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nflstreetsanimereviews · 2 years ago

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Spring 2023 Anime First Impressions

Below is a list of eight anime that I am watching this season, and my impressions of them so far. I'd also like to say I'm watching the second season of Mahoyome, but I don't think it's necessary to write about it, considering it's a sequel.

Oshi no Ko

To say that Oshi no Ko is the anime to watch this season would be an understatement. The first episode, which has an extended runtime of 82 minutes, is quite possibly one of the best first episodes of an anime that I’ve ever seen. Of course, with around four times the time to air–Oshi no Ko had to justify its feature-length first episode. If it was just average, then what was the point? Thankfully, Oshi no Ko more than justifies the dramatic entrance. The sky-high average rating (89%), while a good omen, seemed like a bit much considering the show just started, but after finally watching it, I can understand why someone would rate it that high. I’m saving my rating until the anime finishes however.

The long run time is only part of why Oshi no Ko was so well received. The stylistic choices (a part brought over by the manga) set it apart from the onset. It really captures the vibe of what an ‘idol’ idealistically is. Considering that Hoshino Ai is the ideal idol, it’s a perfect match. Art isn’t what the only thing that Oshi no Ko has going for it. The story contained within the first episode is a whirlwind. It’s astounding that Oshi no Ko can contain so many various themes and time skips and still maintain to be gripping. It’s not easy for a show to be compelling while essentially being Rugrats at the same time. Oshi no Ko also ‘keeps it real’ in relation to the entertainment industry, and isn’t afraid to show the dark side of fandom. Wrap it all up together, and you have one the best first episodes to an anime in recent memory. Oshi no Ko is from the same mangaka that wrote Kaguya-sama: Love is War–I never got into Kaguya-sama, but Oshi no Ko had me drawn in within the first twenty minutes.

The synopsis for Oshi no Ko does it no favors–I had no idea what the show was going to be about from reading it, which, if you think about it, was actually a good thing. Maybe I’m just a moron. If you really care, you can read it here. As for the time being, it seems that the story has calmed down in the sense that time skips aren’t going to happen as frequently. I don’t know really since I’m an anime-only. With that comes the inevitable coming back down to earth, which is not all that surprising considering that not every episode can have the budget and runtime the first episode did. This isn’t Band of Brothers unfortunately. That being said, the fact that I was spoiled on the ending of the first episode and it still managing to be something that upset me says a lot about the quality of Oshi no Ko. If I had to pick one anime this season to watch, it would be this. It’s the only anime this season that I like enough to pick up the manga.

Skip to Loafer (Skip and Loafer)

Mitsumi Iwakura is born to lead!...no wait, sorry, that sounds too presumptuous…Mitsumi Iwakura wants to lead the charge to make the world a better place…or at least her dinky rural hometown that doesn’t even have a train station. Mitsumi is already a straight-A student, but being from rural Japan, she needs to move to Tokyo if she wants any chance of achieving her goals. Before she attends Tokyo University and becomes a politician/bureaucrat, she moves to Tokyo to go to high school.

On her first day, she gets lost on her way to school in the Tokyo subway system. Being not accustomed to ‘city life’, her only saving grace is Sousuke Shima, fellow classmate, who is late as well. He offers to show her the way to their school, which is the beginning of their rather unlikely friendship.

Shima, who’s a former child actor and has the ‘aloof shoujo male lead’ thing down pat, finds comfort in being friends with someone like Mitsumi–someone who’s good-natured, albeit being very naive and a bit of a square as well. Their friendship, while seemingly unlikely, isn’t hamfisted in any sense. Skip and Loafer is a coming-of-age story that has left a smile on most viewers' faces, mine included. It’s an overused word, but Skip and Loafer has been genuinely wholesome so far, which is good since I don’t know if Mitsumi could handle being in a more melodramatic show. The anime sites seem to compare this to Kimi ni Todoke, which I understand at first glance–they’re both similar shows, but they aren’t clones. Mitsumi is a book-smart dunce–you know, like most teenagers that aspire to a future in politics. However, unlike most teenagers that aspire to a future in politics, Mitsumi is a good person, which is why someone like Shima and many others at Mitsumi’s new high school are friends with her. Skip and Loafer is a good watch.

Kimi wa Houkago Insomnia (Insomniacs After School)

Ganta Nakami suffers from insomnia, which causes him to act irritable and antisocial at school. One day, while scavenging cardboard boxes from the abandoned and ‘haunted’ Astronomy Club observatory, he finds Isaki Magari, sleeping inside a toppled locker inside the clubroom.

Magari, as it turns out, also has insomnia, and the observatory is her getaway. It’s the perfect place to hide away, since sounds from the outside world are blocked out, and because it has a reputation for being ‘haunted’, meaning that it most likely won’t get used as a hang-out spot by other students. Together, they decide to transform the vacant observatory into the perfect place to sleep…that is, until they get caught. In order to keep their ‘secret’ place, they restart the Astronomy Club.

For a slice-of-life, Insomniacs After School manages to be interesting while not having needless drama. The romance seems to be intended to be more of a slow burn–which is perfectly fine with me, considering there’s already romance anime I’m watching this season that has gotten to the point where the main couple is engaged. This anime, while sharing the same theme as Call of the Night, doesn’t share many other themes. The romance, while being a slow burn, does have an obvious path, unlike Call of the Night. I’m honestly really liking this show so far if not only because each episode I’ve seen so far has managed to be interesting in different ways. While Call of the Night was mainly about vampires, Insomniacs After School is going all in on Ganta and Magari taking astronomy seriously. Photography as well. Since I haven’t read any of the manga, I don’t know which of the themes will win out. One thing is that I’ll be watching, since I’ve really liked it so far.

Ao no Orchestra (The Blue Orchestra)

Ao no Orchestra’s entry in this list is a miracle of modern technology. Due to it not being licensed to release in America, the only way of watching it right now is through watching fansubs. And not those ‘fansub’ groups that rip subtitles from Crunchyroll/Funimation/etc. and call it a day–this is the first time I’ve downloaded an anime from a ‘group’ that was formed ad-hoc for an anime in a very long time. It’s a shame too, since I think Ao no Orchestra deserves better than that.

Ao no Orchestra stars violin prodigy Hajime Aono, who stopped playing due to personal reasons. One day at school, he hears the sound of the violin being played horribly. He discovers that Ritsuko Akine is the one polluting the air with her noise. She uses the school infirmary as a practice room–a room that Aono is familiar with himself, being a frequent visitor. Through their mutual love for the violin, Aono finds himself being drawn back to playing. Akine, who is only a beginner, wants Aono to teach her how to play. Aono, who isn’t too thrilled by her forceful attempts to get him to play, nonetheless starts teaching her how to play.

Despite the show being uniquely difficult to obtain, it maintains to be worth the hassle. The British slang does take you by surprise, yes, but maybe if you wait enough, a company will license it and you can watch it on Crunchyroll. Or maybe you can wait until someone else decides to translate it. Or you could just learn Japanese, so you wouldn’t have to deal with this anyways, but that would be too much work. Ao no Orchestra

Kono Subarashii Sekai ni Bakuen wo! (Konosuba: Megumin Edition)

If you hated every other Konosuba character except for Megumin, are interested in her backstory, or just find the series funny, then Konosuba: Megumin Edition (calling it this because there’s no separate abbreviation for this spin-off and calling it ‘Konosuba Season 3’ would be lying…wait, how about Konomegu? No? Okay…) is right up your alley.

This spin-off takes place a year before Kazuma and Aqua are isekaied into the Konosuba world and follows Megumin in her studies to be able to cast Explosion magic, an extremely offensive magic that has little utility other than blowing areas up into smithereens. Anyone whose seen Konosuba knows what I’m talking about. With Megumin is fellow Crimson Magic Clan member Yunyun, who shares a main role with Megumin and is together with her in being the two top students in their class.

Even if this is the first Konosuba-related thing you’ve watched, I believe that you’ll have a good time. It’s way less of a bait-and-switch than the first episode of Konosuba was. Pure comedy with none of the lewdness. Megumin is probably the funniest character in my opinion as well, making this a must watch.

Yamada-kun to Lv999 no Koi wo Suru

Imagine being dumped for a girl that your boyfriend met in a video game–Akane Kinoshita doesn’t have to! Being a novice gamer, her sour experience with the MMO Forest Of Savior (FOS) is almost enough to put her off of gaming forever…that is, until she meets Yamada; fellow guildmate who also happens to live in the same area as Akane. He’s also a pro gamer (in a non-descript FPS game), which makes him somewhat of a celebrity among gamers locally.

Yamada-kun is shaping up to be your prototypical shoujo anime–it’s something to watch if you’re into that sort of stuff. I’d like to see more about what Yamada does, being a ‘pro gamer’ and all, but I doubt we’ll ever get to see anything more than surface-level. It’s a shoujo anime, so the romance is what the people are here for. If it does that well, then there’s really nothing else it has to do. It is what it is.

Not much to say about the show since it’s pretty straightforward with what it is. I’m having a good time with it, and I’m not the target audience.

Kawaisugi Crisis! (Too Cute Crisis!)

Too Cute Crisis! is a very straightforward anime–Liza Luna, who is a research scientist and a higher-up in the invading alien empire (I forgot the name of it) discovers Earth. She wants to destroy it, but not without doing reconnaissance first.

She arrives in Japan, where she is ‘attacked’ by the cuteness of Earth’s creatures. Liza is mesmerized by the cuteness of cats (and dogs too), so much so that it paralyzes and makes her docile to the cat she adopts. In all of her time conquering planets, she has never seen anything as cute as a cat before. The cuteness of an animal that can’t be controlled makes her believe that cats are the secret rulers of Earth…and she might just be right.

This is by far the most lighthearted show I’m watching this season–anything with cats or any other furry pets really is cheating! The fact that everyone seems to chill with an alien race potentially razing Earth a la General Sherman is a bit odd, but it’s not like Too Cute Crisis! is focusing on that. Liza being an alien has made for good gags so far. I’ve had some laughs from Too Cute Crisis! so far, but I have a feeling that this show is going to end up being forgettable. It’s the catch with these types of shows. It's a show reliant on the jokes hitting. And currently, they're hitting often enough to justify continuing watching.

Otonari ni Ginga (A Galaxy Next Door)

Mangaka Ichirou Kuga is barely making ends meet–ever since their father died, he’s had to support his two younger siblings on his own with the earnings from drawing manga. He’s also the landlord of a social apartment (an apartment house with a common area), where he, his siblings, and several other people live in. There are no bad landlords in anime, unless if needed to advance the plot.

When he’s just about to miss a deadline, Shiori Goshiki applies to be his new assistant (his last two left to pursue their own dreams). Goshiki, despite only knowing about manga for a year, is excellent at her job as a manga assistant–excellent to the point where it’s otherworldly. Funnily enough, turns out that Goshiki IS from another world…well, from a shooting star but you get my point. They’re both unwillingly betrothed to each other when Kuga accidentally touches her stinger.

The fact that she’s an alien seems not to phase Kuga that much. I guess it’s okay when the alien is great at her job and a sweetheart to boot. Of the two anime I’m watching this season featuring a conventionally attractive alien woman, A Galaxy Next Door is by far the more serious one. Like Too Cute Crisis!, A Galaxy Next Door might end up being forgettable. It’s the way it’s shaping up so far. It isn’t that bad–just a bit dull so far. A standard supernational romance anime. Take it or leave it.

#anime first impressions #anime

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mbti-notes · 2 years ago

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Anon wrote: Hello, I am INFX, 21 y.o. After reading your blog, taking some tests and understanding functions (hopefully) a little better, I narrowed down my options to INFP and INFJ. If you are able to, I would gladly use your help in determining my type. As for important information: I have a generalized anxiety disorder, I had depression for several years and I am still prone to depressive episodes. English is not my first language.

