Table Four
Table Four
pairing: taehyung x reader
genre: college au, strangers to lovers, angsty fluff
summary: when he sees you at a campus café on a random tuesday, he knows he has to know you. but you’ve sworn off love after a brutal breakup and want nothing more than to focus on yourself. what starts with a croissant and a crooked smile slowly turns into study sessions, spontaneous adventures, and a love story neither of you saw coming.
warnings: college setting, soft fluff ☺️💕, mutual pining, slow burn, a tiny sprinkle of angst, mentions of academic stress, an emotionally devastating finals week, and EXCESSIVE flirting by one very persistent taehyung.
a message from our sponsors 💁🏽♀️: yes, the cover picture is huge af & in your face because…i mean he’s MY MAN, why wouldn’t i want to look at him all big and up close? 🤨💟
word count: 7,478
Taehyung wasn’t even supposed to be there.
He had an econ lecture in ten minutes on the other side of campus, a half finished paper on his laptop, and a group chat that was slowly imploding over whose turn it was to make the slideshow.
But all of that faded into static the moment he got a craving for a croissant. Not just any croissant—one from Bean There, the cozy little café tucked between the music hall and the campus bookstore. The one with honey butter, flaky layers, and, according to his friend Jimin, the best ratio of pastry-to-price-to-aesthetic.
He slipped through the front door, brushing damp curls from his forehead as the warm air hit him. It smelled like cinnamon and espresso, and he let the scent wrap around him as he approached the counter.
That’s when he saw you.
Table Four.
You were hunched over a psych textbook the size of a baby elephant, one earbud in, matcha latte sweating quietly beside your planner. A purple pen danced between your fingers. The other hand tugged at the sleeve of your hoodie every few seconds like your body needed something to do while your brain focused on neurotransmitters or Freud or whatever madness you were dealing with.
You didn’t notice him. Not at first. But Taehyung noticed you.
He felt it in his chest—the kind of jolt that said wait. You had a look about you—sharp but tired, soft in a way that people probably didn’t give you enough credit for. Like someone who carried their own weight and still offered to help others with theirs.
He stared a second too long, then caught himself and turned toward the counter.
“Can I get two croissants?” he asked, and then, almost without thinking, “And… those mini wildflower bouquets. That one with the yellow ribbon.”
The barista looked amused but didn’t question it.
Maybe they were used to college boys doing dumb things for pretty girls. Taehyung took his haul—two pastries and the little bouquet that looked slightly wilted but still sweet—and made his way over to your table like a man with a mission.
He cleared his throat gently.
You looked up slowly, pulling out your earbud, blinking like you were trying to place him in a memory you didn’t have.
“I’m Taehyung. Taehyung Kim,” he said, flashing his best smile.
You blinked again. “Okay?”
“These are for you.”
You looked down. At the croissant. The flowers. Back up. “Why?”
“I don’t know yet,” he said honestly, shifting his weight. “But I think if I give them to you, you might tell me your name.”
You stared at him like he was an essay prompt you weren’t prepared for.
Across the room, two girls at a corner table were watching and whispering, clearly invested. One of them mouthed, shoot your shot, and made a tiny fist pump.
He stayed where he was, not pressing. Just offering. The croissant was still warm. The flowers bent a little in the draft from the door, petals fluttering.
“You’re serious,” you said.
“Deadly.”
You huffed a laugh. “You’re bold.”
“I’m Taehyung,” he repeated with a wink.
You looked him up and down like you were trying to decide if this was real life or a fever dream brought on by lack of sleep and too much caffeine. “No,” you said finally, returning your focus to your textbook. “But… thanks for the snack.”
It wasn’t a yes. It wasn’t a full no either. It was a door left open just a crack.
Taehyung picked up the untouched croissant, unwrapped it, and placed it gently on top of your notes.
“For your brain,” he said with a grin.
And then he walked away.
Out the door. Back into the cold.
And for the rest of the day, you occupied way more space in his mind than his paper, his class, or his very irritated group chat.
^^^^^^^^
Taehyung burst into their shared suite like a man possessed.
Jimin was upside down on the couch, legs draped over the back cushions and phone resting on his chest. Hoseok was perched cross legged at the breakfast bar, scrolling through notes while stress eating fruit loops. Seokjin was in the tiny kitchenette, slicing fruit like he was auditioning for a cooking show.
All three looked up as Taehyung slammed the door, breathless.
“I met someone,” he announced dramatically.
Jimin rolled his eyes. “You met someone last week. And the week before that. And the week before—”
“No, no. This is different.” Taehyung threw his bag on the floor and spun like a theater major mid monologue. “I didn’t even know her name and I bought her flowers.”
Hoseok dropped his chopsticks. “You bought someone flowers?”
Seokjin squinted. “Is this an emergency?”
“Yes,” Taehyung said, dead serious. “I’m in love.”
Jimin groaned. “You say that every time someone breathes near you with good eyebrows.”
Taehyung pointed at him. “She had a psych book the size of a small country and a matcha latte. She said no to me. With full eye contact. No. Like I was a door to door salesman trying to pitch essential oils.”
Hoseok choked on a fruit loop. “Damn.”
“And she took the croissant,” Taehyung continued. “But not the flowers. She just left them on the table like a message. Like—‘thanks, peasant, but I am not to be wooed today.’”
Seokjin looked mildly concerned. “Did she hurt you?”
“No, but she could. And I would thank her for it.”
Jimin sat up, rubbing his face. “You don’t even know her name?”
“Not yet. But I will. Table Four, Bean There café. Every day if I have to.”
“God, he’s spiraling,” Hoseok muttered, passing Seokjin his bowl.
“I’m fine,” Taehyung said. “I’m just… invested. Emotionally. Spiritually. Academically.”
“She’s a psych major, huh?” Seokjin asked, sipping from his water bottle. “Explains why she’s not falling for your chaos.”
“I think she’s been through something,” Taehyung murmured, more serious now. “She had that look. You know… like she’s trying really hard not to believe in good things anymore.”
The room went quiet for a second.
Then Jimin said, “You’re so whipped already. I haven’t even seen her and I want her to give you a chance.”
Taehyung grinned. “Same.”
^^^^^^^^
Taehyung had a reputation for forgetting important things—his dorm key, due dates, what time class started—but he remembered you.
The curve of your lips when you told him “no” like it was a complete sentence. The slight twitch of amusement in your brow when he insisted he was serious. The way you stared back like you were used to brushing people off, like you were tired of being looked at like a puzzle someone could solve with a smile.
You didn’t know it, but you haunted him.
So, he went back to Bean There. Every single day.
Not in a weird way. Okay, maybe in a slightly weird way. But he sat at a different table each time, ordered something new, and kept one eye on Table Four like a man casually waiting on fate to show up with her purple pen and unbothered energy.
Day two: no sign of you.
Day three: a glimpse. You walked in, spotted him already sitting at your usual spot with a croissant and a hopeful smile—and turned right around and left.
He blinked. Sighed. Took a bite of the croissant and muttered, “Bold of you to resist destiny.”
But day four?
You sat down across from him.
“I’ve decided I’m not going to let you win,” you said plainly.
Taehyung blinked, startled. “I’m sorry—what?”
“You’re obviously playing the long game. Showing up here every day, waiting around like you’re in a romcom montage. It’s textbook persistence. I won’t be manipulated.”
Taehyung pressed his lips together, shoulders shaking. “Is… is this your way of saying you missed me?”
“Not even a little.”
“Then why are you here?”
You looked at him then. Really looked. “Because I’m tired. And you’re… persistent. And I have a lot of reading to do and this place has the best quality drinks my money can buy.”
He leaned back in his chair, beaming. “I’ll take it.”
You rolled your eyes but stayed put.
You didn’t tell him your name. Not yet. But you accepted the croissant and took his pen when yours ran out of ink. You let him sit beside you instead of across from you, and when he asked if he could see your textbook—“just to check if it’s cursed”—you didn’t say no.
Progress.
^^^^^^^^
Later that week, he found you outside the library in a study circle with three other students. He nearly walked by—he didn’t want to be annoying—but then he heard you laugh.
Taehyung stopped mid step.
You were glowing in the late afternoon sun, head tilted back, cheeks flushed from something someone had said. The group looked tight knit. Comfortable. Like you’d known each other for a while.
He stepped forward anyway.
“You guys studying for Abnormal Psych?” he asked, backpack slung over one shoulder.
The girl with the buzzcut nodded. “Yeah, why?”
“I’m in the class,” he lied smoothly. “Mind if I join?”
You looked up. Eyes narrowed.
“You’re not in this class.”
“I learn fast,” he said, already sitting down on the edge of the blanket someone had thrown across the grass. “Name’s Taehyung.”
Buzzcut girl perked up. “I’ve heard of you. You did karaoke dressed as an anime character at the bio major mixer.”
“Guilty,” he grinned.
“Didn’t know you were in psych, though.”
“Oh, I’m more of a… community learner.”
You snorted softly despite yourself. “This is a closed study group.”
“Not anymore,” Buzzcut girl said, pulling out her flashcards. “He brought gummy bears.”
Taehyung passed the bag to you first, catching your eye. “For your brain.”
You shook your head—but didn’t refuse them.
^^^^^^^^
Over the next two weeks, he became a fixture in your orbit.
He never asked for more than you gave, but he was always around—texting you helpful mnemonics, scribbling dumb doodles in the margins of your notes, bringing lattes and whispering jokes during tense study sessions.
You didn’t realize you’d started waiting for him until one day he was late and your stomach felt weird.
He showed up five minutes later with windblown hair and a sheepish grin. “Sorry, spilled yogurt on my pants and had to change. Very heroic story, I’ll tell it in full later.”
You didn’t say anything. Just nudged your shoulder against his as he sat down beside you.
He noticed.
