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invisiblegarters · 1 year

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Not-So-Micro BL Reviews

This is mostly me doing catch up on all the things that I have been watching/was watching and then abandoned when I found Midnight Museum and fell like a ton of bricks (this is still something that confuses me but what can you do, really?) It will be long - I missed or ignored a LOT for a while.

Catch Up Dramas:

All the Liquors - This one never did anything revolutionary, but I have to admit that I liked the awkwardness of Chef. I really liked BFF cutie though. He was seriously the highlight of the entire show for me. Cute, if mostly predictable and not really plot heavy. Very KBL kiss. 7.5/10

Our Dating Sim - This was just a little gem of a series. The chemistry was on point and the conflicts made sense from what we were given of the characters. For how short it was, the emotional arc was satisfying. It's a solid little drama, and I quite enjoyed it. Good kisses, too, and not just for a KBL. 8/10

A Shoulder to Cry On - I just don't think that this one was for me, and that's okay. Part of me feels like if I were younger it would have landed better - it's dealing with some pretty serious topics and yet something about it feels a little too OTT for me, like they're kids playacting at adult emotions rather than it being genuine. IDK. I wanted to like it more than I did. This is one of the ones where the time skip actually worked in its favor though. 6/10

The New Employee (I know, don't look at me) - you know, I don't know why I randomly stopped watching this. It's adorable, and it actually does manage to convey the business drama pretty well on top of the cute, which I didn't expect from such a short drama. They also made me really dislike Manager Park, so kudos to them for that. I do like that Jong Chan genuinely believes in Seung Hyun's ability, and that he encourages him in that capacity. Overall this show was just cute, okay? It was. 8/10.

Bed Friend - I had such high hopes for this one. High apple pie in the sky hopes, even. I love me a FWB that gets serious (even if King was clearly pining for more from like, day 1 I don't even care. I've been wanting that fix since Between Us (another one where at least one of the FWB was clearly ready for more almost immediately, but hey what can you do). And these two are very, very good at selling that they want each other so kudos for that (and they clearly still want each other after the feelings and do not turn into blushing maidens who apparently haven't heard of kissing before, Team)). But around the time the gross boss Krit decided to invite himself over for family dinner with worst mother and SA stepdaddy and worst mother was like "oh yes he's perfect for you, son" I tuned out and didn't bother tuning back in until recently. I feel like there's only so much misery you can pile on one character before I either stop caring or start finding it unintentionally hilarious. I have to keep reminding myself that I am a Westerner so I don't understand the family dynamics in these things, that's all. Honestly Uea's inability to cut his awful mother out of his life is just not something that I can resonate with. It does amuse me though how often parents in these dramas are either amazing or awful, with not a lot of in between, normal sort of hey, sometimes parents do dumb things too because they are fallible and human. I guess that doesn't make for good drama. King and Uea are very cute, though, and I do really like them when they get to just chill and be boyfriends with each other, although I have to admit the end got a little too saccharine for me. I swear I can be so picky, sigh. The show might not have fulfilled all my hopes, but once it got off the misery train it was fine. 8/10

Moonlight Chicken - I loved this drama. And the funny thing is that it was low on my radar - literally the only reason I was planning on watching at first was due to First and Khao. That was it. The plot wasn't even really my thing, I figured I'd just be waiting for those two to show up and that would be that. But nope, I loved it. This felt like just the kind of grown up drama I've been aching for, one that was ultimately less BL and more, well, life, with all of its complications and messes. It just so happened that the main characters were gay. More of this, please, Thailand. I promise you that there is an audience for it. I liked how messy it was, and in such a believable way. From Wen and Alan's extremely slow breakup to Jim's trauma becoming a sort of shield for him against opening up to people to Heart and Li Ming's wholehearted jump into a first relationship, the characters felt real and grounded and i loved it. No one was perfect (well, except Gaipa who is honestly a sweetheart too good for this world - I loved his huge crush on Jim even though I knew it wasn't gonna go anywhere, he was so sweet and unassuming about it, best unrequited love ever). Jim especially won my heart, because the way his walls worked was so relatable to me. I think that some people don't quite get how easy it is to shut yourself off, and how once you do it it is so much easier to just keep letting past trauma keep you from moving forward, not necessarily in ways that hinder your entire life, just parts of it. Jim's utter reluctance to let Wen in and his worry about Li Ming made so much sense to me. He'd been burned and burned hard, it's only natural that he'd want to protect his beloved nephew from the same pain, even though he went about it in the worst way possible most of the time. :D But that's not how it works for the young, and that's a good thing. Yeah, Li Ming might crash and burn, he and Heart might not be forever, but that's okay. I have heard people complaining that Earth is way too young to play Jim, but I honestly thought he suited the role, actually. It might be my favorite role of his yet. Final Verdict: 9.5/10. This was almost my perfect drama and if I could have more of this I would be delighted.

New (to me) Dramas

A Tale of a Thousand Stars - watched because of Our Skyy2. I wanted to be looking forward to more than just The Eclipse and Never Let Me Go, haha. It was fine. I really liked Tian, even when he was being a spoiled shit. There's something about Mix, I think, that makes him extremely watchable. I do not really feel that way about Earth and I was mostly annoyed by Phupha. *shrug* I wanted him to actually talk to Tian rather than making decisions for him - sure Tian was impulsive but so much of his problem was with his parents running his life, he didn't need that in a lover, too. Once Phupha pulled his head out of his ass it was better, but my goodness that took a while, didn't it? Also what is it with this pairing and these weird "does he love me or my sister/the woman who's heart I have" plots? Glad Moonlight Chicken moved away from that kind of plotline, even if I do actually really like Cupid's Last Wish (more than this one, actually - I get the sense that is unusual but I don't care, I love it). Overall though this wasn't bad, even if I felt like it dragged a bit in places. Am genuinely sad that they put Khaotung in a Earh/Mix vehicle and didn't have him gently pining over either of them. He did it so well in Moonlight Chicken, after all. Final Verdict: 8/10

Star and Sky - Star In My Mind & Sky in Your Heart - these were fine. I felt like there was a lot of drama over very little, but they're decent little slice of life kind of dramas. Easily consumed, easily forgotten. 6/10 for both.

Rewatches (because why the hell not right)

The Eclipse - I just love this drama. *shrug* It's so incredibly rewatchable. Plus, you know. I love Akk, he's exactly my kind of character. I honestly can't wait for the Our Skyy2 episodes but they look a little nuts. Honestly though I don't even care so long as we get some cute - I think that there were enough tears during the show proper. Yes both First and Khao cry well but still.