I will start with INFP functional stack. Fi Dom: I have a fuzzy sense of identity, which is why I often don't know what I like or dislike, get stuck, don't trust my gut feelings, rely on others a lot in decision-making processes. I do tend to judge things as either good or bad depending on my beliefs, but the beliefs are weak. I don't trust them unless they are built on a solid framework of knowledge and evidence. I need to know rather than believe. My emotions emerge seemingly from nowhere. I can't identify what's the reason for them and how to deal with them. But for some reason I still think I make decisions relying on my emotions, it's just that if I always relied on them it would do more harm than good.

Te Inf: I have trouble understanding Te. I know Te is about external structure. Actually I rarely encounter extremely messy lifestyle as in Fi extreme and I can plan things decently, even if I don't like doing so. Structure helps me and I need it in order not to become chaotic, so I always have an agenda and don't like it when plans are cancelled. Especially in recent years I got better at structuring my life. Most of the time I know what to do to solve my problems, I just don't want to do it. So I don't think I've ever encountered Te grip (at least not from what I'm aware of). At my lowest points I did have trouble to take care of myself but I attribute it to depression.

Ne Aux: Ne is one of the few functions I can decently use and understand in a positive way. I often look for new activities to participate in, new hobbies (especially creative ones). I have 300+ tabs open at all times because I research many different topics at once. I can generate creative ideas (usually for my art) with the help of sensory experience (such as music). Often manifests in unhealthy ways - I use daydreaming to escape responsibilities.

I can find a lot of opportunities but I don't indulge in them or follow through, which makes my interests shallow. I like making lists (of albums to listen, movies to watch, stuff to draw, things to do in general), but I rarely do what's in those lists. I'd rather daydream about it than actually do something. This is one of my greatest struggles, because I have ideas and inspirations but they always stay in my head or on paper and never come to fruition.

What makes me think Ne is my Aux rather than Dom is that I am very risk-averse and not very extraverted (I know ENXP are the most introverted extraverts though), I have never been very positive either or extremely chaotic either.

Si Tert: I am prone to not stepping outside of my comfort zone. I want new experiences but at the same time I'm afraid of them. As I've mentioned before I am very risk-averse, not taking even calculated risks. Fear of failure holds me back. I'm afraid that the status quo may change not in my favor (it will all go downhill if I make a mistake, so I'd rather do nothing at all).

Moving onto INFJ stack: Ni Dom: I struggle with perfectionism because I have an ideal image of things I want to implement and I'm too afraid I will fail to achieve the ideal; I have a perfect version of myself in mind which I strive to be one day (but often fail to come even close to it). I don't have a clear picture of my future though.

I know that many people equate Ni with "insightful" thinking, which I cannot relate to. I "predict" the future in a negative way, always expecting a catastrophe and feeling paranoid at worst. I often jump to pessimistic conclusion way before anything bad happened. I keep telling myself that it's better to keep expectations low in order not to get disappointed.

Se Inf: I cannot engage with physical world because of escapism. When I'm outside I don't notice my surroundings at all. I go through life on autopilot. Even when I try to be present and focus on the current moment, my sensing is dulled, almost muted, and the engagement feels shallow. I'm always in my head, made-up scenarios are more comforting to me than the real world. I reflected on it for some time and decided depression is not to blame because my Se was unhealthy/unused before that as well, it just escalated.

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You've made it clear that dominant Fi and inferior Te don't fit. That is more than enough to rule out INFP, so I'm not sure why you're still considering it. The info you gave for dominant Ni and inferior Se sounds fine, but I'm not sure why Fe and Ti are missing. Did you not send them? Did I not receive them? In any case, I can't draw a firm conclusion without information about the entire stack.

#ask #assessment

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llycaons · 11 months ago

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lot of fun opinions on that homophobic shonen protags poll

the debates over yusuke rage. he was openly transphobic on screen, but is also friends with kurama so..hm.

#but I can't believe yusuke has votes when he canonically kissed his bestie#he's a transphobe not a homophobe

obviously there's overlap but! much to consider. he's also someone who grows up a lot during the series and is notably more chill as an older teenager. he definitely said slurs as a 14 yr old tho

ichigo is barely developed but his series is full of stereotypes of gay men as overly concerned with appearance, evilly effeminate, and sexually predatory. 'he has gay friends' says one tag but um citation FUCKING needed! wait shit

#ichigo doesn't understand but he's got the spirit you know? like he thought uryu was gay and tried to be supportive

oh fuck this might have actually happened. okay maybe ichigo isn't the worst but I'm leaving up my earlier thought bc im not a coward

#ive never seen bleach but that guy looks like he'd be an iphone user

ichigo actually predates iphones! but this is not relevant to the discussion

also the tags calling edward a smug atheist bastard vs. his 'love is love' edit lmao

#who the heck slandering Edward Tho!? This boy ain’t give a crap about homo he got better things to worry about. you go little atheist boy.#He the bane of the military existence for a reason that he works for that only keep him around because he good at alchemy. KNOW THE SERIES.

first of all the way this is written is insane. second of all what does being homophobic have to do with being the bane of the military?!

WAIT THERE'S MORE

#who the fuck is calling edward elric homophobic???? yeah he's an annoying atheist but he's so so antifa

PLEASE HE WORKS FOR THE MILITARY

The amount of people saying "edward isnt homophobic" is so funny. The "love is love i see no difference) meme is not the actual edward elric hes a libertarian military brat. Get a grip #''hes so antifa'' you gotta be smoking dick

LIBERTARIAN EDWARD ELRIC

I see why people call yusuke and naruto bi or gay but edward I never really saw it...his friendship with ling seems very hetero to me. fma always came off as a a very cishet series (lest we forget arawaka's 'men are muscular and women are va-voom' doodle + the heteronormative nuclear family ending). and deku and ichigo too I think they're just straight kids

#also izukus homophobia comes from his bully being a fruity bastard

scream?

'most of these protagonists would never be homophobic' I think you've wildly overestimated the average early 2000s 15 year old shonen boy ngl

#kirito vouldnt care less about anything but his friends/harem#he dropped fighting to live out his little nuclear family fantasy#being homophobic isnt on his radar

wow I wonder if having a nuclear family fantasy would predispose you to certain regressive ideas about gender roles and sexual orientation. it's not like most people consciously make an effort to Be Homophobic it just arises from a set of assumptions and stereotypes you're exposed to in a homophobic society....I feel like the person who wrote this may be stupid. this guy is sweeping the poll currently and at least half of the tags that mention him fucking hate him so it sounds like he's a piece of shit. some people are defending him saying he's bi tho. tbh I didn't even think people liked sword art online, famous harem incel incest fantasy about a chronically online gamer boy, in the year of your lord 2024 anymore

back and forths about deku. as a more recent shonen protag he seems less hateful to me but he also seems very het and the author is nasty so. hm

#wtf voted Luffy? he would never. he's literally a pirate

GOOD NEWS EVERYONE PIRATES CAN'T BE HOMOPHOBIC. like I agree but also what an argument, it's kind of nice to see luffy so low since I liked his vibes in the live action but WHO IS VOTING GON??!!!!! you're saying gon is more homophobic that YUSUKE??!!! I don't think gon even knows what homophobia IS and if he did he'd think it was messed up! not a single tag here is disagreeing so maybe they were mistaken votes

goku struck me as foolish yet well-meaning which is what everyone is agreeing.

#also. Goku is aroace spectrum in my hearth. just throwing that out there

god I wish I lived in a world where that meant he wasn't homophobic.

naruto seems to be a mixed bag bc he almost definitely is gay (even tho some ppl in the tags are like umm it's only POSSIBLE) but nobody can agree if he ever stopped being internalized homophobic about it or if he's a more 'confused but he's got the spirit' kind of deal

yuji ranks very low, which also makes sense bc jjk is a newer series and most shonen in the mid-00s had a lot more homophobia in general than they do now. he seems like a decent kid, tho I never finished s1. the pink hair makes him seem chiller than most

kagome is getting mixed reviews but mostly landing on the not homophobic side. having seen nothing of inuyasha I cannot comment. some tags saying she's a fujoshi some saying shes bi some say both

lots of people saying lucy fairy tale so I'm obligated to mention her but idk shit about that show except it looked kinda misogynistic so if she WAS homophobic I'll give her a pass/s

#kirito is the only answer here because everyone else is gay

im sorry but edward and ichigo are like some of the straightest guys in shonen like please

and FINALLY arguments about whether death note should be included, since it was run in shonen jump. it's not a purely action/fantasy series, so that's probably why it was left out, but it WAS targeted towards teenage boys so I guess it would technically count. anyway everyone is saying light would win by a landslide if he was listed

thanks for coming to my breakdown I will probably revisit this in a week when the poll ends

#cor.txt

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smokeybrand · 5 months ago

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I feel like I've been super negative on this blog lately so let me straight up gush about something I've recently loved. Alien: Romulus was amazing. I’ve spoken at length about this before, but I am a massive fan of the franchise. It’s not part of my Pillars, but it’s definitely a support strut. Alien, to me, is as perfect as a film can get, and Aliens is a perfect example of Eighties excess. Go big or go home. The Queen Xenomorph is one of my all-time creature designs but my zeal for that universe was solidified with the Dark Horse comics. Some of the first comics I bought myself, with my own money, were Alien books. I ended up getting the first issue of Aliens: Earth War (before it was called Earth War) and the initial AvP run. That sh*t ended up taking a ton of space in my head, rent free, for years. Machiko Noguchi is the second best protagonist, after Ripley, herself. I had all of the Kenner figures and their little mini comics, too. Just the Xenos, though. I didn’t give a sh*t about the Marines. I remember lamenting I never got that “good” Queen Xeno, just the flying one. I love this franchise. So imagine my utter desperation for a competent big screen outing, after literally four goddamn decades of sh*t. The Assembly Cut of Alien 3 was pretty decent but everything after that was just awful. All of it. Including the prequels. I really f*cking hate the prequels. That resentment is actually a boon for Romulus because the way they incorporated that part of the mythos into this film, went a long way toward my acceptance of those ill-conceived and wholly convoluted, ego strokes. Romulus is so good, they make all of this cats-for-brains ideas in the Prequels, tolerable.

I don’t care for Prometheus because it came at the cost of Blomkamp’s Alien 5. I’ve seen a bit of that concept art and listened to Weaver just absolutely gush about the plot. Sh*t sounded exceptional, very Aliens, very much in the vein of that narrative. In all honesty, I think that’s why it was killed. It skewed more Cameron than Scott, and Mr. Ridley took offense. He made Fox kill the Oates effort and ran wild with Prometheus; an unwieldy, up-it’s-own-ass, creation myth, that was too convoluted to execute such an existential narrative with any decorum, and was too pretentious to be accessible to the common man. We wanted an Alien part Deux. We got Chariot of the Gods. Sh*t was pretty, though. After what Scott hoped to pivot the franchise to, imploded critically, he got a second shot at it, delivering an origin story to the Xenos no one asked for. While STILL pivoting toward his weird AI fetish super hard. Somehow, Covenant was worse than Prometheus in almost every way. Sh*t didn’t “fix” anything. David is still the architect to the Xenomorphs as we know them. He’s still the thing which set up the events of LV-426. The Black Goo is still a primary fixture of the franchise. Both Prometheus and Covenant are still canon. That’s dumb. However, the way Romulus addresses those things, really allowed me to accept those really, really, dumb, situations.

Mild spoilers, but the Aliens in Romulus are not the same Aliens from LV-246. They are reversed engineered by Rook, an Ash model android, from the remains of Big Chap. Rook was able to synthesize a strain of the black goo, I think it was called the Prometheus Strain, and even referenced Waylan’s death. What this told me was that, while the black goo was a really dumb addition to the overall narrative, I couldn’t be all that upset about it because Fede Alvares was able to make it feel legit. This strain of the Black Goo was different than the one the Engineers had. It produced subtly different versions of the Xenos. The facehuggers, for example, were larger, more mobile, and had barbs on their tendrils to grip faces better. The Xenos were larger and had a digitigrade stance, something that wasn’t solidified until Resurrection which, like Romulus, saw their Xenomorphs forged through genetic manipulation, not the natural processes or life cycle for the creatures. I was able to connect all of the threads and genuinely accept that Xenos can exist in an infinite number of forms, that the goo is hard coded to “create” a version of that creature. David's stupid f*cking experiments, explaining some sh*t that needed no explanation, can just be the version HE developed. His iteration to these random horrors, is the Queen. I imagine his version is the first version to have the egg. That is how HIS Xenomorph develops. I get that. I understand that. That's why the Big Chap in Alien is slightly different than the ones in Romulus. Different strain, but engineered from David's attempt. It's still dumb, but it makes it easier to accept whatever the f*ck is going on in the comics.

