AmberPanda

Weaving between vents and electrical boxes, the rooftop provided little shelter from the wind and giant clouds rolling in, threatening to drench your pink peacoat. You could feel your hair brushing across the pilling wool. Your eyes, scanning the roof, looking for someone. Reaching the ledge and looking over, the feet below and bustling of the city was soothing. There was something meditative about seeing the distance between yourself and the ground, floors apart. Inhaling a deep breath and closing your eyes, a wash of acceptance rolled over. Almost a "giving up" feeling but not negative.

A loud thump behind you shocked your system as you turned over your left shoulder.

"Hi, baby. Sorry I scared you."

Your arms wrapped around his shoulder and neck. Taking in his scent. Ozone, men's cologne... gasoline?

"You're here now." You feel your voice say, a comfort to him or yourself, you're not quite sure. A soothing smile creeping up the corners of your mouth.

You pull back to meet his face...

Damn it. You can never hold on long enough to register his face. Not enough to discern him or identify him if he walked past you on the street. This was the most frustrating part.

He took up your whole life only 4 years ago. You began to theorize that something major had happened in the time just after high school graduation. You wondered if he was consumed with these memories too, reaching toward them just as you do. Does he cling onto these same memories as you do, hoping to remember enough to come find you?

He left you with a beautiful son that he likely has no idea about. He would have been a part of his life if he knew. You were sure of it. Weeks worth of memories made you certain of his character. Maybe he would have left you alone if in real danger, but a son is something different entirely.

Now, you had to piece together his appearance from your son's small traits.

He was probably energetic and kind, just like James. He had curly brown hair and likely had big brown eyes, though that ran in your family too. He was strong and athletic.

The problem was James was his own person. He didn't inherit all of your traits, there was doubt that he'd be his father's carbon copy. If he did, your mystery man would have a Spider-Man obsession heavy enough to enact whole fights in your living room. That'd be ridiculous.

Everyone was grateful for Spider-Man, but you worried that fostering this idolization of him to your son could put him in danger. What if James grew up and stumbled across a dangerous crime, deciding to take it into his own hands?

A car honk shook you out of your own thoughts.

MJ and Ned had finally graduated MIT and were moving home. You had been looking forward to this since that first August without them. Though Ned came home every break, minus a study abroad summer and a research job in Australia one winter, MJ avoided coming home at all.

You knew she had grown up in a shaky home that offered little stability, but you tried not to ask her too much detail in your 8 years of friendship. As a result, though, she only came and visited a handful of times over the past few years. She had stayed with you in Lissie and Ty's apartment once, but only for a day or two.

Instead, you would attempt to wrangle James in his car seat for the drive to Boston once or twice a year. It was hard to socialize the same way, though. You'd visit their dorms and apartments with an especially active small child and couldn't join them when they went bar hopping or smoking with friends. Often, it entailed lunchtime hangouts and outings across the city. You couldn't keep up with their venting about heavy classes or stories of their partying. They tried their best, though. It'd be significantly easier now that they were back in the city too.

You had kept busy in a nursing program. It wasn't the biomed focus you had dreamed of at 18, but you filled your cup helping sick people either way. After graduating with an online ADN associates and an accelerated BSN straight after, you still felt confident in your achievements.

The job you had lucked into while starting your bachelors offered very predictable hours for a single mom, too. Daycare and preschool time always lined up, so James wouldn’t need to be taken care of by somebody else. And your work was close to the preschool, located in a practice within the hospital building, the preschool only a block away.

All had worked out and you wouldn't trade it for anything. You can't imagine your life as a research student, let alone without James.

On mornings like these, pushing James in a toddler stroller to get to work, the breeze from the trees and the rising sun between the buildings gave you time to think. James had been in a good enough routine at this point, where he didn't give you nearly as much trouble as in previous months. What an energetic boy.

Finally reaching the converted firehouse that the preschool had taken over, James practically rushed out of your sight to his little friends. You had to intentionally catch him to kiss his little face goodbye. The stroller, now stowed in a closet, a deal you had made with the preschool principal.

Taking one last look at the little boy, beaming toward his friends while picking out their toys, you pushed the handle of the door to leave.

His eyes were laser-focused on his computer, occasionally furrowing his brows and sticking his tongue out to spur his brain to work more effeciently. As if sensing your presence, his head reared over his right shoulder, eyes softening as they met yours. That same slow-motion glow overtaking him.

He looks like a carbon copy of James in these memories. These ones you let float away from you, just letting yourself enjoy the fleeting presence of him and the peace he brings. No good in tainting that memory by stressing further. Some of these ones are to be cherished in that little box in the back of your head. It never gave any extra identifiers as some of the others, so the enjoyment they gave you could just be left as is. A small gift to brighten your day and ground you to real life.

A bell rings as the door opens, your uniform non-slip shoes carrying you out the door and back into the bustle of the city.

Peter hollers from stories above the ground, swinging between apartment buildings and skyscrapers, "Whoop!"

Web,

hold on,

swing,

bring legs forward,

gain momentum,

release...

He didn't think he could ever get over how fun it was just to do the act of swinging.

And the pride it gave him to keep his city safe, unbeatable.

"X-P-four-zero-T... a transporter of explosives has been hijacked and is speeding down 20th heading east." the police scanner sounded out through the suit.

"Hey E.V., track the motion of the transporter. That's getting close to the hospital."

"Sure thing, Peter." E.V.'s robotic voice responded.

He picked up his swinging pattern, now cutting a sharp left at the next open street. He didn't usually feel much anxiety when swinging to face the next villain. On most occasions, he'd spend his swing mentally preparing himself, almost pumping himself up to lead with confidence.

This time, however, he felt a pit form in his stomach. Explosives driving down streets in transporters were not the biggest fish to fry. He had fought a slew of multidimensional villains and a universe-snapping purple behemoth.

Something felt off.

A huge crash interrupted his thought process. The massive transporter truck grazed the size of a brick building, hurling through the bodega. As he swung by, Peter assessed the damage: any civilians? any animals? The owner!

"Hey, sir, are you okay? All good? Okay, see ya! Stay safe!"

The truck regained the road and barreled down it, passersby fleeing the streets. The truck was hurling at huge speed for a metropolitan road, it was a challenge for Peter to keep up.

After webbing to the back, his whole body was being dragged along the asphalt. He pulled himself up, climbing to the roof, then crawling to the windshield

"Hey buddy! Whatcha got back there? Woahhhhh, you've got some pretty big bombs back there huh?"

The driver took a pistol and narrowly missed his shot as Peter dodged his head to the side.

"Alright, this has been fun. How do you feel about pulling over and we can settle this man-to-man?"

The driver turned the wheel, crashing into more buildings and crushing Peter against them.

He groaned for a second,

"I take that as a no?"

Took a second to breathe, then webbed the brakes down, slowing the tank very slowly

His jaw almost met the barrel of a huge gun, but swiftly moved away from it, allowing his hands to grip it and web it to the side of the van, out of the driver's reach.

As the transporter slowed, the driver once again scraped a building, then bounced off and rammed into a wall across the road, dividing two buildings: a small converted firehouse preschool and an office space.

Peter moved quickly. He knew this guy was dangerous and trigger-happy.

"Alright, let's move, move! Everybody out, head to the hospital, police are meeting there.”

He saw some younger workers leading small children out, a few carrying crying toddlers out.

He met eyes with an older woman. Her nametag showing she was the owner.

"Ma'am! Do you have rosters or attendance sheets? I don't want any little ones unaccounted for."

"They should be sitting in a folder case at the back desk. Thank you, Spider-Man!"

He manuvered with his webs across the rubble. Dust and rocks decorating rainbow carpetted floors. He remembered his years at daycare. He loved the carpet with the roads on it, always taking his tiny cars and seeing how efficiently he'd be able to drive.

His eyes rifted upward to that back desk, a child hiding under it, griping the leg of the desk and turned away from him. A tiny knit jacket over little denim overalls. A Spider-Man emblem embroidered on the front pocket, which revealed itself when the little boy turned to him.

"Hey buddy... you okay?"

His eyes looked up at him, wide open. He let go of the leg of the table with one arm and looked down at his hand, his tiny fingers not yet coordinated enough to form the web hand on his own. He took his other hand and pushed his middle two fingers down and held them out at the superhero.

Peter did it right back at him, smiling wide under the mask.

"What's your name, little spider?"

"My name's James", he replied through a lisp, making his J sound more like a "dzz" sound.

Peter's heart softened.

He focused a little harder on James' face. His ears and nose looked like his in his childhood photos. He thinks his aunt had the same picture, once.

A creaking door swung open, the villain finally finding the strength to get out of the transporter.

"Stay here, James. I'll get you out soon."

Peter assumed position to fight, the newfound motivation of a trapped civilian now running through every vein.

"Alright kaboomy, let's fight this out."

A web throwing him closer to the villain, encircling his body in web.

The man, now clad in giant vests and a huge helmet, lacked in agility, but had a massive destructive threat.

They tossed around, almost disarming the other, then being overtaken the next moment.

Peter was thrown across the preschool floor, hitting a bookcase and being covered in books

"You guys should really mount these bookcases; that's quite a hazard with little kids around," he groaned.

Then something was thrown his way. He took a second to register. A grenade!

"Woah woah woah!!" considering throwing it back to the attacker, but had enough judgment that it could cause a massive chain reaction. He webbed over it instead, filling the whole building with the sticky, strong webs.

It was enough to slow the attacker and web his hands behind his back and wrap him against a front pillar, the police swarming behind him.

James!

He knelt down to the little guy and inspected for damage, "You okay?? You were really brave out there!"

James locked around his shoulders, "That was so cool!"

He swiftly carried him out of the building and into the streets, which had been barricaded off. A nurse emerged from the crowd, weaving through the police. "James! Oh god, I was so worried, baby."

His face found hers.

The world slowed to a halt. A fuzzy, warm haze covered his vision.

It was you.

4 years, he had spent leaving you to live your life.

Was this your son?

Oh god, wait. How does that timeline line up? How old is James? Like 2? 3?

Before he could reel more, your eyes locked, even through the opacity of the white in his goggles.

Your eyes were just the same, without the sparkling reflection of your tears overflowing them and spilling down your cheeks.

Was he holding his son?

James reached out to his mom, "I helped Spider-Man, mama!", making a sound to emulate the shooting of webs.

Your eyes softened, processing the whole situation.

"Thank you." Your voice wavered as your words stumbled out.

"You have a beautiful son. He did very well."

"He scared me half to death. Thank you for protecting him." A small, nervous laugh joined your crying.

The world seemed to speed up when an officer called him over. By the time he had finished this conversation, you had disappeared.

Holy shit.

He closed the window of his tiny apartment behind him, throwing off his suit in anger.

For a second he tried to calm himself down with a cleansing breath. Then, rushed to the kitchen, grabbing the first glass he could find and running it under the tap to gather water. He leaned down and rested his head on his bent arm. Every nerve in his body was buzzing. every breath awoke the cells at every endings in his lungs. Absolute terror and panic was pouring into his body, as if filling him from the feet, to the torso, to the neck, through his throat, finally spilling out through his eyes as the glass in his hands overflowed.

He threw the cup down into the sink, not caring how many shards of glass he'd have to pick up.

He had spent 4 years trying to give you space, let you live your life. He had convinced himself that he was giving you a gift by leaving your life. You could finally have sleep and free time and friendships. You would be able to walk down the street without fear of being targetted.

Instead, he had left you with a baby to raise and abandoned his son.

Every night he spent crying, convincing himself not to stop by your apartment, every anxious thought when a crime would happen close to Lissie's apartment, every rooftop pep talk he would scream at himself...

It had only ever been hurting you.

He turned his attention to his suit, now discarded on the floor.

The goggles, laying on the top of the pile, staring straight into his soul.

His son's birth

First steps

First day of school.

Christmases

Birthdays

...

A proposal

Maybe even a wedding.

His anger only tripled. Every thought, fueling exponential growth in his anger.

Absolute distain for what that terrible spider had brought into his life.

Disgust with what that suit represented. He had missed his son's life. He abandoned the love of his life. Aunt May had been killed. To others, that suit was a saving grace. To Peter, it was a life sentence.

The spell was supposed to fix it for everyone. Nobody could be hurt for knowing Peter as Spider-Man again.

He felt cursed. He felt betrayed.

He threw the suit across the room, then picked up the closest thing he could find to hit against the nearest wall.

Crash!

Shattering glass.

After taking a second to focus his mind, he looked down at the fallout.

A picture frame upside down, surrounded by broken glass.

No. Oh no no. No.

Peter knelt down beside it.

Your prom photo. The solo one May had requested to get a full look at your dress. Your makeup was beautiful. Your hair pinned back in big curls. A big smile that missed slightly behind May's camera. You had been looking at him in the last second before the picture was taken.

It was his absolute favorite photo of you, though you thought it made you look dorky.

He slowly began to pick up the shattered glass, placing the picure frame delicately on his huge desk. Then, swept, mopped, and looked around.

He walked toward the suit, folding it back up and putting the mask on his stand.

Lastly, Peter gathered the broken glass from the cup in the sink, tossed it, inspected for smaller shards, then plopped himself on his bed.

He wrapped himself in his blankets and allowed his mind to wander off, cooling off his seething frustration from just moments ago.

He found himself at a crossroads. Attempt to organically fall in love with you... a few holes already. What about the little boy? That wouldn't cover why he was his twin. Or, find you and tell you straight up, risking your anger at him.