Cupid's Last Wish - You know, the first time I watched this I think that I said I was pleasantly surprised because I expected it to be a lot less obvious that Korn was so gone on Win that no one else even entered his big, dumb head. I was worried that it would be more of a "oh, I fell in love with you as a girl but it's still you" thing, and it...was very much not. I thought they also did a real good job walking the line between showing Win and showing Lin, and I have to give a lot of credit to Jan for her portrayal of Win as Lin. Pitch perfect, really. I say again, there's just something about Mix that is likeable - I've enjoyed him in ever single drama I've seen him in thus far, although Earth as Moonlight Chicken's Jim has my whole heart. He really shone in that role. My one quibble with this is how everyone just forgives the mom for being awful. I don't know, I guess I'm just a grudge holder. Anyway I originally rated this at a 7.5, but due to sheer rewatchability and how much fun I actually do find it, I'm moving it up to an 8.5/10. It's fun, I like it a lot, I will probably watch it again at some point.

Looking Forward To

I'm honestly kind of out of the loop with this! I don't really know what is coming up, so my list is very short:

Only Friends

Dangerous Romance

Both of them seem messy, messy, and i am ready for it. I also can't wait for the Utsukushii Kare movie but I'm going to have to, so.

I'm also excited for whatever comes up for the renewed drama shower slot for MBS. I wasn't a fan of all of them last year (I loved one of them beyond all reason, liked two, was meh on two and DNF one), but I love that I can look forward to at least one drama coming out of Japan for a while.

Whew! That wasn't so bad, was it?

#all the liquors #our dating sim #a shoulder to cry on #the new employee #bed friend #moonlight chicken #a tale of a thousand stars #star and sky the series #the eclipse #cupid's last wish #catch up #micro reviews #except not really #did you really think i wouldn't find a way to get some Midnight Museum talk in here?#oh ye of little faith #i work that show into everything

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aflawedfashion · 2 years

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I posted 4,183 times in 2022

That's 769 more posts than 2021!

502 posts created (12%)

3,681 posts reblogged (88%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@aflawedfashion

@rosamundpikesource

@maiagaru

@lonely-night

@soupsnakessss

I tagged 4,123 of my posts in 2022

Only 1% of my posts had no tags

#stranger things - 663 posts

#joyce byers - 495 posts

#winona ryder - 467 posts

#otp - 459 posts

#jim hopper - 336 posts

#aflawedfashiongif - 336 posts

#the wheel of time - 299 posts

#joyce and hopper - 289 posts

#david harbour - 277 posts

#snowpiercer - 274 posts

Longest Tag: 138 characters

#i knew they’d stop making music but they always seemed to love performing so i figured they’d dust out their hits periodically and perform

My Top Posts in 2022:

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1,927 notes - Posted January 23, 2022

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1,963 notes - Posted May 28, 2022

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2,055 notes - Posted January 20, 2022

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3,304 notes - Posted June 3, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

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3,654 notes - Posted August 15, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #I knew it was going to be all stranger things because there's so much content #just so many posts to reblog no other show I watch compares #And because I tag everything actor and character #(except text posts or fanart or fic then i just tag character)#But wheel of time and snowpiercer hanging in there despite so much less content #I was so obsessed with wheel of time last year it was probably problematic #I needed some space #but I've had space #too much space #please come back show where are you?#and thank you rosamundpikesource for being a well organized blog so I can type in random years do a scroll on my phone and reblog something #nothing better than a well tagged source blogs #I appreciate it #impossible to find anything on the source blogs that don't tag #and the long tag is about no doubt #the band #I dont know why I said that but there's only one band I'd say that about #your tumblr year in review

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randomfoggytiger · 2 years

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I posted 820 times in 2022

That's 820 more posts than 2021!

52 posts created (6%)

768 posts reblogged (94%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@swinging-stars-from-satellites

@everythingfox

@baronessblixen

@antiqueanimals

@muldertxf

I tagged 820 of my posts in 2022

#art - 308 posts

#txf - 186 posts

#parodyisreality - 148 posts

#life - 91 posts

#animal - 79 posts

#poetry - 28 posts

#meme - 28 posts

#x-files - 23 posts

#fic - 21 posts

#collector's edition - 20 posts

Longest Tag: 79 characters

#while in the ep she has genuine affection for her husband while being tormented

My Top Posts in 2022:

Arcadia Analysis: Mulder’s Struggle

Contrary to popular belief, it was Mulder (and not Scully-- my long post of her experience here) who was having a rough time in Arcadia.

When Mulder arrives, his enthusiasm shines brighter than Scully’s placid happiness, momentarily distracting her, the neighbors, and the viewers to his true mood: dour, trapped, tense.

He immediately oozes saccharine charm and cuddles up to Scully,

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34 notes - Posted November 28, 2022

X-Files Collector’s Edition: Time Travel, Time Loops, and Just Wrong Timing

Time travel and loops were explored sparingly in the X Files universe; but what is a fandom without a handy dandy dump truck filled with more AUs to add to the fic landfill? These are just the few that passed my litmus test, either by earned merit or because there was at least something in them that was worth reading. Which ones are which is up to you, though I recommend ChaneenW’s, FridayAt9′s, somanycandle’s, Jo-Ann Lassiter’s, Donna’s, and Lolabeegood’s works (maybe because they have the happiest outlooks by the end.)

(**Edited: included @iwtbscully’s Nine Minutes? short**)

Loose chronological order below~

Here we go!

Timeline (mostly) Intact

vessel (saved at orphan_account on Ao3)

““The scientific explanation for all this is overwhelmingly simple: salt blocks hydration, dehydration rots the cells composing the human body. In spite of this, I am struck once again with the improbability that the laws of nature would mutate to allow such a phenomenon, to make a human being age fifty years in a matter of hours.””

Dod Kalm old Scully waits for death, pondering science and impending death.

Sheryl Nantus-Sheryl Martin’s (FFN) Nine Minutes

““It was a long time, when you sat and timed it.

Watching the digital figures spin up through the cycle; headed for the top figure of 9:00. Or 540 seconds. Or whatever you measured it by.

It was still nine minutes. Nine minutes that she could never have back again.””

Cancer Arc Scully has lived her life in her own self-imposed time loop: continually obsessing over the 9 minutes she lost in the Pilot, trying vainly to regain them back by resetting her watch every few minutes.

It’s not quite a time loop; but Scully is locked mentally in one, so it counts.

((BONUS! Works well with--

@lyndsaybones’s (Ao3) Incremental

““The watch fit her perfectly when she got it. He remembers thinking that it seemed child sized then. Do they make Omega watches for kids?

But the weight started sloughing off of her like autumn leaves and he started to feel more fear than hope. The watch starts telling more than time.””

Mulder observes the measure of Scully’s decay with her expensive new watch.))

ChaneenW’s

The Birds and the Bees

““We’re in this together,” he insisted, turning to look at her face.