What really hammered it home for me was the Xeno-baby at the end of the film. Seeing that thing basically grow into a cross between a Xenomorph and Engineer was wild, all thanks to the nu-goo. It really threw me back to all those Kenner alien variations and, just like that, I got it. I got Prometheus. I got Covenant. I got Alien as a macro franchise and not just one of my favorite two films. It was a rough, four decade journey, but we got back to zero. Romulus does not work without the soft canonization of the prequels and I am okay with that because of how good it is. This is an Alien film, through and through, course-correcting the franchise in a similar way Prey did with Predator. It feels like Fede gets it and I can’t wait to see what the sequel has in store because this thing pretty much doubled its budget. It’s definitely getting another one. Unless the show is balls. If Aliens: Earth tanks, I might have another four decades of bullsh*t ahead of me because I kind of hate what Marvel is doing on the comic end of things. The games are dope at least.

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dzpenumbra · 1 year ago

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8/1/23

I can't begin to explain how drained I am.

I had a headache for most of the day. I just drank a cup of chai at like midnight (it's 1:15) because I realized I hadn't had caffeine all day and that's probably why I have such a bad headache. Now, that caffeine is kicking in, the headache is melting away, but I'm extremely aware of how utterly exhausted I am.

I woke up after 5 hours. I immediately put my headphones in and tried to go back to sleep. I stopped myself from trying after exactly 15 minutes. I checked my email and found messages from my therapist.

I had emailed my therapist before I talked to my former friend who offered me the graphic design commission. He replied. I read what he said as... kinda siding with graphic design and... "take what you can get"... I scanned his messages and got that message very clear from him. I replied emphasizing that design and art are not only different fields, they're entirely different workflows. I tried very hard to express how having someone go around and advertise me as a graphic designer doesn't help me as an artist, it would help me as a graphic designer. And, since the people who are looking for design are not typically looking for creative input... they're looking for someone who knows how to use software to make the thing they are envisioning... in some ways this actually damages my non-existent reputation as an artist.

I'm fucking tired of explaining this. But here I go again, on one last hoorah before I fucking finally tap out of this. Someone comes up to me and says "I'd love to help you out." They claim to "like my style", yet proceed to tell me how they avoid Instagram like the plague, when I had specifically asked them to check out my recent work before the meeting. Then, in the consultation, they have very clear ideas of what they want done and how... which leaves little room for "my style". My style, the one that he's familiar with... is realism, organic blending, colored pencil and pen work. What he commissioned... was a vector-based low-detail letterhead and t-shirt graphic for a welding company. TELL ME THAT'S NOT BULLSHIT. He doesn't want my style, he doesn't even want to take 35 seconds to google my style, or click the direct link to my portfolio that I gave him. I doubt if I asked him right now, he could tell me what my alias of over 10 years is, the one I've been using for my art for 4 years.

He claimed to want to help my career. And his way of helping is... to help himself. With a logo he needs. And "hey man, maybe people will see that logo and go 'that's pretty cool' and I'll send them your way!" <wink wink nudge nudge> Awesome. Nothing I'd like more than to do a logo for the trucking company you're doing specialty welding for. Let me see, what other projects do I have going right now... I'm doing hand-painted grip tape, I'm doing hand-made jewelry, I'm doing a hand-painted goat skull, I'm doing hand-painted customized clothing (hoodie, and soon pants too), I'm doing mini Zen gardens for artistic and functional and living home décor. Now, when you see my work, my "style"... does designing a fucking logo for a trucking company mesh with that? Are they my... target demographic?

Not only do I not know how to make logos... I don't really fucking care how to make logos. I don't. I care so little about making logos that I have been streaming and have had an online presence for my art for over 4 years and I have never once made a logo. Because I have art I can put in that spot instead.

Now... this anger, this frustration that's coming out here. This frantic need to explain and justify my position here. I found out what this is today. It was really hard for me to break myself out of it, and it's even hard to do now. I have this frantic beast in the back of my head saying "keep explaining, you're right there. Then THEY will understand. Then THEY will... help. And things will start working." It's... kinda panic. But rooted in trauma. A series of traumas that rocked me to my core; a lifetime, really. And I'm reliving it... right now. Right this moment. Those feelings, that franticness, that "I'm so close, I just have to find the right words".

It's fucking... I legit can't even put it into words. I handwrote 2.5 pages of business notes on 5 hours of sleep. I typed out monthly and weekly survival budgets, a budget of baseline survival expenses. Survival. That should've been a big red flag there.

I figured it out a bit too late, around 9:30 PM tonight. But all of these freakouts of like... It is exceptionally EXCEPTIONALLY rare that someone comes into my life and offers to help me. With fucking anything. And I was just like... "holy crap, this changes everything." And the dipshit offers to help me with shit that has nothing to do with my work, and clearly has not even looked at my work. Not only is that a bad friend, it's really a bad client. He didn't even do his research on who he was getting work done from, or quote a price first. He just dove right in and started shmoozing and bullshitting. And then shot one of my spirit animals with a .45 pistol with hollow-point bullets while on the phone with me.

So... since it's exceptionally rare that someone offers me help, I feel like I can't afford to say no. I'm in the middle of Bumfuck, Alaska, and a trade caravan is passing through. Can I afford to not stock up on food? It could be years before the next offer to help me. And then the help offer... it doesn't even fucking help my career. I, as a fine artist, art blogger, whatfuckingever the term is going to be... I'm not going to put my fucking logo for a welding company in my portfolio of fine art that I'm sending to goddamn galleries. It. Makes. Me. Look. Bad. And I'm not proud of it. It is, at most... partially my work, and most definitely not my vision.

I'm still doing the explaining thing... So yeah, I get panicked. I feel like I need to frantically explain, so they'll understand. So they'll get what I actually do. So they'll get what my career is. And then they'll go "holy shit, wow, I had no idea. That's fascinating! How can I help you?" And I'll start rattling off ways they can help me.

But... haha... BUT... They don't care. They don't. They're not a fan. "It's not my thing." "I don't like that website." "I don't have the time." "I'm not good with technology." Excuses are like assholes, everyone's got 'em and they're all full of shit.

The reality I've been avoiding is that... this guy doesn't actually care about me. He just knows I have integrity and I will get the job done, and won't rip him off... in fact, I'll probably just give it away to him for free, just like his ex-wife's S-tier tattoo design. Because of my whole monastic, people-pleasing, be-a-good-guy approach to life.

It all revolves around the idea of... support. That really meaning, at its core... social acceptance. Society (literally any person in society, ideally multiple) showing an interest in what I do and having a place for my contributions. And the reality is... I don't have that. I'm orbiting society. I'm barely even noticed. Both personally and professionally. It's rare for me to even experience eye contact.

So... when I rush to clean my whole house and mock up 6 prototypes overnight... and the dude makes up a bunch of excuses like "I don't want to look at a bunch of girls on multimillion dollar yachts pretending to be hot shit or something" as a way to exclude himself from pulling his phone out of his pocket and looking at ANY of my online media... so he can familiarize himself with what I do... The reality is very plainly, very simply... he doesn't care. And that is what it is. He is not a fan, he is not a friend, he's just making a practical business deal with an on-hand resource. And quantifying that actually, in a weird way, helps me ground and relax. It lowers the stakes, the gravity of the loss if I were to say "no".

I'm Tom Hanks in Castaway... And he's a boat that pulls up to shore, asks for directions, takes some of the castaway's food and fucking leaves. As things lie right now, he's in no way doing me a favor short of giving me money for services rendered, a service that I have never offered. That's not him doing me a favor, that's him offering me a job in a different field. But... I am doing him a favor. And it would be very smart for me to remember that I have the power in this situation.

God, I just keep sinking into that whirlpool. I wonder how visible it is. It's like I get two sentences in and I start explaining and justifying again, as though I don't already understand. THAT process. The... invasive pull of every thought stream back to that same concept... "HELP ME". And the survival instincts that come with it. "I'll be here forever." "I'll never make it." Like being stuck in purgatory. And the frantic, demeaning having to explain myself over and over to ears that are not quite not listening to me... but rather... listening to my contributions to the conversation as though I am a 7-year-old kid with a box of crayons at the grownups table at a family reunion.

That image fucking sums it up, in my experience. I don't even know how to put that into words, that feeling. Not quite humiliation... kinda degradation? Diminution? Infantilization? Oh fuck, yep, thank you Google for verifying it. That's it. Infantilization. And then I'm panicked and feverishly jawing like a 7 year old trying to tell them that Santa Claus is actually real.

The past several days of my journal has been full of this. It's clear as day. That. That's a PTSD response. I'm piecing it together. It's an emotional reliving of a life of related fucked up traumas. Really really fucked up things, that you really shouldn't do to other people, that happened to me. And when something similar to it shows its face? This happens. I can't sleep. I'm haunted for days. I fall asleep ranting to the ceiling. I wake up ranting to the ceiling. I come up with survival plans to provide a sense of security and safety.

I'm... so... tired. It's only 2AM and I can barely keep my eyes open. What this shit does to me is utterly savage. I'm so deeply grateful for the work I've put in to be able to identify it as it's happening now. And it really didn't take that much time for me to be able to go "oh fuck, I know what you are. I see you."

Where I need to be right now? Instead of the Past? Instead of the Future? Now. I need to be Here and Now. And that's what I did. I tapped out of the ambitious plan to finish the grip tape today and I decided to do some self-massage on my quads instead. I don't really know how to angle myself so my legs are relaxed to properly do it, but I did some and I feel much better for just... stopping the franticness and the freaking out... and just relaxing and doing something nice for myself. It helped.

So... I'm going to go to bed early. Because fuck it. Maybe I'll even watch a TV show in bed or something, I don't know. It's been ages since I watched a TV show or a movie. Because it's a nice, quiet, beautiful night. The temperature is not too hot, not too cold. The moon is full(ish). And one of my bean plants looks like it might actually make a full recovery! (The other sadly didn't make it. -_-) The world isn't all doom and gloom. There is peace here. Good lord, if it's one thing I'm insanely grateful for, it's that I turned my home into a place of peace, healing and inspiration. In a very dedicated way. Living in a space that nurtures life, in which I am cultivating lifeforms, has a very different feel to it.

Anyway, I'm gonna go do that. I just really felt like it was worth writing that, about catching myself in my flashbacks. Again, I had no idea that was what was happening, I was just feeling insanely strong emotions. So, that's a huge step forward. I even messaged my therapist back and apologized if I was intense and thanked him for his patience, and he knew, and seemed really relieved that I was able to figure it out myself. Good lord. That's so crazy. So much of mental health self-care is really, at its root, a very broad sense of self-awareness.

I could go on for ages. But I'm literally nodding off. Bye.

#diary #journal #online journal #stream of thoughts #stream of consciousness #ptsd

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mypoisonedvine · 4 years ago

Text

𝖙𝖜𝖎𝖈𝖊 I || professor!helmut zemo x reader

𝖘𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞 : history is so much more interesting when he’s teaching it. you’d better be careful before the two of you end up with a history of your own.

𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙 : 6k

𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘 : smut (incl. semi-public sex in an office and oral f receiving), significant age gap (reader is 20, zemo is 39; it isn’t actually mentioned though but it comes up in the next part), the slightest bit of angst?, nearly pwp at this point lol

You wouldn’t know it by the way you were enraptured with his lecture, but you weren’t even a history major.

