[megumimania]

NEW AVATAR.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･vina/vi. she/her. twenty. black. bisexual. intp. satoru’s one and only. satoshoko truther. multifandom. [n]sfw blog.

status of reqs and asks: open

recents:

a band-aid solution ft. art donaldson

confessions ft. toji fushiguro

buzzing sounds ft. clark kent

masterlist + rules

[mariasont]

── .✦ JACK ABBOT who coddles you during sex

★ˎˊ˗ CONTENT 18+ MDNI fem reader, p in v, praise kink / soft dom dynamics, size kink, pet names (baby, good girl, perfect girl, etc), dacryphilia

MASTERLIST | RULES | INBOX

Jack keeps you wrapped in cotton, even while he’s buried to the hilt.

One broad palm stays splayed between your shoulder blades, a promise that he has you, always has you, while the other wanders, taming fly-aways behind your ear, thumb sweeping the tears that shimmer there before they can cool. 

“Easy, angel,” he murmurs, voice steeped in amber nectar. “I know she’s full. Just breathe for me.”

You do your best, but every lungful drags you further down his length, your body desperate for the heavy fill it’s already trembling to accommodate. A needy whimper slips out, fists knotting the sheets, and he soothes you with a gentle kiss against your smile line. 

“That’s it,” he praises, hips rocking in a rich, molasses-slow circle that lets you savor every thick inch. “Such a good girl, taking it all — see how beautifully you fit me?”

Tiny wildfires flower through you everywhere at once, heating your cheeks, spilling down your throat, settling low in your belly where desire winds itself tight and shining.

Embarrassment flickers its wings right alongside it, because he’s cooing at you the same way he coaxes patients through vaccinations: gentle, forbearing, inexorable.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he says, like there exists a universe where you would ask him to stop.

His hand glides the length of your back, fingers pausing in the dip where your spine meets sacrum. 

Too much is exactly how you’d describe the feeling of his cock dragging across that spot that makes your vision strobe starbusting colors, but the tenderness in his voice knots something unsteady in your body. 

You manage a breathy, “please, don’t stop.” 

A contented rumble answers you, and he plants a feather-light kiss on your forehead, right where he’d lay cool fingers to check your temperature.

He resumes that same rhythm. Slow drive in, lingering grind, languid pull out that leaves you aching for the return. The headboard knocks a soft counterpoint, each tap punctuated by his gentle commentary.

“Doing so well,” he croons when your elbows buckle, gathering you up with one flush tug to his chest. “Hold on to me, there you go, honey.”

Jack angles your leg higher, opening you wider for him, and the change steals air from your lungs in one shattered sound. 

“Shh,” he hushes, half-smile curving, proud and adoring all at once. “I know. Feels big, doesn’t it? Let me make it better.”

His fingers dip to your clit, and your gasp dissolves into his name. “Jack — s’good.”

The room narrows to the glide of his thumb and the steady ballast of his body. 

He kisses the salt at your hairline, murmuring, “Same here, baby. My perfect girl. Let me handle the rest, yeah?”

MARIA NOTE if being babied this hard during sex is wrong, i refuse to be right <3

YOU CAN FIND MY JACK ABBOT MASTERLIST HERE ⭑.ᐟ

[megumimania]

silly little footballer!geto x wag!reader drabbleeee, this idea has been cooking up since the euros—geto plays for bayern munich #fact! 18+, smut under the cut!

thinking about soccer player!suguru who’s fave pre match ritual is his lovely wife. he gets teased by his fellow teammates and the media for being the “wife” guy in a sport that is known for cheating, crazy parties and boatloads of women and drugs.

it’s not like he cares anyway, not when he has his lovely wife that is all he could dream of and more, you are the most gorgeous and best thing that has ever happened to him and his daughters that you took on and raised as if they were your own with zero judgment.

it’s safe to say he’s smitten with you but he’s more in love with your pussy too. of course he replies as playfully as possible when journalists ask to clarify by what he means by you being his pre game ritual—not wanting to fuck up his brand of being the family man and captain of the team.

“that’s all, my wife she’s just able to get me in the right energy for the game.” he says with a chuckle, generating a chorus of ‘awwws’ from the crowd who’s ready to write an article about how he’s the ideal man for modern day football and how young men should aspire to be like him (he doesn’t share the same sentiment). whilst a billion of cameras flash in his face and journalists quickly scramble to write down what he’s saying.

if only they knew what he really meant.

his big game against dortmund is coming up tomorrow and he’s already pregaming. the girls are with the nanny leaving you and him with ample alone time together. “c’mon baby you can take it.” he says in that honeyed tone that makes your pussy clench even more as he fucks you at that rough-gentle pace you both like.

you’re already spent with your third orgasm of the night threatening to rip through you like a current as suguru keeps fucking you. “I can’t baby, i cant.” you pout as your voice grows more whiny, tears threatening to spill from your eyes. he leans over and wipes the stray tears from your face, placing gentle kisses on your cheeks.

“yes you can, sweetheart.” he croons affectionately as his hand trail down to your pussy, rubbing circles on your clit. suguru revels in your pleasure watching your eyes crinkle up and your back arch from the sheer pleasure that he alone is giving you. it gives him a slight boost knowing that only him can get you like this.

he places sloppy kisses up your jaw as he continues his unrelenting pace. you grip the hotel sheets beneath you as you feel like you’re about to explode with immense pleasure. “sugu baby, ‘m gonna—“ you aren’t even able to finish your sentence as you have your third orgasm of the night.

suguru follows through soon after, falling limp on top of you, spent yet satisfied. “you better win this game tomorrow.” you joke, moving his fallen locks away from his face so you could see him better. he grins placing a gentle kiss to your neck before meeting your gaze. “oh i will, angel.” he says with a knowing smirk, kissing you once more as you were now wrapped up in his arms.

and lo and behold he did, with the game against borussia dortmund ending with a score of 3-1 and the media dubbing you as his ‘good luck charm.’

maybe your pussy does have some magical properties after all.

[megumimania]

silly little footballer!geto x wag!reader drabbleeee, this idea has been cooking up since the euros—geto plays for bayern munich #fact! 18+, smut under the cut!

thinking about soccer player!suguru who’s fave pre match ritual is his lovely wife. he gets teased by his fellow teammates and the media for being the “wife” guy in a sport that is known for cheating, crazy parties and boatloads of women and drugs.

it’s not like he cares anyway, not when he has his lovely wife that is all he could dream of and more, you are the most gorgeous and best thing that has ever happened to him and his daughters that you took on and raised as if they were your own with zero judgment.

it’s safe to say he’s smitten with you but he’s more in love with your pussy too. of course he replies as playfully as possible when journalists ask to clarify by what he means by you being his pre game ritual—not wanting to fuck up his brand of being the family man and captain of the team.

“that’s all, my wife she’s just able to get me in the right energy for the game.” he says with a chuckle, generating a chorus of ‘awwws’ from the crowd who’s ready to write an article about how he’s the ideal man for modern day football and how young men should aspire to be like him (he doesn’t share the same sentiment). whilst a billion of cameras flash in his face and journalists quickly scramble to write down what he’s saying.

if only they knew what he really meant.

his big game against dortmund is coming up tomorrow and he’s already pregaming. the girls are with the nanny leaving you and him with ample alone time together. “c’mon baby you can take it.” he says in that honeyed tone that makes your pussy clench even more as he fucks you at that rough-gentle pace you both like.

you’re already spent with your third orgasm of the night threatening to rip through you like a current as suguru keeps fucking you. “I can’t baby, i cant.” you pout as your voice grows more whiny, tears threatening to spill from your eyes. he leans over and wipes the stray tears from your face, placing gentle kisses on your cheeks.

“yes you can, sweetheart.” he croons affectionately as his hand trail down to your pussy, rubbing circles on your clit. suguru revels in your pleasure watching your eyes crinkle up and your back arch from the sheer pleasure that he alone is giving you. it gives him a slight boost knowing that only him can get you like this.

he places sloppy kisses up your jaw as he continues his unrelenting pace. you grip the hotel sheets beneath you as you feel like you’re about to explode with immense pleasure. “sugu baby, ‘m gonna—“ you aren’t even able to finish your sentence as you have your third orgasm of the night.

suguru follows through soon after, falling limp on top of you, spent yet satisfied. “you better win this game tomorrow.” you joke, moving his fallen locks away from his face so you could see him better. he grins placing a gentle kiss to your neck before meeting your gaze. “oh i will, angel.” he says with a knowing smirk, kissing you once more as you were now wrapped up in his arms.

and lo and behold he did, with the game against borussia dortmund ending with a score of 3-1 and the media dubbing you as his ‘good luck charm.’

maybe your pussy does have some magical properties after all.

[megumimania]

LOCKED AND LOADED — toji fushiguro

summary: when moving to england, people had warned Toji about the weather, the food and the people. Yet nobody had told him that his biggest challenge would be the neighbour who lived a couple doors away from him.

pairings:toji fushiguro x fem!reader

warnings: 2k words, toji x neighbour!reader, jjk 2006 au, reader hates toji with every fibre of her being, enemies to lovers (?), general fluff, 2000s! au, dilf!toji, reader and toji live on a council estate*, megumi and tsumiki mentions

a/n: hey everyone! I’ve been watching a lot of old British shows and movies set in the 2000s such as kidulthood and Waterloo Road which inspired this fic.

*council estates are a form of affordable social housing for those on low incomes. here’s a brief history of council housing in the uk if you’re interested!

It was a quiet Saturday morning on the Locklear Gardens Estate and Toji felt a deep sense of accomplishment despite it only being 9am.

In the four hour window from sunrise to 9 am, he'd managed to: squeeze in a quick session at the gym, run some errands and finally return the jacket that was too small for Tsumiki back to the Post Office before they could deny him a refund.

