#it would make me less needy and demanding and everything i hate about myself | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

imagineaworlds · 4 years

Text

I Love You (Part Eighteen) -- Aaron Hotchner

Written By: @desperately-bisexual

Request: None.

Warnings: SMUT!! Cursing. Unprotected sex. Wrap it before you tap it, ladies, gentlemen, and nonbinary sibs. Dom/sub relationship. Sir kink. Brat taming. Bondage (ropes and handcuffs). Sex toys (remote controlled vibrator). Ball gag. Edging. Name calling. Impregnation kink. Stop light safe word system. Hate fucking. Angry sex. Oh, boy. Sin. Just pure sin. The reader does go by they/them pronouns, however, Hotch refers to them as female when saying "good girl".

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Greenaway!Reader

Word Count: 7794

Timeline: Right after part seventeen.

Hotch practically threw me on the bed before I could say or do anything. One minute we were eating breakfast in the dining room, the next thing I knew, he picked me up and carried me up to our bedroom. Okay, well… Technically… It was my fault. But I swear I didn’t think it would end up like this after how we had been practically dancing around being angry at each other all morning. Yeah, I was still mad at Hotch for not letting me go to the office, and, yeah, I was still hurt by what he had said; but under no circumstances was I legitimately mad at him for something beyond that, and none of my feelings were about him or going to risk our relationship. That being said, there was a part of my mind that decided: “Yes, Y/N, it would be a great idea if you pretended to be mad at Hotch while walking around in that dress all morning. Yes. That will go over well for you.” So, I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised that Hotch was less than impressed with me when I kept bending down to grab things in front of him, or that my hand kept wandering on his leg as we sat at the table, eating our breakfasts.

He had grabbed my hand that was exploring a little too far up his leg, then, before I knew it, he pulled my arm and the rest of me over his shoulder, and he was storming upstairs. I gulped, not moving a muscle out of fear of either falling off his shoulder or getting spanked. Neither of us said a word as he slammed the bedroom door behind us, then threw me onto the bed. I gulped again as I scrambled to the middle of the mattress, watching him with my eyes as he walked around the room to get to the closet. I whimpered because I knew that wasn’t a good sign. Having a kid in the house meant that we had to keep multiple things locked up. Our guns, our fake passports, and identifications— don’t ask— and, well, our toys. Most people would keep them hidden in a drawer or something, but with Jessica and Jack coming and going as often as they did, we didn’t want there to ever be a chance of someone stumbling across something we didn’t want them to see.

Now, I guess I could have reasoned that Hotch was just changing out of his work clothes, or maybe he was grabbing an extra blanket or something. Right? Right?… I wanted to laugh nervously, but I was practically petrified as I laid still on the bed, watching the closet door for the first sign of his reemergence. There was the sound of clothes moving around on hangers, which I figured was a sign that he was changing. Good. Maybe I was going to get off free. I had nothing to worry about. It was fine. He probably didn’t even notice my teasing with the dress because he was focused on not burning his bacon. And he probably just moved my hand off of his thigh because he didn’t want me to ruin a pair of work pants. Okay, valid. I was going to be fine—

I whimpered and tried to blend into the mattress as I saw Hotch come out of the closet wearing his grey pajama sweatpants and no shirt, and carrying a black box of our things that we had hidden away. Fuck. My thighs instinctively rubbed together for extra friction of where I was growing hot, but Hotch shot me a glare and I immediately stopped moving. When he was satisfied with my silence and stillness, he continued to walk towards the dresser. He set the box on top of it, his back to me, his stance right in front of my gaze so that I couldn’t spy on what he was doing. I heard him ruffling through the box and I cursed myself for putting myself in this situation. I’d be the first to admit that I was a brat, and I loved getting under Hotch’s skin, but I had never made him mad to this extent. He playfully got mad at me in a dominant way, but I could see how furious he actually was, and I knew that the rest of my day was going to be long. But I did this to myself, didn’t I? I knew the game I was playing; I knew what buttons I was pressing, and now I had to live with the consequences.

“Take that dress off. Now.” He was still facing away from me, but the gruffness in his tone was different from anything I had ever heard from him before.

I had to put this all in perspective, right. Only the other day, I was teasing Hotch about not being able to touch each other at work before I found out about my suspension. That was strike one. Then he found out that he was getting suspended, which probably put a lot of stress on him, and my solution was to start an argument, and when that didn’t work, I started walking around like a whore. That was strike… one hundred at that point. I had been skating on thin ice, and all of the anger and pressure that had been building in Hotch’s chest finally found a way to be released, and it was to take it out on me. The fact that he wasn’t even coming over to me to rip my clothes off or tell me to keep them on to make the teasing worse just further proved that I was laying on that bed for one reason and one reason only: to make him forget. And I was so ready.

I rushed to pull my dress off and throw it to the side without even looking. I kept my eyes trained on Hotch’s back, refusing to look away because I wanted to catch a glance at what he was doing as soon as I could.

“Panties. Bra.”

I felt my mouth go dry. He wasn’t even going to do that much. He liked doing that. He liked peeling off my panties as slowly as he could in order to watch me beg and squirm. But not that morning. He wanted me to know just how fucked I was, and, boy, was he getting his point across. As I scrambled to get my bra and panties off, Hotch finally turned back around, holding two lengths of rope, two pairs of handcuffs, and a ball gag. Well. Shit.

Silently, Hotch dropped everything on the bed, my eyes still following him, but he focused on his hands and what he was planning on doing. Without warning, he grabbed my left ankle with a tight grip and yanked me towards the bottom left bedpost. I gasped when he started pulling my ankle through an overhand loop on a bight knot attached to the bedpost. When he let go and I tugged to test my mobility, I found that the more I fought against it, the tighter it got around my leg.

Fair enough, Hotchner.

I yelped again when he grabbed my other ankle and pulled it to the right side of the bed, spreading me out as far as possible for him. I tried to tug my left leg closed again, but was only met with the bite of the rope, earning a light hiss from me. Hotch tied my right ankle, too, just as quickly as he had done with the other one, not even taking a moment to look at how spread and vulnerable I was for him.

“Sir—” I began, thinking that I could possibly apologize or at least gain an ounce of sympathy, but Hotch met me with the sternest glare I had ever seen. Never in my life had I seen him so conflicted with anger and lust, an inner struggle which was taking over his eyes, his face, his tensed chest muscles, and his growing erection in his pants. “Sir…”

Hotch bit the inside of his cheek as he picked up the ball gag and came around the side of the bed, not bothering to give me the satisfaction of leaning over my naked body to feel the warmth of his chest or the hardness of his cock through his sweats.

“Open, brat.”

I held back the moan I felt rising in my throat. I was panting while trying so very hard to stay still for him, but the way he said it, the way he seemed so mad and uncontrolled, I swear I never wanted him to fuck me harder in my entire life. There was something so erotic about imagining him hovering over me, hips thrusting into me so hard and fast because he was only focused on his anger and getting it all out by fucking me into the mattress… I could feel myself dripping onto the sheets already.

“I said. Open.”

I did as I was told without hesitation. Within a millisecond, Hotch pushed the ball gag into my mouth and I bit down instinctively against the rubber. Hotch lifted my head and buckled the clasps together under my hair. He always threatened that he would finally get a chance to shut me up, I guess that time had finally come.

There wasn’t even a moment to breathe between my head settling back down on the pillows and Hotch slapping one of the handcuffs around my left wrist. As he pulled my hand out towards him, I stretched my fingers to touch the outline of his erection, and I barely got him with the tip of my fingers before he jumped back and groaned. He used the other side of the handcuffs to restrain me against the headboard, and before he could move for the other hand, he put a hand around my neck and leaned over me.

“That was a bad idea. You might want to think about not being a needy whore for once because it’ll just hurt more if you keep acting out.” He squeezed his fingers around neck slightly, earning a tug at my restraints from me. “Hold still.”

I nodded eagerly, as if to say: “Yes, Sir. Whatever you want. Yes. Fuck, yes.” But he didn’t grin wickedly like he normally would. He still frowned and pouted as he let go of me roughly and grabbed the other pair of handcuffs. He walked to the other side of the bed, still insistent on not giving me anymore attention besides the demands he had just given me. After my other hand was cuffed to the other side of the headboard, leaving me completely spread out for him, Hotch walked to the end of the bed and stared at me.

He got serious for a moment. Not angry, not wound up, not blinded by lust. Just serious. “We’re going to use Colors.”

I nodded again. It wasn’t common for us to use Colors because he knew my limits and I knew his like the back of my hand. I could tell when he needed to slow down or stop, and he knew the same with me. But there were times, just like this, when making sure that I was safe and comfortable came before getting lost in desperation, lust, and passion.

“You’ll knock on the headboard three times for green, two for yellow, one for red. Got it?”

I craned my neck slightly against the pillows to look at how I was restrained against the headboard and took notice of how close my knuckles were. Practically everyone knew the stop light system, but to review: Green meant I was fine, yellow meant slow down or change or check up, and red meant hard stop. I had never once used red with Hotch. Ever. It never got to a point where I needed to stop immediately and end the scene, simply because Hotch never let it get that far. His own limits didn’t allow him to hurt me, and I understood. He wasn’t into harming me in any way, probably because of all the horrible things we had seen in our line of work. Some people were entirely fucked up, and Hotch didn’t get the point of hurting a partner when the whole point was supposed to be about pleasure. Hence, never having to worry about using red. But he wanted to make sure that there was an understanding that if I reached a limit that he didn’t foresee, we would stop at once.

“Color,” he demanded of me. In response, I knocked on the headboard three times. I didn’t want him to slow down or change whatever it was he had planned. What he had already done to me was more than I expected, and I was giddy to know more as fast as possible. “Good girl.” He slapped the inside of my thigh, and I jumped slightly, tugging at all of the restraints. He palmed himself through his pants at the sight of me struggling but unable to actually do anything about my predicament. “You can’t even beg for me,” he groaned, snaking his hand past his waistband. “Can’t slip up on calling me ‘Sir’, can’t beg for more— can’t beg for me to stop.” He finally smiled, but it was to himself and a wicked thought he had. “I could keep you like this forever.”

I whined behind the gag, tugging at the ropes on my ankles and handcuffs on my wrists, my eyes pouting softly. All I could think about was how this could go. He was either going to leave me like that until he was bored and wanted to see me squirm as he edged me endlessly for hours, or he was going to immediately pounce on me and fuck me until neither of us could breathe. Either way, I was screwed. Neither option was good for me considering how angry he was with me.

“Maybe then you’ll listen to me and you won’t go ask for a transfer.”

Asshole. I wouldn’t hold it past him since he totally would leave me like this just to prevent me from doing it. That was a terrifying concept.

He pulled his hand from his pants and turned back to the dresser. My breathing sped up as I anxiously anticipated what he would grab next. It was at times like this when I was really starting to regret showing him that box. Yeah, he didn’t even know about it until I brought it from my place when I was moving in. By that point, we already had an unspoken dominant/submissive relationship, but when I packed that box and brought it over, and he was the one who happened to unpack it, that was when we had a legitimate conversation about it. He had endless questions, of course— not because he was naive to the lifestyle and the kink, but because he was curious what I thought of it and to what extent I had tried it.

I had to keep in mind that Hotch had been with Haley his whole life, and she wasn’t exactly the most… Well, frankly, she was a pretty boring person overall. She was nice and everything, but she didn’t have any excitement in her life. Her job, her home, her friends, everything was boring. She didn’t strike me as the kind of person who enjoyed the things I enjoyed, and it took me explaining everything to Hotch over a couple of days for him to realize that it was something he was genuinely into. Because he hadn’t experimented around with Haley, or anyone else, he didn’t realize that it was something he could have an interest in; and, oh, boy, did I screw myself over by telling him everything. One minute he was the silent dominant who just liked to be a little more rough with me in bed, the next, he was tying me up every chance he could get and was insistent that I called him ‘Sir’.

But there were still loads of things we hadn’t tried in that box. Hotch knew of their existence, and he knew how to use all of them, but we just never found the time to use them. In his state, I wouldn’t be surprised if he were willing to try anything— which, in hindsight, was probably why he put Colors in place. I internally screamed.

When Hotch turned around, he was dangling a small chain over his index finger. Connected at the ends of the chain were clamps that looked like small metal clothespins. My eyes shot wide. Hotch never… He never showed any interest… I had originally mentioned that I found them fun because of how the slight pain from the pinch only increased my arousal, but the topic of using them had never come up before. I never thought in a million years that Hotch would want to try them out.

“Color?” he asked before even taking a step towards me.

Telling by my shocked expression behind the gag, he knew that I had been caught off guard, but he wanted to make sure that I was okay with it since it was something he had never played with before. I thought to myself: “If only you knew, Aaron Hotchner.” And I wished that I could knock the headboard a thousand times, a signal that it was more than okay— it was more than green. I had been waiting so long for him to realize that I wasn’t as fragile as he thought. Sure, he was rough in bed, but that never compared to some of the things I had experienced with past partners. Hotch was rough, yes, but to an extent because he always held himself back since he was still learning and exploring. With anger fueling him, there probably wasn’t a chance in hell that he wasn’t thinking about using every single toy in that box just to see how long he could torture me. After all, why would I have bought them and brought them to his house during the move if I didn’t like them and want to use them? It was always just a matter of what he was comfortable with.

I knocked three times, restraining myself from knocking an obnoxious amount of times like I wanted to. Given permission, Hotch stepped forward, fidgeting with the chain so that he could pinch one of the clamps open. I held my breath shortly as I anticipated his next movements. Hotch sat on the side of the bed, his hip pressed against my side. He bit his bottom lip as he concentrated at pinching one of my nipples between his thumb and middle finger while also still holding the clamp open in his other hand.

“Breathe, baby girl,” he encouraged as my nipple hardened against his touch.

I let out a breath as he rolled the sensitive nub and pulled slightly. My back arched off the bed as I moaned behind the gag, my eyes screwing shut. In response, Hotch’s touch left me until I put my hips back on the bed and calmed down. When I had stopped moving again, I watched as he brought the clamp to my nipple and slowly released his grip on it. I screwed my eyes shut and bit into the gag as the pressure of the clamps increased until they were all the way on. Hotch watched me carefully to make sure that I was alright, and I wanted to scream through my gag that I wasn’t as fragile as he thought I was, but I couldn’t think of anything to say or do without just moaning instead.

As Hotch picked up the other end, the chain rattled, which moved the clamp on my nipple. My head hit the pillows again as I groaned and pulled against the cuffs. He saw that the slightest movement or pull of the chain caused a physical reaction from me, and he wasn’t about to forget it or let up. Wickedly, Hotch pulled at the chain lightly and I cursed around the gag as loud as I could. I knew he was mad at me, but, Jesus, did he have to torture me like that? Fuck.