Quite far from it, really, well outside of the college of liberal arts, and yet here you were in the front row, watching him gesture over a large map of Western Europe while he explained the sociocultural impacts of the Treaty of Versailles.

It was probably pretty obvious why you took such interest in all this, though. After all, you were the only one who dressed as well as he did, your blazers and skirts and loafers standing out amongst a sea of hoodies and sweats and flip-flops; and, you were the only one who paid close attention and yet never seemed to be taking any notes…

Why would you, after all? Looking away to write in your notebook would mean missing out on all the fun, and unfortunately you had found that when you copied down the words he spoke, his accent was not retained in writing.

Some kid in the back of the class had asked about his accent the first day; you thought it was kind of a rude question, if you were being honest, but he didn’t seem to mind too much (if perhaps a bit surprised that anyone cared). He explained he was from a small country called Sokovia, but that his accent was a bit unique since he spoke Russian, German, Spanish, and Italian as well.

Because of course he did. Like he was specifically designed to target all your weaknesses.

“Well, I could talk about that for the rest of the evening but I’ll spare you all and let you out a bit early today, how does that sound?” Professor Zemo offered. The other students weakly cheered, a few claps here and there as you heard binders shutting and backpacks being zipped, but you were disappointed. You didn’t want to go back to your dorm, all you were going to do there was think about him anyways.

Damn, I’ve really got it bad, you thought to yourself, shaking your head as you stood up and gathering your things, slinging your bag over your shoulder. You glanced up at the podium where another student was chatting with Professor Zemo, and either he said something really funny or she was trying way too hard to flirt with him. You rolled your eyes, irritated by the display and yet envious of her audacity to just go up there and talk to him. Imagine having a crush and actually being able to look them in the eye and hold a conversation; you could barely do that with people you didn’t happen to find attractive.

Just as you were about to make it out the door, you heard your name and spun around. You were shocked to realize it was the Professor trying to get your attention. If only you’d thought to pretend you hadn’t heard him.

“Could I speak with you for a moment?” he requested, motioning you over with two curled fingers. With a swallow and a nod, you stepped out of the flow of students exiting into the hallway and approached the desk at the front of the room.

“What is it?” you asked.

“I just wanted to discuss your most recent paper, if you have some time,” he explained, and your heart sunk. Of course it was garbage, you’d written the whole thing last minute during a near-all-nighter. “I still have the copy you turned in here in my bag.”

“Right, of course— sure,” you nodded. By now the classroom was empty spare for the two of you, your words echoing slightly; presumably that was intentional, since these places were built for acoustics, but it made you worry you’d have to hear whatever criticism he had for you multiple times.

He pulled out the slightly-wrinkled paper and took his glasses off of his vest to wear (fuck, did he have to wear the glasses, just to personally attack you?) as he glanced over the top page before folding it over the staple.

“This essay,” he continued, “it’s—”

Ridiculous. Idiotic. A blight on humanity and a waste of printer ink.

“Fascinating,” he finished, surprising you. “After I read it, I searched your student profile on my office computer—”

You gulped, trying not to take that as a compliment.

“I’m looking at your information and I’m seeing you aren’t even a history major— is this a mistake, when it says your major is computer science?”

“No, that’s my major,” you nodded.

“Well, that’s a shame,” he decided, “because you have some really interesting ideas in here, clearly you must have studied history before.”

“I mean, not really,” you shrugged. “I didn’t even care that much about history until, you know, you...r class,” you finished quickly, realizing it sounded too odd otherwise.

And that smile, the way he looked down at the floor suddenly, was he blushing? “Thank you. I’m always… glad to inspire.”

If only you knew everything you’d inspired in me, Professor.

“If you didn’t care about history, what would motivate you to register for an honors history seminar?” he asked suddenly.

“Well…” you trailed off, reaching up to scratch the back of your neck as you dodged his gaze.

“It couldn’t possibly be because I’m teaching it,” he realized.

“I came to your talk last year, the one you did about the Sokovian civil war,” you finally admitted, letting out a lungful of air as you said it and looking up at him sheepishly.

“Ah,” he nodded, “yes, that might make a bit more sense. But we still haven’t found the real reason, have we?” His eyebrow raised slightly and you felt like he was toying with you— but you liked it, the shiver that ran up your spine made that obvious. “Because the question remains of what would possess a computer science student to take time out of her busy schedule on a Friday night— if I recall the night correctly— to listen to some stuffy visiting scholar talk about a bloody war in a country she may not have even heard of before.”

“My friend brought me,” you defended.

“Under what guise?” he pressed.

“She… may have mentioned something about… a cute professor with a sexy accent…” you stammered, cringing slightly as you spared a glance back up at him. He was staring back at you with the most bewildering expression. His eyes said ‘you thought I was cute?’, and yet his smile said ‘I knew it.’

“You must’ve been horribly disappointed when I took the stage,” he finally replied, voice a bit lower, softer, not echoing around the room anymore.

“Not at all,” you returned, almost below your breath now, and suddenly you became very aware that you were standing too close to him, but you couldn’t move away, you couldn’t even look away anymore. “I’m here, aren’t I? Taking your class?”

“And you make it nearly impossible to focus, did you know that? I swear your eyes never leave me, I can feel them on me. It’s quite unfair, because I can’t stare back at you no matter how much I want to.”

Just as you looked down at his lips and back up to his eyes, which seemed to be following a similar pattern on your own face, just when you thought this might be it and you were about to do something you really shouldn’t (but really wanted to), you heard the door open behind you and you spun around so fast you nearly hurt your neck.

“Oh,” the man in the doorway mumbled, apparently surprised to see you enough to nearly drop the papers tucked under his arm. “I’m teaching the next class in here— Honors History of Islam?”

“Professor Waters, yes, my apologies,” Zemo nodded, “we were just… our discussion ran a bit long, we’ll get out of your way.”

You and Zemo awkwardly gathered your things and made a dash for the door as the older professor took his place at the podium. Once the two of you were out in the hall, you let out a sigh and gave each other a glance, like you were each waiting for the other to either acknowledge or ignore what had just (almost) happened.

“I have my next class across campus in a half hour,” he remembered suddenly, lifting his arm and pulling back the brown sleeve of his coat to look at his watch.

“Right, you should… get to that,” you nodded.

“Walk with me?” he proposed, and you hoped your smile wasn’t as beaming as it felt.

“I’d love to.”

So maybe you ended up skipping your evening class to sit in the back of his History of England course. And, perhaps, he ended that one early, too, this time to buy you coffee at the student center; and your discussion ended up going on so long that the coffee shop closed and you had to go to his office to finish the conversation.

But, in a certain sense, it could be argued that you never really got a chance to finish that conversation after all… because a few moments after he shut the door to his office, you, for lack of a better term, jumped his bones.

“Fuck,” he mumbled against your lips as you pulled him closer by his jacket, “we can’t do this.”

You nodded, reaching up to wrap your arms around his neck. “Mhm, yeah, you’re right,” you agreed breathlessly.

His hands took their place at your waist as you both stepped back, the back of your legs bumping into his desk which you jumped up slightly to sit on.

“I mean, we really can’t do this,” he continued, kissing your neck instead now while your legs wrapped around his hips, your skirt riding up slightly, your fingers fumbling with the buttons on his collar. “I want to, overwhelmingly so, but we can’t.”

“I know,” you sighed; your head fell back when his teeth grazed over your pulse, and his hand was right there to catch it and hold it up, gripping the back of your neck.

“This absolutely cannot happen,” he groaned when your legs pulled him closer, something hard and hot pressing up against your thigh through his trousers and you were really hoping it wasn’t just his cell phone.

Then he rocked his hips, just barely, and you felt the outline of the ridge of his head and it was definitely not his phone unless he had the most suggestively-shaped phone case of all time. You gasped and grabbed his face to kiss him again, shamelessly desperate now, weaving your fingers into the hair just above the back of his neck.

By now you had managed to get a few of his buttons open so when you slid your fingers down from time to time, they ran over his chest and the patch of dark blonde hair there. Funny enough, you couldn’t remember having any strong opinions on chest hair before this afternoon, but now you felt your walls fluttering around nothing.

He helped you shed your blazer just before tossing his own coat aside, never breaking the kiss, holding your face gently while he pushed you down to lay on his desk— he reached behind you to clear a few stray papers out of the way first.

Your back hit the glossy wood and his weight pinned you down, rough hands sliding up your legs and under your skirt as you tried to push your hips up for more friction where you needed him most.

He pushed your hips back down, not too roughly but definitely enough to get your attention, before sliding his hands up your skirt again where he toyed with the hem of your panties.

You wanted to say something, more specifically you wanted to beg him to touch you, but you had this fear that if you spoke now it would all become real and he would stop because, as he had so poignantly noted, this can’t happen. And both of you knew that… so maybe it would be easier to let it happen if neither of you really acknowledged it.

Luckily, he didn’t tease you too long, reaching under the fabric and swiping the rough pads of his fingers over your slickened folds. You choked on your gasp, accidentally digging your nails into his shoulders when he drew delicate circles around your clit. All at once, he suddenly pushed those fingers right inside you and your back arched; you needed so much more than just his fingers but the way they twisted and curled against your walls was nearly perfect as well.

They didn’t stay long, quickly pulling back as you watched him quickly open his trousers just before you felt the head of him pushing up to your entrance.

His eyes met yours, dark with need, yet somehow clearly asking you for permission, making sure this was what you wanted: and fuck, you wanted it more than anything. The moment that you nodded, he began to push forward— slow and deliberate, but unyielding.

Perhaps as a perfect healthy college student in a male-dominated major, you had no real excuse for it to have been so long since you’d had sex. As you liked to put it: dating as a woman in computer science means the odds are good but the goods are odd. Truth be told, you weren’t sure at this point if having had sex any time in the past year would’ve prepared you for him anyway. It felt like he was forging a new path inside you— certainly a wider one than anyone else ever had since he was so thick.

With his hips fully seated against yours, the tip of his cock just reached the end of you, just barely brushed over those sensitive spots you didn’t even know you had before.

It stung a bit to be filled this thoroughly, so it was no wonder you were biting down on your lip hard enough to bruise it, your fingers clutching at his shirt tightly.

“Am I hurting you?” he whispered, finally breaking the silence, voice strained like he was struggling just as much as you were (though in an entirely different way).

“A little,” you admitted. “Please don’t stop.”

He groaned a few curses as he started to move back, and forth, and so slow you could hardly stand it.

“Fuck,” you breathed, “oh my god, harder, please…”

A little smile crossed his face, a sharp exhale almost like a laugh, and it made your cheeks burn even hotter than they already were. But, he obeyed, regardless, more aggressive in his movements yet not any faster as he held your hips to keep you from sliding across the desk’s glossy wood surface.

Your moans were starting to echo around the office’s beige walls at this point, and he snarled as he bit down on your neck. “You need to stay quiet,” he hissed in your ear. “Can you do that for me? Can you stay quiet even when I’m making you feel so good?”

“I-I’m trying,” you whimpered, “your cock is… so deep…”

“Oh, I know,” he cooed, voice heavy with faux pity, “poor thing, you can’t take it?”

“No!” you yelped. “I can take it! Please, please don’t stop.”

“I won’t have to if you stay quiet, darling, we can’t have somebody hearing you now can we?” he chuckled, licking and sucking at your pulse point as your eyes rolled back in your head. “We can’t have somebody hearing you cry for me, and coming in here, and seeing you laying on my desk getting fucked by your professor, right?”

What the hell was wrong with you that that idea actually turned you on? Why did it actually make you want to moan louder until everyone could hear you?

And when his cock speared right against that spongy spot inside you, you did exactly that and he had to suddenly clamp his hand down over your mouth.

“Fuck,” he growled, “you’re going to get us both in trouble.”

Your attempts at apologies were totally incomprehensible with his hand over your mouth, not that they were likely to have made much sense either way.