He was so proud of himself and in such good spirits that he even woke the kids up an hour early for Japanese school. Usually his mornings were hectic, with him constantly rushing the kids out the door and to the school looking like they just climbed out of a rats nest.

He even tripled checked their backpacks ensuring that they had their workbooks, stationary, textbooks and a snack for after class. He was on a roll! Tsumiki (and sometimes Megumi) would pull a sickie to miss Saturday school, citing that they already spoke Japanese at home so the additional classes would be a waste of time but Toji knew better.

Even though their Japanese was strong now, he knew that the more they learned English at school and the more time they lived in England that they would quickly adopt it, soon becoming their main language.

At this age, their brains were like sponges, soaking up every morsel of knowledge provided to them. He didn't want them to lose touch with their heritage and their mother tongue. Mostly he didn’t want them to end up like him.

After being sent to boarding school in England at 16 for ‘rehabilitation purposes' and coming back to Japan, it was only then he realised how much harder it was to speak in his native tongue and the disconnect he felt speaking a language that seemed to have evolved in his absence.

Once the kids left, he planned to spend his day off doing nothing. Watching TV, catching up on lost sleep and later meeting up with Shiu for a celebratory drink to celebrate his promotion. Leaving the kids with Mrs Campbell, his neighbour who loved babysitting the kids of the block in her spare time.

Her babysitting services were a hot commodity on the estate with her slots being booked up sometimes in a span of a few hours. Toji got premium priority as a thank you from Mrs Campbell for helping her carry her groceries, or for helping her around the house with tiny repairs.

The kids were already dressed and had already eaten breakfast, he let them chill and watch the morning cartoons since they were running early. Meanwhile he’d caught up with the news on the radio, checking if the services on the underground were working as intended.

His serene morning was jolted by the sound of harsh knocks at the door.

Toji always told the kids to never open the door to people in suits, Jehovah's witnesses, bailiffs, politicians, police officers and of course strangers. He walked over to the door, ignoring the kids complaints that he was blocking the tv and peeped through the curtains.

He let out a massive sigh once he saw the familiar scowl on your face that could match his own and opened the door. You were the biggest pain in his backside ever since he moved in here. The pair of you argued like cats and dogs to the point that there was a betting pool on who would move out first. In the end, it seemed like you both weren’t leaving anytime soon.

There you stood with your arms folded, dressed in a pair of skinny jeans, and a white long cami coupled with a sheer blouse. Toji thought it was a shame that a nice outfit couldn’t distract him from your terrible attitude, especially at this time of day.

“Can I help you?” he said, looking visibly disinterested. He was staying zen, not letting his disinterest fester into annoyance because then it would dampen the spirits of this lovely day. He looked at his watch, tracking the time and the amount of fucks he had left to give for this unwelcome interaction. It was like you were sent here to torment him.

You didn’t bristle at his disinterest, preferring to rise above his bad vibes. “Good morning to you too, Toji.” you waved to the kids inside before continuing, “You’re in my spot.” You had pointed to his car that was blocking your own. You’d sent plenty of friendly notes through his post box but you’re pretty sure that he didn’t bother to read a single one.

“Well, you see I can’t move it,” he replied, pointing to the big yellow clamp on the front wheel of the vehicle and the parking tickets that were tucked into his windshield wipers. He was in a long standing feud with the parking warden, who he thought had unfairly targeted him with parking fines. After all he wasn’t the only resident here who’d been parking here out of hours.

“So you have to inconvenience the rest of us because you can’t be fucked to pay your fines?” you scoffed. Toji opened his mouth to defend himself but he figured that he was already pretty high on your shit list and he had no desire to come off it.

“Yep, pretty much,” he nodded, looking at his watch again. They were gonna miss the train if he didn’t wrap this up quickly. He called out to the kids, telling them to put their shoes and socks on. Megumi and Tsumiki joined him at the door in seconds, deciding to wait on the balcony until he finished up.

You couldn’t believe his audacity and you were actually trying to be polite and cordial but no he had to be a dick again. He always seems to bring out the worst in you.

“Mummy,” your daughter whined, tugging on your hand and pulling you out of your thoughts. Right, she had her gymnastics class today and she was awfully particular about being on time to places now.

“Move that car or I will,” you threatened him, taking your daughter’s hand and leaving without looking back.

“I’d like to see you try!” he called out to your retreating form. You were all talk, with the amount of times you used that characteristically British passive aggressiveness towards him.

It was the same tone you used when Megumi’s dogs got a bit out of control and knocked your plants over or when he ‘accidentally’ threw a water balloon at you on a random summer day.

You weren’t gonna do anything.

Or so he thought.

Wednesday morning, life on the estate was in full swing. The sounds of tired parents doing the school run, heading to work or running errands. The local teens were in a huddle blasting the new tunes from Channel U out of their Sony Ericsson or playfighting with one another on their way to school. The sun even made an appearance for once, casting the concrete building in a somewhat angelic glow.

The sounds of reggae, garage, and the local radio by the construction site, who often started their work as soon as Toji managed to settle into a comfortable sleep, only added to the atmosphere of the day. The maintenance guys were busy fixing the lift that had broken down for the third time in a month and down at the underpass was where the drug deals and other shady things occurred that people knew of but didn’t talk about.

Toji had already dropped off the kids early to breakfast club and was on his way back home to get ready for work, when he crossed paths with you again. He braced himself for another argument with you but it never came. He didn’t think much of it, maybe you finally decided to throw the towel in and realise that he wasn’t worth the time anymore.

“My car’s still here,” Toji taunted you, reminding you of the threat you made a couple of days ago.

“We’ll see about that,” you grumbled in response.

He heard the faint sounds of the tow truck coming from down the road. He felt sorry for the poor bastard who was gonna come back from work to find their car getting towed away. To be subjected to all the neighbours popping their head out of the windows to find out what was going on and the gossip after would be brutal.

He was already half way inside when Maya and Gary, the resident gossips, dressed in their opposing Arsenal and Chelsea bath robes came up to him with knowing looks in their eyes. What a bunch of nosy cunts, he thought to himself. Of course they would be here with their cups of tea in their hands waiting for the next shitshow to happen.

“We just saw your motor getting towed outside, you must be fuming mate.” Gary said, feigning concern. Toji didn’t even give him any airtime, he knew Gary didn’t give a flying fuck about him. When it came to estate gossip and drama Gary and Maya were like a moth to a flame.

Suddenly their voices grew further away as Toji ran outside to see his car getting towed. He tried to get in between as if he could stop the inevitable happening but he stood and watched as they took his sweet Ford Fiesta away.

“Someone filed a complaint about a car with a bunch of unpaid parking fines, so we’re here to take the car away to the pound.” The man repeated gently for what seemed like the third time whilst Toji protested once more.

“Who filed the complaint?” Toji asked. He knew sooner or later that his car would get town away from the outstanding debt he had accumulated on parking fines but this was too fast, even for this council.

“Listen mate, I’m here just to tow the vehicle away, ” the man explained, hoping that this would be enough of an explanation for Toji to back away and finally do his job. “You can try and phone the council but I’m pretty sure this was an anonymous report.”

Toji didn’t need to phone the council because he already knew who made the call. He found you standing further away from the large crowd forming, unable to hide the small smile of victory from your lips.

You quickly schooled your expression, albeit a fraction of a second too late. Storm Toji had broken ground and was heading to you at full force but you were prepared to stand your ground.

“Pity about the car,” you shrugged, watching his car get finally town away. You played nice for too long and after his little snarky comment on Saturday, you realised that you had to up the stakes to let him know that you were a formidable opponent that he shouldn’t mess with.

He couldn’t even form a response, he just stared at you wide eyed and in disbelief that you went this far. Toji knew you had the capabilities to be evil but he didn’t think you’d be able to carry it out.

“But my car?” He spluttered out, trying to make sense of what was happening right now.

“Tough,” you stood there, watching him go through all the motions in real time. “Maybe you can use this as a teaching lesson on responsibility and consequences for the kids.”

You walked away, this time with a little pep in your step as you couldn’t stop the smirk that was forming on your face. You’d finally had the last laugh and the last word against Toji, a day you thought would never come.

Whilst you claimed your victory, Toji called Shiu, filling in him on what happened, praying and hoping that he’d be able to pull some strings at his council job so he could get his car back.

“I can’t help you there Toji, not in my job description,” Shiu replied, his voice gravely sounding. He was probably still recovering from those post work drinks that he and his colleagues would go on almost every week. “I know a guy who works in collections though, I’ll send you his number.”

Toji felt the familiar buzz of his phone whilst the call ended, adding Shiu’s contact to his phone. He figured he’d let you have your victory lap now but soon enough when this was all over he’d be planning his revenge—striking when you least expected it.

[megumimania]

LOCKED AND LOADED — toji fushiguro

summary: when moving to england, people had warned Toji about the weather, the food and the people. Yet nobody had told him that his biggest challenge would be the neighbour who lived a couple doors away from him.

pairings:toji fushiguro x fem!reader

warnings: 2k words, toji x neighbour!reader, jjk 2006 au, reader hates toji with every fibre of her being, enemies to lovers (?), general fluff, 2000s! au, dilf!toji, reader and toji live on a council estate*, megumi and tsumiki mentions

a/n: hey everyone! I’ve been watching a lot of old British shows and movies set in the 2000s such as kidulthood and Waterloo Road which inspired this fic.

*council estates are a form of affordable social housing for those on low incomes. here’s a brief history of council housing in the uk if you’re interested!

It was a quiet Saturday morning on the Locklear Gardens Estate and Toji felt a deep sense of accomplishment despite it only being 9am.

