#just fluff heh | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

insertsickusername13 · 2 years ago

Text

Richjake week day four babyyyy

prompt: fire

word count: 2.1k

Summary: Rich struggles to light a candle for a romantic dinner with Jake.

Rich was pretty sure he was going to light the candle wick on fire with just his gaze.

He’d been there for ten minutes already, the match in his hand unreasonably heavy and the matchbox even more so. It was just a candle. A small, cheap candle he’d bought for $1.39 at a Walgreens down the street. He was going to light it on fire. He was not going to freak out. Jake was going to think it was romantic.

Everything else was already set up: the usually bare kitchen table they’d snatched from a curb a couple of miles away had been replaced by a smaller, round, dark-wood table and a fancy white tablecloth (the table from a second-hand antique store downtown, the white table cloth from Brooke’s attic—he’d gotten it when Jake and him had returned to Jersey for the holidays. Three months ago.).

There was a small vase with a single rose at the center. Plates and Jake’s parents’ fancy silverware that had miraculously survived the fire were already set out.

And there was a candle.

Though it was smaller than almost everything else on the table it seemed to stand tall, looming over Rich with a cruel smirk on its nonexistent waxy lips.

Rich inhaled a shaky breath.

He could do this. It was just a candle. There was nothing destructive about a candle. Rich wouldn’t knock it over and catch the tablecloth on fire, then the kitchen, then their entire apartment. Jake wouldn’t come home to ashes instead of his boyfriend and a romantic dinner. Candles were normal. Candles were fine. Rich could light a candle.

But he could hear the SQUIP’s voice in his head. It’d been disjointed on Halloween, robotic and borderline meaningless. If anyone else had been listening—Jake, Jeremy, Michael—they would’ve heard pure nonsense. The ramblings of a lunatic.

Rich had understood every word. He didn’t need to hear its voice to feel his entire body being shot with electricity repeatedly. He’d barely been conscious of his own hands as they poured gasoline all over Jake’s bed and in his closet. Fire, fire, fire, fire. He’d done it trembling, half unconscious and half possessed. He could do it now if he wanted. He didn’t. But he could. He just had to…

Rich dropped the match. Dropped the matchbox. He fell to his knees, his body shaking uncontrollably just like it had when it was still in his head, when it’d told him Rich deserved hell manifested on Earth, when it'd forced him to destroy everything he'd ever loved.

He wanted to cover his face, to hide his shame and the tears he knew were boiling over out of his eyes, but he could’ve sworn he saw the residue of gasoline on his fingertips. He couldn’t bear the thought of contaminating the rest of himself with such a destructive, infectious substance. He held his hands out as far as he could, the terror of what he’d done choking him, the weight of it so heavy he thought he could see the floor opening up, swallowing him and everything he’d done since to try and undo what he’d done, to erase—

“Rich?”

And suddenly keeping himself pure meant nothing. He pressed his hands against his abdomen, hiding them in his shirt. Just as long as Jake didn’t see, as long as he didn’t get ruined, then Rich would be okay.

Rich hadn’t realized how bad it’d gotten until he tried to respond to Jake and the words burned so bad he couldn’t get them past his throat. He opened his mouth helplessly, every apology he could muster trapped between his teeth, and looked up at Jake for… for something. For help. For comfort. For damnation and guilt-tripping and everything he probably deserved.

Jake dropped his bag and, using his cane for support, knelt in front of Rich.

“Baby? Hey,” as if he somehow knew of every self-destructive thought that had run through Rich’s head since he’d first bought that candle from goddamn Walgreens, he grabbed both of Rich’s hands and carefully unclenched them, his touch softer than anything Rich had never known. “What’s wrong?”

What’s wrong? It’d been so long since Junior year that being on the floor crying didn’t always mean the fire anymore. Sometimes it was missing his dad. Sometimes it was fear of graduation. Sometimes it had nothing to do with the SQUIP and everything that had happened because of it.

Rich choked out a sob as he pulled himself closer to Jake, desperate for the warmth he provided. He was a magnetic sun—technically Rich could look at him and see fire and destruction but all he saw were beaches and flowers and summertime. Thank the lord for that.

“It’s okay,” Jake whispered. He didn’t know what was wrong, yet he said it with visceral confidence—it’s okay. Rich will be okay. Jake will be okay. He ran his hands through Rich’s hair and repeated the words again and again. At some point he tried to slip in other reassurances, things he’d heard from Rich’s therapist—five things you can see, you’re worthy, can you breathe?—but he was cut off by Rich’s murmuring against his shoulder.

“I just wanted a candle,” he borderline sobbed out, snotty and muffled, “So I could give you dinner and it could be romantic and I’m sorry, I couldn’t do it.”

“Babe—” Jake lifted Rich off his shoulder, a small smile on his face, “—we don’t need a candle for dinner.”

Of course, Jake would say that. Of course, he wouldn’t even notice, the goddamn angel. He wasn’t the one who got dragged to expensive restaurant after expensive restaurant for grand anniversaries and birthdays while struggling with the knowledge that he could never afford any of this on his own. That the paycheck he brought home every month was minuscule compared to even a small percentage of Jake’s fortune. Jake never had to wonder if he was a leech, sucking up spare bits of affection and funds where he could. He didn’t notice the candles and roses at every restaurant they went to. That was Rich’s job.

Rich squeezed his eyes shut against Jake’s open expression. Even faced with complete darkness, he heard Jake’s voice saying, “Deep breaths.”

Rich obliged. One breath in, one breath out, slow and steady, until he could look at it like Jake was: Just a candle.

“I’m still thoroughly romanced, y’know,” Jake whispered. He cupped Rich’s jaw and ran his thumb over his eyelashes, “I've got those stupid butterflies and all.”

Rich scoffed, the cruise Jake had taken him on for his twenty-first birthday still playing in his mind. The concert they’d gone to for his twenty-second. Objectively, he knew this was enough. He was enough. He’d been to countless therapists and fought endless battles to get to the point where he knew Jake didn't need more than this, that money didn’t matter, that Jake loved him for things like this, but that doubt—bitter, poisonous, ruinous—hovered, waiting for its moment to sink its teeth into Rich’s skin.

“Yeah,” Rich replied, and it was more to himself than it was to Jake—a vocalization of his own self-deprecating thoughts, not meant for anyone else to hear, “Romanced enough to marry me?”

He didn’t realize what he’d said until he felt Jake’s hand go slack on his face. Fuck. Fuck, no, he had a fucking speech. He wasn’t supposed to say that—

Rich looked up, eyes wide, everything else blurred and forgotten—fuck candles and fuck money and fuck the dinner he planned, he’d just accidentally fucking proposed. All he saw was Jake’s expression, all he felt was lightning in his chest and stomach. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“Hm?” Jake squeaked. He looked about as shell-shocked as Rich, if not more so.

Rich had two choices: chicken out or own up to it. The fact Jake’s panicked expression—comically wide eyes, lips pressed together to stop himself from breaking out into a smile, cheeks bordering between pink and red—was so beautiful Rich was pretty sure he wanted to kiss it until he died was an answer in and of itself.

He fumbled for the ring in his pocket only vaguely aware of Jake’s jaw dropping as he pulled it out. He wiped his face with the sleeve of his shirt, erasing the remnants of his breakdown to the best of his ability. He had a boyfriend to propose to. A perfect, pretty, loving boyfriend, and he was not going to let that be tainted by his own lingering insecurities.

“Okay,” he said, taking a deep breath. Jake looked like he was going to pass out. “Okay, I was supposed to do this later, but you’re—shit, I’m supposed to be on one knee.”

Still shaking, Rich struggled to untangle himself from Jake’s limp grasp enough to prop himself up on one knee.

“Okay, starting over, I wanted—I was gonna do this while we were eating dessert, I thought you might be more likely to say yes if I was feeding you ca—”

“Yes,” Jake blurted, “Yes. The answer’s yes. Right now.”

Rich blinked.

“I’m uh, I haven’t even talked about how much I love you yet.”

“I don’t care. Yes. I want to be engaged to you as soon as possible. Get fucking—” he scrambled over to Rich, glowing like a buttercup or sunflower. Rich was so enchanted by the sight he couldn’t find it in himself to protest as Jake shakily took the ring ($3,471—Rich spent eight months saving up) from the box and held it out to Rich.

“Put it on me,” he said, “Put it on, I—”

Rich took the ring and slipped it on Jake’s finger. He got the privilege of watching the stars and sky light up as Jake broke out into a golden grin. Pretty, he thought, pretty, pretty, pretty—

Jake launched himself at Rich, knocking them both flat onto the floor, his arms finding their way around Rich’s waist with starved desperation and his lips colliding with whatever skin he had access to: first Rich’s neck, then his cheek, then his lips, over and over until Jake was crying so hard he had to stop just to get the chance to breathe.

“You proposed to me,” he giggled, “You fucking proposed, you… oh my god.”

Rich threw his head back laughing. He couldn’t say it, couldn’t vocalize it like Jake was trying to do, but everything felt coated in unbridled elation. Jake wanted to marry him. Jake said yes. He was getting married to his best friend and they were going to spend the rest of their lives together.

“I do,” Jake said, propping himself up on his elbows so he could look down at Rich, “I do. Can we get married right now?”

“I think we should eat dinner first, sweetheart, I spent all day cooking.”

Jake perked up.

“Really?”

“Yeah, I made those scallops the way you like ‘em and pasta.”

Jake’s eyes lit up. Like a kid in a candy store (except that candy store only sold expensive seafood), Jake climbed off Rich and sat at the table.

“I am so fucking glad I’m marrying you,” he said, already laying his napkin out on his lap.

Rich flushed as he got to his feet, planning to grab their plates from the kitchen to show Jake the fruits of his labor, but was stopped by his foot colliding with—

With a matchbox. A small, unassuming matchbox that singlehandedly had the power to tear Rich apart limb by limb.

Nothing could dim the giddiness he’d felt since Jake said yes. With unfounded confidence, he picked up what would usually be made of flames and fear and opened it, carefully taking a match into his hand.

He could do this. He could light a candle for a romantic dinner with his boyf—fiancé.

He struck the match.

Jake blew it out.

Rich stared at the charred wood for a second, uncomprehending, before looking up at Jake. He almost wanted to scream. He couldn’t do that again. Once was enough, there was no way he’d be able to make more fire.

“There’s no point,” Jake said.

“I want—”

“I broke it.”

Rich blinked at him.

“What?”

“I broke the candle.”

“How do you break a candle—”

Jake glanced nervously under the table. Despite Rich's disblief, there the candle was. Broken.

It’d been mushed down into a mound of wax, the wick bent and covered in so much wax there was no way it’d light even if Rich wanted it to. Rich felt like he’d just been pulled from the brink of insanity by an angel.

“I don’t need a candle,” Jake said, flashing Rich a crooked, nervous grin.

“Oh.”

A pause. It was a hurricane of a moment, the silence complete and violent despite the exultation that had drowned the room a moment earlier.

Then, voice quiet with shame, Rich said, “I… I fucking hate candles.”

Jake reached out and squeezed his hand.

“Not you, though,” Rich continued, squeezing Jake’s hand back, “I don’t hate you. I actually really fucking love you.”

#heh #fluff #look i'm capable of it #had to fix yesterday's angst with happiness and cute joy #bmc #richjake #jake dillinger #rich goranski #richjake week 2023 #i don't know if i like this or not tbh #mixed feelings #it's cute but it didn't quite turn out how i wanted it to #eh it's okay #still absolutely adorable #this goes along with my headcanon that rich spends their wedding sobbing his eyes out #and jake's just grinning the entire time and rich thinks he's so happy he's not even gonna cry #but then he wakes up in the middle of the night to jake curled around him sobbing so hard he genuinely thinks something's wrong #but jake's just so happy to be married #to have this proof that rich isn't going to leave #and it's better if it's rich who initiates it and proposes #bc then jake has proof that rich wants it. rich wants this commitment. rich wants forever.#akfjsdkgjdkgj #LMAO i’m back i forgot to add that fanfic tag #sparkly star fanfic #k we’re good now

24 notes · View notes

ghosts-and-blue-sweaters · 2 years ago

Text

Should I write QSMP fanfic ajsgjsgsisgs I don’t knowwwwww

#it’s not necessarily that I don’t WANT to #it’s just that #I don’t know #it’d be weird to write something that’s not DSMP :’0 #and I don’t usually write for two fandoms at once…#BUT LIKE #WILBUR AND TALLULAH #HE’S A FATHER AND HE’S TRYING SO HARD TO BE A GOOD ONE #AND HE CALLS HER HIS SON HIS MOON AND HIS STARS #AND HE SINGS TO HER #AND HE KEEPS THE SIGNS SHE MAKES AND THE RED POPPY SHE GAVE HIM AND HE WAS SCARED WHEN SHE WENT MISSING #and come ON Tallulah is the sweetest little thing #quiet and thoughtful and musical and caring and adorable just ADORABLE I TELL YOU #I want to write Wilbur and Tallulah fluff :’0 #but then I’d have to get used to writing q!Wilbur instead of c!Wilbur and also get used to a different universe and akdgskgsiagsus #why did I make this post #HEH #my post #writer talk #all this to say I am Thinking #my Qsmp thoughts

4 notes · View notes

apocripha-0 · 2 months ago

Text

Texted my sister . . Okay with a reassuring childe emote. . I feel like dying . It feels awful to lie that I am alright about it. Does it matter what you feel? No! Its not about you . . Never about you . .

#buddy boy texted me again asking if i was alright.#nooo!#i feel like time is slipping from me again #that feeling always comes back #btw i havent answered him #i just don't have it in me to maintain a relationship where i find little connection in. .#baffling considering finding someone who is 49% compatible with you is a blessing #i just realized that there will only be you #even my sister isn't like me #truly one of a kind #besides hes too clingy i think #heh that tag still works #i have to finish the blanket. . with a border of natural animal fluff #hopefully the little one isn't allegric to it #the string kinda ass so it probably won't look good for long #ughhh. i spent too much money on it to be ass #cotton string mind you #feeling a shit ton of anxiety.#my sister is gonna call for my meds for me today #as an adult im afraid of phonecalls. . i made one for her though. was worried about her hand. its all good now #should i unmute my sister?#i guess . . our relationship is broken anyways #always left out eh?#should go study japanese eh? it's just very cold today and the blanket I would use is being used currently. .#i did promise i would show my essay and blanket when I was done.#I will just later #my personal scrapbook eh?#can you tell i lied

0 notes

chuluoyi · 9 months ago

Text

𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐋 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐄𝐌𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒 !

- gojo satoru x reader // zen'in naoya x reader

you are an empress perfect in every way... until your husband suddenly casts you aside for his expecting mistress. but you won't be dethroned just like that, because the newly coronated western emperor, gojo satoru, sets his sights on you, and thus your revenge against your ex-husband begins...

genre/warnings: 18+ suggestive content—minors do not interact!—might be ooc, kinda slowburn, angst to eventual fluff, divorce, marriage of convenience, heavy pining (from gojo's part), childhood friends trope, mentions of infidelity, misogyny, infertility, explicit smut

note: loosely inspired by and taking some elements of manhwa remarried empress (but i promise you, it's different). my god, for the past month this is all i can think about *sobs* wc. 10.5k ! this is the longest thing i've ever posted here, and if you'd give it a chance, then i'll be really, really thankful!

credit header goes to @/gojokko in twitter!

next. the crown of diamonds | long live the empire

general masterlist | series masterlist

“I accept the divorce.”

