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joemama-2 · 1 month ago

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┊ ❛ ❛ 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐬 ❜ ❜ ┊

pairing: gojo x fem reader

synopsis: as an ambitious journalist, you’re determined to keep your cool while interviewing Gojo Satoru, the entertainment world’s most magnetic star. but his playful smirks and flirtatious banter make it impossible to ignore the spark simmering between you. when he leans in and invites you to his private room, you tell yourself it’s all part of the job—until the dressing room door closes, and the air grows heavy with unspoken possibilities. his touch is casual but lingers just long enough to make your pulse race, and his whispered promises are as intoxicating as the man himself. tonight, you’ll learn there’s a difference between getting the story and being part of it.

wc: 9.9k

tags/warnings: smut, slight praise, vaginal penetration, pussy eating, cursing, missionary, nipple sucking

Tonight’s a night of luxury, fine wine, expensive clothing, flashes, kisses being shared, awards handed out, and best of all…the interviews.

You’re up and coming, still considered a newbie in the world of journalism even though you have been doing this for almost a year now. But compared to your other counterparts who have years of experience, you understand why. A bright, young face with a compelling aura that just draws people in. Every celebrity you’ve met has come up to you afterward to just rave on about how nice it was talking to you, how authentic it felt. And that’s what you aim for all the time.

At the end of the day, these are real people and a lot of the media seems to forget that. When you’re interviewing them, you don’t want it to seem like a forced meet-up with an intrusive journalist. No, you want it to be like they’re talking to a friend. You want things to just flow smoothly—naturally. You’ve even exchanged numbers with a few of them, waving and delivering a small hug as they pass you on the red carpet to pose for pictures.

It’s a strategy that’s worked wonders for you, and tonight, you’re counting on it to carry you through what might be the biggest interview of your career. Gojo Satoru, the golden boy of the entertainment industry, is notoriously hard to pin down—charming one moment, evasive the next. The man oozes confidence, with his piercing blue eyes and a devil-may-care attitude that has the world wrapped around his finger. A brilliant actor, dancer, and singer. A literal triple threat. The man is good at everything he does. And he looks damn good while doing it.

Your editor’s words echo in your head as you adjust your press badge: “Get something different. Something memorable. Everyone’s heard the same old answers from him.” Easier said than done when the man is practically untouchable, his responses carefully curated to keep people guessing. You would’ve assumed his media training would be on point, considering he’s been a household name since he was just an infant.

A true nepo baby.

There’s a microphone in hand, your camera man, Ito, stood beside you. You glance at him, having to lean in slightly over the buzz of other chatter, photographers telling whatever celebrity to move right or left, other interviews being conducted, the whole sha-bang. “You ready for this?”

The younger man nods with a goofy smile and throws a thumbs-up. “You know it.”

“Remember, get my good side.”

“Every side is your good side, Ms. Y/N.”

You wave him off and swivel your head back around. Titling it as you lift up on your tip-toes for any sign of the snowy haired man. Nope, not here yet. You sigh and drop back down to normal height, anxiously twirling the microphone in your hand. You’re wearing a simple, but elegant black dress. Silk with no sleeves and the back is cut out—still modest enough to now outshine the real important people of tonight. You’ve paired it with gold jewelry, your hair down and tamed, with tiny black heels. Fine makeup with a red lip to top it off.

“He’s not here yet. Let me guess,” you murmur to Ito, keeping your voice low. “He’s going to be late, sweep in like he owns the place, and flash that million-dollar smile that makes everyone forget they’ve been waiting.”

Ito snorts, adjusting the camera. “You mean the Gojo Satoru trademark entrance? Yeah, sounds about right. At least he’s consistent.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s a flicker of nerves in your chest. You always get nervous but this time, it feels a little extra. He may not even stop for you, don’t get your hopes up.

Gojo’s reputation precedes him, and while you pride yourself on keeping your cool, you’re not immune to his charm. The last thing you need is to fall into the same trap as every other reporter who’s walked away from an interview with stars in their eyes and nothing of substance to show for it.

Scanning the area, you catch sight of a commotion near the entrance, the buzz growing louder. And then you see him.

He’s impossible to miss, standing tall and radiant in a custom black suit that hugs him in all the right places, his albino hair tousled just enough to look effortless. His sunglasses—because of course he’s wearing sunglasses to a fancy event—sit perched on the bridge of his nose, only barely hiding those infamous blue eyes. He’s laughing at something someone said, his presence magnetic enough to pull all attention his way without even trying. His manager, Nanami Kento, walks with him. Occasionally muttering something in Satoru’s ear with his certified stony expression.

“Showtime,” Ito mutters, lifting the camera.

You take a deep breath, straightening your posture. You got this, you got this. He’s not the only charming one. Plastering a big, warm smile. You begin your stride over, hellbent on capturing his attention.

He and his manager are walking down the carpet, already ignoring the reporters that call out his name like he’s some sort of god. Satoru occasionally smiles for a few of the cameras as most of the other actors are silently making room for him on the red carpet. Once he’s done with his pictures, he’s heading inside the venue. Then you’ll lose your chance. So, you have to catch him before he does.

You quicken your pace, moving with purpose. Weaving through the small crowd as Ito is practically stumbling over his feet to follow you. Chin tilting up and raising your voice loud enough so he can hear. “Gojo Satoru, a quick word, please,” you call out, your voice carrying through the crowd, smooth and confident despite the flutter of nerves in your chest.

And as if on cue, Gojo’s head turns ever so slightly in your direction. That was quick. Maybe it’s the fact that you reiterated your call out to him as more of a statement than an annoying plea. You don’t hesitate, smiling and judging Ito to begin filming. You can already see the glint of his pearly whites, the blue twinkle in his pearly eyes that makes women and men alike swoon. He lifts his glasses down slightly like he’s getting a better look at you. His manager is tugging a bit on his elbow to keep him moving, but he simply yanks it out his hold and strides over to you with that trademark grin. As he makes his way toward you, every step exuding confidence, you remind yourself of your goal: keep it professional, keep it memorable, and don’t let him get under your skin.

Some of the other journalists must think they finally have their shot with him, only for their hopes and dreams to be shattered when he approaches you instead. You shuffle closer to him, sparing a quick glance at the camera to ensure it’s rolling before craning your neck up at the man himself.

“Gojo Satoru,” you greet him, flashing your most practiced smile as he stops in front of you. “Thank you very much for taking the time to chat. How’s your night so far?”

He tilts his head, the lopsided smile on his face nothing short of mischievous. “Even better now,” he says smoothly, his voice low enough to make your stomach flip.

Oh, he’s good, you think, your grip tightening on the microphone. But so are you. So, this is how it’s going to be. Fine. You can play that game too.

You force yourself to focus, keeping the conversation light and breezy despite the electric charge in the air between you. “Glad to hear that. I’m sure you’re used to all the attention by now, but do you ever get nervous before big events like this?” you ask, leaning in slightly as if you’re just two people having a casual chat.

He chuckles, a sound that almost feels too intimate for the public space you’re standing in. “I thrive on it,” Gojo replies, his eyes never leaving yours, his gaze both teasing and intense. “You know, it’s all part of the game. The bigger the crowd, the more I shine.”

You smile, impressed by his confidence but careful not to let it throw you off your rhythm. “And yet, you still manage to make it look effortless.” You tilt your head slightly, playing along, knowing how easily the conversation could turn into one of those meaningless exchanges. “Is there anything you don’t do effortlessly?”

His lips quirk upwards, that signature grin spreading across his face. “Maybe one thing,” he says, his tone dipping lower, sending a shiver through you. He pauses, his eyes scanning you briefly before locking back onto yours. “But I’m sure you’ll find out soon enough.”

The air between you two thickens, the words laced with double meaning. You can feel the heat rising to your cheeks, but you refuse to let it show. He’s toying with you, but this is your interview, and you’re not about to let him steal the spotlight. Not just yet.

Clearing your throat, you switch the topic. “So, you’re being nominated Best Actor for your show ‘Jujutsu Kaisen’.”

He grins, clearly enjoying the direction you’ve taken. “I wouldn’t say ‘nominated,’” he teases, his eyes sparkling with that signature arrogance. “I’m going to win, obviously. But it’s nice to be recognized by the industry.”

You nod, the banter light, but the tension lingering in the air between you two keeps your mind spinning. You can’t help but wonder if he’s as confident off-screen as he is in front of the cameras. Before you can ask him to elaborate on his confidence, Gojo steps closer, his proximity sending a wave of warmth through you. “So you believe you’ll win this award, no doubt?”

“No doubt.”

“That’s very confident of you.” You chuckle.

Gojo’s lips curl into a smile, his blue eyes never leaving yours as if he’s savoring the moment. “Confidence is key but also very underrated,” he replies, his tone playful but with an edge of something more intense. He leans in just slightly, enough that you can smell the subtle cologne he’s wearing, clean and fresh with a hint of spice. “Besides,” he adds, his voice dropping lower, “when you’re as good as I am, it’s hard not to be confident. And I mean, a lot of people are too afraid to show they know what they’re capable of. But me? I’ve got nothing to hide. I know exactly what I bring to the table.”

You bite your lip, fighting the urge to let your smile slip into something more flirtatious. But his words have an effect—something in you shifts, intrigued and undeniably drawn to his arrogance. "So, you don’t think anyone’s competition?" you ask, arching an eyebrow, testing the waters.

Gojo's lips curve tighter into a knowing smile, a flash of teasing flickering in his eyes. "Competition?" he echoes, his voice thick with challenge. "There’s no competition when you’re in a league of your own.”

You swallow, trying to maintain your composure despite the growing heat between you. “I can see that,” you respond, your voice just a little steadier than you feel. “But what’s your secret? How do you manage to stay so… sure of yourself?”

Gojo chuckles, the sound smooth and low, as he runs a hand through his messy white hair. He looks around briefly, as though assessing the situation, before his eyes lock back onto yours. “It’s not about being sure of myself,” he says with a tilt to his tone, his words carrying an underlying promise. “It’s about knowing I can make anything work. Whether it’s acting, dancing, or…” He trails off, his gaze flickering briefly down your figure before snapping back to your eyes. He chuckles charmingly.

The moment hangs between you two, the air crackling with an undeniable charge. You feel your pulse quicken, but you force yourself to stay focused on the interview. “Well, I’m sure a lot of people would love to know how you make it all look so effortless,” you respond, keeping your voice neutral. “Any advice for those of us who aren’t quite as… naturally gifted?”

Gojo’s grin widens, and for a brief second, you swear you can see a flicker of something more in his eyes. “It’s not just about talent,” he says, leaning in a little closer, his voice dropping to a more intimate level. “It’s about owning the moment, owning the space you’re in. You have to make people believe in you, even if you don’t always believe in yourself.” His intonation is almost hypnotic, and you can feel the pull of his words.

Your breath catches, but you can’t let him see how he’s affecting you. “Sounds like a lot of pressure,” you reply, trying to keep the conversation light. “How do you handle all that weight?”

Gojo’s expression shifts, his playful grin faltering for just a second, his presence overwhelming. ��Pressure’s nothing,” he says, his eyes scanning your face with an intensity that makes your skin tingle. “If you’re not feeling it, you’re not doing it right.”

Before you can respond, the sound of a camera shutter clicks in the background, reminding you of the reality of the situation. You’re still in the middle of a crowded red carpet, surrounded by flashing lights and the buzz of other reporters. But somehow, standing so close to him, it feels like it’s just the two of you in the world.

His eyes soften for a moment, like he’s sensing the shift in the air between you. “But hey,” he adds, his tone playful again as he steps back slightly, breaking the moment, “don’t worry. I’ll make sure to win this award for the both of us. Maybe then you can interview me again… under better circumstances.”

You smile, lightly huffing a small chortle as Ito lowers the camera and stops rolling. Nanami begins tugging on Satoru’s sleeve again, attempting to urge the man to walk forward. But Satoru doesn’t budge, leaning down close to your ear. The suddenness causes you to gasp a little, body tensing before leaning closer to hear what he has to say.

“I have a room nearby. Take a left at the end of the carpet, then a right past the VIP lounge, can’t miss it. If you want, I’d be glad to answer more of your questions once I have my award.”

He’s pulling back and looking away, strutting down the carpet before you can even process what just happened. Eyes wide and lips parted, you slowly look over at Ito who gives you an equally baffled expression. “That was…something. I felt the tension even behind the camera.”

You shake your head and regain your bearings, hitting his arm. He dramatically lets out a huff and rubs the spot. “Don’t be stupid, that’s just how he is.”

“Well, yeah. But it seemed extra with you.”

Your lips purse, eyes flickering over to where an enormous space has been made for the man himself to pose for every single camera aimed at him in every pose possible. If you didn’t find him attractive, you would’ve been annoyed by his arrogance—his cockiness. But maybe that’s what you like about him, in some weird way. At least he has the looks to go with his loud personality. “Are you gonna…go?” Ino asks.

You hesitate, unsure of whether yes or no would be the most appropriate answer in this case. Hell, that entire little thing seemed the exact opposite of appropriate. You remind yourself that that’s just how he is. However, you still haven’t gotten a good enough word from him and that tiny, maybe two minute interview will no doubt be overlooked from your boss.

Something different, something more.

And so that’s how you’ve landed yourself in this precarious situation in the first place. It’s late—around twelve in the morning. And this supposed ‘meet-up’ feels more like a booty call than anything else. You won’t voice that thought aloud, of course. He’s sitting on the cuck chair in the corner of his…dressing room? It feels more like a five star hotel room. You’ve taken purchase on the edge of the bed inside, hands tucked into your lap. You’ve opted out of the dress you wore for the event, landing on a simple tee and jeans. Your recorder beside you, with your notebook and pen placed underneath your hands.

He’s just been eating.

Eating carelessly.

It’s already been close to twenty minutes and you don’t know when you should bring up the whole reason you’re even here for. After a few more grueling seconds, the air having been filled with his loud chewing far longer than you have patience for. You clear your throat. “Um…Mr. Gojo? Do you mind if we—”

“Have you ever had Mediterranean food?” He cuts you off, jabbing his white plastic fork in your direction.

Your eyes flick to the fork in his hand, then back to his face. The man looks completely unbothered, leaning back in his chair as though he has all the time in the world. His long legs are stretched out in front of him, crossed casually at the ankles, and his tie is now undone, the top buttons of his shirt popped open. He’s the picture of relaxed arrogance, and it’s both infuriating and—annoyingly—endearing.

“Uh, yeah,” you say hesitantly, thrown off by the abrupt change in topic. “Once or twice.”

He hums, jabbing his fork into another piece of grilled chicken and popping it into his mouth. “Then you’re missing out. There’s this place down the street? Incredible. You’ve gotta try it. I’ll have them send some up next time you’re around.”