Blinking your eyes shut, your legs began to quiver slightly as he rutted into you, your toes curling inside your loafers. You felt so full you could hardly stand it, stretched so wide that you were forced to feel every detail of his cock as it filled you. Already your walls were bearing down on him; you couldn’t help it, it was like your body was just his instrument now and instinct had taken control of your movements.

His accent was definitely stronger now as he whispered in your ear, praising you gruffly. You knew from the beginning that you loved high marks and encouragement from your teachers, but this… this was different, and you hadn't known how much it would affect you.

"Good girl," he breathed, "you're taking me so well, draga, you feel so perfect around me."

You whined from behind his hand and he chuckled at your obvious neediness.

"You like making me feel good, darling?" he presumed, his smile pressing against your neck between nipping kisses to your pulse point. "You like knowing that I can barely take this tight cunt gripping me so well, that I'm already addicted to your precious body and want to fill it with my seed?"

With your eyes rolling back in your head you nodded feverishly, heavy in your state of total delirium as he pumped his cock deep into you over and over.

You reached up to try to pull his hand away from your mouth, and he met your gaze with fire in his eyes.

“If I take my hand away, will you be good?” he challenged, and you nodded feverishly. He was a bit hesitant but slowly moved his hand down, and though you did have to keep biting your lip, you managed to restrain yourself.

Every drag of the ridge of his head inside you was somehow more intense than the last, somehow hitting right at your spot and it was like each rough thrust knocked his name out of your mind and onto your lips until you were chanting it like a prayer, or a plea.

And each time you said it, he fucked you harder, snarling and whispering your name back to you a few times, in between little praises; "Beautiful," he mumbled, "such a sweet little girl… such a perfect cunt."

“I— fuck, I’m gonna—” you stammered your warning.

“Will you come for me?” he finished for you, and you nodded quickly.

“Fuck, I’m so close,” you hissed.

It was obvious just by the build-up that you were going to come hard, pleasure tightening in your core until you were sure that it would spill over but it just kept going, making you wonder if it would ever reach the breaking point.

And oh boy did it, it slammed into you in fact, and your legs quivered as you struggled for air. He growled in your ear, fucking you harder through it all, stroking every place that had only become even more sensitive. The moment you could form words again, you were wasting the ability on a string of swears and promises you couldn’t keep.

“Yours, fuck, it’s yours,” you sobbed. He chuckled a little, pulling back to examine your face which must have given away how fucked-out and cockdrunk you were already.

“Say it again,” he demanded darkly, holding you tighter, fucking you a bit more deliberately though not any less aggressively.

“Yours,” you gasped, cut off by a rough and dominating kiss. Your moans were lost to his tongue but he didn’t need them to know you were coming, the way your body gripped him tighter than ever was sign enough.

“So good,” he whispered against your lips, “you’re doing so good for me…”

His words washed over your skin and soothed you like a salve, bringing some relief from the overwhelming feelings his body was assaulting yours with.

All things considered, he was still moving rather slowly, each of his thrusts measured and patient, and never really changing speed even as you were coming around him. Weak little cries fell from your throat each time his hips met yours and the tip of his cock kissed the deepest parts of you.

Your body went limp in his arms and you hadn't noticed before how good it felt for him to hold you, for his strong hands to support you like it was nothing. His thumb gently stroked your back through your shirt and you mewled weakly into his shoulder.

"So good, draga, so fucking good," he mumbled, holding you closer.

"Please… faster," you whimpered, "I want you to come."

"Is that what you want?" he taunted, ignoring the way you nodded immediately. "You want to make me come, darling?"

"Yes, please, want it so much," you gasped.

He finally sped up, though it was still nothing like the lightning-speed jackhammering you were used to from guys your age: it was better, certainly, especially when he lifted your leg onto his shoulder and pushed so deep you saw stars.

The second one seemed to hit you all at once, almost out of nowhere, and you heard yourself mumble, “Professor, I’m coming.” It sounded a bit pitiful, the way you said it, but he apparently didn’t mind as you felt him nod encouragingly in the crook of your neck.

You felt totally drained by now, exhausted even though all you’d been doing was lying there and taking it, but you knew he wasn’t done with you yet. But, if the way his thrusts were becoming more desperate and erratic were anything to go by, he might be done with you soon.

"I'm going to come inside you," he groaned against your ear. You were, like, 99.9% sure that if you told him not to, he would pull out, but the way that he phrased it, like a demand, like you didn't have a choice and he would do it either way… it had an effect on you, one he noticed when your channel tightened around him instantly. "Oh, you like that idea, hm? You want to be full of my come? Your sweet little cunt is already trying to milk every drop from me."

"Yes," you breathed, "fuck, I want your come in me, please!"

He sped up quite a bit then, each slam of his hips into yours making you choke on a whine, your arms weakly clinging onto him for dear life.

You could feel his cock swelling, flexing, pushing your body to its limits as he moaned lowly through his teeth, streams of come making you feel warm and full.

He didn't stop until every drop was in you, thrusting in time with each pump of his release until he slowed to a stop.

Strands of hair fell into his face as he hung his head, panting hard and fast. You melted back onto the desk, realizing this might be the first time in a solid half hour your back wasn’t arched.

It was a bit of a struggle to keep your eyes open against the heavy fog of afterglow that filled your mind; you couldn’t remember the last time you felt so… satiated. As a college student, you were always thinking about the next assignment, mentally re-evaluating your calendar, or preparing for something— and usually all on less than six hours of sleep.

But now your mind was as close to a blank slate as it had been in at least a decade. Even though you probably should’ve been, you weren’t even thinking about the potential consequences of this, the implications, the risks. No, you were just staring up at him, thinking about kissing him again.

He would have to lean down for that, though; there was no way you were going to sit up now.

You hadn't even noticed that you had closed your eyes, almost falling asleep right there on his desk, until you felt his hand cradle your face softly, a calloused thumb rubbing over your cheek.

In unison, the both of you sighed deeply.

As much as it felt like a real effort, you blinked open your eyes and looked up at him, watching him comb his fingers through his hair. It only messed up the style even further yet he looked better than ever.

He slowly moved his hips back, leaving you annoyingly empty, and readjusted himself until he almost looked put together again… but his collar was still uneven and his lips still looked bitten and there was still that precious pinkish hue on his cheeks. If anyone else saw him in this state, they’d either know what happened between you two or think he’d just run across campus or something.

If anyone else saw him in this state, you’d be a little jealous, to be totally honest.

You got back to work trying to right your appearance as well, though you knew the best you could hope for was only mildly presentable; he looked at you like you’d never looked better, though.

“Well, this was fun,” you chuckled breathlessly, “but it’s getting pretty late and I have an eight a.m. tomorrow…”

“Yeah, so do I,” he nodded, glancing away.

You picked up your bag from where you’d dropped it by the door, lifting the strap over your shoulder and starting to turn to leave.

"I… I should walk you back to your dorm," he announced, making you smile.

"That's sweet, but save your chivalry. I can take care of myself just fine."

"But—"

"I think it's safer if we're not seen together walking together by my dorm," you interjected, "especially when I'm walking a little funny…"

"I hope I didn't hurt you," he winced sympathetically.

"No, trust me, that was… exactly what I needed," you breathed. He smiled a little, looking down at the floor.

"Then I'll see you in class," he nodded, watching you closely as you stepped back and picked up your bag, starting to leave his office with one last small wave goodbye. “Wait, wait!” he whispered harshly just before you could let go of his door, and you giggled as he leaned out into the hall and glanced around to make sure no one was nearby.

When he confirmed the coast was clear, he smiled and grabbed your face with one hand, pulling you into a sudden kiss. And you smiled too— you couldn’t help it— as you kissed him back, almost ready for him to drag you back into that office and start this all over again. He did let you go, though, with one more whispered ‘goodnight’ and a look that made your heart do little somersaults.

As you finally did make your way back to your dorm, you tried to figure out if that was a goodbye kiss or a ‘see you soon’ kiss. Or maybe a ‘thanks for the one-time office quickie’ kiss? But you didn’t know enough about this sort of thing to know if that was even an option.

All you did know was that you really hoped it wasn’t the last kiss you’d have with him.

Can I speak to you in my office today after class? Thank you.

-Z

You may ask yourself: can one simple email, in only thirteen words, strike fear into the hearts of those who read it? And the answer is yes, assuming that email is from Professor Helmut Zemo and read by the lovestruck student who slept with him two days ago and hasn't stopped thinking about it since.

Only one of a few things could happen in his office after class, and there was a massive gap between the best and worst case scenarios. You dressed for the best but prepared yourself psychologically for the worst.

You caught him staring as you walked past the teaching podium to your seat in the front; you just hoped nobody else caught him. And if you'd thought paying attention in class was tough before, boy oh boy was it a challenge now. The nerves of what he wanted to discuss with you were bad enough alone, but that combined with memories from two days earlier randomly assaulting your psyche was just overwhelming.

When he pointed at the map with two fingers, you could remember exactly how those fingers had felt inside you, twisting and curling and getting you ready for his cock.

When he spoke, you could hear the difference in his voice compared to how he groaned out his praises while he was fucking you within a damn inch of your life.

And every once in a while, when he couldn’t help but glance at you for a moment, his gaze burned right through you; you were helpless to those brown eyes, completely paralyzed by them, and it must’ve been hours of that before class finally ended.

For the first time, you were the first person out the door when he released the class. As much as it was going to be a little bit weird to beat him to his office, it was certainly better than any of your other options. There was a chair in the hall beside the door, and you took a seat and pretended to read a book just to look busy (there was no way you could actually turn symbols on a page into readable language right now, not when you knew he’d be here any minute to talk about… something).

Your peripheral caught him coming down the hall, but you pretended to be deeply immersed in your book until he was right beside you, unlocking his door and opening it for you and himself. Tucking your book away and following him inside, you found him already staring at you, expression completely unreadable. Your gut sank in anticipation of whatever conversation this was going to become, and a moment passed in heavy silence.

"Hi," you greeted plainly, letting out a quick breath.

"Hi," he returned. "Close the door behind you."

You nodded and did as you were told, quietly pushing the wood back until the door latched before approaching where he had come to stand beside his desk. Though you didn't originally intend to, you found yourself standing a bit too close.

"I'm not quite sure where to start," he admitted, chuckling breathlessly as he reached up to rub the back of his neck. He looked cute flustered, which was a shame because his tone seemed to imply you needed to not be thinking about how cute he was. “Listen, you should know that what happened before… it was a mistake,” he sighed. “It can’t happen again.”

“Do you regret it?” you asked point-blank.

“It can’t happen again,” he repeated in lieu of a real answer, and you looked closely at his face; you didn’t find as much confidence there as you were looking for, it wasn’t the face of a man who knew he was making the right choice. You certainly didn’t think he was making the right choice.

“Why did you want to have this conversation alone in your office, then?” you challenged.

He cleared his throat slightly. “So no one would hear us.”

“Hear us talk?” you pressed. “Is that all?”

“That’s… definitely the plan,” he nodded, swallowing dryly. "Like I said, it was a mistake— my fault, not yours. And I just hope we can put it behind us respectfully."

“All the best mistakes are made at least twice,” you whispered, reaching up to trail your finger down his lapel. “Don’t you think?”

“Don’t do that,” he requested tensely.

"Do what?"

"That," he hissed. "Stop being… irresistible," he clarified, eyes darting from your lips to your finger to your eyes and back again. "A man can only take so much. I'm trying to do right by you."

"You already did when you fucked me that good," you smirked. "Nothing else could be as right as that."

Your fingers were just barely brushing over his belt when he grabbed you by the wrist. Jaw tight and eyes solemn, he shook his head.

You wrenched out of his grasp with a nod. It was worth a shot, but you didn't want to be that person who couldn't take no for an answer— so, you gave him a little smile and readjusted the strap of your bag. “Well, if it was just the once, then you should know that I’m still glad it happened. Even if it shouldn’t have.”

He nodded, strategically not speaking— but you knew he would agree, if he could.

“And if it’s any consolation to you now, you were the best I ever had.”

You reached for the doorknob, just starting to turn it and open your way out when he suddenly slammed it shut with a hand right above your head, making you gasp and spin around to look up at his dark gaze.

