trance, the hours you've spent working on it have flown by. The creative block that has plagued you has lost its control over you.

And you have Alexia to thank.

The painting is inspired by the sketch you made that night. The sheet drapes over her body, revealing just enough of her silhouette to create a sense of mystery and allure. The image draws you in and entices you to want more, to see more. Although covered, you can see the toned contours of her body, from the definition in her arms to the powerful muscles in her legs.

Her knee peeks out from the bed sheets and a small yet very significant scar can be seen. The scar tells a story of overcoming obstacles and pushing through no matter. It’s a testament to her strength and her ability to rise above challenges and come out on top, stronger than before.

You continue working late into the night, each brushstroke bringing you closer to immortalizing Alexia. The painting still requires a lot of work to reach the level of perfection you desire, but you’re determined to have it done in time for the exhibit.

It’s the final, missing piece. They very piece that alluded you, and the very one you had given up on. But liked you hoped, it did make its way to you eventually. And it did so in the shape of the woman you fallen in love with.

__________________________

Waiting for the doctor always feels like an eternity. You hate everything about the room you’re in. The sterile environment, the faint smell of disinfectant, and the uncomfortable silence that only serves as a constant reminder of the pain and suffering your mom has had to endure.

Incapable of sitting down, you remain standing, hands wringing together as your heart beats rapidly in your chest. Each visit to this room has been a roller coaster of emotions, leaving you with a sense of dread every time you step foot inside. Even the ticking sound of the clock feels like a signal of impending heartache.

"Is Ale nervous for the game?"

Every time you've been in this room, all you've heard is bad news after bad news. The crushing weight of your mother's cancer hangs over you like a dark cloud, making it nearly impossible to focus. You long for the day when you can walk into this room without feeling like the world is collapsing around you.

"Mija?"

"Hmm?"

"The game against Real Madrid is later today, right?"

You manage a small smile, appreciating her attempt to ease your tension. "Yeah, it's today."

She smiles, her eyes sparkling with pride. Unlike you, she’s made her peace with it all. "I'm sure she'll do great."

Just as you're about to respond, the door opens, and the doctor walks in, a gentle smile on his face. Your heart races as you brace yourself for the news.

"I have good news for both of you," he begins, his tone warm and reassuring. "Lídia, the treatment has been effective. The latest blood tests show that you are in remission.”

As the doctor's words sink in, disbelief, relief, and an overwhelming sense of gratitude wash over you in waves. After so long of only getting bad news, it's hard to believe that this moment has finally come. You've spent countless nights lying awake, fearing the worst.

You glance over at your mom, searching her face for any sign that this is just another cruel dream and that you’ll wake up from. But her eyes, filled with tears of joy, tell you that this is real and for the first time in so long, you breathe a sigh of relief.

"Really? Are you sure?" Your mom asks, disbelief and hope mixed in her voice.

"Yes, Lídia, I'm certain," he confirms. "The next step is consolidation treatment help prevent a relapse, but as of now, you're in remission and that is very good news."

Unable to contain your emotions any longer, you rush to her side, enveloping her in a tight embrace. She holds you close, tears of joy and relief streaming down both of your faces.

"You’re going to be ok," you manage to choke out between sobs.

Amidst the whirlwind of emotions, you remember that Alexia had asked you to text her about the results. She wanted to know and be there for you, regardless of the outcome.

With trembling fingers, you pull out your phone and type a message to Alexia:

📲 – she’s in remission!!!!!!!!

📲 – we’re still shock but I’ll tell you everything later

📲 – good luck today!! I love you ♥️ ♥️ ♥️

The two of you make it back to the house in time to watch El Clásico. Even though you’re not there in person, you can tell the atmosphere in the stadium is electric. Every time Alexia appears on the screen, your heart swells up with pride.

The game is tense. Both teams are playing their hearts out, and while you try to pay attention to everything and every player, like Alexia has taught you, you're especially focused on her performance. Suddenly, she intercepts a pass from a Madrid player and makes a break for it.

Your heart races as you watch her weave through the defenders, getting closer and closer to the goal. Your eyes go wide when Alexia strikes the ball and sends it soaring into the net. The crowd goes wild, and you and your mom jump up from the couch, cheering and clapping.

Alexia's teammates swarm around her, congratulating her on the goal. Instead of walking away back to her position with the rest of the team, she points at the camera and then lifts up her jersey.

To your surprise, she reveals the words "Un pasito más, Lídia!" written on her undershirt. Just one more step.

Your eyes widen in surprise, and you glance at your mom, who is just as shocked as you are. Tears fill her eyes as she covers her mouth, touched by Alexia's dedication to her.

The little things matter, yes. But sometimes, the grand gestures sure do mean a lot too.

__________________________

Some time has passed since your mom went into remission and although there have been significant improvements in her health, there are still days when she doesn't feel her best. Today is one of those days, and unfortunately, it also happens to be the opening of the art exhibit.

As you gather your things to leave, you glance at your mom sitting on the couch, wrapped in a warm blanket, looking a little pale and weary. Disappointment is evident in her eyes.

"I'm so sorry, mi niña" she says, her voice heavy with regret. "I really wanted to be there for you tonight.”

You walk over and sit next to her, taking her hand in yours. "Mama, you’re not missing anything crazy. Besides, you’ll be there for the next exhibit, the one after that, and the one after that."

Your mother smiles weakly and nods. "I'm so proud of you,” she says, “tell Carla and Ale to take lots of pictures!”

“"I will, mama,” you say with a chuckle as lean down give her a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “Tia should be here in a few minutes. Please, get some rest.”

When you step outside and close the door, you allow yourself to feel the disappointment you hid from her. Considering that all but one of the pieces are dedicated to her, of course you wanted her there. But still, you’re determined to make the most of this night to honor her and everything she has been through.

At the exhibit, you're accompanied by Carla. The gallery is buzzing with excitement, and your art has garnered a lot of attention and praise. However, you find it hard to take in the moment because Alexia is running late. Very late. The fact that she hasn't replied to any of your messages certainly doesn’t help.

Carla noticing your concern, rests a hand on your shoulder. "Hey, I'm sure she'll be here any minute.”

You nod, attempting to stay focused on the event, but it's difficult not to let your emotions show. “I’m just worried that’s all.”

“I know, but she’s probably stuck in traffic or can’t find parking. You know-” of the sudden, her gaze drifts past you and towards the entrance and her eyes go wide.

