your boyfriend nanami was normally an enormous brute.
With no doubt.
Everywhere he went, his broad, almost divinely sculpted shoulders seemed to command the room—men straightened instinctively, some shrinking beneath the quiet weight of his presence.
All this occurred while he carried an extremely gentle heart. It was almost like a curse.
But when winter settled in and the cold grew heavier, so did he.
You noticed it first at dinner.
Kento used to finish his meals with neat, careful bites—small, almost delicate, like he was afraid to stab his food with the fork. Like it was something sacred he just had to protect. He never manspreaded at the table, or belched uncontrollably like a caveman.
But all this practiced carefulness seemed to just vanish just like that.
Now, he inhaled anything you put on a plate in front of him without protest, even if it was something he truly disliked. The man ate like a famished caterpillar. He shovels food into his mouth, plows through the poor refrigerator, and even seems to hold his utensils differently.
Just desperate and gluttonous, like a grizzly preparing for hibernation.
Except, right after swallowing a whole hefty pound of steak and buttery mashed potatoes, he’d run straight to the gym where it converted into thick muscle mixed with soft, warm fat.
You see, Kento runs hot—almost unnaturally so. Even sitting a good ten inches away on the couch, you could feel the heat rolling off him, radiating from his solid frame like some kind of pull you couldn’t ignore. It was the kind of warmth that crept across your skin without permission, turning the living room into the middle of summer—even in the dead of winter.
So think of all that but 10 times worse because of this ‘bulk’ he’s been having.
Either way, there’s just something else missing from this list of baloney. Something you couldn’t quite place your finger on.
Sex drive.
Nailed it.
But it didn’t seem to quite add up. What did bulking have anything to do with libido? And quite frankly, why did it matter? No worries anyways, kento is kento, and things will never add up when it comes to him.
But nonetheless, things always came with a reason, so you traced it back to his cock growing 2 times in size. That’s right, it had grown nearly just as thick as his biceps, and he could barely even fit the damn thing in his tight boxers. You’d always hear him walk in the bathroom, take a piss, and grunts and groans would start emancipating from his thick throat as he struggled to shove that fat cock back into his underwear.
Anyways, then there was you.
A sweet, pretty thing darting through town, determined to find anything that could keep up with her boyfriend’s bulk—greasy chicken bowls piled high with vegetables drowning in melted cheese, massive grilled chicken breasts that looked almost unnatural in size, and heavy, overstuffed burritos bursting with swollen beans and rich, cheesy rice.
But here you were, stretched out across the couch, some corny movie playing on the tv as you tried to pass the time until Kento got back from his usual gym run. It wasn’t long before you heard the door open, followed by his tired grunts as he stepped inside, dropping his bag to the floor and kicking off his sneakers.
His eyes moved around the room for a second before landing on you, sprawled lazily against the cushions. You almost laughed at the way his expression shifted—his gaze lingering a little longer than usual. Your soft pink camisole had ridden up slightly, as your tits nearly spilled out. your hair was tied up neatly, showing off the delicate little hoops at your ears.
And you were just oblivious, looking up at him with those big bambi eyes.
For a moment, he just stood there, catching his breath, looking at you like he hadn’t expected the sight at all.
God, you looked so beautiful and he just wanted to fuck you right there, covered in fresh sweat.
“Kenny, you alright babe? Do I need to grab you some water? You hungry?” You perk up hopping to your feet to grab him a snack, but he just holds out a hand that halts you to a stop.
“N-no baby—just need you, it’s fine.” And that was the last thing you heard out of his mouth before he practically scooped you up and threw you back on the couch manhandling you in a tight mating press.
“K—Ken—a-haaah—slow—er!” Now his thick cock is ravaging itself through you tight neglected pussy. Each thrust sending your head knocking hard against the armrest. His whole body is currently blanketing your entire body.
“S—Shhhhhh—baby you got it. Should’ve known what was coming for you the second i saw you all spread out on my couch like that, hm?”
He still didn’t stop either way, his gentle demeanor kept you on edge. He knew well you would turn into a whining mess the moment his dick left your tummy. “Have I ever told you how great and painful my boners get when I’m at the gym?”
A pretty tear forms at your eye. He just licks it off and hums.
“Or how they get when I’m sitting at the dinner table, trying not to cum in my pants by looking at your plushy tits like a goddamn teenage boy.”
You shake your head haphazardly, biting your lip so hard you taste and tang of sour blood.
“K-Keeeennnnn-uh! You’re too—fuck!—ing—big!” He chuckles into the curve of your neck.
The warmth of his breath causing your clit to ache. “S’the point sweet thing. You feed me all day then I go to the gym. It’s called bulking, and I’m only doing it so I get to fuck you like this.”
SLAM!
A jackhammering thrust straight to your poor cunt that knocks the air out of your lungs, ripping a scream from your raw throat. He smiles wildly.
“N—No, fuck m’gonna cum!” A soft whine slipped from you as his pace grew so fast, that his hips began stuttering.
“No?” his head tilts, lips jutting just a bit, like he’s coaxing you without saying a word. “You knew exactly what you were in for, don’t try to play those types of games with me.” he spat pinning your hips down in an unyielding hold after you attempted to grind your fat needy clit against his pelvis.
“Oh she can wait, she doesn’t need me that bad now, does she?” You can only choke out more displeased whines. The way his fat head is abusing your cervix has your fingers threading through each and every honey blonde strand on his scalp like the only solid thing near you was his cranium. Each shlick of your sexes meeting bounces off the high ceiling of the penthouse.
But despite his refusal, he flips you over on your belly in a flash, pulling your hips up so that they meet his. The new angle allowing him to snake one of those fat biceps around your neck. “P-please! m’gonna—” His hips crush into your ass violently as if telling you to ‘shut up’. A series of your mewls fills his ears so sweetly.
“Told me that already baby. Go ahead, choke my cock with that tight needy cunt. Ruin this fucking couch.”
And you do.
Your arms go limp around the arm rest pussy spasming around the shaft. Not long after, he follows, glazing your womb with hot spurts of cum. Your moans intertwine with his like a melody throughout the apartment. “Took me sooo well didn’t you?” He purrs gaping at your gorgeous fucked out face while he strokes the curve of your cheek.
“Think I should reward you huh? What do you want, should I drink my cum out your pussy or should I fuck it back in and knock you up?”
Synopsis. In this season of The Bachelorette, 22 of Japan’s hottest bachelors vie for a chance for your hand…and between your legs. A plethora of eligible men from a buff personal trainer to a handsome lawyer, to a white-haired model with way too much charm—this might just be the steamiest season yet!
Pairings [SEPARATE] Higuruma x Reader, Gojo x Reader, Ino x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Geto x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader
Content. MDNI, fem!reader, The Bachelorette AU, reality TV, interviews, confessionals, sIight pIot, one-on-one dates, rose ceremonies, máting presses, they’re FÉRAL, spítting, chokíng, manhandIing, sIight bréeding, tummy buIges, DlLF!Toji, semi pubIic (Ino), sIight exhíbitíonism, sIight bòndage (Higuruma), p talking, p sIapping, fuII neIsons, DÚMBIFlCATION, cervíx smooches, MMA fighter!Sukuna, HEADLOCKS, Gojo’s PÚSSYDRÚNK, babbIing, creampíes, cúmpIay, proposals, possessive!JJK men, showing off, surprise at the end, you get to actually choose, pet names, swéaring.
A/N. Those pics from Artemis II are making me saur emotional- also Happy Easter to everyone that celebrates!
♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - First rose.
“Name? Toji Fushiguro. Age? Hah- who’re you to ask?” Even his introduction sounds like he’s sizing everyone in the studio up, a single unimpressed brow raised. In front of him Toji keeps his beefy arms crossed - both to stave off the awkwardness of speaking to a rolling camera, and to flex his biceps—just a little bit.
They were still filming the footage of their introductions - Toji hasn’t even entered that infamous mansion yet and somehow he finds his knee bouncing.
He doesn’t know whether he wants to (reluctantly) thank Shiu or throttle him for signing him up for this…bachelorette show. Is this what the youth was interested in these days?
Verdant eyes darting around the dimly-lit room, “I work as a personal trainer, among…many other things.”
A producer probes from one end, “And are you confident you’ll be picked, Fushiguro-san?”
“Confident?” He can’t help but crack a smile at that, “Please- who wouldn’t pick me? One night is all I need.”
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.
.
.
.
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.”
.
.
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.”
.
.
.
“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.
“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.
So, viewers, who's getting the last rose as your husband?
TOJI
NANAMI
GETO
CHOSO
SUKUNA
INO
GOJO
HIGURUMA
Voting ended onApr 7
A/N. MAYHAPS have a special treat for whoever wins. Can you tell my best friend made me watch Single's Inferno with her-
Synopsis. Your duties as a nanny are simple: pick Itadori Yuji up from elementary school, bathe him, feed him his veggies, and take care of him until his hot blond dad gets home. It doesn’t include something like…spending Valentine’s Day with the overworked, overstressed, absolute DlLF Nanami Kento. Does it?
Does it?
Pairing. Nanami Kento x Reader
Content. MDNI, fem!reader, older!Nanami, age gap, DlLF!Nanami, reader is in early 20’s, Nanami is in 30’s, he’s overworked and STRESSED, down bad!Nanami, desperation, Valentine’s Day, pùssydrùnk Nanami, oraI (fem rec.), p talking, p sIapping, punishments, dégrading but also soft Nanami, spítting, bíting, fíngering, yearning, teaching you, fírst times (yours), Iessons, talking you through it, he’s stern, he’s BIG, BRÉEDlNG BRÉEDlNG BRÉEDlNG, matíng presses, manhandIing, cervíx smoochin, overstím, vírginíty loss (yours), corruption, he’s feraI, DÚMBIFlCATION, calling you ‘momma’, mentions of kids, implied marathon, HEADLÓCKS, creampíes, cúmpIay, Yuji cameos, Papamin, HAPPY ENDING, pet names, swéaring.
Word count. 15.7k
A/N. BOO! SURPRISE VALENTINE’S DAY POST?! HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY BABYGIRLS <33
Nanami can’t help but sigh—“One more meeting and I’m quitting.”
Even though he knows he wouldn’t.
Those boxed-in, white-collar jobs felt just as lukewarm to quit as they were to work. One learns to numb oneself to the constant drone and sputter of the office, the ceaseless fury of a microwave that wouldn’t heat, and the wail of a printer printing listlessly furlong - too far behind its service date. So was there even a point?
That stupid screech followed him even out of the office: one could ignore the cracks and jolts of joints, but that doesn’t actually stop the noise.
He feels a headache coming on.
But Nanami can’t lie- the pay wasn’t all too bad. Besides, the extra hours helped him pay for the nanny he’d recently hired for Yuji—speaking of, he could hear you shuffling about inside.
His key’s just reaching for the door before it swings wide open.
“Welcome home—!”
And Nanami Kento can’t understand that strange, sweet flutter in his heart.
One of his hands jerks upwards- right to the pounding space above his heart. He knows he must look a bit of a sight right now - a grown man pawing at his chest - and part of him wonders whether this was all the all-nighters taking a toll on him. About time.
But another part of him wonders whether he should consult a cardiologist.
Also about time.
Because it’s been like this ever since he hired you - the vetting process for finding a nanny had been a long and tedious one. And Nanami had rejected (he’s sure) at least fifty different candidates, had been blocked by five different agencies, before he finally landed on you. Either they’d been too strict, or too lenient, or too new, or simply not cut out to handle the benevolent whirlwind that was his adopted son.
The poor man had been on the verge of giving up.
In fact, he was two paragraphs into an email to HR whilst stress-eating a homemade Danish pastry and wondering whether buying his boss flowers would be overkill- when it happened. God, could this day get any worse? First his manager gives him a ton of work just before he clocked off, certainly not in his list of responsibilities, then he’d burned those damn Danish pastries, then one of the nannies he’d interviewed had nearly passed out at the sheer energy Yuji had.
He’d been working more and more these days. And Nanami needed just a few more months - a few more nights putting in overtime before he could-
It was then that the doorbell had rang.
Ba-dump!
He opened the door tentatively, hoping that it wasn’t yet another ambush by a salesperson - each with their bright plastic garbage, and their even brighter smiles. But what he’d been met with instead wasn’t one of those visitors he dreaded…not in the very least. It was you—
And your explanation that you were here because of Shoko.
“Erm- she told me that you were looking for a nanny?” You flashed your conversation with Nanami’s clinical friend as proof. He flickered his gaze over to the screen but his eyes remained unreading—he remembers turning them back over to you.
Blinking at the vision of you.
And you’d slightly jolted at the intensity in them.
Digging through your pin-covered bag, “I also have my CV in here…somewhere.” He watched as you only grew more and more frustrated as that CV evaded you- “It really should be somewhere- give me one second-”
“That’s alri-”
But instead of your CV, your bag had poured out notes and pens in return. So much of it that Nanami marvelled at just how much fit inside that humble satchel. They dropped to the floor and you dived to pick them up, wincing. “I’m so- sorry-”
“Let me.” Crouching down in front of you, Nanami’s much-larger hands had had no trouble scooping all those papers up. In an instant he had them aligned neatly and handed to you. Prim. Proper.
By the tie still ‘round his neck, you guessed he’d just come home from work - and little did you know he’d also just finished four failed interviews for the position of nanny - yet he didn’t have a single blond hair out of line. They were slicked-back and handsome in a way you’d seen only in old movie stars. You thought you saw a few strands of silver.
Lines at the edges of his eyes. That tired strength about him.
It was hard to not ogle him.
Your fingertips brushed his rougher ones as you took the papers from him. “Thank you.”
“It’s my pleasure.” The older man peered down at you—so intense that you could almost feel yourself sinking into the mediocre polyester carpet lining the apartment hallway. Neither of you made a move to get up. “I want to ask you about your availability.”
You’d jumped slightly. “You…you actually want to hire me after that- I mean!”
“Should I not?” And what was this? Nanami Kento had to stifle a chuckle at that? How curious…it must’ve been the work day getting to him at that point- yes. He was feeling a little delirious.
“I mean- please do…”
He’d looked away with a slight smile once you reached into the depths of your bag once more. This time, you didn’t make it erupt in scribbled notes- instead you were pulling out a printed table that looked to be a time table. “Sorry I just- printing makes it easier for me to remember…sometimes.” You explained, “I don’t have any lectures on Wednesday and Friday- and the ones I have on the rest of the weekdays are rather flexible so—”
A college student!
Nanami’s jaw had dropped then.
He knew you looked young but-
A college student?!
“Wait a minute…” One of his hands twitched, almost as if to beckon that time table to himself and make sure.
But then you nodded, “I first met Shoko-san during a medical conference she gave at the university, and she told me you worked late on weekdays. I should be free in the evenings then, but will you be working late on the weekends as well? Because I do have this one professor that really-”
Nanami didn’t know how on Earth the topic of him would’ve even cropped up in your conversations- but he needed to end this.
Now.
Listen. It wasn’t that you seemed like a bad kid- you seemed great, even! But Nanami himself was well into his thirties with absolutely zero idea on balancing Yuji and his work life. So he really didn’t want to burden someone over a decade younger than him with-
“Papa?”
The sweetest, sleepiest voice echoed from inside.
He doesn’t even have to turn his head to know that Itadori was swaying, all decked-out in his Spiderman pajamas, at the end of the hallway. Likely having gotten out for water or because of the ruckus caused outside. He blinked his sluggish eyes open and ogled the two of you.
Nanami doesn’t know why- but he shoots up to a stand. Almost as if he was caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to.
You followed.
Which one of you three was the responsible parent here, by the way?
His parched mouth opened to—what? There was nothing to explain.
It was true that Nanami hadn’t had the time to even stop and think about dating or relationships in the time since he’d adopted Yuji. Not even if he wanted to. And, admittedly, he did have dreams of getting married one day - he watched all those sappy TV shows, alright? He knew how it felt.
He wanted to walk beside someone to that shrine. He wanted to have a few more kids, to give Yuji a bigger family than this. He wanted to quit his dead-end job and move out with his family to a bigger house in the countryside.
But none of that was as important as his son right now.
However, he knew that Yuji saw all those happy couples during pick-up at the elementary school- and his boy was sweet. The sweetest, actually. Nanami knew that Yuji wouldn’t say a single thing about him being the only exhausted father to arrive all alone. Day after day.
The two of them in their lonesome.
His sweet boy would beam the biggest smile nevertheless.
But kids were smarter than adults gave them credit for. Doesn’t he feel that loneliness, too?
Perhaps that was why Yuji ran up to you in an instant.
Right past his haggard father and only towards you - all previous sleepiness now gone - he reached up towards the pretty stranger with the pretty pin-covered bag.
Stubby finger pointing up at a particularly red one—“Do you like Spwiderman, too?”
“Of course.” Leaning down, you smiled warmly at the boy. His hair was a rose-colored mess that stuck up at all odd angles. “And my spidey senses are telling me that a certain someone does, too?”
He gasped, “That’s me!”
Before Nanami knows it, you were held hostage and dragged inside by a particularly overactive pink-haired boy. Shown all around the apartment as part of your tour to be shown-off Yuji’s prized Spiderman-themed bedroom.
And unbeknownst to him - against that lock-and-key and jaded guard - you’d walked into Nanami Kento’s cozy Tokyo apartment (and the strange cavity in his chest that softened whenever you were around).
He sighed.
A college student!
Still, Nanami can’t deny that it’s been a delight having you around.
Despite your packed schedule and your note-filled bag, you were always there to greet him when he came home. Without fail. Either tapping away at some assignment due before midnight, or humming to yourself as you wiped down the kitchen counters—last minute fluffy pancake emergency, he thinks of those nights.
Even though it’d been about eight months since your initial meeting, it’s almost fearsome how easily he’d gotten used to the routine of it all.
Something that should be so mundane - he flips each moment through his mind over and over again until it felt like they made up the grooves of his brain itself. The gyri and the sulci. Or so he’d heard you muttering to yourself as you studied one night.
He’s studied, too. He’s memorized how you’d open the door for him, with a smile across your face and a finger to your lips- telling the older man to be quiet as he shook off his shoes. He’s memorized how you’d never fail to tell him about the leftovers in the fridge as you reached for your satchel. He’s memorized how you’d hesitate to meet his gaze- but smile the brightest once you do, and how you’d linger at the doorstep telling him about Yuji’s day.
Nanami has memorized how it made some dust-covered part of his heart stir. Blinking away the exhaustion of the day.
Nanami Kento has never felt more invigorated than he is during those sparse few minutes that he caught up with you at the end of the night. Voices low, like neither of you wanted to interrupt a sleeping thing—Yuji, yes. But something else, too.
He gets the feeling that it’d feel like this even if you weren’t around as a job. If perhaps the two of you had met- the same age, at the same university.
Maybe in-between the sluggish hours of study sessions where you help him with some particularly hard question. Maybe in the library where he helps you reach some dusty ol’ book from the topmost shelf.
Times like this, he allows himself to dream.
You’d make the best wife.
You were the best nanny he could’ve ever chosen.
But one always has to wake up to one’s alarm. He sets his alarms himself.
“Come in.” Nanami tells you as he shrugs off his coat at the entrance. He watches as you stop in your tracks at the doorway, fiddling with your familiar pin-draped bag. “I’m just about to fire up some brownies for tomorrow.”
You pause.
“I-if it’s not too late and you don’t have any classes early tomorrow or-”
“I’d skip all my classes for some of your brownies.”
He lets out a breath of relief as you start walking back from the doorway. “Please don’t.”
It takes a little less than half an hour for the brownies to bake until they are crisp on the top and perfectly gooey in the middle. Layers of chocolate that are only sweetened by the conversation that you brought into Nanami Kento’s humble kitchen.
He listens as you talk about your day, about that professor that’d been out to get you, about that exam you were sure you’d fail (he knows you won’t in the end). Only adding brief hums of affirmation and nods as the older man sweeps through his counters, broad back turned to you, muscles flexing against his office shirt as he whipped up a hot fudge as well as a strawberry sauce for you to add to your brownies.
“—and you’d never guess what Yuji told me today.” Tonight you seem a little more breathless than usual. Stuttering out your thank-yous as he brings out the tray from the oven and cuts out the first piece for you.
“Blow on it. It’s hot.” Nanami leans over the other side of the kitchen island. He watches as your pretty lips fall into a soft circle, “What were you saying, my dear?”
“Well-” You dart your gaze around the rest of the empty apartment. “You know how it’s Valentine’s Day tomorrow, Nanami-san?”
Nanami runs a hand through his silver-streaked hair. Smoothing it down. He knows how his son can be, and he has to bite back the grin that threatens to spread across his face. “Mhm?”
“Yuji here seems to think that- well…” Bringing a hand up to your lips, fingertips slightly shaking. The brownie was just amazing. “He seems to think that Valentine’s Day is a bit like Christmas, you see. And so the entire day he wouldn’t stop making a list for Cupid.”
Now that piques his interest particularly- Nanami was never a man to skimp out whenever his loved one wanted something. “Oh, is that so? And what does he ask from this ah- Cupid?”
“That is- I don’t even know if this is appropriate for me to say but…” Looking around one last time. “But it seems Yuji is under the impression that we are together.”
“Oh.”
“Together together.”
“Oh.” He can’t help but inch just a little closer- a strange weight in his stomach. Not entirely unpleasant. “I see.”
You’re mustering up a little more courage, “And it seems that what Yuji wants the most this Valentine’s is…for us to get married. Spiderman-themed wedding, he says.” Watching as Nanami’s eyes slightly widen. “B-but of course, I told him that that might not exactly be in erm- Cupid’s range of power! He kept insisting however-”
He looks at you silently as you rub your temples.
“Because then he said a little brother or sister would be fine, too…” Was it time for the conversation about the birds and the bees already? Instead of storks, Yuji relies on Cupid?!
Nanami follows suit, running a hand through the silver streaks in his hair. “Is that so?” He sighs. “I shall have a little talk with him about asking…immoderate requests of Cupid.”
“He’s a sweet boy. Just a little confused.” You smile sheepishly. “Though I can’t really blame him- my friends think we’re together, too.”
Just an inch closer. “I see.”
And Nanami feels your breathing go heavy- enveloped in the hint of his cologne, the sweetness of the brownies, the musk of something that was entirely him. “I-it’s silly, isn’t it…”
He stares at you intently, reading your every reaction. “Quite.” Pupils flickering down your face. Just another inch closer—you wonder how much more space was left, and what you wanted to do with it. “I’m far too old for you, my dear.”
Your lips part-
The clock strikes eleven.
Both of you startle as if shocked with electricity- “I-I really should-”
“Yes, I understand-”
“The brownies were amazing-”
“Please, take this.” He pushes a bag topped with that delicacy and more of whatever topping you liked into your hands.
“Thank you so much.” You rush out breathlessly, other hand snatching your bag from the counter. “Night, Nanami-san—!”
“Goodnight, my dear.”
“And thank you for the brownies!”
The door shuts—with a lingering creak and ebb of your smile behind it. And soon enough Nanami finds himself lumbering in the direction of Yuji’s bedroom.
It’s not long before he stands before the parade of red and blue and masked superheroes: personnel stationed all to take care of the boy with a tuft of pink hair. His precious treasure. Nestled in the middle of his car-shaped bed.
A small bedside light traces a glow across his chubby cheeks.
As he does every night, Nanami walks up to the little boy and crouches down beside the bed. Forearms rested upon the soft mattress, face rested upon his forearms- it was always around this time that Yuji would stir and look up at his father.
“Papa…” He sleepily mumbles. Rubbing his sleep-swollen eyes, “Gone?”
“Mhm.” Nanami nods. “Left just now, sunshine.”
“Awww, man—” Yuji seems to deflate- but that only pushes him deeper into the puffy pillows. Making him yawn so wide that it makes the older man chuckle. “I really like her, papa.”
His father pauses before he answers. “I like her, too, Yuji.”
“No, but- I really like her. You know, she’s my best friend along with Kugisaki and Fushiguro and you-”
Nanami starts tickling the boy on his sides until he bursts into peels of laughter. “Really, huh?”
Through giggles, he nods. Before stretching his arms above his head and falling back onto the comfy bed- perhaps he was still dreaming. “Why can’t we keep her, papa?”
“We can’t just keep people, Yuji.” Nanami has to hide his own smile. He knows he should mention the thing about Cupid right now, but he just can’t bring himself to do it. Maybe tomorrow…
“Yes, but…”
“I know, I know.” Nanami pushes his face deeper into his strong forearms. Sometimes, he still felt much like a kid himself. “I get it.”
.
.
.
The next morning, Yuji still wasn’t giving up.
“Papa, it’s Valentine’s Day!”
Papa was about to burst a blood vessel.
He’d chattered on and on about Valentine’s Day as Nanami shuffled him out of bed, he’d announced what chocolates were the best according to his very distinguished five-year-old palate as Nanami helped him brush his teeth—he’d even turned his nose up at the heart-shaped scones that Nanami had made for breakfast.
“Papa, you’re gonna hafta make better hearts than this if you want to marry-”
“Yuji, sunshine, we’re going to be late.”
Nanami Kento was barely a match for his son. And it’s with something akin to relief - like the exhausted sigh of a stranded man, finally coming across the silhouette of a rescue boat in the bleak horizon - that he manages to hurry the boy into finishing his breakfast. Tuggin’ on his Spiderman backpack, Nanami held Yuji’s hand as they exited the apartment.
Today wasn’t even a school day.
It wasn’t even a school day! And yet the teacher wanted all students in for a short assembly and some chocolate party in class. Nanami would be damned if he didn’t let his son enjoy these small pleasures.
The elementary school that Yuji attended was only a short distance away from the apartment- usually they’d just make the trip by foot. During those ten minutes it’d become routine for the little boy to jabber away about whatever came to his mind.
How unfortunate for Nanami Kento today that, today, all Yuji could think about was you—
Not because Nanami wasn’t doing much the same- but because he didn’t like thinking of himself as doing much the same. Even though he knew. Query: if both father and son couldn’t get you off their minds, then which one of the two was going to use it?
The older man shakes his head just a little as Yuji suggests a Spiderman wedding cake again—he disagrees with both the cake and…the wedding. Right?
But the boy catches the movement and pouts-
“Why don’t you want to tell her, papa?”
They’re stopping at a red light. Nanami didn’t want to think about how those miniscule bulbs had been programmed to flicker in the shape of a heart today, instead of the usual pedestrian walking. What an apt metaphor for his life, no? Nanami Kento wanted to find something wrong in the traffic light - in the visibility, the practicality, the color - but he couldn’t.
In fact, it was rather pretty.
The crossing threatened to bubble over with salarymen and salarywomen and groups of families each hoping to be the first, the fastest, to jump the road. He tugs both himself and Yuji more towards the back where they were well out of the way of whizzing cars. Is it just him or were there more wedding cars than usual today?
“Tell her what? To marry me?” He absent-mindedly answers, “What did I say about no forced marriages, Yuji?”
“No.” He lightly stomps his feet. Making the blond man look down- “I mean why don’t you tell her that you like her, papa?”
And Nanami can’t help but look around like a caught teenager. “You- you can’t just say those things, sunshine! What if she’s heading to class and nearby…”
“But you told me you did last night?” Yuji answers.
Which, fair. And it leaves Nanami slightly at a loss for words. “I…”
“But why can’t you tell her?” The child nods sagely to himself, “S’like when I broke Fushiguro’s red crayon- and I told him. Don’t you always tell me not to lie, papa?”
“That’s…true.” His father hesitates. “But that’s different from-”
“But anyway- that’s why I asked Cupid.” Yuji hums. Content. “You’re a scwaredy-cat, papa, but I asked Cupid for you. Like Santa. And Santa always gives me what I ask for.”
One day, Nanami will consider telling him that Santa had to work a month overtime to get him that car bed—happily however. But that day’s not today. “Oh?”
“Yeah.” He looks up at his father with wide, innocent eyes. “And I also asked Cupid for a bwother- maybe this year I should ask Santa, too.”
“Oh.”
“Do you think Cupid will make my wishes come true, papa?”
“I’m…afraid I can’t be sure, sunshine.”
The light turns green.
And Nanami’s the first to step out onto the road.
From here, even the crosswalk seemed to twist and turn into the shapes of hearts.
Along the rest of the way to his elementary school, Yuji tugs on Nanami’s coat and asks him for his phone—“Alright, but no games before school, Yuji.”
“Not playing games!”
And he didn’t think much of it.
Not until Nanami was on the subway heading to work, about to shoot a phone call to one of the contractors he’d be working with today- and he finds Shoko’s name in his call log.
Outgoing call → Shoko [8:01AM]
Lasted three minutes.
How strange. Nanami doesn’t remember calling his friend at any point today - it must’ve been Yuji during his walk to school.
A mistake?
How strange, indeed…
But to be quite honest, Nanami doesn’t get the time to ponder upon this happening too deeply. The very second he’d considered clicking on that name himself and asking Shoko- the train had slid to a halt at his station.
Then came the chaos of the office: it seems that one of the interns had forgotten to fax a file yesterday. And Nanami had five angry clients on the phone before 9:00AM, one presentation to lead before 10:00AM, a few more angry clients just after the meeting, and a few more contracts to type up and edit before 12:00AM. Those utterly gaudy pink decorations hung about the room didn’t do anything to help with his oncoming headache.
Everyone in the office knew not to wish him today.
By the time that the overworked man was free for lunch, it was close to 2:00PM. His joints pop as he stretches his arms above his head, flickering a look at the clock above.
It was almost time for Yuji to be let out. Nanami knew you’d be humming to yourself as you walked to his school - and if his son was there, he’d join in, too.
At risk of sounding like a creep, he admits that he’s often listened to the low drift of your voice as you walked out of his apartment. It would start up once he shut that door. And he often stood there - on the other end - until it disappeared. Along with the sound of your footsteps.
His house always seemed smaller then.
Shaking his head free of such thoughts, Nanami stands and walks out of his department, wondering what he’ll have for lunch today. This usually wasn’t a problem with him, but this morning he’d been rather a bit…frazzled. So to say.
All those questions and ‘requests’ that Yuji had left him with just barely enough rationality to scrounge up something for the boy. As for himself, he was meandering through the busy streets of Tokyo - tarmac carpets flying by at a pace faster than he ever seemed to be able to. How was it possible for something inanimate to soar, to race, to live more than he did? Was it always built this way or was he one of the unlucky few?