Of course he noticed.
But he didn’t say a word. He just smiled.
Because you still hadn’t said yes to dinner. You hadn’t said yes to “just one date.”
But you’d stopped saying no.
^^^^^^^^
It was the kind of party that smelled like sweat, cheap beer, and bad decisions—one of those “someone’s cousin knows the guy who owns this place” situations where no one really belonged but no one got kicked out either.
The porch was packed. The lawn was wrecked. Someone had already duct taped a traffic cone to the roof.
It was a Thursday.
Your roommate had dragged you out. She was currently glittered from head to toe and sipping a vodka cranberry like it was a rite of passage.
“This is exactly what you need,” Nia said over the music. “One night. No textbooks. No overthinking. Just vibes.”
You weren’t sure if just vibes was medically advisable, but you’d worn your favorite jeans, a cute little corset Nia let you borrow, and actually styled your hair. So you were halfway committed.
And then he appeared.
Taehyung, standing in the hallway like he knew he was the main character—dress shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows, rings glinting in the dim light, curls wild and his grin wilder. Jimin was beside him, all smirks and shoulder shrugs, clearly playing wingman for the night.
You caught Taehyung’s eye.
And he lit up.
“Look who finally decided to be fun,” he said, weaving through the crowd like he had a spotlight following him.
“You’re everywhere,” you muttered, sipping your drink.
“I contain multitudes,” he replied, offering his hand with zero irony. “Dance with me.”
“No.”
“Please?”
“No.”
“Just one song?”
“You’re impossible.”
“And yet…”
You let him pull you in.
Just one song. One dumb, thumping remix with bass that shook the walls and made your teeth buzz. Taehyung danced like no one was watching—and if they were, he didn’t care. Loose, confident, chaotic in a way that made you laugh more than you should’ve. He pulled you into it without thinking—hands on your waist, forehead nearly brushing yours, smiling like you were already his.
Then it turned into two songs. Then three.
You pretended not to notice how close he got. How your body moved in sync with his. How his hands never strayed too far, but also never let you drift.
When the music shifted into something slower, more nostalgic, you ducked out with a mumbled, “Need some air.”
Taehyung followed. Of course he did.
The backyard was quieter. Cooler. The string lights hanging between trees buzzed softly, casting a golden halo around everything. You leaned against the porch railing, drink in hand, and tried to act unaffected.
“You’re good at that,” he said after a minute.
“At what?”
“Pretending you’re not having a good time.”
You glanced at him. “Maybe I’m not.”
“You are.” He bumped his shoulder against yours. “You laughed three times. Snorted once. That’s a strong indicator of fun.”
You rolled your eyes. “Maybe I’m just easy to amuse.”
“I don’t think you’re easy at all.”
That pulled your gaze back to him.
Taehyung didn’t look away.
He wasn’t smiling now. Not exactly. Just… watching you, like he was waiting for something.
“Why me?” you asked softly. “You flirt with everyone.”
“Not like this.”
You blinked. “Like what?”
“Like I mean it.”
The words sat heavy in the air between you. Not overwhelming. Not demanding. Just there—a quiet truth.
You didn’t know what to do with it.
So you leaned in, just a little. Just close enough to tempt fate.
And then Nia called your name from across the yard, voice bright and urgent.
You stepped back.
Just enough to make Taehyung smile—small, understanding, but with a flicker of disappointment he didn’t quite hide.
“Almost,” he whispered, more to himself than to you.
You didn’t respond.
Because almost was already more than you meant to give him.
^^^^^^^^
Inside, as the night wore on, Taehyung sat on the arm of the couch nursing a beer while Jimin hovered beside him.
“You okay?” Jimin asked, nodding toward the door you’d walked through.
“Yeah,” Taehyung said, eyes still on the space where you’d stood. “She makes me nervous in a good way.”
“Oof, that’s the scariest kind.”
Taehyung nodded. “I know.”
^^^^^^^^
The first day of summer was supposed to taste like freedom.
You’d graduated with honors, your cap decorated in glitter and photos, your cheeks sore from smiling. The night before, you and Damian had promised to meet at your favorite coffee spot to plan everything—dorm lists, road trip playlists, countdowns until move-in day. You were so ready for the next chapter.
He was fifteen minutes late.
That should’ve been your first clue.
You were halfway through your iced vanilla latte when he finally walked in, hands in his pockets, hair still wet from his morning shower. He didn’t kiss your cheek like he usually did. Didn’t smile like he had the night before when you slow danced to no music in your driveway.
He just slid into the booth across from you and looked down at his hands.
You remember the cold bloom of instinct in your gut. The kind that whispered, something’s wrong before anything had even been said.
“Babe?”
He didn’t look at you.
“I got into UCLA,” he said.
You blinked. “What?”
“I applied in secret. Early decision.”
“But…” You laughed, confused. “We were going to State. We both committed—”
“I didn’t sign anything,” he cut in. “I waited.”
The room spun.
“Why?”
Damian looked up then. Not cruel. Not angry. Just… removed. Like he’d already made peace with the explosion and was just waiting for the dust to settle.
“Because high school sweethearts is cute,” he said softly. “But it’s also… high school. I want to see what college has to offer.”
You stared at him, chest rising and falling like your lungs had forgotten how to breathe right.
“I don’t want to be tied down,” he added.
That part hit the hardest.
Like all your plans—every phone call about future dorm setups, every hand squeezing moment when college felt scary—had been your fantasy, and he’d just been playing along. Like your love had an expiration date, and he’d already circled it in red.
You swallowed the lump in your throat and asked the only question you could manage:
“When were you going to tell me?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I guess… today.”
You nodded slowly, as if your heart hadn’t just been cracked down the middle.
“You could’ve just said you didn’t love me anymore.”
He winced. “It’s not that. I do. Just… not enough to stay.”
That was worse.
You didn’t cry. Not in the booth. Not in front of him.
You just stood, left your untouched drink on the table, and walked out into the summer sun that suddenly felt all wrong.
That night, you packed away every picture. Deleted every message. Blocked his name from your college folder. And when Nia came over with a pint of ice cream and a bottle of tequila, you didn’t say a word.
You just shook your head and promised yourself:
Next time, it’ll be different.
If there even was a next time.
^^^^^^^^
The rain started around sunset—soft at first, like a whisper against the windows. But by nightfall, it was pouring, steady and rhythmic, turning the sidewalks into mirrors and the air into something heavier.
You were at the library, third floor, tucked into a booth that always smelled faintly of printer ink and pencil shavings. A hoodie swallowed your frame, sleeves pushed past your knuckles as you clicked between tabs on your laptop. Notes, study guide, quizlet, back to notes.
You were trying to be productive.
Trying not to think.
But the words blurred together, and your chest felt tight, and your coffee had gone cold an hour ago.
You thought about texting Nia.
You thought about crying.
Instead, you just sat there, headphones in but no music playing, watching the cursor blink like it knew how close you were to breaking.
I want to see what college has to offer.
You could still hear Damian’s voice. Calm. Certain. As if you hadn’t spent two years memorizing each other’s schedules and picking out twin bedspreads. As if you hadn’t built an entire future together only for him to drop it in your lap like a stone and walk away.
You blinked fast. Swallowed hard.
And then—
Tap. Tap. Tap.
You looked up.
Taehyung.
Dripping wet from the rain, curls flattened against his forehead, hoodie dark with water around the shoulders. He grinned through it all, holding a brown paper bag in one hand and a lumpy, too bright bouquet in the other.
“Emergency snack delivery,” he said, voice muffled by the air pods still in your ears.
You tugged one out. “What are you—how did you know I was here?”
“You’re a creature of habit,” he said. “And you said you study here during exam week.”
“I could’ve gone anywhere.”
He shrugged. “But you didn’t.”
He sat across from you, no hesitation, already pulling things from the bag: chocolate covered pretzels, sour gummy worms, two croissants, and a lavender canned tea. Then—like a magician pulling a rabbit out of a hat—he produced a single, rainbow gel pen.
You blinked. “Is that mine?”
“I found it in your psych notes.”
“You stole my pen?”
“Borrowed. For morale.”
You stared at the offerings on the table.
“You okay?” he asked, quieter now. The smile hadn’t disappeared, but it had softened, curved at the edges with concern.
You hesitated. “Just tired.”
He nodded. “Tired sucks.”
And somehow, that made it easier.
You let him stay. Let him quiz you in a silly voice. Let him dramatically act out memory devices like you were cramming for a Broadway audition instead of a midterm. You laughed. More than once. He caught you smiling down at your notebook and said nothing—but he noticed.
Like he always did
At one point, you let your head fall against the window. He reached across the table and tucked your pen behind your ear like it was something precious. His fingers brushed your cheek, just for a second, and your whole body sparked like a struck match.
You didn’t pull away.
But you didn’t lean in either.
He didn’t push.
When the library announced its closing, you packed your things slowly. He waited. Held your laptop sleeve without asking. Walked beside you in the rain without offering an umbrella—just held it high enough for both of you to huddle under.
When you got to your door, you turned to face him.
The porch light flickered above your head. He looked at you like you were made of stardust.
“This the part where you kiss me?” you asked softly.
Taehyung smiled. “Nope.”
You tilted your head. “Why not?”
“Because I want you to kiss me,” he said. “When you’re ready. When it’s real. When it’s yours.”
You looked at him.
The kindness. The care. The way he never pushed, never pried, never reached for more than you offered.
Your chest ached.
“I’m scared,” you whispered.
“I know.”
“I don’t want to get hurt again.”
“I won’t hurt you.”
“You can’t promise that.”
“I know,” he repeated. “But I can promise I’ll stay.”
You blinked.
He smiled. Tipped his head. “Goodnight, beautiful.”
And he walked away.
You stood in the doorway for a long time after he was gone.
