SOLANA’S ON MY SPEAKER

AND THE TEARS WONT DRY

[megumimania]

TILL I’M ON YOUR MIND.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･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

[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.

[megumimania]

Finally finishing the art fic I started in November will be all yours soooon xooo

[megumimania]

[megumimania]

Finally finishing the art fic I started in November will be all yours soooon xooo

[underwhelmingalchemist]

Once again starting a new chain bc the old one was long af

Rules: Answer these questions and tag 20 some people you want to get to know

Tagged by @blueeyesblueties - thanks!

Name: [Redacted]

Nicknames: I use a different one on every platform, so I have many. Here just call me Alchem or Wolfie (nobody uses the second, which is understandable but boo)

Height: 5'9" (175cm)

Orientation: Queer

Ethnicity: White; a mix of a bunch of different European countries that I have a hard time keeping track of

Favorite Fruit: Ripe mangoes are nature's greatest gift to man

Favorite Season: Winter. Short daylight hours, cold weather, and sometimes rain is when I thrive.

Favorite Book Series: I usually just read stand-alone books as opposed to books series, tbh

Favorite Fictional Characters: I have. So many. Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson, Rowena MacLeod, Dean Winchester, Castiel, early seasons Sam Winchester, Hatsune Miku, Gumi, Tenna, Noelle Holiday, and honestly some of my OCs that I love way too much. That's not even really a complete list

A Fictional Character I’d Like As A Sibling: I've never thought about it, but I guess Sam Winchester? He'd definitely be a very solid, supportive brother to have

Favorite Flower: Sunflowers, all the way. They're so bright and happy ^_^ They're also my go-to to give to someone who needs a little bit of happiness in their day

Favorite Scent: I have a lot, especially bc I'm decently into perfumes and the like. I guess I'll go with my favorite perfume, which smells like a musty, old haunted house

Favorite Color: Rainbow!

Favorite Animals: Wolves, dogs (especially pitties), cats, snakes, I'm going to count spiders as an animal here, opossums, raccoons, rats, and a special shout-out to coyotes bc I have a close friend that's a coyote therian

Favorite Band/Artist: I'll be totally honest, I generally don't have much loyalty to any particular band or artist. I kind of just find songs I like and listen to them

Coffee, Tea, or Hot Cocoa: Hot cocoa

Average Sleep Hours: Either like two hours or ten, it all depends on how bad insomnia is kicking my ass that night

Number of Blankets You Sleep With: Two - a top sheet and a fluffy duvet cover. In the winter the duvet cover is over a 20lb weighted blanket

Dream Trip: Japan, specifically Harajuku! As someone really into alt, street, and jfashion, it would be so cool to spend some time there

Last Thing Googled: "Plural of 'series'"

Blog Created: This one was... early 2020 I think? My old, abandoned blog was created around 2013

How Many Blogs Followed: 361

Number of Followers: 1,538 (I don't know why that's so high either)

What Do You Usually Post About: My blog is like a scrapbook where I'm tearing pages out of magazines and pasting them on and scribbling my thoughts in the margin. There is no theme here

Do you get asks regularly: No :( I wish, I love asks

What’s your aesthetic: It varies too much to say

Tagging: @sam-wilsons-couch @foxisconfused @doctor-sexy223 @moonflowero1 @head-of-oncology @puppygirlsrituals and whoever else wants to do it!

[sam-wilsons-couch]

Tagged by @underwhelmingalchemist, thank you! :))

Name: Tas

Nicknames: Gimme one lol

Height: 4'10" (147cm) In other words, three apples tall

Orientation: Lesbian :)

Ethnicity: Brown, Asian

Favorite Fruit: hard to choose, mangoes, grapes, guavas, watermelons... lol

Favorite Season: Pretty much everything as long as I don't sweat my balls off

Favorite Book Series: answering this will get me doxxed lmfao. If we are talking fics, then I can go with AmItheAssholeNatural. Click on the link. Treat yourself to something good.

Favorite Fictional Characters: Vi from Arcane, and Dean Winchester and Castiel, of course.

A Fictional Character I’d Like As A Sibling: Jack Kline.

Favorite Flower: I can't choose. I love all the flowers. Should I post all the photos of flowers I've taken so far in here?

Favorite Scent: The scent Neutrogena Clear Face Oil-Free Sunscreen SPF 50 gives off. My girlfriend uses it, and I love the smell.

Favorite Color: Again, very hard to choose, I love all colors. I do lean more towards green, blue and pink clothing.

Favorite Animals: All of them, especially cats.

Favorite Band/Artist: Louis Tomlinson, Aurora, Chappell Roan, Gigi Perez. Been into BTS and Twenty One Pilots lately. Oh, and Linkin Park.

Coffee, Tea, or Hot Cocoa: Coffee

Average Sleep Hours: 4-10 hours

Number of Blankets You Sleep With: Not a single one currently, during winter, I need two.

Dream Trip: A trip around the globe, really. I want to go somewhere that's so full of green trees, blue water, and clear skies....

Last Thing Googled: about that sunscreen I mentioned lol.

Blog Created: July, 2022.

How Many Blogs Followed: 192

Number of Followers: 35

What Do You Usually Post About: Destiel all day, every day

Do you get asks regularly: No :( I want them though, as long as the asks are not hateful.

What’s your aesthetic: Dumpster raccoon

Tagging: @ashshadows001 @cas-gpt @shes-beauty-shes-ace @samwinjester @classic-cevans @peachyhalloween @spaghettinatural @tincar87 @werepire05 @iloveyoudeanwinchester. If anyone wants to be added or removed from the tags, let me know!

[werepire05]

Thanks for the tag! <3

Name: Zoe :)

Nicknames: Zee is my only one right now, but I'd like to have more.

Height: 5' 1"

Orientation: Agender, panromantic.

