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izzyreadingblog · 3 days

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I didn't knew love (till I found you) (1)

Alexia Putellas x Reader

tags: Angst / Internalized Homophobia/ Strangers to Friends to Lovers

“What do you mean, you want me to buy the Soulmater? Do you know how much it costs?" Robert’s voice was tinged with disbelief.

Yes, of course you knew. The device cost was astronomical, but that paled in comparison to the turmoil churning inside yourself. You needed to be completely sure of your decision to marry your long time boyfriend Mark. It wasn’t just cold feet; it was a gnawing uncertainty that clawed at your heart and hasn't stopped worrying you for some time now.

“You can take the money from my share of the inheritance. I don't care about that Robert, but please help me with this, I’ve never asked you for anything before,” you implored, your eyes brimming with a mix of desperation and hope. You approached your brother and grasped his hands, forcing him to look into your eyes. “I need to know. I need to be sure about this, please Rob help me.”

Robert’s gaze softened at your words, but his words remained firm. “If you really need to know then that means Mark isn’t your soulmate. If he were, you wouldn’t be so consumed with doubt and worries.”

“I don’t know, it’s just that something has been feeling off for a time now…” you shook your head, a gesture of frustration and confusion, unable to articulate the storm of emotions inside you.

“Why don’t you go buy it yourself then? You’re old enough to make your own decisions; you don’t need to drag me into this, I don’t want to get involved.” He pulled away from your grasp and stood up, ready to leave the room and the weight of your request behind.

“I don’t want Mark to find out and you are the only person I trust to do this. Robert, please, do this for me. I promise never to ask you for anything else.” you mustered your most convincing expression, the one you knew your brother couldn’t resist. And just like that, you saw the familiar resignation in his eyes. Despite his protests, he would be always there for you no matter what.

“Okay I would do it, but this is the last crazy thing I do for you.” The both of you knew it was a lie, but it didn’t matter. You lunged forward, enveloping him in a hug, your smile radiating pure joy. “I’ll stop by after work and bring it to you tonight.”

“Thank you, thank you! I love you so much; you are the best brother in the world,” you exclaimed, your gratitude genuine and boundless.

Once Robert had left, a wave of anxiety washed over you. What if Mark wasn’t your soulmate? What if your true match was already married to someone else? Or what if he was single? Would you have the courage to introduce yourself as his soulmate, hoping for a fairy-tale ending?. Taking a deep breath, you tried to lower down the rising panic. There were too many questions and too many uncertainties, so you decided to scour the internet for stories of others who had used the Soulmater, seeking guidance for the myriad of potential outcomes that would come once you know the name of your soulmate.

The Soulmater, according to its creators, was an infallible computer algorithm that boasted a 100% success rate every time. The device itself was really simple: a screen where one entered their name and date of birth, and within moments, the name and birthdate of their soulmate appeared. It has a hefty price tag of $100,000 so it’s meant only for a few who had the means to try it, but those who did were unanimous in their praise. Upon meeting their soulmate, they were instantly certain the device had not failed. You found nothing but happy endings in the reviews, save for one heart-wrenching account of a man whose soulmate had passed away before they could meet. A chill ran down your spine, and instantly you regretted delving into these stories. Now, your doubts hadn’t been calmed, they had multiplied.

Your phone buzzed with a message from Mark: ‘Where are you? We’ve been waiting for you for half an hour!!!’

You had completely forgotten about the meeting you had planned with your boyfriend and your future mother-in-law to set the wedding date. ‘I had to take care of something important at home. I’ll be there in 10 minutes,’ you replied, your heart not in it.

When you arrived at the coffee shop, the sight of Mark sitting alone stirred a sense of nervousness. A tight knot formed in your stomach, the kind that no amount of rational thought could untangle.

“Hey baby, where's your mother?” you asked, planting a kiss on his cheek, trying to mask your concern with a casual greeting. The kiss was a mere formality, a gesture devoid of the affection it once carried.

“She left a while ago! you know my mom is too important a person for you to be wasting her time,” Mark replied, his tone laced with irritation. His words stung you, a verbal slap that echoed the growing distance that exists between the both of you.

But you didn't let those words stop you and unfazed, you countered, “Well, we can decide on the wedding date ourselves.” you signaled the waiter to bring her the same drink Mark had, seeking some semblance of normalcy. Cause normalcy was a facade, a thin veneer over the chaos of your inner thoughts and worries.

“There is no need for that, we've already decided,” Mark declared, his voice cutting through the hum of the coffee shop.

Confusion clouded your face. “What do you mean is already decided?” you asked, your voice a mix of surprise and apprehension.

“The date will be June 25, there’s nothing else to decide about that” he stated matter-of-factly, as if he were discussing the weather, not your future.

“But that's in less than a month!” Panic rose in your voice, a crescendo of fear and disbelief. It was too soon; you wouldn't have time to prepare everything. The words 'too soon' echoed in your mind, a cruel reminder of the rushed decisions that had led you here with little chance to change anything.

“Please, the only thing we need to do is show up on the wedding day. Leave the rest to my mother, she knows what she does and she is excellent at making events” he dismissed your concerns with a wave of his hand. His indifference was a chasm that widened with every word he spoke.

You clenched your fists under the table, struggling to contain your frustration. “It's my wedding too, and I want a say in how it's going to be. I think I have the right to decide what I want for my wedding too.” Your voice was firm.

“Don't get upset. I'll ask my mom to involve you as much as possible. You can choose the venue, the catering, everything you want, my love. But the wedding will be on June 25. That's final.” His words were a gavel, pounding the final nail into the coffin of your hopes.

The coffee shop was a quaint little place, nestled in the heart of the city, its walls adorned with vintage posters and shelves lined with an assortment of colorful mugs. The aroma of freshly ground coffee beans mingled with the scent of baked goods, creating a cozy atmosphere that usually brought comfort to her. Today, however, the familiar setting did nothing to ease the turmoil within. As you sat across from Mark, your mind replayed the events leading up to this moment. You remembered the countless times you had walked through these doors, hand in hand with Mark, laughing and planning your future together. But now, as you gazed out of the window, watching the world go by, you felt a disconnection from those memories. They seemed like scenes from someone else’s life, not yours. Mark was talking, but his words were a distant hum in your ears, you watched his lips move, observed the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled, and yet, you felt an inexplicable void.

You thought about the Soulmater, that small, unassuming device that promised to unveil the mysteries of the heart. It was absurd, really, to place so much faith in a piece of technology. And yet, the possibility of discovering a connection so profound, so intrinsic, that it could be deemed a ‘soulmate,’ was too tantalizing to ignore. Your thoughts were interrupted by the waiter, who arrived with your drink, a caramel macchiato, the foam artfully swirled on top. You thanked him with a smile, one that didn’t quite reach your eyes. As you took a sip, the sweetness of the caramel was a stark contrast to the bitterness that lingered on your tongue from the conversation. Mark’s impatience was palpable. He checked his watch, tapped his foot, and sighed heavily, all signs that he was ready to move on from the coffee shop and from the topic at hand. You knew you should be present, should engage in the discussion about your impending nuptials, but your heart was elsewhere, lost in a sea of what-ifs and maybes.

