#my fic: shadow to light au

[goldeneyedgirl]

Ficmas24 Day 5: STL AU Part 1

Just a quick note: we've just discovered a tick on my dog, so we're headed to the emergency vet. For this reason, today's fic will be a 2-parter because I ran out of time to edit.

This is an STL AU, where Maria never goes to Calgary, so Mary-Alice never leaves, and James manages to pique Jasper's conscience Just something a little bit wholesome for the holiday season. I hope you enjoy!

The air still tastes the same down in Mexico. Hot, laced with salt and sand and a coppery edge courtesy of the Wars. He’s not sure that humans would even know what it was. 

But it was a beacon for any va

mpire in the area - a warning and an invitation, all wrapped up together.

(He doesn’t miss it. Once upon a time, he thought he would. He thought he would long for that rotten house, and the vicious pleasure of fighting and killing and winning. That he would cling tight to the civility of the Cullen family with everything he had because the lure of turning back and going home again would constantly whisper in his ear. The blood whispers and lures him, but the South? The wars? Maria? Not even once.)

Emmett looks at him silently. It’s just the two of them right now - Rose is back in San Antonio, furious with them both. But it was the smart move to leave her there; Jasper doesn’t want Rosalie anywhere near any armies or scouts. He didn’t even want her to come down to Texas but it was, apparently, non-negotiable. 

(“It’s about a fifty-fifty split,” Emmett had admitted, rubbing his neck. “Fifty-percent making sure you get out alive and don’t get any dumbass ideas about staying. And… fifty-percent to piss off Ed. Well, maybe forty-nine percent. Pretty sure she’s more worried about you than annoyed at Edward but she won’t admit that.”)

The ground crunches underneath his boots, and he’s almost expecting his old - younger - self to come slinking out, ready to kill without a second thought or even breaking his stride. Perhaps even shadowed by dirty, bloody-eyed newborns. 

(He shouldn’t have come.)

“What’s the plan?” Emmett’s voice is serious and quiet, waiting for direction. And it jars him back into reality - Emmett should not be here. This is not a place his brother should ever set foot. He feels foolish and cruel to have brought him along. He should have left Emmett with Rose.  

He wants to tell Emmett to go back to San Antonio; get the fuck out of all the territory that Maria doesn’t hold anymore. Or even just to wait by the car. That he was Major Whitlock of Monterrey, and he can walk this graveyard alone. 

Except…

“Peter said the place was gone, but I wanted to see for myself,” he says, swallowing hard. “We need to go down to San Fernando to find them. I just… wanted to see the old place.”

“You want company?” Somehow, Emmett always knows the right thing to say. He nods once, and they walk in silence. 

(The gravel under their boots crunches like the bones he knows are buried beneath them. It doesn’t take long to find what remains of his past, and he’s mostly surprised at how small the farm was. Is. The shell of the old mansion is little more than the stoop of an old spine cradling what remains of the burnt ruins. The ground is stained black, underneath the weight of vines and plants that are swallowing the place whole, but most of the debris has long since disintegrated into ash and blown away.)

There’s not much to see, truly. Peter had mentioned that Maria had burnt everything before she’d left; refusing to leave even the ghost of an advantage when she was being forced out. 

There are only shells of buildings - the barn is long gone, as are most of the other outbuildings. The few identifiable items - a bucket, a chair, an old picture frame with only a single determined shard of scratched and cracked glass clinging on - are scattered throughout the ground and long grass, and won’t be around much longer. 

A rotting wooden pillar at the edge of the farm is still standing, with some scraps of ragged fabric - indistinguishable, and some little more than threads - clinging on valiantly. Jasper remembers when they were strung - scraps of clothing from newborns fallen in battle that the survivors would bring back. A memorial for people who wouldn’t be remembered beyond the week’s end. A reminder of what happened if you were too slow. A crude list of the dead, for anyone looking for an absent ally or lover once the pieces were burned. 

Carlisle warned him, once, that you can’t go home again. And he’s never really understood that until right now. Home is - was - a nebulous concept. There hasn’t ever been a time when he thought of the Monterrey mansion as ‘home’. But standing here, it really was. Once upon a time, this was his home. And now it’s just a giant grave. Not just for the bodies, not just for the newborns that outlived their usefulness. But for every single one of them, right down to him and Maria. 

Except… 

There’s no rage here. It’s all gone. The violence, the grief, the bloodshed has all gone away. He expected something accusatory, for the guilt and shame to settle around him like a mantle. For the metaphorical blood to seep from the ruins, for the ghosts to appear before his eyes to demand an explanation, a justification. The cemetery he expected was never waiting for him, for any of them, to come back and make peace with it all.  

For all his guilt and fear, Monterrey - his version of Monterrey - has been at peace for a long, long time. And that should be comforting.

(The dread is building, the dread of what San Fernando holds. Monterrey - the house - might be at rest, but its ghosts are still out there, still tangled up in all of the misery.)

They don’t stay long, and Emmett doesn’t speak until they get back to the car. And Jasper wonders if it wasn’t so peaceful for Emmett. Emmett, whom has never fought a day in his second life. Whose human life was punctuated by poverty, but never the kind of cruelty and casual evil that Monterrey doled out. If perhaps, what Jasper saw as a sleeping giant was really a horror story in Emmett’s eyes. 

(Was it gravel under their feet, or the bones of feeding the army, burrowing back to the surface? Was he kicking rocks and wood free of their path, or were they the mandibles of a young women, the tibia of a lost father?)

He takes a breath before he speaks, unable to look Emmett in the face.

“It’s better now.” The words are unsteady, and Jasper regrets speaking. I need you to know I’m more afraid of what you think and what we’re about to find than I am of anything we just witnessed. 

He’s glad Edward didn’t come with them. 

(He’s trying not to think about what comes next. What he’s going to find in a place that came after his tenure, that is totally foreign to him. Where rags on a post won’t mean anything, where the dirt will smell and taste different, and where the house still stands upright stuffed full of stories and horrors and every single thing that it’s ever heard.) 

—

Once, sometime in the early 70s, Maria plans to go to Calgary. 

(She sees it.)

There’s no future where the Major returns to them. There’s only one slim, ephemeral future where he gets hurt in the confrontation and it’s not even worth dwelling on. There’s more battles, ones where she has to piece herself back together and wash all the wounds away with blood. Ones that burrow into her head and bones with how much uglier they are now. Or maybe she’s just so very tired. 

But three days before Maria is meant to leave, Valeria decides to throw down the gauntlet. Something so foolish, so dangerous, so ugly, that there will be no journey to taunt the Major and his new coven. 