In the four hour window from sunrise to 9 am, he'd managed to: squeeze in a quick session at the gym, run some errands and finally return the jacket that was too small for Tsumiki back to the Post Office before they could deny him a refund.

He was so proud of himself and in such good spirits that he even woke the kids up an hour early for Japanese school. Usually his mornings were hectic, with him constantly rushing the kids out the door and to the school looking like they just climbed out of a rats nest.

He even tripled checked their backpacks ensuring that they had their workbooks, stationary, textbooks and a snack for after class. He was on a roll! Tsumiki (and sometimes Megumi) would pull a sickie to miss Saturday school, citing that they already spoke Japanese at home so the additional classes would be a waste of time but Toji knew better.

Even though their Japanese was strong now, he knew that the more they learned English at school and the more time they lived in England that they would quickly adopt it, soon becoming their main language.

At this age, their brains were like sponges, soaking up every morsel of knowledge provided to them. He didn't want them to lose touch with their heritage and their mother tongue. Mostly he didn’t want them to end up like him.

After being sent to boarding school in England at 16 for ‘rehabilitation purposes' and coming back to Japan, it was only then he realised how much harder it was to speak in his native tongue and the disconnect he felt speaking a language that seemed to have evolved in his absence.

Once the kids left, he planned to spend his day off doing nothing. Watching TV, catching up on lost sleep and later meeting up with Shiu for a celebratory drink to celebrate his promotion. Leaving the kids with Mrs Campbell, his neighbour who loved babysitting the kids of the block in her spare time.

Her babysitting services were a hot commodity on the estate with her slots being booked up sometimes in a span of a few hours. Toji got premium priority as a thank you from Mrs Campbell for helping her carry her groceries, or for helping her around the house with tiny repairs.

The kids were already dressed and had already eaten breakfast, he let them chill and watch the morning cartoons since they were running early. Meanwhile he’d caught up with the news on the radio, checking if the services on the underground were working as intended.

His serene morning was jolted by the sound of harsh knocks at the door.

Toji always told the kids to never open the door to people in suits, Jehovah's witnesses, bailiffs, politicians, police officers and of course strangers. He walked over to the door, ignoring the kids complaints that he was blocking the tv and peeped through the curtains.

He let out a massive sigh once he saw the familiar scowl on your face that could match his own and opened the door. You were the biggest pain in his backside ever since he moved in here. The pair of you argued like cats and dogs to the point that there was a betting pool on who would move out first. In the end, it seemed like you both weren’t leaving anytime soon.

There you stood with your arms folded, dressed in a pair of skinny jeans, and a white long cami coupled with a sheer blouse. Toji thought it was a shame that a nice outfit couldn’t distract him from your terrible attitude, especially at this time of day.

“Can I help you?” he said, looking visibly disinterested. He was staying zen, not letting his disinterest fester into annoyance because then it would dampen the spirits of this lovely day. He looked at his watch, tracking the time and the amount of fucks he had left to give for this unwelcome interaction. It was like you were sent here to torment him.

You didn’t bristle at his disinterest, preferring to rise above his bad vibes. “Good morning to you too, Toji.” you waved to the kids inside before continuing, “You’re in my spot.” You had pointed to his car that was blocking your own. You’d sent plenty of friendly notes through his post box but you’re pretty sure that he didn’t bother to read a single one.

“Well, you see I can’t move it,” he replied, pointing to the big yellow clamp on the front wheel of the vehicle and the parking tickets that were tucked into his windshield wipers. He was in a long standing feud with the parking warden, who he thought had unfairly targeted him with parking fines. After all he wasn’t the only resident here who’d been parking here out of hours.

“So you have to inconvenience the rest of us because you can’t be fucked to pay your fines?” you scoffed. Toji opened his mouth to defend himself but he figured that he was already pretty high on your shit list and he had no desire to come off it.

“Yep, pretty much,” he nodded, looking at his watch again. They were gonna miss the train if he didn’t wrap this up quickly. He called out to the kids, telling them to put their shoes and socks on. Megumi and Tsumiki joined him at the door in seconds, deciding to wait on the balcony until he finished up.

You couldn’t believe his audacity and you were actually trying to be polite and cordial but no he had to be a dick again. He always seems to bring out the worst in you.

“Mummy,” your daughter whined, tugging on your hand and pulling you out of your thoughts. Right, she had her gymnastics class today and she was awfully particular about being on time to places now.

“Move that car or I will,” you threatened him, taking your daughter’s hand and leaving without looking back.

“I’d like to see you try!” he called out to your retreating form. You were all talk, with the amount of times you used that characteristically British passive aggressiveness towards him.

It was the same tone you used when Megumi’s dogs got a bit out of control and knocked your plants over or when he ‘accidentally’ threw a water balloon at you on a random summer day.

You weren’t gonna do anything.

Or so he thought.

Wednesday morning, life on the estate was in full swing. The sounds of tired parents doing the school run, heading to work or running errands. The local teens were in a huddle blasting the new tunes from Channel U out of their Sony Ericsson or playfighting with one another on their way to school. The sun even made an appearance for once, casting the concrete building in a somewhat angelic glow.

The sounds of reggae, garage, and the local radio by the construction site, who often started their work as soon as Toji managed to settle into a comfortable sleep, only added to the atmosphere of the day. The maintenance guys were busy fixing the lift that had broken down for the third time in a month and down at the underpass was where the drug deals and other shady things occurred that people knew of but didn’t talk about.

Toji had already dropped off the kids early to breakfast club and was on his way back home to get ready for work, when he crossed paths with you again. He braced himself for another argument with you but it never came. He didn’t think much of it, maybe you finally decided to throw the towel in and realise that he wasn’t worth the time anymore.

“My car’s still here,” Toji taunted you, reminding you of the threat you made a couple of days ago.

“We’ll see about that,” you grumbled in response.

He heard the faint sounds of the tow truck coming from down the road. He felt sorry for the poor bastard who was gonna come back from work to find their car getting towed away. To be subjected to all the neighbours popping their head out of the windows to find out what was going on and the gossip after would be brutal.

He was already half way inside when Maya and Gary, the resident gossips, dressed in their opposing Arsenal and Chelsea bath robes came up to him with knowing looks in their eyes. What a bunch of nosy cunts, he thought to himself. Of course they would be here with their cups of tea in their hands waiting for the next shitshow to happen.

“We just saw your motor getting towed outside, you must be fuming mate.” Gary said, feigning concern. Toji didn’t even give him any airtime, he knew Gary didn’t give a flying fuck about him. When it came to estate gossip and drama Gary and Maya were like a moth to a flame.

Suddenly their voices grew further away as Toji ran outside to see his car getting towed. He tried to get in between as if he could stop the inevitable happening but he stood and watched as they took his sweet Ford Fiesta away.

“Someone filed a complaint about a car with a bunch of unpaid parking fines, so we’re here to take the car away to the pound.” The man repeated gently for what seemed like the third time whilst Toji protested once more.

“Who filed the complaint?” Toji asked. He knew sooner or later that his car would get town away from the outstanding debt he had accumulated on parking fines but this was too fast, even for this council.

“Listen mate, I’m here just to tow the vehicle away, ” the man explained, hoping that this would be enough of an explanation for Toji to back away and finally do his job. “You can try and phone the council but I’m pretty sure this was an anonymous report.”

Toji didn’t need to phone the council because he already knew who made the call. He found you standing further away from the large crowd forming, unable to hide the small smile of victory from your lips.

You quickly schooled your expression, albeit a fraction of a second too late. Storm Toji had broken ground and was heading to you at full force but you were prepared to stand your ground.

“Pity about the car,” you shrugged, watching his car get finally town away. You played nice for too long and after his little snarky comment on Saturday, you realised that you had to up the stakes to let him know that you were a formidable opponent that he shouldn’t mess with.

He couldn’t even form a response, he just stared at you wide eyed and in disbelief that you went this far. Toji knew you had the capabilities to be evil but he didn’t think you’d be able to carry it out.

“But my car?” He spluttered out, trying to make sense of what was happening right now.

“Tough,” you stood there, watching him go through all the motions in real time. “Maybe you can use this as a teaching lesson on responsibility and consequences for the kids.”

You walked away, this time with a little pep in your step as you couldn’t stop the smirk that was forming on your face. You’d finally had the last laugh and the last word against Toji, a day you thought would never come.

Whilst you claimed your victory, Toji called Shiu, filling in him on what happened, praying and hoping that he’d be able to pull some strings at his council job so he could get his car back.

“I can’t help you there Toji, not in my job description,” Shiu replied, his voice gravely sounding. He was probably still recovering from those post work drinks that he and his colleagues would go on almost every week. “I know a guy who works in collections though, I’ll send you his number.”

Toji felt the familiar buzz of his phone whilst the call ended, adding Shiu’s contact to his phone. He figured he’d let you have your victory lap now but soon enough when this was all over he’d be planning his revenge—striking when you least expected it.

[megumimania]

Hey tumblr!!

[jakewearys]

this took me SO long but i tried to make pope a lil bit grey just to visualise 🫡

[bonivers]

the whole world seems to revolve around marriage i’m bored

[megumimania]

[megumimania]

the state of jjk fics nowadays has gotten so dire…

[megumimania]

POMP AND CIRCUMSTANCE — gojo satoru

summary: chaos and old feelings crop up when you invite your ex to your daughter’s graduation

warnings/tags: gojo x fem!reader, dilf!gojo, fluff, reader and gojo are in their mid forties, their daughter is in their early to mid twenties, they still love each other, ex!husband gojo, gojo grating on readers nerves as usual.

a/n: is grad season over?! Idk and idc but hey guys hope y’all didn’t miss me too much, school and work was beating my ass! Just wanted to get this out asappp but WE BACKKK!!

