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kooklovee · 1 month ago

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HOLD ON TO ME (m) - JJK

Your husband forgets your second anniversary. What starts as disappointment and heartbreak soon spirals into doubt—about your love, your marriage, and whether he even sees you anymore. But when Jungkook realizes his mistake, he’s willing to do anything to prove that his love has never wavered. Can he make it up to you, or is it already too late?

Pairing - CeoHusband!Jungkook x Wife!Reader

Genre - 18+, established relationship au, angst, fluff, smut, some more angst MDNI

ONESHOT - 11k words

Warnings - angsty ride, hurt/comfort, workaholic Jungkook, miscommunication, emotional distress, crying, deep emotional intimacy, slow build, Jungkook is an idiot but trust me he's sweet alright😭, Explicit smut- unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), soft dom Jk, nipple play, slow & passionate sex, lots of kissing, love-making, creampie, pet names <3, praises, happy ending (sad ending's not in my veins🫸)

a/n- snsjkqkw It's my first fic🥹 do let me know your thoughts on it <3 n consider a reblog if you like it, thank you for reading! 🫶

Masterlist kofi☕

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The soft glow of the overhead light casts long shadows across the dining room, but its warmth does nothing to chase away the cold emptiness creeping into your chest. You sit in one of the dining chairs, fingers idly tracing the gold band on your ring finger—the once-familiar weight of it feeling heavier than ever. The house is silent, except for the distant hum of the city beyond the windows.

Jungkook is late. Again.

You’ve lost count of how many nights have passed like this—curled up alone in bed, the space beside you growing colder with each passing hour. He always has a reason. A meeting that ran overtime, a last-minute project, something urgent that demands his attention more than you do. And you’ve always understood. Until now.

Your second anniversary is just around the corner, and for the first time in weeks, you have something to look forward to. Something that, surely, he wouldn’t forget.

You let out a slow breath, staring at the untouched dinner on the table. It’s the third time this week you’ve set two plates, only to eat alone. The food has long gone cold, but you still can’t bring yourself to clear it away. Some foolish, desperate part of you still hopes Jungkook will walk through the door, pulling you into his arms, murmuring apologies against your skin.

But the door stays closed. Your phone stays silent.

You check the time—almost midnight.

He used to call. Even when he was busy, he always found a way to let you know he was thinking about you. A quick text. A voice note. Something. Now, hours pass without a word, and you’re left wondering when exactly you started feeling like a ghost in your own marriage.

You clench your fists, blinking back the sting in your eyes. This isn’t you. You don’t doubt him. You don’t overthink things. But these days, love feels a lot like waiting, and waiting feels a lot like breaking.

And you’re so damn tired of breaking.

You close your eyes, trying to remember the Jungkook from before—before work took over, before the distance set in. The man who, despite his quiet nature, always found a way to make you feel cherished. He wasn’t one for grand speeches, but his words had always carried weight. Small, simple confessions once meant everything. Now, silence is all you get.

It wasn’t always easy with Jungkook. Back in college, he was cold, reserved, a storm you could never quite predict. But little by little, he let you in. His love had been careful, deliberate—whispered promises in the dark, stolen glances across crowded rooms, fingertips brushing against yours like a secret only the two of you understood.

And now, it feels like you’re losing him.

The thought sends a sharp ache through your chest. You tell yourself it’s just work, that the weight of being CEO is heavier than either of you expected. That he still loves you, even if he doesn’t say it as often.

But love isn’t supposed to feel like this.

The clock hits midnight.

You don’t know what you were expecting. A text? A call? Maybe the sound of the front door unlocking, Jungkook stepping in, exhausted but still managing to hold you close?

But there’s nothing.

Your throat tightens as you stare at the small cake sitting on the dining table, the frosting slightly uneven, the decorations a little clumsy. You were never a good cook—Jungkook knew that better than anyone. But in the early days of your marriage, you had tried. Because back then, cooking together had been something special. Flour-dusted fingertips, shared laughter over burnt pancakes, stolen kisses between stirring batter.

So tonight, with him too busy and too stressed, you thought a quiet, cozy celebration would be enough. Something small, something just for the two of you.

But now, looking at the untouched dinner, the unlit candle, and the cake that no longer seems worth eating, you realize how foolish that hope was.

You glance at your phone—no messages, no missed calls.

You put away the plates. You put the cake in the fridge, even though you know it’ll probably stay there, forgotten.

And then you crawl into bed alone, wrapping your arms around yourself because if Jungkook won’t hold you, who else will?

-----------------------

You stir, feeling the warmth of an arm lazily draped around your stomach. The weight is familiar, grounding, and for a moment, it feels like everything is okay.

Jungkook is still asleep. Shirtless, his toned chest rises and falls in steady breaths, his face soft in the morning light. His dark lashes cast faint shadows on his skin, and his lips—parted just slightly—make him look so much younger, so much more at peace.

You take your time looking at him, memorizing the exhaustion on his face, the faint crease between his brows even in sleep. He must’ve come home late—so late that you hadn’t even heard him.

Still, he’s here. Beside you. And that alone is enough to make something flicker in your chest.

Maybe he’s planned to stay home today. Maybe he remembers.

You can’t help but lean in, pressing a soft, loving kiss against his cheek. His skin is warm beneath your lips, and for a fleeting moment, everything feels like it used to.

Jungkook mumbles something incoherent, his brows knitting slightly before relaxing again. A small, sleepy noise escapes him, and the sound makes you giggle softly.

He stirs, his grip on your waist tightening just a little before his lashes flutter open. His dark eyes, still hazy with sleep, land on you, and for a second, there’s nothing but quiet warmth in them.

"You're up early," he murmurs, his voice thick with drowsiness. His thumb absentmindedly brushes over your waist, a touch so familiar yet so foreign all at once.

You smile, brushing a few strands of hair from his forehead. "Couldn't sleep much," you admit softly.

Jungkook hums in response, his eyes falling shut again for a moment. He nuzzles into the pillow, his grip on you still firm like he has no intention of letting you go. And for a brief, fragile second, the weight of last night, of the distance, of everything, seems to disappear.

Maybe he really did plan to stay home today. Maybe this morning means something.

Your heart clenches with the smallest trace of hope.

Jungkook lets out a long breath and shifts onto his back, stretching his arms above his head before blindly reaching for his phone on the nightstand. His warmth leaves your side, the air turning cold almost instantly.

You watch as his expression shifts, sleep slipping away as his screen lights up. His brows furrow, jaw tightening ever so slightly.

Then, with barely a glance in your direction, he mutters, "Shit, I need to get to the office."

The hope you held onto so desperately?

Gone.

You blink, your mind scrambling to catch up.

Maybe he's kidding. Maybe this is just one of his teasing games, the kind where he acts all nonchalant just to catch you off guard later. That’s how it used to be—him pretending to forget something important, only to turn around and surprise you in a way that left you breathless.

So you wait.

You wait for the smirk to tug at his lips, for him to toss his phone aside and pull you into his arms. You wait for him to kiss you insane, to murmur a husky "Happy anniversary, baby," against your skin.

You wait for him to prove you wrong.

But he doesn't.

Jungkook swings his legs over the bed, rubbing a hand down his face before standing up. He moves through the motions—grabbing a fresh shirt from the dresser, checking his notifications again, already half-immersed in whatever work emergency is pulling him away.

The realization settles in, slow and suffocating. He’s not playing. He’s not pretending. He really forgot.

And with that, the last flicker of hope inside you dies.

-------------------------

The sound of the bathroom door clicking shut barely registers in your mind. The faint rush of water follows soon after, but you’re still frozen in place, staring at the empty space where Jungkook was just moments ago.

Your fingers grip the sheets as you try to process it—try to make sense of the ache settling deep in your chest.

He forgot.

The thought circles endlessly, refusing to fade. It should be simple, just a mistake, an oversight, something easily fixed with an apology. But it doesn’t feel simple. It feels like another crack in something that’s already been fragile for weeks.

Your gaze drifts to your phone, the screen lighting up with messages from friends and family. Warm wishes, sweet texts—all reminders of the day that Jungkook should have been the first to acknowledge. And of course, they must have messaged him too.

But you know the answer before you even have to question it. Jungkook has two phones��one for work, one for personal use. And these days, his personal phone sits untouched, collecting dust somewhere in the house while his work phone never leaves his side.

Your throat tightens.

Even if someone did remind him, would he have even seen it? Would it have even mattered?

You swallow hard, blinking against the sudden sting in your eyes.

Maybe you should say something. Maybe you should remind him.

But a part of you—one that you don’t want to acknowledge—wonders if it even matters anymore.

You push yourself up from the bed, the weight in your chest making it harder than it should be. You don’t want to sit here, waiting—waiting for him to remember, waiting for an apology that might never come.

So you move. Just as you step toward the bathroom, the shower turns off. The door opens a moment later, steam curling into the cool morning air as Jungkook steps out, towel slung low around his waist, droplets of water trailing down his toned chest.

For a brief second, your eyes meet. He looks at you, blinking away the last remnants of sleep, his expression unreadable. There’s no sign of realization, no flicker of guilt or hesitation. Just the same tired, distracted gaze you’ve been seeing for weeks.

You say nothing. Instead, you walk past him, entering the washroom to go about your usual routine—brushing your teeth, washing your face, anything to avoid the tightness in your throat.

The sound of the sink running is the only thing filling the silence between you.

By the time you step out of the washroom, Jungkook is already dressed for work. His tie is slightly loosened, one hand adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves while the other holds his ever-present work phone. He looks like he’s in a hurry, but that isn’t surprising. He’s been having breakfast at the office for weeks now—always rushing out, always too busy.

Still, you can’t grasp that he’s actually forgotten.

Some part of you still expects him to pause, to turn around and say something. But he doesn’t. He’s focused on his screen, scanning through emails like today is just another ordinary morning.

Your chest tightens. You need to look away before the emotions creeping up inside you spill over. So, you pretend.

You settle at the table, opening your laptop like it’s just another workday. Since you’ve been working from home for the past couple of months, this isn’t unusual—but today, it’s not about work. It’s about avoiding him. About keeping your head down so he doesn’t see the way your hands tremble slightly.

If you act normal, maybe it’ll hurt less. Maybe you won’t break in front of him.

And maybe, just maybe, if you pretend hard enough, you can fool yourself into believing it doesn’t hurt at all.

“Baby, can you help me with the tie?”

His voice is smooth, familiar—like every other morning before this one. Like today isn’t supposed to mean more.

You hesitate for half a second before standing up, walking toward him. Your fingers move automatically, looping the fabric, tightening the knot, straightening it against his crisp shirt. You should pull away the moment you’re done, return to your seat, to your laptop, to pretending like everything is fine.

But just as you step back, Jungkook’s hand catches your wrist.

Before you can react, he tugs you closer, his warmth enveloping you as his large hand cups the side of your face, fingers splayed against your skin like he’s memorizing the feel of you. His touch is tender, his thumb tracing slow circles against your cheek, his dark eyes holding yours for a beat too long—like he’s seeing you, really seeing you, for the first time in days.

Then, he kisses you.

Slow, warm, lingering. Like he actually means it. Like he actually feels it.

“Need it for good luck,” he mumbles lovingly against your lips, his voice deep, hushed.

You blink up at him.

Jungkook pulls back slightly, offering a small smile. “Big deal with the Kims today.”

And just like that, reality crashes back in.

Your mind struggles to process, to understand how he can be like this—how he can kiss you like this and still not remember.

His mind is somewhere else. His thoughts, his focus—none of it is here. None of it is with you.

You force a smile, nodding wordlessly. Because what else is there to say?

------------------------

Jungkook moves around the house, gathering his things—his wallet, his keys. You stay where you are, settled on the couch with your laptop open, pretending to be busy, pretending that your heart isn’t sitting heavy in your chest.

Just as he’s about to leave, he steps toward you, bending down to press a quick kiss to your forehead.

“Love you,” he murmurs.

Before you can even respond, he’s already halfway through the living room, his focus elsewhere, his steps hurried.

A bitter chuckle escapes your lips before you can stop it.

You remember a time when things were different—when he used to whine, pout, and nudge you relentlessly if you didn’t say it back right away, just to tease him.

Flashback

The movie playing in the background had long been forgotten, the dialogue drowned out by the soft moans slipping from your lips. The purple neon glow cast dreamy hues across the living room, painting Jungkook’s skin in shades of violet as he moved above you.

His fingers laced tightly with yours, grip tightening slightly as his thrusts grew more desperate.

“J-Jungkook…” you moaned softly, nails digging into his hand.

He groaned against your neck, his breath hot, voice wrecked. “Fuck, baby…”

Your body arched beneath him, pleasure building to something uncontrollable. “I—I’m gonna—”

“Come for me, baby,” he urged, voice deep and rough, sending you tumbling over the edge.

You both unraveled together, gasping, shaking, holding onto each other like the world outside didn’t exist.

Jungkook pressed lazy, loving kisses all over your face, his lips brushing over your cheeks, your eyelids, the tip of your nose. “You alright?” he whispered.

You nodded, a sleepy, satisfied smile tugging at your lips. But then he just stared at you. A little too long. A little too intensely.

And then, barely above a whisper—like a secret meant only for you—he said, “I love you.”

Your eyes widened slightly, a playful grin tugging at the corner of your lips as you bit down on them, trying to contain your smile. He’d been saying it more often lately, slowly getting used to voicing what he felt.

But when you took a second too long to respond, he groaned dramatically, dropping his head into the crook of your neck like a kicked puppy.

“Say it back,” he grumbled.

“What?” you teased, laughing.

Jungkook huffed, then playfully bit down on your shoulder. Not hard—just enough to make you squeal.

“Say it,” he demanded, his voice muffled against your skin.

Still giggling, you cupped his face and pressed a soft kiss to his nose. “I love you, you big baby.”

His grin was instant, arms wrapping around you as he pulled you even closer, like he could never get enough.

End of Flashback

Now, he just says it in passing—quick, thoughtless, already moving on.

The front door clicks shut, and just like that, Jungkook is gone.

You sit there, fingers motionless on your laptop’s keyboard as the weight of what just happened settles deep in your chest. He forgot. He kissed you, held you, told you he loved you—but none of it was because he remembered.

Is this what your relationship has become?

Work, work, work. Always work.

It’s not that you expect Jungkook to run behind you all the time, to ditch his responsibilities just to shower you with affection. Hell, you supported him through everything—through college, through late nights chasing his dreams, through every stressful moment leading up to him becoming CEO. You believed in him.

But what about your love? Your marriage? Communication?

You’ve been patient. Too patient—more understanding than any normal wife would be. And you know Jungkook. You know he loves you, would bring you the whole damn world if you asked. But then why—why are you beginning to question it all?

Jungkook stepped into the CEO position a few months ago. At first, things were fine. He handled it well, still made time for you. But then… everything became about work. Slowly, then all at once.

You can’t even remember the last time you had truly loving sex. Not that Jungkook doesn’t love you—but it doesn’t feel the same anymore. There’s tension in his touch, frustration in the way he moves against you. It’s not the warmth, the desperation to be close to you like it used to be.

Is this how life is going to be from now on?

Sure, you could talk to Jungkook about your feelings. Tell him that the distance is starting to feel unbearable.

But when?

When he’s always checking his phone? When he barely even looks at you in the mornings? When you feel like you’re living with the CEO rather than your husband?

Well, happy anniversary to you.

------------------------

Your gaze drops to your hand, to the delicate band wrapped around your finger.

Your wedding ring.

For the first time in a long time, you really look at it—tracing the intricate details, the subtle shimmer in the morning light. And suddenly, it feels… heavier. Like you’re only noticing the weight of it now, as if it’s trying to remind you of everything it once meant.

Before you even realize what you’re doing, your fingers slip beneath the band, sliding it off. It’s only when the cool air brushes against your bare skin that it hits you.

Your breath catches, eyes widening at the sight of the ring resting in your palm. You hadn’t even thought about it—you just did it. And now, staring at the small, beautiful piece of jewelry, something inside you cracks. Tears gather before you can stop them.