(It’s swift and it’s absolute. Maria executes Valeria without ceremony, just a blunt summary of her stupidity. Mary-Alice breaks down the bodies into manageable pieces before she burns them, and comforts herself with the fact that at least she has new clothes that fit now.)

Maria stays away from Calgary, but none of them are ever the same after that. 

—

It wasn’t supposed to be anything. They saved Bella Swan from James. She was just a kid who strayed too close to something that was far bigger and far more terrible than she could comprehend. A crash course for his family of precisely what the Major of Monterrey is-was capable of, stretching out long-dormant muscles. The result is as he predicted - a badly injured but living Bella Swan, and James is just dust in a condemned ballet studio.

(“It happened once, oh, ages ago. The one and only time my prey escaped me…” He listens to it once, James’ little recording of Bella’s suffering, of James weaving the tale of the newborn he abandoned in the woods after killing their maker. And he thinks of another foundling, of bright red eyes and the innocent joy in her smile at his approach. The thought burrows under his skin and whilst he thinks of her regularly - his very own private haunting - he allows himself to wonder where exactly she is right in that moment.)

After Bella returns from Phoenix, bundled up in bandages and a cast that seems to be half the size of her, she’s always there. Always at the house, smelling of blood and life. Always with Edward, tucked in a corner of the house. There’s a constant trickle of joy and affection and happiness from her - from them both - when she’s present. And if she’s not present, neither is Edward. He prefers to spend his nights tucked beside her in bed or - at best - perched on her roof like a sentinel. 

(He tries to ignore it. It seems like the best course of action, not to dwell on it. He’s lived with Rose and Emmett, and Carlisle and Esme so long that all the romantic feelings shouldn’t prick at him like this. Except he joined them years after both couples got together; even if immortal love doesn’t ebb, there is a certainty to it after a few decades. The feeling that the bond is forged and unbreakable. It doesn’t feel the same as the spark of delight and adoration that Bella and Edward emit just from sitting across from each other.)

Esme is bubbling over with happiness now that Edward has found his other half. She can’t do enough to make Bella comfortable, and constantly checks up on the couple. 

And maybe she catches him, staring off into space as Edward and Bella tease each other over the chess board; maybe she takes note of the blank expression he takes to wearing outside of his study - not because of anything he wants to hide, per se, but because he doesn’t want to think about the emotions.

(Everything smells like human blood, and he lets the rest of the family believe that its the scent that is causing his brooding. It’s easier that way.)

[killa-cookie]

Author chan i want to see all the ancients reaction mostly Pure Vanilla on Gluttony Reader like my previous ask i want it to be like a story not headcanon

okayy!!!! I'll make this individual! And it's short cause erhmm... I'm in class so wrote this in a hurry

PURE VANILLA

(His POV)

This couldn't be happening... NO

This, this must be another trick right? This can't possibly happen... That deceitful liar, had corrupted Temperance? No... NO!

I couldn't stop it, I was useless... How could this occur, this calamity... He should have corrupted me instead, not Temperance... Temperance must be in... Pain...

—

He looked at your crouched figure, slowly falling into deceit. As Shadow milk looked intently at your transformation, he felt guilty that he couldn't stop your corruption... It was his fault.

Pure vanilla started panicking, he didn't want you to be like those beasts, he didn't want you to create chaos... He didn't want you to be like the beast you are now.

Your looks started to gradually change, two more arms painfully sprouting out. Mouths forming everywhere, you started to eat bits of your clothing, you were ruined.

You were a beast.

And he couldn't stop that.

He didn't want to hurt you, but he knew that you were going to cause chaos or destruction one way or another... He has to stop you now,

But he just couldn't.

- Pure vanilla's main reaction was guilt.

WHITE LILY

(Her POV)

Oh no...

Calamity has finally struck, Temperance has fallen.... This can't be happening, is Temperance okay!?

Are they alright... That Shadow Milk had done something to them, has he... Turned them into sin..?

—

She was worried as she looked at you, horrified at this new form you were taking. You look like you were in so much pain.

In all the adventures you had, you understood her story and loved you as a friend regardless of dark enchantress... And all the horrible things she had done..

She didn't want to see you in this form... She didn't want to see you as gluttony, as you didn't see her as dark enchantress.

- White Lily's main reaction was worry

DARK CACAO

(His POV)

What a disaster, a corruption worse than mine... What happened to you, Temperance?

—

He saw you in the distance, your presence familiar... Yet destructive. He couldn't believe that this was happening... He was horrified, he could not bear to see you like this

The self discipline comrade he had who had accompanied him during the travel to the ivory pagoda.. Is gone, this was a monstrosity.

You were one of those beasts— destructors, and he could not deny that.

- Dark Cacao's main reaction was Horrified.

GOLDEN CHEESE

(Her POV)

W-what is happening.... No.... NO!

My dear comrade... Has lost..?

—

She was scared, she didn't want you destroying her kingdom... Like what Dark Enchantress did. She had complicated feelings

Golden Cheese is absolutely hurt, she doesn't want to do this, she doesn't want to hurt you.. But for now she has to deem you as a threat. But deep inside she's absolutely destroyed.

Gluttony is a threat, Temperance is a friend... Those are not the same.

She can't risk the liveliness of her kingdom again, so all she can do now is hold back.

- Golden cheese's main reaction was fear

HOLLYBERRY

(Her POV)

Oh... No....

For the first time in decades, she felt worried... You were there... But it was you, it was Gluttony...

—

Hollyberry looked at your gigantic figure, swallowing up everything in your path... Consuming many things..

She was saddened, she absolutely did not like you in this form.. You were so self controlled... Now you are just a beast who consumes everything in their path...

She took out her shield bravely, and faced you head on... Even though she was heartbrolen

[bananasplit133]

Between Shadows and Light (Part 3)

Ivincible Variant | Mark Grayson x Reader

(part 2) - (part 1)

(Wrote this whilst thinking of Sinister Mark, but his costume isn't specified anywhere so you can also imagine him as any other varinat :D)

----

The café was relatively quiet as you prepared for another day of serving coffee, the familiar hum of conversation blending with the comforting scent of brewing coffee. The few regulars seated at their usual spots created a calm atmosphere, almost normal despite the chaos that lay beyond the glass doors. Each face you recognized had its own story—people trying to maintain a sense of normalcy in a world that had spiraled into uncertainty since Invincible’s rise to power. The soft clatter of cups and the murmur of voices filled the air, a soothing backdrop to the unease that crept in from the outside.