The coffee shop began to fill up, the lunchtime crowd bringing with it a buzz of activity. Couples sat at nearby tables, some in deep conversation, others comfortable in their silence. You envied them, envied their certainty and the ease with which they seemed to fit into each other’s lives. As the afternoon wore on, the sunlight shifted, casting long shadows across the floor. The change in light marked the passage of time, a reminder that life was moving forward, with or without your consent. You glanced at Mark again, trying to picture your future together, but the image was hazy, obscured by doubt.

When the time came to leave, you followed Mark out of the coffee shop, the bell above the door jingling in their wake. The city streets were bustling, people rushing about their day, oblivious to the internal struggle that weighed heavily on your shoulders. Going back home was a blur, your mind preoccupied with the Soulmater and how a name can change her life upside down. As you approached your apartment, the sight of Robert’s car was a beacon of hope. You quickened your pace, eager to close the distance between you and the answers that lay within the small, silver package he had procured for you.

“Did you get it?” you asked Robert, your voice trembling with anticipation.

“Yes, take it easy,” he reassured you, holding up the bag. “Let's go to your room.” His calmness was an anchor in the storm of your emotions.

Inside, Robert handed you the silver package. The Soulmater was smaller than you expected, fitting snugly in your palm. It was unassuming, yet it held the power to alter the course of your life. You hesitated before pressing the power button, your finger hovering over the decision that would unveil your heart's true desire.

The familiarity of your own space was a stark contrast to the chaos of your emotions. The walls held memories of laughter and tears, of dreams and plans made. It was here, in the sanctity of your room, that you would take the leap into the unknown.

“What's wrong? Do you want me to leave you alone?” Robert asked, sensing your hesitation.

“No, it's just... I'm scared,” you admitted, meeting his understanding gaze. The fear was a tangible thing, a shadow that loomed over you.

“Whatever the result, it'll be okay. Remember, you can return it unused,” he reminded her. His words were a lifeline, a reminder that no matter the outcome, you had the power to choose your path. Robert’s presence was a steadying force, together, you both sat on the edge of your bed. With each passing second, the anticipation built, a crescendo of hope and fear that threatened to overwhelm you.

And then, after putting her data on the device you pressed the button, and the world as you knew it shifted.

At that moment, you didn't need a Soulmater to tell you that Mark was not the one for you. The realization hit you like a wave, cold and unyielding. You had become complacent, accepting whatever life threw at you without protest. Your father's passing had been a wake-up call, prompting you to reassess your life and the choices you were making. It was this introspection that led you to go and try the Soulmater, and now, you are certainly using it was the right decision.

The screen scrolled, and after an agonizing wait that seemed like years but only was a couple minutes long, a name and date appeared: Alexia Putellas - 02/04/1994.

“Alexia Putellas? My soulmate is a woman?” you whispered, a mix of shock and curiosity in your voice. The revelation was a puzzle piece that didn't fit the picture you had of your life, yet it was undeniably yours.

#woso fanfics #woso x reader #alexia putellas x reader #woso

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gregmarriage · 1 month

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the thing about being chronically ill, is that i currently have a cold, and i’m in bed, playing smash, but it’s not really that different from any other day

#i have weird cold brain fog etc #but otherwise it’s the same as always imao #perhaps if was one to be able to move around more and go outside like other people do all the time #but alas #what’s that like? i’ve genuinely forgotten #i’ve been bedridden for four years and i basically live in my room and the only other room i see is the bathroom #and i go outside like once a year and that’s mostly only medical reasons #i don’t count being bedridden in hospital as a change of pace in any way #if anything it’s more boring #i also genuinely don’t remember what it was like to not be ill #i’m so used to the way my body is now and this being ny new normal #that i can’t remember when i wasn’t like this #i used to be able to move around without a mobility aid?#doesn’t sound realistic #sometimes i get sad about it all #but like i’m getting sad about something i barely remember which is even more sad #anyways daily gwen ramble i guess #always fitting >#gwen rambles #gwenposting

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lesbian-choso · 2 months

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“AMAB or AFAB?” “TME or TMA?” “Boy non-binary or girl non-binary?” SHUT UP SHUT UP NO ONE OWES YOU ANY PRIVATE INFORMATION. MY GENITALS AND GENDER ARE INCOMPREHENSIBLE. DIE MAD

#we need to go back to basic statements like ‘you don’t need to know what’s in my pants’#why are there people on this site that genuinely think you owe this information to them online #I’ve literally seen people say that you have to have TME/TMA in your bio 💀 please grow up #you don’t need to advertise your whole life online. also just in general have you forgotten that it’s rude to speculate on peoples gender #transgender #trans

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lightspren · 3 days

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okay everyone gather round. just. let me paint a picture of this year so far (please note: we’re not even to the end of month four yet)

Jan - respiratory illness immediately (I think I got sick starting on the 2nd), recover, asthma and arthritis flare

Feb - recover from flare, two weeks pass, new flare

Mar - recover from flare thanks to steroid pack, asthma flare up from hell (to the point I had to up the dose on one of my inhalers), get that somewhat under control, got covid vaccine anyway bc I thought the sore throat was just from asthma cough, but NO it’s ANOTHER respiratory illness with a STEEL CHAIR

Apr - it takes like two solid weeks, another steroid pack, and antibiotics, but. finally recover from respiratory illness slash asthma flare. IMMEDIATELY my knee and hip flare to an absolutely godawful degree for like two weeks. just like. immediately. like the minute i could breathe again

This week - by yesterday-ish my knee and hip were mostly back to baseline. yay!!! isn’t that cool!

and now my throat hurts and my asthma is threatening and I think i’m getting sick again and i want to *fucking scream*

#kit talks #like. i genuinely cannot impart the frustration i am feeling right now #frustration isn’t even the right word. blinding rage may be closer to the right phrase #i just want this to stop. please make this stop.#and this is literally just the physical health drama! i didn’t even touch the dog drama #or the both cars needing repaired or the ants coming in the power outlet or work stress or god knows what else i’ve forgotten #i’m so tired in literally every conceivable definition of the word.#alphabet soup of chronic illnesses

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brookheimer · 1 year

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from the succession podcast it sounds like kieran thinks roman has successfully pushed down the voicemail/possible guilt about logan’s death and is genuinely like .. not thinking about it, which i find really surprising honestly. is that really not going to come back? trying to figure out whether this is a “pre-grieved” situation (read: obviously a failing attempt at repression) which was my original take, of course, but the fact that kieran says, like, “i’ve actually thought about that” makes me think it’s not something that will come up in future episodes — if repressed guilt/fear/self-loathing ab possibly causing logan’s death is part of roman’s ‘arc’ this season, why would kieran say like ‘oh i’ve actually thought about this!’ like, that kinda makes it sound like it never comes up again, so kieran’s come up with his own take. but i mean… we’re supposed to think roman “yeah i pre-grieved” [one episode later] “i’m dead. i’m gone. it’s over for me” roy successfully pushed down the fact that his last ‘interaction’ with his dad was calling him a cunt over voicemail (his first time standing up to him Ever) which logan may or may not have heard before his death — and may or may not have CAUSED that death (we know the phone was found in the toilet, after all)??? successfully pushed it down my ass