Jungkook had spent weeks searching for this ring. Dragged you to countless jewelry stores, analyzing every cut, every design, obsessed with finding the perfect one. And no matter how many times you had told him that anything would make you happy, he had refused to settle for less.

"It has to be special," he had murmured against your temple the day he finally found it, slipping it onto your finger with the softest smile. "Because you’re special."

A broken sob escapes your throat as you clutch the ring tightly in your palm.

How did you end up here?

-----------------------

Jungkook leans back in his chair, exhaling slowly as he watches the final contract details appear on his screen. The deal with the Kims had gone smoothly—better than expected, actually. It should’ve been a moment of satisfaction, of relief.

Instead, he just drowns himself in more work.

The hours blur together, his coffee going cold beside him as he moves from one task to another. Another meeting. Another report. Another email. The same routine, the same cycle.

It’s later than evening when a familiar voice interrupts the quiet hum of his office.

“So you’re really here.”

Jungkook glances up, his fingers still typing as Taehyung steps into his cabin, arms crossed, a deep frown on his face.

“Hey, hyung,” Jungkook greets, barely looking away from his screen.

Taehyung scoffs, shaking his head playfully. “I really didn’t believe it when Yuna said you were still in your cabin.”

Jungkook blinks, confused. “Why?”

Taehyung gives him a look like he’s the biggest idiot in the world. “Y/N must really love you to let you work even today. My wife—dude, she would’ve killed me.”

Jungkook hums absentmindedly, still typing, still lost in work. “Mmm.”

Taehyung clicks his tongue, watching him for a second before letting out a chuckle. “Anyways, you’re still an asshole for working on your anniversary.”

Jungkook’s fingers freeze over the keyboard. The realization crashes into him all at once—like a punch to the gut, like ice spreading through his veins.

Fuck.

Jungkook’s fingers hover motionless over the keyboard.

His mind races to catch up with Taehyung’s words, but they don’t make sense—not right away.

Anniversary?

No, that can’t be right. His brows furrow slightly as he glances at the date on his laptop screen.

November 22.

His wedding anniversary.

For a second, he just stares, as if the numbers might shift into something else, something that doesn’t prove what an absolute idiot he’s been. His heartbeat picks up, but his body doesn’t move. It’s like his brain refuses to register it fully, like if he doesn’t react, it won’t be real.

He’d forgotten.

Completely.

No hints, no reminders, no last-minute realization before heading out this morning. Just an entire day of emails, meetings, and a deal he had been so damn focused on that he hadn’t even spared a single thought for you.

His wife.

But—no, that can’t be right. He would’ve remembered. He should’ve remembered.

His jaw tightens, his mind scrambling for some excuse, some reason—anything—to justify how this happened. But no matter how many ways he tries to twist it, the truth doesn’t change.

You had expected something. Of course you had. And Jungkook had given you nothing.

Taehyung’s voice barely registers now, his casual teasing just background noise to the way Jungkook’s pulse is starting to hammer against his ribs.

His wife. His love. His anniversary.

And he had let it pass him by like it was just another day.

How the fuck is he supposed to fix this?

Taehyung squints at Jungkook, waiting for some kind of reaction—any reaction. When Jungkook stays quiet, his fingers frozen over the keyboard, Taehyung lets out a sharp laugh.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.” He leans forward, palms flat on Jungkook’s desk. “You just realized, didn’t you?”

Jungkook inhales deeply through his nose, his jaw tightening. “Hyung, not now.”

“Oh, no. Especially now,” Taehyung shoots back, shaking his head. “Damn, man. Y/N must really love you to put up with this shit.”

Jungkook doesn’t reply, his mind already spiraling. He checks the time—late. The entire day is gone. He’s spent hours sitting here, drowning himself in work while you—

Fuck.

He pushes his chair back abruptly, grabbing his phone and shoving it into his pocket. His coat is next, yanked from the back of his chair as he moves on instinct.

“Whoa, whoa.” Taehyung raises an eyebrow. “So now you care?”

Jungkook levels him with a glare, his voice lower, sharper. “Hyung.”

Taehyung lifts his hands in surrender, though his smirk lingers. “Go. Try not to get divorced on your second anniversary.”

Jungkook doesn’t wait for another word. He’s already out the door, moving faster than he has all day.

And for the first time today, work is the last thing on his mind.

-----------------------

Jungkook’s mind races as he grips the steering wheel, his fingers tightening with every passing second. The city lights blur past, but all he can focus on is the suffocating weight in his chest.

How the fuck did he forget?

His phone vibrates in the passenger seat—probably another work email—but for the first time in months, he ignores it. Instead, he swipes through his contacts, pressing the first name that comes to mind.

“Pick up, pick up,” he mutters, jaw clenched as the dial tone rings.

“Yes, Mr.Jeon?”

“Yuna.” His voice is rushed, urgent. “I need you to get me something. Flowers. A gift. Something big—just—fuck, anything.”

A pause. “Sir?”

“Now,” he snaps.

There’s a shuffle on the other end before his assistant hesitantly speaks again. “I…Mr.Jeon, it’s almost 10 p.m. Most places are closed.”

Jungkook exhales sharply, raking a hand through his hair. Of course they are. Because he’s too fucking late.

His grip tightens around the wheel. “Just—check. Call whoever. I’ll pay whatever.”

“Understood,” Yuna replies before hanging up.

What the fuck is he even doing?

No expensive gift, no overpriced bouquet, no last-minute grand gesture can erase the fact that he forgot. That he spent an entire day drowning in work while you—his wife, his love, the woman who has stood by him through everything—sat at home, waiting for him to remember.

His hands clench the wheel.

How much had he missed? How much had he ignored?

And the worst part—the part that makes his pulse spike, that has panic clawing at his ribs—is the question he doesn’t have an answer to.

What if you’re done waiting?

Jungkook slams his foot down on the gas.

He’s not losing you. He won’t.

------------------------

Jungkook steps into the house, and immediately, something feels off. The air is still. The silence stretches, suffocating, pressing against his chest. Almost all the lights are off, the space eerily empty, like no one has been here for hours.

His throat dries. “Baby?”

No answer.

He frowns, dropping his keys onto the counter with a sharp clink. His feet move quickly, checking the kitchen, the living room, even the hallway leading to the bedroom—nothing.

A weird feeling starts creeping up his spine. His heart beats faster as he strides toward the bedroom door, pushing it open—only to find the bed untouched, the sheets exactly the way he had left them this morning.

You’re not here.

His pulse spikes, a cold sweat forming at the base of his neck. His hands tremble as he yanks his phone out, immediately dialing your number.

One ring.

Two rings.

Three.

Straight to voicemail.

His stomach drops. A shaky breath escapes him as he stares at his screen, the call log mocking him with the lack of response. His fingers tighten around the device, his mind spiraling.

Where are you? At this time of night—alone—where could you have gone?

The walls feel like they’re closing in on him. His lungs strain for air.

Then, another thought claws its way in, violent and unwelcome.

Did you leave?

No. No. His chest tightens, his breath coming faster now. That’s not—that’s not possible. You wouldn’t just leave him. You wouldn’t—

He swallows hard, shaking his head. Don’t go there, Jungkook. Don’t even fucking go there.

But the panic is already curling around his ribs, suffocating, unrelenting.

You’re not here. And right now, that is the worst fucking thing in the world.

Jungkook’s fingers tremble as he redials your number.

Voicemail. Again.

“Fuck.” His breath comes out uneven, panic clawing at his throat. His hands are clammy, his chest tightening with every passing second. Where are you?

His mind is spiraling now, every worst-case scenario flashing through his head. His jaw clenches as he swipes to his contact list calling your friends.

Each time, the same response.

No, I haven’t seen her.

Did you check with—

Wait, what’s going on?

Jungkook grits his teeth, his hand tightening into a fist. His breathing is shallow, his pulse out of control. You weren’t with your friends. You weren’t picking up. You weren’t home.

And he still had no idea where you were.

Jungkook grabs his car keys with shaky hands, his mind racing. He doesn’t know where to go, doesn’t have a plan—all he knows is that he has to find you.

His feet move on instinct, carrying him toward the door. But just as he reaches for the handle, something catches his eye.

A small glint.

His breath stills. His gaze shifts toward the couch, and that’s when he sees it.

Your wedding ring.

Sitting there. Abandoned.

For a moment, everything stops. The pounding in his chest, the rush of his movements—everything.

The air in the room feels heavier, suffocating. His fingers twitch at his sides as he stares at the delicate band, his stomach twisting into something painful.

You never took it off. Never.

Jungkook swallows, his throat suddenly dry. He steps forward, slowly, almost cautiously, like touching it will somehow make this nightmare real.

His hand trembles as he picks it up, the cool metal pressing into his palm..

Jungkook stares at the ring in his palm, his vision blurring as a lump lodges itself in his throat. Tears burn at the corners of his eyes, his chest tightening painfully.

You wouldn’t just leave him like that… would you?

The thought alone knocks the air from his lungs. His grip on the ring tightens as his mind spirals, drowning in questions that only make the ache worse.

Were you thinking about this before today?

How long have you been feeling like this—so alone, so unloved—that taking off your ring even crossed your mind?

A sharp breath escapes him, shaky and uneven. His knees buckle, and before he can stop himself, he’s sinking onto the floor, the weight of everything crashing down at once.

The ring feels heavier than it should, pressing into his palm like a cruel reminder of everything he’s neglected, everything he’s taken for granted. He squeezes his eyes shut, exhaling a slow, trembling breath.

He needs to find you. He needs to fix this.

Before it’s too late.

Jungkook exhales shakily, forcing himself to move. His legs feel unsteady, but he pushes through, gripping the wedding ring so tightly it bites into his skin.

Somehow, he manages to stand, his entire body tense with desperation. He stumbles toward the door, his heart pounding, his mind racing with every possibility of where you could be.

But just as his fingers reach for the handle—

The door swings open.

And there you are.

Jungkook freezes, his breath catching in his throat. For a split second, everything stills—his panic, his thoughts, his entire world narrowing to the sight of you standing in front of him.

Then, in the blink of an eye, he moves.

He crashes into you, arms wrapping around you so tightly it nearly knocks the air from your lungs. His grip is desperate, his hands fisting into your clothes, his entire body pressing against yours like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

You stand there, stunned, your own arms hovering slightly, unsure of what just happened.

"…Jungkook?” your voice comes out confused, hesitant.

But he just clings to you, burying his face into your neck, his breath warm and uneven against your skin.

You don’t know what’s going on.

But Jungkook?

He feels like he just got his heart beating again. You feel it before you hear it—the way his body trembles against yours, his grip impossibly tight, like he’s holding onto you for dear life.

Then, the sound reaches you. A broken, uneven breath, followed by the unmistakable hitch of a sob.

Your heart clenches. “Kook…” Your voice is soft, laced with worry as you try to pull back, just enough to see his face. But he doesn’t let you. His arms only tighten, his body curling into yours, as if letting go would physically hurt him.

Panic bubbles in your chest, your hands instinctively reaching up to cradle his face, your fingers threading into his hair. “Hey… what happened?” Your voice wavers slightly. “Are you okay? You’re scaring me.”

But Jungkook just shakes his head against your shoulder, another quiet, shaky breath leaving him.

You don’t understand.

But whatever this is—whatever’s breaking him like this—your own heart aches just watching him fall apart. Your concern deepens with every shaky breath that leaves Jungkook. He’s still clinging to you, his body trembling slightly, his face buried against your shoulder like he’s afraid to let go.

You don’t know what’s wrong, but seeing him like this—Jungkook, your Jungkook—completely unraveling, is enough to make panic rise in your chest.

Gently, you pull back, your hands cupping his face. His skin is warm, slightly damp from his tears, and when his glassy eyes finally meet yours, your stomach twists painfully.

“Come inside,” you whisper, your voice softer now, coaxing. “Please.”

He swallows thickly, nodding ever so slightly, but his grip on you doesn’t fully loosen. You guide him inside anyway, one hand wrapped around his wrist as you lead him toward the couch.

He sits down heavily, elbows resting on his knees, fingers threading through his hair as he exhales shakily. His shoulders are still tense, his whole body radiating something raw and unspoken.

You kneel in front of him, reaching for his hands, but he doesn’t lift his head.

Your worry deepens. “Jungkook… please tell me what’s wrong.” Silence stretches between you, heavy and suffocating. His fingers twitch against his temples, his breath uneven.

“I—” His voice is hoarse, cracking slightly. He swallows hard, gripping his knees. “I thought you left me.”

You blink, his words settling in, but it takes you a moment to fully process them.

He thought you left him?

Your brows furrow slightly as you shake your head. “Jungkook, I was babysitting Hanuel.”

His breath is still uneven, his hands gripping his knees like he’s trying to ground himself. His eyes flick up to meet yours, confused, searching.

“Hana and Seokjin had a date night,” you explain gently. “They asked me to watch him for a few hours.”

Hanuel, your neighbour's son. Jungkook stares at you, his body still tense, like his mind hasn’t caught up yet. You watch as his lips part slightly, his gaze flickering between you and the ring still clutched in his hand.

His fingers tighten around it, his knuckles paling. A beat of silence passes before he swallows thickly, his voice barely above a whisper.

“…Then why was this on the couch?”

The question hangs heavy in the air, fragile and uncertain, as if he’s afraid of the answer. And for the first time tonight, you don’t know what to say.

“I…” The word barely escapes your lips before you stand up, turning away from him. You can’t meet his eyes—not when your emotions are still raw, not when the weight of everything is pressing so heavily on your chest.

Jungkook notices immediately. Panic flickers across his face, and in an instant, he’s scrambling up after you. “Wait—baby, please.” His voice is desperate now, thick with emotion, his hands reaching out like he’s afraid you’ll slip through his fingers.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes, stepping closer, his tone cracking under the weight of his own guilt. “I—fuck, I forgot—I don’t know how, I don’t even have an excuse, but—” He exhales sharply, shaking his head, his eyes glassy as they plead with yours.

“I never meant to make you feel like this,” he whispers. “I swear, I didn’t.” But you still don’t look at him. And that alone is enough to make his heart sink.

You swallow hard, your arms wrapping around yourself as you stare at the floor. His words, his desperation, his guilt—they all swirl around you, but they don’t erase the ache in your chest.

“Do you even realize how much this hurt?” Your voice is quiet, but the weight of it makes Jungkook flinch. “I spent the entire day thinking—hoping—that maybe you had something planned. That maybe you were just pretending to forget.”

Jungkook’s throat bobs as he steps closer, hesitating before reaching for your hand. You don’t pull away, but you don’t hold onto him either.

“I know,” he whispers. “I know I fucked up, baby. I—I was so caught up in work, I just…” He trails off, running a frustrated hand through his hair. “That’s not an excuse. Nothing is. I should’ve remembered. I should’ve been there.”

You let out a hollow laugh, finally lifting your gaze to meet his. “Jungkook… this isn’t just about today.”

His brows furrow, but he doesn’t interrupt.

You take a shaky breath. “It’s been weeks—maybe even longer—since I felt like your wife instead of just… someone waiting for you to come home.” Your voice wavers, but you push through. “And it’s not that I don’t understand. I do. I’ve always understood. But at what point do I stop being understanding and start being invisible to you?”

Jungkook’s breath catches, his grip on your hand tightening like he’s afraid to let go. “You’re not invisible,” he says, voice thick with emotion. “You never could be.”

“Then why do I feel like I am?”

Silence.

Jungkook shakes his head, his jaw clenching as he exhales unsteadily. “I never wanted to make you feel this way,” he murmurs. “You are everything to me, baby. Everything. I don’t even know who I am without you.”

Your eyes sting, but you force yourself to hold his gaze. “Then show me, Jungkook. Because I can’t keep being the only one fighting for us.” The vulnerability in your voice nearly breaks him.

He’s been losing you, piece by piece, for a while now. And he hadn’t even noticed.

Jungkook feels his stomach drop, the weight of your words hitting harder than any argument, any fight you could have thrown at him. His grip on your hand tightens, but you don’t squeeze back.