Hotch didn’t hesitate to pinch my other nipple until it was hard, then put the second clamp on. It didn’t sting as much, which was a relief, but I could feel my whole body responding to the consistent pinch, just as I had explained to him once. If I wasn’t soaked before, I didn’t even know how to express how fucking wet I was for him now— and he still hadn’t even touched me past my breasts.

And, again, Hotch grabbed the chain and pulled. My hips bucked once more with the height of the chain, and I saw him smirk, pleased with his work. Asshole. I really, really shouldn’t have shown him that box. Once he was done experimenting with these, there was no doubt that he was going to want to explore everything else, no matter how tired or desperate I got. Asshole, asshole, asshole, ass—

I cried out his name as he used his other hand to slap the inside of my thigh again.

Asshole, asshole, asshole—

“Such a needy whore.”

Oh, fuck.

“Do you think that arguing with me, then teasing me was a bad idea yet?” he inquired, slapping my other thigh. I nodded a quick agreement, wanting to make him as happy as possible in order to make him stop. “You were expecting this, though. Weren’t you?” I nodded again. “You wanted to be punished, didn’t you?” I kept fucking nodding like it was all I knew how to do. “And now you want me to touch you.” Same thing. “But bad girls don’t get rewarded. They get punished.” Fuck, fuck, fuck. No. “There are a million things I have thought about doing to you since the night of the Super Bowl. Do you remember?” He tugged on the chain when I stopped nodding. “Answer me, whore.” I whined and nodded. “You edged me twice. Me. Made me give you permission to cum just so that you would relent. I won’t be so kind this time around.”

My eyes followed him again after he let go of the chain and stood up to go back to the box. No, no, no, I thought to myself. Please… I just wanted him to fuck me. I was sorry for pissing him off. I was sorry for arguing with him. I was sorry for teasing him. I shouldn’t have fucked around when tensions were still high from our argument. Fuck that dumb fucking black box. I swear, I was going to burn it all before he could get his hands on it again.

“I’ve waited…” he sucked in a breath, “so long to have a day to ourselves again where I could do whatever I wanted with you. Work always got in the way, but…” It was still a sensitive topic for both of us, but reminding himself of it all was what encouraged him to keep up with the roughness and nonchalant attitude. “But now we have all the time in the world.”

He turned back around from the box again, this time holding a small controller and vibe in his hand. Yep, I was burning the box. If he was about to do what I thought he was going to do, then I had every reason imaginable to make sure I’d never be tortured this much ever again… No matter how much I ended up secretly liking it.

Hotch kneeled on the edge of the bed, just between my spread ankles, and he settled comfortably while finally taking notice of the mess he made of me. He liked that he could always do that to me without needing to touch me there. All it took was the right words and carefully calculated touches, and I was all his. But I didn’t notice until just then how dark and dilated his eyes were, at least not until he palmed himself again and he looked directly at me. I was so in for it. Fuck…

His index and middle fingers ran down my wet slit without any warning whatsoever. My hands fisted around the chains of the handcuffs holding me back from grabbing him and pulling him over me, and my hips bucked up. He didn’t stop me that time, which was some kind of relief, I supposed. When his fingers dipped ever so slightly into my core, I moaned his name behind the gag, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to decipher that I had broken the rules. He pulled his fingers from me, then dragged them back up to my clit, and he circled it twice. Just twice. That was it. And then his hand was gone from me. Fucking tease.

“I wonder how long it will take to break you,” he said more to himself than to me. “Maybe just the two edges again, but I won’t stop this time. I won’t give you any options. I won’t give you an out so that you can trap me again. You’re going to lay here, begging to tip over the brink, until you learn that I made no mistake asking you out. Until you learn that you’re not going to do anything stupid like ask for a transfer. Until you learn that you can’t parade around in my clothes and short dresses and act like I won’t do anything about it. Until you learn that I only love you.”

Suddenly, Hotch slid the bullet shaped vibrator into me with ease. He had only used his fingers to see how easy it would be to make it fit, and once he was pleased, he had decided to put the toy in me. So he was an asshole and a tease. Game on, Aaron Hotchner.

When the toy was settled inside of me, Hotch brushed his fingers over my clit “innocently”, then sat back. “Let’s see…” he mumbled to himself, looking down at the controller in his hand. “If I do this—” I cried out again, bucking around like crazy, and screaming a string of curse words until I ran out of breath. He had turned it onto the highest setting without warning, and then he shut it off once he understood. “Oh, so that’s what that does,” he grinned. I was going to kill him, I swear. “How about this one?” A lighter moan escaped me as he put it on the lowest setting. “That’s what we want for now.” My eyes shot wide again as I lifted my head to look at him in a panic. “What? Is it not enough?” I shook my head. Of course it wasn’t fucking enough. “Too bad.”

I continued to stare at him with wide, shocked eyes as he stood from the bed and walked over to the leather chair in the corner of the room that he liked to read in whenever he was too lazy to go work in our office just down the hall. He reclined, unbothered by my constant muffled moaning and pleading. Every time I moved, I felt the chain on my chest move, causing the clamps to move, causing me to remember how good the pinch felt, causing my pussy to throb, and the cycle would repeat. Hotch was being the absolute worse, keeping the vibrator on low because he knew it wasn’t enough to even get me close to an edge. He liked watching me squirm with the cycle I had unfortunately made for myself. He liked that he could control me all the way from his seat across the room, and all he had to do was relax and palm himself.

“Sir, please,” I begged, knowing fully well that it wouldn’t help. “Please—” I was grinding my hips against nothing, but I could still feel the toy moving inside of me, and that was good enough. “More…”

“Color.”

I knocked three times. Asshole.

“Then stop making noise.”

I fell silent at his command, but I kept moving in order to just feel more. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Hotch shuffling out of his sweatpants so that he was finally naked, and his erection sprang free. He wasted no time forming a fist around his length and began pumping at a pace faster than even I would have gone. The sight of him tensing his abs and arms, curling his toes against the carpet, and biting back the same pathetic moans I was spewing was so intoxicating and arousing.

Next thing I knew, though, as I was finally catching a rhythm with the toy inside of me while watching Hotch fuck his hand, the vibrator’s speed increased. My entire body collapsed on the bed as I was turned into nothing but moans. I was already so close, but I couldn’t let him know that if I was ever going to cum. I knew the rules, I was supposed to ask for permission, but I would rather cum without permission and be punished then not cum at all. But just as I thought it, just as my orgasm was building, Hotch turned the toy off, stealing my high from me before it could even reach its peak. I cried behind the gag and knocked on the board three times before he could even ask. I was so desperate for him to turn it back on again, I was going to do anything and everything in order to encourage him to turn it up.

“You were going to cum,” he growled. I shook my head, lying as hard as I could. “Yes. You were.” My stomach tensed, but my whole body continued laying limp as the toy turned back on. “It’s so easy to tell.” He turned it up and I moaned. “You try to pretend like you’re not, you get so still and quiet because you think it’ll trick me.” He turned it off again. “But I know better.” I whined and pulled again. He grinned, “See?” He turned it on. “And we haven’t even gotten you to the edge yet.” Fuck. “Maybe if I do this…” He turned it to the highest setting.

“Sir, please!” I cried out, knowing that I wouldn’t last long like that.

Hotch laughed. “I heard that one. You have no idea how pathetic you sound when you’re like this. I’m so used to having you beg, scream, cry, and moan for me. I like that you can’t say anything coherent. It’s refreshing to take away that bratty tongue of yours.”

“Sir—”

“You haven’t even edged once and look at you. A mess. My mess,” he groaned and threw his head back as his own thumb wiped over his sensitive tip.

My stomach was twisting into a familiar knot that I couldn’t stop, slow down, or even encourage, if I wanted to. The toy was doing all the work, and watching Hotch fall apart in his seat wasn’t exactly helping me either. I thought about how badly I wanted to reach out and touch him. I wanted to grab onto his biceps as he braced himself on either side of me before slowly thrusting into me. I wanted to kiss his lips, his cheeks, his forehead, his nose— everything. I never wanted to stop kissing him. Most of all, I wanted his cock inside me. It was unbearable to know that he was so close yet so far from me. He was only a few feet away, but there was no way he was going to go to all this trouble of tying me up and toying with me only to give in and fuck me as soon as possible. There was a good chance I might not even get any of him… And that thought was torture.

My edge was approaching faster than expected, and I knew that meant he was going to stop it again. I anticipated the toy turning off with every second that passed. Every muscle in my body tensed with how on edge I was between expecting my orgasm to be ripped away at the last second while also still fighting with the toy to make me cum. It was right there— I was about to tip over. I could feel it. I was clenching as hard as I could around the toy, and the knot had constricted as tightly as possible in my body… and then it was gone.

I heard the headboard hit the wall as my palms laid flat against it and pushed back hard as I stretched my whole body while still trying to chase my orgasm. My back arched, the nipple clamps moving around again, and the still toy inside of me moved against my walls. But nothing. The knot in my body slowly started to untangle and subside. The pleasure that had been building dissipated and was replaced with the sudden sting of the clamps racing through my veins.

That was only the first edge and it hit me like a fucking train. Hotch liked doing soft edges because it built up my stamina and it was more about me begging for more than begging to cum. But he had waited until the very last second, just before I was about to cum, to rip it all away. I hadn’t expected the hard edge, which was why it hit me so hard when it was stolen from me. And Hotch seemed so satisfied that he didn’t even wait for me to entirely calm down before starting again. The speed wasn’t as high this time, but it certainly wasn’t as low as the first time.

I was still pleading, even though it wasn’t going to do anything. And then my second edge approached. Hotch stopped moving his hand on his cock as he watched me, probably because he got a little too close to the edge himself.

It took watching me ride through four more edges for him to finally touch himself again. Only the lightest pass over his tip with his thumb made him buck his hips slightly and I saw his entire length twitch with need. I wondered if he was really suffering just as much as me. I mean, he was obviously having fun watching me fall apart on our bed while completely unable to stop the endless torture, but on some level, he was probably getting just as frustrated as me since he wasn’t finding the relief he needed. Hotch liked cumming one place and one place only: in me. Anywhere else felt like he didn’t accomplish his goal, unless he was really frenzied like this. There were plenty of times, like the limo ride in St. Louis, where Hotch couldn’t or wouldn’t take me, but he needed to cum so badly that he would use my mouth and watch me swallow every drop. I figured that since I was gagged and he was thoroughly enjoying it, he wasn’t going to use his backup plan. It was either in me or not at all, and there was no way he was going to choose the second option willingly.

Another two edges washed over me, one after the other, Hotch still refused to let up or waste precious time for things like catching my breath or calming down entirely. He wanted the edges to be endless and… painful. And they fucking were. I couldn’t even remember what soft edges felt like anymore because he had practically broken me with the hard edges already. Another orgasm escaped me as Hotch turned the vibrator off again. What were we on? Seven? Eight? A hundred? I couldn’t keep track, despite how hard I was trying. They seemed to blend into one another.

Hotch finally stood from his seat and came back over to the bed. My chest was rising and falling dramatically as I breathed through my nose, trying to find my composure so that he couldn’t find any kind of sexual relief in my desperation.

He looked down at me with a frown again, no wicked smirk in sight. When he took note of my silence and obedience, he grabbed the chain again and pulled. My back arched. “I made no mistake asking you out. Do you understand me?” I nodded hurriedly, trying to give him a reason to let go of the chain. He pinched my cheeks with his free hand so that I was looking right at him. His thumb wiped over the ball gag and I moaned quietly. He pulled harder at the chain. “You know that I love you, right?”

Oh, no, no, no… Aaron Hotchner, please… Sir, please… I was begging to myself, but there was nothing I could do to warn him that I was sorry for being a brat. He asked if I loved him over Colors because we both knew what was coming, and it wasn’t anything new. It was going to be more rough than usual, and he would use Colors if he needed to then, but nothing had actually happened yet… I almost preferred the idea of being edged with the toy again over what was about to happen.

“I asked you a question, slut.”

I nodded and mumbled through the gag, “Yes, Sir.”

“Good.” He released his grip on my cheeks and dropped the chain. I winced at the minor pain before feeling the pleasure race to my core again. He turned the toy on again and leaned in real close to my face. His breath was hot on my nose as he stared at me. “I’m going to fuck the brat out of you now.” I gulped. “Color.” I knocked three times. “Of course you want that.” He laughed at me in a degrading way that made me moan and buck my hips.

The toy turned off again, proving to me that he had only turned it on towards the end in order to distract me and rile me up. When it was still inside me, Hotch grabbed the end of it and slowly slid it out. I gasped as much as I could at the feeling of emptiness that overwhelmed me. Hotch shuffled on the bed, his thighs moving to bracket my hips. His erection rested against my stomach, and I tried to squirm around, but he forced his weight on me so that I couldn’t move.

“Do you remember that night how you touched yourself without my permission, and then you rode me… I remember fitting into this tight pussy with such ease,” he whispered as he fit one finger inside of me, but refused to move it. I let out a sigh, thankful to finally just be feeling him. “You’re always so wet.” His finger retreated and I whimpered. “I promised that night that I was going to ruin you… and I never got the chance…”

So, you know how people say that Karma is a bitch. Yeah, well, this was a prime example of that. While it was perpetually entertaining to fuck with Hotch and get on his nerves in an abundance of ways, it had all finally caught up to me.

“I don’t think I even want you to cum today.”

“Please, no!” I cried through the gag. I wanted to cum. So fucking bad. I would do literally anything.

“Maybe if you take my cock like a good girl.”

I nodded desperately as he shifted his weight on me down so that he could plant his knees between my spread thighs. Finally. Finally, I was going to feel him. All of him. Fuck, yes.

He took his length in his palm again and pumped himself a few times as he lined up his tip with my entrance. When I first felt him, I moaned his name quietly, and he must have heard it, because the next thing I knew, his free hand shot up to my neck. I looked at him with apologetic eyes, but he didn’t look at me or care about what I had to say.

Hotch held my throat in his hand as he slowly inserted his cock inside of me. He took his time, making sure that I felt every inch as it stretched me and hit every wall. When he bottomed out in me, Hotch didn’t waste a single second to start thrusting in and out of me at an ungodly pace. I tugged again, this time not giving up on the idea of trying to pull as hard as I could to see if it would somehow magically release me.

Hotch’s grip on my neck tightened as he groaned roughly at my movement. “You’re not going anywhere.”