Ethnicity: White

Favorite Fruit: cantaloupe, yummy.

Favorite Season: SUMMER.

Favorite Book Series: I have NO idea

Favorite Fictional Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Castiel, and most of the people in Spn, Mario, Luigi, Rick Grimes, Carl Grimes, Michonne, Nimona, Jack Reacher, Spongebob, Anya (Spy x Family), Buster Scruggs, The whole bad guys team, Harvey Specter, Mike Ross, Gojo, The Baudelaire siblings, All of the characters in TADC, Arisu from Alice in Borderland, Sweet Tooth, Will Graham, Hannibal Lecter, The whole Cooper family from Young Sheldon, Jake Epping, Deku (MHA), Bakugo (MHA), Komi from (Komi cant communicate), Maggie (TWD), Hershel (TWD), Henry Danger. (that's it so far I can't think of any more.)

A Fictional Character I’d Like As A Sibling: Nimona

Favorite Flower: Red Rose

Favorite Scent: Home

Favorite Color: All of them

Favorite Animals: All of them but if I had to choose, Rabbits, and Cats.

Favorite Band/Artist: Tame Impala, Led Zeppelin, Pink Pantheress, The Marias, Gorillaz, Tyler The Creator, Radiohead.

Coffee, Tea, or Hot Cocoa: Coffee

Average Sleep Hours: It fluctuates often, right now it's around 4-8 hours depending on the night, but I do sleep throughout the day so I think if we're talking about just at night, i'd say 4 or 5 hours.

Number of Blankets You Sleep With: 2 at most.

Dream Trip: I don't really have one, but I'd say maybe New Zealand or Australia.

Last Thing Googled: was Buster Scruggs real?

Blog Created: Sometime in September last year.

How Many Blogs Followed: 922

Number of Followers: 290 (Wowie!)

What Do You Usually Post About: Supernatural

Do you get asks regularly: No (but I cherish the ones I get :3 )

What’s your aesthetic: Clothing wise? Casual/grungeish? In general I have no idea, or at least nothing specific.

Tags! @sirpompet @saltnburnbaby @anjee0

[sirpompet]

YAY I LOVE THESE THANK YOUU ZOE

Name: sirpompet

Nicknames: Nani, Talia, Angel

Height: 4’11

Orientation: bisexual, non-binary/genderqueer

Ethnicity: Latino

Favorite Fruit: mhhh strawberries n blueberries.

Favorite Season: fall spring winter. Summer sucks.. I like being able to go out but the heat.. plus I’m allergic to mosquitoes. So. I die.

Favorite Book Series: I don’t really read books/series but u do like the PJO books. SOO Good

Favorite Fictional Characters: *deep sigh* Castiel, Dean, Sam, Soldier boy, ticci toby, Nina the killer, Eyeless Jack, Keith, Kokichi, Shuichi, Will Graham, Asa Mitaka, Denji, Luz Noceda, Amity Blight, stiles stilinski, Scott McCall, Lydia, Cat Noir, Craig Tucker, Tweek Tweek, Ian gallagher, mickey milkovich, Dean Forster, SuperMan (2025), spencer reid, Natalie (yellow jackets), so much more..

A Fictional Character I’d Like As A Sibling: one?? Sam probably. Or Dean. Yah.

Favorite Flower: mhh to get? roses. To look at? Cherry blossoms!

Favorite Scent: fun fact. I lost my sense of smell during 2020 so I can’t smell a lot of perfumes. The mostly smell like chemicals, warm, fresh and clean. I do prefer “clean” smells which my friends say smell like flowers and citrious!

Favorite Color: I used to say all of them but I think blue?

Favorite Animals: CATSTT any feline + wolfs, hyenas

Favorite Band/Artist: gosh darn. A lot. Lana del rey, Chappell Roan, FOB, PTV, MCR, TV girl, Björk, tylor the creator, (Violent) Vira.. a lot.

Coffee, Tea, or Hot Cocoa: coffee :3

Average Sleep Hours: 3-5 it’s bad.

Number of Blankets You Sleep With: two. Main and my emotional support SPN blanket.

Dream Trip: Mexico, japan, and maybe New Orleans or Washington!

Last Thing Googled: (besides how to spell things in this list) Deans gun.

Blog Created: I am unsure how to check tha..

How Many Blogs Followed: 321!! (Mostly destiel)

Number of Followers: 597! (wOAH!? ThNK YOU!?)

What Do You Usually Post About: Supernatural/destiel.. my favorite boys…

Do you get asks regularly: SOMETIMES! Sometimes people just talk to me and I don’t really know how to respond? If i should??? I don’t know Tumblr eduque but I read all of them and love them I swear.

What's your aesthetic: ermm alt? I used to be more alt but I dress a lot more casually rn bc I have school. But my hair and makeup make up for it :3

(No pressure tags this is a lot of personal info so yah @lockedintheimpala @saltcirclesigil )

[saltcirclesigil]

Eee thanks u for the tag @sirpompet muah muah

Blog Name: Saltcirclesigil

Name: Fawn

Height: 5”6

Orientation: Cishet 4now (I’m still figuring it out)

Ethnicity: Half European half Asian

Fav fruit: Cherries & Pineapples

Fav Season: Winter

Fav Book Series: Silence of the Lambs!!

Fav Fictional Characters: Sam, Dean, Castiel, Soldier Boy, Will Graham, Campbell Bain, Crowley (good omens), Debra Morgan, Sherlock Holmes

Fictional Character I’d want as a sibling: Dean but as a big brother in law :3

Fav Flower: Blue Roses!

Fav Scent: The ocean/rain/sweets

Fav color(s): Baby pink, green, light teal

Fav Animals: Deer (I was named after them) and fish!