He’s losing you.

And it’s not because of one forgotten anniversary—it’s because he hasn’t been here.

He swallows hard. “Baby…” His voice cracks, his free hand reaching up to cup your cheek, but you step back before he can touch you.

The distance, however small, is enough to make his chest ache.

“Tell me, Jungkook,” you whisper, your voice barely holding together. “When was the last time we sat down and had breakfast together? When was the last time you really looked at me—not just kissed me on the forehead before rushing out the door?” You shake your head, a bitter chuckle escaping. “When was the last time we made love without it feeling like you were trying to release your stress instead of loving me?”

Jungkook’s breath hitches.

You let out a slow exhale, your voice calmer now but even heavier with hurt. “I don’t need grand gestures. I don’t need fancy gifts or a picture-perfect romance. I just… needed you to see me.”

His entire body feels cold. Because the truth is—he doesn’t have an answer.

He’s been so caught up in his responsibilities, his work, his stress, that he’s let the one person who has always been there for him slip through his fingers.

And the worst part? He didn’t even realize it was happening until now.

“Fuck.” His voice is raw, his hands running through his hair as he looks at you—really looks at you. At the exhaustion in your eyes, the way your lips tremble slightly like you’re holding back everything.

His heart clenches painfully. “I fucked up, didn’t I?”

You don’t answer right away. Instead, you hold his gaze for a long moment before whispering, “I don’t know, Jungkook. Did you?”

Jungkook's breath is unsteady, his chest rising and falling too quickly as he stares at you—at the distance between you, the weight of your words suffocating him.

He moves. Before you can react, his hands are cupping your face, his touch desperate, almost shaky. His forehead presses against yours as he exhales a trembling breath, like he’s trying to hold himself together.

“I see you,” he whispers, his voice raw, strained. “I swear to god, I see you, baby. I just—I lost myself somewhere along the way, and I didn’t even realize I was dragging us down with me.”

His thumbs brush over your cheekbones, a silent plea laced in his touch. “I don’t want to lose you. I can’t lose you.”

Your heart clenches, but you don’t push him away. You should—you should make him sit with this, make him feel what it’s been like for you all this time. But then his grip tightens, his voice breaking.

“Please, baby.” His lips hover just above yours, not quite touching, his breath warm against your skin. “Tell me it’s not too late.”

His vulnerability shakes you to your core.

You close your eyes, inhaling deeply, trying to steady yourself. “I don’t want to lose us either, Jungkook,” you whisper. “But I can’t keep being the only one holding on.”

Jungkook shakes his head instantly. “You’re not. You won’t be.” His lips ghost over your forehead before he pulls back just enough to meet your eyes. “Let me prove it to you. Please.”

His desperation is tangible, seeping into every word, every touch. And for the first time tonight, you wonder if maybe—just maybe—he really does see you now.

Jungkook watches you, searching for something—anything—in your eyes that tells him he hasn’t completely lost you.

Before doubt can settle in, he takes your hand, pressing it over his chest, right where his heart is hammering wildly. “Feel that?” he whispers. “That’s what you do to me, baby. Always.”

Your fingers twitch against his shirt, but you don’t pull away. You don’t move at all, just staring up at him, your expression unreadable.

He swallows hard. “I know I don’t say it enough. I know I don’t show it enough, but fuck, Y/n—” His hands tighten around yours, his voice barely above a breath. “There is nothing in this world that matters more to me than you.”

You let out a slow exhale, your gaze flickering, like you want to believe him—like a part of you does, but the hurt is still too fresh. So he gives you more.

“I’ll fix this,” he promises, his thumb brushing soft circles over your wrist. “Not with flowers, or gifts, or some last-minute bullshit—but with me. With us.”

His voice drops lower, thick with emotion. “Just tell me it’s not too late.” Your lips part slightly, but you don’t speak. Instead, you finally—finally—press your palm flat against his chest, feeling the way his heart beats erratically beneath your touch.

It’s enough to break something inside Jungkook. His grip tightens as he leans in, his lips brushing against your temple, then your cheek—soft, slow, hesitant, as if he’s still afraid you’ll slip away.

And when you don’t—when you let him—he exhales a shaky breath, his forehead resting against yours once more.

“I love you,” he whispers. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

Like if he says it enough, he can make up for all the times he didn’t. And maybe—just maybe—you’ll believe him again.

Jungkook’s breath is warm against your skin, his forehead still pressed against yours, his grip on you unwavering. His words linger in the air between you—raw, desperate, filled with a love that had always been there, even when he’d failed to show it.

You swallow hard, blinking against the tears clouding your vision. He’s waiting—watching you so intently, so hopelessly, as if your next words will either put him back together or completely shatter him.

You take a shaky breath. “Jungkook…” Your voice wavers, and his grip tightens instinctively. “I love you too.”

A sharp exhale leaves him, his entire body sinking slightly in relief. But before he can say anything, you continue. “But this hurt,” you whisper. “More than you realize.”

Jungkook stiffens, nodding quickly, his hands cupping your face again, his thumbs brushing away the tears that slip down your cheeks. “I know, baby. I know. And I hate myself for it.” His voice cracks, his jaw clenching before he presses a lingering kiss to your forehead.

You let your eyes flutter shut for a second, exhaling slowly. “I don’t want promises, Jungkook,” you murmur. “I just… I need to feel like I matter to you again.”

His hands tremble slightly as they slide down, wrapping around yours. He lifts them to his lips, pressing gentle, reverent kisses to each of your knuckles, his dark eyes never leaving yours.

“You do,” he whispers. “More than anything. And I’m going to spend every damn day proving that to you.” His voice is steady now—no hesitation, no doubt. Just quiet, determined love. And though the ache in your chest hasn’t fully faded, something shifts.

Because this time, you don’t just hear him. You believe him. Even if just a little.

Jungkook presses another lingering kiss against your knuckles, his touch reverent, as if grounding himself in you. But before he can lose himself completely, you gently murmur, “Have you eaten?”

The thought hadn’t even crossed his mind. He shakes his head, gaze still searching yours. “No… I—"

“Go freshen up,” you say softly, stepping back just a little. “We’ll eat together.”

His fingers twitch against yours, hesitating to let go, but eventually, he nods. With one last glance—like he’s making sure you’re really here—he pulls away and heads toward the shower.

While he’s gone, you move to the kitchen, setting out dinner in quiet contemplation. The ache in your chest hasn’t completely faded, but there’s something else now—a warmth that wasn’t there before.

------------------------

By the time Jungkook emerges, hair damp, dressed in a fresh t-shirt and sweatpants, you’ve already placed the food on the table.

He hesitates for only a second before joining you, sliding into his chair. “Thank you,” he murmurs, voice softer now.

You nod, offering a small smile as you take a seat. The conversation is light—simple, effortless. Jungkook fills the silence, stealing glances at you like he’s still memorizing you all over again. And through it all, his hand never leaves yours, his thumb rubbing slow, soothing circles against your skin.

After dinner, he helps with the dishes, working beside you in quiet understanding. The air between you feels lighter, yet still fragile—like something delicate being pieced back together.

Jungkook sets the last dish onto the drying rack, wiping his hands on the towel before turning to you. There’s a soft, almost hopeful look in his eyes—like he’s clinging to this moment, to the quiet togetherness you’ve shared over dinner.

You step away, hesitating for just a second before opening the refrigerator. Jungkook watches in silence as you carefully pull out the cake, placing on the counter, your fingers grazing the edges of the plate, before finally speaking.

“I…I’d made this.”

The words are quiet, but they hit harder than any raised voice ever could. Jungkook’s entire body stiffening as guilt crashes into him all over again. His eyes flicker to the cake—to the careful details, the effort, the thought you had put into it, for him—and suddenly, it feels like the walls are caving in.

His throat tightens. His fingers curl at his sides. He can’t look at you. He doesn’t deserve to. Tears gather in his eyes, blurring his vision, his heart breaking all over again—not just because he forgot today, but because he had broken you in so many ways without even realizing it.

And that? That’s something he doesn’t know how to forgive himself for.

“Jungkook..”, your voice is soft—barely above a whisper—but it cuts through the heavy silence like a knife.

He wants to look at you, wants to say something—anything—but he can’t. His head remains bowed, his hands gripping the edge of the counter, as if holding himself together takes everything in him.

You take a small step forward, the space between you feeling larger than it actually is. His silence is deafening.

“Jungkook,” you say again, a little firmer this time.

His lips part, a shaky breath slipping through, but no words come out. He wants to speak—to apologize again, to tell you how much he loves you, to somehow fix this—but his throat feels tight, his chest heavy.

He doesn’t know if words are enough.

“I… I’m so fucking sorry, baby,” Jungkook chokes out, his voice trembling as he finally speaks. His hands shake at his sides, his eyes still glassy with unshed tears. “I’ve been an asshole—a terrible husband. I don’t even know how to make this right.” His breath stutters, his words spilling out faster now, raw and desperate.

“I wouldn’t even be surprised if you left me,” he continues, shaking his head. “You should’ve. You deserve better. I—I can’t believe I—”

“Jungkook.”

You don’t let him finish.

Instead, you reach up, cupping his face with both hands, your thumbs brushing away the tears that have already begun to fall. His lips part in surprise, his rambling cut off as you rise onto your toes.

A gentle kiss on his lips.

Soft. Loving.

Tear-streaked and real.

Jungkook exhales shakily against your lips, his whole body melting into yours. His hands find your waist, holding onto you like you’re the only thing keeping him upright.

The kiss is slow—no desperation, no urgency—just you and him, emotions raw and bare. Tears continue to slip down your cheeks, mixing with his, salty and warm, but neither of you pull away. Because in this moment, there’s no need for words.

Just this.

Just love.

When you finally pull away, your forehead rests against his, both of you breathing heavily, your tears still wet against each other’s skin. Jungkook’s grip on your waist is firm, like he’s grounding himself in your touch, afraid to let go. His lips part, like he wants to speak, but before he can, you whisper,

“You’re not a terrible husband, Jungkook.”

Jungkook’s eyes glisten with more unshed tears, his lips pressing into a thin line, unable to speak. You wipe his tears away with your thumbs, offering him the smallest smile. “Just… love me better, okay?”

His throat bobs as he swallows hard, nodding again, more determined this time. “I will.” His voice is barely above a whisper, but you believe him.

You press one last gentle kiss to his cheek before stepping back, glancing at the cake still sitting on the counter. “Come on,” you say, nudging him lightly. “Let’s cut this before it melts.”

Jungkook lets out a breathy chuckle, wiping at his face as he nods. He steps beside you, his hand instinctively finding yours again as you both move toward the small cake. The two of you cut into it together, Jungkook’s fingers lacing through yours around the knife handle. He doesn’t let go, even as you both take small bites in comfortable silence.

Once the plates are cleared, you tug at his wrist, nodding toward the bedroom. “Come to bed?”

Jungkook exhales, relief washing over his features as he nods. “Yeah.”

A few minutes later, you’re both under the covers, warmth surrounding you as Jungkook pulls you against his chest. His arms wrap tightly around you, his breath fanning against the top of your head as he whispers,

“I love you.”

This time, you don’t hesitate to say it back.

“I love you too, Jungkook.”

And for the first time in weeks, you fall asleep in his arms, where you’ve always belonged.

Jungkook’s fingers still tremble against your skin. Even as he holds you, his grip is laced with hesitance, a silent fear lingering beneath the warmth of his touch. It’s in the way his hands press into your back yet remain careful, as if he’s afraid of holding on too tightly.

You can feel the erratic thud of his heart beneath your palm, his breaths uneven, his chest rising and falling as if he’s struggling to keep himself steady.

And something about that—about him—makes your own heart ache.

Slowly, you lift your head from his chest, your eyes locking onto his in the dim glow of the room. His lips part slightly, his gaze unreadable, but the moment you lean in, his breath catches.

You kiss him.

It starts soft—gentle, longing, filled with everything you can’t put into words.

Jungkook melts into it instantly, his grip on you tightening, pulling you impossibly closer. The warmth of his lips, the slight hitch in his breath when you press harder—it sends a familiar heat curling through you.

The kiss deepens, your fingers gripping his t-shirt with urgency, needing to feel more. It’s desperate, heady, the space between you charged with something deeper than just want—something raw, something that had been missing for too long.

Jungkook pulls back gently. His forehead stays pressed against yours, both of you panting softly, but his hands shake slightly as they hold you in place.

His lips part, his breath uneven. “I… we shouldn’t…” He swallows hard, voice thick with hesitation. “I mean… I don’t want you to think I’m gonna fix this with sex.”

His words cut through the haze of warmth between you, grounding you both back in reality. You understand. Because even now—even now—he’s afraid. Afraid that this isn’t enough. Afraid that he isn’t enough.

Your eyes soften as you take in his hesitance, the uncertainty in his gaze, the way his breath trembles against your skin.

You reach up, your fingers threading gently through his hair, grounding him. “I’m never gonna think like that, Kook,” you murmur, your voice quiet but sure.

His lips part slightly, his brows still knitted in concern, but before he can say anything, you lean in again. This time, the kiss is slower—softer—filled with nothing but love.

You linger for a moment, your lips brushing against his as you whisper, “I just… I need you.” Another soft kiss. “Please.”

Jungkook exhales sharply, his entire body shuddering under the weight of your words.

And just like that, whatever hesitation he had left—it’s gone.

Your breaths grow uneven as your lips move against his, the heat between you intensifying with every passing second.

Jungkook shifts, his body hovering over yours, his weight pressing down just enough to make you feel him. His hands slip beneath the oversized t-shirt you’re wearing, his touch still hesitant, fingertips ghosting over your waist like he’s memorizing the feel of you all over again.

But you don’t want hesitation.

You tug at his shirt, a silent plea, and Jungkook obeys without question, pulling it over his head and tossing it aside. Before he can think, you pull him back in, capturing his lips in another deep, hungry kiss.

A quiet groan escapes him, his hands finally exploring freely, pressing against your skin, feeling the warmth beneath his palms. His lips leave yours only to trail down your neck, his breath warm as he presses soft, lingering kisses there.

You shiver when he reaches the collar of your shirt, your own hands moving to help him remove it. Dark, love-filled eyes roam over every inch of your skin, his lips parting slightly, as if he’s trying to find the words—but nothing he could say would ever be enough. Still, he tries.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, voice thick with awe. “So fucking perfect.”

Your breath catches when he lowers himself again, his lips planting soft, reverent kisses along your collarbone, trailing lower—over your shoulder, your chest—his mouth mapping you like you’re something sacred.

His lips slowly wrap around one breast, his tongue flicking teasingly before sucking softly. A moan escapes you, your fingers tangling into his hair, tugging lightly as he hums against your skin. His other hand moves to your neglected breast, his thumb brushing over the sensitive peak as he keeps mouthing sweet nothings against you.

“You’re everything,” he whispers between kisses, his voice muffled against your skin. “I love you so much, baby.”

And as the heat between you builds, his touch grows bolder. A desperate whimper escapes your lips as your fingers tangle deeper into Jungkook’s hair, your body arching toward him, silently pleading for more.

He groans against your skin, the sound low and warm, vibrating through you. “Patience, baby,” he murmurs, pressing another lingering kiss to your chest before trailing lower, his lips tracing the curves of your body. “Let me take my time… let me make love to you.”

The way he says it—love—makes your stomach tighten, your heart aching as much as your body craves him. His hands glide down your waist, slow and purposeful, before slipping between your legs. His fingers find the damp fabric of your panties, pressing just lightly enough to make you gasp. Your hips lift instinctively, chasing his touch, and Jungkook groans at the feeling.

His dark eyes meet yours, silently asking for permission. You nod, unable to form words, and that’s all he needs.

Hooking his fingers into the waistband, he tugs your panties down, dragging them slowly along your legs before discarding them somewhere behind him. His gaze never leaves you as he lowers himself further, trailing kisses down your stomach, over the sensitive skin of your hips.