Does he start with Spider-Man right out the gate? Does he have ot go through a second reveal?

He took a second to take a breath in, toss himself to the other side of the bed, then finally exhale.

What if it wasn't black and white. You could start as friends, then tell you. He could maybe wing it from there. If you were raging mad at him, he could still check on you and keep both of you safe.

He didn't think he had it in him to pretend. It might overwhelm him again. Make him freeze up.

He bet you had moved in with Lissie. It was worth a shot to check that old apartment building he had seen you crying in all those years ago.

You had been running. A panic had crept up to the edges of your neck, lingering by your ears. The crumbling beneath your feet, not yet noticable to you, but growing increasingly obvious to him. You didn't even feel when the huge chunk of cement from the bridge began falling, slowly sliding toward the water below. Mysterio, still focused on fighting the monster on the other edge of the bridge.

He watched in slow motion as your foot slipped, knocking you to the ground. The ground that was extremely unstable, only held to the bridge by friction, but threatening to plunge into the frigid water below at another stomp of the monster.

Just then, you felt the ground move below you, jerking you to the right and scraping up your elbows on the jagged rock.

Air beneath your feet. Nothing was keeping you stable. Your limbs reached out for any rock nearby to cling to, but had been knocked off at the force of the monster's heavy punch to the bridge. Your hair blew in front of your eyes. Was it an act of mercy to not see the water below, or a way to make you more docile when the water enevitably caught your body.

Before you could even keep up with your inner monologue, a gentle hand was keeping with your pace, then supporting your head and pulling you upward, catching you at the very bottom-most point of a swing.

Setting you down across the road from the mouth of the bridge, he frantically grabed to your face, searching to see any visible injuries.

"Are you okay?? Hey, can you hear me? Are you hurt at all?"

When your focus pulled back in, his face came into view. He was covered in a Spider-Man mask.

Wait that's not how that memory should go.

A loud thud outside your bedroom window woke you from your dream. Memory? Your whole body shot up in fear and surprise, jolting befor you could even register the end of the dream. Where you would normally be reeling trying to hang onto the memory, your brain couldn't process anything at all, making your eyes dart to the window before even registering danger.

Your blinds were a sheer off-white and were covering the window with a dreamy haze. A slight wave made them move like sails. Behind the creases in the waves of the curtains, an uncertain flash of red was hidden out of sight.

Though you felt unease, it was the same feeling you had felt at prom, when you had to make yourself trot downstairs in your flashy gown and makeup. It was the sense that this situation couldn't be avoided, but had to be marched into with courage.

Your legs threw themselves off of the bed, allowing your feet to slowly meet the carpet and bring your body upright.

James.

The scene from Tangled flashed in your mind. A mysterious figure wrapping your baby up and taking them out the balconied window.

Your panic was soothed seeing the sleeping boy in his tiny bed, tucked into the closet, his makeshift bedroom. His tiny snores tucked into the pillow, his little eyelashes resting on his round cheeks.

Your attention turned back to the window, where the figure was now facing you, kneeling just outside on the fire escape.

Your body began moving without your permission, as though it felt it knew better for you. As though you had done this a million times.

Peeling back the sheer curtains, an overwhelming somberness crept up your body like a vine.

Your eyes locked with white goggles, then quickly scanned his figure, red and blue. Spider-Man?

Your first thought was danger. Spider-Man fought danger and was only attentive to individuals when an active threat was nearby.

But he was so calm, even as you slid the window open.

His head tilted slightly and froze, staring at you.

It could have been seconds or minutes you stood like that, peering slightly upward to meet his face.

Muscle memory kicked in again, pushing off of your hands onto the windowsill and onto the fire escape.

Slow motion as your manuvered yourself onto the cramped sheet of grated metal and crouched to meet him.

You felt him almost snap out of it, realizing he had been lost in the situation, frozen with his eyes locked on you.

Your face had a new maturity.

Not wrinkles, but age. Your eyes looked much more tired. Not from lack of sleep, but hard work.

Your hair had been cut shorter. Peter wondered if it was one of those "mom cuts" he had heard about. He wondered if baby James had gripped his fingers in your hair one too many times, finally spurring you to keep it short.

Your nails were now short and unpolished, too. You used to occasionally get them done, then neglected them until they were chipped and bitten away. Now, they were well-groomed, almost. Filed, maybe. Smooth around the edges in a way they never had been.

"Spider-Man?" Your voice frayed at the edges, cracking slightly toward the end.

He froze for a second again. He took in the sound of your voice, the way your teeth shone, the worn-off chapstick on your lips. Mint? You still smelled like your same conditioner. A hint of that green apple detangler Aunt May used on him as a child. Back when Aunt May let him grow his hair longer, then decided to cut it, by the little knots next to his ears that just wouldn't let up. You used that on James, didn't you?

"Hi..." in an exasperated sigh.

Your brows tied together.

"Is something wrong?"

A warm tear fell down his face, gathering at the bottom of his goggles.

"Your son's name is James?"

"Uh, yeah. James."

"Is he..." his head gestured toward the window "...in there?"

You nodded.

Anxiety was moving up your chest, beckoning, gathering tears.

He let out a deep sigh. An attempt to soothe his system. It didn't help much, though. He pinched the bridge of his nose, leaning his head down.

Your face, similarly tilting downward to try to find his eyes.

"It's you, isn't it?"

He felt like his heart had stopped. You continued,

"I have these flashes of memories, but I have no idea who it is. I don't know where they are. It has been killing me not knowing."

A beat.

You tried again, "I've been so scared. Did something happen?"

His hand reached out to your arm. You let him. His fingers met your pajama top.

An oversized shirt. A band shirt.

That was his shirt. An old Tears for Fears shirt. You once had joked about how silly they had looked in the album cover.

He didn't fight the tears anymore. Instead, "Can I hug you?" in a very small, broken voice. You had never imagined Spider-Man to have ever shown an ounce of fear-- or sadness, whatever this was.

You pulled him in before he could keep up with what was happening.

You didn't hold him too close, though. You kept that same distance on late nights when he'd come in really hurt. When black, gnarly bruises were latching onto his ribs.

You held him by his shoulders, pulling his head to rest in the crook of your neck, not yet allowing his chest to meet yours. The crouching position you both were in probably didn't allow that either way, though.

A few minutes passed, with tears falling between the two of you. Quiet sobs in each other's necks. Both of you were losing awareness of the sleeping boy inside.

A little snore, louder than the rest, pulled you both out of it, darting your heads to his bed.

The wind blew through the sheer curtains, only allowing small flashes of the bedroom inside. You noticed Spider-Man's breath hitching seeing James sleeping inside.

"Can I?" You could tell he was fighting back a full collapse of himself, cutting off his sentence before he could lose all control.

You gave him a little nod, using his hand to gesture him inside.

After he pulled himself inside, you held onto the sides of the window for support. While trying to get your footing on the windowsill, you lost your grip. Though you certainly could have found your way down safely, Spider-Man caught your hips before you could realize you were falling.

Rubble had fallen all around the taxi, your body safe in the backseat, but only having sunlight pour in through a small hole above. He had rushed to your side, talking you down from your panic. After minutes of encouragement and breaks where he would try to chip away at the rubble, you had finally gained the courage to attempt to crawl out, despite the groaning of pressure from the boulders of concrete. One step at a time, one hand, one foot. It could only be less than 10 feet, but it became evident you were running out of time.You could see his mask and outstretched red glove from the small crawlspace, finally pulling you out. He grabbed your hips on the way down, pulling you into his body. "Oh thank god, thank god. You're okay, my love, it's okay.", he had mumbled into your hair.

It was him.

You held the back of your hand out and felt the ridges of black rubber on his mask.

Bump, bump, bump

"I knew it." Your eyes looked up at him in wonder.

But you both turned back to the bedroom, the little boy only a few feet away.

You led him by his wrist to kneel down to James' tiny bed. Silent sobs shook his whole body, your head resting on his shoulder as you both faced your son. Your son. His son. His tiny boy.

"I'm so sorry I missed this. I had no idea..."

"What happened? Why can't I remember you?"

A pause.

He leaned closer to you, his hand finding the edge of James' bed to keep him close.

"My identity was revealed. It threatened your school, MJ and Ned’s, too. All of these villains came into the universe angry at Peter Parker..." he took a breath and continued. "My aunt died. I couldn't risk it... I had Doctor Strange cast a spell so nobody would remember me."

You held his face, urging him to continue.

"I saw how free your life became in the days after. You didn't have to watch your back for angry journalists or stay up late for me anymore."

The anger at yourself. You had fallen asleep again, and he needed you. You groggily reached for the first-aid kit.

He continued, “I wanted you to have a better life. I didn't want you in danger. But I didn't know about him; I swear I didn't! I would have come to you immediately. You never would have done this by yourself."

He reached back to your hands, holding them as if that would convince you. As if you needed convincing. You knew him... even if you didn't remember him.

"I need to know who you are." You began. "I can't keep living without knowing."

"You will know, I promise. I will find you. I don't want to risk association with me and Spider-Man. I will come find you soon."

It disappointed you to hear this. You had always pictured him running to you and immediately confessing his identity.

He turned his head back to James before you could process a response.

"He's so beautiful, baby. You did so well with him. I'm so sorry I wasn't here"

You both spent the next minutes or hours sitting like that, admiring your son.

A crime notification popped up and shook him out of it. He let out a frustrated sigh, leaning his head on yours, kissing your hair as he spoke, "I'm so sorry, I have to go. This is a big one."

You sniffed.

He looked you dead in the eyes with a determined, almost intimidating gaze. "I will come find you, I promise. We will do this right." A beat, "and I'll keep an eye on you both."

He pulled you in for a deeper hug than before, not quite how you both remember, but enough to sense change.

"I love you," just as he had before.

Weeks had been spent between then and now.

You had tried to find his face in every person around you. Bodega workers, taxi drivers, policemen...

But he said he would find you.

On a few occasions, you would find your favorite bag of chips sitting on your bed, gummy bears sitting on James'.

Though you would, in any other situation, be uneasy with a stranger finding their way into your apartment, he has immediately gained your trust. You had felt guilt not telling Lissie or Ty about this. You wondered if they would understand if they knew who he was.

He was late for Thanksgiving dinner. His aunt agreed to join your family's dinner this year. Aunt May! That was her name. Another step closer. Lissie even came home from college for it, too, a rarity during that time of year, when she was still in school. It was so exciting to have everyone together. Everyone but him. He finally barreled through the front door 30 minutes late, kissing May on the cheek and hugging Lissie...

They were close.

You were close to trying to trap him, just to talk to him. It had been so long; you were starting to wonder if this would be forever. Just waiting for him to leave presents on your bed.

After finally wrangling James into little sneakers, you were able to load him into the stroller and head out of the apartment building, leaving a note for Lissie and Ty that you were stocking up on preschool lunch items.

It couldn't be more normal on a day like today. New York had a slight overcast and a little breeze running between the buildings.

You still lingered your eyes on every man with brown, curly hair you passed. It had become a habit at this point. Eventually, you both reached the small store.

Milk, cheese, bread, snacks.

Your eyes ran between items, while James slept. He had been totally wiped out from an earlier tantrum over candy. Okay... found milk next aisle. You turned the corner, eyes catching a red masked vigilante.

"Hey... do you mind helping me with this? I feel pretty confident in math, but these elements are really giving me a hard time." Your eyes were low and batting eyelashes at him. He looked nervous. "Uhhh, yeah. Yeah! Of course!" You had been playing this game for months. You would tease him just enough to make him flustered. It always took him a second to finally flirt back. When would he finally ask you out?

An idea popped into your head. "Oh, hey Spidey." Your eyes only flickered on him for a second, then turned to the food in front of you, unsuccessfully holding back a smile that was creeping up your lips.

"Hey." An uncharacteristic certainty decorated his voice. You don't think the game ever went this way.

He turned his body toward the food, as well, pretending to inspect the groceries with the same determination you did.

"You come here often?", your voice said, echoing back to his ears like water in a desert.

"No, no. I followed a beautiful girl in here. I've been having a hard time reaching her."

"That's sweet, Spider-Man.", your hands picking up some grocery item, checking the label. As if you ever cared enough to do that.

His voice dropped to a whisper, and he leaned his head to the side, still facing the food. "Did'ya think I forgot about you?"

"I don't know, I think I'm entitled to a few more visits. Maybe a few kisses too. A date night with wine, maybe." A giggle was shared between the two of you.

"You just wait, love. I'm working on it." his head nodded with a twinge of embarrassment.

You moved the stroller around him and started walking around him. You missed this game. This was fun.

"Where are you going, miss?" Smiles crept up both of your faces, though you felt more vulnerable as the only unmasked one.

"Oh, I don't know... I have someone waiting at home for me."

"Oh yeah? Is this someone okay with you being walked home?"

"Hmm... I'm not too sure; are you equipped to talk to a very mysterious, physically distant guy?"

"I think I can manage that."

Your hair fell in front of your face, then was tucked behind your ear with your hand.

You were absolutely addictive.

After a mostly silent walk home, with a few pedestrians stopping and paying attention to the amazing Spider-Man, you reached the apartment building and spoke.

"This is us. Sorry our walk was so short."

His voice was significantly lower than before. "4 more days, I promise. I'll find you. We can do this the right way."

Despite the flirty game you had just been playing, you started to get choked up, small tears forming at the corners of your eyes. You didn't want to have to wait any longer.

"I know, honey. Please don't cry." He wanted so badly to reach out and touch you, but he didn't want to risk anything above a low whisper.

