#he is absolutely transcendent in everything

[bluemorningsoup]

Arcane and JayVik have me fucking apoplectic. (Arcane S2 spoilers below cut.)

At first I was like: oh, so they’re going to parallel Vi + Jinx somewhat, Science Bros instead of Violence Sis, brothers by choice rather than blood. But then there was what I call the Infidelity Sequence, in which Jayce’s love scene with Mel was juxtaposed against a dying Viktor in the most bizarre manner, like Jayce was cheating on Viktor—an absolute fucking choice—and other instances of Mel superimposed against Viktor.

So I thought: SURELY it can’t be a “bros before hoes” storyline in the year of Our Lord Faker 2024??? But then they gave us Sky “Fridged Woman” Young and Jayce said Viktor was like a brother to him, and I was like, WOW, they’re really giving us this storyline in this day and age; this should be illegal.

Then S2 Jayce started going on about how he realised his place was in the lab with Viktor. Which was like. Okay. I’m a scientist. Modern science is, in reality, a very lonely endeavour a lot of the time, even as it demands nearly all of your life. I, too, would kill to have someone who would do experiments alongside me, who would share every project and publication authorship with me. Don’t get me wrong: there are real-life scientists who do it together, but more often than not they can afford to do so because they’re fucking married to each other. So. I get it, but it did feel like Jayce was basically declaring he wanted Viktor as a life partner.

And then Act 3 Jayce and the animation doubled down on it. The shadows in the campfire morphing from Mel into Viktor. Jayce telling Mel that for some time, he had been confused about many things. He had finally decided on what he wanted and apparently it’s to get his “(lab???) partner” back. Man was consumed by it—had discarded all other ambitions and dreams and desires for this singular motivation, even as he blasted a hole in Viktor’s chest and declared his partner “died in this room”, driven by a logic the viewers weren’t initially privy to. Oh yeah, and there’s also the oddly erotic fight scene with an avatar of Viktor.

And then then the narrative tripled, quadrupled, fucking Tsubasa: Reservoir Chronicles-Neon Genesis Evangelion-Puella Magi Madoka Magica-ed on it. Who had been reading CLAMP in the writers’ room? Come the fuck out; I just want to talk. No, that’s not a shotgun in my hand; don’t worry about it. Transcendant Viktor choosing to stay by Jayce’s body after the end of everything. The storyboard placing the shot of Jayce kneeling face to face with his own corpse with Viktor’s voice line: “…fields of dreamless solitude.” Jayce deciding upon the singular defining desire of his life as wanting his partner back and promising to never let Viktor be alone. Jayce fulfilling that promise. Jayce drawing Viktor in even as his own body shook and trembled. Viktor’s gentle hand on Jayce’s arm. The forehead touch.

You sit there and watch as above ambitions, above desires, above suffering, above every other thing this universe has to offer—across all possibilities, across all timelines, two men choose one another.

And then the head writer of Arcane spoke about how they’re “just friends” and how “important” it is to portray platonic male relationship. My brother in Summoner’s Rift, as if any other emotional portrayal of male relationship in media is NOT about platonic male bonding. It’s fucking 2024, Faker won his 5th Worlds, and Jayce and Viktor are brothers who chose one another out of love, contrasting against Vi and Jinx who had to let go of one another out of love. BROS BEFORE HOES.

So I guess all I have to say is: Arcane JayVik are fucking awesome and they’ll leave you breathless like an ambiguous male-male relationship from a 2000 anime, but after all’s said and done, they’re from motherfucking League of motherfucking Legends.

[ddelline]

do you remember where you were & what you did when X died/Y happened

listen. I remember torrenting bleach 167: the moment of conclusion, the end of grimmjow in jp w shaky fan transl eng subs—no shade they did God’s work—in 2008, as a tiny ass child about 2 get caught in & develop her first major fandom hyperfixation

it’s been sixteen whole ass years since the last time I watched a (new) bleach ep feat suwabe junichi as grimmjow. Sixteen. Years. today it’s the godforsaken year 2024, I am a whole ass adult

and once again I’m abt to watch a new bleach ep featuring suwajun as grimmjow

did not realize having original blorbo back on my laptop would make me this feral but what can I say. what a girl’s first fujo obsession does to her etc

[infinitelystrangemachinex]

Come on, you know you want to, give us the character bingo for Viktor.

don't mind if i doooo

[fingertipsmp3]

Like, moving to a big city in September 2020 only to be locked in a house with 4 strangers and basically never see the light of day for nine months was 1) a terrible experience overall and 2) not a bad setup for a horror series of some sort, but also I am nostalgic for a few things from that time

[kingdomoftyto]

Anyone interested in a Sea Grunkles fic that'll make you bawl your eyes out? Have I got a rec for you

Please enjoy this fic about Stan and Ford's post-canon adventures in the Arctic, featuring selkies, Atlantis, and so, so much hurt/comfort

I frequently find myself dramatically flailing around at fics when they're depicting something funny or embarrassing, but this is the first one in a long time to make me cover my face with my hands out of pure visceral emotion. I literally almost sobbed. But in a good, cathartic way? Man. I can't explain further without spoiling the best parts.

(Please mind the content warnings because mental health struggles are a central theme, but trust when I say everything turns out okay in the end!)

[apaperswan]

I must say, one of my absolute favourite scenes in #iwtv is the tap dancing at Grace's wedding. It's the last moment of true happiness and family for Louis, the last hurrah before everything goes down. It is not only Paul's death, it is the loss of his community, the things that used to keep him whole and connected to the world.

For a Black creole man in NOLA in the 1910s, that very community meant safety, meant life, memory, validation, care and a sense of identity. The sense of eradication and loss that Louis in the book feels as a white land owner here becomes much more powerful, much more significant. Louis has lost the only space where he could feel loved and whole. Paul's death enacts not only Louis' journey to his vampiric self, but most importantly the total loss of a network, an identity, a community. He renounced not only his mortal life but his Blackness. Especially since his chosen companion is a "French white".

With Claudia he finds again that sense of a community that transcends family ties to become a reciprocal recognition of a destiny that is first and foremost a connection to NOLA's roots and the city's past. Yes, Louis feels responsible for the spread of racial violence against the Black community of NOLA, and directly for the consequences on Claudia's life, but he also tries to reconnect with that element of his identity that Lestat could and will never understand.

I think that the tap dancing scene really encompasses who Louis is as a character: a warm, loving and funny man, a beloved member of a community, a man who has secrets and a temper, but he's overall a caring and affectionate man.

Lestat did not only see his temper, his willingness to fight and his ingenious mind, he also got to know a man who can weep at the opera, and be kind to a woman is not attracted to, whose profession did not guarantee her societal approval.

When people wonder what Lestat finds in Louis, why is Louis so special, I think about Grace's wedding and Miss Lily, I think about Paul and Grace. Louis was fervently human, in a non rhetorical way, alive and brimming with love and affection, along with pride, stubbornness and often brusque manners.

[bakugoushotwife]

in my opinion, gojo’s storyline has been handled so so poorly i can’t help but think it’s intentional. it is not bad writing to kill a character—even a beloved character. i know most people will dismiss my criticisms because gojo is so beloved to me and so many others. i’ve said before that i don’t mind if he died. does it hurt? of course, and i would still cry and be sad about it. but there is a beautiful way to do it. with respect and honor for his legacy—for what he has done for your manga, the characters in it, and audiences worldwide. but no…gege chose the path of horror and disrespect. at certain points i’d say to myself, well. this is a dark manga. but essentially gojo is the only character that receives this treatment. since the beginning—since suguru left him, he’s been wondering if he mattered because he was a person, or if he only mattered because he was powerful and useable. we certainly fucking answered that question. he is a weapon and nobody ever cared about him at all!!!

and we knew he was being used—he knew he was being used, but he is selfless. so he did it for his kids. for megumi and yuuji and yuuta—he wanted them to be safe. in these flashbacks it’s exceedingly clear that he knew he would die. again—that’s not my issue. gojo dying to sukuna makes plenty of sense and it would hurt to leave it there. but to give us an afterlife scene where he’s presented a choice—north and south—that concept lead nowhere, that’s truly fucked up. to leave all the subtle clues and hints for no reason but to keep people reading and theorizing his return is fucked up. to continue to use his imagery to promote your manga when you know he’s not even honored in your manga is fucked up. we don’t get a funeral or a grave for him. no one’s spoken about him in chapters despite him fighting for hours against sukuna and damaging him so much that yuuji could win, nothing. yuuta wearing him like a costume and no one is horrified about it. i thought his students WERE different. they weren’t jujutsu society yet. that’s why gojo was their teacher—shaping them into better human beings. how am i supposed to trust in their future when it seems they’re just as cold and heartless as everyone before them? no one has honored gojo in any way since the moment he died. and they’ve forgotten about him. he spent his entire life fighting and no one can even say thank you. gege intentionally used gojo to promote the end of his manga because he knows that gojo fans make up at least half of his fanbase so had we stopped reading when he died, he would have lost a lot of traction. he baited us intentionally, cruelly, and something that transcends storytelling. i’ve truly never seen a mangaka have this sort of vitriol for one of their characters and the people that love him.

we spent the entire last chapter talking about some random fucking mission when we have several unanswered questions and concerns. i thought gege said he wanted this ending to be shocking and something you didn’t see in shonen? tying everything up neatly where no one has any trauma or grief for what they’ve experienced, everyone comes back to life except the one character you hate specifically and choso, defying your own power structures and having everyone laughing into the sunset is exactly how shonen ends so what in the fuck is he talking about??

let me disclaim, this is not megumi hate at all. i love him very much and i am so happy he’s back with the group but like. he shouldn’t be able to even walk. he tanked unlimited void for over 6 minutes whenever that length caused irreversible damage to sukuna himself. not to mention the countless black flashes. so what the fuck? he doesn’t mention gojo at all?? the first time he laughs in this manga is after he reads a note written by his dead fucking caretaker about his dead fucking father? like i don’t believe. random open ended kenjaku/suguru mention just to piss me off, an absolutely no mention of gojos sacrifice or how they’ll miss him. i’m sick to my stomach. gege defiled his memory both in the story and outside of it. wow.