Not thinking.
Just feeling.
^^^^^^^^
The text came on a Tuesday, sandwiched between a group project meltdown and a mediocre dining hall salad.
Taehyung [1:04 PM] important question: do you believe in spontaneous joy, glitter, and road trips with questionable wifi? 🙃
You frowned.
You [1:06 PM] …what are you planning?
Taehyung [1:06 PM] music festival. this weekend. us, jimin, nia, a few others. tents. loud music. bad decisions. snacks. it’s practically self care!
You didn’t answer right away. He waited a whole ten minutes before sending another.
Taehyung [1:16 PM] i’ll bring gummy bears and the collapsible desk. and i’ll make you a playlist. please come🙏🏻 i want to dance with you under ugly lights and yell lyrics off key.
You stared at the message longer than you should have.
Nia leaned over your tray. “Is that the chaotic guy with the eyebrows and the emotional support snacks?”
“Yes.”
“Are we going?”
“I don’t know.”
“You want to.”
“…Yeah. I think I do.”
^^^^^^^^
On Friday, when the sun was just barely making its daily debut, you stood on the curb in front of the dorm with your duffel bag, hoodie pulled tight, trying not to look excited.
The van was chaos in motion—Jimin behind the wheel in yellow sunglasses and a mesh tank top, Hoseok in the passenger seat playing DJ, and Taehyung in the backseat waving at you like he hadn’t seen you in years instead of twelve hours ago.
“You came!” he shouted, throwing the side door open like a golden retriever greeting its favorite person. “You came.”
“You said there’d be snacks.”
“I said there’d be magic. Snacks are a bonus.”
Nia climbed in behind you, flopping over a pile of blankets. Someone tossed you a warm muffin. Hoseok handed you a tiny bottle of hotel shampoo, no explanation. It was perfect.
^^^^^^^^
The drive was loud, messy, and full of laughter.
They passed around instant cameras and took blurry photos at gas stations. Played Taehyung’s Mixtape Mayhem game, your movie montage song: Cigarette Daydreams; his: SexyBack, with no shame whatsoever. Someone kept losing signal. Someone else lost a shoe.
You hadn’t laughed that much in a long time.
And Taehyung? He watched you with this soft awe, like every time you smiled it made something in him settle deeper. He didn’t cling, didn’t crowd, just found you with his gaze every so often like he couldn’t not.
When you sang along to a song you loved, he watched your mouth like it was art.
When your head drooped against the window, he tucked your hoodie hood up without a word.
And when you caught him looking?
He just smiled.
^^^^^^^^
The air buzzed with bass and heat, the kind of energy that stuck to your skin. You pitched tents between strangers and strung fairy lights between trees. Someone spilled a soda on your blanket. Jimin got into a debate with a guy selling handmade jewelry about astrology. You danced under colored lights and neon fog and laughed until your cheeks hurt.
At some point, Taehyung disappeared and returned with glow stick crowns. He placed yours gently on your head like it was something precious.
“There,” he said. “Royalty.”
“Are you flirting with me?”
He blinked. “Am I not always?”
You couldn’t argue with that.
^^^^^^^^
Later that night the fire pit had burned down to a sleepy glow. Everyone else had drifted off to their tents, leaving you and Taehyung in the silence of stars and smoke.
You lay on your back in the grass, his arm close enough that you could feel the warmth of him. Your glow stick crown still flickered faintly. His curls were tucked under a beanie now, damp from sweat and fog.
“Tell me something real,” he said suddenly.
You turned your head. “What?”
“Anything. Doesn’t have to be deep. Just real.”
You hesitated for a few minutes before deciding to push past the fear.
“I think…I’m afraid of how much I like you.”
His breath hitched.
You didn’t look at him.
You just stared at the sky and added, “Because last time I liked someone this much… it didn’t end well.”
He was quiet.
Then his fingers found yours in the grass, slow and careful.
“I’m not him,” he said.
You finally turned.
“I know,” you said. “That’s what scares me.”
He didn’t kiss you.
He didn’t rush.
He just held your hand like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Like maybe you’d been holding his this whole time without realizing it.
^^^^^^^^
Finals week feels like the inside of a pressure cooker.
Sleep becomes optional. Meals turn into vending machine runs and half eaten granola bars that disappear somewhere in your bag. The library is open 24/7, and somehow still always full. Even Taehyung looks frayed at the edges—hoodie pulled low, dark circles under his eyes, curls tucked under a beanie he refuses to take off.
But he still checks in.
He texts you every day. Drops off snacks when you forget to eat. Leaves sticky notes in your textbooks with doodles and cheesy pep talks in his messy handwriting. On the morning of your hardest exam, you find a neon green post it tucked into your notebook:
you’re gonna crush this. and when you do, i’m taking you to celebrate. wear something that makes me weak.
You laugh out loud. Then immediately choke on your coffee and have to explain to your roommate why you’re smiling like the post it just confessed its love to you.
^^^^^^^^
It was past one in the morning, and the world outside your window had gone still.
Finals were less than two days away, your laptop fan was groaning like it was on its last breath, and your study guide looked like a crime scene—scribbled notes, scratched out equations, desperate reminders written in red pen.
You sat on your bedroom floor, a monstrously oversized t-shirt, bare legs tangled in a blanket, surrounded by empty coffee cups and open tabs you couldn’t bring yourself to close.
Your brain was fogged.
Your chest was tight.
The quiet wasn’t peaceful—it was loud.
You stared down at the mess of your planner, blinking back the hot sting in your eyes, and then reached for your phone without even thinking.
You [1:23 AM] can you come over..if you’re awake
You didn’t expect an answer right away. But thirty seconds later his reply came.
Taehyung [1:23AM] already halfway there
^^^^^^^^
You barely had time to drag your fingers through your hair and put on some shorts before there was a knock on the door.
You opened it to find him standing there in gray slacks and a too big sweater, and his backpack hanging off one shoulder like he’d come from war.
“Hi,” he said, voice soft.
You just nodded and stepped aside.
He looked around your room—saw the chaos, the barely contained panic—and didn’t say anything about it.
Instead, he set his bag down, pulled out a warm croissant wrapped in foil and a little folded paper crane he’d clearly scribbled something onto.
You opened it.
you’ve survived 100% of your worst days so far. let’s keep the streak going.
The tears came so fast you didn’t even feel them build.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” you whispered.
Taehyung was already crossing the room.
“There’s nothing wrong with you,” he said, pulling you into his arms like he’d done it a thousand times. “You’re just tired. You’ve been carrying the world on your back for weeks. Let someone hold it with you for a minute.”
You buried your face in his chest, breathing in that warm, cozy scent that had become your favorite thing.
He didn’t rush you. Didn’t ask for anything in return. Just rubbed your back slowly and let you fall apart.
When the tears slowed and the silence stretched, he spoke again—low and gentle.
“Can I say something, or will it make you spiral more?”
You sniffed. “Depends. Are you about to tell me you failed an exam?”
He smiled against your hair. “No. I was gonna tell you I think I’m falling in love with you.”
You froze.
Not in a bad way. Just in that whole body still way that happens when something hits too deep to move.
You leaned back just enough to look at him.
“Why would you say that now?”
“Because I’ve wanted to say it for a while,” he said, searching your face. “And because I think you need to hear something true right now. Even if it’s scary.”
You stared at him, heart pounding.
And then slowly, carefully.
You kissed him.
It wasn’t cinematic, No swelling orchestra, no perfectly timed wind. Just his sweater against your skin, your hands in his hair at the nape of his neck, your breath hitching when he cupped your cheek like he couldn’t believe you were real.
When you pulled away, he was smiling like he’d just solved a riddle no one else could.
“You… kissed me,” he whispered.
“You said you were waiting,” you murmured back.
“I would’ve waited forever.”
You leaned your forehead against his, voice barely there. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t leave. Don’t change your mind. Don’t do what he did, please.”
Taehyung kissed your nose.
Then your cheek.
Then your mouth again.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
^^^^^^^^
Finals week hit like a freight train.
The library turned into a second home. Cafeteria food lost what little appeal it had. Everyone walked around with under eye circles and iced coffee IVs. You were running on four hours of sleep, two protein bars, and blind academic panic.
But somehow, Taehyung made it feel almost survivable.
He didn’t hover—he just showed up exactly when you needed him. A text when your brain fogged. A forehead kiss on his way to class. A note slipped into your textbook that read:
you don’t have to do this alone. but I know you can.
Every time you felt yourself unravel, he helped you stitch yourself back together.
And he never asked for anything in return.
^^^^^^^^
The night before your last exam, you sat side by side in his dorm’s common room, surrounded by half open notebooks and the distant sound of someone crying over a chemistry final. Your head rested against his shoulder, your body warm beneath a shared blanket.
You hadn’t kissed again since that night.
Not because you didn’t want to—but because something about the pause felt sacred. Like the next time it happened, it would mean everything.
“I had a dream last night,” you whispered. “That we were back at the café. You walked in and didn’t recognize me.”
Taehyung’s brow furrowed. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“I don’t know,” you said. “Maybe because I wasn’t… this version of me. I was still the girl from the first day of summer. Still waiting to be chosen.”
He turned toward you, eyes soft. “I’ve been choosing you since the second I saw you.”
You didn’t speak.
You didn’t need to.
Because the silence between you wasn’t empty—it was full of everything.
He reached for your hand, weaving your fingers together slowly.
“I know you were hurt,” he said quietly. “And I know I can’t erase that. But I swear, every part of me wants to give you something better. Softer. Real.”
You looked at him.
At the guy who bought you croissants just to learn your name.
At the guy who stayed.
Who always stayed.
“Ask me again,” you said.
Taehyung blinked. “What?”
“Ask me again to go out with you.”
His mouth curved into a slow, sure smile.
“Will you go out with me?”