You blink at him, unsure how to respond. Is he really talking about food right now? After inviting you here in the middle of the night and keeping you waiting for nearly half an hour while he scarfs down a late-night feast? And is he trying to hint at another rendezvous? Yeah fucking right. Your fingers tighten slightly around your notebook, the patience you’ve been clinging to starting to wear thin. “Right,” you try again, keeping your voice steady, “I appreciate the recommendation, but I was hoping we could get back to the interview. So may we—”

“But you get it, right?” he says, leaning back in the chair, his legs spread out wider, his posture entirely too relaxed for someone in the middle of an impromptu midnight interview. “It’s addictive. This hummus? Unreal. Whoever catered tonight deserves an award more than I do.”

You thin your lips, unsure whether to laugh or remind him why you’re actually here. “I’m glad you’re enjoying it,” you say diplomatically, gesturing to the plate in his hand. “But I was hoping we could, you know, get started?”

Gojo hums thoughtfully, scooping up another bite with his fork. “You’re right,” he concedes, though the mischievous glint in his eyes suggests otherwise. “But here’s the thing—you can’t do an interview on an empty stomach. Or when the food’s this good.”

You sigh, biting back a retort as he takes another slow, deliberate bite, chewing like he has all the time in the world. “Mr. Gojo—”

“Satoru,” he corrects, grinning as he sets the plate down on the small table beside him. He wipes his hands on a napkin and leans forward, elbows resting on his knees as he meets your gaze. “We’re not on the red carpet anymore. Call me Satoru.”

His sudden shift in demeanor catches you off guard, the playful air taking on a more serious edge. You glance at your recorder, then back at him, your pulse quickening. “Alright, Satoru,” you say carefully, your fingers tightening around your pen. “Let’s make this count.”

He smirks, tilting his head slightly as if daring you to keep up. “Oh, don’t worry,” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing. “I always do.”

You nod and fumble for a moment before flipping open your notebook. “Ah, well, I was hoping to dive a little deeper into your creative process—how you approach roles and what inspires you.”

Gojo leans back again, the smirk never leaving his face. “My creative process, huh? That’s such a professional way of asking how I make the magic happen.” He chuckles, his gaze flicking over you with an intensity that makes your skin prickle. “But I’ll bite. It all starts with... you.”

You freeze, brows furrowing. You don’t know if he’s teasing you or if he’s just being his usual cocky self. “Me?” you manage to say, trying to keep your composure.

“Not you specifically,” he clarifies, though the playful glint in his eyes suggests otherwise. “But someone like you. Someone intriguing, who makes me want to figure out what makes them tick. That’s where I find inspiration.”

The air in the room shifts, the casual atmosphere taking on a sharper edge. You’re getting a little annoyed at the fact that he’s answering the question but also trying to throw you off balance. Either way, you’re determined not to let him see you lose composure.

“That’s interesting,” you respond, forcing a smile as you jot something down in your notebook, “Is there any way you can elaborate?.”

His laughter fills the room, low and rich. “Isn’t that what I just did?” he teases, his tone dripping with playful arrogance. His fingers drum lightly on the arm of the chair as he watches you, a predator sizing up its prey. “I thought I was being pretty clear. Inspiration comes from people—complex, messy, fascinating people.”

That sounds like an insult. You tap your pen against your notebook, resisting the urge to roll your eyes. “Right, but I was hoping for specifics,” you respond, doing your best to keep your tone professional despite his relentless charm. “How do you translate that into a character? What’s the first step you take when preparing for a role?”

Gojo leans forward again, his elbows resting on his knees, and suddenly the air between you feels far too tight. “The first step?” he echoes, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your breath hitch. “I find the humanity in them. Even in the villains, the assholes, the broken ones. There’s always something real there, something raw. That’s what I latch onto.”

You nod, quickly jotting down his words even as your pulse quickens. He’s finally giving you something substantive, and yet the way he’s looking at you makes it hard to focus. “That’s... an interesting perspective,” you manage, keeping your eyes on your notebook. “So you try to connect with the character on a personal level?”

“Exactly,” he says, his voice dropping an octave. “It’s like peeling back layers, you know? Finding the parts of them that no one else sees. The parts they try to hide.”

The weight of his words hangs in the air, and you can’t help but feel like he’s talking about more than just acting. You glance up at him, and the way he’s watching you—like he’s peeling back your layers—sends a shiver down your spine.

“I see,” you say, clearing your throat in an attempt to break the tension, “that certainly explains why your performances feel so authentic. You make it sound almost... personal.”

“It is personal,” he replies, his lips curving into a slow, knowing smile. “Every role I take on, every scene I play—it’s all personal. That’s why people connect with it. They see themselves in it.”

You can’t help but be impressed, even as his words unsettle you. He’s infuriatingly good at this—at keeping you on your toes, at blurring the line between sincerity and seduction. But you’re not about to let him derail you. Not when you’ve finally gotten him to open up.

“Do you ever find it difficult to separate yourself from the characters you play?” you ask, leaning forward slightly despite yourself. He sees this, scooting his chair closer subtly.

Gojo’s smile widens, and for a moment, he looks almost amused. “Now that’s a good question,” he says, his tone laced with approval. “But the answer? No. I don’t separate myself from them. That’s the whole point. If I did, it wouldn’t be real.”

His response leaves you momentarily speechless, and he seems to relish the effect he’s having on you. “Anything else you want to know?” he prompts, his grin turning devilish. “Or are you ready to call it a night?”

Your grip tightens on your pen, and you force yourself to sit up straighter, refusing to let him see you flustered. “I’ve still got a few more questions,” you say firmly, meeting his gaze head-on. “If you’re up for it.”

“Oh, I’m always up for it,” he quips, leaning back in his chair with a smirk that’s equal parts infuriating and captivating. “Hit me with your best shot.”

With another nod, you look up from jotting your notes to see him sliding his rings off his slender fingers. For a moment, you do nothing but focus on the paleness of the digits. You remember him saying in an interview how his fingers were six inches long. You thought he was joking no doubt, doing it all for his thirsty fangirls. But now that you’re looking at them in person…he was actually telling the truth. Your gaze slides up to his forearms that are revealed from his messy, cuffed-up sleeves. Then they travel down his fingers to his small waist, finally to his thighs. Mentally cursing yourself, you glance back at his fingers that flex freely once they’re free from the constraints of the metal. You gulp down the dryness in your throat, an intrusive thought sneaking way into your brain—wondering about what it would feel like if they were—

“A little shameless of you.” He chuckles.

His voice snaps your eyes back up to his. You recognize the playful glint in them, your cheeks heating with embarrassment. “I—sorry. That’s inappropriate of me.”

Gojo leans forward for the nth time, resting his elbows on his knees as his lips curve into a smug grin. “Oh, don’t apologize,” he drawls, his tone oozing amusement. “I’m flattered, really. Most people just stare at my face—nice to know my hands are getting the attention they deserve.”

You let out a nervous laugh, gripping your pen tighter to ground yourself. “Um…it’s not like that,” you protest weakly, though the heat in your cheeks betrays you. “I was just... lost in thought.”

“Lost in thought, huh?” He raises an eyebrow, his grin widening as though he doesn’t believe a word you’re saying. “Thinking about anything particular?”

Your heart stutters, and for a moment, you forget how to respond. His gaze is too sharp, too knowing, like he’s reading the very thought you’d just shoved to the deepest recess of your mind. “Just about the interview,” you manage to say, your voice smoother than you expected. “I was trying to figure out how to phrase my next question.”

“Sure you were,” he teases, leaning back again and sliding his hands into his pockets. The movement draws your attention to the way his pale blue button-up shirt stretches over his broad chest, and you quickly force your eyes back to his face before he can catch you staring again.

“I was,” you insist, determined to salvage what’s left of your dignity. You clear your throat and flip to a fresh page in your notebook, desperate to steer the conversation back to safer territory. “Now, about your approach to emotional scenes—how do you tap into those raw feelings on set?”

Gojo chuckles, clearly enjoying the way you’re scrambling to regain control of the conversation. “Ah, so we’re back to work now? Alright, I’ll play along.” He taps his chin thoughtfully, the playful edge in his expression softening just a fraction. “Emotional scenes are all about honesty. You can’t fake it—not if you want the audience to feel it. You have to find something real, something that hurts, and let it bleed into the performance.”

His answer catches you off guard with its sincerity, and for a moment, you forget your embarrassment entirely. “Something real?” you echo, bending forward slightly. “So you draw from personal experiences?”

“Sometimes,” he admits, his voice lower now, more serious. “Other times, I imagine what it would be like to lose something—or someone—I care about.” His eyes darken briefly, a flicker of something unspoken crossing his face before it’s gone, replaced by his usual cocky smirk. “But enough about me. It’s always about me, what about you, hm?”

You blink. “About me? I’m sorry but… I only came here to ask you questions.”

Gojo leans back in his chair, scooting closer in his chair. “Exactly,” he says, waving a hand lazily. “It’s always about me. The questions, the cameras, the lights. Don’t you think that gets boring?”

You tilt your head, once again caught off guard. “I... can’t imagine someone like you ever finding the spotlight boring,” you reply carefully, unsure of where he’s steering the conversation.

He grins, a little too self-satisfied. “Fair point. I do wear it well, don’t I? But that doesn’t mean I don’t get curious. You sit here with your little notebook, all professional and serious. But who are you when the recorder’s off? What makes you tick?”

The shift in focus has your defenses rising, and you straighten your back slightly. “I’m not the one being interviewed, Mr.—Satoru,” you correct yourself when his grin widens at your formality.

“No,” he says, tilting his head and giving you a once-over that feels far too perceptive. “But doesn’t mean I can’t ask, does it?”

You let out a nervous laugh, holding your notebook a little closer. “I don’t think that’s how this works.”

“Rules are boring,” he replies smoothly, leaning forward just enough to close the distance between you. His voice drops slightly, his tone more teasing than serious. “Come on, throw me a bone. A favorite movie, a weird hobby, your go-to midnight snack. Something.”

You hesitate, his gaze pinning you in place. It’s not like you have anything to hide, but the sudden spotlight feels unnerving. “Midnight snack?” you echo, deciding to humor him for the sake of moving things along.

“Yeah,” he says, his eyes lighting up like you’ve just agreed to a game only he knows the rules to. “You know, since you’re obviously not here for Mediterranean food. What do you eat when you’re burning the midnight oil?”

You press your lips together, trying not to smile despite yourself. “Popcorn,” you admit finally. “Plain, with just a little salt.”

“Popcorn?” He raises an eyebrow, looking genuinely intrigued. “Huh. Kind of classic, but I can respect it. Guess I’ll have to stock up before our next late-night chat.”

You roll your eyes, though your cheeks warm at his casual mention of a “next time.” “I wouldn’t count on that,” you say dryly, but he only smirks, clearly not taking you seriously.

“We’ll see,” he says, leaning back again and waving a hand. “Alright, you’ve indulged me. Ask away again. I’m all yours.”

The shift back to the original topic throws you off balance, but you take the opportunity and flip open your notebook, determined to keep the upper hand this time. “Great. Let’s get back to your latest role then—”

“But popcorn, huh?” he interrupts, clearly not ready to let it go. “You don’t strike me as a plain kind of person.”

Your pen pauses mid-note, and you give him a pointed look. “Do you always talk this much during interviews?”

He grins, unapologetic. “Only when I’m having fun.”

You sigh, setting your pen down and narrowing your eyes at him, though the warmth in your cheeks betrays your annoyance. “You know, for someone who’s supposed to be a professional, you’re awfully good at derailing conversations.”

Gojo smirks, he fixes you with that signature, infuriatingly confident gaze. “What can I say? I like keeping things interesting.” His voice dips just slightly, low and teasing, and the way his eyes sweep over you feels more deliberate now, more pointed and slower. Like he’s appreciative. “But if I’m being honest… I don’t mind the view either.”

Your breath hitches, his words make your stomach jump. “The view?” you manage, your voice more balanced than you.

He cocks his head, his smirk widening. “You,” he says simply, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Sitting there, all serious and composed, trying so hard to keep this professional. But I see the way you look at me.”

Your heart stutters, your cheeks flushing hot. “I’m not—”

“Oh, you are,” he interrupts, his grin turning wolfish. “First my fingers,” he flutters his digits in a wavy motion. “Then my thighs,” he pats his lap. “Don’t think I didn’t notice, sweetheart.”

Your jaw drops slightly, heat creeping down your neck. “I was not—”

“Sure you weren’t,” he drawls, leaning back in his chair and stretching, his shirt pulling just enough to reveal a sliver of toned stomach. His voice lowers, smooth as silk. “But if you want to keep staring, I won’t stop you.”

You swallow hard, gripping your notebook like it’s a lifeline. “Mr. Gojo, I don’t think this is appropriate.”

“Satoru,” he corrects, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “And who’s being inappropriate? I’m just making an observation.” He leans forward again, his voice dropping to a near whisper, intimate and teasing. “Besides, don’t you think it’s a little unfair? You get to ask me all these personal questions, but I can’t ask any about you?”

You shift in your seat, your pulse racing. “That’s not how interviews work.”

“Maybe not,” he murmurs, his gaze darkening slightly as it locks onto yours. “But we’re not exactly following the rules, are we?”

The tension in the room thickens, his words hanging in the air like a challenge. You glance at the door, a small voice in the back of your mind warning you to cut this short, but another part of you—one you’re desperately trying to ignore—is drawn to the way his eyes seem to drink you in, the way his voice wraps around you like a warm, dangerous promise.

“I’m here to work,” you say finally, your voice firmer now, though it betrays a slight waver.

“And I’m here to have a good time,” he counters, his smirk softening into something more intimate, more dangerous. “Who says we can’t do both?”

You stare at him, your mind racing as you try to find the words to put an end to this—whatever this is—but he leans closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper.

“Tell me,” he says, his breath ghosting over your ear, “what’s the real reason you wanted to meet me tonight? Because I don’t think it’s just for an interview.”

You force yourself to not visibly react and jolt from the way he’s reached into your personal space so nonchalantly. “Then you’re mistaken. Because I have no other reason to be here if you won’t comply.”

“Oh yeah?” He chortles, glancing down at his fingers that barely skim along your thigh. If possible, his smile widens at the little startled gasp that falls from your pretty lips. “You want me to comply? Comply in what way?”

“H-hey,” you reach out to grip his fingers, effectively stopping their ascent. “What do you think you’re doing?”

When he pulls back enough, he stares into your eyes. It almost scares you just how blue they are up close. You don’t think you’ve ever seen something as majestic as them. Though saying that aloud will feed into his ego.

