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lazyjellyfish300 · 4 months

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Miguel O'Hara x Fem reader

Synopsis: you and Miguel have a casual arrangement of just sex. You reluctantly agree in hopes that you can get him to fall for you. Unfortunately, it's not that simple. Word count 5.3k

Part 2

TW: MINORS DNI, SMUT(it's a little on the more mild side imo but P IN V, ORAL (F AND M RECEIVING), FINGERING), ANGST, CASUAL RELATIONSHIP, JEALOUSY, INSECURITY, COLDER MEAN MIGUEL, SAD, LIGHT DV(HE PUNCHES A WALL AFTER YOU SLAP AND SHOVE HIM) IF ANYTHING LIKE THAT IS QUITE DIFFICULT FOR YOU, I'D RECOMMENDED NOT READING ❤️

SPANISH SPEAKERS, feel free to correct me. I'm SO sorry if I fucked it up. I hope y'all enjoy some more angsty Miguel. 🖤 This one is a longer one, sorry!

----------

You're a new lab tech at Spider Society's HQ in Nueva York and it's your first day. Bright eyed and bushy-tailed you, fresh out of college and not aware of what's about to hit you.

Until he walks by the pillar you're leaning against during your debriefing by Jessica Drew.

"Who's he?" you kind of softly squeak out as you watch the gorgeous man walk by. He's exceptionally tall and handsome, his chiseled features in a stoic expression, crimson eyes scanning his surroundings as he passes. He takes notice of you for a brief moment, then continues on. You shamelessly hold him in your gaze as he disappears down a dark corridor.

Jess follows where your eyes are looking and smirks. "That's Miguel O'Hara. He's my boss, actually. You won't have to worry about him except when you do blood samples. He mainly deals with the Spiders. If he gives you trouble, don't take it personally, it's just how he is." Jess leans in a little closer, speaking woman to woman now.

"Just between you and me, girl. You're gonna wanna stay away from him. Everyone here wants him. But he's emotionally unavailable. You seem like a nice girl. Don't waste your time. Trust me, I've seen it."

You nod slowly, somewhat discouraged by that. But, against your better judgement, you start coming to work in your cutest, sluttiest outfits that you can put together without breaking the lab safety rules. Thigh high boots, tight little skirts that hit you mid thigh, off the shoulder knit tops that halt just below the round tops of your cleavage, and skin tight dresses that hug you in all the right places.

Every week when you deliver the lab reports to Miguel, you have a different outfit on for him, hair and makeup done, flashing the most stunning smiles you can muster at him, staring directly into his eyes when he speaks, enthusiastically bobbing your head.

Week after week, Miguel seems to keep the same stoic disposition with you, not cracking under the flirtatious pressure you're applying to him with your overzealous attention and special outfits. Just how many layers to this guy is there? You wonder.

One day, about a month later since you started, Miguel is in the middle of a rant about the lab department and their tardiness on sample readings as of late, expecting you take his feedback to your supervisor when, you slowly bring your pen to your mouth, biting the cap ever so lightly while staring at Miguel's lips, not even hiding the fact that you've stopped paying attention and are focusing on more... intriguing matters.

Miguel's flow of speech stalls for a minute as you bring the pen to your mouth. He snaps out of it and continues on, then pauses again. He looks away from you and his jaw tenses. "Mierda(shit)..." he mutters.

Your face gets a little warm, but you smile, keeping the pen in your teeth. It would seem that your efforts this time were paying off.

"I forgot where I was going with that..." Miguel says, still turned away from you. "Never mind, you can leave now," he says cooly.

Your eyebrows raise a little bit, surprised he's just dismissing you like that, but you don't argue. You turn on your heel and walk away, heels clunking on the floor. Meanwhile, Miguel grabs the edge of his desk, knuckles turning white.

---

Next week, you head for Miguel's office again, carrying the stack of weekly reports. You're wearing a new long sleeved black dress under your lab coat, channeling your inner Morticia Addams. You're feeling a little more excited this time, wondering if he'll act as flustered as he did last week when you teased him with your pen in your mouth.

You approach Miguel, his back turned to you as he stares at several yellow-orange surveillance holograms at his desk. He recognizes the sound of your heels on the floor but doesn't turn around.

"Happy Friday, got your reports right here!" You announce in a whimsical tone.

Miguel sighs and turns his head, looking down. He then turns to you, his eyes lingering on you for a moment before he takes the stack of papers in his hand, scanning the top page. After a moment of silence, he moves his head, motioning to a hallway that leads to the archive room.

"Come with me," he says nonchalantly, already walking towards the hallway. You raise an eyebrow but follow after him, stuffing your hands in your lab pockets.

Once you're down the hall, you enter a room which is a maze of filing cabinets, most of them even towering over Miguel, who's 6'9. Miguel takes a few sharp turns, leading you deeper into the maze then finally stops at the one he's looking for. He throws the stack of papers in the cabinet with a slam and an echo off the empty walls and looks at you, crossing his arms and leaning back against the cabinet.

"You look beautiful today," he says in a soft voice.

You freeze, alarmed by his casual demeanor he seemed to pull out of nowhere.

"Um, thank you..." you feel your cheeks get hot and your stomach squirm with excitement and fluster. You only daydreamed of this happening, your gorgeous work crush finally noticing AND complimenting you in the same day.

"Is that a new dress?" His crimson eyes are roaming you up and down as he approaches you, caging you in against a tall cabinet behind you.

Your stomach leaps up to your throat, your breasts heaving.

"Yeah..."

Miguel's eyelids flutter a little bit at your breasts moving against the fabric of your dress as you became more flustered.

"I like it," he whispers.

Then, he's pinned you against the filing cabinet, attacking your mouth with his lips, his hands flying to both sides of your throat, his thumbs smoothing into your cheeks, his hips pressed against you.

"Ugnhh..." your hands fly to his hair on their own accord, your fingers getting lost in his chocolate strands. You kiss him with everything you can, sucking and biting his lip. He's a damn good kisser. Each stroke of his lips is sending you into orbit as you feel growing warmth in your core.

"Keep walking in my office dressed so slutty every week, hmm? Thinking I wouldn't notice?" He groans into your mouth. He grabs your chin in his fingers, forcing your head back. He leans in and begins kissing your neck, relishing the way you begin to shiver, making soft pretty moans for him. He makes his way up your neck, pausing at your ear, dragging your bottom lip down with his thumb.

"Wrap your legs around me," he whispers.

You jump into his arms, winding your thighs tightly around his waist, seizing him as tight as you can, even adding a little roll of your hips, hungry for friction.

Miguel grunts at your eagerness and uses the cabinet behind you to pin you up against, still keeping you wrapped around him. He uses one hand to guide your dress back up and over your thighs, groaning when he realizes you went commando today. He gives you his fingers, causing sharp, high pitched moans to escape you.

"Monta mis dedos, hermosa."

(Ride my fingers, beautiful)

-----

Now, when you eventually did your walk of shame back to the lab, your first time having sex with Miguel seemed like a blur, but in those heated moments during that encounter, they seemed endless and mind-numbing. The pleasure was damn near overwhelming.

No man's fingers sent you into orgasm as many times as his did. No man's tongue ever explored and lapped you up as intimately and expertly as his did.

And no man's cock was as fucking addictive and dangerous as his was.

You were now his little slut and you loved it.

Even though you didn't really confide in any of your co-workers, people around HQ seemed to put two and two together that you were the one to be envied, the new woman occupying Miguel's bed and attention.

After the second time you guys hooked up, you laid in his bed at HQ, the Queen sized bed seeming almost not big enough to hold his enormous size as he pounded you relentlessly into it. Hours passed until you both were covered in sweat, fully coated in each other's slick, the comforter and top sheet cast to the side, since the heat you generated during the rounds you two shared was more than enough to keep you warm.

You panted, staring at his ceiling, absolutely hammered with satisfaction.

He sat up after a few moments, rubbing the back of his neck. He got up and went into his bathroom. You heard the sounds of him relieving himself and then a squeak from a faucet as his shower turned on.

You come out of your daze after a moment, confused. You feel a slight tug of worry as you see him turn on the shower immediately, occupying himself right after you fucked and can't help but feel a rush of insecurity in what you thought was a pleasurable experience for the both of you.

He just seemed to need to rinse off as the water shuts off only after a couple minutes. He walks out with a towel around his waist, water dripping from his body, creating little pools on his tile floor, digging in his dresser drawers for some underwear and clean clothes.

"I have a meeting in about a half hour. You're welcome to rest for a bit longer, though. I trust you to lock my door on your way out?"