You leaned in.
Kissed him like you were sealing something that had already been written in stone and yet brand new at the same time.
“Yes.”
^^^^^^^^
Two days later on the campus lawn, post exams, the sun was shining too bright. Students were lounging like survivors after battle. Nia had collapsed onto a blanket with iced tea and a victory playlist.
You were half asleep, head in Taehyung’s lap, as he read a graphic novel with one hand and played with your curls with the other.
“So what now?” you mumbled.
“Now?” he said. “Now we do summer. We do late night drives and brunch and museums and maybe even a weekend at that lake house my cousin keeps bragging about.”
“Sounds like a lot.”
“It is,” he said. “And it’s all with you.”
You closed your eyes, smiling.
Because for the first time in a long time, the future didn’t feel like a question mark.
It felt like a promise.
^^^^^^^^
You didn’t even need a destination.
Just Taehyung behind the wheel of his silver coupe, music low, the windows cracked open to let in the breeze. The sky stretched wide overhead, pale blue with streaks of clouds that looked like brushstrokes.
“You packed four pairs of jeans,” he said, glancing at your duffel bag in the backseat. “We’re gone for two days.”
“I like options,” you replied, flicking his sunglasses down over his eyes. “And you brought five different notebooks.”
“Those are creative tools.”
“Sure.”
He grinned, reaching for your hand across the console. His fingers laced with yours so naturally it felt like you’d always done it.
The road was empty. Just the two of you, the hum of the tires, and a playlist you built together that morning—equal parts indie slow burn, R&B, and old songs you both secretly knew every word to.
You leaned your head out the window and yelled into the wind just to feel it bite at your cheeks.
Taehyung watched you with a smile that made your stomach dip.
“Wanna stop?” he asked after a while, eyes flicking toward a peeling road sign that read:
EXIT 41 – Scenic Overlook | Fruit Stand | Antique Store
“Fruit stand?”
He wiggled his brows. “Adventure.”
You rolled your eyes. “Fine. But if this turns into a weird horror movie setup, I’m leaving you behind.”
“Noted,” he said, already flipping on the turn signal.
^^^^^^^^
Twenty minutes later you stood at the edge of a hill, hair whipping in the breeze, holding a strawberry soda in one hand and a bag of peaches in the other.
The overlook was quiet, just a small gravel lot with a single picnic table and a stunning view of rolling hills and wide open sky. The woman at the fruit stand had called you two honeymooners and given you an extra apple “just in case.”
Taehyung climbed onto the table and stretched his arms behind his head, shirt riding up just enough to make you look away and then look back a second later.
“This feels fake,” you said, settling beside him.
“What does?”
“This.” You gestured at the view. “Us. The quiet. Everything.”
“It’s real,” he said simply. “Just rare.”
You sat in silence for a while, sharing sips of soda and stealing bites of fruit, letting your bodies lean into each other without needing to say anything.
Then, out of nowhere—
“Marry me.”
You choked.
Taehyung was grinning, not serious, but not exactly joking either.
“Excuse me?”
He shrugged. “Someday. If you’re bored. If you need someone to keep bringing you snacks and calling you pretty forever.”
You looked at him.
At his messy curls and his sun kissed skin and the way he was watching you like he knew how to wait a lifetime for the right moment.
And for the first time, the idea didn’t terrify you.
It made your heart ache in a way that felt good.
“Maybe,” you said.
“Maybe?”
“Ask me again at another fruit stand.”
He leaned in, kissed your temple, and whispered, “Deal.”
| 3 years later |
The first chill of autumn always brought you back to the beginning.
It made the air sharper. The coffee stronger. The campus quieter, like it was exhaling after the noise of summer. And tucked between the music hall and the campus bookstore, Bean There Café still looked the same—wobbly table legs, moody lighting, a playlist that always seemed to know how you were feeling.
Table Four hadn’t changed.
Still near the window. Still a little crooked. Still yours.
Taehyung sat sideways in his chair, sketchbook resting on his knee, his left foot nudging yours under the table every few minutes like he couldn’t help it. His curls were longer now, his rings flashier. But his smile? Still exactly the same.
Across from him, you were highlighting a research article, one AirPod in, your cardigan slipping off your shoulder in that way that always made him pause.
He watched you for a long time before speaking.
“You’re really gonna make me sit here and suffer without saying hi to me properly, baby?”
You didn’t look up. “We’ve been sitting here for twenty minutes.”
“Exactly. That’s twenty minutes of missed affection. I’m traumatized.”
You set your pen down and raised an eyebrow. “Would you like a sticker or a kiss?”
“Yes.”
You leaned across the table and kissed his cheek.
“Greedy,” you said.
“Hopeless,” he corrected. “Hopelessly greedy for you.”
You rolled your eyes but smiled, and Taehyung felt something settle in his chest like a song finishing its final note.
He reached into his bag and pulled out a folded piece of thick paper—worn at the edges, carefully smoothed out. He slid it across the table without ceremony.
You opened it slowly.
Inside was a new sketch. A recreation of Table Four—but not the one from the past. This time, there were two mugs. A laptop. Your favorite pen. A shared pastry. You were looking down, focused. Taehyung had drawn himself mid smile, eyes only on you.
In the corner, in soft graphite:
Still my favorite seat in the world.
You blinked hard.
“This is unfair,” you whispered.
“It’s accurate,” he said, already reaching for your hand. “You saved my heart when I didn’t even realize I’d given it away.”
“You’re being dramatic.”
“I’m being honest.”
You looked up at him. Your Taehyung. The man who once brought you croissants for no reason. Who waited. Who never asked for more than you could give, but always gave you more than you knew to want.
You squeezed his hand.
“I’m glad I sat down that day.”
“I’m glad I saw you.”
Outside, the wind rustled golden leaves against the glass. Someone near the register was humming along to a soft acoustic cover of a love song you both knew. The coffee still wasn’t great. The wi-fi still glitched near the counter. But none of it mattered.
Because this table—this moment—this love?
It was yours.
And it always would be.
| 6 years later |
It was a Thursday night in late spring, and the city had finally started to bloom again.
You and Taehyung had gone to dinner at your favorite spot—quiet, candlelit, familiar. He’d been soft all evening, affectionate in that barely contained way he got when something was brewing behind his eyes. The kind of soft where his hand found your lower back for no reason. The kind of soft where his eyes never stopped smiling, even when his mouth did.
“I still say I could’ve made better risotto,” you teased, tugging on his sleeve as the two of you walked back toward the car.
“Untrue,” he said. “You would’ve burned the pan and added too much salt.”
You gasped. “You love my over salted cooking.”
“I love you, baby,” he corrected. “The cooking is a side quest.”
He kissed your temple and opened the passenger door for you, sliding into the driver’s side a second later like he hadn’t been checking the time on his phone every five minutes during dinner.
You didn’t notice.
Too busy pulling off your earrings and mumbling about whether or not you left the porch light on back at the townhouse.
^^^^^^^^
Ten minutes into the drive, you pass it.
A fruit stand.
Small, rustic. Just off the edge of a quiet road near your neighborhood. The wood was painted with soft lavender accents and little twinkle lights strung above it. There was a handwritten chalkboard that read:
Fresh Strawberries • Homemade Peach Jam • Love Optional
You blinked. “That… wasn’t here last week.”
Taehyung’s grip on the wheel tightened. “Wanna stop?”
You hesitated.
He looked over, a small, unreadable smile pulling at his lips. “Adventure?”
Your heart kicked up—familiar, fond, warm.
You smiled. “Sure. But if this is another horror movie setup, I’m leaving you behind again.”
“My beautiful creature of habit.”
^^^^^^^^
The stand looked even more whimsical up close. There were bunches of baby’s breath in tiny mason jars, a crate of freshly baked mini pies, and baskets of strawberries that still smelled like sun.
You wandered toward a basket.
Taehyung stayed a few steps behind.
You reached for a peach. “This is so weird, who puts a random fruit—?”
When you turned, he wasn’t beside you.
He was kneeling.
One knee to the earth. Holding a ring box that looked like it had been in his pocket for weeks, like it had been waiting for the right moment. For the right stand.
Your breath caught in your throat.
You barely registered the wind.
Or the smell of strawberries.
Or the sound of the breeze rattling the twinkle lights.
“I asked you once at a fruit stand if you’d marry me,” Taehyung said, voice quiet but steady. “You said to ask again someday. At another stand.”
You blinked fast. “Tae—”
“I knew then. I knew before then. Before croissants. Before gummy bears. Before that first party and the first road trip and the first kiss you gave me when you didn’t even believe in love anymore.”
His voice cracked.
You hadn’t even realized you were crying until a tear landed on your thumb.
Taehyung smiled—shaky, bright. “I’ve spent every day since just being lucky enough to love you.”
The ring was delicate. Gold band with a peach colored diamond. Your style, down to the last glimmer.
“So now,” he continued, “I’m asking again. One more time, with no expiration date, no more waiting.”
He looked up at you, eyes shining.
“Will you marry me?”
Your knees gave a little.
You nodded, too fast. “Yes. Y-Yes, I will.”
The ring slid onto your finger like it had always belonged there.
You barely had time to breathe before Nia screamed from behind a car, “SHE SAID YES, Y’ALL—COME ON!”
Laughter and cheers exploded around you.
From behind every parked car friends and family poured out, cheering and shouting, phones up, cameras flashing. Jimin was in tears. Hoseok threw confetti that stuck in Taehyung’s hair. Seokjin was already handing out mini champagne bottles.
You covered your mouth in disbelief as your world rushed forward in color and light.
Taehyung pulled you into his chest, arms around your waist, spinning you slightly.
“I can’t believe you did all this,” you whispered into his shoulder.
“I would’ve shut down the whole city if you asked,” he said. “But this felt more like us.”