You sniffled, "Can I have a code word or something? So i know its you."

"Of course, sweet girl. Uhh, how about..."

"What was the first thing I said to you?" You interjected.

He took a second; you could tell he was smiling beneath the mask. "You asked what LEGO set Ned and I were working on. I'll ask you that when I find you."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

That was familiar.

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@4ria790 @lauranehme @yagurlannastasia

main story:

one | two | three | four | five

interludes:

interlude one | interlude two | interlude three |

The morning stilled as a ray of warm light slipped through the shoji windows. Only the faint droplets of rain, lingering from last night's storm, pattered softly against the damp ground. Slow, controlled footsteps entered the washitsu and came to a sudden halt.

“What a pity,” the young Zenin master murmured to himself, his voice filled with disdain as he heard the news of your betrothal to Gojo Satoru.

Everyone had known of the courtship with your now-fiancé, including Naoya.

The blossoming union between you and Gojo Satoru had been anticipated from the very beginning, ever since the two of you met at Tokyo Jujutsu High. You and Naoya had known each other since childhood, as your clan held a respected position.

In clan gatherings, Naoya would often look for you, intrigued by the way you carried and presented yourself—like a swan, graced by the gods and goddesses themselves. In his mind’s eye, you were the embodiment of purity and innocence. Fit for a wife, a pretty little trinket to have by his side, a proper consort, Naoya thought.

You had paid no mind to the Zenin heir, though you would find yourself in mundane conversations he frequently initiated. This had only piqued his interest; his constant presence around you went unnoticed by members of his clan. Some may call it a ‘crush’, which he denied at every occasion. You had grown accustomed to his company, and his desire to pursue you had only grown stronger. He would ask about your hobbies, your preference in tea, clothing, and such—questions he wouldn’t bother asking if the person answering wasn’t you.

This is merely ambition disguised as affection, Naoya would remind himself. And yet he found himself in the gardens of the estate with you.

“It is hot out. It would be a shame if your skin burst into blisters,” he chided, observing you from behind, his stern voice barely concealing his concern.

“I am not as fragile as you think,” you replied coolly, carefully picking a white camellia from its shrub.

“Tsk. Stubborn woman,” Naoya grumbled under his breath.

Women are such a pain in the ass, he thought. You had become used to his brash comments, even going so far as to tolerate them, like many of his servants and clan members do. Why should you be any different?

“You know, you don’t have to be here,” you said, turning around to face him, a hint of annoyance in your tone.

“I choose to stay here. A woman like you shouldn’t be wandering alone in these gardens,” Naoya insisted, claiming it as ‘protection’.

“I do not need your protection, nor do I want it, Zenin,” you argued as you adjusted your kimono before leaving him.

Naoya watched as you left, his gaze never leaving your disappearing figure. He soaked in the fleeting exchange you two had shared, taking what was left of it, when approaching footsteps interrupted his clouded thoughts. The young Zenin master looked over his shoulder at the source of his disturbance, only to see a frightened, trembling servant bowing before him.

“Speak,” he urged, satisfaction flickering across his expression as the servant’s face drained of color.

“Naoya-sama—” the servant began, before being cut off by the young master.

“Tell the gardeners to grow more of these,” he commanded, toying with the white camellia he had picked up from the ground as he studied it with precision.

“Y-yes, master,” the servant answered, stumbling over her words.

Naoya noticed she was still standing there.

“What?” he asked, his voice filled with exasperation.

“Y-you have been requested by your f-father, master,” the servant managed, her gaze lowered as she fidgeted with her hands.

“I will be there,” he announced flatly, dismissing her.

A sudden hush falls over the studio—cameramen meeting eyes with each other, and producers who simply couldn’t see past the multi-million yen signs that were popping up in their vision. They’re rubbing their hand together, and urging the handsome man on the seat to continue speaking-

The producer that was more in charge of the B-roll footage speaks to Toji once more, “Now that’s certainly the way to enter this season, Fushiguro-san.” Flipping through the notes given on each condition, “And what else? Could you please tell the audience what you like to do for fun?”

“Hah…going to the gym, martial arts, taking care of my little one.” He scratches behind his neck.

“You have a child, Fushiguro-san?”

“Yeah, I have a son. Just six years old.” And he wonders just what booming sound effect they might add on into the background of this confession. He chuckles just thinking about it - how did Shiu convince him to come on here again? Well…he supposes it might also have something to do with you.

Toji’s eyes slide over deftly to the small screen at the back end of the room - just to get the contestants more familiar with you prior to your actual meeting at the mansion, they were replaying raw B-roll from your own introduction.

And Toji isn’t one to latch onto someone like that but- fuck, his eyes really couldn’t stop drifting over.

The curve of your smile. The way you’re looking behind you.

The way those lashes of your flutters just so—

He’s sure the cameras around him notice and hone in on the slight flickering of his peripherals, and he has to shake his head ever-so-slightly to stop himself from making a fool out of himself right here and now. “Yeah…” He rubs his roughened palms down his thighs, “Could you ah- repeat that last question?”

A few crew members chuckle. “Do you think that being a dad is going to hinder your chances in any way, Fushiguro-san?”

“Nah.” He leans back n’ tightens his crossed arms, scarred lips parting with a grin. “I’m a Fushiguro and I always get what I want—and I know what I want now.”

Eyes wafting over once more.

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.

.

Most of the contestants still remained after the introduction phase - other than a few that were just plain rude, or the two-toned Zenin bastard that was kicked out for his outdated opinions. Upon entering the mansion, Toji Fushiguro had received your first impression rose that night - a signal to Toji that you’re keeping your eyes on him, and a signal to the 21 other men to up their damn game. 

They were threatened, clearly.

Perhaps that’s why some of them were throwing disgruntled looks his way. Perhaps that’s why they ducked their heads whenever he passed, whispering behind their hands like high schoolers at a slumber party of some sort.

He’s witnessing this bizarreness as he trudges into the mansion’s vast kitchen. And honestly, Toji could almost laugh- but that’s before he’s catching a shred of what garbage they’re spouting. 

“—heard production discussing that he’s a dad.”

That makes him pause.

Though Toji doesn’t let it show on his face, he keeps his hands working on his bottle of protein shake- and his ears turned in the direction of a bunch of stupid bastards that didn’t think they could be heard.

They shoot a few glances at him once more—“You really think she’s gonna fall for an older guy like that? I bet you it’s a pity rose-”

“It’s to get the ratings up, duh.” Another pipes up. “Everyone knows that in the end, she’s never going to go for the old guy.”

“A dad, at that.”

“Shouldn’t he be with his kid, instead?”

“I don’t think she even knows-”

“Probably too embarrassed to tell her-”

SLAM!

The protein shake bubbles over as Toji struggles not to grip it to bits- ultimately ending up banging it down on the marble counter. The group of men swivel their heads around as they realize that he might just have ended up hearing—not so geriatric now, huh?

And Toji feels his face twist into something akin to…a smile. Something welcoming, that you’d never catch dead on his face.

He’s looming one step towards them - just one step - when lo and behold you’re making your way into the kitchen. Baring such a beautiful smile at them all.

And who was Toji to pummel some ugly faces in when your gorgeous one was watching?

Instead, he’s taking you by the hand. 

Not even a second glance at the stunned losers left behind- Toji’s dragging you to the quietest, most private room he can find in this house filled with bachelors. Ultimately—it ends up being his room, and the cameras and microphones can only catch snippets of his confession to you.

“There’s something you hafta know.” Comes out Toji’s usually-gruff tone, “I’m a dad.”

A pause.

And then your voice, “Dad? Like…zaddy?”

Beside himself, he laughs. “No. A dad—I have a son.” And by that excited look in your eyes - the way it piques your interest that this might just be the hottest DILF you’ve ever seen - he already knows that those other bastards are going to eat their words.

.

.

.

“S-so about that- ngh—” All the cameramen had been kicked out - just in time for Toji to let you grapple him onto the creaking bedsprings. Clamoring on top. Swallowing n’ sucking down as much of his thickened length between your legs as you could.

You’re feeling his incredible girth stretching you out- throwing your head back as far as it would go.

As you’re babbling and drooling on his sheer length, Toji clasps onto one side of your hips. He’s using but a fraction of his strength to bounce you towards him - in a figure-eight motion that could barely be completed given the sheer shakin’ of your thighs. Squeezed around him.

Rolling his sage-green eyes with rough laughter, he’s spreadin’ his meaty thighs and bucking up into you—the edge of his cock bulges even deeper inside. Deeper than you ever thought possible. 

Deep enough that your stomach was displaying a slight bulge where he was pushing his erection against your walls. At least you could feel it like so…and the older man wastes no time before reaching up and pressing the front of his palm against it—feeling for that cylindrical outline. “So? Cheh- finish your sentences, doll.”

“I was just about to…” You pout- and he coos. How cute…

Before craning his head down and spitting between those jutted-out lips of yours. Toji looks up at you through the gaps in his shaggy black bangs, “Are those lips wet enough to finally enunciate your words or do I need to spit again?”

“I was saying—so about you being a father…” You’re trailing off - and there’s a glint in his eyes that lets you know that you’ve certainly caught his attention now. Shyly continuing on with the cockdrunken thought that’d been tumbling around your head, “This is definitely too soon- too forward, but um…have you ever thought about perhaps wanting…another…?”

You could barely meet his eyes- fuck.

Though he doesn’t seem to mind that. He’s wrapping his large hand around your neck and forcing you to look into his eyes either way, breathless. Stunned.

Something so charged between the two of you that it’s easily leaving you even wetter—staining the ridges n’ muscles of his abs with your slippery slick.

Toji leans in close enough that you think he’s about to kiss you. Before he suddenly stops - lips millimeters away from your own - and asks. “Who said you could stop, mama?”

Your eyes widen, “Wh-what—oh.”

And you hadn’t realized that in your tension for his response- you’d completely halted your bouncing hips. You’d completely let your cadence peter out.

And Toji Fushiguro couldn’t have that, now, could he? Especially not when he was…

Before you can even gather your thoughts, he’s arching his sculptured back against the comfy mattress. And fuck- you almost wish you had those cameras right about now—because the way his muscles rippled beneath you was heavenly to look at - Toji smirks like he knew exactly what you were thinking about.

That smug quirk of his lips turning into something far wider, something far more feral once he’s holding onto you from beneath and rut-rut-rutting his slick-sheened cock into you.

Hard hits. Dark brows furrowing in concentration. 

Despite you being the one above, you’re completely at the mercy of his swollen cock. 

At the mercy of his heavy balls plapping! against the forefront of your cunt. At the way he’s using one hand to keep you stable on top of his vicious pelvis, and the other to press down upon that one spot on your stomach where he could feel himself—Toji runs his calloused fingers across where his reddened tip was pokin’ into your cervix.

Bashing away - he smiles as he feels every single one. Every single bruise he’s pounding out into your deepest depths.

And you’re wracking with shivers on top of him once Toji presses down. “Like I said- who said you could stop?” 

There it was again. “I-I mean—”

“If you want to be fucked pregnant, then you’ve gotta continue until those pretty legs of yours are begging you to stop.” Your jaw drops as he continues in his hoarse tone, “You’ve gotta need it.” He tap-taps on top of your core, where your poor innards were being absolutely molded to the thickness of his cock. Vein-covered and hot. “You’ve gotta hunger for it—”

And it doesn’t matter what he could say at this point - every single word was sending your mind spinning even further. “I am-” The globes of your ass stinging at the feeling of his contact-driven body beneath. 

“Nuh uh. You’ve gotta work for it, girl—” Emphasized by pushing down on that spot of your tummy once more, “Arch your back.”

Whimpering, you can’t help but listen.

“Heeeeeh- good.” And as a reward, his free hand finds itself slitherin’ between your swollen folds. So sensitive that you’re damn-near sobbing- he teases out your cute clit and gives a few good pinches. “Now clench your pussy. Swerve your hips ‘round and ‘round.”

“L-like this?”

“Mhmmm. You’ve gotta keep on milkin’ my cock for every last drop m’gonna give-”

Your gaze drops between your legs, “I-”

“And then it doesn’t matter if m’shooting blanks—you’ve gotta milk me even more.” Something crazed in his eyes, he’s leaning into your kiss with a smile. Again and again; he’s splitting up the sweetest syrupy orifices inside you - and with only a few more sloppy slashes inside, you’re feeling your body get overcome by the waves of your high.

It fills you up with an initial warmth- from the tips of your toes and to the crown of your head.

Toji snickers as he fucks you through the soaring pleasure, making you feel as though you were on cloud nine. You’ve never known yourself to cum this easily with someone else before - and it’s only growing stronger and stronger inside of you given every thud-thud-thud against your cute g-spot. 

Roverin’ his red, rounded tip and keeping it there—

You swear you feel his rock-hard cock start to bead out in even more pre- and perhaps something…even more?

“Follow all that n’ we’re not just going to win the season with an engagement…” Toji snickers to himself, palm massaging over the tummy bulge he was fucking into you. “But a baby, too.”

“O-oh…”You wondered how the producers were doing to explain away this.

♡ NANAMI KENTO - HEART RATE <3

“My name is Nanami Kento, I’m 27.” Such a deep, droning tone—one that immediately catches the attention of those watching, one that immediately sets the speakers slightly, sensually alight. 

The camera pans upwards, up and up: revealing a firm torso, clad in such a smart suit. Sculptured core. Strong shoulders. Blond, slicked-back hair that glistened with a thin sheen of gel underneath the studio lights.