He wonders which category you’d fall into.
That cheap ramen shop down the street wasn’t too bad - their broth was so good that Nanami was almost able to ignore the sappy love songs crooned from their battered radio. They had a special deal going: 80% off for all couples on Valentine’s Day! All ribbons and glitter. All special pink desserts and lovers holding hands. All love…love and a happy elderly couple behind the counter - the owners, it seems.
It was quaint- cute. The type of place he thinks you might like.
As he was walking back to the office, it seemed as though the city was fit to brim with similar sentiments.
Flower shops bursting with bouquets like carnivorous sunsets, bleeding hearts and ruby-red roses. Candy shops with something sweet for every color of the rainbow—and more covert advertisements for more…adult indulgences. Sex shops that Nanami had to speed-walk past because of how full and flush they were. Ripe with Valentine’s Day.
Nanami Kento might try to ignore what today is, but the world sure as hell wouldn’t let him forget.
Once he finally runs back to his cubicle- he ducks his head and focuses his eyes solely on the computer screen. He hopes no one comments on the numerous glitzy bags beside him.
.
.
.
“What the hell are you doing in my apartment?”
“Y’know- most people would say—‘Wow, it’s so nice to see you. Now I should totally stop brushing off your invites for drinks. Thank you for being such a kind and respectful and understanding friend, Ieri Shoko.’” The woman in question stretches languorously on top of the couch, her test tube-patterned socks dangling from the other side. “And you’re welcome, by the way!”
Nanami raises one hand in front of him- almost as if to pause the scene entirely. He closes his eyes—when he opens them, he hopes that this had all been a bad dream and he’ll wake up to his glaring computer screen.
He opens them.
Nope- still real.
“Let me rephrase- what the hell have you done to my apartment?”
Shoko gets off the couch and gestures at the apartment like a magician showing off a trick. “Ta-da!” At all the yellow candles that cast miniature sunrises where they wept, at the music that crept sensually from some mysterious corner of the room, at the humble dining table that now looked like it came out of a Times’ 10 Best Spots To Take Your Lover for Valentine’s Day.
Nanami’s stern lips part as he takes in the silver-covered dishes on top, on top of some white cloth—was that his goddamn blanket?!
“Oh c’mon-” Shoko rolls her eyes. “Don’t act so surprised, I see the bouquet in your hands. You obviously planned something of the sort.”
He forgot about that damn thing. Nearly dropping those flowers in his haste to hide it behind his broad back, though there was really no use - he simply couldn’t stand Shoko’s laughing eyes any longer. “Th-this was for Yuji.”
“I see the smaller bouquet in the bag.” She points out. Almost empathetically, Shoko sighs. “You really aren’t slick, Kento.”
“This isn’t- this is just—” But the longer she smirks at him, the less he seems to have an answer. Soon enough, he’s bringing out that massive bouquet from behind him and letting his friend fawn over the thing.
“Wow, she’s really going to love this-”
“It’s called being nice, by the way!” Nanami answers, belatedly.
The look Shoko gives him is enough to make him click his mouth shut.
“I hope you know that I bought one to give you tomorrow…I’m throwing it out now.” Because no matter how much Nanami denied it, today was about love. Parental. Platonic. Even the love that he could never have. As Shoko rummages through the bag with an excited squeak, he drawls on. “Where even is she, by the way? What have you done to her?”
“Hm? Oh, Yuji called me this morning. Thank you for these, by the way.” Shoko stands with a beautiful yellow rose and purple zinnia bouquet in her arms. She sniffs at the sweet fragrance- “Yuji called me asking whether he should leave out cookies for Cupid just like he does with Santa. It seems he wanted Cupid to bring us a wedding, and guess what? I wanted Cupid to bring us a wedding.” Her face breaks out into a smug smile - the one he’s only seen when she used to cheat through biochemistry exams without anyone ever knowing. “So we called up your darling nanny and let her know that her schedule’s changed for today- then Yuji and I did a little sprucing up in here.”
“Sprucing up…”
She turns around to admire her work, “Honestly, Kento, if I knew that you didn’t have a romantic bone in your body then I’d have dissected you-‘
“Papa!”
Spared from hearing whatever gory plans that Shoko had for him by the excited yelp of his son—Nanami hears his footsteps before he sees him. He feels the impact before he sees him.
Yuji’s running down the hallway and launching himself at his father at full speed- “Papa, you’re home!”
“That I am, sunshine.” Nanami smiles down at the boy. “How was your day? I have something for you.”
“For me?” Tufts of pink curls bobbing as he cocks his head, following his father’s movements as Nanami crouches down and reaches into one of the bags. Before breaking out into the most brilliant smile at the sight of the flowers. “Woah- they’re so pretty—! Thank you.”
Crushing the bouquet of pink carnations and hydrangea to his chest, he wraps his arms around Nanami’s shoulders and hugs him.
“Happy Valentine’s Day, papa. I’ve got a gift for you, too-” Breaking away, Yuji’s throwing an arm out towards the room at large. “Auntie Shoko said this was how you bring Cupid! And we also tried to make those heart-shaped cupcakes you make, but it tasted like tar so…”
“That’s perfectly alright, Yuji.” He swipes at a smear of icing still on the boy’s face. “We can learn together on my next day off, right?”
“Right!” Yuji jumps in excitement. “And after your wedding today-‘
“Yuji…”
“And right on time.” Shoko’s voice permeates the room- right alongside the sharp fwip! of the window shutters closing. She turns away from the glass and pushes off from her station. “C’mon Yuji, now the plan is a-go! Go! Go!”
“Aye-aye!” With a chubby hand raised in salute—Yuji wastes no time giving his father a final hug. “Bye bye, papa.”
“Wha-” Nanami looks at the harried duo in confusion. “What are you two-”
“And don’t mess this up, Kento.” Shoko gives him a stern wave.
Before she clasps Yuji’s hand and helps the boy match her longer stride- the two of them speed-walk in the direction of the door.
“Yeah- don’t mess this up, papa!”
“Uh, where are you taking my son?” Nanami stalks after them. Not letting the front door close behind them, he watches the two figures - bouquets and all - race down the hallway. How strange that they didn’t take the usual route - instead opting for the one that would let them leave through the back entrance. “Hello? Shoko-”
“Don’t mess this up!”
He has half the mind to chase after them - it’s not that he doesn’t trust Shoko with his son, but really, what on Earth could they be getting up to?! Especially so late past Yuji’s bedtime. At the very least, maybe he could run up to them and let Shoko know of his son’s Spiderman ritual before eating and the tendency he has to bite fingers when-
“Nanami-san?”
Your voice.
Was he dreaming?
And yet—Nanami snaps his head towards the source of the noise so fast that it almost causes whiplash. He breathes your name out in a whisper.
So this is what Shoko meant about-
“Am I hallucinating or is that Shoko-san and Yuji running down the fire escape?” You point at something beyond his line of vision, though Nanami doesn’t need to look to know that it is, in fact, Shoko and Yuji running down the fire escape.
“I think I’m hallucinating, to be quite honest.” He mutters. Because surely there was no conceivable world in which he would see you like this - standing outside his door on Valentine’s Day, looking all gorgeous as you always did - and dare to bring out the bouquet that he had bought for you. Also was that…was that a bit of make-up you’d dabbed on? More so than usual?
His eyes linger on the glitter beside your eyes.
The thought that it might’ve been because it’s today - that it might’ve been because you’d been as nervous about seeing him today as he was about seeing you - makes him jolt. He’d been smoothing his hair down the entire subway ride home thinking of you.
Thirty-something years and he’s acting like a teenager in puppy love.
Certainly no conceivable world…
And yet…he does. He reaches behind him to bring out that prideful bouquet: 520 flower-heads that blushed themselves silly over not being even half as beautiful as you.
“For you.” He croaks out. Awkwardly pushing up his glasses.
“Oh.” Your jaw drops, and the bouquet weighs heavy in your hands. In nothing but a whisper- “It’s beautiful, Nanami-san.”
Red, red roses.
.
.
.
Nanami explained the situation before he invited you in…somewhat.
Certainly nothing about how badly he’d been teased because of this little scheme or the ah- confession of feelings. Heavens, no! Nanami himself wasn’t entirely sure whether he’d go along with their plan…
As far as you knew, Shoko and Yuji thought it’d be a funny little prank to ‘invite Cupid’ into his apartment this Valentine’s Day. Leaving the two of you alone in an apartment draped in candles and roses like the most deviant of mistresses.
And Nanami knew you knew. You knew that Nanami knew.
The implications were there for all to see.
It was there in the way his face burned red, and Nanami couldn’t meet your eyes- “I’m aware of how it looks. And it seems that my son still holds the idea that erm…either way, ahem, I completely understand if you would much rather go home. Please do know that this will not affect your job in any way whatsoever- in fact, I will cover your fee double tonight-”
“Nanami-san.” You’d interrupted him. Cocking your head with a slight smile, “May I come in?”
From there he’d been the perfect gentleman - not that he wasn’t usually. Even in the months since you’d worked for him, you’d come to find that Nanami was the type of man that opened doors for you, that pushed your chair for you, that covered your taxi fare home, that escorted you as far as he could by foot either way.
But now…oh, right now he was putting any Prince Charming to shame.
He had his hand hoverin’ right above your waist- leading you inside to the romantic dinner table. Here, he’d pushed your chair for you—and before you could even thank him, Nanami had his hands helping you out of your coat.
He insisted on plating for you.
You couldn’t help but gawk at the way his biceps pushed against his work button-up, flexing slightly as Nanami stood beside the table and neatly cut your bread - one he’d baked just this morning, according to him. Shoko had clearly rummaged through his kitchen well…
Conversation was somewhat breathless at first- the both of you waiting for the other to go first. The both of you anticipating every single word.
Wondering what every single word meant.
But after the first two courses - Shoko certainly hadn’t burned these - the both of you were talking freely. Moving on from the more polite topics, like your day, his day, that were really a front for something more - speaking with Nanami was always so easy, he was the best listener you’ve had in a while—to dessert: strawberry shortcake cupcakes and a confession that slips from your lips.
“Y’know- this is the first Valentine’s Day I’m spending like this.” You giggle, wiping off the cream that sticks to your lips. Nanami watches with half-lidded eyes as you devour the delicacy he’d baked this morning.
He swirls his half-empty wine glass. Certainly not enough to get the man tipsy - Nanami was quite the heavy drinker when he wanted to be - but enough to make him ask. “Oh? Tell me more, my dear.”
The candlelight catches on the rim of his glasses, encasing his eyes in an intense glow. You think he looks even more handsome like this- “Sorry. It’s probably going to sound stupid to someone more experienced…”
“There is nothing you’d say that would be stupid.” He pushes his glasses further up his sharp nose. Fingers crossing before him, he leans in. “Continue, my dear.”
“It’s just- I haven’t had many serious relationships, is what.” You admit. And he looks at you so intently- “With life and university, it’s hard to find the time—if I was looking anyways, that is.” You sputter, before he can ask anything about whether the nanny job was cutting into your time. “The selection in my department isn’t great at all.”
“So…” Nanami runs the tip of his finger ‘round that glass cup. The thin rim. The gaping mouth. “-no lil’ boyfriend, then?”
“No boyfriend.” You echo. And perhaps being drunk on the proximity is what makes you blurt out- “But if I did have one, I think I’d like someone older—”
He quirks a brow in interest, “Older?”
You nod. Crossing your arms in slight embarrassment, “Boys my age will ask you out and then go halfsies just because you don’t want to go home with them.”
“Mhmm.” Nanami’s lip curls in distaste.
“I just want someone to like me for me- y’know? Just to sit across from me like this and really talk to me for once.”
“Has no boy ever wined and dined you like this?” He asks.
“No.” You admit, somewhat sheepishly.
“Has no boy ever bought you flowers?”
“No.” You cast a look at the 520 roses - now housed in a large vase that Nanami had pulled out from one of his cabinets.
“No…” You breathe.
He inches forwards, forwards, forwards—and wipes at a remnant of sweet, sweet cream on your lips. That roughened edge of Nanami’s thumb grazes the edge of your mouth. “Has no boy ever been sweet to you like this?” He catches the look in your eyes. And his own lower. “Has no boy ever treated you like a man would, my dear?”
The older man doesn’t hesitate in reaching his thumb back up to his mouth- and lickin’ off the cream. “Has no boy ever eaten you out like this?”
“No-”
Your lips upon his are even sweeter than the cupcakes he’s baked- and he’s lavishin’ his tongue over your mouth gently. Opening you up so wide—
And even that isn’t enough.
Nanami’s thumb finds permanent purchase at the end of your chin, letting his own sinful tongue slip inside. In and out. In and out. In and out.
Almost as if he was fucking you with it-
You’re not sure how long Nanami’s kissing you like this.
Maybe minutes. Maybe hours.
You’ve lost track of time- and the only thing you know is that your head feels dizzy. Your knees were growing weak in your seat. A slick line of spittle glides down the side of your mouth- and Nanami reaches a thumb up to smeeear it.
“My dear…” He murmurs, his deep baritone taking on a husky tone. Hot breath fans across your face, heating you up from the inside out.
You’re raising your face to meet his molten gaze- and it almost shocked you just how handsome Nanami Kento is. Noble features chiselled in the soft candlelight. His mouth slightly kiss-swollen. Blond hair unravelling from his usual neat style n’ cascading across his forehead.
He reaches closer to you and siiinks his teeth into your lower lip, “Have you ever been kissed like that- here before?”
You squirm. Shaking your head-
But he tugs on your pretty maw. “Tell me in words, honey.”
Gulping as one of his rugged hands snakes down your middle. A carnal jolt echoes through your body once Nanami presses the edge of his palm between your skirt- your legs. “I…” You think of all the disappointing dates you’ve been on before, of all the disappointing hands in places almost forgettable. “Not like that, Nanami-san.”
“Now now—when we fuck, call me Kento.” He mutters, finally making his way ‘round the table. Before you know it, he’s looming over you- and two of his strong hands rest underneath your legs. “Upsy daisy.”
He’s lifting you uuuuuup, up, up to splay out across the dinner table.
Lifting you like you weighed nothing.
Pushing aside first and foremost those plates and flowers- you’re being rolled with your back against the tabletop, and Nanami’s honed hips pinning you down. A dimly-lit halo of light behind his golden hair. He wastes no time before throwing both legs of yours on top of his shoulders- “M’gonna teach you how a real man eats pussy.”
You nod-
“First lesson. Big girls use their words.”
And your jaw drops—
“K-Kento—”
You’re not sure whether the primal noise escapes you because of his words, his tone, or because of the utterly desperate way that Nanami Kento falls to his knees. Thud!
Loud enough that it should hurt- but you don’t think it even registers in Nanami’s frenzied brain right now.
Not when he was pushing up that damn sinful skirt of yours- extra tight tonight. Nanami wasn’t a fool - he knew what you were doing. Not when he was starin’ deeply at your pussy, all wet through your panties and throbbing so hard he could practically see it.
Count it.
One-two-three.
Not when he was worshipping you as close as a man possibly could—“Not quite the answer I was looking for.” Then the next thing you’re hearing is a sudden thwack! The next thing you’re feeling are the five pointed tips of Nanami’s thick fingers, smacking down on top of your pussy. “But I’ll let it slide since s’your first time being eaten out all properly, mhm?”
“Mhm.” You nod.
“What was that?” Those mean fingertips of his raise again.
“Yes, Kento.” You’re hurrying to answer. And just as a little reward, Nanami smears his digits atop your swollen folds.
“That’s more like it.” The glaze of your sweetened slick lets out the loudest squelch, and you squirm as he’s tuggin’ aside your panties with a single index. “Are you ready, my dear?”
“Yes-”
“Are you excited, my dear?”
“Yes-”
“Good girl.”
Let the feast begin, he’s thinking. And Nanami Kento doesn’t wait. Nanami Kento doesn’t tease n’ toy. Nanami Kento doesn’t even swivel his fingertips around your wet hole more than a few times to check how soaked you are before he’s taking what he wants—he doesn’t have the damn time for anything else.
He’d been starving for far too long.
And the closer n’ closer he gets to your pussy, the more his mouth waters.
Nanami’s left drooling at the mere sight of your wet fuckin’ hole—you swear you could hear his stomach start to growl. Fuck.
He gulps.
He takes a single sniff.
With a sudden lurch - like he couldn’t hold it back any longer - he leans up and shoves his face nose-deep between your legs.
His tongue swiping your hole, jaw hittin’ the end of your slit.
He’s curving that wet, wet muscle against your walls. Just so soft that it feels as if you’re melting around him- “Fuck.” It escapes him- harsh and cracking. A primal groan at the back of his throat - one he doesn’t seem to even realize himself. “Fuck.”
You tremble at the tone.
Because there was something dark in it. Something almost…predatory.
This was nothing like the calm, composed Nanami Kento that you were used to - absolutely nothing. This was…you didn’t even have words for it.
So fiercely needy that it shoots electricity up your spine- Nanami’s tongue was ravenous. He was holding onto both sides of your legs and- and correction…he wasn’t merely holding onto them. Nanami Kento was using all his strength to push them as faaaar apart as they would go before suffocating himself on your sopping wet cunt.
Such strong hands. Furious tongue.
No matter how much you’re bucking your hips- he just keeps fucking his muscle between your wet pussylips like the last thing on his mind was breathing.
Swooping his head even deeper and munching for more. More. More, more, more.
Nanami crushes his mouth against your pussylips - so deep that you start to wonder whether his oral area would start to bruise—
And it’s only because of that broken call of his name that Nanami flinches. He freezes. He puffs out a murky breath. As if only now registering where he was, what he was doing, and just what his name was at the moment-
He’s breaking free from your pussy with an echoing slurp!
“K-Kento…” You’re looking on in pure worry at the dazed man - his eyes were still glazed, and there was something almost…feral about his demeanour still. Though he seemed to be much calmer than before, “Kento, are you okay to contin-”
“I am.” His voice comes out strong. Firm. Like he’s never been more sure of anything in his entire life.
Nanami lets out a few stilted breaths- running a hand through his now-unruly hair. The glisten of a silver streak in it. “I am. I just…it’s been a long time…forever, actually, since I’ve tasted anything so delicious.” Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, “I hope you can forgive this old man for getting a little carried away, my dear.”
Was he really that ruined from but a single taste of your cunt?
He stares down so long and deeeep at your quivering pussy. That cute hole peeking out from your panties—“She’s just so…sweet.”
And though he was speaking to you, Nanami looks down lovingly between your legs.
Now that he didn’t have his lips all plastered to your folds- he was rubbin’ his right thumb vertically down your slit.
Pressing down on the cute button of your clit-
“Awww did I scare you, honey? I sure hope I didn’t.” Honey, because you were just too sweet sizzlin’ on his tastebuds. Guiding one of your hands to grip his scalp, “Forgive me. When it gets like that, don’t be afraid to pull me- to use me, alright?”
“Kento, you don’t have to-”
“Consider it my second lesson.”
You squirm, “B-but don’t they say to…respect your elders, Kento?”
And you’re just too cute—he can’t help but flatten his palm down and spank your pussylips once more. It makes so many beads of slippery slick spray out from your cunt n’ glue against that chin of his. “You certainly can.” He hums, thoughtful. “But just remember- I won’t be respecting this pussy, honey.”
“I see.” You gape.
And while speaking to you - while speaking to you - Nanami lavishes out lil’ kitten licks between your folds. Lick. Lick. “I bet this pretty pussy’s never been eaten out like that before, huh?” He continues. Merely peeking up at you through blond lashes to confirm- and you can only nod—
Yet another spank sputtering down on your wet crevice.
“Words.” Nanami reminds.
Hiccuping, “Yes, please. All those boys usually just like- graze my clit and that’s all.”
He nods. He continues, voice nothing but deep murmurs that sets your entire body aflame - and it’s as though the more syllables he’s uttering, the harder n’ harder he rubs on your clit. “Awww poor girl. I just can’t help but think of how long this pussy has been wasted on- haaah, boys who didn’t know how to handle her.”
“Too- too long.”
Lovingly—almost drunkenly, he’s pressing a direct peck against your hole. The tip of his tongue just lightly slipping out and teasing your entrance- Nanami’s free hand grips onto your thigh as if holding himself back. “Mmmm, that’s what I thought.” He murmurs. “And how long has she waited to be eaten out by a man who isn’t afraid to get a little…sloppy?”
“Too long-”
At this, he chuckles. “And as for my last question-” Not even smooching anymore- he’s just smeeeeaering his puffy lips along your slit. More rapid. More hungry. “Actually- take this as my third lesson.”
You’re scrambling up onto your elbows. “Yes?”
“Can you settle down like a good girl?”
Whatever that means…you aren’t given the time to figure out. Because before you know it, Nanami purses his lips and plants a wad of spittle that hits your cunt with a wet splat!
Only making you even wetter for him to gape his jaw open- “Fuck.” For him to swirl his ridged tip around and around your snug entrance until it left your mind all dizzy, it makes your cunt streeeeetch incredibly once he digs the tip of his tongue inside. Thoroughly.
It’s almost as if he was splitting you apart on the thickness of his tongue.
Expanding and contracting. Expanding and contracting.
The stretch is so incredible that it leaves your mind searing
“Settle down. Settle doooown-” He’s humming in a low tone. Whenever Nanami feels you squirmin’ or clenching just a tad too hard, he’s making note of that particular spot and bashing it all in again. Thick muscle reaching in and out for your deepest depths until your tight hole can’t take it anymore- until you’re screaming for mercy.
“Oh fuh-fuuuuck—” You’re arching straight off the table, the fabric clinging onto your skin briefly. Only for a few split-seconds before one of Nanami’s hands fastens onto your hips, pushing you right back down where you came from.
“What did I say?” He wasn’t even using much of his strength- you were just so easy for him to move ‘round. Especially when he has his mouth attached to you in a way that was so ravenous—
Ruined.
“Settle. Fucking. Down, girl.”
Pinning you to the flat surface and letting his gaped maw run wiiiiiiild. It’s making you realize that he wasn’t going feral in the beginning- he was merely holding back.
Both in strength and in pure carnal hunger.
No matter how badly you were craving to grind down restlessly on his face for hours- Nanami keeps you on a tight leash. He keeps you restrained on the table n’ getting only what’s given. Pushing down. Maneuvering his greedy mouth. No matter how much you wanted to plant your feet down and take control - Nanami Kento really does know what’s best.
“Failing the third lesson already, huh?”
Tears stream down your cheeks without you even realizing. “S-sorry, I didn’t-”
“Shhhhh shh shh. No need for an apology, honey.” He opens his swollen lips up wider n’ latches them around your clit for a few seconds. “My poor girl’s just overstimulated because she’s getting her pussy eaten out, huh? This pretty pussy’s just excited?”
“Yes-”
“That’s why your Kento’s here.” Nanami hums, his cold glasses frames hit the front of your cunt and you flinch. Making the man push them up his nosebridge with a chuckle—“And m’gonna take care of this pussy, baby.”
The way that Nanami looks dead-set into your widened peripherals as he says this makes your heart race.
Spitting a few more times down your dribbling slit. He was teeeeasing you before reaching his right hand down n’ smearing your pussylips open with two fingers- the rugged tips of his index n’ middle streeetching your damp hole apart. Just so goddamn thick. “Fourth lesson: sometimes…fingers feel even better.”
“O-ohhh—” Your voice breaks out in carnal trills. Trying to bend your spine but then holding yourself back-
He was thrashing inside a few more sloppy strokes - swiping, slurping, scrapin’ every inch of your velvety walls. Anywhere you could think of, his thickened digits were pumping in.
At one point, he flicks his glistening tongue outside for you to take in his sheer size. “Size does matter when it comes to pleasing this needy pussy, alright? Don’t let any fuckin’ boy convince you otherwise.”
You mewl, “I-I wouldn’t need another boy if I just had you, Kento…”
And there’s something in his tone that sounds ecstatic- “Mmm, good girl.” Showing you a demonstration of his previous statement by mazin’ away straight towards your g-spot. And you could feel yourself shaking- all those times you had to worry about whether a guy could manage to make you cum?
Nanami was eatin’ you out like his one and only purpose in life was to make you cum.
“Always teasing me.” He scoffs out in a scalding breath. Raggedly running his mouth- his tongue. “Always riling me up with those pretty looks and that- damn-” Pushing and pushing onto your g-spot so hard that it makes you sob out of pleasure. “-mouth.”
Your jaw drops. “I l-love it—fuck.”
Practically on instinct, you’re gliding a hand down your tummy- where you could feel butterflies. They only seemed to grow even harder n’ rougher with his textured tongue…“I think I can feel you right- ngh, here.”
“S’that so? You love it, huh? I can feel this pussy growin’ so wet—She’s so fucking tight, bet she’s never been fingered properly before.” As if anticipating your next moves, he’s digging his fingers deeper against your flesh. Leaving little crescent marks.
Whatever rational part of you is left begins to wonder just why he might have to pin you down even harder.
“And for my fifth lesson, honey.”
You’re waiting with baited breath as he presses a few more heated-open-mouthed kisses. Nanami’s luscious tongue reaching spots inside you that you weren’t even sure you had - ones undiscovered—
And it’s the only warning you get before the puckered, pretty flaps of his mouth opens up your pussylips. Just past where your folds were all swollen n’ tight- it was quite a squeeze even when it was just his tongue. Just his fingers.
So to have both Nanami’s fingers and his tongue inside?
It was sheer madness.
It was driving you stupid with his touch in but a single stroke- the jostling feeling of his wet muscle and his digits pressing against your walls and each other. Your walls. Each other. Your walls. Each other. Your channel was so snug that even the slightest movements made it feel as though you were bulging from the inside.
Pressing in. Fucking in.
In and in, and in—
“A real man is- haaah, always hungry.” Alternating between slipping his tastebuds into your hole, and then fishing himself back out—not to breathe. No, not even close. He was merely roverin’ his mouth over to spank down on your clit. “A real man would never get tired of his lover, my dear.”
“Kento—ngh.” You’re echoing out.
Your moans bang against the four corners of the room and straight into his ears- the prettiest song he’s ever heard. “See how good you feel? S’only my duty to you, my dear.”
“But Kento-”
Mouth makin’ out with your cunt as if he’d gone mad, too.
“Kento, don’t you need to breathe-”
“Fifth lesson. Who cares about breathing?”
He gasps out in interruption. Tongue swiping at a constant rhythm - it was difficult to get a single syllable out when all Nanami wanted to do was stick himself to your cunt and lick and lick and lick—
Both of you are realizing at the same time that he’d miscounted.
“For my fifth…” And he sounded maddened, too. Octaves higher. Tone breathy. There was a feral sort of hunger in his eyes that shook you to your core- “Sixth…?” As if he was just so pussydrunk that it was causing his brain to melt, acting on pure carnal instinct. “For my sixth lesson, honey. This old man’s mind is a little foggy, you see…”
You don’t get the chance to answer.
Because with that, Nanami only accelerates. First those fingertips of his were shoved all the way in and making your walls twitch with every hard prod—thud-thud-thudding way. Then he was smoochin’ over that same bruised spot with his slithering tongue, just swipin’ up where you were most sensitive.
Before draaaaagging all the way out and about to suck on your clit. Throbbing so hard that he managed to time his lil’ bites to each pulse.
It was a dual sensation that left you driven mad. Absolutely mad.
Rubbin’ his fingers absolutely raw on those knotted bundles of nerves-
You buck.
You get hit with a sudden spank.
“Mmmm—do you think you deserved that, my dear?” He asks. Too cute- the more he eats you out, the more he’s twitching in his pants.
You sob, but you’re nodding. “Y-yes…”
Another spank.
“What was that?”
“Yes, Kento.”
“Good girl.” And honestly you could feeeel that sultry stretch of his grin—gently dabbing his tongue over your clit. Nanami Kento might’ve been a stern man, but he certainly wasn’t merciless. “But forget one more time and I’ll make you call me ‘sir’.”
You couldn’t deny the way that made your cunt twitch…
“Seventh and final lesson.” Nanami pronounces, his mouth slicked with so many layers of your sap that it gleamed—he wore those dangles of goopy syrup like a medallion. “When I make you cum- hah, you better reward me by cumming aaaaaall inside my mouth, honey. Or my cock.”
Your throat was utterly parched by now. And the only thing you could do was rasp out- “U-understood, Kento…”
Soon enough, he was babbling out hot breaths of something you could barely even understand- though each promise only sounded more ravenous than the last.
Mouth glued to your cunt. Nails digging into your skin. Rougher than you ever thought was possible before, he’s sucklin’ at your clit and pounding his fingers into you so hard that it looked like nothing but a blur—
Nanami counts one, two, three rapid clenches of your pussy walls-
Before you’re throwing your head back and absolutely shattering into your high because of him.
Your toes curling. Your throat ragged raw.
His textured tastebuds are swipin’ across every bead of slick you were dripping out. Dripping. Every bead of slick. All over your puffy pussylips. All between them till he meets your hole- even all the way up your inner thighs.
He wasn’t letting a single bit go to waste.
Not even as that translucent sap dribbles down the sides of his mouth and ends up splashin’ right up to his handsome cheekbones-
The pleasure washes over you twofold - both with your orgasm and the way that Nanami was eloooongating your orgasm. Both his fingers and his mouth were working overtime to press into each peak of your high. “O-oh—” Thighs trembling on top of his shoulders- you don’t know when, but they end up locked so tight around his head. “It feels s-so good.”
Each tiny curve of his fingers made your body twitch in the aftershocks. “Extra lesson- fuck back into me.”
“Wh-what?”
It takes you a significant amount of effort to even open your eyes - let alone start to swerve your body uuup n’ down. And yet you’re doing it anyway—moaning as you ride all of Nanami’s handsome features in looooong, sloppy drags. “Fuh-fuck, like this?”
And he was just loving it.
“Mhmmm.” He gurgles out. Cracking one eye open, “Exactly. I know this is the best fuckin’ orgasm you’ve ever experienced, my dear.”
He wasn’t even being cocky - and you usually would’ve called him out on it - this was just plain true. “I-it is-”
“I know this pretty pussy wants it again, my dear.”
You can only nod.
“I know I surely want to eat her again, my dear.”