You blink rapidly, taken aback by his shortness with you. But, you realize you don't really have a good reason to be upset right now. You two certainly aren't dating. You haven't even had a long, meaningful conversation or got to know the guy yet. Just one, now two, steamy hookups at work and that's it.

You nod with a tight lipped smile, trying to hide your disappointment. Miguel nods back in acknowledgement and goes back to drying himself off, resting a leg on an armchair in the corner, still butt naked.

You just watch him, captivated by his beauty. You realize that you're not going to get clarity on what this is between you two unless you speak now.

"Miguel....?"

His name sounds innocent in the way it leaves your lips, despite the filth they were committing on his genitals just an hour earlier.

He looks at you, not pausing his task.

"Yes?"

You hesitate, scared of his reaction to your next question.

"Um, what are we, exactly? Or, rather, I guess, what is this we're doing?" You gesture between yourself and him.

He finally stops and looks at you, his brow furrows.

Your heart drops, realizing you might have spoke too soon.

But his brow softens, just a little bit. It was only a natural question to ask, after all. What kind of ass would he be for being upset at you for asking? But unfortunately, at this time, what he has to offer is probably not what you're hoping for.

"Well...," he says quietly, thinking deeply. "I think we definitely have strong physical chemistry together. I'd like to have more of these experiences with you, if you're up for it."

You nod, slightly encouraged by the news but wanting more.

"And so...are we exclusively seeing each other?"

Miguel doesn't answer right away, but then he says firmly after a beat, "I don't date."

You feel a knot in your stomach. Not what you wanted to hear, for sure.

"But, I do think us limiting or having no other sexual partners while we're seeing one another is a sensible thing to do," he says. "Out of respect for you and I, either one of us should let the other know if we begin seeing someone else, or if we wish to terminate the relationship."

You sit, slowly processing his words, pulling the top sheet over your legs as the heat from your encounter has now worn off.

"So, you'd like to have just a physical relationship with me? Like friends with benefits?"

Miguel nods slowly. "Yeah, you could call it that, I suppose."

Your mind races, you already know this is a horrible idea but here you are contemplating it anyway.

"Just sex, but we're only fucking each other, and either one of us can end the relationship at any time? No feelings involved?"

Miguel gives you a little grin. "Sounds good to me. But, I do want to heavily emphasize the last part. No feelings involved, please. If you don't think you'll be able to do this, there's no shame in letting me know."

You swallow. "Any, um...reason why you're so against dating or having any sort of emotional commitment?"

Miguel blinks. "I'd rather not get deep into that, but, I suppose to make myself more understood: I avoid emotional affairs, mainly due to my work and because of the lifestyle I lead. I have tremendous responsibilities and I can't devote time to nurture a relationship like a normal person would. Does that answer your question?"

You fiddle with a strand of your hair. "Yeah...that makes more sense."

You look off, still deep in thought. You're at the ledge, almost about to jump, despite the obvious pain that would inevitably become yours when you hit the water, the sharp rocks of disappointment and heartache would become your bed.

"I would like to be friends with benefits with you, on one condition," you say.

"What's that?" a small smirk appears on Miguel's face, a little excited now at your willingness to give him your body on a regular basis.

"We spend at least 30 minutes after the deed holding each other, just as part of normal aftercare."

Miguel raises his eyebrows, a quizzical look on his face. He's been out of the dating game for so long. He had to relearn how to be soft and let that side of him through again, and it didn't come naturally. But it sure doesn't mean that he's changing his mind on wanting to be something more than fuck buddies, he still wanted to stay away from the unpredictable tides of human emotions at all costs.

"Very well, fair. I don't mind a little cuddle afterwards, for your sake. If that's all you need?" He asks.

You nod silently, hoping your modest request isn't turning him off.

He walks over to you, getting back on the bed, putting an arm behind his head while you scoot closer to him, laying your head on his shoulder, sighing in content. He wraps his free hand around your shoulder, closing his eyes, allowing the time to pass in silence.

The silence is a little uncomfortable, but at least he's holding you. After some time, Miguel gives your shoulder a squeeze and sits up. "Perdóname(forgive me), I really do need to get going now. Take your time, though you know. And lock the door behind you on your way out please."

"When would you like to do this again?" You ask.

"Tomorrow, at 11 am," he answers. He looks at you with a small side smile. "I'll clear your schedule with your supervisor. Don't worry about it."

You shoot a smile his way, excited about playing hooky tomorrow to fuck Miguel instead. And the best part was he was in on it too. Even if you couldn't be his girlfriend, this was the next best thing, or so you told yourself.

-----

The next day at 11 am, your third physical encounter is well underway as you're on your knees under Miguel's desk, sucking him off during one of his virtual meetings. Peter B is rattling off, throwing in some painful dad jokes which makes Miguel roll his eyes. You stuff more of him in the back of your throat, forcing his attention back you.

"Carajo (fuck)....keep doing that," he mutters to you. You moan in response, your mouth full of him, throwing everything you can into each flick of your tongue.

Miguel groans and grabs a fistful of your hair. "So fuckin pretty," he coos quietly to you.

"What's that, Miguel?" Peter asks through the meeting speakers.

"Shut the FUCK up Peter," Miguel hisses back, moving your head with his hand.

"Okay, so anyway, like I was saying...." Peter continues.

Miguel shuts off the meeting with a short grunt.

-----

The 4th time, you find yourself fogging the windows in his car as you straddle him, moving your hips in toe-curling circles, edging him closer to combustion in his backseat.

The 5th time, your legs are on his shoulders in his office again. The 6th time, he's between your legs at your apartment, gently coaxing the soul out of your body with his torturous tongue. You glance down at him and he's looking up at you, intoxicated with the taste of everything you're excreting onto his perfect face.

You melt at the sight and realize when you're shaking afterwards that your worst fear is becoming a reality. Your fucking is turning into lovemaking, expressions of lust giving way to affection, the passion molding into adoration.

You clinged to the breadcrumbs he offered you, your delusion fueling the belief that over time, they could sustain you. Any praise he offered you when he was rutting into you, you collected in the empty pockets lining your heart, not knowing you were building your own Roman Empire. The naive architect over your own demise. His crimson eyes your downfall.

The part of your brain you thought you could shut off while you let your body do the talking was in fact alive. Somewhere along the line, one of the hundred deadly thrusts of his hips was responsible for flicking the switch.

Letting him in was like your own version of a Trojan Horse. His troubled soul and enchanting voice pulled and tugged at your trustful and altruistic nature until he lowered your guard. Soon, he was laying siege and attacking the city of your heart, carelessly laying waste to the very walls that welcomed him...not caring that you were drowning in your own blood you shed at his expense, his own confession of love for you the only antidote for your suffering, which you only hoped to God existed, possibly harboured somewhere in the far down recesses of his mind that he didn't dare open.

The 7th time, you're having sex in your bed again. He's on top of you this time. And you're not sure if it's the delicious way he's groaning when you say his name, the tender way he's cupping your face and not letting you look anywhere else but him as he rocks his full length into you, but it causes you to blurt out,

"I love you, Miguel."

He pants, and stops moving, hanging his head with his eyes shut. He holds the position for a moment then climbs off of you, rubbing his face and temples as he sits on the edge of the bed. You sit up too, wishing you could reel your words back into your head as quickly as you said them.

"I'm sorry...," you bite your lip. "Please don't stop..."

After a beat, he stands up and begins to look for his clothes. "It's fine." He says simply.

You look at him in disbelief. "Are you serious right now?"

"I made it very clear from the beginning. I don't do feelings. I don't do relationships. This is why I steer clear of this bullshit all together, because it always ends up being my fault!" He snarled, stuffing his clothes into his hands and hastily throwing on his shirt.

Your jaw falls open, it was though he did a 180. In place of who you thought could be a caring and attentive man who made you feel beautiful and spent hours learning your body and pleasuring you in ways you never thought possible, it was Mr. Hyde to his Dr. Jekyll, callous, cruel, and indifferent to your feelings. The version of him who only cared about getting off, not minding that he willingly went down this road with you, and only after causing you to fall did he take a turn, leaving you stranded.

He sighs deeply. "Look, I think we should take a break. It's not over, we can maybe resume at a later time. But it's clear you need space, and I need space too." He puts his pants back on. "I just need you to understand that no matter what, I'm not going to allow you, or myself make this into anything more than what we agreed upon in the beginning: just sex, that's it."

Tears begin to fall down your face, your heart beginning to ache in your chest from the sword he just planted in it.

"Why don't you let anyone in? Is it that crazy that maybe a girl like me actually gives a shit about you for once and isn't out for your money or your looks or to break your heart?!" you spit your words at him, coated in anguish.

He's facing away from you, fully dressed now, and deep down it kills him to see you like this, but he's too prideful and too much of a fucking coward to let you see that it does.