Nanami wonders what clips they’d be playing for his B-roll montage - something with the mock-business calls the producers made him act out, something with the sweet treats he bakes as a hobby, something with the long walks on the beach.

The entire process has been a whirlwind ever since Shoko signed him up- for a joke, mind you.

He never expected to actually see himself on trash- ahem, eccentric television.

And yet, here he was.

Hot around his collar as he sneaks a glance at a small screen to the side, replaying raw footage of the show—but most importantly, you. Nanami gulps.

“I’m looking for something serious.” He hopes he doesn’t sound as awkward as he feels, and the tips of his ears tingle once he’s looking away from the screen. “My friends signed me up for this show because they think I’m married to my work- hah. Perhaps I do tend to get caught up in it sometimes, but I really do hope to get married someday…to someone sweet, someone tender.” Nanami glimpses at your smile once more, “To someone I can come home to- not a physical house, but to someone I can leave my heart safe with.”

A producer whispers a question.

“Oh? What’s my position at work?” He repeats the question, before staring straight down the barrel of the camera, “CEO.”

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After an early coupling—the producers couldn’t have anyone closed off too early, of course. Where was the fun in that?

And so came…the challenges.

Just a few days into mingling, the producers pulled you aside to let you know that you’d be taking part in the first challenge of the season: The Heart Rate challenge. 

The rules were simple - you were subjected to three minutes of a striptease from each of the contestants, in whatever manner and outfit they chose. In the meantime, a heart rate monitor would be tracking your BPM to announce which contestant had raised your heartbeat the most with their performance. 

Simple…right?

Not.

Not quite when there were 18 (a slight drop from the initial 22) of some of the hottest men baring you with their washboard abs- showing off their sculptured shoulders- shyly bringing themselves closer to you. And though it’d been a tie between a certain white-haired model and your favorite DILF (who’d promised he’d be the one to win), who would’ve guessed that calm, collected Nanami Kento would’ve been the one to catch your eye the most?

He was clunky in his moves, that was true, but the ultimate killing shot came towards the end of his somewhat-awkward routine—when Nanami had leaned in close- half-dressed in his suit, tie dangling ‘round his neck - he’d forgone any extravagant costume.

Closer and closer. You were sure he’d be kissing you before…he gently grasped your hand and pressed his lips to your inner wrist. 

Right on the erogenous zone.

To you, at least, it hadn’t been a surprise when Nanami had won the heart rate challenge.

Toji’s jaw had dropped- the producers were loving this.

And your reward - a night at a getaway suite with no cameras - had ended up a little…

“N-ngh—” Your mouth gapes open on top of the silken pillowcase, spit leaking out at a dizzying rate. Back arching. Thighs clenching-

Nanami shoves a hand between your pretty legs n’ spreeeeads your pussylips apart for him to slip in easier. “Now now, my love…” His smoky breath rumbles beside your temple, head bowed into the crook of your neck. The blond man feels a single line of tears splash down your cheeks, and he’s running his flattened tongue up the salty liquid- “Has this pussy never been fucked by a gentleman before?”

Before you know it, the rugged hand at your core smacks! down on your puffy lips. And you whimper- “Shit, no—?”

“Oh, reeeeeeally?” Nanami’s sweet, sweet tone coos at you—and you’re given no warning before his beefy right arm wraps around your neck in a headlock. “I fear I could tell, darling.”

Just the slightest twitch of his grin- pressed against the clammy side of your neck.

It’s all you’re getting before Nanami’s reeling his toned back even further, even hungrier - he lets his reddened, bulbous tip throb-throb-throb at your first ring of muscle before shoving it all the way down to the bottom. All the way until your walls have gobbled him down to the hilt, and you’re gasping as you struggle to take him.

Spit drivelling. Fists clenching the pillowcase.

And so he waits.

Juuuuuust waits and watches his massively thickened length disappear between those pussylips of yours. Until you’re starting to whimper. Until you’re starting to perk your hips up impatiently-

And Nanami plasters you to his firm body- the weight of his hips leaning down upon yours. The muscles of his v-line digging into the globes of your ass. Pinning you down to the comfy mattress—he’s then languidly gliding his shaft in and out. In and out.

With the most lecherous squelches! Nanami starts off slow at first - looooong and languid…before then thrashin’ himself carnally inside. “Easy—easy there.” Raspy whispers in your ear, “When you take a cock this- hah, big you hafta take it slooooow, my love.”

Your legs twitch as he’s easing inside a few inches even deeper, probin’ that girthy top into the base of your cunt. “Sh-shit…”

“C’mon.” Nanami grumbles, “Breathe with me, my love- breathe.”

“Breathe?”

“Mhm—s’what you do when it’s hard to take.” He huffs, “Never been taught that by those other boys, hm? Never been made to stretch like thiiiiiis-” Just as long as he elongates his words, his knobbly fingertips scissor open your crevice slightly- making it even easier for him to slip in and out. “Never had this needy pussy fed- hah, until she’s full? My poor lady…Never had these spots over here-” You’re trembling as he swipes down tender orifices, “-stimulated, hm?”

Shaking your head.

He audibly controls his breathing, urging you to do the same.

“Thought so. Now breathe in slooooow—” The blond man directs you- and when you’re taking too long to listen, he’s slammin’ his hand down on top of your cunt with another spank. “Yeah-” Once you’re listening to him after a few struggling seconds- “Yeah, you’ve got it. Take in a deep inhale f’me…” 

Just as you do, your stomach contracting with the action, he’s mazin’ away a few more lewd inches - his palm skidding upwards to press down on your stomach. Feeling for himself as he pushes and pushes and pushes inside—“And then- fuck. Then exhale.” Nanami’s usually-steady tone almost…wavers as he says so. 

“It feels so—mmm, good.” You’re babbling away as he slots inside. Almost as if your cunt was made for him, he’s lodging against every slick ridge, crevice, and bundle of nerves. 

Hitting all the way at the very bottom.

He cracks a little smile, “And that’s how a gentleman fucks.”

Hiccuping, those torturous strokes of his made you wrack with primal shivers. “B-but I want it more-” Attempting to push yourself up onto your elbows, “I want it harder, Nanami-”

“Kento.”

Before you can babble out something questioning at his sudden interruption, you’re being shoved right back down onto the springy suite bed. The luxurious mattress engulfing you. The globular head of Nanami’s cock propels even deeper inside you.

He crushes his bicep even harder around your neck- cutting off your airway.

Even harder.

And you’re choking n’ sputtering - both on the stronghold he had on you, and on the thorough movements of his shaft shovelling inside. Eyes rolling to the back of your head as he lodges himself straight at the spongy door to your womb.

Nanami tugs you up to his firm front then, “Call me Kento when we fuck.” Something different in his tone now - something dark and barely held back. It’s as though he was gnawing down on his bottom lip to keep himself in check, he lets out a roughened grunt as he plants one hard stroke—one incredibly hard stroke. “And be careful what you wish for, darling.”

For a gentleman never denies his lady, right?

You whimper. 

Steadying his hips, he’s somehow managing to stretch your delicate walls out to his shape. Somehow managing to rub n’ pinpoint the most sensitive areas with his flared ridges. Already locating where your sweetest spot was- Nanami inches his long cock backwards and bashes it right near your g-spot.

Harder and deeper. Harder and deeper. Again and again. Just so thorough that it feels as though his round, red tip was pushing into your very throat.

In just a few sloppy strokes, he’s mapped out your entire cunt.

And no matter how much you’re moanin’ and clawing at the headboard - attempting to pull yourself up as though you’re caught between fucking down to him and moving yourself away - Nanami merely has to tighten his beefy arm ‘round your neck and haaaaaul you right back down. Pressing you against his plush pecs. 

“For m’not going to leave this cunt high n’ dry like those other boys-” He whispers in your ear, callused fingertips darting down your slippery crevice to pinch your clit. Those pearly white canines of his nip at the shell of your ear, “I’ll have you know that I’m a man, my love. I’m a gentleman.”

Tears welling up in your eyes, “A-and that means…?”

“And that means I’m going to treat you as this lady-” Rolling over your sweet nub - it sends sparks up your spine. “-deserves to be treated. I’m going to take you out to a nice- loooooong dinner. I’m going to fly you out anywhere your sweet heart desires, my love. I’m going to take you out shopping and- fuuuuck.” The irritated end of his shaft trickles out hot precum, “I’m going to let you try to max out my debit cards- ”

You catch his emphasis, “Try?”

He chuckles, “You sure can try. And then…” Before you’re left eagerly wondering what else he has to say- Nanami rests his cockhead against your g-spot inside.

And then he’s making your poor walls bulge with the sheer force of him digging in and in- such raw pleasure that it makes moans rip at your throat. He didn’t know where you were drooling more from at this point - your mouth or your cunt.

Nanami’s golden hair nearly curtains his gaze now, though that doesn’t shield you from the sheer intensity of it. “And only then am I going to fuck this pretty lady.” He plasters his reddening pelvis against the globes of your ass cheeks, “After such a long, hard day of being spoiled- best believe that m’gonna fuck her to sleep. Fuck orgasm after orgasm out of you.”

“A-and what about you?” You’re turning your head backwards to get a good look at the handsome man, “Aren’t you going to cum, Kento?”

“Oh, my love…” It was just so cute how fucked you were - how you still had your manners despite being so. The sweetest smile graces his face, “Having you cum ‘round my cock is my greatest pleasure.”

And then you’re cumming.

Oh- you can’t help it. Head throwing back into his collarbone. Hands grasping at his own- ones in a headlock around you.

Those zaps of electricity curl at your toes, heat taking over your body, and all it takes is a single glide—down the pulsating area of your g-spot for you to be thrown completely over the edge. Wave upon wave of euphoria floods your body until you feel numb- and through it all, Nanami’s slick-glossed cock was shoving into you at a rapid rate. “Please…” Your mouth waters at the perfect way that Nanami was fucking you through each peak, “Sh-shit, it feels so good-”

Vein-covered cock massaging you up and down, in and out.

Even the tiniest bumps of his prominent veins leave you seeing stars- twinges of pleasure exploding between your legs. Your body goes slightly limp during the crescendo of your high.

“Oh, don’t tap out just yet, my love.” 

And something primal inside you twitches at the sound of calm, cool, collected Nanami Kento’s voice like this- before you’re feeling his buff arms pull you right back to him.

“Because this is just the beginning-” He presses a soft kiss to your temple, “-isn’t it, my love?”

♡ GETO SUGURU - One-on-one.

“Hm? Oh, who doesn’t like long walks on the beach?” Geto laughs something deep and rich- unabashed. Blowing his knee-length hair out of his face, some of those Stygian strands get tucked delicately behind one ear. “My name is Geto Suguru, I’m 28, and I’m a professional masseuse.”

Geto’s murky amethyst eyes stare down the camera.

He already knows he’s got them captivated.

He crosses his legs, hands intertwining on top of them. Geto’s smile was utterly feline towards the lens, “And don’t take this the wrong way, but…” When his best friend had jokingly suggested joining this show- he didn’t think that it’d be so fucking fun. “-I’ve never had to chase anyone in my life.”

Geto feels the temperature in the studio drop a few degrees.

A producer stutters, “Y-you aren’t serious…are you, Geto-san?”

“Dead serious.”

He might get his scenes cut out and edited together to paint him as the villain- he doesn’t care. Because it was true—really.

All the confessions, the letters, the sneaking glances down the street. It wasn’t a lie that Geto Suguru never had trouble with the ladies and gentlemen and everyone in-between - to the point where he’s almost grown bored of it. But—you?

He’s seen the raw footage of you on the screens around, and he can’t deny that he was damn intrigued.

You were a challenge. You were someone that made his heart race- and oh, wasn’t that a strange feeling?

“So it’s nice that the roles are flipped for once.” He continues, flashing that infamous smile - breaking a few hearts, or so he’s sure they’ll make it seem so in production later - at the camera once more. He knows how these shows go…“At least, for now.”

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.

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“Fuck, Suguru-” Dreamy mewl echoing out in the enclosed space, bouncing off those polished wooden walls. It sounded even louder in the production-made massage room - like music in Geto’s ears.

Geto’s expert hands slide down your body, coated in a sheen of oil.

It smears down your skin—illuminating the spots that he touched. Which seemed quite fitting, in your opinion, as wherever Geto’s fingers traced seemed to leave you alight - his thumb digs into one particularly stubborn knot on your right calf and you shiver.

“Tell me if it gets too much, gorgeous.”

“I will.” You just barely manage out.

The numbers had dropped down to 15, and it’d been time for the one-on-one dates. After your getaway with the blond man, Geto had been the first to whisk you away from the mansion once more—and needless to say that production was having a lot of fun with his profession as a masseuse. The best in Tokyo, actually.

Clients travelled far and wide for an appointment with him - and you’re beginning to understand why.

With you spread face-forward on the smooth table, with your arms crossed in front of you- lips cracking gently open with a sigh once his rugged fingers touch on just one spot—

“R-right there.” On your inner thighs. Too aware of the cameras surrounding you two, you still can’t keep the pleasure out of your voice. 

And Geto shifts aside the towel on your otherwise-naked body - shooting a content smile at the camera as they don’t get to see - to rub up on that specific spot once more. “Here?”

Biting on your lower lip, you’re nodding your head. “There.”