“Can I sit here?”

You were about to curse out the poor soul who was about to cause you to miss seeing your daughter walk the stage at her graduation. They’d already had the made their way through the first few letters of the alphabet and you weren’t gonna miss seeing your daughter graduate for the world.

You turned around to see a familiar tuft of white hair and a peek of the familiar baby blues that were hidden by his sunglasses. Even at the age of 44, he still looked as handsome as the day you met him. Time was kind to him with the subtle signs of aging starting to show on his face, from the deepened smile lines and the crows feet that only appeared when he laughed too hard.

You sighed knowing that you’d unfortunately made the mistake of binding yourself to this man for life when you got married and had children with him, meaning that he’d be sticking around whether you liked it or not.

You and Satoru’s marriage was a whirlwind of love, arguments and unspoken words. It was a hasty decision on both of your parts, fuelled by emotion and hormones on your part when you found out that you were pregnant during your final year of university. A shotgun wedding ceremony that was advised by your families to prevent shame is what led to you both being wed at the mere age of 21.

There was a time in your life where you could confidently say that you loved him. That you loved your family and the life that you were building together irregardless of the circumstances that brought you two together along the way. He was a wonderful father and husband yet there was something so impenetrable about him, how you could never tell what was going on inside his head.

Over time, the distance between you both grew larger and you grew tired of trying to understand the man that was Gojo Satoru, the man who clutched his cards so closely to his chest. So you both came to the mutual agreement to separate for the betterment of yourselves and for your daughter. After all, you both were so young experiencing such a wide range emotions in bodies that weren’t so prepared for it at all.

He was a great father to your daughter Emiko, showing up to all parent teacher conferences, recitals, championships. He even bought a house not too far from where you lived so Emiko could visit as frequently as she wanted. Whilst you both moved on with different partners, that you both silently disapproved of whilst trying to seem cordial above the surface, there was no animosity between you both which you appreciated.

But God you forgot how annoying he could be.

“You’re late.” You reminded him in the midst of the cheers that filled the room as each student collected their degree, your voices merely making a ripple in the sounds of collective happiness.

“Traffic.” He smiled, knowing how anal you were about punctuality and lateness. One of the things he missed about you was being able to rile you up by showing up to things a tad bit too late which made you frustrated that you were running behind schedule. He shrugged his shoulders, his biceps subtly rippling through his suit that you thought was a bit too showy for a graduation ceremony but whatever.

Ever so perceptive, he picked up on your travelling gaze. “You like?” He whispered whilst wiggling his eyebrows at you. Your face immediately dropped as you weren’t in the mood to entertain his bullshit but deep down you couldn’t deny that he looked good.

“No, I hate.” You whispered back drily. He snorted, a sound that seemed to grate on your nerves rather than ease them. It’s like he did this on purpose, to antagonise you more than you needed to be. Especially during a precious moment like this.

“It’s our daughter’s graduation, try to look a little less glum sweetheart.” He replied, patting your shoulder as he whipped out his phone to record. Before you could get even with him he shushed you, redirecting your attention to the main event happening on stage.

Right, there was a whole graduation going on and you were letting your ex husband get on your nerves. “They’ve already gotten to the G names.”

You sat through the flurry of graduates walking the stage until it was time for Emiko to walk the stage, looking radiant as ever and every bit of the confident young woman you raised her to be. Her eyes lit up when she saw you and Satoru cheering her on, giving the pair of you a wave as she walked off the stage, degree in hand.

In the midst of all your joy you could hear sniffling beside you. Lo and behold it seemed that Satoru had finally broken down.

“We did a good job, didn’t we?” He uttered softly. For a moment, you forgot about how much he could be a pain in your ass as you reached over and gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. Letting him know that the feeling of seeing your little girl grow up into a young well rounded woman was bittersweet emotion you both felt. All the late night feeds, the last minute school projects, the teenage angst, the first love and heartbreak all led to this moment.

Satoru’s hands held onto yours for the rest of the ceremony, only letting go once to hug Emiko after the whole ordeal. Your hand tingled with the warmth lost as you watched the tender scene unfold before you. It was now your turn to shower your daughter in affection and praise whilst Satoru looked on with an expression on his face you couldn’t decipher.

“Careful, you’re gonna crush her ribs whilst you’re at it.” He playfully scolded you. You looked back at him and scoffed knowing that he had no room to talk, remembering the time that he nearly sent your blood pressure up the roof when you caught him tossing Emiko up in the air when she was a toddler.

“Well luckily for her, you’ve got her on the best insurance plan money can buy. So you don’t need to worry about it.” You quip back, finally letting go of your daughter as you moved the stray white strands away from her face. She rolls her eyes at your theatrics but doesn’t move away, she’s still your little girl at the end of the day.

Satoru couldn’t help but throw a lavish graduation party for his daughter and you smiled whilst you stood by the gardens of the Gojo estate watching Emiko celebrate with friends and family. You didn’t even have to turn around to know he was approaching you. Your friends often joked you had a sixth sense only reserved for him.

He placed a hand on your waist and for once you didn’t fight it, following him into the garden as he carried two flutes of champagne with him, handing you one as you finally took your seat. “One for you my lady.” He said with a painful British accent, handing you a glass to which you accepted.

“Thank you my good sir.” You replied, feeling a sense of lightness in your chest that took you back to being the bright eyed newlyweds with a baby on the way. God you missed how easy it was. You missed him. He didn’t even have to ask to know what you were feeling, which was funny since you hoped this weird telepathic connection you only had for each other would be severed during the divorce.

“I don’t like being here too if it helps.” He mumbles into the vast night sky, as if looking at you would be the greatest travesty he’d ever commit. You appreciate his subtle attempt to kickstart conversation if it wasn’t so awkward between you both. At the graduation it was easier, your mind was so occupied with your baby girl walking the stage and graduating that anything pertaining to Satoru was left on the back burner.

Now that you were here alone with him, you had nowhere to hide, no crowd to disappear into, no Nanami or Shoko to chat with to distract yourself from the way his eyes flickered over to you several times tonight. The man made Satoru dam in your mind threatening to burst with burgeoning feelings you didn’t want to think about at all.

It was stupid, you both had moved on. You were with other people. Your boyfriend(?) was fine, stable, a great communicator and an open book. He had a good relationship with your daughter and Satoru was in between people, so why did you feel so unfulfilled in your life? Why couldn’t you feel neutral towards him like a person in a co parenting relationship should be?

“Yeah, Shoko told me how you used to escape from here often during the winter break. It was that bad huh?” You asked and he simply nodded, not wanting to divulge much and you let it go. The familiar silence washed over you both once again as you stared down at the empty flute of champagne you didn’t remember drinking that much of.

A familiar pair of footsteps caught your attention and it was Emiko, her curls spilling out of the updo you did for her before she left the house. “Mom, Dad what are you doing out here?” Her assessing gaze flits between you both, from your pensive state to Satoru’s unusual silence and she sighs as she sits between you both, taking a sip of her dad’s now lukewarm champagne, grimacing at the taste. “Uh oh, Do I have to pick a side this time?”

Emiko’s knack for comedic timing, which can only be attributed to her father is what dispels the tension between you both as you let out a chuckle. “No sweetheart, it’s just your dad and I are getting old.” You say teasingly, knowing how much Satoru was in denial about his age.

“I’ve still got a young spirit!” He defends himself, clearly still in denial, earning a chuckle from you and Emiko. His heart bloomed knowing that he still was able to make his girls laugh even if it was st his expense. In the midst of the laughter you both lock eyes again and in that moment he sees you 20 odd years ago. The same spark in your eyes that he fell in love with.

Satoru decides against spilling his heart out to you, preferring to preserve your coparenting relationship as is. The night goes on and no matter how close or far you are in his vicinity, other than his daughter is eyes are trained on you. Drinking you up as you dance with Emiko, watching you move with the beat.

He joins in a few minutes later (he blames the fomo) dropping some moves that makes your daughter want to recoil into her skin but he lives for it, he’s encouraged by your laughter as you film the entire ordeal and he’s fine with this, figuring he can suppress his growing feelings for you whilst he still can.

Besides being in both of your lives was what mattered the most to him anyway,

he just needed to figure out a way to get rid of your so called “boyfriend” first.

[visenyaism]

and if anyone gave beautiful empathetic genius doctor samira mohan an crumb of the attention and grace and mentorship everyone in da pitt gives Whitaker for being white and sad she would be the best doctor there but dr Robby hates women.

[megumimania]

A BAND-AID SOLUTION — art donaldson

summary: with his marriage on the rocks and his self esteem in the gutter, art clings onto the next best thing—his therapist.

pairing: art donaldson x fem!reader

warnings/tags: 2.9k words, 18+ content (mdni), male masturbation, oral (f receiving), p in v sex, slight praise kink, therapist!reader, infidelity, everyone’s cheating, fucked up and dgaf, tashi and Patrick mention, art isnt well but you knew that, pls don’t shag your therapists

a/n: can you believe I started writing this fic in September of last year 😭, crazy but happy belated challengers anniversary!! and shout out to @baelatargs who read every iteration of this fic, love youuuu <3

Art shouldn’t be falling for you so hard.

Yet when you look at him with such empathy and understanding whilst he talks about the impact of his current losing streak and his recurrent injuries had on his career and mental health, he feels seen. In a way even his own wife fails to acknowledge, you see him at his most basal form. Not as the famed athlete, the beacon of tennis that the media hails him to be nor the ambassador of the many brands he can’t be seen without. Just as Art.

Pathetic.