My breath hitched at the pressure of his grip and I felt my head spin. It felt so good. Taking every inch of him over and over again, without mercy, without a constant pace that I could predict… it was inebriating. He wasn’t focused on pleasing me, or making sure that I was getting close, or that I wanted to cum. The only thing he was focused on was cumming inside of me as fast and as hard as possible in order to get rid of all of his worries outside of the bedroom. Hotch wanted to forget just how badly our lives were falling apart, and he just wanted to remind himself that I was a constant— no matter how bratty I would get. I would be there, I would always love him, and he could use me to get rid of his anger if he really wanted to. It was just an added perk that he had me all tied up and unable to argue. He could do whatever he wanted with me, and that power was getting to his head.

His lips found my neck as he concentrated on fucking his anger away. When he began nibbling on the sensitive patch of skin just below my jaw, that was when I totally lost it. I didn’t realize before just how much control I still had over my mind and body, even when I thought he had broken me entirely, but now, with him fucking me so hard I knew I was going to be sore for a few days, and his mouth working on marking me for everyone to see, I lost every ounce of control I had. My body went stock-still, and I let him use me however he wanted.

Hotch immediately took notice and complemented, “Good girl,” against my skin before continuing to leave another hickey on my collarbone.

His pace quickened somehow, though I wasn’t sure where he got the strength for it. It only took another minute or so of him fucking at this new pace for his thrusts to get sloppy, a silent signal that he was getting close. Hotch sat up, his hand still wrapped around my neck, though, and he grabbed the toy from where it was resting to my right. He turned it on and pressed it to my clit, making me clench around him.

Hotch groaned, “You’re so tight. Fuck.” He was slowing down, despite his attempts to keep going as fast and hard as before since it seemed to be working for both of us, but his stamina was running out as he was approaching his high. “I’m gonna—” His words sputtered as he released his grip on my throat and grabbed the chain again with his other hand. He pulled at the clamps as he thrusted into me, cumming deep inside of me with a loud groan.

With the vibrator still pressed to my clit, I was only seconds behind him, the feeling of his cock twitching inside me practically pushing me over the edge. My legs shook and I stopped pulling against all of the restraints as I tipped over the edge and screamed his name. But Hotch didn’t relent. He pressed the toy against me with more pressure, and his hips started slowly thrusting again, but not too fast because he was still sensitive.

He released the chain, but pinched the end of the clamps to open them and pull them away from my nipples. He started with the left side, catching me off guard. Without time to prepare myself for the shock of the pain that would follow, I screamed as the clamp left my breast. Hotch smirked and leaned down to take my nipple in his mouth. I cursed a thousand times, forgetting that the vibrator was even pressed to me because there was too much focus on my sore breasts.

When the pain subsided, Hotch leaned up and pulled the right clamp away, earning another scream, this time just not as loud. He immediately sucked on my nipple again, flicking his tongue over the sensitive and sore nub. With there no more pain to distract me, and the sudden awareness of the pleasure pressed to my clit, I came again without warning. Hotch wriggled the vibrator up and down, and side to side as I rode out my second high with him still buried himself entirely inside of me.

“Good girl,” he cooed, as I came down from my high. He pulled the toy away and turned it off. “Color?” he asked sincerely, not at all angry anymore. Exhausted, I knocked three times on the headboard, then slumped entirely. He groaned quietly as he pulled out of me, and I sighed, unable to keep moaning or cursing.

When we had both calmed down and caught out breaths, Hotch reached behind my head and undid the ball gag, carefully pulling it out of my mouth to make sure my jaw wasn’t strained or sore. Hotch reached over my head and unclasped the handcuffs with the safety button on the back. After my hands were freed, Hotch carefully grabbed my wrists with his hands and kissed them gingerly. “Are you okay?”

I nodded and waited for him to lift his head so that I could kiss him. The second his eyes were on mine, I leaned up and pressed my lips to his eagerly, and when he relaxed and released my wrists, I brought my hands to his face and held him close. “I love you.”

He smiled against my lips, “I love you, too.”

“Feel better?” I laughed. He nodded and kissed me again. “I’m sorry I made you mad.”

He kissed me delicately and wrapped his arms under me so that he could hug me. “We still need to talk about it later.” I hummed an agreement. “But I love you so much.”

“I love you more.” I pecked his lips. “Sir.”

#criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds imagines #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #aaron hotchner #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner imagines

78 notes · View notes

johnkrrasinski · 4 years

Text

sugar on your lips;

full masterlist

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x female!reader

Word count: 1,171

Warning: mentions of sex, dirty talk (kinda)

Summary: one kiss from you got bucky acting like a deprived man.

a/n: wrote this for @ragnarachael‘s 800 followers writing challenge. congratulations girl! i chose prompt #18 “kissing always leads to something with me.” hope you like it. enjoy!

Bucky Barnes is a little shit. And you were a beautiful damsel. It wasn’t his fault that your beauty was indisputably captivating. If anything, it’s your fault, really, for making him fall completely in love with you and agreeing to be his. Now that he had you in the palm of his hand, he wasn’t going to take it for granted.

Especially when you were in your silk red dress that reveals the smooth skin of your legs through the thigh split and the low cleavage displaying the globe of your breasts leaving his imagination run wild. You were standing in front of the mirror, touching up your makeup for one last time before you go to the party downstairs.

The entire team was currently celebrating Tony’s birthday and no one throws a merrier party than Tony Stark, aka Iron Man himself. If it’s any less than overly exuberant, then the billionaire would demand more. So that’s why you and the rest of the guests had to show up in your best looks and dress to impress.

Out of all the most insufferable things in the world, parties are definitely the one that irks Bucky the most. He groaned at the idea of having to socialize, put on a fancy suit that he wouldn’t have been able to afford back in the 40s, and wear this jolly mask that contradicted with his mood inside.

But there’s nothing that liked more than watching you get all dolled up.

Bucky stood in the open doorway of the lavatory in your shared bedroom. He leaned on the frame with his arms folded in front of his chest with a rave smirk sitting on his handsome face. You admired the way his short hair was neatly combed and spiked up, and his stubble adorning his face that always makes you want to drop everything you were doing just to have him wrapped between your thighs. The friction would drive you insane.

Of course, you were aware that he had been standing there wordlessly for ten minutes or perhaps even more now. And you loved to flex your beauty on him. Hell, you didn’t stand in front of the mirror for two hours and curl your hair this nicely just to fit in with a bunch of strangers, the astonished look on Bucky’s face was always your biggest motivation and you couldn’t wait to see it once you’re all done and ready to go.

But his frozen posture on the ground with his fixated gaze on you made you a little uneasy with every second passing by, “you’re just gonna stand there gawking?”

“I’m just appreciating my girlfriend, doll, is that a crime now?”

“Of course not, but you had been standing there for 10 minutes now, dork. Give a girl some space, would ya?”

“You know that’s impossible when you look this stunning.”

“What a charmer you are, Barnes.”

“I’m just spitting facts, doll.” He closed the narrow gap between you by bringing his feet closer to your figure. His eyes didn’t waver from yours on the clear mirror, where every feature on your face dazzled him like daylight at noon. He wrapped his arms around you and put your rested his head on your shoulder.

“Not sure I can let those people see you looking like this when all I want is to tear this dress off you and have you to myself, doll.” He whispered sultrily in your ears as he breathed in your vanilla scent. He knew it always wobbled your knees when he pecked your neck and toned down his voice and he nearly succeeded this time if only you hadn’t been holding the unscrewed tube of the crimson red lipstick in your hands.

“If you ruin this masterpiece on my face, I’m gonna have to kick you in the crotch, Barnes.” Your respond caused him to stop smooching your neck and jolt his head up. The priceless look on his face nearly made you chuckle if you weren’t so keen on keeping a sensuous, staid expression.

“C’mon, I’ll be quick and Tony’s not even going to notice that we are a few minutes late.”

“As much as I love you, you’re gonna have to keep it in your pants, Barnes.” You applied the coloured liquid on your lips and you smacked them to blend the texture.

“Doll, please? I’ll make you feel good, I promise.” You twisted the brush back into the tube and you watched his pleading face reflecting on the mirror. He looked absolutely adorable when he was being needy and it filled you with gratification that you had the power to grant him his wishes and withdraw it from him.

“You know what’ll make me feel good?” He furrowed his brow in curiosity. “Champagne. Which exactly is what waiting for me downstairs right now.”

He rolled his eyes and grunted as he disentangled his hold around your waist, sulking like a child. He almost turned his back on you before you stopped him by grabbing his forearm. You fought so hard to keep the grin on your face subtle, but of course, you weren’t a doing a good job at it. How could you when he looked this endearing with that pout?

“Hey, don’t be mad. We can definitely do it later after the party, or we could even sneak out to the meeting room. You know how much meeting rooms excite me.” You threw your arms around his neck and kissed his pout.

Instead of answering you, he only deepened the kiss that you initiated. His flesh hand flew to your hair as the other one clasped your face like you were the most valuable thing he ever had. But also because he didn’t want this make out session to stop. If seducing you with words didn’t work, then maybe shoving his tongue inside your mouth would.

You deciphered his tricks before he could go too far with it and so, you reluctantly retreated your lips before you changed your own mind as well. You just ordered this dress, goddamnit. You weren’t going to let him destroy it before you get to flaunt it. Also, you were an assiduous person and you hated being late to anything.

“Okay, pretty boy. Let’s go now, everyone’s waiting.”

“I think you’ve figured it out by now, doll, that kissing always leads to something with me.”

“How about this, if we go down now, I’ll be yours tonight and tomorrow. I’ll switch my training schedule with Nat so you can have me all to yourself ‘till tomorrow.” You smirked.

“Sounds like a fair compromise.”

“Alright, do we have a deal?”

“Yeah, we have a deal.” He kissed you once more and offered his arm for you to tangle yours around.

“You ready to give ‘em a stroke, baby?”

“As always.”

The night was still young and you couldn’t wait to see what Bucky had in store for you after your plan of grinding against him on the dance floor pays off.

209 notes · View notes

funkymbtifiction · 3 years

Text

Okay, so I went through your descriptions of EFJs vs ETJs to see if I could see my Tert function. From what I can tell, it’s definitely Fe. That has pushed me to do some thinking. Here are some of my thoughts. Let me know what you think when you get the chance.

- I consider myself an ethical person, but most of time when I say something is wrong, I mostly mean that it will upset people. It’s not so much that action is inherently wrong, and if people didn’t care, id probably care less too. All this is probably amplified by being a 9.<-- this probably rules out strong Fi, yes. Fi is an internal system of measuring everything, constantly, against Self to gauge their internal moral reaction to it, through self-insertion, self-referencing, and a need to be true to one’s own firm feelings on something, even as a 9 (eg: a Fi user admitting they hate Hamlet in a room full of academics who love Shakespeare; the Fi user doesn’t give a damn that everyone else present loves it, and that won’t change how they feel about it)

- My tendencies when stressed are very Fe heavy. I become very interested in people pleasing (I’ll buy people stuff like pizza, and I’ll get extremely apologetic). At worst, I’ll get emotionally aggressive, demanding to know why the person doesn’t care about me. Usually said person has no idea what I’m talking about. <-- yeah, sounds low Fe accusatory / needy

- I need some sort evidence that people care about me. In highly skeptical of quiet bonds where people show their interest. Even with long term friends, I will be uncertain of our relationship unless I see outward evidence. <-- contentment with the silent bond is more typical for Fi-doms than other types

- I struggled with speech problems growing up, but since gaining confidence, I tend to think I can talk my way through most things. The interview part of job hunting doesn’t make me nervous but I tend to think I can just charm the people as long as I’m qualified.

- I love people (it’s hard for me to be interested in something not related to people), but I am somewhat detached from them. I tend to interact with people by playfully mocking them, a trait that becomes worst the more I like someone/am comfortable with them. I also do things like trying to figure out a friends mbti type so I understand them better and be a better friend, instead of actually spending the time with them. It seems to me like a weak feeling approach of thinking if you understand the person logically, the relationship will magically get better (probably some ne optimism thrown in their) .<-- just being a Ne-dom, IMO. I do this too. I approach people with detachment but also humor, get them to like me, and then analyze them to figure them out, though I do enjoy spending time with people. I’m never “close” to them, though, there’s always the invisible Fi barrier between us.

- I am insecure about my emotions and don’t always feel comfortable talking about them. But I do end up talking about them a lot (mostly through rants), and even if I don’t talk about them, they are usually still very clear. I don’t bother hiding my emotions most of the time, and people can tell what I’m feeling. For example, if I am somewhere I don’t want to be, everyone will be able to tell. Sometimes I amplify this because I want people to know I’m upset, sometimes it’s just obvious. <-- again, ditto. Since I’m a 6 and an extrovert, I can’t hide my true feelings for anything and people can usually tell I’m upset, but I will pull away and not speak to them or go hide or write things down and share them, rather than say them outright, since that’s easier for me to do than talk.

- Adding on to the last point, there was a time where I purposely practice hiding my emotions because I felt my negative emotions would be hard on those around me. Although the aim was to appear more introverted in feelings, the motivation seems very Fe to me. <-- true. I hide things because they’re mine and no one else’s business.

- Unique Characters and emotions are super important to me in writing, but I think it differs from an nfp in two regards. For one, I’m mostly focused on a reader’s emotions (I like causing emotional pain whenever possible). I do try to write characters that are unique as individuals, but I don’t do this on an emotional level. I’m more focus on how they think, and how they all understand the world differently which seems Ti. <-- I 100% want to hit you where it hurts in a story and make you care about a character, especially if they have to die; not doing so means their death was in vain. Every good writer intends to emotionally engage the audience. And being a head type, I write characters through my head and theirs more than my feelings or their feelings, though I do also focus on making sure their feelings are consistent -- and I know what their motives are and want the audience to know as well. But there are constant Fi themes in everything I write (moral conundrums and challenges, places where characters face tough choices or must decide between their ethics and opportunism, etc).

- I have a Tendency towards some emotional manipulation (for example when I was younger, I convinced my dad to unofficially adopt a stray dog by what I realize now was basically guilt tripping him). <-- I recruit people to my side too, but use logical reasoning more than emotional manipulation.

All in all, I’m leaning ENTP 9(8?) for me at the moment.<- sounds accurate.

#question #entp #mbti #submission

14 notes · View notes

clean-bands-dirty-stories · 4 years

Text

Unhelpful ~ S.E.

A/n: Tried not to get too triggering with this for my own sake, so I hope it still delivered the characters

Request: “...Could you do a book on Samuel Emerson, Where her mother hate Samuel, and doesn't want her to see him but Y/N meets him when he does his Shakespearean plays, and he walks with him until her mother sees him with Y/N and there is a really big argument with her mum, and Samuel's dad joins in and then it doesn't help at all.” by @disneyqueenpixar63 (for some reason it won’t let me tag you, so I’ll just message it to you when I’m done)

Word Count: 1700+

MASTERLIST

Love was hard enough without life and difficult parents getting involved. It was hard enough when you had to struggle for food and to keep your place in your home, let alone trying to fit some sort of romance in the spare moments there were between the panic and sleepless nights worrying and handling the pressure of a dad that was more a burden than anything.