“We’re in this together,” she repeated, squeezing her arms more tightly around him.

“We just need to find a way to remind ourselves,” he said, starting to slur a little as his face froze. “Some small thing that we do or say could change the whole sequence of events and maybe knock ourselves out of the loop before it gets this far.””

FTF albatrosses of Antarctica keep resetting Mulder and Scully’s journey from the hallway and escape from the alien spaceship (with varying results) until those two right the wrongs the bee made. It quickly devolves from any possible angst into humor and heart while getting subtly funnier the longer the loop goes.

Twice Upon a Time

““The more time he spent here, though, the more it became uncomfortably clear that Eddie hadn’t been wrong about him. He had been a loser back then: too focused on searching for the big answers to see what was right in front of him. And although he’d been immediately attracted to Scully when they first met, had instantly respected her knowledge and expertise, and had come to quickly trust her with his life, he had to acknowledge that it had taken him longer than it should have to realize how much he loved her.””

S9 Mulder wakes in his old apartment, confused to learn he has traveled back to the Eddie van Blundht case. At first he has fun breezily solving it and looking anew at his life; but soon S4 Scully notices how differently he’s acting as the glitz and glamor of time-travel fades and homesickness sets in.

@fridaysat9′s (Ao3) A Second’s Fraction

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43 notes - Posted October 21, 2022

X-Files Collector's Edition: Overview

Two years into this fandom, I noticed an appalling lack of collective lists: “if this, then that”, “the best of the best”, “collaborative works amongst authors and also their own separate works”, and the dreaded “was this worth the hype” lists.

After bumbling around in Google Docs--compiling, grabbing alternate links, and changing my filing system every two seconds-- an idea took root and bloomed: why not share my treasure trove? There is value to this reclusive hobby, after all; and it could prove useful to others lost and alone on this site.

So, I’m putting onto this floompy site the very best recommendation fic lists... or, if that’s too ambitious, fics that should be shared, discussed, or talked about more. Or ones I just liked. So there.

I am always open for recommended topics, authors, specific fics, and criticisms to improve my current system. Cool hastag suggestions are encouraged.

Also, shout out to LilyDaleXF-- hope this doesn’t tread on her niche. I’m focusing more on entertainment and sharing selective interests rather than being a greater force for good. But she’s the OG. Check out her Masterlist here:

LilyDaleXF’s Masterlist

So!

Here we go. Buckle up!

45 notes - Posted September 16, 2022

X-Files Collector’s Edition: Creepy and Cozy Cabins

Cabins: the final destination of many, many fic tropes. For our intrepid heroes, cabins are a great setting for either great understandings of relationship-kind, or a temporary haven from their chaotic and bloodthirsty world. I like to keep an eclectic assortment of such fics and mix them all together like a crazy salad.

Loose chronological order below~!

Canon

aka Jake’s (Gossamer) 14-Day Quarantine (Gossamer)

““Mulder?" My name rasps from Scully's throat.

Ignoring the nurses' scowls, I return to her bedside.

She clears her throat, takes a shallow breath. "I'd've...preferred Bigfoot."

Me, too, Scully. Me, too.””

Post Darkness Falls Scully is not out of the woods, and is devastated at news of the ranger’s death. She slips back and forth between recovery and coma while Mulder tries to bolster hers, his, and Maggie’s spirits.

the_eternal_optimist’s Unheard Of

““The men barged right in, broke the lock on the door. I pulled my gun, told them I was FBI. They were on me before I could even move, Scully.” She winced. “A few of them had baseball bats. One of them had a—a rope, or something heavy like that. I lost my gun before I could even fire it. I think I took a bat to the back of the head.” He sighed heavily. “When I came to, I was like you found me—clothes gone, hands tied.”

“And they just stashed you there under the stairs?” she asked in horror.

He grimaced. “They, uh, they actually dragged me out to the tree line,” he stammered, suddenly sounding very small. “Threw me closer to the forest. Then they, uh, they took that rope to my back. Said something about beating the devil out of me. I think I passed out when it got too painful.””

Beginning in Chapter 3, Scully finds Mulder in the woods-- beaten to a pulp and covered in mud. She cleans him up in a nearby cabin; but his violent marauders return, not deterred by the protections of an enchanted house.

Juliettt‘s Confusion

““A sudden flash of light momentarily blinded her and she dropped to a defensive crouch.

<Silly. That's Mulder's flashlight -- he burst through the back door at the same time that you. . . .>

And then the crushing pain in her skull, the brief moment of terror and surprise, and blankness. . . .””

S2-3 Mulder and Scully wake with amnesia in a cabin. With Scully’s barely-there memories, she becomes a believer while Mulder scoffs at her “tall tales.” Skinner, flummoxed with their disappearance, arrives too late for true answers.

@discordantwords‘s (Ao3) Somewhere North of Fiji

““Behind her, she heard the slosh of water and a furtive sound, a strange squelching that she couldn't place. She glanced back at the water, saw nothing, then looked over at Mulder. He had the phone to his ear and did not seem aware of anything amiss.

She became aware of a strong odor, the stench of rotting fish.

"Mul-" something grabbed her from behind, needle sharp teeth sinking into her ankle. She tipped backwards, and the last thing she saw was Mulder's startled face, staring on as something small and gray rushed straight for him.””

S4 Mulder and Scully are half-drowned, half-mauled by the Fiji Mermaid who just. Won’t. Die. No matter how many bullets are blasted in its gut.

@sarie-fairy‘s (Ao3) Skamania County

““I’m okay. I landed on something soft, sort of.”

It was then she managed to roll over, move from where she had fallen as Mulder began to descend. As she did, a sharp pain tore at her torso, and her head throbbed.

“Hold on,” he assured.

It was pliable, yielded as she shoved away.

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62 notes - Posted December 2, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

How it feels to see your prompt used.

715 notes - Posted October 8, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#mine #2022 #year in review #definitely from this brain #cool to see everything on paper #that Joey meme BLEW UP #yay for that last minute victory from the Arcadia Analysis bunch #no one can resist a writeup on Mulder angst #this is also the year I was obsessed with animal paintings for some reason #can't explain that one except they were glossy and pretty #and Thorburn is now an obsession #couldn't remember his first name #wow #AND ALL MY POSTS ARE TAGGED!#NICE #wrap up

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posalis · 23 days

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"everything is about reaching the end except for the ending, which is about wanting to go back to the start."

art catching patrick during their first scene together // patrick catching art during their last scene together

#challengers #art donaldson #patrick zweig #patrickart #artrick #artpatrick #gifs #gifset #edit #art #patrick #first scene/last chronically

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heavenbarnes · 22 days

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I wanna make it (so badly)

Art Donaldson x Fem Reader

Warnings/Contains: reader is AFAB with she/her pronouns, swearing, inappropriate employer/employee relationship, dry-humping, a lot of heavy petting, implied age gap, effective-infidelity (reader tested, tashi approved), oral sex (f!receiving), art is a bit of a pervert and mega-pathetic (endearing), references to religion (worship).