#felt like it was such an ingenious direction for roman to go in — feeling like the one time he stood up to dad he killed him —#heartbreaking obviously but so so so full of potential #if roman genuinely is not feeling guilty about logan’s death and that guilt doesn’t come up in the folllowing eps ill be a little #disappointed honestly. like post 4x03 i was so excited to see where they were going with it because it was honestly like the Worst Possible #Situation for roman — logan’s death wouldve been devastating in any circumstances but the way it played out felt so tailored to be the worst #possible way it could’ve fine for rome…. idk man. i was so impressed w how it was like each kid’s nightmare. like the circumstances for each #character were the most painful they could’ve possibly been for that specific character. and rome in particular #like that was some of the most ingenious character writing i’ve seen in a while i was just in awe of how multilayered that experiejce was #for rome in particular like it was just so perfectly conceived to fuck him up the maximum amount possible while not making any of it feel #shock value y or whatever in the slightest #so like… if all of that ends up being kind of forgotten other than Logan Died….#i will be sad lol. what was the point of all that then!!!!!#it just feels kinda surprising — not bc it’s not following thru on an arc or a detail or whatever but bc on a human level it feels like smth #that would haunt a person for the rest of their life esp someone like roman esp bc it was his dad #succession has plot holes and forgets threads and stuff but typically it’s good at keeping the internal emotional logic of each character #intact so i’m just kinda surprised by the possibility that the whole ordeal might not have any more influence on rome than any other #hypothetical way logan could’ve died. idk. rambling #succession #roman roy

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unusual-ly · 6 months

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Being aroflux is wild

#i’ve been fully aro for so long that i’m genuinely not sure if what i’m feeling now is a crush i’ve forgotten what it’s like #i know there’s a word for not knowing if you’re feeling romantic or platonic attraction i don’t remember it but i’m that now i guess #is my old crush on Joey Richter back or is it now a squish? who knows i sure don’t #what i do know is ~*Joey*~#shut up Ly

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mebiselfandi · 1 year

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Okay I’m gonna sleep now fr

#I find it so funny how I’m like oh I love it when people say nice things to me #and like over the phone it’s easy #but woah in person is a whole other story #some one who I barely talked to once told me they’d beat up my bullies for me with a bat #and I almost cried right in front of them #like I’ve realized I genuinely don’t know what to do irl when someone is being overly genuine to me #now my bodies taking a screenshot cause you called me beautiful #like I’ll compliment someone so hard and write them poems then they’re like wow you’re cool #now I’ve forgotten how to human and I’m asking about your favourite kind of cheese #this was funnier in my head #i feel like I should mention I’m the one who has an answer to everything so the humors really brought out in these situations

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rahabs · 1 year

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Honestly though some of the things people consider “racism” these days like… Some of you need to go outside and touch some grass. Not every offensive comment is racism, and not every comment that offends you is racism. I’m not saying feelings aren’t valid in their own way but it’s important to remember that just because you feel a certain way or you’re upset or offended doesn’t actually mean you’re right about something or that whatever upset you is therefore inherently offensive/racist/etc.

#It’s actually wild to me?#And tbh cheapens actual racism.#People want to be victims so bad because they think it shields them from criticism but it doesn’t!#And I’m tired of people saying ‘that’s racist’ to things that aren’t racist and everyone because afraid to call that behaviour out.#*everyone being #Feelings are valid but just because you feel a certain way doesn’t mean you’re right and we’ve forgotten.#Actually I’m going to put that in the body of the post.#And like. I am saying this as a native woman who has experienced genuine racism.#Not just ‘wah my feelings are hurt’ but called a Squaw to my face/etc.#I’ve sat down at dinners and have had people (who thought I was Middle Eastern) just spew the most hateful stuff about natives thinking #*I’m another ethnicity.#Some of you are just so perpetually defensive though that you take everything as an attack.#That’s not cute and I’m over people defending it.#For the record I’ve also experienced genuine racism from people thinking I’m Arab/Muslim.#I put a scarf over my hair to protect it from a snowstorm for a recital once #And a man started screaming at me for being a ‘raghead’.#Another time a man in Dublin yelled at my mum and I and called us ‘f*cking Cambodians’ and told us to ‘get out of my country’#(Note that NEITHER of us look REMOTELY Cambodian even though we are obviously not white.)#So I know what racism is.#But not every mean thing someone says to me is racism.#I also don’t thinking asking someone their background is inherently racist.#It’s natural to be curious and I know I present incredibly ambiguous.#I just! I think people just want to be offended.

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cvsseulgi · 2 years

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those wlw short films on youtube from the mid 2010s are a keystone to gay history

#was talking to this girl about what i did in high school #and the memory of sitting on youtube for HOURS looking for them and rewatching them #they were genuinely a very crucial part to my awakening #also i’ve forgotten how nice it is to talk to other gay people like. just having a nice convo with a gay person is healing #jay.txt

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daisyknife · 2 months

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I just had a thought and it disturbed me

#what if i only want to understand who i am so i can try to monetise it better #what if i’m so scared of showing any genuine side of myself i’ve forgotten what i’m actually like #the knife the last one on side b

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fridaynight--saturdaymorning · 5 months

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Fuck EVERYONE who ever taught me to hate myself. I was never like this before and I never deserved to feel this way about myself. The hardest part of this is the fact that I know it’s just been instilled in me! I could have been different. Fuck, I was different! I was happy to just exist as myself. I didn’t care what other people thought. Now I’m just like you. Fuck you for taking that away from me

#Yeah sorry folks I do hate myself for being queer sometimes I wouldn’t have it any other way but i also wish I didn’t have to sacrifice #Fucking everything I’ve ever loved #Either sacrifice myself (the only person it seems has ever really loved me)#Or sacrifice everyone I live for. What a fucking choice. A choice I knew I had to make from the age of 11 because of the way ive been treat #I’ve had a good life and I will continue to. I’m fucking privileged and I notice that. But I wish I didn’t have to live like this sometimes #I’ve never been a girl. I’ve always liked them. Why are those things that make me weak. Why do they make me wrong. What is all of this even #Fucking for. How much do I have to suffer before anyone even cares whether I live or just pretend to.#I used to fantasise about trying to kill my self. Not actually dying but waking up in the hospital. My mum saying that it’s okay. That she #can accept me being a boy and that she’s just glad I’m alive. Why the fuck should anyone ever feel like that. It’s so fucked.#Instead I’m just told that my mental health is a burden. That everyone walks on eggshells around me. That everyone hopes Ive grown out of i #That everyone loves my deadname. That everyone would be disappointed if I wore a suit. That people would talk. I can’t FUCKING TAKE IT.#I’ll be okay though. Don’t worry about me. I’ll repress it a bit more. It’ll go a bit further down. I’ll practise my little self care ritua #And eat good and try and tell myself that maybe it’s not all bad.#And I’ll tell myself that I’m being dramatic when I cry myself to sleep #Genuinely tho don’t worry about me this will probably all be forgotten by the morning it’s just sad boy hours

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hyperlexichypatia · 3 months

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As I keep shouting into the void, pathologizers love shifting discussion about material conditions into discussion about emotional states.