He tilts his head slightly, his smile turning wicked, like a predator playing with its prey. “What do you think I’m doing?” he counters, voice dropping to a husky whisper. The air between you crackles, and despite yourself, your grip on his fingers falters, his warmth sinking into your skin like a brand.

“Satoru,” you begin, your voice shaking ever so slightly, “this is highly inappropriate.”

“Inappropriate?” he echoes, coming just a little closer, his lips quirking in amusement. “I was just trying to get comfortable. Didn’t realize I’d make you so flustered.”

Your breath catches, his words striking a chord you’re not ready to acknowledge. “You’re awfully bold for someone who’s supposed to be answering questions,” you manage, your voice sharp despite the fluttering in your stomach.

“And you’re awfully composed for someone who’s blushing so much,” he counters smoothly, his eyes flicking to your cheeks.

“I’m not blushing,” you snap, your tone defensive.

“Of course not,” he replies, his smirk returning. “Just like you weren’t staring earlier.”

Your heart pounds against your ribs as you glare at him, attempting to regain control of the situation. “I’m not flustered either,” you retort, though your trembling fingers and flushed cheeks tell a different story.

He chuckles, low and intimate, and it sends a shiver racing down your spine. “If you say so,” he murmurs, leaning back slightly but never taking his eyes off you. His fingers slip free from your grasp, but the ghost of their touch lingers, a reminder of just how easily he’s unraveled your composure.

“You’re impossible,” you say, your tone sharp despite the unsteadiness in your chest.

“And yet,” he counters, his grin softening into something more dangerous, “you’re still here.”

You open your mouth to argue, to remind him that you’re here for work, but the words catch in your throat as he shifts again, this time resting his chin on his hand, his gaze trailing lazily over you.

“You’re fascinating, you know that?” he says, almost to himself. “All buttoned up and professional, trying so hard to keep me in line. But I wonder…” His eyes flick to your lips, lingering for a heartbeat before meeting yours again. “What would it take to make you unravel?”

You stiffen, the heat rushing through your body making it harder to maintain your composure. “You’re crossing a line,” you warn, though your voice is weaker than you’d like.

“Am I?” he asks, his tone teasing but his gaze piercing, as if daring you to tell him to stop. “Or are you just afraid of what might happen if I keep going?”

Your eyes dart all across his face, heart rapidly beating, so much so you think it’ll pop out of your chest. And yet, you slowly look back down at the hand that was just touching you. You feel yourself giving in the longer you stare.

He follows your gaze, then moves back up to your face. “You like them, don’t you?”

You nod, despite yourself.

“Knew it,” he smoothly quips back. “Do you want to feel them again? Maybe for longer?”

The question hangs in the air, heavy with anticipation, and you can’t seem to swallow the lump forming in your throat. Your mind races, torn between the desire to pull away and the undeniable pull he has on you. His words—his voice—are like a drug, wrapping around your thoughts, clouding your judgment.

You force yourself to meet his gaze, but the intensity there makes it harder to keep your composure. “You’re... bold,” you murmur, trying to keep the tremor from your voice.

Gojo’s lips curl into a knowing smile. “Bold? Maybe. But I’m just asking what you want.” His tone is smooth, low, coaxing. “No need to be shy about it. You’ve been looking, haven’t you?”

Your eyes flicker briefly to his hand again before locking back on his face. His question seems almost too straightforward, too easy, and yet you can’t seem to lie. You feel the heat rising in your cheeks, the truth lingering just beneath the surface. “Maybe,” you admit softly, your voice a mix of hesitation and curiosity.

A soft chuckle escapes him, and his gaze sharpens. “Maybe isn’t an answer.” He leans in slightly, just enough to make your pulse spike. “Tell me, do you want to feel them again? Really feel them this time?” His voice drops to a near whisper, each word deliberate, measured.

You hold your breath, your entire body humming with uncertainty, but you can’t bring yourself to say no. The desire building within you makes your thoughts scatter, your defenses slipping away the longer you look at him. “I... don’t know,” you reply, the words barely audible.

Gojo watches you closely, his eyes darkening with something dangerous. “Mind if I find out for myself then?”

------

There’s a lot of things that you’ve never done in life.

Skydiving, bungee jumping, going backpacking, and making out with an A-list celebrity who’s name holds so much power. Well, that last one you can cross off, actually.

You really don’t know how things have changed so quickly and abruptly. One minute you’re writing down the answers to his questions and the next he’s on top of you.

You don’t think you’ve ever made out with someone for this long. But it feels surpassingly really good. Maybe it’s the way he’s keeping things slow, but purposeful. His hands run along the sides of your body, occasionally gripping your hips or rising high enough to brush along under your breasts. His lips are expertly working your own, leaving you gasping for air when he pulls away for a few seconds before diving in like a starving man. His tongue prods inside your mouth, dancing along yours in a sultry dance. Rubbing it and sucking on it a few times.

You feel him smile against your lips when the arms around his neck bring him in closer.

The kiss deepens, and with each second, you're losing yourself more in the heat of the moment.

His body presses against yours, warm and firm, and the sensation is so overwhelming that you can't tell where you end and he begins. Every breath, every shift of his lips, ignites something inside of you that you can't ignore.

His hands are everywhere now, roaming with an insistent hunger, fingertips brushing over your skin like he's savoring every inch. The low groans he releases when you kiss him back only fuel the fire building between you. He's so confident, so sure of what he wants, and you're too far gone to stop him. The logical part of your brain—that small voice telling you to slow down—is drowned out by the intoxicating thrill of being here, of being with him.

Your hands find their way to his shirt, pulling it free from where it's tucked in, fingers trailing underneath and over the hard planes of his chest. You feel him tense for a moment, as if considering pulling away, but then his hands tighten around you, pulling you even closer. His lips are everywhere—on your neck, your jaw, your ears—each kiss leaving a trail of warmth that burns deeper into your skin.

You gasp when his teeth graze your collarbone, a quiet moan slipping out before you can stop it.

That sound, that reaction from you, seems to drive him even further. "God, you taste really fucking good," he mutters between kisses, his voice thick with desire, making you shiver beneath him. “Almost can’t get enough.”

The weight of his body on top of yours feels right, too right. There’s escaping it now, no turning back. His touch is electric and you wonder if you’ll ever be able to remember what it felt like to breathe without him.

With one final, hard press against your lips, he pulls back. Shifting to his knees, looking down at your sprawled out figure beneath him, cheeks flushed a beautiful red, lips kiss-swollen, dilated pupils that match his. He grins and works at the rest of his buttons with one hand. “What happened to that pretty dress you were wearing earlier?”

“I…I changed.” You shakily mutter out, oblivious to the hint of rhetoric in his question.

“Yeah, I see that. But why?”

“Because it was uncomfortable.”

You attempt to sit up and help him, but he promptly guides you back down. Freeing his shirt, revealing a chest that looks like it belongs to a Greek God. It’s lean, but muscular. It’s perfect, you think to yourself. And you really want to run your tongue along it. “Uncomfortable?” He asks.

You nod.

“That sucks. I would’ve liked to taste you in it.” He’s working on his belt now. “Maybe next time? Wear it again for me?”

“I don’t know if there’ll be a next time.”

He laughs out, tossing the leather to the side and unbuttoning his slacks. It’s only then do you realize the obvious tent in his pants. Your eyes widen momentarily, if it already looks this big…how will it look once he’s naked? “There’ll be a next time.”

He hovers over you again, his fingers deftly walking at the button of your jeans, lips sucking a small mark into the side of your neck. His other hand on your thigh slides up towards your hip, grabbing the hem of your shirt and slowly starts to pull it up. “Now I wonder,” he murmurs, his lips leaving your neck and moving back towards your ear, “if I asked, would I hear a ‘no’ come out of you?”

You’re shivering, breathing labored. Your hands are holding onto his shoulders to keep you grounded. “…no.”

He smiles, kissing your cheek in a gentle manner as his hands simultaneously unbutton your jeans and pull your shirt up. “So, I don’t suppose I’ll hear a ‘no’ for getting a small peek at you, will I?”

“No,” you breathe out, shoving your face into his neck.

With a soft coo and ‘shh’, he’s removing your shirt from over your head. Then working on ridding you of your pants. “I hate jeans, makes things so much harder.”

Your legs tense up once they’re exposed to the cold air. He places his palms to your knees, carefully widening them enough to make space in between. “Have you ever been ate out?”

The question makes you feel more embarrassed—more vulnerable.

You swallow, your heart pounding in your chest. The question catches you off guard, making your skin prickle with both unease and something else you can’t quite name. You hesitantly shift, trying to keep your voice steady. “I… I have,” you manage to say, your gaze avoiding his as your cheeks flush.

“Good?” He licks at the inside of your knee.

Your face scrunches, brows knitting in the middle. “Y-yeah, somewhat.”

“Liar,” he chides, placing small kisses to the spot he just licked, looking up at you. “Can I try?”

And how could you say no? “Yes.” You reply quietly, watching his grin disappear behind your heated center. Eyes fluttering when he breathes warm air against it. Jolting your hips up, to which he holds them down in a gentle grip.

A wet spot has already formed on your panties. Unbeknownst to you, it boosts his ego. “And I haven’t even touched you yet.” He takes a taste through the fabric, silently simmering with enjoyment at the way you squeal. Licking once more before nuzzling his nose against your heat. He inhales deeply, like it’s a sweet flower bathed in honey. Once he’s satisfied, the speed at which he sparingly removes your underwear startles you.

But so does his mouth.

“Ah..!”

Your hand instinctively grips his snowy locks. He makes a noise of approval, lips locking around your puffy clit and giving a soft, but also harsh suck. The air practically removes your lungs, back arching off the bed. Mouth hung open, grip tightening around his hair. After a few seconds, he moves down to your fluttering hole.

His thumb and pointer finger spreading your folds to see you clenching around nothing. His cock throbs in his pants, begging to be released. Not yet, however. You first. His tongue swirls around your hole, licking up every single remnant of juice before digging in. Feeling out every ridge with his wet muscle, eyes closing in delight. His hands bring you closer by your hips, shoving your pussy in his face. The tip of his nose is rubbing against your abandoned clit in a teasing way that makes you hungry for me.

All you can do is gasp and moan out, pathetically rubbing against his mouth before his hands grip you back down in place. Forcing you to feel every amount of pleasure he can give to you. And god, does it feel heavenly. Your free hand is holding onto the sheets below you, crumpling under your fingertips.

Lewd sucking noises are coming from him. It’s obnoxious, just like when he was eating his food from earlier. It’s almost like he’s doing it on purpose. His tongue does a certain move that has you seeing stars, moving in and out at a rapid pace, then circling up to and around your clit before plunging back to your needy hole.

His thumb decides to partake, rubbing heated circles into your clit. “Nnn..nrgh…w-wai—” The words slip from you, just like your orgasm does. You don’t even know you’ve done it before he’s lifting his face up, revealing the pearlescent traces of your release. He doesn’t bother wiping it, instead leaning down to your lips. You taste yourself.

It’s a new taste, one you’re not entirely excited about, but the thrill of it all is making your clench. Shaky thighs being groped by his wandering hands before looking straight down at you. “I’m kind of jealous, you know?”

You’re too fucked out already, half-lidded eyes and mumbling back a simple “what?” to him.

He tsks and easily slips two fingers in. Keeling in on yourself, grasping his forearm for support. “Hey, don’t get all dazy on me now. I’ve just started.”

“I-I’m not…” you protest back weakly, your effort to meet his stare goes awry when you notice him frustratedly pulling the button off and zipper down, yanking the slacks down. With it goes his boxers and you’re shown a thin and curved cock. An angry red mushroom tip. A couple of veins run up his shaft, zig-zagging. He’s already leaking, pumping himself a few times.

A small groan leaves him, placing a hand beside your head. There’s a cinch between his white eyebrows, his face red and a tad bit sweaty. His lips are downturned slightly. After some heavy breathing, he looks back down at you. Silent seconds take over, nothing but the feel of your body against his, your short breathing, the way you look so ready but nervous at the same time. His face softens. “You can take it, yeah?”

His gaze is intense, but there’s something warmer in his eyes now—something that feels almost reassuring, like he’s giving you a choice. The way he watches you carefully makes your heart race, unsure of whether it’s fear or anticipation that grips you. You swallow, trying to steady your breathing, your fingers nervously clutching his shoulders.

The room feels charged with tension, every muscle in your body taut as you process his words. You can feel eyes stuck on you, oddly tender, and for a moment, everything feels suspended in time.

"Yeah," you finally manage, your voice a little shaky but resolute. "I can take it."

His eyes soften further, a trace of a smile tugging at his lips, as if reassured by your response. “Yeah, you can. You’re not a virgin, right?”

“No.”

“Mm,” he hums, nodding briefly before glancing down at his hardened cock, achingly close to where it needs to be. “How do you like it?”

You ponder his question in your mind quickly, not trying to drag out the moment any longer than it should be. “I…I like it hard. Fast, but slow too. I just want it to feel genuine, not like you’re only seeking your own pleasure.”

“Yeah?” The corner of his lip perks up, rubbing his tip along your cum soaked folds. He laughs softly under his breath. “Funny, that’s how I like to give it. Maybe we’re a match made in heaven.”

The humor of his you once found annoying—well, still annoying—feels strangely wholehearted. Like he’s trying to make you laugh and relax your tense muscles. And you do, he meets your look again. Bending down with a soft, saccharine kiss to your lips. The kiss feels more tender than before, like he’s trying to convey some hidden emotion to you behind it all. Or maybe it’s because he likes feeling you moan into his mouth as he’s slowly sliding his cock in.

He mirrors your whimper, moaning out in relief. You feel so snug around him, so tight. “So warm.”

For a minute, he doesn’t move, just basking in your heat. It feels like a warm blanket, he almost—almost—thinks he might cum right then and there with how good you feel. Satoru has had pussy before, good and not so good. “Fuck…oh fuck….y-you feel…really good…”

One thing that makes you the most weak…a vocal man in bed. You tighten around him, his whine gets a little higher-pitched. If this were a different situation, you think you would’ve poked fun at him for it. “Ngh…I—I am?”

“Mmmmnghm.” Is all he can reply back with before he’s moving back slowly, then back in.

Your nails are now digging into the skin of his back, legs locked around his waist. “Be careful, mkay?”

“W-what? Why?”

“Because I might cum faster with you holdin’—fuck—onto me like this.”

You can’t respond before he’s pulling out with a greater force and driving back into you with a harder one. The motion alone jolts your body up, causing your tits to jiggle from beneath their cups. You see the way he’s eying them hungrily, so you do him the favor of pulling them down beneath your breasts. They spill out and he’s immediately on them. Sucking and twirling a wet path around your perky nipple before showing the other breast the same excitement.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, yes…”

“A-ah! O-oh! Mmmngh!”