It was hard enough to live with a mother who could never approve of your even if you were perfect, let alone trying to get her to approve of a boy as well. It showed when Y/n brought her boyfriend Samuel home. He'd needed a moment away from home and Y/n had been confident her place would have been better. Her mother had quickly dashed that idea by running Sam out and spending hours and hours after he was gone screaming at Y/n for anything she could think of. It didn't matter that Y/n and Sam weren't having sex, or that they'd been sitting int he living room and in plain sight and just talking and obviously not up to anything questionable at all. Y/n had made the decision to give her heart to Samuel Emerson, so her mother disapproved and she was having absolutely none of it.

That, of course, didn't stop them from seeing each other. They'd avoided Sam's dad knowing about Y/n thus far and were keeping it that way. They wanted their parents part of their relationship as little as possible - especially after Y/n's mom's reaction.

So they were apart at nights, unless they snuck out to meet in secret, which was rare and only in dire circumstances when one absolutely had enough and needed the other. Most of the time they met when Sam was performing. It was where they had first met, so it felt fittingly poetic to do so again and again when they were supposed to be banned from doing it at all. Y/n was in a similar situation that Sam was in, except her mother wasn't addicted to alcohol but men. Thankfully the men came with money, but not enough to keep them fed, so Y/n spent time doing small jobs like mowing lawns and babysitting and dog walking. It was a celebration when she'd turned 15 and had been able to get a job at the car wash. All these things helped her to stay out of her house as much as possible and earn money to pay for food and even save some. Her mom handled the rent at the very least.

After Y/n got off her shift, Sam was wrapping up his performances as the sun began to set and the traffic died down and it was therefore useless to perform. There was no crowd. So, he waited for Y/n and then they'd walk home together. Or, as far home as they could get without being seen. Sam had gotten used to taking an alternate path as not to pass by Y/n's house. They'd at first found it amusing that he had walked past her house on his way home every single day without even knowing the other existed, but now it was just annoying and inconvenient and another thing on a long list of things that had been ruined for them by their parents.

Today, Y/n was having a rough day. She was more relieved than usual to end her day, but only because it meant seeing Sam again. That short walk was most of their interaction, though if Sam could pull off taking a break from performing when it was Y/n's break they would often take lunch together as well. Recently they hadn't been able to pull that off and they'd had to rush home a lot because Y/n's mom was needy and Sam's dad was irritable. Tonight though, they took their time.

They defied their parents the best way they could: despite everything, they allowed themselves to be happy. They walked and they held hands and they enjoyed the cool night air and they just talked and nothing could stop them.

Perhaps that was why Sam missed his turn. Maybe that's why he got too far, walking too long with his girlfriend without realizing where he was and just letting his feet take him down the path both his mind and heart wanted to take. The path that he had taken for years, memorizing as a second nature. The path that would give him more time with Y/n, which is what he wanted more than anything.

The walk ended abruptly when Y/n's mother saw the pair walking up to the hose, smiling and holding hands. She wasn't just impossible to get approval from - she was also bitter. She was the kind of woman who saw other people being happy where she was miserable and refused to tolerate it. Usually she just had to walk away. Today, she could lash out.

"Y/n." The world of light shattered for Y/n when she heard her mother's voice. Any good feeling she had withered and weeds of terror grew in their place.

Slowly the young girl looked over to the woman who had birthed her, and Sam watched with a terrible feeling in his chest as Y/n's face drained of color and her hand clung to his like if she let go, she would be pulled into oblivion still kicking. He wanted to make that smile come back to her face but... he knew first hand that lashing out at a nasty parent only got worse results. So he stayed quiet and vowed to make it up to her tomorrow. Perhaps he'd go a bit longer and perform her favorite poem so she could hear it.

That was tomorrow though. Tonight was already bad, and it had only just begun.

"Mom." She swallowed, blinking as she tried to orient herself. "Hello."

The woman's eyes narrowed. "Hello?" There was a threat to her voice that made Sam seize. The teenagers clung to each other, unsure how to undo this disaster. "I told you, Y/n. I TOLD YOU-" She began to approach them, shoving a finger in Y/n's chest so hard that Y/n had to take a step back, wincing from pain. The girl's free hand rose to rub the spot. "What did I tell you?"

Y/n looked at Sam for answers and then saw the boy breaking down. She saw the fear that had been taught to him by situations just like this with a much more dangerous man involved. She saw his fear and helplessness and she felt herself switch from cowering to protective. She stepped forward, drawing the attention to her and away from Sam. "You told me not to see Sam. Why? You never told me why."

"Because he's a boy," Her mother spit. It obviously wasn't the real reason, but as Y/n's mother had been trained to hate men after a life of being only abused by them, it wasn't far from one of the truths she believed at least.

"Sam is different," Y/n insisted. When her mother went to talk, she spoke louder. "He's different! And I know I'm young and it probably won't last because nothing ever does with our stupid species, but he's a good boy and he likes me and I like him and I think I've denied myself of things I want long enough. He makes me happy, and why would I stop that? Just because in the future we might break up?"

The older woman considered that. "I'm just trying to protect you."

"Protect me from what?" Y/n demanded. "Failure?"

"Precisely," the woman responded firmly.

Y/n rolled her eyes. That was not the correct response. Her mother got visibly agitated, but Y/n wasn't done yet. "Well it's not a guaranteed failure, and if you stop me from that then you also stop me from possible success. I'm allowed to make my own mistakes."

The woman scoffed. "Oh, so now you know everything? PLEASE forgive me for trying to guide and love and protect you." Her eyes drifted to Sam and then light with an emotion that Y/n didn't like. "Look at how much he's changed you already. Look at you acting all big and tough and putting on a show for a little boy who can't even defend you. Look at him cower! He's pathetic!"

Their voices had elevated enough that lights had begun turning on. In the distant Y/n heard Sam whimper and it was just enough to draw her attention to what was behind her mother's shoulder.

A man who was unmistakably Mr. Emerson. And from the sway in his path as he walked, he was intoxicated. Y/n made herself bigger as best she could, shielding both adults from the boy who had migrated behind her at this point.

"You talking about my son?" His voice was low and gruff and already aggressive.

"Dad-" Sam began, but he was cut off by Y/n's mother.

"What if I am?" She sneered. "I can't believe this boy you raised is such a coward. Aren't you ashamed of yourself for raising such a wimp? What kind of man raises such a child, who can't even stand up for a girl he's stupid enough to stay with even though I've told her not to be around him. He's okay with the action but not the consequences. He'll never be a man like that."

Sam's dad did not seem pleased by that. "You want to blame me for how he turned out?" He scoffed. "Parents can only do so much. Not my fault if he can't speak up. Though with the likes of you, you're not worth his time and effort."

Very soon, it escalated. Soon it became too much and Y/n turned to Sam and pulled him after her, running off into the darkness.

Tonight they'd be together. On the streets perhaps, but neither could go back to those houses where more arguments would ensue. If they came back tomorrow instead, they wouldn't have to deal with the anger. Their parents would have calmed and after the argument, Y/n's mom might have even moved on and lost interest and let Y/n make her mistakes or whatever. Things would be different tomorrow. Different than tonight.

It was worth sleeping on the streets for one night, so they did. Wrapped in each other's arms, it was far less than it would have been int heir houses, or alone. They could be okay with this. After all, it wasn't anything new. Just another day, another problem. One of many they would handle together.

#samuel emerson #thomas brodie sangster #thomas sangster #my left hand man #phantom halo #samuel emerson imagine #samuel emerson x reader #thomas sangster x reader #thomas sangster imagine #thomas brodie sangster imagine #thomas brodie sangster x reader #my left hand man imagine #phantom halo imagine #phantom halo x reader #my left hand man x reader

83 notes · View notes

kay-diggle · 4 years

Text

Choices

Summary: You have a decision to make about your relationship with Hoseok.

Pairing: Hoseok x Female Reader, Established Relationship

Genre & Rating: Angst & Smut, 18+

Warnings: Jealousy, kinda-cheating, a little alcohol consumption, mentions of toxic relationship, protected sex, unprotected sex (pls use protection guys!), slight overstimulation, shower sex, dom!hoseok, kinda switch!reader, two sex scenes

Length: 4.1k words

Notes: HELLOOOO!! So, I guess you can kinda say I'm on a semi-hiatus, but this idea came to me so randomly and I couldn't not write it.Plus I’m so happy that I’ve finally written something for our sunshine, Hobi!! This is my first time doing angst so I don't really know how good it'll be, but nevertheless I hope you guys enjoy it! Also, I kind of had an idea of how I could turn this into a series, so let me know if you’d be into that!! {Requests are closed at the moment.}

Kay-Diggle’s Masterlist

This fic is currently unedited.

You and your boyfriend Hoseok had been dating for the past three years. At first, he was everything you had ever wanted and your relationship was perfect. It was like a never ending honeymoon phase for the first two years and a half. There were the constant butterflies, elaborate dates, heart felt conversations, and great sex. But over the past six months, the butterflies in your stomach fluttered less, the dates became nonexistent and the heartfelt conversations morphed into intense arguments. The one aspect of your relationship that remained the same was the sex, except now it only came when you were angry and needed to fuck each other’s brains out to release some of the tension.

Needless to say, your relationship with Hoseok seemed to be going downhill, fast. Every friend you vented to assured you that it was just a “rough patch” and the two of you would eventually get over it and go back to normal. But it had already been six months, and eventually wasn’t coming fast enough. It was hard coming to terms with it, but you were no longer happy.

And tonight was your final straw.

Your friend group which included the mutual friends that you shared with Hoseok decided to go out tonight. You were hesitant at first, not wanting to give them a first hand look at how your relationship was falling apart, but you decided that you would be able to play it off for one night. Oh boy were you wrong.

Everything was going well at first. You and Hoseok kind of avoided each other, and you followed your girlfriends to the dance floor. Twerking, grinding on each other, and just feeling the beat of the music move through your body, you were actually having a good time. It had been a while since you were this carefree, mind not clouded with the thoughts of the impending doom of your relationship.

That was until you felt sweat dripping down your neck and decided it was time to walk away for a moment and cool off. You had a smile on your face when you ordered your drink and took the first sip, but as you looked in the corner of the club across from you, your drink slowly dropped from your lips, along with your smile.

There you saw Hoseok leaning against the wall, drink in hand, while some random girl was desperately grinding her ass all over him. The sight made you sick, yet you found yourself being unable to look away. Hoseok looked like he was having a good time, guiding the girl with one hand on her hip while grinding against her himself. You couldn’t even say you were shocked when she turned around, wrapped her arms around his neck, and pulled him into a kiss.

You weren’t shocked, but you were definitely hurt. You couldn’t believe that he would let another girl dance on him with you and all of your friends present, couldn’t believe that he would even entertain her. But what hurt you the most was seeing the minimal amount of effort he used to push her away. He seemed very reluctant, as if he only stopped her because he felt he had to but really didn’t want to.

Within seconds, you felt tears beginning to well in your eyes, and you couldn’t control it. The crack in your heart that had been developing within the past six months had expanded.

You watched as Hoseok looked through the crowd, presumably for you. When his eyes found yours and saw your tear stained cheeks, he frowned. He knew he fucked up.

Wordlessly, you picked up your bag and walked out, not even bothering to say goodbye to him or any of your friends. You thought he would chase you, assuming he actually cared that much, so when you stepped outside, you hopped in the first cab you could find and went back to your shared apartment. You needed time to think.

You were awarded 15 minutes that you spent crying, until Hoseok got home. You heard him running through your place, calling out for you until he opened the bedroom door and found you sitting at the edge of the bed.

“Y/n….. sweetheart, I can explain.”

“No thanks,” you mumbled a response.

“So, you’re not even going to let me defend myself now?” he scoffed.

“No Hoseok,” you sighed. “I’m not. There’s no point. We both know that whenever one of us tries to explain or defend ourselves, we end up fighting. And the last thing I want to do right now is fight with you. There’s no need for a pointless argument tonight.”

He was truly surprised. Usually, you’d be giving him hell right now, cursing him out, throwing things at him and the like. He didn’t understand why you were backing down so easily.

And then he looked at you, really looked at you. Your face looked defeated, eyes tired. You looked so unhappy and the only thing he wanted to do in that moment was fix that.

Dropping to his knees at your feet, he placed his hands on your thighs, drawing your attention there and then to his face.

“Y/n? Baby, I’m so sorry. I’m so so sorry that I hurt you. She meant nothing. That kiss meant noth-”

“Stop,” you cringed. “Hoseok, I just told you I don’t want to hear it. I mean it.”

“Well, what can I do to make this right, to make you feel better?”

You sighed again. Right now, you didn’t think there was anything to do. You had never felt like this before, so hopeless and out of touch. But if there was something that was going to make you feel even remotely better, you knew what it was.

You grabbed Hoseok’s hands and rose from the bed, prompting him to stand with you.

“You can fuck me like you hate me.”

A look of surprise overtook and nervousness overtook his face. He couldn’t tell the motive behind your request, especially with such a vulgar description, and that in itself had him worried.

“Baby, are you sure that’s something we should do right now? We should talk first.”

You rolled your eyes. “Hoseok, what are you not understanding. I. DON’T WANT TO TALK. Now you can either fuck me or get out. Your choice.”

With the attitude behind your words and your tone of voice, Hoseok realized this was serious, you were serious. And with a terrible feeling blooming in his chest, he went against his better judgement and gave into your demands.

Bending down, he placed his lips on yours slowly, too slowly for your liking. At first you were disgusted, the thought that someone else had just been kissing him less than an hour ago lingering in the back of your head, but you pushed all thoughts aside. You needed him tonight.

Jumping up and wrapping your legs around his torso without your lips disconnecting, Hoseok laid you down in a sea of pillows, hovering over you. He noticed how you were being more needy than usually, hungrily kissing him and rubbing your pelvis against his. He however, was in the opposite mood tonight, trying to kiss you with passion while slowly letting his hands travel the expanse of your body. This only served to annoy you.

Breaking away from the kiss with a grunt, you pushed him up so that he was sitting on his knees.

“What part of ‘fuck me like you hate me’ did you not understand Hoseok?” you said before pulling your shirt off your head.

You pushed his jacket off of his shoulders, letting it land somewhere on the floor before your hands traveled down his body. You were able to unbuckle his belt before you felt him roughly push your body back onto your back. When you looked at him again, you saw the darkness in his eyes and it only made you more excited to know that he wanted you too.