And nod and and nod as he’s fucking you through even the tiniest peaks and spasms—the surplus of bliss making your veins bubble. Burst. Bulldoze your senses as you’re practically vibrating with the sheer amount of pleasure that runs through them.
There seems to be a hazy aura covering your vision as you finally ride through your entire high.
Struggling up onto your elbows once more-
“Stay down—”
“Yes…?” Your eyes widen at Nanami’s strict order. He leaves a final slurping kiss at your clit before he stands onto his feet. Slightly swaying—
There was a glaze over his eyes. There was your slick coating all the way from his lower face, and puddling dooown to form a dark patch on his button-up. There were the short, panted breaths he was emanating - like a predator honed in on his prey - the longer he looked at you splayed out on the messy table.
Nanami Kento almost looked drunk - and not on the dinner, not even on the sparse wine.
He was completely n’ utterly ruined on nothing other than your pussy.
He lunges towards you-
“Fuck, Kento—” You’re squealing at the rugged hands that tear through your clothes as easily as if they were butter. Shirt and bra easily landing on the carpeted floor- and your skirt was to follow before you even realized.
You’re just about to help Nanami shuffle you out of your panties - hips raising to facilitate it - before he takes another look at you. One long, hard look. And his hands leave your body as though that was enough-
He wanted your panties on.
Nothing but a sopping wet mess twisted ‘round your hips. Evidence of his depravity.
“I want these off then.” You’re reaching up to tug on one of Nanami’s sleeves. He was still partly in his office clothes: button-up, formal pants, tie. And those sleeves of his had been pushed up to his elbows during your dinner, leaving you struggling not to gawk at the older man’s forearms. Strong. Slightly veined. Slightly tanned.
He was just so attractive that it made you squirm.
Nanami looks down at himself and lets out a hoarse—“Oh…right.” Like he’d been so caught up in you that he hadn’t even realized he was still clothed.
Pop!
Pop!
Pop!
Pop!
Those neat white buttons end up flinging to the ground- useless against his sheer desperation. Nanami wastes no time before tearing through his layers, ripping them off. Fabric pools onto the carpet below. His belt buckle clangs as it hits the ground.
Gentlemen couldn’t deny such a thing when their lover’s asking so nicely, could they? At least Nanami couldn’t-
And fuck…
Now, you always assumed that Nanami Kento was the kind of guy to be well-built. It was naturally in the way he moved, the way he stood, in the broadness of his shoulders.
But you’d never in your wildest dreams could have imagined that he’d be this chiselled. This toned.
You have to stop yourself from ogling him—you have to. But you can’t help it.
Not when Nanami’s body was ridged and curved in muscle- almost Herculean in nature. He had pecs that looked lush enough for you to bite - and you could already feel your mouth start to water - with a faint coating of golden and silver hair scattered across his skin. Wide shoulders. Trim waist.
His biceps flexin’ as he moves onto the buttons of his pants.
Lined through the middle with similar golden hair that drove down, down, down…
But you think your favorite part of him wasn’t the muscles or the hardness- no. Though they were certainly a nice addition, what made your pussy throb the most was just how…thick Nanami Kento was.
It was evident that Nanami was the type of person who liked hitting the gym often- but then again, it was evident that Nanami was the type of person who didn’t have the time to be hitting the gym often.
As often as he used to, at least.
And you? You were loving it.
Because all those muscles of his were naturally-formed. But with all the years of responsibilities as a father which meant his body was comforted by a layer of slight chub, big. Strong. Suddenly, you understood why ‘dad-bods’ were all the craze on social media—because you - for one - couldn’t help but linger your eyes at the sight of the softness to his shape. The slight roundness to his belly, abs barely peaking through.
“My dear…”
“Kento.”
He presses a thumb against the hemline of his trousers-
And then he’s letting you see him—all of him.
From his V-shaped waist to his meaty thighs.
So thick. So strong.
You just wanted to be crushed between them.
And right down to the furious cock that stood upright and erect between them. Such a bulbous red tip, streaming with never-ending ribbons of pre. Such a thickened shaft that made you swallow—he had so many veins zipping down either side of him. You think he was about nine or so inches- perhaps on the lower end.
Before you’d realized it, you’d been reaching your hand between his legs- only for Nanami to stop you in your tracks.
“K-Kento…”
His thick fingers intertwine with yours and press your hand down on the tabletop. “Honey, you don’t have to reciprocate.” The older man stares deeply into your eyes- “You don’t owe me anything. I ate your pretty pussy out because I’ve been starving for her.”
“But I still want to.” You insist.
“Mmmm, how about after then?” He reaches his free hand up n’ thumbs across your bottom lip. “As much as I want to paint these beautiful lips with my cum, there’s another pair who’ve been waiting patiently for their turn…”
You shiver, “Erm- Kento, you should know that…this is my first time.”
He pauses. “Excuse me, my dear?”
“I’ve never done it before.” Looking up at him through your tear-draped lashes. “You’ll be my first.”
The thought takes a second to register in the older man’s sex-hazed mind. That animalistic part of him being overpowered by the rational.
Your first time.
Your first time.
Your first time.
He was about to take the virginity of that cute lil’ nanny he’s had his eye on for so long. “Honey, are you su-”
“Yes.”
Nanami almost moans at the sheer eagerness in your voice - your eyes were shining, and your legs locked tighter around him. “Well…” The man starts, dipping two thumbs down to your glistening pussy and spreading your folds wide open. He takes a good look at your entrance in comparison to the thickness of his cock, “Brace yourself then, my dear. S’gonna be a tight fuckin’ fit.”
In a split-second, he’s jerking his hips closer and smoochin’ your naked cunt with his cock. His rounded tip spreading your pussylips. His shaft sliding between your slit and massaging you with his veins.
Nanami was so goddamn hard that it looked painful.
And what better way to alleviate the pain than by pushing his pretty lil nanny’s legs apart and shoving his cock between them? Aching and needy for you.
Nanami was big enough to fuck you stupid with just his tip.
And he knows it, too. Having such a hard time completely fittin’ in his crowned girth, he just barely fucks the top of his shaft inside before groaning. Taking a peek at the way you were squirming below him, sobbing below him. Absolutely ruined- “Shit, honey.” Cupping his hilt with his left hand- Shit, honey, can you recite the lessons for me?”
You’re wobbling up onto your elbows, “Recite them?”
He can only nod. “Just—oh.” Cut off with the slightest sliiiiide between your sweet, swollen pussylips- he’s only managing to nudge the rounded edge of his length. “Just recite them. You have them memorized f’me like a good girl, yeah?”
“Yes-” Nodding frantically. “Yes, Kento-”
And that cute obedience of yours is enough to make him smile- tap-tap-tappin’ away the curve of his tip down there. For absolutely no other reason than wanting to. “Good.” He reels his hips back. “Then say it f’me, my dear.” And then forwards- “Say it while I fuck you.”
And the only thing you can fucking do is to babble out those words- the very same ones that’d been drilled into you. “The first lesson is that—fuck.” All the while Nanami’s probin’ tip enters your hole in a sudden thrust. “-th-that big girls use their words.”
Nanami grunts, voice shot. “Goooood good good- keep breathing now.” Hand clawing down your front—feeling for himself as he pumps inside. Tiiiight fucking fit, like he said. He almost wonders whether it would go in- “And then?”
“The second…”
But it’s almost impossible to remember- to even think with those rapidfire haaaard hammers of his cock.
That curved tip of his shaft kept pushing iiiin with the most lecherous squelches, drawing more n’ more sweetened slick out of you with every single thrust. That stretch was just incredible- it was making you see white. Just the first few inches of his pretty pink cock squeezing inside and pushing in and in and in—
Thwack!
Those rugged fingertips of his come spanking back down on your cunt - this time, however, they fit between your pussylips and latch onto your clit. And they stay there. He’s tuggin’ on that poor nub a few times just to bring you back to your senses- “Awww, you didn’t think you’d go unpunished for that—-did you, my dear?”
“I-I—no.” Because tears stream down your cheeks, and Nanami still isn’t letting go. He’s flopping out his tongue and lapping at that salty flavor-
“Then continue.” Humming at the taste of you. Fitting and fitting and—trying to stretch your elastic hole out to take him. It’s the first time you’ve ever felt something like this. “You’re doing so good. Keep going for Kento.”
Thwack!
“Keep talking, honey.”
“Second lesson-” Unable to do anything but arch your back, you’re being met with Nanami’s soft chest. Those pecs. The thundering of his heartbeat. It’s enough to make your mouth already water—“t-to…use you.”
He leans in, “What was that, my dear? Old man, you know…”
“To use you-”
“To not be afraid to use me.” He corrects.
And it’s the last thing you hear before both Nanami’s hands snake down to grab your ankles- restraining them. Tightening them.
He’s bending you easily in half.
Legs on top of his shoulders. Thighs against thighs.
Pushing you all the way back into a mating press.
A fucking mating press.
Of course the hot DILF that you’re nannying for puts you in a mating press. Of fucking course!
And it’s only causing you to become wetter than you’ve ever been in your entire life- your head falls back against the table surface. Thud! An action that makes the older man on top of you reach behind n’ cushion the back of your scalp. “Easy there, my dear. Eeeeeasy.” His left palm lightly massages your sweaty head.
“K-Kento-” Through your tears.
“Easy there- third lesson, remember?”
“To s-settle down…”
“That’s my girl.” Nanami hums, head threatening to tip backwards at the sensations of your quivering cunt. It’s impossible to keep his mind when you were gushing out so much slick that it coats his shaft and leaves his ballsack all drenched.
And if he was this gone, then where did that leave you?
Well, you were just babbling away the pretty syllables of his lessons. “The f-fourth lesson is that fingers feel better.” Hips bucking upwards. “The fifth is that real men are hungry—” Eyes scrunching with tears. That large circumference of his were pushing into tender spots n’ crevices that you didn’t even know you had - it felt as though your poor pussy was being split by him. Push after push.
After probe after probe.
Just animalistically trying to fit inside—
“The sixth- the sixth-”
“Breathe, honey.” Those smoky words of his scorch your face, as if Nanami himself was burning from the inside out. And there truly was a feverish tint to his words—to his actions, fuckin’ away sloppily between your pussylips. Slurp after slurp. “Breeeeeeathe- c’mon do it with me.”
Conducting you through these relaxation exercises for a few strokes.
Listening to his own advice - that fourth lesson - his right hand lifts off of your thighs to roll over your throbbing clit. Just so neglected by now, it makes you see white to have him massaging that sweet spot all slow and sensual.
“The sixth lesson is…who cares about breathing?”
“Mhmmm.”
A guttural tone that sent vibrations straight from your drippin’ core and up to your brain. Only growing more muddled by the inch- “And oh! The extra.” As all good students do, you’re deciding to show a demonstration. How sinful that this sort of demonstration is you balancing your hips on the table n’ choosing to bounce right up to meet Nanami’s rutting hits. His pounces. “To- ngh, fuck back into you.”
“Oh, good girl- this old man almost forgot that one.” Sleazily, he’s pushing his glasses up his nosebridge.
Staring at the lewd sight below of you griiiiinding your hips up into his. It was just so messy because your lips were jittery with pleasure.
His happy trail rubs carnally on top of your clit- and it sends you into a frenzy—
“F-fuck that was-”
“Shhhh shh shh, easy.”
You waddle your ankles from their perch atop his shoulders. “Yes, I know-” Hissing out—“I’m breathing, Kento. I’m listening to what you’re saying, promise…”
“Good girl. Now inhale.” Of course, you can’t help but take a looooong gasp of the heady air thick in the dining room - the candles were scented like roses. “And-”
“And…?”
And Nanami doesn’t finish his sentence. He doesn’t bother telling you to exhale before his fat, throbbing cock is fucking every volume of air from your lungs. In this mating press, he could hit each angle even deeper than before - and that meant you’re feeling his thick circumference bruise all the way against your womb.
Your cervix.
Bottomed all the way out and Nanami was pummeling his length away as if there was even more, more, more of him left. A hint of something metallic hits his nostrils—and he can’t hold back the victorious chuckle that leaves him. He’s done it. “Continue.”
“I—what-” Struggling to catch your breath. “Oh my fucking-”
“Continue.”
“Who cares about breathing-”
A sixth lesson that he was fully demonstrating.
He really was mean.
He really was merciless.
Because he was fucking you into the dinner table like a damn animal—and the thing is Nanami wasn’t even going at a particularly fast pace in order to leave you speechless. He wasn’t merely half-thrusting away and hoping that you liked it. He wasn’t just tracin’ his cockhead down the sweet spots at the back of your pussy.
Nanami Kento was holding you down tight in his mating press. He has one hand gripping onto the back of your scalp - such a gentle gesture turned so sinful - and another crushin’ the fatness of his palm to your pussy.
Purposefully, the older man pushes the edge of his palm down on your clit. Harder. Harder. Harder.
And he was drilling into you harder by the second, too. Harder didn’t mean faster.
Just draaaagging every inch of his vein-covered shaft down your slick channel - he’s making sure that you can feel every single curve n’ ridge down his cock. He’s making sure that he massages your insides so thoroughly that it feels as though you’re being molded to his cock. Nothing more. Nothing less.
You swear you’re seeing the pearly gates spread wide open before your very eyes. “O-oh my god-” Reaching your hands up, Nanami lowers his strong body further into yours. Pushing you down against the dinner table, the pressure from all sides is too much that you have to claaaw down his perfect back. “Kento, what—fuck. I didn’t know that it could feel like this-”
And deep inside, you can feel his thickened tip flinching. Directly at your g-spot. “Mhm?”
“Yeah-” Voice shattering in your throat as his circumference swells just a few millimeters thicker inside of you. He was growing even bigger, harder, just by the sensations of your slurping cunt. “I-it just feels so good- I’ve never been fucked like this.”
“Honey…” Nanami’s mean yet pointed tone makes you stare up at him. “You’ve never been fucked before me.‘
“Oh.”
“Your virginity is mine.”
“Oh.”
Just that gone on his cock that you’d almost forgotten - even the realization itself seems to take up too much storage inside your already-muddled brain. Now filled with only the thought of him n’ his achingly hot cock—pouring out bucketloads of precum until it sloshed around inside.
Inside and inside.
Stirring ‘round and ‘round with his probin’ cockhead. He pushes deep into spots that you hadn’t even known existed, let alone could be smooched away by his pulsating shaft. He constantly whacks your g-spot until it feels numb.
Enough to render you speechless-
“—graduated.”
And that makes your eyes blink open. “Wh-what?”
“Oh, honey…” Nanami plants a loving peck on your lips- until that peck turns into a rugged bite. “What world are you on, hm? S’my cock that good? Awww, my poor girl—here.” Nanami’s perspired forehead sticks against yours. This time, he’s staring deeply into your eyes as he pronounces the words, “You’ve graduated.”
You cock your head in confusion, “From university?”
He chuckles, fine lines popping out from the edges of his eyes. You’re noticing that his glasses have slightly fogged up by now- “No, silly girl. From my lessons.”
“Oh…” Pouting, “But I liked your lessons, Kento.”
“Mmmm, you’ll like this one even more.” Dipping down- Nanami presses his stern lips right to the shell of your left ear. Whispering as if a secret shared by no one but the two of you in this world, “Remember how Yuji mentioned he wanted a little brother…”
A jolt goes through your body- as does the realization.
“If you’d like then-”
“Yes.” You know it might be rash. But looking at him like this - looking at Nanami Kento so deep in the pangs and plunges of his carnal pleasure - how could you deny what you want? “Yes—”
The blond man’s breaths start to grow heavier, eyes slightly widened. For the first time in the longest time, he actually looks like his usually-sensible self. Those molten eyes of his search yours for an answer- “Honey, really think this throu-”
“I did.” You’re insisting. And if that wasn’t enough, he could feel your wobbly ankles surge with the strength to lock ‘round his neck. “Inside, Kento.”
Nanami’s mouth moves noiselessly with an answer, but his cock does all the swelling. So painfully hard that you were sure it was tougher than rocks-
And there’s only one thing left for you to do. “Inside…sir.”
If he was any less of a gentleman - of a man, really - then Nanami would’ve cum inside you then and there. At least in his mind—which was focused solely on digging his heels into the carpet, solely on gritting his teeth and holding his damn cock back from pouring out those wads of cum like he knew he wanted to.
Was on the verge of doing.
He was instead collapsing the entirety of his weight upon your body- feeling your limbs strain, hearing your joints pop. But not even that noise crackling in his eardrums is enough to get the man to slow down.
Now he was just fucking you sloppy—grunts filtering between his grit canines by the minute. By the thrust. “The first to fuck you.” And what a rare occasion: to hear the ever-eloquent Nanami Kento stutter. “I’ll be the first to breed you too, my dear.”
“Oh—fuck, yes.” Your entire body shivers in excitement. You could feel the pit of pleasure starting to grow in your stomach.
“I’ll be the first to give this pretty cunt a taste of cum.” And you could hardly believe that such a sinful sentence was leaving the confines of his mouth—“She’s probably so thirsty by now, no? I’ll be the first to quench that thirst, my dear, just you wait-” Pinching your clit between the fingers on his right hand once more. “-mama.”
Really, if you were calling him ‘sir’ then it was only fair for him to call you by that pretty nickname. Something primal awakens inside of you-
“I’ll be the first one to stuff this pretty pussy-” Nanami gurgles out, eyes locking in on your stomach. That was where his rounded tip occasionally made an appearance by bulging through your flesh n’ skin as he fucked inside you. “-with so much of my cum that you’ll be bloated.”
You gasp hysterically, “Yes-” So turned on that it almost hurt - you wanted him. Now. “Yes, yes, yes—”
“I’ll be the first to make you feel me in here- for weeks. Months.” Thrust after thrust. Pinch after pinch. It was incredible how much he was stimulating you to tears- “I’ll be the first where—when you walk down the street, everyone will know that I fucked you. Everyone will know that- that this pretty pussy is mine, that I’m the one fuckin’ her and stuffing her and—and giving her my cum every night.”
Rolling a sweet, sweet heart on top of your clit.
“They’ll know that I’m the one fuckin’ the cute, sweet lil’ nanny—all of them. The professors. Those parents at pick-up. Your friends. My friends.” He chuckles darkly. And he doesn’t care who’d be scandalized. “Wanna know why, my honey?”
“Wh-why—” You sob out.
And he leans in to whisper in your ear- “Because I’ll be the one making you a momma.”
Until you’re all round and glowing with his seed.
Until you’re so full of him that you can’t take anymore.
Until you’re so stuffed that you wouldn’t be able to hide it- he hopes you’re walking ‘round with his cum between your legs for weeks.
It’s taking only that and a single puuuush against your g-spot for you to topple off the edge of your high. Bliss pumping through your veins in waves, you couldn’t escape from the constant throb and ebb of it. Dimming the edges of your vision. Making the lights seem brighter.
Again and again and again—
He’s probin’ inside that swollen cockhead to push you through the bouts of your pleasure. In the time he’s had you like this, Nanami’s already mapped out where every single one of your sweetest spots where- and first he’ll thwack! his hand upon your clit. Then he’ll move onto your tender bruised spots at the rim, then his cock delves deeper until he’s hitting your g-spot—then again and again he’s knockin’ on your womb.
Filling it with so much of his cum.
“Breathe.” Your orgasm hits you so hard that you have to manually control your breathing- and Nanami’s right beside you. Walking you through every step, every exhale and inhale. “Breathe iiiiiin.”
You’re sucking in a breath. “Fuck-”
And it’s just then that he’s emptying out a particularly powerful wave of his own euphoria. Balls clenching as his ribbony white cum leaks near your cervix- with your breath sucked in, you’re only feeling the sensations even stronger. “And out.”
Panting out with a whine. “Fuuuuck- f-feels so good.”
Too good, almost.
You never knew it could feel like this to have someone pourin’ out all their lecherous sap inside of you- the thick layers clinging onto either side of your walls. There’s so much of it - so much volume that you wondered just how he managed to keep it all stuffed inside - frothing out and forming a circle of white ‘round Nanami’s hilt. Gleaming with every thrust. Puddling out and sticking your thighs together—
Head throwing slightly back, though still peeking at you through his lashes. “Honey…”
Nanami’s gruff tone makes you jump. “Yes?” Still slightly twitching from the aftershocks of your incredible high.
He stares into your eyes with a slight smile. Something unreadable. “You forgot the seventh lesson earlier.”
The seventh…?
Oh.
Oh.
Fuck.
It’s with a sudden cold thrill that you’re registering what he said- and remembering the mistake you’d made during your recitations earlier. “I-it was to cum all over-”
“That’s quite alright, my dear. No need to tell me now.” Nanami smiles the sweetest smile that makes your cunt start to throb - his eyes shuttered closed, his lips pecking yours. His cock shovels a long, hard thrust inside you—“But I will have to rescind your graduation.”
You gape, “What, why-”
“Until you’re completely and fully stuffed by me.” He grumbles out the rest of his statement. His condition.
Hands rovering all over your body, Nanami makes sure that every slight tingle of your high has passed before he’s pulling out of you with a loud sluuuuurp! Immediately scooping you up into a princess carry n’ walking in the direction of his bedroom.
It isn’t long before you find yourself draped over Nanami Kento’s large mattress - on all fours so that he can slip inside you with ease. Pumping away immediately- “Until you’re fuckin’ pregnant, consider that you’re still taking lessons.”
You’re sobbing into your newly-caught pillow. “Oh—oh fuck.”
To which Nanami leans over and snatches your neck into a fucking headlock- his strong biceps pushing against the sides of your throat. “Happy Valentine’s Day, my dear. When this is all done- fuck, m’gonna show you how much I love you.”
“I l-love you—” Feeling his rounded tip immediately pierce across your g-spot and towards your womb. Full. “-too.”
“Mmm, I love you more.” Watching as you shake and quiver. “We’ll get you something sweet after this, honey, don’t you worry.” He hums- before sneaking a look at the both of you through the mirror in his bedroom and chuckling.
Ruined. Completely and utterly ruined.
“If we make it out of Valentine’s Day alive, that is.”
Maybe Shoko could babysit Yuji a little longer?
“Papa’s gonna do his best to try for a second child, alright?”
.
.
.
Morning shed its sunlight like the clothes upon Nanami’s apartment floor.
A stream of white-gold Sun, the richness of the day, enters through his windows and splays out perfectly on the bed. It dapples light across his naked chest and leaves him stirring—
Valentine’s Day.
The dinner.
The table.
You. Being taken on the table.
Afterwards on this very bed, afterwards on the damn bedroom floor after he heard a snap coming from somewhere on the bed frame. He’d shovelled himself n’ his gooey white sap inside you until the Sun had risen—
And it’s enough to make him jerk upright in his bed.
Blankets falling around his waist, sleepy eyes scanning the room for any sign of you.
From here, he couldn’t see what’d been made of your clothes in the dining room- or your panties in his bedroom. But it was obvious that you weren’t here. If from your physical presence, then from the warmth you brought into his drafty Tokyo home.
Just to make sure, he casts several wide-eyed looks around the room - breath-still in case there was a single noise from the kitchen - and still…nothing. Absolutely nothing.
There’s a sinking feeling in his chest that he doesn’t want to make sense of.
Of course, what was he thinking? He’d said…those words to you last night- but just because you’d said them back didn’t mean it was real. It was probably in the heat of the moment, you’d probably snuck out before dawn broke so you didn’t have to face him. You’d probably woken up disgusted.
He didn’t blame you - there were no promises between the two of you. And even if there had been, he knows he can’t find it in himself to get angry at you.
If anything - if you chose to quit after this - he supposes he’ll have to start looking for a nanny again. Something in Nanami’s chest twists, and he reaches up to rub the spot where his heart was.
He wouldn’t mind the long and tedious process if it still led him back to you. He wouldn’t mind the long and tedious process if it meant you were there with him - not as a nanny, just yourself being you.
It was a cold morning.
And Nanami Kento was clenching his sheets, just about to throw his legs over the side of the bed and get out—he needed to put away his clothes anyways before Shoko came with Yuji. What was the time anyway? It was his off-day today, and maybe he could take Yuji out to the park to take his mind off of-
And it’s then that several things happen at once.
Nanami’s eyes catch the face of the clock on his bedside cabinet: 12:48PM.
Nanami’s jaw drops at just how late it is.
Nanami snatches his phone off of the cabinet and makes to race outside while calling Shoko-
And he makes it about two frantic steps, too, before getting stopped by a sudden squeal of laughter. Loud and bubbling. Euphoric.
Of course, it was none other than his son.
Echoing a short burst of laughter throughout the apartment- before abruptly cutting himself off with a pronounced ‘shhhhhh!’ It rings even louder than his laugh, and reaches Nanami’s ears alongside some words. “Sowwy! Yuji promises not to wake papa!”
And Nanami’s brows furrow, wondering whether Shoko had somehow managed to forge a key to his apartment and get in. Before out of nowhere—your voice is the one that answers him.
“S’alright, sunshine.” You’re using that nickname he always did. Sleepiness was still laced into your tone, and he could tell it hadn’t been long since you must’ve waddled away.
Since you must’ve put away the clothes in the dining room, since you must’ve opened the door for Yuji - Nanami would hate to imagine the smug look on Shoko’s face then, but the surplus of texts from her were already doing the job. “Papa needs to be awake for breakfast-in-bed, doesn’t he?”
The smell of pancakes drifts through the bedroom door - along with Yuji’s answering call. “True…but what if papa won’t wake up?”
“Then we eat the pancakes.”
“Yes—” Yuji echoes, “Thank you, Cupid.”
“Hm?”
“Because Cupid made you n’ papa married, right?” But of course. It leaves you stunned for a few seconds, and Yuji obliviously chattering. “I’ve always wanted to keep you- papa, too. Even though I know he won’t say—can we keep you now, Ms. Nanny?”
Your voice sounds slightly thicker than before. “You can keep me as long as you want, Yuji.”
“Thank you, Cupid!”
Two evil cackles, and the sound of footsteps.
You’re opening the door with a flood of sunlight and a tray of pancakes in your hand. Yuji rushes in after you with a call of ‘good morning’ - and by the smile on your face…yeah.
Yeah, it really is a good morning.
He still doesn’t know how to explain to Yuji that the two of you aren’t married yet, however.
It’s in an hour that you finally break the news- but rush to assure the little boy before he bursts into tears, that he could ‘keep you’ as long as he wanted. And that the two of you were together—yes, together together. Nanami puts off answering Shoko (she ambushes him for gossip the very next day).
It’s in a month that you start officially calling yourselves lovers - boyfriend and girlfriend, whatever it is. It seems like so much more than that, however. And so Nanami just settles for introducing you as his partner at those tedious work dinners.
It’s in a few more months that those work dinners become the last he’s attending. Because Nanami Kento quits that damn job, using everything he’s saved up to buy a little bakery and a house just a small ways off from the heart of the city - not quite the countryside as he once imagined, but this was good, too. It was still a manageable distance from your university and Yuji’s school, and yet so much bigger than the apartment.
It’s in a year that Nanami’s bakery is at the height of business - a figure that will only keep growing as the years pass by. Word spreads far and wide about those treats- and soon enough, he’s forced to fire extra hands and more part-timers than he ever thought would be needed. The little bakery grows into a big bakery, with time.
You couldn’t have been more happy to see those dark circles underneath his eyes cease for once, to see him pursue his dreams. Yuji couldn’t have been more happy to get all the sweet treats he could’ve ever wished for.
And now, Nanami could buy him all the car beds he could’ve ever wished for.
He also starts looking into wedding rings.
He still isn’t sure about a Spiderman-themed wedding, but he knows he’ll be baking the cake.
A/N. Hehehe that Nanami and the flowers scene was inspired by my father having a tradition to always buy me a bouquet as well today.
Teasing Your Pent Up Husband Toji Until He Makes a Sloppy Wet Slut Out of You.
A couple from the area, repressed and sexually frustrated, who suffers from work-induced cock blocking, finally has free time to fuck. But instead of being normal about it, they decide to make their heat worse with excessive teasing, showing the hole, raising the water bill and eating creampie. The warranty of one shower head was annulled in the process.
“Give me five minutes, darling,” Kento huffed out, cheeks pink and hair dishevelled as he rolls over onto his back, catching his breath. You grin, shuffling onto his chest and pressing kisses along his jaw. You were still so full of energy, youthful and ready for round three before round two had even ended.
The five minutes he asked for soon turned into ten minutes, which turned into fifteen, which turned into watching an episode of your favourite show in between rounds.
Nanami noticed; of course he did. The man was one of the most observant you’d ever met. His movements were slower, thrusts turning sloppy and weaker quicker than normal. The thoughts slipped out one night, lights low as he slowly pushed his cock inside you. He came with a groan, and then a mumbled “I’m so sorry baby, don’t have as much stamina anymore, wanna’ make you feel good but I can’t.”
His head tilts and rests against your forehead, movements stopping and releasing a little breath. Then, a heavy silence washes over the two of you.
“Kenny,” you coo, one hand cupping his cheek. “I don’t care that have less stamina. It doesn’t affect my pleasure at all and you’re silly to think that.”
He huffs. “I know you want more. I can’t give that to you.”
You tut. “Ken, don’t be stupid. I enjoy this whether it’s one or six rounds. It doesn’t matter to me. It never did and never will.”
Sure, the two of you had always been used to going at it for hours, rough and animalistic, but you’d easily give that up for Nanami’s happiness. However, insecurities crept in quickly. It was obvious in the way your husband moved more hesitantly when getting intimate, the way he trembled slightly when you unbuckled his belt.
Redness bloomed across his cheeks, more evident than ever before, when you flipped him over onto his back, chasing the pleasure you needed. You slammed yourself down onto his pulsing cock, thighs trembling from the pleasurable stretch. Jaw hung open, rough hands on your hips, you blabbered and moaned out jumbled words of praise at your fucked out husband who was trying to match your fast thrusts.
“Thank you, thankyouthankyouthankyou, you’re so good to me, -ngh-, your cock feels soso good,” you rambled.
Nanami followed your garbled sentence with one of his own. “Darling, yeah -nghh- use me, baby. Use me wherever, whenever. Use me always, love you so -fuck- so much, sweetheart. Fuck, you feel amazing, take what you need.”
Ever since, he’s woken up with you taking exactly what you need.