Bit by bit. Press by press; he’s inching up the plane of your right leg - kneading and unravelling those knots you didn’t even know you have. He massaged you so well that you could moan. And just as Geto’s fingertips are about to become so blissful that you might have to ask him to pause - not for you, but for the cameras - he speaks. “You’re very tense here, I can tell you don’t let yourself rest.” The crowns of his thumbs rolling circles at your inner thigh, “You have so many knots here- if you want, I could…nevermind.”

And you’re looking over your shoulder at him with an anticipating gaze. “What was that, Suguru?”

“It’s stupid.” He shrugs sheepishly- though the glint in his eyes was telling you a whole different story. “It’s just…there’s this other type of massage that I never actually offer- but it might help you…unravel your body a bit more. But forget about it-”

“Let’s do it.”

And his lips quirk upwards.

And you knew what he was inferring- you fucking knew it. Which is exactly why you’re holding back a slight smirk as it takes Geto Suguru exactly 1 minute and 30 seconds to kick the camera crew out.

Then less than that to hoist himself up onto the massage table as well, to tug his baggy pants down, n’ have you bouncing on his cock. 

Spit leaking down one side of your lips as you’re crashing your mouth against his pretty, puckered one- moaning straight into the hot, open-mouthed kiss as Geto’s thick cock swabs inwards. He was just about eight inches, and decorated with so many veins—he might just be stretching you out in ways you never thought were possible to feel before.

The plumpness of his cockhead, the zig-zagged patterns of his veins.

Geto didn’t just have his size going for him- he manages to curve his incredible length just perfectly inside your tight channel. Targeting your sweet spot within mere moments of finding himself between your legs—“Oh-ohhhh.” Crackling out from the back of your throat, “S-Suguru, that feels sho good.”

“Sho good, huh?” You feel his grin against your own mouth, “Don’t tell me you’re that cockdrunk already, gorgeous? And I haven’t even used my fingers on you, yet…”

Before you know it, he’s reaching up his mean left hand- letting it smush your cheeks together. You’re sure that that makes you create such a lewd expression upon your features, but Geto merely beams down at you as though you were the most beautiful creature he’s ever set his eyes upon.

Amethyst peripherals murky with something indiscernible. “C’mon- can you say something without slurring? Can you count from one till ten?”

Crossly- you couldn’t believe his sheer audacity right now. “Of course I can count until—ngh.” Only to be cut off with a thorough slash of his rounded cockhead- you feel it throbbing right against the spongy layer of your cervix.

Gluing himself even deeper with a few wads of his sploshin’ sap. He cracks a smirk, “That’s not the way you count till ten.”

Your mouth gapes.

And Geto takes his long, lingering time to lean closer and spit straight between your stunned lips - before using that left hand of his to close your mouth. “You’ll catch flies, gorgeous.” He titters to himself. The massage table creak-creak-creaks with each thrust of his - and his pace was something thorough and lingering.

Geto knew that his mushroomy tip felt good - and he was using it to his advantage. Not a single hammer of his hips was without reason—he was making sure to massage all the inner linings of your walls - every nook and hidden crevice - before he’s emptying out dollop after dollop of pre at the very bottom of your pussy. Giggling to himself at the way you’re utterly ruined on his long, long length- “Yeah- fuck, yeah. My poor baby can’t even speak?”

Your g-spot, however…he merely teases. Lightly grazing his flared tip near that treasure trove of nerve ends, but never quite hitting it. Again and again.

The velvety walls ‘round that spot quiver with need.

“But can she at least remember her own name?” He echoes. And throughout it all, you’re mindlessly attempting to angle your hips further into his- the ruthless man grabs onto a handful of your hair with his right hand. Jerking your face to look into his own, “I said- can she at least remember her own name?”

You hiss at the searing burn—

“Tell me your name, my cockdrunk girl.”

“Suguru- fuck.” Barely even registering the question - you doubt you could even hear him by this point. 

Merely babbling away expletives at the way he’s fucking his cock up even more rudely—he’s poundin’ and poundin’ up into you in sloppy, structured hits. Deep. And Geto peers up into your dazed pupils whilst he fucks you - whatever he’s seeing there makes him smile, “Suguru? Heh- you think that’s your name, gorgeous?”

Mouth gaping, “I-I mean…”

“Well, you’re not technically wrong.” He hums- more to himself than anything. 

And by now he’s rammin’ his length away into you at such a pace that the pap-pap-papping sounds were nearly louder than your own mewls. The sheer pressure of the strokes leaving you limp. Tenderly, you’re pushing your face into the sweaty crook of his neck- only for Geto to pull you back once more with the vicious restraint he has on you. 

Making you stare into his ravenous gaze, “Look at me when m’speaking, gorgeous- you might be fucked stupid but you’ve gotta remember your manners, right?” Taking your cutesy whimpers as an affirmation, “And you might not be Geto Suguru but…how about Mrs. Geto Suguru?”

Shockwaves of pleasure cascade down your spine.

“Yeah- yeah, you like that?” Snickering to himself - who’d have thought you’d be such a romantic? He was, too…not that he was fucking you like it.

Geto was fucking you rough and hard- bruisin’ his rotund girth at the back of your pussy. He was leaving his mark for anyone else that came after - let them know that he’d been the one to make you feel so good. “I can take your last name, too, if you’d like.” 

You’re breathless, “You- you really want to win—”

“Oh? So you can speak.” He speaks with slight amusement, “And, gorgeous- I really want to make you mine.” His tip bulges even bigger at the feeling of you clamping down- shit, it feels so good that he has to gnaw down on his bottom lip to keep from making any embarrassing noises. Panting out again, “Mrs. Geto Suguru.”

“Fuck-” You’re bouncing down onto his gluttonous cock.

“Mrs. Geto Suguru-”

“Please-”

“Mrs. Geto Suguru—” The pretty man smiles to himself as he’s finally - finally - pressin’ down on the button of your g-spot. Watching as your thighs quake, watching as your eyes spin to the back of your head. “Cum on my cock, Mrs. Geto Suguru.”

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

Who the hell doesn’t wait after knocking?

Surely part of the producers’ ploy; both your heads snap in the direction of the massage room door to see a flash of auburn hair—followed almost immediately by the door slamming closed once the intruder registers what he’s witnessing. And a familiar skater boy’s voice emanating through the slim wooden panel, “S-sorry–!”

You and Geto can do nothing but look at one another.

You’re sure the rest of the contestants would be hearing about this very…very soon.

Though Geto doesn’t look perturbed in the slightest. And he’s the first to move-

He’s the first to flip your positions around so that you’re splaying your back against the massage table now. His toned body hovering over you, he doesn’t waste a second before swatting- yes, swatting aside your trembly thighs n’ swivelling his length inside once more.

Long, luxurious slides down the narrow channel of your cunt.

You’re taking his strokes with a moan, “Suguru—y-you’re not bothered by- ngh, that in the slightest?”

“Why would I be?” He answers. And with that said, his soft fingertips snake between your legs- pinching that swollen clit of yours. “In fact…”

Just the slightest roll of his thumb - and you’re already feeling pleasure wreak havoc on your body. Then he’s pressing, then he’s tugging- then he’s alternating between teasing and pulling and massaging your needy nub over and over in ways that drive you wild. Spelling out what you’re piecing together to be his name—

Geto was about to show you what a masseuse could truly do.

“-how about we step up that volume, Mrs. Geto Suguru?”

♡ CHOSO KAMO - Fan-favorite.

“I-I’m Choso Kamo, I’m 29, and…um, I honestly don’t know why I’m here.” The dark-haired man beneath the spotlight fidgets with his thumbs, lips barely moving as he attempts to continue the introduction that he’s surely fucked up by now. “My little brother submitted an application on my behalf because he thought that The Bachelorette would be p-perfect for me to find someone and…um…yeah…”

The producers look at each other. Eventually, one of them calls out—“So is she?”

Choso startles- almost as if he didn’t expect to be addressed. Almost as if he didn’t expect himself to be perceived at all. “Well…”

And his eyes drift towards the small screen behind the camera - one that had been playing B-roll footage of you so that the contestants could get more familiar prior to the actual meetings. Oh. It’s strange how as soon as his gaze latches onto you, his eyes can’t seem to find any other purpose but to linger.

Choso’s shoulders raise up to his ears- as if to cover the faint blush that was creeping onto them. “Yeah…” He whispers, “Yeah, she’s just beautiful.”

And it’s all quiet on-set for a second—nothing sounding out but the mechanical hum of the lens as it zooms in on the flush he can’t deny. Choso jumps back a bit as he realizes just what they’d been focusing on, and he’s flickering his eyes uncertainly towards the cameraman behind it- “Are those things always going to be on?”

The other man nods, deadpan.

“Oh.” Choso gulps, “W-well I made sure my little brothers won’t be watching this season- but for the erm…Tiktaks? For the Tiktak edits they’re sure to get, could you make sure you get my good side, please?”

A producer asks, “And just for your brothers- if you could say something to them now, what would you say?”

And he gets a slightly determined smile upon his pretty, pretty face. “Your big brother’s going to win.”

.

.

.

“So…bachelors, as you may know, this week’s Rose Ceremony is going to be like no other- because tonight we’re introducing the infamous golden rose—” A hush falls over the set. The host turns and blinds you and the lined-up contestants with his smile - one of those contestants being your future husband, perhaps.

You’re nodding back at him with a confidence you hoped your expression falsified.

And he turns back to the camera, “Tonight, whoever you choose to hand the golden rose to-” An impression rose just like the others before it, only this time it’d been sprayed gold and held a weight far heavier than just the paint. “-is who you’re going to be going on a three-day romantic getaway, with a honeymoon suite to boot—! No cameras.”

Twisting the rose nervously in your hands, your mind still whirled with names. So many handsome men. So many eligible bachelors- fuck, how were you ever going to choose?

“But…there’s a catch.”

12 contestants - and you - snap their heads over to the slyly beaming host. 

He claps his hands in satisfaction, “You won’t be the one choosing your getaway partner.” Your jaw drops- and the host continues into the greedy lens—“It’ll be all of the world that’s been voting, day in and day out, throughout this week to pair up just who they want to see more of. Just who they think will be the perfect match for you…” 

“Oh goodness.” You feel something - excitement, anticipation, fear - shoot through your blood vessels.

And looking straight at you, the host pulls out a glossy envelope from his suit jacket. You’re eyeing it as though it was a ticking bomb - and he merely waffles at the camera some more. “And our viewers have chosen: your romantic companion, your getaway partner, the man you’ll be sharing a bed with is—” The words hang in the air for a few more seconds, perhaps minutes, perhaps what feels like hours. “Choso Kamo.”

.

.

.

“Shit…” Choso’s jaw drops, pupils turned into the cutest lil’ hearts and peering right up at you—as you lower yourself down onto him. 

His sensitive, twitching shaft disappears between your pussylips, and one hand of his immediately darts upwards to clasp at the side of your waist. Even just touching you like this…fuck, it sends bursts of electricity shooting from the tips of his fingers and up to his frazzled brain- then right back down again to his rock-hard cock.

He doesn’t think he’s been harder in his entire life.

Choso’s letting out a rugged moan as he fits inside your dripping wet cunt with a sluuuuurp! Pretty brown eyes rolling to the back of his skull- he’s shocked once he flutters them open to find that you’ve leaned yourself closer to him.

“O-oh, god…” Words barely a whisper. 

One of your hands softly cupping the side of his face, “Something wrong, baby? Would you like to stop?”

“No.” The answer explodes out of him faster than he can control, and before you can register it - before he himself can register it - Choso’s quickly pressing both hands deeper against your hips to keep you from leaving. Even though there didn’t seem to be any immediate urgency of that- he doesn’t let up for a single second.

Digging his nails into your flesh- he’ll apologize for that later. Planting his feet on the soft mattress. 

He slams you down to pin that hot, wet cunt of yours against his pelvis - until your clit caresses his happy trail—such a primal scratch down where you were most sensitive. And his body moves before his damn mind as Choso’s swabbin’ his cock inwards-

Not with any specific rhyme nor reason in mind.

Nothing but the primal urge to fill you up - to chase that heavenly squeeze of your walls. They’re spreadin’ apart juuuuust wide enough to gulp down his inches, and then when he’s reeling his hips back you’re clamping down until the man’s held hostage- gladly.

Shit- his lower lip trembles at the feeling. This was like nothing he’s ever felt before- and he hasn’t—

“You’re a virgin, Choso?” Your sweet, sweet hum breaks through the haze of his lust- just about the only thing he hears past the papping! of his hips arching up into yours.

And the man below you blinks up in confusion for a few seconds- long lashes dotted with tears. Before the smile upon your face makes him realize that his muddled brain - all your pussy’s fault - might have just said those last thoughts out loud…

You’re coming to the same realization he is. And you’re cooing down at him- pushing aside the sweat-dampened curls of his bangs. “Awww, pussydrunk already, baby?”

“M-mhm…” He’s nodding languidly.

“Tha’s alright.” You tut, “You’re doing so well for your first time- oh.”

Almost as if jinxing it - though that really wasn’t your fault, he was barely holding himself together as is - he throws his head back n’ lets his aching cockhead dribble out a few wads of…cum. Just from that. Just a few ivory beads of sap that glue to the veeeeery back of your pussy, making Choso lose his mind every time he’s gliding down your cervix and feeling his mess splosh ‘round inside you. 

A singular line of cum leaks out of you, and Choso shivers as he catches it. “S-sorry, baby, I didn’t mean to-”

“Nothing to apologize about.” You’re cutting him off with a smile, meeting his thrusts by grinding your cunt down to meet his cock. “You’re still doing so well, baby…fuck, look how much you’re cumming.” And with that said- Choso thinks he sees the pearly gates themselves open up once you’re spreadin’ aside your thighs—just the slightest bit.