Confused, you turn around to see what caught Carla’s attention. By the entrance, you see Alexia walk in with your mom by her side, holding on to her hand. Your mom looks tired but determined.

You rush towards them, shocked and tears threatening to stream down your face. "Mama! You're here!”

Alexia grins sheepishly. "I was on my here when she called me to pick her up and wouldn’t take no for an answer. I see where you get it from."

Still holding on to Alexia, you mom smiles and reaches out for you. "I couldn't let you down, mija. I just had to be here with you."

You embrace them both, overwhelmed by their presence. “I’m so happy you’re both here.”

With them by your side, the night becomes even that more special. Nothing feels better than being able to introduce your mom to fellow artists and attendees.

Eventually, a reporter from a local arts magazine pulls you aside for a brief interview, asking about the various pieces you have displayed at the exhibit.

He’s particularly interested in one. "The Missing Piece is truly something special," the reporter says, his eyes locked on the painting. "What’s the significance of its title?”

You take a moment to gather your thoughts, your gaze lingering on the painting. "At first, it felt like there was a piece missing for the exhibit, but it turns out that it was something I was missing from my own life."

You glance over at Alexia, who is admiring your artwork with your mom and Carla. "And when, I finally found it, everything changed. My missing piece brought me a sense of completeness and balance that I desperately needed.”

The reporter smiles. "Your feelings are evident in this piece, and it's no wonder it's drawing so much attention tonight."

"My mentor used to say that wherever the eyes go, so does the heart. And wherever the heart goes, so do the hands. The piece will live forever, and a hundred years from now someone will look at it and they’ll feel exactly what feel.”

“And what’s that?”

You glance over at Alexia once again. Almost as if she senses your gaze, she turns to meet your eyes. With a knowing smile, she winks at you, acknowledging the connection between the two you and the inspiration behind The Missing Piece.

“Love.”

#alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas imagine #woso x imagine #woso x reader

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onyourowndaisymae · 1 year

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would i follow these obey me characters on social media? + social media headcanons

explanations + hcs below the cut:

content warnings: playful mentions of cyberbullying/death threats (reader's discretion advised)

post notifications on, loyal mutuals for life: thirteen, barbatos, mammon, satan

you cannot convince me thirteen does not have the funniest fucking twitter imaginable. she posts a lot of funny shit herself but also retweets a lot of good content too. she seems like the type to get in fights on social media and win by humiliating her opponent in the funniest way possible. probably makes a lot of jokes about fucking one or both of your parents

the barbatos one might be controversial but hear me out. i think that any account he'd run in association to his work would be dry as hell. but a personal, deeply private account? funny as FUCK. i think this man wouldn't post very often but when he does, it is quite literally some of the funniest shit you've ever seen. he's ancient, too, so i think he'd be persistent. just years of logging on to tell elon musk to k*ll himself (whiCH I AM NOT ENDORSING @ THE GOV IM JUST MAKING A JOKE OKAY WE'RE ALL LAUGHING HERE) in new and creative ways

mammon would probably post a lot about his shenanigans and that to me is worth tuning in to. i think his social media would consist of him posting about a new scheme/plan part of the way through (when things are most exciting) and then updating hours/days later with an "update: lucifer caught me and made me wear a dunce hat for a week straight" or something like that

satan would post the most normally in this category but i think he'd have some genuinely interesting stuff. he'd probably use a photo-based platform like instagram (technically devilgram but y'know what i mean) and his content would fall into two categories: cat pics and the most amazing, exclusive events you've ever seen. he'll post a photo dump of cats he feeds one week and then next is him at some gorgeous exclusive hot springs on a free trip one of his connections invited him on.

mutuals by choice <3: asmo, simeon, luke, levi

asmo posts a lot about himself, but like. c'mon. he's so pretty. and he also just posts a lot of pretty aesthetic influencer photos so it's nice to see him on your feed. he posts a lot, too, so your feed never quite runs dry when he's your mutual. he's also the type to hype your photos up in the comments like you're the only other person on the platform. lots of heart emojis and flirtatious comments on very mundane posts

simeon would be fun to follow in the way that old people are fun to follow on social media. long, sweet captions on his weekly post (that someone helped him post), cute but off-center selfies with the things he cares about, funny grandpa comments on your photos-- ex. "nice photo mc... 👍" without realizing how funny that comes off

luke is just cute and posts cute things. lots of stray animals, pretty sunsets, and cute baked goods. he's even got a few rare photos of barbatos on there looking slightly relaxed. levi made luke's accounts private when he first set them up bc he's been on too many weird corners of the internet to let that innocent angel be corrupted.

speaking of levi, he'd post a LOT about his dorky (affectionate) interests. he's one of the few that would post every day on multiple platforms. there's a pretty small chance you care about each and every thing he posts but regardless, it's nice to see him so enthused and happy.

mutuals bc i'd feel bad unfollowing: belphie, lucifer, diavolo, mephisto

belphie's accounts have all been inactive for YEARS, but if you unfollow him he does get offended. he found out asmo unfollowed him at some point and started an argument about it.

lucifer's social media is also rarely active, but anything he posts is usually at least a little important, so if you unfollow he'll know and get on you about missing it.

diavolo's account is quite literally all royal bullshit and official devildom information, but seeing as he doesn't have personal social media, he still values his friends following him. if you unfollow, his feelings will be hurt, but he'll stay quiet about it.

mephisto's account literally just posts the same lame shit that the RAD newspaper account does, word-for-word and post-for-post. unfollowing either of these accounts comes off as a slight from the feeble human that doesn't care about the devildom. his complaining is always so loud.

not following + no plans to follow: beel, raphael

beel posts exclusively about food. he doesn't run a food-themed account, that's literally all he finds interesting enough to post. he rates all of his meals after he finishes, too. fun, but not my type of content.

something in my heart of hearts tells me raphael's photos are all blurry. like he just thinks his D.D.D. camera is bad when really he won't focus the damn camera before taking a pic.

blocked, reported, cyberbullied for good measure: solomon

i KNOW this man is a menace on social media. he probably eggs on conspiracy theorists and purposely spreads misinformation. it's funny at first until following him starts filling your feed with the crazy bullshit he likes/retweets. he is playing devil's advocate on social media for the dumbest, most argumentative people online bc he thinks it's funny and it's quite literally going to drive you insane if you don't block him. when he's causing problems, he's posting stupid shit. he'd be the type to unironically post the "saw a snail today. effervescent" shit