"I'm leaving..." he says quietly. "I came here to fuck and enjoy my time with you, not have my head examined. I'll see you around." He leaves your room, walking to your front door.

Rage is seething out of your eardrums. You scream after him,"DON'T BOTHER! LOSE MY FUCKING NUMBER!!! Fucking asshole..."

You hear a click as your front door closes and you collapse into a fray of heartbreak on your bed, your tears driving you to sleep.

--------

The next few weeks are torture as you do everything you can to forget him. Pretend as though nothing happened. Pretend as though he never ravaged your body like he did. Pretend like he never broke you apart with his tongue. Pretend like he didn't snatch your heart from your chest. Pretend like he didn't cause you to fall in love with him only for him to leave you bleeding on the ground.

You start forcing one of the other lab techs to take the weekly reports to him as you don't even want to see his face. You're successful at avoiding him for the most part, until you catch him out of the corner of your eye talking to a Spider-Woman, craning her neck to look up at him as she batted her doe eyes and pouted her lip, green claws of jealousy sinking into you once more.

It was the night of the annual Spider Gala where the achievements of the Spider Society would be the highlights of the evening and various awards would be presented, with all employees expected to attend. You broke down and told Jess about your heartbreak from Miguel, and she managed to convince you to attend anyways.

"Show his dumb ass what he's missing out on."

And show him, (and all the male spiders), you did. Necks turned as you made your way across the room to the bar, donning a strapless black evening gown with a sweetheart neckline that kissed your breasts and held them up just right, and a mouthwatering slit in the right thigh. However, once you got your hands on the alcohol, you found it hard to stop throwing down one drink, after another, after another down the hatch. You took a shot each time you saw Miguel glowering at you from across the room, or each time a pretty new Spider tried to talk to him. Rational thoughts checking out for the evening and inebriation settling in.

You found yourself weeping in the bathroom, mascara running down your face when the voice over the speaker announces, "This year's Spider-Man of the year goes to...Miguel O'Hara."

An outbreak of applause interrupts your sobs and you hear Miguel's quiet acceptance speech, the inflections in his rich voice barely moving. The liquid in your veins suddenly inspires you to march back in to the dining hall.

Miguel is sitting back down and when he turns his face back to the stage, it freezes at the person and the silent death stare coming from their tear stained face: you, the woman he scorned, and he knew what the books said about hell hath no fury. Now, all of spider society had a front row seat.

You spoke in a cool tone, fire lining your pupils,

"And I'd like to take a second to congratulate Mr. O'Hara. Well deserved....You know what's so great about him? Just how hard he works. I mean, you couldn't find a boss like him anywhere with how dedicated he is to his work. Nevermind how many people he hurts to achieve his goal and toss aside like trash..."

A pin drops.

"But hey, whatever it takes to protect the multiverse, right?" your voice started to drip with forced sweetness.

The air in the room has become uncomfortably thick, but nobody dares interrupt your rampage. In the audience, Peter B. Parker looks at you sympathetically.

Ahhh typical Miggy, always breaking hearts. Not the first girl he's drove insane like this because he won't commit or let anyone get close to him...

You continue with your speech, "Because feelings are something to be ashamed of, right? Can't let people think you have a weakness or a soft side to you, because then they'll just use it against you. So, you gotta ruin every single good thing that happens to you, because when you lost it the first time, it nearly destroyed you, so you'd rather not have it at all."

The people sitting at Miguel's table give little shrieks of terror as he bolts up, knocking the table askew with his powerful thighs and swiftly walks out, his hands clenched in fists. You follow after him, feeling yourself becoming more and more unhinged.

"Get the fuck away from me," he scowls at you, his pace not slowing down as you pursue him down the empty halls of HQ.

"Just keep running huh, like you always do?" You spew at him as tears run down your face, your eye makeup dark like a raccoon. "How do I taste huh? How do you like me now? You like what you've done to me? You like torturing me like this?!"

You shove and slap him and he whips around, temper snapped, and lands a fist in the wall, the impact reverberating off the stone walls as the surface under his fist cracks slightly.

He pants, his shoulders tense, each back muscle defined underneath his black tux.

"You're done...," he says in a shaky voice. "I need you to stay away from me."

"Good, I'm fucking HAPPY to!!!" you respond sarcastically, throwing your arms in the air. "That's the nicest thing you could do for me at this point!

His back is still turned to you and he leaves without a word.

-------

That same night

You're perched on a lab table, sobbing in the empty lab when a tall figure approaches you, holding a glass of ice water. Your face shoots up to see who it is, only to be let down when it's not Miguel.

"Peter?"

Peter B. Parker walks in, his bowtie hanging undone from his dress shirt collar.

"I just wanted to make sure you're okay." He offers the glass to you and you take it, nursing a few sips.

"I'm...I'm fine...," you sniffle.

"Hey, come here..."

He takes his handkerchief from his tux pocket and dabs at your tears, taking care to not press too firmly into your face and ruin your makeup, despite the fact your tears already have.

"So beautiful..."

He studies your face, and you look back into his, his brown eyes filled with concern, the five o'clock shadow of his face contrasting with the dim light from the only desk lamp in the room, making him look oddly inviting.

He brings a hand to your cheek, running it gently along your chin and starts pulling you closer to him.

"Pete, what..."

He crashed his lips against yours aggressively, the stubble from his face tickling your skin.

"Peter!! Pete... stop...," you gasp in surprise, but then you go numb when he begins kissing your neck.

The way he's kissing your neck is dangerous. He doesn't try to be clean about it, either. His lips are soft and messy, leaving a trail of wetness along your collar and making his way to your chest.

You start to buck your hips, your body responding eagerly to the special attention he's paying to it.

"Pete...no...you're married...."

"We're separated," he mumbles, throwing your dress over his head.

"But I....ohhh....God...," you groan, pushing your back against the wall closest to you, your fists flying to his hair to keep him locked in place as he laps at you from under your dress.

Peter smiles devilishly.

"I knew you wouldn't be able to resist me," he says softly.

You shudder.

"Oh, you like that baby?"

You nod eagerly, his tongue on your body plus the liquor in your system catapulting your mind into a state of intense pleasure.

"That feels good. Fffuck Peter.....," you moan breathlessly.

"Mmmm you're sexy when you say my name like that. Miguel doesn't know what a fool he is, passing up a pretty little thing like you...," Peter groans, adding two of his digits this time, his slick covered handsome face coming up to stare at you come undone in his hand..

"Peter...Peter, oh God...."

That's all he needs to hear from you to convince him you're ready to be fucked. You two mess with his belt buckle and soon he's snapping into you deliciously and deep, your nails in his back.

"That's it baby, let me fuck you....urgh, tell me, baby, did he fuck you like this? You're gonna forget about him when I'm done with you. Gonna make you crave this cock instead."

Your eyes rolled back in your head as you let him have his way with you for the rest of the night.

-----

Peter was a good fuck...and boy he did make you feel good for a few hours. But when you awoke the next morning in Peter's bed, Miguel still stayed in the back of your mind. If there was anything else you could have done to get Miguel to be totally turned off from you, this would be it. Winding up in bed with one of his closest allies.

At work the next few weeks, you felt like you might as well have been wearing a scarlet letter A on your chest. Whispers and eyes followed you, conversations shifted in every room you entered. It was beginning to be too much. The occasional time you were unsuccessful at avoiding Miguel's presence, you wanted nothing more than to just cease to exist in that moment.

Your performance slipped and your supervisor took notice. One day, you went into his office and explained you were putting in your two weeks except you wanted to take your leave immediately. He couldn't help but nod and agree. He took pity on you after Jess explained the situation to him and arranged it so you would receive severance pay for a few months after you left. An unexpected fortune admist the sea of misfortunes you were being dealt as of late.

You packed up your desk that afternoon, a twinge of sadness sank from your chest to your belly as you prepared to leap into the unknown as you took one last look at the place that swallowed you up and spat you back out.

There was nothing left for you here. Miguel's face flashed across your mind one more time as you stepped across the threshold. The door closing on your past, the promise of healing hanging in the rays of sunshine that hit your cheeks.

----

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balkanradfem · 2 days

Text

I just had an Experience in the water.

Heading home from my garden where I re-planted new tomatoes (because my original ones all got destroyed by the frost, RIP), I was feeling a little dizzy, light-headead and woozy. I figured putting myself inside the cold river was the best solution for all of these things, so I changed my course to the secluded edge of the fields, where trees and bushes were guarding the ground. And, if one was not afraid of slipping and rolling down, water could be accessed as well.

I hid myself into the bushy riverside area, got most of my clothing off and slowly tipped inside the river. It was colder than usual, due to the recent frosty days, so it took me a few tries to get myself completely submerged. I usually make sure nobody can see me; this time there was a small group on the other side of the river, but they seemed to be children, and I don't believe they had noticed me at all.