He took the belt out of the loops of his leather jeans before throwing it without care and bending down to capture your lips with his once more. With him being closer, you took this as the chance to start unbuttoning his white shirt. However, it was taking too long and once you were halfway done, you just ripped the rest of his shirt open, fabric torn with buttons flying everywhere.

“Y/n….” he growled out your name, obviously annoyed that you just ruined his perfectly good shirt.

“Sorry,” you breathed out. “Just not in the mood to take things slowly tonight.”

And with that, you kissed him again, undressing each other with a much more rushed pace now.

While Hoseok was busy leaving marks on your neck, one of your hands traveled to the nightstand of your bed, pulling out a loose condom package and shutting the dresser, startling him. You wasted no time in flipping you both over so that you were on top, hands traveling down his chest for a moment before hastily using your teeth to rip open the condom package. You threw the empty package on the floor and proceeded to roll it down his length, using a bit more pressure than needed which had your boyfriend biting down hard on his lip.

You lined him up to your entrance, and slowly slid down until your ass hit his pelvis, taking in his entire length. You hadn’t been prepped, but you were so wet that the stretch was more than bearable. His breath hitched when he felt your walls squeezing him so tightly and his hands took to grabbing at your waist. You took a moment to adjust to the feeling and then completely caught Hoseok off guard when you began bouncing on his dick at a fast pace. It hurt, but there was pleasure underneath the pain so you continued to push through. It became easier when you placed your hands on his chest and leaned over, giving him better access to thrust his hips up to meet yours as you continued to ride him as if your life depended on it while his hands guided your hips.

Your room was filled with the sound of skin slapping against skin, the headboard continuously hitting the wall, and the vulgar curse words leaving both of your mouths. Everything became so much more intense when Hoseok moved his hands from your body and to your face, moving your hair out of the way and cupping your face, forcing you to stare into his eyes.

“Fuck Y/n,” he groaned out. The only thing you could do was moan in response.

You switched from riding him to slowly swiveling your hips against him, stimulating your clit and bringing you closer to your orgasm. As you did so, Hoseok made sure to continue with little thrusts into you until you were ready to ride him again. When you continued, he slightly moved underneath you, angling his hips perfectly. You were tightening against him, a tell tale sign that you were close to your end, and he wanted to help. Removing one hand from your face, he took a moment to stare at your breasts that were moving with your bounces. Leaning forward, he took a nipple into your mouth, causing you to let out a broken moan. His teeth grazed it, then nibbled before he began sucking.

Using two fingers from his other hand, he placed them in your mouth, prompting you to suck them. Once you got them nice and wet with your spit, his hand traveled to the place where your bodies were connecting, leaving a trail of wetness, and he rubbed on your swollen clit. The added pleasure had you crying out for him.

“Hoseok, fuckkkkkk.” You couldn’t even look at him, closing your eyes and tilting your head back. You were definitely going to lose it soon and he was determined to get you through it.

“Nuh uh,” he said, letting your nipple fall out of his mouth. “Open your eyes y/n.”

“Can’t…. Ugh GOD, you feel so fucking good with your dick inside me.”

You felt his hand that wasn’t occupied toying around with your clit wrap around your throat and squeeze at the sides, effectively cutting off some of your air supply.

“Now, open your eyes and look at me while I fuck you… mmhh.. While I make you cum around this cock that you love so much. Open them,” he demanded.

At this point, you felt that you had no choice but to listen. He watched as your eyelids fluttered open, dark as ever and filled with nothing but lust. When he made a slight movement in the angle of his hips, that did it for you.

You let out a choked scream when you felt your orgasm move through your body. It was so intense that it had you feeling weak but empowered at the same time, bouncing even harder on Hoseok’s dick. When it passed through, your legs were shaking and your walls were pulsating and convulsing all around Hoseok’s sensitive cock. He was extremely close.

He let go of his hold on your neck, but before you could even breath in a whiff of air, he turned you over onto your back, just as you had did to him before and entered your throbbing cavern once again. His thrusts were hard and punishing and the overstimulation had you wincing in a little pain. But not before long, Hoseok’s thrusts were becoming sloppy and less calculated, rushing for his release. You used your hands to push his sweat soaken hair out of his eyes and lightly cupped his face all while you used your hips to fuck him back.

“You need to cum Hobi,” the nickname you hadn’t called him in forever slipped out. “Cum for me.”

“Fuck y/n. Ugh you’re so fucking tight, so wet. God, I love fucking you.”

You looked away from him for a moment. His words triggered something inside of you that you couldn’t explain. The word ‘fucking’ between the ‘“I love” and “you” had you bothered. Hoseok didn’t seem to catch on though, as he pushed your hips down to completely still you and thrusted inside as deep as he could. He let out a drawn out moan, and you felt his hot load spill into the condom, indicating that he reached his end as well. He held his weight up, hovering over you, but continued to lean down and give your shoulder a light kiss before rolling over and lying on his back. You watch him for a second as he discarded the soiled condom before announcing that you were going to take a shower.

After using the restroom, you turned on the water and waited for it to heat up. Once it was to your liking, you got in and stood there for a moment, letting the hot water drip down your body while you thought everything over. You knew you should’ve listened to Hoseok and talked about the situation before having sex. You knew that if you tried to bring it up now, it would only make matters worse because you ignored him when he wanted to work it out and instead requested that he fuck you. You didn’t know what came over you, but what you did know was that you had a decision to make.

You were so preoccupied in your thoughts that you didn’t even notice him join you in the shower. You jumped slightly when he put his hands on your shoulders and immediately moved to scrub your body, as if you were disgusted by his touch. You moved closer to the shower head, creating distance between the two of you to Hoseok’s dislike. He scoffed and pulled you back towards him, hands wrapping around your waist in an attempt to make peace.

“Let go of me Hoseok. You’re in my way,” you pushed his arms off of you in a less than nice way.

He gripped your arm and turned you around to face him, a slightly annoyed look on his face.

“Is this still about earlier? I said I’m sorry Y/n.”

“Yea well, when you break something and say ‘sorry’ to it, does it magically become fixed? Didn’t think so.”

“It’s not even that big of a deal. She kissed me and I walked away. End of story,” he shrugged it off, grabbing his soap and starting to clean himself off as well.

And then you exploded. “No big deal? What the fuck Hoseok. You shouldn’t have even been dancing with her in the first place. All of our friends were there. Do you know how embarrassing it was to see you openly dancing with some random bitch in the club when I, your girlfriend, was less than twenty feet away. How heartbroken I was because of it?” When you felt your eyes filing with tears again, you had to turn away from him and go back to washing.

“Y/n, I’m telling you it wasn’t that serious.”

“So why were you dancing with her in the first place? An honest answer….” you turned back to him.

“I… “ he sighed. I did it because I knew it would bother you,” he admitted but quickly added “but I didn’t know she’d kiss me, honestly.”

The only thing you could do was look at him in disbelief.

“Wow… so you did something to deliberately hurt me? Do you even realize how toxic that is Hoseok? How toxic we’ve become?”

“We’re not toxic,” he shook his head in denial.

“Hoseok, we can’t even hold a regular conversation for five minutes without finding something to argue about. And the only time we’re not down each other’s throats is when we’re having sex. That is definitely toxic. We’re toxic together,” you sighed, feeling defeated once again when you came to the realization.

“Y/n, you can’t be serious,” he went to grab for you again but you deflected, moving as far away from him as your shower could allow.

“Just leave me alone, Hoseok. Seriously.”

“You know what Y/n? If you keep pushing me away like this, you will lose me. For good,” he threatened.

“Oh my god,” you let out a bitter laugh. “I’VE ALREADY LOST YOU HOSEOK,” you couldn’t help but raise your voice. You looked down at your feet and added a quiet, “we both know it. Somewhere down the line we lost each other.”

But Hoseok refused to believe it. He didn’t want to. He knew things weren’t as great right now, but he didn’t know how you truly felt. He just wanted to fix everything he helped ruin between the two of you.

Moving closer to your figure, his hands reached behind you to stroke your back while he looked down into your eyes. “So maybe we can find each other again, y/n.”

“I don’t know Hoseok…” you trailed off, avoiding his eyes.

“Well I’m not going down without a fight. I love you, Y/n. I don’t want to lose you baby.”

That made the dam break, tears escaping your eyes — tears he rushed to kiss away. His hands traveled to your hips when he leaned down to kiss you. Different from the rushed exchange you shared earlier, this was passionate and detailed, filled with everything you were feeling but couldn’t say to one another.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, bringing your body closer to his when he pushed you against the glass wall of your shower. You felt yourself becoming quickly aroused once again, moaning out into his mouth.

“Hoseok please…” you whined, hoping he would understand what you wanted. And he did.

Not long after, you felt him lifting your leg off the floor to hook it around his waist, holding it there while his other hand was on your hip, pressing you against the glass. You reached down, stroking his half hard cock in your hand while kissing and sucking down his wet neck. He let out small moans directly in your ear, turning you on even more.

Once he was fully hard, he directed you to push him inside of you. You both let out a moan at the feeling. You were happy to be filled up again, while he was just happy to have you with him. He was taking his time with you this time, slowly pulling out and pushing back in, allowing you to feel everything. It was the exact opposite of what you two had done less than twenty minutes ago.

Hoseok grinded his hips up into you slowly, and with purpose. Every stroke only served to bring you closer to your impending orgasm. Going at a slower pace allowed Hoseok to really feel everything, including the tight grip your pussy had on his dick that damn near had him crying out. It was almost hard to move inside of you but it felt so good, the pleasure causing him to close his eyes.

You on the other hand couldn’t help but stare at him. He felt so good inside of you, it was hard to control yourself when you raked your fingers down his back, leaving red marks while he hissed. The water cascading down onto the both of you only added to your pleasure as it occasionally hit your more than swollen clit. It was getting so hot in there that you felt like you could barely breathe.

“Hose- ugh.. Baby I’m gonna cum soon.”

“Are you? Is my little baby going to cum all over my cock again? Hmm,” he began to stroke all over your body before his hand ultimately found its way to your clit again.

“Yes, ugh all over your cock. I’m gonna soak it…. My god you fuck me so good.”

Suddenly, he removed the hand that was holding up your leg and let it travel to hold your neck from behind, forcing the eye contact.

“Do it baby, cum on me. I wanna feel your juices spill all over me.”

His words, his thrusts, his fingers, they were all affecting you in ways you would never be able to explain. When he changed the angle of his hips, he found the spot that would ruin you and repeatedly pushed into it.

You cried out his name when your back arched from the wall and you began convulsing on his dick again. Everything about this orgasm just seemed to be way better than the first time. Your legs were shaking uncontrollably, so he lifted both of them off the floor and wrapped them around his waist so he could continue to fuck you through it. When you finally came down from your high, you noticed his intense stare and looked back at him with the same intensity.

You tightened around his cock unexpectedly, pushing him closer to his orgasm once more. His grip on your thighs tightened as his grunts and groans became louder. With a few more quick thrusts, he came inside of you, pushing himself deeper and holding you to the wall with his body. His head fell onto your shoulder as he tried to catch his breath after his orgasm, and it didn’t help that the shower was hot and now completely stuffy.

When you were both feeling stable again, he let you back down to the floor and kissed you.

“I love you y/n,” and you lightly smiled into the kiss before breaking away.

“I love you too.”

He carried you out of the shower and back to bed, where he continued to fuck you into the early hours of the morning. It was like you couldn’t get enough of each other, but you had to call it quits at some point before your bodies gave out due to exhaustion.

And as you laid on your backs, side to side and staring at the ceiling, your thoughts clouded your mind. They were the same thoughts that had been crossing your mind for a while; thoughts you had more frequently than you ever would’ve liked. And after tonight, even though you were scared to say them out loud, they were thoughts you could no longer ignore.

“Hoseok?”

“Yes y/n?”

“We need to break up,” you whispered just loud enough for him to hear before you drifted off to sleep.

––––––

A week later, there were boxes all over your apartment. At first they were empty, then they were filled with all of his stuff, and then they were gone. And so was he.

You knew he was willing to work it out. But you didn’t truly know if you were or if really wanted to. And so as you were sitting on your couch, you were left to contemplate whether you had made your best decision yet, or your worst mistake.

#bts #bts smut #hoseok drabbe #hoseok scenario #hoseok smut #j hope smut #hoseok oneshot #bts jung hoseok #hoseok x y/n #j hope x reader #hoseok x reader #kpop smut #hoseok angst #bts j hope #j hope x y/n #bts angst #j hope angst

130 notes · View notes

waywardwrestlewritingwaif · 4 years

Text

The Guardian’s Oath, Part Fourteen

The plot continues to thicken. Catch up on what you might have missed in the previous parts linked in the Master List.

Pairing: Feargal Devitt/ Finn Balor x OFC

Word count: 2,288

Content advisory: More smut here and some possibly disturbing bits related to pregnancy

The summer seemed intent on making me suffer. Everyone from the town and the village agreed that it was the hottest weather they’d had in many years and my body felt every bit of it. The more I grew, the hotter it became. I spent nights lying awake in bed, body soaked with sweat, unable to position myself comfortably because I always had this heavy ball attached to my body. I was literally reduced to tears from the discomfort and prayed that I could give birth soon so that I could at least have my own body back.

I expected that Balor would come to taunt me again, come to threaten to take the child, or to take us both, but he never appeared. I had Feargal, who tended gently to me and comforted me as he could. It was an adjustment for him, being at home much more often, and I could tell that he was a little on edge at the change. When he grew tense, there were moments when I thought I saw flashes of the Demon in him and I hated myself for being unable to rid myself of the thought that they were one and the same.

Worst of all was that, in the midst of those endless nights, there were times when I longed desperately for Balor’s touch. It seemed like the sensations that he could create in me might distract me if only for a few moments. I could feel that he was close, always, watching me and planning. Thinking about what had happened between us, my sex ached with unsatisfied need. I shuddered to imagine what might happen to the baby if anything were to occur but that didn’t stop my body from wanting it.

Sometimes, I dreamt that he’d come for me and for my baby. I felt his fingers close around my throat, his breath hot on my neck. Other times, I felt his hand trailing over my stomach, kneading at the stretched skin, that fine membrane that allowed me to protect my child completely.

But when I would open my eyes, there was nothing to see, just Feargal sleeping next to me, features twitching as if he too were fighting something off in his dreams. Sometimes my stirring would wake him as well and his eyes would alight on me with an irritated expression, only to melt into tenderness as he realized where he was and why I was in the state that I was. When this would happen, he would kiss me over my face and hands and stroke my back until I fell asleep in his arms.

It was on perhaps the hottest night of the year, or at least what felt like the hottest to me in my state, that Balor finally appeared to me. I had been convinced that I heard noises coming from the children’s room but when I went to check on them, they were sound asleep. When I walked back into our bedroom, however, I was immediately aware that something was different. The air, so heavy and stale in the late summer heat, felt fresher against my skin and it was somehow cooler than it had been, without being uncomfortable.