18+ MDNI, smut - making husband!toji breed you when you're ovulating
you shake him awake at exactly 6:41am on a random tuesday.
toji blinks blearily. groans. tries to roll over and suffocate himself with your frilly pink pillow.
but he’s not getting away that easily.
you yank it away.
“toji.”
“no.”
“toji.”
“’m sick.”
“no you’re not. you never get sick. it’s a bit weird actually.”
“ANYWAY! you need to put a baby in me. now. like right now. ASAP no rocky.”
he freezes. one eye opens. slowly.
“excuse me.”
you pull your phone up and shove the screen into his face like a crazed gremlin. “look. LH surge. elevated BBT. cervical fluid is like, egg white-y.”
“this is prime time. textbook conditions to make a baby.”
he stares at the screen. then stares at you.
“you’re out of your mind, baby.”
ignoring him, you just straddle him.
you're in one of his oversized shirts with nothing on underneath. your hair all messy. eyes bright. cheeks flushed.
you look like a deranged fertility goddess and he’s so in love it’s disgusting.
he grabs your hips, palms warm and rough. “you are certifiably insane.”
“you’ve already said that.”
you lean down and kiss him sloppy and sweet.
he groans. cups your ass. lets you grind against the large tent in his boxers while muttering something about how you didn’t even give him time to pee first.
you reach between you and tug his waistband down. toji lets out a groan when your small hand wraps around him.
“you’re already hard,” you whisper smugly.
he flips you over. kisses your neck. pulls the shirt off you.
you’re giggling under him, all soft and happy and wild-eyed.
he hooks your knees up and over his broad shoulders. spreads you open and just stares.
“jesus. you weren’t kidding about the fluid.”
“shut up! it means i’m healthy.”
he snorts. strokes himself once. lines up against your soaked cunt.
“ready, ovary queen?”
“breach the cervix, king.”
he chokes on a laugh and then pushes in.
your brain promptly shuts off.
his cock is big. always has been. long and veiny and thick. so fucking thick. he fucks you hard. almost as if he can impregnate you through sheer force. your legs wrap around his waist on instinct.
you moan.
“fuck, baby,” he groans, pressing in to the hilt. “still so fuckin’ tight. how are we supposed to get a kid through here.”
“shut up and breed me,” you pant.
he barks a breathy laugh and pounds into you.
you don’t last long. unsurprisingly.
you’re so wet. the slide of him is obscene. your hips lifting to meet every thrust.
his arms are caging you in. the headboard knocks the wall every time he thrusts into you.
“gonna give you a baby,” he pants. “stuff you full.”
“all those stupid ovulation charts and apps, baby, you don’t need ‘em. im gonna knock you up so good, right fuckin’ now.”
he angles his hips and you feel his cock hit that one spot. the one that makes you see stars behind your eyes .
you whimper.
“ahh, there it is,” toji smirks. his thumb now rubbing fast circles over your puffy clit.
your legs are legs trembling. hands fisting the sheets as you come hard. your body pulses around him, warm and tight and too damn perfect.
he follows fast. pulls you flush against him and spills deep inside you with a groan.
toji buries himself to the hilt, staying there. feeling his thick seed leak out of you.
a few minutes later, you’re still wrapped around him with his cock softening inside you.
but you’re already scrolling on your phone like a psycho.
he groans. “please. don’t chart the exact ejaculation timestamp.”
you hum. “wasn’t gonna. was just googling to see if doing a headstand after sex actually helps.”
“oh my days.”
you grin.
he sighs, dragging a hand over his face. “i hope this kid comes out with your looks but not your madness.”
you press a kiss to his jaw.
“nah, they’ll be perfect. just like you.”
toji just growls and flips you over again.
guess he must really want that baby...
A/N: bc this is apart of fushiguro family series, it's a lot more goofy than usual... so don't mind the wacky stuff on here lol! also i'm glad tumblr's back online... i was going thru it.
cw: explicit smut, creampie, your best friend toji can’t help but suck on your tits when they’re in his face.
You’re standing between his knees on the sagging couch, legs bracketing his spread thighs, trying to salvage something resembling “professional” out of his perpetually fucked-up hair.
He’s got an important meeting in like forty-five minutes—some back-alley deal with a couple ex-sorcerers who apparently pay stupid money for stupid jobs. “Good payout,” he’d grunted when he asked you to fix him up. That’s Toji code for “don’t ask questions and don’t make me late.”
You’re working fast. One hand cups the back of his head, steadying him; the other rakes through the damp black strands with a little water from a spray bottle and a pea-sized dollop of the cheap gel you keep in your bathroom drawer. His hair’s thick, stubborn, always falling into that lazy, dangerous flop over his forehead no matter what you do.
Your tank top is way too short and at least one size too small—rides up with every reach. You lean in closer to get the front right, elbows brushing his shoulders. The fabric stretches tight across your chest. One wrong shift and—Pop!
Your left tit slips free entirely, nipple already half-hard from the cool air and the friction of cotton all morning. It’s right there—swaying an inch from his nose. Toji goes still. You don’t notice at first. Too focused on sculpting that one rogue piece that refuses to behave. Then you feel it: warm breath ghosting over sensitive skin. Then—
His mouth closes around your nipple in one smooth, shameless motion. A wet, sucking pull. Tongue circling around your sensitive nipple. Your whole body locks up and you look down. “Toji—” he doesn’t stop, sucking harder as his cheeks hollow, as he laps at your breast. His eyes are half lidded, he’s clearly enjoying himself.
“Toji, what the fu—” Your nipple’s swollen, glistening, darker than the rest of you now, and the cool air after his mouth feels like a slap.
“They were right there,” he says again, rough hands running up your legs. His thumb brushes the crease where thigh meets ass. “Swingin’ in my face while you’re playin’ hairdresser. What’d you expect?”
You’re still standing between his spread thighs, his knees bracketing your legs, that stupid too-small tank top shoved up under your tits now from all the movement. You can see the thick outline of his cock straining against his sweats. “I was trying to make you look presentable for your shady little meeting,” you manage, trying for annoyed but landing somewhere closer to breathless. “Not… this.”
He smirks, green eyes flicking up to meet yours. “Yeah?” He leans forward again, just enough to drag the flat of his tongue over the wet peak he just abandoned. You twitch, thighs squeezing together on instinct. “You’re doin’ a shit job of actin’ mad about it, princess.”
His free hand comes up, cups the underside of the breast he hasn’t touched yet, thumb brushing over the neglected nipple until it pebbles tight. Then he’s guiding it slowly toward his mouth too, giving you every second to pull away. But you don’t.
Instead your fingers tighten in his hair, tugging just hard enough to make him groan. The sound vibrates through you again and you feel yourself get wetter, slick gathering at the tops of your thighs. “Toji,” you whisper, half plea now. “You’ve got that meeting in—”
“Fuck the meeting,” he mutters, voice muffled as he latches onto the second nipple, sucking harder this time. His hand on your ass finally slides higher, fingers dipping under the hem of your shorts, finding damp cotton and pressing against your clit.
You choke on a moan, knees buckling. He steadies you, “Been watchin’ these tits spill out every damn time you lean over for months,” he growls against your skin, switching back to the first nipple like he can’t decide which one he likes better. “You think I don’t notice? Think I’m not hard as fuck every time you ‘accidentally’ flash me?”
He nips and your hips jerk forward against his hand.“Say stop,” he rasps, finally pulling back far enough to look up at you. Lips shiny, pupils blown. “Say it and I’ll stop. We’ll fix my hair, I’ll go make my sketchy money, and we’ll pretend this never happened.”
His fingers flex against your soaked panties—“Or…” He drags his tongue over his bottom lip, tasting you there. “You can keep standin’ there lettin’ me suck on you till you’re drippin’ down my wrist. Your call, baby.”
His free hand grips your ass, kneading, spreading you open a little as his fingers dip lower—two sliding through your folds, coating themselves before pushing inside slow. You clench around him instantly moaning, “Toji—oh god—”
“Yeah, that’s it,” he growls. You can’t even form words—just a needy whine as he switches breasts again, sucking the other one deep while his thumb rubs messy circles over your clit.
When you finally slump forward, forehead dropping to the top of his head, he eases his fingers out slow, bringing them to his mouth to lick them clean with a satisfied hum. “Good girl,” he rasps, pulling them free with a soft pop. “Now turn around.”
Before you can even process it, his big hands are on your hips, spinning you so your back is to him. He yanks your shorts and panties the rest of the way down in one rough tug, letting them tangle around your ankles. Then he’s hauling you back, sitting you down hard on his lap so your bare ass lands right on the fat, throbbing length of him still trapped in his sweats.
You grind back on instinct, slick pussy lips sliding along the thick ridge of his cock through the thin barrier. He shifts under you—hips lifting just a fraction—and you feel the slow drag of fabric as he hooks his thumbs into the waistband and his cock flaps free. The fat head pops past your tight hole and into your wet cunt. “You’re such a perv,” you gasp, “All those times I ‘accidentally’ flashed you in the kitchen? Under the car hood when I was helpin’ with your junker? You were just sittin’ there gettin’ boners, huh?”
“Damn right.” He nibbles at you ear as he bounces you. “That time at the beach? Bikini top slippin’ while you bent over for the cooler? Nearly nutted in my trunks right there in front of everybody.” He punctuates it with a sharp slap to your inner thigh, “And don’t get me started on laundry day. Your shitty dryer always eatin’ your bras—tits bouncin’ free every time you reach for the high shelf. Been jerkin’ off to that for weeks, princess.”
“Fuck—you never said shit.” You’re panting now, grinding faster, the wet schlick of your pussy against his cock. “Why would I? You kept doin’ it.” He nips your shoulder, free hand coming up to maul your breast again—pinching the nipple he’d sucked raw earlier until you yelp.
You glance down between your bodies just in time to see it—his cock glistening, veins bulging, coated in your cream every time you lift up. The sight makes you clench hard; he curses under his breath, hips snapping up harder in retaliation. “Shit—do that again.”
You do—squeezing down on every upstroke, fluttering around the head when he’s almost out, you’re arching back against his chest, head thrown on his shoulder. “Gonna cum already?” he taunts, “Barely started and you’re shakin’ hard as hell.”
“Shut—shut up—” you gasp, but you’re too close, too full, too overwhelmed by his cock. “Just—don’t stop—fuck, Toji—” your whole body locks up, pussy spasming violently around him as you scream his name. His punishing thrusts, drawing it out until you’re whimpering, oversensitive and trembling.
“Fuck—good girl—cummin’ so hard on me—” His rhythm stutters as hot pulses fill your pussy, you can feel it leaking down your thighs, warm and sticky, mixing with your own mess.
Eventually he huffs a laugh, voice hoarse. “Hair’s completely fucked now.” You snort weakly, “Your meeting…”
“Fuck the meeting.” He nuzzles into your neck, one hand sliding up to cup your breast again, thumb circling the swollen nipple. “Got better things to do. Like gettin’ you to the bedroom so I can eat this pussy properly. Wanna taste what we just made.”
a/n: ima whore for a good titty suck like fuckkkkk
nursing mother!reader has a clogged milk duct and best friend!nanami comes to the rescue.
"kento..."
your voice is low and you sound pained. in the dark hours of night, nanami immediately sits up in his swivel chair and his body tenses. "what's wrong?"
you're not the one to call crying, to ever be vulnerable. you always saved face, smiling in front of others and sobbing in private. nanami didn't like it, but you're calling him right now and something must be wrong.
he starts packing up to head over to you immediately, signing out of the system and shutting off the computer in a haste. it's the fastest he's ever leaved the building, pressing the button to his unlock his vehicle and hop right into the front seat.
"my..." you trail off, repeating the word a couple of times before grumbling in frustration. "my breasts──they hurt really bad."
and before he can gather any clarification, you continue. "my doctor says it's, uh, clogged milk duct and──fuck──it hurts so bad.
"the baby's asleep and i didn't know who else to call," you admit. "'cause, i'm sure as hell not calling higuruma. he'd revel at the fact that i need help and──"
"wait, [&]──"calling out your name repeatedly until you stop, nanami can hear the way your voice cracks as you wince. "yes?"
"i'm already on my way."
"you are?" and he hates it. nanami hates how astounded you are that he'd help. he hates you feel like you have to be so hyperindependent. he wishes you'd call him for help for the most miniscule of things.
but, he doesn't hold it against you. you're asking for help now. he nods, "i am."
and with a breath of relief, he can practically feel your smile. "thank you."
"shit," you curse as you feel nanami's nails digging into your hips, lips still latched onto your breasts despite the fact that they're no longer in pain. in reciprocation, you pull him closer, bucking your hips upwards for more.
the friction of his erection rubs against your crotch, making your heart beat pace faster and your pussy clench. you gasp as your hands continue to tangle inside of his hair, looking down at the blond as he sucks at your breast, tasting the sweetness of your milk.
when he pulls away, it's only momentarily, tongue lulling out to flicker at the nub of your breast and massaging it with his tongue. cleaning off any residue of your breast milk, nanami looks up at you with such a lust-driven gaze in his eyes that you're willing to give yourself to him further ways than this. "you're the sweetest thing i've ever tasted."
you giggle, eyes glossy with that same lust. immediately, you're quick deny his claims, believing that this vulnerable situation is making him spew nonsense. "you don't mean that."
and before he can dip and give the next nipple attention, his gaze hardens on you. that breathy voice dissipating to quickly negate what you just said. "i don't take too well in being called a liar, [&]. i do mean it, and in more ways than one."
"kento──" lips latched back onto your breast, there's a newfound softness to his touch. where it has always been tender, but now with something to prove. to discredit your claim.
lips starting to leave your breasts, tongue cleaning and massaging the nipple before his mouth puckers to plant soft kisses, his brown eyes look up at you with so much meaning. his kisses trail down to your navel, the raised shirt starting to rise up even more as nanami drags you onto the edge of the couch.
and when his lips get right at the hem of your shorts, his teeth tugs on it gently. "i'd love to prove how beautiful you are──if you'd let me."
your eyes stare at him, eyes slightly bulging out before you faintly nod. "yes," you breathe. "yes, kento."
✶ chownotes : idk how but writing a lactation kink with nanami made me love him even more.
Yuji - The cheek kiss, sometimes soft, sometimes aggressive, sometimes licking to tease, making cheek fart noises while laughing as you try to get away
Megumi - The forehead kiss, cupping your face and the kiss lingering, other times pushing your hair back or resting his hands on your hips while he leans to give your forehead a kiss, then your temple
Satoru - The stare at each other for a moment, kiss, pull back to stare some more, then unable to hold back from kissing more deeply, then kissing the spot between your eye and nose and then a deep hug
Nanami - The chaste kiss, a little peck here and there that becomes predictable and expected, but when you relax into a routine, switches up and lingers, not letting you pull away as he devours you
Suguru - The languid kiss, slow, show-me-what-you-got type of lazy, following your pace until you get more and more confident (or cocky and aggressive if you already are), then he bucks up a bit and takes control and kisses you more passionately
Toji - The desperate kiss, hands caressing everywhere like his measured self-assured nature stops where you begin, pulling slightly back for breath but not far before another push forward, dragging you closer and closer to mold into you
Sukuna - The heart kiss, not yet vulnerable to kiss you in any other way yet, presses his lips to the spot on your chest slightly above your heart, nibbling or biting, soothing with a lick, another kiss, not wanting you to see his face or how he enjoys the trust, nosing along there before letting you go and turning away
Naoya - The nasty kiss, all wet and aggressive, sometimes slow and deep and noisy, chasing your lips, sucking them, groping you, unable to stop, focuses on your tells to pick at you or push more
In which you have bad luck and always break something around the house. Good thing, your husband, Toji, is skilled with his cock hands ;)
“I broke it again, Toji…I’m sorry, I don’t know what happened!”
“I’ll handle it, doll,” he says, rustling up your hair to show you he’s not mad. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about it.”
Toji hates when you even suggest calling someone in to fix anything in your home. He scoffs and says things like: “We don’t need a fucking plumber for the shower; I got it,” “their call-out fees are daylight robbery. What are we, some shmucks?”, and “If I see another man in our home, sniffing around, you’re gonna find yourself tied up and with a sore ass.”
So, it’s hardly a surprise to find him lying on his back in the kitchen, head stuffed under the sink you somehow broke that morning, as he fixes the leak himself. Afraid to get his clothes wet and dirty, he’s foregone a shirt — broad chest and shoulders begging to have your nails leaving a mark, rideable abs on display, and a happy trail disappearing under the band of his Calvin Klein boxers with his washed-out jeans riding low.
Just one glance and you’re positively soaked.
When he feels your hands running up and down his body as a greeting, he grunts in surprise. “How was brunch with the girls? Sharon leave her bum ass boyfriend yet?”
You hum, unzipping him to hurriedly free his semi out of the tight confines; he always reacts so quickly to you. “No, but she promises she will soon though.”
Toji snorts, still tinkering and doing absolutely nothing to stop you from rubbing his fat cock to full mast — he’s a firm believer in letting his gorgeous wife use him whenever she wants. A real man’s always ready, he says. Sinking down on his entire, jaw-dropping length is easy when you were sent off to brunch freshly fucked and hadn’t stopped thinking about having more since. “She’s hopeless —ngh fuck, doll, go slow, ‘m doing something here.”
“Sorry Toji…you just looked so good being so helpful. Couldn’t -hah- help myself.”
He bucks his hips up, bulbous cockhead pressing on your g-spot on its way to kiss your cervix. You nearly scream, having to steady yourself on his tense abdomen. “Don’t gotta -mm shit, always so fucking tight- a-apologise. Ever. D’ya hear me, woman? Love your needy fucking pussy. Go on, ride me. Show me how much you missed me.”
“Yes, yes, fuck! Oh god, I’m sorry Toji — ‘m always -hic- breaking things.” No cock has ever made you tear up and drool and cream so disgustingly. Only his. It's fucking magical.
Tools set down, he slides out, intent on watching that lewd expression overtake your face. Toji runs his tongue over his scar, staring right at where you’re obscenely connected to him, nothing short of obsessed with the way your pussy stretches to take him.
Chuckling, he grabs your hips and drags you up and down his cock like you’re nothing more than a squelching pocket pussy and says with a smirk,
“Go ahead and break the whole damn house, ma — your husband’s got it sorted.”
I’m tempted to make this a whole headcanon fic, instead of a drabble cause I feel like I got more to say :(
“They're beautiful.”
“Well, they match their new owner.”
Was Clark Kent… flirting with you?
“They're—” you start, words tripping over themselves. “Camellias… my favourite. How did you…?”
“I remember you recommending them when I was debating what to send my Ma on her birthday,” he says softly, smiling in that shy-but-warm way that makes your chest fizz. “Said that they ‘can light up any room without even trying.’”
“Do you remember everything I say?” you ask, feeling your heartbeat jump straight into your throat.
“I try,” he admits, voice low. “You say a lot of beautiful things.”
The Cupid tingles were here, and they were going crazy.
Or
No matter what you do, love doesn't seem to agree with you, despite your matchmaking powers. The same goes for your best friend, Clark, who you may or may not be in love with. When you get a taste of your own medicine, your Cupid powers start getting out of hand.
Tags/Warnings: Fluff, Photographer!Reader, Metahuman!Reader with Cupid/Matchmaking Powers, Mutual Pining, Workplace Crushes, Office Romance, Friends to Lovers, Secret Identity Shenanigans, Love Confessions, Reader has a grumpy cat named Cato (I had just watched Hunger Games, but better), Baking with Superman
WC: 11.0k
A/N: Posting stuff that's been in my drafts for a while. I've been dying to post this for ages since I haven't written a long Clark fic since Office Gossip. Hope you enjoy!
***
Irony is a cruel mistress.
Downright evil, in fact. Because how and in what world would you be so unlucky in love?
Every relationship you have bursts into flames. One time, literally, a fellow metahuman you dated caught fire and threw themselves out a window when you said “I love you” for the first time.
But that's not where the irony kicks in. It's the fact that you are the closest thing this earth has to Cupid.
Everywhere you go, you leave a trail of heart eyes in your wake.
Meet-cutes happen right in front of you with a snap of your fingers.
Whether it was the exhausted accountant and the barista at your coffee shop or the dog-walker and the grumpy author downstairs, you'd shoot a little love-powered finger gun, and they'd ride off into the sunset together.
Trudging your way into the Daily Planet, the world’s most chaotic newsroom, you were not in the mood for any bullshit, especially not superpowered bullshit. The Big Belly Burger near your house just got blinked out of existence. You mean it, there’s literally a crater where it used to be, your rent’s due tomorrow, and a supervillain just stole your cat this morning for funsies.
Not to mention, you and your stupid powers just set up the really cute florist you’ve been plotting on for months with your neighbour.
He was the perfect guy for you.
Sweet, funny, smelled like jasmine and sunlight, and your powers weren’t giving you any reason not to go full steam ahead.
But of course, the second your neighbour entered his flower shop, and they made eye contact, BAM, you made a match.
At this point, it would be merciful if someone finally struck you down with lightning. But knowing you, you’d survive, but all your hair would fall off instead.
You reach your desk, slumping down in it like the saddest little puddle of melted ice cream.
“You look like you’ve been through hell,” Lois comments, eyeing the scorch marks on your sleeve and the suspicious dusting of concrete in your hair. “You okay?”
“Toyman stole my cat.”
You replay the moment in your head. There was a large crash shattering through your window, glass everywhere, and before you knew it, your cat had leapt into his arms. Traitor.
“Sure, Cato’s really grumpy and tears my kitchen apart on a daily basis and has run away from home three times in the past month,” you sigh, rubbing your temples, “but he always comes home, and I miss him. He’s my grumpy little disaster.”
Lois blinks. “Toyman. The Toyman. Stole your cat.”
“Yup. Didn’t even monologue. Just grabbed Cato, said ‘shitty apartment’, and jetpacked out the window. Who even does that?”
You lean back in your chair, far enough that it creaks in warning. “Save me, Lois Lane,” you groan dramatically, flinging an arm over your face like a silent movie star in distress.
“Not my jurisdiction,” she says with a playful shake of the head and a comforting pat on the shoulder.
You’re about to retort when the elevator dings across the bullpen.
A deep voice filters through the chatter. “Sorry, Perry!”
Then comes the soft shuffle of papers, a muffled thud of a bag, and the unmistakable steady rhythm of footsteps, ones you’ve heard a hundred times before.
Your favourite mild-mannered reporter and serial bringer of pastries steps into the newsroom, brushing a stray lock of hair out of his eyes as he makes his way to his desk just across from yours.
“Hey, Cla—”
You lean back a little too far, mid-greeting, and gravity decides to betray you. The chair tips, and you tumble backwards in a spectacular display of dignity loss, hitting the floor with a thud that echoes across the bullpen.
As you’re groaning in pain and contemplating whether your day could get any worse, a shadow falls over you. You blink up, squinting against the overhead lights, and find yourself staring at a very concerned Clark Kent.
His hair is an adorable mess, a sure sign he’s been running around trying not to be late and failing miserably. His tie’s crooked, glasses slightly askew, and of course, he still looks like a lead in a rom-com.
You may or may not have an itsy bitsy crush on him. It absolutely does not consume most of your waking moments.
But you can't help but think of him when things are rough.
Just a smile could warm even the coldest of days, thaw ice with a single chuckle.
If you could put your powers to use for anyone, you'd do it for him, but who to set him up with? Your Cupid senses were not tingling.
Which was odd. They always tingled. Constantly. Especially when Jimmy’s around.
You’d stumbled through multiple love matches a day thanks to him. There was Jimmy and the new interns, Jimmy and the girl from layout, Jimmy and the pizza delivery driver who once gave him an extra pizza he didn't order “because he looked like he needed it.”
But with Clark? Zilch. Nada.
Maybe he was unlucky in love just like you.
“Are you upside down, or is that just me?” you mumble, wincing as you try to sit up.
Clark laughs softly, that warm, gentle sound that makes your stomach do weird somersaults. He reaches down and, with one effortless motion, lifts you upright as if you weigh nothing more than a stack of newspapers.
“You okay?” he asks, still holding your arm a second longer than necessary.
You stare at him, heart doing that annoying thing, and sigh. “Define okay.”
“What happened?”
“Toyman stole her cat,” Lois answers from her desk.
Clark blinks. “Toyman stole your cat?”
“And insulted my apartment,” you huff, crossing your arms and glaring at the floor like it personally offended you. “What does he know about interior design anyway? The man literally lives in a dollhouse.”
Lois snorts. “Technically, a lair.”
“Whatever. It's ugly as hell,” you reply.
Clark’s lips twitch like he’s trying not to laugh. “I’m sure Cato’s okay. Toyman wouldn’t hurt—”
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” you cut in, sighing. “But still. He kidnapped my cat and roasted my décor. That’s a new low, even for me.”
“I know you’ll get your cat back.”
“Thanks.”
Lois’s kind smile makes you feel better, but you’re not sure she knows just how unlucky you are in every aspect of your life.
You may never see your precious cat again, hear his grumpy meows, or wake up to him sitting on your chest and pawing at your face at 3 am.
Clark is still beside you, mind working at lightning speed to cheer you up.
“How about we go to Amoré for lunch in a few hours? Get some of those Belgian waffles you love so much. My treat.”
Your heart soars at the offer, the excitement on your face as plain as day.
“You always know how to make me happy.”
***
On your way into downtown Metropolis, you’re snapping every photo you can get your hands on. From street corners, skyscrapers, pigeons doing that weird little hop thing, anything that catches your eye.
From the tram, you can see the city stretch endlessly below.
“Pretty, right?” You say, leaning towards Clark, showing him the faintly blurred picture of a couple having lunch under the sunlit arches in Centennial Park.
One of your favourite sights in town, you had to say. Especially this time of the year, the cherry blossoms were in bloom, painting the city in a light blush.
It was a sight to behold and completely and utterly romantic.
You couldn’t be the second coming of Cupid if you weren’t a hopeless romantic. Even if it wasn’t happening for you, you were happy it was happening for someone else.
The feeling of him right next to you, the faint but intoxicating smell of his cologne as he leans closer, has you swooning.
Then he spoke, and it’s like he’s trying to put you in an early grave.
“I love seeing Metropolis from your eyes…”
You were so gone.
You love the way he made you feel. Even the smallest things make you feel like you’re flying.
“Well, it’s a special city,” you shrug. “Lots to shoot, lots to be inspired by.”
You play it off well enough. Just long enough for your heart rate to return to something less concerning. You didn’t need to be having a heart attack before you got your hands on free Belgian waffles courtesy of Clark.
He seems to accept your response, not pushing any further, but the little twinkle in his eyes tells you he knows more than he’s letting on.
“I know,” he says softly.
You smile to yourself, a quiet kind of peace rolling over you before lifting the camera back up to keep shooting. Your world, framed in your lens once again.
You don’t use cameras just for work; they're tools that help you focus, a way to keep your powers in check.
Finger guns can be… unpredictable. One time, there was a little misfire, and suddenly, you made a guy hopelessly in love with his own reflection. You can only hope it wore off before lunchtime.
But with the camera, you have control. Two consecutive photos of the same people with the same camera and, BAM, the match is made.
It’s the perfect tool for unsuspecting singles everywhere.
It'll push them both in the right direction, make them bolder, and give them the confidence to make that first move.
Sure, it’s a little bit of an occupational hazard, but you've gotten better at controlling it… mostly.
“It’s our stop,” Clark says, waking you from your daydream. You feel the tram car judder to a stop and step off. But not without stumbling a little, though your big, strong guardian reaches and steadies you.
Letting out a deep breath of relief, you didn’t become a pancake. You beam up at him.
“I swear, I would’ve become a splat on the pavement a long time ago if it weren’t for you.”
“I have to look out for a fellow klutz,” Clark responds, still holding you upright.
It should be funny, really, that somehow you’re just as, if not more, clumsy than he is, but he makes it look endearing instead of disastrous.
Clearing your throat, you try to pull yourself together before you get lost in that beautiful oasis called his eyes.
“Well, fellow klutz, let’s get food.”
You reach out, half considering taking his hand before opting to tug gently at his sleeve instead.
Turning into a side street, you drink in the familiar sight in front of you. You couldn’t count how many times you’d found yourself walking through this part of New Troy, a hidden-away jewel, tucked quietly behind the hustle and bustle just a few feet away.
You snap a picture here and there, of the sun-worn brick walls lined with ivy, your favourite food cart with burritos you swore by, the smell of grilled peppers and warm tortillas bringing you back to the day you and Clark tried them for the first time.
An old jewellery store catches your eye, the one with the slightly crooked sign and the velvet-lined display. You smile at the memory of you and Clark stopping in to pick something out for his mother’s birthday, the store clerk wrongfully (but very enthusiastically) trying to sell you engagement rings. You don’t think you’ve ever seen Clark turn that red.
Before you finally arrive at the doors of Amoré, the cafe of your dreams. It’s like someone took a look inside your brain and planted it in reality.
The little jingle as you both enter is nostalgic as you’re yet again brought back to a memory with Clark.
Unlike today, it had been absolutely horrid, winds threatening to sweep you off your feet, and it was as if heaven itself had opened up and decided to rain down without mercy.
Clark was soaked from head to toe, and it was partly your fault.
In your defence, it hadn’t been raining when you left the office, and it wasn't even forecasted, but your chronic unluckiness decided to make an appearance anyway.
Before you could get completely drenched, though, the rain stopped, or at least, it did for you.
Above you, Clark had shielded you from the downpour, holding his suit jacket over your head like a makeshift umbrella.
“But you’ll get cold,” you protested, trying to tug the jacket back toward him.
“I’ll be fine.”
“No, you won’t be. You’ll get cold and then get sick and then—”
He chuckled at your concern, adjusting the jacket so it covered you completely, water dripping from his hair as he met your eyes.
“I’ll be okay,” he said softly, “as long as you’re okay.”
You felt like Cupid had shot you with an arrow that day.
Clark’s hair, wet and curly, clung to his forehead, droplets beading on the frames of his glasses. His white shirt was soaked through, clinging to the lines of his torso. That was also the magical day you realised Clark Kent has abs.
He was a vision. A romantic vision, the kind you’d scribbled about in the margins of notebooks and never expected to meet in person.
The whole time he was smiling. All pretty and gentle as he shepherded you into Amoré, shaking the rain from his sleeves and insisting you go ahead while he wrung out his tie.