Word Count: 5.8k

i white knuckled the steering wheel on the way home from this film thinking about art donaldson- this is, essentially, an ode to that

Youth tennis lessons, $20/h, call for details

Finding work was hard, keeping work was harder.

Cleaning, baby-sitting, pet-sitting, pet-walking. There was virtually nothing you hadn't tried.

Odd jobs, odd hours, and the occasional odd employer.

You'd played tennis for the last couple years of college. Nothing remotely competitive but you and your friends had looked cute in the skirts and they'd give you whole hours out of class to play.

You were above average with a good arm and better patience.

Another odd job to add to your growing list.

You'd been particular about where you'd posted the ads, the neighbourhoods you'd chosen. Only the ones with manicured lawns and white picket fences.

Tacking the paper to boards in upmarket cafes, fancy supermarkets, ladies-only gyms.

The kind of people that want their kids playing tennis and could find their way to increase your pay- if you did well.

You always did very well.

So your little car looked a little out of place in this neighbourhood, fingers holding the scribbled post-it note with the address. Your scrawling handwriting detailing the "Donaldson's" were enquiring within.

Pulling up outside the house, you had a quiet inkling that you might've been out of your depth. Whoever owned this house deserved more than an above-average-ex-college-student that only learnt the sport to spend time with friends.

But they'd requested you, you'd have to let them come to that conclusion on your own.

Your knuckles only hit the door once before it was being swung open by someone that looked destined to be a security guard, like he'd come out the womb with his future decided.

What the fuck had you gotten yourself into?

He'd left you in the "formal lounge" to sit smack-bang in the centre of a couch that wouldn't even fit in the lobby of your apartment building- let alone the apartment itself.

As you admired a painting on the wall that you'd only ever seen in books, high heels on the stone floors made you jump in your seat.

The most beautiful woman you might ever see in your life appeared before you and said your name in a way that had you standing from your seat.

Your face faltered just enough that you hoped she didn't notice. There was something about her that told you she noticed everything.

Fuck me, that's Tashi Duncan.

If you know a thing about tennis (or even just watched the news) you know exactly who this woman is. You remember her more from your childhood but you remember her all the same.

The woman that once held the world by the balls.

She apologised for her husband's absence, that he was busy. It wasn't lost on you that the "husband" she casually referred to was Art Donaldson, US Open champion.

The Donaldson's.

Ah fuck.

Tashi went on the explain that they were wanting to begin lessons for their daughter Lily. You assumed this was the one you could hear running circles around the informal lounge.

"With all due respect, am I not the least qualified person in this home for that?"

You watched a perfectly formed cheekbone lift in what was nearly a smile. Strangely enough, something in the pit of your chest was dying to make her do that again.

There was something about her that demanded to be impressed.

You were no exception to the rule.

"My husband and I have seen some of your matches, we liked what we saw."

How? Your 'matches'- if you can even call them that, were nothing of note. You don't even think faculty bothered to watch them. You weren't quite sure why they'd even recorded them.

A silly part of you began to wonder how they'd even got a hold of them- until you remembered who they were.

The Hermes and Peitho of tennis.

"You did? I always thought of myself as more of a casual player."

"And that's what we liked, we know better than anyone how brutal tennis can become. We want someone to help Lily enjoy the game."

Oh, okay then.

You'd made a quasi-college-career out of purely enjoying the game. You were sure you could foster the same spirit for the six-year-old performing the entire 'Encanto' soundtrack in the other room.

Tashi laid down a tight schedule, Monday to Friday, 3pm to 6pm. You would teach Lily the wonders of the game on the court behind their home.

Their home you'd come to find out was a luxury rental when you'd complemented Tashi on another of the art pieces that'd apparently come with the place.

You'd also come to find out they typically live in hotel rooms, but they'd settled in this area for the time being as Art had a good thing going with a regular playing schedule and a sporting-goods deal.

You nodded along like you could begin to understand a life like that.

As she showed you back to your car (the one you suddenly felt humiliated for her to see you own), she called your name one last time from the doorway.

"You undersell yourself, we'll give you eighty an hour."

She left you choking on your tongue with one foot in the car and the other on an Italian cobblestone.

You were never going to walk or sit another dog again.

Lily was going to win her first Grand Slam by ten if that's what they'd pay you.

As your peeled your car from their turn-around area, you watched a Jeep Wrangler slow as it passed you. You couldn't see through the tint but you just knew it was him.

And you knew he was watching you.

The minute you'd told your roommate the situation you'd come into, she'd called bullshit.

A few texts from Tashi's now saved icon and a weird little photo you'd taken from inside the guest bathroom, it'd been enough to convince her.

"Fucking hell, are you God's favourite or something?"

You'd argue you were quite the opposite, she of all people should know. She'd seen some of the states you'd come home in after your other random jobs.

Felt good to be the winner.

Even just once.

In the air of some girlish fascination, she brought up a Youtube video of "Tashi Duncan Career Highlights" courtesy of "tennisguy779."

You'd protested it, rolling your eyes while feigning disinterest. No use, the minute you caught her out the corner of your eye- you were captivated.

It was entirely possible to imagine she hovered above the court, like there was a greater force placing her exactly where she needed to be, exactly when she needed.

It was even easier to believe she was just that good.

As you watched her play, listened to the sounds the game could draw from her- you wondered if this was how she and Art had felt.

Had they curled up in their informal lounge like you were right now? Had Tashi studied your every move meticulously like you assume? Had Art passed comment on your form? Did he think you were any good?

Tennisguy779's lineup changed quickly to "Art Donaldson Career Highlights" and you felt your chest constrict. An inexplicable feeling washed over you.

Like you'd been caught with God's forbidden fruit.

Your roommate had tried to question why you'd effectively flown off the couch, only to be met with a muttered 'goodnight' as you shut the bedroom door behind you.

Thin walls meant you drifted off to sleep that night with the rhythmic sounds of Art, grunting his way through an ATP Challenger.

It was no surprise you dreamt of him.

The Donaldson's tennis court was down a steep set of stairs, set back into an oasis of lush greenery.

Perfect for a 6-year-old's first lessons.

You didn't know if it was the grand balcony that overlooked the court or the fact a well-manicured Tashi stood atop it, but you felt positively observed.

Lily was in the midst of showing you how she could do a cartwheel (she couldn't) when the voice in the back of your head started echoing a promise of $80/h.

"Alright, lets channel some of that into your elbow."