I rant approximately once a week about how the brain maturity myth transmuted “Young adults are too poor to move out of their parents’ homes or have children of their own” into “Young adults are too emotionally and neurologically immature to move out of their parents’ homes or have children of their own.”

I’ve also talked about the misuse of “enabling” and “trauma” and “dopamine” .

And this is a pattern – people coin terms and concepts to describe material problems, and pathologization culture shifts them to be about problems in the brain or psyche of the person experiencing them. Now we’re talking about neurochemicals, frontal lobes, and self-esteem instead of talking about wages, wealth distribution, and civil rights. Now we can say that poor, oppressed, and exploited people are suffering from a neurological/emotional defect that makes them not know what’s best for themselves, so they don’t need or deserve rights or money.

Here are some terms that have been so horribly misused by mental health culture that we’ve almost entirely forgotten that they were originally materialist critiques.

Codependency What it originally referred to: A non-addicted person being overly “helpful” to an addicted partner or relative, often out of financial desperation. For example: Making sure your alcoholic husband gets to work in the morning (even though he’s an adult who should be responsible for himself) because if he loses his job, you’ll lose your home. https://www.nytimes.com/2022/07/08/opinion/codependency-addiction-recovery.html What it’s been distorted into: Being “clingy,” being “too emotionally needy,” wanting things like affection and quality time from a partner. A way of pathologizing people, especially young women, for wanting things like love and commitment in a romantic relationship.

Compulsory Heterosexuality What it originally referred to: In the 1980 in essay "Compulsory Heterosexuality and Lesbian Existence," https://www.journals.uchicago.edu/doi/abs/10.1086/493756 Adrienne Rich described compulsory heterosexuality as a set of social conditions that coerce women into heterosexual relationships and prioritize those relationships over relationships between women (both romantic and platonic). She also defines “lesbian” much more broadly than current discourse does, encompassing a wide variety of romantic and platonic relationships between women. While she does suggest that women who identify as heterosexual might be doing so out of unquestioned social norms, this is not the primary point she’s making. What it’s been distorted into: The patronizing, biphobic idea that lesbians somehow falsely believe themselves to be attracted to men. Part of the overall “Women don’t really know what they want or what’s good for them” theme of contemporary discourse.

Emotional Labor What it originally referred to: The implicit or explicit requirement that workers (especially women workers, especially workers in female-dominated “pink collar” jobs, especially tipped workers) perform emotional intimacy with customers, coworkers, and bosses above and beyond the actual job being done. Having to smile, be “friendly,” flirt, give the impression of genuine caring, politely accept harassment, etc. https://weld.la.psu.edu/what-is-emotional-labor/ What it’s been distorted into: Everything under the sun. Everything from housework (which we already had a term for), to tolerating the existence of disabled people, to just caring about friends the way friends do. The original intent of the concept was “It’s unreasonable to expect your waitress to care about your problems, because she’s not really your friend,” not “It’s unreasonable to expect your actual friends to care about your problems unless you pay them, because that’s emotional labor,” and certainly not “Disabled people shouldn’t be allowed to be visibly disabled in public, because witnessing a disabled person is emotional labor.” Anything that causes a person emotional distress, even if that emotional distress is rooted in the distress-haver’s bigotry (Many nominally progressive people who would rightfully reject the bigoted logic of “Seeing gay or interracial couples upsets me, which is emotional labor, so they shouldn’t be allowed to exist in public” fully accept the bigoted logic of “Seeing disabled or poor people upsets me, which is emotional labor, so they shouldn’t be allowed to exist in public”).

Battered Wife Syndrome What it originally referred to: The all-encompassing trauma and fear of escalating violence experienced by people suffering ongoing domestic abuse, sometimes resulting in the abuse victim using necessary violence in self-defense. Because domestic abuse often escalates, often to murder, this fear is entirely rational and justified. This is the reasonable, justified belief that someone who beats you, stalks you, and threatens to kill you may actually kill you.

What it’s been distorted into: Like so many of these other items, the idea that women (in this case, women who are victims of domestic violence) don’t know what’s best for themselves. I debated including this one, because “syndrome” was a wrongful framing from the beginning – a justified and rational fear of escalating violence in a situation in which escalating violence is occurring is not a “syndrome.” But the original meaning at least partially acknowledged the material conditions of escalating violence.

I’m not saying the original meanings of these terms are ones I necessarily agree with – as a cognitive liberty absolutist, I’m unsurprisingly not that enamored of either second-wave feminism or 1970s addiction discourse. And as much as I dislike what “emotional labor” has become, I accept that “Women are unfairly expected to care about other people’s feelings more than men are” is a true statement.

What I am saying is that all of these terms originally, at least partly, took material conditions into account in their usage. Subsequent usage has entirely stripped the materialist critique and fully replaced it with emotional pathologization, specifically of women. Acknowledgement that women have their choices constrained by poverty, violence, and oppression has been replaced with the idea that women don’t know what’s best for themselves and need to be coercively “helped” for their own good. Acknowledgement that working-class women experience a gender-and-class-specific form of economic exploitation has been rebranded as yet another variation of “Disabled people are burdensome for wanting to exist.”

Over and over, materialist critiques are reframed as emotional or cognitive defects of marginalized people. The next time you hear a superficially sympathetic (but actually pathologizing) argument for “Marginalized people make bad choices because…” consider stopping and asking: “Wait, who are we to assume that this person’s choices are ‘bad’? And if they are, is there something about their material conditions that constrains their options or makes the ‘bad’ choice the best available option?”

#mad pride #neurodiversity #ableism #ageism #youth rights #liberation #disability rights #classism #capitalism #mental health culture #pop psychology #feminism #emotional labor

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htylmg · 11 months

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god i rlly did give up on my tma relisten like 1/3 through huh. guess im gonna have to resume that tmrw

#not today im exhausted #i’ve just been passing in and out of consciousness for the past few days + taking the odd shift #so i decided to work out #big mistake. huge. wish i could go shopping rn #i think im at the brink of yet another depressive episode #or maybe i’ve been watching too much ‘the crown’ and becoming increasingly depressed by the monarchy #but genuinely my mental health is deteriorating #say what you will about school at least academic mental breakdowns are fulfilling in a way #im just laying here collecting dust and feeling empty #what kind of fulfillment is that i ask you?? none. exactly #i haven’t talked to march boy in like four days too #so he’s obviously forgotten all about me #actually no he’s been posting inside jokes or intentionally provocative statements as his ig notes #because he knows im gonna respond to it #but i don’t have the energy rn so it just goes to waste. sorry march boy #i thiiiink that’s all #i’ll update y’all dw #to the two people reading this ofc #🐋.txt

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yandere-writer-momo · 4 months

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Yandere Headcanon: Worship

Yandere Forgotten God (tentacle monster) x GN Reader

TW: Tentacles, teratophillia, gore, dubcon, and yandere themes

He was an ancient chaos god, one that was once revered amongst humans a millennium ago. But over time he had been forgotten when his fishing village had become a city. Now he was nothing more than a tall tale. A god with no name. He no longer had a humanoid form but was now a blob of black tentacles. It was shameful how far he had fallen from grace from his own pride. He should have made sure he was never forgotten.