Your perfect life was done for. Everything you had worked hard towards— it was now in shambles and tatters.

You, an ethereal, revered empress... someone untarnished in the face of public and private, had just agreed to the emperor’s blatant request of separation.

“My god... how can this be!?”

“Your Majesty! Please reconsider!”

Emperor Zen’in Naoya of the Eastern Empire, your husband—and companion for more than ten years—smirked as he looked down at you, paying zero attention to the uproar in this courthouse.

But then you heard that kind, velvety voice from the back of your head:

“If you become my empress… that will make me the happiest man alive.”

This place has turned into a whopping circus ever since you and Naoya stepped inside anyway. And so, having nothing worthy left to lose, you declared, “And I demand an immediate approval for my remarriage.”

Your boldness once again stirred a wave of clamor among the crowd, and even Naoya was glaring at you in disbelief now. “A remarriage…? How dare you—!”

“Well... is it the time for my grand entrance?”

Deep from behind the curtains, suddenly he emerged, dressed in the most lavish robes befitting his own throne, outshining everyone in the room as if he was the one owning the place.

“Heh.” His low chuckle stunned even the mass as he took big strides towards where you were.

This would seal your fate. From now onwards, you would no longer be the perfect empress. Your messy divorce and remarriage will relegate that image to history.

“My goodness, that’s…” the woman in the front gasped. “Western Empire’s…”

“Gojo… Satoru?” Naoya's eyes lit with genuine fury as the other man took his place by your side. “You couldn't possibly mean…!”

You interrupted him regally. “Yes, he is the man I wish to remarry.”

This event was going to blow up tomorrow, with scandalous titles no less than The Deposed Empress Remarries! And there was no going back, ever.

How did your pristine life turn into such a shameful debacle? None of these turn of events would be imaginable for you several years prior...

SATORU, THE CROWN PRINCE OF WESTERN EMPIRE

To Satoru, you were more than just the east’s breathtaking empress—you had captured his attention long before you ascended to that role.

Seven years ago, you were the renowned noble lady, the paragon of perfection sought after by many lords and monarchs alike.

You were both cunning and fair, pretty in the face, came from an illustrious family known for birthing famous empresses in either western and eastern empires. You were the quintessential template that mothers advised their sons to seek in a wife.

The fairest in the land—that was how people called you. And Gojo Satoru is always and only interested in the best.

“Suguru... look at her.” His eyes would soften at the sight of you as he nudged at his closest ally and confidant, the duke. “She is so... pretty, isn’t she?”

Unfortunately, you had been promised to the Eastern Empire’s crown prince from a long time ago too. There was little that the outsiders, including himself—even if he was the heir apparent to his own throne—could do to sway your heart.

“There's more to women than their faces, Satoru,” Suguru sighed, thinking that what he had was a mere lust. “Moreover, she’s engaged to the Zen’in... and they have a very good relationship. Nothing you can do about that.”

“Hmph.”

To be honest, he couldn’t fathom what you could possibly like about that murderous Zen’in spawn. He was a pompous human being, no less.

How on earth could you stand someone like that? Satoru had always wondered… especially when it was well-known to the land that you and him were on good terms despite your arranged marriage.

—and once, he thought he knew who you are…

. . .

Satoru swallowed the bitterness rising in his throat as he attended the royal wedding of you and Zen’in Naoya. Despite hating the circumstances, he had to admit it was a fairytale wedding—albeit with the wrong groom.

You were the epitome of picture book princess. In his eyes, and in the eyes of the attendees of your wedding.

Oh, and he made headlines too, that day—

“My princess, may I have this dance?”

Two hours hadn’t even passed by after you swore your vows as Naoya’s bride, and there he was, asking for your first dance, in your own wedding ball, right in front of your newly wedded husband.

Everyone bet on you turning him down and making a fool of himself, but instead, to spare his feelings, you put your delicate hand in his, and with a wide, shy smile, you said, “Yes.”

Satoru thought it was his greatest achievement then. To have made Naoya red-faced, to have made him watch as he put his hands on your waist, twirl you around— and come one breath away from your face.

“Princess, you’re…” his breath caught as he pulled you close, staring straight at your face—and suddenly he felt like life was so unfair to him as the slow melody of waltz was all he could hear.

How could you be this close... and yet so far by being somebody else’s wife?

And yet he forced the words out, with sincerity he had never showed anyone else before, even as his heart bled and shattered. “You’re so incredibly beautiful.”

Your eyes widened, sparkling with wonder, before you thanked him with the loveliest of smiles. “Thank you. You’re too kind.”

Satoru was certain... you had ruined him, because no one else would ever be able to turn his world with just a smile like you did, even as you broke his heart too into a million pieces.

. . .

Ever since that day, everyone had branded him as a prince in search of scandal—coveting the princess married to Zen’in clan.

What everyone didn’t know was that it went beyond that. His obsession of you went beyond your beauty and charms and wits. Rather, it goes a long way back.

YOU, THE CROWN PRINCESS OF EASTERN EMPIRE

As inconceivable as it was, once upon a time, you and Naoya were a truly, happy couple.

Handpicked by the late emperor to become his son’s wife, you couldn’t be more proud. With you being the next empress of the Eastern Empire, your clan once again proved itself that it was always worthy of a seat in the monarchy.

But beyond that, you were elated that it was Naoya that you ended up marrying. Your own childhood friend, who often led you around his palace by hand and filled your days with many joy and laughs.

“One day soon, when we are the emperor and the empress—” younger Naoya was always someone who had big dreams about ruling his nation. “We will create a nation in which no one can do anything as they please! We’ll establish order, and anyone who goes against it will be punished! That way, it’ll encourage fairness!”

Not knowing it yourself, you had given your heart wholly to him. You had agreed to all his dreams and visions. You devoted yourself to them all, even more so after your marriage and coronation, as he promised you an ever after.

“From now on, it’s going to be me and you, Empress.”

YOU, THE EMPRESS OF EASTERN EMPIRE

“Your role is to give an heir to the throne, Empress.”

Your title had never sounded so heavy to you before now, especially when Naoya was the one saying it.

You sighed, gathering your wits and scattered feelings before levelling your calm gaze on your husband. “I understand that, Your Majesty. But it is not something that I can do on my own.”

This year would mark the fifth year of your marriage to Naoya. You understood that the fact you still weren’t able to be with his child would raise questions from the court, but still, must you be reminded of this fact over and over?

Your husband—no, the emperor—barked a satire laugh.

“Oh, really? As I understand it, being infertile is not something I can help you with.”

That hurt. It was a searing pain, like being branded with a red-hot iron. And it felt as if he had torn through your chest with his fist alone.

“I’m not infertile.” Your eyes gleamed with pure defiance as you lifted your chin, facing him in his audience chamber.

It dawned on you that lately, one of the few ways you could speak to him was by requesting an audience as opposed to your usual midnight talks in your private chambers.

When did it start to change? Or was Naoya this kind of person right from the very beginning and you were just blinded by love back then?

"Oh? And what would you call being childless for five years then?" Naoya sneered at you from his dais, placing one hand on his jaw. "Bad luck? You must be terribly cursed with misfortune then."

You fisted your dress, summoning all your strength to hold back tears. Don't you dare cry. Not in front of him.

It wasn't as if you didn't want to carry his heir. For many women, holding their baby in their arms is a cherished dream, and when they hold a position of power like yours, it becomes not just a desire but a duty.

You tried everything—calling in the best doctors, consuming horrible potions, even consulting with the oracle. And they all said you were perfectly healthy and fine. You were at your wits end too.

The irony. You were celebrated in public for your competence, while privately, you suffered your husband's cold detachment and cruel remarks.

. . .

"Empress, where should we put the welcome gifts?"

You studied the floor plan of the banquet hall for your annual New Year's ball with a thoughtful hum before pointing at the entrance.

"Place it here. We want our guests to know that we are generous, and it's easily accessible since the parlor is the first area they reach after arriving."

You loved planning festivities. It was therapeutic in a way, and it gave you little time to think of anything else.

"Oh, and I want to have a welcome arch and flowers placed at the entrance too. This is the grandest event of the year, second only to the Emperor's birthday... we must display the grandeur that befits such an occasion."

Your head maidservant, Hanabi, placed a hand on her abdomen and nodded with a warm smile. "That's a very clever suggestion, Your Majesty! I'll ensure they arrange everything just as you wish!"

As she scurried away, you watched her with an assessing gaze. Hanabi had been with you throughout the five years of your marriage, always at your side, assisting with day-to-day matters and serving as your confidant. She was a great aide.

And you were observant by nature... so of course you noticed things.

...and if you were correct, then she was most definitely with a child.

The thing is... she is unmarried. You hesitated to jump to conclusions without evidence, yet the timing struck you as more than coincidental—it nagged at you for weeks now, suggesting a connection you hoped did not exist.

Because if they really did... then...

You didn't dare to think, because it would be more than a nightmare. But you weren't able to let this go either, so you did what was necessary.

You planted a note in Hanabi's chamber, and then you waited in the gardens, the chilly midnight air wrapping around you like a shroud.

You had done everything you could. Five years ago, you let go of everything and had decided to spend your life with your first love—Naoya.

Because you truly and devotedly love him. You give your all for him—for your life together.

"Ooh, Your Majesty~! It's so cold out here, why not in our usual—"

Hanabi's voice faltered as soon as she saw your crimson gown, feeling like the world had collapsed on her. And you rigidly turned towards her, feeling more or less the same.

And yet, what you had received from him is the greatest betrayal.

SATORU, THE EMPEROR OF THE WESTERN EMPIRE

He first realized something was clearly wrong with you during the New Year’s ball that you hosted.

Satoru had just been crowned emperor during this time, and though rulers typically sent envoys to such grand celebrations due to concurrent festivities in their own lands, it had been several months since he last saw you. He wants to see you.

A meritless action, but he wanted to, regardless.

But that day, you were a fantastic actress in this stage called banquet hall and nobody was the wiser… but he would know, because you mattered a lot to him.

"Your Majesty, you don't seem well." He approached you with a glass of champagne, affixing a friendly smile. "Is there anything amiss?"

Taken aback, you didn't expect such close proximity that you took a step back. His smile almost faltered, but he kept it up.

"Emperor Satoru—"

"Ah, none of that, no. Address me just as you usually do, hmm?"

A smile finally tugged at your lips. "How is that fair, when you address me so formally?"

Satoru chuckled. "You, my queen, deserve all the finery and grandeur there is. And I will see to it that you do."

That was his nickname for you ever since you ascended the throne. Both of your countries refer you as “empress”, but he loves addressing you as “queen” instead.

There was a shift in your expression, and he thought you looked melancholic. It bothered him, stirring a desire to erase that somber look from you. Because above anything and everything, you had to be happy and smiling.

"You're still a flirt, I see, Satoru," you remarked, throwing him a soft smile. "It won't do you good if you're seen with me most of the time, you know."

No, I’m doing this just for you. He wanted to tell you that, but he sighed instead. "You've got it wrong. When I'm in the company of the most beautiful woman in the lands, what's there to be ashamed of?"

Perhaps hearing that finally melted you a bit as you freely giggled this time, and Satoru was glad that he made you laugh even a little.

"You would think that, huh..." you fondly mumbled. And then your expression crumbled, and he could've sworn something painful flashed in your eyes—

What happened to you? He so desperately wanted to ask, but then he saw that preying gaze on both of you. Zen’in Naoya. Satoru clicked his tongue as he watched him weave through the crowd, his gaze locked ominously on both of you.

“Seems like we don’t have much time, after all,” he began, urgency sharpening his words. “But rest assured, whenever you want to talk to me, just send a little birdie my way and I shall answer.”

“Huh?” you blinked at him questioningly, totally not getting what he meant.

He winked, then took your hand and placed a kiss on it, eliciting murmurs of surprise from the crowd at his bold gesture. “And chin up, my queen. You have nothing to fear, and if it makes you feel better...”

He leaned in to whisper in your ear, “To me, a diamond is most beautiful. And you… are one that sparkles above all.”

“Naoya, unhand me this instant!”

You were tired of this shit, of Naoya always manhandling you—of him always having a total control over you.

After seeing how close you got to Satoru, Naoya practically saw red. Still, in the prying eyes of public, he remained unperturbed, but his vice-like grip on your arm was sure to leave bruise as he unkindly led you out of the ballroom.

"Naoya!" you raised your voice this time, even louder than before, uncaring even when the wandering eyes of the servants curiously followed the two of you.

You were not made an empress just to follow him. And with that conviction, you forcibly pulled your arm away from his grip right after he shut the door to the drawing room close, not even wincing at the stinging feeling.

His eyes shone with anger. “You insolent—!”

“No—” You stood your ground, and suddenly you got very irate and burst out, “How dare you, Zen’in Naoya!”

He looked at you with equal surprise and mortification, clearly unprepared for your righteous tirade.

"You have made a mockery of our marriage! You have insulted me and your own throne by carrying on with— with the help! My maid!" you screamed at his face, pure anger coursing through your veins. "How could you!?"

Naoya took in your outburst with eerie silence, a sneer slowly forming on his lips. "You get riled up over that? Have you forgotten emperors are free to take mistresses, especially when the empress isn't capable to bear any heirs?"

A burning arrow shot straight to your heart at his response but you willed yourself not to show it. "Regardless, you could've done better and not put our throne to shame by fucking a servant."

"I've told you time and time again. A woman's duty is to bear children, and since you've proven yourself beyond barren, I did you a favor."

"A favor...?"

"As soon as Hanabi births that child, you can raise him as your own," Naoya frankly stated unabashedly, as if proud with his idea. "Saves you the trouble and I get my heir, a win-win solution, no?"

Raise him as my own...? Saves the trouble? You could've sworn that throughout your entire life, you had never been so insulted before now, right in this moment.

"What I do, I always have my throne in mind. And yet you..." his eyes narrowed into unsatisfied slits. "What are you trying to achieve by whoring yourself to that rake, Gojo Satoru? Are you telling people of the ton that you're having an affair?"

His voice made you want to throw up. The realization that everything you thought you had together might have meant nothing to him at all made you feel sick.

And so, hiding your trembling hands and swallowing you unshed tears, you responded to him with a clipped tone—

"You're most despicable, Naoya. And you are a complete fool if you think even for a second that I'd want to raise your bastard!"

He seemed taken aback by your rejection, but you didn't falter. "And oh, since you want to make use of that lowly maid so much, feel free to take her back and track her down yourself, because I've sent that wench away."

With that, you turned your back on him, striding out with your head held high, even as your life crumbled into dust.

Days after your full-blown argument with Naoya, your situation only worsened. By now, even the palace servants knew you had incurred his wrath, while Hanabi had won his favor by carrying his child—possibly the heir to the throne.

The child she was carrying was no threat to your position. After all, you were the empress. A child of your blood would trample over any bastard.