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hereticdrws · 7 months

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Aquarium date w mizu

A/n: did I just narrate my visit at the aquarium and add mizu? Possibly did I use quotes from me and my sister? Also maybe anygays I hope yall enjoy ☺️🤞 should I write a real fic w this? I alr got 1 in the works cough cough baseball mizu

Warnings: NOT PROOF READ idk I don't think there r any but lemme know if there r

Loser!Mizu x (masc?) Reader I tried to make it v neutral but I kinda self projected

Enjoy 😉

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

◇Def spends wayyyy to long on parking trying to find the perfect spot no matter how many times she's been

◇Tells you the scientific names of all the fish on the banners on the way in that are used to attract visitors

◇Tells you every fish related joke she knows while waiting in line to get in

◇Cannot stand up straight in the line to save her life she has to lean (but I mean who tf doesn't why tf would I stand up str8 when I can lean)

◇Tries to convince u to let her bring a fish home (you're not even allowed to)

◇Took 1000 pics of the baby penguins

◇(Also asked to take one home)

◇Does not shut up abt the smell

◇Says every cute thing in the exhibit looks like you

Ex:

After walking past the toucan exhibit we make our way toward the baby monkeys per mizus request, walking hand in hand and shoulder to well head because lord knows mizu is tall as shit.

Once we arrive at the monkey exhibit for the first time since arriving mizu releases her hand from yours

"Omg babe it looks just like you!" She eagerly points out

"It does??" You raise an eyebrow at the 5'7 woman towering you, questioning her ecstatic expression

"Yeah!!"

◇Tried to provoke the toucan

"OMG Y/N ITS THE BIRD FROM THE MEME" spends at least 15 minutes trying to find the meme

◇Made you carry her hoodie bc it was so humid

"Babe I told you not to bring it 🙄"

"I thought it'd be cold ☹️"

"Why are there only birds I hate birds"

"Because we're in the bird exhibit babe 😐"

"oh"

◇Pouts when she can't find the animal in the exhibit

"Babe did you know poison dart frogs are poisonous?"

Dies

"Babe stop ☹️"

◇Stuck her hand in the water 'bcuz she can'

"I bet I could survive that jump"

"No tf you wouldnt?"

◇You had to pay for the slushies bc she forgot her wallet (which she definitely owns) ((she doesn't own a wallet))

"BABE THERES FUCKING CROCODILES"

"Dude there's a kid right nxt 2 u"

"Babe wtf"

"What"

"Your mouth looks like a traffic cone"

☹️

◇Constantly asked what would happen if she threw smthing at an animal

Ex:

"What I'd I threw my slushie at the crocodile"

"I'll disown you"

◇Looks in disgust at all the babies and children

◇I cannot express how much she'd compare you to ever cute animal in the exhibit

◇Leans into u when she gets bored like srsly u are supporting this woman's entire body weight

◇Do not forget how CLINGY she is (totally not self projecting) she would not let go of your hand, not to mention she is constantly pressed to your side esp when walking she is js leaning into you (same 😔) she cannot walk in a straight line for the life of her

◇Mizu is either the most shameful person you've ever met or the most shameless

No inbetween

◇The facts omg So. Many. Facts it's acc insane

"Did you know the 'type of animal' is acc a direct descendant of-"

◇Has a donkey Kong lanyard u drag her around by so she doesn't wander off

"Omg that's literally us in another universe"

(Pic credits go to yours truly 😌)

"Omg yn that's a stone fish the one from the meme 😁🫵"

"What meme?"

😨 (she only scrolls on YouTube shorts or insta reels) ((idk why she's shocked))

◇Constantly pointing out how ugly a fish is

"If it were human it could NEVER pull you"

"???"

◇Spent at least an hour in the shark exhibit telling you the scientific names of all the diff species of them and where they originated from

◇Millions of pics of them everytime a shark swam by at least 25 pics would be taken

◇Everytime you tell her to pise for a pic with one of the exhibits she either puts up a thumbs up with the dumbest smile you've ever seen or accidently flips you off then rushes over to you drowning your face in kisses and apologizing over n over

◇Sitting/leaning every chance she gets (and pulling u down w her every chance she gets) ((she is so clingy I can't express it enough))

"When do we get to go to the gift shop?" ◇She asked every 2 seconds if she's not telling you the most outrageous 'facts' she learned from who tf knows where

"That bird is big as shit 😐"

◇Tries to stand like a flamingo falls not even 2 seconds later claiming you pushed her

◇Literally RAN for the shark plushies once yall got to the gift shop

◇Could not decide which one to get so u js bought her all of them bc ur so sweet/you couldn't decide which one to get so she bought you all of them (whichever u want)

◇Got lost in the parking lot trying to find yalls car

◇Yall stopped at chic fil a on your way home

◇Once yall got home you both changed into comfy clothes and layed down and cuddled ofc yall cuddled with mizus ridiculous amount of new shark plushies

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

A/n pt2: thank you for reading I hope yall like this ☺️

#blue eye samurai #mizu blue eye samurai #bes mizu #mizu #art #bes x reader #blue eye samurai x reader #blue eye samurai fanart #digital art #sketchbook

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vampiric-succulent · 2 months

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OUAW EP 46:

Spoilers y’all! Also this one is REALLY long. And. Uh. Yeah.

Oh shit the Jabberwock figure!!! Is this the sword that the Campestri were talking about?

Blue vs red roses…….

Given that this is possibly the Palace/Kingdom of Heart’s Desire, maybe the blue represents the allies of Zybilna and the red represents the hags (or maybe opposite bc the temple seems to be of the hags—-idk)

Is the Jabberwock hag-aligned? Or is it kinda doing it’s own thing

TORBEK AND THE HOSES

Gricko and Frost go trick or treating w hootsie!!!

FROST GLASSES MOMENT LETS GO

“Gideon chooses not to read. Torbek can’t read. We are not the same.”

Love that Gricko gaslit Gideon into pulling the sword out of the stone and he didn’t even have to try to get him to do it

Also love how Nikkie’s immediate idea is “let’s rip the page out of the expensive book”

“Gideon’s trying to vandalize private property” “That has NEVER been a problem for you before” “…We’ll talk about this afterwards.”