As you wiped down the counter, the bell above the door jingled, a sound that usually signaled a new customer entering your little haven. You looked up to see Mark stepping inside, his jacket fitting him perfectly and exuding an air of confidence that was both unsettling and intriguing. He surveyed the café, his dark eyes scanning the room like a predator assessing its territory. The way he moved was commanding, and despite the unease that came with his presence, you felt an inexplicable pull toward him. He seemed to draw in the energy of the space around him, a force of nature that made it hard to look away.

However, as he approached the line of customers waiting to order, the flicker of annoyance crossed his face, and you could see the impatience bubbling beneath the surface. Mark strode toward the line, pushing past a few patrons who looked up, startled. Their expressions shifted from surprise to indignation as he ignored their irritated glances. The air thickened with discomfort, and you found yourself holding your breath, a surge of anger rising within you. This was Invincible, a man who wielded immense power, and yet here he was acting as if everyone around him should simply step aside to accommodate him.

“Excuse me! You can’t just push in front like that!” one of the customers protested, annoyance clear in his voice. Mark brushed past him without a second thought, an almost casual disregard for the frustration he caused.

“I don’t have time for this,” he muttered, his tone dismissive, as if their complaints were nothing more than a minor inconvenience in his day.

You felt your heart race at the sight of him treating people like they were nothing more than obstacles in his path. The righteous anger boiled within you. This was a tipping point; you couldn’t just stand by and let it happen. This was the real world, not some arena where he could flaunt his power without consequence.

“Mark!” you called out, stepping out from behind the counter, crossing your arms as you approached him. “You can’t just cut in line like that. Everyone is waiting for their turn.”

He turned, surprise flickering in his eyes before a smirk appeared on his lips. “And who are you to tell me what to do?”

“Someone who believes in treating people with respect,” you shot back, feeling a surge of determination. “You might be …Invincible,” You say, whispering that last part since some customers were still close enough to overhear. “-But that doesn’t give you the right to push everyone else aside.”

The other patrons watched the exchange with a mix of curiosity and disbelief, some shifting uncomfortably as the tension between you and Mark escalated. Mark’s expression shifted slightly, irritation flaring in his eyes. “I don’t have all day. I’m not going to wait for these… people.”

You could feel your heart racing, anger simmering beneath the surface. “Just wait your turn. It’s not that hard,” you insisted, your voice steady as you met his gaze.

He crossed his arms, a mix of amusement and frustration evident in his demeanor. “Fine. I’ll wait. But this is ridiculous,” he grumbled, his voice low as he reluctantly took his place at the back of the line.

As he grudgingly settled in, you felt a small sense of victory, but it was quickly overshadowed by the tension that remained. You continued serving customers, trying to push aside the unease in your gut. After a few minutes, it was finally Mark's turn. The café was mostly empty now, the last few customers drifting out as you stepped up to the counter, pouring him a fresh cup of coffee.

“Your usual,” you said, trying to keep the mood light as he settled into a booth, the tension lingering in the air between you.

He took a sip, a contemplative look crossing his face as he savored the flavor. “You really took their side back there. Why?”

“Because they deserve respect,” you replied, looking him in the eye. “You can’t just push people around because you think you’re better than them.”

Mark leaned back, a cocky grin returning, but there was something unsettling about it. “I am better than them. I’m Invincible. Why should I have to wait like everyone else?”

“Mark,” you said after a few seconds of making sure no one could overhear. “I know you’re Invincible, but that doesn’t mean you can just walk over everyone else. You might be strong, but that doesn’t give you the right to disregard the people around you.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, the hint of a challenge sparking within them. “And what do you know about power?”

“Enough to recognize that it doesn’t mean you get to treat people like dirt,” you replied firmly, your frustration bubbling to the surface. “You have to remember that there are consequences to your actions. These are people we’re talking about.”

He scoffed, leaning forward as if your words were amusing. “Consequences? Please. Fear is a powerful motivator, and I’ve seen firsthand how people respond to it. They know their place.”

You felt a surge of frustration at his attitude. “You think instilling fear is the way to earn respect? That’s not how it works, Mark. You’re just creating more enemies.”

“Enemies?” he echoed, an incredulous laugh escaping him. “I don’t care about enemies. They can fear me all they want. It keeps them in line.”

“That’s a dangerous way to live,” you countered, crossing your arms. “You may think you’re invincible, but eventually, that approach will backfire.”

Mark's expression darkened, irritation flashing in his eyes. “You don’t understand how this world works. It’s survival of the fittest. I’m simply playing the game better than anyone else.”

“Is that really all you see it as? A game?” you asked, the weight of your words heavy in the air. “You’re treating them like pawns.”

He leaned back in his seat, contemplating your words as if they were a puzzle he couldn’t quite solve. “You really think I should care about them?”

“Why not?” you replied, your voice steady. “You can choose to see them as individuals instead of obstacles. You could find strength in connection rather than dominance.”

He regarded you silently, a mix of curiosity and confusion in his expression. “You think I can change?”

“Everyone has the potential to change,” you said, feeling a small spark of hope. “But it starts with you wanting to try. You don’t have to keep pushing everyone away and expect to find fulfillment in that.”

Mark's gaze narrowed, his expression darkening again. “You don’t know me, and you don’t know what I’ve sacrificed to get where I am.”

“Maybe not,” you admitted, your voice softer now. “But I do know that everyone deserves to be treated like a human being, including you.”

He leaned back, the usual cockiness in his demeanor wavering slightly. “You’re different from anyone else I’ve met.”

“Why do you think that is?” you asked, genuinely curious.

“I don’t know,” he replied, frustration evident in his tone. “Maybe it’s because you don’t seem to fear me, but it’s also annoying. I’m not used to people challenging me like this.”

“Maybe it’s time to change that,” you replied, feeling a sense of determination. “You might be surprised at how it feels to connect with people rather than overpower them.”

The tension in the booth was palpable as you both considered the weight of your conversation. The world outside the café felt like a distant memory, and for the moment, it was just the two of you navigating the complexities of power and connection.

“Maybe I’ll give it a shot,” he said finally, his tone more serious than before, a frown on his face. “But don’t expect me to change overnight.”

“Change takes time,” you replied, holding his gaze steady. “But it starts with wanting to connect with others.”

As your break came to an end, you felt a pang of disappointment. The connection you had begun to forge felt significant, and the thought of leaving was disheartening.

“Hey,” he said, standing up as the clock chimed, signaling the end of your shift. “Youl up for a park hangout tomorrow?”

“Yeah, I’m in,” you replied, surprised but eager at the prospect.