P.S. SUKUNA CARED MORE ABOUT GOJO THAN ANYONE ELSE (SUGURU IS NOT INCLUDED IN THIS I MEAN HIS STUDENTS AND SOCIETY)

[shegetsburned]

18+ mdni

₊˚ෆ satoru gojo is the type to get off to your cunt against his mouth.

it’s this one special spot, this one sensation that makes him go crazy. the way he feels when you’re spread out on top of him, leaning your weight against his face, is indescribable.

he’ll most likely ask for it. satoru’s undoubtedly used to being in control and in his comfort zone. he’s the strongest after all. but when he’s with you, he wants nothing more but to suffocate while his lips and tongue are working to pleasure you. it’s a euphoric feeling. almost ecstatic.

he’s holding your thighs down, squeezing them on both sides of his head before engulfing his tongue into your cunt. it’s already dripping wet from the work of his fingers minutes earlier and the taste makes so him hard.

he knows how to work his way between your folds, nibbling at your clit with his teeth when he retracts his tongue. he makes sure to not leave one spot unattended, loudly sucking on it. it leaves your back arching, trying to hold onto whatever you can to keep composure.

you can hear a deep exhale when he leans back just to catch his breath with his tongue still dangling out of his mouth. his eyes are staring at the feast that’s in front of him, debating which spot he should attack next. not that he hesitates but he has so many ideas and ways to satisfy you.

but what does it for him, what awakens his soul, what makes him go absolutely feral, what transcends his whole body with excitement, building up through his entire being and leaving him as a pleading mess is the moment you start rocking your pelvis against his face. the sound escaping from your trembling lips while you ride him is enough for pre-cum to make its way out and stain his pants.

then it happens, while you’re rubbing your lower body back and forth against his lips, his mouth stimulates your clit and you can’t help but put more weight so you can finally release yourself upon him. he feels your walls clench against his tongue once you reach your climax.

his grip tightens around your thighs once he feels you’re close, hurrying his tongue to go deeper. the only thing he wants at this very moment is to taste everything you’re gonna release.

“look at you, soaking wet just from playing with my mouth. good fucking girl. you did so good— so fucking good.”

satoru does everything so well, and eating you out certainly isn’t the exception but there’s always a tiny little selfish reason behind his eagerness to bury himself between your legs.

© shegetsburned 2024. Please do not repost/edit/or claim my writing as your own.

[redvexillum]

Hot damn, I can't believe it took me this long to finally get around to answering this ask. I would like to dedicate this story to @todash-darkness and Ms. 🍑. Thank you for being my friends and always cheering me on even when I get whiny and say "writing too hard!"

TAGS/WARNINGS: f!reader, p in v, rough s♡x, possessive!alastor, alastor is bad at feelings, dual pov, reader is a sweetheart, established relationship, alastor is allergic to feelings, rough ♡ral s♡x, finger♡ng, miscommunication, one sided (alastor) denial of feelings

In the vast, unfathomable uncertainties of Hell, Alastor’s mind was a sanctum guarded by his own design, his kingdom of carefully orchestrated chaos. He adored unpredictability, yes – but only when it danced to his tune, his rhythm, his control. Anything else, anything beyond his boundaries, was��sacrilege.  

There was no greater agony, no venom deeper, than the sensation of his world teetering beyond his grasp. His order, his routine ...demolishing right before his eyes.  

One such certainty he held with unwavering conviction was this: your soul belonged to him, irrevocably. He had claimed you in ways that transcended mere words. Every part of you – your thoughts, your desires, your body, and even the delicate cadence of your laugh – was woven into his web, bound and stitched to his very being.  

So why, then, were you here, laughing with that cur, the very embodiment of mediocrity beside you? Why did the melodic lilt of your voice drift toward that miserable fool’s ears instead of his? The sight of you smiling at such filth was an affront to everything he held sacred, and yet you persisted. You continued to share laughter with that loser, indulging his vapid words, his feeble presence.  

From his seat on the single couch, Alastor’s grin cleaved his face, a mask of delight that undercut the roiling fury within. Around him, other souls babbled, meaningless, and insipid, but he paid them no heed. His gaze was fixed solely on you – typically nestled by his side, hanging on his every word as if he held the keys to your reality.  

You, who would meet his stories with wide-eyed fascination, as if his very words spun magic into existence. You, who would follow him, entranced, into his realm.  

But now, now...his hand dug into the flesh of the couch, claws piercing through its plush surface as he fought to restrain himself, to keep from dragging you to his side where you belonged. In his mind, he could feel the invisible chains around your neck, the ones you had so naively accepted, binding you to him to the moment you surrendered your soul – for a little of wretched Hellmutts, no less.  

You were naive. Weak. Ridiculously innocent.  

But you were his.  

His eyes tracked every move you made, his gaze darkening with each soft smile that graced your lips for someone else, each glimmer in your eye cast in that foul creature’s direction. And then – then that trash, that waste of a soul, had the audacity to touch your shoulder.  

Alastor’s heart stilled, a visceral freeze rippling through him as he watched your fingers lift, as if in slow motion, to meet that filthy hand.  

And within him, something snapped. 

An uncontrollable twitch seized his left eye, a slight tremor echoed in the clench of his jaw. Rage coursed through him, an intense, molten fury tightening every muscle until he vibrated with it. A violent energy was held back only by a grin that split his face, frozen, even as his eyes bore into you, unblinking.  

Come to me, he thought, his voice a dark whisper in his mind, willing you to hear, to obey, Come here, darling. Come... 

Yet, you didn’t hear him. Not a single glance in his direction, as if the tether binding you to him had snapped. You, with those disgustingly bright eyes, filled to the brim with such boundless, grating cheer – those eyes that never strayed from his, were now fixed on someone else. They were facing the wrong way.  

The ownership he held over you was absolute, and he was certain there was nothing of value in this world next to your name – nothing but your soul. And that? Well, that belonged to him. You were his in every sense, a fact as unshakeable as death itself.  

The thought simmered, rolling over in his mind like a storm. He’d planned to speak with you tonight, to remind you of the boundaries that came with selling your soul to him. A gentle “discussion” about your arrangement, perhaps a reminder of the dangers of your reckless naivety, especially around others’ wandering intentions. After all, what did you understand of the hunger that prowled in the depths of Hell? 

But then you laughed. That joyous sound, brimming with warmth and energy – the very light he’d basked in so possessively – spilled from you for someone else. In that instant, something dark clawed up from within him, overriding every fragment of patience he thought he’d possessed.  

The lights flickered; sinners looked up and whispered, confused, looking up as the room dipped into pitch-black darkness. And in that instant, Alastor’s hand seized you, pulling you into the shadows before anyone would notice.  

The darkness folded around him, dragging you both from their prying eyes, and when he materialized in his room, any pretense of control shattered entirely.  

You’d been talking to a gentleman about butcher shops in Cannibal Town, a respectable topic considering he was a proud consumer of sinner flesh. Though you yourself didn’t indulge, you knew Alastor had a certain...fondness for the taste. This stranger, to his credit, offered genuine recommendations – shops known for prime, fresh meat. You listened attentively, committing every word to memory, already imagining the gleam in Alastor’s eyes when you surprised him with a choice cut of fresh deer sinner’s flesh.  

The best part? Each piece came with the sinner’s full consent. Nothing could be more natural, organic, and you supposed, humane in a macabre way, than that.  

Your smile grew brighter as you pictured his reaction, and out of courtesy, you kept the conversation flowing. After all, Alastor had always instilled in you the importance of politeness, of maintaining grace, especially in the realms of Hell. When the man touched your shoulder and praised your kindness, you felt a warmth spread through you. Kindness was a rarity down here, and it was refreshing to be in the company of someone who appreciated it without ulterior motives.  

But then the lights flickered, and instantly, the room plunged into darkness. Panic flared, voices rising in confusion, and before you could fully process what was happening, a cold hand clamped around your wrist. A sensation, chilling and immediate, enveloped you, and the world melted away.  

When you blinked, you were in Alastor’s room.  

The sudden brightness left you blinking against the light, your vision adjusting. But when you finally looked up, you were met with a sight that sent a shiver down your spine.  

Alastor stood there; his eyes ablaze with a crimson fury that bordered on madness. His grin stretched wider than you’d ever seen, jagged and vicious, as if it had been carved from his very rage. His gaze cut through you like a knife, every muscle in his frame taut with anger. Twin streams of red trickled from the corners of his mouth, and in that silence, you could swear you heard the crackling of something deep within him breaking.  

Before you could even form the words to ask why he seemed so upset, Alastor summoned the soul chain. A sickly green chain flickered into existence, snaking around his wrist, and in the next, you felt a sudden, brutal tug around your neck. Your teeth gritted at the sharp pull, and he yanked you forward until you were barely an inch away from him, his nose almost brushing yours as he bent down to meet your gaze.  

The dial in his chest swung wildly, ticking back and forth like a metronome set to a frenzied beat.  

“Uhm, Alast-” you started, confusion clouding your mind. You knew he was eccentric, yes, prone to outbursts and fits of emotion, but they always carried some purpose, a hidden logic that only he could fully understand.  

“Who do you belong to?” he demanded, his voice frigid and sharp. The chain clinked as he pulled you even closer, the heat of his body blazing through the air between you.  

“Y-you,” you stammered, searching his eyes, your hand trembling as you gently touched his sleeve. “It’s you.” 

For a fleeting second, your answer seemed to calm the storm raging in his gaze, his crimson eyes softening back to their usual dark slits. “That’s right,” he whispered, his voice low and deceptively soft. “You belong to me.” His hand slid to your waist, his fingers digging in possessively. “And yet,” his voice dropped to a hiss, “you had the gall to let another sinner touch you.” 

A wave of bewilderment washed over you, leaving you scrambling to make sense of his anger. Physical contact was far from uncommon in the hotel – just yesterday, Angel Dust had clapped you on the back after you told him a joke. Surely, Alastor wouldn’t be so enraged over something so trivial? 

But Alastor pressed himself against you, his body taut and seething with an intensity that left you breathless. “My, my,” he murmured, voice pitched with a mocking chill, “thinking about that wretched sinner already? Right here, in my presence?” 

