Artemisthevirginhunter - Geek_@01

The dream to write late night assignments, apparently it's not very likeable.....

This year's oscars lookin like it's gonna be Fruity af

Punch-Out Love

Artwork by @guruan

FIGHT NIGHT

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x female reader

Summary: You're lucky enough to score ring-side seats at a boxing match on Friday night. Getting the best view in the house of boxing champion: Miguel O'Hara.

Word count: 1,500

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You know fuck all about boxing.

About the only thing you know about the sport was from the glimpses you caught watching scratched up old recordings of Muhammed Ali fights on the boxy mini-tv of your old childhood friend's house.

It always seemed barbaric. The practice of watching two human beings beat the shit out of each other for spectator's entertainment. It seems like something that was better left in the Ancient Roman times. Have we all human beings as a society, really not come further some 2,000 years later?

Your bestie used to get mad at you for this. Constantly defending the sport from your criticism, because (according to him) it's not just about smashing each other's faces in. Supposedly, there's an art to the sport. Boxers are taught to respect their opponents and adhere to the principles of good sportsmanship. It takes great mental discipline, dedicated work and years of hard and punishing training to master boxing.

You never saw any of that in the matches he showed you. All you saw were two men needlessly being hurt, sustaining brain damage for rich people's enjoyment.

Then again, he was more than a little bit biased, considering it was his dream to go pro one day. Tall and gangly, with his scrawny antelope legs, thick-rimmed glasses and big-ass braces, he looked like he couldn't punch his way out of a paper bag, much less another person. You never understood how exactly he thought he was going to make it as a boxer.

But you never found it in you to burst his unrealistic bubble when he used to point at the screen excitedly, drawing your attention to Ali's footwork and the artistry in it. 

"It's like he's dancing," he used to say.

Except dancing is done with swelling music in the background. In dancing you often have a partner. It's an embrace. It's gentle and kind.

Boxing... was not that.

So you don't know how you managed to find yourself in the ringside seats of a local boxing match on a Friday evening, staring up at the boxing ring with the glaring ring lights shining into your eyes.

"Aren't these seats amazing?" your cousin shouts excitedly over the familiar lyrics of ‘We Will Rock You' being belted out by Freddy Mercury on the loudspeaker.

You smile, and nod, because boxing-fan or not, she's right, these are some amazing seats. And considering you didn't have to pay a dime for them, personal aversions aside, you're never going to turn down free stuff.

Her boyfriend tested positive for covid at the last minute, and you're the only one in your social circle that is anti-social and single enough to not have any plans on a Friday evening.

On the monitors above you, the menacing headshots of the two fighters swish into view.

"The first guy is an old reigning champ," your cousin explains to you, as she leans in, shouting into your eardrums (and yet you can still barely make out what she's saying over the music). "The challenger is some new kid on the block. Has an amazing track record. Zero losses in the season. He's something else."

You look up at the gigantic screen, at the sharp cut cheeks, strong thick brows and the intense pitched brown eyes staring down at you.

Angry looking dude.

...Handsome too.

With a face like that, surely he could've gone into other careers. Calvin Klein model, movie star, or a news anchor. You wonder what makes a guy voluntarily have his face bashed in for money as a career.

"Ladies and gentlemen," a loud booming voice announces from the stage.

You jump in your seat from the suddenness, as you see a bald and overly formal dressed announcer in the middle of the ring. 

"Welcome to the electrifying boxing showdown of the century! Are you ready to witness some knockout action tonight?"

The crowd around you cheers with a pandemonium of shouting and whistling.

"Introducing our first fighter, a true hometown hero! With an impressive record of 20 wins, 15 by knockout, and only 2 losses, standing at 6'3 feet, and weighing in at 240 pounds of determination and strength, give it up for ‘the Knockout King’ Bobby Kane!"

You watch as the reigning champion walks down the tunnel to the midst of adoring cheers as he waves and gestures at the crowd like royalty.