Oooh cool sword

Guys what do you think “galumphing” is—- there we go

“I don’t know if we count— we’re friends!” “They’ve seen you masturbate many times.” OH

At the jabberwock fighting arena. Straight up “galumphing” it. And by it. Well. Let’s juts say. My blade

Ohh wait maybe the roses thing is who can get to the Jabberwock first

JABBERWOCK DEEZ NUTS AND GRICKO IS CRYING

IT. ITS GALUMPHING. WOW

He can’t galumph 😭😭

“WELL GET UP HERE AND HELP ME GALUMPH!!!” I AM GOING TO CHOKE

How many nat20s can Mace get

Oh shit!!! I think the blue petals was right!! It was an accident but still right

Love Gricko’s parental moments w Hootsie. I live for that

Oh it’s just some kid’s room

SHE HAS THE KREMY KNIGHT ATOP GID’S STEED AND THE GID KNIGHT ATOP KREMY’S

What if this girl is like Fate? Like she’s controlling the story as she plays with her toys

If she is fate and those two steeds are switched then I will be very happy

Hey leave Derek alone yes the connection is laid out but it’s a lot of info chill

OHHHHH FUCK THE LITTLE PRINCE!!!!!!!!!!!! YEP OKAY SO SHES PLAYING THE STORY AS IT GOES—- so who’s Grandmother??? Can’t be Zybilna as she’s asleep and locked away, id be so shocked if it was something like Baba Yaga

BUHBUHBUH WHAT IF THE CHILD IS ZYBILNA OMGOMGOMGOMGOMFOMG

Grandmother brought her into the tower because she says it’s not safe. The child doesn’t know what’s outside the tower. The child says it’s not wise to say her name and that Grandmother says she is very powerful “even for her age.” Zybilna is stuck in time— I thought that meant she was trapped in slowed time but maybe she’s trapped in eternal childhood? That makes so much sense. Oh my god.

I’m convinced this child is Zybilna

THERES A SNAKE IN TORBEK’S BOOT. Very sad that Andy isn’t going the Toy Story route tho.

GRICKO IS A CLOWN. GRICKO IS A CLOWN. MIKEY IS BACK IN HIS ELEMENT. CHUCKLES RETURNS.

Why does Zybilna like the Jabberwock? Or whatever it was before? What was it before?? WHO IS THE PRINCE ACTUALLY??? And why can they not work without each other if the party is here now???

I am also scared rn. What if they never turn back.

DEREK BEING A MIME IS SO PERFECT

Loving Derek’s mimings

YES RICH IS GOING THE TOY STORY ROUTE

BRETT IS BACK

“Do you have your Mojo Dojo Casa House?” “Well let’s find out— can you open your ass?”

Ohh is the Prince the King of Hearts??? That would make sense

HER TWIG PUPPET??? And the roses are bad????

NOT THE ELABORATION ON THE POTATO TOY ASS STORAGE

“There ain’t no eyeballs in this ass!”

“You cannot see that boy anymore, T— I mean, Morgana” WHAT IS THE NAME YOU WERE GOING TO SAY??? If it’s Titania then I’m so wrong about everything

WHAT IF THIS CHILD IS THE BABY SISTER OF THE HAGS?????? Didn’t they say that the baby’s name is Tasha or something?? So why is she aligned with the Prince and, presumably, Zybilna??? DOES THIS MEAN THE GRANDMOTHER IS THE ENTITY IN THE HUT?????????????????????

Yup. Yup yup yup. So she’s not necessarily with Zybilna, just anti-Jabberwock for some reason. Why????

Well this is giving me some ideas

“Twig belongs to herself. Get rekt.”

“If anything happens to Twig, you will all pay the price.” Uh oh. Something’s gonna happen to Twig again.

OH THEYRE IN AN HOURGLASS. HOLY FUCK

also what if Zybilna and the fourth sister are the same? I think that might be not possible given timelines but still

HOLY FUCK IS THIS BABA YAGA????? (I’m very latched into this Baba Yaga thing but I think it’s right unless there’s someone else who fits the Time narrative better)

THE JABBERWOCK IS HERE

Mace save your 20s!!!!!

Shit man I gotta go to sleep

OH FUCK FROST DOWN

This is gonna be a TPK unless y’all run NOW

Gideon please use your fancy dagger

YUP CALLED IT IT WANTS THE KING OF HEARTS’ CHESS PIECES

GUYS PLEASE CONSIDER MULTICLASSING INTO CLERICS AND OR PALADINS AND OR ANYTHING ELSE THAT CAN HEAL

Frost is being iconic rn

ARENT JABBERWOCKS A DRAGON LIKE FEY CREATURE???!??!!???!

Okay so Gideon is dead! Great!! Nikkie what’s your rule on taking damage beyond your death points??

THIS THING DOES SO MUCH HOLY FUCK

You guys are not defeating this thing I’m so sorry

FUCK. FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK

Oh my god. Gideon is dead. Like actually dead. Kremy is down. And Gricko told Hootsie to run. I’m sure he’ll catch up soon. Surely.

Nikkie what the fuck??!?!?! Why would you dread that???? Genuinely this thing is too much for these guys what the fuck is your plan

Oh my god Kremy is going to die

What possibly could they have done to get out of this????? The thing has tracking abilities they were fucked either way—- the only possible way to get out of this thing would be to get rid of the chess pieces quickly but NIKKIE KEPT DREADING THE GODDAMN INT AND PERCEPTION CHECKS

FUCK KREMY IS DEAD. KREMY AND GIDEON ARE DEAD.

They’re not. They’re not getting out of this. They’re all dead.

There’s gotta be a reason Nikkie is going so viciously at this. There’s gotta be some sort of catch or save. Please let there be some sort of save. Please. Please. This has gotta be some sort of nightmare. Please let this just be a nightmare. Please. Please. Please.

Fuck this is literally Frost’s nightmare. This is exactly the situation he saw in the Tunnel of Terror. All his friends are dying and there’s nothing he can do about it. Also that is my nightmare specifically

NOT HOOTISE. COME ON NIKKIE. NOT HOOTSIE.

This has to be a nightmare! Or some sort of dread vision!!!! They’re all gonna wake up at the end of the session and be fine!!!!!!!!

There’s no way that the Jabberwock just comes out and ends then. I know it’s totally powerful enough to do that but there’s so much story left.

Okay. Okay no. No one woke up. There was no dream. No nightmare. No thankful awakening. They’re dead.

I’m still going to hold out hope.

#once upon a witchlight #ouaw #ouaw ep 46 #it has to be a dream. it has to be. there’s no way this actually happened.#guys please.#this has to be a joke #say sike right now #legends of avantris #Nikkie I am sending you personally my therapy bill #this can’t be real #ep 46 #I am sobbing #even hootsie. they even got hootsie #she was running away #she was so close to being out of range #what was the point??????#they’re dead #but I’m holding out hope #that maybe they aren’t gone

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elfieafterdark · 1 month

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Further thoughts on Harrow's feelings towards Alecto. I'm remembering the scene in htn Harrow, desperate and alone, tries to reach for physical affection with Alecto.