“That’s not-” you started to protest, realizing with a sinking dread that you’d indeed just thought of Angel Dust. But surely, that alone wouldn’t justify this terrifying fury, this raw possessiveness radiating from Alastor? 

He let out a bark of laughter, sharp and scathing, before pressing his forehead to yours, his lips grazing dangerously close to your own. “I own your soul, darling,” he whispered, his voice laced with a dangerous, velvety edge. You felt his claws inching up your skirt, his fingers scraping against your bare thighs, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. “I don’t share what is rightfully mine.” 

Unexpectedly, his mouth crashed onto yours, urgent and bruising, teeth grazing with a hunger so fierce it stole the breath from your lungs. You whimpered against him as his sharp tooth nicked your lower lip, the sting mingling with the taste of blood as his hot tongue lapped over the wound, a low groan reverberating from his chest.  

When he finally pulled back, his lips stained crimson with your blood, he gripped the front of your dress, his eyes blazing. “Who do you belong to?” he demanded again, his tone laced with desperation, as if even your words might not be enough to satisfy him.  

“You. It’s always you, Alastor,” you whispered, your hands gently cupping his face, placing a soft, tender kiss on his lips – a striking contrast to the bruising passion he’d unleashed moments before. “The contract says forever, remember?” You tried a slight, playful grin, but his gaze held none of his usual amusement, his eyes fixated on yours with an almost haunted intensity.  

“The contract,” he repeated slowly, his fingers loosening their grip on your dress. “Yes...that’s right.” His hands trembled for a fleeting moment before he forced them behind his back, his posture rigid. “I own your soul,” he said, voice hollow, “your servitude, I suppose.” 

It was as if he were no longer fully present with you, his gaze dark and distant, a hint of revelation in his eyes that seemed to tear him apart even as he chased it. You could see it, how this realization – this twisted revelation – pained him, even though he seemed oblivious to its source.  

You’d been here before, watched him spiral from bursts of passion to bitterness and then back to his lonely solitude. So, as always, you took that first step forward, drawing closer until your arms circled his waist. You smiled up at him, that bright, open smile he so often brushed off with sharp words, though you knew it softened him beneath the mask.  

He stiffened for a moment, then relaxed, a breath escaping as he murmured, “My, you're suddenly so clingy.” But you caught the waver in his voice, hiding behind his usual teasing edge.  

“Because it’s you,” you replied simply, hands trailing up his back until they slid into his hair, guiding him down to meet you. “Besides, you haven’t kicked me to the curb yet, Alastor.” You giggled, only for the sound to be cut off as his lips claimed yours.  

His movement slowed, each kiss lingering, his fingers finding the front of your shirt, hesitating there. “I don’t share,” he murmured against your mouth, his claws grazing the sensitive skin of your neck, sending shivers down your spine. “This chain,” he whispered, tracing it with reverence, “it binds you to me. I own you.” With each word, he deftly unbuttoned your dress, his gaze smouldering as the fabric fell open.  

“I know,” you answered softly, sinking beneath him as he lowered you to the hard floor, his arms and legs caging you in. “I haven’t forgotten,” you murmured, your fingers trailing down the front of his red-pinstriped suit, savouring the rough texture beneath your touch.  

He stiffened, a flash of raw anger crossing his features. “Then why,” he snarled, his voice dripping with possessiveness, “why let that waste of breath near you? Why laugh, why smile, why seek his company when I was right there?” His words tumbled out, unbidden, raw and unrestrained.  

At that moment, as his heated words filled the space between you, you caught a flicker of shame and horror in his eyes, as if he hadn’t meant to reveal this part of himself. But before he could pull away, you wrapped your arms around his neck, anchoring him to you.  

“No one touches me like you do,” you whispered, pressing soft kisses along his cheek, to the corner of his mouth, until you kissed him fully. And I don’t think anyone else can make me smile until my cheeks hurt.” You laughed softly, fingers combing through his hair, each touch soft and grounding.  

His response was immediate, his lips pressed against yours, his hips grinding against you with desperate fervour. His soft groans mixed with your sighs, and he gently took your wrists, guiding your hands back to the front of his pants. His lips never left yours, his hands tracing a slow, searing path as you undid his pants, feeling the heated weight of him pressing against your stomach as you freed him.  

“Darling,” he hissed as our fingers wrapped around him, stroking from his tip down the length of his hardened cock, slow and tantalizing. The fire in his eyes darkened, his pupils widening to pools of obsidian as he shuddered beneath your touch. “How should I make you remember,” he murmured, voice a low growl, “that you belong to me always?” 

His lips traced down your jaw, his breath hot against your skin as his hands slid up your thighs, pushing your skirt to your waist with a deliberate slowness that made you ache. “Perhaps,” he breathed, his fingers pressing against the damp cloth covering you, feeling your desire seeping through, “I’ll make your body remember.”  

Without hesitation, he tore your underwear away, his fingers grazing the slick curve of your inner thighs, drawing a gasp from you as his touch lingered there. “Enough times,” he muttered, his voice thick with want, “That you never forget who I am to you.” 

Two fingers slipped inside, filling you in one firm stroke. The sensation sent a sharp tremor through you, and your breath hitched as your walls clenched around him. “Alastor...” His name fell from your lips in a shiver, and his eyes darkened at the sound, a wicked grin spreading across his face.  

“Shh, darling,” he cooed, his voice a velvet command. His fingers moved slowly, plunging into you with an unhurried intensity, dragging your slice over every sensitive spot before plunging them back in. His head dropped to your shoulder, lips brushing over your skin as he pumped his fingers, his own arousal pressing hot and hard against your thigh. “Tonight, I’ll make certain you’ll never consider anyone else.” 

Pleasure flooded through you, erasing everything except the feel of him, each pump of his fingers building heat within you. You wanted to tell him he was always in your mind, to confess that you’d never once thought of leaving his side. But words tangled and dissolved into moans, as if even trying to say them would break the spell.  

Things like, I like you.

Things like, I cherish you. 

Things like... 

A gasp tore from you as his mouth latched onto your breast, tongue flicking over the sensitive peak as he hummed in satisfaction, the wet sound of his fingers moving within you intensifying with each movement. You arched against him, hips moving of their own accord, desperate for more, clinging to every sensation.  

And just as you teetered on the edge, his fingers slipped free, leaving you throbbing, gasping from the loss of him. He rose above you, his cock fully erect, tip glistening. He lifted his fingers, coated in your desire, to his face, watching with fascination as he pressed them together. A glistening thread stretching between them before he spread too far apart, breaking it with a hungry grin.  

Then, without looking away, he brought them to his lips, sucking each finger clean with slow, deliberate motions, a satisfied groan slipping from his throat as he tasted you.  

“Who do you belong to, darling?” he murmured, eyes heavy-lidded as he gazed down at you. His hands moved to pin your wrists above your head, pressing his hips forward, his cock nudging against your slick entrance, sending a shiver of pure heat coursing through you.  

Your breath caught as he began to push in, the head of him stretching you with a slow, delicious pressure. Instinctively, you tried to shift your hips, to take him deeper, but his grip tightened, keeping you firmly in place. “Say it,” he whispered, his voice edged with a fierce tenderness, his eyes locked onto yours, demanding.  

“You,” you whimpered, voice trembling, and Alastor rewarded you by sliding himself just a bit deeper, the stretch trying to accommodate him making you gasp.  

“That’s right,” he crooned, his grin sharp, eyes narrowed to slivers of wicked delight. “Tell me,” he murmured, his lips brushing hot against your ear, the words like fire igniting every nerve, “tell me how much you want me. Go on.” 

When you hesitated, struggling for breath, he drew his hips back, leaving you painfully empty. Every nerve in your body was alight, humming, craving more. Embarrassment coloured your cheeks, but the heat, the need, drove the words from you. “Please,” you whispered, voice soft and fragile, “please Alastor, I-I want you.” Your eyes closed, the vulnerability tightening in your chest, sending waves of desire flooding your veins.  

The moment the words escaped your lips, Alastor surged forward, filling you to the hilt, his hips flush against yours, a shuddering groan escaping him. His length throbbed inside, stretching and filling you perfectly, leaving you breathless as he began a steady rhythm, each thrust pulling a whimper from your lips.  

“That’s right,” he rasped, finally finding his pace as he withdrew and slammed back into you, your breasts bouncing with every relentless stroke. “Say you want me,” he breathed, his voice rough, almost breaking, with the intensity of his need.  

One hand pinned your wrists above your head, firm and unyielding, while the other squeezed your breast, his thumb brushing over your nipple, sending electric shocks of pleasure through you. His hips moved in a hypnotic rhythm, the wet, smacking sound of skin on skin mingling with the sharp cries and moans filling the air. Each one tore through you as you clung to him, helpless against the power of his thrusts.  

“I want you,” you cried, voice trembling, head tilted back, your body limp and yielding beneath his strength. Every nerve was alive with a searing stretch, his cock grinding into your most sensitive spot as he drove deeper, forcing pleasure to crest higher and higher. His name fell from your lips in broken cries, each syllable dripping with the intensity of your desire.  

With a raw groan, Alastor shifted, grasping your hips firmly as he rose onto his knees, lifting you with him. Your body arched upward, shoulders and head the only parts still anchored to the floor as he drove into you harder, faster, every thrust meeting no resistance. He slammed his hips against yours, the force of it stealing your breath, pushing you to the brink, an overwhelming spike of pleasure building with every powerful relentless motion.  

Your lips parted, gasping, as his grunts filled your ears, his low, primal sounds mixing with the wet, sinful noises of your bodies colliding. The world around you faded to nothing but the feeling of him, the ecstasy of his touch, and the unstoppable climb toward a blinding, shattering release.  

His eyes locked on the place where your bodies joined, a hunger darkening his gaze as he thrust into you, each movement hitting that perfect spot, dragging every pulse of pleasure from deep within you. Your stomach tightened, thighs shaking, and as he drove in again, the pressure burst.  

You came with a shattering cry, your fingers scraping at the wooden floor, desperate for anything to hold as your walls clenched around him, wave after wave of ecstasy crashing through you.  

He pulled out suddenly, letting your body drop as he rose to his knees, his cock slick and throbbing against your parted lips. His hand wrapped around his length, pumping himself with frenzied strokes as he looked down, his gaze fierce and covetous.  