Every inch the king that he is nicknamed, he jumps over the rope and stands tall and proud over the ring.

The man is huge, bulging with almost grotesque muscles. He's so large that you almost expect each of his steps to send a reverberation throughout the hall, as if this was Jurassic Park and he's a T-Rex.

"Now, entering the ring with the confidence of a warrior, fighting out of the red corner, with 15 wins, 10 by knockout, and no losses, standing at an astounding 6 feet 9 inches, and weighing in at 230 pounds of raw power, let's hear it for tonight's challenger, ‘Steel Jaw’ Miguel O'Hara!"

Wait what? You do a double take at the announcement. Six foot nine?!?! What kind of giant is that?

From the far corner of the hall, you see his silhouette emerge, and your eyes go wide at the sight of him. Tall doesn't even begin to describe him. 

There's a 200 year oak tree at Central Park, and with the shadow this man casts, you think their height must be nearly comparable. If you thought the Knockout King was tall, the "King" is practically tiny compared to this challenger.

You watch, as the man with cheeks so sharp they mind as well be blades (and god never has a nickname made more sense to you) as he strides towards the stage. He reaches the rope and barely even has to climb over it with how tall he is.

He's leaner than his predecessor. Every inch of him is cut muscles and tanned gorgeous skin as he stands in front of you. His presence is electric. The air crackles where he stands, towering over the stage.

You swear that his towering height blocks out the ring lights with it, casting the stage in the darkness of his tall shadow.

Somehow, he's even prettier in person compared to the still image of him blown up and plastered on the big screen. Soft brown curls and pouty lips. You don't understand in what world a man like that is a professional fighter.

From this distance, with the way that the light refracts from his irises, his eyes almost glow with a scarlet red that takes your breath away as you look up at him and meet his eyes.

If you didn't know better, you'd think he was staring at you.

The bell rings out, but he's not looking away. The intensity you find there is enough to make you swallow your tongue. Your face prickles with heat and for several long moments you forget to breathe, until the air seems to thin around you and your vision starts to swim.

Then he turns to face his opponent.

You're not quite sure where to look. There's so much happening at once. For his size, Miguel O'Hara is surprisingly deft on his feet. His footwork is somehow both unpredictable yet intentional all at once.

The King throws a strong punch, as he lunges forward, after his tall opponent. But O'Hara dodges them seemingly without effort. It's followed by punches so quick, the movements blur together.

Strike after strike. The King is giving it his all. But none of it properly connects. With every failed hit, you can see him growing increasingly more frustrated.

Your heart is in your lungs, and despite how close you are to the stage, you almost want to get up from your seat for a closer look.

Safe as you are behind the ropes, adrenaline rushes through your veins with a fury. You can't recall the last time you felt this ecstatic about... well, anything.

With each punch O’Hara dodges, you feel yourself lurch back in your seat, trying to dodge the punch with him.

It's titillating.

Exciting.

O'Hara's movements are precise and honed with intention despite the ferocity in his movements. Each one is measured and intricate and if you didn't know any better you'd almost call it graceful.

You think back to those moments in your childhood friend's home, and his excited words buzz in your ears now. For the first time ever you finally understand what he had meant.

It is like a dance.

Before you, O’Hara's eyes cross over in your direction and for a split of a second, you swear your eyes connect again. His gaze holds you there, pinned to your seat, and excitement shoots through the entirety of your spine until you feel lightheaded from the attention.

Then he finally steps forward, no longer evading.

It's brutal and efficient.

An uppercut that connects cleanly to his opponent's jaw.

Spit and blood flies out from the man's mouth, the flabby flesh of his cheek vibrating from the impact as he lands on the floor with an ear-shattering thud.

Then the guy is out.

Barely even eight minutes in. 

There's a stunned and shocked silence. The crowd seems both enthralled and disappointed at how fast it all went. On the ring floor, you can practically see the circle of cartoon birds flying above the defeated King's head.

You may not know anything about boxing, but you know that this man is not getting up anytime soon, no matter how far the referee counts.