And it did.
A quiet road.
A handmade sign.
The kind of love that started with a croissant and a ‘maybe’ at table four.
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hiiii!!! may i request fragrant mashed potatoes + sweet madame + mint jelly and pop’s teas + dango milk + ketchup <3 maybe like back when he was still kunikuzushi, he had a lover, and before joining the fatui he promised to return to them? tyy!!
‿୨♡୧‿︵ BON APETIT MY FELLOW CUSTOMER ! ︵‿୨♡୧‿
name of order: we’ll meet again
date: scaramouche (w/ gn!reader)
receipt: fragrant mashed potatoes (scaramouche) + sweet madame (reunion) + mint jelly and pop’s teas (fluff with comfort) + dango milk (normal/normal au) + ketchup (hc scenario/bulleted form)
spices: spoilers to inazuma archon quest, spoilers to scaramouche’s real name, fluff/comfort, mentions of fighting, reader can shapeshift into a fox like yae, and this fic takes place during the 2.2 event (except scaramouche doesnt show up in the actual event)
ingredients: he promised that he’ll come back to you as soon when he grows powerful enough. he just didn’t think he’ll meet you this way.
chef’s note: wahh this is such a cute idea !! tysm anon for requesting, i hope this is to your liking <<3
there was once a time when scaramouche went by another name.
kunikuzushi was a name that’s nothing but a reminder of a harbinger’s past. a reminder of a mere prototype puppet who was kicked out by the raiden shogun herself, a “wandering eccentric“ who goes by no name until an act of revenge against a certain blacksmith,
and a lover of a certain inazuman who resides in tatarasuna, working under the guuji of the grand narukami shrine.
scaramouche could only wonder aimlessly if you were still waiting for him after so many years. are you still working for the grand narukami shrine? are you still as kind as he used to know you before when he first met you? do you even remember him if you ever see him?
the harbinger could only cover his face with his hat in shame. shamed that he never got the chance to come back again after so many years even when he vowed to return just for you.
the vow still stands in his empty chest that holds no heart, but would you say the same?
“fear not, dear kunikuzushi.” you said reassuringly, patting the man’s head with a smile. “no matter how time has long passed, i will always be here in inazuma waiting for you.”
you then gave him a large hat, something that he swears to himself to cherish. “take this as my farewell gift. if you ever miss me as much as i will be to you in the near future, you could always wear this hat and remember me.”
will you ever know how he rarely removes the very hat that you gave him?
you hoped he did.
you hoped, just like how a loved one does when a soldier goes to a war, that your dearest kunikuzushi is alright. you hoped, just like how a lover does when they think about their spouse, that he is happy as he could ever be even if you’re not the reason. you hoped, just like how a lover does when they’re away from their spouse, that he still thinks about you just as much as you do with him.
you just keep hoping and hoping as years go by, often visiting the place where you bid him farewell whenever you have the chance, only to sigh in dismay when you couldn’t see kunikuzushi anywhere.
“i suspect that i might find you here,” yae miko spoke up, walking towards you with a small smile on her face. “i was looking for you around the shrine for a task. is something on your mind?”
you slowly look away from the view of your old home that’s now ruined by the harsh thunderstorms in the past, looking at the guuji with a reassuring smile. “i’m just checking up on my old home as the usual, i apologize for not coming back sooner and worry you.” you replied.
“no need for the apologies. it’s not like this is your first time getting away and get distracted.” the woman reassures you with a chuckle.
there was no single soul who’s aware of your relationship with the lone puppet that the raiden shogun discarded except yae miko. although the woman isn’t quite fond of how you’re often distracted unlike before, she couldn’t blame you.
it’s just a shame that the fatui found him, the woman knows fully well that he won’t be able to come back to inazuma anytime soon but didn’t see the point in telling you, not wanting to destroy that hopeful look plastered on your face that she had grown used to see everyday.
“may i ask what task would you like me to fulfill, lady yae?” you ask.
“i’m afraid it’s not like any other tasks i’ve given you,” she warns, crossing her arms with an apologetic smile. “i need you to keep an eye on a certain harbinger that’s been lurking around the land. he’s a tall ginger-haired man with a hydro vision.”
you felt yourself stiffen at the mention of harbinger. “…does this harbinger have something to do with… kuni?” you ask hesitantly.
the woman shrugs in response. “unfortunatley i’m not exactly sure of the purpose of the harbinger’s visit to inazuma, but i suspect it has something to do with kunikuzushi and the electro gnosis – which is why i need you to keep an eye on him for now and see if he’s going to cause trouble.”
your heart leaped at the guuji mentioning your lover’s name. does this mean he hasn’t left the nation?
”i.. i’ll see what i can do, lady yae.“ you spoke, bowing your head to the woman before rushing down from the mountain, leaving yae miko alone with herself.
“..i could only hope to ei that you’ll manage to encounter kunikuzushi, y/n.” the woman mumbled, sighing before walking away towards her shrine.
—
it took you an hour to finally find the harbinger that yae described.
sure, it was a hassle, but after exploring and asking certain adventurers exploring, you manage to find the harbinger that’s been lurking around narukami island.
you stood behind one of the sakura trees disguised as a fox, watching the eleventh harbinger walking out from the place where the traveler and his friends ran in, causing your eyebrows to furrow. why did he come out from it alone? did he lay harm on the traveler?
“where could he be?” childe mumbles with a sigh, scratching the back of his neck as he walks around the area. “he better owe me a thrilling battle by the time i catch that man.”
could he be talking about kunikuzushi, you wonder?
you slowly sneak around the harbinger, curious with the harbinger’s words. surely if the ginger is looking for your lover, then that means he could still be here and hasn’t left the island with the gnosis, right?
you stopped pacing when you realized something.
if… kuni is actually here, then why didn’t he come visit you?
you could feel your blood running cold from that thought alone, mouth slightly open in shocked. surely kuni would actually come to you when he had the chance..? but then again, he didn’t even show himself when he came here for the raiden shogun’s gnosis.
“oh? i haven’t seen a fox like you in the wilderness before..” childe spoke up, looking down at you with a curious look on his face. “you must be a rare breed. you don’t look like those foxes from that village nearby.”
you paid no mind to how the harbinger now stands in front of you, frozen from the thoughts that suddenly made your heart dropped in dread. if kunikuzushi is in inazuma right now, where could he be? why didn’t he come visit you like he promised? did he.. forget about you?
“unless…” childe then smiles menacingly. “you could be one of those beings that can shapeshift.”
the harbinger’s words were enough for you to finally cut yourself off from your thoughts, immediately stepping away from the man as he summons his blades. you should’ve paid more attention to your mission! yae would’ve been disappointed if she finds out that you got carried away by your dumb thoughts!
before things could escalate even more, the harbinger suddenly drops his weapons.
you watched in confusion at the sight of childe letting out a gasp, clenching his teeth at the sudden overwhelming pain inside his body.
“don’t you dare lay a hand on them.”
your breath hitched at the sound of his voice.
…kunikuzushi?
you immediately felt alarmed from the purple smoke surrounding both you and childe — who’s now on his knees to the cold ground trying to breathe. “is this… is this one of your stupid— stupid traps, balladeer?” he asks, clutching his chest.
without hesitation, you turn around and see your lover in all his glory, standing a few steps away from you as he glares at the fallen harbinger.
“and here i thought i was better off with leaving you alone and fool you about my whereabouts,” he spoke to childe, clenching his fists. “but you just had to try and fight my lover.”
“and here i thought… i thought the ferocious balladeer wouldn’t have someone to call a lover.” the eleventh harbinger retorts with a smirk, only to gasp out for air when scaramouche suddenly makes the air around him more venomous.
“come, y/n,” he calls out to you in a soft tone- something that took you by surprise because of his sudden change of tone. “let’s get out of here before that rascal gets his hands on us.”
he didn’t have to ask twice.
—
“are you out of your mind? why the hell did you go to that harbinger of all people?! he could’ve killed you if it weren’t for me intervening!” he scolds you as the both of you stay in a camp that’s far away from where childe was, both of you were panting in exhaustion from running away.
“i apologize.. but please believe me when i say i didn’t mean to have my cover get revealed.” you said, not bothering to change your fox form. “i just.. got distracted by my thoughts.”
he furrows his eyebrows. “and what could possibly got you distracted?!”
“..i.. i was wondering why you didn’t visit me when you came here for.. the gnosis.” you hesitantly explained, looking away from your lover’s strong gaze in shame. “i just.. i just felt confused a-and maybe hurt that you probably didn’t want to see me after so many years.”
the both of you fell silent.
scaramouche stares deeply at your fox form, feeling conflicted.
“…change back to your normal form.” he commands, causing you to frown in confusion. what is he planning to do, exactly?
nevertheless, you followed your lover’s command and instantly changed back into your human form once more, still looking down at the ground with a frown plastered on your face.
your eyes widens when you felt arms wrapped around your body into a hug.
“you idiot,” he whispered. “you have no idea how much i’ve wanted to do this ever since i saw you in the place where i left.”
your breath hitches from his words. he… he saw you? he’s been visiting the place as well?
you quickly hug your lover back as well, lips quivering. “why didn’t you come to me if you saw me then? did you.. did you not want to see me ye—”
“god no,” scaramouche interrupts, clinging onto you tighter than before. “don’t you dare think that i’d hate to see you or forgot about you! i just didn’t know if you wanted to see me…”
you let out a laugh, realizing that the both of you were thinking the same thing. “of course i wanted to see you for so long dummy..”
the both of you stayed in the position for a while, enjoying each other’s warmth for as long as you’ve desired after so many years of being separated.
“i miss you.” you both said to each other at the same time out loud.
Orders
Horrortober Day 30: Blackmail “Why are you doing this to me?”