However, you'd be damned if you shared a bed with him again, and Naoya made it clear that his mistress would be elevated to the rank of royal consort. Given the current trajectory—and history's tendency to repeat itself—emperors often divorced or banished their empresses in favor of their mistresses.

Bah. You could only scoff at your laughable predicament. You came from a prestigious clan and were revered, yet now you were no more than a scorned woman.

Dark thoughts consumed your mind for a time—you couldn't deny that you had considered leaving the palace for self-imposed exile or even ending your life. However, reason always prevailed.

You wouldn't give Naoya what he wanted most: your compliance. And around the time when you resolved to do that, a finely decorated envelope arrived at your study, with no signature whatsoever.

Intrigued, you opened it to find an intricate dried rose bookmark and a folded letter nestled inside.

Greetings to you, my queen. Yeah, it's me. Hope you won't be too surprised. But if you do, know that I always mean well.

Satoru. You weren't expecting this. A small smile tugged at your lips. How long had it been since you last smiled so freely?

I've heard you love reading, hence the bookmark. Fun fact: I made it myself, with Shoko's help. She is sooo bad at explaining though so if the flower is wrinkled... please blame her.

This time, you giggled. He was an emperor, for god's sake. Should someone of his station write so informally like this?

Now... I'm no oracle, but even I know that you must be having bad days. And so, let me entertain you with several tales from my kingdom. So, the other day, my good friend Suguru, the duke—you must've heard of him surely (they said he is the most handsome bachelor in the West but they must be missing an eye for saying so because clearly I'm more!)—just fired a pair of his servants because he caught them in a thirst! He is so uptight! Why can't he let two people in love be!?

Before you knew it, you found yourself chuckling at the lines upon lines of anecdotes Satoru had penned in the letter. The way he wrote, it was as if he was right here, saying all of this to you in real-time. For a while, you were completely absorbed in the world of the Western Empire he described, and all your worries and anxieties seemed to fade away.

Okay, that's it for now. This is just a teaser actually, so if you want to subscribe to more tales of my humble little country, you can always be my empress reply to this letter! :D Look out for a white cat near your windowsill during the hour of snake—he is my trained pet, and put your message in his little backpack. Don't worry, he's cute and doesn't bite!

You were so giddy by the end. His message warmed your heart so much that your eyes grew misty. In the aftermath of Naoya's betrayal, you were certain your life would be filled with much sadness to come.

Yet, your friendship with Satoru might just be the thing that would save you.

No matter how much his friends Duke Geto and Countess Shoko urged him to see reason—that you were no longer available and occupied with your duties as the empress of your own empire—Satoru couldn't help but still cast an eye your way.

You were clearly unhappy, and to him, someone as radiant as you should be happy.

And so, that was why he took his quill and started writing that letter to be sent to your place, along with a rose strapped inside.

He knew that, being the kind person you were, you would most likely respond, but still, the moment his cat arrived back with your reply, he was elated beyond measure.

Of course I knew it right away! I omitted your name because who knows who might catch your cat on the way. Anyway, I hope Mr. Cat will arrive back to you safe and sound. Firstly, thank you for your letter. I must say I'm so happy to receive it :) I haven't had best days so reading it made me smile. And secondly, of course I'll subscribe to your stories of Western Empire. I've been wanting to visit it myself but just haven't gotten the chance to... so if you will continue it, I shall be happy to read :D

If anything he wrote brought you joy, then Satoru was content. He had achieved his goal then.

And it was his own little secret that... by corresponding with you, it allowed him to savor the feeling of having you as his own, if only through words.

Mr. Cat's name is Sugu-chan after Suguru but you can call him whatever you wish. And don't worry, he is strong and can fight if necessary! And don't be too formal with me, my queen. We have known each other forever. Anyway do tell me, what is your favorite color now? Let me guess, is it still that specific shade of crimson?

You name your cat after your best friend...? And you're making it hard for me to be less formal when you always address me as queen! Hmm, I suppose so. I love burgundy. I've even had my study designed with that exact color scheme. It just gives me the confidence I need, you know.

So you still love burgundy... I'll keep that in mind ;) Frankly, any shade of crimson suits you—you're always a vision in them. Back then and especially during your coronation. I love blue, so I think we're a match? :D

Back then...? Hmm, surprisingly yes, red and blue would make a good match... Anyway, I believe you promised me unusual tales from your 'humble little country', so please indulge me!

You've forgotten it already? Around the time we first met, back when I was still known as "the cursed prince"? It holds such importance for me but sadly it seems like it was just a passing moment to you :( Oh, yeah, I haven't forgotten about it! So, this time let me tell you about the time when Earl Nanami got wasted . . .

Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months. Amidst the turmoil of your marriage, exchanging letters with Satoru became your sole respite. His stories regarding his own empire amused you, and sometimes it got you to wonder what it was like to live there.

However, running away from your problems would never solve them. Writing to Satoru may have helped you to cope, but still, your real issue with Naoya wouldn't vanish simply just by ignoring him.

. . .

"Your Majesty..."

For a good one minute, you stood still. Your lady-in-waiting had delivered an earth-shattering news—but admittedly, a possibility you thought was in the cards the moment you went against Naoya.

"His majesty has summoned the high priest to his study," the elderly woman added, close to tears. "But it is very likely that he has submitted the petition for—" her voice faltered when she caught sight of the emptiness in your eyes, unable to continue.

A divorce. Naoya had been considering a divorce. And by now, he was set on it.

"I'm so, so sorry..." she choked out, her voice breaking with sorrow to mourn you, but you remained expressionless, lost in your thoughts.

The last time an empress of Eastern Empire was divorced was more or less a century ago, because she had committed a grave treachery against a royal consort by poisoning her. She was sentenced to death by hanging afterwards.

The irony. You were in similar situation, only that you weren't vengeful enough to resort to poisoning Hanabi. Speaking of her, her baby was due in another four months, and now she was living happily in Naoya's quarters.

"Don't be. I'm perfectly fine."

To consolidate his illegitimate child's position, Naoya used the most effective way. Since you wouldn't listen to him, and Hanabi must be a far delightful companion rather than you, he was more than willing to cast you aside in favor of making her his empress instead.

You thought it would hurt more, and yet what you felt the most right in this moment was white-hot anger. This is unacceptable. It was the greatest insult to you both as a woman and as the empress.

Now, all you could think of was how to uphold your dignity and plot your exit from this palace with your head still held high.

If I can't be the empress here...

And after a sleepless night, you came to a daring solution. And your plan—

...I'll be one somewhere else.

It was an invitation, Satoru thought, almost in disbelief. Or it sounded a lot like one, didn't it?

Heart beating a little faster and blushing, he reread the latest letter you had sent him.

It's only the beginning of summer, and the heat is sweltering... I'm considering treating myself to a trip to the winery village on the border between the east and west. I think it'll be nice if I have a companion...

Winery village was right in the middle of the western and eastern empires, and it was a safe zone. Vineyards were vast and thick, but it wasn't exactly a popular vacation spot. So, it intrigued him why you would want to go there.

Just as he was about to reply to you that it was a very good coincidence that he too wanted to pay a visit to the said village, suddenly—

"Gojo! Gojoooo!" Shoko suddenly burst into his study, startling him.

"Shoko! What the heck?!"

Lady Shoko might be a countess, but she, Satoru, and Suguru all attended the same royal academy. Despite their prestigious titles now, Satoru insisted that in private, both Suguru and Shoko address him just as they did before he ascended the throne.

Still, she was ruder than Suguru in many ways. Satoru gave her a stink eye, but his confusion grew as she seemed to be delivering momentous news.

"Gojo, have you heard that Naoya will divorce Y/N?!"

"Wha?" it felt like a ton of bricks suddenly fell down on his head. And then his friend proceeded to tell him everything she knew.

"It wasn't made official yet, but even the townsfolk have been talking about it. They also said that Naoya have taken a mistress, and that she was formerly the empress' maid."

Satoru listened to her in silence, but the moment he heard that the Zen'in spawn planned to divorce you, anger flared within him. And to add insult to injury, he two-timed you with a servant?

The fucking bastard. He never deserved you at all. How crushed must you have been, enduring all this shit?

"Now, I wouldn't normally encourage you this," Shoko took out the cigarette she stashed in the folds of her dress and sighed. "But since you never let go of that weird fixation on her, should the royal divorce happen..." she shrugged as she took a seat in front of him.

"No matter how laughable it is, you might have a chance."

She is so right. These long years of longing for your affections and dreaming of having even a minute more of your time... there was now chance to turn it to reality.

When you arrived at the winery village for your vacation to breathe in some fresh air, honestly, everything was still in shambles.

You couldn't forget the horrified looks from the court when Naoya announced the divorce. Most were shocked and pleaded with him to reconsider. Some from your circle of ladies even sobbed, openly stating that you didn't deserve this fate.

“Empress... His Majesty shouldn't be that harsh...” Hanabi had said to you afterwards, seemingly concerned for you. “Your legacy here… I’ll make sure to carry them on.”

Sometimes you didn’t know whether Hanabi was pretending to be dumb or indeed she was. One thing you knew though...

“I wish you luck on that, Hanabi.” You looked down at her with eyes as cold as ice. “Beware, the Emperor is fickle, be sure to not run out of entertainments.”

You knew you deserved a better fate than being the empress of the Eastern Empire, but seeing those who still cared for you made you solemn. Your loyal maids, those who supported you... and what about organizations you've spent time and energy to?

“My queen, ah, there you are.”

Satoru's voice from behind startled you, interrupting your daydreams. He quickly came beside you and extended his hand, asking for yours.

You offered him your right hand, and he promptly pressed a kiss on it, his bright blue eyes gazing up at you.

It wasn't as if you just noticed how pretty his eyes were, but now that there was no ballroom and scrutinizing eyes around you, you couldn't deny that the way his eyes sparkled as he gazed at you—solely and purely on you—made you breathless.

What... would it be like to have this man... to be your husband instead?

"I missed you. I know we talk daily through letters, but seeing your beauty firsthand is always a sight for sore eyes," he cheekily commented as he let go of your hand. "Now, I get to see you without your pesky husband around, and yeah, you never fail to make my silly heart race."

You chuckled. "You always flatter me..."

He only gave you a toothy smile, and you two strolled the vineyard. For a while, you talked about nothing of importance, like where your ladies-in-waiting were, how things were from his side.

"How do you find being the emperor?"

"It's tiring! It's boring too to look through accounts and oversee those trivial state affairs! And not to mention how many people have been nagging me to take a wife soon!"

"Oh? You haven't been on the lookout already?"

"Nah. No one is good enough, I need someone already familiar with state affairs and such," he said, wrinkling his nose sourly at the thought. But then he cast his eyes on you.

"And frankly, you are my standard," he fixed you a meaningful smile. "No one comes close. If you weren't betrothed to the Zen'in back then, I'd have proposed you in a heartbeat."

Thump. Thump. Thump. Your dead heart suddenly came to life. Gojo Satoru had just confessed his affections for you so candidly, and it got you thinking how much easier your life would be with him. He would love you, take care of you...

And beguile you.

His eyes fondly crinkled at you. "You are everything I desire in a woman to be my wife."

He adores you so easily, so fluidly... and yet, Naoya, who has you fully, is throwing you away.

Satoru observed how your face fell once again, just as it had during the New Year's ball. And now he knew, it was because you were facing your impending divorce.

But he wasn't going to tell you that, instead, he would willingly be your confidant and offer you his very being. He was about to crack a joke to lift your spirits, when you blurted—

"What if I said... I want to be your empress?" you kept your pace, not looking at him at all. "What if I said... I'll leave everything and come to you?"

Huh? What…?

That was loaded. Have you entertained the thought too? Satoru had craved the very idea for so long he didn’t even miss a beat—

“Then I’d marry you.” His voice was straight and true, shooting straight to the most tender part of you that Naoya had torn to shreds. “If you become my empress… that will make me the happiest man alive.”

No hesitation. It almost reduced you to tears. You stopped where you stood, willing yourself not to tremble. There is still one person who sees this much value in you.

“Then I’ll be yours,” you breathed out. “I’ll be your empress, Satoru.”

Satoru could've sworn time had stopped. If one moment ago, you looked like you were about to shatter, now you were a vision of the dignified and perfect queen he had always known you were.

“I’ll be your queen— your everything.” You declared, locking eyes with him, the intensity of your gaze not escaping him.

How many years had he dreamed of this moment? How many long nights had he endured, yearning for you, knowing you were beyond his reach?

Finally, finally... Satoru grinned, swearing to all the divine beings out there that he had never known how liberating it was to finally have what he wanted. “That would be my greatest honor.”

He drew you close—you let him—and after one second of taking in your enchanting eyes, he crashed his lips against yours.

His lips started soft and gentle, then became fiery as his tongue met yours. He pulled you closer, one arm around your waist and the other holding the back of your head. You responded eagerly, pressing against him, fingers tracing his neck and feeling the lines of his undercut.

One is finally having the woman he had wanted for so long, and the other was plotting her escape from her misery.

You were using him. He knew it. Yet, he didn't care. Hidden behind bushes and vines, you shared your very first heated kiss, aware that this moment would leave its mark as both the greatest stain and triumph in your lives.

And when he finally pulled away, lips swollen and wet, with a wolfish grin, he promised you once again—

“Give me everything that is yours... and I swear on my life, I will do everything to turn your life into a living dream.”

“Empress, your husband His Majesty the Emperor, has requested a divorce.”

It was how your once pristine life transformed into the scandal of the century inside the courthouse.

"If you accept this petition, then you will no longer be the Empress of Eastern Empire. You will lose all the rights you have as a senior member of the imperial family..."

You donned your finest attire—the intricate crimson and black dress you had designed and commissioned the dressmaker to create. Today, faced with Naoya's divorce decree, it would be the last time you adorned the colors of his empire.

"The ties that bound you together as husband and wife would be severed—"

Good riddance, you thought.

"If this is not what you want, you have the right to—"

"I accept the divorce."

Your voice cut through the heavy solemness of the witnesses and turned them into a mass of disbelief. You disregarded Naoya's smirk and held the priest's gaze. "And I demand an immediate approval for my remarriage."

The crowd was in for a second wave of uproar when you boldly stood your ground, and they erupted into clamors once again when Satoru made his grand entrance and took his place beside you.

"You—!" Naoya was so furious that he roared. "This is my empire!"

"And?" Satoru challenged with a dauntless smile. "I'm here to propose, and since she accepts your divorce request, I believe she has no relations with you any longer and is free to marry someone else."

You remained motionless, until your cold fingers met warmth when Satoru linked his hand with yours reassuringly.

"This is treachery! I won't fucking permit it!" Naoya hollered as he faced the high priest, who had a grim face while observing this three-way headlock between the three of you.

"Emperor Naoya, that matter falls into the jurisdiction of the church." The high priest let out a sigh and then turned to you, assessing your calm gaze.

Regardless, Naoya paid him no mind. "I refuse to grant you any permission to remarry! You will be banished to the cold palace until the rest of your pitiful days! Not only do you fail miserably by being barren beyond help, you also dare to whore yourself—" he was now rambling curses at you before everyone in the court, and it pierced you deeply—

Until Satoru tugged you behind him, so that you wouldn't have to see his face any longer.