“Good,” he said, his expression serious. “I’ll see you there.”

With that, you turned to return to your duties, but as you did, you caught a glimpse of something in his eyes—a flicker of longing or frustration at the brevity of your time together. It was a look that felt out of place on him, one that hinted at emotions he wasn’t ready to confront.

As you resumed your shift, you felt the weight of his gaze lingering on you, a sense of tension that hovered between you both. The prospect of spending more time with him was both exciting and nerve-wracking. Mark was a force to be reckoned with, and while he was undeniably ruthless, you sensed there was more to him than just chaos and dominance.

—-----

The next day arrived quickly, and as you prepared for your shift, anticipation bubbled within

you. The thought of spending time with Mark outside the café was both thrilling and anxiety-inducing. Would he let his guard down? Would you learn more about the man behind the mask of Invincible?

As the afternoon sun cast warm rays through the café windows, you kept an eye on the door, waiting for him to arrive. When the bell jingled, your heart raced at the sight of Mark walking in, his presence filling the space as he moved toward you.

“Ready to go?” he asked, a hint of impatience in his tone.

“Yeah, just let me grab my things,” you replied, feeling a rush of adrenaline as you finished tidying up.

You quickly completed your tasks, excitement thrumming through your veins as you joined him by the door. “So, what’s the plan?” you asked as you stepped outside, the fresh air invigorating.

“I thought we could just walk around, maybe grab some food later,” he replied, his demeanor surprisingly casual. “I haven’t had a chance to just relax in a while.”

“Sounds good to me,” you said, matching his stride as you walked side by side.

The park was a stark contrast to the chaos of the city, the trees swaying gently in the breeze and the laughter of children echoing in the distance. It felt refreshing to be outside, away from the weight of the world for just a little while. The sunlight filtering through the leaves created a patchwork of light and shadow on the ground, a perfect metaphor for the complexities of the world you both inhabited.

As you walked, you couldn’t help but glance at him, the way the sunlight caught his features, highlighting the complexities of his expression. For all the darkness that surrounded him, there was something captivating about him that drew you in.

“So, do you always hang out with lowly humans?” you teased, trying to lighten the mood.

He chuckled, but there was a hint of seriousness in his voice. “I’m not used to it. It’s different.”

“Different how?” you prodded, genuinely curious.

He paused, looking out over the park as if contemplating his answer. “Most people only see me as Invincible. They don’t see the person behind it. They’re either afraid or they want something from me.”

“And you think I want something from you?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Honestly? I’m not sure what to think,” he admitted, his tone sincere. “You’re not like the others. You don’t seem to care about my reputation.”

“Reputation doesn’t matter if it means losing sight of who you really are,” you said, your voice steady. “You’re still Mark, no matter what.”

He glanced at you, an unreadable expression on his face. “You really think that?”

“Of course. We all have our layers,” you replied. “Just because you’re powerful doesn’t mean you have to lose your humanity.”

Mark nodded slowly, a flicker of understanding passing through his eyes. “Maybe I should start believing that.”

The conversation flowed easily as you walked, the barriers between you slowly beginning to dissolve. With each laugh shared and each story told, you felt the bond between you grow stronger. It was refreshing to see him outside of his usual context, away from the chaos he thrived in. Yet, as the sun began to dip lower in the sky, a sense of unease settled in your stomach. You could sense the shadows lurking just beneath the surface, the darkness that was part of his nature. You were both aware that the world was not kind to people like Mark, and while you were intrigued, you couldn’t ignore the danger he represented.

“Hey, do you ever think about what it would be like to just… not be Invincible?” you asked, glancing sideways at him.

He paused, considering your question. “Sometimes. But it’s hard to imagine.”

“You could carve out a new path if you wanted,” you suggested. “You don’t have to be defined by what everyone else thinks of you.”

Mark’s expression turned serious. “I thrive on fear, and it’s hard to let go of what works.”

“Maybe it’s time to try something new,” you replied, your tone encouraging. “Fear may work for now, but it won’t last forever. People will turn on you.”

He scoffed, but there was a hint of uncertainty in his voice. “I’m not afraid of losing their fear. I’ve built my life around it.”

“Maybe you should start building it around something else,” you said softly. “Something real.”

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the park, you both fell into a comfortable silence, the weight of the conversation lingering in the air. For Mark, the discussion felt like an exploration of possibilities he hadn’t allowed himself to consider.

Eventually, the chill of evening settled in, and you realized it was time to head back. “I should get back to the café,” you said reluctantly. “My shift starts soon.”

“Right. Guess we both have responsibilities,” he replied, the hint of disappointment in his voice.

As you walked back, the atmosphere felt charged with unspoken words and emotions that were starting to bubble to the surface. There was a part of you that longed to reach out and bridge the gap between you, to see if you could truly understand the man behind the façade of Invincible.

When you reached the café, you turned to him, feeling a sense of urgency to say something before you went inside. “Mark, I know you’re not just Invincible. I see you, and I want you to know that you don’t have to be defined by that.”

He looked at you, the conflict evident in his eyes. “You have no idea what it’s like to carry this weight.”

“Maybe not, but I want to help you with it,” you said, your voice steady. “You don’t have to navigate this alone.”

As you stepped back into the café, you caught a glimpse of his expression—a mix of longing and frustration that seemed to flicker just beneath the surface. It was a look that hinted at emotions he wasn’t ready to confront, but you could see the struggle written all over his face.

“Hey, I’ll see you tomorrow, right?” he asked, breaking the silence.

“Definitely,” you replied, your heart racing at the prospect of your next meeting.

----

You can also find this fix on Ao3

[chaoswalrus]

My favorite scene from the newest chapter from “Threads of Shadow and Light” (By CoinedMoth on Ao3) quality stuff

[purplebass]

Watch Holland and Kell completely misunderstand the meaning of the word shipping

(profile pics credit: @/lasq.draws on IG)

[teamosc4rr]

The backstory behind Shadow's eyeliner:

A short sonadow drabble ;)

_____________________

Shadow sighs. He really wasn't particularly keen on sharing stories from his past, but he supposes it's time to allow himself to share more of himself with others. This could be an alright start with that. "Fine. I guess I'll tell you." Sonic gives him a small smile at that. Shadow tries not to think about the reaction he feels in his stomach seeing it, and decides to tell the story.

_____________________

Before reading - I guess this is set in a little au that I'm still trying to figure out. (Because this was originally intended to be a scene in a longer fic I'm planning to write)

So for now, this is set in Shadow's room, after him and Sonic started to get to know eachother more after working out a tense rivalry.