He treated you to the best hot chocolate you’d ever had: thick, sweet and plenty of marshmallows.
“Give me your hands,” you demanded, and started rubbing them together rapidly, palms pressing against his as if your friction could send some warmth straight into his bones.
“What are you doing?” he asked, eyebrows quirked up.
“Getting you warm and making sure you don’t get a cold,” you said, dead serious. You knew very well your efforts were dumb and mostly theatrical, but you couldn’t be blamed for trying. “If you get sick because of me… I’ll end up feeling terrible, and I'll make you so much soup that it'll be falling out your ears.”
He laughed, the sound low and fond. “Is that the threat?” he teased. “Homemade soup?”
“Yes,” you said, because you meant it. He squeezed your hands once, warm and sure, then leaned in and brushed his forehead to yours, just for a second, before leaning back as if reconsidering his actions. You missed his touch as soon as it was gone.
“After you,” Clark says, opening the door to Amoré wide, and you step in immediately, hit with the smell of cinnamon and sugar.
A stolen cat and a trip down memory lane could really make someone hungry.
***
You had eaten your weight in food, the owner, Dana, giving you a free cinnamon roll on the house for your cat-related troubles.
“It’s the least I can do since you spend half your paycheck here every month,” she joked.
Now, you’re walking down the street, the city humming quietly around you, on your way back to work.
You glance at Clark’s empty hand as he walks in step with you, his palm facing slightly upward, open as if he’s waiting.
You wish you could reach out and take it.
Be one of those effortlessly affectionate couples, the kind you see on park benches or on travel posters, sickeningly cute in a way that makes strangers roll their eyes but secretly smile. The kind you’d find on the cover of a magazine titled Love in the City.
You find yourself smiling at the idea. Clark would look good on the cover of something like that.
You’re about to head to the tram stop when something catches your eye. It’s the way the afternoon light hits a shop window, scattering across the glass and bouncing off a row of flowers in buckets by the door. You rush to get one of your cameras out before adjusting the focus with muscle memory, taking shot after shot as the light shifts and flickers.
You can feel Clark’s eyes on you, probably curious and fond, but you’re too deep in the zone to meet his gaze. You’ll probably freak out about it later, when your brain catches up with you and remembers how close he’d been, how soft his look had turned.
A couple enters one of your shots, looking like they’ve stepped straight out of an old, vintage postcard.
“Those are going to turn out beautifully,” he comments.
“Well, in another world, I’d be a wedding photographer,” you say, lowering the camera.
Clark chuckles, “Another world, huh? You’d make a great one.”
“I would. But fortunately for you, Mr Kansas, we’re in this world, and we get to work together.”
“Mr Kansas? That’s new,” he says, clearly amused.
“I gotta keep you on your toes,” you joke before continuing to take pictures.
Taking shots of things you love. A street musician playing to the clouds, the way sunlight hits a puddle after rain, a dog barking at a squirrel in a tree. Life’s precious little moments that you’d normally overlook.
You walk over to the couple, camera still in hand, and offer them a print.
“I got you in one of my shots,” you say, smiling softly. “You can have this if you want it.”
Their eyes widen, and they take it with a “thank you”. It’s a candid moment of love, something so pure and effortless, yet somehow, just out of your reach. But seeing how it lights them up, how it makes them laugh and lean into each other, might just be enough for you.
You rush back over to Clark, cheeks flushed from the little burst of excitement still buzzing in your chest.
“Did they like the picture?” he asks, eyes lighting up, just at the sight of your happy face.
“They loved it,” you say, grinning, your heart all warm and gooey, like a freshly baked cookie right out of the oven. “Maybe love isn’t meant for me, but I love it regardless. I don’t know, being able to capture it for someone else makes my world a little brighter.”
You catch something flickering in Clark’s eyes, a look you can’t quite place. Knowing him, he’s probably fighting the urge to gently call you out on the self-deprecation, to tell you you’re wrong about love not being meant for you. But before he can say anything, something else catches your eye, inspiration burning inside of you like a fire.
“Can you hold this for a sec?” you ask, holding out one of your cameras to him.
“Of course,” he says, taking it carefully, as though it’s something precious.
You’re already moving, half jogging, half skipping, the sun spilling across your face as your eyes dart around, scanning the street for that perfect shot.
Clark watches with that quiet, unshakable fondness of his, his heart pitter-pattering with every step you take, every moment you stop to frame a picture. And unknown to you, there’s a soft click, the snap of the shutter, as he lifts the camera and takes a candid photo of you.
He thinks you look beautiful.
Like something out of a postcard.
***
After a long day at the Daily Planet, editing and colour-correcting your photos for print until your eyes felt like sandpaper, the only thing you wanted to do was sleep for the next decade.
So naturally, there’s a knock at your door.
You groan, rolling out of bed and immediately regretting every life choice that led you here when your knee slams into the floor.
“Fucking—” You bite down on the rest of the word, hissing through your teeth.
You grab the baseball bat you normally use to shoo away the pigeons that loved to shit on your balcony, hobbling toward the door and wondering who would dare interrupt your beauty sleep at this hour.
“Listen, whatever you’re selling—”
Meow.
You freeze. Your eyes widen when you see your cat being held in the arms of someone standing in your doorway. Cato looks perfectly content, purring like the little traitor he is, tail flicking lazily as if he hadn’t been abducted by a supervillain less than twenty-four hours ago.
You blink, lowering the bat slightly. “Cato?”
He meows again, utterly unbothered.
“My sweet baby. Never run away again!”
You pet him lightly, and he leans into your touch, purring contentedly… before suddenly hissing at you.
“That’s my boy,” you coo.
As you straighten, your eyes travel up the body that’s holding your cat. That’s when it hits you: a very distinct colour scheme, blue, red, and yellow. And that unmistakable symbol on his chest that Cato had been pawing at… where did you know that from?
Lo and behold, Superman, in all his heroic super-ness, is standing in your doorway, holding your cat. The curl of Cato’s tail drapes over the Man of Steel’s arm, his little claws kneading gently at the emblem as Superman smiles down at you, that warm, world-saving smile that somehow makes even an over-caffeinated yet sleep-deprived photographer’s knees weak.
“Superman,” you start, trying to sound calm and not like you’re about to melt into a puddle of nerves. “Why are you holding my cat?” You can’t help the deer-in-headlights look on your face.
He shifts Cato gently in his arms, the cat looking way too pleased with himself for someone who just survived a supervillain kidnapping.
“I rescued him from Toyman’s old hideout,” Superman explains, “There was a small explosion, a lot of smoke, and I found this little guy sitting on a busted control panel like he owned the place.”
You blink, trying to picture your cat perched amid sparks and wreckage. That tracks.
Superman smiles, holding Cato out to you. “His collar had your address on it. Figured he’d want to come home.”
You take Cato, your fingers brushing briefly against Superman’s gloved hand, a spark running through your body. “Yeah, well,” you murmur, cradling your cat, “he’s grounded. Forever. No more villain playdates.”
Your mind is grasping to keep this conversation going when a certain someone comes to mind.
“Oh! We uh, have a mutual friend,” you start, shifting Cato in your arms like it gives you some excuse for talking to Superman. “Clark Kent? Or, well, I guess I don’t actually know if you guys are friends. But you do give him an awful amount of interviews.”
Superman tilts his head, that signature half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Clark keeps me busy,” he admits, voice calm but amused.
“I’ll bet,” you say, raising an eyebrow. “So what’s a girl gotta do to get a moment with you? I take great pictures.”
He chuckles softly. “Persistence goes a long way.”
“Oh, I’m persistent,” you counter with a grin. “If you ever want a proper photo shoot, call me first. I’ll make you look just as handsome as you are in real life.”
Your eyes wander before you can stop them, over the sharp line of his jaw, up to the curl of hair that refuses to obey gravity. You swallow hard, heart thudding traitorously against your ribs.
“Which is,” you murmur before your filter can kick in, “really, really handsome.” A beat passes. “Wow, you’re perfect.”
Superman blinks, then smiles. That small, devastating smile that could probably power Metropolis for a week. “I’m… far from perfect,” he says gently, though the faint pink dusting his cheeks suggests he’s not entirely immune to the compliment.
“Liar.” You let out a shaky laugh.
“I should let you get back to saving Metropolis, or sleeping…” you pause, tilting your head, “Do you even sleep?”
“Yes,” he says, that soft smile still in place. “I sleep.”
“Good to know.” You laugh under your breath, rubbing the back of your neck. “Well, I uh…” You trail off, words slipping away as you look at him. The warmth in his eyes, his voice like a balm for your brain, smoothing out the edges of your chaotic day until everything feels… easy.
“Thank you so much,” you say quietly. “I can’t thank you enough.”
“It’s okay,” he replies, his tone gentle, reassuring. “I’m just glad I got him home to you. Seems like he missed you, too.”
You glance down to see Cato nuzzling against your arm, purring like a motorboat, his earlier hissiness forgotten now that he’s safely home. “Yeah,” you whisper, smiling softly. “He’s a menace, but he’s my menace.”
When you look up again, Superman is already stepping back into the hallway.
“Goodnight, Superman,” you say, voice a little softer than you meant it to be.
He smiles back, “Goodnight.”
And with a rush of wind and a flutter of red, he’s gone, leaving you standing in the doorway, clutching your cat and wondering if maybe your Cupid powers had finally started working on you.
***
You’re going mad.
But you can’t stop thinking about him.
No matter how many times you flip your pillow or change positions, sleep refuses to come. You toss and turn, your mind replaying every single moment on a loop, the way he laughed, the way his eyes softened when he said “I’m glad he’s home,” like he actually cared. The way his smile made the world tilt just slightly on its axis.
But on the other hand, he was Superman.
He probably dated someone equally as… super. Why wouldn’t he? It made sense. Someone who could fly beside him, and not have to worry about things like rent or camera batteries. He probably had a super hot alien girlfriend somewhere who could light up the sky with a wink.
Still… your Cupid senses were pinging around like a broken radio, so it was definitely alive. At least, on your part.
You’ve had crushes before. You’ve even fallen in love once or twice. But this was different. It wasn’t the soft, dreamy kind of love that crept up quietly. It was electric and loud.
Like your heart was dancing in your chest, and not a slow dance either, it was like the tango or samba. So full of life, like it might just grow wings and fly.
Kind of like that day in the rain with Clark…
Fuck, love was confusing.
You arrive at the Daily Planet the next morning with renewed energy. A spring in your step that even a double shot of espresso couldn’t usually inspire, you practically glide past the reception desk.
Jimmy, perched on the edge of a chair with a camera slung around his neck, grins and raises an eyebrow. “You look… chipper.”
“Chipper?” you repeat, smirking. “Jimmy, Superman saved my cat. Not just saved him, but brought him to my door.”
Jimmy whistles, leaning back like he’s suddenly seen the headline of the century. “Wait, what? Your cat? And Superman personally delivered him?”
“Yep,” you say, popping the ‘p’ obnoxiously as you wipe your nails on your shirt. You were loving his stunned expression, eating it up, in fact. “We like talked or whatever. It's not even a big deal.”
You gush him to Jimmy for a couple minutes…or 15, give or take, until he shoos you away from his desk. With a sigh, your eyes sweep the office, looking for someone else to brag to when you see Clark.
Walking over and sitting on the edge of his desk, you smile at him a little too long.
“Is… everything okay?” he asks.
“Everything is more than okay. Clark, your boy, Superman, dropped by my apartment yesterday. Did you tell him about Cato?”
He blinks at you, maybe at the fact that you called him and Superman “boys”.
“I—”
Before he can even confirm or deny it, you throw your arms around him. “Thank you.”
You sink into his embrace, and no matter how many times it happens, you’re always a little stunned by how right it feels, like slipping into a warm bath after a long day.
His arms wrap around you easily, steady and warm, and for a fleeting second, you think this must be what home feels like. Your own little safe haven.
And his strong, solid biceps? Yeah, you could definitely make a home right there if he’d let you.
Reluctantly, you pull back before you end up attaching yourself to him like a koala on a eucalyptus tree, though you’re very tempted.
“Plus, I swear, Cato has been so well-behaved since he got back. I woke up, and my apartment was still intact because he kept meowing at my Superman poster.”
“You have a Superman poster?”
You laugh, that same shaky, breathy laugh from last night, and wave a hand dismissively. “That’s irrelevant.”
You lean closer as if to imply whatever you're about to say has to stay hush-hush.
“But, uh, don't run off and tell Superman. I'll never live it down.”
“Your secret is safe with me,” he says, holding out his pinkie, which you immediately wrap around his.
While he has you close, he says, “Well, I was actually going to ask if you're free for lunch later?”
“I'm always free for you.”
***
At lunch, two of you head back to Amoré that afternoon, ready to melt into the seats over a cup of coffee and a croissant…or 5.
“Couple discount,” Dana intises, as she approaches the two of you in your usual chairs.
“You know very well that we're not dating,” you whine, probably sounding a little too sad that you aren’t.
“But you should be. In all my years of working here, I've never seen friends with chemistry like this. Truly, tell me…why not?”
The two of you don’t have an answer for that.
You just let the question wash over you as you noticeably avoid each other’s eyes.
“Because…we’re friends,” you reiterate. She remains unconvinced by your weak attempt at deflection.
“Well, the couple discount will be here until next week, so I would hurry up if I were you.”
“Thanks, Dana,” Clark replies politely as she walks off, grumbling to herself, something about “idiots in love”.
She was a character, but you can’t help wondering what if.
What if she was right?
To distract yourself, you reach for your camera as you always do.
The light is just right, painting the room in a warm, honeyed glow. Not quite sunny, not quite dim. The kind of scene you could set music to.
And then there’s Clark.
You lift the camera and look at him through the lens, and somehow, impossibly, he’s perfect as always.
He's always so dynamic, so interesting. Wherever he's laughing at a joke Jimmy told, or he's hard at work on an article, there's so much to see, so much to love.
By now, he’s used to being the subject of your photos every now and then. He barely reacts when the shutter clicks, just glances up, raises a brow, gives you that familiar half-smile before going about his business.
You can’t help it. He’s just so fun to take candid photos of. Capturing his beauty that's usually in motion in still moments.
Snapshots of Clark that feel honest. Real. The way his eyes soften when he smiles, the way he simply exists in a space.
You take the picture and practically die at the result.
He’s looking at you.
Not posing or performing. Just looking, curious in that way he often is, like he’s quietly wondering what’s going on inside your head. Like he’s trying to read you without asking the question out loud.
It’s funny how a single picture of him can weigh so heavily on you.
It’s the dimples, first of all.
The way they show when he smiles at you, all soft and patient, like he’s waiting for your reaction. For your attention. For something.
That's real.
You smile at the photo without even thinking about it.
“Good picture?” he asks.
“More than good.”
You tilt the camera toward him, letting him see.
“See?” you say softly. “Perfect.”
***
You wake up in the morning, and everything feels lighter. It’s like the clouds in the sky were made of candy floss, and the sun is quite literally smiling down at you. It’s that warm and gooey again.
You try to shake it off to no avail, blinking against the morning light, and begin getting ready for work, brushing your teeth and throwing on your clothes with a little extra spring in your step.
When you get to the office, Clark is already at your desk, leaning casually against the corner with that half-smile that drives your brain into a mild panic.
“Hey, Clark,” you say, drawing out the greeting and fluttering your eyes a little more than usual.
You catch yourself before it goes too far, snapping out of it and sitting up straight. What the heck was that?
Before turning around and pulling the flowers out of seemingly thin air. It's a beautiful bouquet, full of life and colour. Is he a magician? A mind reader?
“Hey yourself. I got you, your morning coffee,” he says casually, “And this bouquet of flowers.”
“They're beautiful.”
“Well, they match their new owner.”
Was Clark Kent… flirting with you?
“They're—” you start, words tripping over themselves. “Camellias… my favourite. How did you…?”
“I remember you recommending them when I was debating what to send my Ma on her birthday,” he says softly, smiling in that shy-but-warm way that makes your chest fizz. “Said that they ‘can light up any room without even trying.’”
“Do you remember everything I say?” you ask, feeling your heartbeat jump straight into your throat.
“I try,” he admits, voice low. “You say a lot of beautiful things.”
The Cupid tingles were here, and they were going crazy.
“Well, you say a lot of beautiful things too, Mr Kansas.”
You step closer into his space, almost chest to chest, love is in the air, and you can’t seem to stop yourself.
Were you flirting with Clark?!
The realisation knocks you out of the clouds as that sudden burst of confidence wears off.
“I need to… feed the printer some, uh, paper,” you blurt, already stumbling backwards, walking directly into a filing cabinet and half tripping over your own feet before escaping to the supply closet like it’s a lifeboat on a sinking ship.
You didn’t know what was going on with you… more importantly, you didn’t know what was going on with Clark.
Behind you, you think you hear him exhale, and then quietly say to himself, “…Nice going, Kent.”
The rest of the day, it’s like the whole world had come to life, everything that bit brighter, more vibrant. And you can’t keep Clark off your mind, and you mean more than usual. Whenever you thought of him, he'd appear, just a few seconds later.
And sure, maybe you could chalk that up to the fact that you work together, but that doesn’t explain him randomly walking up onto the rooftop where you were and having no reason as to why. Or him finding you in the broom closet, when he had no reason to be in there.
It has something to do with the warm, gooey feeling from this morning.
Even as you walk back from lunch with Clark, you notice that flowers that are out of season are in full bloom. Though little did you know, the worst was yet to come. As you’re walking, he stops over to help an old lady across the street.
“I’ll just be a second,” he says, rushing off. You watch him greet her and help her across the street, the way her face lights up as they talk, it makes you soft.
Ping.
So it’s no surprise that a random halo appears over your head.
You only realise it's there when you feel a pair of eyes looking above you, rather than at you. You wave it away, the halo disappearing in a puff of smoke, thankfully before Clark makes back over to you.
“Ready to head back?”
“Yeah, totally.”
***
Working was impossible at this point. It felt like you just stepped into a movie with how perfect everything felt. And for the girl with exceptionally bad luck, that could only mean one thing. Everything was about to go to shit.
It’s not even anything major.
You were chilling by your desk, fiddling with your pencil, finalising some edit when he came over to your desk. He simply says your name and then, “I’ve been thinking about you…”’
You don’t even hear the rest of the sentence. That was enough for you to want to go feral on this man.
“Shit—”
You let go of the pencil, instead of falling, instead of bouncing onto the floor as physics intended, the pencil hangs suspended in midair, floating in front of you like you’ve stepped into a zero-gravity simulator.
A beat passes. Then the coffee cup next to you lifts off the table too, tilting slightly, liquid sloshing dangerously but somehow not spilling. Papers flutter upward like startled birds. Pens twirl. Lois’s stress ball drifts majestically past your ear.
And then a far more alarming realisation hits you like a bus.
Why are my feet off the ground?
That should not be a question anyone asks during a normal weekday. That’s a question reserved for roller-coaster fanatics or trapeze artists, not you.
You swish your legs experimentally, and instead of falling back down, you glide slightly sideways, drifting up like a helium balloon.
If this weren’t happening in front of the entire newsroom, you’d feel like Peter Pan, all whimsical without the whole kidnapping children thing.
“You’re floating,” Cat gasps from across the bullpen, mouth hanging open as she drops her phone, which, of course, stops mid-air and starts floating too.
What was happening?
Was this… you?
Were you causing this?
Had your powers just evolved?
Or had flirting with Clark Kent somehow launched you into spontaneous levitation like a lovesick rocket?
You spin slowly in mid-air, hair drifting around your face like you’re underwater, and all you can think is, Why can’t I ever just be normal for one second?
All he did was bring you a pretzel, and your powers decided to have a complete meltdown about it.
Clark opens his mouth to say something, probably to reassure you, because of course he would, but you beat him to it.
“No, no, don’t worry, everything’s under control,” you blurt, voice cracking like a rusty hinge.
It is absolutely not under control.
You’re now fully horizontal, hovering like a board in a magic show, the only thing keeping you from drifting straight up toward the massive ceiling is the death grip you have on the edge of your desk.
Your knuckles are white, your heart is tap-dancing in your chest, and you’re pretty sure your dignity has already packed its bags and left the building.
The Daily Planet has stupidly high ceilings. If you let go, there is a non-zero chance you may never come back down. And you absolutely do not want to become the human party balloon of the office.
But of course, because this is your life, your grip slips.
Your hand slides, scrambling against piles of paper and glossy magazines that flutter upward like startled birds, slipping through your fingers one by one.
“No, no, no—!”
And then you let go.
You start to drift upward, slowly at first, then faster, and before you can cry out, a hand closes around yours.
“I’ve got you.”
As if you couldn't feel more weightless.
Despite all the chaos, the floating furniture, the gasps echoing through the bullpen, it’s like the world narrows down to just his face.
Everything else blurs out: the newsroom noise, the fluorescent lights, the fact that you are currently defying gravity in front of your coworkers.
It's like nothing else in the entire universe exists.
You’re weightless in more ways than one, and suddenly you understand why. It's exactly how he makes you feel.
His hands wrap around yours, warm and sure, and your fingers curl instinctively around his, clinging like he’s gravity itself.
“Just keep your eyes on me,” he says. He's steady, not freaking out in the slightest, and he has every right to be.
It's not every day your coworker starts floating away.
You nod at him, and slowly, he tugs you close. You fight the zero gravity and drift into his inviting arms.
And before you knew it, you were back on the floor. Everything was floating, crashing down shortly after.
“What the hell is going on?” Perry yells.
***
You hoped the incident would be forgotten by tomorrow. You doubted it, but you sure can hope.
You have been in love before, but never in a way that had your powers this out of whack.
He had you floating, and you didn't know you could do that!
But words couldn't fully explain the way it felt. Like your heart was climbing with you as you left the ground.
You were comfy now and firmly obeying the laws of physics. Wrapped up in your blanket, watching reruns as you try to fall asleep.
Though it was impossible, the events of the day were still spinning through your head like a washing machine.
You’d all but exposed the fact that you’re a metahuman to your colleagues.
It’s not like you were ashamed of it or hated who you were; it was just…private.
Not even Clark knew.
And you liked it that way, the control, the separation between your strange and your normal.
But now?
Maybe there was still a chance you could blame everything on a freak accident. Or that you’d been accidentally blasted by an evil cosmic ray on your way to work. That sounded like something that happened in Metropolis at least twice a week.
Fuck.
The thought of the end of your social life disappears from your mind when you see a certain someone on the news. The thought of Superman, the image of his smile on the screen, lulls you to sleep, easier than you thought was possible.
You awaken to the soft knocking on the window to your balcony. You and massaging out the crick in your neck from falling asleep half off the couch.
Assuming it’s just a pigeon pecking at the glass, you grab your trusty baseball bat, ready to shoo it away. You open the balcony door cautiously to find not a pigeon but a whole ass man.
Your gaze travels from his shoes up to a handsome face staring back at you, calm and impossibly composed.
“Superman,” you wheeze, heart racing, “What are you doing on my balcony?”
“I wanted to check on your cat,” he says, calm as ever.
“Oh.”
“And you.”
“Oh?”
“You’ve made quite the impression on me.”
You made an impression on Superman?!
You may not be screaming out loud, but on the inside, you've got a megaphone that you're yelling at the top of your lungs into.
“I tend to have that effect on people.”
You aim to lean against your doorway but miss, stumbling a little. He catches you because, of course, he does.
So much for being suave.
The way he holds your arm, gently but securely, has you thinking about Clark. It's you've been hit with a wave of deja vu.
You shake away the thought and look back up at him. Probably shouldn't be thinking about two guys at the same time, but you couldn't help it.
“You look like you've seen a ghost.”
“It's not that, it's just… there's something so familiar about you.”
As you look at him, it's like your brain is straining to put together a puzzle with a missing piece.
Like you couldn’t find the right words. He had your brain all fried; he had put a spell on you, that’s for sure.
Before you can find that missing puzzle piece, your cat bounds up to him. Meowing at Superman's boots and pawing at his legs.
“Sorry about that. You've made quite the impression on him.”
Bending down, he lifts Cato into his arms and pets him softly, “I've missed you too, buddy.”
Right then and there, you decide it should be illegal to look that fine while holding a cat.
He looks up at you with light concern.
“What are you doing awake? It's 2 am.”
“Can't sleep. My brain is being stubborn. What about you? Shouldn't you be sleeping instead of throwing bricks from your glass house?”
“You got me there.”
“Seriously, though. You should sleep. I just saw you on TV lifting a building. You don't need to check on me.”
The guilt you would feel if he were tired the next day and potentially getting hurt fighting some villain, because of you, would be immeasurable.
Sure, you didn't know what he did during the day when he wasn't Superman-ing around, but you wanted him to be well rested.
“I'll survive.”
From his tone of voice, you knew he was resolute in this.
“If you insist. So…” you tap your foot, trying to think what you would do with a superhero in your living room.
“Wanna bake with me? By the time we're done, I'm sure we'll be tired.” You suggest. Doing something with your hands always helps tucker you out. “...Unless you think it's dumb. I know you're a busy guy—”
“It would be an honour.”
***
Superman was nice.
Not just nice but nice to be around. Like the kind of guy you'd bring home to meet the parents.
Boyfriend material.
Just who is this guy? Superhero and rom-com lead? You're starting to wonder if he was made in a lab.
“My Ma makes the best pies,” he says, voice reminiscent, kneading the dough with his hands in practised movements.
Those words bring you back to the first week of knowing Clark. It was around Thanksgiving when you started, and he fawned over his mother's pumpkin pie.
“My Ma makes the best pies,” he had said, probably verbatim, followed by, “Wish you could try it sometime.”
He had said it quieter, almost like he didn't mean for it to slip out. The thought of him bringing you home to meet his parents for Thanksgiving makes you feel a little lightheaded. What you wouldn't give to be that important to him.
You laugh softly, chuckling at the memory. You just couldn't stop yourself from thinking about him, could you?
“What?” he asks, brow furrowing slightly.
“No, it’s just… You remind me of someone,” you say, smiling, shaking your head. “A good someone. Someone I really like.”
He glances down at himself, a hint of concern crossing his face. You mistake that concern for concern about the mess the two of you were making.
At this point, there was a light dusting of flour in his hair, and some on your cheek.
“Are you sure you can get, like, flour and stuff on your suit?”
“It’s okay,” he says casually, shrugging.
“Of course,” you tease, grinning. “The Man of Steel can handle a little flour.”
He smirks, brushing a playful dusting of flour from his shoulder, and you can’t help but notice how domestic and endearing he looks in the kitchen.
“Oh, wait, I know!”
You scuttle around your kitchen, slippers sliding on the floor, and grab an apron to present it to him in a most dramatic fashion.
“Kiss the cook?” he says, questioning as he reads the block writing printed on the front, along with a gratuitous number of love hearts.
“Gag gift from a Secret Santa a few years back,” you explain away. “Now bend down so I can put this on you…”
Without arguing, he bends down, allowing you to slip it over his head.
“How does it look?”
You love the sight of Metropolis’ protector in an apron, goofy smile and all.
“Perfect, Superman. Absolutely perfect.”
***
One thing’s for sure, Superman knows how to bake a pie.
It was still dark, the room illuminated by your vintage bedside lamp, its warm amber glow spilling softly across the table. You’d found it years ago at a little thrift shop downtown, a place that smelled faintly of old books and cinnamon buns, for some reason.
Outside, the sun would soon begin to rise, birds chirping to life as the night slowly loosened its grip on the world.
As the two of you dig in, wrapped in the quiet stillness of morning, the only sound is the clink of forks against porcelain.
He chuckles as you let out contented hum after contented hum with each spoonful.
“What?” you pout, “I can’t be excited about pie?”
“It’s not that,” he says, smiling. “You just have a little…”
Before you can ask, he reaches out, wiping the crumbs from the side of your mouth.
You can’t stop your heart from racing as his thumb brushes away the last trace, lingering just a second too long, right next to your lips.
Ping.
A halo appears above your head.
The universe seems to be confusing Cupid with an angel.
“You, uh, also have a little…” he trails off, eyes set just above your head.
You tap above your head, hands finding the solid halo above you.
“Don't pay it too much attention,” you grumble, dropping your hands in defeat.
“Is that because of me?” He asks, definitely still paying it attention.
“...perhaps.”
What use was there in lying? Your heartbeat was already giving you away anyway.
He leans a little closer, and you have to remind yourself how to breathe as you look into his impossibly blue eyes.
“Well,” he says softly, “it’s an honour to give you halos.”
Shit.
You hadn’t felt this flustered in a long time. Not since—well. Not since this afternoon with Clark. Why were handsome men flirting with you all of a sudden? Had you somehow won the love lottery after years of bad relationships after bad relationships?
“Can I take a picture of you?” you blurt out. “While I have you captive in my apartment. And, don't worry, I won't go selling anything to tabloids or anything. This is just for me.”
“Go right ahead,” he says easily, continuing to eat like he knows you want him exactly as he is.
You reach across with a grunt, yanking your camera from the counter it was resting on.
You turn it on and focus on him immediately; you wouldn't let this opportunity go to waste.
A curl has fallen loose, resting against his forehead, stubborn and soft. You take a picture, then another. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even look up at first. You figure he must be used to cameras.
“Do you use gel?” you ask, lowering the phone slightly, “or is that all you?”
He smiles as he finally looks up at you. “All me.”
You take one more picture.
“Can I see?”
You move closer and show him the screen. “You’re perfect,” you say before you can stop yourself. “Those dimples are to die for.”
Your smile falters just a little because dimples suddenly make you think of Clark. Why were all roads leading back to him?
He notices, but doesn't say anything.
“I think,” he says gently, eyes flicking from the photo back to you, “I only look so ‘perfect’ because you’re the one taking the picture. Everything looks great from your point of view.”
***
By the time you wake up, it's 1 p.m.
Thank fuck it's a Saturday and you have nothing to do except sleep and stew everything that's happened in such a short space of time.
Hours pass as you think of Superman's cute little smile and how you're so not looking forward to going to work on Monday.
Before you know it, it's evening yet again. Time flies when you're having a mental breakdown.
You start going through the pictures on your personal camera, you hadn't used in a few days… because hotties love to scrapbook.
Seeing a flash of your face.
You didn't remember that picture.
You flip to the next one over, and it's the picture you took of Clark.