"High priest!" Satoru's voice blared as he clenched his jaw, irate at the string of profanities directed at you. "Do you still truly believe that the deposed empress can't remarry? When she has suffered through this man's downright betrayal?"

Your head was spinning. You wanted this whole ordeal to be over already.

And thankfully, even the high priest saw reason, that you were undeserving of this debacle. In the end, his words held more weight than anyone else's, even Naoya's.

"I accept Empress Y/N petition to marry Emperor Satoru!"

In the chaos of the courthouse after the high priest granted your wish, Naoya shook his head in disbelief, looking at both of you with intense disdain.

"You've always wanted that wench, haven't you, Gojo?" Naoya cackled with a malice you would never have expected from someone who had been your husband for ten years.

You had tuned out all the noise. This dumpster fire was too much even for you. But then, you felt a strong arm enveloping you, sealing your fate as the match made in this courtroom—

"I have, yeah," Satoru replied with a smug grin. "And now that she is mine... it's just the beginning of your downfall, Zen'in."

Your wedding banquet in Western Empire lasted a week long.

True to his promise, Satoru spared no effort to make you happy. The moment he brought you to his palace, he ordered immediate plans for wedding celebrations. Make it grand, make it unforgettable... he took charge himself.

And on the final, seventh day, as you were about to be formally crowned as the empress of the western lands, you were stunned.

"This is your coronation dress, Empress," your new lady-in-waiting, Shoko, said with pride. "Gojo— I mean, His Majesty, specifically has his late mother's dress altered to suit you."

You promised yourself that you would no longer wear any shades of crimson. As much as you loved the color, it reminded you too much of your homeland and Naoya. No matter how much you despised him now, once upon a time, he was everything you loved and more.

And you thought you couldn't possibly love another color until you saw the extravagant navy dress in your chamber. Made of luxurious satin and adorned with literal diamonds, it shimmered under the light and flowed gracefully with layers of brocade cascading to the floor.

To give you something so valuable... You had expected to enter into a marriage out of necessity, but your new husband had no intention of ceasing his ways to win your heart.

If it's with him, maybe... just maybe...

Today is the day.

Satoru sat on his throne before his court in the grand hall of his audience chamber. His hair was pulled back, and he was dressed in his official attire, robe of silk and a crown made of pure gold.

Next to him, another resplendent crown adorned with jewels and diamonds shimmered in the light—the empress' crown. Your crown.

Today was the day this empire would truly acknowledge his queen. He stole a glance at you on his other side, and his breath was taken away.

With your hair tucked into an elegant updo, you were the very vision of a fairytale queen. You were incredibly stunning, almost otherworldly— shade of blue suited you as much as crimson did, just as he thought.

This day would go down in history. But before that, he would ensure that the news would reach Zen'in Naoya. He would spite him so hard.

"Today marks a momentous occasion. We gather here to celebrate not only my marriage and my new wife's coronation," Satoru glanced at his audience with a smirk, his expression widening as he spotted his best friends Suguru and Shoko. "But also the start of her reign... and as we know it already, her fame and beauty are second to none."

The crowd burst into giggles, clearly aware of his scandal at the Eastern Empire's courthouse. And even you smiled.

Satoru shrugged, playfully rolling his eyes. "Spare me, I'm a newlywed, after all. Anyway..." His gaze shifted to the intricate crown, a relic of his late mother's, and then back to you. "Come."

You knelt before your new husband, bowing your head. The whirlwind journey from the East, your remarriage to Satoru... It had all felt surreal until this moment. Now, the weight of reality settled upon you, almost shaking your very core—

But just as the thought crossed your mind, Satoru placed the crown upon your head. As the jewels settled into place and you rose to face the crowd, his voice cut through the air:

"And here I present to you, your new empress!"

The room erupted in applause, the cheers echoing around you. Everyone congratulated you without fail, and your breath was taken away.

It was a sight beyond belief, as they chanted your name, over and over again—

“ALL HAIL THE EMPRESS!”

"I have something for you!"

You wouldn't expect that you would ditch your last night of wedding celebrations along with your husband, and yet here you were, led by the hand by a very giddy Satoru.

"Where are we going?" you questioned him, your pretty dress sweeping the halls in a rush.

He turned to you to send you a wink. "Trust me, sweetheart. You'll love it."

Somehow the way he called you made your heart thump a little faster inside your ribcage. This man is really, truly, your husband now.

He was such a refreshing person, it almost made you let go of everything that molded you into the perfect empress in the east, and be just... you.

"Here." Both of you stopped in front of a grand door, and he ushered you inside. "Come, come~"

A study, you realized as you stepped inside, but then a gasp left your lips—

"How do you find it, hmm?" Satoru put an arm around your waist, proud of how the burgundy walls and mats enveloped the entire space, creating a tranquil sight that perfectly matched your taste.

It was so much like your private study in the Eastern Empire's palace. You might now hate that place, but your private study was filled with the memories of smiles while writing back to Satoru's letters and waiting for his cat to come. And to have this now in your new home...

"You remembered..." you looked up to him, almost tearing up.

"Of course I do," he pressed a kiss on your temple. "I said that so long as you're with me, I'll turn your dream into reality, didn't I?"

This man really treasures you, or at least that was what his actions had proven so far.

"You're everything I've ever wanted and more," Satoru said, wrapping his arms around you from behind in a warm embrace. "You might not realize it, but I've been in love with you since you first visited western lands."

"What?" you turned to him with genuine confusion. "How?"

"That blind boy who you led by the hand... he had no friends," Satoru sighed against you. "The first and only person who asked him if he was lost... is you."

Suddenly, you were thrown back in time to your first encounter with Satoru many years ago. He was known as "cursed" for being born with peculiar eyes, had been blind for a period of his childhood, before he awakened the true extent of those brilliant blue eyes and brought his clan to power by wielding them.

Back then, you thought it was wrong for him to be left alone, so you took him by the hand and escorted him back to the palace, unaware that he was the infamously cursed crown prince.

"You made me feel less lonely. And I thought then... someday, somehow... through some sort of miracle in which I regained my eyesight and could see you... I'd immediately ask for your hand."

But you were named the crown princess of the Eastern Empire. The thought of how crushed Satoru must have felt upon hearing the news pricked at your heart.

You felt soft, you felt loved, and most of all, you felt an overwhelming certainty that with this man by your side, you would finally experience the genuine love that had been missing from your life for so long.

"You have me now," you whispered in response.

Unlike your first kiss in the winery village, this time, you were the one who faced him and pulled him into a searing kiss.

Be it impulse, overwhelming feelings or something else... you didn't care. You just want him.

And wouldn't you know, your new husband... is also a wonderful, dashing lover.

"You're so... fucking beautiful..." Satoru's lips were on yours, claiming them with a fierce passion that left you breathless. His hands roamed your body, tracing each curves and lines.

You moaned into his mouth, clutching his robes. He captured your wrists with one hand, using the other to tilt your head back so he could leave bruises on your neck in the process, making you moan.

"Keep making that sound, yeah?" Satoru rasped, his hot breath giving you goosebumps. "Keep me going with your voice."

As he gripped your waist, it dawned to him once again that you were here, with him.

Seeing his colors on you ignited desire straight to his cock. His empress was stunning, more so now than ever, more than any woman Satoru had ever seen.

He led you to the bed, his movements urgent yet tender. The air was thick with desire as you lay back, pulling him down with you. You arched your back, pressing yourself closer to him, craving more.

This wasn't your first time, yet you had never been this excited before. From heated kisses until somehow managing to get rid of your underwear and left you in your dress... your body nearly thrashed in response.

"Look at you... An queen of two empires, yet rendered putty in my hands," Satoru wickedly grinned as he slipped a hand under your dress, rubbing his thumb teasingly over your clit. You let out a soft sigh at the prodding. You were getting wetter by each second... and Satoru felt his cock straining against the tight material of his dress pants.

"More..." you pleaded, arching your hips. "More...!"

Any of your wishes would be his command, so he pushed two fingers inside you at once, and you let out an erotic gasp. Satoru was so close to tearing his pants off by seeing how tight you clenched around his digits.

Breathy moans fell from your lips with each harsh brush of his thumb over your clit, his fingers fucking you fast—

"Satoru...!" you shuddered, gripping his shoulders as you became limp and came into his hands in spurts.

"My queen..." he then captured your lips in a brash kiss, and you reciprocated it. He pulled away only to press his forehead against yours in an attempt to calm his raging heart. "No matter what."

His watery, sparkling eyes was mesmerizing to you, and you took one breath before you crashed your lips into his, tangling your fingers in his hair, pulling him closer.

"As pretty as you look in this, I'm going to take it off," Satoru murmured with a meaningful smirk, slowly undoing the laces of your dress. "I want to see you completely naked... just for me."

Soon, you laid bare, and the cold air made your body shiver. Satoru clenched his jaw tightly at the scrumptious sight.

It was almost difficult for him to take in all of you at once—your flushed cheeks, swollen lips, erect nipples, and legs spread wantonly for him. Satoru had been here so many times in his dreams, and to see it becoming reality...

"If back then, you had chosen me instead—" he sounded almost heartbroken, which startled you. "I would have treated you right from the start—"

You looked up to him. "You would..."

"Don't you know how many years... I've been just there— watching you and that bastard? Knowing I can do even more than him?"

"Mhm..."

You rose, tugging him closer, before you unclasped his robe, letting it fall to the floor. "Satoru... right now... I'm yours."

He allowed you to undress him and soon he too was out of his stuffy royal attire. Your eyes wandered on each part of his body you touched. His chiseled body, snow-like skin, and then the hardened bulge that sprung out the moment you undid his pants—

The sight of his cock alone only turned you on even more. You gently gripped the glistening head, running a thumb over the tip before gliding your hand towards the base of his length. With a gentle rhythm, your hand moved from base to tip in a slow, teasing motion... before pecking his head.

"Yeah... you're right." His eyes never left yours, admiring you as if you were the most precious gemstone, before catching you off guard. While you rubbed him, he snaked a hand around your waist, pulling you so that you tumbled on top of him.

You moaned loudly as his cock—big, both in length and width—entered you, his hands gripping your thighs to spread them apart so he can shove himself deeper.

You felt so, so full, as you pulled Satoru to you tightly, groaning into his shoulder. And he started to set the pace, moving against you.

"Ahh," you moaned out shakily, fingers clawing into his back. To him, the sounds you made drew him in like a siren's song, it made him throb inside you. "Ahh—hngh!"

"Feel good?" he asked, voice sultry and deep, as he thrusted into you particularly harder, causing you to stifle a moan. "Let it out—hah—sweetheart... I want to hear you, hmm?"

And you did. You felt hot. Your unabashed, nasty sounds with each thrust drove him to the edge. With every lift of your hips, you squeezed him so tightly it almost made his head spin. His breaths came in short pants too.

"You fit me so damn well," he groaned, holding your hips hard enough to leave imprints of his fingers. "So fine..."

One woman. It took just one woman—you—to unravel him like this.

"Satoru, harder—" You commanded, wrapping your arms around his neck even as you trembled. "N-not enough... harder!"

He actually had to swallow, because you and your pussy felt so damn tantalizing. "As you wish, Your Majesty."

He slammed his hips against yours twice—no, thrice the previous speed, and you incoherently squealed. The squelching sound of your hips slamming against each other, and the immense wetness coming out where you two were joined... it was clear: you were addicted.

"Did Naoya ever make you feel as good as I do you now?" he drawled, sinking into you impossibly deeper, squeezing your left mound and flicking your right nipple at the same time. "Did he... ever make you ride him like this?" And then he instantly regretted his words.

Because the moment he said that, you felt cold, reminded of nights in which Zen'in Naoya grabbed you just to forcefully breed you. You winced, and Satoru caught it.

"I..." you shifted your gaze away from him, and he could've sworn that it was sorrow he saw flashing in your pretty eyes. "I-I... don't want to talk about him..."

Feeling remorseful, Satoru reached for the back of your neck and pulled you to him, kissing your lips softly. "I'm sorry—"

"You don't have to—"

"Tonight, I'll make you scream my name so hard you'll forget him," he promised as he pulled away from you, his eyes darkening. "Tonight, give me everything and I'll show you how a man truly loves his woman."

And he followed through. He worshipped you meticulously, treating your body with the reverence one might bestow upon delicate glass. He peppered kisses on every inch of your skin he could reach, lips and tongue trailing down, his relentless thrusts so well-paced and brutal at the same time.

"I'm— close!" You whimpered, and yet still grinding your hips against him. He was watching your every move, every wave of pleasure that was evident on your face— committing it to memory for those moments when he couldn't hold you close.

You gasped—as a mind-blowing orgasm then ripped out of your very being, your hips faltering as you surrendered to ecstasy with a cry of his name, coming all over him. "Satoru... Satoru! Ahhh!"

And Satoru kept his gaze on your face as he too busted inside of you hard, feeling himself filling your womb with his essence, his hands kept your waist steady, memorizing the way your lips part and the way your body went limp into him with satisfaction.

Dear heavens, I love you. The sight of you was nothing but perfection, and with everything he had, he was very sincere when he said—

"You're flawless, sweetheart."

2 MONTHS LATER

"If you give me a son, I'll throne you as the empress right on that very day."

The Eastern Empire's palace was bustling as the royal consort's screams echoed through the halls. The day Naoya had been eagerly awaiting had arrived—his mistress was delivering his heir.

Yet unbeknownst to him, whispers in the dark suggested the royal baby was arriving suspiciously early. Many, still mourning the previous empress who had been dethroned so abruptly, were not exactly thrilled with this turn of events.

"My lady, just a little bit more!" the maid encouraged. Hanabi strained once again as the pain peaked and her body spasmed, letting out the loudest wail as the baby finally slid out of her.

"W-what... is it?" on the brink of passing out, Hanabi asked anyone who might hear her. She had to know, for she was so close to obtaining her throne—

"It's a girl, my lady!" the midwife announced.

What?

Her world crumbled at that very moment. A girl? A girl can't be the heir!

She wanted to sob, to utterly mourn, and right at this moment she was full of fear, because if Naoya knew—!

Like a curse, he suddenly made his presence known in the birthing chamber. His face scrunched in distaste at the scent of blood filling the air. He took one look at Hanabi, tearful and frazzled after the ordeal, then turned to the midwife, who was trembling at his presence.

"A baby girl, Your Majesty."

In that instant, fury flashed through him. He shot everyone in the room a glare before his eyes settled on his consort, full of spite.

"You useless tramp."

Your life with Satoru in Western Empire was wonderful.

He was everything Naoya was not. Satoru adored you, prioritized your well-being and happiness, often humored you, and made your days an endless delight.

And dare you say... you had begun to return his affections as well.

How could you not? Everything he did, he did with you in mind. He eased you into your position so seamlessly, and soon you found your place comfortably at court.

"He is mixing pleasure with his kingly duties," Suguru grumbled, watching his best friend order the gardeners to plant more blue roses simply because you mentioned finding them beautiful earlier. "Empress, you have to keep a tight grip on his leash."