“Professor…” you whispered.

“The best you ever had?” he repeated, grinning proudly when you nodded. “Oh, sweetheart, I wasn’t even trying.” He leaned down to brush his lips against your ear as he whispered to you: “You don’t even know yet how good I can make you feel.”

A shiver ran up your spine; your tongue darted out to lick your lips. “Are you going to get on with it and show me?”

He didn’t even let you step away from the door, dropping to his knees right there and pushing up your skirt to kiss and bite your thighs. “Only if you ask very nicely,” he taunted with a brow raised in challenge.

“Please,” you breathed, “fuck, please, want you to taste me.”

His hands slid up your legs, grabbing the hem of your panties before sliding back down.

It wasn’t like you’d never been eaten out before, but this still felt like a first considering your skirt was pushed up to your waist, your panties were pulled down to your ankles, and even just one slow lick over your folds made it obvious he knew exactly what he was doing.

“F-fuck,” you choked, reaching down to weave your fingers into his hair. He grinned against your skin and kept going, exploring you carefully before finally sucking on your swollen clit. Your knees threatened to buckle, your head fell back against the door so hard it almost hurt, but all you could really feel was his mouth on you, moving like he knew your body better than you did.

So it was no wonder, then, that you already began to spiral towards your release, legs shaking around his head as he devoured you mercilessly.

"Oh my god, I—" you tried to warn him, but he already knew, and he pulled back to wipe his mouth with his sleeve and stand up. He grabbed your jaw and kissed you roughly, stopping to whisper to you so close that his lips brushed against yours.

"I'm sorry, draga, but you've spoiled me… now that I've felt you come around my cock, I can't imagine making you come any other way. I need to feel your cunt grip me so fucking tight… it's all I've been thinking about since I last saw you," he admitted.

"I thought about it, too," you sighed. "I was up all night trying to make myself come as good as you did but I couldn't… your come was still leaking out of me."

He growled and leaned in to nip at your ear. "Oh, poor thing… I can imagine it so easily, you laying in your bed with your legs spread, fingers getting exhausted from playing with your little pussy too much, these perfect lips whining for me because you need me to take care of you."

"H-Helmut, please," you whimpered.

"Yeah, something like that," he smirked.

"I can't wait any more, just fuck me. Need you inside me," you breathed.

"Then bend over my desk."

{part 2}

#baron zemo x reader #helmut zemo x reader #helmut zemo smut

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spacedykez · 2 years ago

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"more than friends"

some thoughts, from an aro with a queerplatonic partner and too much time to think.

so i recently entered a queerplatonic relationship. and i love xem so, so much. that's not what this post is about, much. My partner, in specific, i mean. but! i have found myself thinking things that... confuse me. and i wanted to type this out. mostly for myself, but maybe others will find it interesting.

"More than friends." The aro community hates this phrase. And for good reason!! We have every right to hate it, given how it's used to push amatonormativity on us and how it devalues platonic relationships.

Similarly, a lot of people refer to/see QPRs as "in-between" romance and friendship. A concept that is both incorrect and trying to once again, push the friendship-romance hierarchy (I don't know the right term for that but you know what I mean. I think? Yknow, the whole romance-is-the-best, friendship-is-less-valuable thing that society loves).

Okay. So why am I making this post? Well, honestly mostly because I'm trying to process my own thoughts and address things that I think are issues with my thinking. But also to maybe offer a perspective. Not a defense of the phrase "more than friends" but a reason as to why it's used.

[again, disclaimer: this is my own personal experience. Not all people in QPRs will feel the same way that I do. In fact, most will not]

So. My partner. I love xem. But I don't romantically love xem. I don't... know. What romantic attraction feels like. I don't know how to differentiate that from sexual attraction. I don't feel either. But I know that I don't... feel like other people do. I don't want to kiss anyone (at least on the lips), I don't want to go on pointless dates, I don't want to have a traditional family.

I... am very quickly realizing I have no clue what normal relationships entail. Um. I do know that I don't want romance, though. I don't know what romantic attraction feels like. But I know that I don't feel it (source: trust me dude (/j)).

And then there's platonic attraction. There is a lot I could talk about regarding how I feel about friendship in general (not /neg, not /pos, just observations and thoughts) but I'm just gonna skip around to the most relevant bits. So. My friends. I care about them, and I want them to be happy, because when they are happy I am happy. Insert other Friend Things here (examples: wanting to be there for them on bad days, putting in the effort to talk to them often, supporting their art/work as best i can, just generally being supportive). That's not the point here. Point is, I've got a pretty good grip on how friendship feels and what it entails.

Now, queerplatonic attraction. The best way I can describe it is somewhere in between. And I know! That that is EVERYTHING that people are pushing against!! That QPRs are NOT just "in between" romance and friendship, that they're a different kind of attraction. But I don't know how else to describe my feelings. I don't know how else to explain it. It's like friendship, but with an extra layer of something. And that's pushing the "more than friends" narrative, right?!? That's just pushing everything that enforces the idea that friendship is less than QPRS which are less than romance.

And... I don't know. I don't know where to go from here. I was hoping that I'd figure things out by writing this, but I'm just... Lost. The feelings I have for my QPP are like a blending of the line between platonic and romantic. And we are still friends!! That's the thing!! We are partners AND friends, and purely by.... I don't know what exactly, but. We are more than just friends. Because we still are friends. We're just also something else. Something deeper. And I don't know how else to put it. But I shouldn't put it this way! It's wrong, right? We aren't "more than friends" because QPRs aren't just "friendship plus," they're something else entirely. And yet. We are friends and also partners and I don't know how else to describe it.

#queerplatonic #queerplatonic relationships #amatonormativity #the otter splashes

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honeypiehotchner · 4 years ago

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you’re still a traitor (Hotch x Fem!Reader) — one shot

This is all angst because my brain wanted to write something based off “traitor” by Olivia Rodrigo 🤭🤭🤭

Warnings: angst, mentions of sex, mentions of excessive drinking as a coping mechanism, no happy ending (and no there won’t be a part 2 soz)

Hotch Masterlist || Main Masterlist

brown guilty eyes and little white lies i played dumb but i always knew

Your relationship with Hotch wasn’t even a real relationship. Not in hindsight, at least. At the heart of it, though, as it was happening, it felt real. It felt more real than anything you had ever experienced.

Nothing was glorified, over-exaggerated, or unnecessary. You’ve always been a straight-to-the-point person, and so has he, so it struck neither of you by surprise when you began spending nights together on cases.

The tension between the two of you had always been high from the day you started at the BAU. He blames it on the skirt you wore to the interview. You blame it on the way he looked you up and down every chance he got.

No wonder he didn’t look surprised to find you on the other side of his hotel room door.

That first night you had said something stupid, something about the girls being lame and going to bed early. But the truth was that they were raiding the minibar, and as much as you wanted to join them, you wanted to see Hotch more.

You knew he didn’t sleep much. It wasn’t hard to conclude, not with his recent divorce, late hours, entire pots of coffee to himself, and dark circles under his eyes.

Not to mention, of course, the small throw pillow and blanket that magically appeared on the couch in his office one day.

You weren’t surprised when he opened the hotel room door, still fully dressed, minus his jacket. You were barely a fourth of a way through your explanation for turning up at his door when he pulled you inside, lips bruising yours and hands gripping your skirt.

To him, it was always the damn skirt.

That night was the first of many. No one knew. No one knows now. Hotch continued to book you a room of your own, and you continued to spend your nights in his bed.

You mastered the art of sneaking to his room after everyone was in, and sneaking back to yours before anyone woke up.

Occasionally, you’d stay back at the BAU until everyone had left, just to spend a moment more with Hotch.

loved you at your worst but that didn’t matter

No one knows this, but you’re the reason his dark circles left. The reason he didn’t stay as late anymore. Because you always coaxed him away, wanting dinner, or even just company as you walked to your car (where you’d then ask for dinner, or rightfully point out that he’s already at the parking garage, so he might as well go home).

Dinner one night turned into almost every night, except when he had Jack. Sleeping in his bed once became almost every night, except when Jack wanted to spend the night.

A label was never spoken about, but you never felt the need to speak about it. As far as you were concerned, you were the only one he was sleeping with and vice versa. Why did a label matter?

That’s what you told yourself, at least. Labels didn’t matter to you. Exclusivity is all that mattered, and you had that. You thought.

You had suspected Hotch started seeing someone else. But all you had was a gut feeling, and a feeling isn’t enough evidence.

i kept quiet so i could keep you

Soon it wasn’t just a feeling. Soon Hotch didn’t want to go to dinner anymore because he was leaving earlier than you — earlier than anyone else. Soon he started actually leaving for lunch on his lunch hour, and that’s when the rumors started swarming.

“Okay,” Garcia ushered everyone over in the bullpen. “Is. Hotch. Dating?”

Rossi chuckled. “I. Don’t. Know.”

Morgan shook his head. “Nah, that sounds like he knows something.”

“Not really,” you shrugged. “Why do we think he’s dating someone?”

“Are you kidding me?” Garcia gasped. “He just left the building on his lunch hour! I’ve never seen him leave for lunch the entire time I’ve been here.”

“Me either,” JJ agreed, to your horror.

“Maybe it’s just something with Jack,” you shrugged again, not even aware of your defensive tone.

Prentiss narrowed her eyes. “Do you know something?”

“What?” You blurted, eyes wide. “No? Am I supposed to?”

“Answering a question with a question,” Reid pointed out lowly.

“Thank you, Captain Obvious,” you said. You grimace, thinking about it now, but you didn’t have any energy then to know it was rude. Or to care.

You were paranoid. Horrified. You were in Hotch’s bed two nights ago, and now he was leaving on his lunch hour, and you had no idea what for. All signs pointed right where the rest of the team was thinking, but the thought made you sick.

So sick that the next night, when you found yourself once again in Hotch’s bed, you brought it up.

You tried to be nonchalant. You don’t know where it went wrong.

ain’t it funny? remember i brought her up and you told me i was paranoid

“How was lunch yesterday?”

His eyebrows furrowed. Something you used to gaze at in awe, but in that moment it made you panic. “Lunch?”

“Yeah,” you murmured. “You left for lunch and the whole team thought something was up.”

He merely hummed. Hummed. That was his reply.

“Emily thought I knew where you went,” you continued, tracing circles on your arm. Normally, you’d trace circles on his chest, but that felt wrong all of the sudden. “I told them I didn’t and they didn’t believe me.”

He chuckled quietly. “I went to lunch. That’s all.”

“With who?” You asked, far too quickly. Maybe that was your mistake. You were too accusatory too fast.

“Did it have to be with someone?” He retaliated, and looking back now, you see this moment here, this was the downfall.

“I mean,” you paused. “You normally stay in your office if you’re eating alone. I figured if you left then you were going to meet someone.”

“Oh.”

You hesitated. “Did you?”

“Yes,” he finally said, ripping the Band-Aid off once and for all. “Her name is Beth. But we’re just friends.”

You nodded. “You sure?”

He turned on his side then, facing you with his head propped on his arm. “Why are you asking?”

“Because I’m curious.”

“You’re never curious.”

“You never leave the office to meet someone for lunch.” Especially not a woman, unless for whatever reason, Haley wants to have lunch and brings Jack, but the last time that happened was seven months ago, back when they were still trying to be friends after the divorce.

“I’m allowed to meet friends for lunch.”

“I didn’t say you weren’t,” you replied, probably too harshly. “I just meant...I don’t know what I meant.”

you gave me your word but that didn’t matter

Weeks passed by and you watched Hotch leave every now and again to have lunch with Beth. He never explicitly told you that it was Beth he was meeting every single time, but you knew. You always knew.

Because the look he’d give you as he’d close his office door, phone in hand no doubt to send a text to her, letting her know he was on his way. The look he’d give you said it all.

You knew the end was coming. Truthfully, you knew the end of the two of you was coming from the first day he met her for lunch.