First time writing for Scara, aaaaaah! It was kind of hard but also satisfying? He has this two-faced personality and I think that’s just so neat for the yandere trope! Still, go easy on me for writing for him for the first time, thanks >-<
Warnings: Yandere, Blackmailing, Implied Violence, Pulling the reader by the hair, Intimidation Characters: Scaramouche/ Kunikuzushi / Balladeer x Reader
On your desk were the proofs and receipts of your failure.
Before you, the mocking grin of a wretched soul.
You stood over your desk, leaning down at it tensely, your hands curled into fists. If not for the fact that you did not want to give the Fatui the satisfaction of having anything on you, you would have liked to sit back and despair for a while. It was but a stupid joke that Scaramouche wanted to pull on you, but unfortunately, this joke would ruin you if you weren’t careful.
With the Tenryou Commission already having made dodgy dealings with the Fatui, maybe it shouldn’t have surprised you that the same mistakes were made in your own ranks. Perhaps you had been too proud to see them happening, but with everything that was collected before you, it would be your head on the line. For as long as you could think, you had worked diligently and in the best interest of your orders. Much better than what you could say about your underlings who seemed to have striven for greatness in a very different way than you.
What was so wrong about being honorable? You wondered about it as you pushed through the documents and letters scattered on the table. Why was it so hard not to give in to the temptation of power through crooked means? All you wanted now was to be frustrated and angry. To bring these miserable blokes to justice who risked not only their fates but yours as well. You’ve put so much into your unit’s training, trying to teach them values and treated them with the deserved respect. Yet, they walked all over you in the end.
“What do you want?” you grumbled, gnawing on your lip. Putting all the evidence of misconduct into a neat pile, you wanted to raise them in the air and throw them at the Balladeer’s smug face. How dare he even showed himself in front of you again. You sent him to the moon once, and nothing had changed about your opinion of him since then. Yet, he came back as if he was a welcome guest to your office, a grin on his face as if he knew more than you.
“Don’t make me repeat myself,” he scoffed, jokingly rolling his eyes before grinning again. “I need you to come with me. You are needed somewhere far away from here.”
“I don’t do business with your stinking organization,” you retorted, hissing the words in the hope he’d finally get the message. Scaramouche had been bugging you with this before, asking you to leave with him in case things go and don’t go the way he was planning. Crazy, considering you didn’t know him at all.
“So, you’re going to stay and see how your unit, your lifelong work, all just goes down the gutter? I can respect your worth ethic, but don’t you think you’re a little cruel to yourself?”
Getting up from his chair, Scaramouche let out a long sigh before he leaned over the desk, bringing his face too close for comfort. But you’d not back away. You had been fighting scarier opponents than the ones that looked like they were merely ten years old, yet talked like they ruled over the land you were standing on.
“You know nothing about us! Maybe if you dirty Fatui didn’t spread rumors and your disgusting Delusions, no one would have considered being led on by you!”
Even though you spat the words into his face, Scaramouche wasn’t backing away from you either. It was grossly obvious he enjoyed the challenge you were giving him, and you wondered if his life was so dull that bothering you was his only joy. “Maybe,” he chuckled.
The sudden feeling of a strange touch enveloped your fists which helped you lean on the table. A glance down, and you saw two hands caressing your skin curiously, Scaramouche only leaning closer in the moment you were distracted. “You will never know about what could have been. There is only the future we can change.”
Ripping your hands away from him, you finally recoiled. Even though you wanted to be strong and steady, not at the cost of having to be touched by someone who disgusted you so much. There were no words to describe the feeling of hatred you had for this man, who seemed to have singled you out. You barely believed your eyes when you saw him standing in your doorway, your last information having been that he left with the Fatui after their plot was uncovered.
Though you were wringing your hands to get the feeling of his fingertips off of you, it was no use. His touch was sticking to you like tree sap, repulsive, but the feeling always remained. “There is no ‘we’ in this. My future, my decisions.”
Before he could say anything more, you grabbed the papers, carrying them to the fireplace and feeding the hungry flames that awaited them. You’d have to deal with these problems, but not with the seemingly fake pieces of evidence and documents. One soldier at a time would get their deserved punishment, but you didn’t need the help of a Fatui Harbinger to do that. Clapping your hands and turning back to him, you sneered at Scaramouche from above, asking, “Anything else?”
He only continued to smile calmly, pulling another paper from his pocket and another. “How many copies do you think I have? Did you really think I’d give you the original documents? For how stupid do you take me?”
Your face dropped as you watched him produce copies left and right, almost enough to send them to every important person in Inazuma. “It’s not worth staying here, right? If anyone finds these, they will think you couldn’t stand the guilt anymore and abandoned your post. Don’t worry, we’ll be long gone by then,” he taunted you, and you tried to hide your discomposure behind anger.
“Why are you doing this to me?!” you yelled at him, losing it as he wouldn’t stop his mockery. But Scaramouche’s grin only widened in joy as he saw you lose all your cool, exactly what he wanted. He wanted to see this suffering side of you, the desperation and anger. It must have been all that’s on his mind since he came well-prepared to this meeting, one that would - if it came out you were meeting with a Fatui - already get you fired from this position you worked so hard for and had been so proud of for many years.
Finally, he stopped producing papers. No more evidence were left in his little scheme to get what he wanted, but it was enough to get you all executed. His focus was back at you wholly as he approached. Hands outstretched, he searched for yours that you folded in towards your chest, unwilling to hand them over. But you didn’t have to. Scaramouche took what he wanted regardless of how you felt about it.
“I’ve been doing all this for you, don’t you understand it? Now you’re free, and we can start over! So come with me, stop pretending it’s not what you want!”
Unable to understand what he meant, you shook your head in confusion, but Scaramouche’s grip only tightened, squeezing your hands so hard they began pumping blood through them. Free? Free of what? And what were you pretending in his opinion? The enthusiasm he had previously displayed as he threw those fake truths at you disappeared as you remained unwilling to join his joy. His expression turned into a dreadful scowl, and he gave your hands a firm tug, making you almost lose your balance as you didn’t expect it.
“Why do you keep pretending you don’t want to be with me? Are you sick? Broken? Do you need fixing? Why would you keep trying to stay here when you can be with me? You’re so annoying! Make up your mind!”
A tirade of words was screamed at your face as you desperately tried to keep up. Scaramouche was pulling you forward towards the door, more and more against your will, all while you didn’t know what any of his actions meant. You were lost, but you couldn’t help thinking that he seemed to be as well. “Stop it!” you barked back at him loudly, and only for a moment you managed to catch him off-guard, his expression showing the surprise about the loud order you made.
And suddenly, everything seemed to get worse.
“Stop?” he mumbled, narrowing his eyes dangerously. “I haven’t even started yet, you unthankful pest.”
You were thrown to the floor with unknown strength, though you quickly regained your clear thinking after the initial shock. Looking up at him, for the first time he seemed tall and scary to you as if he was going to stomp you into the ground any second now. “All I’ve been doing was for you to love me,” he revealed, and you grew more restless by the second. Who was he? You two never interacted more than once before this. Why did he think it was okay to treat you this way?
“So now, you have to love me, no matter what. You’ll come with me, even if it’s the last thing you do.”
Reaching for you, you hid your face as his hands closed in, fingers curling into your hair instead. Screams of pain erupted from your throat he pulled you after him with ease. There was no one around who could have saved you, you realized as you opened your eyes mid-scream, seeing all the bodies of your unit slumped against the walls and floor of your office building.
“See what I did for you? I prepared all these presents, you ungrateful wretch! Just for you! Be thankful and love me!”
“Stop it!” you bellowed at the top of your lunges, trying to claw at his hand buried in your hair, wanting him to let go. You had to do something! Those were still your soldiers! They relied on your help! No matter what they did wrong, they didn’t deserve to be treated this way, disrespectfully and horrifying!
“You’ll learn it soon enough,” Scaramouche laughed, though his voice carried bitterness in it now.
“I give the orders here.”
Stolen Orbit
pairing: jungkook x reader
genre: alien au, yandere jk, dark horror, enemies to lovers,
summary: you were meant for eradication with the rest of your planet—erased without a trace, just another speck in the galaxy's endless purge. but jeongguk saw you. fragile, insignificant... human. and something his kind had long forgotten stirred in him. Instead of erasing your existence, he took you, stole you from extinction and made you his.
now you live in a celestial cage, adored and possessed by something not quite capable of love, but desperate to keep you. he doesn't understand your fear, your resistance, but he craves your surrender all the more because of it. and if it takes breaking you to make you his completely... he will.
warnings: slow burn, mass extermination, alien jungkook forced captivity/proximity, psychological manipulation, stockholm syndrome, dubcon, smut, ritualistic copulation
word count: 5,857
The Beginning
The sky split open the night they came. You didn’t see it at first, no one did.
You brushed your teeth that night. Standing in your tiny bathroom beneath flickering fluorescent lights, humming faintly to music you can’t remember anymore. A song that cut out mid chorus when everything else did.
You paused, frowned, the mirror vibrated faintly, a shiver running across your reflection. Confused, you flicked the light switch. Nothing.
Reach for your phone. Dead.
Outside, the city dimmed as though someone had thrown a heavy blanket over the world. Buildings blinked out, window by window. Cars stalled silently in the streets.
Then came the sirens. Low and unearthly, vibrating deep in your chest rather than ringing in your ears.
You pressed your palms to the vanity, trying to pinpoint the source.
No alarms.
No helicopters.
No dogs barking or people yelling in the distance.
Just… stillness.
Until the sky broke.
You saw it from your window, face pale in the glass as blackness carved itself across the heavens like a wound tearing through flesh.
It didn’t glow or rage, it hummed.
And through that terrible void came beams of sterile white light.
You watched—paralyzed—as they swept through the streets, swallowing people whole. No fire, no blood, they simply ceased.