The god shouldn’t have been so cocky to believe that monk couldn’t seal him away but alas, this was the punishment he deserved for his insatiable greed.

So when you arrive to his shrine and accidentally break the millennium old ward, he’s shocked. Have his own prayers finally been answered? Has someone come to free him from this lonely existence?

“I’ve heard there was once a god of chaos here so I have come to pray to you… please hear my plea.” You then bowed down in respect to the shrine and cried a bit. “I do not wish to be married off to some senile, corrupt man. Please god, if you hear me, save me.” You cried before him. You wanted to be saved before married you off to some old nobleman. You shared your woes of how this man made your city nearly inhabitable with his high taxes and of his salacious behavior. How could he not be swayed? He felt obligated to help you.

And so the god did what he did best, he wreaked havoc. He used his supernatural abilities to cause a landslide onto that nobleman’s home, killing him instantly. Now you no longer had to worry about being a stupid old man’s property. You could continue on with your life worshipping him! Your god!

You visited his shrine daily and left him small offerings. Ones that he would have rejected in the past but was positively thrilled to have now. The god began to love you. How could he not be drawn to your genuine gratitude? He couldn’t remember the last time someone had been this thrilled with him… it must’ve been over a thousand years ago now? He didn’t know…

What he loved most about you was your smile. It warmed his heart and he adored it. You were his world and he wanted to be more humanoid for you…

When your visits became less frequent, he used that time away from you to try to shape his body once more. He wanted to be with you. To hold you. To touch you, but he couldn’t do that as a shapeless blob of tentacles… but he could if he was more humanoid.

And so here he was with a mostly humanoid body with functioning male reproductive organs… save for the tentacles that remained attached to his back. His face was picturesque but his extra limbs weren’t… it didn’t matter. He would do so much for you, more than any human man. You didn’t entirely have a choice.

The god diligently worked on his shrine to make it more inhabitable for you as well. He needed it to be perfect so the two of you could be here for all eternity together. Him and his savior! His beloved devotee!

When you returned to his shrine after a week of not seeing him with bruises on your face, he was livid. Who had harmed you? Why would they hurt you? Hurt his destined spouse? How dare they… how dare they.

You shared your woes and prayed for salvation once more, this time from your family. They believed you to now be bad luck due to the nobleman’s sudden death and began to verbally and physically abuse you. You looked so miserable… just like him. His poor, precious worshipper didn’t deserve such treatment. No. They deserved to be worshipped.

The god now had enough power to leave his shrine due to your generous offerings. Your worship gave him the power to become a great chaos god once more.

And the god once more inflicted his wrath upon your enemies. This time he tore them apart limb from limb, starting from their mouths to their hands and eventually to their feet. He wished to start out by ripping out the tongues that spat venomous words at you. To break every bone in their hands and feet for the pain they inflicted on you. For every sin committed against you, he would inflict it back tenfold.

This is the first time you were able to see his true form as well… you were so silent the entire time of his massacre of your family. Was he so gorgeous that you were speechless? How cute his darling was!

You began to sob when he held your face between his blood coated palms. The smell of iron was too much for you that you began to retch but he was oblivious that he was the reason of your disgust and fear. Those damn humans must be too much for you to be around… perhaps he should whisk his spouse away?

So he did just that. His arms and tentacles tightly wrapped around you as he whisked you off to your new home together. The revamped shrine. He hoped you’d love it since he worked so hard on making it habitable for the two of you!

You struggle in his grip but he doesn’t relent. You must be shy… how cute!

You try to push the tentacles from you, but they merely wrap around your form to gently massage you. He needed to calm you before you hurt yourself… it was okay!

“Be not afraid, my dear.” His voice made you jump in surprise but he chuckled. “I’m not going to hurt you… you’re my beloved after all. My savior.”

“You’re the god of this shrine…” you whispered softly, which made the god eagerly nod. “You’re Xeros.”

Yes! That was his name! The one he had forgotten over the years. You were so sweet to remember his name…

You don’t even have time to protest before his tentacles wrap around your body in an enticing manner. The extra appendages slip into the waist band of your pants and tease your tight hole. You whine at the sudden touch but more tentacles wrap around your arms and legs to keep you in place

“Your offerings were wonderful but I need a better offering since I eliminated your problem…” Xeros smiled down at you with his hauntingly beautiful face. “I demand you as my offering. You will be my eternal spouse.”

“But I’m just a human- ack!” You gagged on the tentacle that was suddenly shoved into your mouth. Your eyes welled up with tears as the god beamed at you.

“It doesn’t matter to me what species you are. I’m a god. I will always get what I want.” Your back arched when one of his slimy tentacles finally breeched the tight ring of muscles and wriggled inside of you. You moaned loudly at the overwhelming sensation of pleasure that overcame you.

“See? Why would you resist such pleasure?” Xeros leaned to whisper, his hot breath tickled the shell of your ear, “I’m far better than any mortal lover. Don’t you think so?”

Your mind is too cloudy to form a coherent reply, your eyes rolled back in you head as his black tendrils ravish you. The tentacle in your mouth soon replaced with his tongue.

This was the way you should always be. You deserved every orifice of your body to be stuffed to the brim with him. To cry and whine in pleasure that ascends human comprehension. To be his spouse and to lay his eggs.

You deserved to be worshipped as his deity

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cloudravine · 1 year

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#it’s been so long since i was genuinely happy for a long period of time #i think i’ve almost forgotten what it feels like #trying to make it day by day without having a breakdown shouldn’t be all i’m expecting out of my life….. and yet #yea buddies i’m just very very tired #about #ramblings

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cheonstapes · 17 days

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miguel o’hara stars in… ‘SUGAR BABY CHRONICLES’ ヽ(´o｀；

･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡. miguel o’hara x fem!reader .｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･

SMUT

REQUEST from my lovely @miguelzslvtz; So I was thinking of an older!Sugar daddy Miguel x reader. The reader is working at small country club and Miguel noticed her. She’s serving him drinks, and taking care of him. He tells her she’s too good to be working there and introduced the idea of being her sugar daddy (basically some arm candy). He invites her over to his mansion for a party and she’s dressed up for him🫶🏻 all night she’s being looked at by other men and woman, he’s being very protective of her. He loves on her all night and makes sure she’s taken care of💗💗spoiled✨

cw; older!miguel, slight age gap (reader is in early 20s, miguel is in early 30s), cumming inside, slight breeding(not really, i just have a problem), sugardaddy!miguel, readers a little bit of a tsundere kinda, miguel’s really in love, cunnilings, shower sex, hair pulling, NAWT PROOFREAD!!