You had never seen him as happy as he looked when he came back. And with every lunch date, it got worse.

Yet, for some reason, he still invited you over. And for some reason, you still agreed without hesitation.

February came and your heart broke with it.

You knocked on Hotch’s office door, bag in hand, the question of dinner on your hopeful lips.

“Can we talk?” He asked, speaking before you had a second to breathe.

You nodded, stepped inside to your demise, not even bothering to sit down. You knew it wouldn’t take long, and it didn’t.

Two sentences. That’s all it took.

“I don’t think what we’re doing is something I want long-term — for me or for you. I think it’s best if we go our separate ways.”

For me or for you. He was always thinking of your well-being. It always annoyed you.

“Okay,” you had said, cracking a small smile to hide the pain. “Fun while it lasted, right?”

“Right,” he agreed. “Well, have a good night. See you tomorrow.”

You couldn’t hold the tears in and they flowed freely before you were even out of the bullpen. You were thankful everyone had left. Imagine the explanation you would’ve had to conjure up. The web of lies he would’ve forced you to spin in five seconds.

Instead, you had to spin an entirely new web. All to explain why you weren’t sleeping, why you were drinking more, why you looked like you had cried all night the next day (you said it was allergies and insomnia; Morgan was the only skeptical one, but he let it go).

it took you two weeks to go off and date her

The real ending came when Valentine’s Day arrived. You were foolish to think he’d spend it with you, but you still did.

The jet landed back in Virginia after a long case, and you thought for sure Hotch would tap you on the way off of the jet, ask you to dinner, then back to his place, just like you did last year.

But he had made plans. With Beth.

You were delusional to think otherwise, but still, his smile cut right through you when he told Rossi he had plans.

guess you didn’t cheat but you’re still a traitor

Derek, Emily, and Penelope wanted to go out for drinks and you were the first to agree, ready to forget the past year of your life.

Thankfully, you didn’t spill any secrets while drunk. You did confess to going through a breakup, but not with Hotch. No one will ever know it was Hotch. The “he” in question will forever remain a mystery to them.

Meanwhile, you watched Hotch fall deeper and deeper in love. He decided to run a triathlon, and he trained every morning -- with her. He left for lunch almost every day to go eat -- with her. He never stayed late, he always had plans -- with her.

He hardly ever spoke to you anymore. And you never spoke to him.

It became an unspoken agreement for you to leave finished paperwork on his desk without a word (if he was in there) or better yet, to drop it off while he’s at lunch.

You sleep in the hotel room furthest from his every case.

The seats next to him on the jet are off-limits and you’ve even gone to make a shitty cup of shitty coffee before to avoid him (and everyone knows you hate the coffee on the jet).

You somehow managed to never meet or hear about Beth until the triathlon — and you were apparently the only one who hadn’t met her yet.

Jack hugged her immediately that day. He had already warmed up to her and it made you want to claw your heart out.

Beth is nice. Beth is an angel. Beth is older, prettier, everything you knew Hotch wanted and wasn’t getting from you.

She shook your hand with a smile, none the wiser to the fact that you’ve slept with Hotch more times than you can remember. That your heart belongs to him even though you don’t want it to. Even though you want it back.

now you bring her around just to shut me down show her off like she’s a new trophy

Once you met Beth, it seemed like she was everywhere. Visiting the office, bringing Hotch lunch, bringing Jack in to visit, having coffee with Hotch in the cafe you used to frequent, at Rossi’s for family dinner nights. Everywhere.

Worst of all, at JJ and Will’s wedding.

You weren’t the only one to show up without a date, yet you felt like it. Especially when Hotch arrived with Beth on his arm, glowing like always, with Jack holding onto his hand.

You avoided Hotch all night — Beth too, but mostly him — yet he somehow managed to find you alone in the kitchen.

The wine was your saving grace of the night, and he happened to walk in as you were pouring another.

“I can hear your liver screaming from here.”

A poor attempt at a joke, really. Maybe it was funny. But you didn’t laugh. “I’ll survive” was your dry reply before downing half the glass.

His face looked softer, but you know now it was the wine in your system.

“You look good,” he had said. “How are you doing?”

You stared at him. “Fine. Thanks.”

You don’t know why he kept trying to have a conversation with you. You felt insufferable and you see now that you were, but it’s all his fault.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

You chuckled dryly. “Not with you.” You paused. “How’s Beth?” Paused again, this time to bring the wine glass to your lips. “How’s a real relationship working out for you?”

Hotch’s face fell. “What we had was real. You know that.”

“I know it was,” you replied. “But do you? Do you really?”

He didn’t answer. His silence was all you needed.

and i know if you were true there’s no damn way that you could fall in love with somebody that quickly

You left him standing there in the kitchen without another word. You had nothing left to say to him, and he clearly ran out of words for you.

Derek found you halfway to the dance floor.

“Woah, I don’t like that look,” he said, taking the wine from you. “What’s going through that pretty head of yours?”

“Nothing,” you lied. “Let’s dance instead. Come on.”

You drug him away, meeting Penelope and Emily for the next song. You danced, you cried, you blamed the tears on the alcohol in your system. You slow danced with Emily, Derek, Rossi, narrowly avoided Hotch by swinging into Spencer’s fumbling arms.

No one knew. No one would ever know.

you betrayed me

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner oneshot #aaron hotchner one shot #aaron hotchner songfic #traitor olivia rodrigo #aaron hotchner angst #angst #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner fanfic #criminal minds songfic #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #you will not find a happy ending here #oops

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kitsunekissesxo · 4 years ago

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“I’ll Pitch in and Help My Cute Apprentice”

Obey Me Solomon Smut, 3.7k words

Warnings: 18+ under the cut, afab she/herMC, pure smut, a little bit of plot actually, dom!Solomon, fingering, spitting, degradation, blowjob, penetration, a whole lot of nsfw, but a fluffy ending, Solomons a cocky bastard

Summary: You’re Solomon’s apprentice, attempting to master the arts of wizardry. Solomon challenges you to perform a spell he recently showed you, yet you have some troubles performing it successfully. Solomon shows you just how to perform it, getting a little too close-which results in frustration. Lucky for you, he decides to lend a helping hand.

“Ugh...are you kidding me right now?” You groaned out, putting your head in your hands. It was the umpteenth time you had performed this levitation spell, yet the book sitting on the desk in front of you was not levitating no matter how much concentration you put in. You opened your mouth to recite the spell yet again but was startled by the door to your room opening.

Whipping your head around, your eyes met Solomon’s gray-yellow gaze, sparkling with amusement as he took in your frustrated state. He strode over to where you were sitting, glancing at the book before letting out a chuckle.

“I see the book hasn't moved since I left. Having some troubles?” He smugly asked, folding his arms and leaning against the wall beside you.

“I can see the cocky grin forming Sol, and I gotta say, it is not helping,” you mumbled, imploring your cheeks to not flush in embarrassment. You weren’t sure what you were doing wrong. You already knew you harbored great magic skills, and you were fairly sure you memorized the incantation correctly. So why wasn’t the damn book moving? You wanted to prove to Solomon that you could do this-that you weren’t some helpless apprentice that he had to watch out for. And there he was, standing beside you, staring at your failure of levitation.

“Here,” he started, grabbing a seat and scooting next to you, “let me help. Show me exactly what you’ve been doing and we’ll tweak it so you’re succeeding, okay?” He offered, a small smile resting on his lips.

You nodded in response, watching as he folded his arms once more, sitting back to watch you carefully. Taking a deep breath, you recited the spell with as much concentration and force as you could muster. The book sat there like it was mocking you, and you wanted nothing more than to curse out that stupid book.

“I see.” He commented, his hand resting against his chin thoughtfully. “The speaking portion of the spell was done wonderfully, MC. However, with levitation spells, you have to use your hand to indicate the way you’d like your object to move, along with picturing it in your mind. Shall I demonstrate for you?” He proposed, looking at you for confirmation.

“Please do,” you responded, feeling silly for not knowing such an important part of the spell.

You watched as he stood up, smoothing his shirt down. He had on a dark gray button up, the top button undone, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, with tight black jeans adorned with a black leather belt. His cream jacket was hanging on the back of his chair. As you watched him, you couldn’t help but admire how attractive he was. A sharp jawline, prominent nose, intense eyes, silvery white hair....it was almost unfair that such an attractive man was your mentor.

His left hand lifted elegantly, his slender and nimble fingers motioning upwards, the book following his commands. He turned to look at you, smiling, saying, “Just like that.”

You swallowed roughly. Was he being suggestive on purpose? You shook yourself of the thought, not allowing your mind to go there right now...that would be for later tonight. “Th-thanks for showing me, Sol. I think I got it now” you responded, expecting him to have you try it again.

“Actually, I think I should instruct you on how to move your hands. It’ll help you. Come here.” He proclaimed, motioning for you to stand next to him.

“O-okay,” you stammered, lurching forward out of nervousness, unknowing of what he was up to.

You swore you felt your heart stop as he stepped behind you and took ahold of your waist, positioning you how he wanted. The feeling of his long, slender fingers on your waist made your mind wander yet again, wondering how amazing they would feel digging into your hips as he- no, no, stop that. We’re practicing spells, that’s all, you thought to yourself, taking a deep breath.

Suddenly Solomons chest was pressed flush against your upper back, his nose and mouth dangerously close to your ear. You let out a gasp at the movement, not expecting him to come so close to you.

“S-Sol, you’re kinda close...” you trailed off as he hummed nonchalantly.

“I’m helping you, apprentice. You need your hand technique down if you want to succeed in levitation spells.” He murmured. “This is your dominant hand, correct?”

“Yes,” you breathed out, feeling the hair on the back of your neck stand as his warm breath fawned against your ear.

His hand snaked up your arm, warm fingers taking ahold of your hand, positioning them perfectly. Your brain hardly registered that his other hand was still resting on your waist, his close proximity fogging your mind. His hands were calloused from years and years of experience as a sorcerer.

“You're so obedient, my dear,” he murmured against the side of your neck, his lips ghosting against the sensitive skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. His words sent a shiver down your spine, and you instinctively pressed yourself against him even more. “Turn around,” he mumbled, letting go of your hand and giving you space for you to spin around. As you looked up at him, your hands came up to rest on his chest. His one hand kept a strong hold on your hip, his other coming up to cup your cheek.

“I-is this really okay?” You asked him quietly, unsure if he really wanted to be doing this with you right now.

“Why?” He asked, cocking an eyebrow. “Are you not enjoying yourself?”

You could feel the tension in the few inches between your faces, and you couldn’t deny the heat pooling in your stomach. You shook your head, closing your eyes for a few moments. Opening your eyes after taking a moment to collect your thoughts, you admitted, “I’ve been wanting this for awhile...”

The way his eyes glinted made you suddenly feel a little uneasy- his expression almost darkened, his captivating eyes somewhat narrowing. “Is that so, MC? For how long?” He inquired, his face slowly leaning closer to yours. You breathed in, notes of lavender and coriander flooding your senses. Even his scent was alluring.

“Ever since you began teaching me,” you admitted once more, feeling your cheeks heat up, your gaze finally shifting away from him.

“Poor thing.” He paused to lick his lips, leaning in close enough to your ear to feel his warm breath fanning on the outer shell. “That pathetic excuse of a dildo just doesn’t do the trick like my cock would, does it?” He murmured in a mocking tone.

You took a sharp inhale of breath through your nose, turning your head and gaze away from him. How did he know you’d been desperately searching for something to fuck yourself with imagining it was him? Did he catch you? Did he hear you? Did he find your toys? So many thoughts raced through your flustered mind.

Suddenly, his slender fingers grabbed your chin, sharply turning your head to face him. A stern look adorned his handsome features, his gray-yellow gaze burning into yours. “I asked you a question, my dear. I would suggest that you answer me.” He demanded, feigning an offended and annoyed attitude. You subconsciously squeezed your thighs together, feeling your cheeks redden even further as you whispered, “Nothing could possibly compare to you....”