Is what Tashi would say whilst they argued, hushed and with all the doors closed so Lily would have some semblance of a normal childhood. As if touring with a child across the world and spending most of their formative years away playing professional tennis on the world stage was anything normal people did. Art knew Tashi loved him in her own way and the dedication she showed to better his career was the biggest act of love she had displayed to him.

But it didn’t mean that their relationship wasn’t fraught.

Things between them were cold, sterile, almost clinical; it felt like when Lily wasn’t there. The only warmth that was present in her demeanour was when she spoke about her daughter or when the press asked her how she felt about her husband’s latest win at the tournament that just elapsed. Never was it about him, the questions asked about their personal life being evaded with a grace that brought PR firms and its representatives to shame.

So Art chose to seek solace elsewhere.

Not on the dating apps or the countless influencers and models in his DMs—that was cheating in his book. He preferred to sit in your plush yet inviting office once a week and open up to the only person who couldn’t really judge him. You’d be there with your pen and notebook in your hand, trying to sort out the embellished details from the facts, allowing him to express his emotions and feelings whilst challenging his beliefs.

It was simple, textbook stuff really.

He saw it as a nice contrast but he preferred the validation more. His faults and errors that you’d pointed out that he should work on being a mere ripple in the vast pool of validation that he’d been receiving. That was all he wanted. To feel like he did a good job, not as a tennis player, but as a father, a husband, hell even a person. Just hearing that you were proud of him after he told you about how he completed the homework you set him was enough to keep him going.

You were gorgeous, albeit a few years younger but the knowledge and expertise you held was beyond your years. In his opinion it was one of the things he found the most attractive about you. You always knew what to say that made him feel better, like a healing balm for his soul that was splintered and frayed by the ever demanding world of professional tennis and his personal life.

The sessions became less frequent as he progressed, going from weekly, fortnightly and now monthly. Art now had an itch he couldn’t scratch. Seeing you monthly wasn’t enough for him. He got obsessive, spending his nights reading about your achievements on LinkedIn or scrolling on your Instagram that wasn’t private, seeing the life you lived outside of the business casual outfits you donned to the office.

He spent his nights in the guest room, his hand wrapped around his cock, the cool metal of his wedding band rubbing against his shaft. Your voice from the recent therapy session that you so innocuously allowed him to record for his own betterment, filling his headphones.

His mind wanders to how’d you feel beneath him, how’d he’ll feel inside you and would you speak to him in that honeyed tone, the one that is currently spurring him on right now? The one that makes him feel validated and secure? And when you say his name, he comes on cue—hot ropes of cum spilling over his hand and stomach, his groans muffled by his hand to not wake his daughter and wife who are sleeping a couple doors down.

When the high subsides and the post-nut clarity hits him, his skin shining in a light sheen of sweat as he catches his breath, Tashi’s words ring resonant in his mind. He truly is pathetic. Jerking off to his therapist, like a horny teenager. He ought to feel shame, he was a family man after all, who swore a vow of marriage to his Tashi all those years ago but things weren’t the same anymore. Besides, he wanted to have a little bit of fun too. If she could have Patrick, he could have you.

Art knew that you’d never make a move. Too many ethical guidelines would be breached and one thing you prided yourself on was having strict boundaries, his subtle flirty remarks bulletproof against your professional demeanour. So he purposely let himself go, regressing to a worse form that differed from when you first met him.

Now he was a man riddled with a toxic cocktail of jealousy, paranoia and insecurity at a level that you now couldn’t handle. After the last session where your attempt to challenge his beliefs about his wife’s supposed infidelity fell on deaf ears, you referred him to another therapist—one that would be more adequate to deal with his needs, one that may be able to finally get through to him.

After his referral, you found yourself thinking about him more than you should and it didn’t help that he was lauded and posted up everywhere. You found him intriguing, a man riddled by paranoia, jealousy and insecurity despite his professional and personal caveats. Against your better judgment and ethics, you ended up emailing his current therapist, Dr. Mellich , about his wellbeing. She gave you limited updates, which was nothing you could glean from.

He looked to be in better spirits, from what you gathered from his post match interviews that were always playing in the office. Dr. Mellich was really a miracle worker, the elation was ever present on his face as he recalled his emotions at the time of beating his opponent and qualifying to the round of 16—A feat for somebody who had the pundits saying that it was time for him to hang up his rackets after a terrible last season.

Things seemed to be looking up for Art. He and Tashi looked less like they hated each other and were more amicable with one another in public, hand-holding and the embraces being enough to quell the divorce rumours. He also became a brand ambassador for a watch brand that he was supposed to care about but it was all the same to him. Yet despite his successes, you still ruminated in the back corners of his mind, your strategies becoming a part of his daily regimen. It was like he had a piece of you all along and he wasn’t planning on letting go.

Art started to attend and speak at mental health panels, sharing the importance of getting help, especially in the sports field, encouraging others to speak up when they were suffering. He’d partnered with mental health charities and starred in campaigns along with other notable celebrities and fellow sports personalities. It was an unsuspecting move by someone who rarely gave any public interviews unless it was sports related but the press lapped it up.

What you didn’t expect to see was him being the guest speaker at a panel you had planned to leave halfway through. You’ve already found yourself at the bar by the end of it though, nursing an overpriced cocktail that you probably could’ve made at home. The people around you networking and chatting, probably about nothing of substance so they could probably get brownie points and connections on LinkedIn. Maybe you should make the most of this panel and secure some connections that may come to use in future.

But when that familiar crop of blond hair makes its way through the crowd, turning down pictures and autographs from fans to head towards you. You realise that you had other goals in mind that you wanted to achieve. The former patient that you had been lowkey keeping up with for almost a year had just fallen into your lap as a gift, you believe to be from the universe.

He leads you to a secluded spot, near his hotel away from the fans and the eager paparazzi. He buys you another drink as you sit opposite each other but this time you’re here on your own volition, so eager to be back in his web again.

“So how have you been?” you ask coolly, taking a sip of your drink. A cosmopolitan. A drink you never recalled telling him about but it was a nice coincidence nonetheless. You sit up, shrugging off your jacket, ready to hear about the things he’s been up to since the last time you met as if it was the first time you’ve heard of it all.

“Well I’ve been busy…” he begins before unfurling into a tangent about his current endeavours and you lap it all up. You keep supplying him with more questions, helping you satiate your fix on all things Art.

Soon enough it’s hard to tell where your touch ends and where his begins. A gentle hand on your thigh later ghosts over your waist, pulling you closer to him when a group of friends stumble past you. You play it off, chalking it down to him just being polite. However Art is relentless in his pursuit for your affection, you’d finally entered his orbit and he wasn’t going to let you walk away.

“Stay,” He murmurs, pulling you closer to him. Feeling him this close to you, your skin, your body was making your brain short circuit. Usually you weren’t the type to comply with the wants of men and their desires but why did he make it sound so good? He watches you toy with the idea in your mind, the battle between logic and hazy desire fanned by the flames of the cosmopolitans you necked down moments before ever present on your face.

“I don't think–I mean you’re…and I just can’t.” You shut him down, logic seemingly winning the battles of wills this time. He watches you stand on your feet, fishing through your purse for your phone so you could call an Uber to your hotel across town. You eventually find your phone just for it to be dead. Art can’t thank the Lord that he stopped believing long ago enough, making a silent vow to attend service when he has the time.

“Shit.” You nervously rock on the balls of your feet, unsure of what to do. Sure, you could be stubborn and ask any of the other patrons to borrow their phones to book a taxi home or you could swallow your pride and take him up on his offer.

He knows what you’ll choose.

The elevator dings once you reach the 16th floor luxury suite with Art in tow. He lets you in with a swipe of his keycard and you take a second to marvel at what his tennis earnings had gotten him. The room was spacious, a massive upgrade compared to the hotel you were staying in across town. You wondered if his wife and daughter were around but a quick sweep of the room said otherwise, he came here alone.

“Can I take these off for you?” You don't even notice him kneeling before you, shirt slightly unbuttoned and his hair slightly tousled. His hand running up and down your leg awaiting your command. It’s hard to say no to him when he looks up at you, his eyes full of need and looking eager to please.

You nodded, giving him the green light to lose yourself in the pleasure that he was offering you in the moment. He takes off your heels, trailing kisses up your leg, maintaining eye contact with you throughout. You squirm at the ticklish sensation that his stubble leaves against your skin.

“Gorgeous,” He whispers against your skin, his large calloused hands running over your thighs, slowly hiking up your skirt.

He pulls off your panties with ease, taking a moment to marvel at your soaked core that was weeping just for him, just for his touch. Art takes a tentative swipe at your folds, not missing the strangled whine that left your lips. He feels heady with power, knowing that him alone has got you this worked up. He wastes no time getting acquainted with your pussy, his tongue circling your clit whilst he slowly works you open with his fingers, stretching you out, one finger at a time.

He glances up at you and seeing you in that state, mouth hanging open and your brows knitted as he continued to eat you out like a man starved was enough to make his cock twitch. It didn’t help that your manicured nails that were currently gripping his hair were pulling him deeper into your cunt, your hips bucking up, shamelessly wanting more of him.

Your legs started to tremble from Art’s ministrations but his arm kept you firm against the bed, leaving you no room to escape him. Your cries fell on deaf ears whilst he nestled between your thighs, getting comfortable as he sucked and slurped your juices without a care in the world. He knew he was getting greedy but he couldn’t help it, not when he was finally living out the same fantasies he got off to every night.

It was hard to think about the ethics and morality of this situation when he was eating you out like he had something to prove. “You’re doing so good,” You praised him, not even knowing what you were saying at this point. You just wanted him to keep giving you that constant pleasure that you’d been craving for.