(I apologise for any poor spelling here, English isn't my first language and I didn't put too much effort into this one)

(Also I think this can also be red as them being casual friends, too)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Wait- Shads... is that blood?! Are you bleeding?" Sonic frantically asked, as he pointed towards Shadow's eyes, there was a red smear of... something, just above them.

"What? Oh. That's just my eyeliner. It probably smeared." Shadow shrugged, with annoyance in his voice. He hated whenever that happened.

Sonic's expression changed to a surprised one. "That's eyeliner?! Huh, I had always thought it was just like, the colour of your fur. But now that I do take a good look at it... it is a bit shiny... indeed kinda different from the red in your quills." Sonic tilted his head sideways, inspecting the red lines around his eyes.

"Hah. Well, I guess it's just not that noticeable." Shadow stated, tearing his eyes away from Sonic's blown open eyes and raised eyebrows. He tried to ignore the way he still felt his gaze on him.

"Why do you wear it, though?" Sonic tilted his head to the side.

Apparently, Shadow made a face at that question because Sonic immediately starts rapidly apologising. "No- I mean like... It's not like I think it doesn't suit you- In my honest opinion it even looks good on you- uhm..." Sonic swallowed. "And I don't mean that you're like- that it's stupid, or something. It's just-"

"It's fine, Sonic." Shadow cuts off his rapid rambling. Sonic shuts his mouth and looks attentively at him, as if waiting for Shadow to continue.

The black hedgehog sighs. He really wasn't particularly keen on sharing stories from his past, but he supposes it's time to allow himself to share more of himself with others. This could be an alright start with that. "Fine. I guess I'll tell you." Sonic gives him a small smile at that. Shadow tries not to think about the reaction he feels in his stomach seeing it, and decides to tell the story.

"Whenever Maria got ready for school, or special events, or anything, really. I would always accompany her in anything she did. Through almost all the steps of her routine, I would be by her side, just... watching. We didn't necessarily have to talk or anything, I would just be there, be present. It was comforting." Shadow brings his gaze up from where they previously rested on his shoes, to meet Sonic's eyes. He sees that Sonic has a unique expression on his face, like he's actually interested in what he's telling him.

Shadow then remembers he still needed to continue. "But anyways- that's besides the point." He brings his gaze elsewhere. "She would usually do her makeup at the bathroom sink. She usually didn't do much... she often just did something basic, for things such as school. But for parties or special events, she would use some extra products. I would always just watch attentively at whatever she was applying to her face. The first time I saw her do a more... complicated look, I was a bit confused when she started tracing her eyeline with some red pencil. It seemed she noticed my puzzled face and chuckled at it. She then asked me if I wanted to try some. And because I liked being included, I agreed to it... It felt funny feeling the rather cold liquid of the eyeliner seeping through my fur. After she was done, I looked in the mirror and inspected the finished product. It wasn't bad... I quite liked the look of it, actually."

Shadow looked around the room, not daring to make eye contact with Sonic, for some reason.

"As I was inspecting the newly drawn lines around my eyes, she giggled and said that it suited me. So, whenever she would do her eyeliner, she would also put it on me. After every time, I would look in the mirror and notice she improved her skills with it again, the lines being done more neatly each time. She eventually even taught me how to do it myself. I didn't wear it often back then, when she was still..." Shadow trailed off, not wanting to say the thing he hated most, the thing that brought him the most pain.

In his peripheral vision, he saw Sonic nod and turn his head a tad to the side in understanding. Shadow swallowed and looked up at him again. "And well, after I lost her, I found some red eyeliner in a drug store and took it with me. I still remembered how to apply it. When I first saw myself with that same eyeliner again, it brought me back to all the times I sat on that cold kitchen sink with her." He let out a soft chuckle to himself. "Well... I haven't stopped wearing it since, as you can tell."

"Hm. She's right, it does look neat on you. Even if it didn't look as profesional back then." Sonic quirked a smile.

"Right, thanks." Shadow replied dryly.

...

"Could I try it?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thank you so much for reading, I really hope you enjoyed it ;)

You can find the beautiful art that heavily inspired me to write this here!

[writesology]

revisited one of my wips from last year and tried to fix it up a bit. i may have given up on lighting and shadows but it's ok bc one i have layer effects and two COFFEESHOP RIDOACE KISS RAHHHHHH

this is technically the first coffeeshop art i made (read: started but never finished) and honestly after revisiting all my layer folders i see why. lighting's a bitch

i love my two gay coffeeshop losers <33 now that finals are over i am free to indulge in these guys as long as i want (until the next quarter starts)

[electroniccollectiondonut]

me any time someone hates on the darkling:

[themightyhumanbroom]

In "Fury Oh Fury" Surge’s last insult towards Shadow here before shit hit the fan is a reference to the 1969 song "In the Year 2525" by Zager & Evans.

[p2iimon]

drawing more furry fnaf art. yknow just to keep you posted. i love posting in the tags sorry these ones got away from me

[goldeneyedgirl]

Hi love! We miss you!

Any chance you’ll be giving us part 2 of the au STL anytime soon? And is there any update on the next chapter of STL? Any snippets you can give? I’m dying for more!

Awww, thank you anon! I've missed being around as well <3

Part 2 of the STL AU is coming very soon - probably sometime in the next week? I'm still recovering, I have one last Ficmas post to make tomorrowish (sometimes it's NYE, sometimes it's NYD) and if STL AU isn't that post, it'll follow a few days later.

But a snippet? Why not!

When he sees her, he’s not sure if his heart breaks or if it jumps. For all Mary-Alice is the same, she’s utterly alien to him in this moment. Her eyes widen a little at his presence, but there’s no other reaction. Just that smooth-shaped disinterest that fills the void of emotion. And, to his shame, that is reassuringly familiar. Her nothingness fits in the same place it always has.

[freakurodani]

"Did you know that your eyes gleam like a cat's?"

"Do they?"

"Yeah! Especially when you turn toward the lantern!"

"Hm. I didn't know. I suppose it makes sense. Cat eyes glow in the dark because they reflect light so they can see better at night."

"Gwahh! That's so cool! Are you a cat, Akaashi-san?"

A smile snuck its way onto Keiji's lips. "No, I'm a witch."

[colorlessdaydream]

Apparently with all the writing stuff i just reblogged, i need to go work on my fanfics. I will explain in tags what each one is.