Give a six-year-old a racquet half the size of her and she's going to blow effective chunks, but at least she has the spirit. Maybe it's her energy, maybe it has been a while since you've been on the court-

The kid's running you ragged.

Coupled with her height, you're spending more time bent over than you are up straight and it's all going to your head. All you can hope is Tashi isn't up there watching you stumble after the ball.

But you're sure there are eyes on your back.

Lily is a quick learner and you work out a tradeoff of one tennis skill for one spinning heel kick (mandatory that you watch).

Roll on 6pm and she's dog-tired, however, she's managed to hit the ball at least twice. Surely that's earned your keep. She lays star-fished on the turf and murmurs something about a piggyback.

You know you're about to earn your keep.

By the top of the staircase, you're more than happy to hand over a Lily-shaped-sack-of-potatoes to Tashi's mother. As you emerge from behind an ornate gargoyle, your suspicions proved correct.

Art Donaldson had been watching your every move.

Left alone on the balcony with him, you're acutely aware of the fact he's standing between you and your exit, and he's just had a full show of you bent over and flitting about his tennis court.

That and you still haven't said so much as 'hello' to the man.

You dwell on it for a moment and then there's that feeling back in the pit of your stomach, like any minute you'll be caught with fruit in hand- in throat.

The Original Sin.

Luckily, Art made the decision for you, crossing the space to shake your hand. If he noticed the way your hand trembled, he didn't seem to mind.

"It's nice to finally meet you."

You wished you had more to say to him, or maybe something more intelligent. Something better than a quiet "and you."

He was the better conversationalist, thankfully. Head motioning to the court, he looked down his nose at you when he spoke.

It should've felt condescending. It didn't.

"How did she go out there?"

"Yeah, really good- not a Disney character I can't name now."

He laughed.

Really laughed, like the joke was better than it was.

Like there was a preening little flutter inside you that said "do it again!"

You shrugged your shoulders like making him happy came naturally as you squinted up at him, as if he was the sun.

"You were watching? You must've seen her picking it up?"

Because he was the expert. Because he is the champion.

He hummed as he nodded, eyes skywards like there might've been something more important behind the clouds.

"Must've been distracted."

Within an instant- his eyes flickered to your own and you were sure he watched them change. He must've seen something he liked, the corner of his lip quirked up before he spoke again.

"Come on, I'll sort your payment and then we'll let you get home."

And for whatever reason, his hand fit perfectly in the small of your back as he lead you inside.

And how quickly did you become a strange piece of furniture in the Donaldson's home- in their life?

An ottoman for Tashi to rest her tired feet on.

An abstract piece on the wall for Art to admire when he passes it.

A projection of constellations across the ceiling to keep Lily bright behind the eyes.

At least you belonged- there was no doubt that this was where you belonged.

That wasn't to say your tennis skill had improved any, lesson after lesson you still couldn't wrap your head around why they'd even signed you on, let alone kept you.

"Ok, don't watch that one either- maybe just do what I say and not what I do."

You hadn't nailed a single one, at this point you couldn't blame Lily for skipping around pretending her racquet was a horse.

Wasn't like she'd be learning anything if she was paying attention.

"Ok, here we go just- ok right, when your parents ask how today went, please be kind."

"Your elbow is too low."

It was a miracle you didn't scream.

Art entered the court with a swagger that you could only assume struck fear when he was your opponent.

Right now it struck pure embarrassment and Lily wasn't helping.

"Daddy, she didn't hit a single one!"

"Alright, I don't think daddy needs to know that-"

"Daddy knows, daddy's been watching."

Daddy really needs to stop calling himself that.

Lily and her racquet took off for another tour of The Grand National as Art approached you with quiet determination.

It was like waiting for impact, his eyes never wavered off his daughter as he made towards you. At the last moment, he snapped his attention in your direction- with a smile that should've felt condescending.

It wasn't.

"If your elbow is too low you lose topspin and power."

If you deserved the $80/h you were earning, you might've known that.

As Art stepped up to you, the turn of the planets on their axis slowed down and it could've been entirely possible to believe it was only you two.

And Lily upon her trusty steed.

The gallops of her tennis shoes thinned out as Art placed one hand around your elbow, lifting it higher. His other hand held your waist as he pulled your back flush to his chest.

"Lily, go find grandma."

Then it really was just you two.

Your heart hammered against the shell of your ribcage, blood rushing around your ears as you felt Art's chin perch at your shoulder.

"If your elbow is high enough," His hand lifted it up and you let it stay there. "And your hip is turned."

He didn't have to say it with the gravel in his voice, but he did. He didn't have to hold your hips as he moved them, but he did. He didn't have to stay without so much of an inch between the two of you, but he did.

With one hand in the curve of your waist, he tossed the ball into the air with the other- then he whistled.

Like the obedient thing you didn't know you were, you raised the racquet and sent the ball flying through the air without even blinking.

As the streak of green hit the court and rolled away, you found yourself lying in wait, as if you were waiting for something- your next command?

"Good girl."

There it was.

Under the all consuming effect that Art Donaldson just seemed to have on people, you'd entirely forgotten you were in a position you could be 'caught' in. By his all consuming wife, of all people.

So, you should've moved.

Quite honestly you should've straightened up and cleared your throat and thanked him and told him it was time for you to go home.

You should've moved.

But Art wasn't moving. If anything he was staying purposefully still at your backside.

Obedient thing you seem to be.

"Show me that again?"

So,

You teach Lily the bare basics of tennis for three hours and receive $80 on the hour.

Then Art spends three hours of his spare time teaching you to perfect your swing- in a way that couldn't ever vaguely resemble professional.

A simple transactional arrangement.

Your tennis improves on a slow but sure basis and he gets the most off-court action he's seen since college.

Even if it is just heavy petting on astro-turf.

A hand under the hem of a tennis skirt. A pressing hip against your own. A deep breath as your hair brushes past him.

You figure Art will take what he can get.

And it's never enough to raise alarm. Sure, there's that fluttering in your chest that warns you might get 'caught' but you're never quite sure what one might 'catch' if they found you out.

It's undoubted who that 'one' is though.

The one who holds the cards- holds the throat, maybe.

Tashi, who's presence precedes her perhaps more than her reputation. Even when she isn't there, she's there.

So, when Art's hand lingers too long on the outside of your thigh and you think you can feel it verging into the territory that'll change everything- it's Tashi on your mind.

You're beginning to think your conscience sounds a lot like Tashi.

Who are you if not obedient to the Donaldson's?

Chasing Lily around a court.

Adhering to Tashi's every request.

Being Art's fantasy.

Being Art's.

Most of the time, anyway. Three hours a week.

Something to keep him bright behind the eyes, maybe. Something to keep him happy. Something to keep him-

Winning?