He settles between your legs. You feel completely bare under his intense gaze, the way his lips part slightly, his eyes darkening as he drinks you in.

“So fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice filled with something reverent, something devoted. His hands spread your thighs wider, his thumbs brushing along your skin in slow, soothing circles.

“My wife.”

The words send a shiver down your spine, making your core clench in anticipation.

Finally, he closes his mouth around you. One long, slow stroke of his tongue, and you fall apart instantly, a breathless moan slipping from your lips as your head tilts back against the pillows.

Jungkook hums against you, pleased, his hands gripping your thighs as he licks another slow, teasing stripe through your folds. “So fucking sweet,” he groans, the heat of his breath against your slick skin making your body tremble. “Gonna make you feel so good, baby.”

He isn't just making love, he's devouring you.

Jungkook hums against you, the vibration sending a shockwave of pleasure up your spine. His hands grip your thighs, holding you open as his tongue moves with slow, deliberate strokes—learning you all over again, savoring every little gasp and shudder that escapes you.

“Jungkook—” Your voice is breathless, almost pleading, your fingers tightening in his hair, tugging him closer.

He groans at that, the sound reverberating through your core as he laps at you with more purpose. His tongue flicks over your clit, teasing, testing, before he sucks gently, making your back arch off the bed.

“Fuck—” You whimper, your thighs threatening to close around his head, but his strong hands keep you spread wide, completely at his mercy.

His lips brushing your sensitive skin as he pulls back just enough to look up at you. His lips are slick, his dark eyes burning with desire.

Your cheeks burn, he dives back in, this time with more urgency. His tongue moves in tight circles, alternating between slow, teasing strokes and deeper, firmer licks that have your breath hitching.

One hand slides up your stomach, fingers splaying across your skin before reaching your breast, rolling a nipple between his fingers. The combined sensation makes your thighs tremble, a moan tearing from your lips as your hips buck against his mouth.

Jungkook groans, clearly enjoying how responsive you are, his grip on you tightening as he eats you out like it’s his last meal. He flicks his tongue over your clit again, then sucks, harder this time, sending sparks shooting through your body.

“-fuck, Jungkook—” Your head tilts back, eyes squeezing shut as the pleasure builds, coiling tight in your stomach.

He pulls back just enough to murmur against you, “You gonna cum for me, baby?”

The heat inside you is unbearable now, hot and consuming. You nod desperately, your moans spilling freely as you grip his hair, your body teetering on the edge. Jungkook doesn’t stop. He pushes you closer, his mouth working you over with expert precision, his hands holding you steady as your body starts to tremble.

“Come for me, baby,” he whispers against your heat. “Let me taste you.”

And with one final flick of his tongue, you shatter—Pleasure crashes over you, your back arching, thighs trembling as you moan his name like a prayer. Jungkook groans, drinking in everything you give him, his hands stroking your body as he helps you ride it out.

Only when your body goes slack does he finally pull away, pressing soft kisses against your inner thighs, his voice thick with pride and adoration. “You’re so perfect,” he breathes between kisses, his voice thick with adoration. “My love. My wife.”

Jungkook moves up, trailing kisses along your body—over your stomach, your ribs, your collarbone—When he reaches your lips, he captures them in a deep, languid kiss, his hands cradling your face like you’re something fragile, something cherished.

Your fingers roam over his chest, tracing the lines of his muscles before moving lower, brushing over his abdomen until you reach the hardness straining against his sweats.

A groan rumbles from his chest at your touch, his hips twitching into your palm as you cup him, feeling just how ready he is.

“Baby…” he breathes against your lips, voice thick with want. You tug at the waistband of his pants, wordlessly asking for more. Jungkook obliges, sitting back just enough to push them down, kicking them off entirely.

He’s fully hard, the sight of him making your stomach tighten, heat pooling between your legs again. But before you can do anything, before you can even reach for him Jungkook takes your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. The intimacy of it overwhelming.

His other hand moves between your bodies, guiding himself to your entrance, his eyes locked on yours, searching, making sure—

With a final nod from you, he pushes in, slow and careful, stretching you inch by inch.

A soft moan escapes your lips, but Jungkook kisses you instantly, swallowing the sound, his own groan muffled against your mouth as he sinks deeper. The moment he’s fully inside, he stills, pressing his forehead to yours, breathing you in. And as he holds you close, as your bodies mold together so seamlessly, you realize—

This isn’t just sex.

This is home.

Jungkook moves slowly, each roll of his hips deep and deliberate, as if he’s trying to make up for every moment he let slip away. His body is pressed flush against yours, warmth seeping into every inch of your skin, his breath shaky against your lips as he kisses you between each movement.

Your fingers dig softly into his back, nails pressing just enough to ground yourself in the overwhelming sensation of him. One hand moves to his hair, your fingers threading through the strands, tugging gently as his lips travel from your mouth to your jaw, down your neck, planting soft, lingering kisses that make your heart ache.

It’s slow, it’s deep—it’s love.

And then, suddenly, you feel it.

A faint tremble against your body.

Something warm and wet against your neck where Jungkook has buried his face.

Your breath catches as realization dawns—he’s crying. Tears gather in your own eyes without warning, the sheer weight of the moment crashing over you all at once.

You tighten your hold on him, your arms wrapping around his shoulders as you press a soft kiss into his hair. “Kook…” you whisper, your voice barely holding steady.

He shudders at your touch, at the way you hold him, like you’re not just letting him fall apart—but falling apart with him.

“I—” His voice cracks as he exhales shakily, his thrusts faltering for a moment. “I’m so sorry, baby.” His lips find your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin as he presses kisses there—apology after apology, praise after praise.

“You’re everything to me,” he murmurs between kisses, his words thick with emotion. “You always have been.” A tear slips down your cheek as you cup his face, guiding him up until his forehead rests against yours.

“I know,” you whisper, voice trembling. “I know, Jungkook.”

His lips crash against yours again, the kiss slow and deep, his movements resuming—gentle but full of something raw, something unspoken. His hands grip your waist tighter, his body moving in perfect sync with yours, as if this moment is rewriting everything.

“I’ve got you,” you whisper, voice laced with love. “I’ll always have you.”

Jungkook shudders, gripping you tighter, his lips pressing against your shoulder, his movements slowing but never stopping. You can feel the love in every touch, every kiss, every whispered breath against your skin.

And when the pleasure builds to its peak, you come undone together, your bodies melting into one as waves of warmth crash over you. His name spills from your lips, his deep groan following right after, his arms holding you so tight you swear he never plans on letting go.

Silence lingers, only the sound of heavy breathing filling the space. Then, Jungkook shifts, lifting his head just enough to press the softest kiss to your lips.

“I love you,” he murmurs, voice hoarse but full of devotion. “I don’t deserve you… but I swear, I’ll spend my life proving that I do.”

You cup his face, your thumb brushing away the remnants of dried tears. “Just love me like this, Jungkook,” you whisper, voice steady. “That’s all I need.”

His hands tightening around you as his forehead presses against yours. “I’ll love you more,” he vows, his voice breaking slightly. “More than this, more than anything. Always.” His words settle deep in your chest, warm and real, and when he pulls you impossibly closer, tucking you into his arms, you believe him.

His heartbeat is steady now, no longer frantic with fear—just warm, solid, home.

As sleep begins to pull you under, you hear him whisper one last thing against your hair.

“Happy anniversary, baby.”

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aphrodicci · 5 months ago

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ᴀꜱᴛᴇʀᴏɪᴅ ᴀᴘʜʀᴏᴅɪᴛᴇ [1388]

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❦ asteroid aphrodite [1388] is an asteroid that is about fertility, love beauty and passion. where and how you are blessed with beauty, where people find you the most beautiful, your sex appeal. the art of seduction and where you can hook many suitors.

♇ ASTEROID APHRODITE IN 1H/ARIES ⟶ strong beauty indicator, known for having a beautiful face, could have many moles + beauty spots. indicator of being very fertile, and people could think you're a heart-breaker, very seducing and hard to catch so people likely chase after you. can have many people compliment you on sight, or stare at you. people would likely find your face and your body as the most beautiful think you have, or just one of them and it just stands out. you are likely crushed by many people around you, this is the bombshell archetype.

♇ ASTEROID APHRODITE IN 2H/TAURUS ⟶ known for having a beautiful face, nice voice or curvy body/small waist. people might want to buy things for you and make you feel spoiled. could be someone who attracts very possessive people, potential sugar baby. someone in the family might have been in a cheating scandal, or even you. could have a roster of lovers, nice neck and eyebrows, could have freckles, this person values beauty a lot, this is the material girl archetype.

♇ ASTEROID APHRODITE IN 3H/GEMINI ⟶ could have beautiful twins, heart-breaker for sure, cant be tied down for too long. very nice fashion style, or even online feed. could gain fame for your beauty, adaptable beauty, many things suit them. could be the relative or could have a relative that could be considered as a cheater. nice hand writing, could easily get dates, particularly from online dating matches. charming and flirts easily with almost everyone and everything around her, easily distracted. can charm the pants off of someone, this is the girl next door/school crush archetype.

♇ ASTEROID APHRODITE IN 4H/CANCER ⟶ very fertile placement, other people might want to settle down with you and even trap you. could point to infidelity happening within the family, and could have a really nice smile and other people might like your breast/chest area. pinnacle of beauty, apple cheekbones and could have a wider/curvy body. voluptuous or just big in the front and back with wider hips. could have really nice hair, could embody people's wants in a significant other, this archetype is the old hollywood beauty.

♇ ASTEROID APHRODITE IN 5H/LEO ⟶ could love to get into situationships, could have a breeding kink, beautiful back tattoos. star-girl kind of beauty. it reminds me of the six of wands type of charm and glamour. could have a lot of suitors in their dms, and even wanting to settle down or leave a child with them, this placement could point to being someone's arm candy, fur coats and diamonds, looking rich and expensive, sometimes people with this placement might feel like they're objectified very easily by others, this archetype is the golden girl beauty.

♇ ASTEROID APHRODITE IN 6H/VIRGO ⟶ others would want to be fixed by them or would want to fix them. some would want to be serviced by this native, conquer and pin them down and even humble them. they challenge people and bring out people's desires. people who have aphrodite here might have others desperate to get their attention, this could be due to the fact that the individual could be frugal with their energy and who they hang around with, people would want to get to know them more, as they have so many layers to them, think of it as a cat finally allowing you to touch their fur, this archetype is the forbidden fruit beauty.

♇ ASTEROID APHRODITE IN 7H/LIBRA ⟶ could have a nice ass, could be seen as the most beautiful within their social group, or their community, very smiley to other people, can be considered as someone who has a beautiful smile and could have nice clothes/style. is an indicator of being eye-candy, could be in relationships all the time, but attracts much chaos to their love life. could like the bad boy/girl lover archetype, you can look but not touch type of beauty, this is the popular girl archetype.

♇ ASTEROID APHRODITE IN 8H/SCORPIO ⟶ attracts the taboo love, romeon and juliet kind of connection. infidelity and love triangles, the intimidating dominatrix who oozes sex appeal, a lot of people likely watch this person and can become very jealous of what you have. other people would want to destroy you, in both ways. this person could have an obsession with beauty and can easily get people to finance them, another sugar baby indicator, this is the obvious femme fatale archetype.

♇ ASTEROID APHRODITE IN 9H/SAGITTARIUS ⟶ foreign beauty, Goddess type of beauty, think of cleopatra, nefertiti and it reminds me of elizabeth taylor as well. that type of beauty. could have a rich future spouse and even be very fertile, both you and the future spouse. future spouse could be someone who might want to settle down very quickly and even be someone who is very beautiful. natives humour and sense of self makes them attractive, people could worship them or admire the individual's beauty everything they do. their beauty can take up the entire room, and can have many suitors and suitresses, this is the goddess archetype.

♇ ASTEROID APHRODITE IN 10H/CAPRICORN ⟶ work-place bombshell, loved by the media, if you were famous, you would have much controversy when it comes to your romantic love life. dating your boss or someone who is powerful within an industry, this placement reminds me of the Queen of Pentacles, gets lovers from work, and whenever you're in a relationship people could talk about it all the time and could be nosy about it. a beauty indicator, face, style and charm, everything is beautiful here. might've had a father who was a cheat, this placement has many archetypes, office-siren, archetypal wife/mother. it reminds me of gabrielle solis, but mainly i would say this is mainly the office-siren archetype.

♇ ASTEROID APHRODITE IN 11H/AQUARIUS ⟶ other-worldly beauty, not from her type beat. the pretty friend, famous due to their looks, unique beauty. could have a nice aesthetic online, can rock and style anything. lots of dimples or moles, an indicator of having a romantic scandal with friends, or a friend of a friend. love affairs. gets more beautiful as you age, stands out in the crowd, extreme beauty, that it can be off-putting. it's like you will never see this type of person again type of beauty, i'd give this placement the fae archetype.

♇ ASTEROID APHRODITE IN 12H/PISCES ⟶ "i walked with you once upon a dream" type of beauty, mermaid, trickster, long roster; can be two-faced, doesnt know how to settle down. being someone who others can be confused about, might not want to have children or could think and dream about them all the time. attracts many envious people, can embody people's definition of beauty. ariel's song type of essence. the essence of a cloud and a dream, i'd give this placement the fantasy archetype.

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the-joy-of-knowledge · 1 year ago

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25 Laws of power for women

Conceal your goals especially the ones that are appealing. Losing weight, reinventing yourself, marrying wealthy. Instead talk about your altruistic goals - to help children, invest in education, this will chase insecure people with vile intentions.

Do not give anyone your source of power: Was is a book that changed your life? a mentor? a movie? Never give up your secret to success. If forced to do say allude to God, the universe, the a random phenomenon

Use the patriarchy to your favor; we live in a world that is, only associate with men who have power, use that power for good.

Never appear too perfect but be selectively vulnerable when needed. Only share something that you will be comfortable saying. You might say “I forget my keys all the time,” “I don’t know how to perfectly park a car “. But never disclose something you are not comfortable with just because you are afraid of being perfect.

Maintain distance in relationships. Friends are the best and you need them. But if you feel that they are becoming too dependent, see them at your own will. But also the reverse could be the case. Your friend may keep a distance, and that is the way of life. You have got to move on from it.

Develop your own style that makes you unique, beautiful, and elegant. Avoid trying to fit in the crowd of people who claim to care less about their style yet have too many opinions about other women’s style

Avoid male friends at all cost, you will have male colleagues, male bosses, male acquaintances, business partners. Keep it that way. You do not want a Truman Capote divulging your secrets to the world. Do not keep a man who does not fit your standard.

You do not have to win at every game. Pick and choose what is best for you and leave room for others. And step down if you have attained that level of success, do not let the society do it for you.

Trust people but remember that we are all humans. So trust with discretion!

Confuse people with kindness; people are not always comfortable with beautiful and intelligent women. That power is too intimidating so confuse them by being genuinely generous, curious, kind, and passionate.

Keep your strong opinions to yourself.. if you support a movement, a way of life, do so silently.

We all have dirty laundry, wash them privately, don’t expose yourself. Remain silent when people try to attack you or shame you. Whatever is not confirmed is not true. You are the only one who knows all the truth about you.

Don’t attract pity or praise: People who pity you do not help you, in fact they might think that you are weak and could mock you at their annual gossipping meeting. And if you are doing things for the sake of praise you are wasting your time.

Choose yourself all the time; never put any one’s feelings above yours.

Trust your own intuition if you feel someone is being malicious towards you, giving you back handed compliments then you should let them go

Never speak bad of another woman. Do not lazy around gossipping. Keep your hands clean and your conscience clear.

Avoid women with low self esteem they will bring you down. For some reason they do not like seeing other women who are doing better than them

Be careful who you seek validation from. Not everyone needs to be pleased. If they are in no way capable of contributing to your life in the ways you prefer, then don’t ask them for their opinions or please them.

Do not compete with other women, if you do you are only putting them on a pedestal. You are making the the standard by which you measure your progress. If you do compete, begin digging your grave.