Your neighbor clutching her husband on the balcony. The delivery boy halfway up the stairs. A child pedaling frantically on his bicycle.
Gone.
Your mouth moved, but no sound came out. By the time your legs remembered how to function, chaos had bloomed outside.
Screams.
Desperate, useless prayers. People running without knowing where safety even existed.
It didn’t matter.
Your chest crushed inward as panic overtook you. You grabbed your phone, screaming into dead silence, dialing numbers that wouldn’t connect.
Your father’s voicemail.
Your sister’s disconnected line.
The beams moved without emotion, erasing everything they touched as easily as wiping chalk from a board. You don’t remember deciding to run. You don’t remember leaving your apartment. You only remember the maintenance tunnels.
You shoved yourself beneath concrete and metal, nails splitting and bleeding as you slammed the hatch shut above you.
And there you stayed.
For minutes.
Hours.
Days.
Time broke.
The silence that followed was not peaceful.
It was dead.
::::::::::::
When you woke, it was worse. Not because you survived. Not even because the world was gone.
But because you weren’t there anymore.
Your eyes opened to sterility. Smooth, seamless walls of faintly glowing white, like pearl carved from bone. No corners or seams. Just endless smoothness in every direction, as though the room itself were grown rather than built.
There were no windows.
No doors.
Only a faint humming, familiar and yet not. Not the gentle whir of an AC or the buzz of old light bulbs. This was deeper, vibrating at a frequency that scraped against the base of your skull. It sounded like something alive.
You sat up too fast, your breath catching painfully in your throat.
The bed beneath you was impossibly soft, molding to your shape like memory foam, but it didn’t feel right. It smelled faintly of something sweet and sterile, like a flower that had never known dirt.
You clutched the sheets tighter to your chest, your head spinning.
“Hello?” you rasped. No answer, just the never ending hum.
You tried again.
“HELLO?”
Your voice echoed strangely, rebounding without substance, as though the room itself were swallowing the sound.
A prickling sensation raced down your spine as you scrambled to your feet. Your legs were weak and shaky, like you hadn’t used them in days. You stumbled toward the nearest wall and pressed your palms flat against it.
It was warm.
Not cold like metal. Not smooth like glass.
Warm, as though the structure around you was some kind of living skin.
You recoiled instinctively.
“What the fuck,” you whispered.
Your chest heaved as you tried to remember.
Where were you?
Where was your family?
Had you died?
The last thing you remembered was hiding. Listening to the world end. And then— nothing. Your stomach twisted violently. Panic set in like lead poisoning, slow but lethal. You began slamming your fists against the wall.
“LET ME OUT!”
“WHERE AM I?!”
Nothing. No doors appeared, no voices responded. But the hum grew louder, though, it didn’t feel or sound angry. Not mechanical.
It sounded oddly interested.
You froze, pressing your back against the bed as a low chime resonated throughout the space. The wall directly across from you rippled, like the surface of a pond disturbed by a stone, and opened.
A doorway formed from nothing, and something stepped through.
At first, you thought he was wrong. Everything about him felt off in ways your mind couldn’t fully process.
Tall—towering—with limbs too graceful and too fluid to be comforting.
Skin pale and luminous, glowing softly from within, threaded with faint iridescence that shifted as he moved. Hair dark and weightless, littered with braids adorned with glimmering otherworldly metals, drifting as though underwater. Framing features too symmetrical, too perfect.
And his eyes.
They were unsettling, solid black at first glance.
But as he drew closer, they shifted—illuminated galaxies of silver, violet, and deep cosmic blues, swirling softly in patterns that hurt to stare at for too long.
You stumbled backward, your legs colliding with the bed as your pulse thundered.
He did not flinch, but instead stepped closer.
Graceful. Effortless.
You couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. Every primitive instinct screamed at you to run, but your body betrayed you. He tilted his head as he regarded you.
Not cruelly, not kindly. Curiously.
His voice slid across your mind rather than your ears.
“You are… fragile.”
You flinched, shaking your head as if a bug was caught in your hair. The words felt invasive, sliding into your consciousness without permission.
He stepped closer.
“I am Jeongguk.”
The name thrums with alien cadence, yet tastes almost familiar in your mind. His glowing eyes flicker faintly, as if pleased by your terror.
“You reside aboard Virexum,” he continues calmly. “This vessel collects and preserves what remains after eradication.”
“Eradication?” you whisper, voice hollow.
“Earth was terminated.”
A pause, as if considering how much you can process. “Your species had reached decay. Pollution. War. Rot. The Kaereth do not preserve weakness. We cleanse.”
The words hit harder than any weapon. You shake your head violently, sobbing openly now.
Your father, your sister. They’re…gone?
“No. No, you can’t— you didn’t—”
“It was mercy.”
His voice softens slightly, but not kindly. “Existence without evolution is entropy. The Kaereth do not allow suffering. We end it.”
You can’t breathe.
You drop to your knees, pressing your palms to your face as the horror swells and breaks inside you.
But he does not.
Tears flooded your vision, hot and blinding as your sobs shattered the sterile silence, ugly and helpless.
He watches you the way one might watch a dying star—quietly admiring, deeply fascinated.
When you finally stilled, he crouched before you, his claws retracting as he reached out. You recoiled instinctively, but he only touched your hair, brushing it back from your damp face with a tenderness that felt foreign.
“I did not erase you,” he murmurs.
You flinch, but his hand cradles your face delicately, tipping it up so you have no choice but to meet his gaze.
“You glowed,” he says, softer now. Almost enthralled.
“Amidst destruction, you clung to life. You burned brighter than the dying world around you. You will not suffer,” he said quietly. “You are mine now. You will be kept.”
Kept.
The word echoed as he stood again, gesturing to the room around you. “This is yours. Safe. Nourishing. You will adjust.”
You choked on disbelief.
“Why me?”
He paused.
And for the first time since he arrived, his expression shifted. His eyes darkened. His lips parted just slightly, almost pious.
“Because,” he murmured, as though speaking to himself, “you glowed brightest before death.”
With that, he turned and left, the wall sealing behind him in silence.
Leaving you alone with the hum, and the terrible, hollow truth that you were the last of your kind. And you were his now.
Whatever that meant.
Whatever that would become.
::::::::::::
You don’t remember sleeping, but when your eyes open again, raw and heavy from hours of silent sobbing, the room is dimmer. The walls, once glowing faintly like a moonlit sea, have softened to a deep, low shimmer, as though mimicking the concept of nighttime.
You’re still here.
Still locked in this dreamless nightmare of seamless walls and soundless air.
Still wearing the thin, pale shift you woke up in, neither warm nor cold, but irritating in its neutrality.
Still alone.
Except… you aren’t.
You feel him before you see him. The hum of the room changes. Deepens, sharpens as though the ship itself reacts to his presence.
You sit up slowly, wiping your face, throat dry from hours of ragged breathing.
When the wall ripples open again, it’s almost gentle. Less like a command, and more like the way curtains are drawn back to allow moonlight in.
And there he stands.
Jeongguk.
Alien. Impossibly elegant.
Unfathomably tall, framed in the soft glow as though carved from the bones of dying stars.
You freeze when his eyes meet yours, not because they’re cruel. But because they are intent.
Hungry.
Unblinking.
“You are awake.”
His voice slides across your mind again, as smooth as silk and as cold as space.
You swallow tightly, sitting rigid on the edge of the bed. Your legs are weak, but you fight to keep your spine straight.
“Please,” you whisper hoarsely, the word tasting hollow in your mouth. “Please just tell me what you want from me.”
He pauses.
“I have told you,” he says, moving forward, soundless as shadow. “You are mine. You will be kept. That is what I want.”
His words make your stomach twist violently. You push up from the bed, backing away until your shoulder blades press into the wall behind you.
“You can’t just— keep me!”
Your voice cracks, teetering between hysteria and disbelief.
“I’m not some… some thing you can collect!”
He stops mid step, considering.
His expression doesn’t change and yet, you can feel the weight of his scrutiny press down on you.
“Incorrect,” he says softly, as though correcting a child. “You are precious. Not a ‘thing’. Not to me.”
You open your mouth to argue, to scream, but your breath catches as something changes.
The bioluminescent lines across his body shift subtly. They pulse gently.
You don’t know why, but the sight makes your heart stutter.
Is that emotion?
Before you can question it, he raises one hand.
A low chime echoes through the room, and from the far wall, a smooth panel unfolds. It reveals a strange, device that emits fragrant steam.
Your stomach clenches painfully as your senses recognize what it is before your mind does.
Food.
Or, at least, something meant to replicate it. Soft, pale orbs float in an iridescent broth, giving off a smell not unlike fresh bread and honey.
It should be comforting.
But in this place, nothing feels comforting.
“You have not consumed nourishment in sixteen of your planet’s hours,” Jeongguk says calmly, gesturing toward the offering.
“Your body weakens. This is inefficient.”
You hesitate, eyeing the bowl warily.
“I’m not hungry,” you lie.
His head tilts, faintly reptilian in the gesture, and for the first time, a flicker of something sharper edges into his tone.
“You will eat.”
The words are not barked.
Not threatening.
But absolute.
You stare back at him, shaking slightly.
And when you make no move to comply, he steps forward and takes the bowl himself, walking closer until he is far too near. He crouches, folding gracefully in front of you like a predator settling in for the kill.
But instead of violence, he offers you the bowl directly.
Holding it out, waiting patiently.
“Eat,” he murmurs.
His eyes glow faintly as they fix on your face.
“For me.”
Your lips part helplessly. Something in the way he says it. Quiet, almost intimately, sends your skin crawling and burning at once.
You hate him.
You hate him.
You hate him.
And yet…
Your body obeys. Your fingers tremble as you accept the bowl, lifting one of the pale orbs to your lips.