"Well, at least he's happy." Shoko shrugged and nudged you. "Can't you see by now? How much of a loser he is for you?"

You did see him—a man who showed you everything he had. He had given you everything you unknowingly needed.

And you just wished... you could return the same for him. It still made you bitter, knowing you might never be able to give him heirs due to your condition.

. . .

"Sweetheart... what's on your mind, hmm?"

You looked up to him as he pressed a kiss on your cheek, an arm securely around you, sweaty and panting after your steamy session.

With his hair down and messy after you yanked him earlier, your lips curved into a genuine smile. "You look hot like this, you know?"

He clicked his tongue. "Hmm, I am, of course. But no use in changing topics, I know you well enough now."

Your bare body was pressed against his chest, fingertips tracing gentle lines on his skin.

"There's a possibility that... I can't give you any children." You almost felt ashamed saying this to him, unable to look at him in the eye. "I-I... I've failed for many years—"

"Hush," he silenced you with a finger to your lips, his expression firm. "No thinking that, yeah? I don't care."

"But—"

"Children are gifts," he said then, caressing your face tenderly. "It's not up to us to control how it'll take or not. And I married you not because I want heirs or such—I love you, you know?"

Your glassy eyes met his, and you willed yourself not to shed a tear.

He grinned cheekily. "Besides, you've felt it yourself—my sexual potency is undeniable. And I don't believe for a second, that you're what that bastard claimed you to be. I bet he's the one who is impotent—"

"Satoru! You're so obscene—!" you giggled freely and poked his chest.

At that time, you were just relieved that he didn't mind. Though it was still weighing in your mind on some days, you felt a newfound sense of liberation compared to when you were still in the Eastern Empire.

But you were in for another plot twist. Perhaps Satoru is correct, and your doubts are unfounded...

"Ugh..."

Your stomach churned in discomfort, a sickening nausea that seemed to twist your insides and threaten to force its way up. This had happened for days now.

You wanted to find a physician before Satoru was aware of your state. You didn't dare to hope or speculate, because you were tired of it by this point. You just wanted clarity.

Yet, the physician's words left you speechless.

"Your Majesty... it seems that you are with child," he remarked in wonder as he assessed your vein. "Yes, definitely. You are with child."

It was a revelation you hadn't expected. For years, you had been convinced that you were unable to conceive, but now...

You were carrying a new life. Yours and Satoru's.

You felt like bursting with joy as you made your way to his study. Your heart swelled with an overwhelming sense of happiness. Above anything else, you were eager to share this news with him—

...until everything you had known turned on its axis once again.

Right before you went past the ajar door, you saw a glimpse of your husband and his most trusted confidant, overhearing snippets of their conversation:

"Satoru, however you look at it, this is tantamount to declaring war," Suguru sighed, clearly at odds with his perspective. "It's not wise."

"We can finally put an end to them this way," Satoru's tone was steely as he moved a chess piece across the map, positioning it on the border between east and west. "No better time than now."

"The Empress will face the greatest backlash from this. They'll accuse her of being vengeful enough to provoke an attack on her home country—"

"On the contrary, her presence will encourage those still loyal to her to defect. That's why I have her here. We need defectors—"

You let out a choked gasp, backing away from the door in shock. For one good minute, you refused to comprehend what Satoru was implying.

. . .

Did your new husband... marry you for his own hidden agenda?

12K notes · View notes

gumiiiiezzzz · 8 months ago

Text

* ੈ✩‧₊˚ oops! smau

summary: the 1st and 2nd year boys accidentally confess they like you (fellow student)!!!

warnings: f!reader, sfw, yuta’s convo is slightly suggestive, fluff/crack!, kys jokes

includes: toge inumaki, megumi fushiguro, yuji itadori, and yuta okkotsu * ੈ✩‧₊˚

* ੈ✩‧₊˚ my first ever smau post hehe! lmk if you guys liked or have any suggestions :P

* ੈ✩‧₊˚ inumaki being chronically online just… is one of the best jjk fanon tropes of all time ngl

* ੈ✩‧₊˚ submit requests! (if u want)! please! and thank u! 🫡

* ੈ✩‧₊˚ art creds and spilled frustrations ab ai art below line LMAO

* ੈ✩‧₊˚ link to header art: https://pin.it/mKP2o2S95

* ੈ✩‧₊˚ yuji pfp art: @11101AM on twt; megumi pfp art: FUCKING AI (i’ll change it for next time, im a boomer i GUESS i didnt realize how much of this was ai art im- 😐); toge pfp art: jujutsu kaisen anime heh; yuta pfp art: @zec3x on insta

* ੈ✩‧₊˚ i think the header is also ai generated ugh :/ i could not find the artist ANYWHERE but if anyone knows lmk i will give credit!!!!!

#jjk smau #jjk x reader #jjk #jujutsu kaisen headcanons #megumi x reader #inumaki toge #inumaki x reader #yuta okkotsu #yuta x reader #jjksmau #jjk fake texts #jjk texts #jjk crack #jjk fluff #jjk hcs #jjk scenarios #jjk x y/n #jjk scenario

9K notes · View notes

thundersoothers · 2 months ago

Text

john price, his wife, and... the dog (derogatory)

who: John Price x wife!reader

what: inspired by this thought about john price being an absolutely softie for his wife. continued here!

word count: 2.4k

warnings: mentions of cheating but it’s NOT TRUE! you’ll see… just fluff that reallyyyyy makes me want to marry this man.

It’s 2AM on a Saturday in the summer when John Price thinks he hears his wife cheating on him.

“Shhh!! You have to be quiet, you’ll wake up my husband.”

He opens his heavy eyes to see the TV paused at the end credits of some movie he can’t even remember the name of. The screen reflects in the crystal of the empty rocks glass on the coffee table next to his feet, holding only a warm whiskey stone.

He groans and stretches, his old t-shirt riding up to show a dark happy trail disappearing into low-waisted flannel pajama pants. He has one sock on with a hole in the toe. You told him to get rid of them and got him a pack of 20 of the same sock (he’s very particular about his socks), but he still wears these ones, anyway.

“Stop moving, I’m trying to concentrate here. Damn lock… can never— oh, shit. Heh. Wrong key.”

He can hear you muttering and giggling and the scratch of the key against the lock as you struggle to get it in.

It’s your girls’ night and he likes to wait up for you to make sure you get in safely. He saw you off around 8PM, pouring himself a glass of whiskey as you took a shot of tequila. You planted a big kiss on his cheek, leaving a red lipstick mark that he didn’t bother to fully wipe off.

“Sorry, I know you’re eager to get inside. I bet you’re so cold, all naked. Here, you can go in my dress, is that better? Fu—ow! Don’t bite my tit, Jesus! Sharp teeth…”

Price suddenly feels much more awake. He pushes himself up from the couch and starts to walk to the foyer.

“This damn door… ah! There we go.”

The door creaks open and he hears you tiptoe inside in your heels (wearing heels and tiptoeing—are two actions that are mutually exclusive, especially when you’re plastered).

“Remember, we have to be quiet. My husband waits for me to get home, we don’t want to wake him up. He’s very nice, you see, but he can’t know you’re here.”

Apparently, you have gotten home safely—with an extra guest who just bit at your tit. And you’re being louder than your guest, who you keep telling to be quiet.

“My husband is gonna be soooo mad. He’s gonna be so mad at me, but once he sees how cute you are, I think he’ll forgive me. He’ll understand. I had to. I just had to!”

He hears rustling as he gets closer to the foyer, you fumbling around in the dark.

“Stay there, don’t move, okay? Stay, yeah? You know that, don’t you? Mummy will teach you if not. Just stay right there. Lemme get these damn heels off…”

There’s an odd sound of something quickly clicking on hardwood floor that makes his eyebrows furrow, and then you gasp—

“Wait, don’t run—“

Bang!

You groan loudly.

Price flicks on the lights.

You’re lying face down on the rug. You have one heel on. The second heel is twisted around your other foot—what you fell over. Your little dress is flipped up over your ass and your arms are outstretched.

“You okay there, love?” John asks, torn between amusement and concern. You just groan. “Sounded like you fell pretty hard.”

“I tripped,” you say into the rug, sounding very sad.

“You hurt?” he asks. “Anything broken?”

You shake your head and curl up a little. “I’ll just sleep here.”

He laughs softly. “Come on, none of that.”

“It’s so comfortable. I’ll just—“

There’s that clicking sound again and he’s almost startled by the abruptness of your movement. You push yourself up with one arm, stretch the other out and fucking snatch the quick-moving little brown blob that’s moving toward you. You pull it to your chest and cradle it, shielding it from John’s view.

He blinks. “What you got there, love?” he asks after a second.

“Nothing,” you say innocently.

“Right.” He crosses his arms, looking you over. “Who were you talking to just now?”

“No one,” you say quickly. “Myself.”

“Right,” John says again slowly. “Show me what you have.”

You look over your shoulder up at him through your lashes, vision blurry. “No. You’re gonna be mad.”

“Just show me.”

“Promise you won’t be mad.”

He sighs. “I won’t be mad.” You give him a look. He sighs again. You’re wasted—he can tell by your eyes. They’re unfocused and heavy. “Promise. Now show me.”

You look down at whatever you’re holding to your chest. “Okay,” you whisper (to your tits?), “you need to be very well-behaved, okay? No biting, please. Be very nice for Daddy so he will like you, okay? Can you do that? Yes? Okay.”

You glance up at John again over your shoulder and then turn yourself around in a very clumsy movement. Then, as if presenting whatever it is like you’re Mufasa from the Lion King, you lift it up in the air toward your husband.

It’s a puppy.

It’s quiet.

The little dog wriggles in your hands, wagging his tail so hard his whole body shakes. He barks up at John, high pitched. A small pink tongue lolls out of his mouth.

It’s still quiet.

You lower the dog a little so you can look up at John. “You said you wouldn’t be mad!”

“I’m not mad,” John says, sounding mad.

“You look mad.”

“I’m not mad,” he says again. “It’s just… dirty.”

You gasp. “He’s not dirty!” you exclaim, sounding offended on behalf of the dog. You pull him to your chest. “He’s just a little mangey, you see. But that’s okay. It can be fixed. You know—they have medicine for that. Or lotion, or whatever it is. He’s very nice, John, I swear. I know he’s a little… skrunkly but he’s very cute and—ow! That’s my hair, no biting Mummy, please.”

“You’re already calling yourself his Mummy?” he asks, bemused, eyebrow raised at you. Yep. You’re fucking wasted.

“Yes, and you’re his Daddy.” You hold the dog up again, this time facing him toward you. “I think you’re very cute, puppy. You’ll grow on Daddy. Just be very good for him, you can do that, can’t you? Yes, you can.” You whisper, as if John isn’t standing right there, “We’ll wear him down. Don’t worry.”

“I thought it was something else,” Price says.

“What did you think it was?” you ask, not looking away from the dog.

“Where did you find it?” he asks instead of answering.

This is much better than what his traitorous mind momentarily supplied. You, cheating? As if.

How silly of him to even think that. For a moment, his stomach twists with the guilt of doubting you. He should have known better.

Of course it’s this. What else could it have been?

A puppy.

A puppy!

“Oh, hello, there.”

You crouch down in your dress and heels and hold out your hand to the little puppy emerging from the bushes by the side of the road.

“What are you doing here, all alone? Come here, love, I won’t hurt you. Come on, puppy, come to me. Yeahhh, there we go. Oh, look at you. You’re so cute. You’re all mangey, though. Oh,” you say pitifully, “you little baby.”

You’re drunk as fuck at 2AM on a Saturday in the summer, halfway through your walk home from the bar, squatting in the middle of a back road in England, about to cry while petting this puppy clumsily—but he doesn’t seem to mind. He wags his tail and nips at your fingers.

“Where’s your Mummy? You shouldn’t be out here all alone. No collar… oh, goodness, what should I do with you? I don’t want to leave you. I’m not sure what to do.”

He barks at you, high pitched.

You nod at him seriously. “Oh, yes, good point.” He barks again. “Mhm. Yes, yes. I thought so, too. Exactly right.”

He runs in a circle around you.

“What are you, a month? You should be with your Mum, you shouldn’t be all alone. Oh, you little baby, you must be so scared.” (He’s wagging his tail.)

“It’s so cold.” (It’s summer.)

“Maybe you can come home with me?” (Your husband would be so mad.)

“Yes,” you decide. “You’ll come home with me.” (Your husband is going to be so mad.)

That’s how you end up stumbling home with a puppy in your arms, rambling to him about yourself and your life.

“Well, puppy, my name is Mrs. Price. I’m from around here. I live in a nice three bedroom house with my husband, I think you’ll like it very much. It’s very cute. He let me decorate it. He doesn’t understand feng shui, you see. You should see his office, puppy, it’s so bland. No taste for interior design.”

“Our house is only 10 more minutes away. See that big tree there? That means we only have 10 minutes left until we’re home. I’m not great with street names, you see, so I go by landmarks.” He barks. “Yes, yes, you get it.”

“Anyway. So, I’m—stop wiggling please, Mummy’s going to drop you—I’m married to a very nice man named John. I love him very much. You’ll like him, too,” you tell him seriously, “he’s very likable. I like lots of things about him, puppy. Actually, I like everything about him.”

“He says I can’t have a dog, though. He says it’s for my own good—booooo. Boo! But maybe we can sneak you in. What do you think, puppy? Should we do that? I think we should do that. We’ll have to be very quiet, though. Very quiet.”

“John waits for me to get home safely—he’s so nice, he’s so kind to me, I love him sooooo much—but we have to make sure not to wake him up. This is one of them—uh, covert operations. He’s very well-versed in those. My husband is very talented, puppy, he’s a Captain. So we’ll have to be extra careful.”

And that’s how you end up trying to sneak into your own house and then trip over your shoe and fucking slam! your face on the rug.

“Where did you find it?” John asks you as you sit on the floor after you presented the dog to him.

“On the way home from the bar, kind of my that big tree.”

“By Notting Street?”

You furrow your eyebrows. “Notting Str—I dunno. Maybe? I just know the big tree. The one with all the branches.”

“‘The one with all the branches,’” he repeats, nodding slowly. “Right.”

“But he was there all alone so I took him home. I couldn’t leave him, John, he’s so little. And he’s very cute, look at his little ears? And his little feet? His toes are soooo small. His little teeth are sharp, though—like a shark. Fuckin’ hurt, he almost bit my tit off.”

“Yeah, I heard.”

“You heard? Oh. I was trying to be quiet. I didn’t want to wake you up.”

He smiles at you. “I know.”

You smile back.

“Give me the dog.”

You frown. “No.”

“The dog, please.”

“No.” You hold him tighter. “You’ll take him from me.”

“Well,” he says, “yes.”

You sigh heavily. “Be gentle.” You hand him to John and he takes him in one hand and holds him out, frowning, as if it’s offended him.

A puppy.

“Can we keep him?” you ask hopefully.

He glances at you and then back to the puppy and then back to you and then back to the puppy. “No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“But…” You trail off and he looks back down at you. You’re starting to tear up.

“Oh—love, don’t cry.”