Also if you reblog/comment/like, i will give a small part of the fic

[lucagray813]

Tales from the Shadows - Chapter 2

Title: Off-putting

Rating: T

Word Count: 2,391

Characters: Red Son, Macaque, Mentioned Mei, Mentioned MK

Relationships: Red Son & Macaque

Minor Relationships: Red Son & Mei & MK

Summary: Red Son has some fears and insecurities around making friends. Macaque offers some unsolicited advice.

CW: Themes of outliving your friends, insecurity

Link to AO3 Version

Chapter Navigation: First | Prev | Next

----

"Y'know, they say you can tell by the temperature of the palace what mood you're in."

Red Son felt his shoulders tense but he didn't flinch at the sudden appearance of that wretchedly familiar voice behind him and he continued going through the motions of repairing the machine in front of him, intent on ignoring the unwelcome intruder.

This, of course, did nothing to deter Macaque. Who leaned against his workstation beside him and continued to drawl, "People actually complain there's a real chill in the air whenever you're down in the dumps."

Preposterous. Lava flowed through the palace and kept a consistent temperature. At most, he could temporarily increase the temperature in his immediate surroundings ever so slightly with a concerted effort.

...Or with a not so concerted effort if emotions were running high.

But regardless, Macaque, as usual, was spewing absolute garbage. No doubt, for the sole purpose of getting a rise out of him. Well, it wasn't working. Not today.

At his silence, Macaque continued, "Obviously, I can't feel the difference but I can hear everyone complaining about it and my ears are filled with enough noise without the added whining."

He didn't miss a beat, without looking up, he responded calmly, "Then leave."

Macaque turned up the dramatics, "And let the good people of this palace freeze to death? They'd take away my good guy certificate."

Ludicrous. All of it. And yet he couldn't stop himself from raising an eyebrow at him, "Who's "they"?"

Macaque shrugged, "MK, probably."

He couldn't even dispute it - that did sound like the sort of nonsense MK would spew - so he simply huffed derisively and focused back on his work, "Father knows how to work the thermostat, you can beg him on behalf of the masses."

Macaque countered, "Turn up the thermostat? And run up the energy bill? I'd never hear the end of it. Besides, problems are always best dealt with at the source."

They didn't have an energy bill of any description. Even without the natural flow of lava, he had ensured that the palace was entirely self-sufficient. And another day he perhaps would have felt inclined to list all the genius inventions and methods that made that possible but, as it was, Macaque was going to have to try harder than that to distract him from his work.

Unfortunately, ammunition was handed to him in the form of his phone buzzing numerous times, indicating a slew of new messages. He didn't so much as glance at it but he knew the way he hunched over his workstation in response hadn't been missed.

Macaque didn't immediately jump at the opportunity however, instead letting the silence drag out for a long moment before perfectly reciting, "Aren't you going to get that?"

The foredrawn conclusion to this game was inevitable but he did his best to delay it as he responded testily, "I'm busy."

"Oh? Could be your little girlfriend or boyfriend though. Could be important."

He gestured to his phone, "By all means, if you're so concerned, look for yourself."

"And invade your privacy? I would never."

It was such a bold faced lie that it was almost enough to finally have him give into the urge to rant at him in incredulous fury over every irritating thing he'd said since he'd arrived here less than a minute ago.

But he truly wasn't in the mood for these games and retorted, "If it was that important then they would have called. Whatever it is can wait until I've finished with these repairs."

Macaque chuckled, sounding fond as he replied, "You're really giving me nothing to work with here. I'd be impressed if you weren't doing it to your own detriment."

He huffed, "The only thing I'm doing right now to "my own detriment" is wasting my breath speaking to you."

"Cute. You realise though that I will be forced to escalate the situation if you don't spit out the reason why you're currently the picture of misery."

Hyperboles aside, it was a futile effort to deny that he was low in spirits. But the real question was whether it would be worse to endure whatever torture Macaque would put him through to get his answers or whether it would be worse to open up to him, of his own free will, and share a painful vulnerability.

The answer should be obvious. And yet...

Despite the charade of aloofness and mischief, he knew he was capable of consideration and tact. And, in the confines of his mind only, he could admit that, on occasion, he had also proven to be able to offer credible advice.

In all honesty, it was only a matter of time before he cracked and spilled the truth so he decided he may as well come clean now and be in control of the situation.

He sighed heavily and started to fiddle with the machine parts in his hands instead of fixing them. He glanced at his phone before confessing, "Tomorrow is Mei's birthday."

When no smart comment about late birthday gifts or conflicting schedules or some other drivel followed, he continued, "She'll be twenty-eight. She was twenty-one when we first met. By human standards of maturity and physical development, I am currently twenty-five. I have been since I met her and I will be for approximately another ten years. She and MK... They're going to outgrow me."

It was inevitable.

It always had been.

He was aging at a rate about a twentieth of the speed they were and short of an early death or a morally dubious intervention there was no way around it.

On occasion, he had perhaps agonised over the thought of outliving them but it was hardly a consideration when their friendship would die long before that.

Macaque hummed, "Them growing older doesn't mean you can't still be friends."

He understood that friendships existed between people of all ages but while the friendship between a sixty year old and a twenty-seven year old may not be any less meaningful than one between peers, they were distinct from one another. Interests, responsibilities and capabilities all changed, to at least some degree, with age. And he didn't want to lose the relationship they had as it was.

He shook his head, "It won't be the same."

Macaque sighed, "No. It won't be."

Losing them obviously was upsetting on its own but with it came another fear. And his grip tightened as he forced away any signs of tears and bit out, "I'll be alone again."

Obviously, he wouldn't be alone in the truest sense of the word. He had his family, after all. But he couldn't face the idea of going back to living the life he'd had before Mei and MK had crashed into it. He couldn't go back to a time without having more to live for than his father's legacy.

Macaque's tone was light, "Well, there's a pretty obvious solution to that."

He brought a heavy fist down onto the work bench as he faced Macaque, "The Heavenly Peaches! I know that fool of a king has offered one to MK before! He has enough to spare for Mei to have one too! I just need to convince them that..."

He trailed off and looked away to avoid the look of pity on Macaque's face.

"Kid-"

He cut him off sharply, "Don't." His hands balled into fists, "I know."

Immortality was not the same as longevity but even if it was he knew neither of them would take it. He'd be asking them to outlive almost everything they knew, and ostracizing them from humanity.

And his less flattering opinions on humanity aside, he couldn't do that to them. Not to mention, they'd hate him forever and that would make the whole endeavour pointless in the first place.

That didn't stop him from thinking about it though, or from letting himself imagine an idyllic future where the three of them lived forever. Together.

Macaque interrupted his inner turmoil, "Then you know that the actual solution is to make new friends. Ideally friends with a similar life span to you."