You flip back to you, then to the picture of Clark, then to you, then to Clark. The smile on your face suddenly drops.
If A + B = C… one picture of him plus one picture of you equals… accidental love match?
“Fuck…” you say, dropping your camera into your lap before letting out a noticeably louder, “Fuck!”
It practically shook the building. You spring up and start freaking out.
After getting your steps in by pacing and down so fast it was making Cato dizzy, you make the harrowing decision to call Clark.
He needed to know.
It explained a whole lot: the flowers, the flirting, the floating.
How did you not see this earlier?
Your press on his contract, it rings once, then—
“Hello?”
“Clark?” you say, your voice is shakier than usual. You didn't quite know how to act.
How could you explain that you kinda made him fall in love with you?
“Is everything okay?” He asks, as if he could read your mind from miles away.
“I know it’s late, and this is so stupid, but…can you come over?”
“I'll be there as fast as I can.”
A few minutes later, he arrives at your door. You don't even question how he got here so quickly when he lived halfway across the city from you, dragging him inside with urgency.
“What's wrong?” he says, frowning at your distressed expression.
“I fucked up. Like majorly, and when you find out…”
You pause, looking up at him and his kind eyes, marred with worry.
“Just try not to hate me.”You start sniffling, “I couldn't bear it if you hated me, but I'd understand if you did. I mean, this is just so fucked up and—”
He pulls you into his arms, making you feel secure. “Whatever it is, it won't change how I feel about you.”
You didn't have the time or energy to dissect his words, instead leaning your head against his chest.
Who knows? It may be the last time you're able to.
You try to speak, but it's too hard. It's like you're being choked, the words too big to get out.
Seeing your distress, he gently guides you toward your couch, his hand warm on your back, and you don’t object. Your brain is too scrambled to even consider resisting.
“How about we relax?” he murmurs. “Just so you can collect your thoughts, and then you can tell me whatever you need to.”
You let out a long, shaky sigh before nodding.
“Come here,” he says softly, opening his arm for you, and you practically crash into his side, like gravity shifts just to pull you against him.
He wraps an arm around your shoulders, steady and protective, and your forehead finds the curve of his chest without thinking.
His heartbeat is calm.
Yours… less so.
At some point, somewhere between his fingers brushing your arm and the warmth of his side against you, your eyes grow heavy.
Little snores escaping you before you can help it.
Clark’s breath hitches in the smallest laugh, fond and quiet. He adjusts his hold so you don’t slump over, fearful of waking you.
He knows how hard you work, running in empty and getting in your head about not doing enough. When you do more than enough, you are more than enough.
And when he’s sure you’re completely asleep, he shifts carefully, lifting you into his arms with an ease that makes you wonder how you ever doubted if he'd be there for you or not.
He carries you to bed, smiling as you mumble in your sleep before laying you down gently.
Taking extra care to tuck the blanket around you.
“Goodnight,” he whispers, making his way out of the room.
***
You wake up with a start. It's not a slow recollection of events; it's like you've been shot.
Jolting out of bed, you trip all over your room before finally making it out.
Though before you can make any rash decisions, you freeze the moment you walk into your living room.
Clark is on your couch.
Cato sprawled out on top of him like he pays rent, tiny paws kneading at Clark’s hair.
He sleeps peacefully, mouth soft, glasses still on. The light from your half-open blinds highlights every perfect inch of his face.
You stand there staring like an idiot, because this is not just your coworker, not just your friend, he’s the guy you're head over heels for.
And you might just lose him forever. All because you're the idiot who accidentally made him fall in love with you.
You swallow hard.
“Clark…?”
He stirs instantly, eyes fluttering open. His hand automatically goes to steady Cato so the cat doesn’t fall off. It’s stupidly endearing.
“Oh—hey,” he says softly. “Did I fall asleep? Sorry.”
“You—” You gesture helplessly at the entire scene. “You could’ve gone home. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
“I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
He sits up carefully, Cato sliding into his lap like a sleepy loaf.
“You were pretty distraught when I got here.”
You nod, shifting your weight from one foot to the other.
“Do you want to talk about it now? Whatever you had to tell me?”
“Yeah, I think that's best.”
Steeling your nerves, you sit down next to him and press your hands to your face. “Clark, listen. These past few days, you may have been experiencing something odd. Like heart palpitations, and all sorts of romantic notions when it comes to me.”
You clear your throat, “It's all my fault. I uh…I'm basically like Cupid.”
Perhaps you should've thought about your words, prepared a speech. There's nothing like free styling, telling your best friend you're a metahuman.
“Cupid?” He questions, not in a judgmental way. Mostly just confused.
“I can matchmake people, and sometimes when I take pictures, they're like my ‘arrows’.”
Another nod.
“So when you took a photo of me the other day…” You cringe. “And I took a photo of you…”
Understanding flickers in his expression. Don't panic. Just quiet, steady recognition.
“Right,” he says. “So, you were worried because you thought you made me fall in love with you against my will?”
Bullseye.
“Well, yes. Or… no. No, they can’t create something that’s not already there or impossible. They just… amplify. Highlight. Push things along. Even though it was an accident it was still shitty—”
You’re babbling, faster than you can think, and he puts his hand on your shoulder.
“So,” he says softly, “you're saying there's something here.”
You go perfectly still. In all your panic, you hadn't really considered the fact that this meant that he liked you too.
That it wasn't just a misplaced finger gun or a passing infatuation.
He liked you.
He shuffles closer on the couch, stopping close enough that you can feel his warmth, see the way his glasses have slid slightly down his nose a little.
“Between you and me.”
He looks at you like he’s already known the answer, like he’s been waiting for you to catch up.
“Yeah, I…I guess there is.”
If he keeps looking at you like this, like you’re the only person in the world… you might honestly end up floating straight up to your ceiling again.
“Aren’t you mad?” you whisper. “I manipulated your feelings, I—”
Clark shakes his head before you can spiral.
“It wasn’t anyone’s fault,” he says gently. “It was an accident. And… honestly?”
His voice softens even more.
“It was the little push I needed. To finally tell you how I feel.”
“That you…?” you prompt, barely audible.
“That I’ve loved you since the moment we met. Showing me all the pictures you took, and talking to me like we've known each other for years. You really know how to make a guy feel at home.”
He gives a small, embarrassed smile.
“I can't get you out of my mind; it's always been like that, even before the whole matchmaking fiasco. Memories of you run through my head on the daily. From the night you dragged me out to karaoke after I said I've never been, to the rainy day we stopped by Amoré for the first time and you tried to heat up my hands.”
Your heart lurches.
He remembers all of it.
Your fingers reach out, and he meets yours halfway.
“I love you and all that you are.”
Your hands intertwine, fitting together like they’ve been waiting to.
“You have no idea,” you breathe, “how long I’ve been wanting to hear that.”
Clark’s response is not verbal.
He leans in, and your lips connect like they were never meant to be apart.
The kiss is deep, warm, hungry without being rushed, like he’s been waiting for this but wants to savour it.
When you finally pull away, your forehead rests against his, hearts beating in sync.
It was perfect.
The most perfect kiss.
The kind of kiss you’re pretty sure qualifies as the world’s greatest.
You think you might never recover from it.
Though a thought rings out in the back of your head.
A certain Superhero, you may or may not have flirted with.
You don't notice, but Clark is going through a dilemma too.
“I have something to—”
“I need to tell you—”
You both start talking at the same time.
A beat.
Then Clark gives a tiny nod. “You first.”
You swallow, “I… I baked with Superman.”
Clark blinks. “Hm?”
“I know, I know, don’t look at me like that—it just happened! I didn’t plan it, he was checking on me, and my cat, and we both couldn't sleep, and flour was everywhere and—” You put your hands in your hair. “Holy shit, am I going to have to reject Superman? No, no, that’s ridiculous, we only met twice, there's no way he likes me, it’s fine—”
“I’m Superman,” Clark says quietly.
You stare at him.
Then you let out a big, incredulous laugh. You might have even slapped your knee.
“And I'm Batman. The fuck are you talking about?”
He hesitates. You can practically see him realising he maybe should’ve eased into that better.
“I… I’m Superm—”
“You can’t just repeat it!” you cut in, throwing your hands up. “Obviously, I don’t believe you. I sit across from you every day, Mr Kansas. You like fresh pancakes and Sunday morning walks, not to mention you’re the clumsiest person I know, bar me. There’s no way—”
He takes off his glasses.
You blink twice before letting out a scream.
Is it one of horror? Excitement? Both?
You may never know.
But the next thing out of your mouth, on repeat and in varying volumes, is “what the fuck?”
You leap up from the couch, speed walking around in an attempt to burn off all this nervous energy. Your poor downstairs neighbours.
“Clark, what in the ever living—? How is this even possible?” you question, vaulting yourself back over your couch to face him.
“Hypno glasses.”
“Hypno— of course, of course,” you chuckle in mild panic as you throw your hands up.
The similarities you were getting when you were around Superman were making a whole lot of sense.
“The dimples… Oh! And the fucking pumpkin pies, I should've known!” you grumble.
The whole time you thought you were leading Superman and Clark on, he was the same guy? At least you're consistent.
“Are you angry with me?”
You shake your head immediately. “I’m not angry in the slightest.”
Your voice softens. “You’re Superman, Clark. A secret identity is… kinda necessary.”
Relief flickers over his face, but you keep going, because your brain is finally catching up.
“I mean, honestly, a lot of things are adding up now.”
You let out a breathy laugh, half disbelieving, half relieved.
“The disappearances, the fact that you’re always late… the way you’d show up with a new excuse every time I tried to confront you about it.”
You shrug helplessly.
“I just thought you had… I don’t know. A second job? A weird hobby? Some kind of… side hustle?”
You gesture vaguely.
“But not this. Definitely not ‘hey, by the way, I’m Superman.’”
Clark’s cheeks flush faintly (adorably).
He reaches for your hand without thinking, thumb brushing your knuckles.
“I wanted to tell you,” he murmurs. “I’ve wanted to for a long time.”
You squeeze his hand back.
“Now you have,” you say softly.
“And I'm not going anywhere.”
***
“Catooo…” you whine for the fourth time.
He’s managed to perch himself on the very top of your shelf, tail flicking smugly, with absolutely no way of getting down.
Clark sighs, amused. “I swear he does this on purpose.”
Before you can argue, Clark lifts himself into the air, hovering up toward your stubborn little menace.
“Come here, buddy.”
Cato doesn’t need to be told twice. The moment Clark’s close enough, the cat launches himself straight into Clark’s arms with a loving meow like he’s been rescued from a burning building.
“That's my Cato,” Clark coos at him, getting nothing but adoring purrs in response.
He drifts back down, landing softly with Cato snuggled against his chest.
You fold your arms. “Traitor.”
But the moment Clark steps close enough to hand Cato over, it happens—
Ping.
A shimmering ‘love halo’, faint at first, then solidifying the instant he touches your hand.
You groan. “Is this ever going to wear off?”
Clark just smiles, wholly unbothered. “I quite like it.”
And he leans in, kissing the tip of your nose like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
You’re about to complain again when something tugs at your back, a sudden weight and a strange tickle, enough to make you sit up straight.
You twist around, confused.
There’s a… movement under your shirt. A flutter.
You freeze.
Slowly, cautiously, you lift the hem, and lo and behold… two tiny Cupid wings are sprouting out of your back, fluffy and soft.
“…Oh my,” you breathe.
You turn back to Clark, eyes wide, wings still twitching behind you like confused baby birds.
“This,” you say, pointing at him in outrage,
“It's your fault.”
“It is?” he replies, finding it all entirely too amusing.
“You made me fall so hard, I grew wings!”
“Your wings are adorable,” he chuckles before he wraps his arms around you, kissing all over your face.
“Clark!” you whine, but he doesn’t let up, determined to show you how much he loves you. “Be careful, I might grow a tail next.”
Summary: While moving in together, you find something Clark never meant you to read yet.
Word count: 7k+
Warnings: fluff
A/N:
English is not my first language, so I apologize if I made any (grammar) mistakes. Feedback, requests, talks, vents, recommendations or just simple questions are always welcome.
Happy reading xxx
I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site.
The new apartment smells like cardboard and fresh paint and the faint trace of Clark’s cologne. Clean, warm, familiar. The kind of scent that settles into your lungs and makes you exhale without realizing you were holding your breath.
Home already, somehow.
You’re sitting cross-legged on the living room floor, surrounded by half-opened boxes and crumpled packing paper, when Clark straightens up in the kitchen doorway. He’s holding an empty cabinet door in one hand, brow furrowed in concentration, until he notices you looking at him.
That sheepish, boyish smile appears. The one that still makes your chest flutter even after everything. After years. After knowing him in ways the world never will.
“We forgot paper towels,” he says, solemn. Like it’s a confession. Like this might be the thing that finally proves neither of you is qualified to live like an adult.
You blink at him for a second. Then laugh.
“Of course we did,” you say, shaking your head. “We remembered the coffee maker but not paper towels.”
He winces slightly. “That’s on me.”
“No, it’s on us, baby,” you say. “This is a shared failure.”
He laughs softly, relief easing his shoulders. “I’ll be back in five minutes,” he promises, already reaching for his jacket. “Ten, max. I’ll just run downstairs.”
He hesitates before leaving, eyes lingering on you in a way that feels deliberate. Like he’s committing the image to memory, your hair pulled back messily, one of his old t-shirts hanging loose on you, surrounded by boxes labeled Kitchen and Bedroom and Our Stuff in his careful handwriting.
He steps closer, crouches down in front of you.
Before you can say anything, he leans in and presses a kiss to your forehead. It’s soft. Unhurried. The kind of kiss that doesn’t ask for anything, doesn’t rush toward the next moment. Just affection, given freely.
Like he has nowhere else he’d rather be.
“Don’t unpack anything suspicious without me,” he murmurs, lips brushing your skin.
You snort. “No promises.”
That earns you a grin—fond, hopelessly in love—and then he’s standing again, slipping on his jacket, glancing back one more time before opening the door.
The lock clicks behind him.
The apartment goes quiet.
Not empty, but peaceful. The kind of quiet that exists only when you’re building something with someone. When silence isn’t absence, but comfort.
You sit there for a moment longer than necessary, just taking it in. The light filtering through the windows. The way the space already feels shaped around him. Around you.
Then you turn back to unpacking.
Clark’s boxes are… exactly what you expect.
Neat. Carefully taped. Every one labeled in that slightly slanted handwriting you know so well. You open a box marked Kitchen and find everything wrapped meticulously, towels folded evenly, utensils bundled together with rubber bands.
You smile to yourself. Of course he did this.
The next box reads Books (Misc.).
That one draws your attention immediately.
You open it and begin lifting out familiar spines—journalism textbooks from college, thick hardcovers with cracked spines, novels he insists he only read once but you’ve caught him rereading late at night more times than you can count. There’s a battered paperback with a folded corner you recognize; he’s had that one since before you met.
Each book feels like a quiet reminder: I know you. I know this life.
Then your fingers brush against something that doesn’t feel like the others.
Smooth. Cool. Leather.
You pause.
Nestled between two hardcovers is a notebook. Dark blue. Leather-bound. The edges are worn, the spine softened like it’s been opened and closed many times. Cherished.
You lift it carefully, like it might be fragile.
Your brow furrows.
You’ve been dating Clark for a while now. Long enough to know his habits. His routines. Long enough to know he’s not the kind of man who leaves things unexplained—not intentionally, anyway.
And he doesn’t keep a diary.
You’ve never seen him write in anything like this. Never noticed a notebook tucked away. Never seen him carry it, never heard him mention it in passing. For someone who’s otherwise so transparent with you, this feels… different.
Private.
Your thumb rests against the edge of the cover.
A small voice in your head speaks up, gentle but firm.
This is private.
You hesitate, the weight of the notebook suddenly heavier in your hands. You imagine Clark’s careful way of holding things he values. The way he looks at you when he thinks you aren’t paying attention. The trust between you—earned, mutual, precious.
You should put it back.
But curiosity slips in—not sharp or invasive, just confused. Tender. The kind that comes from closeness, not entitlement.
Why has he never mentioned this?
You glance once toward the door, as if he might somehow already be back, watching.
Your fingers tremble slightly as you open the cover.
Just a peek, you tell yourself. Just the first page.
The paper inside is thick, slightly yellowed with age.
And then you see the handwriting.
Clark’s.
Careful. Earnest. Familiar.
Your breath catches in your throat as you read the first line.
For my wife, Y/N.
Your heart stutters so hard you actually have to put a hand to your chest.
For a second, you think you’ve misread it. That your eyes are playing tricks on you. You blink once. Twice.
The words don’t change.
Wife.
The room tilts, just slightly—not enough to knock you over, but enough to make everything feel unreal, like the ground has shifted beneath your feet. You sink back onto your heels, the notebook heavy in your hands, heavier than any box you’ve lifted all day.
Wife.
He hasn’t proposed.
You’ve talked about the future—carefully at first, like people do when they’re afraid to hope too much. Conversations that started with someday and maybe and eventually grew into when and we. You’ve talked about living together, about places you might want to travel, about growing old in ways that felt half-joking and half-serious.
But this?
This feels like peeking behind a curtain you weren’t meant to see yet. Like stepping into a moment that was supposed to belong to another day. Another version of you—dressed up, heart racing, standing across from him while he asks the question out loud.
Your hands tremble as you turn the page.
The paper whispers softly, like it knows it’s holding something sacred.
I’ve held this diary since the moment I met you in the Daily Planet lunchroom. November 30th, 2021. The day my world changed color, suddenly brighter, like a rainbow I didn’t know I’d been missing.
Your breath catches painfully in your throat.
November 30th, 2021.
You remember that day. The awful salad. The broken microwave. The sandwich he offered you like it was the most natural thing in the world. You remember thinking he was kind in a way that felt rare, disarming.
You didn’t know you’d changed his world.
Tears blur the ink almost immediately. You swipe at your eyes with the back of your hand, then stop—afraid of smudging the words, as if they might disappear if you’re not careful enough with them.
I’m giving you this on our wedding day. I don’t know what our lives will look like then, or how many ordinary, beautiful days will have passed between now and that moment, but I know this much with absolute certainty.
If one day, any day, you ever feel like I don’t love you, like I’ve grown distant or the world has tried to convince you otherwise, I want you to open these pages and see how completely, how endlessly, you are wrong.
Every word here is proof of how I fell in love with you and how I kept falling, again and again, without ever meaning to stop. I loved you then. I love you now. I will love you for the rest of my life.
Yours forever,
Kal-El
Your chest aches in the best, most devastating way.
It’s not the sharp kind of pain. It’s warm and overwhelming, like your heart has grown too big for your body. Like something is blooming inside you without asking permission.
Never stopped falling for you.
You press the notebook to your chest for a moment, breathing around the emotion, trying to steady yourself. The apartment feels impossibly quiet, like it’s holding its breath with you.
Then, slowly, reverently, you keep reading.
Every page is dated.
Every entry is a memory you recognize.
11/30/2021
I think I met the love of my life today.
I don’t know if that’s ridiculous. I don’t know if it’s too soon to even write that sentence. But if I don’t write it down, I’m afraid I’ll convince myself later that I imagined how it felt.
Daily Planet lunchroom. Same cracked tile floor. The microwave was broken again. Someone burned popcorn. Perry was arguing with someone down the hall. It was just… another day.
And then she was there.
She was sitting by herself at one of the small tables near the window, shoulders slightly hunched, staring at a salad like it had personally wronged her. She looked exhausted. Not just physically, like the world had asked too much of her lately. There was something about the way she sighed that made my chest tighten.
I don’t usually act on impulse. I think too much. I hesitate. I measure consequences.
But today I didn’t.
I walked over and held out half my sandwich before my brain could stop me. I didn’t even introduce myself first. Just said something awkward about how the salad looked like it needed backup.
She looked up at me, like really looked, and for half a second I thought I’d made a mistake.
Then she smiled.
Not polite. Not small. A real smile that reached her eyes. She laughed and said I was “brave but misguided,” and suddenly the noise of the room faded into nothing. I don’t know how else to describe it. It was like the air changed density. Like the world sharpened into focus around her.
We talked. About nothing important. About everything. She teased me gently. Asked questions that showed she was actually listening to the answers. When I told her my name, she repeated it like it mattered. When she told me her name, I repeated it because it did matter.
When she went back to work, I stood there for a second too long, holding the empty plate, feeling… undone.
My hands were shaking.
I’ve lifted mountains. I’ve stopped trains mid-crash. I’ve flown through storms without fear.
I have never, ever felt like this.
If this is love, then it’s quieter than I expected. Steadier. Like something ancient settling into place.
I don’t know what will happen next.
I just know I don’t want to forget how today felt.
12/14/2021
First date.
Coffee was supposed to be an hour. That’s what I told myself before I left my apartment. That’s what I told her when we sat down. I even checked the time at the start, like that would somehow keep things contained.
It didn’t.
It lasted almost four hours, and I didn’t notice the time passing until my cup had gone cold and the café started emptying around us. I don’t think either of us wanted to be the one to say it first, that it should probably end, like saying it out loud would break something fragile.
She talks with her hands when she’s excited. I noticed that almost immediately. Little movements at first, then bigger ones when she got passionate about a story. She smiles before she finishes her sentences, like she already knows how they’ll land. And when she listens, really listens, she tilts her head just slightly, eyes focused, like she’s saving every word somewhere important.
No one has ever listened to me like that before.
I found myself talking more than I usually do. About work. About Kansas. About things I don’t normally share. It felt natural, like my mouth was ahead of my caution for once. She never rushed me. Never looked bored. Every response made me want to tell her more.
When we finally left, neither of us wanted to go straight home, so we walked. No destination. Just side by side, letting the city unfold around us. The air was cold, and she tucked her hands into her coat sleeves. I kept noticing small things, the way she matched her pace to mine without realizing it, the way she pointed out things she liked as if she wanted me to see the world through her eyes.
The city felt different with her there. Smaller. Kinder. Like it was giving us space. Letting us borrow it for a while.
I kept thinking I should impress her. Say something clever. Something charming. Something worthy of the way she looked at me. But every time our eyes met, my chest felt too full for pretense. Every rehearsed line disappeared. All I could do was be honest.
And she seemed to like that.
I felt safe.
That word keeps circling back. Safe. Not because I’m strong, not because I could protect her if I had to, but because I didn’t feel like I had to be anything other than myself. I didn’t feel watched. Or measured. Or like I was hiding parts of who I am.
I walked her home and stopped outside her building. I told myself not to linger.
I lingered anyway.
When she said goodbye, smiled at me one last time, and turned toward the door, I felt it, physically, like something tugged inside my chest, like part of me wanted to follow her without question.
I stood there longer than necessary after she went inside, just breathing, memorizing the feeling.
I replayed her laugh the entire way home.
I still am.
01/22/2022
Dinner with her.
We went somewhere small tonight. Nothing fancy. One of those places that smells like oil and salt and warmth the moment you open the door. The kind where the tables wobble slightly and the menu hasn’t changed in years.
She ordered before me because she already knew what she wanted. I liked that. I ordered fries, intending to share them, but I didn’t say it out loud. I just assumed. That probably says something.
They came out hot, steam curling into the air between us. We talked while they cooled, about work, about something she’d read, about nothing important. I was halfway through a story when she reached over.
No asking. No hesitation. Just gently, like it was understood.
She took one fry, careful not to brush my hand, and went right back to listening like she hadn’t just done something quietly significant.
She didn’t even look guilty.
A few seconds later, she noticed me staring.
“What?” she asked, smiling around the bite.
The corner of her mouth curved up like she already knew the answer. I felt my face ache from smiling back before I even realized I was doing it.
Anyone else, I would’ve said something. Joked. Pretended to be annoyed.
Instead, I felt… calm.
Something settled into place inside me. Not a spark. Not a rush. Something steadier. Like my body recognized her before my mind caught up. Like some part of me had already decided: this is where you’re supposed to be.
I didn’t mind losing the fry.
I didn’t mind anything at all.
Oh.
This is it.
This is how it starts, not fireworks or drama or some grand moment you tell people about.
Just a shared table. Warm food. Easy silence.
Belonging.
03/05/2022
Fifth date.
I told her.
I knew I was going to tonight. I’d known all day, maybe longer. The thought sat in my chest like a weight—heavy, necessary. I kept telling myself that if this was going to be real, if she was going to be real to me, then she deserved the truth. All of it.
Still, my hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
We were sitting close, closer than before. The lights were low. The city outside the window hummed softly, distant and unaware that my entire world was about to split open. I could hear my own heartbeat. I kept rehearsing the words in my head, terrified that if I didn’t say them perfectly, I’d lose her.
Superman.
Krypton.
The truth.
I’ve faced down enemies without fear. I’ve stood between the world and destruction without hesitation. But tonight, my palms were damp, my throat tight, my voice almost too small to trust.
I told her anyway.
I told her who I am. Where I come from. What I can do. What I can’t. I told her about the loneliness. About the responsibility. About how sometimes it feels like I’m made of glass despite being unbreakable.
I watched her face the entire time.
I was ready, so ready for her to pull away. To stiffen. To look at me like I was something dangerous or unknowable. I was ready for disbelief, fear, distance. Ready for the sound of my own heart breaking quietly while I pretended I understood.
She didn’t do any of that.
She didn’t interrupt. She didn’t stare at me like I was a spectacle. She didn’t flinch when I said the word Superman. She didn’t look for the door.
She listened.
The same way she always does. Head tilted slightly, eyes steady, hands folded together like this mattered. Like I mattered.
When I finished, the silence stretched. I could barely breathe. I felt exposed in a way I never have before. Like I’d peeled myself open and handed her everything unguarded.
Then she reached for me.
She took my hand—warm, grounding, real—and said, “Thank you for trusting me.”
That was it.
Not I need time.
Not I’m scared.
Not I don’t know what to say.
Just gratitude.
Trust meeting trust.
Something inside me broke open then. Something old and carefully guarded. I didn’t realize how much of myself I’d been holding back until that moment, how alone I’d been even when surrounded by people.
I don’t think she knows what that moment did to me.
I don’t think she knows she became my safe place tonight. That for the first time in my life, the truth didn’t feel like a burden, it felt like a bridge.
I fell in love with her again. Deeper than before. Permanently. In a way that doesn’t fade or loosen or ask permission.
If she ever doubts how much she means to me, I want her to remember this night.
I want me to remember it.
06/18/2022
She fell asleep on my shoulder.
We were supposed to watch the movie all the way through. She picked it. I remember that, she was excited about it, insisted it was better than I thought it would be. She curled up beside me like she always does, close enough that our arms touched, close enough that I could feel her warmth even before she leaned into me.
About halfway through, her head tipped just slightly toward my shoulder. I felt it before I saw it, the gentle weight of her settling, like she was testing whether it was okay.
I didn’t move.
A few minutes later, she tucked herself in properly, her head resting just under my chin, her hair brushing my jaw. Her breathing changed slowly, quietly, until it evened out into something soft and steady. The kind of breathing that only happens when someone feels completely safe.
I could feel everything. Every small shift of her weight. Every tiny exhale. The way her fingers twitched once, then relaxed, trusting I was there.
The movie kept playing. The plot resolved. The credits rolled.
I didn’t move.
Forty-two minutes passed. I know because I counted, not because I was bored, but because I wanted to remember how long I’d been allowed to hold this moment. My arm started to ache. My shoulder went numb.
I didn’t care.
I’ve stopped disasters. I’ve lifted impossible things. I’ve been praised for saving the world more times than I can count.
Tonight, the most important thing I did was stay perfectly still so she could rest.
I watched the rise and fall of her chest. I memorized the way she fit against me, like she had always been meant to. I thought—very quietly—that if this was all love ever asked of me, I would give it gladly.
I would do it forever if she asked.
And if she never did, I think I still would.
09/02/2022
Work.
Nothing remarkable was supposed to happen today.
Just another morning at the Planet. I was standing by my desk pretending to read an article when I felt it.
That gentle pull. That awareness.
I looked up without thinking.
She was across the newsroom, half-hidden behind a monitor, focused on her screen. And then—like she felt me looking—she glanced up.
Just a second. Maybe less.
Our eyes met.
She smiled.
Not big. Not obvious. Just enough. Just for me.
My heart did something ridiculous. The kind of thing I’d laugh at if it were anyone else. I felt it in my chest, in my hands, all the way down to my feet like I’d forgotten how gravity worked for a moment.
We didn’t speak. We didn’t wave. We didn’t need to.
It felt like a secret we were sharing in plain sight, something small and precious tucked between deadlines and coffee cups.
I looked back down at my desk, fully aware that my smile was impossible to hide.
I still get nervous when she looks at me like that.
I’ve faced impossible odds. I’ve stood against things that should have terrified me. But that quiet smile across the newsroom still makes my pulse stumble like I’m fifteen and hopelessly obvious about it.
She makes me feel young. Not careless, but alive. Like someone who’s still discovering what love can be, who hasn’t reached the end of the feeling yet.
Lois noticed. Of course she did. She smirked when she passed my desk.
Jimmy noticed, he raised his eyebrows and whispered “cute.”
Cat noticed. Steve noticed. I think Perry noticed too, though he pretended not to.
I don’t care.
They can notice all they want.
All I want—all I will ever want—is for her eyes to keep finding mine. In crowded rooms. In quiet mornings. Across every place life puts us.
For the rest of my life.
11/30/2022
One year.
I don’t think I really understood what today would feel like until it was already happening. I knew it mattered. I knew it was important. But I didn’t expect the weight of it, the way it would sit in my chest all evening, heavy and warm and almost too much to hold all at once.
A year.
That sounds so small when you say it out loud. Twelve months. Three hundred sixty-five ordinary days stacked gently on top of each other. Days that didn’t look remarkable from the outside. Days filled with work and quiet dinners and laughter over nothing.
But when I looked at her tonight, really looked at her, I felt the miracle of it.
The fact that she’s chosen me. Every day. For an entire year.
Not the idea of me. Not the parts that are easy or impressive. Me. The quiet mornings. The long nights. The truths she learned early and never turned away from.
She gave me her gift first.
She didn’t hand it to me right away. She asked me to sit down, her voice careful, almost shy. I noticed her hands shaking as she set it on the table between us, wrapped in brown paper, the edges taped too neatly. Like she’d redone it more than once. Like she’d worried about it.