I could barely see but it felt like I had stepped outside. Blurred lights hovered in the distance in all directions, even above and the bed in the room seemed enormous.

“Feargal?” I croaked, seeing that the bed was unoccupied.

I was so overwhelmed with the desire for sleep that I practically fell onto the bed, crawling towards my customary side and trying not to fall onto my swollen stomach. I wanted to call out for my husband again but I saw a familiar figure moving in the shadows. As he appeared before me, I strained to focus, needing to know once and for all if Finn Balor and Feargal Devitt were the same, but I was so weak and so very sleepy. I collapsed on my back, crying a little as I fought the urge to welcome him to my bed.

He climbed on the end of the bed, running one rough hand along my calf, which was enough to ignite a fire in me. He cackled softly when he observed how my legs parted a little, inviting him to slide his hand higher. My mind was screaming that I should stand up and do whatever it took to put distance between myself and him but my body refused to cooperate. It had been so long since I felt the dark magic of his touch.

“How beautiful you are like this,” he purred, running his hand up my thigh and making me gasp. “So ripe and needy.”

“I don’t understand my body anymore,” I whined, as much to myself as to him.

“But I do,” he growled.

He dragged one long finger through the folds at my crevice and I could not stop myself from crying out at the sensation. He continued the movement, as light a touch as I could imagine, back and forth, humming in pleasure to himself as he felt the flesh there grow wet and slippery. Finally, satisfied that I was desperate enough, he curled two fingers inside me, moving them slowly until I unconsciously began thrusting against them, feeling the ache of unmet desire that had been building in me for months become unbearable. Smiling, he obliged me by moving faster and harder and then, without missing a beat, he dipped his head between my legs.

I screamed the instant his mouth connected with the swollen bundle of nerves, unprepared for the intensity of the sensation, for the pleasure as he nipped and sucked while reaching that magical point inside me that only he had been able to find. It was seconds before I felt like I exploded, hot juices pouring from my opening while at the same time tears leaked from my eyes. My vision went black, then white, then black and white again as a stream of mewls and cries escaped my lips.

The man who rose to look at me seemed to shift between dark and light as well: I could see my beloved and the Demon at once until there was no perceptible difference between them. And in my weakness, all I knew was that this was the man I wanted.

“I need you,” I rasped, grabbing at his arm.

He was happy to oblige, lining his rigid member up with my sex and thrusting home with one swift movement. Once again, it seemed that every nerve was awakened, excited at the feeling of him being inside me, and I was quickly reduced to a quivering mass once again.

His fingers dug into my hips, allowing him to move harder and faster as he cursed and snarled about the way my body had tightened inside, and, over and over again, how he was going to keep me, how he was going to take me and the child. I knew I should resist, that I should refuse him, but I felt heavy and weak and helpless, lost in pleasure and unable to extricate myself. I groaned in ecstasy as I felt him release and the hot mixture of our fluids flooded from my cavity and down to the bedsheets.

I grasped the bedsheets in both fists as I slowly started to come down, releasing my grip only to swat at something that tapped at my hand from a distance. The tapping continued, despite my attempts to hit back at whatever it was, until I finally opened my eyes and saw Sophia standing next to the bed, the same bed I slept in every night in the familiar bedroom that was filled with the sounds of my gasping for air.

“You were crying,” she said flatly.

“I was just having a bad dream,” I gasped, trying desperately to figure out how I had returned to this place, or if I had even left to begin with.

“Is everything ok?” she asked.

“Everything is fine. Everything is safe,” I assured her. Her expression was so vacant that I thought for a moment she was sleepwalking again. “Come, I’ll take you back to bed,” I offered.

She kept her eyes fixed on me as I wriggled ungracefully out of the bed and padded down the hall with her in my bare feet. As she crawled under her covers, she cupped my face in one of her slim hands and kissed my cheek.

“It’s going to be harder for you,” she whispered sadly.

I kissed the top of her head and answered, “We’ll be fine.”

I smiled as if I could not possibly have been more confident in what I was saying. I had found ways to hold the monster at bay for so long now, I thought, surely I could negotiate something? Did his wanting to “keep” me not indicate some kind of affection for me? Or at least, would it not mean that he would prefer for me to be happy? I repeated variations of this argument in my head as I headed back to my room and climbed as gently as I could into the bed.

Feargal’s eyes opened as soon as I sat down and he smiled softly.

“I was worried when I saw you weren’t here,” he sighed. “I keep thinking you’ll disappear one night.”

“I couldn’t disappear even if I wanted to,” I moaned. “I’m as broad as a barn door and move about as fast.”

“You’re beautiful,” he mumbled, pulling me into his arms. “There’s nothing that could make you less than beautiful.”

I shuddered a little as he ran his hand over my swollen stomach, thinking of all the ugly things I had already done that ate away at my soul and wondering what might still be asked of me.

Feargal crept quietly from our bed a few hours later, obviously taking every precaution to avoid disturbing me. I was half-awake and aware of his movements but his determination to let me rest was so sweet that I pretended to sleep, smiling just a little when he kissed my cheek before heading downstairs. Left on my own, I did manage to drift off, only to dream of him shifting between man and demon as I tried to demand what he wanted.

“You have access to me whenever you want. If you want this child I’m going to bear, then leave it in my care since it will need a mortal mother anyway. Why do you need to take us away?”

“I move between worlds,” the awful, familiar voice echoed in my head. “You can’t. Why would I choose to keep you only to leave you in the world where I have to appear as something less than I am?”

“Let me have just a little longer,” I begged.

I woke with a sharp little cry, suddenly aware of a stabbing pain in my abdomen, which in turn frightened Susan as she entered the bedroom.

“Oh ma’am I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you!”

I shook my head and smiled at her. “I was having a nightmare. You didn’t disturb me at all.”

She gathered the clothes we had set aside for washing, still looking very apologetic.

“My mother told me she’d get all sorts of terrible nightmares near her time.”

It was a relief to me to know that what I had experienced might just be a normal side effect of my condition and that everything might be normal after the baby was born. I grabbed my dressing gown and slowly lifted myself up, wincing at another sharp cramp.

“Please don’t get up, ma’am, you need your rest.”

“I do nothing but rest, Susan. And who knows long that’s going to continue.” I fumbled with the lacing of the robe in my thick, numb fingers. “If I can get around a little then that’s what-”

“You must get back in bed,” she insisted.

I turned to face her and was immediately confronted with a face of shock and fear. She nodded towards the bed, breathing heavily.

“Get back in bed right away,” she repeated. “I’ll go for the doctor.”

A bright red patch of blood stained the ivory sheets where I had been laying. I knew that blood meant there was something wrong and Susan’s expression told me just how dangerous it might be. I followed her directive and crawled back onto the bed, shaking off the robe as I did. She stayed only until she was satisfied that I had obeyed her directive and then she was off at a speed I had never seen from her. I heard a flurry of voices downstairs and then more footsteps, followed by the door opening and closing. I tried to focus on all the sounds but as I did, I felt warm liquid seeping from me, down my thighs. I touched my fingers to the skin and, as I feared, when I lifted them, they were smeared with blood.

Kate entered the room and placed a hand on my forehead. “You’re not feverish,” she reported, trying to smile.

“I’m bleeding.”

She nodded. “The doctor’ll be here soon and he’ll know what to do.”

I wanted to ask her if this meant there was something wrong with the baby, or if I was going to die in childbirth as my mother had before me but I knew that she did not have those answers. Nor could she tell me what it would mean for the Demon Balor if the child or I died. No one could tell me that, save the Demon himself and for once, I could not feel his presence in the room with me.

#wwe imagine #wwe fanfiction #nxt fanfiction #nxt imagine #finn balor imagine #finn balor fanfic #wrestling imagine #wayward wrestle writing

6 notes · View notes

laputaindefrenchgirl · 4 years

Text

quarantine feelings.

People ask me constantly, “How are you doing? Isn’t that tough for you?” and I’m just like, “No, I’m good. Not much anxiety. Neither fear. I’m adapting and projecting in the future, and it’s okay actually, I mean, yeah.”, and that’s it.

Except it’s more complex. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful I’m not feeling particularly anxious or stressed, and I’m grateful to be able to write, paint, and actually work while this pandemic. I’m so fucking grateful. But there are things only me can feel and see and these things are wearing me out. To quote Lana “don’t ask if I’m happy, you know that I’m not but at best I can say I’m not sad”, and that’s real. To be dependent physically from others is difficult, even knowing that I always embraced my disability, wheelchair and all. I can adapt, because I know it’s key to survival. And I’m grateful to be with my family in these difficult times. But sometimes, it’s hard to be asking and asking and asking (from wanting to pee to change you shirt through the day because duh, it smells) and to be faced with people who are tired to constantly “help” you.

“Asking” in itself is a very brave thing to do. For sure, I do not have the choice to ask for help to go on the toilets or to wash my hair, but in general, asking for help is going all against what society taught you to do. It’s a very individual society, and to be asking for help can make you seem like less, weak. It’s not. Asking for help is facing the fact that you tried very hard but need a hand to get up. There’s nothing wrong with that. It’s great to know to your limits and see beyond the very classical “What do they think of me?” because, fuck them okay.

A part of me truly understand how complicated it is for everyone. I know I’m one hell of a ride (and I don’t regret to be shamelessly who I am) and how scary and demanding having a disabled kid can be, though I’m not a kid anymore. Maybe that’s there, the blurred line which keeps everything a bit fucked up. I’m twenty eight, not eight.

Disability or not, when you communicate and say that something hurt you, to people you care about, you bare yourself naked and expect, at least, consideration if not apologies (I’m such a dreamer, right?). And when all you receive is “You’re so fucking needy and touchy, get around yourself for once”, I can’t help to either blow a fucking fuse or shut down completely. Fuck off, I’m doing my best and to receive this is unacceptable. Because I fucking know my worth. Maybe, it’s here again a second line which this time, clears up the mist.

There is this unspoken rule : if you let a relative or a friend speak to you like shit, then it’s game over. You’ll let anyone do that.

I will never go there, because I don’t deserve it. I’m fucking brillant as much as I can be a fucking burden (I don’t think I am one, but my relatives sometimes can make me feel like one so, here we go) and if I’m here, twenty-something years later, it’s not to finish like a boring piece of furniture in the background.

Just the fact that I can spell this is maybe not okay. This probably makes me unlovable and coming on too headstrong and ambitious. But fuck you. I’m not here to play a game of “what if” when I can be all “so what?” and thrive.

All these things I hold in me are not very pretty and probably no one want to hear or read them, I get it. It’s just all so fucking lonely to know things and feel them and to try to make it better someway, on your own. I know we all do. Maybe this is that thought which pushed me to write this down today, after another fight and you know, maybe someone would understand.

I tried to relate to people but each time, it was a fail. I had this best friend for around eleven years and then suddenly, she wasn’t there anymore. I felt stuck and anxious that I did something wrong. Maybe “I am truly too much” is a feeling always dancing around me. Then one year later, we talked and I just saw we never were the same, then I hated myself for seeing things for years which actually were never there. And this shit happened to me three times. The last time didn’t hurt at all, just a vague sense of disappointment.

The wheelchair is me and I yet I am more than my wheels. I don’t picture myself in all my acts and doing as disabled person. I’m just a girl trying to make it, probably faking until I make it, and creating and seeking truths in everything.

In eleven weeks of quarantine, I didn’t have a single assistant coming home to help me in my daily routine. It’s not that I only miss the people, but I really miss to seek help and to demand without someone making me feel like I’m too much or hard to please. I mean, yesterday I’ve just been called a hangman but if I ever say “Are you serious?”, I would have received something along the line “See, you can’t even take a joke.” and that stinks, because that’s not true. I’m full of humor and also empathy, I push myself to be a bit kinder and open towards others everyday, to have better values.

I think that I never cared until one day I truly did. I’m all black and white and it’s fucking exhausting. Truth is, if someone screw you, he’ll screw you twice. Period. Again, what else is there to say?

Somedays I’m exhausted to be me. I’m tired to see everything, fitting or not in that giant puzzle which is life, and to be told to act or change when deep down I know I’m right. And fuck okay, I don’t want to be right! Despite being an Aries, I don’t have this competitive or “give me the last word” vibe. I really give zero fucks about it. If I win, I deserve it, and if I lose, then I learn. I don’t have the time for that shit. Though sometimes I’m right, and it’s tiring to see things so clearly that I’m like, whys and hows, but damn, can I just be stupid and reckless all over again?

People who are harsh are not meant to be mean, and I know that. My empathic side made me learn the difference. Own your shit, be that bitch, and go on. I’m all over that journey. So when on the other side, someone tries to hurt me, my worth reminds me that I do not deserve it. What I call my worth, some might call it your ego, and trust me, this is a lie. They put bad meanings into nobles feelings, and there is nothing wrong with loving yourself, just enough to not let assholes bring you down. Never.

I would finish by quoting Frida “At the end of the day, we can endure much more than we think we can”, and that’s one of the truest thing ever. Does that make you less? No. Does that justify the abuse? No. Does that make you a strong motherfucker? No. It just makes you human and it reminds you that tomorrow is another chance to be you, shamelessly, and to be proud of your journey, whatever it is. Hold on, be this shooting star, this burning sun, this magnetic moon, this stormy sea or blue sky, just know that you belong even if you can’t see it. Personally, I can’t see it. I feel so lonely. But I believe in me and how far this life showed me that I could be extraordinary and inspired.

Do not think less of yourself just because someone called you something that you’re not. Their fucking loss.

9 notes · View notes

azureparanoia · 4 years

Text

[THE PAINFUL LIFE OF A DELUSIONAL GIRL AT CROSSROADS OF AESTHETICS]

They say imagination is one of the greatest gifts a human can receive from the God and like every blessing it is nothing but a double edge sword. The whimsical nature of what modern day youths love to abuse, an artist, is a gift of sorts. Do you feel an artist just because you create something? Or are you one simply because you jump off the border of mundane normality? Who is to judge if you are an artist or can you even claim to be one? What is the line between an artist and a decent human normie? Some of those questions hunted me since I was very young. Feeling some kind of disjunction from the rest of my peers, from the adults and youngers I walked fairly boring path of what I wish to become. I drew a lot, I wrote even more and in the feeling of being unusual, I found myself wondering is me feeling different so unique.