Do not give unsolicited advice, do not share the inner workings of your mind, If your mouth is very charitable you better start journaling.

Be well-rounded and interesting. It attracts people. It also keeps you busy because you are continually improving and learning. An idle mind is an easily subdued one.

Avoid women who want to live vicariously through you; they want to know who you know, shop where you shop, befriend who you befriend, wear what you wear.

Pay attention to the source of your discomfort; get rid of them. You tell them your dreams and they remind you of all your hindrances. They ask why are you dressed so fancy as though fancy isn’t subjective. They undermine you interests and goals. They will also be quick to bring you down because they are afraid of your potential.

Do not fear power or please power. When we see powerful people we try to hard to befriend them, to be close to them but you need to be comfortable without them. Don’t push yourself in the name of friendship, do not try too hard to be in their inner circle. Your independence of mind is the most important. Instead become a powerful woman, aloof to the presence of power but aware of its importance. Be an ingenious and intelligent and use your creativity to uplift yourself. When you do so it will be hard to ignore you. Even the powerful will become an ally.

Enjoy moments of solitude. Use that time to develop yourself, improve your body, learn new skills, create with your mind, read widely, become more elegant, then launch yourself.

Remember the most powerful women are the most intelligent. Inspired by Robert Greene's 48 Laws of Power. Use at your discretion.

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cymonelachelle · 10 months ago

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I got an energy session

I’ve been feeling stifled. This past week I’ve been going to job interviews and just mentally preparing to rejoin the workforce and I think that the idea of leaving my full time freedom has me rebelling against being creative. Everything that I write I’m overly critical of and can’t seem to get past 200 words before I’m ready to throw in the towel. So when I happened to come across a vender who…

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#blog #blogger #books #chase your dreams #faith #god #how to be a writer #how to chase your passion #libraries #library #mental-health #poet #poetry #reading #reiki energy session #self published author #writer #writing

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aomiiine · 3 months ago

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YOU MUST BE HAUNTING ME

𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 : childhood friends, ZAYNE and CALEB + fem!reader 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 : nsfw, MDNI [18+ only], pure filth ahead !! -> threesome (mfm), groping, possessive/competitive bffs, double creampie, masturbation, boob obsessed zayne, manhandling, smut no plot, not proofread wordcount. 1.3k (written out of guilt for zayne, my husband)

𝓐𝓝 𝓤𝓝𝓔𝓧𝓟𝓔𝓒𝓣𝓔𝓓 𝓡𝓔𝓤𝓝𝓘𝓞𝓝 brings this trio to a breaking point where their intense feelings are finally spilled free. They have no problem expressing those feelings wholeheartedly, but will you be able to handle the extent of their passion?

The tension between the two men in your apartment had reached a nearly un bearable point. As if it wasn’t enough that it was raining outside, their shared glares only ramped the unease you felt being between these two domineering men. How you longed for them to get along as they used to before things got complicated. But you couldn’t exactly complain now could you? With all of their undivided atttention focused solely on you, uncaring for their surroundings.

Sandwiched between hard planes of their chest, you hold on tight to whoever’s shoulder was at closest to your side all the while caleb’s stammered chuckles filled your ears from behind you on the bed, hoarse voice of his interrupted by the moans that escape his lips whenever his weeping slit made contact with your entrance, threatening to nudge into your warm heat. And the pilot had never been so tempted to do so, barely able to rein his hips back from plunging his throbbing cock deep your pussy, letting the other man holding and groping your body on the other side writhe in his position, forced to watch caleb take you first. But caleb was a man with a shred of honour left for his old companion, settling for frantic grinds against your bare slick folds over your drenched panties.

“You know, I would be balls deep buried inside your sweet pussy by now if you hadn’t called him over,” caleb murmured hotly by your ear, taking the opportunity to nip onto it, tongue running over your sensitive skin with a rumble the erupted from his chest, hip bucking further into the narrow opening between your legs. “Shut up, I didn’t call him over..” You could barely utter a coherent word with how warm your entire body felt, feeling it affect your mind in the process. While caleb was unrelenting, zayne was holding your close while you laid on your side, head burrowed between the swell of your breasts to mark on your chest with soothing laves of his tongue.

The black haired man’s glasses were long discarded, but if he were wearing them right now, the lenses would be covered with steam produced by his heavy pants. As composed zayne seemed to be about you, he was an utter mess with his cock in his hand, looking pathetic and depraved for the salty sweet taste of your sweat sheened skin which he had earlier dirtied with a heavy spill of his cum, aware of the lewd shlicks he made with every stroke of his fat cock. With how absorbed he was with chasing his second high, all provocations by caleb could be ignored for now.

During the impatient glides of calebs dick beneath your panties, you made a yelp when his hand slid under your thigh to lift it up, explosing your dripping cunt to the cool air of the room. “I need to have you, sweetheart, I’m sorry,” he muttered quickly without a hint of remorse before shifting himself to an angle so the head of his cock delved past your puffy folds and notch itself into your entrace, giving one brutal thrust to bury himself into your heat to the hilt. “For fuck’s sake, why do you feel so good,” he grunted with a whine, eyes fluttering closed as he willed them to stay in place and not roll back at the feeling of your tight pussy clenching around him like a silken vice. Unable to restrain himself any longer, his hips rolled back and forth to fuck himself in and out of your pussy, balls slapping against your clit with each respective plunge in his attempt to bully your g-spot, earning a sob like moan from your drooling lips.

“C-caleb, too hard—!” You whimpered pitifully with your head planted deeply into the pillow beneath your head, feeling utterly boneless at the onslaught pleasure zayne and caleb were giving you. Speaking about zayne, the surgeon was still deeply captivated by your tits, one hand groping and fondling you to no end with teasing tugs on your tortured nipples while the other which was wrapped tight around his painfully erect cock stuttered and quickened its pace when he watched caleb abuse your insides, the erotic slaps of skin against skin not missed by his ears. “You’re too vulgar, my love.. I can barely find it in me to discipline you,” zayne uttered with stuggling pants, his drawn out groans mingling with his uneven breathing. He bucked his hips forward until his cock touched your lower belly, rubbing the underside on your cum stained skin with gritted teeth as he braced himself for his impending orgasm, knowing it had to be on you, inside you, he didn’t care. As long as it was you.

Caleb on the otherhand, too, was at the brink of ecstasy, balls drawn up tight with his thrusts growing more and more frantic with his desperation to finish inside you and bring you to climax as well. It didn’t take long since the guttural moan he made came in tow with the snap of the tight knot in lower belly, his swollen cock pumping jet after jet of semen deep into your tight channel, making sure he painted every crevice with his scent with the shallow thrusts he made to ride out his orgasm. You held on tight to the sheets of the bed, tugging zayne closer to your heaving chest as you cried out, profanities leaving your lips along with caleb’s name like a slurred mantra.

Unfortunately for you, zayne took notice of caleb’s fading orgasm, taking in the subtle twitches of his body as he drifted to bask in the afterglow, softening cock still nestled deep in your filled pussy. With a frustrated grunt, he released his grip on his aching cock to grab onto your hip, pulling you off caleb’s dick with an audible schlop, string of cum connecting you slit to caleb’s tip until it snapped. “What’re you doing?” You spoke with a tremble, zayne’s sudden lift of your body startling you back to reality, your panties tugged off and discarded. You watched with panicky flickers of your eyes, anticipating what zayne had in plan for you. But without giving you a moment to register, his strong hand held firm on your hip rolled your entire body along with his, positioning you on top of him. Without second thought, zayne aligned the bulbous head of his cock against your entrance, making little work of pushing you down his girthy length, your name leaving his lips in a low moan, trembling ever so slightly.

“I want to cum inside you, darling, forgive me.” Zayne held your hips in place before beginning to thrust up into you, hips rolling in quick shallow plunges of his pulsating cock, swollen and ready to burst at any time. His balls met your ass cheeks in audible slaps akin to the sound caleb made when he had his turn on your cunt, the sudden stretch of your walls bringing you to edge of pleasure for nth time as your held yourself up on zayne’s chest, meeting his thrusts with half-hearted motions. But fuck, it was enough to make the doctor come to an abrupt halt to fill you up with scorching hot fluids of his cum, fingers buried so tight into your flesh it was certain bruises would bloom the morning after and yet of course, neither of the three of you could care less at the moment.

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sturnlsstuff · 2 months ago

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GETTING OFF ON CHRIS'S LAP. . .

— warnings: smut, titty sucking, making out, cursing, dry humping, english isn't my first language.

chris didn't necessarily understand what made you so needy out of sudden, but he was not complaining.

your fingers are digging into his shoulders, while you continue grinding down against the bulge in his sweatpants. the last ten minutes had been like heaven— what started as an innocent make out session, ended with you dry humping your boyfriend.

chris is kissing you passionately, one hand moving to tangle in your hair while the other one plays with your breast, your shirt thrown to the floor a few minutes ago, leaving your chest bare.

your breath hitches as chris pulls away from the kiss, and instead wraps his lips around your hardening nipple, his hands now on your hips. his erection presses against your clothed pussy, and you get lost in the feeling. the way your clit brushes perfectly against his tip causes you to moan, and tilt your head back in utter bliss.

he continues sucking gently on your nipple, eyes locked on the pleasure written all over your face, his hands moving to grab your ass, and pull you down harder onto his cock. he can feel how wet you are even through your clothes, and it's driving him insane.

"feels good, baby?" you look down at him as he speaks, a string of saliva connecting his lips to your nipple. "using me like this?"

you nod immediately, eyebrows knitted together as the pleasure keeps building up in your lower belly. "s-so good..."

chris smirks, his hands tightening on your ass. he kisses his way over to the other breast, giving it the same treatment as he murmurs against your skin. "good girl... gettin' y'self off on my lap..."

his tongue moving around your nipple makes a shiver go straight to your core, a whimper falling from your lips. each time you grind on him, you're making these small, breathy noises that he loves.

your arms wrap around his shoulders, while pressing yourself down harder against him, the wetness starts leaking through your shorts onto his lap. a small growl leaves him at the realization of you dripping only for him.

he lifts his head, capturing your mouth in a searing kiss, his hips twitching upward uncontrollably. it's all sloppy and heated, your tongues dancing together as you continue rolling your hips against his clothed dick.

"gonna come?" he pulls back to look at you, the way your eyes are shut, your tits bouncing slightly with each movement, face all flushed and lips swollen from kisses. you looked so sexy, dry humping him like your life depended on it, and it only makes his cock twitch in his sweatpants. "gonna make a fuckin' mess on my lap from grindin' all over me like a little slut?"

"chris— mgh, fuck—" you let out a choked moan, his fingers digging into your hips, guiding your movements.

he's matching your pace perfectly, bucking his hips up each time you grind down, his orgasm building as he watches you with his bottom lip between his teeth.

at some point you open your eyes to look at him— at how hot he looked. you were holding it in almost the entire day, while you sat on the couch and watched him and his brothers recording a new youtube video in their kitchen earlier. you had to restrain yourself from ruining it and dragging chris into his bedroom. you didn't know why his outfit had such an effect on you, but after seeing him in that red tank top and backwards hat, with that goddamn bracelet on his wrist, you completely lost your mind. you couldn't wait to be alone with him— and finally, nick and matt left the house, leaving you two alone, and you just had to release the tension.

"holy shit—" another moan leaving your lips after noticing the way he looks at you. "so...close, chris–"

this nearly pushes him over the edge as well, his grip tightens as he watches you chase your orgasm, every roll of your hips perfectly grinding against his aching cock. when you press down harder, he lets out a groan that's almost a plea.

you were a desperate mess, noticing the growing wet stain on his sweatpants, and it only makes you clench around nothing, the pressure becoming too much.

"c'mon, pretty," he mutters against your mouth, pulling your bottom lip between his teeth. "wanna see you cum just from rubbin' that needy pussy on me... you gonna do this f'me? hm?"

"oh— jesus..." his words send a shudder through you, your nails digging into his shoulders harder as you grind down, your clit rubbing against his cock just perfectly to make your orgasm crush over you, leaving you trembling on top of him. a final gasp leaves your mouth, your eyes rolling back as chris guides you when your hips stutter. your slick staining not only on your shorts, but on his sweatpants as well.

"thereee you go... so fuckin' hot, baby—" he groans loudly, watching you come undone on him, your wet heat pressing against his cock through the clothes. his eyes half-lidded as he takes in the sight of you like this, his favorite, the way your chest rises and falls rapidly. the friction and the sounds leaving your lips are enough to push him completely over the edge, in the last moment pulling down his sweatpants, just enough to free his leaking with pre-cum dick and wrap his hand around it.

you look down as he jerks off, his head tilting back against the couch, almost knocking his hat off his head. warm drops of cum bursts from his tip all over his hand and thighs, a moan of your name falling from his lips.

#chris sturniolo ❦ blurb #sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo x reader #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo x fem reader #sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo x fem!reader #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo x you #chris sturniolo x reader

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abyssyby · 1 month ago

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to be devoured, to be held

— a storm brews in your head as you grapple with the longing to take up a little more space in sylus’s life— would he mind?

ʕ ꈍᴥꈍʔ: something i conjured up @ 2am thinking about spending time with sylus fresh-relationship, when things are still a little fragile & a little unsure. struggling w this myself, to all who do— you are allowed to take up space. you are enough. fueled by the singular image of sylus chasing fingers with kisses. also!!! the free 5 star henckskd i canT WAIT 😫. enjoy! ❀-urs

sylus x reader | angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, miscommunication, self-conscious reader, overthinker sylus, longing, smoochie kisses, face masks!

Sylus is visibly busy. He doesn’t move much when he works, resembling more a statue really— one carved with passion and love, if you were to gush.

Were it not for the rapid flickering of his eyes and the tack-tack-tack of his fingers on his keyboard, you’d wonder if he was even breathing.

Your gaze lingers on the thin-framed glasses you gifted him, now perched precariously on the bridge of his nose. He doesn’t need them, you’d think regeneration would grant him immunity against mere blue-light, but he wears them anyway. A silent gratitude, a heart-fluttering token of you in all his endeavors. Your fingers itch to push them up just that little bit.

But he’s busy.

You linger by the door of his office. Meticulous as you take in the set of his jaw, the slight pout of his lips, the subtle crease in his brow and his soft, disheveled hair. You swallow down the burn to run your fingers through the cloud-like tufts and smooth them away from his forehead.

He’s busy.

“Sweetie.” You stiffen, pulled from the haze by low, thundering endearment. His eyes never leave the screen, his fingers never cease typing. But you know he’s got every intention of luring you in like a siren.

“Mm?” you reply, clearing you throat. How you can make a simple hum so utterly pathetic, you’ve no idea. Your face heats, your scalp prickles. Your gut churns at how little of him it takes to undo you.

But he only smiles, just the slightest bit. Eyes require strain to capture its split-second existence. “Need something?”

Your eyes widen. Oh, the last thing you want is for him to think you’re insensitive and entitled enough to distract him. “No— no! I’m okay.”

His brow raises. The clacking beneath his fingers is silenced. Once shifting eyes now focused on you. “Are you sure?”

You nod. “Yes. I’ll go.”

You’re turning away before he catches a glimpse of the tingles you feel beneath your skin. You shouldn’t disturb him. He had come home late last night. Slipped into bed to hold you for an hour at most before you felt him drift away once more. Back into his office. To his very important schedule.

The lump in your throat is remedied by a big gulp of water but the irritation for your self-pity is a fire you cannot easily douse.

You should be grateful that he accepted you into his home for the holidays. Overjoyed that he’d become more comfortable with your intimate (albeit shy) advances like fingers caressing his own, and lips brushing on any exposed speckle of flesh of his you see. He always indulges you with a shudder and a controlled breath.

Looks at you like you’d wronged him, like he’s piously holding back unforgivable sin should he touch you back.

And yet, your chest aches at the lack of attention. You grind your teeth. Dramatically and truthfully, you’re starved, thirsty, and craving for his regard. But how greedy would you be to demand that of him.