“I should mark you,” he rasped, his voice thick with need, his cock grazing your lips as he leaned forward. “Make sure my colour stains that smile.” His grin was wild as his hand moved faster, his muscles tense, his breaths shallow and ragged.  

You lifted your head, mouth open to take him in, your lips wrapping around the tip as your tongue swirled, savouring the mingling taste of him and your own desire. A moan tore from him, and he let his head drop back, his hands cradling the sides of your head, guiding himself deeper as his hips moved in slow, deliberate thrusts. His length stretched your lips as he pressed to the back of your throat, the guttural sound of his groans and the slick noises filling the air.  

Your own moans vibrated around him, spurring him on. His hips moved faster, his hands clinging tighter as his moans grew sharper, each thrust sending him closer. With one last hard thrust, he shuddered, and the first hot pulse of his release spilled down your throat. He withdrew, letting the rest spill over your lips, dripping down your chin in thick streams as he marked you. His eyes locked on your face, a wild satisfaction softening his gaze as he watched.  

The warmth of his release lingered on your skin, drying as your breaths filled the space between you. Your tongue darted out, tasting the lingering saltiness on your lips, and he groaned, his cock twitching in his hand as he watched, his chest rising and falling in rhythm with yours.  

As if coming back to himself, he gently cupped your face, wiping his release from your skin with his sleeve, his expression caught between wonder and something deeper. His touch was unexpectedly soft, eyes holding a vulnerability he rarely let surface, the unspoken question hanging between you as his gaze searched yours.  

“We could be more,” you whispered, heart pounding as his fingers tilled on your skin, “if you want, Alastor.” 

His movements halted, his gaze slowly focusing on yours, a flicker of confusion slipping beneath his usual veneer of confidence. “I already own your soul,” he murmured, his voice edged with something darker, guarded. “There is nothing more you could give me.” His words were resolute, as if trying to cling onto their simplicity, yet the way his brows furrowed, and his head tilted betrayed a hesitation – a lack of understanding for the weight of what you meant.  

For all his power, Alastor had taken your heart without ever offering his own in return. The notion of “more” was something he danced around, something he coveted without daring to hold. He wanted you fiercely, hungrily even, but in ways he could still control – never in ways that would strip him bare and vulnerable.  

You placed a gentle hand on his thigh, feeling the tension coiled beneath his skin. With a soft sigh, you felt the truth of it settle heavy between you; until he could meet you on level ground, until he was ready to open himself as wholly as he demanded of you, this fragile back-and-forth was all you’d have. This quiet ache, this unspoken ache, would remain hidden, cloaked in omissions and denials.  

It wasn’t entirely his fault, either, this painful standoff. After all, there were things you held back too – things that lingered on the edge of every kiss, every touch, words that clung desperately to the walls of your heart, refusing to release themselves. The word that waited to change everything.  

Things like, I like you. 

Things like, I cherish you. 

Things like... 

I love you.  

Follow #vexitober 2024 to read my questionable kink/fluff stories!

[alexiroflife]

“appreciation”

MDNI, sexual content, fluff

suguru geto x reader

Synopsis: suguru loves to show how much he appreciates you being by his side

to sum it up: just a little filth

Warning(s): smut, fingering

Suguru always knew how to take care of you, for his love for you transcended most things in his life and crowned you as one if the most important things in his life priority, alongside his girls and his ambitions.

You were everything to Suguru, the light of his life and his entire world, as he was to you, and he ensured that he spent every waking moment looking after you properly by checking that you were well fed, that you had money for the week to spend on your desired necessities, that you were healthy and happy, and that you felt loved.

In turn, you did the same, memorizing the things he liked and the things he hated, making him lunches to bring with him when his day was too full of exorcising and absorbing curses to think about eating, or brushing his hair at the end of the day to help him wind down.

Above all, you knew how to please him. You knew just what to say, what to do, what to wear for him to absolutely lose his mind and ravage you like a man starved. You took care of him well, and Suguru was always so keen on showing his appreciation for your consideration.

Tonight was no different. He had you laying atop his bare chest on your shared bed with his hand reaching over your shoulder to cradle your jaw and his legs tucked over yours, trapping them to the bed. His body was covered in a sheen coat of shiny sweat, biceps bulging as he stretched his arm over your abdomen to sheathe his thick fingers in and out of your quivering pussy, sheets drenched in your fluids after you had already came twice.

The graphic sound of his fingers squelching inside your aching cunt filled your dimly lit room lewdly, your desperate gasps complementing the noise beautifully. Suguru hummed against your temple, turning his head into you to press his lips to your skin, kissing softly as he fingered you with unrelenting desperation, speaking your third orgasm as you leaked pathetically over his palm.

You were mewling, hips bucking up into his hand as your body trembled with overstimulation. Your head tilted back over Suguru’s broad shoulder, lips parting and eyes blurring over. Your dark haired boyfriend’s hand drifted down to your neck following the motion, lust dazed eyes peering down at the sight of his two fingers plunging into you at a rabbit’s pace.

You choked on a cry when he curled his fingers inside of your walls, tears pricking at your eyelashes when his knuckles brushed against your g-spot again.

“Doing so good for me,” he praised, a hot whisper against your cheek as you moaned in appreciation, mind practically melted to sap and body reacting involuntarily to his touch. “Looked so pretty today, baby…”

“S-Sugu,” you cried, bark arching against his bare chest before his forearm pressed into your lower stomach to keep you from squirming, the pace of his fingers picking up mercilessly. “S’so good- ngh, too much…!”

“You can take it,” Suguru ordered, voice firm and low in your ear. “Take it,” he hissed again.

“Agh…fuckkk…!”

“That’s it, my girl,” he grunted, tightening his grip around your throat. Your eyes rolled back into your head, jaw falling slack as Suguru rolled his thumb over your swollen clit whilst thirsting his fingers, your slippery wetness slathering over the whole of your lower body and between your legs. “You just keep letting me show you how much I appreciate you, alright?”

You can’t even form a proper sentence in response, your body and mind entirely too fucked out by the girth of Suguru’s fingers slipping in and out of you with ease, his hand glistening with slick as it splattered your arousal onto your legs with each slap up against your pelvis.

“Oh-m-mmkay,” you babbled in submissive acceptance, lashes fluttering with the roll of your pretty eyes. Suguru grabbed your neck and held your head to his, damp lips crushing into your cheek and your shoulder, hot tongue swirling over your skin to leave more dark red circles over the expanse of your upper body in his path.

“Good job, baby,” he murmured into your shoulder.

You cried, twitching with the quiver of your legs that had nowhere to go beneath his weight that kept them spread wide. His fingers plunged faster, his hand a blur as his fingers disappeared into you at an ungodly pace, before he was ripping them from inside your walls and swiping his palm back and forth rapidly over your clit, watching as liquid spurted helplessly from your sex and onto the both of your legs and into the puddle under you.

You moaned loudly, writhing in his taut grip. Suguru tilted his head down over you to mold his lips into your parted ones, intertwining his tongue with yours as your moans were swallowed by his mouth. He groaned into you, slipping his fingers back inside your dripping pussy to slowly help you ride out your high.

He pulled away from your lips a centimeter, a string of saliva connecting your them. “Filthy,” he grumbled as if the comment were a completely, comment hitting against your lips as they grazed each other sensually while he added pressure to your neck.

You whined, vision white through your lidded gaze while pleasure stripped you of your coherency and flooded your mind with the only name you cared to remember.

“S-Suguru,” you uttered weakly, and he was pressing his lips to yours again instantly, his fingers slowly slipping into you once more. You gasped out, trying to pull away, but he didn’t allow you. “Ah! No, p-please, fuck, no more, Sugu,” you begged against him, to which he pulled away from your mouth to meet your watery eyes with his own.

“Don’t rush me,” he demanded, gazing down at you almost sadistically, observing the way your face contorted with overstimulation and overwhelming ecstasy from the side as he carefully dragged his fingers out, feeling every ridge of your warm, soft walls slide against him. “My gratitude takes time.”

You were glued against his chest for the rest of the night, cumming repeatedly until you were practically unconscious atop of him and he was satisfied with how much appreciation he had shown you. You were a sticky mess of your own arousal, skin syrupy with sweat and fluid when he met you catch your breath.

Suguru kissed over the expanse of your body when he finished, over the blooming marks and sensitive skin, his tongue tasting and savoring every inch of you as if you were his last meal.

Suguru always knew how to take care of you, just as you did him, for in the midst of the daily chaos of his and your life, he made it a priority to show you just how grateful he was for your care.

[adiraargent]

Safe Haven - Theodore Nott

wc: 1.5k warnings: slight swearing, fluff Summary: you and Theodore are cuddling in front of the fire, expressing your love and enjoying each others presence

Theodore Nott's fingers traced delicate patterns along the fabric of your clothing, his touch feather-light as if seeking to bridge the minuscule gap between your skin and his own. You reciprocated the gesture, fingers skimming over the fabric of his shirt, gently tugging at the hem, a silent invitation for closer proximity.

With an almost instinctive understanding, both of you inched closer, seeking the comforting warmth of each other's embrace. Theodore's arm found its place around your waist, pulling you gently against his chest, where you nestled comfortably. He leant down, placing a soft kiss on your nose and then your forehead, your face scrunching up cutely as he did so. 

He couldn't help but feel butterflies erupt in his chest at the sight. You were adorable, he couldn't understand how he ended up with someone like you, but he thanked his lucky stars every night. The room seemed to fall away, leaving just the two of you wrapped in an embrace that felt more like home than anything else.

"Can we just stay like this?" Theodore's voice was barely a murmur, but the desire for the moment to stretch into eternity resonated in the way he held you close. His fingers mixed with his words left goosebumps over your arms and a giddy feeling in your stomach. 

A serene smile curved your lips as you leaned into his embrace, feeling his warmth seep into your bones. "Absolutely," you whispered in response, the word carrying a world of contentment.

Theodore's touch became more tender, exploring the contours of your back with a gentle insistence, as if trying to map out the path to your soul through caresses. In return, you traced the faint scars and delicate birthmarks scattered across his skin, each mark a testament to his journey, each touch a declaration of acceptance and admiration. 