But Choso Kamo takes one look between your naked, shivering legs and moans.

Your pussy was just drenched in his cum - absolutely drenched. He hadn’t even recognized that he’d been cumming so much until he’s taking a peek, and he’s watching a few velvety ribbons of seed run down either side of your legs - creating a sheen that smears n’ spreads the more you’re meeting his cadence with your own. Skin against skin.

He’s letting out a ruined whimper—and you’re pushing down on his chiselled chest with a snicker. “See that, baby? You’ve been- hah, holding back for so long.” Even the slightest sound of your voice is enough to make his overstimulated cock spark with pleasure- he’s sure he empties out a few more droplets of cum. “How long have you been wanting to fuck me?”

Choso startles- eyes darting up to meet your expression. Damn that smile of yours. “I-I don’t know what you’re…”

“Oh, c’mon—” Teasing him. Putting pressure on his toned body, you’re now fully letting him recline- it was just so fun how much in awe Choso was…especially when you’re taking control instead.

Almost as if he was being thrown further and further into dreamland with every sloppy drag of your cunt - swallowing him up from his round, blushin’ tip and aaaaall the way to his hilt. His heavy balls, tightening as though he wanted to cum again. “With the way you’re grabbing me? With the way you’re- hah, rutting up to me?” Shoving between his pecs once more—“Down, boy.”

He whimpers.

“How long have you been wanting to fuck me, Cho?” Your lips twitch with amusement- he looks torn between sobbing in pleasure and sobbing in embarrassment. “It’s alright…I won’t judge-”

“Always—” Choso finally echoes out with a sudden squeeze of your velvety pussylips.

Practically wrenching the answer out of him- he laughs out something hollow at the back of his throat. “I’ve a-always wanted to…ngh.” The pointed edge of his tip draaaaags down your cervix, and he’s shivering as he recognizes just where your womb was. If only he could…“Ever since I first met you, I-I’m ashamed to admit but I’ve always wanted to stuff myself between those gorgeous legs.”

You’re giggling scandalously at his admission.

But Choso wasn’t done just yet-

Soon enough, he’s using the firm hold upon your hips to increase n’ increase his pace. Grabbing you firmly and burrowing his cum-soaked tip deeply between your folds- “I’ve wanted to know what she’d feel like wrapped around my cock.” Almost on cue, he’s throbbing between your legs- even harder. “Wanted to know how she tasted-” 

“Don’t tell me you’re…”

And without a second thought, one hand lifts off your body - for the briefest split-second - to swipe at your sopping slit. Catching a few droplets of your mess and bringing it up to his lips to suck.

He moans at the taste of you, “Wanted to know how she’d take me. Wanted to feel her get stuffed-” Choso grumbles, and you’re vying to catch up with his needy pace - utterly needy. “Wanted to fill her up so much that every other man afterwards w-would be able to feel me…”

And then he’s trailing off, a harsh blush flooding his pretty features.

“B-but that’s just stupid-”

“Why’s that stupid?” He looks up at you in shock- only to find that you’re already beaming. “How would you know if you don’t try? Heh.”

“I think m’gonna cum again.”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - BOMBSHELL!

“These losers aren’t going to know what fuckin’ hit them.” Sukuna scoffs, crossing those beefy arms in front of him. Unlike the introductions for the other contestants, he had…his t-shirt off. For what reason, you might ask?

Well, you’d go unanswered.

Even the producers were unsure just what had compelled their latest bombshell to display his chiselled front. But that didn’t stop them from keeping the cameras rolling- already knowing that audiences were going to go wild for the pink-haired, foul-mouthed addition to your roster. “Name’s Ryomen Sukuna- remember that. Age doesn’t matter. Occupation’s professional MMA fighter.”

He gestures to those scarred ears of his, as most fighters don like medals.

Behind him, there’s cues for footage of his uproarious and successful MMA career - particularly one clip of him winning the title of UFC light heavyweight champion last year - to be added in post-production. And he cocks his head to the side with a chuckle, “Best know that I’ve never lost a match before- and I don’t plan to change that anytime soon. I bet those losers at the mansion- and my pretty lady are going to be damn excited to see me.”

There’s a cue card for him to talk about his hobbies.

“Haaah…” All that boring shit- he wonders who gets off to small-talk on a show like this. “Boxing. Lifting. Meditation. Cardio- many different types of it.”

One producer pipes up, “And why that part about remembering your name, Sukuna-san? Could you clarify that for the viewers?”

“Heh-” Sukuna leers something sinful, crimson eyes flickering over to the small screen of your own footage. It was some B-roll of your own introduction interview, muted for the moment yet he thinks he could almost hear your soft chuckle in his ears- playing on repeat over and fucking over. “Because my future wife’s gonna be moaning it soon enough.”

Someone drops a boom pole.

There’s a cut in filming called out. He knows they won’t be editing that out.

.

.

.

“H-haaaah, now that’s just unfair.” 

Toes curling. Your back arching deeply into Sukuna’s sculptured front- it was almost Herculean how he flexed and tensed his abs to show off…particularly when it came to ramming his hips up into yours. Out of all of the contestants, Sukuna was the only one to put you in a full nelson.

“Heh- what’s unfair?” Sukuna’s deep trundle makes your body erupt in shivers- the smugness was practically seeping into every syllable. “Isn’t the bombshell supposed to mess up this pussy- whoops, I mean…season?”

“You’re messing up nothing but my peace that’s for sure…” You’re grumbling back at him - slightly nervous to meet his crimson eyes.

Though you’d have been foolish to think that the MMA fighter wouldn’t catch that- he’s grasping the edge of your chin with a single hand. Tugging your face behind to look at him. All of it in just a few seconds. And Sukuna raises one pink brow as he smirks, “Look me in the eyes when you’re saying something like that, brat.”

“Y-you’re messing up nothing but my peace—” You’re just barely managing to stammer out - Sukuna was savage with his thrusts. And they’re only seeming to grow even faster as you’re answering, as though he wanted to see you struggle n’ choke around his thick cock. 

Around that pierced head of his.

The frigidness of his metallic Prince Albert runs down the sides of your walls - and he’s purposefully stopping right before where your g-spot was pulsing. “That’s not what this cunt’s telling me.”

And without any warning, he’s reaching one hand down and smacking! the swollen top of your pussylips. 

“Isn’t that right, my pretty girlie?” 

Not talking to you—he’s talking to your cunt now. 

Dragging the fatness of his thumb - that greedy edge - vertically down your sopping slit. He collects the wetness that leaks out of you, “My wet girlie—yer a lot more honest than this one here, hm?”

You shiver as he slams his rugged palm down on your cunt once more. 

How’d you even get here?

Right now, the contestants had been weaned and weeded out until only your very favorites had remained…and then there was Sukuna. It was just today that the bombshell MMA fighter had been introduced to the mansion, and for the short amount of time he’d gotten here- he’d already started seven fights, triggered an emergency meeting, and had enough time to whisk you away on a one-on-one date that had ultimately ended up like…this.

Your legs hooked behind your head. Your back arching against the mattress of your beach cabin—the waves rolled softly outside.

The only thing separating you from it were the semi-sheer curtains of the cabin, swaying softly in the balmy breeze. What a romantic date the producers had set up- for an utterly unromantic man. 

Or so he was fucking you like it.

Thank goodness you’d left the cameras behind, though your glaring disappearance was nothing if not scandalous. There goes your reputation…you ponder. This might’ve been the fastest that you’ve gotten into bed with any one of them. And you know he’s bad news, you know you shouldn’t like him so much- you know that out of all those eligible bachelors, Sukuna was going to be the most dangerous for your heart (and between those legs of yours).

But you just couldn’t help yourself. 

You’re leaning your head back against his firm collarbones- mewls falling from your lips at an incredible rate. 

Sukuna’s veering his hips back and rub-rub-rubbing his flared tip around the area of your g-spot—but never directly upon it. Frustration makes your brows furrow, and you’re just about to bounce your hips down when-

“Ah ah—now what do you think you’re trying to do, woman?”

Just then you’re being pinned right back down with a sudden thwack! of his fingertips. Hard and fast. They’re lingering over your pussylips for just a few seconds, before reachin’ in-between and pinching your cute nub.

And as you’re shaking in his arms - “Did ya think that after so much back-talk you’d suddenly get to play nice?” Sukuna titters to himself, mean lips pressed up against your temple—it would’ve been a sweet gesture…but this was Sukuna you’re dealing with. “Ryomen Sukuna never plays nice.”

“P-please—” Had this been any other time, then you might’ve been embarrassed by just how much he managed to shatter you with his fast, hard-hitting strokes.

Your thighs are flapping lewdly open, and he’s teasin’ your clit even harder with his fingers. Though he still narrowly manages to avoid your damn g-spot—“Wh-what do I have to do to- ngh, get you to hit that spot?”

He acts confused, “What spot?”

“That spot-”

“Hah? I don’t know any spots-”

“H-here…” Rounding your hips down - in something that halfway-resembled a figure-eight. It’s the closest you’re getting to Sukuna grazing your g-spot: the lightest touch of his crowned, throbbing tip. Swollen enough to stretch apart your walls like none other. He’s barely slipping past that orifice with his vein-covered shaft, and it’s already enough to make you moan—

“And who said you deserve that, brat?”

Crossly, “Me- I said that.”

He laughs deeply in disbelief, “Hear that, pussy?” Slapping that cunt of yours once more, “The audacity- it doesn’t matter if I wasn’t the one ta say you deserve this. After all, who does this pussy really belong to?”

Starting to babble out some answer-

Before yet another spankin’ leaves your folds feeling raw - and your eardrums echoing with the dampened noise once more.

It’s all the answer that Sukuna needs.

He nods as though he’s just been handed the answers to the universe, “See- see—did ya hear what she said?” This time, he’s asking you. And you’re barely given the opportunity to answer between his roughened thrusts, “She said that she’s really mine. She’s always- hah, been mine.”

You’re shivering, “A-always…”

“And she wants you to beg for your orgasm.”

That being said, Sukuna reaches down and clasps your neck with his thick digits. Choking you- choking your moans, he’s wrenching such primal noises out of you through the combination of the pressure on your airway, and the pressure between your legs. 

Shovelling his thiiiick cock over and over-

“C’mon, my spoiled brat—” Sukuna chuckles, “Beg-” Between thorough thwacks! of his rotund cockhead hitting your cervix. You always have said that Sukuna was so big it feels as though he had two cocks…“Beg, girl, beg—”

“P-please.” 

“Tch, you can do better than that.”

The only thing you’re left to do - after so many battering rams of him bottoming out - is to meet his gaze with your teary one. Your bottom lip trembling with sobs, “Please, hit my g-spot.”

“What was that?” He leans in. Smile utterly mocking.

And though your stomach churns, you can do nothing but repeat, “P-please hit my g-spot…please let me cum.” At the very least, now he was letting you swerve your hips back into his - “Please make my- your…pussy feel good.”

And it’s that last sentence that deals the final blow.

“Damn right.”

Because in the next breath you take, Sukuna arcs his pelvis deeply and thuds his drippin’ wet cockhead against your g-spot. Just the slightest push. Just the smallest pressure. And yet, it’s still enough for you to throw your head back and cum—

“Fuh-fuck…” It takes you by surprise - sure, you’d been feeling a few zaps n’ whips of something at the pit of your stomach, but you didn’t expect for Sukuna to actually make you cum so easily. It almost leaves you shy.

For he levers his thick cock backwards, balls twitching eagerly once he pushes his entire length inside. Inside and inside. Fucking you through every single wave - Sukuna’s cold piercing targets your g-spot exactly at the moments where you felt the dopamine in your body surge, and the stark contrast in temperature is only making you even dizzier.

Even needier to feel him.

And he certainly wasn’t leaving you wanting for long- soon enough, Sukuna’s poundin’ away at your sweetest spots so hard that it stings both your slamming skin. His was red and swelling with the print of your hips on his hips.

Yours were barely able to keep up-

Just as you feel the hot flashes of your high bate, Sukuna’s pulling you close and whispering—“Knew that hadn’t changed…” And he’s gesturing to the way you’d - in the heat of your moment - intertwined your fingers with his. Without you even realizing. “Heh, those losers are going to be so pissed when they find out.”

When they find out what you and the producers already know…That Ryomen Sukuna was your ex-boyfriend.

♡ INO TAKUMA - Group date.

“My name is Ino Takuma, I’m 23.” Ino’s pushing back his dark-colored beanie, exposing tufts of cute caramel hair- “And I’m a professional skater.”

“Professional skater?” A producer urges him, “Tell the audience more.”

“W-well, I’ve been skating for a while now, and…” The sheer amount of focus being put on him makes him blush, fingers fighting the urge to pull down his beanie - entirely over his face - once more. Goddammit—Ino watches every season of this show, he can’t deny - trash television was his thing. Saturday nights with a facemask on, phone turned off, volume turned up. So when one drunken night out with his friends meant that he ended up applying for it…he didn’t think he’d actually get in. 

It’d been like navigating through thick fog- so many cameras, and boom poles, and acting suave (somewhat) for his introduction footage. It almost made him dizzy. “You might have seen me ‘round in a few competitions…some competitions…the Olympics…”

“The Olympics-”

“Yeah.” He fiddles with the hemline of his beanie awkwardly.

“And did you win a medal, Ino-kun?”