He started aggressively repairing the machine in front of him, unable to meet Macaque's eye as he grumbled, "Easy for you to say..."

Ignoring the fact that he didn't actually want new friends, there was a glaring issue with that plan.

And Macaque seemed to deliberately misunderstand what as he tapped his chin thoughtfully, "I suppose being the illustrious heir to the Demon Bull King would make it difficult to make friends, power does attract the unscrupulous."

Well, he supposed that could also be a factor but still he scowled, "You know that's not the problem."

Macaque hummed, "No? Hmm, I suppose you are more than capable of identifying a blaggard. You have spent enough time around me, after all. But then I suppose that leaves your esteem scaring off potential friends. A hero and an engineering prodigy? Those are hard credentials to match and most kids these days are cripplingly low in confidence."

He felt his cheeks redden against his will and any other day it probably would have been enough to have him crowing about his many incredible qualities and achievements but deep down he knew that none of that could distract from the truth.

Quietly, he refuted, "You know none of that matters, not when I'm... When I'm like this."

His gesturing apparently was not enough to get across his point and Macaque raised an unamused eyebrow, ""This"?"

He pointed at him accusingly, "Don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about! As if you don't relish in pointing out my every flaw! I'm a social pariah! People actively avoid me! And when they can't, they can't even hide their discomfort! My talents mean nothing if my personality and mannerisms are so unbearably off-putting!"

He faltered as his words caught up with him, "That is- I mean- I don't think that but-"

He cut himself off and stared at Macaque warily as he chuckled.

But his mounting dread was apparently unwarranted as Macaque shook his head and smiled ruefully, "Oh, trust me, I know exactly what you mean. I doubt there's anyone in the world more off-putting than me."

He blinked up at him uncomprehendingly for a moment before he responded with absolute honesty, "You are the most off-putting person I have ever met."

Despite his expression being far from offended, Macaque still scuffed the side of his head, "Off-putting, I may be but I still have feelings."

He scoffed as he rubbed at his ear, "You're the one that brought it up."

Macaque crossed his arms but his eyes belied his amusement, "I brought it up because I'm trying to tell you I know exactly how you feel. You think I'm good at making friends?"

He huffed, "Oh please, I've seen you at mother's parties. You know how to hide how unpleasant you truly are. You could have as many friends as you wanted."

"Now, I know you know that charming people in order to get what you want, isn't the same as making friends. Genuine friendships, by definition, require you to be genuine yourself and you know I would never."

He huffed, "Of course. But it hardly matters, you already have all the "genuine" friendship you need in the form of mother, father and that reprobate."

For a split second, he could have sworn he saw Macaque's expression fall but he wasn't given a chance to assess what could have possibly caused the shift before Macaque had recovered and poked his nose obnoxiously, "That's right~! And you know what that means?"

He swatted his hand away, "You're trying to infer that if someone like you is actually capable of making a friend then so I am."

He ducked before Macaque could put his hands anywhere near his face again and he laughed as he responded, "Got it in one. And you've already got a proven track record - you really think MK and Mei are really the only oddballs out there that will get you?"

Logically, he knew there probably were hundreds, if not thousands, of others with similar personalities out there to MK and Mei but his pathetic heart refused to believe that there was anyone else in the world like them.

He looked away a little awkwardly, "Yes, well, finding them is another matter all together."

He did not trust the way Macaque was smiling and he immediately cut off whatever he was about to suggest, "No! Whatever it is, no! I do not need or want your help making friends! I suffer enough as a result of your "help" as it is!"

The glint in his eye suggested it was already far too late. But still he held his hands up, "Fine. Fine. I'll restrain myself to the occasional pep talk then. But if you ever change your mind-"

"I won't."

Macaque grinned, "We'll see." His expression then softened slightly, "But in the meantime..."

He turned away from him, not caring for the gentler look on his face, and picked up his phone as he stood up, "In the meantime, I have to make sure MK doesn't mess up Mei's surprise so if you don't mind..."

The dismissal was clear but, of course, Macaque had to have the last word, "Alright, alright. I've saved us all from catching our deaths, I'll go. But for what it's worth, and I know it's not a lot, I don't think you're a hard person to be around, just the opposite actually."

He didn't turn around but the grip on his phone tightened as he blustered, "Yes, well, obviously you aren't foolish enough to let minor details distract you from my overall brilliance."

Macaque chuckled as his phone buzzed again.

After a pause, he felt Macaque's presence behind him disappear but his parting words cut him deeply, "I hope you know that they'll miss you just as much as you'll miss them."

He held his phone tightly against his chest for a moment as he grieved the loss still to come before he took a deep breath and unlocked his phone to see tens of unread messages from both of them.

He could miss them later.

Right now, there were the final touches of a party to organise.

--Chapter End--

Chapter Navigation: First | Prev | Next

LMK Fanfic Masterlist

[daxisyzz]

Marked What's Mine

Pairings: husband!bucky barnes × wife!reader

Summary: You can hold your own—always have. But that doesn’t stop your husband from going full Winter Soldier mode when he sees someone laid a hand on you.

Warnings: Language, injuries, soft-but-intense husband!Bucky, protective behavior, possessiveness, comfort, fluff, violence mentioned (not graphic), "who did this to you?", lots of banter.

Word count: 1.3k+

A/n: this fic is from my poll where husband au and who did this to u prompt won. I will do the enemies to lovers in my next fic. Thank you for reading <3.

Divider credits: @saradika

Night- 1:47 AM

You turned the front doorknob with all the delicacy of a trained assassin—which, to be fair, you were.

No sound. Good.

You stepped inside, sliding your shoes off silently and tiptoeing like the floorboards might narc on you. You could practically hear your heartbeat in your ears.

He’d be asleep. He had to be.

You could get to the bathroom, clean up, hide the worst of it. He didn’t have to know. You didn’t want him to worry, to spiral. Not again.

You made it three steps down the hallway.

Then— “Don’t move.”

Shit.

His voice cut through the silence, low and lethal. It came from the living room.

You closed your eyes. "Hi, honey. I'm home."

A light flipped on.

Bucky stood by the couch, arms crossed, half in shadow. The sight of him—barefoot, hoodie loose over his broad chest, hair tousled from waiting up—would’ve been comforting, if not for the look in his eyes.

His gaze traveled from your face to your arms, your ribs, where blood had started to seep through your shirt.

He didn’t say a word.

You tried to play it off. “Before you say anything, it looks worse than it is—”

His voice dropped to a whisper.

“Who did this to you?”