Digging your nails in your palms, you relent. He has enough on his plate. He invited you in despite his work schedule. Because you insisted, asked, wanted. And now you must adjust. Be mindful. Behave.

The skin of your cheeks is agitated, you’re sure, when you run your fingers down your face. In hopes to silence a groan. Annoying. Can’t help but be. You’re annoyed— with him, with his work, with yourself for being annoyed.

Not knowing that as soon as you fled from the threshold, Sylus was quick to stand and follow after you. Had it not been for the shrieking of his infernal phone, you’d be eating your words and thriving in your greed for him by now.

𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

In three hours, you’ve successfully explored the base in efforts of distracting yourself or making yourself useful— hit the underground gym, sketched the pristine dragon statue down the hall on a piece of sticky note, made an ice cream sandwich, taken a shower and applied your skincare.

And he— he’d been standing from his desk every few minutes to look for you. But deals were falling through, there are new programs to be coded and all his men were apparently incompetent today.

He caught glimpses of you— your hair disappearing around corners, your humming as you doodled and made snacks, your silhouette through fogged glass. But something always pulled him away— another problem, another issue, something infuriatingly needing his attention.

And if he were just so terrible, he’d throw the entirety of Onychinus away just to join you in the shower.

𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

The clay mask is tightening on your face when you exit the kitchen. Just beginning to crust at the edges, but goopy still. You might have mixed it wrong. The cucumbers you cut out rest on your cheeks for now, until you no longer need to navigate your way through the winding halls from the kitchen back to Sylus’s bedroom.

A groan escapes your throat as you throw yourself into his plush mattress and silk sheets— knocking the breath out of you at the impact. Gravity pulls your spine down, pops each vertebra into place in a glorious melody of release. Then, you flip the cucumbers over your eyes and draw out a long, loud exhale.

Ten minutes, your app said, orange little happy face promising the silence of your thoughts. Ten minutes of focusing on your breath and your fingers and your toes and your skin. Ten minutes of listening to the sound of a ticking clock you otherwise would never have noticed. Of resisting the urge to twitch a muscle. Of constantly reminding yourself to unclench your jaw and relax your shoulders. Ten minutes of—

“A salad.”

The bed dips on your side and your breathing— that you’ve been working so hard on— ceases. You feel his hot fingers on your arm, trailing, trickling down to your wrist and over your open palms. Drawing shapes. Making a home. “How appetizing.”

You don’t need to remove your cucumbers to know the look he has on his face. Cocky, teasing and deep with that unspoken desire. “Got a moment away?”

He hums. Fed up, he made one final call and warned his partners that if they did anything to disrupt his time with you again, heads would roll— or something along those lines. His phone rests ominously silent in his office.

Yearning for him all day and finally having him, you are overwhelmed— his touch burns you, and you slip your wrist from his grasp without thinking.

He tries hard not to let that affect him. He is thankful for your lack of vision right now, because the scowl he gives you borderlines on homicidal.

There is a cant to your tone— one you could not quite be rid of from your initial irritation despite it slowly fizzling away in his presence. One he bristles at.

“You’ve had a lot on your plate.” you simply state, a supposed expression of sympathy. I feel bad for your workload, I’m sorry I cannot do anything to lighten it.

But your lips had twitched, pressed into a firm line. This reads like criticism to him— You’d ignored me all day and now, now take this distance as consequence. He swallows. “I have.”

You rise from your position. He’d laugh if he didn’t feel liquid dread swirling in his stomach now. You pulled away— you don’t want to be touched. Your tone— you don’t want to hear his excuses. He’d scorned you, and now knows not what to do with his lungs or limbs.

“Hungry?” you ask, a cucumber slipping down your eye to your cheek, finally revealing his perplexed gaze and— oh, no. He’s upset. Your mind connects it to your initial worries: of wanting too much, of clinging and pulling him away from the important things. And now he’s here, not there. Had he picked up on your discomfort? Were you so overbearing that he felt the need to check on you? You avert your gaze.

“I— I made ice cream sandwiches.” because being useful right now seems like the best route. Offering him something he can take and consume for his benefit— that will soften the blow somehow. Make you worth his time.

And he broods, swallowed in his own clouding thoughts, and follows you to the kitchen. “Alright.”

The sandwich is a scoop of cookie dough squished between two graham crackers. You put a little mint leaf on top to make it look cute (Keiran commended this detail as Luke choked on it).

You place it on a plate and serve it to Sylus quietly.

He barely looks at it. No, he’s too busy, busy, busy with you. What you’re thinking; what you’re feeling. What you think— what you feel for him. “Sweetie—“

“It’s cookie dough.” you blurt to fill the deafening silence. Unintentionally loud, drowning out his gentle coaxing. “If— if you want vanilla, there’s vanilla. And, sorry, I don’t know if you like chocolate, but we have some. There’s strawberry too.”

Sylus furrows his brows. Were you so upset that you didn’t want a word out of him? “Okay.”

“Enjoy,” you say.

He frowns. “I will.”

And as he eats, his gaze never leaves you. You in that ridiculous clay mask with cucumbers on your cheeks. In his shirt and your hair in a mangled twist. Your beautiful, divine self— upset with him.

Was it how he failed to approach you throughout the day? Was it something more specific? Something he said? The way he probed for your needs? How he didn’t look at you when you stood by his door? How he didn’t reach for you when you passed his office several times more?

He’d thought you’d wanted space. That you’d appreciate a day without his coddling and clinging, after being so ecstatic about you spending the holidays with him. He asked if you needed something, didn’t he? Asked and, inside, desperately wanted you to say ‘yes, you.’ But now… now?

“It’s delicious.” he finally comments. Shamelessly pushing, testing this boundary you seemed to have put before him. Ever so carefully. Not wanting to make it feel worse that it already does. He must show you how he appreciates you being here.

“Oh?”

“I’d like another.”

“Mm.”

Shit. Has he miscalculated? “I mean… share one with me?”

Your eyes widen. “Ah.”

“Or, or not.” He’s fumbling. Tripping and falling over himself but who cares. He can’t take the bile rising up his throat with the way you look at him. Brows scrunched. Hesitant. Wary. It’s sending him into a spiral. “Just… sit with me, please.”

The hoarseness of his voice is enough to make you soften. Something in you clicks, and your anxiety makes way for his. Work must have been a lot, you think. And he doesn’t deserve your insecurities getting the best of you when he needs you.

You do as he asks once you take a strawberry sandwich out of the freezer and settle with your own fork.

“The twins told me you liked strawberry best.” you start, voice now calmer than it was before. Returning like the gradual seeping in of the tide. Sylus— oh, Sylus revels in it quietly. “But I remember you snuck spoonfuls of my cookie dough from my fridge when you were at my place.”

The acid neutralizes. “Oh?”

“And I thought,” he watches you take a bite, how your plump and shiny lips close around the fork. “What if that was another one of your cover ups? You are particular, yes, but never polarizing.

“We had this whole debate on whether or not you’d like the strawberry more than the cookie. Luke was very adamant about you only having one favorite.” you cut another piece of the sandwich and bring it up to his lips. An offering. A truce. An understanding. “But if you’ve influenced me to be anything— it’s to be greedy.”

He takes a bite from your fork. Curling his lips and dragging it over where yours had just been. He is zeroed in on your face, reading every tick, every twitch. And ultimately searching for any absolution.

He catches your wrist, prays you don’t pull away, and removes the fork from your fingers in favor of his face. He presses his hard edges into the softness of your palm and closes his eyes at the contact. “Tell me what I did so I never do it again.” he breathes.

You frown, blindsided by this reaction— he’s… worried? Anguished and anxious because he thought he was at fault for something? “What?”

He opens his mouth to explain again but you drag your thumb over his lower lip. He is compelled to silence. “I’m not upset with you.”

He’s breathless. Clinging to your warmth. “Then what—“

His lingering stare, almost a scowl, so focused on the micro expressions he cannot read. His sudden distance: a courtesy. It clicks— his upset really just… dejection.

Oh.

He thinks you were punishing him.

The thought slams into you, hollow and sickening. So afraid of asking for too much, of being too much— that you never realized how it projected onto him. What it looked like from outside the eye of the hurricane. How it would have made him believe… How could you have let him think—?

The weight of it presses down, suffocates you harder than the insecurity ever did. You would never— never. But you share this, this inability to comprehend how utterly forgiving and needing the other is.

So wrapped up in pondering a space you don’t deserve, you’d done this. That space, now, he is mourning. Begging you to fill again, as he drowns in desperation to fix a mistake he never made.

“I thought I was being a burden.” you mutter, searching his eyes for confirmation that never arrives. “That I was lingering around you too much, hovering and you’d had enough—“

His brows furrow bringing an intensity in his eyes that worsens the caving in your chest. He exhales then, more than air— everything that has choked and squeezed him inside.

“No. Never.” he cuts you off quickly, too overwhelmed by fear and sorrow and relief to even be the least bit composed. Oh, he was so relieved. His lips chase and kiss the tips of your fingers like a man starved. He mutters, low and clear against your skin, “Could never have enough of you, beloved.”

You melt into his touch as he circles his arms around your waist and finally pulls you against his warm body. His breath tickles your neck as he presses his face into your shoulder, inhaling the scent of body wash, shampoo and you. “I am yours for the rest of the week.”

“No, stop that.” you argue, but your tone does not reflect. It dissolves, melts away. “Sylus, I’m not asking…”

“Neither am I.” he states, sturdy vibrations traveling from his lips down your spine. “I need to make you greedier. Be greedier for me.”

Your lips press together in a shy smile and you feather them over his pulse point. You seize control of your fingers. At last, you get to push his glasses up his nose, press on the fat of his jutted lip, ease the crumple of his brow and run your fingers through his soft, unkempt hair— just before you kiss him. Consume him. Devour him.

Sylus corrodes at the edges, unmoored at the feel of your lips on his. He presses, holding you to him, needing to be closer, closer, closer. To taste. To feel. To have.

Putting your each wretched thought of unworthiness to shame. Silenced. Dust.

When you pull away, your eyes take a while to adjust, still giddy and tingling from the static in the air. He lingers, nuzzling into your skin, nose skimming reverently along your cheek. Once your vision returns you let out a genuine giggle.

He swoons at the sound. Half lidded eyes and lips curved into a stupid smirk, asks, “What?”

Your laugh escalates into a shriek as he dips to kiss you again and again. “Stop!”

He’s grinning. The epitome of sunlight. “Why?”

You’re in tears at his appearance— light green smears of clay over his lips and cheeks, a stray cucumber hanging off his jaw. Shaky fingers go to right him, wipe away the remnants of a passionate kiss. Meanwhile, he turns to nip at your wrist and kiss your palm, and you think fondly: it is impossible to clean him up here. He is impossible.

“Come on.” you say instead, dragging him by his fingers which he meticulously intertwines with yours.

He follows, wordlessly, obediently. More than overjoyed to be led to— it does’t matter. He would be led anywhere as long as it were you. He savors how he can press on the soft skin on your palm, how he can so easily stop you in your tracks to kiss you soundly. All because he can. He can and he will.

𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

Not long after, you’re wriggling in his iron grasp, tickled by the movement of his digits on the dips of your waist. You hiss, “Hold still!”

“I’m not the one squirming here, sweetie.” he chuckles, breathy and deep. His hand slides up the curve of your back and up the length of your arm, drawing one up over your head to pin you to the wall. “My little bird, trying to get away? Won’t you check your work?”

“You’re doing this on purpose.” you say pointedly, a fond grin on your gracious lips he cannot help but devour. You stop him in his tracks as he leans down, “We just got you cleaned up!”

“I can clean up again.” he insists, leans again. To his displeasure, you turn your head to dodge him.

“Let me kiss you.” he whispers, begging with no sense of subtlety. Laid bare and open. With only the thought of tasting you. He nods to the jar in your hand. “Before you put that on me.”

You click your tongue, but inside your belly swoops at his open expression. Head fuzzy with affection. “You said you couldn’t wait.”

“Your touch is enough to intoxicate and persuade. I am yours all week..” he purrs. He hopes you allow him a kiss— the sudden need make his ears pink. “Sweetie?”

“One.” you relent, and he is quick to accept. Pressing his lips to yours lightly, to your surprise, as he swallows your gasp in delightful satisfaction.

He pulls away clean, none of your replenished mask on his face. Then he drops his hands to cage your thighs on the sink you sit on. His eyes glint playfully as he inspects your flustered state, “Done playing around? I can’t wait.”

You scowl at him— like he didn’t just beg you to… you sigh in kind exasperation and get to work.

To say he was putty in your hands was an understatement. Sylus has always been sensitive, that is a fact, but at every touch of your fingers on the bridge of his nose, the brush of the pads of your thumbs under his eyes, the scrape of your nails just under his jaw make him lose a shuddering breath. The devotion trickles down your spine like rain.

When you place the cucumbers on his cheeks, he smiles, earth-shattering and gorgeous. Such a powerful man in a matcha-green clay mask. “There.”

“Now we match.” he says so tenderly it aches. Every valve gives way.

For the rest of the afternoon, you are both in clay masks. Cucumbers over your eyes; happily wrapped around each other in bed like the greedy scum you are.

𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆ more sylus thoughts ⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

thank you for reading!

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assmaster-8000 · 1 year ago

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urgk. to love so openly even at the face of danger. is that not love itself? they asked you to show them love and you bared your empty palms. to others, love is the betterment of the self - it is the destruction of the self. but how can we change the esoteric. it is to say simply; yes, i will love you, in your entirety you will not let me understand. you need not harbor secret goodness. i will peel away every layer of you and i will love you down to the empty husk inside

Something about Vere x MC’s potential is so beautifully “unstoppable force meets immovable object” to me. Like, yes, yes, you’ll never forget what Vere does best, and that is kill. But Vere should also remember what you do best, and that is survive.

#no more i can fix him. how about i can love him not in spite of but because of #am i like ais. do i like him because he's bad #maybe <333 #maybe mcs will to survive will inspire in him a passion for the life he once lead outside these chains #you both desire freedom in different terms #and you are not a harmless sparrow he must constantly aid #will the fox chase the bird into a corner or will the bird guide the fox out the shadowy burrows #his heart is still not good but it can br soft. he loves most passionately out of all the other li's #will you be the eurydice to my orpheus? shall i emerge with great glory only to turn around and see you there #watching me. smile on your face. unable to leave the underworld?#they could be everything

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screampied · 1 year ago

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if requests are open, can we see nanami x breeding kink? i know he would be the perfect daddy 💕

❤︎ ໋𓈒 husband nanami finding out he has a breeding kink.

warnings. fem! reader, mating press, breeding kink, praise, soft dom nanami, mdni.

breeding.

he wouldn’t even know he had such a kink until afterwards, finishing inside of you for about the third time with hot puffs of air running from his lips.

his eyes, dark brown pools that intently stared into yours, he’s in utter love with you and only you. your current position was supine—your legs would be perfectly sprawled and spread for him. mating press, such a deep and thorough angle. so deep to where you were practically seeing stars.

“… you drive me crazy, you know that?” he’d huff out lowly between rough breaths. you stare at him with glossy eyes, a hand softly clinging onto his wrist. he was always so gentle, deep yet precise strokes to make you feel every inch. such eyebrows of his curl up and furrow as he intakes a single sharp breath, the feeling of such thick ropes spewing inside your walls makes him groan. “always s—so good at milking me.”

sloppy hips thwack and drill into you, and that’s when he leans right up close to you—you’re met with lust filled fawn eyes and a needy smile.