He tells you he plays better with you around. The way he says it makes you giggle, a girlish little noise that sort of just slips out. He serves the ball with his eyes on you and, sure enough, it lands smack where he wanted it too.

Everything where he wants it. When he wants it.

Shy and inconsequential touches and glances shared just between you.

Until, well- until they weren't.

"Would you like a coffee?"

Tashi's mother had taken Lily off to bed, leaving you and Art separated by an island. Kitchen island.

He braced both palms against it as he watched you watch the door, wondering if you should cut and run, wondering if someone else might come through it.

Talking yourself out of it. Whatever it might be.

"Yes please."

Even he looked surprised, brows raising an inch as he turned to the Nespresso machine. You took the moment to watch his back, the muscles moving under the cool-dry fabric of his shirt.

You spent all your time pretending not to notice him that actually allowing yourself the chance to study him made you lightheaded.

Had he always looked this captivating?

He broke your focus with a coffee cup, sliding it towards you as he rounded the bench. His eyes didn't even waver off you as he took a sip of his own.

It wasn't lost on you that he managed to tongue foam off the tip of his nose.

This was the longest you'd stuck around after a tennis lesson, longest you'd allowed yourself to be in his presence. You weren't quite sure how big this thing could get.

Your mouth was opening before your brain had decided it was a good idea.

"Mr. Donaldson-"

"Art."

"Uh, Art- I really appreciate the help you've been giving me- uh, you know- with tennis."

He placed his coffee mug down, nodding as he did it. "My pleasure."

Naturally.

That brain of yours was still firing off at a mile a minute. There was a very tiny voice right at the back that said it was up to you how this night would end- you had a choice to make.

Placing your coffee mug beside his, you scanned his face to find him already looking at you. Perhaps the choice was already set.

Maybe it was fate.

All he said was your name, it could've been the way he said it- but your whole body was losing the rigidity it'd formed when he first asked you to stay longer. When he'd made the choice.

Crossing the small gap between you two, Art was careful to keep one hand on the kitchen bench as the other hovered beside you. Not touching you,

Yet.

One step closer and the tip of Art's nose was touching yours. You think you might've been able to smell the coffee off his breath.

It thinned out- leaving you with his sweat. Musk. Art.

A sudden surge of morals overcame you, your voice broke out as a gasp.

"What about Mrs. Donaldson?"

"Actually, it's still Duncan."

You screamed.

Right in his face.

Tashi's voice made you jump out of your skin.

However, Art didn't move. As you turned your head to gauge the way his wife stalked across the kitchen, you felt his nose brush against your cheek.

Tashi retrieved a tall bottle of Pellegrino from the fridge, taking a poignant sip as her eyes flitted between the two of you.

What a fucking sight.

Her husband, eyes shut and face pressed pathetically to their daughter's tennis instructor- his hands itching to close around your waist.

You, young and bleary eyed looking utterly caught. Staring up at her like she might decide your fate.

It took all your strength to find your words.

"I’m not here to teach tennis, am I?”

“No, of course not. You’re frankly terrible at tennis.”

There's the Tashi you were expecting.

Her words should've stung, but they didn't. They couldn't, not when her husband was laying his hands against your back and rubbing soothing circles down the length of your spine.

Not when his lips were mouthing wet kisses along your cheek.

Not when she was right. Spade's a spade.

"Why am I here?"

She snorted, a real dissatisfactory sound- like she hoped you were smarter than that. She was halfway to her bedroom before she cut you loose.

"Careful, he makes that sound before he cums."

And he had, just like she'd said.

Art had cum in his shorts, pressed up against your thigh with his face still smushed against your own.

And you'd taken it, obedience in spades.

You'd stood there and let him hump your leg like a bad dog and you'd even pat his head and whispered kind words in his ear after the mess he'd made.

Then you slipped out the front door to your car and you'd pretended not to notice that there were two bedroom lights on upstairs.

You hadn't even divulged the freaky details to your roommate when you got home.

But the showerhead knew all about them.

Visions of Art on the clouds of steam- replayed in your head the sounds he'd made right in your ear.

How he'd whimpered your name when he splashed his boxers like a fucking teenager.

It was no surprise you dreamt of him.

You even showed up next day, valiantly. You didn't run for the hills or even straight to a tabloid about how weird the Donaldson's really were.

And maybe that's why you hadn't told your roommate either.

Because telling someone what Tashi allowed? What Art liked?

That'd mean you'd have to admit your dirty little secret.

You loved it.

When you showed up, something was different. No usual chatter in the house, no shoes by the front door. You checked out the front window to see what you'd missed when you arrived.

Tashi's car was gone.

"She's taken her mom and Lily to the ballet."

At least you didn't scream this time.

You were lucky your back was to him, lest he see the self-righteous little smile that broke when the words settled.

"Oh, ok."

"I'll see you on the court."

Oh, ok.

Lest he see the disappointment that took over.

Following him close behind, you didn't know why you were effectively surprised that he still wanted to continue with your lessons. You'd half expected- hoped, he'd bend you over the kitchen island.

Tennis was fun too, you guess.

Thinking about it, something that bold didn't seem the style of the man who'd nearly blacked out rubbing up on you. Beckoning you onto the tennis court with two fingers and a wry smile did, however.

You fell into your usual position, hip turned and elbow curved on your side of the court. You waited for him to appear behind you, chest melding into the curve of your back.

It never came.

Art took long strides towards the net, vaulting it in one smooth motion. He ended up parallel to you, waiting with a ball and racquet in either hand.

The smile had left his face, a rather blank expression taking over as he sized you up. And there was that fear- knowing what it felt like to be on the wrong side of him.

This was going to hurt.

From the moment he pressed the ball to the neck of his racquet, it was all over. Your feet were never in one place for more than a second, your arms burned above you, your head permanently on a swivel.

Art didn't look like he'd broken more than a sweat.

You knew he had, you could see it in the neck of his shirt. But he didn't look it.

He looked calm, he looked in control, he looked-

Like he was enjoying himself.

For every rally that you managed, you thought you saw an inkling of pride set in his features.

For every serve that you missed, you knew you saw unbridled lust.

Not a point scored in your favour, you hit the ball towards him one last time before you collapsed to the turf. Flat on your back, reminiscent of your first lesson here.

You watched the clouds shift over your head, listening to your pulse thick and fast in your ears. Just underneath it, you could hear footfalls approaching.

No hurry, but impending.

Soon, the sun above you was eclipsed by Art Donaldson. His golden hair shone with the halo of light behind it.

Now this was God's favourite.

"You can't be giving up this easily?"

Forcing a laugh, you threw your arm up and over your eyes. "Wanna bet?"

Turns out he did- turns out Art struggled to do anything but win.

Somehow, you found it within yourself to stand back up. This time it was only a practice, you weren't brave enough to face off against him another round.

This was more your speed.