“You mean it?” He panted, pressing a chaste kiss to your inner thigh. Art didn’t have to be asked twice, already sucking on your clit whilst stretching you open with his fingers. The cool metal of his wedding band against your pussy makes you shiver slightly. It was all getting too much. From the sounds he was making, to the way he was shamelessly rutting his hips into the sheets—you knew you weren’t going to last long.

White hot pleasure ripped through your body as you finally came, sending shockwaves through your body as you gushed all over him. He finally came up, licking off the last of your juices with a grin.

“Best pussy I’ve ever tasted.” He said, pressing kisses to your inner thighs which made you shiver slightly, still reeling from the mind numbing orgasm you had just a few seconds ago.

Art fucks you with a fervor that speaks of passion and slight desperation that only a man who hasn’t touched his wife has. His movements are rushed, hurried like this’ll be a cruel dream if he doesn’t bury himself inside you soon and subconsciously utters words of love and affection that you know is meant to be for his wife.

You didn’t expect this sexual encounter to trigger an emotional response but as you made contact with the man that was bringing you to the edge of release through lidded eyes, you could tell this was more than physical for him.

“We could always have baby number two, like you said,” he muttered but it wasn’t to you. His eyes were glazed and his pupils were wide as saucers, like he could feel Tashi’s essence in this room which lowkey concerned you. Well at least he still loved his wife even if he was balls deep inside of you.

You tuned out his babble and focused on your own pleasure that he was giving you.

You were arriving at the pinnacle of pure pleasure and Art looked increasingly determined. His hips were snapping into you, knocking the wind out of your chest and turning you into cock hungry machine who’s sole goal was mind numbing pleasure.

“Come for me sweetheart,” he rasped, his blue eyes darkening whilst he watched another orgasm rip right through you, sending you spiralling. This was an image he was gonna have on repeat for the next time he got lonely. He followed soon after, finishing with a groan before tying up his condom and throwing it away.

He joined you on the bed, slumping down beside you and pulling you closer to him. “You were better than I imagined,” he pressed a chaste kiss on the top of your head before falling into a deep slumber.

You didn’t stay for long. Not even

Once your phone was charged and your clothes were back on, you drafted a quick text to your friend who’d been blowing up your phone since you went dark. It was full of typos and your message was all over the place but it was nothing you couldn’t polish up once you got in your Uber back to your hotel room.

You hated dealing with all those awkward conversations and emotions after hooking up with someone and the complex golden boy was no exception to that rule either.

After all, you both got what you wanted in the end. He got a quick fix and you’d gotten a quick fuck.

Win win.

[residentevilnet]

Resident Evil 4 (2005)

So, it is true. You… working with Wesker.

[megumimania]

A BAND-AID SOLUTION — art donaldson

summary: with his marriage on the rocks and his self esteem in the gutter, art clings onto the next best thing—his therapist.

pairing: art donaldson x fem!reader

warnings/tags: 2.9k words, 18+ content (mdni), male masturbation, oral (f receiving), p in v sex, slight praise kink, therapist!reader, infidelity, everyone’s cheating, fucked up and dgaf, tashi and Patrick mention, art isnt well but you knew that, pls don’t shag your therapists

a/n: can you believe I started writing this fic in September of last year 😭, crazy but happy belated challengers anniversary!! and shout out to @baelatargs who read every iteration of this fic, love youuuu <3

Art shouldn’t be falling for you so hard.

Yet when you look at him with such empathy and understanding whilst he talks about the impact of his current losing streak and his recurrent injuries had on his career and mental health, he feels seen. In a way even his own wife fails to acknowledge, you see him at his most basal form. Not as the famed athlete, the beacon of tennis that the media hails him to be nor the ambassador of the many brands he can’t be seen without. Just as Art.

Pathetic.

Is what Tashi would say whilst they argued, hushed and with all the doors closed so Lily would have some semblance of a normal childhood. As if touring with a child across the world and spending most of their formative years away playing professional tennis on the world stage was anything normal people did. Art knew Tashi loved him in her own way and the dedication she showed to better his career was the biggest act of love she had displayed to him.

But it didn’t mean that their relationship wasn’t fraught.

Things between them were cold, sterile, almost clinical; it felt like when Lily wasn’t there. The only warmth that was present in her demeanour was when she spoke about her daughter or when the press asked her how she felt about her husband’s latest win at the tournament that just elapsed. Never was it about him, the questions asked about their personal life being evaded with a grace that brought PR firms and its representatives to shame.

So Art chose to seek solace elsewhere.

Not on the dating apps or the countless influencers and models in his DMs—that was cheating in his book. He preferred to sit in your plush yet inviting office once a week and open up to the only person who couldn’t really judge him. You’d be there with your pen and notebook in your hand, trying to sort out the embellished details from the facts, allowing him to express his emotions and feelings whilst challenging his beliefs.

It was simple, textbook stuff really.

He saw it as a nice contrast but he preferred the validation more. His faults and errors that you’d pointed out that he should work on being a mere ripple in the vast pool of validation that he’d been receiving. That was all he wanted. To feel like he did a good job, not as a tennis player, but as a father, a husband, hell even a person. Just hearing that you were proud of him after he told you about how he completed the homework you set him was enough to keep him going.

You were gorgeous, albeit a few years younger but the knowledge and expertise you held was beyond your years. In his opinion it was one of the things he found the most attractive about you. You always knew what to say that made him feel better, like a healing balm for his soul that was splintered and frayed by the ever demanding world of professional tennis and his personal life.

The sessions became less frequent as he progressed, going from weekly, fortnightly and now monthly. Art now had an itch he couldn’t scratch. Seeing you monthly wasn’t enough for him. He got obsessive, spending his nights reading about your achievements on LinkedIn or scrolling on your Instagram that wasn’t private, seeing the life you lived outside of the business casual outfits you donned to the office.

He spent his nights in the guest room, his hand wrapped around his cock, the cool metal of his wedding band rubbing against his shaft. Your voice from the recent therapy session that you so innocuously allowed him to record for his own betterment, filling his headphones.

His mind wanders to how’d you feel beneath him, how’d he’ll feel inside you and would you speak to him in that honeyed tone, the one that is currently spurring him on right now? The one that makes him feel validated and secure? And when you say his name, he comes on cue—hot ropes of cum spilling over his hand and stomach, his groans muffled by his hand to not wake his daughter and wife who are sleeping a couple doors down.

When the high subsides and the post-nut clarity hits him, his skin shining in a light sheen of sweat as he catches his breath, Tashi’s words ring resonant in his mind. He truly is pathetic. Jerking off to his therapist, like a horny teenager. He ought to feel shame, he was a family man after all, who swore a vow of marriage to his Tashi all those years ago but things weren’t the same anymore. Besides, he wanted to have a little bit of fun too. If she could have Patrick, he could have you.

Art knew that you’d never make a move. Too many ethical guidelines would be breached and one thing you prided yourself on was having strict boundaries, his subtle flirty remarks bulletproof against your professional demeanour. So he purposely let himself go, regressing to a worse form that differed from when you first met him.

Now he was a man riddled with a toxic cocktail of jealousy, paranoia and insecurity at a level that you now couldn’t handle. After the last session where your attempt to challenge his beliefs about his wife’s supposed infidelity fell on deaf ears, you referred him to another therapist—one that would be more adequate to deal with his needs, one that may be able to finally get through to him.

After his referral, you found yourself thinking about him more than you should and it didn’t help that he was lauded and posted up everywhere. You found him intriguing, a man riddled by paranoia, jealousy and insecurity despite his professional and personal caveats. Against your better judgment and ethics, you ended up emailing his current therapist, Dr. Mellich , about his wellbeing. She gave you limited updates, which was nothing you could glean from.

He looked to be in better spirits, from what you gathered from his post match interviews that were always playing in the office. Dr. Mellich was really a miracle worker, the elation was ever present on his face as he recalled his emotions at the time of beating his opponent and qualifying to the round of 16—A feat for somebody who had the pundits saying that it was time for him to hang up his rackets after a terrible last season.

Things seemed to be looking up for Art. He and Tashi looked less like they hated each other and were more amicable with one another in public, hand-holding and the embraces being enough to quell the divorce rumours. He also became a brand ambassador for a watch brand that he was supposed to care about but it was all the same to him. Yet despite his successes, you still ruminated in the back corners of his mind, your strategies becoming a part of his daily regimen. It was like he had a piece of you all along and he wasn’t planning on letting go.

Art started to attend and speak at mental health panels, sharing the importance of getting help, especially in the sports field, encouraging others to speak up when they were suffering. He’d partnered with mental health charities and starred in campaigns along with other notable celebrities and fellow sports personalities. It was an unsuspecting move by someone who rarely gave any public interviews unless it was sports related but the press lapped it up.

What you didn’t expect to see was him being the guest speaker at a panel you had planned to leave halfway through. You’ve already found yourself at the bar by the end of it though, nursing an overpriced cocktail that you probably could’ve made at home. The people around you networking and chatting, probably about nothing of substance so they could probably get brownie points and connections on LinkedIn. Maybe you should make the most of this panel and secure some connections that may come to use in future.

But when that familiar crop of blond hair makes its way through the crowd, turning down pictures and autographs from fans to head towards you. You realise that you had other goals in mind that you wanted to achieve. The former patient that you had been lowkey keeping up with for almost a year had just fallen into your lap as a gift, you believe to be from the universe.

He leads you to a secluded spot, near his hotel away from the fans and the eager paparazzi. He buys you another drink as you sit opposite each other but this time you’re here on your own volition, so eager to be back in his web again.

“So how have you been?” you ask coolly, taking a sip of your drink. A cosmopolitan. A drink you never recalled telling him about but it was a nice coincidence nonetheless. You sit up, shrugging off your jacket, ready to hear about the things he’s been up to since the last time you met as if it was the first time you’ve heard of it all.