Fav Band/Artist: 3OH3!, Crystal Castles, Snow Strippers, Alex G, Blondie, Tally Hall, The Ronettes, Glenn Miller, Queen, Beach House, Russ Morgan, The Caretaker

Tea/Coffee/Cocoa: Iced coffee

Avg Sleep: 3-4 hrs. I’m a busy girl…

Number of Blankets: 7. I can’t sleep unless I’m crushed by the weight of the blankets

Dream Trip: idk!

Last thing googled: Tumblr.com

Blog Created: uhhh December 2025

Blogs Following: 53(?) I keep forgetting to follow ppl back I’m really sorry…

Number of Followers: 250

What do I post abt: fanfics and a lottt of spn

Do I get asks regularly: I WISHHHHH but I always make sure to be super extra nice to the kind people in my inbox bc it really does mean a lot to me when I read them!

What’s my Aesthetic: Scene! I can’t go all out clothes wise because of acting stuff but when I get the chance to, I do! I also align with alt politics which is the most important part. I also really like vintage Americana but It’s hard for me to find good outfits in that style :(

@slashedgutz @cantchooseafav @reginaphalangelobster @saltnburnbaby

[reginaphalangelobster]

Tysm of the tag!! This was so fun <3

☁︎ Name: Nunya. Nunya Business (I'm sorry I love that joke lol)

☁︎ Nicknames: Lobster and as of yesterday, Regilob, which is starting to grow on me <3

☁︎ Height: 6'4 (I think I need to check that, it may be 6'3)

☁︎ Orientation: Cisgender Female - Bisexual with an affinity for fictional older men

☁︎ Ethnicity: White as fuuuuu- sorry lol, I'm white enough that when I go in the sun, I'm burnt in 10 minutes. Primarily Australian, quarter Dutch, a bit English and British bits and pieces (a touch of Welsh and Scottish I think and possibly Irish idk)

☁︎ Favourite Fruit: Strawberries!!

☁︎ Favourite Season: Winter, I love misery

☁︎ Favourite Book Series: I have zero attention span so I can't read a single book lol, my apologies

☁︎ Fictional Character I'd Want As A Sibling: I'm thinking Steve Rogers, I feel like he'd be such a great big brother

☁︎ Favourite Flower: THERES SO MANY!!! Ummm.....black calla lilies are beautifully dramatic 🖤

☁︎ Favourite Scent: Ooooh....green tea maybe?

☁︎ Favourite Colour: Purple

☁︎ Favourite Animals: DOGS!!! Cats too but my bitches are my sweethearts <333

☁︎ Favourite Band/Artist: Don't do this to me....rn I've been obsessed with TALK

☁︎ Average Sleep Time: Fuck off. Anywhere from 3-8 hours?? Idk, I get 6-7 on a regular night but I always wake up super tired

☁︎ Coffee, Tea or Cocoa: Hot chocolate....and Milo, depending on the weather

☁︎ Number of Blankets: 1 at all times but my sweet spot is about 3

☁︎ Dream Trip: WALES!!! All of the UK, some of Europe and the fatherland (Holland) also Norway and Germany & Belgium

☁︎ Last Thing Googled: when does connie break up with john sturgis

☁︎ Blog Created: Late December of 2024

☁︎ Blogs Following: 171

☁︎ Number of Followers: Ye shall find out soon enough if I get figure out an event for my next milestone!

☁︎ What Do I Post About: Looootttsss of fics and random (everyday) shitposting

☁︎ Do I Get Asks Regularly: Yes!! Especially from my lovely mutual Clem!

☁︎ What's My Aesthetic: NO IDEA - Dean Winchester. That's the most comfortable I feel idk - I also like pretty dresses sooooo yeah, Dean

☁︎ No Pressure Tags: @clemeowntine @dontlistentodaisy @mythandmemories @ambiguous-avery @theraynecries @radioshepard @scandalscontained

[clemeowntine]

yayayay ty for the tag lobster!!

name: you can call me angel

nicknames: clem and clemeow

height: 5’4 or 5’5

orientation: omni and under the ace umbrella i think

ethnicity: white and arab

favorite fruit: watermelon!!! i love watermelon so so much

favorite season: gotta say fall, i’m a sucker for 50-60 degree weather

favorite book series: ummm i couldn’t tell you the last time i read a book series. my favorite fic series tho is “Time after Time”

favorite fictional characters: dean, sam, castiel, charlie, bobby, jody, donna, beau, mark, ben, butcher, terror (do we see a pattern here)

fictional character i’d like as a sibling: charlie, i love her so much and i just know she’d be the best older sister

favorite flower: bluebells, i have a lot of fond memories involving them :]

favorite scent: umm for perfumes, honey and coconut. it’s a toss up between those 2

favorite color: pink and blue

favorite animal: cats!! i have 2 cats i love them dearly :3

favorite band/artist: i have too many this isn’t fair, i’ll give you my top 5 instead (not in order). radio company, julia wolf, beabadoobee, pierce the veil, lil peep

coffee, tea, or hot cocoa: tea, specifically an iced chai latte? mmm yum!! i do love me some hot cocoa with marshmallows tho

average sleep hours: 4-14 and yes i’m being so deadass

number of blankets you sleep with: 1 at all times but up to 3 in the winter

dream trip: palestine, i hope to go one day when they’re free from the occupation

last thing googled: smoke png

blog created: umm late 2025 i think

how many blogs followed: 41

number of followers: 23, i had to block 2 people :(

what do you usually post about: anything and everything. mostly complaining or talking about how much i want that old man. i’ll post a drabble once every blue moon

do you get asks regularly: sometimes… not regularly enough for my liking!! blow up my inbox please!!! literally just yap about random things talk to me!!

what’s your aesthetic: blog aesthetic? comfy cozy animal themed. irl aesthetic? i have no idea…

no pressure tags: @princegabriel0096 @fiourandfiower @violained @mythandmemories @i-gotta-go-so-much-bigger