“He’s so little and soft and nice and he’s all mangey and he’s all alone and he’s just a little baby and…”

“Okay, okay, darling, we can keep him.”

(By that, he means you’ll talk about it tomorrow when you’re sober, and by ‘talk about it’, he means, ‘no.’)

“Really?!” you gasp.

The way your face fucking lights up makes John pause. For a second, he almost feels like he lost his balance.

“Oh, John, really? Oh, thank you so much! Puppy, did you hear that? Daddy said yes! See, he’s very nice, just like I told you, remember? He’s very nice and kind and he’s very handsome and I love him very much, and I—“

“The dog can’t understand you.”

“You don’t know that,” you say defensively.

He looks down at you. “Right.”

You stare up at him, standing over you as you sit on the floor. “How are you handsome even from this angle?” You frown deeper. “Stupid face,” you mutter.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

“Let’s get you up.”

“I’m so comfortable.”

“Hand.” He tucks the dog under his arm and extends his other hand toward you. He crooks his long, thick fingers at you. “Now.”

You look between his hand and his face, and then slip your hand into his.

“Good girl.”

He fucking yanks you up and, in one movement that’s somehow graceful, bends down and throws you over his shoulder.

He, naturally, slaps your ass and you squeal. “Hey!!”

You kick your feet (still with only one heel on) and he laughs, resting his hand on your hip, heavy fingers digging into the plush of your butt, as he makes his way up the stairs with you on his shoulder and the dog in his hand.

Gently, he drops you onto the bed and you fall back with an oof! and stare up at him.

“Well,” Price drawls, “aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

You grin. “I missed you.”

“I missed you, too.” He takes off your shoe (singular), your dress, and your makeup as you hold the dog, curled up, on your chest.

“You’re so good to me, John,” you say, your eyes closed. “I’m so lucky. I don’t know how I got so lucky. And, you, puppy,” you mumble, petting him slowly, “you’re so lucky, too. You’re about to have the best Daddy in the world. He’s so good to us.”

“‘Puppy’ is asleep,” John says. “And,” he adds, scooping him up in one hand, “puppy is not sleeping in the bed.”

You just groan, too tired and drunk to argue.

He holds the dog out in the air again, turning him around and upside down to examine him. He yips and wriggles in his hands, but John shushes him. “Hush now. Your Mummy is asleep.” He shakes his head and sighs. “What am I going to do with you?”

He takes the dog to the bathroom and puts him down on the floor. His paws slip a little on the cold tile. John puts his hands on his hips, staring down at the dog. “I can’t believe this.”

He reaches over to turn on the heated floor (which he got installed for you) and says to the dog, “You are so, so damn lucky I love your Mummy.”

In the morning, despite John Price’s best efforts to say no to you, you end up convincing him to keep the dog. He’s a military Captain but the pleading of his wife is enough to make him crumble.

The happiness on your face when he finally says yes, makes him wonder why he ever said no in the first place.

note: thank you for reading! this is my first time posting in years–and in a totally new fandom. thank you for your patience and your support. let me know your thoughts! merry christmas!

posted 12.26.2024. revised 01.02.2025.

do not repost or modify any of my original words on any other platform.

to masterlist.

#john price #john price x reader #call of duty #call of duty imagine #cod imagine #john price smut #well wait I guess not #for once #lux.writes #lux.price #john price fic #john price drabble #call of duty fic #I haven't done tags in forever what else do I do #call of duty smut #price #price.wife #price cod

5K notes · View notes

girlygguk · 28 days ago

Text

LIE WITH YOU ⋆ JJK

in which jungkook doesn't realize what he has until he just about loses it.

pairing grumpy!jk x sunshine!(f)reader

genre angst, fluff, roommates au, college au

word count 8.4k

content jk 20 | yn 20, grumpy & troubled jk, soft & overthinking oc, quiet mutual pining, jk outbursts at oc, trouble in roommate paradise, oc turns to her ex to cope, jk turns to substances to cope, marijuana and alcohol consumption, oc is grabbed roughly by a male w/o consent, fight scene, jk beats the shit out of a guy, angsty moments, cute moments, sweet ending

author's note so this is my attempt at the grumpy x sunshine trope and my way of hopefully making up for flopping at drabble night 😭 this could def do w/ a part two, so that option is open for expressions of interest heh.. 🙂‍↕️ love you 💋

beta read by my girlfriend & god's sweetest angel, @lovieku

Jungkook groaned as sunlight crept through the blinds, slicing into the darkness of his room. The familiar clinking of dishes and your humming drifted from the kitchen, grating on his nerves like nails on a fucking chalkboard. He rolled over with a heavy sigh, pulling his pillow over his head, but it did nothing to block you out.

“Wake up, Jungkookie!” your chipper voice rang out. “We’re going to be late! I made your coffee!”

He clenched his jaw, muttering a curse into the mattress as he dragged himself upright. You were always like this—too cheerful, too energetic in the mornings. He never understood how anyone could function with so much fucking energy at this hour, let alone be so damn happy about it. His body moved on autopilot as he trudged into the kitchen, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

You handed him a steaming mug, that same bright smile plastered on your face—the one that seemed to melt everyone else’s hearts. And, yeah, maybe his too on some days. But not today.

"Here you go, Kookie," you said sweetly, placing the cup in his hands. "Figured you’d need an extra shot. I know you were up late last night."

Jungkook muttered a barely audible "thanks," taking the mug as he plopped down on the bar stool, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion. His mood was sour, patience wearing thin, and though you kept talking, going on about some assignment or weekend plans, his focus blurred. All he could feel was the irritation bubbling up inside of him.

And then you said it. The one phrase that tipped him right over the edge.

“You better get dressed, Kookie,” you hummed, sipping from your own drink. “It’s a beautiful day! Let's start walking so we can get some of the sunshine—"

“Can you just not for one second?” he snapped, slamming the mug down on the counter, the clank of ceramic echoing in your little flat. “Every morning, Y/N. Every fucking morning, you’re just so jolly and merry. Like, it’s annoying. I can’t take it.”

The silence that followed was instant and suffocating.

Your smile faltered, the usual brightness in your eyes dimming as his words settled over you. Jungkook watched your expression shift into shock and confusion, then into something smaller and quieter. Your shoulders slumped slightly, and without a word, you turned away, focusing on the dishes like you could disappear into them.

Jungkook cursed under his breath when he saw the hurt in your posture, his stomach twisting. He wanted to apologize, to take it back, but he didn't know how. So instead, he pushed off the stool and retreated to his room, the sound of his footsteps heavy as he left you all alone in the kitchen.

The atmosphere in your last class of the day was painfully different from the usual. You sat next to Jungkook, but the banter, the jokes, and the teasing nudges were nowhere to be found. Instead, you kept to yourself, eyes glued to your notebook, only speaking when the professor called on you. And even then, your voice was so much quieter than usual.

Jungkook kept glancing at you, each look tightening the knot of guilt in his chest. He never meant to hurt you. It wasn’t your fault—none of it was. The stress from his deadlines, the sleepless nights, the pressure from work, it was all too much, and he took it out on you. But that wasn’t fair. You had shorter deadlines, longer nights, and two fucking jobs. You never complained. You still smiled. Still hummed in the mornings. Still looked at him like he could do no wrong.

But now, you barely looked at him at all.

When class finally ended, Jungkook reached out to grab his things, intending to walk home with you, just like you always did on Fridays. But when he turned, you were already halfway out the door, your bag slung over your shoulder, disappearing before he could even catch up.

His heart sank right to his ass.

For the first time in months, you didn’t walk home together. No light footsteps beside him, no playful nudges, no laughter bubbling up between the two of you as you made your way through the streets. There were no silly word games that you always roped him into, the ones he pretended to hate but secretly looked forward to. Without you, everything felt… quiet.

Jungkook shoved his hands into his pockets, the weight of your absence gnawing at him much more than he expected. He trudged back to the apartment alone, grumbling under his breath the entire way.

Jungkook sat on the couch, phone in his hand, staring grumpily at the “seen” message on his last text. He had sent it over an hour ago.

Hey👋 Where r u? Did u still wanna get takeout for dinner?

He glanced over at the cold takeout sitting on the counter, your orange chicken untouched. His own meal was getting cold too, but he didn’t care. The apartment was far too quiet without you there, and the empty seat beside him felt heavier than usual.

He swallowed harshly, flicking through shows on the TV, finally landing on Fire Guardians. It was your thing—watching together every Friday night, a tradition of sorts. But he couldn’t bring himself to press play without you. It wouldn’t feel right.

It had been two years since you and Jungkook moved in together. You came into his life through Jimin, the first person Jungkook met at uni. And if Jimin was a ray of sunshine, you made him look like a grumpy, moody cloud. Well… like him.

Living with you had turned out to be this strange, quiet sort of heaven, though you always acted like he’d done you this huge favor by letting you move in. As if he didn’t look forward to coming home every day just to see you.

When you first moved in, the two of you tried to rotate cooking duties. He remembered you sitting there, waiting for him to tell you your cooking was awful—which, yeah, it absolutely was—but he never said a thing. You called him sweet that day, and he could still remember how those words sounded coming out of your mouth. How they made him feel. No one had ever called him that before.

Now, he did most of the cooking, while you handled the cleaning. And on the nights he was too tired, you’d order takeout. It was domestic. Stupid. Amazing.

The apartment complex wasn’t anything special, just cheaper than dorms and close to campus. That was the whole deal—you guys were saving for something better, something bigger. You were studying to be an elementary school teacher, and he knew you were going to be the fucking best. Meanwhile, Jungkook was racking up his hours and experience as an apprentice at Modify, a tattoo parlor in the city.

The plan was simple. You’d both graduate, find a nice place close to the school you land a job at, and he’d find a parlor nearby. Easy.

Jungkook had never been good at making friends—he knew that. He could count the people in his circle on one hand and still have fingers left. It wasn’t a mystery to him why that was. People didn’t get close because he didn’t let them. He knew the way he came accross; closed off, intimidating. But somehow you managed to slip right past all of that.

You, however, were the complete fucking opposite. Everyone knew you. Everyone loved you. It didn’t matter where you were, whether it was in class or working at the cafe, people just naturally gravitated toward you. You had this way of making everyone feel welcome, included. You were bubbly, outgoing, could strike up a conversation with anybody.

Jungkook had seen it a million times—how you could light up a room just by walking in. How you could talk to anyone, about anything, and leave them feeling like they’d known you forever.

But despite all of that, despite the swarm of friends, classmates that circled around you like moths to a flame, you always found your way back to him.

Jungkook didn’t understand it, not at first. You had everyone, you could be anywhere. But somehow, no matter where you went or who was pulling for your attention, you always came back to him. Even if it was just the two of you sitting quietly on the couch, sharing space without needing to fill it with words, you chose him.

He noticed it most when he’d get home late from the parlor. Sometimes he’d come through the door, expecting you to be out with friends, but you’d be there. Always. Maybe sitting cross-legged in his hoodie, scrolling through your phone or reading some article for school. Or curled up in a fluffy blanket, waiting for him to come home so you could say goodnight to him properly before finally crashing out on your own bed.

Maybe it was just your thing. Maybe you made everyone feel like they mattered, like they were important. But there was something different about the way you looked at him. The way you lit up when he came home, no matter how late or tired he was. The way you’d call him at the most random times just to ask what he wanted for dinner, if he needed anything.

It wasn’t the same with anyone else.

Or… at least he hoped it wasn’t.

Just as Jungkook was about to send another text, the door creaked open. His head snapped up, maybe a little too eagerly.

“Hey,” he greeted, his voice soft, cautious.

You offered him a small smile, one that didn’t reach your eyes, before heading toward your room. That was not your smile. Nowhere near it.

God, he's such an asshole.

“Angel, um, wait, please,” he called out, pushing himself off the couch. His tone shifted, softer now. Vulnerable. “I’m sorry. About this morning. I was just—”

“It’s okay,” you cut him off, turning back to him with a polite, small smile. “You don’t have to explain anything to me, Jungkook. Um, I’m actually going out tonight, so…”

You trailed off, your eyes flickering past him toward the untouched takeout on the counter. His heart dropped at the sight of your lip gloss smudged slightly on your bottom lip, the way your eyes barely lingered on him, how you used his full name instead of your usual nickname.

“Oh,” he mumbled, his throat tightening. “Okay. To Tae’s party?”

You nodded quietly, turning back toward your room. Jungkook swallowed, trying to steady his voice.

“I thought we weren’t going to that tonight?” He couldn't stop the disappointment from bleeding through his words. “The new episode of Fire Guardians is out…”

“You can watch it without me,” you said softly, disappearing into your room before he could even think of a response.

Jungkook stood there, staring at the door as it clicked shut.

Watch it without you? As fucking if. He would never.

But then again… he was also “never going to snap at you,” right?

He swallowed hard, running a hand through his hair, jaw clenched so tight it almost hurt. He lingered by your door for a moment. Then, with a low groan, he turned on his heel and made his way back to his room to get ready for Taehyung's party.

The soft sound of IU playing from your phone on the other side of the wall made his fist clench around the shirt in his drawer. That was your sad music.

God, he could fucking spew.

“Kook!” Taehyung greeted with his big, toothy grin, pulling Jungkook into a bro hug. “Good to see you, man! Thought you weren’t coming tonight?”

Jungkook shrugged, forcing a smile for his friend before glancing around the packed floor of Taehyung’s penthouse. The Kims were loaded, and this wasn’t even the most extravagant party Tae had thrown, but it still must have cost a few grand. Jungkook barely registered the lavish surroundings, his mind very much elsewhere.

“Change of plans,” Jungkook muttered, eyes scanning the crowd. “Have you seen—”

“Y/N?” Taehyung finished for him, a knowing laugh escaping as he shoved an unopened beer into Jungkook’s hand. He pointed toward the living room. “Yeah, man, she’s over there, with, uh…”

Jungkook didn’t hear much after that. His gaze locked on you sitting on the couch, leaning against Jisung. Your ex-boyfriend.

Taehyung must’ve seen the way Jungkook’s expression shifted because he didn’t say anything else, just threw an arm around the younger boy's shoulders and steered him toward the lounge.

As they got closer, you glanced up, blinking in surprise when you saw Jungkook. Your body stiffened slightly, and you sat up a little from where you had been resting against Jisung. Your ex, who had been mid-conversation with his friend Minho, glanced down at you when he sensed the change in your demeanour.

“You good, babe?” he asked quietly.

Jungkook’s jaw clenched. He dropped onto the free couch next to Taehyung, twisting the cap off his beer with more force than necessary, eyes narrowing as he stared into nothing.

You nodded at Jisung as you ignored the pet name, but the discomfort in your chest was not as easy to push aside.

You knew how much Jungkook disliked Jisung. He had been there when you were a sobbing mess after Jisung broke up with you, picking up the pieces when you couldn’t even function. And now here you were, sitting under Jisung’s arm like nothing had happened. You couldn’t stop the guilt from swirling in your stomach, couldn’t stop imagining what Jungkook must be thinking.