You almost feel baffled. He’s moaning more than you are.

His mind is filled with the warmth of you. “Fit like…a f-fuckin’…ring….!” He grunts out, followed by a broken laughter. “I think I’m obsessed.”

He’s leaving marks on your chest, but you don’t protest or even feel them. You’re solely focused on the way his cock is hitting every single spot in your pussy that you don’t even know could be reached. Eyes rolling back, clinging him closer. His tip kisses your g-spot repetitively. His balls slap against your ass, the sound is skin against skin with squelching noises fill the room. It’s erotic, completely provocative. But he’s actually living up to his word, and it seems like he’s more worried about making you finish for the second time tonight than reaching the line himself.

As the minutes go by, he’s moving harder. Barely giving you any time to breath from the force of it, but you’re not complaining.

“S-sat…oru…!” You whine out, biting on his shoulder in an attempt to keep your noises lower.

All that does is spur him on even more, his moans getting louder. The grip on your hip and tit tightening as he pounds his cock into your pussy with complete ease. “So wet, so wet, yeah…oh god, fuck…”

He’s mumbling at this point, but so are you. Each of you is blinded by the pleasure you feel, the passion that’s being emitted and the marks on your bodies that are carved in. His cock twitches, his pace relentless.

The look he gives you feels manic, hair plastered to his forehead, chest heaving up and down, nostrils flaring in and out. Your hair is messy, laid out beneath you. Mouth parted and dirty sounds exiting it. “I wish I could take a picture right now.” He comments slowly, feeling your thighs tighten. “It feels like your pussy is vibrating,” he chuffs. “Close?”

“Ngh…y-yes!”

“Yeah, me too, pretty. You first, r-right…behind….you….”

You don’t need to hear anything else. Finally letting go, a whimper-whine coming with it. When he looks down and sees the white ring form around his cock, he’s done for. Quickening his pace, gripping your hips with both hands. “Yeah…yeah…yeah…”

He moans in a pornographic way, an eruption of warmth fills you, leaving you in more of a blissed out state. A mixture of cum slowly dribbles out your spent pussy, he fingers it back in all the while his cock is still lodged between your folds. Slumping down on top of you, his face on your shoulder.

The sounds of heavy breathing are heard next, no words. Your chest heaves against his and your legs are like jelly. Slowly loosening their hold from around his waist and falling down to the bed on either side of him.

The silence is almost deafening, punctuated only by the sounds of your labored breaths. His hands move to your back, tender yet firm, as though he's holding onto the moment. The heat between you both is palpable, your bodies still connected in the aftermath of whatever just transpired. His thumb traces slow, soothing circles against your skin, and you can feel his breath matching yours.

You blink, trying to gather your thoughts, but everything feels hazy, like the world has slowed down just for the two of you.

Your body feels like it's still vibrating from the intensity, each breath a little deeper than the last as you struggle to regain some semblance of control. He shifts slightly above you, pressing against yours in the most familiar way, a warmth that you can't quite pull away from.

Slowly, you tilt your head to meet his gaze, your eyes locking with his with an unspoken understanding. He regards you with a tenderness, something different than before.

His fingers lightly brush against your cheek, as if reassuring you that the silence, though heavy, isn't uncomfortable. "Are you okay?" His voice is low, rough, carrying more than just the weight of the question.

You nod, your lips curling into a small, uncertain smile as you lean into his touch. "Yeah, are you?" You don't know exactly what you feel, but in this moment, it's enough to be with him like this.

“Better than okay,” he proudly huffs, carefully sliding out of you, keeping aware of your facial expressions. “Stay here.”

He’s climbing off of you and standing up from the bed. His knees buckle a little, forcing the limbs to walk over to a cabinet in the other corner. His dick flapping as it softens makes you chuckle. When he looks over, you hide it with a cough.

You hear him look for some things through drawers, glancing back over, it’s a rag that he wets under the sink with warm water. He comes back over, carefully opening your legs back up and cleaning up the sticky mess between them. He works gently and slowly, making sure his movements aren’t too hard or fast for you.

A thought suddenly hits you.

“Hey…” you take your time sitting up once he’s down, seeing him lick something off the tip of his thumb. “When you said you were jealous earlier, what did you mean?”

“Oh, that?” He leisurely asks, grabbing the water bottle nearby and taking a sip before holding it to your mouth. You oblige. “I meant I was jealous that someone else got to you before I did.”

“O-oh…” he swipes at the water drop at the corner of your mouth. “But…why?”

“Why?” He repeats, chortling. A sudden soft peck is placed on your lips. “Because I’ve seen you interviewing all those people and I’ve been waiting for my turn. And if you didn’t already notice, I think you’re a very beautiful woman. Inside and out.” He pokes lightly at your thigh.

You blink, as he’s once again managed to throw you off the railings.

“So next time don’t bring all…this,” he lazily gestures to your notebook, pencil, and recorder, rolling his eyes. “Just yourself, that cute dress, and a smile. I’ll pick you up for dinner down the street.”

a/n: hope u guys enjoyed this :) i haven't written a smut piece in a while so im not toooo confident about my work in this. anywho, reblogs and comments are apprecaited <3 thank you all!

702 notes · View notes

marvelousels · 23 days ago

Text

THEY SHOWED ME THINGS, I DIDN’T KNOW

authors note : been on a terribly long writers block and i decided to write this while listening to red wine supernova! this is not proofread and forgive me for how bad this is + smut is not what i can write so js made it an heavy makeout sesh.

pairings : caitvi x fem!reader

red wine supernova by Chappell Roan playing!

It wasn’t like I’d ever been invisible. My teachers loved me, my grades were near-perfect, and I played second violin in the orchestra. People knew my name. But somehow, none of that made me feel seen.

Until Caitlyn Kiramman and Vi walked into my life.

They were the kind of people who didn’t just walk through the halls of Piltover High—they owned them. Caitlyn, with her sharp uniforms, always carrying herself like she was heading to a boardroom rather than her next AP class. And Vi? Well, Vi was everything Caitlyn wasn’t—wild hair, a perpetual smirk, and that leather jacket she wore like a badge of honor. They were opposites, but together, they were magnetic.

And for some reason I still don’t fully understand, they noticed me.

I was sitting under the big oak tree in the courtyard, trying to focus on my history notes but mostly just zoning out. That’s when their shadow fell over me.

“You’re in my chem class, right?” Caitlyn asked, crouching down to meet my gaze. Her voice was crisp, but her smile softened it.

“Uh, yeah. I sit… three rows back?” I replied, surprised she even knew I existed.

“She’s got the neat notes,” Vi said, plopping down next to me like she’d known me her whole life. “The ones that look like they belong in a museum or something.”

I blinked, unsure if that was a compliment. “I just like color coding.”

Vi grinned. “Cute.”

From that day on, they didn’t leave me alone. Not that I minded. It was… nice. Caitlyn helped me with calculus when she realized I was hopeless at derivatives. Vi taught me how to throw a proper punch after she overheard me confessing I’d never even been in a fight. They pulled me into their orbit, and I let myself get swept away.

But the thing that stuck with me most wasn’t the tutoring or the sparring sessions. It was the way they opened my eyes to things I’d never thought about before.

“I can’t believe you’ve never done this,” Vi said, tugging me toward the edge of the rooftop.

It was late, far past curfew, and Caitlyn had dragged me out of bed with a promise of “something fun.” That “something fun” turned out to be sneaking onto the roof of the tallest building in the neighborhood to stargaze.

“I’m not exactly a rebel,” I muttered, hugging myself against the chill.

“That’s what we’re here for,” Caitlyn said, her tone light but her gaze steady. She sat down, patting the spot next to her. “Come on. You’ll like it.”

I hesitated for a moment before joining her. The view was… breathtaking. The city stretched out below us, a sea of glittering lights that felt as endless as the stars above.

“It’s beautiful,” I whispered.

“Told you,” Vi said, flopping down on my other side. “This is what life’s about, y’know? The little things.”

Caitlyn nodded. “The things that make you feel alive.”

I glanced at them, my chest tightening. They made me feel alive in a way I hadn’t realized I was missing.

They showed me music I’d never heard, places I’d never been, and feelings I’d never felt.

Caitlyn took me to a gallery opening one weekend, her hand warm around mine as she explained the stories behind each piece. “Art isn’t just about technique,” she said, her voice low and soothing. “It’s about the way it makes you feel.”

Vi, on the other hand, took me to an underground concert. The music was loud and messy, and the crowd was suffocating, but she was there, grinning at me like this was the greatest place on earth. “You don’t think, you just feel,” she yelled over the noise, pulling me into the rhythm.

Between the two of them, I learned how to look at the world differently. To feel it differently.

I don’t know when I started falling for them. Maybe it was the way Caitlyn’s eyes softened whenever I asked her about her favorite book, or the way Vi’s laugh echoed in my chest like a second heartbeat. Maybe it was the way they looked at me—like I wasn’t just the quiet girl with perfect grades but someone worth knowing, worth loving.

The three of us were sprawled out on Caitlyn’s couch one evening, a bottle of cheap wine Vi had smuggled in resting on the coffee table.

“You’ve never had wine?” Caitlyn asked, raising an elegant eyebrow.

“I’m underage,” I reminded her, earning a snort from Vi.

“Rules are just suggestions,” Vi said, pouring me a glass. “Live a little.”

I hesitated before taking a sip. It was sharp and tangy, and I coughed, making both of them laugh.

“You’ll get used to it,” Caitlyn said, her hand brushing mine.

“Yeah,” Vi added, her grin softening. “First time’s always weird, but after that? You wonder how you ever lived without it.”

They weren’t just talking about the wine.

They showed me things I never knew—about the world, about myself, about what it means to love and be loved. And for the first time in my life, I felt seen.

By Caitlyn and Vi.

And that was enough.

It was one of those nights that felt infinite, the air buzzing with unspoken energy. Caitlyn’s bedroom was dimly lit by the soft, golden glow of her bedside lamp. The three of us were piled on her plush, oversized bed, a half-finished bottle of wine between us. I could feel the heat of Vi’s arm pressed against mine, Caitlyn’s knee brushing my leg as she shifted closer.

“You’ve been holding out on us,” Vi teased, her voice low, a little raspy from the wine.

“About what?” I asked, my heart pounding in my chest.

“About this,” she said, reaching over to gently tug the hem of my shirt, her smirk playful but her eyes… different. There was something in them, something that made my breath hitch.

Caitlyn tilted her head, studying me like I was one of those paintings she loved to explain. “You’re nervous,” she said softly, a small, knowing smile tugging at her lips.

I swallowed hard. “I—”

“It’s okay,” Caitlyn interrupted, leaning in. Her hand reached up, cupping my cheek, her thumb brushing lightly against my skin. “We won’t push you, but… if you want to try…”

I barely had time to process her words before her lips were on mine. They were soft, warm, and patient, moving against mine in a way that made my head spin. My hands hovered awkwardly at my sides before I hesitantly rested one on her shoulder.

“Not fair,” Vi murmured, her voice thick with mock annoyance.

Caitlyn pulled back, her lips quirking into a grin. “There’s enough of her to share,” she said, her tone teasing but her eyes impossibly tender.

Before I could respond, Vi’s fingers found my chin, turning my face toward her. Her kiss was nothing like Caitlyn’s. Where Caitlyn was soft and measured, Vi was fire—hot and consuming, her lips pressing against mine like she’d been waiting forever.

I let out a quiet gasp, and Vi chuckled, her forehead resting against mine for a moment before pulling me into another kiss. This time, Caitlyn’s hand slid to the back of my neck, her fingers threading through my hair as she pressed kisses along my jaw.

It was overwhelming and dizzying in the best way. Their hands were everywhere—Caitlyn’s light and exploratory, Vi’s firm and grounding. I felt like I was being consumed by them, every nerve in my body alight.

“You’re so beautiful,” Caitlyn whispered against my skin, her breath warm and her voice like velvet.

“Perfect,” Vi added, her lips brushing my ear, sending shivers down my spine.

I didn’t have words. I could only lean into them, letting myself drown in their touch, their kisses, their warmth.

In that moment, I wasn’t just seen—I was wanted, cherished. And I wanted them just as much.

The room felt heavier now, charged with something electric, like a storm waiting to break. Caitlyn’s lips trailed down the side of my neck, leaving goosebumps in their wake, while Vi tilted my chin toward her for another kiss. It wasn’t rushed or impatient—it was slow, deliberate, like she was savoring every second.

“Relax,” Vi murmured against my lips, her hand finding its way to my waist. “We’ve got you.”

The words sent a rush of warmth through me, making it easier to melt into them. Caitlyn’s hand cupped the back of my head, guiding me toward her as Vi pulled back with a playful smirk.

“Your turn again, Princess,” Vi teased, leaning back to watch, her fingers absentmindedly tracing circles on my thigh.

“Don’t call me that,” Caitlyn shot back, though there was no real bite to her tone. She turned her attention back to me, her lips curling into a soft smile before she kissed me again. Her hand moved from my neck to my jaw, tilting my face to deepen the kiss, her movements smooth and confident.

I barely registered Vi moving closer until I felt her fingers brushing against the hem of my shirt, her touch feather-light. “This okay?” she asked, her voice quieter now, almost gentle.

I nodded, the word catching in my throat before I could say it out loud.

Vi’s grin softened as she leaned in, her lips pressing against my shoulder. “You’re so damn cute when you’re flustered,” she muttered, the warmth of her breath making my skin tingle.

“Don’t overwhelm her,” Caitlyn chided, though her lips were still brushing mine as she spoke.

“She can handle it,” Vi said with a wink, her fingers sliding under the fabric to rest against my waist. Her touch was warm, grounding, and it made my head spin all over again.

They worked together in a way that felt effortless—Caitlyn’s kisses slow and exploring, while Vi’s hands roamed, her touch just the right mix of teasing and reassuring. Every now and then, they’d exchange a glance, a wordless conversation passing between them, making me feel like I was the center of something bigger than myself.

“You’re doing so good,” Caitlyn murmured against my lips, her hand trailing down my arm to intertwine her fingers with mine.

“Better than good,” Vi added, her lips brushing against the corner of my jaw as her hand tightened slightly on my waist. “You’re perfect.”

I felt like I was floating, caught between the two of them, their touches and words wrapping around me like a cocoon. For the first time, I wasn’t overthinking or doubting myself—I was just feeling. And it was everything.

Caitlyn pulled back just enough to look at me, her expression soft and adoring. “You’re sure this is okay?” she asked, her thumb brushing against my cheek.

“Yeah,” I whispered, my voice barely audible but certain.

Vi grinned. “Good. ‘Cause we’re just getting started.”