“Well I’ve been busy…” he begins before unfurling into a tangent about his current endeavours and you lap it all up. You keep supplying him with more questions, helping you satiate your fix on all things Art.

Soon enough it’s hard to tell where your touch ends and where his begins. A gentle hand on your thigh later ghosts over your waist, pulling you closer to him when a group of friends stumble past you. You play it off, chalking it down to him just being polite. However Art is relentless in his pursuit for your affection, you’d finally entered his orbit and he wasn’t going to let you walk away.

“Stay,” He murmurs, pulling you closer to him. Feeling him this close to you, your skin, your body was making your brain short circuit. Usually you weren’t the type to comply with the wants of men and their desires but why did he make it sound so good? He watches you toy with the idea in your mind, the battle between logic and hazy desire fanned by the flames of the cosmopolitans you necked down moments before ever present on your face.

“I don't think–I mean you’re…and I just can’t.” You shut him down, logic seemingly winning the battles of wills this time. He watches you stand on your feet, fishing through your purse for your phone so you could call an Uber to your hotel across town. You eventually find your phone just for it to be dead. Art can’t thank the Lord that he stopped believing long ago enough, making a silent vow to attend service when he has the time.

“Shit.” You nervously rock on the balls of your feet, unsure of what to do. Sure, you could be stubborn and ask any of the other patrons to borrow their phones to book a taxi home or you could swallow your pride and take him up on his offer.

He knows what you’ll choose.

The elevator dings once you reach the 16th floor luxury suite with Art in tow. He lets you in with a swipe of his keycard and you take a second to marvel at what his tennis earnings had gotten him. The room was spacious, a massive upgrade compared to the hotel you were staying in across town. You wondered if his wife and daughter were around but a quick sweep of the room said otherwise, he came here alone.

“Can I take these off for you?” You don't even notice him kneeling before you, shirt slightly unbuttoned and his hair slightly tousled. His hand running up and down your leg awaiting your command. It’s hard to say no to him when he looks up at you, his eyes full of need and looking eager to please.

You nodded, giving him the green light to lose yourself in the pleasure that he was offering you in the moment. He takes off your heels, trailing kisses up your leg, maintaining eye contact with you throughout. You squirm at the ticklish sensation that his stubble leaves against your skin.

“Gorgeous,” He whispers against your skin, his large calloused hands running over your thighs, slowly hiking up your skirt.

He pulls off your panties with ease, taking a moment to marvel at your soaked core that was weeping just for him, just for his touch. Art takes a tentative swipe at your folds, not missing the strangled whine that left your lips. He feels heady with power, knowing that him alone has got you this worked up. He wastes no time getting acquainted with your pussy, his tongue circling your clit whilst he slowly works you open with his fingers, stretching you out, one finger at a time.

He glances up at you and seeing you in that state, mouth hanging open and your brows knitted as he continued to eat you out like a man starved was enough to make his cock twitch. It didn’t help that your manicured nails that were currently gripping his hair were pulling him deeper into your cunt, your hips bucking up, shamelessly wanting more of him.

Your legs started to tremble from Art’s ministrations but his arm kept you firm against the bed, leaving you no room to escape him. Your cries fell on deaf ears whilst he nestled between your thighs, getting comfortable as he sucked and slurped your juices without a care in the world. He knew he was getting greedy but he couldn’t help it, not when he was finally living out the same fantasies he got off to every night.

It was hard to think about the ethics and morality of this situation when he was eating you out like he had something to prove. “You’re doing so good,” You praised him, not even knowing what you were saying at this point. You just wanted him to keep giving you that constant pleasure that you’d been craving for.

“You mean it?” He panted, pressing a chaste kiss to your inner thigh. Art didn’t have to be asked twice, already sucking on your clit whilst stretching you open with his fingers. The cool metal of his wedding band against your pussy makes you shiver slightly. It was all getting too much. From the sounds he was making, to the way he was shamelessly rutting his hips into the sheets—you knew you weren’t going to last long.

White hot pleasure ripped through your body as you finally came, sending shockwaves through your body as you gushed all over him. He finally came up, licking off the last of your juices with a grin.

“Best pussy I’ve ever tasted.” He said, pressing kisses to your inner thighs which made you shiver slightly, still reeling from the mind numbing orgasm you had just a few seconds ago.

Art fucks you with a fervor that speaks of passion and slight desperation that only a man who hasn’t touched his wife has. His movements are rushed, hurried like this’ll be a cruel dream if he doesn’t bury himself inside you soon and subconsciously utters words of love and affection that you know is meant to be for his wife.

You didn’t expect this sexual encounter to trigger an emotional response but as you made contact with the man that was bringing you to the edge of release through lidded eyes, you could tell this was more than physical for him.

“We could always have baby number two, like you said,” he muttered but it wasn’t to you. His eyes were glazed and his pupils were wide as saucers, like he could feel Tashi’s essence in this room which lowkey concerned you. Well at least he still loved his wife even if he was balls deep inside of you.

You tuned out his babble and focused on your own pleasure that he was giving you.

You were arriving at the pinnacle of pure pleasure and Art looked increasingly determined. His hips were snapping into you, knocking the wind out of your chest and turning you into cock hungry machine who’s sole goal was mind numbing pleasure.

“Come for me sweetheart,” he rasped, his blue eyes darkening whilst he watched another orgasm rip right through you, sending you spiralling. This was an image he was gonna have on repeat for the next time he got lonely. He followed soon after, finishing with a groan before tying up his condom and throwing it away.

He joined you on the bed, slumping down beside you and pulling you closer to him. “You were better than I imagined,” he pressed a chaste kiss on the top of your head before falling into a deep slumber.

You didn’t stay for long. Not even

Once your phone was charged and your clothes were back on, you drafted a quick text to your friend who’d been blowing up your phone since you went dark. It was full of typos and your message was all over the place but it was nothing you couldn’t polish up once you got in your Uber back to your hotel room.

You hated dealing with all those awkward conversations and emotions after hooking up with someone and the complex golden boy was no exception to that rule either.

After all, you both got what you wanted in the end. He got a quick fix and you’d gotten a quick fuck.

Win win.

[megumimania]

A BAND-AID SOLUTION — art donaldson

summary: with his marriage on the rocks and his self esteem in the gutter, art clings onto the next best thing—his therapist.

pairing: art donaldson x fem!reader

warnings/tags: 2.9k words, 18+ content (mdni), male masturbation, oral (f receiving), p in v sex, slight praise kink, therapist!reader, infidelity, everyone’s cheating, fucked up and dgaf, tashi and Patrick mention, art isnt well but you knew that, pls don’t shag your therapists

a/n: can you believe I started writing this fic in September of last year 😭, crazy but happy belated challengers anniversary!! and shout out to @baelatargs who read every iteration of this fic, love youuuu <3

Art shouldn’t be falling for you so hard.

Yet when you look at him with such empathy and understanding whilst he talks about the impact of his current losing streak and his recurrent injuries had on his career and mental health, he feels seen. In a way even his own wife fails to acknowledge, you see him at his most basal form. Not as the famed athlete, the beacon of tennis that the media hails him to be nor the ambassador of the many brands he can’t be seen without. Just as Art.

Pathetic.

Is what Tashi would say whilst they argued, hushed and with all the doors closed so Lily would have some semblance of a normal childhood. As if touring with a child across the world and spending most of their formative years away playing professional tennis on the world stage was anything normal people did. Art knew Tashi loved him in her own way and the dedication she showed to better his career was the biggest act of love she had displayed to him.

But it didn’t mean that their relationship wasn’t fraught.

Things between them were cold, sterile, almost clinical; it felt like when Lily wasn’t there. The only warmth that was present in her demeanour was when she spoke about her daughter or when the press asked her how she felt about her husband’s latest win at the tournament that just elapsed. Never was it about him, the questions asked about their personal life being evaded with a grace that brought PR firms and its representatives to shame.

So Art chose to seek solace elsewhere.

Not on the dating apps or the countless influencers and models in his DMs—that was cheating in his book. He preferred to sit in your plush yet inviting office once a week and open up to the only person who couldn’t really judge him. You’d be there with your pen and notebook in your hand, trying to sort out the embellished details from the facts, allowing him to express his emotions and feelings whilst challenging his beliefs.

It was simple, textbook stuff really.

He saw it as a nice contrast but he preferred the validation more. His faults and errors that you’d pointed out that he should work on being a mere ripple in the vast pool of validation that he’d been receiving. That was all he wanted. To feel like he did a good job, not as a tennis player, but as a father, a husband, hell even a person. Just hearing that you were proud of him after he told you about how he completed the homework you set him was enough to keep him going.

You were gorgeous, albeit a few years younger but the knowledge and expertise you held was beyond your years. In his opinion it was one of the things he found the most attractive about you. You always knew what to say that made him feel better, like a healing balm for his soul that was splintered and frayed by the ever demanding world of professional tennis and his personal life.

The sessions became less frequent as he progressed, going from weekly, fortnightly and now monthly. Art now had an itch he couldn’t scratch. Seeing you monthly wasn’t enough for him. He got obsessive, spending his nights reading about your achievements on LinkedIn or scrolling on your Instagram that wasn’t private, seeing the life you lived outside of the business casual outfits you donned to the office.

He spent his nights in the guest room, his hand wrapped around his cock, the cool metal of his wedding band rubbing against his shaft. Your voice from the recent therapy session that you so innocuously allowed him to record for his own betterment, filling his headphones.

His mind wanders to how’d you feel beneath him, how’d he’ll feel inside you and would you speak to him in that honeyed tone, the one that is currently spurring him on right now? The one that makes him feel validated and secure? And when you say his name, he comes on cue—hot ropes of cum spilling over his hand and stomach, his groans muffled by his hand to not wake his daughter and wife who are sleeping a couple doors down.