“I need you to know,” she said quietly, eyes fixed on the package instead of me, “I tried my best.”
That alone made my chest tighten.
When I unwrapped it, I understood why she’d been nervous.
It was a painting.
Not small. Not casual. Not something done in an afternoon. This was time. Intention. Patience. The kind of work you only do when you’re willing to put your heart somewhere visible and vulnerable.
It was the farm.
My parents’ farm.
She’d painted it in late-afternoon light, the kind that turns everything golden and soft, the kind that always made me feel safe growing up. The house stood steady and familiar, the porch just right, the fields stretching out behind it the way they always do. Endless. Open. Like they belong to anyone who needs space to breathe.
And in the center—
All of us.
Ma and Pa.
Me.
And them.
My birth parents.
All of us standing together, arms around one another, no distance between us. No time separating what was lost from what was found. No planets. No years. No absence.
Just together.
Like it was always meant to be that way.
For a second, I couldn’t breathe.
She rushed to explain, words tumbling over each other as if she were afraid the silence meant she’d done something wrong.
She told me she used pictures to paint the farm I have hanging in my apartment since she hasn’t been there yet. Told me she watched the video again—the one that came with me when I was sent to Earth—paused it, rewound it, studied my birth parents’ faces so she wouldn’t get them wrong.
She told me she didn’t want to mess it up. That she just kept thinking—
Her voice softened then.
—that they’d want to see me happy. That my parents—all of them—belong together in my life. Even if it never looked like this in real life.
My hands were shaking when I held the frame.
She painted Ma’s smile exactly right. The gentleness in my Pa's eyes. That quiet pride he never needs to announce. And my birth parents—hopeful, loving, looking at me like I was everything.
She gave me something I didn’t even know how to ask for.
A world where nothing was lost.
I didn’t cry right away. I think I was too overwhelmed. I just stared, memorizing every brushstroke, every careful decision she’d made with love. Trying to understand how someone could see me so clearly.
“I didn’t know if it was okay,” she whispered. “But it felt important.”
I pulled her into my chest without thinking. I couldn’t help it. I needed to feel her there, solid and real.
It was the most understood I have ever felt in my life.
Then it was my turn.
I won’t pretend I didn’t agonize over her gift. I did. For weeks. I wanted it to be something beautiful. Something lasting. Something that carried meaning even if the words failed me.
Inside the small velvet box was a necklace.
Gold. Delicate. The chain thin and warm. And at its center, a butterfly—crafted so carefully it looked like it might lift off at any second if the light caught it just right.
She went very still when she saw it.
I remembered something she told me once—quietly, almost like she didn’t want to make it important. That butterflies were her mother’s favorite. That they reminded her of gentleness. Of transformation. Of staying, even after someone leaves.
I chose it because of that.
Because I wanted her to have something close to her heart. Something that carried love forward instead of marking loss. Something that said she is held—by memory, by love, by me.
It cost more than I usually allow myself to spend on anything. More than was practical. More than was reasonable.
But she’s worth it.
All of it.
She cried then.
Not loudly. Just leaned into me, clutching the necklace like it was something fragile and sacred. My hands weren’t steady when I fastened it around her neck. I don’t think I trusted myself to be.
It looked like it belonged there.
We didn’t say much after that.
We just sat together, her painting propped carefully against the wall, the butterfly warm against her skin, the quiet settling around us like a promise.
A year.
One year of choosing each other. Of learning each other. Of loving in ways that still surprise me.
I still can’t believe she’s with me.
I still wake up amazed that someone so thoughtful, so kind, so deeply human, has chosen to share her life with mine.
If this is what one year feels like, I want all the years.
Every single one.
With her.
02/11/2023
She had a bad day.
I knew the moment I saw her.
She tried to hide it, smiled when she walked in, asked how my day was—but her shoulders were too tight, her voice just a little too careful. I didn’t call it out right away. I’ve learned that sometimes she needs space to land before she can let go.
Later, when the apartment had gone quiet, she finally sat beside me on the couch and exhaled like she’d been holding her breath all day.
She didn’t want fixing.
She didn’t want answers.
She didn’t want me to make it better.
She just wanted someone to sit with her.
So I did.
I stayed exactly where I was. Close enough that our knees touched. Close enough that she could lean if she wanted to—but I didn’t pull her in until she chose it herself. When she finally rested her head against my shoulder, it felt like permission.
I wrapped an arm around her slowly, carefully, like she was something precious.
We didn’t talk much. A few quiet words. Long stretches of silence. I could feel the tension leaving her shoulders little by little, like she was setting something heavy down piece by piece. Like she trusted me to hold the weight with her, even if I couldn’t take it away.
I watched her breathe. I watched her relax.
I wished—again—that she could see herself the way I do.
Strong, even when she’s tired.
Kind, even when the world hasn’t been.
Brilliant in ways she never gives herself credit for.
Braver than she knows, simply for showing up every day and trying.
She thinks strength looks loud. Unbreakable.
But this—this quiet endurance, this softness she allows only with me—this is the bravest thing I’ve ever seen.
Loving her feels like standing in sunlight. Not blinding. Not overwhelming. Just steady and warm and certain. Like something you can build a life in.
I finally understand what “home” means.
It isn’t a place.
It’s this moment, her leaning into me, the world quiet for a while, knowing I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.
With her.
07/29/2023
She met my parents today.
I’ve been nervous about a lot of things in my life. I’ve faced fear head-on more times than I can count. But today, today my stomach was in knots in a way that surprised me.
I brought her home.
Not just to Kansas. Not just to the farm.
Home.
I didn’t warn her much beforehand. Maybe I should have. I only said that my parents would love her, and that was true—but it didn’t feel like enough. I don’t think I realized until today how much it mattered to me that they see her the way I do.
She wore something simple. Comfortable. Herself. She was polite without being stiff, warm without trying too hard. When Ma hugged her, I watched her melt into it like she’d been waiting for that kind of welcome without knowing it.
Ma loved her instantly. I could tell by the way she touched her arm when she laughed, by how quickly she started asking questions—not the polite kind, but the ones you ask when you want to know someone. Pa watched quietly at first, like he always does, measuring more than he speaks.
Then she offered to help in the kitchen.
She didn’t have to. She just did. Like she belonged there.
I stood in the doorway for a while, pretending not to watch as she laughed with Ma, as flour dusted her hands, as she listened to stories about me growing up with the same attention she always gives me. I saw something in Pa's expression then. Something soft, approving, settled.
At dinner, she asked them about their lives. Their history. She listened when Pa talked about the land. She thanked Pa for the meal like it meant something to her.
When Pa finally said, “We’re glad you’re here,” I felt something loosen in my chest that I didn’t know I’d been holding.
Later, when she stepped outside with me and the cicadas filled the evening air, she slipped her hand into mine like it was second nature. Like she’d always known how to find me.
I realized then that this wasn’t just me bringing her into my world.
She was already part of it.
If there ever comes a day when she doubts—when the world feels loud or unkind or she wonders where she belongs—I want her to remember this. The way my mother smiled at her like she was already family. The way my father looked at her like she was someone worth trusting with what matters most.
I don’t know when I’ll say it out loud.
But today made something very clear to me.
She isn’t just someone I love.
She’s someone I’m building a life with.
Every single day.
10/26/2023
Tonight reminded me why I survive.
I came home barely holding myself together.
I don’t usually let it get that bad. I tell myself I won’t, that I’ll pull back sooner, that I’ll know my limits. But tonight I misjudged things. Strength. Timing. My own belief that I can always take one more hit if it means someone else doesn’t have to.
By the time I made it back to my apartment, my ribs felt like glass. Every breath was shallow and sharp, like my lungs were cutting against something broken inside me. My shoulder burned, deep, angry pain that wouldn’t quiet no matter how I shifted my weight. I could feel blood drying along my side, stiffening my suit, pulling at my skin every time I moved.
I didn’t knock.
I couldn’t risk standing upright long enough to do it.
I just leaned against the doorframe for a second, forehead pressed to the cool wood, wondering how much she’d see the moment I stepped inside. Wondering if I could make it to the couch without worrying her too much. Wondering—selfishly—if I could keep this from being one of the nights that lives in her fear.
She heard me anyway.
She always does.
The door opened before I could decide anything, and there she was.
Not panicked.
Not shouting my name.
Not frozen in shock.
Just there.
Her eyes found me instantly, sharp and assessing, taking everything in at once—the blood, the way I was favoring my right side, the way my shoulders were held too stiff, like they were bracing against pain I didn’t want to admit to yet.
I could hear her heart.
It was racing. Fast. Uneven. Terrified.
And still—her voice was calm.
“Hey,” she said softly, like she wasn’t looking at someone who’d barely made it home. Like she wasn’t scared out of her mind. “Come sit down. Slowly. I’ve got you.”
Those words, 'I’ve got you', did something to me. I felt my knees weaken the moment she said them, like my body finally believed it was allowed to stop fighting.
She moved with such care. Every step deliberate. Every touch gentle and precise, like she was handling something precious instead of broken. She didn’t rush me. Didn’t bombard me with questions or try to assess everything at once.
She knew (somehow) that her calm was the thing keeping me upright.
That her fear, however loud it was inside her, wasn’t what would help me heal.
I watched her swallow it down for me.
I watched her steady her hands before she touched me, watched her breathe slowly on purpose, watched her make herself quiet so I could finally exhale.
She helped me sit, eased my weight down inch by inch, murmuring small reassurances the whole time. Nothing dramatic. Nothing heroic. Just constant presence. Proof that I wasn’t alone in the room with the pain.
When she cleaned the blood from my hands, she did it like she’d done it a hundred times. Cloth warm, pressure careful, movements practiced. But I could hear her heart the entire time, still racing, still afraid.
It never slowed.
And still, she stayed steady.
She talked while she worked—not about what happened, not about what could have gone wrong. Just small things. The grocery list. Something funny she’d read earlier. The way the neighbor’s dog barked all afternoon.
Grounding sounds. Anchors.
I realized then how much effort it must take. How much strength it takes to choose calm when fear is screaming in your chest. How brave you have to be to love someone like me and still soften your hands when they come home hurt.
That’s when it hit me. Again.
Anyone can love the invincible part of me.
The symbol.
The strength.
The idea of safety.
But she loves the part of me that limps home at midnight, trying not to bleed on the floor. The part of me that miscalculates. The part of me that hurts. The part of me that needs someone else to be strong for a moment.
She didn’t ask me to be Superman tonight.
She let me just be Clark.
The way she held me—careful, unafraid, unwavering—did something to me. It settled somewhere deep and permanent, like a truth clicking into place.
I fell in love with her again tonight.
Not loudly.
Not all at once.
Just deeper.
And I don’t think there’s an end to how far that goes.
04/10/2025
We talked about moving in together.
It wasn’t supposed to be a big conversation.
We were sitting on the couch, legs tangled, the TV on low in the background. I don’t even remember what we were watching. She said it casually, almost offhand—something about how much time we already spend together, how it might just make sense.
My heart immediately started racing.
I tried to play it cool. I nodded. I said something reasonable. I even managed to keep my voice steady for a few seconds.
I failed.
I felt my smile give me away before I could stop it. I felt the warmth spread through my chest, that light, buoyant feeling that only she gives me. I don’t think I realized how much I’d been hoping for this until she said it out loud.
We talked about logistics—closets, commutes, who has the better couch—but underneath it all was something quieter and deeper. Certainty. Not excitement that burns out fast, but the kind that settles in and stays.
Ever since that conversation, my mind hasn’t stopped wandering.
I keep imagining mornings.
Her hair messy, sleep still clinging to her voice when she says my name. Sunlight spilling through the window, dust floating in the air like it’s been waiting just for us. The sound of her moving around the kitchen while I pretend not to watch, the comfort of knowing that no matter how the day unfolds, we’ll come back to each other at night.
I imagine shared spaces—books mixing on shelves, her things slowly finding their way into every corner. Little arguments about nothing. Quiet routines that become sacred simply because they’re ours.
I’ve already imagined a ring.
Not just the ring itself, but the way her eyes will widen when she realizes what I’m asking. The way her hands will shake just a little when I take hers. The way saying her name followed by my wife will feel like the most natural truth I’ve ever known.
I don’t know when I’ll ask.
I want it to be right. I want it to feel like us—honest, unhurried, full of love.
But I do know this: the answer has lived in me for a long time. Longer than I realized. Since the day I offered her half my sandwich in a noisy lunchroom and felt my world shift in a way I couldn’t name yet.
Everything since then has just been catching up.
If love is choosing someone every day, then I’ve already made my choice.
I’m just finally ready to say it out loud.
11/11/2025
Lois asked me today why I haven’t proposed yet.
She didn’t mean it unkindly. Lois rarely does, even when she pretends otherwise. We were finishing up a story, the newsroom mostly empty, and she leaned back in her chair, studied me for a long moment, then said it like it was obvious.
“So,” she said, “are you ever going to put a ring on her finger, or are you just going to keep pretending she’s not wildly out of your league?”
I laughed. I couldn’t help it.
Because she’s right.
I know she is.
I’ve always known.
Lois kept going, softer this time. “You love her. Anyone with eyes can see that. So what are you waiting for? You scared?”
I thought about that long after she turned back to her screen.
Am I scared?
Yes.
But not in the way she meant.
I’m not waiting because I’m unsure. I’m not hesitating because I don’t know what I want. I don’t wake up questioning whether she’s the one. That answer has lived in me for years now, steady and unmovable.
I’m waiting because I’ve never been this sure before in my life.
Everything else I’ve ever faced—every fight, every impossible choice—has always come with certainty baked in. I knew what had to be done. I knew I could endure it. I knew the risk.
This is different.
This isn’t about survival.
It’s about forever.
I want it to be right. I want it to feel like us—unrushed, honest, full of intention. I don’t want to trip over my own eagerness and risk losing something this precious by moving too fast, by letting the moment feel careless instead of considered.
She deserves a proposal that feels like a promise kept, not a step taken too quickly.
I want the timing to be gentle. The kind that says I chose you every day before this, and I will every day after.
I know she’s out of my league.
She always has been.
But she chose me anyway. She keeps choosing me. And that still humbles me more than I know how to say.
So no Lois, I’m not waiting because I’m afraid to commit.
I’m waiting because this is the most important question I will ever ask.
And when I ask it, I want my hands steady, my heart open, and the certainty she’s given me reflected back to her without doubt or hesitation.
I already know the answer.
I’m just making sure the moment honors how much she means to me.
Always.
Your tears fall freely now, blurring the words, splashing onto the pages of a love story written quietly, faithfully, just for you. You don’t try to stop them. There’s no point. This is what it feels like to be seen so completely it almost hurts.
The notebook trembles in your hands.
Then—
The soft jingle of keys at the door.
You gasp, sharp and startled, like you’ve been caught somewhere you weren’t supposed to be. Your head snaps up, heart slamming against your ribs. Panic flares—not guilt exactly, but something close enough to make your chest tighten. You scrub hastily at your cheeks with the heel of your hand, trying to erase the evidence, trying to breathe like your world hasn’t just quietly, irrevocably shifted.
The door opens.
Clark steps inside, paper towels tucked under his arm, jacket half-unzipped, hair slightly mussed from the breeze outside. He looks relaxed—content in that soft, domestic way he’s been wearing all day.
Happy.
Then his eyes find you.
Sitting on the floor.
Diary open in your hands.
Eyes red. Face flushed.
He freezes.
Not just still—suspended. Like time has paused mid-breath.
“…Hey,” he says carefully, voice gentle but alert, like he’s approaching something fragile. “What’s wrong?”
Your throat tightens painfully.
You push yourself to your feet slowly, the movement unsteady, like gravity has changed without warning. You clutch the notebook to your chest instinctively, fingers curling into the leather as if it might vanish if you don’t hold on tight enough.
“I—” Your voice breaks immediately. You swallow, try again. “I’m so sorry.”
That stops him.
He blinks, confusion flickering across his face. “Sorry?”
“I didn’t mean to,” you say quickly, the words tumbling out now that they’ve started. “I was unpacking and I found it and I didn’t know what it was and I shouldn’t have opened it, I know that, I just—” You shake your head, tears spilling again. “I’m really sorry, Clark. I never wanted to invade your privacy.”
For a heartbeat, he just looks at you.
Then realization dawns.
You watch it ripple across his face: the widening of his eyes, the sharp inhale, the way his shoulders tense as understanding crashes in. Horror. Embarrassment. Tender, helpless panic.
“Oh,” he breathes. “Oh—Y/N, I—”
The paper towels slip from his arm as he sets the bag down too fast, hands fumbling like his body can’t quite keep up with his thoughts. “No—hey, no, you didn’t do anything wrong. I swear, I wasn’t hiding it from you. I just—I wanted it to be for later. For the right moment.”
His voice falters, vulnerability bare on his face. “I was waiting. I didn’t want to rush it. I wanted everything to be… right.”
You shake your head, tears blurring your vision. “I know. I know. I just—reading it felt like stepping into something I wasn’t meant to see yet.”
His expression softens instantly.
Before either of you can say anything else, you cross the space between you in three quick steps and throw your arms around him.
Clark stiffens in surprise for half a second—pure reflex—before he melts into you completely. His arms wrap around you strong and sure, one hand pressing gently between your shoulder blades, the other cradling the back of your head like he’s afraid to let go.
He holds you like you’re something precious.
Like you’re fragile.
Like you’re endlessly, irrevocably loved.
You bury your face in his chest, breathing him in—home, warmth, safety—and your voice shakes when you speak.
“It’s the most beautiful thing anyone has ever written about me,” you whisper. “About us.”
He exhales, long and unsteady, like he’s been holding that breath for years. His forehead rests against yours, eyes closing briefly as if to steady himself. When he pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes are glossy, shining with emotion he isn’t trying to hide.
“You weren’t supposed to read it yet,” he murmurs softly, thumb brushing beneath your eye, wiping away a tear with reverent care. “I was waiting for the right moment to propose. After we settled in. After this felt like home.”
Your breath catches.
“But,” he continues quietly, a small, almost bashful smile tugging at his mouth, “everything in there is true. Every word. I’ve loved you since the moment you smiled at me over a sad microwave lunch.”
A wet laugh slips out of you despite everything. “You really wrote it all down.”
He nods, almost shy now. “I wanted proof,” he admits. “For you. For forever. In case the world ever got loud. In case you ever doubted how sure I am.”
You lift your hands to his face, cradling him the way he always cradles you, thumbs brushing his cheeks. Your heart feels too full, like it might burst if you don’t say this out loud.
“I don’t need proof,” you say softly. “But I’m really glad I have it.”
He smiles then.
Wide. Radiant. Hopelessly, undeniably in love.
And in that moment—standing barefoot in a half-unpacked apartment, surrounded by boxes and cardboard and the life you’re still building—you know.
Even without a ring.
Without a question asked out loud.
𝖘𝖚𝖒.ㅤ★ Dilf!Gojo fantasizing about taking his babysitter's virginity 'till it becomes a reality and oops... now he's fucking you off the bed 'n taking this to the floor like a wrestler!
𝖜𝖈ㅤ★ 6.7k (beefy like his di-)
𝖈𝖜ㅤ★ strictly NO under 18s, smut, virginity loss, plot, fucking the babysitter trope, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms/creampies, cunnilingus, aftercare 🫶, age gap (Gojo in his 30s, reader in her 20s), solo masturbation, pet names (good girl, slut, etc.), breast play, subtle breeding kink, daddy kink, big d!ck Gojo, he um... fucks a pillow while you give him an innocent massage
"I've always liked older men. Boys my age just don't get me, you know? Neither do they know how to fuck me."
That was one of the first things you said to Gojo Satoru.
And he nearly had a heart attack. Choked on his drink so hard that he had to spit half of it back into the glass.
How could you say something like that with such an angelic voice? It didn't match up, your words were nasty but your face was innocent.
Wiping his mouth, Satoru tried to recompose himself.
"Is that so...?" is all that he could manage to reply with.
He tugged at his baby blue shirt's collar, unbuttoned one button 'cause he couldn't breathe. His blood was pumping. His heart was thumping.
"How old did you say you were again?" you asked softly.
"Thirty-two." he replied. "And way too old for you."
"Perfect." you smiled.
"Huh?"
Mmm... now what did his best friend say about you? "Oh Satoru, I know a babysitter that you and the kids will just adore. She's a real sweetheart."
A sweetheart... uh, yeah, well Suguru didn't warn him about the fact you had a thing for dads. Didn't warn him that you might be crazy. Touch-starved. A way too horny and provocative twenty-something year old virgin.
Maybe Suguru didn't even see this side of you... maybe it was just Satoru that you were throwing yourself at. Surely Suguru would have told him all about a heated affair that he had with a babysitter... right? Or was he the only daddy that you fantasized about fucking your pretty brains out?
Just the thought of that being true made his ego swell and his blood rush down to his heavy cock. He loved thinking about the obvious fact that you laid in bed touching your pussy to the thought of him.
He endured your flirting. Held his hands behind his back. Bit his tongue. Told himself that he can't make out with his hot babysitter on a random Sunday afternoon, as much as he wanted to, because that was diabolical.
You were sitting on the couch alone some nights, ensuring his kids were entertained and fed and happy, while he was at work. You watched their favorite cartoons until they felt drowsy and then you had to tuck 'em into bed and read three separate bed time stories for each of them because Yuji, Megumi, and Nobara all liked different stories.
It was exhausting, but such a joy to babysit such sweethearts.
After they fell asleep, you'd wander a lonely path back downstairs and look at the time — 8:45 PM — then yawn big and snuggle up on the couch and... wait. And wait. Anddd... wait.
Satoru would always come home late from work.
You'd hear the click of the front door and have an almost Pavlovian reaction. Oh, daddy's home.
You'd strain your ears to hear his footsteps as he walked down the hall, hear the satin hiss of his loosening tie, the sound sparking your over-active imagination. And, pushing a stressed-out sigh past his lips, Satoru would walk into the living room to see you looking drowsy and messy after a long day of taking care of his three kids.
And it's that messy sight of you which made something click in Satoru's mind. That's what really sold him on you. Sure, you were a crazy hot mess... but you had this undeniable motherly quality about you that just made him wonder.
What if he gave you his babies?
Shit. Sorry. Random Friday night thoughts. Forgive him. He's been working at a desk all day and now he's feelin' a bit woozy.
He looked at you, mumbled a sweet but gruff "Hey." and then took a seat right next to you on the TV-lit couch. He sat a respectable distance away from you at first... but then, uh, the next second you had already scooched over to his side until you two were almost pressing thigh against thigh.
Exhausted. Apprehensive at how close his flirty babysitter liked to sit next to him, while at the same time getting half-hard at the thought of tearing off your tiny clothes and showing you just how frustrated a tease like you makes him. Satoru sat and endured.
Underneath all that teenage-like sexual tension, he was feeling welcomed home by you. He almost forgot how nice it felt to have someone waiting up for him.
"So, how was work?" you asked.
He grumbled. He sighed. He was half-hard and full-frustrated. No one had asked him that question in a long time in such a caring voice that it actually tugged at his heartstrings a bit. Just a bit.
"It was... um, yeah... like any other day. Long and hard."
"Long and hard..." you nodded, trailing off and letting the innuendo fill the air.
He gave you a look.
"Exactly how long and hard?" you asked.
He couldn't believe that your stupid jokes like that made him chuckle. And what a sight his smile was; his dimples, the way his eyes crinkled up at the corners, making the slightest age lines appear on his pale face.
"Ah, finally I got a smile out of you."
"And that's the only one you're getting." he shook his head.
Satoru brought his big hand to massage his shoulder, letting out a tense groan from his thought.
Oh, the pitiful look that you gave him made him wanna crawl onto your lap and weep. He'd worked so hard all week with scarce breaks, and all he wanted was a sweet, soft woman to lay upon, to be loved by, to fuck stupid, to use like a good stress-relieving fleshlight — ya know? Just a nice way to wrap up a hard week.
"You..." you began, pressing one long decorated nail into his firm pecs, "... look like you're in desperate need of a massage."
"Ahah... no, no..."
He stuttered, smiled a big toothy smile that made you wanna bite him. God, he really looked like that old photo of himself right then — that one you stole, remember? His graduation photo. He just looked too hot and you had to have a memento of him for your memory box.
Shit. You were crazy.
Satoru had no fucking idea whether you were making a dirty suggestion or just genuinely offering him a massage.
Either way, the thought of your hands on him got the hairs on the back of his neck standing up.
Though the rational side of his brain was telling him to refuse your offer, the ghost of the crazed fuckboy that he used to be forced him to accept — like, fuck, what kind of idiot would you be if you refused a pretty girl to work her hands on you, Satoru? Don't put your past self to shame, he thought, you're only gonna get older one day and then that thing ain't even gonna sit up like a good boy without some treats... yeah... that's right... you're gonna be real fucking old one day, Satoru... think about it...
"You know what, actually...? Yeah, I'd love one... but you better be good." he said in a low rasp.
"Oh, don't worry — I'm the best." you grinned like a sweet little devil.
I'll fucking bet you are, cheeky slut, he thought.
He looked like he was holding back all his raw lust. Like if you said just one more thing like that then he would tear your clothes right off your slutty little body and fuck you until every thought flew out of your head except for thoughts of him.
****
Yeah, that martial artist discipline of his really came in handy once you started massaging his shoulders and back. If he hadn't been so strict on himself, he would have...
"Gosh, you're sooo tense, Mr. Gojo... relax."
... I need to fuck her brains out. That's the first thought that he had to push out of his head.
"... let me take the weight of your shoulders..." you nearly whispered, working your hands into his meaty muscle.
Ooh he slipped, he totally gave in.
"Mmm..." he let out a purring moan, feeling the pressure of your fingertips sink into his sore muscles. "That feels good... keep going."
You were trying to keep it cool and professional... er, as professional as you could with your hands exploring Gojo Satoru's muscular back.
Having the lights down low didn't help much. Everything was turning you on. Your clit was already buzzing and begging for attention from behind your thin panties.
This was babymaking atmosphere.
You were going insane, soaking your panties and twitching 'cause you've got a hot dad groaning under your touch.
"Y' can go a little harder..." he muttered in a rough voice.
"M'kay..."
"Mmm..." he let out that purring moan again, this time stretching it out.
Something was so erotic about giving him a massage, even though it wasn't supposed to be — uh, it really wasn't supposed to be, right? Right? It's not like you planned this out all night, not like you were scheming while watching cartoons and waiting for Gojo Satoru to come home.
Ah c'mon... he's an overworked man in need of a massage. Just listen to him, he's moaning like he's — oh, he's closing his eyes, too? He must be really feeling it. His breath is becoming choppy, too.
"Just a bit more..."
"Like this?"
"Yeahhh... just like that."
His mouth hung open in bliss. He squirmed a little. Shit... he could feel himself throbbing. Even slightest friction of his pants shifting along his painfully hard cock was already intense enough to make him clench his jaw.
You smirked, catching a delicious glimpse of the prominent outline of his bulging cock right before he instinctively covered it up with a pillow.
Damn, how does he keep such a monster hidden under such thin dress pants?
Sticking your tongue out in focus as you deliberately massage a spot on his back that makes him moan out the most, Satoru rolls his eyes back and dies a little orgasmic death.
"Yeah... th-that's it... right there... right there... you can go harder."
"Like this?"
"Yeahhh... good g- uhhh, th-that's good." he purred, holding back his tongue just in time because oops, he almost called you a good girl without even thinking.
Oh, that pillow coverage sure helped to keep his boner out of sight but then he had a new problem... the pleasurable friction of the pillow and the fact his stubborn hips liked to move on their own.
Without trying to make it obvious, he was getting off with the pillow, shifting it as inconspicuously as he could but he just couldn't get enough friction — shit, when was the last time that he was so horny he could even enjoy fucking a pillow? It was insane how hard he was, how much his cock oozed sticky precum, how every inch stood at attention asking politely to stretch out some good babysitter pussy.
He shut his pretty blue eyes when started feeling reaaally good. Like, god, he needed this more than he needed air. It was such a shit day at work, but now all the stress that he had built up throughout the day just melted away with each subtle thrust of his bulge into the pillow, and your soft hands digging into his muscular back.
I wanna fuck her so bad.
"Uhhh, fuckkkkkkk...!" he let out a broken moan.
You stopped massaging his back, eyes blown wide open, trying to hold back your shock and snickering. He had worked up a subtle sweat. His muscles were twitching. He was gasping. It was so obvious to you what had just happened.
"Mister?"
"Huh?" he blinked the stars out of his eyes, coming-to as if his orgasm knocked him out for a second.
"Are you okay...?"
He opened his eyes and... oh, there was a wet patch on his dress pants where he just came. Oops. A little massaging and pillow-fucking and he came all over his thigh? Well, that had never happened before. Guess his cock was just super sensitive after not having sex for so long — but you didn't hear that from me...
Satoru gulped. He abruptly stood up, acting as nervous as a bird, "Um, uh... it's late, isn't it? I've gotta drive you home..."
"Aw, okay." you frowned at him, wiggling your hips like you were expecting more.
And he looked at your wiggling hips, your slightly spread apart legs, and then he let a nasty thought pass his mind, and nearly caved and asked you if you wanted to...
****
God, you had your legs apart and he could smell your ovulation. No no, don't call him crazy. He could smell it.
And as he went upstairs to wipe the cum off his inner thighs and change into new pants, he couldn't stop thinking about the fact that you must have been soaked. You must have had the prettiest pussy ever.
Oh, he threw his head back and groaned when he met you back downstairs because while he tried acting professional, now you were all worked up and in an outrageously flirty mood.
You were about to say something outrageous again but he stopped you dead on your tracks.
"Shut up, I don't want to hear it. Let's go." he said, grabbing his keys.
You saluted him playfully, "Yes, daddy."
He did a double take. "What?"
"Nothing." you smiled innocently.
His eyes caught yours, then he rubbed his cheek like he was stressed out.
It was really obvious why he liked you, but Satoru was aching to ask why on earth you like him so much.
Didn't you think he was an egotistical asshole? That's how his ex-wife described him, anyways.
*****
"So you're a Sagittarius, huh?" you ask, little voice dripping in sultriness and setting off alarm bells in the fuckboy side of his mind. "That's hot."
"Uh-huh."