Nowadays when what once was minority and unusualness is what’s hyped and mainstream hurts to those who walked down that road for many years before it became popular. For instance, I am great believer and lover of 90s aesthetics, some modernised touch to it is not bad, but rather than parroting Pinterest, I chose the bits and parts of actual 90s I grew up in and incorporate it into my own image. Funny enough, the conscious choices I make over my own style would be called something along the lines of cowardice and indecisiveness. Because I don’t fully dive into the kitsch of those completely misunderstood years of my youth. In my attempt to redefine myself by the means of picking bits and pieces of certain aesthetics, I am called fake by the mases who cannot come up with their own original approach and only follow the trends blindly.

Does that mean I am unique? Perhaps, but perhaps also this lack of commitment as it can be identified from bystanders’ point of view is what specifies what kind of aesthetics I crave to create with my own looks. Am I boring? Quite frankly yes, I might not have full confidence due to lack of appropriate figure and perhaps I do hold back in those attempts to showcase my own style. However, for one reason or another, I would rather hold back and slowly discover myself and the road I decide to take rather than blindly and with no understanding follow masses. It is much nicer for my eyes to see more grunge or old school designs all around, sadly, knowing the modern society I feel like these have no deeper meaning behind it and it is nothing but façade to match up with the background.

How does it correspond to arts? I have been writing for about 20 years now, I took breaks more often than created, leave alone published something and by publish, I mean online of course. I hated and still hate all of my work, but gaining slightly more confidence, or simply learning to care less, I chose to share with the world how much of a crap I can create. I, by no means, am not an artist although I do share one’s extremely self-satisfactory and needy attitude towards life. In short, I need people to see my creation and whether they crave more of it or reject it completely, I simply cannot stop. It also corresponds to me writing whenever I feel like it, not when I see demand for it. The gift to move someone with my own words is undoubtfully a fruitless dream that even massive authors struggle with. Just because your text sells, does not mean you are worth the title and just because you’re unknown to anyone does not mean you cannot hold one.

In the end, it comes down to how you wish to express yourself or more like, how you want to be seen by others. For me calling myself an artist would be nothing but pretentious flex, I would rather avoid. Then again, being faced with it and denying it would also make me sound pompous or even ego centrical, fishing for those “Oh no, you’re so talented” compliments. In either of those scenarios, I would not feel myself to be myself but something that my image demands of me. Then again, what am I even? That is something I still fail to define and with every line of each hated piece I create, I wonder. Writing, reading, writing more, rereading, editing, fixing, deleting, adding, moving on, going back, writing, reading, rewriting and so forth. My life contains of boring daily routines and those writer spikes that hit me like a fucking bolt form a blue, when I cannot live, breath or even function if I do not put those words down. Just like right now, I know it will flop and no one will pay attention to it, but oh damn, I could have not done it differently. This is what you could consider “an artist attitude”, while although it sounds all nice and edgy which I would love to go for, the very same edgy and stubborn attitude I showcase would never allow me to admit it.

Do I feel like an artist? Hell no. But would I love to be in position when I can openly say I am one? Definitely no. Thus, at the same time wanting to be something different than the rest of the masses and desire to keep this image I have craved into my skin over the years is making me unable to define myself still being very strict at how I want to express myself. At this point my toaster brains are already shredded into pieces of unreadable scrawls flying on the soft breeze of an easy choices I wish I was bright enough to make. This is just a pure ridiculousness of modern times. When I was younger because being different wasn’t cool or anything, I felt like fish in the water of my own loneliness and by no means it was a happy life, but I felt confident in what I was. Now, when it’s so popular to have depression, be sad bean that likes nerdy things, my emo side kicks in and almost screams that I cannot be like that anymore.

When I was growing up and slowly discovered my sexuality, not going one-way ticket only, but being totally interested in anyone that was human, despite genders, ages etc, was hell’s porch, because if felt like I was not supposed to be like this. Strangely enough, I felt better about it then as it worked well with my selfish self-proclaimed uniqueness rather than now when it is just as popular as watching anime. And I am not saying there is anything wrong about it, I just do not feel included in those openly open minor groups that are no longer minorities and stormed the social medias with their colourfulness. I no longer feel confident in my own skin, because of how something which once was so unusual you can now see around every corner. I feel like I’ve been stripped of my own integrity because of how popular pro-LGBTQ+ is right now and I watch those young people and whenever I wish to be happy with them over their pride and courage at the back of my head I keep wondering “Are you for real or is it just because it’s popular now?”

And here I sit alone in my room, completely hopeless, as I not only no longer have what defined me as unique human being, but also don’t feel welcomed into the minority I should feel so connected to. Because I’m not colourful enough? Because I’m not over the top enough? Because I’m too normal? I am just a boring girl, living my life, not hiding anymore in the closet, but not screaming at the world with “I AM BISEXUAL, HAIL TO MY UNIQUENESS!”. That way, I do not feel either part of stereotypical heterosexual society, nor part of the new rainbow movement. I feel like I am standing between those two fractions with no place of my own. I still remember that Queer was supposed to be “we do not label anyone”, but it’s the most labelling shit ever from my perspective as it completely cuts out people like myself. For instance, I am bisexual, but I do not feel queer because of how it is advocated.

Finally, I realise that I am not part of anything. I am not an artist, because claiming so would mess up my image and I’m not that talented either. I do not feel part of LGBTQ+ community because I am too normal for this. I do not feel part of geeks or nerds because I do not find all geeky/nerdy shit that interesting. If I think about it from outsider’s perspective, I could say that sure makes me quite unique in comparison to modern time young adults, but does it? Just like with my style, I chose bits and pieces of minorities and majorities that suit me and feel right with my aesthetics, but does that mean I am different or does it mean I am just fake and half-assed at everything? I will never know, but there is something both tormenting and fun about this crossroads I stand at and perhaps one day I will choose one way, one mass to follow or just sit here alone and watch it all burn. This is fine.

#rant #article #art #fashion #style #90s #lbgtq #yolo #hurt #feelings #emotions #not part of anything #not part of story #sad life #emo #lost in 90s #lost in modern day #modernity #real life #diary

3 notes · View notes

ghinanotlinetti · 4 years

Text

23 lessons I learnt (and am still learning) at 23-years-old

On Thursday January 30th 2020, I turned 23-years-old. I’ve never been one to want to do something extravagant for my birthday, it’d be too much pressure for a single day. I do, however, like to reflect on my year and have a mental check-up on myself to see how things are going. It just so happens that my birthday is in the month of January, the first month of the year, so I keep all my new years reflections for my birthday. I find that I tend to press refresh on January because there tends to be a lot of clutter that I couldn’t clean out from December. This year was no exception; I was working all the way until December at my corporate job, then I left the country to visit my parents for the winter holidays so I had no time to pick up the pieces from that job and my life in the big city of Jakarta. I couldn’t extend my contract when I came back so had to let go of that job, which was both scary and a relief. Life after grad is very unexpected, I don’t think they prepare us enough to deal with the highs and lows. The week of my birthday was also the same the world received tragic news about the death of Kobe Bryant and his daughter Gianna Bryant. I’m not a basketball lover but I did know Kobe Bryant as this dorky geeky guy who was a huge Potterhead, he loved Game of Thrones and The Alchemist and was not ashamed of this side of him at all. I also started feeling ill, then I got the flu and am still recovering from a cough that’s making my diaphragm and back ache so much. On the other hand, I did get to spend this birthday week with my older sister who shares the same birthday as me. We haven’t celebrated our birthday together in years, it’s nice to be together again. In the spirit of me turning 23 this year, I thought I’d share some teachings and advice I’ve picked up along the way. Hopefully it can be applicable to all, especially if you’re just entering life after uni, so here we go!

1. You’ll never make it if you don’t face it.

So you might be familiar with the phrase “fake it till you make it” which might work for some people, but in the long run it might not be a realistic approach. Of course we all have dreams and want to achieve them, however not everyone is willing to work for their dream. If you’re one of those people like me who have no problem is working hard towards their goals, then you might struggle with the next thing I want to bring up which is: patience.

2. Be patient, be patient, be patient.

I was not that willing to wait for my dreams to come true as I was when it came to working for it. I definitely love working on my writing and the hustle felt rewarding to me, however I was impatient which is quite odd because I’m also young and have years ahead of me. Maybe it’s a millenial thing to be daunted by the what if’s but it’s so valid; what if I don’t make it until I’m 40 something, settled for stability and never took a chance on my passion? I find peace in accepting that I don’t have to know these things because I trust in the universe and I believe God always has a reason.

3. Believe in yourself, over and over and over again.

As someone who struggled with low self-esteem I thought all my insecurities would vanish the moment I felt confident. Instead it’s a whole process that can’t be done overnight. It takes weeks, months, years but if you’ve been able to believe in yourself before you can certainly do it again.

4. It’s okay to not have it all figured out.

Because everyone else around you doesn’t have it all figured out!

5. Generosity can get you far in life.

Helping others is the best way to network and form meaningful relationships at the same time! It’s not worth it to be alone in your hustle, because at some point you’ll need people for a plethora of reasons.

6. Collaboration > Competition

Realistically, you can only really be an expert in a few things, maybe one or two things and that’s completely okay. Because what this means is that there’s opportunities to collaborate and create with others great things.

7. Be kind to yourself.

In order to be kind to others one mustn’t ever forget to be kind to one’s self. Simple.

8. Lead with faith, not fear.

There have been so many times when I’ve done something out of fear and thought it was necessary, but then I felt so anxious I didn’t know what to do about it. I realise now that leading with faith makes me have less panic attacks; it’s not that I’m not scared at all but more so that I’m just calmer because I’ve accepted that I don’t need to have an existential crisis every time I make a decision. So, I’d go with faith.

9. Reclaim your narrative, and stay grounded.

There’s so many labels and stereotypes that I’ve have to deal with and never asked for simple because of who I am. It’s a lot of judgement from all sorts of people and communities (and I thought I was promised one day of judgement?), so I simply refuse to be defeated. I’ll rise above and reclaim my story which demands to be heard.

10. Everyone has talent and is smart, but not everyone is authentic, kind, reliable, etc.

I thought that in order to stand out I had to have a loud, big, and bold persona, which worked fine with other people but that just wasn’t me. On the flip side, I found that most people, be it employers or friends, would value qualities such as authenticity and reliability more than what you could bring to the table.

11. Become the things you want to become and you’ll stop desperately wanting it.

So for a really long time, I’ve always wanted to be a writer and I thought I’d have to wait for that to happen. But then I’ve always been writing, therefore I already am a writer. I think this can be applied to most passion projects and everyone deserves to take a chance on their passion project no matter how absurd or crazy it might be.

12. Just try whatever it is (an interview, application, class, etc.) and at the very least you’ll have one foot in the door.

I’ve got quite an active imagination; I tend to think a hundred steps ahead, mind-wandering in places I probably shouldn’t, so sometimes I won’t do things if I can’t commit 100%. Overthinking has become tiring for me and I want to make more choices out of faith. Most often than not there’s really no harm in trying, so just give it a go.

13. Don’t suffer in silence.

I suffer in silence in the past way too much. As a result I’ve distanced myself from really good friends of mine without any clear explanation. Can’t do that again because I value my friends and they deserve better.

14. Create the art that you would want to consume.

Be your own target audience. Most people don’t actually know what they want until it’s there in the market, so you’d be waiting a long time by asking other people what they want. Just start now.

15. Rest should never be compromised.

Often when I feel like giving up, I don’t actually mean it. Sure it’s frustrating but I don’t want to quit. I just need to rest. Please rest, and make sure to get the best quality of rest.

16. It’s okay to grow out of things and people too.

In the past I’d be needy for closure, but then it became tiring. Sometimes not getting an answer is the same as getting an answer. Let go.

17. When people show you who they are, believe them.

Yes, I think everyone has made excuses for their buddies, and I’m over it honestly. This one for me isn’t about my present circle of close friends, they’re lovely and I’m really lucky to have them. It’s more for people in my past, and it’s out-of-the-blue when it happens. I hate when it happens but then I can’t just pretend it never happened.

18. You matter, block out all the noise and have a moment to listen to your own voice.

If I ever feel lost or out of touch, I know it’s time to put just a little bit of distance from myself and the world for a little while. When I get to this point I’m usually investigating around my emotions, not investing myself in them, just observing patterns and signs and then find out what it means.

19. Unlearning and healing takes time, just make progress no matter how big or small.

So I’m in my twenties and I thought by this age I’d have everything figured out. Turns out I was very wrong. The amount of unlearning and relearning I had to do and am still doing... wow. But as long as it’s not a regression and a motion forwards, even if it’s just baby steps, it’s so worth it.

20. Life is just as much of a journey backwards as it is forwards.

As someone who’s always been spiritual, this is something that I find comfort in especially in times when I feel like I don’t know where I’m going. I’m a third-cultured kid, I’ve never had a home home for so long, and that’s fine. Nothing is a given, not even tomorrow. Life is about eventually returning to the Creator; it doesn’t matter how far you’ve come, what matters is what you make of this crazy beautiful dunya.

21. Close some of those tabs once in a while, it’ll be fine!

Ties into the next one which is:

22. Relax.

I’ve been dealing with anxiety for so long, my mind is somehow on panic mode by default, even when I’m meant to be off duty. Still trying to find that balance which works for me, between work, family, friends, mental health, leisure.

23. You’re not as special as you think you are, but on the bright side it means that you’re not alone! No more pity parties for one!

No more feeling sorry for myself because it’s disgusting! There’s so much out there to explore and discover for me, and that’s worth getting excited over. Here’s to more adventures, travelling, self-discovery, friendships, love, and everything in between!

#2020 #reflection excercise #self-reflection #self-development #ghinawrites #freshman year of life

1 note · View note

questions-for-christians · 5 years

Note

a few months ago, I hit a really difficult bump in my faith that just made day to day life unbearable -- until I just stopped caring. I've dealt with body image and confidence issues for as long as I can remember, and as soon as I stopped caring about God, I started to be as confident as I've ever been. I look at myself in the mirror and love what I see. I love everything about myself. If my happiness is supposed to come from Christ, why did I suddenly become happy as soon as I stopped caring?

That is an excellent and insightful question. Exactly the kind of question that I like. Not to mention that this could so easily be a question from my younger self. You don’t happen to have a time machine by any chance?

While I cannot hope to perfectly answer, I can perhaps offer a follow-up question. As you have shared a little from your life, would it be okay if I shared something from mine too?

There is a question here but I am going to start with a story. If you don’t fancy reading the story, skip down to “the question” - no one will know.

Another thing it took me ages to learn

One of the many things that it took me a long time to figure out was this - many of my issues about God were actually issues with His people.

The church is excellent at adding so much extra heaviness to the light burden of Christ that it is a wonder we can still even recognise it. I shall illustrate that with the story I promised you.

Personal story time

I suffer from varying degrees of anxiety and depression. I have done all my life. I am (I have recently discovered) dyslexic, dyspraxic, depressive, and probably a lot more besides. Like you, I looked at myself and hated what I saw.