But you tried not to dwell on it too long. After all, you were just an annoyance to him, right? He didn't explicitly say it, but you know you. Always hovering, always seeking him out, always needing something. Maybe you were doing him a favor by being here with Jisung. If you got back together with him like he had been begging you to, maybe you’d finally give Jungkook the space he seemed to need. Maybe you wouldn’t be so clingy anymore. Maybe, eventually, you’d move in with Jisung, and Jungkook wouldn’t have to deal with you at all.

Jungkook’s gaze, however, was already dragging over your outfit. That little black skirt—the one that always made your ass look so fucking good. Enough of your thighs were showing that he could easily imagine sinking his teeth into the soft, warm flesh. His head tilted a little as his eyes trailed up to the slightly cropped flowery top you wore, rising just enough to reveal a sliver of your stomach. Jungkook watched Jisung’s fingers trace mindlessly at the strip of bare skin, and his grip tightened around the beer bottle as he took a long drink, forcing his gaze to shift to the floor.

It was infuriating. He didn’t know who he was fucking angier at. You, for sitting there with Jisung like it was fucking nothing, or himself, for caring about something that shouldn’t even be his problem.

Your eyes met his for just a second, and for a brief moment, Jungkook saw the sadness there. He wanted to go over, to ask if you were really okay, but instead, he looked away, taking another swig from his beer. You pressed yourself further into Jisung’s side, retreating into your own hurt.

Jungkook’s jaw clenched tighter, his knuckles white as they gripped the neck of the bottle. And when Taehyung leaned over, blunt in hand, Jungkook didn’t hesitate. He pulled the beer away from his mouth and slipped the blunt between his lips, inhaling deeply. The familiar burn settled in his chest, a sensation he hadn’t let himself feel in a long time.

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught the movement, saw the smoke curling around him, and your heart dropped.

He had been doing so well. He was eighty four days clean. It wasn’t that you had a problem with him smoking—you didn’t, but you knew what it meant to him to stop. His family’s long, dark history with addiction weighed heavily on him, and he had promised himself he wouldn’t let the cycle continue.

“Jungkook,” you said, your voice barely audible over the music. You tried to sit up, but Jisung’s arm was draped heavily over you, pinning you in place. “Jisung, I need to sit up, please.”

You tapped his arm, but he barely reacted, too engrossed in his conversation with Minho.

Jungkook didn’t even look in your direction. He took another long drag before the first hit had even settled, his expression cold and distant. Then he grabbed another blunt and lighter from beside Taehyung, stood silently, and headed for the door.

You didn’t think. You just moved, shoving Jisung’s arm off and muttering a quick apology when he shot you a confused look. You adjusted your skirt when it had risen as you stood and hurried after Jungkook.

“Jungkook, wait, can you slow down, please?” you called, your voice straining over the music while you weaved through the crowd. For a moment, you thought he hadn’t heard you, but then he slowed, just enough for you to catch up. He didn’t turn, didn’t acknowledge you, but he held the door open as you slipped outside.

The cold night air hit you both as you walked down the stone steps in silence, the sound of the party fading behind you. When you reached the bottom and sat down, Jungkook followed suit, blunt still dangling between his fingers, the end of it flickering weakly. He puffed at it, reigniting the embers before taking another drag. He gave a low sniffle, his tinnitus acting up like it always did when he smoked.

After a long pause, you reached for the blunt, but Jungkook pulled it away, rolling his eyes as he did.

Your hand fell limply back into your lap, frowning as he took another slow hit, his eyes fixed on the empty street ahead.

“So, you can break your three-month sobriety, but I can’t have one smoke?” you asked with furrowed brows.

“Yep,” he replied, exhaling away from your face.

Your eyes narrowed at him before you mumbled, “that doesn’t seem fair."

“That sucks.” He shrugged, finishing off the blunt before stubbing it out under his shoe. Without hesitation, he started lighting the next one.

You bit down hard on your lip, trying to keep the tears at bay. “Why are you being such a jerk?” Your voice trembled slightly, and you turned away before he could see the tears welling in your eyes. “Are you really that sick of me?”

Jungkook froze, lighter still sparked in his hand. His grip tightened, the flame flickering out during the long pause. His body went rigid as your words sank in before he slowly turned to look at you.

You were sitting there, lips pressed to the side in that way you did when you were trying not to cry, and he wanted to punch himself in the fucking face.

God, he was such an asshole.

All he had done today was hurt you, push you away, and now here you were, thinking that you were a burden, that he was sick of you.

He wasn’t sick of you.

Far fucking from it.

But how was he supposed to say that? How was he supposed to admit that the thought of losing you terrified him more than anything? That seeing you with Jisung tonight had ripped him apart. That he couldn’t stand how easily you seemed to be slipping away, falling back into old patterns that didn’t include him. That all he wanted was to take you home, put you in one of his hoodies, curl up on the couch, and watch the new episode of Fire fucking Guardians together. Eat the rest of your orange chicken because you always insisted on getting a large even though you never finished it.

But he couldn’t say any of that.

So he didn’t.

Instead, he sparked the second blunt, raising it to his lips for a long, angry drag. The silence between you stretched heavily and painful. Then he saw it—the tears finally spilling over, running freely down your cheeks.

You pulled your phone from your skirt and started swiping through the Uber app. The glow of the screen lit your face as you sniffled quietly, your fingers trembling as you clicked to confirm the ride.

Jungkook frowned, pulling the stick from his mouth, the smoke lingering in the air between you. “Y/N, please don’t cry,” he said lowly. “And don’t get an Uber… I’ll walk you home.”

“That’s okay,” you replied shakily, wiping quickly over your eyes. “I don’t want to burden you more than I already have.”

You sniffled again, the sound breaking through the quiet as you stood up. “Um, I’m just going to grab some things and stay at Jimin’s tonight. Give you some space.” You paused, hand trembling as you ran it under your eyes, trying to pull yourself together. “If you’re… reconsidering us living together, just let me know. I’ll apply for a dorm next semester and—”

“What?” His eyes were wide, voice sharp as he stood up. “No. Don’t-don’t fucking do that. I don’t- I’m not—” He huffed, frustration and panic mingling as the weed fogged his thoughts, making it harder for him to convey what he wanted to say.

God, he was so fucking stupid!

He hastily threw the blunt to the side, the sparks fading as it hit the ground. He closed the distance between you in two steps, hand reaching out as if he could somehow stop you from slipping away.

“Y/N, please don’t leave. I don’t know what I’d do if you moved out. Just—please.”

You looked away, the embarrassment of crying making it harder to speak. “Well, something’s changed, Kookie,” you said shakily. “I thought I just caught you at the wrong time this morning, and I know I can be a lot sometimes, but… I don’t want to stay if you’re unhappy.” Your gaze dropped to the ground as you fought to keep steady. “I don’t want this turning into resentment. I can’t have you hating me. I-I can’t.”

Jungkook’s heart shattered at the sight of you—shoulders hunched, lip trembling as you tried so hard to hide your tears. He clenched his fists, hating himself for being the reason you were standing there thinking he was unhappy. That he could ever hate you.

You took a shaky breath, running a hand through your hair as you tried to calm yourself. “I’m going to go get Taehyung so he can stay with you. You haven’t smoked in a while and your tolerance is low,” you said quietly, turning to climb back up the steps into the house.

Jungkook didn’t move. He just stood there, heart cracking, feet rooted to the ground as he watched you walk away.

Five minutes later, you were almost back at the front door, a bottle of water for Jungkook in hand. You had spoken with Taehyung, asking him to keep an eye on Jungkook for you since you were heading home. He could tell something was wrong—he'd never seen you look this sad before, and it clearly worried him. But instead of pressing you for details, he simply nodded and promised to hang with Jungkook and make sure he got home safe.

Jisung’s voice cut through your thoughts as he walked up to you. “Hey, babe, is everything okay? I made you a drink and couldn’t find you… come back to the lounge?”

You glanced up at him, swallowing back a grimace. Going back to the couch with him was the last thing you wanted right now. At that realization, guilt twisted sudden and deep in your gut. You knew you were using him, even if it hadn’t been conscious at first. But after just finally letting yourself cry for the first time today, the reason for your actions had become crystal clear.

Jisung had been surprised when you texted him after your last class, finally agreeing to meet up after months of declining his advances. You’d gone to his dorm, made out a little, but when he tried to take it further, you’d pulled away and claimed you weren’t feeling well. You had agreed to come to the party tonight, thinking maybe it would help. That maybe it would ease the ache in your chest from feeling like such a burden to the one person who mattered most to you.

What Jungkook said this morning wasn’t horrible. If anything, it was true. You were too chipper in the mornings. But you had never gotten the sense it bothered him before. If you had, you would’ve toned it down. You thought he was okay with your personality. You thought he liked it. He said he did… He was probably just lying to spare your feelings.

God, you were such an idiot.

“I’m really sorry, Jisung, I just don’t feel well tonight. Could we try another night? I’ll text you later. I just—I need to lay down for a bit.”

You watched as Jisung’s grip tightened around the glass in his hand, his expression shifting from something concerned and hopeful to something much darker.

“Do you ever get tired, Y/N?”

The question threw you. You fidgeted with the water bottle in your hands, blinking. “I- uh- what do you mean?”

“Do you ever get tired of leading guys on?” he sneered, his eyes dragging over you in a way that made your skin crawl. “Pretending you’re gonna give it up, only to leave them hanging while you run back to your depressed-ass boy toy?”

For a second, you couldn’t believe what you’d just heard. That someone you had been in a relationship with, that you had cried over losing, could say something so horrible.

“E-excuse me?” Your voice trembled slightly, but the anger flared hotter than the hurt. “First of all, I don’t lead anyone on. And second of all, Jungkook isn’t—” You stepped closer, defensiveness spiking in your gut. “Don’t talk about him like that. You don’t know anything about him.”

Jisung let out a cruel, mocking laugh, shaking his head. “Please. It’s pathetic, Y/N. The way you follow him around, waiting for him to give a shit. You really think he’s gonna be there for you? That he wants you the way you want him? Wake the fuck up.”

“Fuck you,” you spat, stepping back, the bottle trembling in your grip. Your heart pounded as you turned to leave, but Jisung’s hand shot out, grabbing your arm and pulling you back into him.

“Don’t walk away from me.”

“Let go, Jisung.” You yanked your arm, panic crawling up your spine as his grip tightened, his fingers digging into your skin.

“I’m doing you a favor,” he snarled. “You think that fucking degenerate could offer you more than I can?” He scoffed, his breath hot against your face. “Oh, please.”

Anger surged through you so hot it was blinding. Your palms pressed against his chest, and with all the strength you could muster, you shoved him so hard it even shocked yourself. Jisung stumbled back, his shoulder hitting the front door with a loud thud, and for a second, he looked startled. But then his expression darkened even further as he stepped toward you again.

You were about to throw the water bottle at him and make a run for it when the door suddenly swung open. Jungkook appeared, his eyes scanning the commotion that he heard through the door, finally landing on the sight of Jisung towering over you.

He didn’t think. He just moved.

Before you could say anything, Jungkook was lunging at Jisung, but Taehyung rushed in behind him, grabbing the back of his shirt before he could make contact.

“Kook, don’t—”

In his attempt to dodge your best friend, Jisung stumbled, his shoulder slamming into yours. Your footing slipped, and you landed hard on the floor, ass-first. A few girls who had been dancing nearby rushed over when they saw you fall.

“Y/N! Are you okay?” one of them asked, her voice full of concern as she grabbed your arm to help you up. She gasped as you winced, pulling her hand away and seeing the red marks forming on your skin. "Oh my god—"

“I’m okay,” you said quickly, shaking your head even as your voice wavered slightly. “I’m fine, really, Eunji. Thank you.”

Jungkook was there in an instant, shaking off Taehyung’s grip as he dropped to his knees beside you. His hands hovered over your thighs before settling there as his eyes scanned your face.

“Are you o—” His voice faltered, cut off as his gaze dropped to your arm, the bruises standing out starkly against your skin. His entire expression shifted, his worry morphing into something darker, something furious.

He didn’t speak, didn’t even blink before he was on his feet, turning back to Jisung with murder written all over his face.

Your phone buzzed in your hand, the Uber notification flashing across the screen

Before he could storm off, you grabbed his hand. “Jungkook, my Uber’s here,” you pleaded. "Please, let's just go. Please."

You could feel the tension in his body, every muscle coiled and ready to explode. But when you tugged at his hand again, his eyes finally met yours. For a moment, he hesitated, his gaze flicking between you and Jisung, who stood there with that smug, unbothered look that only fueled Jungkook's rage further. But after what felt like forever, he nodded stiffly and helped you to your feet, intertwining his fingers with yours as he led you toward the door.

Just as you reached the threshold, Jisung’s laugh echoed behind you.

“Yeah, go run after your little bitch, Jeon,” he sneered, his voice dripping with malice. “I get it, bro. I’d be all over that too. Tightest pussy on campus, huh?”

Welp.

Jungkook broke from your grip instantly and swung around so fast you almost didn't catch it. His fist connected with Jisung’s jaw before anyone could stop him, sending him crashing straight to the floor.

But he didn’t stop. Jungkook dropped to his knees, landing punch after punch, his knuckles splitting as they collided with Jisung’s face, the sound of bone crunching under the force of his blows.

You stood frozen, your breath caught in your throat as you stared at Jungkook straddling your ex-boyfriend's waist, fists reeling back before surging forward again and again and again.

“Shit, Kook! That’s enough, man. You’re gonna fucking kill him.” Taehyung was back, rushing in with a few others, grabbing Jungkook by the arms and trying to pull him away. It took at least three of them to drag him off Jisung.

Jisung was still on the floor, groaning in pain, blood coating his mouth, face already beginning to swell. You just stared, unable to look away, the image of his bloodied, battered face searing itself into your mind. Your stomach twisted violently as bile rose in your throat. Damn it. You were going to be sick all over the Kims’ ten thousand dollar rug.

Jungkook was panting, his chest heaving with the adrenaline and rage still coursing through him. But when his eyes landed on you, all the fight drained from his body. His heart dropped as he saw the look on your face.

You looked so fucking terrified.

“Y/N, fuck,” he whispered, his voice raw as he broke away from Taehyung's grip. He took a slow, hesitant step toward you. “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. Please don’t cry. Don’t—please.”

But, of course, you were already crying, hot tears slipping down your cheeks uncontrollably. You shook your head, your voice barely audible through the sobs that wracked your chest. “C-can we please go now?”

He nodded quickly. “Of course,” he said softly, surprised you still wanted to leave with him, as he reached out to take your hand. “C’mon.”

The two of you slipped out of the house, pausing to apologize to Taehyung on your way out. Tae just shook his head, the worry in his eyes masked by a small, comforting smile. “Don’t worry about it,” he said, his voice gentle as he wrapped you in a hug. “Just get home safe. I’ve got a couple of the boys cleaning up Jisung. I’ll get an Uber to send his ass home soon.”

Your heart sank as you thought about what this might cost Jungkook—charges, money, a mark on his record that could follow him for years. It made you feel sick just thinking about it.

Jungkook must have seen the panic starting to take root in your expression because he gently squeezed your hand, pulling you toward the waiting Uber before you could spiral further into your thoughts.