He hated his scars, thought they were ugly... ugly reminders of everything that he had been through. But to you, they weren't flaws, they weren't just marks on his skin, they were reminders of the fact that he was strong... that he has gone through so much and made it out alive. You loved everything about them, including the scars. 

Time slowed down within the embrace, the soft crackling of the fireplace and the rhythmic sound of your synchronized breathing creating a peaceful symphony. A silent agreement lingered in the air, an unspoken vow to cherish this moment of intimacy, to savour the closeness that felt both tender and comforting.

You shuffled slightly in your position as you felt a small twinge in your neck. Theodore felt worry flush through him as he realised how tightly he was holding you, worried that he was hurting you. "I'm sorry, I'm probably suffocating you," Theodore murmured, a hint of concern lacing his words as he adjusted his position, trying to ensure your comfort.

A soft chuckle escaped you, the sound muffled against his chest. "No, I don't mind. If I do happen to suffocate, just know I died happy," you teased, feeling a surge of warmth at the shared humor, the simple joy of being together in such an intimate setting.

Theodore reciprocated the affection with gentle pecks and nose grazes, planting soft kisses on all areas of exposed skin. Theodore's tender kisses scattered across your skin were like whispers of affection, each one leaving a trail of warmth in their wake. His lips grazed over your cheek, the corner of your mouth, and finally settled upon your forehead, a soft, lingering caress that conveyed a silent promise of adoration.

In those moments, as his lips met your skin, your heart fluttered in response. You tilted your head, meeting his gaze, feeling the warmth of his eyes locking onto yours. There was an unspoken language between you, a silent understanding that transcended words.

As Theodore's fingers traced delicate patterns along your back, you couldn't help but revel in the tenderness of his touch. It was as if each movement was etching a new chapter in the tale of your connection, weaving an intimate narrative that spoke volumes.

Theodore's gaze shifted to your eyes, his expression a kaleidoscope of emotions — affection, adoration, and a hint of vulnerability that made your heart skip a beat. You smiled softly, a gesture that radiated warmth and reassurance.

Theodore paused, his fingers lingering over the fabric of your shirt, a contemplative expression gracing his features. "You're adorable," he whispered, his voice barely audible, the words filled with genuine admiration.

Your cheeks flushed at the compliment, the warmth spreading from your cheeks to the tips of your ears. "And you're wonderful," you replied, the words tinged with sincerity as you reached out to gently brush his hair away from his forehead.

Theodore leaned into your touch, his eyes closing momentarily as he savored the gentle caress. In that fleeting moment, the room seemed to hold its breath, enveloping you both in a cocoon of shared affection.

He sighed contentedly, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. "I don't know how I got so lucky," Theodore murmured, his voice laced with awe and gratitude.

"Maybe we're both just lucky," you replied, a playful glint in your eye as you traced an imaginary line along his jawline.

Theodore's laughter, soft and melodious, echoed in the room. It was a sound that felt like home, comforting and reassuring, a melody that resonated within the depths of your soul. Theodore's gaze lingered on yours, a silent conversation passing between you, filled with unspoken affection and understanding. He gently traced the curve of your cheek with his thumb, his touch feather-light against your skin.

"You know," he began, his voice soft but earnest, "I never expected to find someone like you."

Your eyes met his, a mixture of curiosity and affection reflecting in your gaze. "What do you mean?" you asked, a faint smile gracing your lips.

Theodore hesitated for a moment, his gaze drifting momentarily as he collected his thoughts. "I mean, you're different, in the best possible way," he explained, his voice tinged with vulnerability. "I've always felt a bit... out of place. But when I'm with you, it's like everything falls into perfect harmony."

A warmth spread through your chest at his words, the sincerity in his voice resonating deeply within you. "I feel the same way," you confessed, reaching out to intertwine your fingers with his. "Being with you just feels right."

Theodore's eyes met yours, a gentle intensity shining through, and he brought your hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss against your knuckles. The gesture was tender, a silent promise of devotion and gratitude.

"You're my safe haven," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, as if afraid the moment might shatter if spoken too loudly.

"You're mine," you replied, the words carrying the weight of truth and affection.

In the quiet intimacy of the room, where the crackling of the fire provided a soothing soundtrack, you both basked in the serenity of the shared moment. 

Theodore shifted slightly, pulling you closer against him, and you nestled comfortably into his embrace. His arms wrapped around you, creating a cocoon of warmth and security, and you leaned your head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

"I could stay like this forever," Theodore whispered, his voice barely audible, the sentiment laced with a hint of longing.

"Me too," you replied softly, feeling a sense of belonging and peace within his embrace.

Wrapped in the gentle warmth of the room, time seemed to slip away, and neither of you felt the need to rush the moment. Theodore's fingers traced idle patterns along your arm, his touch light and comforting. "Do you ever wonder about the future?" he asked softly, his eyes filled with a quiet curiosity.

You tilted your head, contemplating his question. "Sometimes," you admitted, a thoughtful expression gracing your features. "But being here, like this, feels perfect. It's as if the future doesn't matter in this moment."

He smiled at your response, a gentle warmth flickering in his eyes. "I feel the same way," Theodore confessed, his voice soft. "As long as I have you by my side, everything feels right."

Your heart fluttered at his words, overwhelmed by the depth of his sentiment. "I'll always be here for you," you reassured him, intertwining your fingers with his.

Theodore leaned closer, his forehead resting against yours, and you closed your eyes, relishing the closeness. "I'm grateful for every moment with you," he murmured, his breath mingling with yours.

"Me too," you whispered, feeling a surge of emotion at the sincerity in his words.

Theodore's embrace tightened around you, as if trying to hold onto the fleeting moment. "I wish we could freeze time," he admitted, a touch of wistfulness in his voice.

"Sometimes, the best moments are the ones that linger in our memories," you replied softly, a hint of melancholy in your tone.

He sighed, a mixture of contentment and longing, and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. The gesture was tender, a silent promise of cherishing the present moment, "man you come up with some stupid shit."

"Shut up, you love me."

"Dearly."

Written by: adiraargent Please don't steal or post anywhere else

[just-cofffee]

The annoyance was evident through that peaceful and dull face that always seemed to have, alluding to how tedious the conversation they were having seemed.

"Just tell her," Suguru repeated for the fourteenth time.

A disheartened sigh escaped Satoru's lips. "You don't understand, it's not that easy."

"Why?" Suguru's voice already had a hint of frustration.

"You still ask why? Do you think I can go there and say, 'Hey Y/n, what I want to say is that I've never seen you simply as a friend. From the moment I saw you, I knew you were the only thing I wanted in my life. Your beauty has captivated my eyes and made me ignore all other women. The softness of your skin is my deepest longing, and the light in your eyes and the grace with which you move completely envelop me. My life has taken on an absolute meaning from the moment your presence blessed my eyes. For me, your mere existence is like a balm that calms my soul and ignites a fire in my heart. Every time I see your sweet smile and receive your attention, I feel like the whole world fades away and only you and I exist. It infuriates me to the core when some idiot approaches you, because I know none of them are worthy of your brilliant sense of humor, your infinite kindness, and your captivating charisma. Although I feel selfish desiring that only I can be the one you give your love and attention to, I can't help it, because you are the most valuable and precious thing in my life. I don't know if I'm worthy of you, but I'm willing to fight and show you every day that I'm capable of loving you with an unwavering passion. These words are just a desperate attempt to describe the magnitude of what I feel for you, but I know in the deepest part of my being that my love for you transcends words and is eternal.'". His chest rose and fell rapidly as if he hadn't breathed while talking about Y/n.

"Satoru…," Suguru murmured with a slightly mocking tone.

"She doesn't like me, she's going to tell me she likes Nanami. She's always been very close to him, and one day Shoko told me that Y/n had a crush on him and-"

In the midst of his despair, Suguru interrupted with a mocking tone, mentioning Satoru's name. This made Satoru stop and look at him confusedly. Suguru nodded behind Satoru with his chin, and at that moment, Satoru paled even more. A feeling of frost traveled down his back and settled in his stomach, causing a deep discomfort. She had heard everything.

"You also like me, Toru."

[aphroditelovesu]

Can I request general headcanons for yandere Jacaerys Velaryon? ❤️

''You are my whole world.'' — Jacaerys Velaryon.

❝ 🐉 — lady l: I had this saved in my drafts for a while and only remembered after I got into it lol, it was practically finished. But anyway, I hope you like it and forgive me for any mistakes! I'm not going to lie, Jace was my favorite character in this second season.🥺

❝tw: obsessive and possessive behavior, overprotectiveness, mention of kidnapping and imprisonment, toxic relationships and perhaps a bit soft yandere.

❝🐉pairing: yandere!jacaerys velaryon x gender neutral!reader.

Jacaerys Velaryon is a born worshiper, deeply in love and devoted to his beloved. His feelings are pure and healthy at first; he desires only good, happiness and your security. However, the losses that occurred from the beginning of the Dance of Dragons affected him deeply. Over time, Jace becomes increasingly smothering and overprotective, reaching the point where your needs no longer matter, only your safety.

Jace just wants your good, your safety and your love. He's not sure when his feelings became so strong, he just knows he has to keep you protected at all costs. You have become the center of his world and he will be damned if he lets you be taken away from him. Not that he's going to let that happen.

He is so devoted and loyal, you will always be put first, your needs will be met beforehand and anything you want, he will do. He is yours to command, just as you are his to love and protect.

Jacaerys devotion transcends the limits of ordinary love. From the beginning, his affection is genuine and deep, a burning flame that illuminates every aspect of his life. He dedicates himself entirely to his darling, placing you at the center of his universe and shaping his actions and decisions around your well-being.

Jacaerys, if given the opportunity, will keep you trapped somewhere. He knows it's not ideal, but he's willing to do anything to not lose you, including locking you up somewhere safe that only he and people he trusts can access. He will deal with all your anger as long as you are unharmed.

Over time, Jace begins to show obsessive worry. He starts to watch your every step, always present and attentive as if any distraction could result in a tragedy. His intensity is palpable, and he becomes a constant presence, like a dragon that never rests and is always alert.

At first, it may seem like an expression of his deep love, but it quickly becomes apparent that his behavior is more than simple protection. He begins to isolate you from friends and family, believing that anyone could pose a threat. He argues that the world is too dangerous and that only he can guarantee your safety.