[i-gotta-go-so-much-bigger]

Thank you for the tag Angel 😽 this was so fun. It’s long but I’m a yapper

this took so long because 1. I was lazy 2. Tumblr deleted my first version 😖

Name: nuh uh not yet pookie

Nickname(s): on tumblr, Dreamer and Bigger. Everywhere else online, Waffle

Height: 5’5 or 161.1 cm

Orientation: Bisexual and somewhere on the ace spectrum

Ethnicity: African American

Favorite fruit: I love most fruit. Tops are Nectarines, Strawberries, Pineapple, Watermelon and Grapes

Favorite season: Fall, here in the Pacific Northwest it gives Supernatural vibes

Favorite book series: The Raven Cycle by Maggie Stiefvater. Literally my Roman Empire. Go read it I’ll lover you forever

Favorite fictional characters: (this list could be its own post, coming soon maybe?) Sam Winchester, Starfire, Cloak and Dagger, Blue Sargent, symmetra, Gekko, colossus, Leon Kennedy, Inej Ghafa, etc

Fictional character I’d want as a sibling: for a brother Nick Nelson and for a sister Angelica Schuyler

Favorite flower: Hydrangeas, they remind me of my Papa 🥺

Favorite scent: for summer/spring my perfume is 7 summers by dime. Fall/winter I wear eilish 3. And if I don’t want to wear perfume I wear the ouai body spray in st barts or Snif in Berry Styles

Favorite color: purples, Sage and Forest green

Favorite animal: my dog (duh) and Pallas cats

Favorite band/artist: Billie eilish and The Neighbourhood

Coffee, tea, or hot cocoa: Coffee, and it’s gotta be Iced no matter what

Average sleep hours: 5-12 hours depending on the day

Number of blankets you sleep with: normally one, up to 3 in the winter. I have 4 on my bed. A cooling blanket, a weighted blanket, a queen sized throw and a regular throw (I don’t have a comforter because my room gets too hot so I resort to blanket piles)

Dream trip: Tokyo, Greece, Paris. Really anywhere outside the USA. I wanna explore

Last thing googled: I use 3 search engines so.

1. Dandadan

2. klay thompson (fuck you Megan deserved way better u ugly ass mf)

3. The War for Kaleb, a comic about anxiety my mom’s ex-coworker made! If you want a deeper explanation about it I’ll totally make a post about it. I linked a article about it please check it out

Blog created: made it in 2024 I think or early 2025. Only recently started using it like 3/4 months ago?

How many blogs followed: an embarrassing amount. I need to do a clean out

Number of followers: 84!

What do you regularly post about: fandoms, things I enjoy, talking to my mooties, and reblogging fanfic

Do you get asks regularly: somewhat but mostly when I ask for some. I’d like more just because I’m a yapper

What’s your aesthetic: irl it’s comfort. Leggings, graphic tees, and hoodies, definitely type b kinda vibes going on here. On tumblr I just matched my profile picture and went with the flow

No pressure tags! @sozzoe @cherryvvave @pixelbfs @iridescentlightshow @irisgrrl @saturnst4rs @teklarn @gr0und-zer00 + anyone else who would like to join 😽

[irisgrrl]

this looks like so much fun, but it's sooo long damn

name: private data🤫

nickname: connected to my real name

height: 163 cm and it's around 5'4 - 5'3

orientation: most likely asexual and biromantic

ethnicity: crimean tatar (turkic)

favourite fruit: fig and pear

favourite book series: if you asked me at 13-15 i would say harry potter, but now it's none lol (i really wanna read hunger games, the folk of the air and shadow and bone tho)

favourite fictional characters: suguru geto, natasha romanoff, selina kyle, harvey dent. the list goes on

fictional character i'd want as a sibling: have no idea, peter parker maybe

favourite flower: orchid

favourite scent: currently "good girl" by carolina herrera

favourite colour: turquoise, violet and dark red

favourite animal: probably siamese cat

favourite band/artist: lana del rey and deftones

coffee, tea or hot cocoa: black tea with milk

average sleep hours: 4-10 hours maybe

number of blankets you sleep with: one thin for warm weather and thick for cold. if i'm freezing, i will also add a blanket i cover my bedsheets with

dream trip: italy, morocco, tibet, japan and new zealand

last thing googled: gachiakuta

blog created: in 2024, but started using it as a writer in 2025

how many blogs followed: 153

number of followers: 213

what do you regularly post about: my writing, reblogs of fics and shitposting

do you get asks regularly: no, i unfortunately don't, mostly if it's an asking game

what's your aesthetic: right now dark circles around eyes, low rise jeans, doc martens/sneakers, mess in the room. also type b lol

no pressure tags: @cup1dssorrow @champagnesbiggestproblem @starr-jazz @t1mbits @cherryvvave @bloomcissa @sakunai + anyone who wanna join in!

[sakunai]

good god this is lengthy

name : super duper top secret, i will leave الإسكندرية here though bc that’s close enough

nickname : dria , alexei , many many many nicknames

height : 4’11 / 5’0

orientation : queer (chronic girl kisser)

ethnicity : afro-indian (caribbean)

favorite fruit : grapes, strawberries

favorite book series : a song of ice and fire i eat sleep and breathe grrm’s geopolitics and lore , also do anaïs nin’s journals count?

favorite fictional characters : TOO MANY !! but i’ll just put naruto uzumaki, sakura haruno, dick grayson, yuuji itadori and daenerys targaryen

fictional character i’d want as a sibling : non!voldemort au tom riddle and maybe bruce wayne

favorite flower : hibiscus , tulips

favorite scent : raffinée by houbigant and whatever my mom smells like

favorite color : blue , in every shade maybe

favorite animal : i can’t pick i really adore all animals... maybe horses?