Tearing your eyes away from the motionless body splayed out on the ground elevated above you, you can see the victor towering menacingly over the body.

But Miguel O'Hara isn't even looking at his defeated opponent

No, his eyes are staring straight into the sea of awestruck spectators. Except he’s not looking at them.

He's looking at you.

To be continued.

Author's note: What's that you say? CiCi wtf are you doing starting another series when you already got one going on? ... Idek man. But I hope you guys enjoy it, cause I had a blast writing it, smut will ensue in later chapters I promise!

Dedications and Credits: Buckle up it's gonna be a big one!

Firstly to @guruan when I say she's my muse THIS IS WHAT I MEAN! Look at that beautiful artwork. I am drooling into my panties. I am crying between my legs. I am so damn horny! I cannot thank this amazingly talented genius enough. Please please give this wonderful brilliant human your love by following her, and drop by her KO-FI SHOP cause the art this woman bless us with is UN-fucking-REAL

Then to @djarinsbeskar who put this idea into my head. In my mind she is the OG Boxer AU champion and mastermind. If you are in the mood for more boxing content, she has a wonderful, devastatingly sexy series Boxer!Din AU that is just woof woof bark bark.

Mthefucking hell I've been holding the fort for weeks now, why the fuck Tumblr

Noticing that I haven't been getting any new pornbot followers for the last few days:

We all say be brave, be proud, be assertive. But we have to understand too that merely words don't heal wounds. Those who have suffered because of this world's unacceptable discrimination can't simply stand up unless you give a hand and your call to be brave is not a helping hand. Please understand that you telling them something they already know but are unable to do makes them more embarrassed of their own trauma. They assume their struggles make them weak and thus don't talk about it to people. But we need to encourage them to believe they are strong. They don't have to be anything, they already are so much and after what misery they survived they deserve to feel victimized, sad, betrayed and hurt. It's only natural.

@bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky I had to try👀

Pairing: Soft! Bucky × fem reader! Pregnant

Summary: it's been a good three months since you broke up with your asshole of a boyfriend. Almost 4 months pregnant and working from home leaves you little time to indulge in your cravings but when you smell a divine smell from the next door new neighbour whom you haven't even seen yet, you can't help but go ask for some. Who can stop a pregnant woman from eating what she wants?!

If this isn't hell, what is?! This smell has been taunting you for over a good 30 minutes and you're loosing your mind! Maybe you can go and ask for some. You can't just barge in for food like that! But you can't leave it alone either. So ofcourse, like a good lil' pregnant woman you had to go and bother the nice neighbours. How do I know which neighbours? Well, what do you think I've been doing for the past 30 minutes?! Snooping, of course.

Two knocks and a little bang later, Bucky sighs and finally leaves his cooking to go see who's at the door. He would've never expected a gorgeous but panicked and pregnant young woman standing there with a plate. The moment he opened his door, in proper american terms, you literally went off your rocker.

"Ummh, I was just going to knock once but then you didn't come so I knocked again and then I got anxious, cause like I have bad anxiety, like bad bad anxiety and so I just kicked the door once, sorry about the kick though. I just wa-"

"Hey, hey. It's okay, just breathe. You're okay, alright?"

You nod slowly with a sigh of relief and then smile sheepishly.

"Sorry about that. Uhmm, I just smelled something really good and I had to come ask for some of it! What is it that you're making?"

Bucky laughs softly. Hearing you talk like that about nice and mudane things, oh, he's missed this normal interaction. Ever since he's shifted, he has been couped up in his own apartment for over a week now, and then all of a sudden, this adorable babe comes asking for a helping of his latkes and the world feels warm again.

"Of course, I'll get you some. You wanna come in and see?"

You nod in excitment. Oh! He's very nice, way nicer than your shit piece of a boyfriend. You trod after him slowly, looking around only to find a simple apartment with not much of a personal touch. Frowning a little, you keep pace with your neighbour.