She leaned in again, and I let myself sink into the moment, into them. They were showing me things I never knew, things I’d only dreamed of. And for once, I wasn’t afraid to let go.

Caitlyn shifted, her hand trailing from my cheek to rest lightly on my shoulder. Her eyes scanned my face, taking in every reaction like it was the most fascinating thing she’d ever seen. “You’re beautiful, you know that?” she whispered, her voice so tender it made my chest ache.

I opened my mouth to respond, but before I could, Vi leaned in, pressing another kiss to the corner of my lips before trailing her way to my neck. Her teeth grazed my skin, just enough to make me gasp, and she chuckled against me.

“Damn, Cait, I think we broke her,” Vi teased, her lips moving against my neck as she spoke.

“She’s not broken,” Caitlyn countered, her tone amused but firm. “She’s overwhelmed. There’s a difference.”

I couldn’t help but let out a shaky laugh, my head spinning as their attention consumed me. “I’m right here, you know,” I managed to say, though my voice was breathless.

Vi pulled back just enough to smirk at me. “Oh, we know. Trust me, we know.” Her hands slid from my waist to my hips, her grip firm but comforting. “You’re impossible to ignore.”

Caitlyn hummed in agreement, leaning in to press another kiss to my lips. This one was slower, deeper, and I felt myself melt into her touch, my fingers instinctively reaching for her waist. She smiled against me, her hand gently tracing along my jawline before pulling back slightly.

“I love how responsive you are,” Caitlyn murmured, her thumb brushing against my bottom lip. Her words sent a shiver down my spine, and she smiled at my reaction.

“Yeah,” Vi added, her voice dropping an octave. “You’re like a little open book. Every time we touch you, it’s like you light up.”

I felt heat rise to my cheeks, and I ducked my head in an attempt to hide it. But Caitlyn’s hand was there, gently tilting my chin back up.

“Don’t hide from us,” she said softly, her eyes searching mine. “We want to see all of you.”

Vi leaned in again, pressing a kiss to my shoulder before whispering, “She’s right. You don’t need to hold back with us. Just let go.”

Their words, their touches, the way they looked at me—it was overwhelming in the best possible way. I felt like I was unraveling, piece by piece, but instead of falling apart, I was being put back together by their hands, their lips, their warmth.

Caitlyn kissed me again, her hand sliding to the small of my back, pulling me closer. At the same time, Vi’s hands moved up, brushing against the hem of my shirt before slipping underneath, her fingertips trailing along my skin.

“You okay?” Vi asked, her voice softer now, almost gentle.

I nodded, my voice caught in my throat as I leaned into their touch. “Yeah. I’m okay.”

Caitlyn’s smile was radiant, her lips pressing softly to my temple. “Good,” she whispered. “Because we’re not letting you go anytime soon.”

Vi’s grin was wolfish, her fingers grazing my ribs as she leaned in close, her breath warm against my ear. “Better buckle up, sweetheart. We’re just getting started.”

And with that, they pulled me even deeper into their orbit, their touches and kisses showing me a world I never knew existed—a world where I was wanted, adored, and completely, blissfully theirs.

The room felt smaller now, the air thick with heat and something deeper—something electric that pulsed between the three of us. Caitlyn’s lips found mine again, her movements impossibly soft, like she was memorizing every detail. Vi’s hands were still under my shirt, her touch slow and deliberate as her fingers ghosted over my skin, sending shivers down my spine.

“Relax, baby,” Vi whispered against my neck, her voice low and soothing. Her lips brushed my skin, lingering at the spot just below my ear, and I felt my breath hitch. “We’ve got you.”

Caitlyn pulled back slightly, her forehead resting against mine as her thumb traced slow circles on the back of my hand. “You’re safe with us,” she said softly, her words laced with so much care it made my chest ache.

I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat. “I know,” I whispered, my voice barely audible.

“Good,” Caitlyn murmured, pressing a kiss to my forehead before leaning back, her eyes scanning my face. “Because we want to take our time with you.”

Vi chuckled, her hands sliding to my waist as she leaned back enough to look me in the eyes. “She’s right,” she said, her smirk softening into something warmer. “This isn’t just some one-time thing, you know. You’re ours now.”

The words hit me like a tidal wave, and I felt my heart stutter in my chest. “Yours?” I echoed, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah,” Vi said, her grip on my waist firm but comforting. “If you want to be.”

Caitlyn’s hand cupped my cheek, her gaze steady and full of something I couldn’t quite put into words. “We mean it,” she said softly. “We want you with us—not just tonight, but for as long as you’ll have us.”

I blinked, the weight of their words settling over me like a warm blanket. “I…” My voice faltered, but when I looked at them—at Caitlyn’s gentle smile and Vi’s steady gaze—I felt the last of my hesitation melt away.

“I want that too,” I said finally, my voice quiet but certain.

Vi’s grin widened, and she leaned in to press a kiss to the corner of my mouth. “Good,” she murmured. “Because we weren’t planning on letting you go.”

Caitlyn smiled, her lips brushing softly against mine before she pulled back just enough to speak. “We’re going to take care of you,” she said, her voice like honey. “We’ll show you everything you’ve been missing.”

And they did.

Caitlyn’s kisses were careful and precise, her hands moving slowly as though she were savoring every second. Vi’s touch was bolder, her lips and hands leaving trails of fire wherever they went. They worked in perfect harmony, their movements seamless, their focus entirely on me.

I felt like I was unraveling under their touch, my head spinning and my body trembling as they showed me a world I’d never dared to imagine. Every kiss, every whisper, every touch was a promise—one of care, devotion, and something deeper that I couldn’t quite name.

By the time we finally collapsed together, tangled in each other’s arms, I felt more whole than I ever had before. Caitlyn’s hand was in my hair, her fingers combing through it gently, while Vi’s arm was draped over my waist, her grip firm and protective.

“You’re ours now,” Caitlyn said softly, her voice laced with a quiet certainty.

“And we’re yours,” Vi added, her lips pressing against my temple.

I smiled, my heart full as I closed my eyes. “Yeah,” I whispered. “I’m yours.”

And in that moment, I knew it was true. They had shown me things I’d never known—about love, about trust, about what it meant to truly belong. And I was theirs, completely and undeniably.

#arcane #caitlyn kiramman #vi arcane #fanfiction #caitlyn defender #oneshot #suggestive #caitvi #caitvi x you #caitvi x reader #wlw smut #chappell roan #violet arcane #au college

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durolenz · 10 months ago

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Stand Out in Style: Crafting Custom Name Badges That Speak Volumes

In today's bustling world, making a memorable impression is essential, whether you're attending a networking event, representing your company at a conference, or meeting potential clients. While your attire and demeanor play crucial roles in leaving a lasting impact, there's one often-overlooked accessory that can significantly elevate your presence: the humble name badge.

However, not just any name badge will do. To truly stand out in style and make a statement, consider crafting Custom Name Badges that speak volumes. Let's delve into why custom name badges matter and how you can create ones that reflect your unique identity.

The Power of Personalization

Generic, mass-produced name badges may serve their purpose, but they lack the personal touch that sets individuals apart. Custom name badges allow you to infuse your personality, brand identity, and professionalism into a small yet significant accessory.

Whether you opt for a sleek metal finish, vibrant colors, or unconventional shapes, personalized badges instantly catch the eye and spark conversation. When attendees see a thoughtfully designed name badge, they perceive attention to detail and dedication, traits that leave a lasting impression long after the event ends.

Reflecting Your Brand Identity

Your name badge isn't just about displaying your name; it's a reflection of your brand identity. For businesses, incorporating logos, brand colors, and taglines onto custom name badges reinforces brand recognition and unity among team members.

When employees proudly wear badges that mirror the company's aesthetic, it communicates professionalism and cohesion to clients and partners. Likewise, entrepreneurs and freelancers can leverage custom badges to showcase their personal brand, leaving a cohesive and memorable mark wherever they go.

Expressing Creativity and Individuality

Why blend in when you were born to stand out? Custom name badges provide a canvas for creativity and individuality. From playful designs to sophisticated typography, the options are limitless when it comes to crafting a badge that speaks to your personality official Website .

Incorporate elements that reflect your hobbies, interests, or even a catchy quote that encapsulates your ethos. By infusing your badge with elements that resonate with you, you transform it from a mundane accessory into a conversation starter that invites people to get to know the person behind the name.

Striking a Balance Between Form and Function

While aesthetics are important, custom name badges should also prioritize functionality. Opt for durable materials that withstand daily wear and tear, ensuring your badge remains intact throughout events and meetings. Consider features like magnetic backing or sturdy clips for easy attachment without damaging clothing.

Additionally, prioritize legibility by choosing clear fonts and contrasting colors for optimal readability, ensuring that your name and title are easily visible from a distance. By striking a balance between form and function, your custom badge not only looks impressive but also serves its practical purpose seamlessly.

Making Lasting Connections

In a sea of faces, a custom name badge can be your ticket to making meaningful connections. When attendees spot your unique badge design, they're more likely to strike up a conversation, curious about the story behind it.

Whether you're attending a networking event or a trade show, custom name badges act as icebreakers, facilitating introductions and fostering genuine connections. By investing in a well-crafted badge that reflects your personality and professionalism, you pave the way for memorable interactions that extend beyond the event venue.

Conclusion

custom name badges are more than just accessories; they're powerful tools for personal and professional branding. By harnessing the power of personalization, reflecting your brand identity, expressing creativity, prioritizing functionality, and making lasting connections, custom badges elevate your presence and leave a lasting impression.

So, the next time you're gearing up for an event or meeting, don't underestimate the impact of a well-designed name badge. Stand out in style and let your badge speak volumes about who you are and what you represent.

Source:Stand Out in Style: Crafting Custom Name Badges That Speak Volumes

#Custom Name Badges #printed badges #name badges #magnetic name badges

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recognitionexpress · 1 year ago

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Magnetic Name Badges For Meeting Room

Upgrade your meetings with our Magnetic Name Badges from Recognition Express. No more flimsy paper tags. Our durable, customizable badges are in a league of their own. Contact us today at Tel: 061-318181 or Email at [email protected] to make an impression that sticks!

#Magnetic Name Badges For Meeting Room #Name Badges #Magnetic Name badges #Hotel Name Badges #Name Tags

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reallyromealone · 1 year ago

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Can I request sephiroth x male reader with their triplets sons in their teenage years attending a homeroom meeting

Absolutely

Sephiroth x male reader

Omegaverse, fluff, implied mpreg

Class meetings

(name) was going through the mail when he stopped at a letter from the school "a homeroom meeting?" (Name) mumbled confused as Sephiroth drank his coffee, their sons getting to sleep in as they had no club activities and it being the weekend "it's that time already?" The silver haired man mumbled, hair in a bun and wearing a matching housecoat as (name) "it's on (date), do we have plans then?" (Name) asked softly and Sephiroth looked at the calender on the large chrome fridge covered in magnets from vacations amongst various clutter "we are surprisingly all free that day" Sephiroth mumbled and wrote it on the calendar.

(Name) smiled as Sephiroth kissed him gently "now let's go get dressed, we have a day to complete" (name) sat up and took the others have hand and the two walked through the large home and upstairs to get dressed.

The week went by fast, between feeding four alphas who ate a small towns worth of food and doing his daily tasks and before they knew it, it was parents night.

"I'm so excited to see how our pups are doing" (name) said happily as he held onto his mates arm, Sephiroth leading his mate around dutifully as he quietly listened to his mates chatter "it will be good to see how their progressing" his voice deep and quiet as he smiled softly at (name)s cheerful attitude.

Everyone knew of (name) and Sephiroth, both incredibly attractive and their apposing personalities deemed charming and sweet as Sephiroth went along with his mates ideas and (name) in turn making Sephiroth the happiest alpha known to man.

So it was no Wonder everyone glanced at them as they walked through the doors of the private school, looks of curiosity and envy as they walked to administration "hello, we are the Hojo family, here for the homeroom meetings?" (Name) spoke up as Sephiroth just stared at the beta admin who tried not oggling at the two "here are your visitor passes, they're home room is 207" he said meekly and (name) smiled and thanked him.

The two removed their outer jackets and clipped the badges to their shirts, Sephiroth taking (name)s jacket to hold as they walked to their sons homeroom, Sephiroth keeping a hand on the small of (name)s back as they walked. "There you three are..!" (Name) gently held each of their faces as they looked embarrassed "come on... Dad our friends are here..!" Loz grumbled embarrassed as (name) fretted over Yazoos hair and Sephiroth took his mates hands "we have all the time to embarrass them after the meetings"

(Name) let his sons lead him and Sephiroth around, showing their projects they were working on and other things "Yazzy! What a coincidence to see you here!" A short Omega boy said cheerfully as he walked to the long haired Alpha who in turn tilted his head slightly as (name) poked his head out curiously, hand gently on his middle sons arm as the sons were equally protective of their dam, knowing how dangerous it could be for an Omega.

"Whose this Zuzu?" (Name) asked sweetly, excited to meet some of his boys friends and the thing about omegas is that due to genetics, they look fairly young for a very long time till suddenly they look elderly.

So it wasn't a suprise that the other Omega couldn't figure out that this was Infact the triplets Dam, after all they basically took fully after their sire.

"I'm Yazzy's bestest friend!" They proclaimed and looked (name) up and down, (name) in turn caught on to this immediately.

He knew his sons were handsome young men, they were his pups after all! So he knew there would be people like this with them.

After all, Yazoos best friend was that sweet beta (friends name) whose over all the time.

"I'm Yazoo, Kadaj and Loz's Dam, (name)" he said sweetly, watching as the other looked stunned and fumbled a bit "n-nice to met you" the omegas tone changed immediately and (name) just kept a polite smile "yes, well we best continue before the meetings start, yes?"

The triplets snickered as Sephiroth just watched quietly, knowing his mate could hold hold his own.

"Hojo family?" The teacher called from a spare room and the five turned look at the teacher.

Kadaj was first as he sat between his parents, (name) greeting the teacher happily and Sephiroth more formally "so let's get into it, academically he's doing wonderfully, he's at the top of his class and his club activities are doing well"

"But..?"

"He's known to be quite cold and passive with his classmates, though we do believe it could be due to hormones" the teacher said and (name) nodded "his father is the same way, a deadpan stare of the occasion smirk" he pointed to the elder alpha "they're basically identical though Kaj is far more outspoken" (name) watched as his son looked slightly embarrassed as he looked away.

"Zu, you're turn" Kadaj said as the middle son stood up, a few admirers pouting as he got up and walked into the room and sat between his dad's "now, Yazoo is also doing well in his academics but there is the problem of him getting distracted in class, he's often seen passing notes and flirting with other students"

(Name) looked at his son unimpressed as Sephiroth sighed "school is more important than some flings, young man!" (Name) said seriously "my grades are good though..."