He will isolate you from everything and everyone so that you, in the end, trust and become completely dependent on him. Jace will feel guilty about this, especially when he looks into your eyes, but he can't help it. Just the thought of losing you is too much for him to handle.

Jace continues to treat you with extreme affection. He does everything to meet your needs, anticipating your desires and trying to compensate for your loss of freedom with displays of affection and dedication. He sincerely believes he is acting out of love, even though he realizes his behavior is suffocating you.

In addition to his overwhelming overprotectiveness, Jace is extremely possessive of you. Although he tries not to show off too much, he feels jealous very often and may become more harsh and controlling when this happens. He will never hurt you but he doesn't want to and won't accept being replaced or left in the background. You belong to him and only him.

Despite his growing possessiveness, Jace maintains an unwavering loyalty. He is willing to sacrifice anything, including his own happiness, to ensure the well-being of his beloved. His devotion manifests itself in an absolute commitment, where he puts your needs and desires in the background, always prioritizing your safety.

Jacaerys Velaryon has your desires in his heart and he wants your good and your happiness, but he is willing to sacrifice them for your safety. He knows it's not right, he's not that delusional, but the fear of losing you makes him make unconventional decisions. Jace will deal with whatever comes of these actions, as long as you are safe and alive. It will all be worth it as long as he sees you breathe.

[paymechildsupport]

JJK men x ftm!reader // how they help with gender dysphoria

-!! CW: dysphoria (obviously) , depression , slight body worship, body horror

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. 　　　.   　　˚　　 　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　　　 ˚　.˚　　　　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　 　　 　　　　 ✦

s. gojo

(the entire care package)

ᯓ★ really does not care about your body or whether or not it aligns with the traditional 'male' or 'female'

ᯓ★ as for dysphoria, he's pretty quick to pick up on a shift in your mood. gojo is far from stupid, and being around you so much has made it easy for him to recognize changes in behavior

ᯓ★ ESPECIALLY after geto, gojo absolutely despises watching you spiral. the way you avoid reflective surfaces, the way you seem to fold in on yourself, how you begin to become adamant about bathing, the way you continue to keep layering clothing, hoodie after hoodie, even in the summer heat.

ᯓ★ after geto, gojo is determined to never stand aside and witness the mental decay of someone he cares about. he can't do this again. maybe if he had been more insistent with geto he would have stayed, maybe if he was more insistent with your health things would be different

ᯓ★ and he was, -- he'd notice and immediately check in with you if he saw things going south. you will not be able to get this man off of you, he will be attached 24/7.

ᯓ★he would NOT let you neglect your physical health: he'd make sure you ate, that you were sleeping properly. if he'd notice you'd been in the bathroom for a while, or were stuck looking at your reflection, he'd check on you, hold you, snap you out of whatever mental spiral was occurring

ᯓ★ he'd be on top of binder breaks: gojo would make sure you give your ribs time to breathe. he hates watching you destroy yourself just to feel like you belong in your own body :(( he'd also be more than happy to give you some of his clothes, -- access to his whole wardrobe in fact. he looooves seeing you all cozy and swallowed up in his big baggy clothing and he's so freakishly large that all his clothing would instantly obscure your figure in the folds. the fact that its his clothing that brings you a sense of comfort makes him so unbelievably happy

ᯓ★ man's is rich rich, like pay rate through the roof. you'd have full access to any medical gender-affirming care and gojo would be more than happy to pay for it. he'd throw money at you anyway, he loves spending on you <3

ᯓ★ periods: he finally has an excuse to buy extra sweets. sugar makes everything better, right?? he'd go out and buy an unholy amount of candy and other sweet thing. chocolates, pastries, everything. they're all for you, and if you won't eat them then he certainly will

----------------------------------------------------------------------

s. geto

(body worship)

𐙚˖° he'd deify you in his cult, his darling lover

𐙚˖° he loves you and nothing changes that, -- at least you're not a jujutsu-less monkey (right?)

𐙚˖° geto would eternalize you forever in his worshippers, you were their god, -- and a god transcended the planes of gender and sex. your body is his temple

𐙚˖° he'd make you, and everyone else, see the beauty of your body, -- regardless of how horrible your skin made you felt. there was beauty in this suffering. he'd commission paintings and statues and tapestries and a bunch of other stuff, all depicting you for what you truly were-- heavenly.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

f. toji

(non-sexual showering)

‧₊ ᵎᵎ ✮ toji loves to take showers with you.

‧₊ ᵎᵎ ✮ he loves how physically intimate it is, how vulnerable both parties are

‧₊ ᵎᵎ ✮ early in the morning before work, late at night when he comes back. especially after a particularily hard assignment, -- he'd trudge back home at the stroke of midnight, shivering, and coated in blood,-- a majority of it not his. he can't wait to just strip off those wet, tight clothes and hop into the nice warm shower. he loves the rhythmic fall of the water, how it feels hitting his back, flowing over his countless scars. loves the way you softly trace his muscles, drawing intricate shapes into his skin as you massage his scalp with shampoo.

‧₊ ᵎᵎ ✮ helps momentously if you struggle with personal hygiene. never once does he let you feel anything short of handsome :3

‧₊ ᵎᵎ ✮ he especially loves it when you let him scrub you with soap. he's so gentle, running his large, warm hands over every inch of your body, cooing how beautiful, -- how perfect you are:

"My beautiful baby"

"There's my boy, my gorgeous boy"

"Look at you, so handsome..."

"My babyboy..."

(+ there's a 90% chance he has bigger boobs than you--)

----------------------------------------------------------------------

mahito

(he tried)

𝗓 𐰁˚𖦹 he'd meld your flesh into a nice big meatball and birth a curse -- don't gotta worry about dysphoria then :3

----------------------------------------------------------------------

r. sukuna

(the surgeon)

౨ৎ ⋆ ˚ he'd re-arrange your guts <3 (literally)

౨ৎ ⋆ ˚ like he'll actually lay you on a table and just start tearing into your flesh, splash around in your blood and other bodily fluids, and give you a nice live bisection

౨ৎ ⋆ ˚ he'll dig around in there for a while, maybe move some things around, just to mess with you, -- reversing your intestines, turning your living inside out, overall having the time of his life, -- like a lil' kid playing in the dirt and digging up rocks and worms. except, - the dirt is your flesh and the rocks are your organs

౨ৎ ⋆ ˚ most importantly, he'd rip your uterus out (romantically)

౨ৎ ⋆ ˚ that's right, he'll eliminate the source of all your problems, no more period cramps for you! (because he's just a nice guy like that)

౨ৎ ⋆ ˚ then, after he digs it out from the layers of meat and skin, pulling it out and feeling it around in his hand, -- he'll eat it :3

౨ৎ ⋆ ˚ nom nom

+ diy free bottom surgery

++ free top surgery if he uses cleave / dismantle

----------------------------------------------------------------------

[writers-potion]

Got anything for dialogue

Writing Dialogue 101

Dialogue is conversation, nothing more, nothing less. The catch is: diagloue is EDITED conversation. It must be more concise, purposeful and witty than the everyday sentences we speak, while sounding natural.

The Purpose of Dialogue

Diaglue is definitely a fiction elements that pops everything up and out. Thus, dialogue is going to have more impact than your normal paragraphs, in order to:

Characterizes/reveals motives

Sets the mood in the story

Intensifies the story conflict

Creates tension and suspense

Speeds up your scenes

Add bits of setting/backgronud

Communicates the theme

Matching the Dialogue to the Genre

The dialogue in a book should speak the reader's language. There is a type of voice that suits each genre/category of fiction, and we must understand what matches the reader expectations and rhythm of the plot we are writing.

Magical Dialogue

"Do not kill him even now. For he has not hurt me. And in any case I do not wish him to be slain in this evil mood. He was great once, of a nobel kind that we should not dare to raise our hands against." - The Lord of the Rings, J.R.R. Tolkein

"As much as I want you and want to be with you and part of you, I can't rear myself away from the realness of my responsiblities." - The Bridges of Madison County, Robert James Waller

This is the language of The Hobbit, Star Wars, The Lord of the Rings, The Wonderful Wizard of Oz.

When writing literary and mainstream fiction (that is targeted at the general public rather than a target audience), we need to go with what sounds real, even with a magical setting

Science fiction and fantasy can be more unreal, i.e. things like "May the Force Be With You."

In romance, magical dialogue takes on a differen form. It's magical in that it transcends the way we talk to each other in normal society. Magical in that all of it makes perfect sense and is said in such eloquent langauge that we marvel at it while at the same time knowing that if we are left to ourselves, we would say something absolutely banal.

Cryptic Dialogue

"You know, the condom is the glass slipper of our generation. You slip it on when you meet a stranger. You dance all night, then you throw it away. The condom, I mean. Not the stranger." - Fight Club, Chuck Palahniuk

This is the dialogue in literary and religious stories that dealw ith abstract ideas and vague concepts and has double meanings. Readers aren't meant to understand theses right away.

These bits of dialogue plant sublimnal messages in the reader's mind that help communicate the theme later on, ultimately making sense.

Cryptic dialogue is difficult to do well. If we're not careful, we'll end up sounding preachy, moralistic and dogmatic.

You need to be able to view the world in different perspectives.

Descriptive Dialogue

The literary, fantasy and historical story often relies on dialogue for worldbuilding (expplaining history, magic rules, etc.)

The author's goal in descriptive dialogue is to provide the reader with information. However, the character's goal cannot be sacrificed for the author's. Dialogue can still have tension and suspense and can be inserted into a scene of action so the story doesn't bog down while the readers get some info.

Shadowy Dialogue

In shadowy dialogue, the character's job is to keep the reader suspended in a state of terror/suspense. Then you periodically tighten and loosen the tension.

The key here is uncertainty. The reader cannot trust the speaker, so we're always questioning him, wondering whether he's speaking truthfully or is presenting the full picture.

Keep the tone as dark of possible, using action and background as supporting tools.

Make it cryptic, or even better, offering an omnious threat of what is to come.

Provocative Dialogue

This is the type of dialogue that conveys the theme, talking about the "universla truth" your book is trying to convey.