Begging. Pleading. Needing in such a horrid way. Which also brings to mind the scene where Gideon the First attacks her in the bath, and she was at very real risk of falling for Ianthe in all the wrong ways.

Alecto straight up dips. But, honestly? The more I think about it the less convinced I am that Harrow has the hots for her. It's some kind of love, I don't doubt that. But there are a lot of different kinds of love.

For example, we all know deep down that she also loves Gideon. But it's less of a reverent thing, It's not "I need to live forever just in case she wakes up" like Alecto, it's "I cannot live without you."

I think both of these statements sort of illustrate the differences in her love for these two.

Knowing what we know about Alecto now, which is exactly what Harrow knows about her, coupled with the fact that she's on a quest to find God in its truest form... FOR WHATEVER REASON (I bet she wants to ask them to resurrect Gideon properly).

I think she views Alecto as a closer approximation of divinity compared to John Gaius. A closer being to God. As Reverend Daughter she'd be extremely devoted to spirituality, it's not a surprise.

But I don't think that's mutually exclusive with her love for Gideon. Which is far more human, both and how she acts and how hard she fights for it. She fights harder for Gideon than she ever has for Alecto.

Her words to Gideon, again I think it's a horrible tragedy that they don't interact at all for two out of four books, ring of true romantic love. "First flower of my house, you were the best Cavalier ever." Is a lot more romantic that "I have loved you all my life, please kill me uwu."

I dunno, I will once again acknowledge that It's a possibility that I'm coping. However, there's little clues I'm still sorting through.

All I know is I can't fucking wait for Gideon and Harrow to hash out all of their problems together in Alecto. I fully expect them to, and I'll be pretty disappointed if they don't.

More to come.

#the locked tomb #tlt analysis #meta analysis #harrowhark nonagesmius #tlt spoilers #gideon nav #alecto the first

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wolfofcelestia · 2 months

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Addressing the Dawnbreaker Allegations

tldr: you can think what you want but I'm not convinced

This is kind of a long rambling brain dump so don't come at me. Believe what you want to believe

He didn't. Not during the kiss scene and not afterwards either

They say that he hesitates here but my dude, this is the one card where he did NOT hesitate

He warned her off, but after that, he WANTED her. He NEEDED her. THERE WAS ABSOLUTELY NO HESITATION

Just because he plays a support role doesn't mean he's not strong. By Greyson's own words, he is described as having a "POWERFUL EVOL". Just because he isn't a trained soldier doesn't mean he's weak

To say that Zayne expressing his emotions is so impossible that it must be another person just discredits his feelings for MC entirely

Even before the kiss happened, Zayne was already started to change. And you cannot tell me that this isn't Doctor Zayne

Zayne is changing, yes. But it's not because he literally became a different person. Having MC in his life is changing him into a different person.

The people who say Zayne hesitated to touch her are forgetting the fact that his PAINFUL ICE SPIKES AND FREEZING FROST can spread to her too and he doesn't want that!! He doesn't want her to get hurt!!

But when she wouldn't take no for an answer, Zayne immediately switched to wanting to hold on to her, kiss her, and be as close to her as possible

They're calling this Zayne Dawnbreaker? I don't think so.

The first time MC looked at him, and saw who he really was, Dawnbreaker retreated entirely back into his own world. It freaked him out THAT MUCH to be seen by her. What gives him the sudden courage to not only kiss her but to indulge in such a deep kiss?

These are the words of Doctor Zayne. These are not Dawnbreaker's words.

Dawnbreaker would care deeply about MC, yes, but to go into this detail about her eating habits when he barely pays attention to what he eats? In that flurry of thoughts, why would he be worried about her being upset if they (meaning Dawnbreaker and MC) would never meet again? When he ran away from their first meeting?

"You occupied my every thought" - something every Zayne would say. But these words are Doctor Zayne's

The frost here in this memory is all blue

If you want to compare him to another Zayne, the closest would be Foreseer, who also had ice spikes growing out of him

The only mention of black ice is in the World Underneath story... in a potted plant... that's not even here

Dawnbreaker could have entered his body here, sure. But this is a completely different scenario

The potted plant is really irrelevant to this memory but to those saying it's a jasmine... it's not. It's a flower called snow velvet and it looks like snowballs

The title of this World Underneath chapter alluding to Dawnbreaker? I don't think that's a clue at all considering they straight up gave Xavier and Rafayel events that were straight up named Dawnbreak or some shit like that. If we were to follow this trail, does that mean Dawnbreaker had an influence over Xav and Raf too? Now you're writing fanfiction

I feel like people who want this Zayne to be Dawnbreaker just can't get passed the coat. EVERYONE thought it was Dawnbreaker at first, but no. This is Doctor Zayne. These are his words. These are his feelings!!

He is a different man compared to the one in, say, Business Trip, yes! But that's called character development!

From the very beginning of this card, we've seen him want to show more affection and be more open with MC, from the goodbye scene at the airport, to how HE was the one hinting at HER to get her to say she'd miss him. And he straight up says it himself too when he was too closed off in Business Trip

This is Zayne coming to terms with his feelings. He wants MC and he wants her to know it

Dawnbreaker's love for MC is deep, yes. But this is not his relationship. These are not his worries. And this is not him.

#love and deepspace #zayne love and deepspace #dawnbreaker

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hotvintagepoll · 5 months

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Propaganda

Chelo Alonso (Sign of Rome Morgan the Pirate La ragazza sotto il lenzuolo)— She was an international star, and she was so hot she had to turn down marrying a prince, and became so famous for being hot that Fidel Castro sent Che Guevara to beg her to go back to Cuba. She was also called the Cuban H-Bomb. She makes me light-headed.

Ingrid Bergman (Gaslight, Casablanca, Notorious)—Where do I even begin with Ingrid Bergman? I fell in love with her with her astounding performance in the 1956 version of Anastasia -- the best Anastasia movie in large part due to her wonderful and touching performance. She's got this amazing, fascinating intensity to her in whatever role she's in. She commits 100%, and she's got this light in whatever she's in that's stunning. She's utterly convincing no matter what she plays, from an amnesiac possible lost princess, from a nun, from a woman taking her revenge on the town that wronged her, to light romantic comedy. She's never missed in any role I've seen her in! Also she became quite the MILF.