You exhaled slowly. “Buck—”

“Don’t. Just…” His jaw clenched. “Stay right there.”

“Bucky, it’s fine. I dodn’t even need stitches—”

“You’re bleeding.” His voice trembled with something dangerous. “You’re limping. You snuck into your own damn house like a thief because you knew I’d lose it if I saw you like this. And guess what? You were right.”

He was in front of you in three long strides.

His hands—warm, shaking—came up to cup your face, careful to avoid the bruises.

“You weren’t supposed to see me like this,” you whispered. “You’d only worry.”

“I worry when you’re five minutes late for lunch. You think this is gonna lessen that?”

“I’m not made of glass—”

“You’re made of everything I live for.”

Your breath caught.

He scanned your injuries with haunted eyes. “Who did this?”

“It’s not important.”

“It is to me.”

You sighed. “I didn’t want you to spiral. Last time you saw me with a busted lip, you threatened to drown a guy in the Hudson.”

“I should’ve.”

“Bucky—”

“Tell me his name.”

You met his eyes. “If I do, you’ll find him.”

He didn’t deny it.

“And if I don’t?” you added.

“I’ll find him anyway.”

You groaned. “You are the most dramatic man I’ve ever met.”

He lifted you into his arms like it was nothing—like you didn’t have two working legs—and carried you down the hall.

“I’m intense,” he corrected. “Not dramatic.”

“You literally brooded in the dark waiting for me to get home.”

“You really thought I wouldn’t notice? Like my wife could come home hurt and I wouldn’t feel it in my chest?”

You let out a weak laugh. “God, you’re annoying.”

“You married me, doll. That’s on you.”

Twenty Minutes Later...

You sat on the bathroom counter while Bucky dabbed antiseptic over the cuts along your ribs, his brows furrowed like each mark physically hurt him more than it hurt you.

He hadn’t stopped touching you.

Even now, his thumb rubbed soft circles into your thigh as he worked.

“Doesn’t even sting,” you said.

“That’s not the point,” he muttered, placing another bandage carefully. “You came home bleeding. You flinched when you took your shirt off. You snuck in.”

“I didn’t want to see your sad little kicked puppy face,” you teased.

He glared. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“No, you’re lucky I love you. You’re high maintenance.”

“Says the woman who took on a six-foot mercenary solo and got cracked in the jaw for it.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You think I didn’t win?”

He paused. “Wait. You won?”

“Cracked three of his ribs and made him cry.”

He stared.

Then—slowly—he grinned.

“That’s my girl.”

You tried not to bask in it, but you totally basked in it.

Still, he wasn’t done.

As he finished wrapping the final gauze, he stood between your legs and stared at you like you held gravity in your hands.“I breathe for you,” he said, voice barely a whisper. “That’s it. That’s the only reason I get up in the morning.”

Your throat went tight. “Bucky—”

“You come home hurt, and it feels like the world’s off its axis. I can’t think. Can’t function. You’re not fragile, babe. You’re the strongest person I know. But the thought of losing you? I’d lose everything.”

God.

You buried your face in his chest, arms tight around him.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Too late. You did. You always do.”

You looked up. “You’re a menace, you know that?”

“You love it.”

“Unfortunately.”

He grinned and kissed your forehead.

Next Day – 2:00 PM

You woke up to an empty bed and a note on the pillow:

Had to step out. Be back soon. Don’t move too much or I’ll find out and carry you around like a baby until you learn your lesson. I love you more than oxygen.

—B <3

You rolled your eyes.

And sighed.

And smiled.

He came back at sunset. Calm. Too calm.

You didn’t even have to ask.

“You found him, didn’t you?”

He dropped his jacket. “Yeah.”

“And?”

“He’s not gonna be walking straight for a while.”

“Bucky…”

“And probably won’t be talking much either.”

You stared at him.

“He’ll live. Probably,” Bucky said with a shrug. “I was nice. For the first ten seconds.”

“Jesus—”

“He laid a hand on you. You really think I wasn’t gonna rearrange his face?”

You huffed, arms crossed, but you were secretly touched. And maybe a little turned on.

“You are so dramatic.”

“No. Dramatic is you sneaking past your literal super soldier husband with blood dripping down your shirt.”

“Fine,” you muttered, walking toward him. “You win.”

He caught you easily, arms pulling you in.

“I always win, doll,” he murmured, kissing your bruised temple. “Especially when it comes to you.”

The Next Morning – 9:07 AM

Sunlight filtered lazily through the curtains, painting golden stripes over the bed where you were curled up like a cat. One leg over the sheet. A little sore. A little achy. But warm.

Bucky stirred beside you, his metal arm slung protectively over your waist.

“You awake?” you mumbled.

“Was watching you breathe,” he rasped, voice still sleep-rough. “You twitch your nose when you’re dreaming.”

“You’re creepy.”

“You married me, sweetheart. This is your fault.”

You snorted, rolling to face him, wincing a little. He was already awake, already watching you with that look. Like you were sacred. Untouchable. His.

“You hurting?” he asked immediately, shifting to sit up. “Need painkillers? Water? I can carry you to the bath—”

“Bucky.”

He blinked.

“I’m okay. It’s just a bruise, not a broken limb. Stop hovering.”

“I’m not hovering.”

“You’re three seconds from spoon-feeding me cereal.”

“…Is that an option?”

You groaned and buried your face in his chest.

“You’re insufferable.”

He chuckled, warm and smug, tucking you tighter under his chin. You stayed like that for a while. Tangled limbs. Warm sheets. His fingers trailing soft patterns on your back like he couldn’t stand not touching you.

“Don’t do that again,” he whispered finally.

You didn’t pretend to not hear it. “Okay.”

“I know you’re strong. I know you can take care of yourself. But if something happens to you—I stop breathing. You get that?”

You swallowed hard. “I get it.”

“I love you so much it makes me a little insane.”

“Only a little?”

“I toned it down for your sake.”

You giggled. “You’re cute when you’re crazy.”

“Good. Because you’re stuck with me.”

You looked up, brushed the hair from his forehead, kissed him slow.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

[kooklovee]

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 & 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, 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, 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 (well more like I've taken the courage to actually post it)🥹 do let me know your thoughts on it <3 n consider a reblog if you like it, thank you for reading! 🫶

Masterlist kofi☕

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

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, 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, making 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.

Of course 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. 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, 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 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, 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- 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 towards 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.

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 can he 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, 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. 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, 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 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—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, 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.

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 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, there's no desperation, no urgency. Just you and him, emotions 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, so gentle, full of 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 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. Your husband's 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.”

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