"That may be the case but I don't want you coming home saying "dad I got someone pregnant" he warned and Yazoo nodded "who are the class pets in your class?" (Name) asked the teacher who looked confused "because I want you to put him between them"

"You can flirt on on your free time, you better be treating them well though, if I find out you're two timing I will ground you till next year young man" though he knew Yazoo would never, he was flirty yes but never one to do something like that.

🩷

"I don't mean to flirt, it's the other students flirting with me... They just can't take a hint" he said softly and the teacher looked confused "that's now what we see"

"Seeing and experiencing are very different, I already have a partner... Are we talking about my love life or my school life?" He rolled his eyes and (name) looked at him as to say 'behave' before looking at the teacher "he's right though, we aren't here for gossip" though he wanted to here about this person his sons seeing.

"Loz has done much better compared to last semester, bud tutoring lessons seem to be paying off slowly but surely, he's thriving in gym class and even joined the mechanics club" (name) was proud of their youngest, he struggled a lot in school and it was good to see him achieve his goals.

"He has no issues making friends and has been seen as a protector of sorts to the omegas in his grade"

Sephiroth looked slightly proud of his son, though internally he was absolutely over the moon, his sons learning how to respect omegas well "as expected of my son"

"And we believe if he keeps this up he would be expected to graduate with his class"

"Hi Yazoos dad's!" (Friends name) said as the families walked out into the night air, the beta teen very excitable and high energy compared to Yazoo and (name) greeted him kindly and Sephiroth greeted him calmly, everyone halting when (friends name) kissed Yazoos cheek and everyone halted "well that explains the sleep overs" (name) said awkwardly "those aren't happening with closed doors anymore, well at least it's someone who will treat you nice" (name) was exhausted after all this "are you still coming for dinner sweety?" He asked the beta who smiled "yes sir! My mom's having me bring a cake!"

"Oh that's so sweet, tell her I say hi alright?"

When they got into the SUV, Sephiroth looked from the rearview mirror "you all did well, I'm proud of you" he never hid the fact he was proud of his sons because he was and the teens pretended they didn't care but Yazoos tiny smile let it slip.

"Now why didn't you tell us you were dating Zuzu! I feel silly calling him your friend!"

"It slipped my mind..."

"Well I'm glad you found a respectable young man"

The triplets didn't say anything as they knew (friends name) was chaos incarnate but he wasn't a bad guy at least.

#ff7 x male reader #ff7 x reader #final fantasy 7 x male reader #final fantasy 7 x reader #sephiroth x male reader #sephiroth x reader #male reader #omegaverse #omega male reader #fluff #anime x male reader #anime x reader

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polo-drone-001 · 3 months ago

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The Golden Locker Room

The smell of fresh turf and sweat filled the air as Ethan walked into the locker room, his duffel bag slung over his shoulder. He’d heard whispers about the Golden Army—a soccer team that dominated every league they played in. Their victories weren’t just legendary; they were almost mythical. Some said it was their training regimen. Others credited their seamless teamwork. But Ethan felt there was something more.

The locker room was immaculate, gleaming under bright lights. Rows of polished golden jerseys hung on one side, their metallic sheen catching the light like treasure. The sight alone made his breath hitch. Each jersey was marked with a single name and number, a badge of belonging to something greater than oneself.

At the center of the room stood the captain—Brody. His golden eyes scanned Ethan, making the rookie feel both small and strangely aroused. Brody’s presence was magnetic, his perfectly sculpted physique emphasized by the golden jersey that clung to him like a second skin. The jersey didn’t just fit; it exalted him, every muscle and curve catching the light.

“You’re Ethan, right?” Brody asked, his voice deep and commanding. He extended a hand. Ethan shook it, his own hand trembling slightly.

“Yes, sir,” Ethan replied, the honorific slipping out instinctively.

Brody smirked. “Good. You’re about to be one of us. But first...” He gestured to the golden jersey hanging on the wall with Ethan’s name embroidered on the back. “Suit up.”

Ethan moved to the jersey, his fingers brushing against the fabric. It was impossibly soft, yet sturdy, and seemed to hum faintly under his touch. He hesitated, unsure why he suddenly felt nervous. Brody was watching him intently, his golden eyes boring into him.

“Go on,” Brody said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Ethan pulled the jersey over his head. As the fabric slid over his skin, a strange warmth spread through his body, radiating outward from his chest. His breathing slowed, his thoughts softening, focusing. The world seemed quieter, simpler. He flexed his fingers, feeling the material hug his body in a way that felt both empowering and... controlling.

“How does it feel?” Brody asked, his voice smooth like silk.

“...Incredible,” Ethan whispered. He looked down at himself, the jersey molding perfectly to his form, enhancing every line of his body. He felt strong. Confident. Yet, beneath that strength, he felt an urge he couldn’t explain—a desire to follow, to obey.

Brody stepped closer, his golden eyes glowing brighter. “Good. The jersey isn’t just a uniform. It’s a bond. A promise. When you wear it, you’re not just playing for yourself—you’re playing for the team, for me. Understand?”

“Yes, sir,” Ethan said automatically. The words felt right, natural, as if they’d been planted in his mind the moment he’d put on the jersey.

Brody smiled approvingly. “Then you’re ready.” He turned to the rest of the team, who had gathered silently, their golden jerseys gleaming under the lights. “Brothers, welcome our newest recruit.”

The room erupted in cheers, but Ethan barely heard them. He was too focused on the sensation coursing through him—a deep, submissive pleasure in belonging, in unity. He was no longer just Ethan; he was part of the Golden Army, a cog in a perfect machine.

As he looked around, every other player’s glowing eyes met his, their intensity sending a shiver down his spine. They were one, bound by their golden glory, and Ethan was ready to serve, to play, to obey.

Ready to embrace golden glory? Contact me @polo-drone-001, or our Caps, @brodygold and @goldenherc9, recruiter @hades-gold19, and take your first step into the Golden Army.

Unity. Strength. Victory awaits.

(Thanks for letting me use your name bro! @ethan49gold)

#thegoldenteam #golden team #male transformation #soccer tf #jockification #gold #male tf #jock tf #hypnotised #transformation #golden army #goldenarmy

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legasposts · 8 months ago

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Metal Name Badges - Lega Recognition

Lega Recognition specializes in creating high-quality metal name badges that exude professionalism and durability. Our metal name badges are ideal for businesses, organizations, and events where a polished and lasting impression is crucial.

Crafted from premium metals such as brass, aluminum, or stainless steel, our name badges are customizable to suit your specific branding needs. Whether you prefer engraved badges for a classic look or full-color printed badges for vibrant branding, we offer a range of customization options to ensure your badges align perfectly with your organization's identity.

At Lega Recognition, we prioritize craftsmanship and attention to detail. Each metal name badge is meticulously manufactured to meet our stringent quality standards, ensuring longevity and aesthetic appeal. Our experienced team collaborates closely with clients to design badges that not only meet but exceed expectations.

From corporate events to conferences and everyday use, our metal name badges enhance professionalism and promote brand visibility. Choose Lega Recognition for reliable service, superior quality, and personalized attention from start to finish.

Explore our range of metal name badges today and elevate your organization's image with Lega Recognition. Contact us to discuss your badge requirements and discover why businesses trust us for premium metal badges in Australia.

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#Metal Name Badges #Metal Name Badges With Magnetic Back #Custom Metal Name Badges #Metal Engraved Name Badge

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jazzy96scorpio · 4 days ago

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The Detective's Obsession

Description: Detective Tim Rockford is captivated by the mysterious and alluring author [You] accused of killing her husband. As he delves deeper into the case, his professional interest turns into a consuming obsession, blurring the lines between right and wrong, passion and peril.

Pairing: You / Detective Tim Rockford

Warnings ⚠️: Adult content, explicit sexual content, graphic descriptions of violence, strong language and themes of obsession and manipulation, BDSM/power exchange, age gap, oral sex (m/f), unprotected sex, lot of sex, SMUT

Word count: 7,500

The storm finally breaks, leaving behind a heavy, humid air thick with the scent of wet earth and ozone. Inside your house, a sanctuary of books and art, you sip a glass of rich, red wine, the velvety liquid a stark contrast to the pale skin of your hands. The silence, broken only by the occasional drip of rain from the eaves, is a welcome change after the tempestuous night. You're working on your newest novel, lost in the world you're creating.

A knock echoes through the quiet house, a sharp, insistent sound that startles you. You set down your glass, a sense of unease creeping over you. Who could be visiting at this hour?

You were in a black dress, a simple, elegant garment that clings to your curves, and drape a black robe around your shoulders. As you open the door, a figure stands silhouetted against the darkness, rain still glistening on his dark curls.

You couldn't recognize him. He's a striking man, with broad shoulders and a strong jaw, his brown eyes intense. Even with the weariness etched on his face, there's an undeniable magnetism about him.

He holds up his badge, the metal glinting in the faint light. "Ms. [Your Last Name]," he says, his voice deep and resonant, "Detective Tim Rockford, I have some questions for you."

You invite him in, a sense of foreboding settling in your stomach.

His eyes sweep over you, lingering for a moment too long, before taking in the room – the overflowing bookshelves, the scattered artwork, the vase of dark red roses on your desk.

"You're a writer," he observes, his gaze returning to you.

"Yes," you reply, your voice steady despite the tremor in your heart.

"Tragedy," he murmurs, nodding toward a stack of books. He then glances at another shelf, where your more… provocative works are displayed. "And erotica."

"Life is tragedy," you say, meeting his gaze. "I merely put it on paper."

He scans your desk, his eyes sharp and observant. "I have some questions about your husband, Ms. [Y/L/N]."

Your breath hitches. "My husband? I haven't seen him since last week. I heard he was on a business trip."

"Your husband is missing, Ms. [Y/L/N]," he says, his voice flat, devoid of emotion. "And we are suspicious that he may be dead."

A chill runs down your spine. "Dead?" you whisper, your voice barely audible.

"When was the last time you saw him?" he asks, his eyes boring into yours.

You hesitate, then confess, "Last week. We argued. He… he was unfaithful. I told him I wanted a divorce. He left. That was the last time I saw him."

He's silent for a moment, his expression unreadable. "You'll need to come down to the station for questioning," he says finally. "You're a suspect, Ms. [Y/L/N.]." He steps closer, the air between you crackling with tension.

As they take you away, you look back at him, a flicker of amusement dancing in your eyes. "Detective Rockford," you purr, drawing his name out like a silken thread, "are you enjoying this little… game?"

Then, with a swiftness that takes you by surprise, he places handcuffs on your wrists. Then two cops shows up and taking you from him.

"You'll regret this, Detective Rockford," you say, your voice low and dangerous as they lead you away. "You've made a terrible mistake."

He meets your gaze, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes – amusement? Intrigue? "Immensely, Miss," he replies, his voice a low rumble that seems to vibrate through the air between you.

"I always appreciate a worthy opponent. And you, I suspect, are going to be a very interesting challenge."

You tilt your head, a slow, deliberate movement that accentuates the curve of your neck.

"A challenge?" you echo, a playful smile curving your lips. "Or perhaps… a temptation?"

His expression shifts, the playful glint in his eyes replaced by something more serious, more guarded. The tightening of his jaw is almost imperceptible, but you see it, and a thrill courses through you. You've struck a nerve.

He doesn't answer immediately, his eyes locked on yours, the silence stretching taut between you. The air crackles with unspoken tension.

Then, a slow smile spreads across his face, a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "A temptation, Miss?" he murmurs, his voice laced with a dangerous undercurrent. "I'm sure I'll find out soon enough."

You hold his gaze, refusing to be intimidated.

"I wouldn't be so sure, Detective," you whisper, a hint of mystery in your voice. "Some temptations… are best left untouched."

He watched, his face an impassive mask, as they placed you in the back of the police car. He didn't move, didn't speak, until the car pulled away.

He turned back to your houe, a sense of unease settling over him. He’d seen a lot of things in his years on the force, but there was something about you, something… different. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but he knew he'd never met a woman quite like you.

He began his search, meticulously examining each room. The bookshelves, the artwork, the roses on your desk – all spoke of a complex, intriguing personality. Then, he found it.

A hidden compartment in your desk, containing not only an assortment of knives and a handgun, but also a vial of what appeared to be blood and earring.

His brow furrowed. The evidence was damning, yet…something didn't add up. He felt a pull, an almost irresistible urge to understand you, to unravel the mystery that surrounded you.

He arrived at the interrogation room, the sterile, fluorescent light a stark contrast to the warm, inviting atmosphere of your house. You were already there, sitting calmly at the metal table, your hands resting serenely in front of you.

He entered, placing the recorder on the table between you. "Ms. [Y/N]," he said, his voice professional, "this interview is being recorded."

He leaned closer as he spoke, his gaze locking on yours. The scent of your perfume, a subtle blend of dark roses and something dangerously alluring, filled his senses, momentarily distracting him.

He noticed the intensity of your eyes, their depths hinting at secrets and hidden passions. He pulled back slightly, reminding himself of his duty.

You leaned back in your chair, a picture of composure, and met his gaze unflinchingly.

"Of course, Detective," you purred, your voice a silken whisper. "I wouldn't have it any other way." The game had begun, and you were ready to play.

"We found some interesting items in your home, Ms. [Y/N]," he began, laying the groundwork for his interrogation.

Your face remained impassive, betraying nothing. "Did you?" you replied, your voice cool and detached.

"Knives, a gun, traces of blood…and a bloody earring," he listed, watching your reaction closely.

You remained silent, your expression unreadable.

He shifted his focus. "How did you find out about your husband's…infidelity?" he asked, his voice carefully neutral.

"I caught them in the act," you said, your voice flat, devoid of emotion. "In his office. A rather… compromising position."

"I've heard rumors," he said, his eyes narrowing, "that your husband was involved in some… shady dealings."

"Rumors," you echoed, a hint of disdain in your voice. "Everyone has secrets, Detective. Some are just better at keeping them than others."

He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "And what about you, Ms. [Y/ N]? What secrets are you hiding?"

You smiled, a slow, predatory smile that sent a shiver down his spine. "That, Detective," you murmured, "is for you to find out."

"I have a little secret for you too, Detective," you purr, a mischievous glint in your eyes.

You beckon him closer with a flick of your wrist. He leans in, his gaze fixed on you. Slowly, deliberately, you pull up your dress, revealing a glimpse of your thigh and the black lace encircling your leg. His breath hitches. He sees it – a small, wickedly sharp knife strapped securely to your skin.