This is round 4 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Chelo Alonso:

"forgive me sending in more pictures of her but i CANNOT be normal about here asdhgkljhahgjkhgkajshgajghshgjl"

Ingrid Bergman:

God, she's fantastic. She's both beautiful and a compelling actor who's more than capable of putting the whole movie on her shoulders if necessary. It's worth noting that while her beauty is conventional, she was seen as refreshingly "natural" with more eyebrows and less makeup than many other leading ladies of the time. She's well known for her role in Casablanca, but in Notorious, Spellbound, (both available on archive.org ) and Gaslight (1944) she shows how immensely capable she is.

I mean...she's Ingrid Bergman. I feel like that should be enough, you know? She's physically beautiful (her eyes!) but watching her is like a transcendent experience. Her voice, her expressions... beautiful woman, beautiful actor.

I'm a gay man but even I understand her appeal. I'll watch any movie she shows up in. Gorgeous woman.

Just try and watch her movies without sighing wistfully, then get back to me!

Choosing 1-3 movies where Bergman was at her hottest was agony because, of course, she was always at her hottest. Not just because she was beautiful but because she was absolutely willing to go up against the bs women in Hollywood were constantly dealing with. When exiled from Hollywood for having an affair with Roberto Rossellini, not only did she refuse to apologize at any point, but she went on to say that Hollywood's films had grown stagnant and boring to her. Though she said she appreciated her time working there, she wanted to try new, different techniques (hence starring in Italian neorealist films, working on stage, and acting under directors like Ingmar Bergman). She was not afraid to chase after her artistic ideals and go outside the box regardless of what society had to say about it. From her first movie to her last she killed it. There's so much more to say about Bergman's career and life, but I've already written five million words so I'll stop at that.

ion words so I'll stop at that.

One of the most incredible actors I've ever seen on film. Her facial expressions are so intricate and poignant that I cannot look away. I'm either ace or straight, but damn she made me question that.

SEVEN TIME OSCAR NOMINEE QUEEN. Girl also PULLED, having affairs with famously hot men Gary Cooper and Gregory Peck IN ADDITION to her three marriages...sexy

She has a very natural beauty to her, and she's from Sweden!

She left Hollywood and only became more beautiful. You could drown in her eyes. She can look innocent AND like she's seen it all. She is effortlessly elegant. She's played Joan of Arc (automatically hot) AND was in the movie that coined gaslight as a term. And where would we be without that!

She was known for being a breath of fresh air on the movie scene at the time with her windswept hair, dreamy smile and soulful eyes. I have loved her in every movie I have seen her in - she was just magnetic!

Where do I even start. There's a neighborly quality to this beautiful, talented actress that makes her hotness one of a kind and her looks impossible to forget

With a career spanning five decades, Bergman is often regarded as one of the most influential screen figures in cinematic history. Known for her naturally luminous beauty, Bergman spoke five languages – Swedish, English, German, Italian and French – and acted in each.

She's hot, don't get me wrong, but I've always found her very approachable, like she could easily be a member of my friend group

A lot of the time hotness in a movie is just about words and framing. "You're the most beautiful person here" [vaseline lens] well I sure hope so because that's who you cast. But when, in Casablanca, they call Ingrid Bergman the most beautiful woman in the world... they were not fucking lying. And such a dynamite actor too!! I'd only seen Casablanca up until last year, and there she's confined to love interest. But in Gaslight she was maybe one of the most incredible actors I've ever seen!!!! Goddddd shes so fucking hot and cool.

#ingrid bergman #chelo alonso #hotvintagepoll #fuck that old woman #ladies 4

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fyreflys · 10 months

Note

Prompt if you’d like it! Peeta giving his cold to Katniss on accident but since she no longer has a spleen, it turns into a more flu like illness for poor Katniss and Peeta must nurse her back to health (similar to her caring for him in the cave but ya know… #married)

Oooo this is an adorable idea! And I got another prompt that I think I can include that would work perfectly together. MERGE TIME!

Chicken Noodle Soup

(Katniss’s POV) - Love and Some Verses, Iron & Wine

Everlark period/sick-fic, just fluff fluff fluff

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get you sick.”

Is what Peeta keeps telling her. Constantly apologizing for transferring his cold. Even though Katniss didn’t even bother trying to keep her distance to avoid getting sick, so really it’s her own fault.

Katniss is pretty sure that no one ever really intentionally tries to get others sick, it’s always an accident. Happens as a result of what being sick means. And she knows Peeta didn’t do it on purpose, he couldn’t possibly have wanted to make her sick as a dog. So the fact that he keeps apologizing, as if there’s any possibility that he did do this on purpose, is beginning to make it feel like maybe he did. That, and it’s getting annoying. Very quickly.

“Peeta,” she groans, “Just- shut up.”

She doesn’t actually mean that. He’s really the only thing keeping her sane right now. She’s been bed ridden for three days now, and if her body didn’t feel like shit, there’s nothing she wouldn’t do for a hike in the woods.

“Sorry.” He whispers, dabbing the wet washcloth on her forehead.

Yesterday Peeta dragged her to the doctor, because he’s convinced she’s dying. The doctor just confirmed it’s a bad cold, made worse by the fact that Katniss no longer has a spleen to help her immune system. He gave them some medication that “might” help, and then sent them on their way.

Needless to say, Katniss was not happy. Mostly because Peeta had dragged her out of the house when she felt like shit for no apparent reason.

Peeta was angry too. Kept mumbling something about “malpractice” and the doctor being an “idiot” and then trying to convince her that they need to go to the Capital, to see a “real” doctor.

“Peeta, I’m not sure if you have forgotten, but I’m in exile. Banned, to stay here in twelve for the rest of my life. So no, we cannot go to the Capital.”

She doesn’t mention the fact that she really doesn’t want to be re-reminded of all the terrible things that they’ve seen and had happen to them; most of which happened in the Capital.

“You’re the mockingjay. If something was majorly wrong with you, they’d have to save you.”

“I don’t want to be the mockingjay, anymore.” She’d grumbled as he tucked her back into bed, “and I’ve lived through worse than this.”

He frowned. Much like he is right now, as he looks at her with those big, blue, pleading puppy dog eyes.

“What?” She rasps.

He licks his lips. “I just…I’m so sorry you’re sick.”

She swears his heart is too big for his own good.

“You know what would make me feel better?” She sighs.

He perks up. “What?”