4k+ words (longest fic omg!!)

@cheonstapes; hi again…🤗 these hiatuses are killing me. i’ve been absolutely swamped and i lost so much motivation to write but im glad to say i think i’ve found my footing. i found myself again and i’ll work on balancing everything from now on! i apologise for the mammoth amount of time it took me to do this (this is what i get for working chronologically) and i have not forgotten about your requests if you sent one! pyramids and project ex will still be coming but i want to make sure requests are out of the way as they’ve been there for months and it’s not fair for the lovely people who’ve waited so long. thanks again! i love you all🩷

you loved your job, you really did.

not many people can say that genuinely, but when you’re getting the tips you’re getting, seeing the men you’re seeing, you definitely don’t wanna leave anytime soon. working at such an elite club meant you were among the rich of the rich — the big shots of the city that wouldn’t be caught anywhere else.

at the very least, the uniform was modest enough — obviously though, there would always be a few buttons left undone on your shirt, your skirt pulled up just that little bit higher. that window of flesh, no matter how small, was a guaranteed extra thousand in your pocket by the end of the night — and that wasn’t even counting him.

mr. o’hara. that’s all you knew him by. the man was overtly secretive, often arriving alone or occasionally with a very small group of associates. he was by far your biggest tipper. at times, you wondered if he owned the club due to the pure influence he has on your boss — somehow, much to your excitement, convincing him to bump your pay-check up by a lofty sum. the amount of money you make could send you into an early retirement, but of course you wouldn’t do that. it meant you wouldn’t get to learn more about him, and you needed to learn more about him.

summer was always the busiest, the great weather meaning there was more members than usual coming out to play. although, running around and serving for 9 hours a day was extremely tiring — gruelling even. there was sweat dripping down your face, your black dress feeling like a leather coat with the way it clung to you like second skin.

one last drink. you had one last drink to serve and then you could go on your break. double checking the table number, your eyes widened slightly as you saw him. mr. o’hara was not a small man by any means — the bulging muscles tucked away under his tight dress shirt, shoulders almost akin in length with the table. to put it simply, he was the epitome of sexy. you were barely at his table and you could smell him already, the masculine musk of his oud creating a musky, rose scented bubble that ensnared all your senses.

“‘s that for me, sweetheart?”

yes, yes it was. but he really wanted to hear you say it. your voice was such a sweet caress to his ear — he could guarantee an angel got its wings every time you spoke. miguel usually prides himself on being in control of his emotions, his body — but having a pretty, little thing like you just within his grasp was the ultimate challenge of restraint.

the man felt absolutely helpless, his heart pounding in his chest like a hormonal teenage boy when you placed the drink in front of him. “you know it, mr. o’hara — you order the same thing everyday.” fuck. the sip he was having was definitely becoming more than a sip the longer he held the cup to his mouth — chub twitching against the fabric of his slacks.

you were just the sweetest little thing — much more enthusiastic than the other girls that worked there. he might be just imagining it too, but he can feel deep in his heart that you dress up just for him. miguel knows you want him, and he’s more than happy to give himself to you.

“you know me better than i know myself, dulzura. almost like you’re keeping tabs on me, hm?”

“i mean, yeah, i kinda am. it’s my job, mr. o’hara. you’re one of our most frequent regulars, it’d be crazy if i couldn’t tell you your order ‘fore you give it to me.”

oh…yeah.

in miguel’s defence, it’s been a while….a long while since he last flirted — and having an 8-year-old daughter who’s judging your every move means there’s not a lot of time to work on your game. but he’d be damned if he lost an angel like you, he will be yours. plus, gabi does need a woman like you in her life too.

“do you enjoy it, though? your job, I mean — not keeping tabs on me.”

“you probably won’t believe this, but i actually do. the pay’s good, at least, and i can afford to pay my bills, uni, and still have fun. i’m kinda lucky, i guess.”

“you wouldn’t have to worry about that with me, nena.”

miguel knew he was probably breaking some sorta rule, flirting with staff or whatever — but god you were worth it. if being able to take you home meant that he would never set foot in the club again, then so be it.

“sorry, what was that, sir?”

“…quit your job — not in a ‘you’re bad at your job way’ — i’ll take care of you. i can give you everything, anything you want.”

you couldn’t say you were surprised, especially with the nature of your job — old men say stuff like this to you all the time. but, miguel wasn’t any old man. as much as you loved your job, had a stable income and good connections — the thought of quitting and running away with a man like him? fuck, it was so tempting.

“alright then. i hope you live up to those words, mr. o’hara.”

———————————————————————————

mr o’hara (sugardaddy?)

i’m throwing an event at work tonight, i want you to be there.

sent 16:42

(y.n)

hi, mr o’hara. i’d love to but i finish work at 7,i don’t know if i’ll be able to make it. and i don’t really have anything to wear :(

sent 16:50

mr. o’hara (sugardaddy?)

don’t worry about it, gorgeous. i’ve already got you off work for the rest of the week, and i’ve got you something nice to wear.

sent 16:50

(y.n)

oh, really? well, i guess i’ll see you there then! ;)

sent 16:56

mr. sugardaddy

mmhm, i can’t wait to see you, babe. and call me miguel.

sent 16:56

———————————————————————————

miguel had promptly sent his driver to pick you up in a sleek black sports car, much to the dismay of your co-workers. a beautifully wrapped box was placed on the seat beside you, a bouquet of orchids and a small note that read ‘for you, las flores más bonitas para la chica más guapa - m’

it was hard to not feel a tinge if heat was rising in your face, for someone whom you’re only just getting to know to be so utterly romantic — it was a new experience! relationships had never been something you were particularly interested in, but there was no denying the allure that someone like miguel held and only time could tell how it would all play out.

arriving at his mansion, which was nothing short of jaw dropping — the halls were mostly desolate aside from the quite bustle of the staff that were preparing for tonight’s ball. an elderly woman escorts you upstairs to the master bedroom, your eyes roaming the area as you take in the grandeur of the building — aged walls paired with a modern nueva york touch.

“where’s mr. o— miguel?” the woman turns to you, an indecipherable smile on her lips.