Ino smiles because he knows that it’d been plastered across every headline and sports magazine - there’s no need for him to clarify. Though he does it for the clicks anyways, “I did. First place.”

Excited whispers spread around the studio.

The skater shuffles once more beneath those harsh white lights- this time more out of embarrassment than anything. The cameras roll eagerly, following every movement, and a producer probes at his silence—“And does this mean you’ll be aiming for first place to win her heart, too?”

He chuckles nervously, “I won’t be aiming for it.” Scratching behind his neck, he cocks his head up and catches sight of the B-roll footage they were playing of you on one screen. “I’ll be first.”

.

.

.

Okay, so maybe his introduction was a little overconfident…but wasn’t everyone’s?

Ino Takuma has watched many a dating shows in his twenty-something years, alright; which means he’s gotten used to the pompous one-liners, the nonchalance that everyone attempts to show, the self-assurance—he’s just never wondered what happens when that self-assurance simply…doesn’t produce results.

Which- alright, alright…that’s not to say that he hasn’t produced any results.

As more and more of the contestants dwindled away, Ino still found himself (somehow mercifully) still on the show. And he’s had a handful of good conversations with you, along with a few bonding moments. 

It’s just- how come that long-haired masseuse managed to get you into his arms - and on his cock…he’s ashamed to admit he actually saw when he’d walked in on the two of you - all on this show?! Ino didn’t even know that sort of thing was allowed here…

And he feels foolish admitting it but he’s grown to really, really care about you. So thinking about you with some other guy like that pink-haired bombshell or the CEO or whatever—it was starting to make him tick. 

Which is why he’s jumping to drag you away from the others at the next group date. 

This time, the producers had arranged an indoor skating park date, perhaps to make up for the fact that he hasn’t gotten a one-on-one date yet. 

And as you’re a little wobbly on that new board, Ino’s using his expertise to teach you, to hold your hand, to gently direct you around the park—and eventually let you direct him out of sight of the cameras.

Soon enough, you’re pushing him against the wall of the restroom on-site - vast and clean, and spacious enough for you to push him into one of the stalls. “I’ve seen the way you’ve been eyeing me.” Leaning up on your tip-toes to whisper in his ear, “We’ve gotta be quick, though.”

He thinks those might just be the best words he’s ever heard. 

You’re turning around and placing both palms on one plastic wall of the stall. Panties in your pocket. Smirk something delicious. 

And it takes just a few sloppy strokes between those pretty cunt lips of yours for Ino to become utterly gone—

He’s pussydrunk already.

Mahogany eyes criss-crossing. Weakening in the knees.

The skater holds onto either side of your hips as though to guide the way you’re fuckin’ back into him- but really he’s gripping onto you for dear life. To stop himself from collapsing onto his knees on this damn washroom floor. To stop himself from making a complete and utter fool of himself - the curve of your hips is the lifeline he can’t let go of.

And yet another wretched moan leaves this throat when you’re veering your hips down to his base and clenching-

“Taku, baby…” Your giggle comes out unfiltered, harmonizing with the sinful sound he’s just let out. “You’ve got to be quiet, otherwise they’re going to find us- cameras and all.”

He lets out a slight whimper at the thought, “I w-wouldn’t want you to be exposed because of me like that.”

“Mhm—” Just as soon as Ino’s agreeing to be quiet- you’re gently suctioning your cunt down until his hilt - coating your gooey slick along all his inches - and he’s letting out a euphoric noise. Even louder than before. And you’re just looking over your shoulder with a grin, “Now, what did I say about being quiet, Taku?”

Sounding as though he was on the verge of tears, “I-I can’t help myself, sweetness.” Tone husky. Octaves higher. His poor hips stutter out a singular thrust, and even that seems too much for the skater boy to handle- he reaches up to tug down his beanie. “It just feels so good…maybe m’just not deserving of your cunt- ngh.”

“Awww, don’t say that, baby.”

With a resounding squelch! you’re letting Ino pull out - and instead of telling him to tuck himself back into his pants, as he might’ve expected, you’re gesturing for him to seat himself down on the closed, clean toilet. 

Straddling his slender hips and kissin’ his blushing tip to your entrance. 

It doesn’t take long for you to siiiiiink yourself down onto him—he might not have been the thickest, but Ino was a length that you swear you could feel at your very throat. And he was actually the perfect girthiness to stretch apart your walls enough that tears prick behind your eyelids- but still smooth n’ slim enough for you to immediately start up an urgent pace. Quick.

Up and down. Up and down.

Ino’s shaft had a particularly prominent vein going down his middle that made you shiver - it was in the perfect position to massage your puckered, pulsing g-spot. You could feel the squiggly line of it practically emblazon against your wet walls. 

Your hamstrings keening at the stretch - and Ino was, too.

At least…until you’re tugging out the damp panties you’d kept in your pocket this entire time. And the next moment that Ino’s letting his maw ajar with a sudden moan- you’re quickly stuffin’ his mouth full with the lacy fabric.

Smirking, “See? Isn’t that a lot better, Taku?”

First, Ino’s eyes go wide—then he’s blushing as he registers just what you’d put in his mouth. Then he’s letting those dilated pupils roll aaaaall the way to the back of his head at the feeling of your cunt lavishing out looooong, luxurious thrusts. Squeezed tight around his cock.

He throbs even harder inside of you, “Mmmpf- ngh—sh-sho…can’t even-” Muffled.

“Shhh, you don’t have to say a thing.” You’re reassuring him, pushing back his beanie- there. Those chocolate-brown eyes of his were so pretty. You’re witnessing him tear up - and you weren’t sure whether that was because of the sudden blockage in his airway, or because it just felt so good—you had a sneaking suspicion that it was the latter. “Just be good f’me and fuck up to me, okay?”

“M-mhm.” He’s nodding obediently.

Because it might’ve been him teaching you how to skate out there- but in here…he was all yours.

He was at your beck and call. At the mercy of your bounces-

You’re telling him to go easier on your poor cervix - and though it takes every single shred of will within him to do so - he’s listening to you without fuss. You’re telling him to speed up, and he’s gladly bashin’ away his eager cock inside of you until the skin of his pelvis feels raw…

You’re telling him that someone might be inside the bathroom, too, and he’s too gone on your pussy to even compute—

“Taku.” Stern tone. Serious eyes- despite the fact that your pussy wasn’t letting up for a single second. You’re grabbing directly by the throat - something his cock twitches at - and bringing him up to face you. “Someone’s in here, okay?”

He feels goosebumps go down his spine, “Mmmps- schtawp?” 

You giggle, “No…no, we don’t need to stop.” And perhaps in the next few seconds you’d suggest that you two should slow down, instead. Perhaps you’d suggest cockwarming until whoever was inside (and Ino could hear the other person’s voice as they splashed water on their face) left. 

But instead you’re merely leaning in- grasping one of his strong arms and guiding it beneath you. You’re directing Ino to cup his fattened base, “This way it’ll be quieter.” Whispering to him, “In fact—how about we see just how quiet you can get, huh?”

And his maw unhinges - drool dripping down each side - and those gorgeous eyes of his nearly bulge out of their skull.

“N-ngh—”

“Shhhhhhh.” Hips growing even faster.

Ino’s long, vein-decorated cock flinches inside of you- Outside, Geto Suguru smiles. Touché.

♡ GOJO SATORU - BOMBSHELL #2

“Of course this bombshell’s gonna blow this whole season up-” Gojo didn’t need to try to make everyone opposite the camera faun - it was practically what he was made for. 

One of the tallest in the show. One of the flashiest.

One of the most famous - there wasn’t a soul who’d walked past the billboards in Tokyo that hadn’t already seen Gojo Satoru’s dazzling smile, or peaked traitorously at a blown-up picture of his abs on numerous billboards.

Brands were practically clawing for him—just as much as the ladies and gents were. But that’s exactly why he was here - wouldn’t it be fun to be the chaser for once? Besides, his agent had told him that if he behaved himself, then he might just end up boosting his career to heights never seen before. This season had been a hit so far- but of course, what was a hit without Gojo Satoru?

Pretending to flip his hair over one shoulder, Gojo’s posing with all the best angles for the lens. “I mean- no offense, but have you seen me?”

And on anyone, such confidence would have been seen as a turn-off, a red flag, perhaps even compensation for something lacking. No one should be this confident. 

Except Gojo Satoru, of course.

And he smiles like he knows it- rows of pearly white teeth flashin’ in the direction of the camera. “Oh, I guess I really should introduce myself, huh?” He sighs, “I’m Toru, I’m 28. And I’m the man of your dreams~!”

A producer whispers something to him.

“I’m also a model.” Gojo adds, “High-fashion. Editorial. Digimon ads- you name it. I don’t consider myself a romantic, nor someone that really needs love but…” His eyes drift to the B-roll footage they were playing of you on some small screen in the back, getting the contestants more familiar before they actually joined you in the mansion. “-who knows? Maybe things can change.”

Dimples pop out when he smiles.

No one should be this handsome.

He winks.

Except Gojo Satoru, of course.

.

.

.

Gojo Satoru was sent to the mansion to wreak havoc.

And wreak havoc, he did.

In the four hours and forty-five minutes that he’d been here, he’d interrupted your rose ceremony and thrown out the rose that you’d been about to give poor Usami—and taken it for himself. Not a shred of apology, he’d tucked it straight into his button-up pocket and winked at you.

Leaving the other man to whirl around at the producers that simply shrugged. Who was to say what Gojo Satoru did?

And you can’t deny it…that charm of his was irresistible.

You were sure that the viewers were loving this- in even less time, he’d picked a fight with Sukuna because of the long-standing rivalry between the two - something the producers had likely known just to stir the pot even more. According to what the skater boy had whispered in your ear, it was because the two had been battling it out for the title of TC Candler’s #1 Most Handsome Man for the last few years now.

One year it’d be Sukuna. Next it’d be Gojo.

The next they’d get absolutely washed by Zayn Malik and would have to lick their wounds and battle it out over second place.

It all left you a little dizzy, if you’re being honest.

And sure enough- after a hectic few hours of introduction between the new bombshell and the rest of the contestants - during which you’d seen more fists flying than small talk - Gojo finally managed to pull you away for a chit-chat.

He stuck his tongue out at the other men as he dragged you by hand, pulling you into the cosy gazebo outside—the one with the creeping vines up its pillars, and shutters for if you wanted privacy. Speaking of, it gave you way…way too much privacy…

And soon enough he’s pulling you into his arms, you’re crashing your lips into his in a searing kiss.

Having kicked the camera men outside, they could only see just the faintest shadows of the two of you inside - before Gojo’s dragging you down to the fucking floor like an animal—helping you tear through your panties n’ sticking his fat cock inside.

The crown of his reddened tip was burning hot, streaming out precum that sticks to your inner thighs in heavenly layers- he’s sucking in a breath as he fits his first inch inside. “Oh.” Maw dropping breathlessly - you think that perhaps for the first time in his twenty-eight years, Gojo Satoru shuts himself up. Low. “Oh.”

Clammy head falling to the crook of your neck. White bangs sticking against the side of your throat. 

He lets out a sensual few groans that seem to almost cling onto your skin - just like how his muscular body was right now. Long limbs nearly collapsing on top of you as Gojo’s stutterin’ his gleaming shaft inside a few more inches—“Oh- ohhhh, fuck. Do you h-hear that?” Voice cracking towards the end of that sentence. 

“Hear what?” Your brows furrow.

And Gojo’s snowy brows knit even deeper - more confused than you by what you seemingly couldn’t hear—how could you not hear it? “You- you seriously don’t…?” And those toned hips of his reel a few inches backwards, draggin’ the zig-zagging lines of his veins along your tightened channel- ever-so-slightly before thundering back in. “Hear it- now?” He asks, strangely out-of-breath. The pupils in his ice-blue eyes blown wide. The breaths emanating deeply from his chest.

Though his sheer desperation only leaves you more confused, “I…”

“You s-still don’t hear it—?”

As if he’s trying to prove his point, he’s grabbing ahold of one side of your hips- the manicured nails upon his left hand digging into your clammy flesh. Thrusts growing more emboldened. Gojo’s connecting his body with yours until he doesn’t know where his starts and yours ends—gripping onto every inch of you like adhesive coats your body.

His eyes lazily fail at keeping shut every time you’re clampin’ your tight pussy around him. A thin trickle of perspiration lines the side of his face, and once he’s finally able to veer his gaze to meet yours- you’re swearing that it’s as though his pupils have suddenly turned into hearts.

Something dazed and drunken in his gaze, “Can you…”

Barely able to finish his thought let alone his sentence.

“The only thing m’hearing right now is that you’re- fuck-” Gasping between the roughening and roughening rams of his hips—he pistons his swollen cock inside until your walls are bulging at the size of him. Swerving n’ swerving it into every single sweet spot inside you. 

Almost as though Gojo didn’t even need to try - he’s discovering your g-spot after only a few more determined strokes. And just the sheer force of him pinpointing that cute lil’ bundle of nerves - whacking it - makes your thighs squeeeeeze around his waist. It makes your pussylips get crushed together under the sheer pressure of movement, letting out an audible squelch!

“That.” 

Blinking through your tears, “What?”

“That-”

Gojo’s so excited that he’s running out of breath - almost as if he’d just run an entire marathon, and would run at least five more just to experience this again. 

His red-hot tip smears aside your walls, scouring your insides like a hidden maze. You feel the exact moment that he’s bottoming out his long, entire length at the very back of your cunt—“There…” A thin ribbon of drool glides down the side of Gojo’s mouth, tone almost in tears.