“Cuddle.” She whispers. She’d usually reach out to grab him, but her body feels too much like lead to exert that much energy.

He smiles. “I can do that.”

He peels back the bedsheets, and Katniss shivers at what feels like freezing air. He curls in behind her, gently squeezing her close. She melts against him. The arm around her warm and comforting. Until his hand slips under her shirt and his fingers start tracing patterns on her side, and he begins to pepper kisses to her shoulders. Despite them being small and gentle touches, her nerves feel overly sensitive with how feverish she is, and each soft graze almost feels painful.

“Stop- please,” she whispers, “that- too sensitive.” She mumbles.

“Oh. Sorry.” He places one more peck to her cheek, and then leaves her be.

She falls into sleep like a rock tossed down a ravine, skipping sleep entirely and diving straight into dreams. The world feels like it’s tilting and spinning around her as she dreams. They start out as strange and uncomfortable, but somewhere along the way they get more and more unhinged, twisted visions persisting, until finally-

She startles awake suddenly, eyes snapping open as she gasps for air. The nightmare feels plastered to her eyelids.

“Peeta?” She croaks softly, heart hammering in her chest as a tear slips down her cheek.

But she’s alone. Peeta is nowhere to be seen. She forces herself to reach across the bed behind her in search of him. But he’s not there either.

Momentarily she fears he’s abandoned her, but then she realizes that’s ridiculous. She couldn’t escape him even if she wanted to.

She tries to shake the nightmare from her head. Desperately trying to imagine something else, like- Deer. Deer and squirrels, prancing through the forest. The nightmare was not real not real not real, as Peeta would say.

She takes a deep breath. Her entire body aches painfully. Specifically her lower back and her hips and- oh.

Even sick, and aching all over, she knows this feeling well.

“Damn it.” She huffs.

She supposes it was about time this happened again. She doesn’t bother keeping track. There’s no use with how irregular she is.

“Peeta.” She calls, but her voice is weak.

He doesn’t come. Where is he? She sighs. She’s going to have to do this herself, isn’t she?

She wills herself to gather any remaining energy she has to sit up. It takes a few minutes to convince herself.

I could just wait here, until he comes back-

No.

She sits up suddenly, impulsively, not giving herself a chance to talk herself out of it. Her head spins, pain pounding through her skull. She coughs, clutching her head.

When the throbbing passes she manages to will her legs to dangle over the side of the bed. And then on the count of three she stands. She’s shaky, and the air is freezing agaisnt her feverish skin, and it’s awful.

Just get to the bathroom-

She makes it a few steps towards the door. And then she stumbles. She just barely catches the doorknob. She sends the door slamming closed as she falls.

“Katniss?!” Peeta shouts from down stairs.

She rolls over onto her back, and the world feels like it’s still spinning. He comes rushing into the bedroom, crouching down when he sees her.

“Oh my god are you okay?” Hands are immediately at her head, feeling for any bumps or bleeding, “What happened? Why are you out of bed?”

He sits and sets her head in his lap, brushing hair out of her face.

“Bathroom.” She whispers. “Just. Fell.”

“You should have called for me I would have helped.”

“I did.” She breathes, and even talking is exhausting. With Peeta right above her the world finally stops spinning.

He frowns. “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you. I was making pasta.”

She takes in a breath through her mouth, nose too stuffy. “Bathroom.”

“Well- I think we should take a moment. You just- what, fell trying to walk? That’s pretty concerning,” He feels her forehead, “and you’re really burning up, gosh.”

She could have told him she had a fever. It feels like it’s radiating through her bones.

“Toilet,” her tongue clicks softly in her mouth, feeling dry, “Bleeding.”

“Bleeding? What- where? Why didn’t you say you were bleeding! Oh my god-“ he starts to shuffle, pulling at her clothes to find the source.

“Period.” She groans, just about fed up with him.

“Oh.” He pauses. “Right. Okay. Let’s get that taken care of then.”

He shuffles to sit her up against the wall, and then scoops her up bridal style. He carefully sets her down by the toilet, holding on as he pulls down her sweats and underwear in one fell swoop.

And yep- there it is. A massacre in her pants.

Peeta helps her sit, making sure she’s stable enough to sit up on her own. He pulls off her sweats and underwear, turning on the sink to set them in.

“Cold,” she whispers.

“Cold? You’re cold?”

Well- yeah, she kind of is. Despite feeling like she’s burning up from the inside, the floor and the toilet seat and the air is freezing against her skin. But she’s referring to the water.

“Yeah,” she breathes, “But-water. Cold water.”

“You need cold water? I can get you water. You’re probably thirsty you’ve been asleep for like four hours.”

Okay, yes, that too. She could use a glass of water.

“Yes, but- blood. Needs cold water.”

“Oh! Yeah, okay. Cold water. Right.”

She closes her eyes, slumping on the toilet as she pees. Peeta leaves to grab stuff from the bedroom. He returns with a fresh pair of clothes. He holds a cup of water up to her lips, and she sips. It feels like heaven down her throat.

“Thanks.” She breathes.

He just pecks her forehead. “How bout I run you a short bath? Luke warm. Try to get your body temp down. And you could really use a shower.”

She groans.

“I know- I know. But it will make you feel better, I promise.”

She just grumbles. He gets to work running a bath, and then scrubs the blood out of her underwear under the sink. He struggles to get a pad into the clean pair of undies, and Katniss finally wills herself to use the little energy she does have to show him. He kisses her cheek.

“Right. Got it. Now let’s get you in.”

She complains, but doesn’t have the energy to fight against him. He pulls off her sweaty t-shirt, and picks her up and sets her down in the tub. The water feels freezing at first. She yelps, clutching at him.

“I know- I know it feels cold but I promise it will help. You’re burning up Katniss. We need to cool you down.”

She holds onto him, and he presses kisses against her head. After a few minutes it starts to feel okay. He gently pours water through her hair. He scrubs in shampoo and rinses. He gently scrubs her with a warm soapy washcloth after he pulls the drain, just under her arms and between her legs, barely batting an eye at the blood. They’ve both seen enough of it for a lifetime. He turns on the shower head to rinse her off. The water feels like freezing needles against her overly sensitive skin. By the time he gets her out and finishes toweling her off she’s pissed.

She glowers at him from the toilet as he dresses her. He ignores her scathing eyes as he sprays in conditioner and brushes her hair, fumbling to put it in a makeshift braid.

“There! See, all better!” He smiles when he’s done.