“ah. eyes up here, wanna see that pretty face,” and his tempo was so unhinged. you glance up at him and he mutters off a soft, “hi my love,” and you could have just melted right there. nanami lightly presses a hand against your tummy, a thumb swiftly tracing near the exact spot where he was reaching you inside. so full, you moan before he leans in to kiss you, yet instead, he conceals his own whine into the crook of your neck. “this—tummy would look so pretty if it was nice ‘n round for me like last time.”

the very corners of your lips tugs, it outlines into a sweet pout before you whimper, “make me fuller then, kento,” you’d heave out. he was jackhammering such merciless yet tenderly passionate thrusts into your cunt, effortlessly smacking back against you. “wanna f-feel fuller.”

you had the white bed sheets bawl into the palms of your hands. everything felt so warm, his hips just continued to rotate and jerk and jerk and jerk. it was hypnotic, he knew just where to prod the head of his cock right against you.

you’re nearly drooling. just imagining such lengthy ropes of his pump you full. you wanted it, no—you needed it. desperately, you were practically being fucked into the mattress—the mattress in question creaked and sang in such harmony it was hard not to ignore its sounds.

the entire feeling, you were clamping down on him so tight that his jaw tenses. a simple sight like that was oh so sexy in the slightest, nanami lightly bites down on his lip. a cute flushed expression slowly painting over his face once he catches you still staring. he was chasing his own breath, giving you slow yet perfect full vivacious thrusts.

“k-kento,” you’d moan with a slight gasp, he brings a hand to slide your arms all the way up. it’s almost teasing, the way he makes you hold your hands high, a soft simper rests against his lips the entire time. your legs quaver, feeling how easy it was for him to stretch you out. his touch, it was blisteringly hot, blisteringly tender.

he made sure to delicately trace his fingers all over your skin. he wouldn’t dare miss a spot. not with a body as perfect as yours. that’s what he saw in his eyes anyway. “so—so goooood, don’t s-stop baby.”

“wasn’t gonna,” he huffs out, and his voice was so raspy and rich. a subtle coarse of baritone hidden underneath his deep tone. you peer up at him and he leans in to kiss the tip of your nose. “if my princess wants to feel more full, i’ll do just that. give her anything she wants.”

you whimper, feeling him hit such a sensitive angle, he hit it just right too.

the crown of his dick made its way through every crevice of your walls. he reached in spots that you didn’t think he’d reach — not at all, you failed to hide your moans by this point and he thought you sounded so cute. knowing he was the one to make you sound like this, feel this way, it made him happy. that’s all he wanted, your pleasure was his pleasure.

every. single. spot.

whilst your toes curled, you feel your back start to seemingly arch on its own before even more sweetened whimpers fly past your sheeny lips. “give m-me,” you started to speak. he raises a brow marginally, brushing a thumb against your lower lip before feeling himself about to bottom out. at that point, he was fully inside, you felt it and you only mewled out a candied, “give me another baby kento. please.”

“oh,” he softly murmurs, and his tongue playfully licks against your neck—a sweet lap, he savored your taste before teasingly starting to nibble.

“gonna give you triplets this time,” and he brings a hand down your chest, then towards your stomach, real slow. you moan once he gingerly lifts up your leg before giving your ankle a kiss. “this what you want, sweetheart? more of this? more of … me?”

“yes,” you pout, feeling your cunt just swallowing his hefty shack, his base smacks back and forth against you to where you’re almost giddy. you felt like you were on cloud nine, nanami’s strokes, his thrusts hell, his enticing rhythm had you nearly speechless. you let off a soft meek once the shivering cold metal of his watch band slithers against your skin.

the more he touched you, the more close you became to making yet another mess on him. of course, like the good husband he was, nanami would happily clean you up.

“y-yes, kento,” you repeat in a honeyed voice, by this point, your legs were well wrapped around his waist. fully having him in a secure lock, not ever thinking to let go, you couldn’t nor did you want to. he drove into your gummy walls so good that you let off the sugared most melodic moans right up against his earlobe. “want…..another baby.”

“i know you do,” he hushes, bringing a chaste kiss towards your collarbone. you swallow a thick imaginary lump that grew into your throat. only tiny squeaks would come out — you moaned, tightening your legs hold around him before you started to picture such fanciful things.

fanciful things like nanami pouring yet another a thick load into you, and as you’re deep in thought he’s doing just that. a gasp gets caught in his lips before he leans up close to you. his broad chest presses up against you before he groans. out of all the notorious enemies he’s had to fight, he was simply no match for your pussy. its grip had him being the one with his eyes nearly rolling back.

“f-fuck,” and you felt yourself throb, making direct eye contact with him. it was rare, yet hearing nanami swear was so infrequent.

it was the way he swore, spewing out such filthy words underneath his breath. long ruffled strands of messy hair nearly occluding his view of vision. he reaches to move some of his hair away from his face, just so he could get a good glimpse of you—a good glimpse of his wife.

“look at me,” he says in a soft tone, he was buried so deep within you, you saw how his muscles tensed and his jaw tightened. he made his hips come to a halt completely before he leans in to gift you with another kiss. “mwah,” he smooches near your jawline, “mwah,” near your chin, and a final kiss near your lips.

your heart, it fluttered.

nanami felt warm all over his body, as well as the sheer warmth that coated him from being inside you. “i—i love you,” you’d whine, feeling such massive velvet ropes of cum going all inside of you. he merely lets off a purr at the way the back of your heel skims down his back. “so much.”

“i love you,” he returns it. his mouth briefly opens, and he was about to say ‘more’ but he pauses. nanami’s weight was still hovering over you before he brings a same big hand down towards your tummy. “now, we wait. you’re such a good mommy for me, sweetheart.”

#★vegasbaby.#nanami x reader #nanami smut #nanami kento x reader #nanami x you #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader smut #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jjk drabbles #jjk imagines #anime smut #female reader

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yzzart · 10 months ago

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౨ৎ⊹. BOYFRIEND!KENJI HEADCANONS!

── content warnings: F!reader, mention of Emiko, Emi and Mina, Ultraman form, Kenji being a little needy (once again), fluff, a little something to warm our hearts and minds so dreamy.

── word count: 683!

⭑.ᐟ Underneath, and sometimes over, tight-fitting t-shirts and extremely expensive fabrics, wear a necklace; however, there is something special there. — His promise ring hangs on the gold chain; like a talisman, something that surrounds he with luck and passion. — Staying attached and close to you, even with a small object.

⤷ If he needs to think or try to decide something dramatically important and you're not around, Sato will take his fingers to the necklace and hold the ring; looking for guidance. — Oh, and waking up, before him, and contemplating that shiny and significant piece, which rests on his broad chest, is angelic.

⭑.ᐟ It's not uncommon to feel, in the middle of the night, Kenji's face trying, persistently, on your neck; readily, wanting to harness the huge and strong body between your. — He doesn't care about the grotesque difference in size, just at that moment, and he doesn't give up.

“Kenji, be careful…!” — Your voice, fully, drunk with sleep and maintaining stillness, murmured between the boy's black and shiny locks; who only responded with a snore, more like a purr and clinging even tighter to you.

⭑.ᐟ Sato can't keep his hands off you, no matter what's going on, what you're doing or what simple task you're performing; hands on your waist, kisses on every exposed and revealed part of your body, thin and wide fingers catching on some part of your clothes. — Don't be upset with him, this poor man is in love with you.

⤷ One day, Mina compared him to a sloth and obviously got a frown of disapproval and the adorable Emi observes how her “father” remains so attached to her “mother”. — Even laughing and grunting when he saw a completely sleepy and desperate Ken crawling towards you.

⭑.ᐟ Please, we have, we need to talk about all the times Kenji and Emi train together, most of the time, being just leisure moments, you sit in the stands, virtually, scheduled and cheer for them; accompanied by Mina. — The feeling of nostalgia, remembering an incredible part of his life, is exposed in Ken's chest; remembering his mother.

⭑.ᐟ I can easily imagine Ken pressing his nose against your cheek or neck wanting your attention; also, when he wants to show you the way Emi is sleeping, enjoying the baby's sweetness. — And, together, pressing his forehead against yours during countless moments of the day and night, when you get home after confronting some creature and every time he want to say "i love you" to you.

⭑.ᐟ This man knows you like the back of his hand; no one can disagree or dispute this fact. — Kenji pays attention to your gestures, noticing your body language and, for a matter of seconds, he knows that something is bothering you; and, there he is, dedicating himself, with all his attention, to doing his girl well.

⭑.ᐟ Funny situations, for Ken, between you and his Ultraman form are included in your lives. — Once, while chasing Aboras, he ended up finding you on the street, wanting to go home, and clearly he was distracted by wanting to cause a provocation. — Mina gave the boy a long, and rightly so, scolding.

“Go back to the house, young lady.” — The robotic voice filled a part of the city's environment, wanting to convey an authoritarian image. — “You know…” — He pointed one of his gigantic fingers in your direction, then towards the place he was. — “The streets have been very dangerous lately.” — Oh, you stopped yourself from answering him like you really wanted to.

“Thank you, so much, for the advice, Ultraman.”

⭑.ᐟ There are nights — many, many nights — that Ken spends watching, contemplating you sleeping, peacefully; your face remained full, without signs of tiredness, exquisite and messy locks spread out, this was adored by the player's eyes. — Between seconds of fascination, Kenji longed, dreamed, deeply and painfully, of his mother meeting you; this way, she would have the chance to know the light that raised her dear son.

⤷ Kenji prospers, sometimes praying, that one day his mother will return, safe and sound, and be able to achieve what he wants so much in his life.

#kenji sato #ken sato #kenji #kenji sato x reader #ken sato x reader #kenji x reader #ultraman #ultraman: rising

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rafayelxsylusho · 19 days ago

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How do the LADS men react when they catch you reading smut. 🫣 Part 3

We still had some time to vote but I think my man is going to win this one.

Enjoy!

TW:Smut

Part 1 (Xavier)

Part 2 (Caleb)

Part 4 (Zayne)

Part 5 (Rafayel)

Vote for the next LI at the end of the story ❤️

As you settle into the plush comfort of Sylus' bed, your fingers dance across the screen of your phone, pulling up the controversial book that had been the talk of the office. The one your female coworkers had gushed over in hushed whispers, their cheeks flushed and eyes gleaming with a sparkle. You had to know what all the fuss was about.

As you delve deeper into the digital pages, your eyebrows arch higher with each passing paragraph. The book is even more explicit than you'd been led to believe, the author leaving very little to the imagination. You find yourself squirming slightly on the luxurious bed linens, a warmth taking over your cheeks that has nothing to do with the crackling fireplace nearby.

When you reach chapter ten, the scene unfolding before your eyes is downright scandalous. The protagonist and her lover are locked in the throes of ecstasy atop a roaring motorcycle. The vivid detail and raw, primal nature of their fucking is intense, the author paints a picture so vivid it's almost impossible not to feel the heat of the moment yourself.

As the scene unfolds in vivid detail on your phone screen, a familiar but not unwelcome heat begins to pool low in your belly. The author's graphic descriptions of the lovers' frenzied passion ignites something within you. Before long, you find yourself squirming on the bed, thighs clenching together as a tingling ache builds between them.

Your mind starts to wander, the fictional couple's encounter blurring with memories of your own encounters with Sylus. You picture his strong hands roaming over your curves, his kisses trailing down your neck and chest. In your mind, you replace the faceless man on the motorcycle with Sylus himself.

Unable to resist the urge any longer, your hand drifts down to the waistband of your pajamas, your breath hitches as your fingers brush against the slick folds of your pussy.

You know you shouldn't be doing this, but the ache between your legs demands satisfaction. Lost in the lusty fantasy you touch yourself, your own touch a poor imitation of the passionate lovemaking in the book.

Your moans fill the spacious bedroom and you drop your phone onto the plush bedsheets, the device still open to the obscene motorcycle scene that sparked your desire. Your fingers dance over your folds, stroking your sensitive clit with increasing urgency as you picture Sylus pinning you beneath him on his own roaring motorcycle.

Two fingers plunge deep inside your core, pumping furiously as you imagine Sylus pounding into you, his powerful hips driving forward with relentless, hungry need. The sound of your breathing mingles with the imagined roar of the motorcycle engine, spurring you on as you chase your rapidly building climax.

Your fingers pump faster, plunging deeper, as you picture Sylus reaching up to secure his sleek black helmet over his head. The dark visor doesn't completely obscure his eyes and you can feel the intensity of his gaze boring into you. He leans in close, his hot breath fogging up the inside of the helmet as he growls, "Hold on tight, kitten. I'm going to fuck you so hard, you'll forget your own name."

With a cry of ecstasy, you come undone, your walls clenching rhythmically around your plunging fingers as a wave of pleasure crashes over you. Your body writhes on the bed, the silken sheets tangled around you as you ride out the aftershocks of your climax.

Panting softly, you slowly come back to yourself, a satisfied grin playing about your lips. The ache between your thighs temporarily sated. The phone screen glows, the motorcycle scene frozen in time, a testament to the sinful fantasy that brought you to such a state.

You close your eyes, the events of the day, the provocative novel, and your fantasy of Sylus fade into the background as you surrender to the pull of exhaustion. Your breathing evens out, falling into a soft, steady rhythm as you curl up beneath the plush blankets of Sylus' bed, completely at peace.

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You stir from your sleep, the beep of the alarm clock piercing through the silence of the bedroom. As you blink you become acutely aware of a firm, warm body pressed against your back. A muscular arm is draped over your waist, holding you close to a broad, bare chest that rises and falls with each soft, steady breath. Glancing over your shoulder, you find yourself face to face with Sylus.

You remain still, not wanting to disturb his peaceful sleep, and take a moment to appreciate his devastating good looks. The grayish white hair, usually so perfectly styled, is now slightly disheveled. His brows, normally arched in a state of contemplation or challenge, are now smooth and undisturbed. Even in sleep, there's a raw, masculine beauty to Sylus that sets your heart racing.

As you study him, you can't help but remember the vivid, intimate fantasy that played out in your mind the night before. The way his strong hands gripped your hips as he took you hard and fast on his motorcycle. You feel a fresh wave of heat pool between your thighs at the recollection.

Suddenly, Sylus stirs, his hold on your waist tightening. His voice, low and gravelly from sleep, rumbles in your ear. "Morning, kitten," he murmurs, his lips brushing against your earlobe. "Sleep well?"

You press a quick, chaste kiss to Sylus' lips, feeling the ghost of your intense fantasy linger in the fleeting touch. A rosy blush stains your cheeks as you pull away.

"Mm, yes, I did," you reply softly, slipping out of his embrace and rising from the bed, the cool air of the bedroom kisses your skin. As you gather your belongings and begin to ready yourself for work, you can't help but sneak glances at Sylus as he stirs and stretches like a panther. The sheets pool around his waist, revealing his toned torso and the tantalizing V that disappears beneath the fabric. You swallow hard, your mouth suddenly dry, and quickly avert your gaze.

"Well, I should get going," you say, slipping into your shirt and buttoning it up with trembling fingers. "Can't be late for my shift today, I have an important meeting with Jenna"

You hesitate for a moment, feeling Sylus' intense gaze following your every move. You take a deep breath and turn to face him, your blush still evident on your cheeks. "I'll... I'll see you later, Sy" you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

You turn to leave and are almost out his bedroom door when you hear him call you.

"Miss hunter"

You freeze mid-step and slowly turn to face him, your eyes widening as you follow the direction of his pointed finger.

You hurry over to the bedside table, snatching up your phone and clutching it to your chest like a guilty secret.

As you turn to make your escape, Sylus' deep, smooth voice stops you in your tracks once more. "Pick you up after work," he states. It's phrased as a question, but the steel in his tone makes it clear that he expects an affirmative answer.

"I... yes, alright," you manage to stammer out. "After work." You can feel Sylus' gaze burning into your back as you hurry towards the bedroom door once again, your phone clutched tightly in your hand.

As you step out into the hallway, you can't shake the feeling that Sylus knows exactly what you got up to last night. The way he looked at you, the knowing glint in his eyes. You shake your head, trying to erase the unsettling thought, and fasten your steps towards the front door.

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You step out of the Hunters Association building, your heart already racing at the thought of seeing Sylus again. As you round the corner, your eyes fall upon the very object that had dominated your lustful fantasy the night before, Sylus' sleek, black motorcycle.

And there he stands, leaning casually against the seat with one muscular thigh crossed over the other. He looks every inch the dangerous, alluring man you know him to be. His leather jacket and pants hug his powerful frame.