"Your colleagues missed this one," you whisper, your eyes locking on his. You smile, a slow, predatory smile that sends a shiver down his spine. He leans closer, his fingers brushing against your leg as he carefully removes the knife. His heart pounds against his ribs.

He places the knife on the table, his hand lingering there for a moment. "Stand up," he commands, his voice low and husky.

You obey, rising gracefully to your feet.

"I do hope," you murmur, your voice laced with amusement, "you'll be more thorough in your… investigations…from now on, Detective."

He stares at you, a mixture of surprise and admiration in his eyes. He begins to search you, his hands roaming over your body, lingering just a little too long on your curves.

You can feel his breath hitching, hear the rapid beat of his heart. The air crackles with unspoken desire. It's almost unbearable.

"I still can't understand," he says, his voice thick with barely suppressed emotion, "how any man could be unfaithful to a woman like you."

"My husband," you reply, your voice cool and dismissive, "was a jerk. He was more interested in young sluts, then me I guess."

You pause, then add, a hint of playful malice in your voice, "Also he never gave me a proper fuck, either."

He leans closer, his body pressing against yours, the bulge in his pants unmistakable. "Perhaps," you tease, your voice a sultry whisper, "you could give me one, Detective."

Just then, a knock on the door interrupts the charged moment. Another officer enters. "Detective, Ms. [Y/L/N]'s lawyer is here. They're requesting her release."

He straightens up, a look of frustration crossing his face. "I'm not finished with her," he protests. "I still have questions."

Your lawyer enters, a sharp, efficient woman with a no-nonsense attitude.

"My client has cooperated fully," she says, her voice firm. "There's no reason to detain her any longer."

You gather your things, a triumphant smile playing on your lips. As you leave the interrogation room, you glance back at Tim.

Something had happened in that room, something that had ignited a spark between you. He was hooked, obsessed. He knew it, and so did you.

The interrogation room was empty, the silence almost deafening after your departure. Tim sat there for a long time, the recorder still running, capturing nothing but the sound of his own breathing. He couldn't shake the image of you, the way you looked at him, the way you spoke, the way your body felt beneath his hands. He was obsessed.

He returned to his office, the evidence from your house laid out on his desk – the knives, the gun, the blood, the earring. He ran the ballistics on your gun, and as he suspected, and he didn't find anything.

He examined the blood, hoping for a DNA match, but it wasn't your husband's.

He was no closer to solving the case, but the mystery only deepened his fascination with you.

He spent the rest of the night poring over the evidence, but his thoughts kept returning to you – your eyes, your scent, your words. He couldn't concentrate, couldn't focus on anything but the woman who had so effortlessly captivated him.

He was a seasoned detective, used to dealing with all sorts of people, but you were different. You were a puzzle he desperately wanted to solve, a temptation he couldn't resist.

The next night, he found himself driving to your house, drawn by an invisible force. He didn't have a warrant, didn't have a reason, but he couldn't stay away.

He parked his car down the street.

His heart pounding in his chest as he walked towards your door. He raised his hand to knock, hesitated for a moment, then rapped sharply.

The door opened, and there you were, even more breathtaking than he remembered.

You were wearing a flowing black silk robe, your hair cascading over your shoulders, your eyes sparkling with amusement.

"Detective Rockford," you purred, a smile playing on your lips. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

He stared at you, speechless for a moment.

"I… I need to ask you some more questions," he stammered, his voice betraying his desire.

You stepped aside, inviting him in. "Of course, Detective," you said, your voice a silken whisper. "Come in. We have so much to discuss."

He entered the house, the familiar scent of your perfume filling his senses. He was playing with fire, he knew it, but he couldn't help himself. He was yours.

You offered him a drink, and he accepted, his eyes never leaving yours. As you took his coat, your fingers brushed against his chest, a spark igniting between you.

You poured two glasses of wine, the silence in the room thick with unspoken desires. Leaning against the edge of your desk, you casually adjusted your robe which barely covers your thighs, knowing his gaze was glued to you.

You could feel the heat radiating off him, the intensity of his desire. He wanted you, and the knowledge was intoxicating.

"So, Detective," you purred, breaking the silence, "did you come here for a confession… or something else?"

He was silent for a moment, his eyes searching yours. "I don't know," he admitted, his voice low and husky. "But I don't think you're guilty."

He picked up a book from your desk, one of your dark romance erotic novels. His eyes widened slightly as he read a few lines, his face flushing. "You wrote this?"

You sipped your wine, then leaned closer to his ear, your breath ghosting against his skin.

"Yes, Detective," you whispered, your voice a sultry murmur. "I have a lot of… impure thoughts in my head. A very, very dirty mind."

He drained his glass of wine in one gulp, his eyes never leaving yours.

"Tell me what happened that night," he demanded, his voice rough.

"After I caught my husband with another woman," you began, your voice cool and detached, "I filed for divorce. He wasn't happy about it. He didn't want to lose everything. The company, the house… it was all in my name. My father's legacy."

"That night," you continued, your voice dropping to a near whisper, "he attacked me. He tried to..." You paused, letting the words hang in the air. "But I managed to…defend myself."

He remembered the knife you had concealed earlier.

Then you add "He was more afraid of losing the money and the status then me."

"He has a scar now. On his arm… and his left cheek." You met his gaze, your eyes flashing with a dangerous light.

"He ran away, calling me crazy. I told him if he ever came back, I would kill him."

Tim was stunned. "Did you…?" he began, his voice barely audible.

"If I had killed him," you interrupted, your voice cold and hard, "trust me, you would have found him in pieces. Or they would never have found him at all."

You took another sip of wine, your eyes challenging him. "I wanted him to suffer, to lose everything. Death would have been a reward for him. I hated him, yes. But I didn't kill him."

You finished your wine and looked at him, your eyes filled with a mixture of amusement and challenge. "If that's all you need to know, Detective," you said, "you can go now."

But he didn't move. He stepped closer, the air between you crackling with electricity. "I'm obsessed with you," he confessed, his voice thick with desire. "I can't… I can't stay away."

He reached for you, his hands cupping your face, his thumbs brushing against your lips. His gaze was intense, burning with a hunger that mirrored your own. He kissed you, a raw, passionate kiss that stole your breath away. You met his kiss with equal fervor, your hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer.

You broke the kiss, your breath coming in ragged gasps. "You have no idea," you whispered, your voice husky with desire, "how much I want this."

You reached for his belt, your fingers deftly unbuckling it. He watched, his breath catching in his throat, as you pulled his cock free, hard and throbbing in your hand.

"Goddamn," he breathed, his voice rough with lust. "You're going to be the death of me."

You smirked, tightening your grip on him.

"A slow, delicious death," you purred, "just the way you like it."

He lifted you onto the desk, your legs wrapping around his waist. He take off your robe, his eyes devouring your nakedness. He entered you in one swift, powerful thrust, filling you completely. You gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders.

He was rough, demanding, and you loved it. You clung to his holsters, your knuckles white as he fucked you, his thrusts fast and furious. The desk rattled beneath you, threatening to give way.

He kissed you roughly, his teeth grazing your neck, leaving a dark, passionate mark.

"You're a fucking goddess," he growled against your skin.

You moaned, arching your back, milking him with every fiber of your being.

"Harder," you gasped, your voice filled with a desperate need. "Fuck me harder, you dirty cop."

He obliged, his thrusts deepening, his pace quickening. He was insatiable, driven by a primal hunger.

He pushed you down onto the desk, his hand gripping your neck, not to hurt, but to control, his thumb stroking your pulse point.

"Yes, ohh shitt" you breathed, meeting his gaze with a fiery intensity, "this is a proper fuck."

He started to move even harder, deeper, his cock slamming against your core with brutal force. "You like this, don't you, you little slut?" he rasped, his voice thick with lust. "You like it rough."

"Fuck yes," you moaned, your hips bucking against his. "Give it to me, you animal. Tear me apart."

He kissed your breasts, biting at your nipples, leaving a trail of fire in his wake.

"You will be fucking mine," he growled, his voice thick with lust. "I'm going to brand you, mark you. You're going to scream my name until you can't speak." He thrust deeper, his eyes burning with a lust. "You belong to me, understand?"

"Yes," you whispered, your voice hoarse with passion. "I'm yours. Use me, Detective. Fuck me until I can't think straight. Make me scream."

"Come for me, darling" he commanded, his eyes burning with a primal need. He shoved his thumb into your mouth, his right hand gripping the edge of the desk for leverage as he thrust even harder.

You wrapped your hands around his holsters, pulling him even closer.

"You belong to me now, Detective," you purred, your voice laced with a dangerous possessiveness. "You're my dirty little secret."

"Fuck yes, I'm yours," he groaned, his thrusts becoming more frantic, more desperate.

"This is it, baby. This is what you were made for. You're going to be dripping for me for days."

He came inside you with a guttural groan, his body shuddering with release. You met his climax with a scream, your own orgasm rippling through you in waves of pure pleasure. He pulled back slightly, his eyes watching as your juices glistened on his thick cock.

"Look at what you've done," he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction.

"You're a fucking mess, a beautiful, delicious mess."

You squirted, a hot, wet rush that made him groan again.

"Goddamn, you're so fucking wet for me." He didn't pull out.

He stayed inside you for a long, breathless moment, savoring the feeling of your tight grip on him.

He leaned down and kissed you, his lips lingering on yours.

"God," he whispered against your mouth, "I've never felt anything like this. You're going to be wearing my bruises tomorrow, aren't you?"

You laughed, a low, throaty sound that sent a shiver down his spine. "Maybe," you purred, wrapping your legs tighter around his waist. "But you'll be wearing my marks too, Detective. And they'll be a reminder of just how much you enjoyed this."

You kissed him back, a slow, lingering kiss that promised more to come. "And just how deliciously filthy we can be together."

You met his gaze, a knowing smile playing on your lips. "We're not yet done here, Detective," you murmured, your voice a promise.

"Not by a long shot. You're going to be begging for more."

"Ohh I'm going to fuck you again," he said, his voice a low growl, "until you can't walk, until you're begging me to stop… but you won't really want me to, will you?"

"I don't want this to stop," you whispered back, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw. "This… this is just the beginning of our game, Detective. And I have a feeling it's going to be a long and delicious one."

You stood up, pulling him up with you, your bodies still intimately connected. You kissed him again, a soft, lingering kiss that spoke of promises and unspoken desires. Then, taking his hand, you started to walk, teasing him with every sway of your hips.

"I'm still walking, Detective," you purred, glancing back at him over your shoulder. "You have more… investigating to do."

He loved the way you challenged him, the way you teased him, the way you made him feel like he was walking a tightrope between control and surrender. He loved the fire in your eyes, the confidence in your every move. He was falling for you, hard and fast, and he knew it.

He kissed you again, a searing kiss that stole your breath away. "You're driving me crazy," he murmured against your lips. "Absolutely, deliciously crazy."

"That's the point, Detective," you whispered, a playful glint in your eyes.

Hand in hand, you walked together into your bedroom, the air thick with anticipation. He knew, with a certainty that settled deep in his bones, that this was just the beginning. Your game had just begun, a dangerous dance of passion, power, and obsession.

You poured more drinks, trying to catch your breath, but he pulled you closer, kissing you deeply once more. He shed his pants and boxers in a swift movement. You, in turn, unbuttoned his white shirt and removed his holsters, but then, with a playful smile, you ordered him to put the holsters back on.

"Fuck these look sexy on you," you purred, your eyes raking over his body. "So…dangerous." He chuckled, understanding perfectly.

You gestured for him to sit on the bed, and he obeyed without question. From the drawer, you retrieved a pair of black leather handcuffs. His eyebrows rose in surprise.

"We're going to play a little game," you purred, a mischievous glint in your eyes. You snapped the cuffs around his wrists, then lifted his arms and secured them to the headboard above him.

"You like this, don't you?" he asked, his voice laced with anticipation. "Is this something you used to do with your husband?"

"I love this," you replied, your eyes burning with desire. "And no, my husband hated it. We barely fucked. In the last few years, we became .....distant."

"Well," he said, a slow smile spreading across his face, "I think I'm going to enjoy this… immensely."

You leaned in and kissed him passionately, your tongue dancing with his. You trailed kisses down his neck, nipping at his earlobe, eliciting a groan from him. Lower, you kissed and licked his nipples, savoring his reaction.

"You taste so good," you whispered against his skin. "I want to devour you."

Moving further down, you licked the tip of his cock, swirling your tongue around it, tasting his precum. He was already hard again, throbbing with anticipation. You began to suck on him, using your right hand to stroke him, your saliva dripping onto his skin. His moans filled the room, his eyes locked on yours.

Then, you climbed on top of him, teasing him with your wet, dripping pussy as it hovered over his throbbing cock. "Come on," he groaned, his hands straining against the cuffs. "I need you."

You moved slowly, pressing down on him, feeling him expand inside you. He moaned, his hips lifting to meet yours.

"Beg for it," you commanded, your voice husky with power.

"Please," he gasped, his eyes filled with a desperate need. "Please, baby, I need you. I need your pussy."

With your right hand, you guided his cock inside you, feeling him fill you completely. He threw his head back, his breathing heavy. You began to move slowly, making small, circular motions, teasing him, feeling his cock twitch and grow even harder inside you.

Cupping his face in your hands, you kissed him roughly, your tongue exploring every inch of his mouth.

Then, you started to ride him harder, bouncing faster, holding his jaw with your right hand, your left hand gripping his holster.

"You're mine now, Detective," you growled, your voice laced with raw desire. "You're going to remember this fuck for the rest of your life and you're going to dream about my pussy, about the way I taste.

"Fuck yes, I will do" he confirmed with growl.

"You're going to be thinking about this every time you see me."

You released his hands from the headboard, and he immediately reached for your breasts, his fingers kneading your nipples as you bounced on him.

"I'm so close," he groaned, his voice ragged.

"Not yet," you purred, tightening your grip on him. "Don't you dare. You're going to come when I tell you to."

You pulled him closer, your bodies pressed together in a tight embrace, and continued to ride him faster, kissing him roughly.

"Now Detective, fucking fill me up" you moan as you thrust harder.

Then, you started to squeeze his cock, milking him, feeling him shudder as he came.

He came inside you with a guttural groan, his body shuddering with release. At the same time, your own orgasm ripped through you, a wave of pure pleasure. The room filled with your moans and his curses, a symphony of lust and surrender.

"Goddamn, you're incredible," he gasped, his voice thick with spent passion. "You're…you're everything I dreamed of."

Then, you kissed him gently, caressing his face and hair, your touch soft and loving.

"You're an amazing man," you whispered, your voice filled with awe. "You're the only one who's ever made me come like this. You've ruined me for other men, Detective."