I was having a great time up to my neck inside the icy water, when something hit the back of my thigh. A log must have somehow bumped into me, I thought, and I turned around trying to see it in the water, when something poked its head out and swam around me. A dog somehow swam here, I thought even more confused, but then she turned her head around, and looked at me, and I realized it was a beaver! A whole big grown up beaver was right next to me, looking at me! I gasped and stared mesmerized, while she stared back at me good-naturedly, for a good few seconds, both of us in shock. Then she turned to swim away, but I couldn't watch her departure because something else got my full attention. A big bird was flying right at me. I saw the big wing span before I saw the head, and it was – a heron. I was immediately thrilled by this, because herons will not come close to me, I had herons offendedly fly away if I so much as looked at them from 500 meters distance. This one was already so close! Come to me, I thought with satisfaction, but then, already so close, the heron realized I was there, and changed direction mid-flight, flinching away from my offensive presence. It made a big circle to the other side of the river instead. I could still see it from up close!

Also during this entire encounter, I was almost completely naked, was only wearing my underwear. The animals were also not wearing anything so we were all even. I've never seen a beaver, or a heron, from such short distance before. I don't think this kind of thing could happen in the warmer months, I think the animals only relax this much in the river when the water is not very human-hospitable, so they don't expect to run into a whole human being while chilling on a Saturday evening.

My first interaction with a beaver was an underwater headbutt! It wasn't strong, but I can still feel the place on my thigh where she bumped into me, it was so damn cool.

Now, the mystery remains: why were both the beaver and the heron heading for this exact location, at the same time? My first thought was that maybe heron was hunting the beaver, but it doesn't make any sense, the beaver is way too big to be prey. Then I thought, maybe all of this was a coincidence. Maybe the beaver was just there to get some of the floating logs, because she needed some building material. And the heron was using this spot as her usual chilling place, and I rudely occupied it before she could land there. But then it hit me.

They were heading for the same spot, at the same time, because they had a meeting. They were secret friends, and this spot was their hangout spot. They were gonna chill together and discuss recent river news. I sadly was not accepted into their friend group as I was the wrong species and also did not announce that I would be there. I scared them away, my only hope is that they had a chance to gossip and rant about me later.

#wildlife #beaver #heron #swimming in the river #i was just dunking not swimming #story #nature #also #I checked and herons are not predators to beavers #but apparently otters #and owls are?#thats some bullshit

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onsunnyside · 1 year

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aaaaa when mma!curtis gets hurt though!! or if he loses a match :(( extra feral and rough and nasty 🤧 reader is so concerned for him and tries to make to make him feel better, but baby, all u gotta lay there and let him tear u apart

oh he'll absolutely lose it 🫡 although he's pissed off, he's still a daddy who loves to tease:

"—fuckin' stupid ref, he didn't call any of that shit just to screw me over." His rant breaks off into curses as he struggles with his heavily bandaged fingers. Honestly, it was his fault. He couldn't sit still as you tended to his bruised and battered knuckles, now it was all sloppy and unravelling by the moment.

"Don't take it off!"

His heated eyes meet yours in the reflection, water dripping from his buzzed hair to his bearded cheeks. "What was that?"

"D-Don't take 'em off... or it'll hurt." You stutter and roll on the heels of your feet. "I don't want you to ever hurt, especially after those mean guys..." (aka his opponent who broke the rules one too many times and the ref who didn't call any of it, which led to Curtis' loss). You tug on the hem of his sweater, feeling awfully exposed because he didn't let you put on panties after your shared shower ("why would you need them?")

He breaks the tension with a grunt, gesturing you over with a nod, "c'mere, cupcake. Daddy wants to show you something."

You hesitantly obey and squeak as he tugs you closer, propping you on the counter with ease, his arms flexing deliciously. He brings your hand to his tattooed chest, right below his collarbone.

"You know what this is?"

You nod, "Your grandparent's birth year."

"Mhm, and what about this?" He trails down, dragging your fingers to his abs, inches away from his bushy pubic hair.

"Uhm, a d-dagger."

You remember when you saw it for the first time. He was in the middle of training and you walked in, nearly dropping the freshly baked cookies at the sight of him all beefy, sweaty and flushed. Curtis, being ever the observant fella, took you into the locker room and ate you out over your underwear ("Can't have my sweet girl all needy, hm? Gotta give her what she deserves." and he did, making you cream your panties so he could hide them in his bag for later).

He moves your hand to the loose towel around his waist, right over the growing bulge. "And this, sweet baby?"

You gulp, squirming as he makes you rub over his clothed cock. You can feel him growing harder, throbbing hotly under your palm.

"...it's your thing, daddy."

He tsks, shaking his head, "that's not what it's called."

You were a virgin when you met Curtis. But he didn't mind that you were inexperienced in relationships and sex, he was sweet and slow with you, allowing you to explore his body first to get you comfortable with intimacy. As much as you loved hearing him say filthy things, you were still so shy saying it yourself.

"Do I have to say it?"

"If you wanna taste it." He leans forward, softly kissing your cheek, then the other, and then your nose, dutifully ignoring your pouting lips. "C'mon, cupcake. Say it, and I'll let you keep me warm."

He knows you love that, feeling close and safe. You love holding him in your hand, or in your mouth, or one of your other holes. If you could, you'd keep him all snug every damn day.

"Then, I'll fuck your pretty face. Make you gag on my cock and try to fit my balls in your mouth—you wanna help me feel better after that shitty match, right, baby?"

#mma fighter curtis #brandycranby<3 #wips ask #sonny drabbles #curtis everett #curtis everett smut #curtis everett x reader #curtis everett fanfiction #curtis everett fanfic #curtis everett au #curtis everett drabble #curtis everett x innocent!reader #curtis everett x female reader #curtis everett fic #mma fighter!curtis everett #ufc fighter!curtis everett

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slashingdisneypasta · 1 month

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Okay I'm gonna rant about my mum now, cuz I need to. Don't read under the cut if you don't wanna be dumped on!

This woman-- oh my God. Can I just list some of the things that have hurt me or frustrated me?? Okay. Yeah. Let's do that.

Never comforting me (or my brother) when we were little and scared. We were scared of dogs, which was 'inconvenient' to her since it meant we couldn't go to parks. I would literally bite my nail and skin down until I bled when we did and she'd just get annoyed with me like I ruined the day. (Dad did the same thing but has since sincerely apologised. I'm very inclined to think that it was her influence entirely- she has never apologised and when i brought it up one time she laughed it off like i'm being silly)

Constantly makes me feel dependent. And that is the worst thing to be in her mind-- but she won't change her opinion of me that I am?? Like??? The most recent example of this is that I decided I wanted to go back to school (**I** decided)... and then she made the whole thing about her 'pushing' me to do it. Like it was so hard to get me on track. How the fuck did she get to that? This was my decision!! I brought it up first!!

Also on that 'dependent' thing- I am independent to a f a u l t now because of her. For example, I don't care if it's hailing outside with gail force winds, something in me feels disgusted with myself if I accept a ride home.

Oh, more on that dependent thing! I remember going to an evening job interview one time and it was dark when I got out. I thought I could get home on my own so I started walking... turns out it was the wrong direction and I ended up in a very bad area, at night, crying uncontrollably outside a 7-11. She still wouldn't come get me (she was at her boyfriends place) and sent me an uber. There was a random goddam lady getting petrol who was kinder to me, asking if I was okay and offering me a ride home.

A very similar thing happened when I was even younger, 14-16. I got myself stranded in a bushy area and had to walk my ass home- in 35 degree heat, without shoes (cuz mine were so worn out the soles killed), with no water, back to the motherfucking suburbs.

OH! Another thing about her. After she and my dad split up, you know what I noticed??? My brother, sister and I got along so much better when we were with our dad and so much *worse* with mum. You know why?? Cuz she nutures catty behaviour, which is probably why she can't get along with her sister's or her mum. She's always talking to us about eachother behind our backs (I know she talks to me and my sister about my brother, and I know she talks to me about my sister, so I assume she's doing the same with our brother), she gibes us ugly little Looks when one of the others does something she doesn't like and that we 'talked about', and she gives away secrets we told her in confidence??? Like recently my brother was really sad so I asked HIM (I asked *him*) what was up and he said it was nothing- so clearly he didn't wanna talk about it. That's fine. And mum piped up saying pointedly to me that he doesn't have to talk if he doesn't want to (True, mum, thanks. I know that)... before telling me his girlfriend broke up with him as soon as he left the room. She did the same thing the last time he had a break up. And then she's also telling me shit about my sister I k n o w she wouldn't want me to know. This is why I don't tell her anything anymore.