favorite band/artist : sade , leonard cohen , minnie riperton , gil scott heron , frank sinatra

coffee, tea or hot cocoa : teas and hot chocolate both with way too much milk

average sleep hours : anywhere between 3-8 hours

number of blankets you sleep with : two , one is a bedding cover or under-blanket and the other is a comforter

dream trip : ireland , mongolia , senegal , china , italy , etc

last thing googled : criterion collection - films - sort by spine

blog created : 2022 , turned writing blog in 2023

how many blogs followed : 31

number of followers : 1.7k

what do you regularly post about : jjk & dc fics (mostly dc now) + personal yaps + character analyses & other misc fandom stuff

do you get asks regularly : no, usually from mooties maybe

what’s your aesthetic : crybaby cinnamoroll + baby blue + big curly hair + stacks of old journals + wool socks + old hollywood + warsan shire poetry + a dog showing its teeth (kindly)

no pressure tags : @kittentoki @4theloveoflotus @cindol @moviecritc @dorims

[cindol]

thx for the tag dria !

name — lowkey don’t wanna drop my irl name soooo cinny !

nicknames— cinny, cin, cinna, cinamoroll,

Height: 5’6/5’8

orientation: queer pansexual

ethnicity: as far as I know black american 🇺🇸 👸🏾

fave fruit: mango

fave book series: dork diaries(was always my fave as a kid and still is to this day !)

fave fictional characters: sooo many! But current faves are: jason Todd, Tim drake, Kyle rayner, Sukuna ryomen, dick grayson

Fictional character I’d want as a sibling: Barbara gordon(she gives me that older wise sister vibe)

Favorite flower: lilac

Favorite scent: any vanilla scented perfume

Favorite color: purple

Favorite animal: cat

Fave band/artists: ariana grande, beyonce, the neighborhood, tyler the creator, Kendrick Lamar

coffee, tea or hot cocoa: tea!

average sleep hours: hard to say with my fucked up sleep schedule

number of blankets you sleep with: 1

dream trip: France

Last thing I googled: what does kifukuku taste like

Blog created: 2023

How many blogs followed: 118

number of followers: 3.2K

what do u regularly post about: a mix of everything: fics, reblog of art and other writers fics, and mostly just yapping

do you get asks regularly: Nahh. from time to time! Just depends honestly loll

What’s your aesthetic: pink rockstar-ish nerd

tags : @irisgrrl @megumimania

[megumimania]

thanks cinny, I’m late asf to this party but!

name: I feel like you can get my real name from the nicknames I use only so yeah

nickname: vina/vi

height: 5”8

orientation: bisexual

ethnicity: congolese/black British — I identify as both!

fave fruit: grapes

fave book series: the legendborn series by Tracy Deonn

fave fictional characters: at the moment it’s Shoko, Gojo and Megumi from jjk as well as Dr Samira Mohan, Dr Parker Ellis and Dr Jack Abbot from the Pitt

fictional character I’d want as a sibling: probablyyy bree matthews, Penelope Garcia and Sydney from the bear and Jamal Lyon from empire

favourite flower: honeysuckle flowers

favourite scent: anything light but fragrant. strong scents do my head in

favourite colour: red

favourite animal: don’t have one

fave band/artists: Kelela, the sugababes, Ravyn Lenae, Beyonce, Snoh Aalegra, Tyla, Pinkpanthress and Drake

coffee, tea or hot cocoa: tea all the way!!🇬🇧🇬🇧

average sleep hours: idk the babe sorry, it varies LOOL

number of blankets you sleep with: 1

dream trip: drc, Haiti or guadeloupe

Last thing I googled: flights to Paris

Blog created: 2023

How many blogs followed: 169

number of followers: 746

what do you post about: it’s random asf but it’s a mix of my own fics and other fics I liked, fan art, anything I find cool and what’s on my mind

do you get asks regularly: nope

What’s your aesthetic: it changes a lot!

tags: @getoville @iheartshoko

[slutla]

warnings. 18+. f reader. satosugushoko x reader. (reader thinks she’s playing the trio but they r passing her around), noncon sharing of nudes/vids. ooc prob

Desire makes a mockery of morality, and you, ever susceptible to your impulses, lack the restraint to resist it. You justify it as human nature—that anyone would abandon their morals when sexually entangled with three unfairly attractive best friends, all kept in the dark about one another.

Lounging on Geto’s bed while he showers (You’ve decided he’s your pick for today), you stare up at the ceiling, wondering how you’ve made it this far without getting caught, without Gojo’s loud, insufferable mouth spilling it to Shoko and Geto.

The thought lingers only briefly before you roll onto your side, the mattress dipping under your weight. His phone is there, tethered to a cord on the nightstand. Deciding a game is the better way to kill time than to sit with your thoughts, you pick it up—only for the screen to light up. A message. From a group chat titled: “Stop changing the name.”

You scoff and enter his passcode without hesitation. You’ve seen him do it countless times. Four sevens. It always struck you as too simple for someone like Geto. Well, until you realized he’s anchored by sentiment. Gojo was born on the seventh of December; Shoko on the seventh of November. A tribute to the only people he trusts.

From Satoru Gojo:

Is she with you today, Suguru?

You blink dumbly, brain stalling and lungs tightening. Your acrylic nails clack against the glass as you scrub up the history. You stop at an attached video file, one that Shoko’s already seen and reacted to with a thumbs-up. The thumbnail is pitch black. You’re frozen, thumb hovering over the play button, skin clammy against the metal of his phone.

With a shaky hand, you press play. The video starts and your mouth goes agape, instantly. A close-up of your own cunt, your swollen folds pulled back and spread wide apart. You’re soaking, a glistening mess on the screen. Then Suguru’s cock slides into view. It’s thick and pretty with veins popping, the head flushed a deep purple and weeping pre-cum that dribbles down his shaft like tiny droplets on the glass of a window on a rainy day. He’s dragging the bruised tip of it right through your slit, over and over, painting his slick across your folds.