“mr. o’hara is just getting prepared for the ball. don’t fret over him, he’ll join you shortly.” well, it was a bit rude to invite someone over and not be there to greet them but ok! “ah, i forgot to mention,” she opens the door, stepping aside to let you in. “i left you a little something on the dresser. i believe you both’ll be needing it.” the woman winks, silently closing the door behind her — leaving you alone in the large room.

god, even the room smelt like him. a musky wood and cinnamon smell, with the faintest hint of vanilla from the candle burning by the window sill. it wasn’t everyday you were in the presence of such luxury, especially old money luxury. your eyes flitted over to the dresser the woman was referring to, that sneaky grandma.

a box of xl condoms, birth control, towels, all wrapped in a cute gift basket. “seriously? who does she think i am? i’m not fucking on the first date.” wait— was this a date? it definitely felt like one, but it was hard to be 100% sure. this was too much to deal with now, all that was left to worry about was the ball and getting ready.

on the bed behind you lay a beautifully wrapped box, with a red ribbon to top it off. it fell gracefully onto the bedsheets as you unwrapped it, lifting the lid to reveal the shimmering red dress underneath. a sleeveless satin dress, fabric lined with the finest crystals, a slit raising mid thigh, lined a sheer lace. it was the definition of classy, with a hint of seduction.

putting it on felt like a crime, something so beautifully should be preserved and put into a museum. it took all of your willpower to not tuck the dress away somewhere safe and just go and get one of your own — but alas, it was a gift, the least you could do is wear it. the craziest part was how perfect it fit. practically a glove, clinging onto every curve and crevice of your body — extenuating places you never even noticed before.

smoothing out the wrinkles, making sure it was as perfect as possible — fuck, you looked hot. the colour complimented your skin exquisitely, adding a soft glow to your complexion. in the time it took you to get ready, it seemed like the party was already amping up. you could see the surge of people from the window, flashing lights and an abundance of cars being handed to the concierges. you still had yet to see miguel and what better time to look for him than now?

there was a pair of red heels that matched the dress to a T, slipping them on and bouncing down the steps. the butterflies fluttered wildly in your tummy the nearer you got to the party, joining the line of people being checked in by security. though, from the corner of your eye, you catch sight of him. standing there in all his 6’ glory, curls lightly slicked back, wearing a tight button up shirt and those sexy slacks.

something about seeing miguel like this, so carefree and relaxed, set something off inside of you. even though you were supposed to be his guest, you did everything in your power to avoid his gaze — purely cause you don’t think you’d be able to maintain eye contact him for longer than a few minutes without jumping his bones. but of course, fate was destiny’s whore, and soon enough you were being escorted straight into the ballroom.

“were you avoiding me, cielo?”

a hand splayed across your waist, leading you deeper inside the hall as he whispered in your ear. it was obviously due to the fact that you probably couldn’t hear him all too well because to the loud music, but the way his hands caressed your sides, his lips brushing against the lobe of your ear — it felt all too intentional.

“no…i just didn’t want to cut in line. i figured i’d see you when i see you.”

“is that so?” he slid a champagne flute in your hands, grabbing one of his own as he tilted his head at you — a stray curl unfurling down his forehead. “you’re like an open book, cariño. you think i don’t know what’s going on in that pretty little head by now?”

“so you’ve been studying me, hm?” now it was your turn to raise a brow, tilting your head back as you took a long sip of your champagne. it wouldn’t be a huge surprise if he had been, it was kinda obvious from all the stares he’d give you and when he’d ‘enquire’ about you from your colleagues.

“mmm, studying’s a strong word. i was simply…observing you. can’t blame me for wanting to know someone as enchanting as you better.”

he had quite the mouth on him, didn’t he? you couldn’t stop the small smile that graces your lips, shaking your head in disbelief.

“you’re so stupid, miguel.”

“if falling for you is stupid, then i’m the dumbest of them all.”

it was so bad, so bad that it was actually good. and that comment shaped the rest of your night together. considering your new arrangement, he took the liberty of introducing you to his circle of friends and their wives — conveniently leaving out that he was your new sugar daddy, but that was a story for another day. miguel revelled in the looks they all gave you, seemingly forgetting they themselves had a date nestled on their arms. he really couldn’t have picked a better dress, but damn if it wasn’t killing him.

you really didn’t know how beautiful you were, and he so badly wanted to show you. the dim lighting was a blessing for the tent in his slacks, giving him a flimsy disguise for the arousal he felt at that moment. after more than a few drinks too, wandering hands and lingering words, it was becoming unbearable. however, scaring you off wasn’t on his bucket list tonight. he didn’t take this long fighting for your attention to loose you on the first date. he vowed to do everything at your pace, leaving it up to you to make the first move.

as the party wrapped up, and miguel said his goodbyes — you stood at the door, shivering from the cold air as it nipped against your bare arms. the fun you had was incomparable to any party you’ve ever been to, but you thought you may have overstayed your welcome. shakily tapping on your phone with freezing fingers, ordering an uber to pick you up —

“leaving already?”

“yeah, i had a lot of fun tonight, though.” it was a genuine smile, one that spoke a million words. “thanks for inviting me, miguel.”

for a man so big he sure did move so silently. he stood behind you, gently grasping your hand in his as she looked down on you. “when i invited you, i didn’t invite you as a mere guest — you’re more than welcome to stay as long as you’d like.”

it didn’t even sound like he was simply offering, miguel was begging. you could see it in his eyes, hear it in his voice — urging you to stay the night, stay with him.

“miguel, are you sure? i don’t even have anything to change—“

“i’ve already organised sleepwear for you, but you could wear something of mine if you’d like?”

that sly smirk slid its way onto his face once again, rolling your eyes as you walked past him — pulling out your phone to cancel the uber. “fine, i’ll stay. i might take you up on that offer too.”

lo and behold, an array of skincare and pyjamas were set out on his bed as you entered the master bedroom once again — and to top it off, gift bags filled with designer items that you’d never thought you’d ever own. “miguel…is this all for me?”

“unless i have another sugar baby, who else would it be for? ‘course it’s for you, darling — consider it a…’welcome’ gift.”

“more like my entire tuition fee, hell. you didn’t have to spend all this money on me, y’know?”

“cariño,” you could see miguel walking up to him from the mirror in front, his arm slipping round your waist to pull you into his back. “i spend my money how i want, and i want to spend it on you. so i don’t want to hear no more complaining from you, understand.” the small nod you gave earned a small grin from him, a hand smoothing up the curve of your back until it reached the shimmering zipper under your neck.

“you look like a goddess tonight, baby. so fucking beautiful…” his words were whispered softly into your neck, gentle breaths caressing your skin. as he spoke, the zipper slid lower and lower — until your dress was held together by the tips of his fingers. the cold metal of his rings brushed against your bare skin, the tips of his fingers dancing on the curve of your waist as he lets the fabric pool at your feet.

“m-miguel, i’m sweaty from all the dancing! at least let me wash up first, or something.” if you weren’t sweating much then, you were definitely sweating buckets now. the heat radiating from you mixed with the heat simmering between the two of you made for a heady cocktail of unspoken desire — and you silently cursing yourself for almost breaking the number one rule: ‘don’t fuck on the first date.’

“we can use my shower then, it’s large enough for the both of us.” we? oh, you’re definitely breaking that rule now. “i didn’t say this was gonna be a joint effort, did i? i can wash myself, miguel.” you weren’t even convincing yourself with the breathy way you spoke, the way he was caressing you, the pure adoration in his voice was something you haven’t felt before. plus, this is the guy who’s willingly paying you to simply be around him — it’s a win-win situation.