I was a (mostly) open-minded (mostly) cis (totally) white male with long hair that liked alternative music - not a good fit for the churches I was going to. I’m still like that today but a lot more chill and I like myself.

My early years were spent in a church that actually taught that depression was caused by not having enough faith that Jesus loved you. I knew that was false but I could not explain why.

I started to have questions. Questions, cause trouble. It was not the questions that made me leave but seeing the true face of the “in-group” and the way I was seen as utterly unworthy and would, at best, be merely tolerated.

After I left, I found myself in a similar church where (just like the first) being a Christian seemed to get harder and harder. The truth is, I had failed to learn anything and was going to repeat my mistakes a while longer - with the same results.

Two groups theory

It was while I was in this second very similar church, that I started to notice that there were two groups of people. One group had mastered the invisible extra rules. The “good” group got to speak at the front, lead things, and were offered all sorts of church support. They were the minority that seemed to have it all together and were the example the rest of us failed to live up to.

The others were still struggling to “be spiritual” and were told to be more committed. I was well and truly in the “failure” group.

Questions lead to anger, apparently

Eventually, I questioned the leadership too much and got my head bitten off. I was shouted at by two men who should have know better and not even for a deeply probing or controversial question. Just expressing doubts in the people themselves based on my past experience. It was humiliating and silly.

Not for the first time, the mask was off. I had again seen the true face of the elite. It was not pretty. The example of the “spiritual group” was not as flawless as they claimed. They were just as broken as the failures but with the added twist that no one could see it.

I refused to go back and - if I am honest - they probably did not want me to.

If you have read my Tumblr before you could probably see this plot twist coming. I still ask a lot of questions.

The ah-ha moment

For the first time ever I was churchless. Like you, I was less stressed and more productive. Out from under those extra rules, life was easier.

That was when I started to investigate the Bible for myself. I still had questions and the only way to get answers now was to go looking for them. The “ah-ha” moment was when I first started to discover whole passages of scripture that are the exact opposite of what I had been taught in two mainstream denominations.

I started to see that the reason being a Christian was hard was that I was trying to be something other than Christ-like - I was trying to be a middle-class white cis neurotypical extrovert team-member while I was actually far too punk, anxious, introverted, needy, and nerdy to do half of that.

The discovery

That was when I start to notice how alternative (and nice) Jesus was.

Jesus taught - care about people and let Me take care of the rest.

The Church taught - turn up on time, dress the right way, pray the right way, put your hands in the air the requisite amount during worship, dance from time to time if the music is suitable (charismatic church culture is weird), attend the extracurricular activities, volunteer for things… If you performed to a minimal level then you could advance in the club. Demonstrate you are spiritual and you can get promoted.

None of that nonsense was in the Bible. Jesus picked a set of neurotic, working class, failures who between them had exactly no qualities for leadership or spiritual behaviour.

The disciples repeatedly failed to understand, questioned the wrong things, doubted what they saw, forgot lessons, got uptight about stuff that did not matter, panicked, stressed, stole, lied, cheated, and bickered among themselves about who was the favourite.

Jesus choice of follower was the “failure” group. I was in the “failure” group.

For You do not delight in sacrifice, or I would bring it; You take no pleasure in burnt offerings. The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit; a broken and a contrite heart, O God, You will not despise.

Psalm 51:16-17 [Berean Study Bible]

The church had it backwards

Slowly, I came to understand that the church had things backwards. There were two groups in Jesus time too. The “failure” group which He loved to spend time with and the group that were sure they had it all together with which He argued and offended and generally made look pretty silly by knowing the scriptures better.

Somehow the churches I was in had “accidentally” put the people Jesus would not have liked so much in charge of teaching His message and sidelined the people He would have chosen to do the job.

Being a Chrisitan was not hard - pretending to be one of the “religious elite” was! Ah, now it all made sense.

Happy ending (of sorts)

Like you, anon, I went from a dedicated follower to having no more time for God. I did not stop there, however, and once I had seen it was His “wife” I could not get on with, I realised that God was actually quite nice. (Not “wife” technically, the group that thinks of itself as His bride. I’m being a bit facetious here.)

I joined a group of rebels who met without permission on a Monday. Like me, they had grown tired of the church too. Together, we formed a new church like group with a single rule that everyone should be able to contribute (and then take questions).

Today, following God is easy. I just do my best to accept and care for everyone and let Him take care of the rest. I see that we are all probably wrong about some part of doctrine and so ask questions of myself frequently. I will probably always be wrong about something and not that is okay. The whole point of Grace is that it is fine to be wrong so long as I am kind. I’m still learning to be kind but that’s another story.

The question

We finally get to the question I promised you. Is it possible that once all the pressure to conform to church norms was gone, the source of your anxiety was gone too? If so, could it be that Christ is okay, but many of his fan club are demanding jerks?

The reason I ask is that this was what I found to be the case. It took me a few repeated bumps in the road to figure that out because I can be a slow learner.

The Jesus I read about - especially with some historical and cultural context to back it up - was all about gender, racial, and socio-economic equality. He did not care if you were a traitor (tax collector), prostitute, working-class ignoramus, or outcast - he had time for everyone. Well, except stuck up religious leaders - those He gave a hard time too.

Some general advice

Nothing crushes your spirit quite like trying to be someone you are not. I had to learn that the hard way. It took me until my 30s to even get a clue about that one. I suspect that the reason you are enjoying being you, for a change, is that you also stopped trying to be what you were told is a “good Christian”.

If I can teach you anything from my failures, I hope it is this - the “good Christian” that many churches teach us to be is a lie - no one can be that. The ones that seem to be “making it” are a mix of outright fakes and exhausted people trying too hard. Take it from another person with body shame issues - that stuff is bad for you.

I pretty certain that God will not mind if you take as long as you need to do some self-care. I’m convinced that He loves you and wants you to be mentally healthy. I might offend some church leadership types by saying this but take as long as you need to love yourself like He does.

There may be no need to go back and join the fake-it-till-you-make-it club. Honesty is good for you. On that front, I have found that church groups for and by the marginalised often have much more authenticity due mostly to having to fend off the mainstream nonsense that condemns them. There’s no hurry though. For me, staying away from Christians for a while was actually helpful.

Above all else, is this advice which Shakspere said best.

This above all: to thine own self be true,And it must follow, as the night the day,Thou canst not then be false to any man.

I’m not sure I have answered your question but I do hope that I have raised some questions that can help you find your own answers. Please do check back in with me to let me know how you are getting on. I’d like to know.

#self care #church #Christians #self image #honesty #anon asks

14 notes · View notes

thinkyoureholy · 6 years

Text

Ruin

[Requested by @bomsenpai : Hello, can I request Baekhyun angst scenario? Like when you and him get into big fight because you jealous of him and Taeyeon get closer day by day, and he said hurtful things to you. Happy end please? ♡]

Pairing : Byun Baekhyun / Reader

Genre : Angst/ fluff ending

Words : 1.8k

“Babe, guess who just came back to Korea.” Baekhyun called out, walking into the room to show me his phone.

I put down my own phone to look at his own. My smile dropping slightly at seeing a message from Taeyeon, Baekhyun’s ex. It was no secret to me that the two broke up on good terms but they hadn’t kept in contact with each other since. Having her tell him that she was back in the country was a bit out of the ordinary. Considering by how big Baekhyun’s smile was he was glad she had contacted him.

“She wants to catch up tomorrow.” He said, his voice sounding as if he was asking for permission.

I laughed softly, finding it kind of funny but also slightly cute at the same time, “Oh so you want to know if you can go?”

He just kept staring at me, his eyes asking me what his mouth wouldn’t. Another laugh left my lips, “Of course you can go Baek. You’re your own person, you don’t need my permission to go anywhere.”

“It doesn’t bother you? Like at all?”

“I mean I trust you so why should it bother me?” I asked, stating the obvious.

He simply grinned going back out to the living room as he texted her back. As soon as he turned his back on me the smile on my face fell completely, a frown replacing it. It didn’t bother me that the two would spend some time together since the two were friends at some point and their breakup was mutual. I trusted him but the one I didn’t trust was Taeyeon, having never met her I didn’t know what her intentions were. Whatever the case I just let the situation be for now.

After that day everything started going down hill. Baekhyun had been growing a little distant with me. I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt and trust him but after a few weeks of the same thing I wasn’t so sure anymore. He came home later and later everyday and when I asked him about it he would tell me he was just with one of the guys but never specified which one he was with. I didn’t want to sound too demanding or come off as clingy so I never pushed him to tell me anymore than what he did, wanting to believe that he was telling the truth. One day it just became too much.

He walked through the front door, swaying from side to side slightly. I could tell right off the bat that he was buzzed if not completely drunk. With a sigh I rose from the couch, going towards our bedroom but was stopped as Baekhyun wrapped his arms around my waist from behind. Without a word I broke free from his grasp, turning around to face him with a frown on my face.

“Do you know what today is?”

He seemed confused by the question, the lost look in his eyes telling me that he had absolutely no idea. I let out a bitter laugh turning back around to walk into our bedroom, slamming the door in his face.

Today was our two year anniversary and he had left me to wait for him for hours at a restaurant like an idiot. I wouldn’t have been as angry and hurt if he had the decency to at least call that way I could’ve saved myself the trouble of getting dressed up. The worst part is that I knew he was with her, having called up the boys only to have them tell me they thought he was with me.

“Y/N, come on open the door.” Baekhyun said, his words slightly slurred as he knocked on the door continuously.

Angrily I stomped over to the door, yanking it open only to have him stumble into the room. I scoffed in irritation as I waited for him to apologize or at least explain to me why he didn’t make it to dinner. I silently begged him to tell me the truth, to not make up some lie about what he had been doing.

“Y/n I’m sorry…I got caught up with Chanyeol and I just…I lost track of time.” He explained, having sobered up a bit since he walked into the apartment.

I scoffed, a bitter smile on my face as I shook my head at him, “With Chanyeol? Really? How stupid do you think I am?”

“It’s true! Look call him if you want he-”

“He’ll tell me the exact same thing he told me when I called him three hours ago. He told me he thought you were with me.” I interrupted in a clipped tone, crossing my arms over my chest, “You were with her weren’t you?”

I saw his face fall slightly at the mention of her, my heart aching at what seemed like guilt flash in his eyes. He quickly masked his emotions, a chuckle leaving his lips.

“Y/n-”

“Don’t you dare try and lie to me right now, Byun Baekhyun.” I cut him off once more watching his expression change.

“Okay you know what fine. You want to truth? Truth is I spent all day with Taeyeon but not doing what you think we did. We just hung out. We had a few drinks and that’s it.”

“Are you seriously this stupid or are you acting right now because I honestly can’t tell. I spent hours waiting for you to show up to our date only to find out you’re spending the day with your ex?! Did you not take into consideration how I would feel once I knew you’re spending most if not all your time with Taeyeon?”

“I’m sorry, okay? It was one date we can literally go on hundreds of other dates! What’s the big deal about this one?!” He shouted, running his hands through his hair.

“I should’ve never broken up with Taeyeon if I knew my next relationship would be like this…she at least knew when to give me space. I didn’t have to worry about her being clingy and jealous every time I hung out with another girl” He mumbled, probably hoping I wouldn’t be able to hear him.

Oh but I heard him loud and clear, my chest constricting at his words. I let out a heavy sigh, refusing to show how hurt I was by his words, “You know what you’re right, you should’ve never broken up with her and gotten with someone as needy as I am. I’m sorry I wanted to spend our anniversary together.”

With that I pushed passed him and headed for the front door, leaving him to think about what I had said. Once outside I headed towards–well anywhere but that apartment with him. I didn’t have a set location in mind as I started wandering the street, cursing myself as I forgot to take a heavier jacket with me.

-Baekhyun’s P.O.V-

“I’m sorry I wanted to spend our anniversary together.”

Her words bounced off the walls of my head, the fact that I forgot our anniversary finally hitting me. I cursed as I realized what I had just told her, running after her. As soon as I stepped outside I was hit in the face by the bitterly cold air but I could care less about the temperature; the only thing I cared about was finding her before it was too late. Before she realized she could do better, before she realized that she deserved better, before I lost the love of my life because I was being a complete idiot.

Running blindly through the streets I prayed that I’d find her soon, worried about her being out in this cold weather. Thinking of where she could be I had started running towards the park nearby, hoping that she’d think of going there. Once there I let out the biggest sigh of relief as I saw her sitting on the bench, her head hanging forward, my heart breaking at seeing her figure so…dejected. She was usually so lively but seeing her like this makes me want to go over there and hold her in my arms but I know I can’t do that, not after the way I spoke to her. Knowing that she’s hurt and probably angry with me I approached her slowly, silently sitting next to her. I stayed silent for a moment before I spoke up.

“I’m sorry…”

“Sorry for forgetting our anniversary? Sorry for saying you should’ve never broken up with Taeyeon if you were just going to end up with someone like me? Sorry for trying to lie to my face? Tell me Baekhyun, what exactly are you sorry for?” She said, her tone of voice sharp.

I visibly flinched when she said my full name, knowing that she was beyond pissed since she didn’t call me Baek or Hyunnie like she usually did. I kept my head down, not having the courage to look her in the eyes after what I said to her.

“I’m sorry…for everything, Y/N. I don’t know why I said what I did…I swear to you I meant none of it. I love you, so much. I love you more than I ever loved Taeyeon, more than I ever loved anyone else.” I said, my voice on the verge of breaking as I looked up to see she hadn’t even spared me a glance, “Y/N…look at me…please.”

My heart wrenched at the tears in her eyes, watching as she hastily wiped away one that managed to escape, “If you loved me as much as you said you did you wouldn’t even think of saying something like that. You say you love me but you’re the reason I’m crying right now, you’re the reason why I’m starting to think you’re right and should be with her instead.”

“No…baby listen to me…”I said my voice barely above a whisper as I placed my hands on the sides of her face, making sure she didn’t look away as I spoke, “I love you and only you. What I had with Taeyeon…it’s nothing compared to the love and happiness I’ve shared with you. You make me smile and laugh by simply being you. I wouldn’t be the man I am without you, you made me want to be a better man, a man you could be proud of being with. Y/N, I am completely and utterly in love with you it drives me crazy. It brings me to tears when I think about a world where you weren’t by my side.”

By the time I had finished speaking she had tears falling down her face at a steady pace, a small smile etched onto her face. I chuckled softly as she hit my chest lightly, saying she hated me under her breath. Without another thought I leaned forward, capturing her lips with my own for a few seconds before pulling away and resting my forehead against her own.

“I love you…so much.”

“I love you too, Baek.”

372 notes · View notes