She is not amused. Yes, her body feels less like a boiling fire, but she still hurts. And despite him doing all the work, she’s exhausted. But she’s too angry and stubborn to admit it, or even consider closing her eyes for some shut eye.

He chuckles. “You’re such a sourpuss when you’re sick, you know that?”

“That was hell.” She snips.

He rolls his eyes playfully. “Yeah yeah, okay Haymitch.”

He pulls her off the toilet and pulls up her underwear and pants. He gently scoops her up.

“You want to set up camp downstairs on the couch? That way it’s easier to get my attention if you need something. Also I’m making you soup.”

She gives a grunt, and winces as the pain that radiates up and down her spine and belly.

“I’ll grab you some painkillers.” He adds on.

She would usually turn those down. But at this point she’ll take them.

He gently lays her on the couch. He runs back upstairs to grab linens. He comes back down with arms full of blankets and pillows. He drops them in a heap on the floor. He leaves again. Katniss looses track of all the things he runs off and gets, eyes slipping closed.

He takes her temperature.

He hisses, “One o’ two. Yeah. You’re definitely getting meds.” Which he shoves into her mouth very shortly afterward. He tries not to look worried, but she can tell that he is. She’s worse than she was yesterday. He forces her to take the medication the doctor gave them the day before. She doesn’t have the energy to fight him.

He tucks her in under one blanket, but gives her plenty of pillows. He sets tissues and a glass of water on the side table next to her head. He kisses her forehead.

“Anything else you need?” He says softly.

Probably. But right now she’s exhausted. And talking is too much energy. So she just hums.

“Okay. Soup should be ready in thirty minutes or so. Do you want me to wake you up or let you sleep?”

Truthfully, she wants him to curl in beside her on the couch and not leave her side. Because with him pressed against her, she has a semblance of relief.

Instead she just grunts. He pecks her forehead again, chuckling softly.

“Okay.”

And then she’s left alone. And despite being tired, she can’t seem to fall sleep. The pain is just too much. Enough that she’d toss and turn, but she doesn’t have the energy to do so. So instead she lays motionless in agony, waiting for meds to kick in.

It’s possible she does drift off. But it seems like each time her eyes open the grandfather clock by her mothers old bedroom door hasn’t moved an inch.

Finally Peeta reappears, with a steaming bowl in hands.

“Chicken noodle soup, for m’lady.” He bows, just for the dramatics.

He helps her sit up, and carefully spoons it to her lips. With how much pain shes in, the thought of food makes her nauseous. But Peeta coaxes her to eat. And she does. One small spoonful at a time. With how stuffed her nose is she can barely taste it, but what she does taste is good.

And it reminds her of the cave, in their first games. As she spoon fed him. Monitoring his leg. Trying everything she could think of to keep him alive.

Thankfully, now is nothing like that. This is peaceful, and warm, and safe.

With food in her belly she realizes how hungry she is. And she just about scarfs down the rest of the bowl, along with the hunk of bread he dips in the broth. And she feels like she has a little more energy.

“You want more?” He asks softly.

She shakes her head. She feels too full. Any more and she might puke.

“Your appetite is back. That’s a good thing.”

“I feel like I’m going to puke.” She grumbles.

“Like- actually?” He freezes, shifting as if ready to grab a bin.

“No- just- a lot of food. Nauseous from the pain.”

He frowns. “The pain meds should have kicked in already. You look better. Less pale.” He feels her forehead. “You don’t feel as hot.”

She winces. “Cramps.”

His face relaxes. “Oh.”

She closes her eyes. With a full belly she’s ready to pass out.

“What if…I tried to rub them out?” He says softly.

Her eyes flicker open lazily. “Please. And- my back- please.”

“Yeah, yeah of course.” He leans in press a kiss to her forehead.

He gently pushes her to lay down. He tugs up her shirt and pulls the waistband of her pajama pants lower.

“Where does it hurt?” He asks softly.

She slowly moves to touch, fingers almost feeling numb against her own skin as she traces just inside of her pelvic crests, and down below her belly button. His warm hands are still almost too much against her feverish skin when he reaches out. But she needs this.

He’s far too gentle.

“Harder,” she whispers, “like bread.”

He’s good at kneading bread.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to hurt you-“

“There’s no way you could make me feel worse than I already do. Please.”

And finally his palms and thumbs press in. She urges more, and more, and finally gets impatient and shifts his hands to press right there and- oh. It feels so good she actually moans.

His eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Oh?”

“Shut up.” She gasps.

He grins wickedly. But doesn’t comment on any more of her breathless gasps as he digs in and finally gives her relief.

“When- you’re done,” she breathes, “gonna need- bathroom.”

He pauses, “Do you have to pee? I’m literally pressing like right on your bladder-“

“No- new pad.” Because he’s quite literally kneading the blood right out of her. Which would usually be disgusting, but right now the relief feels too good for her to care.

“Oh. Okay.” And he keeps going.

She nearly falls asleep with his hands on her stomach. She still hurts, and the pain still radiates through her bones, but the stretch of her cramping muscles is almost heavenly. She closes her eyes, and Peeta presses kisses to her shoulders, trailing down to her stomach. He rubs softly after he pulls back, hands sliding over her hips.

“You want me to do your back?” He asks softly.

She hums. He helps flip her over. His hands and fingers roam over her skin, pressing and pulling all the way up her spine and between her shoulders. She practically melts into the couch as he soothes her aches. His lips ghost over her skin in subtle kisses, and she never wants it to end.

Eventually he pulls away, tugging her shirt back down.

“Bathroom?” He asks.

She grumbles. “Don’t wanna move.”

He hums. He forces her off the couch anyways, and drags her to the bathroom. She changes things herself, and then he helps her back to the couch.

“I’m gonna eat and then we can snuggle. If you want. I can turn on the TV.”

She just grunts. He turns on the screen above their fireplace mantle, and flips through channels. He lands on a show they’ve binge watched over the years, and then leaves for the kitchen. She zones out the sounds and clatter that he makes. Finally he sits down by her feet with a bowl of soup, and her eyelids feel heavy. She drifts halfway between awake and asleep, until he curls up with her. He presses a kiss to her temple.

“Thank you.” She whispers. He’s done more than enough for her. And she knows he’d do everything if he had to. And she is thankful.

“Of course.” He breathes. And pecks her lips.

She smiles, and uses the little energy she does have to snake an arm around him and hold him close. Their foreheads knock together.

“I love you.” He breathes softly.

She hums, “Love you too.”