“I don’t care about any of it,” he muttered under his breath as you climbed into the back seat. “Jisung’s a dirty piece of shit. He had it coming.”

He helped you settle in before climbing in beside you. As soon as the car started moving, the weight of everything hit you all at once. You leaned into Jungkook’s shoulder, your body shaking with quiet sobs as you clutched his hand in your lap. The sight of his bloody knuckles made your chest ache even more.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice muffled against his shirt. “I’m so sorry for everything.”

Jungkook wrapped his free arm around you, pulling you closer. His mouth pressed gently against the top of your head, and you felt his warm breath against your hair as he whispered, “Don’t apologize.” His lips brushed softly against you. “None of this is your fault. I’m the one who should be sorry.”

“This-this is your tattooing hand,” you whimpered, your tears slipping down your cheeks as you gently cradled his hand. “God, Kookie… I’m so sor—”

“Stop,” he cut in softly but firmly, pulling his hand away from your view before you could spiral further. “It's not your fault, and I don’t care about my hand.” He made sure not to get any blood on you as he wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you snug against his chest. His face nuzzled into your hair, his hold on you tightening as you sniffled and leaned deeper into his warmth, your arms instinctively curling around his waist.

The rest of the ride passed in silence, the weight of the night pressing down on both of you, but Jungkook kept you close, his thumb rubbing gentle circles against your side as he held you.

When the car finally pulled up outside your apartment, you quietly pulled out your phone, making sure to tip the Uber driver 50% before you hopped out. You apologized profusely for being late, your voice soft and exhausted.

The driver barely acknowledged you, grumbling something under his breath that made Jungkook’s jaw clench in irritation. He opened his mouth, ready to snap back, but before he could, you reached back into the car and tugged him out by the hand.

“Give him one star,” Jungkook grumbled as the two of you made your way up the steps to your apartment complex.

For the first time all day, a small laugh escaped your lips. It was quiet, tired, and caught even you by surprise, but it was there. And it was enough to make Jungkook’s heart swell in his chest.

God, he missed that sound so much.

The apartment was quiet when you both finally stepped inside, closing the door on the loud night behind you. For a few moments, neither of you said anything. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, just tired.

“Do you need to talk, Kookie?” you asked softly.

Jungkook nodded, leaning against the counter, eyes on you as you toed off your boots and lined them up neatly by the door. You straightened his Adidas that had been knocked over, placing them neatly beside your shoes.

“Later,” he muttered, pushing himself off the counter and heading for the fridge. “Needa eat before I pass out.”

You let out a soft laugh, your shoulders relaxing as you watched him pull out the takeout containers. He hadn’t touched his food earlier, and a frown crept back upon your face. You wondered if he’d even eaten anything at all during the day. Your schedules were different most of the week, except Fridays, when you had the same last class. Normally, you'd text him about what you'd eaten and check in with each other, but today had been different. You hadn’t even responded to his text this afternoon.

Jungkook glanced at you from the corner of his eye, a small smile playing on his lips as he noticed you eyeing the food. He had the same thought—wondering if you had eaten today. Without saying anything, he warmed up both bowls in the microwave, letting the quiet fill the space between you.

As the microwave hummed, you stepped closer, gently taking his right hand in yours. The blood had dried, but his knuckles were bruising, and your chest tightened at the sight. Silent, you led him over to the sink, carefully washing the dried blood from his hand. Jungkook didn’t argue or pull away, just stood quietly as you ran the warm water over his skin.

Once the food was ready, he grabbed both containers while you grabbed some forks and napkins and followed him to the couch. You both sat down, pulling the throw blanket over your laps as you settled in.

“We’ll wait until tomorrow to watch Fire Guardians, yeah?” Jungkook mumbled between bites. “Didn’t wanna watch it without you.”

You paused, your hand hovering over the remote as his words sank in. Your eyes lit up a little, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Okay. Thank you,” you said softly, warmth spreading through your chest at the thought of him waiting for you.

You flicked through Disney Plus, finally settling on Grey’s Anatomy. You’d both seen it a hundred times, but it felt comforting in the moment, something familiar. As you sat there picking at your food and letting the soft murmur of the show fill the background, everything felt a little more normal. The chaos of the night faded, replaced with the quiet comfort of home.

Jungkook ate quietly beside you, and every time your eyes met, he offered a small, reassuring smile, as if to say, we’ll be fine. You believed him.

Once the food was gone, you snapped back into practical mode. “Okay, let’s go,” you said, grabbing his hand gently and pulling him up from the couch.

Jungkook huffed but didn’t resist as you led him to the bathroom. “I’m too tired for this,” he huffed, dragging his feet like a child. “Can we sleep, please? Do this tomorrow?”

“You’ll live, Kookie,” you mused, rolling your eyes. “Gotta patch you up before we sleep.”

He sighed, slumping down onto the toilet seat like a sulking kid, but he didn’t fight you. You stood between his legs, grabbing one of your hairties and pulling your hair into a pony before gently cradling his hand as you began to wash the cuts and bruises once more.

He could tell you were being extra careful not to hurt him, the warm water turning pink as it rinsed away the grime, but Jungkook barely noticed. He just watched you, his eyes following every movement as you worked. The scent of your soft perfume, the feel of your gentle, smaller hands on his, the way your brow furrowed cutely as you concentrated.

When you finished cleaning his hand, you pulled out the pack of bright pink band-aids from the drawer and started sticking them all over his knuckles. It was almost comical—his large hand covered in far too many tiny pink band-aids. You stepped back, chuckling at the sight.

“There. All patched up,” you said with a little snort. “Just until we go to the hospital tomorrow, Kookie... Ah, gosh, that’s so sad…”

Jungkook blinked down at his hand, then back up at you, his lips twitching. “S’ok,” he muttered, leaning forward to rest his head against your stomach. He exhaled softly, his warm breath tickling your skin as he murmured, “Tired.”

Your fingers automatically slipped into his hair, gently combing through the messy strands as you cradled his head against you. “I know,” you whispered, pressing a soft kiss to the top of his head. “Skincare, then sleep. C'mon.”

Jungkook groaned but stood up, letting you guide him to the sink. You both brushed your teeth, standing side by side, barely fitting into the small frame of the mirror of your tiny bathroom. Jungkook was taller than the vanity entirely, so his face wasn't visible in the reflection when he stood up straight. You always found that oddly cute.

When it came time to wash your faces, you pumped some of your cleanser onto your hand and offered him some. He took it, following your lead as you both washed up in silence.

As you rinsed off the soap, Jungkook’s gaze lingered on your face—peaceful, serene. Despite everything that had happened tonight, this was the most normal he’d felt all day.

He was in a trance when the words slipped out. "You're pretty."

Your hand froze mid-motion, towel now pressed to your cheek as you blinked in surprise. The corners of his mouth lifted into a soft smile at the startled look in your big eyes, and before you could say anything, he took the towel from your hands. He dried his own face before standing there, waiting for you to continue with the next step of your routine.

Your brows furrowed slightly as you processed his words, that stupid flutter in your stomach returning. Why did he say things like that if he didn’t mean them? Did he mean them?

You recovered quickly, blinking away your thoughts as you offered him a little smile, poking his stomach gently. "You're pretty too, Kookie."

Jungkook let out a quiet laugh, leaning into the counter as you grabbed your moisturizer. You pumped a bit into your hand, holding it out toward him like you always did, waiting for him to extend his hand. But instead, he simply tilted his head as he closed his eyes.

"Can you do it, please? M'tired..."

Your mouth parted in shock before you shook your head with a soft laugh. “You’re such a baby,” you teased, but yet without hesitation… your hands reached up to smooth the moisturizer over his face.

Your fingers were gentle as they glided across his skin, and Jungkook hummed in contentment, leaning into your touch. His skin was cool under your warm fingertips as you worked the moisturizer into his cheeks, his forehead, and along the line of his jaw. When his face shifted slightly beneath your hands, you gave his cheeks a playful squeeze.

"Stop moving," you mumbled softly.

His face relaxed, and you found yourself lingering on the task longer than necessary. But when you noticed that you hadn’t covered his nose properly, you whispered, “wait,” before grabbing a bit more moisturizer. You gently rubbed it into his pretty nose, your touch tender and focused.

When you were finally done, you pulled back and admired your work, a satisfied smile playing on your lips. Without thinking, you leaned down and pressed a kiss to the tip of his nose. "All done."

Jungkook’s breath hitched slightly, his throat tightening at the feeling of your lips on his skin. He swallowed hard, the touch of your kiss lingering more than it should’ve. It wasn’t unusual for you two to cuddle or exchange small kisses, usually on the forehead or the cheek. He doesn't know why the kiss on his nose felt so… intimate.

Slowly, he blinked his eyes open, watching as you moved back toward the mirror, completely unaware of the effect you had on him.

He stayed still, his eyes following every movement as you massaged the last bit of moisturizer into your own skin, your face illuminated softly under the bathroom light. A comfortable silence settled between you before he broke it.

“Thank you, Y/N.”

You looked over at him with the prettiest smile—the real one, not the small, fake smiles you’d been giving him all day. His heart felt full. “Of course, Kookie. I like doing your skincare. You should let me do it more often.”

You don’t need my permission to touch my face whenever you want, he thought. But in reality, said nothing of the sort.

“For everything, I mean,” Jungkook clarified, watching the way your expression shifted slightly, a confused pout forming as you washed your hands. “For dealing with my moods, for always being there for me, for being my best friend, for—”

You spun toward him so quickly, water droplets splashing from your hands. You gawked at him in surprise, and for a moment, panic fluttered in his chest. Had he said something wrong? He hadn’t meant to upset you—

“You consider me your best friend?” you gasped, voice small as tears welled up in your eyes.

Jungkook froze. “Uh, I just—I mean, yeah, well—”

“Oh, Kookie,” you sniffled, closing the distance between you in two little steps, your arms wrapping around his waist. You pressed yourself against him, and it wasn't long before he leaned down, resting his mouth against your head, his hand rubbing soothingly at the nape of your neck. “You’ve never said that before. I’m so happy.”

“Oh,” he mumbled. “Sorry. I thought you knew.”

You tilted your head up to look at him, chin resting on his chest, your eyes still glossy but now with the brightest smile on your face. “Of course I knew, you treat me so well,” you said, your voice gentle. “I just didn’t want to say it out loud in case I scared you off or something...” You let out a small chuckle, your fingers gently squeezing his sides. “You’re my best friend too. I love you.”

Jungkook’s throat tightened. “I love you more,” he whispered as he glanced down at your face—your gorgeous, soft, perfect fucking face. His hand slid up to press your face back against his chest before he did something stupid.

His lips rested back on your hair, and he stayed there for a quiet moment, just taking in the warmth of you.

Oh, fuck it.

“You love me more than Jimin?”

You giggled into his shirt, your fingers squeezing around his waist teasingly. “I love you more than anyone in the world. Surely you know that.”

His heart soared at your words, bottom lip rolling between his teeth.

He couldn't help himself, okay... "And you're going to live with me forever?"

You glanced back up at him, confused at first, but then smiling at his almost shy question. He pulled back just enough to see your face properly, his thumb gently brushing away the lingering tear tracks from your puffy cheeks. He even swiped under your nose, ridding the moisture there too.

“If you still want me to,” you answered quietly, your voice soft and full of uncertainty.

Jungkook’s chest tightened at the doubt in your tone. How could you even question that? How could the most beautiful, sweet, intelligent girl he's ever met in his life ever feel unwanted?

Hmm… maybe because you made her feel like that, you fucking idiot—

Jungkook cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs rubbing gentle circles on your cheeks. “I was in such a bad mood this morning, Y/N. I’m so sorry I took it out on you—”

But you shook your head, your hand rubbing up and down one of his arms soothingly. “You’re stressed, I understand now—”

He huffed, his brows pulling together in frustration. “Don’t do that. Don’t make excuses for me being an asshole. You always do that.”

Your lips formed a little pout, and his heart ached at how easily you forgave him. “I did not fucking mean anything of that shit. You are not annoying. You are not too cheerful. You are fucking perfect,” he said, his voice full of raw honesty. “I’m the one who’s fucking impossible in the mornings, but you never say anything… I just—”

Jungkook sighed, brushing his thumb over your cheek again, as if reassuring himself that you were still there. “It will never happen again, Y/N, I promise. If I’m ever in a mood like that again, I’ll just stay in my room and lock the door so I don’t do anything to upset you.” He shrugged, eyes tracing over your face. “Simple.”

A small laugh bubbled from your lips as you reached up to hold his wrists gently. “You’re so ridiculous, Kookie.”

After finishing up in the bathroom, you and Jungkook made your way to your rooms to change into pajamas. You slipped into your usual sleep shorts and t-shirt, rubbing at your tired eyes as you padded back into the hallway to say goodnight to your best friend.

Jungkook appeared from his room at the same time, wearing loose sweats and a black tee, his hair still damp from washing up. He lingered in the doorway for a moment, his hand gripping the frame as he hesitated before speaking.

“Uh… can I… can I sleep in your room tonight?” His voice was soft, so shy and your heart clenched. What a cutie.

“Yes,” you beamed, grabbing his non-bandaged hand and tugging him with you into your room.

You crawled under your blanket as Jungkook slid in beside you, his larger frame making the bed dip as he settled in, pulling the covers up over you both. You curled up next to him, your head sinking into the pillow as your eyes adjusted to the dim light, tracing the faint lines of his pretty face.

“Goodnight, Kookie,” you mumbled, your voice heavy with sleep as your eyes fluttered closed.

There was a quiet shuffling beside you, the bed shifting slightly before his soft voice broke the silence. “Goodnight, angel.”

You barely registered the brush of his lips against the top of your head before you were fully drifting, his warmth lulling you into a peaceful sleep.

Jungkook lay there for a moment longer, his head sinking into your pillow as he exhaled deeply. The smell of you enveloped him, and for the first time all day, he felt his body relax completely, slipping into the easiest sleep he’s had in weeks.

perm taglist: @elinaki92 @parapiop7 @photogenius-530 @vantaebearr @crazy-eight17 @aalisiyahxstar @lovieku @apobangpogirlyyy @jungkookmyoneandonlybaby @whoa-jo @kooeuphoria @junecat18 @fr0ggieth1nk @joonwater @myjungkookthighs @nikidream24 @whothefuckisthishoe @4noirre @gaebestie @lllucere @kissyfacekoo @rpwprpwprpwprw @granataepfelchen @yoonstaar @dutifullybeautifulperson @leire-mia @nemelkawar @scorpiochiq @jaebae420 @epsilonx1 @babigriin @nen-nyy @cuntessaiii @wobblewobble822 @alessioayla @angeljmnie @cherryontop33 @nikkinikj @jenniebyrubies @morosisxx @dna-black-and-blue @kimjennie @sabrina6272827 @mila-williamsblog @thexmns-blog @canarystwin @rjsmochii @futuristicenemychaos @lizzikoo

#📁lwy.docx #jungkook x reader #jungkook oneshot #jungkook drabble #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #jungkook x oc #jungkook x you #jungkook imagine #jungkook #jeon jungkook #bts jungkook

2K notes · View notes