When the high subsides and the post-nut clarity hits him, his skin shining in a light sheen of sweat as he catches his breath, Tashi’s words ring resonant in his mind. He truly is pathetic. Jerking off to his therapist, like a horny teenager. He ought to feel shame, he was a family man after all, who swore a vow of marriage to his Tashi all those years ago but things weren’t the same anymore. Besides, he wanted to have a little bit of fun too. If she could have Patrick, he could have you.

Art knew that you’d never make a move. Too many ethical guidelines would be breached and one thing you prided yourself on was having strict boundaries, his subtle flirty remarks bulletproof against your professional demeanour. So he purposely let himself go, regressing to a worse form that differed from when you first met him.

Now he was a man riddled with a toxic cocktail of jealousy, paranoia and insecurity at a level that you now couldn’t handle. After the last session where your attempt to challenge his beliefs about his wife’s supposed infidelity fell on deaf ears, you referred him to another therapist—one that would be more adequate to deal with his needs, one that may be able to finally get through to him.

After his referral, you found yourself thinking about him more than you should and it didn’t help that he was lauded and posted up everywhere. You found him intriguing, a man riddled by paranoia, jealousy and insecurity despite his professional and personal caveats. Against your better judgment and ethics, you ended up emailing his current therapist, Dr. Mellich , about his wellbeing. She gave you limited updates, which was nothing you could glean from.

He looked to be in better spirits, from what you gathered from his post match interviews that were always playing in the office. Dr. Mellich was really a miracle worker, the elation was ever present on his face as he recalled his emotions at the time of beating his opponent and qualifying to the round of 16—A feat for somebody who had the pundits saying that it was time for him to hang up his rackets after a terrible last season.

Things seemed to be looking up for Art. He and Tashi looked less like they hated each other and were more amicable with one another in public, hand-holding and the embraces being enough to quell the divorce rumours. He also became a brand ambassador for a watch brand that he was supposed to care about but it was all the same to him. Yet despite his successes, you still ruminated in the back corners of his mind, your strategies becoming a part of his daily regimen. It was like he had a piece of you all along and he wasn’t planning on letting go.

Art started to attend and speak at mental health panels, sharing the importance of getting help, especially in the sports field, encouraging others to speak up when they were suffering. He’d partnered with mental health charities and starred in campaigns along with other notable celebrities and fellow sports personalities. It was an unsuspecting move by someone who rarely gave any public interviews unless it was sports related but the press lapped it up.

What you didn’t expect to see was him being the guest speaker at a panel you had planned to leave halfway through. You’ve already found yourself at the bar by the end of it though, nursing an overpriced cocktail that you probably could’ve made at home. The people around you networking and chatting, probably about nothing of substance so they could probably get brownie points and connections on LinkedIn. Maybe you should make the most of this panel and secure some connections that may come to use in future.

But when that familiar crop of blond hair makes its way through the crowd, turning down pictures and autographs from fans to head towards you. You realise that you had other goals in mind that you wanted to achieve. The former patient that you had been lowkey keeping up with for almost a year had just fallen into your lap as a gift, you believe to be from the universe.

He leads you to a secluded spot, near his hotel away from the fans and the eager paparazzi. He buys you another drink as you sit opposite each other but this time you’re here on your own volition, so eager to be back in his web again.

“So how have you been?” you ask coolly, taking a sip of your drink. A cosmopolitan. A drink you never recalled telling him about but it was a nice coincidence nonetheless. You sit up, shrugging off your jacket, ready to hear about the things he’s been up to since the last time you met as if it was the first time you’ve heard of it all.

“Well I’ve been busy…” he begins before unfurling into a tangent about his current endeavours and you lap it all up. You keep supplying him with more questions, helping you satiate your fix on all things Art.

Soon enough it’s hard to tell where your touch ends and where his begins. A gentle hand on your thigh later ghosts over your waist, pulling you closer to him when a group of friends stumble past you. You play it off, chalking it down to him just being polite. However Art is relentless in his pursuit for your affection, you’d finally entered his orbit and he wasn’t going to let you walk away.

“Stay,” He murmurs, pulling you closer to him. Feeling him this close to you, your skin, your body was making your brain short circuit. Usually you weren’t the type to comply with the wants of men and their desires but why did he make it sound so good? He watches you toy with the idea in your mind, the battle between logic and hazy desire fanned by the flames of the cosmopolitans you necked down moments before ever present on your face.

“I don't think–I mean you’re…and I just can’t.” You shut him down, logic seemingly winning the battles of wills this time. He watches you stand on your feet, fishing through your purse for your phone so you could call an Uber to your hotel across town. You eventually find your phone just for it to be dead. Art can’t thank the Lord that he stopped believing long ago enough, making a silent vow to attend service when he has the time.

“Shit.” You nervously rock on the balls of your feet, unsure of what to do. Sure, you could be stubborn and ask any of the other patrons to borrow their phones to book a taxi home or you could swallow your pride and take him up on his offer.

He knows what you’ll choose.

The elevator dings once you reach the 16th floor luxury suite with Art in tow. He lets you in with a swipe of his keycard and you take a second to marvel at what his tennis earnings had gotten him. The room was spacious, a massive upgrade compared to the hotel you were staying in across town. You wondered if his wife and daughter were around but a quick sweep of the room said otherwise, he came here alone.

“Can I take these off for you?” You don't even notice him kneeling before you, shirt slightly unbuttoned and his hair slightly tousled. His hand running up and down your leg awaiting your command. It’s hard to say no to him when he looks up at you, his eyes full of need and looking eager to please.

You nodded, giving him the green light to lose yourself in the pleasure that he was offering you in the moment. He takes off your heels, trailing kisses up your leg, maintaining eye contact with you throughout. You squirm at the ticklish sensation that his stubble leaves against your skin.

“Gorgeous,” He whispers against your skin, his large calloused hands running over your thighs, slowly hiking up your skirt.

He pulls off your panties with ease, taking a moment to marvel at your soaked core that was weeping just for him, just for his touch. Art takes a tentative swipe at your folds, not missing the strangled whine that left your lips. He feels heady with power, knowing that him alone has got you this worked up. He wastes no time getting acquainted with your pussy, his tongue circling your clit whilst he slowly works you open with his fingers, stretching you out, one finger at a time.

He glances up at you and seeing you in that state, mouth hanging open and your brows knitted as he continued to eat you out like a man starved was enough to make his cock twitch. It didn’t help that your manicured nails that were currently gripping his hair were pulling him deeper into your cunt, your hips bucking up, shamelessly wanting more of him.

Your legs started to tremble from Art’s ministrations but his arm kept you firm against the bed, leaving you no room to escape him. Your cries fell on deaf ears whilst he nestled between your thighs, getting comfortable as he sucked and slurped your juices without a care in the world. He knew he was getting greedy but he couldn’t help it, not when he was finally living out the same fantasies he got off to every night.

It was hard to think about the ethics and morality of this situation when he was eating you out like he had something to prove. “You’re doing so good,” You praised him, not even knowing what you were saying at this point. You just wanted him to keep giving you that constant pleasure that you’d been craving for.

“You mean it?” He panted, pressing a chaste kiss to your inner thigh. Art didn’t have to be asked twice, already sucking on your clit whilst stretching you open with his fingers. The cool metal of his wedding band against your pussy makes you shiver slightly. It was all getting too much. From the sounds he was making, to the way he was shamelessly rutting his hips into the sheets—you knew you weren’t going to last long.

White hot pleasure ripped through your body as you finally came, sending shockwaves through your body as you gushed all over him. He finally came up, licking off the last of your juices with a grin.

“Best pussy I’ve ever tasted.” He said, pressing kisses to your inner thighs which made you shiver slightly, still reeling from the mind numbing orgasm you had just a few seconds ago.

Art fucks you with a fervor that speaks of passion and slight desperation that only a man who hasn’t touched his wife has. His movements are rushed, hurried like this’ll be a cruel dream if he doesn’t bury himself inside you soon and subconsciously utters words of love and affection that you know is meant to be for his wife.

You didn’t expect this sexual encounter to trigger an emotional response but as you made contact with the man that was bringing you to the edge of release through lidded eyes, you could tell this was more than physical for him.

“We could always have baby number two, like you said,” he muttered but it wasn’t to you. His eyes were glazed and his pupils were wide as saucers, like he could feel Tashi’s essence in this room which lowkey concerned you. Well at least he still loved his wife even if he was balls deep inside of you.

You tuned out his babble and focused on your own pleasure that he was giving you.

You were arriving at the pinnacle of pure pleasure and Art looked increasingly determined. His hips were snapping into you, knocking the wind out of your chest and turning you into cock hungry machine who’s sole goal was mind numbing pleasure.

“Come for me sweetheart,” he rasped, his blue eyes darkening whilst he watched another orgasm rip right through you, sending you spiralling. This was an image he was gonna have on repeat for the next time he got lonely. He followed soon after, finishing with a groan before tying up his condom and throwing it away.

He joined you on the bed, slumping down beside you and pulling you closer to him. “You were better than I imagined,” he pressed a chaste kiss on the top of your head before falling into a deep slumber.

You didn’t stay for long. Not even

Once your phone was charged and your clothes were back on, you drafted a quick text to your friend who’d been blowing up your phone since you went dark. It was full of typos and your message was all over the place but it was nothing you couldn’t polish up once you got in your Uber back to your hotel room.

You hated dealing with all those awkward conversations and emotions after hooking up with someone and the complex golden boy was no exception to that rule either.

After all, you both got what you wanted in the end. He got a quick fix and you’d gotten a quick fuck.

Win win.