The hand that wasn't holding your elbow was curving around your front, the pleats of your tennis skirt lifting over his fingers. You felt a warm hand slowly moving across the front of your underwear.

Two fingers migrated south, pressing against the seam of you- he must've felt the pure heat radiating beneath his fingertips.

Turning your head even an inch, you found the curve of his nose pressing into your cheek.

"I didn't give up."

He hummed, the vibration rolled across your shoulders.

"Mmm, you didn't."

The hand sans-racquet dropped between your thighs to press his palm into your cunt. It was Art who flexed your fingers and cupped it.

"Where's my prize?"

There was no trophy, no podium, no medal.

But there was Art between your legs, slinging a knee over each shoulder like he might've been the real winner.

You'd never been inside the 'changing shed' behind the court, of course it was nicer than your actual home.

Your head made contact with the hard wood behind you, bench digging into your ass as you felt a hot mouth moving against the seat of your underwear.

Running your fingers through his hair, your gripped the ends of it- tugging him closer until you felt the flat of his tongue through the thin fabric.

Needy fingers tugged the ruined garment down your thighs, tucking him into the pocket of his shorts. You knew all too well that you'd never see them again.

You were sure Art would be seeing a lot of them.

His tongue ran up the split, one long stroke before you felt the curve of his nose press to your clit. The ridge of it moved as his tongue retreated back to your entrance.

With everything he had.

Your eyes had been rolling back in your head as you arched your back, the moment you were able to find a semblance of control- your gaze fell before you.

Naturally, Art was already looking up at you. Two hands splayed across each side of your hips as he pulled back to wrap his lips around your clit.

You couldn't help the hazy little smile on your face as you watched his eyes.

Utterly devotional.

The more you tugged on his hair, the hungrier he seemed. Pulling from the root seemed to spur him on, seemed to tell him 'good job' and he was responsive.

His tongue flicked beneath your clit, pressing it to his upper lip as he brought two fingers to your entrance. He stroked a couple times, making your hips twitch against him, before he sunk in to the last knuckle.

Turns out Art had a style about him. One he brought to the tennis court and, seemingly, to the floor of his changing shed.

The style was calculated.

Every move he made was engineered to get something out of you- a reaction, a whimper, a twitch. He was doing what he did best.

Playing a game.

Art struggled to do anything but win.

"Fuck- Mr. Donaldson."

"Art."

Even muffled against your cunt, you were good at following his orders. Even more so when he was the decider of your imminent orgasm.

You threaded your fingers in the sides of his hair, pulling his face flush against you so you could ride his mouth. Taking every last thing from him you could.

It drew the most pathetic moan you'd ever heard, straight out of his chest and hit you straight at your core. The burning coil tight within your stomach was unraveling quickly.

You heard the murmurings of words, among the blood rushing in your ears. Easing up just enough, you let him pull back to speak.

"Tell me this feels good, please."

Your chest thumped, the sight of Art helpless between your legs was one thing. Hearing him beg?

You might black out.

"Art- you feel so fucking good," Dragging him right back where you needed him, the tip of his tongue drove against your clit. "You're gonna' make me cum."

He whined.

A heady drawn-out sound that quite literally sent you over the edge. Your hips lifted off the bench, the heel of your foot digging into his back and making his whine turn into a whimper.

Your orgasm broke you apart until it felt like white-hot flame licking up your sides. Of course, Art never relented, drinking in everything you could give him- literally.

The moment you felt the peak begin to subside, the urge was ramping right back up. Like he knew what he was doing, his eyes locked back onto yours as he sucked at your clit.

He was going for gold.

A quick second orgasm hit, seemingly out of nowhere. Your thighs clenched around Art's head, his hands coming to each of them.

You relaxed yourself a bit, feeling like it might be too much- until you felt him pressing your thighs even harder to either of his ears.

Oh, ok.

Art Donaldson knew what he liked.

You physically had to push him off you, watching him fall back on his outstretched palms as you let yourself breathe for what felt like the first time.

Wet eyes, wet chin, chest rising and falling like he'd run a marathon- Art sat sprawled out before you like he'd stumbled upon an alter (he had).

Breathless, you gestured towards him. Your hand dropped a little as your eyes fell between his legs, wordlessly offering a deal.

A deuce.

His cheeks flushed, more so than they already were. His eyes fell an infinitesimal amount before he spoke up.

"Uh- I already have."

Of course he had. He makes that sound before he cums.

Instead, you heard him shuffle back onto his knees as he all but crawled towards you. He draped his upper half into your lap, head resting against the soft cotton of your skirt.

Coming off the other side of a high, the reality of your situation began to settle for you. Why they'd really called you here- what purpose you really served.

All you could do was gently stroke a hand across Art's head, feeling him go limp against you. Boneless, but not spineless.

He must've known you were going to speak, he must've heard the intake of breath or just felt you shift. He cut you to the chase- beat you to the punchline.

Art nuzzled his face further into your lap as you felt him mumble against your thigh.

"I can't lose- you."

#art donaldson smut #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson x reader fic #challengers fic #art donaldson fic #challengers smut #art donaldson x fem reader #art donaldson x fem!reader

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cockaiine · 24 days

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Gojo the womanizer, they called him.

Yeah, ‘he will break your heart’, you were told.

But they don’t see the look in Satoru’s eyes when you tug at his arm when you ask him to stay the night. No one knows how he kisses your forehead every night, restless until he makes sure you’re asleep.

Your friends warned you, they told you he fucks girls for fun. But they never warned you of the intimacy his grip holds, or the softness in which he huffs your name, calling you as if you were the last girl alive. No one warned you you’d find yourself stuck in his arms every morning, kept close like you’re life itself.

You knew Satoru’s a busy man, everyone presumed he’s busy fooling around with someone else. But you know better. You’re the only one who sees him wounded, muttering that he’s fine, it’s just a scratch, but hissing whenever the cotton dips at his skin.

His blue eyes were dangerous, you were told—and they are, in all the ways you weren’t told. They’re sweet, caring, and lost. He’s not sure what he’s doing, he doesn’t know right from wrong, and he thinks of you as an anchor. You used to think his eyes were crystals, bland and rich and hard to reach. But Satoru’s eyes were an ocean, behind them hid a thousand lives in a man who is not thirty yet.

Satoru brings you flowers every Thursday, a different arrangement from last week, and tells you it’s a good day to celebrate having you in his life. Satoru apologizes when you sneeze because you’re allergic to one of these flowers—he spends the next week making it up to you until it’s Thursday again.

You’d been told he’ll dump you over text, but whenever he’s away on a mission he texts you to make sure you know he loves you. To make sure that you love him. He promises you he’s gonna kiss you until you pass out when he’s back, he tells you he can’t sleep without your snores, he swears he’s going to lose his mind if he can’t see you for much longer.