He's driving you home. 60 mph. Switching lanes. Bright blue eyes blind-spotting to the left. Next they're side-eyeing you. Catching on your pretty baby angel face. Trying to keep it together, but his cock is starting to make a bulge in his pants again. Something you've discovered is that the poor man doesn't even change out of his suit most days; when he comes home he just faceplants into bed and falls asleep.
"A december baby?"
"Yup. December seventh." he replies curtly.
Relax, Satoru. It's just conversation. Just innocent, professional conversation with the babysitter who just witnessed you fucking a pillow and cumming in your pants.
After a steadying inhale, he politely returns the question, "What about you? When's your birthday?"
Satoru pays you a brief glance before bringing his gaze back to the speedometer. 50 mph.
Just that one question turns into a deep exploration of your psyche.
"... I just don't like guys my age... like, god, they don't even turn me on anymore."
You give a dramatic pause before looking at him with a nympho fire in your eyes.
"Hey, you're an old man — got any sage advice for me?"
"Hey, who you callin' an old man?"
"Sorryyy, I'm just being cheeky."
"I can tell."
"Sooo... what's your advice?"
Satoru furrows his brows. "For what?"
"For getting older guys to pay one small glance to a sweet girl like me?"
He tenses up and doesn't reply.
You're insane. Worse, you're even more insane than he was when he was your age.
His cock is throbbing against his inner thigh. Again. Precum. Everywhere. How dare you? He's in-between throttling you and stopping off on the side of the highway to bend you over his car's hood to show you he ain't no old man. What a cheek...
"This is your turnoff, isn't it?"
"... yeah."
You watch him flick on the turn signal. You catch his eyes just before he blind-spots again.
As he's pulling off the highway, you pull a dumb joke out of your brain, eager to get a response from him.
"It's my turnoff. But ya wanna know my turn-on?"
"..." he doesn't reply, just gives you a look, then tears his eyes off you and rubs his fingers over his mouth.
"C'mon." you encourage, "You're so uptight; let me humor you a little."
"I'm pretty sure I can guess your turn-on."
You tilt your head at him expectantly. He purses his lips. Drives down your street. Pulls into your driveway. Parks. Unbuckles his seatbelt with a tantalizing slowness that sparks your imagination — d'you wonder if he unbuckles his belt that slowly, too?
Satoru offers one lazy guess. "Older men?"
"Bingo!"
He stifles a smile, shakes his head, thinks you're crazy, and then opens his car door and steps out, leaving you to giggle and unbuckle your seatbelt alone.
He swerves 'round the hood of the car over to your side, and reappears at your window to open your door for you.
"Wow. Handsome and chivalrous? Why'd your wife let a gem like you go?"
"... that's not really any of your business."
"Aw, c'mon... I'm just dripping with curiosity."
He doesn't reply again, just walks you silently to your front door. His heart is beating faster as he eyes out the curve of your ass. That tight sundress shows just the faintest hint of a thong underneath.
Just a thin sundress? A tiny thong underneath? God you're so fuckable, he thinks. So, so fuckable. And the worst part is that you're one of the girls who knows you're hot. That's why you bounce around in front of men like him like you're a reckless bunny.
He's trying so hard to block out wild fantasies of ripping the fabric off your tight body and fucking you into a dumb, slutty mess.
Block it out, Satoru, block it out.
Finally, he replies to the question you posed earlier.
"I'm full of myself, apparently." he says bitterly.
"You're full of yourself?" you tilt your head, a light confusion glossing over your features.
He's so patient and fatherly to his kids; a jovial and wholesome man. I mean, he takes his kids to every place they wanna go, makes gingerbread houses with them in the festive season, plays pretend with them, sets up outdoor adventures in his backyard, gets dressed up in a ridiculous costume for Halloween and takes them out trick-or-treating every year without fail. For god's sake, he bought a hot pink set of baking cookware just because Nobara fancied herself a chef.
He gives his all to his kids, how could anyone think he's full of himself?
"... seems like your wife was wrong about you." you reply.
"Ex-wife. And nah, you'll probably agree with her if ya stick around me long enough — " he speaks self-deprecatingly of himself, but then you interrupt him.
"— mmm, if I stick around ya for to long... y'think I'll end up being full of you, too?"
He stutters. Blood rushes to his cock.
"What?"
"Nothing, nothing."
Satoru blinks at you in total disbelief. Again, an innocent face like you saying such outrageous shit is just insane to him.
"You've got a nasty conscience, you know that?"
"N'aw, don't mind me. I'm just having fun, being a little silly." you giggle, eyes all over him and his pretty, rideable face.
"Well, I wouldn't call flirting with older men being 'silly'..."
"And I wouldn't call pillow-fucking being 'professional'..."
Oh god. Oh my fucking god. He's breaking in two like a kitkat.
Satoru is rendered fucking silent. He's stunned. He's red.
"Goodnight." is all he replies with. And then he leaves. What the hell else is he supposed to say to that? You're crazy.
Now you got him all worked up and he doesn't know what to do. If younger Satoru knew that one day in his thirties he'd meet a slutty babysitter... oh, god. Younger Satoru would be pumping his fist in the air.
But he's gotta keep playing it cool, 'cause there's no way he can fuck his babysitter... there's NO way...
... so there he is that very night tucked in his black satin sheets, leaky cock in his fist and jaw slacked, face sweaty, fucking himself to supposedly real "I fucked my babysitter" erotica stories. No, he's not one for porn videos. He just wants to lay back and picture your pretty face with no disturbances. He just wants to lay wayyy back on his king-sized bed, fisting his cock with soft fwupfwupfwups while picturing his babysitter's pussy sitting pretty on him.
He groans at his dirty little fantasies as he slides his hand up and down his shaft, getting so lost in the idea of taking your virginity that he forgets all about the erotica story he's reading and jus' closes his eyes, head thunking back against the headboard in bliss and cock dripping like a leaky faucet, practically drooling all over his lower abdomen.
"Good girl; take it all, just like that..." he mutters.
He slides his thumb over his leaky tip and holds it over the hole, smearing precum everywhere as it oozes out, getting his cock wetter before going back to stroking it at a steady speed. His breath gets ragged as he lures his orgasm out.
He's never met a virgin as slutty as you before, that's for sure.
Shit, he really shouldn't be thinking about fucking his babysitter. He really shouldn't tease his cock to thoughts of taking your virginity. It shouldn't bring on his orgasm to picture you trapped underneath his heavy muscles, cumming all over his mature cock.
"... ugh!" he moans out, shifting down the headboard and curling his toes. "Fuck! Fuck... oh, shit, baby..."
Just like that, his jaw slacks in pleasure 'n his cock shoots out thick ribbons of cum and he's creaming all inside you — oh, sorry. That was just in his fantasies.
In reality, he's just cum all over his abs and chest. It shot up so high that it almost reached his neck.
He pants and looks down at the wasted seed that he coulda pumped inside you.
Groaning as he comes down from his high, Satoru lays with his long legs spread out on his bed for a while and curses himself for thinking of fucking his babysitter.
And then he starts weighing the pros and cons of actually doing it.
Yeah, he stares up at the ceiling after jerking off for like thirty minutes, cum splattered on his abs, thinking about how bad of an idea it would be to actually fuck his slutty babysitter.
No, Satoru. You can't. Absolutely no — no fucking the babysitter. Satoru? Bad boy. Don't do it. I know she's fuckable but you cannot fuck your —
****
— so like a week later, he's spreading your legs and crawling inbetween them.
He's placing rough kisses against your lips like he's almost angry about being this horny.
"Nn!" you whine, feeling his fingertips press against your clothed pussy, pushing against your entrance.
"Aw, you're soakin' your panties just from a little bit of kissing? Aren't you cute." he murmurs on your skin.
"Sh-shut up and fuck me... I can't take this teasing." you spit back, pulling him back into a rough kiss.
He chuckles into your mouth, tongue slithering over yours and tangling up with it for a few seconds before he pipes up;
"I'm just getting back at you for all the teasing I endured from your slutty ass."
Biting your lip. Pulling away. Letting out a purely erotic noise. Sliding his big hands down your sides and gripping you like you're his woman.
Oh now your breath gets caught in your throat.
"Let's get you nice and ready for me, hm?" he husks, lips dangerously close to your clothed pussy.
Oh now your heart rate spikes to an alarming rate. Fuck. You're actually doing it. You're actually gonna fuck an older guy.
He plants a rough kiss on top of your pussy, chin pressing against your buzzy clit.
"Mm...!" you press your lips together, trying to keep some sort of composure but you can't 'cause you've got Gojo Satoru between your legs — who the hell would be able to stay composed in your position?
Damn, it drives him crazy when your inner thighs graze the sides of his cheeks. You're ruffling up his hair. He's going down on you.
A moment later, he's pushing your panties aside and lapping at your pussy. Another moment later, he's curling his tongue up inside you.
"Oh my god th-that feels good..." you gasp, feeling his slippery tongue writhe inside.
"Mmm, I know it does."
He feels smug hearing this, pressing an open-mouthed smile against your pussy lips as he sticks his tongue as deep into you as he can possibly go, eyeing your blissed-out expressions. Sliding his tongue out, spitting on your pussy, rubbing sloppy frantic circles on your clit, Satoru's acting like a total show off.
It makes you hide your face between your palms.
"Ah-ah-ah... I want you to watch." he growls, "Don't you dare take your eyes off me, m'kay? That's a good girl."
Tip of his nose nudging your clit as he tongue-fucks you into hazy bliss, you're moaning like you never knew you could.
And he's just in heaven, 'cause he's got your juices dribbling down his chin and glossing his lips better than his favorite lip gloss — uh-huh.
"Mister! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck — nnn! G-gojooo!" you start mewling his name and he goes faster, trying to chase your orgasm out with full intent to leave you hanging.
Your breath is staggering, pussy pulsing with that edge of pleasure and oh, suddenly he's retracting his tongue from your weeping, spasming hole before you can cum all over his face.
Yep. He leaves you hanging.
"Wait — ! Nn, I was gonna c—"
"— y'know, princess" he interrupts, wiping your slick off his cheek with his fingers and licking it off right before your wide eyes, "I really think we're past the formalities; call me Satoru."
Half-dazed and ditzy on the pleasure of a missed orgasm, you watch as Satoru pulls away from you, his knees digging into the mattress and weighing it down.
Veiny hands find his belt and smoothly undo it, whipping off with a loud crack.
"O-oh?" you breathe excitedly.
He smirks, seeing how your eyes are glued to his bulge, "Aw, ya gonna perv on me while I strip for ya?" he teases, then clicks his tongue in regret when you reply with a lamb-like look, "Hahaha, don't get shy on me now. I'm just teasing."
Absolutely drooling over his physique as he strips his clothes off tantalizingly slowly, Satoru's been so composed up until now; as he unbuttons and unzips his long zipper, you notice how ragged his breathing actually is. Like he needs it bad. Like his cock is getting strangled by his clothes.
After hastily taking his pants off, Satoru quickly frees his eager cock from his boxer briefs.
And your eyes go wiiide.
"Oh."
Pale. Pink. Stiff. Leaky. Bit of an upper curve. Thick veins. What's that, like maybe a nine? No, no, there's no way. Actually, on second look, maybe?
"C'mere, let me have you." he rasps, one hand gripping his dummy big cock.
"That is not gonna fit inside me."
His ego swells. Ah, how many girls have said that to him in his life? And it never gets old.
"Nah, it'll fit."
You twitch excitedly, breath catching in your throat as Satoru comes closer to you and snuggles his slim waist between your legs which you just keep spreading wider and wider, so ready to take him even though you're nervous as hell.
"Ready to get ya cherry popped, cutie?" he asks.
He taps his cock against your entrance, coats it in your slippery juices, teases that hot tip in 'n out.
"Yeaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhfuck! Holy shit! Um! Uh!"
"What is it?" he throws a smug smile your way.
He watches intently as your pouty lips move, "'Big, 's really fucking big...! Ooh, god! Nn! Nnn!"
"You're so cute." he arches over you, grinning like the Cheshire cat.
His head starts to spin as he slides inside you.
Fuck. He's actually doing it. Sure, he fucked that flight attendant once. Yeah, he had a couple flings. He was a nasty, sex-crazed fuckboy in his youth. And yet... nothing felt as nasty as this.
This is everything he ever fucking needed. This is the sweet and nasty girl that he's craved for all his life. The rest were too nasty, some too sweet, but you? A perfect slut.
Satoru's curving up into you and teasing your sweet spots with his tip like he's letting 'em know that soon they're gonna get bullied with his hard-hitting strokes.
And your pussy's happily getting stretched out, walls clinging to every inch he pushes in like she's so thankful that you finally gave her something besides your fingers or toys to clench around.
"Ah, fuck, that's tight."
"I'm sorry!"
"No, no, it's a good thing... just relax a little more, 'm gonna push it deeper, is that okay?"
"Yes, please... oh please, fuck, yes give me everything!"
He grins, "No need to ask twice." he murmurs, right before he's sinking another few of his inches into your struggling pussy.
Satoru just comes undone at the feeling of being inside you.
His big hands come to squeeze your breasts, jiggling them around with a playful tongue poking out his mouth like he's just tempted to put his mouth on them.
So he does, y'know he's already lost enough self-restraint to the point where he's fucking his babysitter, so of course he's gonna give into his urge to suck on your breasts.
His hot, wet mouth envelopes your sensitive nipple, tongue flicking against it 'till he draws out cute whimpers from you.
He's pulling his mouth off, kissing the curve of your cleavage, groping a handful of your breasts, looking down at you like he knows damn well no boys your age are gonna fuck you as good as him — shit, scratch that, ain't fuckin' nobody in your whole life gonna fuck you as good as he will.
When your walls permit him to go deeper, Satoru stutters out like he's the virgin here, "F-f-fuck, there you go, baby, jus' take my cock like you're meant to, yeah?"
He moves his hips, relishing that sloppy sound of your pussy gushing around him — oh god you're bucking your hips to meet his hips 'n you're driving him crazy makin' him think for a split second about remarrying.
Hardly ten minutes later and he's fucking you into your first orgasm, loving how you can't even control how hard you cum on his cock. He's ruthlessly rubbing your clit throughout your orgasm, eager to make your eyes roll back completely. And it's making you freak the fuck out, 'cuz no one else has done this to you. No one has brought you to a real orgasm before.
And he can tell.
It makes him twitch and dive deeper into your sopping hole, eager to lure out as much juice as he can 'cause there's nothing he loves more than a creamy mess on his cock.
He's bending and pushing you into the positions he loves, thrusting at a steady pace that you can keep up with at first but sometimes he'll go harder, harder, harder until you're sobbing and wailing out so loudly that he needs to clamp a hand over your mouth.
He chuckles, "Quiet down, princess. You're gonna wake up my kids at this rate."
" 'm shorry!" you mumble into the palm of his hand, feeling his cock drill into your sweet spots and pressure your walls like crazy.
"No, no. Don't be sorry. It's cute. You're taking me so well," he praises, "Doing so so well for me, princess."
Those soft coos don't match his nasty strokes. He's railing you like he's trying to fuck every last bit of virginity out of your pussy, 'till it remembers the shape of his cock, 'till it clings to him, 'till it knows who's ya daddy.
Especially while prone-boning you. Damn, who forgot to give this guy the handbook on How to Fuck a Virgin? He's pounding into you and grunting like he's gone psycho... ohhhhehasn'thaddpussyinlikeayear. Okay. Makes sense.
"Ah, fuck — fuckin' look at me while I fuck you," he commands, sweaty cheek pressing against yours. Satoru grabs your jaw and makes you look at him, loving your lewd expressions. "Haha, such a fucked-out face... cute."
He thrusts faster into you, not even letting much of his cock in 'cause he knows form experience that virgin pussy just can't handle all of that. So he's easing out each time he accidentally dives in too deep.
And when he pounds up into you like that, it makes sense why the phrase "fucking your brains out" came about. His cock has got you in a crazy back arch, got you seeing stars. No thoughts. Just pussy spasms.
"Harder!! 'want it harder! Please! Fuck me harderrr!!" you plead, totally cockdrunk on Gojo Satoru.
"Are you sure 'bout that, sweetheart? 'Cause I don't think you can handle it..."
"Please!!" you beg.
"Aw... 'can't say no to that fuckable face, can i?" he throws your leg over his shoulder, repositioning himself, grinning, "Take a deep breath. You tell me if it's too much, m'kay? Y'can tap out at any time."
"Yeah, yeah! I know!!" you respond so eagerly it makes him giggle.
As instructed, you take a deep breath. But honestly, did it really prepare you for getting fucked this hard? Um, no.
"Fuck, fuck!! Nnn... god, fuck me! Yesyesyes, just like that please!!"
"Ah, shit, baby..."
"God, you're gonna — you're gonna break the bed, 'Toruuu!"
"I'm gonna break you first." he moans, pounding every last inch of his cock into your happy little pussy, gives your g-spot a beating that has your whole body on the brink of insanity.
"Ughhh... fuck!" you choke up, you hiccup, you sob and wail — and he has to kiss you quiet.
My god did you need this. You needed to indulge in this nastiness, 'cuz who the hell else is ever gonna give you the fucking of a lifetime? Uh, yeah, that's right...
"Yeah, keep enjoying my fucking cock. You know nobody else is gonna fuck you as good as this, little slut." he whispers into your ear, cheek sticky with sweat 'n pressing against yours.
What kind of man did his ex-wife think he was? Full of himself? Nah... he wasn't that full of himself. C'mon now...
"... fuck you look so good cumming on my cock like that. Aw, you shaking? Can't handle it? Am I just too good at fucking you, huh? Wanna cum again? Come on, use your words, you're a big girl. You wanna cum again, don't you? I know you want it. I know you love my cock, 'course you do... 'm fucking perfect, baby. 'N you're gonna take every perfect fucking inch of me."
Oh. Okay. Maybe he is full of himself.
Well, he's full of himself and now you're full of him, too.
Satoru isn't shy about pumping a thick, gooey cumload inside you. He isn't shy about frothing up his creampie during round two, either. And he isn't shy about flipping you into missionary and pushing your trembling legs back and sliding his cock in again.
"Can ya do one more for me, baby?"
"Y-yeah!"
"Aw, but you look exhausted..." he grins. "I wouldn't wanna break my favorite babysitter on accident."
"I'm okay, I swear! I can take it!" you start babbling.
Sweat is dripping off your bodies and soaking the bed. The room smells like sex. His muscles are pressing into you. He's diving into you like a swimmer and grunting and making a dent in the wall 'cause that headboard is banging into the wall just as hard as he's banging into you. Neither of you even notice the dent in the wall. You're just stuck together, connected in that one place, fucking like bunnies.
You palm at his abs, pressing flat against them and melting at the feeling of his mmmaturemusclestwitchingohgodbless, you're so gone after feeling his sweat gather on your hand and catching a glimpse of the bulge his cock makes inside you.
Satoru blanks when your small hand feels up his muscles. Now his thrusts got your lower tummy shuddering and you just wonder what he's thinking when his brows furrow together in such serious focus at your fertile pussy.
"Ohmygodohmygodyou'regonnafuckingbreakme!!" you squeal, fisting the pillow and nearly crying into it.
He giggles, slowing his thrusts to a pace your poor, abused pussy can handle better, "Sorry, doll, you jus' got me too excited when you touched me like that."
"Nn!!" you fist the sheets in your hand, realizing just how far he fucked you to the edge of the bed — the two of you were nearly falling off the bed until uh, oops, you were on the floor?
"Ahh-ahhh! Ah! AH! Wh-what kinda... wrestling move is this, Satoru! Fuck, go easy on me!! 'M gonna cum again!!"
He's too into it to bother getting the two of you back on the bed. Now he's just pinning you down on the plush carpeted floor, railing your tight cunt from behind like he owns it. He may as well, honestly.
"Oh yeah?" he grunts, "Cum again on my cock. Lemme see you work it out on my cock. C'mon, isn't this the cock you wanted so badly? Put on a show for me, baby."
"Ahh!!" you sluttily cry out, bouncing your hips up and down and working your pussy on just six of his nine inches.
"Fuuuck... look at that back arch... haha, you already runnin' outta stamina? Yeah, tell me about it. It's hard work fuckin' a big cock, isn't it? Okay, okay, spoiled princess..." he mutters, hearing your exhausted pleas, "Perk that ass up, lemme show you how it's done."
"But this position is so — AH!" you kick your legs as he slides deeper with each quick stroke.
His tip's prodding at a spot you don't even recognize; a sweet gummy spot that's like your off button. You can't keep your mouth shut and now you're getting so loud that he's gotta clamp a hand on your mouth again, pushing you into the carpeted floor and not stopping his hard-hitting thrusts for a looong few seconds, driving it deep.
He picks up his pace, balls slapping into your clit so loudly that he can't even complain about the loudness of your moans. That skin-slapping 'n squelching could wake up the neighborhood.
"Fuck," he grunts, "Ah, ah... stay right there, 'gonna make you a mama..."
You thrash your legs around, "Nn! Please!" you squeal, feeling his warm seed pour into you again without warning. Just that feeling makes you cum. Hard. Satoru's cock freaks out at the feeling of your pussy's milking contractions along his length, making his tender tip spurt out a little bit more cum against your cervix.
It's so bad. You really shouldn't love getting creampied by an older man this much, let alone your... uh, boss?
Worse. He shouldn't have such a big fucking smile on his sweaty face. He shouldn't be rolling his eyes back in satisfaction like that, like he finds it so funny that he actually did it.
"God, you sure loved milking me, huh?" he smiles wide, bangs soaked and sticking to his sweaty forehead.
"Nnn..." you nod, totally exhausted.
He watches you trying to catch your breath, gulping and gasping. He slides his softening cock out of your over-creampied pussy, earning a small whimper from you. Oh, you feel so empty now, it's crazy. Just how did he pack all of that cock inside you? He can't figure it out, either.
"You okay, sugarplum?" he asks sensitively, stroking your cheek with the back of his hand.
"Yahhh..." you weakly whimper back, wiggling your foot cutely, "Need t' cleanup... need help w-walking..."
All his creampies bubble out your pussy.
He stifles a laugh, feeling a bit guilty. Satoru presses a kiss to your back, peeling you off the floor and practically carrying you to the bathroom — floor and walls black tiles, every corner spelling 'rich boy' in bold letters.
Carefully and slowly, Satoru helps to clean you up, massaging your sore parts with his big hands, peppering your neck in the sweetest little kisses as if he didn't just rearrange your guts and ruin your pussy for other men.
"So... how's it feel, not being a virgin anymore?" he asks with a dirty big bad fuckboy smile.
You simply blush and smile shyly in response. It makes him laugh.
"Aw, are you all shy now, pookums? Shit, I think I fucked tha nasty outta you..."
You nuzzle him, looking about ready to sleep, and it just melts his heart.
"Mm, y'know... Suguru was right about you; you're a real sweetheart. I think I might just have 'ta keep you around for a long time."
ㅤ🍒 x 🐇 x 💗@𝖆𝖗𝖒𝖎𝖓𝖘𝖚𝖒𝖎
ㅤ𝕿𝖆𝖌𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙
@screampied (I KNOW IT'S BEEN LIKE A YEAR SINCE I LAST MENTIONED THIS FIC SORRY LOL) 💗 @pickledballer 💗 @wakashudou 💗@miseryyouth-99 💗 @ilovelokism 💗 @yuji-baby 💗 @natsuw181 💗 @madamechrissy 💗@magical-girl-bunny 💗@arminswifee 💗 @msheds0519 💗@nariminsstuff 💗@strychnynegirl 💗@satorupi 💗 @lvstru 💗@buniibloom 💗@tojijibaby 💗@peach-olic 💗 @mandistromboli 💗 @bwunniibell 💗 @nezukochaaann 💗 @valentine4738 💗 @katthekat1234 💗 @aryanaaa 💗 @astxrismstar 💗 @delusionalandabnormal 💗 @shadykittyperfection 💗 @pettypinkprincessblog 💗 @chososgf04 💗 @eliengoddes 💗 @peachmangoe 💗 @dollyschii 💗 @palegardenrebel
He’s just big. Too big. Broad shoulders that feel like walls—mountains you cling to when you’re on top, desperate for leverage, desperate for him. His arms flex when he pulls you closer, biceps straining against your body, wrapping you up like you’re something small, something fragile. His hands cover too much at once, palms so wide they could swallow your waist whole, fingers digging into your skin until you feel branded.
When you ride him, it’s those shoulders you hang on to, nails clawing into the solid curve of them, your cries muffled against his neck. He doesn’t mind. He never does. He just groans, low and wrecked, holding you steady as your hips stutter. “I know,” he murmurs, voice all gravel and warmth, “I know, baby. I know that dick is big.”
Effortlessly. He picks you up like you weigh nothing, your legs still trembling around his waist, and sets you on the bed without breaking rhythm. His frame eclipses yours, back broad enough to cover you entirely, blocking out the world until all you can see is him, feel is him.
The mirror on the ceiling doesn’t lie. It shows how small you are beneath him, his body spilling over yours, swallowing you whole. Every thrust shakes through you, every roll of his hips forcing you deeper into the mattress. He doesn’t just fuck you. He drowns you—blankets you with his size until you’re gasping his name, pulling him closer, begging for more.
Thick hot ropes of cum fill up your sore pussy, He pushes himself deeper into you, which makes you claw his back with your nails, moaning in pure ecstasy. “You're gonna cum for me again, right, my slutty girl?”
And he gives it, again and again, until you can’t tell where you end and he begins.
Holiday Loving Husband!Nanami who loves this time of year so much for a multitude of reasons. The biggest one being you, his darling wife who he gets to make ten times happier as he prepares well though-out gifts—items you only mentioned once earlier on in the year and he’s sure you’d forgotten about.
Holiday Loving Husband!Nanami whose second favorite part of this season is the gift wrapping, he loves the precision and care that goes into it. Everything he wraps is crisp and pristinely tucked into its desired wrapping paper with all the love ‘n care in his heart.
Holiday Loving Husband!Nanami who notices how you watch him wrap gifts for the neighbors, the way your eyes follow his big hands, zeroing in on his thick fingers and how delicately they slide in between certain creases and folds.
Holiday Loving Husband!Nanami who purposefully gets teasing once he starts using ribbons, wrapping some around those same fingers of his as you watch him and sending you knowing glances before subtly suggesting to wrap you up in ribbon next.
Holiday Loving Husband!Nanami who decides to actually do that this year, waiting until everything has been set under the tree and all gifts have been sent off to walk into the bedroom, strings of silky red ribbon in hand.
When your eyes light up and you sit up in the bed, he wonders if you’d been thinking about this all year.
Holiday Loving Husband!Nanami who is just as careful tying those ribbons around your wrists as they cross over one another behind your back.
His voice comes to your ear with thick smoothness that already has you wet, “What a naughty wife I have, letting me tie her up like this.” As begin to squirm, he’s starts to grin against your skin. “Perhaps tonight will be the night I fuck a baby into you so we can have a kid by next Christmas, hm?”
Holiday Loving Husband!Nanami who has you bent over the silken sheets within the next few minutes, his thick, swollen cock now sliding deep inside your welcoming cunt as his hands hold onto your wrists that have been tired together. Red ribbon splays out all over the bed, some tied around your thighs and legs, other parts tied around your torso—you don’t think you could move out of this position even if you tried.
Holiday Loving Husband!Nanami whose other hand is pressed against your arching spine, loving how your pussy moans around his throbbing veins when his touch switches from something rough to something demanding and rough.
Holiday Loving Husband!Nanami who lets his free hand come down on your ass over and over again until a clear hand print is left over it, his thrusts hard enough to make your body jerk forward every time his pelvis meets you.
“Fuck, you feel so good, my love.” He grunts out, adoring the filthy mess he’s making of his pretty wife despite the rather domestic and cheerful mood the two of you had been in just a few hours ago. “Need you to take all of it f’me,” He added on in one short breath, “Please.”
Another one of his favorite parts of the season is this—getting to fuck you as if each time his cock stretches your cunt open some more and his tip french kisses your womb, it’s some sort of proper celebration for the season.
Holiday Loving Husband!Nanami who soon grabs onto your hips to pin you to the bed before he starts drilling his slobbering tip against your cervix. Your moans are muffled into the sheets and he even hears the way a couple of his perfectly tied ribbon knots begin to snap! from how rough he’s being.
He wishes he had time to care but he could hardly think outside of the way your pussy began to gulp the creamy load of cum he starts pouring into you.
He knows it’ll take this year, knows you’ll be pregnant sooner or later, and practically relishes in the thought of being able to spend the next Christmas season with a mini version of the two of you crawling around.
Fuck, the thought alone has his cock refusing to soften, his balls aching with a heavy need to breed you until cum is dripping down your inner thighs and ruining those pretty silks he’d tied around your skin.
This happens every year but he’ll make sure it’s worth it this time around.
Clark Kent adores going down on you — hands firm at your hips, holding you exactly where he wants you as he licks slow, deliberate stripes along your core. You’re a moaning mess beneath him, unable to stay still under his mouth.
It had started out fairly normal. Innocent teasing. Playful jabs meant to get a rise out of him. He’d ignored you at first, refusing to take the bait, pretending not to notice whatever it was you were trying to pull.
That is, until you bent down in your short skirt, thong on full display.
“What d’you think you’re doing?” he asked, finally setting his book aside.
“Oh, nothing,” you purred back. “Just cleaning up.”
That was all it took. Now you’re pinned against the couch, Clark stretched out above you, devouring you like it’s his last meal.
“Can’t tease me,” he murmurs in a deep, almost mocking tone. “Doesn’t end well, does it?”
“N—no!” you cry, trying to squirm away, but his grip only tightens.
He goes back to work, tongue circling and dragging through your heat, pausing every so often to suck softly at your clit, a low groan vibrating against you.
“Taste so good,” he mutters.
“I’m so close,” you insist, but it falls on deaf ears.
Clark only holds you tighter — the firmest he can without hurting you. The tension coils low in your stomach, climbing fast, and by the way you’re shaking, he knows it too.
Then he slips a finger inside you, curling it just right, his mouth immediately returning to your clit — and that’s all it takes.
You’re crying out, body trembling as your orgasm tears through you, spilling over Clark's face.
When it finally subsides, he pulls his finger free and looks up at you with a slow smile, the lower half of his face slick with you.
my misery is my muse @idkmanimreallysleepy - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