“i know you can, baby —“ letting out a deep chuckle, miguel intertwined your hands and lead you towards the bathroom — “but it’s more fun with two, no?” the gentle pitter-patter of the waterfall shower reverberated through the silence of the room, the sound of fabric rustling followed shortly after. glancing down at your feet, miguel’s clothing was promptly discarded — your widened eyes trailing up his hefty frame.

“fucking christ…”

the man in front of you was nothing short of absolutely beautiful. despite spending everyday surrounded by older men, you never found yourself truly attracted to them until now — or maybe it was simply just miguel himself. “i thought you wanted to take a shower, muñeca?” oh, yeah, the shower. before you could even finish your thought, miguel was already occupying half of the space in there, leaving a small pocket for you to slide into.

the expeditious beating of your heart was muffled by the steady stream of water, but it was more than clear to miguel what you were feeling in that moment. the moment was strangely intimate, and dare i say innocent, for the predicament you found yourself in. his hands gently roamed your skin, barely making contact with any sensitive areas aside from fleeting brushes. he made a point to use his hands instead of a rag, claiming he could ‘clean you better than a flimsy cloth’.

it was truly getting unbearable, utterly frustrating. your subconscious and ovaries were in an intense battle of wits, when a third party made itself known in the worst way possible. you really had forgotten that miguel was as naked as you were until you felt the base of his cock slide between your ass cheeks, chest flush against his back. the slightest hitch of your already shaky breath earned another rich laugh from within him, thick fingers playing with the skin of your tummy.

“you feeling cleaner or what? i’m more than happy to keep going if you are, baby.”

of course you wanted him to keep going! you were already as wet as is, in every way possible. “i..i think you might’ve missed a spot.” the hand on your tummy paused, his breath hitting your ear as he bent down slightly. “i did? i like to consider myself very thorough, cariño — enlighten me.” you did your best to turn with the small space you had, looking up at him with a more confident expression than the one you wore previously.

“here.”

now it was miguel’s turn to be surprised, the tip of his finger brushing against your swollen clit before tapping against your slit. it had been so long since you had a real good fuck, and right now you were genuinely about to give this man some babies if he kept on smiling like that. “mm, looks like i did. forgive me for being so careless. i’ll make sure she gets extra attention.” his words trailed off as he sunk to his knees, the gentle spray of water splattering against his face.

he tapped your ass, lifting you up with one hand as he pressed you against the cool glass, legs resting on his shoulders. his pretty lashes were dusted with droplets of water as he gazed at you from between your thighs, nipping and sucking on the sensitive skin as he kneaded your skin gently. his thick tongue was enough to completely spread you open, eagerly collecting your creamy essence.

miguel was moaning like a pure slut, you would think he got more pleasure in eating you out than you did. his eyes were rolled back, hips absentmindedly bucking to the rhythm of the shower as he sucked on your clit. the position was not uncomfortable by any means, but the unadulterated pleasure you were feeling made it hard to stay upright — nails raking down the expensive marble tiles as you practically grasped for straws.

“grab my hair, darling. i don’t want you to fall.”

whilst his words were slightly muffled, the undeniable concern in his voice had you moaning embarrassingly loud. miguel was clearly strong enough to hold you up all alone, so you surrendered the grip you had on the wall to rake your trembling fingers through his hair — tugging on the curly strands.

“nngh..fuck..”

he fucking whimpered. miguel o’hara, the richest and most powerful man in this city, was shamelessly whimpering between your thighs. that was certainly the biggest ego boost ever, the fact that it’s your pussy that has this huge man so drunk. pushing out your hips, you practically smothered his face — riding him mid-air as you felt the delicious sensations bubbling up inside of your stomach. breathless chants of his name left your lips, panting softly as your head fell back against the panels.

“c-cumming! ugh— fuck, miguel!

the jerks of your body made miguel grip your ass tightly, licking his lips of your release as he shuffled upwards, grinning down at your disheveled form. “you’re breathtaking when you cum for me, beautiful. can’t believe you’re all mine.” he whispered against your lips, forehead to forehead as he kissed you for the first time. it felt like a million tiny fireworks going off inside of you, the previous tension in your body instantly melting away as you leaned into his touch — tongue’s pressing against each other as drooled slipped down your necks.

he kept his mouth latched onto yours as he gripped his leaking cock, dipping the pearly tip inside of your sensitive hole. his movements were unhurried, sloppily kissing you as he dipped in-and-out, in-and-out. it was a steady pace that you soon found yourself liking more than usual, a stark contrast to the inexperienced fucking’s you were getting before. “inside, please…i wanna feel you, all of you.”

you were too dangerous for this old man’s heart. having a pretty little thing like you beg for him to fuck you like you deserved, to mold that sweet cunt into the shape of his cock — it was all too tempting. he was more than willing to do anything his sweet baby asked him to, and he wasted no time in giving in to you. “shit, cielo, no one’s ever fucked you right, huh? she’s gripping onto me like a vice.”

he was right, in every sense of the word. you didn’t know how many partners he had before you, and really didn’t want to find out — but one thing was for sure, miguel knew exactly how to please you. your head fell against his chest, his hand lifting it up by your chin as he pumped into you. “tell me, dulzura, i’m the only one that’s made you feel like this? only man to fuck this perfect pussy right?”

he took the tiny nods and breathy whimpers as a yes, grinning like a madman as he revealed in the satisfaction of ruining you for anyone else — not like he was gonna let you go in the first place. his pace picked up vigorously, finding the perfect balance between pounding into your sore cunt and softly rutting against your ass. the skin where you both combined was tinged red, the on-going waterfall above unable to fully wash away the evidence of your cream on his pelvis.

“only you, miguel — no one…no one’s better than you. i’m yours, daddy.”

those words, hushed and warm, pushed his already inflated ego to the edge. his hips bucked widly, prodding at the spongy spot inside of you as she pressed his lips against yours once more. all sounds were trapped between your connected lips, muffling the choked squeal that left your lips and the guttural groan that left his as he came deep inside you. he did promise to clean you extra throughly, and what better way to do that than flushing out your canal with his cum!

he lazily rolled his hips against yours, ignoring the sticky liquid bubbling on the side of his spent cock. “did so well for me, my beautiful princess. i’m so proud of you.” the fluttering of your heart made you instinctively turn away, cheeks flaring with heat as you pouted — you really can’t believe you fucked on the first bloody date. your little tough act didn’t fool miguel, in fact it fuelled him even more. he continued to praise your very essence, worshiping the ground you walk on despite your protests — smiling softly as he sees your fierce resolve weaken. “there she is, you ready to let me love on you now?”

“yeah, yeah. but first, we need an actual shower. no fucking this time.”

“no promises.”

this was the last place you saw yourself in life, but maybe being in miguel’s arms were where you were supposed to be.

- thank you for waiting and make sure to watch ateez at coachella!!!!!

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