The messages below the video are arguably worse.

From Satoru Gojo:

She let me do the same shit Tuesday. Painted her whole pussy white. 10/10 for consistency, huh?

From Ieiri Shoko:

Stingy. Muted the audio when it’s the best part, you know how she gets when you hit the right spot.

Her words have your thighs pressing together, absentmindedly, and have you doing a double-take. Even Shoko, the one person you pegged as too rational, too sharp for this, is fully engaged.

Huh. Guess it doesn't matter how smart they are, everyone’s a degenerate once they’ve had a taste of you.

Your thumb is a blur, scrolling through a graveyard of blue bubbles and files. You’ve spent months meticulously curating these lives, keeping them on parallel tracks so they’d never bleed into each other. Only for them to have known the whole time.

You stop at a video from Shoko. You tap the play button, and the sound of your own voice fills the room. It’s from her perspective. You’re watching your own pussy being worked over, tiny hole oozing a mix of her saliva and your own slick. She’s got two fingers buried deep, scissoring into your walls with loud, squelching sounds. Every time she digs in, you let downright whorish moans. Gasping and needy, desperate for friction.

From Ieiri Shoko:

She cried when she finished.

From Suguru Geto:

How sweet. Probably louder for you than she is for Satoru, isn't she?

From Satoru Gojo:

Delusional. She literally forgets how to breathe when I’m inside her. But yeah, you can both tell yourself that to cope (^_^)

My turn next?

From Ieiri Shoko:

Take her. She needs a change of pace anyway.

You’re so buried in their casual banter about passing you around that the silence hits you late. The shower’s off. You’re sitting there, the screen’s clinical glow reflecting in your wide eyes with warmth crawling up your neck.

The bathroom door creaks. A thick coil of steam curls out into the bedroom, and you finally snap your head up.

“Find anything interesting?”

Suguru’s voice is steady. He’s standing in the doorway, a white towel slung low on his hips, lazily patting his dark hair dry with another. He doesn’t look angry, quite the opposite actually, he looks entertained. A small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth like he’s been counting down the seconds until you finally caught on.

+ @insanjity, @angelicwhispersofsin, @ouist. hai

[achillesinhighheels]

[ovaryacted]

GREEDY

─ Dr. Jack Abbot x fem! reader || WC: 3k

SYNOPSIS: You crave to feel your lover differently, and Jack is happy to satisfy your needs.

CONTENT/WARNINGS: MDNI/18+. NSFW. SMUT. Age gap implied [Jack is late 40s, reader is late 20s/early 30s]. Power imbalance mention [Attending/Resident]. Established "secret" relationship. Creampie. Unprotected sex (p in v). Mentions of oral (f! receiving) & fingering. Multiple orgasms. Overstimulation. Dirty talk. Brief mentions of birth control & safe sex practices. They fuck nasty and are down bad for each other. Reader is described to have hair. Jack Abbot is a really good partner. Brief mentions of Jack’s scars & allusions to a vasectomy he had in the past.

A/N: This all came to me in a dream lmao. I just had a certain itch I needed to scratch and I wanted to talk about getting creampied by a fine ass old man, so this was the product of that thought. I hope you all enjoy this and join me in feening for this man. Proofread by moi. Reblogs, comments, and likes are always greatly appreciated! <3

NAVIGATION | MASTERLIST | AO3

You’d never really consider yourself a greedy or selfish person, but when it came to Jack Abbot, you just couldn’t help yourself.

On your first day of residency at the Pitt, your attention instantly gravitated to him. He carried himself so confidently at times, never crossing the line of stepping into arrogance like some of the surgeons he complained about. He kept his head high, back straight, and shoulders flared as he maneuvered around patients and rooms alike, commanding every space with a calm confidence you almost envied.

Coffee and light teasing exchanged in the emergency department turned into cold beers and tipsy laughter at the local bar everyone frequented after long shifts or on their off-days. One drink too many resulted in a not-so-accidental one-night stand with the enigma of a man that was Dr. Abbot. You wondered if he regretted it by the time you woke up in the morning, hair a mess over your head, going in different directions; doing your best to bury the disappointment tugging at your chest when the other side of the bed was found empty.

Much to your surprise, light clanking from your kitchen forced you back on your feet, spotting Jack working over the stove, the smell of eggs and fresh toast wafting through your apartment. His jeans hung low on his hips, unbuttoned, with his black briefs hiding the rest of him. He turns when he senses your presence, the corner of his lips tugging upwards in a small grin at the sight of you, slightly disheveled and wearing nothing but his shirt from the night before.

“Morning. Stole some of your coffee; hope you don’t mind.”

You were doomed from the start.

It never stopped after that; a one-night stand turned into several over the course of one month, and one month turned into two. You found yourself in the consistent presence of Dr. Abbot, who was always there to satisfy your needs, whatever they may be. He learned how to read you, your likes and dislikes, your quirks, and the things that made you happy and tick in agitation. The few weeks you spent with him in secret amounted to the moment Jack popped the question of exclusivity one night, and you were more than happy to say yes.

Now here you were, Dr. Abbot’s favorite night-shift resident at work and his girl when you two were alone. You already had him wrapped around your finger, hitting close to five months of being with him and selfishly enjoying his company in this bubble you’ve created for yourselves away from prying eyes.

And yet you still wanted more.

You couldn’t quite explain what happened along the way, why you simply couldn’t stop finding any little moment to touch him, to kiss him, to taste him. You just knew you wanted every part of him to yourself, and he was ready to give it.

All but one.

Your sex life with Jack was already more than satisfactory, and even using a word as simple as that was a disservice in describing your experiences with him. Hell, you’re pretty sure he’s ruined you for anyone else, and you don’t plan on finding another to take his place any time soon. But there was this one pesky thing that still kept you separated from him.