And, of course, the pitting us against eachother. Just today she and I had a little argument (argument on her side. I was actually trying my fucking hardest to keep my voice soft and figure out the problem), and my sister comes up to her to give her money for her belly button piercing today. Mum snaps at her, like 'Why do I have to carry that??'. My sister gets defensive, because she's a teenage girl and I mean??? Wouldn't you??? Then my mum 'apologised' by saying '*sigh* sorry, your sister was just snapping at me for no reason'.

And ohhhhh. The guilt tripping. Especially about not getting to move in with her 'love' (This dude, Mark, who works with her. Everyone including my dad and her mother, my grandma, are pretty damn sure she was cheating on my dad with him). She always tells me 'it's because of you that I can't live with him.'.

And the whole thing with Mark is wierd on general??! She got with this man while he was in the middle of a very terrible divorce with his ex wife, who was saying he abused her and their 2 kids. FIRST of fucking all, I understand innocent until proven guilty... but she seemed immediately sure that the e x w i f e was a liar and was manipulating their daughter (who, by the way, has some very deep issues) into saying he did stuff to her? I don't understand why the hell you would jump to that conclusion.

P l u s- she's always taking my sister (the youngest of us. It goes Me (22), then my Brother (20 in June), then Her (16)) on trips with Mark without even telling my Dad?? Surely Dad should have been notified and given Vito power in a situation like this!??

(Luckily I think Mark is actually indeed pretty harmless. But still, none of this is really okay even so)

Small thing, but she has never ever asked me about my writing. She doesn't give a fuck, though she knows it's my Biggest Thing.

Oh, another small thing that gets under my nails. Her thinking I'm so fucking Silly for liking things. And not the good kinda silly- like I'm so dumb and ridiculous for my interests. Like, I'm sorry?? I'm sorry you have no hobbies, you horrible little woman?? I don't need to be patronised cuz I find a little joy in something.

Ughhhhhh she always disapproved of my sister, brother or I ever thinking about us being 'american' at all. Which is??? So ridiculous?? We're not, but our Dad is, and maybe he wanted to share some of his culture, his home, with us??? He moved all the way to the other side of the globe to be with her and this is how she repays it??? We also don't really know our family on that side, we never got phone calls or anything. And I feel like my mum should have encouraged that. So should my Dad have, yes definitely (he's not perfect), but I have a feeling she never supported it. She doesn't even support us seeing her family.

Ohhhh my God. The cleaning. She goes into these hours long Outbursts where she has to clean e v e r y t h i n g in the house, and she's mad at us for letting it get untidy, and if she sees you you're in danger because she's gonna snap at you and make you feel terrible. I now go into the same state every now and then- though I just put my earplugs in and don't speak to anyone.

Ah. And the fat shaming. That's always fun 🙄😒 My sister is so skinny without trying, which is not her fault and good for her- but I have my grandma's hips and larger breasts (I know it's immature to go ha ha mum you're flat chested and I have tits but lool honestly it's cathartic), and that comes with a little belly and wider thighs. That doesn't mean I'm fat. I'm goddamn beautiful, shut up. And I'm tired of feeling terrible about how I look because of her.

... There's more, but I'm losing steam and just getting sad. So I think my job is done for now, thank you for listening.

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gentil-minou · 1 year

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People using a funny little feature that makes others laugh and turning it into a way to spread hate is exactly the kind of bullshit that doesn't belong on this site.

It's gotta stem from some level of jealousy or hatred but the thing is the blue checkmarks are so harmless and silly it's like getting angry at someone for virtually no reason? Other than to make them feel bad and to make yourself feel better?

Then there's this idea that they have the right to comment and ask extremely invasive questions about someone's finances or even question their morals? Are you serious? What high horse are you on that gives you that right?

It's so frustrating because this site has been so much fun the past few days and the checkmarks are so hilarious, and then because of a few awful people that joy is being turned into misery and unjust hatred towards people who are adults who want to have fun. It's not hurting anyone, and so the assholes making wonderful people feel bad for having a good time? You are the lowest of low.

This kind of bullying behavior belongs on Twitter, not here. Get the fuck off my hell site if you can't handle it

#and regardless of anything else if there is one thing people need to understand #YOU DO NOT GET TO TELL SOMEONE HOW TO SPEND THEIR OWN MONEY #like for fucks sake this is a silly little fandom site not a place to preach stupidity #bushy rants #tumblr

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onboardsorasora · 8 months

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massaging or sitting in the others lap!

Sorry I took forever with this Anonstie, I wanted to do both but couldn't think of the right scenario. But we got there and I hope you like it!!

They were in the wilderness, awake early and posted up on the hunting stand in the middle of a clearing right before sunrise. Daniel was so tired, he blearily noted the majestic rising of the sun behind the mountain range to their right? Left? It didn’t matter

It was early, ass crack o'clock to be exact and Max looked too bright eyed and bushy tailed for someone who had gotten even less sleep than Daniel himself received.

They had arrived last night at the house– it was a little more than a cabin but just not as rustic. It had been in the family for years now and had been updated when Max and Victoria were kids. Daniel was always thankful for the indoor plumbing and recent addition of wifi. Max's dad, Jos, had prepped the place for them, knowing that Max would make the pilgrimage into the wilds for his birthday no matter what. It was tradition he would say.

Max had told him many times about how much fun it had been growing up and the weekend trips they would take up the mountain since his birthday was in the peak of bird hunting season. And of course, Victoria continued the tradition with Lio and Luka.

Daniel…well he didn’t hate hunting, but he thought it was a lot of effort when they could wake up later in the same cabin and go hiking to a spot in the hills at a more reasonable time.

The first flight of birds leaving their nests for food had already passed, Max had had a stellar shoot, they would have a fine lunch. Maybe dinner. Then he passed the shotgun to Daniel and (once again) taught him how to hold it and aim.

They did this every year, and every year as soon as they went back home, Daniel forgot how to shoot. Not only was it just not his sport, he simply looked forward to the massage he got from Max afterwards. So he liked his boyfriend’s hands on him, sue him.

While Vic took the boys down to the nearby stream, Max sat on a wooden bench and pulled Daniel to sit on his lap. Daniel leaned into him, clutching Max’s arms that wrapped around his camo clad belly.

“Fine shootn’ today Maxy Max.” Daniel tried to use a Texan accent when they went hunting. It started as a joke and the boys absolutely loved it.

Max smiled a crinkly faced smile, he also got a kick out of it. “Of course, I have been shooting since I was Luka’s age.”

“A fine cowboy you’d make.”

Max snorted, “always, you are silly Daniel. But yes, I can provide for my family out in the wilderness.” Max rolled his eyes obnoxiously.

“Well you know what they say, save a horse…” Daniel grinned and turned so he was sitting across Max’s legs. He threw his arms around Max’s shoulders, wincing slightly as he did, he truly never got used to the kickback of the old shotgun Max used.

“Are you sore?” Max sprung into action, pressing his thumbs softly into the tender tissue much to Daniel’s relief. “You didn’t cup it close enough, you always forget I think.” Max murmured, his focus honed in on making sure Daniel was ok.

“I’ll cup you close enough.” Daniel teased in reply, grinning at Max’s snort.

“You are doing it on purpose, maybe. Of course you don’t have to hurt yourself to get a massage, Love, I’ll gladly give you one when we get home.”

Daniel kissed Max’s forehead, brushing his hair back with his nose. “I’ll hold you to it since you insist on using that ancient thing.”

He laughed loudly at Max’s squawk of outrage, pleased when his boyfriend launched into the very familiar– and yearly– ‘rant’ about how his gun wasn’t old and he didn’t need to buy a new one and if Daniel would just listen and practice the kick wouldn’t hurt him.

Traditions indeed.