"I'm making latkes actually, they're simply put, potato pancakes, like fritters. C'mon, I can give you some for yourselves and your husband."

Bucky hums softly putting the latkes on your plate but when he looks up he sees you fidgeting and staring at the wall behind his head.

"Hey, you okay? Did I say something wrong?"

You swallow thickly to avoid crying. Pregnancy hormones suck! Clearing your throat you mention.

"I don't have any husband. I threw my last boyfriend's clothes in the building trashcan three months ago.", finishing with your clarification, you smile a wide one.

Bucky tries to hide his surprise at her revelations, you certainly sounds happy to have thrown the clothes in trashcan, he won't ruin it for you by asking useless questions.

He smiles back at you and says softly, "My bad. Then I gues it's more for you and the little one, eh?"

It was a fun evening for you. Eating a full plate of latkes and watching shows. A good end to the weekend you'd even say. But this morning has been annoying as fuck. Having a deadline to meet is already work enough, but now you've to do your laundry too because of course, you forgot to do it this weekend!

You huff and kick the dryer in irritation. Just bloody speed up, you little tin can!

"Are you planning to break it, doll?"

You gasp and turn around quickly. Your new neighbour looks good in almost everything. And right now he's looking very good in a black shirt and blue jeans. As you both stare at each other, for some reason you both start laughing.

"I'm Bucky by the way, you were more focused on the latkes yesterday, we didn't get to sharing names at all."

You flush at that but you know he's right. So, you chuckle and offer your name.

"That's a lovely name, doll. You look like you almost done with all that. What me to carry them up the stairs for you?"

"No, it's okay. I'll..", looking at the laundry basket you sigh, "...do it myself."

Bucky has never seen someone so adorable. The way she's so full of expressions and life, it's beautiful. He smiles softly, something he's been doing a lot since yesterday evening, and offers again.

"Hey, I live next door. It's no bother at all, unless you don't wanna walk with me?", he teases lightly.

You smile but give in easily.

It's been a good 3 weeks since you've known Bucky and you two are almost always spending your free time together. He cooks for you often saying he likes to cook anyway. You both have been have become really good friends and you live every second of it.

Her name's Kristen. Her eyes remind you of your mother so much that the name seems too fitting. Bucky's been a great help. You've come to trust him so much so that for the past two month since Kristen's birth he's even been sleeping on your couch often to help with the baby. You two are friends, but the amount of trust, feelings and care you both have for each other seems more than platonic. You've seen Bucky look at you and Kristen like you both are his whole world and frankly he's a big part of yours too.

"She's sleeping?"

"Yes, just put her to bed. How are you?"

"I'm alright, doll. Are you tired?", when you shake your head he continues, "here, I though I'd bring dinner. It's been long since you had latkes, don't you think?", he smiles lazily.

You chuckle and nod excitedly.

"How's the article coming along, doll? Made any progress?"

"Wish I did. I just need to uncoil you know? I've just been too tense for last few weeks." , and really horny but I can't say that to you just like that, can I?

Bucky looks at you intensely and hums audibly. You stare back, effortlessly and he looks away while walking to the kitchen counter with a small secretive smile. These staring matches have been getting frequent since the last month, sharing the apartment at frequent intervals has changed something between you two and given the stares, you both know it too.

Taking out the plates you put them on the table, all the while Bucky's watching you intensely and you know it. He comes towards you, still staring, but ends up taking out the sauce from the refrigerator beside you.

You are about to open the container to serve the latkes when suddenly his hand brushes yours as he puts the bottle of sauce beside the plates.

You freeze, breathing in sharply. Bucky's still watching you carefully, although the little smirk tells he did that on purpose; but you already know that, don't you?

"What are you trying, Bucky?"

"What, doll? Something the matter?", he smirk grows as he plays pretend.

Weeks of tension and suppressed sexual desire make you throw out caution right out of the bloody window. You pull him by his hair and kiss him roughly, all the while Bucky's participating eagerly.