As if sensing your presence, Sylus turns his head, piercing crimson eyes locking onto yours. A slow, sensual smile spreads across his face, and he straightens up, taking a step towards you. "Ready to go, kitten?"

You nod, your voice catching slightly in your throat as you reply, "Yes, I'm ready." You reach for your helmet, your fingers brushing against the smooth, glossy surface. However, before you can secure it on your head, Sylus' large, warm hands enclose your own, stilling your movements.

He steps closer, his chest nearly grazing your breasts as he leans in, his helmet tucked under one muscular arm. His eyes bore into yours, a glimmer of something dark and hungry flickering in their depths. "Before you do," he murmurs, his deep voice sending shivers down your spine, "would you like to use my visor to apply your lipstick, just like you did the other day?"

The memories of that day come rushing back, the way you had applied your lipstick using his visor as a mirror, your fingers trembling slightly as you did so. The way he had looked at you, his eyes burning into yours, filled with a hunger that made your knees weak.

The vivid fantasies that played out in your mind last night flash before your eyes, and you know you can't bring yourself to do it this time. Shaking your head, you take a step back, putting a little distance between your body and Sylus. "No, not this time," you murmur, your cheeks flushing hotly at the admission. You can't help but glance at the helmet tucked under his arm. "I'd rather not," you add, your voice barely above a whisper as you meet Sylus' intense gaze. The air between you feels charged, electric, as if Sylus can sense the forbidden thoughts swirling in your mind. You swallow hard, tearing your eyes away from him.

Releasing your hands, you reach up and quickly secure your helmet on your head, the plastic shell a barrier between you and Sylus' knowing eyes. The visor fogs up slightly as you take a shaky breath, trying to compose yourself. "We should get going.

Sylus smirks, the expression turning wicked as he watches you squirm under his gaze. He knows, there's no doubt about it. Somehow, some way, he discovered your open phone and read the steamy scene that had left you so hot and bothered. A thrill of excitement and nerves runs through you as Sylus settles his own helmet over his head, the sleek black visor hiding his expression but not the predatory gleam in his eyes. He knows, and now he's playing with you, toying with the knowledge of your secret desire.

A fresh wave of heat rushing to your cheeks as you watch Sylus swing his leg over the motorcycle seat. With a newfound determination, you hitch up your skirt slightly and swing your own leg over the bike, settling yourself behind Sylus.

A slow smile spreads across your face beneath your helmet as you wrap your arms around his waist, your hands splaying over the firm expanse of his abdomen. Two can play this game, you think to yourself, a sense of anticipation coiling in your belly. Sylus may have discovered your secret, but he doesn't know the full extent of the hunger that consumes you.

As the darkness grows and the city lights start to twinkle to life, a sudden boldness takes hold of you. Without warning, you slide your hands lower, your fingers teasing along the waistband of Sylus' leather pants. You feel the firm, muscular flesh beneath the leather, the heat of his skin seeping through the material. Your touch is light, almost feather like, but purposeful in its intent.

His body tenses beneath your wandering hands, and you feel the motorcycle wobble slightly as he tightens his grip on the handlebars. The knowledge that your touch affects him, that you can unsettle the usually unflappable man, sends a thrill of power rushing through you.

Spurred on by this sense of control, you allow your hands to dip lower, your fingers playing with the button of his pants. You trace the line of the zipper, feeling the hard bulge that begins to form beneath your touch. The knowledge that you can arouse him so easily, that your desire for him is reciprocated, makes your head spin with excitement.

Your breath grows shallow, fogging up the interior of your helmet as your hands continue their exploration. The motorcycle rumbles on beneath you, the vibrations adding to the building heat between your thighs. You're playing with fire, but you can't bring yourself to care. You want to burn, to consume Sylus with the same desperate hunger that had you coming undone in his bed.

"How much longer until we get home Sy?"

"Not much longer now, kitten. Just a few more miles to go." The motorcycle speeds up slightly, the wind whipping around you as you race through the darkening streets.

But you are not able to stop yourself and you reach down and slowly unzip his leather pants, the metal teeth parting ways to reveal the straining bulge beneath.

"Y/N" a note of warning laced into the command. But you ignore him, your fingers already delving inside to cup the hard, hot length of him through the fabric of his underwear.

The motorcycle surges forward with a roar, Sylus apparently as eager to get home as you are. The speedometer needle sweeps past the legal limit, the city lights become a stream of glowing lines.

As the motorcycle rolls to a stop at the red light, you waste no time in freeing Sylus from the confines of his underwear. Your fingers dip inside, wrapping around the hot, throbbing length of him, pulling him out into the cool night air. Sylus inhales sharply, his hips jerking slightly as your hand closes around his flesh.

Before the light can change, you're already working on him, your palm pressing his hard cock against the firm plane of his abdomen. Slowly, torturously, you run your thumb over the sensitive head, circling the tip in maddeningly gentle strokes. You keep your touch light, mindful of the delicate skin.

"Kitten" he grits out as the light turns green, and the motorcycle lurches forward again.

“Keep your eyes on the road Sylus, I don’t want us to crash.”

His grip tightens on the handlebars, knuckles turning white as he tries to focus on the road ahead. "Fuck, Y/N," he grits out through clenched teeth, the curse echoing in the confines of the helmet. "Keep this up and we'll end up in a ditch."

You can feel the bead of precum forming at the tip of his cock, the slick fluid allowing your fingers to glide more easily over the swollen head. You take full advantage, rolling and kneading the sensitive flesh between your fingertips until Sylus is gritting out a low groan.

You smear the precum over your fingers, using it as lubricant as you drag your hand slowly down the thick shaft. You can feel it throb against your palm, Sylus' body responding eagerly to your touch. The motorcycle swerves slightly as Sylus struggles to maintain control, his hips rocking involuntarily into your stroking hand.

As he brings the motorcycle to a halt, you glance around, realizing that you're not parked outside his home. Instead, he's stopped in a secluded, isolated spot on the outskirts of the city. A single lamp post flickers weakly, casting a circle of light that illuminates the deserted parking lot. Beyond that, the only light comes from the pale glow of the moon

You're about to ask Sylus where he's brought you when you feel his hand closing around your wrist. In the dim light, you can see the intense, almost feral look in his eyes as he turns to face you.

"Sylus, where are we?" you ask, a hint of confusion in your voice. The air feels charged with tension, the night pressing in around you, isolating you from the rest of the world.

Sylus doesn't answer right away. Instead, he leans in close and he murmurs, "Somewhere private, where I can finish what you started without any interruptions."

You know you've pushed Sylus to the brink, teased him until he's teetering on the edge of control. And now, in this secluded spot, he's going to make you pay for it.

Sylus pulls back slightly, his hands moving to the straps of your helmet. With deft fingers, he unbuckles it and lifts it off your head, tossing it carelessly to the ground.

"Get off the bike, Y/N," Sylus commands, his voice a low, husky rumble that makes your toes curl in your boots. "Now."

You find yourself moving on autopilot, Sylus watches intently as you swing your leg over the bike seat, the moonlight casting a silver glow across your skin. The moment your feet touch the ground, he's off the motorcycle too, moving with a predatory grace that makes your heart race. He takes a step towards you, then another, until he's standing before you, so close that you can feel the heat radiating off his body.

His hands come up to grip your waist, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he pulls you against him. You can feel every hard plane and angle of his body, the evidence of his desire, an unmistakable bulge pressing against your belly.

"Did you think teasing me like that would go unpunished? I'm going to make you pay for every inch of skin you touched, for every moan I had to swallow as I tried to keep this bike on the road."

"I won't be able to eat your sweet little cunt like I want to while you sit on my bike, kitten. Not with my helmet on." His hands tighten on your hips, fingers digging into your flesh as he grinds his erection against you. "But don't worry, I'll leave that pleasure for another day. Tonight, I need to be inside you, now."

With that promise, Sylus spins you around and bends you over the motorcycle seat, your breasts pressing against the leather. He kicks your legs apart, his hands sliding up the backs of your thighs to grip your hips. Then he hikes up your skirt, exposing you to the cool night air.

He hooks his fingers into the waistband of your underwear, the fabric stretching taut for a moment before giving way. He drags them down slowly, the cool air kissing your heated skin as he bares you completely.

"Lift your feet," Sylus orders, his voice leaving no room for disobedience. You comply, lifting one foot and then the other, allowing him to remove your underwear entirely. He balls up the delicate lace, tucking them into his back pocket as a trophy of sorts.

With your most intimate place now exposed, Sylus leans down, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. You can feel the thick, hard length of him pressing insistently against your ass. Your body is on fire, every nerve ending screaming for his touch, for the feel of him inside you.

He slides his bare cock against your folds, the thick head catching on your clit with each pass. Sparks of pleasure shoot up your spine, your back arching as you press back against him instinctively. The wet sound of his shaft gliding through your arousal fills the air, a melody that makes your toes curl.

"Fuck, you're so wet, kitten," he growls, his voice rough with lust. "So ready for my cock."

You can feel it in the desperate, erratic way he grinds against you, in the harsh, ragged sound of his breathing. It's a battle of wills, a contest to see who will break first. And as Sylus' cock catches on your clit once more, sending a bolt of electric pleasure rocketing through you, you know it won't be long before one of you snaps. The tension is unbearable, the need for release a physical ache that demands satisfaction.

"Fuck, Sylus!" you cry out, unable to hold back any longer. As you feel the thick head of his cock pressing insistently at your entrance, you make your choice. Reaching back, you grab his hips and yank him forward, impaling yourself on his shaft with a desperate scream that echoes through the empty parking lot as Sylus' thick cock stretches your tight walls in one brutal, glorious thrust. The sudden intrusion is a shock of pain and pleasure, your body struggling to accommodate his girth.

"Oh god, you're so fucking big," you keen, your hips buck back against him, desperate for more, always craving that sweet spot where pleasure blurs with pain.

He doesn't give you time to adjust, pulling nearly all the way out before slamming back in, setting a brutal pace from the start. The motorcycle rocks beneath you with each powerful thrust, the metal creaking in protest at the force of Sylus' movements. You're pinned beneath him, helpless to do anything but take his punishing thrusts as he fucks into you.

You're teetering on the brink, your body coiled tight and ready to shatter. The pleasure is cresting, your walls fluttering and clenching around his cock as he drives into you with wild, desperate abandon. You're so close, your climax just within reach, when suddenly Sylus curses under his breath.

"Fuck!" he snarls, his voice rough and ragged. Before you can react, he's pulling out of you abruptly, the sudden emptiness a shock to your overstimulated body.

You cry out, your hands scrabbling for purchase on the motorcycle seat as you feel the cool night air hitting your swollen folds. "Fuck, Sylus!" you wail, your voice a mix of frustration and desperate need. "Don't stop now!"

He's panting harshly, his chest heaving as he fights for control.

"Dammit," he growls, "You feel too fucking good. I'm not going to last if you keep taking my cock like that"

You watch as Sylus sits back on the motorcycle seat, facing the back of his bike, his eyes shining with dark promise as he meets your pleading gaze. With a smirk, he pats his thighs invitingly.

"Climb up here, kitten," he commands "Fuck yourself on my cock until you scream. I want to watch you come apart on my dick.

He grips the base of his shaft, stroking it slowly as he waits for you to obey. The thick length is slick with your juices, the swollen head an angry red and leaking steadily. The sight makes your mouth water, your body screaming at you to take what you need.

You swing a leg over the motorcycle seat, straddling his hips, the thick ridge of his cock nestling against your dripping slit. With a shaky breath, you reach down and grasp his shaft, positioning him at your entrance. His hands find your hips, gripping them hard as he pulls you down. You sink onto his thick length with a low moan, your head falling back as he stretches you wide.

"Fuck, just like that," Sylus grunts, his fingers digging into your hips as he guides you into a steady rhythm.

You start to move, lifting yourself up until just the tip remains inside, before slamming back down. The helmet catches your gaze, the sleek black surface reflecting your flushed face and as you fuck yourself on his cock, you keep your eyes locked on the helmet, the fantasy you've imagined playing out before you.

As you feel your movements start to slow, your thighs trembling with exertion, Sylus takes control. He grips your wrists firmly, pushing your hands to the back of the motorcycle seat. "Hold on tight, sweetie," his voice a low, intense rumble. "Because I'm going to fuck you now."

Then, with a powerful thrust of his hips, he's slamming up into you, burying his cock deep inside you.

"Oh god!" you cry out, your fingers scrabbling for purchase on the leather seat. The helmet blurs before your vision as Sylus pounds into you, the force of his thrusts rocking the motorcycle beneath you. He sets a brutal pace, each powerful drive of his hips forcing the air from your lungs in a sharp gasp. The we sound of skin slapping against skin echoes through the night air, mingling with the creaking of the motorcycle and your wanton moans.

"Fuck," Sylus snarls, his breath coming in harsh pants fogging the inside of his helmet "You feel and look so fucking good. So perfect around my cock."

His hand tangles in your hair, gripping it tightly forcing you to maintain eye contact with him through the helmet as he fucks you.

Suddenly he changes the angle of his hips, tilting them up as he slams into you, the thick ridge of his pelvis grinds against your sensitive clit with each thrust. Sparks of electric pleasure shoot through you, making your back arch and your toes curl.

"Oh fuck, Sylus!" you scream, "Right there! Don't stop!"

Your nails dig into the leather seat, gripping it for dear life as Sylus pounds into your g-spot. The pleasure is overwhelming, your body shaking and trembling with the force of your impending climax.

As the pleasure crests to an unbearable peak, you force your eyes open. Through the visor of his helmet, you meet Sylus' gaze, and what you see steals your breath away.

His crimson eyes are locked onto yours, blazing with an intensity that makes your heart stutter. In that moment, you see a man utterly consumed by desire, a man who would move heaven and earth to claim you, to possess you completely. It's a look of pure worship. A believer seeing his god, his reason for living. Sylus is lost in you, lost in the feel of your tight heat gripping his shaft, lost in the way your body responds so perfectly to his touch.

Your body seizes, your back arching as your orgasm crashes over you.

"Sylus!" you scream, tears of pleasure streaming down your face as your climax tears through you. Your walls spasm and clench around him as you come harder than you ever have before.

His eyes widen as he feels your walls clamp down around him, "Fuuuuuck!" Sylus screams, his voice echoing through the night as he erupts within you. His hot, thick seed floods your insides, painting your walls with his essence as he grinds against your cervix. You feel each twitch and throb of his cock as he empties himself inside you, your body shaking with the force of your mutual climax.

You both collapse against each other, chests heaving as you struggle to catch your breath. Sylus' arms wrap around you, holding you close.

After a long moment, Sylus lifts his head, his crimson eyes finding yours through the visor once more. "Was that everything you imagined it would be, kitten?" Sylus asks, his voice a low, sensual purr. "Riding my cock on the back of my bike, fucking yourself stupid?" He reaches up, his finger tracing along your jawline before tilting your chin up "Because I can assure you that for me it was even better than I could have possibly imagined."

He chuckles, a deep, rumbling sound in his chest as he watches you laugh. He reaches up and unclasps his helmet, pulling it off to reveal his handsome face, flushed and gorgeous in the moonlight. Leaning in, you press a soft, quick kiss to his lips, savoring the taste of him.

"Let's go home Sy, I still have a few ideas"

Sylus grins as he pulls out of you and helps you off the bike, his hands lingering on your curves. "Next time you go to a bookstore make sure to pick out the nastiest, most depraved books you can find. Spare no expense, kitten. It's my treat."

His thumb brushes over your lower lip, his eyes glinting with mischief and dark promise. "I want to know all about the filthiest things you imagine us doing together, before acting them out in ways that will make those authors blush."

He leans in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, "And maybe, if you're a good girl, I'll even let you read them to me while I worship your body, Would you like that, baby?"

He pulls back slightly to gauge your reaction, one eyebrow cocked expectantly as he waits for your laughter to fill the crisp night air once more. The way his eyes shine makes it clear that he's already imagining all the deliciously depraved things he wants to do to you, inspired by the pages of those naughty books.

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