#writing prompts #answered #anon #anonymous #max/daniel #maxiel #drabble writing #hunting season #maybe country boy max?#idk

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mothpiercings · 2 years

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i wrote this while on vacation then forgot about it for a week anyway

jaskier travels to future modern day where geralt is like 800 years old

after the dragon hunt geralt and jaskier part ways

geralt didn’t mean anything he said ofc, he was just angry and frustrated and he took it out on the one person he could always count on

but his stupid pride won’t let him apologize

even though he feels sorry as soon as the words leave his mouth

he watches jaskier walk away, and knows that he has to give his the bard some time

three years is a lot of time to give but geralt can’t find him

he has literally looked everywhere

oxenfurt, lettenhove, pasoda, hell even cintra (which he vowed to never go back to, but he needs to find jaskier)

the bard is nowhere

five more years pass

geralt still looks for him everywhere

every time there’s a bard with bushy brown hair or blue eyes or a lute with flowers on it, he’s reminded of jaskier and is filled with hope for one quick second

but it’s never jaskier

he hears it in a pub

it’s a no name pub he’s never been to, one he just stopped in after a hunt

and he hears it

the bard in the corner, talking to some patrons, acting as if it’s just casual conversation

“yes, yes, the great bard Jaskier, meletele bless his soul, wrote many ballads in his day, and had he not fallen to horrid fate, we might have more. but alas, we make do.” and he finished with a laugh.

a laugh

geralt storms out of the pub, probably scaring the few townspeople sober enough to notice

he takes on contracts that he knows are too dangerous for him

he goes to kaer morehn every winter and drinks himself near death

the others are worried for him, but bringing it up leads to geralt locking himself in his room for weeks

they don’t talk about it

he isn’t sober for more than a few hours at time for a decade

eventually geralt finds his child surprise

and he knows that he can’t keep this up AND be a decent father figure

he and yennifer sort things out and she helps him sober up

blah blah blah season two happens mainly as it did in netflix cannon except without jaskier

a few hundred years pass

everyone’s alive (all the witchers, yennifer, ciri, magic is the answer to everything)

it feels like forever

geralt never stops thinking about jaskier

everytime music changes or a new instrument is invented, all geralt can think about is how jaskier would respond

he cries the day he found out ab recording

all he can think about is how he would never get to hear jaskier immortalized like this

jaskier would never be remembered

that thought makes him cry harder

it takes yennifer and ciri a week to pull him out of his drunken depressive episode

geralt has settled in pretty well though

he’s generally good at adapting to change (even though the fact that his dog is named roach says otherwise)

he has a job that he mostly enjoys (he’s a park ranger. it’s the most fun he’s ever had and he loves it so much. if anyone ever found out he would kill them and then himself)

he and his family try to get together at least once a month

they got closer after they stopped having to kill to survive

when they finally got to a point where they could just be

they almost always go over to vesemirs (because despite what they say, he’s their dad)

it’s at one of these dinners, as everyone’s saying their goodbyes, a loud crack and swear is heard from the backyard

it’s a swear they haven’t heard in a long time

centuries maybe

then more swearing

geralt pauses and listens to the voice that he knows is dead

this is a nasty trick

the other witcher’s know that something’s wrong as soon as they see geralt’s expression change

they got rid of their swords a long time ago (it was the 70s after someone lambert tried to take them to a festival and almost killed someone. now they stay in the attic)

but they all carry daggers ofc

they grab their weapons and slowly stalk towards the yard

where the voice is still ranting and cursing

still in a language long dead

they open the door

geralt doesn’t belive it

“where the fuck am i, geralt” the bards voice is just like it was that day on the mountain

chapter/story two

none of them move for a beat

they can hear the man’s (jaskiers?) heart beating so fast it could come out of his chest

he doesn’t seem like a fake (dopplers went extinct a few centuries ago anyway)

if this was an imposter, they were too good at it

“jaskier” has the same scent he always has (wild flowers and a field after rain)

jaskier looks at the witchers, all big and scary and totally pointing their daggers at him

he can assume the other men are geralts brothers

though they don’t have a madellian, they each have a large ring with a wolf engraved

don’t ask jaskier how he noticed this

he doesn’t know

geralt stalks closer to the man (the man who was dead for almost 1000 years, the man who shouldn’t be here right now)

he hears a light growl from behind him and eskel lightly gripping his arm

but he has to do this, so he shakes the hand off and continues forward

with each step that geralt takes, jaskier smells… calmer

this confuses geralt, because even though they had been… friends for a long time, they parted ways on awful terms

in a language he hasn’t heard in such a long time, jaskier begins to speak

“geralt…” he repeats, “where the fuck am i?”

it takes a moment for geralt to process, and not just because he barely remembers the language

but the man’s voice sounds so much like jaskiers

and jaskier looks not a hair out of place

he looks. like he was simply plucked out of thin air in 12xx and deposited in 2022

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bloodofgrapes · 1 year

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AA thoughts time

I’m the last person to ever “criticize” Ace Attorney for being unrealistic, because a) it’s a story, and thus designed for entertainment purposes, but b) I believe its wild premise allows it to explore real issues, emotions, etc in a way that winds up being beautifully authentic because reality is often stranger than fiction

However, if there’s any one thing that I could change in AA, it's that nearly everyone would be just a tad older. Don’t get me wrong, I think AA does great with what it has--Phoenix being a rookie attorney fresh out of law school, young and headstrong and still kind of naive while being an accidental genius at what he does, contrasting with the fact the Edgeworth burnt out this hard after only four years of practice. But it has this anime problem, where everyone is clearly written to be established professionals in their field (including characters like Gumshoe) while acting like 30 is old somehow.

I could, and possibly will, make an entirely separate rant about all the “prodigy” characters AA has, and my firm belief that Edgeworth is the only one that should have ever been allowed, but I digress

To get personal with things for a moment, I first played AA when I was a teenager, and I remember how it felt then--Phoenix and Edgeworth did feel so old and mature at the ripe age of 24, worldly with education and experience that seemed far beyond my grasp. However, revisiting the series as a man in his mid thirties has been interesting. They do still retain that feeling of being older and mature, but now I can’t help but feel that their ages ought to reflect that.

@themumblingmouse turned me on to the idea that Phoenix likely worked as Mia’s paralegal through law school, and I could see him sticking with it for some time as he worked as her junior partner, doing all the behind the scenes work outside of the courtroom while she took the lead. More specifically though, I think about Edgeworth’s downward trajectory. As I said earlier, I do think it fits him well enough that it was only four years for him to go from a relatively bright eyed and bushy tailed bratty little asshole to, well... this

But time goes by fast the older you get. Four years is practically nothing. And to be fair to Edgeworth, we could even lend him some leniency and say that his life under Von Karma likely extended that, and we could consider basically all of his time as a teenager to be part of the spiral downward, but again, he was upbeat when he was twenty. It seems far more likely that it didn’t begin until he was working in earnest, slowly forking over little bits and pieces of his soul with every case, racking up that bad (and well deserved) reputation. To my mind, that sort of thing takes time, because you often don’t realize you’ve slipped into a hole until you’ve been in it for some time, especially if you’re the sort of person that’s used to brute forcing your way through life, finding justifications and rationalizations for your actions.

Phoenix was obviously the turning point, but that turning point would hit a lot harder for me if they were both older, I think. This entire post is a little inspired by that request I got about them hugging it out in Trials and Tribulations--the observations in the tags about how desperately Edgeworth needed to just let go are absolutely spot on, and at this point I basically HC that he had at least a decade to spiral down down down until finally hitting rock bottom, with Phoenix to raise both of them from the ashes. Ace Attorney has sincerely brilliant symbolism around death and rebirth, so why not allow them a little time between their lives, so that spiral meant something, instead of being a brief and regrettable footnote from one’s early twenties?

#Ace Attorney #grapes thoughts

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valittlecorner · 7 months

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Hello, today we're complaining about Bushiroad's tactics and clear exploitation of the Sapphic community in their rhythm games💘 cause I'm feeling like a hater rn.

For starters, I've always noticed WLW representation is usually non-existent or placed on a side character with 3 seconds of screentime. It's pretty hard to even find appropriate WLW content that isn't sexualized to appeal the male gaze. And when you do find it, it's probably either cancelled midway (the owl house) or it makes you wait 6 years to see a proper display of affection (adventure time). Now this complaint came to me since it's reflected in a lot of female centric rhythm games, especially Bushiroad rhythm games.

First, Bang Dream. Pretty sure the Bandori fandom still remembers Bushi HINTING at every character from it being Sapphic, but were too afraid to confirm or say it clearly. And you know why is that??? Well, most of their income comes from thirsty males who wouldn't want to see their anime 'waifu' not appealing to them or being 'unavailable", that's how the market works bestie!!! So their solution is having extremely vague depictions of WLW while still making sure it's appealing to the male gaze. The main point that messes with WLW rep is misogyny, and how men are constantly trying to twist women into being their own little trophy that appeals ONLY TO THEM and completely ruining how people view Lesbians. To me, Bushi's rhythm games are a prime example of that.