He flinches-

The raw softness of your womb- it was almost too much. Gojo reaches his right hand down to spreeead open your pretty pussylips, opening you up like lotus petals for him, then rolling his thumb down on your neglected clit.

You’re moaning at the sparks of carnal pleasure wracking through you - and Gojo himself grins at the music: your gorgeous noises, the sound of the night, the way your cunt’s lettin’ out the most lecherous squelches as he eases his cock in and out.

“There- right then.” Gojo finally - finally - husks out after one particularly loud slurp! Looking up at him, only to feel a jolt go through you at something primal shifting beneath his gaze. “Can you hear her say my name?”

“Her…?” Dazedly asking, “Do you mean me—?”

“No.” Gojo stubbornly answers, “I mean her-”

And before you know it, he’s honing out a few more strikes at your poor g-spot. Until you were sure it’s bruised enough with the round circumference of his length - hard and fast.

It’s enough to make you bellow out a few more hoarse noises—before Gojo himself is letting go of your waist to clasp his slender fingers around your neck. The cold sensation of them sending thrills down your spine, he’s teasingly tightening his hold as he bores deep into your eyes with his nearly-glowing ones.

“Shush, sweetheart.” Gojo admonishes softly, “Let me show you- hear her?” And it’s only after a few seconds you’re realizing that…her really meant your sopping wet pussy. Namely the lewd noises that you’re creating from it- just that wet. “Hear the way she’s whimpering? And mewling? And yowling?”

You yourself were struggling to get a single word out when he’s holding onto you like that. “Y-yes—”

“Well all that pretty noise is her…” He trails off, listening to a few more syllables of your pussy. “-screaming my name.”

Jaw dropping. “Your…”

“Mhm.”

Thin fingertips leaving marks.

He continues, “She’s been beggin’ for me to fuck her ever since- hah, ever since I got here.” And without a single warning, he’s toying with your clit and ultimately pinching it. “I know she’s been thinking about me—hah, shirtless. I know she’s been thinking about being under me, over me-” An almost wolfish expression taking over his face, “All on my face until I can’t breathe-”

“S-Satoru—!”

“Oh yeah, that’s exactly how your pussy’s saying it.”

You’re smacking Gojo’s bicep for that, and he merely chuckles. 

“I’m just saying~” The motions of his thumb then start taking a more…interesting turn. And you have to tilt your head down to get a proper look at what he was doing - Gojo’s moving so fast that his digits were nearly nothing but frenzied, feverish blur between your legs. “That’s exactly…”

He himself couldn’t keep up.

Just too enraptured by the swervin’ and swoopin’ movements—the way his fingers had to quirk just right when he’s spelling out a repeated S-A-T-O-R-U.

S-A-T-O-R-U.

S-A-T-O-R-U.

S-A-T-O-R-U.

Both in Japanese and English.

Looking up at you through his curtained white bangs, “What’s that spell—?”

“Satoru—” It would’ve tumbled out of your mouth regardless of whether he asked or not, and you’re sure he knows. 

“Exactly.” He responds. 

You look on in gaped speechlessness as he flashes you that award-winning grin. The last thing you’re seeing before your high floods you in bursts- nothing like the torrential waves of dopamine, or the hills or relaxation that’d pass by you during your other highs.

This one was taking you over.

This one was zapping every atom of your being and leaving it charged.

“Sh-shit, Toru—” Hiccuping, your nails drag red, red lines down the plane of his shoulders. They’re standing out stark, and you’re hit with the strange feeling that he’d be the type to show them off during his next photoshoot - “It feels so good, Toru-”

“Heh, you’re welcome.”

Babbling out stupidly- the way he elongated every single peak left your mind heated. “Y-you could at least pretend to have some humility.”

“Humility? Don’t know her.” He winks, “You’re my only gal, sweetheart.”

Grumbling, “I better be…”

“Now why’d you hafta go and say something so cute…” You’re still seeing white from the pure shockwaves of your high- “Because that’s only gonna make me cum.” When Gojo himself throws his head back and cums inside. Loooooong and deep slashes at the back of your cunt, he draws numerous lines of white that dribble all the way down your channel then.

Ending up frothed between your shiverin’ legs. 

The glistening layers of it smear n’ make your entangled bodies slip.

Jostling you even further, making you feel the splashin’ of his clingy sap inside you. More and more. More and more and more—no matter how many wads Gojo’s fucking inside- he just can’t seem to get enough of you—

“Because no one else can fuck you like Gojo Satoru can.”

Just the seven previous men and this bombshell left in the mansion.

Who would you even pick at this rate?

♡ HIGURUMA HIROMI - One-on-one.

“My name is Higuruma Hiromi, I’m 33.” Deep voice. Deeper eyes. There was a certain handsomeness to Higuruma that made it hard to look away - perhaps it was the dark features - that nose, the intelligent twinkle behind his eyes.

Perhaps it was the fact that he was dressed to the nines in his smart, black suit.

Or perhaps it was that air of confidence around him - nothing of the outward flashiness that most of the other contestants boasted. Something quieter. Something that had the edges of his pouty lips quirking, as though he already knows he’s won this season…he just won’t admit it yet.

For the viewers’ experience, of course.

He cocks his head slightly to the side and sighs, “I’m an attorney at my own law firm. I enjoy long baths and even longer debates, I’m looking for someone that can indulge me in both of these things.”

“And why are you here, Higuruma-san?”

“Because some interns of mine thought that it’d be funny to sign me up.” He chuckles softly to himself, “They’re mad- of course, perhaps I’m more mad to actually be here.”

“In the long run, Higuruma-san?”

“Ah…” He takes the time to think, eyes drifting over to the screen replaying footage of you - he’s already heard some of the other men gossiping amongst themselves in the waiting room about just how beautiful you are. And he hates to admit it when someone’s right, but he can’t deny it—they were fucking right. “I guess I’m looking for my wife.”

His eyes never miss yours on the screen.

The producer probes once more, camera angles shifting to accommodate for his intense staring match. “And do you think that you’ll find that?”

“I think I already might have.”

.

.

.

The audience had been curious about the hotshot lawyer from Tokyo.

“H-Hiromi, I’m ngh- cumming again…”

And so had you.

It’s been a string of more one-on-one dates that the producers had arranged prior to the finale where you had to choose…your future husband. Fuck- at this point you were wondering whether you couldn’t just have them all. And though the dark-haired lawyer had made it this far, he hadn’t featured in too many of the episodes—that is, until a recent edit of his B-roll footage had gone absolutely viral online - quite to the distaste of one particular white-haired model. 

Clips of him laid back in a bathtub - suit still on. Clips of him slamming his gavel down.

And so, of course, they’d rushed to bring the two of you together to raise viewership—lo and behold you found yourself sneaking off to the couples’ suite after a romantic spa date. Escaping all the cameras - shutting those hungry lenses behind the door - it didn’t take long for the man to corner you against the rose petal-covered bed and bend you into the meanest mating press that you’ve ever even heard of. 

Though Higuruma might’ve seemed all cool and composed on the outside- he was drilling his rock-hard cock into you like a fucking madman.

Thick and throbbing. Thrust after thrust after thrust-

“Fuck—” He snarls something primal from the back of his throat, prominent Adam’s apple bobbing. Hoarse, sensual grunts leave him after every battering ram.

His skin was still damp from all the hours prior- when you’d been riding Higuruma’s face silly.

And even now, you could see the slight sheen of slick clinging onto his handsome features. Without thinking twice, you’re reaching up and swipin’ away some of the remnant excess, which immediately makes him snap his head down with a low trundle. “Fuck, don’t act so sweet, sugar.”

You huff, “M’not acting-”

Before you’re immediately getting cut off by the slam! of his round, reddened tip on your cervix. Barely reeling from the sheer pressure of it- before Higuruma reaches somewhere above your head - at the clothes that you’d discarded hours prior at the start of the night - and produces his favorite black tie.

You’re blinking up at him in slight confusion.

To which he doesn’t say much - he doesn’t say anything at all, really. Without a single word, Higuruma loops the soft silk of the tie around your wrists, and he’s tightening it into a knot that your muddled mind barely computes—tying you up. 

It’s too late once you’re realizing- no matter how much you tug, you’re left unable to move. At your sultry mercy before the man - exactly how you wanted to be.

“S’not handcuffs, but it’ll have to do.” He mutters to himself. 

“And why would you want me in handcuffs?”

“Because act sweet t’me one more time and you’ll be walking out of this suite pregnant, angel.” And you can’t believe it—the ever-eloquent Higuruma Hiromi was slurrin’ and babbling because of your cunt. “Why else?”

“O-oh…”

You snark back, “And what if I want that?”

“Well, you don’t deserve that.” He counters, “You’re a guilty girl.”

Squirming- he runs a long finger of his down the crevice of your pussylips. Just the very tip of it teasin’ in-between, uuuup and down, uuuup and down until you’re restless. And you can’t even do anything because of the ruthless restraints that he’d tied around your wrists. 

“G-guilty for…?”

Higuruma doesn’t answer instantly.

He’s curling his dominant hand around the ribbons of fabric that were decorating your hands.

Cold fingers grazing your own- you’re just about wondering what Higuruma was about to do right then and there. But just then, he’s tightening his hold and draaaagging your body down. 

As though you weighed nothing.

Higuruma’s hidden biceps bulge ever-so-slightly as he’s manhandling you down, down, down—onto his thickened cock. The silken bedsheets bunch up around your waist, and the bedsprings creak at the way you’re being thrown about like a ragdoll-

This rough angle makes his globular tip maze even deeper inside of you- burrowing a circular bruise at the very bottom of your pussy. And you’re gasping—you’d be clawing at Higuruma’s handsome back had it not been for this damn tie.

Almost as though sensing your desperation, the man looming before you huffs out in laughter. It fans your face in a scorching breeze - you think you can feel the smoke and need in his breath. The addiction to white-knuckling your cuffs and hauling you down after every thrust pushes you up, up, upwards- “Count one: seduction” 

“S-seduction?” Your eyes damn-near bulge out of your skull.

“Count two: temptation of a working attorney.” He lists off. The slightest smile lifts up the edges of his lips, “Count three: temptation of a working judge.”

“You’re the-”

He sighs as though this was just another day in the court for him - though if this was the type of court he led, you’d be showing up for jury duty everyday. “Count four: perjury.”

“Perjury?” You gape, “When have I ever lied to the court?”

Higuruma cocks his head, “And when you told me you weren’t acting sweet?” That rounded tip of his lingers where your g-spot was, “I know how filthy you are, angel, no need to put on an act…”

“I—fuck, please…”

“Count five: greed.” Higuruma finally ends off, and you’re probing into his darkened eyes for clarification. “You seriously think you deserve to be fucked pregnant by me, sugar?”

“Y-yes…” You’re barely able to mumble out.

And he merely scoffs out a

And he scoffs out a slightly mean bout of laughter, as if he’d expected for you to say that. Oh, how he’d expected you to say that. But instead of responding to that directly, Higuruma’s openin’ up your sopping wet pussylips.

The hand between your legs bears your stuffed entrance for him to examine. Those intelligent eyes of his twinkle as he’s taking in the plushness of your swollen folds, the way your hole leaked even when stuffed to the brim with his fat cock - struggling to take him, yet still yearning for more. And most of all…he’s admiring the way your cute clit twitches- “Count one…” Higuruma announces with no warning—and even less of a warning is given before he’s planting a solid spank on your clit. “Guilty.” Even harder than he might’ve done with that gavel of his.

You’re surging up on the bed due to the sheer shockwaves coursing through you. “Fuck- fuck, you’re just-”

“Count two—” 

“Shit-”

Barely giving you the time to compute before his hand comes slammin’ down once more. “Guilty.”

Tears stream down your cheeks, “Hiromi, I’m going to cum-”

“Count three-” And it wasn’t like he couldn’t hear you - he just refused to respond until his judicial duties were completed. Higuruma was a man of the law, after all. And surely it was that discipline that led him to spank your cunt two more times, “Guilty. Count four- guilty.”

Your thighs were shaking with your impeding high, “I-I’m seriously going to-”

“Count five-” The fifth, final punishment. “-guilty.”

And you’re crashing against the waves of your high - it feels as if you’re floating on air. On clouds. On the white-hot pleasure that Higuruma was fucking into you.

His pace doesn’t falter for a single second. The plush edge of his shaft probin’ into you in and in and in—Higuruma knows exactly which nerve-filled spots you wanted him to push. Exactly where they were. And he doesn’t do so immediately…but once he’s glissading his lengthy cock inside your cunt, he sure does press his pointed tip hard into wherever he can reach.

Not quite agonizingly teasing, but not quite giving your guilty self what you wanted.

Somewhere along the way, you’re feeling his gooey white sap fill you up as well. He lets out a choked-up groan as he floods the lining of your cervix- “Guilty…haaaaah, on all counts.” The sheer volume of him forms a little puddle there, “And I sentence you to…”

“Y-yes…?”

“Hmmm—” He pretends to think, though the lewd humor in his tone told you that Higuruma already knew. The full stop at the end of his duties- he thwacks! his palm down upon your cunt once more, “How about five more rounds? One for each count- hah.”

You’re letting your head fall to the side, where the curtains of the suite were just barely cracked to reveal pinkish-yellow lighting filtering inside. It was morning.

You weren’t making it out alive for the rest of the season.

A/N. MAYHAPS have a special treat for whoever wins. Can you tell my best friend made me watch Single's Inferno with her-