Readers like to be challenged in their thinking, provoked to consider other ways of thinking, and shaken up in their belief systems with a fresh perspective about the world.

Consider this example from To Kill A Mockingbird:

"...but there is one way in this country in which all men are created equal - there is one humna institution that makes a pauper the equal of a Rockfeller, the stupid man the equal of an Einstein, and the ignornant man the equal of any college president."

There is no way we can read this and not think about something that is bigger than our daily lives.

Make your readers squirm, and shock them out of their comfort zones.

Uncencored Dialogue

Uncencored dialogue in YA stories are of young people, but that doesn't mean it's filled with hip-hop words and slag.

While adults cencor themselves when they speak, teenagers haven't yet learned that skill so their dialogue is more raw, edgy and honest.

Readers of YA novels expect realism, so make it as authentic as possible. The last thing we want to is for our characters to be brash and honest, but NOT sound like they've just stepped out of Planet Way Cool.

For example:

"What if he doesn't like me back?" "You are too much of a chicken to do anything aboutit but mope."

As an adult, how often do you admit fear of rejection out loud to another, or call out your friend to her face? In YA-type of dialogue though, we can just write what comes into these characters' minds.

So that sums up the different types of dialogue. Consider the nature of your plot, what your readers and the genre of the story you are writing to choose an appropriate way for your characters to speak!

If you like my blog, buy me a coffee☕ and find me on instagram! 📸

[thesunisatangerine]

against all odds (to wait for you is all i can do) – part eight

alexia putellas x photojournalist!reader

warnings: none

(a/n in the tags) [parts: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve]

word count: 4.2k

words in italics: whatever language you like

“Make sure you stick close to your uncle the entire time and remember: if you don’t feel well or if, at any point, you want to leave, just tell Uncle Robert and he’ll get you out of there, okay?”

Elisa nodded as she bounced on the balls of her feet.

“Alright. Put on your headphones and follow your uncle.”

“Follow.” Elisa pronounced the word slowly, before she continued in English, “you said it wrong, Mom. You say it like this.” 

Then she repeated the word again.

You smiled, nodded before you repeated the word for her. “Got it. Thanks, ladybug. Now go, I’ll catch you guys later.”

Tucking a loose hair behind her ear, you hugged Elisa one last time and placed a kiss on the top of her head before you let her go. She bounded to where Robert was standing, gave you one last enthusiastic wave, then you watched as they began to walk off to the direction of their seats. 

Now that you were alone, faced with the corridor that lead down to the pitch, you took a deep breath, exhaled, and then with leaden legs you began to walk.

To say that you were nervous was an understatement; you were absolutely terrified. Not only because this was you first coverage after… after the last one, but also due to the fact that this would be the first time you were going to see Alexia in person since the night you left.

Alexia wouldn’t recognise you–no, she wouldn’t even know you were here–you saw to it. You asked Derek to register you under Jersey’s name because the client was none other than Alexia’s agent, a request that earned you a dirty look from Derek but he indulged you anyway. And as a precaution, you made sure to wear a face mask–an accessory that was met by a knowing, raised brow from Robert and a worried, ‘Are you sick, Mom?’ from Elisa–not to mention that your hair now was different compared to then. 

No. Alexia wouldn’t recognise you; you were, after all, only a face among the many that adored her.

You kept walking, shielding your eyes from the brilliant stadium lights as you stepped foot on the grass.

Fifteen months. What good did that time do you? Just the mere thought of Alexia’s eyes suffused you with such burning ardour that neither a kiss nor touch from another could come close to her–there simply was no competition. You couldn’t even let another touch you the way she did because the act of kissing another’s lips was enough to incite guilt in you. 

But why? How could Alexia still have this much hold over you after all this time? Was it because this was the first time you felt something deeper for someone, something that transcended the physical aspect of a relationship? Or was it the fact that the moment you let yourself be vulnerable, almost offered yourself completely, everything came crashing down? And now, you found yourself hung up on someone who had clearly moved on.

But, a small part of you reasoned, if Alexia had truly moved on, why still try to commission you? Why would she want you around? Maybe she… No. You shook your head firmly. That wasn’t possible.

Pain throbbed in your foot as it collided with the sponsor board that lined the spot you picked, earning you a few concerned glances from the nearby photographers who were already there. You cursed internally, dropping your bag to the ground, as you offered the others a sheepish smile and an apology. The pain brought you back to reality though, a reminder that you needed to get your mind out of the gutter and that you had a job to do. 

You had weeks to prepare yourself for this. Everything would be okay. How hard could this be, really?

An hour passed and the stadium was filled to the brim with Spanish red and Brazilian yellow to witness the first match of each team for this tournament. Each nation’s supporters clapped and roared when the players began to run out to the pitch. And all the mental preparation you’d done for this left you completely. 

The moment she stepped out of that tunnel and the stadium lights shone down on her, it felt like you only learnt how to breathe again. There Alexia stood: the slope of her shoulder familiar, the strength carved in the curves of her back looked stronger, and the lines of her arms just as inviting as they were the first time you met. 

And those eyes, even if there were meters between you the weight in them–that low, burning fire–was all too apparent from where you stood.

Despite yourself, you found yourself smiling beneath your mask. She looked healthy; happy.

As the starting whistle breached through the chants of the crowd and resounded through the arena, you found yourself content–content at being an spectator of Alexia’s life, to watch her shine from afar, that was enough. 

Parc des Princes. Sweden vs. Spain: The Clash of the Titans.

Not even two hours before kickoff and a significant crowd had already gathered by the entrance points of the stadium donning their respective supporter colours. It was no surprise to see such numbers very early on this fine Saturday evening because ever since the results from the dramatic Semi-Finals that saw Sweden and Spain through to the Finals, it was the talk of the town:  the World’s Number One against the World Champions; both formidable in their own rights made them titans indeed. 

And the question of who would emerge victorious would be answered tonight.

You saw firsthand how Spain brazenly blazed through this competition, knocking out their tougher competitions in the form of Germany and Japan in the Quarters and the Semis respectively in a similar fashion. They were a force to be reckoned with driven by their purpose and it made you more than proud to see how far they’d come.

Though it had been difficult you managed to remain undetected throughout the length of this tournament, something that you were truly grateful for. And after tonight, you could as easily slip out of Alexia’s world just as you had seamlessly gone in for the last time. The last thing you wanted to do was to jeopardise Spain’s chance at winning no matter how little an impact your presence would cause if you were discovered by Alexia. 

But the thing was, you couldn’t lie and say you felt nothing as you watched Alexia from afar because you did: all the regret and desire… the longing; they were all there with you. More than once you found yourself wanting to run into her arms, to tell her you missed her, to let her know she saved you, to tell her… But you knew in your heart that that couldn’t be, so you allowed yourself this brief luxury, this silent, intimate appraisal of what and who she’d grown into even if she herself didn’t know it–you captured it all and to you that was more than enough.

As for Elisa she was nothing but ecstatic, a bundle of energy through and through. If you were being honest, you had doubted your decision to bring her with you because you didn’t know how being surrounded with tens of thousands of people would affect her even though she’d told you multiple times she could manage it. But to your relief, Elisa had immersed herself in the sport, blanketed herself in its atmosphere and in fact, she seemed to thrive in it. On the way home after each of Spain’s match you went to, Elisa would recount in vivid clarity all the instances she deemed to be highlights of the match–of course most of them were about Alexia which wasn’t a surprise considering how much she meant to her. 

Elisa was enjoying herself and that, truly, brought you immense joy and comfort. She never asked you for it but you knew how Elisa badly wished to meet her inspiration, her and Robert had tried at the end of each match to stick around to meet her but so far, they had no luck.

No, Elisa never asked for you to do anything about it but that didn’t mean you couldn't try. You couldn’t quite think of how to go about it just yet but seeing as how the match before your eyes was the last, you knew your time to decide was beginning to run out. 

The thing about football was that it was unpredictable, one minute it could be going your way, the next it could be the opponent’s; nothing was set in stone and anything could happen.

It was nearing the forty-minute mark, the scoreline was still down at all nil, when Aitana sent the ball lobbing from the middle, just at the edge of the penalty box, into one of Sweden’s goalposts for Alexia who’d already made her surge forwards. In response, Zećira Mušović dove for the nearest post, just about managing to grab the ball as it landed a few paces in front of Alexia’s feet but the ball went out of play as it slipped from her grip. Alexia was going too fast though and your heart jumped in your chest with worry as Alexia leaped over Mušović’s prone form, barely avoiding a collision with the Swedish goalkeeper, before she ended up slamming against the sponsor board and–

Suddenly, the air was knocked from your lungs as your back slammed to the ground and the back of your head throbbed with a dull ache that made you groan. And then you felt the warm weight pressed against you, dangerously familiar and way too close for comfort but it was gone before you could open your eyes. When you did you found honey-coloured eyes that you knew all too well as Alexia regarded you with concern.

“I’m so sorry. Are you okay?” Alexia asked, her ragged breathing made her accent all the more pronounced, and she took both of your hands in hers to help you to your feet. You tried hard not to think about the warmth of her palms on your skin–in fact, you hardly had any thoughts at all–and your throat was so parched you could only nod at her question. 

Only once you got back on your feet did you notice Alexia had gone stock still. The sudden change in her demeanour worried you at first, especially when she hadn’t let go of your hands yet, and then confusion settled in. That was when you realised her attention was zeroed in on the string around your right wrist… at the bracelet she made you, the one you couldn’t bear yourself to part with.

Your eyes widened and you snatched your hands back, shielding your wrist from view with your other hand but you knew it was already too late. Alexia now looked at you, the concern in her gaze now shone together with… something else, eyes red as unshed tears clung to her lashes. 

“You…” Alexia’s voice low–restrained–as her throat bobbed and her chin quivered. 

The sound of the whistle barely registered in your mind and Alexia looked like she hadn’t heard it too, her eyes remained glued to you as if she’d seen a ghost. Then Aitana was by her side, hand around her arm as Aitana attempted to tug her back into the game but she just wouldn’t budge. Aitana regarded you briefly, the clear confusion in her eyes difficult to miss, before she tried to coax her captain away again.