The damn rubber.

Jack was almost too good for you—a softie despite his take-no-shit attitude, always sweet and considerate when it came to you. Of course, that translated to when he fucked you, prioritizing your safety and pleasure above all else, including maintaining recommended sexual habits. You can’t blame him; he’s not an idiot, and neither are you, but at times it irks you to still have something getting in the way of feeling him the way you wanted.

It almost pissed you off how badly you craved him, desperately holding on to him and pulling him closer when he was too busy fucking you into the mattress. His face dug into the crook of your neck, grunting as your walls fluttered around his length, your arousal covering the thin non-latex material that separated your bodies. Just the thought of it made you whine, clawing at his shoulders and wrapping your legs tighter around his waist.

You knew he was getting close from the way his breathing rumbled deep within his chest, his grip on your hips tightening as his thrusts picked up in force. The words that had been swirling in your head for the past 30 minutes slipped out of your mouth and into his ear before you could stop them.

“Fill me up, baby.”

He groans when he hears you, slamming his hips hard against yours, a curse tumbling from his mouth as he fills up the condom. He draws a final sigh from you before pulling out to dispose of the wretched thing while you remain occupied with taking a peek at his ass as he heads to the bathroom.

Having sex without protection was something Jack didn’t think to bring up or mention. The last thing he wanted was to make you assume all you were to him was a toy to be used when it's convenient and discarded when he grew bored of you. He already had the displeasure of approaching sex that way when he was younger and reckless; he vowed to never do that again, especially with you. And of course, you didn’t want to potentially ruin the relationship you’ve worked so hard to build with your attending.

As much as he wanted to deny it, your words tormented him, playing in his mind on loop so frequently he started dreaming about feeling you with no barriers, claiming you properly. He knows once you hit that stage in your fairly new relationship, there’s no going back. From the way you struggled to hide the slightest tinge of disappointment whenever he ripped open the foil wrapper in front of you, he knew the conversation would happen eventually.

“What if next time, we just don’t use anything? Protection, I mean.” You blurt out to him in the kitchen, wringing your hands together as Jack busied himself washing the dishes after dinner. He finished up and dried his hands, pivoting to face where you leaned against the island.

“Is that what you want?” He asks carefully, his eyes boring into yours gently, the way he always did when speaking to those he cared about. “Surprises aren’t exactly what I’m worried about; we’re good on that end, but, it’s whatever you want to do, sweetheart.”

“Yes, I want to try it out.” You feel his hands coming towards your waist, a comforting gap of space between as you mess with the collar of his t-shirt. “It’s not that our sex life isn’t fun or anything; I very much enjoy sleeping with you.”

“I sure hope so considering how much I risk pulling my back doing all the work.” You playfully slap his chest, rolling your eyes at his teasing smirk.

“I just…I want to feel you, all of you. It’s like an itch I can’t scratch sort of thing, and it feels stupid explaining it, but it’s a thing, okay. Don’t fucking laugh at me.”

Jack couldn’t help but chuckle dryly at your mild panic, shaking his head as he stepped closer to you, planting a kiss on your cheek and squeezing your hips in reassurance.

“Not laughing at you, I just think it’s cute how flustered you’re getting when you’re begging me to fuck you raw.”

“Now why are you saying it like that? It sounds raunchy coming from you.” He only laughs harder.

“I think we’re way past the point of calling what we do raunchy in our relationship, don’t you think?” There’s a faint glint in his hazel eyes when he takes in your features again, his fingers pinch your chin, holding your gaze. “Besides, you aren’t the only one who’s been thinking about it. I was just waiting for you to crack first.”

That’s how you found yourself in this position now.

Your cunt pulsed from the lavish attention bestowed by the older man above, who already made you cum once using his mouth and again in combination with his thick fingers. Even with the two orgasms you gladly took, your body clenched around nothing as you watched Jack lazily jerk himself off, dark eyes raking over your bare body. By now, he’d be tearing open another one of those flimsy foil packets and slipping inside you. Instead, your legs subconsciously widened even more, beckoning him closer to you in an attempt to take you.

Notching the tip of his length at your entrance, he groaned at the feel of you, shifting his hips to grind against your heat as more of your wetness coated the underside of his cock.

“Last chance to take it back, sweetheart.” He quirked, meeting your hazy eyes—glossed over and feral as you admired his broad silhouette and tempting movements.

“Shut up and fuck me already.” You only seemed to be thinking with your downstairs brain, your thirst for more overriding common sense, not that he was complaining.

“Yes, ma’am.”

He angled himself over you, keeping his observant eyes on your face as he started pushing into you, slowly sinking deeper into your welcoming body. Jack didn’t expect you to feel so damn hot, your walls surrounding his cock like a vice, like you were made for it. Your hands flew to grasp his bicep, gasping at the bare feel of him for the first time. Eyes fluttering closed, a whimper lurched out of your mouth when he was down to the hilt, the trimmed hairs by his pubic bone rubbing against your sensitive nub, causing you to twitch around him on instinct.

As he sat inside you and let you adjust to him, you could feel everything—every ridge, every vein, every swell and throb his body gave you, even his damn pulse. It was bringing you closer to the deep end.

“Jack…” You mumbled his name, blinking slowly as his nostrils flared.

“Hold on, hold on, don’t move.” Large hands clutched your hips, keeping you pinned to the mattress with his strength. “Fuck, you feel so good.”

“Yeah?” The compliment took the rest of the empty space in your head, your thighs taking their rightful place around his waist, knees bracketing over his sharp hips.

“So damn warm and wet…God.” It sounded like Jack wasn’t talking to you anymore but reiterating his own innermost thoughts, filter gone. His attention trailed down to where your bodies were joined together, shifting his hips back to watch your lower set of lips part for him, your slick covering his skin. You moved towards him, already missing the stretch of him inside you, and Jack was just as eager to give you what you needed.