Now let's talk about D4dj. D4 struggles with the same thing as Bandori, but arguably manages it worse. Since D4's characters are mostly adults, their cards are very suggestive, often showing their characters in questionable situations with one another, this is an example of wanting to appeal to the male gaze via the sexualization of Lesbians. And in the game's dialogue they show characters clearly blushing or being flustered around one another and overly exploit what I call "Sapphic bait". Sapphic Bait is showing you two female characters with CLEAR INTEREST IN ONE ANOTHER but never making it canon and just using it for clout. A clear example of this is TsubAoi (Tsubaki is clearly in love with Aoi and they play around with the concept a lot, but it's just that. It's never taken seriously enough, it's just a bait). The main problem with D4 is how they don't commit to the bit unless we're talking HayaCoco, their first Canon couple. They're the only ones who brought back hope of Bushi eventually stopping the Sapphic Bait, though I still think that's impossible to be honest. I really have no idea how their reveal went over in JP, but those two are a step in the right direction. However, there's still a long way to go when it comes to these topics AND ESPECIALLY coming from Bushi.

I know many other franchises do this, but I'm Bandori centred so that's about it. Conclusion of this rant being: Give proper Lesbian representation instead of just baiting your Sapphic audience into thinking they're finally being heard. It's tiring!!!

Edit: I made A HUGE mistake with the D4 card section of this post. I did not mean "sexualized / suggestive" cards, I was referring more to those Sapphic bait cards D4 has. Those with two characters involved in more romantic situations that Bushi usually plays as bait and is never mentioned again yknow!! My bad I wrote this when I was mad and didn't research properly oh my god

#I will not be silenced!!!!!#apparently bushi also owns love live but idk about them so that's that #if you do have income on them don't be afraid to share it!!!#bushiroad #bandori #bang dream #d4dj groovy mix #d4dj #sapphic #wlw #lesbian #the flag colors being on the lesbian tag is so cute lmao #valittleopinions

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awakenthemusic · 7 months

Text

Photo Shoot (Part 1)

“A photo shoot, Sammy, really?” Dean scoffed. Bunch of spoiled-rotten, plucked and primped assholes running around making ridiculous amounts of money to stand around and smile into a camera like an idiot. No, thank you.

“C’mon, Dean, it makes sense. If you were a shapeshifter, wouldn’t you want to be the best-looking person in the room?” Before Dean could answer the question, Sam shot him an innocent look and said, “Oh, and did I mention they’re looking for a PA?”

Tags: Short fic, ~1,700 words, Destiel, Case Fic, UST

For Suptober 2023 Day 5 - Portrait

Part 2 here

Under the cut or on Ao3

*****

Dean’s headset hummed with chatter as he leaned against the wall and sucked down a bottle of water. The shoot wasn’t as much fun as a film set (no Craft Services for one thing, stupid model diets) but something still buzzed happily under Dean’s skin as he worked with the rest of the crew to bring the photographer’s vision to life.

Every two minutes, someone needed something new. Dean bounced from job to job, solving problem after problem, no time to worry, no time to think, just focused on the here and now and letting everything flow. He hadn’t felt so alive while doing anything other than slicing and dicing a monster in years.

Speaking of, Dean thought. I wonder how Sammy’s getting on with the case. He had stopped by to ask Dean something a couple of hours ago, but that had been right when Monica had had her tantrum and all hell had broken loose. Afterward, Dean had been too busy cleaning up the diva’s strawberry-açaí-whatever smoothie to pay much attention to what Sam had been saying.

Seriously, you’d think with how little these people were allowed to eat, they’d want to hang on to their food and not go throwing it around the studio...

A new voice in his ear caught Dean’s attention. “Where the hell are Ross and Penn? We can’t start the formal wear shoot without them.”

Looks like break time’s over. Dean was off again, radioing in as he walked toward the dressing rooms.

*****

The two models were nowhere to be found. The crew and assistants had canvased the entire studio and, if the two men had been here earlier, they sure as hell weren’t here now.

The photographer was livid.

“What do you mean they’re not here?” He fumed, his bushy mustache quivering with rage as his assistant cowered. “What am I paying you idiots for if you can’t even keep track of two lousy models?”

Suddenly, Cas stepped up next to Dean and asked quietly, “What’s going on?”

Dean turned, his scowl disappearing as he said, “Hey, Cas.”

Cas smiled softly. “Hello, Dean.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Sam left me a message this morning.” Cas stepped a little closer, lowering his voice to murmur below the photographer’s continued yelling. “You’re here hunting a shapeshifter?”

“Yep.” Dean swallowed, fighting through the tingly rush that always seemed to wash over him when Cas stood this close. “Sam thinks it’s one of the models.”

“Ah. I’ll get as close as I can,” Cas said, scanning the faces in the small crowd gathered around. “I should be able to spot the shifter easily.”

Cas’ gaze swung back around to Dean and, for a moment, all Dean could do was nod.

They stared at each other, oblivious to the world as the photographer ranted, “… anyone! Get me… Hey, you two!”

Sudden silence pulled Dean out of their impromptu staring contest. He turned to find the photographer and his assistant looking right at him and Cas.

Just in case there was any confusion who the photographer was talking about, he shouted, “PA dude and Trench Coat guy! Congratulations, you’ve just been promoted!”

*****

Twenty minutes of hair, makeup, clothes fittings, and light checks, later, Dean felt vaguely like he'd been put through a car wash without a car. The sheer number of people who had been involved with primping, pressing, and pinning him into the nicest suit he'd ever worn was impressive, if also mildly terrifying.

Now, he stood under the hot lights, ants crawling around under his skin as everyone in the room stared at him. Shit, where the fuck is Cas?

"Finally," the photographer, whose name was apparently Morris, said, glancing behind Dean.

The costume assistant shot past Dean grumbling something under their breath that sounded a lot like, "Goddamn shoulders."

Dean turned around, relieved that Cas was finally joining him, but his greeting died on his tongue. As soon as he caught sight of Cas, Dean's brain screeched to a sudden halt with an audible crash.

Goddamn shoulders was right. Cas was dressed in a black suit that clung to his body in all the right places. His shoulders looked wide enough to park the Impala on, his biceps bulged under the fine fabric of the suit's sleeves, and his thighs... oh, fuck, if his thighs were anything to go by, Dean might just die on the spot if he caught sight of Cas' ass.

Dean finally met Cas' eyes and shivered at the fire he found there. Apparently, the nice clothes were doing Dean some favors too. He swallowed, straightening up and telling himself that his mouth was only dry because of all the hot lights blazing from every angle.

Someone whistled low and Dean heard Morris say, "Yeah, I can work with that."

*****

Dean took back every bad thing he'd ever said or thought about models in his motherfucking life. Turns out 'standing around looking good and smiling for a camera' was a hell of a lot of work. Dean learned more about lighting and angles and makeup and hair products over the next couple of hours than he'd have thought possible, all while straining to contort and hold his body in unnatural positions, smiling until his face ached, and sweating more than he did digging up graves under the studio's bright lights.

At least Cas was right there with him. He even had the decency to at least look like he was just as miserable and sweaty as Dean was, though that might have had more to do with his ongoing attempt to blend in with humanity rather than an effort to keep Dean's morale up.

Among other things... Dean thought as he caught himself staring at Cas' ass in the latest pair of sinfully-tight suit pants. He chugged yet another bottle of water and stepped strategically sideways to help rearrange things in his own, tightening, pants.

"Alright, last set-up, people!"

Dean sagged in relief as he stepped up onto the slightly-raised stage the crew had been redressing and relighting. There was now some kind of sturdy long chair (what were those called? a chaise or something?) in the middle of the space along with several rugs and throw blankets, all in the same neutral color that all the sets had been in today, apparently 'to let the clothes pop!'

"Dan," Morris growled at Dean, still getting his name wrong. (Dean had given up correcting him after the first hour) "You lie back on the chair. Chase," He continued, (at least indiscriminate with his memory problems) turning to Cas. "You get on top of him like we talked about."

Dean froze, perched awkwardly on the edge of the chair as Morris' words registered. Say what now?

A very tired, very cranky, very red-faced Cas stomped up onto the stage, looking like heavenly fury personified, his patience ready to snap and smite every human who had dared to put him in this position in the first place. He marched over to Dean, manhandled him flat on his back on the chair without so much as asking permission, planted one of his knees in between Dean's, and leaned all the way into Dean's personal space, his hands on either side of Dean's head on the back of the chair.

Dean stared up at Cas' face from way too close for his own sanity, swallowed heavily, and desperately tried to convince his downstairs brain that this wasn't the hottest thing that had ever happened to him. Time seemed suspended for a long moment as Cas just hovered above him, ignoring Dean like they did this every day, as he stared at the people moving around them, waiting for them to finish the final light check.

Dean took a few unsteady breaths (through his mouth, Cas smelled way too good) and tried his best to relax and go with the flow. None of this mattered, not really. It was just some photo shoot, just another undercover job for a case, nothing to get excited about.

The crew finished the light check and Cas' eyes slammed into Dean's. Just another case, just another case. I'm sweating because the lights are too damn hot and this is just another case.