Satoru listens to every word you say, memorizing every note your voice rises and committing it to memory. He remembers every topic you discuss, every movie you talk about, every pet you gushed over, and even every problem you complained about. But his favorite? Oh, the way you moan his name, trying to hold back but it comes out sobbed and pitched and desperate. He loves it so much he hears it even in his dreams, waking up needy and clinging to you.

And oh, people sing of the miracle he is in bed, chanting of how good they hear he is. But he’s clueless; unsure how to please you, afraid he’d get things wrong. It’s so sweet, really, the way he studies your face, waiting for confirmation that yes, he can continue. That he’s making you feel good.

You heard people say they’d never seen him with the same girl twice, but today you celebrate your second anniversary. Your third anniversary. Your fourth anniversary, when he insists you celebrate at home, unlike every year. Where he gets down on one knee in your backyard, asking you with keen eyes to make him the happiest man alive.

‘Oh, but he’s not a family man,’ You’ve been warned, ‘he’s so busy, your family would be a mess!’ But he swears he won’t be happy until he gets a kid with your eyes. Satoru holds your hand every night, reminding you that he wants to have children and watch them grow with you, promising you you’d be a happy family until the very end of your days.

He’s the strongest, you were told. You told him to stay, you told him it’s too dangerous to go. But he promised he’d come back, what could possibly go wrong? He is the strongest, after all, that’s what all the tales of him tell.

But everything else they said was a lie, and this was no exception. You swore you loved Gojo Satoru, but you’ve never hated him more than when you received news of his death, a baby in your stomach, only three months away. Even when you weep over his coffin, begging him to come back, promising him you’d never be mad at him again, promising him you’d never keep him up late again, promising him you’d never stand in his way again, he doesn’t.

You don’t regret Gojo Satoru, you never could. But you wonder to yourself every night, what would you tell the little one growing in you? That her father was a legend? Would she understand that?

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sweet-as-an-angel · 3 months

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Ghost, Simon & You [SMUT]

Warnings: 18+, Smut, Rough Sex, Unprotected Sex, Implied Breeding Kink, Implied Forced Pregnancy, Stomach Bulging, Possessive! Ghost, Kinda Evil! Ghost, Simon and Ghost are Separate People in the Same Body, No Pronouns used for Reader except ‘You’.

Backed up! Simon who uses you as his personal cum dump whenever he returns from deployment. You know you’re in for an absolute pounding when you hear him banging on your front door, only to see him standing there, tall and dark as a shadow, looking down at you with an almost manic gaze.

He hasn't even been home to change first, still clad in his balaclava, eye paint and the under-layers of his tactical attire. He pushes his way in, kicking the door shut behind him with his boot and pressing his lips to yours. It doesn’t matter that you can’t feel his skin, that he’s almost crushing your skull as he grips your cheeks and brings you as close as physically possible, that you can taste gunpowder, dust and death on his mask. That this isn’t Simon at all, but the unholy spirit that possesses him.

Doesn’t matter, doesn’t matter.

It also doesn’t matter that he literally tears your shirt from your body, a rumble reverberating through his chest when he sees you without underwear. You were expecting him. Good.

Simon – Ghost – is never gentle when it comes to the first round. He never strips all the way down, either, always leaving his mask on, too. He just yanks his pants down as far as necessary before pressing the hard, aching, weeping tip of his cock to your entrance, pushing in with neither care, nor restraint.

He sees the way you fist the sheets, face down against the mattress but your cries still managing to reach him. He just doesn’t care. Especially when your familiar warmth encompasses him, pulls him into the here and now.

It’s at this point that Ghost sees why Simon loves being around you so much, loves being with you. In you.

His member protrudes, a bump in your stomach evident like a tombstone. Whenever you try to press it, try to flatten your hand against it to get a feel for just how big it is, he takes your wrists in his hands and presses them against the mattress. The message is clear: you don’t interfere. I’ll cum when I say so, not by your hand.

Ghost doesn’t stop until you’re raw and red and leaking with either his or your juices, a ring of white forming at the base of his shaft where you can’t fit any more of his length inside you. You feel it, pulsating and battering and alive in your middle, feeling as if it’s nudging everything else out the way so it can lie uninhibited inside your warm cavern.

He’s hard and fast, rough yet thorough. He never leaves an inch of you unmarked, unbruised, by the time he’s done. Whether he’s aware or not, you always end up finishing first, your walls tightening and pulsating around Ghost’s cock as he continues to abuse your hole, hitting your most sensitive point over and over again, prolonging your orgasm and leaving you utterly spent yet satisfied.

When Ghost cums, it’s long, hard and hot. So, so hot – as if the all fire of his anger he’s had building up these last few months is now cradled within you, an unspeakable offspring. He never immediately pulls out. No, he waits, hands about your waist, no doubt bruises from where he’s gripped you, where he’s kept you so he can make sure you don’t crawl away.

His load is thick and there’s so much of it – you feel like you’re being filled past full.

If you’re capable and fertile, he often considers not giving you birth control after the fact, rather letting you stay dormant in bed and tying you up so you have no choice but to let his seed take. The idea never fails to send a shiver down his spine, making him hard all over again as the image of you, bedbound and incapacitated by his hand is enough to make him retreat to another room just so he doesn’t act on the fantasy.

The look on Simon’s face, he often wonders, when he finds you’re marked as Ghost’s, carrying a permanent reminder that he got to you first; when he realises that the creature he entrusts his dirty work to, his militant alter ego, has utterly ravaged and claimed you from the inside out.

The horror. The futility of apology. It’s enough to satiate Ghost for now. Enough, enough.

And with that, he pulls out, taking the blazing heat of his body with him. He leaves you on the bed, ass up, face down, with his cum dripping out of you. Leaves you for Simon to clean up, to deal with.

And to your side does Simon come rushing, for once Ghost removes his mask, so does he the haze he casts over his unwilling creator, letting him return to humanity. The vague pulsing of his member, the wetness coating it and the sheen of sweat clinging to Simon’s body is enough to let him know – remind him – what’s happened.

He comes to your aid, scooping you up in his arms and tending to you in every way he knows how - in every way that’s routine. He apologises, over and over, for letting Ghost do this you, for letting him have his way with you, for not being able to protect you–

You shush him. Look at him with kind eyes. You tell him you’re happy to do it, that you’d rather it be you than anyone else, that you wouldn’t be doing it if you didn’t love Simon. Which you do. Monumentally. And Simon loves you, too. He just fears that Ghost may be growing to love you, too – in ways he shouldn’t.

He feels him now, watching you bathe, sweeping over the bruises on your wrists, your hips and waist, the pressure in the back of his head mounting as Ghost lusts for the control to do it all again.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

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