He leaned in so close that his lips barely ghosted against yours, murmuring “That’s what I thought,” before capturing your lips in a kiss.

Kissing Solomon was nothing like you imagined- in your fantasies you both were always so desperate, pawing at each other, messily kissing. But this....this was far better than anything you could’ve thought up. He was kissing you roughly but slowly, his hand coming up to the back of your head and pushing you further into him. You would be lying to yourself if you said you couldn't have stayed there and kissed him for hours.

You stifled a moan as his tongue swiped your bottom lip, acting like he was asking you for entrance. However, he quickly and forcefully shoved his tongue through your lips. You couldn't even suppress the moan that escaped you at his roughness and you began massaging his tongue with your own. Your hands came up to the nape of his neck, gently pulling on his silvery hair.

You pulled away to gasp for air, a trail of saliva connecting your lips together. Solomon was breathing heavily as well, his eyes hazy as he continued to watch your every move.

“Should I take you here on the desk? Or would you prefer I pin you down on your bed?” He asked huskily, gripping your hips tightly, forehead resting against yours.

Your mind was foggy with lust, wanting him here and now. Not being able to hold back, you pleaded, “Here, fuck me here, please.”

With a grin, he picked you up, your legs coming up around his waist, and sat you down on the desk, his crotch pressing against your lower region. You could feel his hard on through both of your pants and let out a slight moan as you pressed into him further, fingers gripping the hair on the back of his head. His face was flushed, hair tousled, and lips somewhat bruised- he looked delectable.

“You have no idea how much you’ve teased me,” Solomon said lowly, clenching his jaw as he went about removing your shirt, enunciating each word with each button he undid. “How many times I’ve endured you leaning over to see what I'm doing, practically shoving your chest in my face,” He spat, making his point by reaching around to unclasp your bra, watching as the fabric slipped off of your breasts. You could feel how red your face was, and instinctively went to cover up your chest with your arms. However, Solomon swiftly grabbed ahold of both of your wrists, holding them away from your chest. “Don’t hide from me. You’ve teased me enough for a lifetime,” he breathed out, staring at you intensely. You nodded, giving into him, and he let go of your wrists. “Stand up for a second, doll,” he murmured, and began to remove your pants, placing a kiss below your navel, leaving you in just a pair of soaked panties.

He sucked air in through his nose as he palmed at your chest, thumb and middle finger rubbing and tweaking your pert nipples. You moaned softly at his ministrations, encouraging him to keep going while threading your fingers through his hair above his nape. He ducked his head down to take a nipple into his mouth, licking and sucking as his other hand trailed down your stomach to right above your panties, fingering at the fabric teasingly, pulling it back and snapping it against your hip. You let out a louder moan at that, and his mouth popped off your swollen nipple, giving you a look you couldn’t quite read.

“Please touch me,” you whimpered out desperately as he flattened his palm, cupping your sex through your panties. He let out a breath through his nose.

“Look at you. Begging without me telling you to,” he whispered into your neck, biting down as his hand continued rubbing against your sex and the other still playing with your nipple. You moaned out for him, gripping onto his shoulders as his fingers slipped the fabric of your panties aside and began to thumb at your clit in slow circles, continuing to leave marks on your neck.

You opened your legs wider to provide him better access to your dripping cunt, gasping as he trailed his forefinger through your glistening folds. “You are such a whore for me, you know that? Spreading your legs for your mentor, letting him touch you as he pleases. And you fucking love it,” he spat, slipping a finger into your hole. “Show me how desperate you are. Tell me how badly you want me,” he persisted, pumping his finger in and out of you at a quickening pace, his other hand now grabbing your inner thigh.

“Please, Solomon, I need you so badly, I-I think of you every time I touch myself-oh,” you cut off with a moan as he thrusted a second finger into your needy cunt, your grip on his shoulders tightening, attempting to stifle your louder moans as his fingers pumped in and out of you roughly and quickly.

“I don’t remember telling you I was satisfied. Keep talking,” He coaxed, his thumb rubbing circles on your clit as he finger-fucked you.

You took in his state as you begged for him- his upper chest -exposed from a few undone buttons- , neck, and face were flushed and he was beginning to get sweaty. His breathing was already somewhat irregular. “Please, please, please fuck me, Sol. I will do anything, I need you so badly, I can’t take it,” you pleaded with him desperately.

“Good girl,” he praised, and you felt your heart soar. He slowed his fingers down before removing them completely and brought them up to your lips. “Clean my fingers.” He demanded, tracing your bottom lip with his soaked index finger. You whined at the loss of his warm fingers in your cunt.

You parted your lips, sucking his fingers into your mouth. You winced at the taste of yourself, but was committed to pleasing him. You ran your tongue up and down and between the two fingers, ensuring his fingers would be coated with your saliva. Suddenly he shoved his fingers further into your mouth, hitting the back of your throat and then removing his fingers from your mouth altogether. He had an amused look on his face as you gagged from his ministrations. “Such a filthy whore.” He murmured, wiping his fingers off on his pants.

You awaited his next move, feeling your cunt throb as he undid his belt and pushed his pants down enough to pull his cock out of his boxers.

“Open your mouth,” He commanded, and you obediently opened your mouth, looking up into his eyes. He leaned in close enough to where his lips brushed against yours. He then proceeded to spit in your mouth, his hand grabbing your cheeks. “Don’t you dare swallow,” he ordered, and you closed your mouth, savoring his saliva.

“Suck me off, kitty,” he demanded, and you slipped off the desk to sink down onto your knees. Pressing a kiss to his tip, you took him into your mouth, coating his cock with his and your saliva. Your tongue massaged the underside of his cock as you bobbed your head up and down, Solomons fingers threading into your hair. He suddenly yanked your head back by your hair, your mouth popping off of his cock, hands coming up to grab his thighs to steady yourself. He had your head pulled back, your neck and chest exposed to him as he spit on you once more, his saliva landing on your collarbone, beginning to trail down to your breast. He groaned at the sight before shoving you back down onto his cock.

He began to snap his hips forward, using your mouth as nothing but a toy for his own pleasure. He kept hitting the back of your throat, reveling in your gags and gasps for air.

“You’re taking my cock like you were meant for this, you slut,” he spat out through gritted teeth, continuing to thrust into your mouth. “You’re my little cock whore, huh? Aren't you?” Your lungs burned, your throat and mouth was sore, and your jaw was beginning to hurt. Tears were forming in your eyes as he abused your mouth, but you couldn’t help but love it. He groaned out, sighing as he yanked you off his cock once more.

“Get up and turn around before I decide to finish on your face,” he demanded, lazily stroking himself. You scrambled to your feet, and turned around, your back facing him. He pushed you up against the desk and pressed down on your upper back, bending you over. You let out a shaky moan as he rubbed his cock between your folds, teasing your entrance.

“Solomon, please,” you breathed out, on the verge of tears.

“I know, my cock whore needs filled, don’t you?” He groaned out as he began to push himself into your core, his hands grabbing your hips roughly.

You let out a moan as he began to stretch your walls, not used to his size. He pushed himself all the way into you, bottoming out with a grunt. Choking out a moan, you pushed your hips back against him, needing him to move.

“So needy, so impatient,” he tutted, and briefly pulled back to slam back into your cunt, his fingers digging into your hips, bringing you back to meet his thrusts as he began to settle on a somewhat quick and rough pace.

You let out wanton moans every time his hips snapped forward to pound into your dripping cunt. His one hand snaked up to press on your lower back, the other keeping its death grip on your hip.

“You're gripping onto my cock so tightly, fuck,” he groaned out, speeding up his pace. “You fucking love it, don’t you? Huh? You love my cock fucking you into this desk?” He breathed out, his hand that was on your lower back snaking underneath you to rub fervent circles on your clit.

With him leaning down to rub your clit, the position changed, and his cock was hitting deeper than beforehand, slamming into that sweet spot. The moan you let out was obscene, the pleasure he was giving you being too much to contain.

“Shit,” he moaned out, keeping up the pace but slamming into you even harder. You so badly wanted to see his face, how beautiful he would look with his hair sticking to his forehead from sweat, his skin completely flushed, his eyebrows screwed upward, eyes tightly shut.

The hand on your hip came up to your neck, and before you knew it he was shoving two fingers into your mouth while relentlessly pounding into your cunt.

With him hitting your sweet spot and still fervently rubbing circles into your clit, you felt a knot begin to form in your stomach, and it was tightening fast.

“S-sol, I’m gonna cum, please can I?” You moaned out around his fingers, and felt his thrusts becoming irregular, not able to keep the pace.

“Cum for me,” he groaned out, and you moaned out his name as you came, his fingers rubbing you all throughout your high. Your cunt clenched around him as you came, causing him to spill inside of you closely after, both hands gripping onto your bruised hips. The moan he let out while filling you was the hottest thing you had ever heard. He gave a few more thrusts before sighing, and slowly pulling his cock out of you. You whimpered at the loss of the full feeling, still trying to get your breathing under control. You felt his cum dripping out of your cunt as you heard him fiddling with his belt buckle. This was where he was going to leave you, right?

“MC, I’ll be right back,” you heard Solomon mutter, swiftly walking out of the room. You felt a pang in your chest as you wondered if maybe he wouldn’t come back, as ridiculous as that sounded. As you began to stand up, he re-entered the room.

“Whoa, whoa, don’t move yet. I need to clean you, love,” He stated, and you felt a warm washcloth gently cleaning around your lower region and thighs. Your heart swelled- he was helping you clean up. You couldn’t help but swoon at how caring and gentle he was being.

“Here, can you sit up for me?” He gently asked, helping you turn over.

“Y’know Sol, that was the best sex of my life, but you still didn't paralyze me.” you quipped, sitting up as he began to dab the warm washcloth on your collarbone and down your chest.

“...Yet.” He teased, raising his eyebrows and shooting you a serious look before letting out a light laugh. His smile was so lovely- you wished you could stay in this moment forever. “Also, you flatter me too much,” he added, a hint of red flushing his cheeks as he focused on cleaning you up.

“Aaaannnddd...there we go. I think I’ve cleaned up my mess.” He announced, setting the washcloth down beside you and pressing a kiss to your forehead. He was being uncharacteristically sweet, but you weren’t complaining.

He picked up whatever clothes you had on the floor and handed them to you, helping you pull your shirt over your head after you clasped on your bra, watching as you pulled your pants on. As soon as you were situated, he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close to him.

As shocked as you were, you embraced him back, gently rubbing his back. His arm pressed on your lower back to push into him, his other hand coming up to cradle the back of your head.

“I think we should continue this,” he murmured into the top of your head.

“Continue what? Having sex?” You questioned, your face buried in his chest.

“Well, yes, if you want. But I mean....this.This spark between us is worth exploring, don't you think?” He responded, and if you listened hard enough, you could hear the smallest bit of nervousness in his voice.

“Sol....” You trailed off, pulling back from him slightly to look up at his soft gaze. “I would love that.”

“I’m glad.” He beamed, squeezing you for a moment and then pulling away.

“Now....about that levitation spell,” he began, raising an eyebrow and bringing his hand up to his chin thoughtfully, “in the midst of our fun, we knocked the book off of the desk. Show me what you’ve learned- put the book back on the desk using a levitation spell.” He said, looking at you expectantly.

With a huff of disbelief, you looked at the book, and began to recite the incantation, seeing it gracefully float up onto the desk in your mind, your hand coming up to direct the book. And, right in front of both of your eyes, the book successfully levitated and was placed gently on the desk. You looked at Solomon, expecting him to congratulate you.

“I always knew my cock worked wonders,” he grinned, arrogance suffocating the air around him.

You couldn't believe you chose this cocky old man.

- FIN

authors’ note: this is heavily inspired by Solomons new human world outfit. I saw the quote he had in the announcement for the new lessons and before I knew it the spirit of horny had possessed me and this was being written.

Total time: 4hrs 33mins

Wordcount: 3782

#obey me!#obey me #obey me shall we date #omswd #obey me solomon #obey me Solomon smut #obey me smut #shall we date solomon #solomon x mc

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