“Alexia. Go.” You said as you gently pushed Alexia away with a hand on her stomach. She flinched from your touch–and her reaction really shouldn’t hurt this much but it did anyway–so you quickly retracted your hand away. Only after that did Alexia finally let herself be pulled away by Aitana but not without staring at you as she went.

This was bad. Out of all the times that this could happen, why now?

You picked up your camera, the fact that it was intact offered you little comfort, and the urge to run away pervaded you. You so desperately wanted to pack everything and leave, allow Elisa to enjoy the match and maybe just sit this one out in the crowd with her. Alexia didn’t need to know. 

The thought was tempting.

But with clenched fists, you stayed. 

A moment later, the Swedish supporters roared when Spain conceded a goal during extra time which left them now down to one goal. Spain still had enough time to try and equalise, and their chance was given in the form of a penalty.

Alexia stepped up but Mušović denied her a goal and your heart ached from the way Alexia shook her head, dejected as she looked up at the sky. 

The halftime whistle blew and you watched as the players walked towards the tunnel entrance but, your eyes widened when you saw her, Alexia was making her way towards you, stride long and with purpose. Her face was neutral but the way her lips was pressed in a thin line revealed that she was anything but calm.

Oh, fuck. 

You didn’t even have time to compose yourself–or do anything, really–because before you knew it, Alexia had leaped over the sponsor board, gripped the monopod with your camera and ripped it away from your hand. A protest left your lips but it was quickly cut off when you felt her other arm around your waist, pulling you to her with a strength that left you breathless. And when you felt her front pressed firmly against your own and her warmth immediately seeped into your bones, everything melted away–the flutter of camera shutters, the roar of the crowd–your world became Alexia entirely. 

Everything just fell rightly into place. It felt like coming home.

Alexia didn’t say anything, just craned her neck so she could rest her head against your shoulder. At first you were frozen, your arms still and left hanging by your side, but as you felt the way Alexia’s ribs expand and the way her heartbeat jumped through her jersey, you came back to yourself and finally, you slid your arms around her, your hands immediately finding purchase in the small of her back. 

You gripped her jersey as you sank into her embrace, pressing your cheek against her collarbone, and god, what did you do right in this lifetime–or the last–to have her back in your arms like this? You breathed her in and you nearly sobbed at the intimate familiarity of her scent.

“Alexia, I–” You began but you shook your head. So instead, you choked out, “Alexia, you shouldn’t be here.”

Silence was the only answer and Alexia seemed to cling all the more tightly to you after the words left your mouth. And you could feel it, the despondency in the slope of her back as if they already had lost the match. Guilt ate away at you. You did this, didn’t you?

“Listen to me, Ale. Your team is waiting for you. They need their Captain, Alexia. They need you.”

At those words, Alexia only buried herself further into you as if she wanted herself to disappear completely. Then she spoke in a voice so small you could barely recognise it was her talking.

“I messed up. I… I can’t be what they need me to be right now. I feel weak.”

You recognised this, the familiar shadow of doubt that tinged Alexia’s thoughts and marred her confidence. Although rare to rear its head, its venom was lethal when it did, attacking her weakest parts, right where it hurt the most. 

Cradling the nape of her neck with a gentle hand, you let her fall all the more closer to you and you whispered softly, but firm in the way you enunciate the words, to get your message through to her. 

“‘The match is not won until the last second is lost.’ Alexia, isn’t that what you told me? You can't just give up now. You can't lose faith in your teammates right now." Alexia’s breath hitched at your words, her arm around your waist tightened. You continued, “your strength is their strength, and theirs are yours. I used to tell you, remember? You're so strong but it's not all yours to carry, Alexia. You're only human but that doesn't make you weak. Have faith in them... have faith in you."

You turned your head just so so you could rest your temple against the line of her jaw before you said, “now go, Alexia. Your team needs you.”

Alexia leaned in to your touch and sighed. She nodded and finally she loosened her grip but before she fully extricated herself from you, she said in a raw voice but not with malice, “I’m still mad at you.”

You couldn’t help it, the small laugh that bubbled out of your throat as you rested your forehead against her shoulder. 

“Fair enough. You can be mad at me all you want later but right now, you have a match to win.”

She pulled away and you finally saw her eyes. Albeit red and raw around the edges, the hazel in them shone with a familiar brilliance, a hungry fire undiminished by the tears in her eyes. You longed to dry her tears but Alexia did it herself, swiping the back of her hand over her eyes. She handed you back your camera, hand lingering on your right wrist as she brushed the pad of her thumb over the string there, gave you one last look and a nod, before she jumped over the sponsor board and sprinted to the tunnel entrance, the crowd roaring as she went past them. 

At her departure, the rest of the world came back to focus: the stadium, the screaming fans, the blare of the halftime music… the cameras pointed at you, from the broadcasting channels to the phones of the fans on the stands; you were the subject of all their eyes, all their lenses. Even when you glanced at your fellow photographers, most of them had their cameras pointed at you, some looked at you with passing curiosity while some stared at you as if you’d grown an extra pair of head.

Your ears and cheeks warmed at the attention, gut coiling uncomfortably as you adjusted your face mask, something that you were all the more grateful for especially after that little public display from Alexia. You kept your head down as you walked the length of the sideline towards Sweden’s goal for the next half, and you tried your hardest to ignore the weight of the stares by pretending to tend to your equipment. 

Then you felt your phone vibrate in your pocket. You fished it out and found a message from Robert.

‘That was… pretty public. Are you feeling alright?’

You looked up, tried to pick out Elisa and Robert from the crowd but when you couldn’t, you typed out your reply.

‘I’m fine, thank you. How are the both of you?’

‘Well, Elisa’s just about as ecstatic as any child who found out that their mom knows their favourite football player. She’s been asking questions non-stop, I don’t even know how to answer them all. Please help.’

Despite your situation, you chuckled at the image of Elisa pestering her uncle. 

‘Tell her she can save her questions for me later. Don’t say anything else.’

‘Okay, thank you. And hang in there.’

The loud cheers from the crowd drew your attention away from your phone and upon looking up, found that the players had begun entering the pitch. Automatically, your viewfinder was to your eye, framing the players as they went and taking a shot. 

Alexia was last to step foot on the field and you didn’t miss the way she looked over the last spot she saw you and when she couldn’t find you there, her head swivelled around as she jogged to her position in the opposite half. She found you eventually and even with fifty meters between you, the intensity of her stare reached you. It made you shiver–hopeful in spite of yourself–but when the whistle cut through the air once more, you readied your camera, breath held for what was yet to come.

The game went on and you were so focused on trying to do your job that you couldn’t keep up with the details but the fact was this: no matter how hard Spain pressed forward, Sweden’s defensive effort increased twofold, and whenever Spain played deep to keep Sweden in check, Sweden prodded forward, constantly chipping away at Spain’s defensive line with each effort. 

After Sweden’s attempt at Spain’s goal came an opportunity. One minute Cata had the ball in hand, the next the ball was by Alexia’s feet who took one touch before she passed it between two defenders to Salma who was waiting past the halfway line, who then dribbled the ball into Sweden’s penalty area, then she cut it back and crossed it to Aitana who angled her run just enough to tap the ball in.

One-one.

The crowd roared to life and Spain’s fire was reinvigorated. They had eleven minutes left of normal play to score another goal and win. Both teams clashed, gave their all throughout the remaining time, then through to additional and extra time.

Now the moment of truth: a penalty shootout at Sweden’s goal.

Your palms began to sweat, nervous for Alexia. When was she taking her penalty?

Spain went first. They got it in. Sweden as well. One-one.

Then it was two–two.

Spain got their third. Sweden took their shot but Cata deflected it.

Mušović stepped up this time and blocked Spain’s fourth. Cata, again, anticipated right and denied Sweden their own.

You drew in a staggered breath as Alexia began to walk. Once she got to the ball, she flicked it up with her foot and caught it easily with her hands. Click. Through the lens, you watched as Alexia turned the ball over then placed it right by the penalty spot. Click. Then she began fixing her socks, adjusting her shoes, brushed her left ankle with her thumb–click– and she leant back up, resting her hands by her waist as she waited for the whistle. You zoomed in on her face: she was stoic, calm as she eyed the goal, beads of sweat lined her forehead and the bridge of her nose–click.

The whistle blew.

Alexia took five steps back, one step to her right. She took two short strides forward and on the third, her left foot connected with the ball. The net moved with an audible swish from the power behind her kick, depositing the ball in the bottom right corner of the goal and the crowd roared–or was it you who was screaming?–as the rest of Spain’s team ran to their captain to hug her.

Spain won.

Photo after photo, you captured Spain as they celebrated, their cheers and victorious cries. And when each member of Spain’s team walked the stage to receive their golden medals, the feeling that surged through you was something else entirely. 

The celebration went on but as the crowd thinned and the live broadcast ended, anxiety filled you once again. You tried to keep track of where Alexia was but she’d been surrounded by so many people that you lost her in the celebration. Not knowing what to do with yourself, you packed up your things but kept your camera out as you hung about at the edge of the pitch near the stands.

And then you heard it.

“Mom!”

You turned to the sound and found Elisa who was leaning against the safety rail of the stands just off to the side of the tunnel entrance, an enthusiastic arm waving in the air as she grinned at you. Beside her was Robert who, too, was leaning on the railing with his elbows who gave you a small wave as you jogged over to them, pushing your face mask down on the way.

“Elisa, ladybug, careful you might fall!” You reprimanded but a smile made its way on your lips all the same and either way, your words fell on deaf ears as Elisa excitedly bounded up and down.

“Mom! Did you see that?! That was so intense! And did you see how Alexia just went,” Elisa imitated Alexia’s strike and an affectionate laugh bubbled out your throat at her display, “and it was the best!”

Then Elisa stilled, eyes widening as she looked past you. “Oh my god, Mom, it’s–”

“‘Mom?’”

It was Alexia but her voice was almost unrecognisable because of how flat it sounded. You whipped your head back and surely, the expression Alexia wore accentuated the barely hidden animosity but it wasn’t directed at you nor Elisa. Rather, you found her glaring up at Robert and at his hand resting on the railing where the gold band on his finger was visible–glinting.

You looked at Alexia, whose demeanour was souring by the second, then at Robert who looked paler than you’d ever seen him before, then to Alexia again.

Oh, no.