The photographer took shot after shot, calling out minute changes to their position several times as the shutter clicked. "Looking great, guys. Cash," Morris called out to Cas again (at least he was closer this time.) "Ready for you to make your move."

Dean had a split second to wonder what the hell that was supposed to mean before Cas reached down, grabbed hold of the tie that was knotted loosely around Dean's neck, and pulled, yanking his head up off the back of the chair. Dean's entire torso lifted off the seat until he and Cas were suspended over the chair, only an inch or two separating them. Dean gasped, his hand flying up to grip Cas' shoulder, as his face stopped within inches of Cas', their eyes locking together.

All thought of this being just another case flew out of Dean's mind. From this close, he could see the moment that Cas' pupils dilated, the sparks that had been flying back and forth between them all afternoon suddenly igniting in a crackle of electricity in the air between them.

"Gorgeous, guys! Hold it right there," Morris sang out happily as Dean's brain melted out of his ears, every thought in his head turning to static as Cas held him close. Close enough that all either one of them would have to do is tilt their head...

"Perfect!" Morris shouted, shaking Dean out of his stupor. "That's all for today, folks. Good work, everyone!"

#suptober23 #destiel #fanfic #fanfiction #spn #supernatural #myfics

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yardofangels · 4 months

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Hi Iris! I just wanted to ask if you had any general head canons about König (your AU or just in general) that you’d want to share? Anything about his upbringing, love language, unhealed trauma ect. that you’d want to divulge? Also I absolutely love your writing. The way you write König is definitely one of my fav interpretations of his character.

OMGGGGGG IVE BEEN W A I T I N G FOR SOMEONE TO ASK ME ABOUT THIS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! IM SO EXCITED YOU DO NOT UNDERSTAND OSPDHVWEVNJWEGOH

thank you sm for your words!! im so flattered <333

for this one its going to be headcanons for my AU of könig. hope you enjoy!!

tw for implied verbal and emotional abuse, bullying, negative self-talk, mentions of locker-room talk, violence, and implied manipulation below the cut!!

könig's flaws and love language have a lot to do with his upbringing. don't get me wrong, it wasn't like what he'd heard of ghost's upbringing. könig had adequate food and shelter, and his parents never blatantly mistreated him. he was never kicked, or hit, never had things thrown at him; nothing was ever wildly hurtful.

but what he had suffered built up over the course of 17 years and had impacts that lasted much longer. shit that he's still trying (not) to work through today. shit that stayed deep within his psyche, that he came back to every time he failed and shit that whispered down his neck, telling him to push himself further.

from the outside looking in, he came from an entirely normal family. his mama and papa loved each other. they went to church every sunday, and beamed when people complimented how tall their boy was getting. könig was spoiled because he was an only child and never had to share the attention. he excelled greatly in the subjects of mathematics and science from the time he was 8 and received recognition for this at school.

but the outside never gets to see how bad you're hurting, does it?

he'll never forget the way his mother straightened his collar, scolding him centimetres away from his face, reminding him that if he gets anything less than a 19/20 on the upcoming test, he'll have no hope of being anything to them.

he still can't seem to shake the look on his father's face when his mother ranted and raved about how könig had tarnished their entire reputation by questioning the teacher's authority, how he was a disgraceful and humiliating child. the way his papa's bushy eyebrows pinched, and he ran a hand over his buzzed hair. the look that screamed 'if i say anything, she'll attack me too.'

none of it was loud. everything his mama ever did to him was only ever alluding to him being the worst thing she had ever done. it was the words, the mind games, and the inability to fight back. he was trapped as a youth. trapped in a household that yelled 'i love you', and whispered 'but only when you are my projection of what you should be.'

of course, it didn't stop there, either. he was torn into relentlessly at school, too. it was much like his home life, except with the added bonus of being thrown into trees and having his face dunked under sinks for extended periods of time.

y'know, typical kid stuff.

they grabbed at anything they could with him. his love of space, his braces (that never really did much to help his teeth in the end), his height, his size, his stutter. all of it. anything that indicated that he was different to the rest of the population was like a big, red target on his back.

what they did at school further cemented in his brain what he learnt at home.

you are worth nothing. you contribute nothing. you are nothing. all you are is an outsider. all you can be is an outsider. you are not attractive. you are not talented. you offer nothing. you are nothing.

this treatment from ages 0-17 is what led to his deeper flaws emerging from 17-25. his frequently infrequent contact with his mother and father, his tendency to distance himself from the other cadets, his daydreams of violence.

he didn't like crying. it sent memories of sobbing in the PE closet and into his pillow flooding back. he preferred to push it down, ignore it, and forget it happened. he would much rather be the first one out at target practice.

he still stuttered. so, he stopped talking. he resorted to closing his mouth, to wearing a bandana, to wearing a balaclava, to wearing his t-shirt. he liked fading into the background, even though his build wouldn't ever really allow it. he hated socialising. at first it was because it made him so nervous (it still does, but he won't admit that). he couldn't find the right words to make himself likable. after a while, he came to resent it. why was everyone else able to pick it up with such ease, but not him? where was the fairness in that? he eventually stopped seeing much point in speaking up more than necessary.

and girls never took interest in him during high school, so he didn't expect them to now. he was never upset with the women, he wouldn't blame them if they wanted nothing to do with him. it was his fellow cadets that drove him insane. talking of a new bird every day, objectifying them, degrading them. part of him wanted to join in; share this bond they seemingly had, talk about his own girl he used up. they made it sound so good. but a bigger part of him was wildly jealous and horrifyingly enraged at what they could say at times. it filled him with a fire that he couldn't quite understand.

this didn't stop him from a go on the local barrack bunny here and there. just to prove to himself that he wasn't entirely devoid of feeling.

he couldn't really pinpoint when the violence arose in him. it just. appeared to him one day. he realised while standing over another limp body that he'd killed someone and enjoyed it. that he'd taken their power away, just like his mother had done to him. his mother who had now disowned him for staying in the army for so long. his mother he wanted to destroy. his mother whom he could never destroy, so he destroys others instead.

eventually, he started pushing the limits everywhere he went. the more settled he got in himself as a man, the more he acted out. this is what landed him in jail. his rash decisions, his anger, his lack of all other emotion. it was eating away at him behind those bars, and he itched to take it further.

that itch only got stronger when he met you. you, who he now had to protect. you, who he saw meaning in. you, who saved him from being consumed by his darkness.

könig doesn't love in a particularly healthy way. i mean, i think that isn't too surprising given what he went through and subsequently put himself through. he loves possessively, he loves obsessively, he loves as if there is nothing else in the world but you and him.

to him, love has no definition. it has no 'right and wrong' other than hurting the person you love. if he has to hide something from you, it's because he doesn't want to lose you. if he has to use his words to twist your mind, it's so you never lose sight of him. if he has to protect you from the world, by any means necessary, it's worth it. if it's you, it's worth it.

he sees no problem in doing morally grey, or even impure things if it means you stay with him. after all, he loves you. you wouldn't deny him, would you? don't you love him too?

he knows it'll never get to the stage where you question him, though. he can see you are wholly dedicated to him. it's only more fuel to him being able to do what he wants to you. he knows if you were aware, you'd like it.

in terms of love languages, könig's biggest is physical touch. he just loves that skin-to-skin contact with you. he loves how much bigger he is compared to you, he loves wrapping himself around you, to the point where it almost looks like you two are one entity. you're just so soft and warm; he can't ever get enough of, in some way, having your skin on his.

aside from that, you'll often find that he shows his love in acts of service. anything from sweeping the kitchen to building a house, if he can serve you or protect you, he'll do it. he's unsure where this tendency came from in him. he just enjoys keeping busy.

he particularly appreciates words of affirmation from you. something he never really received growing up. he would never ask you to praise him, never even admit that he likes it. but when you slip the occasional 'you're so good to me, baby' or 'this is wonderful, you did amazing', he melts. he's a sucker for being told he's good enough, or that he did well.

könig sure as hell isn't perfect, but he's working on being better for you. he's doing what he can to make sure you never see the vulnerable child in him. the wrathful teenager. the uncaring man. he wants you to have the best of him.

and you do, because you bring it out in him naturally.

-------

yeah!! that's it!!! i tried desperately to not talk to much but there's just so much to say. so many things that this post could lead to.

thank you so much for reading this far!! pls reblog if you like it, and send in more requests!! it makes my day!!!

#irisintothevoid #irispenandpaper #iris answers #call of duty mw2 #mw2 #konig call of duty #konig cod #konig x reader #konig imagine #thats right i said it konig has mummy issues #he is also extremely so obviously autistic #i think he also has daddy issues but to a lesser extent #his dad never did anything to directly hurt him but was a bystander in it #so much here #ily tho!

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