“Look at her. Taking me so well, like she always does.” Thrusting forward, he didn’t spare you an inch, drawing back just to pound into you again and again.

The friction of his hips intensifies the more he gets to feel you, and soon enough the four walls of your shared bedroom are filled with the audible slapping of skin as you lose yourselves in each other. Jack’s hips pummeled into you with a force you weren’t completely unfamiliar with, but this carnal need to have more of him creeps onto the surface. Your nails raked down his freckled arms and the planes of his shoulders, encouraging Jack to buck into you harder with your sweet cries.

It all felt too fucking good, like a dream.

You didn’t want him to stop, your legs winding tighter around his torso, mewling when he hit that textured spot tucked inside you with practiced accuracy, head thrown back against the pillow as you focused on catching each one of his harsh lunges. A hand sneaked to the back of your head, grasping the nape of your neck and angling your face to look up at Jack, the smallest bit of sweat lining up on his forehead.

“Keep those eyes on me, baby. Want to see your pretty face when you come for me.” He practically snarled over you, leaning down to roughly plant a kiss, his tongue swirling around yours, swallowing all of the petulant sounds he brought out of you. “Perfect fucking pussy, and all mine.”

“All yours, Jack.” You parroted, nodding dumbly from the impact of his movements against you. “I’m all yours, sir.”

His grin turned predatory at your needy words, both hands curling around your thighs to angle them higher up, your knees now pinned to your chest, allowing him to dig just a bit deeper into you. You jolted from the change in position, one hand rushing to press against his lower stomach, fingertips skimming the raised scars along his side, long faded and meshed with the rest of him. 

He was unfazed by your movements, holding you steady, and upped his efforts against you. Your arousal practically seeped out of you, pooling at the base of him and dripping down his balls. Another whimper echoed in the room, your clouded gaze glanced down to watch Jack fuck you, mesmerized at the shine you left over him. You didn’t need to warn him that another release was swirling in your gut; your body language did all the talking for you.

“Know you’re close, honey. Can feel you getting tighter around me, damn near choking me.” He grunts, adding a swivel to his precise advances into you. “C’mon, need you to drench me. Let me feel you.”

Three more drives into you, and your third orgasm hit you so ardently your whole body trembled, a silent cry flying out of your mouth. Jack observed your reaction with hungry eyes, cooing at your cock-drunk expression, drool starting to spill out the corner of your lip.

He knew it was only a matter of time before he hit his peak, the tension in his body building in his core, and with the way you haven’t stopped convulsing around him, it will catch him off guard sooner than later. Through the haze of ecstasy, you found your voice and mumbled at him, the lust-filled mania that started this whole ordeal possessing you.

“Jack,” his attention was drawn to your face, plump lips and warm cheeks mirroring his ravenous stare, “I need you to come inside me.”

“You want it that bad, huh?” He was struggling to keep it together, his mind already hyper-focused on finishing inside until you took every damn drop. “So desperate to have your old man fill up your greedy pussy, hm?”

“Yes! Yes!” Tears streaked down your face at the mere thought of getting to feel him like this; the promise of getting what you wanted after so long was enough to overwhelm you. “Please, Jack. I need it; need to feel it. Want to feel you tomorrow, baby.”

That fired him up; the sight of your watery eyes motivated him to flex his forearms and force you to take all of him as he chased his prolonged release. A few more jabs and he was done for, digging his face into the crook of your neck and biting your shoulder to suppress the loud growl that buzzed through him. His hips were flush with yours, giving you everything he had to give, his thighs trembling and stomach almost cramping from his violent climax.

His orgasm felt never-ending; he just couldn’t stop, your body melting from the inside out as you held him above you until he plopped on top of you, pelvis subconsciously grinding into you more, never wanting to leave your warmth.

“Jesus.” You heard Jack murmur against you, placing light kisses over the indents of his teeth on your shoulder. His mouth followed a path up to the column of your throat, your jaw, and to your lips, offering you sweet pecks. “You alright?”

“Mhm,” you hummed at his affections, the rest of your limbs becoming one with the mattress under you. “Didn’t break me yet, though I don’t think I can feel my legs.”

“Means I did my job well.” Both ends of his mouth curl upwards, mimicking his expression as he gently wipes your tears away.

Carefully, he took hold of your legs, bringing them back down to the bed, rubbing them with an apologetic smile as you quivered. With ease, Jack maneuvers himself to pull out of you, his eyes going to your pussy and the mess he made of you. He catches the way his spend drips out of your opening and stains the sheets below you, a sight he was committing to memory for the first time.

A carnal urge flares within him, his curiosity getting the best of him as he brings a hand to the most sensitive part of you, his thumb spreading you out to get a better look at you. More of his seed dribbled out of you, tainting the thick digit as he smeared more of himself over the rest of your cunt. You gasped at the sensation, his thumb circling over your slick pearl, squirming under his touch from the overstimulation.

“I get the appeal now,” he says to himself again, swiftly bringing two of his fingers to scoop the rest of him and sink them back into your hole, serving as a plug to keep his release inside you. You keened at him, clutching his thick wrist as he breached your body with his hand, your breath hitching in your throat.

“Jack…”

“So pretty when you’re so full of me.” You clench around him, the sensation sending a current of pleasure coursing through him, his cock twitching again at the thought of having you again. “You can take a little more, right?”

Who were you to say no to that? You couldn’t get enough of him, and when it came to Jack Abbot, you always made room for seconds and more.

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[mariasont]

yup yup and YUPPPPPPPPP!!!! did i read this at 6 am like a freak? yes i did #loud and proud

this was so hot and sooooo well-written i don’t think ill ever stop thinking about it ❤️ need that old man more than ever