He kissed you back, his touch filled with such tenderness, such love, that it made your heart ache. "I want to do this forever," he murmured, his eyes searching yours. "I want you, always."

You freed his hands from the cuffs, and then, together, you slipped into the bath. The warm water enveloped you, washing away the remnants of your passion, leaving behind only the lingering scent of your desire. Cuddled together, you basked in the afterglow, his arms wrapped tightly around you, your bodies pressed close.

"I never thought I could feel like this," he whispered, his voice filled with wonder. "You've… you've shown me what real passion is."

You smiled, leaning in to kiss him softly.

"And I," you whispered against his lips, "never thought I could feel so…safe…and so completely unleashed at the same time. You've shown me what it means to truly be desired." You kissed him again, deeper this time, your hands tangling in his hair. "And I want this too, Tim. Forever."

After the bath, you fell asleep in each other's arms, his body a warm and comforting weight against yours. You were happy, content, knowing that you had him exactly where you wanted him. Tim, meanwhile, was stunned by how quickly, how completely, he had fallen for you. He had never felt such a powerful connection with any woman before. He was obsessed, captivated, utterly and irrevocably yours.

🖤

The insistent buzz of Tim's phone shattered the peaceful quiet of the morning, waking you both. It was a call from the police station. They had found more evidence related to your husband's murder, evidence that required Tim's immediate attention.

He looked at you, his expression troubled. "You're still a suspect," he said, his voice low. "They found something."

A wave of shock washed over you.

"Is that why you came here last night?" you asked, your voice suddenly cold.

"No," he said quickly, his eyes searching yours. "I believe you. I do."

As you dressed, a sense of unease settled over you. Just as you were sharing a tense cup of coffee, a knock on the door announced the arrival of a police officer and the chief of police. Tim watched, his face a mask of frustration, as they took you into custody. He was powerless to stop them.

The interrogation room felt cold and sterile. Seated across from you were the chief of police and Tim. The chief began the questioning, his voice firm and professional. He asked about the night of your husband's death, about the attack, about everything that had happened.

You recounted the events, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside you.

"It's all on the video tape," you said, meeting the Chief's gaze unflinchingly. "It's with my lawyer, submitted as evidence for the divorce proceedings. She was leading the process, you can check that."

The Chief leaned forward, his expression unreadable. "We received a letter," he said, his voice flat, "from your husband's mistress."

Your face remained impassive, but your heart pounded against your ribs. They thought you had killed him.

"Then I think you have a wrong person," you said, your voice cold and sharp. "Maybe she'll tell you everything you need to know."

"We intend to," the Chief replied. "But we also have questions for you, Ms. [Y/L/N]. You said if you killed him, we'd find him in pieces, or not at all. A rather…specific choice of words."

"I did," you confirmed, your voice steady, your gaze unwavering. "Because if I had killed him, that's precisely what would have happened. I wouldn't have left any trace. I'm not a fool."

Tim watched you, a mixture of fascination and disbelief in his eyes. Your composure was remarkable, almost chilling.

"You also said you called your husband the day after your argument," the Chief continued, pressing you further.

"I did," you confirmed. "I told him I was filing for divorce, that I had a warrant, and that he would be served with a restraining order. His mistress answered the phone. She told me he was away on a business trip."

"The letter that mistress gave us," the Chief said, his voice carefully measured, "had a detailing the exact location where your husband's body was found."

"Then I suggest you talk to her," you repeated, your voice laced with steel. "She was the last person to see him alive. And you can verify my alibi. Check everything to see if I'm lying."

The Chief turned to Tim. "Detective Rockford," he said, "verify Ms. [Y/L/N]'s statements. Check the video footage, the divorce filings, the warrant, and bring the mistress in for questioning. I want to know everything she knows."

Tim nodded, rising from his chair. He knew you were playing a dangerous game, but he also sensed a truth in your words, a cold, hard truth that resonated with him.

After a series of calls and inquiries, Tim returned to the interrogation room.

"Chief," he reported, "Ms. [Your Last Name]'s statements regarding the video footage, the divorce filings, and the warrant are all accurate. The mistress confirmed that she spoke with Ms. [Y/N] on the phone the day after the argument, and that she told her that her husband was out of town. We are still questioning her regarding the letter and the body's location."

The Chief’s expression remained unchanged, but a flicker of doubt crossed his eyes. Had they been wrong about you all along?

The Chief, despite the verification of your alibi, remained cautious. "Ms. [Y/L/N]," he stated, his tone professional, "you will remain in custody until we have completed our interrogation of the mistress."

Tim led you to a holding cell, his expression troubled. He paused before the door, his gaze meeting yours. "I'll be here," he said quietly, a promise underlying his words. "For you."

"Don't worry," you replied, offering a reassuring nod. "If you believe me, everything will be fine."

He nodded in return, a flicker of doubt still visible in his eyes, and secured the cell door. He lingered for a moment, his gaze searching yours, before departing.

Shortly thereafter, the mistress was brought into the precinct. She walked past your cell, offering a subtle, almost triumphant smile. You observed her, recognizing the insincerity in her expression. Tim, too, seemed to perceive the deception, his eyes narrowing as he study the woman.

The interrogation room was stark and brightly lit. Detective Tim Rockford sat across from Isabella, the mistress, his expression unreadable.

The Chief of Police leaned forward, initiating the questioning. "Ms. Isabella," he began, "how did you come to possess the letter detailing the location of Mr. Richard's body?"

Isabella’s hands fidgeted nervously in her lap.

"I… I found it," she stammered, "outside my apartment door. Just… lying there."

"And you didn't think it was strange that a letter detailing such a specific location would simply be left there?" Tim interjected, his voice sharp.

"I… I was scared," Isabella replied, her eyes darting around the room. "I didn't know what to do."

The Chief pressed on. "Tell us about your relationship with Mr. Richard."

"We…we were together for months," Isabella confessed, her voice barely above a whisper.

"He promised he was going to leave his wife. He said we'd run away together, start a new life."

Tim leaned forward, his gaze intensifying. "You knew he was married, Ms. Isabella. You knew he had a wife."

"Yes," she admitted, tears welling in her eyes. "But… but he said he loved me. He promised me a future."

Tim's questions became more pointed, more aggressive. He wasn't buying her story. Something felt off, the pieces didn't fit. The Chief, sensing Tim's suspicion, allowed him to take the lead. Her responses were evasive, her story riddled with inconsistencies. Tim could see the cracks in her facade, the fear lurking beneath the surface.

Just then, a police officer entered the interrogation room, holding a plastic evidence bag. "Chief," he announced, "we found a firearm in Ms. Isabella's apartment. Ballistics confirms it's a match to the weapon that killed Mr. Richard."

Isabella's carefully constructed composure shattered. Tears streamed down her face as she confessed. "I… I didn't mean to," she sobbed. "It was an accident."

The Chief, his face a mask of confusion, pressed her for an explanation. "Why, Ms. Isabella? Why did you do it?"

"I was jealous," she cried, her voice choked with emotion. "He… he was going to leave me. He was going back to her. He said he couldn't… he couldn't be with me anymore."

She paused, her breath hitching. "That night… we argued. He said he was going back to his wife. I… I shot him. I didn't mean to. It just… happened."

"And the letter?" Tim asked, his voice cold.

"I…I wrote it," she admitted. "I wanted to frame her. I wanted everyone to think she did it. I knew she hated him. I thought… I thought I could get away with it." She paused again, her body shaking with sobs. "My friend helped me hide the body. We… we tried to cover everything up."

Isabella's confession hung heavy in the air. Tim turned to the Chief, his gaze unwavering. "I knew it," he said, his voice firm. "[Y/N] was innocent."

The Chief nodded slowly, the weight of his mistake evident on his face. "Take her into custody," he ordered, gesturing towards Isabella. "And find this friend of hers. We need to bring them both to justice."

He then turned to Tim, a hint of apology in his tone. "Release Ms. [Y/L/N], Detective. And…take her home, would you?"

Tim's lips curved into a genuine smile. He approached your cell, the click of the lock echoing through the quiet precinct.

As he opened the door, the Chief approached as well, offering a sincere apology.

"Ms. [Y/L/ N]," he said, "I apologize for the… inconvenience. We were simply following procedure."

Tim offered his arm. "Come on," he said, his voice warm. "Let's get you home." He couldn't help the smile that spread across his face as he escorted you out of the station.

In the car, Tim glanced at you, his expression softening. "How are you feeling?" he asked, his voice gentle.

"Great," you replied, a genuine smile gracing your lips. "I'm finally happy the truth is out. It's a relief to have that weight lifted."

When you arrived at your house, you invited him in. "I'll make us some dinner," you said, heading towards the kitchen. "Nothing fancy, but I thought we could celebrate… the end of this chapter."

He nodded, grabbing a beer from the refrigerator. While you busied yourself in the kitchen, he browsed your bookshelves, pulling out a few volumes and flipping through the pages. He was drawn to your writing, the dark, sensual worlds you created. He sat on the sofa, a book of your poetry open in his hands, lost in your words, as the sounds of you preparing dinner drifted from the kitchen.

Over a quiet dinner, you talked. He asked about your past, about your writing, about your new book. "I'm working on something new," you said, a thoughtful look on your face. "But I need some inspiration." You looked at him, a playful glint in your eyes. "Think you could be my muse tonight, Detective?"

He grinned, his eyes meeting yours. "I think," he said, his voice low and husky, "I could definitely manage that. I've been thinking about this all day."

After dinner, he settled on the sofa, watching as you moved with a newfound confidence. You shed your clothes slowly, deliberately, until you stood before him in black lace bra and panties, your skin gleaming in the soft light. You turned your back to him, offering him a tantalizing view of your curves.

"Rip it off, I want you to ravage me, Detective," you purred, your voice a silken invitation.

You sat down on his lap, your bare skin teasing him, your movements slow and deliberate, grinding your ass against his groin.

"Fuck yes," he breathed, his hands reaching for you, his eyes burning with undisguised lust. He gently unfastened your bra, his fingers brushing against your nipples, sending shivers down your spine. Leaning in, he kissed the nape of your neck, his breath warm against your skin.

"You smell incredible," he murmured, his teeth nipping at your flesh. With a swift, controlled movement, he ripped off your panties, his eyes devouring your nakedness. "I've been waiting all day for this," he rasped.

"Use me, Detective. I'm yours to command." you whispered.

He cupped your breasts in his hands, his thumbs teasing your nipples, before lifting your hips and pulling you closer. "You're going to be a good girl and do exactly what I tell you." he says.

In one smooth motion, he thrust into you, filling you completely. You were already wet, slick with anticipation, and he stretched you perfectly, his size a perfect fit.

"Oh, Yess.." you gasped, your nails digging into his knees.

"That's it. I'm your slut Detective. Use me like one."

You were turned with your back to him, your bare skin pressed against his, the heat of his body radiating through you. He grabbed your ass cheeks, his fingers digging into your flesh as you bounced on his lap, teasing him with every movement. "I'm going to fuck you so hard you'll see stars." he growled.

He pulled you up, his grip tightening on your waist. "Stand up," he commanded, his eyes burning with desire.

You stood, your legs slightly shaky, and turned to face him. He kissed you roughly, possessively, his lips crushing against yours. Then, with a swift movement, he pinned you down onto the sofa, his body hovering over yours.

He entered you slowly, deliberately, watching as his cock inch by inch slid inside your slick, wet pussy. "I can't get enough of this pussy," he breathed, his voice a low rumble. "It's fucking addictive."

"Fuck yes, I know that." you moaned, your hips lifting to meet his thrust. He gripped your hands, his fingers digging into your skin as he started to fuck you harder, deeper.

"Oh, god," you gasped, your nails digging into his back. "Don't stop. Keep going.. You feel so good inside me."

"You're going to be screaming my name all night long." he rasped, his thrusts becoming more frantic, more desperate. "You're going to be sore, marked, and completely mine."

He started rubbing your clit with his right hand, his fingers teasing and tormenting you, sending waves of pleasure crashing through your body. "You like this, don't you?" he murmured, his voice laced with a delicious cruelty. "You like it when I touch you like this. Your pussy is so fucking tight. I can feel you clenching around me."

"Yes," you whimpered, your breath coming in ragged gasps. "Fuck...Make me come, Detective. I want you to make me scream."

He pushed his full weight down on you, grinding his hips against yours, feeling your release dripping down his cock and balls, onto your thighs, onto his lower tummy. He was buried deep inside you, his cock throbbing against your G-spot. As he came inside you, his body shuddered with release, his groan mingling with your own cries of pleasure.

"Fuck," he gasped, his voice thick with passion. "You're so fucking tight. I'm going to cum again, just from being inside you." Your juices mixed with his, creating a hot, slick mess.

"You're so fucking amazing," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. He pulled you into a tight embrace, his arms wrapping around you possessively. "You're everything I've ever wanted. You're my obsession."

You clung to him, your heart pounding against his. He was so gentle now, his touch so tender, a stark contrast to the raw passion that had just consumed you.

He kissed you softly, his lips lingering on yours.

"I love you," he murmured, his voice filled with a tenderness that made your heart melt.

"I'm going to fuck you like this every night, for the rest of our lives. And I'm going to enjoy every single second of it."

"And I'm going to enjoy every single second of being yours," you whispered back, your voice husky with desire. "I'm going to tease you, torment you, make you crave me even more."

He pulled you close, his arms wrapping around you, holding you against his chest. He kissed your forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment.

"I want to be with you, for the rest of my life" he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

You smiled, a slow, knowing smile that sent a shiver down his spine.

"Are you sure, Detective?" you asked, your voice a soft purr. "Because when you become mine… you're mine for life. I'll own you, body and soul."

"I think I love you, Tim. But… if any other woman even thinks about trying to take you away from me…she might just end up dead."

He laughed, a low, rumbling sound that vibrated through your body. "You're my goddess," he said, his eyes filled with adoration, "and my little devil woman, all rolled into one. I don't need anyone else. If my eyes ever wander to another woman…you have my permission to kill me. If this heart ever stops loving you… it's better that I'm dead."

You leaned in and kissed him, a kiss filled with tenderness, with passion, with the promise of a lifetime together.

"I love you so much, Tim," you whispered, your voice choked with emotion. "I'm so happy… and yes, I would love to be yours."

He held you close, his grip tightening.

"I promise you," he said, his voice sincere, "I will never give you a reason to doubt my love for you. You're the only woman I've ever truly loved. You're my everything."

The rest of the night was spent in a haze of love and tenderness. You talked, you laughed, you whispered secrets to each other, sharing your dreams, your fears, your hopes for the future. He held you in his arms, his touch gentle and loving, and you knew, with a certainty that settled deep in your soul, that you had found your forever. You were his, and he was yours, and nothing, not even death itself, could ever change that.

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