Without wasting anytime, you both undress each other rapidly as he guides you to the couch, still kissing you deeply. Long minutes of hot passion, moaning, withering and grinding later, you pant harshly and mention "Condom?"

As Bucky extends his hand to bring his pants near, you bite his left cheek softly, "You had this planned you bastard, didn't you?"

He laughs roughly taking out the condom, "I've had enough of the staring, doll. Had to nudge you a little, love."

You both laugh softly as he rolls the condom over. Moaning into his skin as he enters you think, maybe you've finally reached you're happy ending, before loosing your mind to the inescapable passion again.

I would love a very pregnant reader (single, shit ex is out of picture for good) to smell something SO amazing her neighbor is making, her hormones cant hold her back she HAS to know what hes making. She waddles over with a little plate and shyly knocks on his door to ask for a little taste. Bucky thinks shes the most adorable thing hes ever seen as she waddles back to her place, content with his generous portion. It starts off as sweet and platonic and develops into a loving relationship where they also have their own babies together as well

Hi there!

Such a cute premise but I don’t write about pregnancy- sorry!

A good thread on whether “queer” is a slur and if it should be used or not.

[Moon knight, you better have a season 2!!!]

The crocodile lady is finally Outta her coffin, in technical terms- Goddess Ammit was finally released from her usabti (what happened then shall wait).

Layla politely saying fuck off to khonshu and his tricks. The loveliness of the moment- "the manipulative twat gets told off".

I don't have words for this scene. Marc was finally having his moment, his confession. He manifested the quiet he always wanted but he threw it away without a care just to save Steven, just to have him back.

This was one of the funniest parts in the episode. "Manipulative twat gets told off again"- he literally grumbled at having to deal with Steven! And then they do their little name-game. 'Siply old bird' and 'little worm', of course it's sarcasm from both sides but fuck that- pet names are pet names.

May calamawy!!!!! Mama ate it!!! The way she switched between Taweret and herself- bent in pain) oh man!! She's BRILLIANT bloody hell!

And the costume!! Fire!! Taweret and Layla gonna end up besties!

That little smirk Layla gave to Marc like - "I'm saving your ass again, by the way in a costume this time" and the "oh, baby" Marc said and hugged her. Holy shit, therapy really did wonders on my boy, finally talking without restraints. Notice how the first thing Marc does is check up on her and then Steven out like "holy shit babe, what IS THAT?!" . Because of course Steven knows Layla can kick ass.

Steven fought!!! And the little dust off. Boy, his confidence literally had me out of my seat the whole time.

"Are you an Egyptian superhero?"

"Yes"

Hoy shit! The world finally has an Egyptian superhero, go Layla go. The pride in her voice though🔪

Not the knife 🤍

The Spanish killer's back in the league. And this time Jake's literally there. And is that khonshu in a fucking suit? They literally are like "jakey got a cabbie so we go take a trip to loony bin, let me wear my panty....no pants, yes pants."

By the way, Jake has a fucking temper and his first response to almost any stimuli has been to kill and escape so far..maybe he's doing this to protect Marc and Steven from khonshu and his horrors?

Has it ever happened to you in a confrontation that the person you're confronting tells you ,"You could've just done that, why didn't you? Now you're blaming me?"

You don't have a logical counter to that because yes logically you could've done that. But how would you explain someone your internal working mechanism, your fear of consequences if you didn't do it the way you did it, of the actual consequences you would have to face if you didn't do it the way you did? You see, the person you just confronted is blind to your perspective so it's understandable why they see another logical solution to your problem when it's not really a harmless and helpful solution for you, but as a fucking adult, they are supposed to take responsibility for the part where they made the mistake, where they evaded responsibility instead of blaming you for not doing the other way. This is called being logical.

Having no control over the absolute wreck you call your brain. Thinking in parallel to the speed of light. Millions of thoughts fighting to share the stage in your head even if it's dark all around it. It's chaos. It's life. It's electrically alive.