It tastes… nothing like food.
But it dissolves softly on your tongue, leaving behind warmth that creeps slowly down your throat.
Not unpleasant, not pleasurable. Just… filling.
Sustaining.
You eat in silence, aware of his unwavering gaze as you do. When the bowl empties, he takes it back carefully, setting it aside.
“Better,” he says quietly.
You can’t meet his eyes.
The tears come again without permission, sliding hot and heavy down your face. You curl in on yourself, trying to muffle the broken sounds that escape your throat.
And then… a touch.
Featherlight at first, fingers ghosting against your temple, sliding into your hair.
You tense, but he does not press.
“You fear me.” His words are not questioning. “Good. It is natural. You are fragile.”
Your breath hitches painfully.
His hand slips lower, knuckles grazing your cheek with maddening delicacy.
“But fear will fade,” he continues softly. “In time, you will see. I am not cruel. I am constant. You will not be harmed. You will be… cherished.”
You turn your head away sharply and his fingers slip free, but you feel the weight of his focus intensify.
“You misunderstand your position,” he murmurs. “Earth is gone. You are alone in a universe that has no place for you. No one will come for you. No one can.”
You clench your fists tightly in your lap, the truth cutting deeper than his touch ever could.
“Why me?” you ask, voice breaking. “Why not let me die with the rest?”
He leans in slightly, his presence invading your every sense.
“Because when others knelt and wept… you raged,” he whispers. “You burned. You clung to life with ferocity. That is rare.”
His eyes soften, if such a thing is possible for something so alien.
“I collect what should not exist.” A faint smile, too serene, too knowing. “You are an anomaly. You are mine.”
You bite down hard on your lower lip, forcing back another sob.
“This isn’t cherishing,” you whisper bitterly.
“This is prison.”
He doesn’t flinch. Instead, he rises slowly, towering over you once more. His hands fold neatly behind his back. The perfect image of composed, regal authority.
“No,” he agrees softly. “This is preservation.”
He steps back toward the door, but his voice reaches you again as it ripples open to accept him.
“Rest. I will return when you are calmer.”
A pause.
“And eventually… you will thank me.”
Then he is gone.
And you’re eft in the silence once more—but not alone.
Not really.
Because his scent still lingers. His voice still hums faintly in your mind. And worse, you realize part of you is already listening for his return.
::::::::::::
You don’t see him again for three cycles. You don’t know how you know this. There’s no sun here, no night and day, no ticking clock on sterile walls—but your body remembers.
It remembers the ache of hunger.
The slow unraveling of sanity when left in isolation. The bone deep dread that blooms in the absence of any other voice but your own.
For seventy two hours, maybe more, maybe less, you are alone.
The ship hums softly at all hours, the walls glowing faintly like a slumbering beast. Your room, if you can even call it that, remains locked.
No doors.
No windows.
Just blank, seamless walls and a bed that conforms to your every restless shift.
Food appears twice, delivered silently through a hidden panel in the wall, but you ignore it. You sit curled on the bed, stomach clenching painfully, but you refuse to give in.
Not again, not after last time.
He’d fed you like a child.
Watched you with something sickly tender in his eyes while you cried and ate and fell apart in front of him.
No.
You will not make this easy for him. Your anger is all you have left. The only shield between you and the quiet, desperate terror that creeps in when you allow yourself to feel anything else.
So you don’t eat.
You don’t sleep.
You don’t talk to the empty room, no matter how loud the silence becomes.
You wait.
Because you know he’ll come back, of course he will.
Men like him, things like him, always come back.
And when he does, you are ready.
—
He appears on the fourth cycle.
Not like before, there’s no grand entrance. No rippling doors or ominous hums.
You wake to find him already there, standing at the foot of the bed like a phantom who has always belonged in your nightmares. He watches you in silence, arms folded behind his back, eyes glowing softly in the low light.
You glare at him, lips cracked from dehydration.
He says nothing.
“Fuck you.”
Your voice scrapes like gravel against your raw throat, but it feels good to say.
Good to bite, even if your teeth barely graze.
His head tilts slightly, that same alien gesture that makes your stomach turn.
“You are weakening,” he observes softly, almost clinically. “Your refusal to consume nourishment endangers your cellular structure. This is illogical.”
You laugh, sharp and brittle.
“Good. Let me die, then.”
For the first time, his expression shifts, not dramatically, but his brows knit slightly, his mouth drawing in the faintest sliver.
He doesn’t like that.
“Negative,” he says quietly, stepping closer. “I will not allow termination.”
You push yourself up on shaking arms, baring your teeth in something that feels more animal than human.
“I don’t belong to you. You can’t keep me like this. Feeding me, locking me in this—this cage! I’ll starve before I let you win.”
His eyes narrow faintly, glowing brighter. “You misunderstand,” he murmurs, his voice lowering dangerously.
“This is not a contest,” he moves closer, slow, deliberate steps that make your pulse spike and your limbs tremble. “This is inevitability.”
You scramble off the bed, stumbling backward until your spine hits the wall. His presence consumes the room, filling every atom of available space, as though the ship itself responds to his shifting mood.
He stands before you now, towering and still.
“You may resist,” he allows softly. “You may cry, scream, refuse… for a time.”
His hand rises, not threatening, but steady as his fingers gently, maddeningly, brush your jaw. The touch sends a bolt of revulsion and something more complicated spiraling through you.
“But you will acclimate.”
His voice vibrates softly in your bones, dangerous in its certainty.
You slap his hand away, the sound cracking through the air like gunfire.
For a moment, nothing happens.
He simply stares at you, the tips of his fingers still poised where they had been, motionless, as though stunned.
And then…he withdraws, silently. Without anger or words. Simply steps back, gaze unreadable, and turns for the door.
Panic flashes hot and instant through your chest. “No—” you gasp, confused by your own terror at his sudden departure.
He stops just before the wall seals behind him. For the first time, his voice emerges aloud, not through your mind, but spoken.
Low.
Flat.
Cold.
“You have chosen isolation.”
Then he’s gone, and so is everything else.
The hum of the ship fades, the lights dim to near darkness. The temperature drops, not enough to freeze, but enough to chill your skin, to make your breath puff faintly in the air.
The bed retracts into the wall.
The food panel vanishes.
You are left standing in nothing.
Cold.
Alone.
—
For hours—maybe days—you are abandoned to the hollow, oppressive silence.
Your tears dry.
Your voice fades from hoarseness to nothing. Your legs give out, and you curl on the hard floor, clutching yourself tightly as sleep eludes you in the endless dark.
You hate him.
You hate him.
You hate him.
But when the wall finally ripples open again, soft, warm light spilling through and his tall, silent figure appears in the doorway once more, you sob.
Relief.
Humiliation.
Rage.
You don’t understand which emotion is which anymore.
He crosses the threshold slowly, eyes glowing faintly in gentle shades of blue and pink. Soft, careful, like a predator soothing prey after the kill.
Without speaking, he kneels before you, gathering your shaking body into his arms. You don’t fight him this time.
You can’t.
You’re too cold.
Too broken.
His hand strokes your hair as he murmurs something low in his language, soft syllables that sound like lullabies from a galaxy you will never see.
“I will not harm you,” he whispers, pressing his lips against your temple. “Do not make me hurt you through absence again; I ache.”
Your fingers clutch his robe weakly, sobs muffled against his chest.
“I hate you,” you whisper, but it’s empty.
Weak.
He hums softly.
“I know.”
He pulls you closer, cradling you as though you are delicate and rare, because to him, you are.
“And yet you need me.”
You can’t argue.
Not right now.
Not when his warmth is the only thing that feels real in this endless void of stars and silence.
::::::::::::
You don’t sleep, even when your body begs you to.
Sleep would mean trusting the silence, surrendering.
So you lay awake on the strange, pliant surface that the ship has provided. Not quite a bed, but softer than the floor that left your bones aching and cold during your punishment.
You are still recovering from that.
The ache of isolation.
The terror of being truly, utterly alone.
But more than that… you are recovering from the humiliation.
Because when he returned, when he found you curled and trembling, teeth chattering and face raw from tears, you clung to him.
You didn’t mean to.
Your body simply reacted, desperate and starved for anything warm and familiar.
Your fingers twisted into the dark folds of his robes, your face pressed into the cool planes of his chest, and you wept like a creature broken open.
And Jeongguk did nothing but hold you.
No words.
No threats.
No cruel satisfaction.
Just stillness.
Just presence.
His hands stroked your back, slow and repetitive, the way you imagine one might soothe a terrified animal.
His head bent low, his breath ghosting against your temple as he whispered words in a language your mind couldn’t translate, soft and melodic, making you feel drunk with the weight of them.
Even now, hours later, his scent still lingers on your skin.
Warm and metallic.
Alien and oddly sweet.
Like lightning woven into silk.
You hate that you find comfort in it now. You hate yourself more than you hate him, but the truth is suffocating in its simplicity.
You needed him.
And he knew it.
—
The door ripples again, seamlessly and without warning. You stiffen instinctively, heart leaping to your throat.
But when Jeongguk steps through, he does not bring the same oppressive energy he had before.
There is no towering, silent menace, or sharp glint of irritation or frustration in his starlit eyes.
Instead…he looks calm, serene, even.
His robes have changed. Still dark, but lighter now. Softer. He wears no armor, or sharp adornments. His hair hangs loose, gleaming faintly in the ship’s low bioluminescence.
He looks… domestic.
If such a word could ever apply to him.
The ship itself seems to respond, the walls brightening subtly, soft, ambient pulses that make the air feel warmer somehow.
More intimate.
Less clinical.
It unnerves you more than his previous coldness.
“Good,” he says quietly, his voice sliding into your consciousness with practiced ease. “You remain.”
You glare at him, but your body betrays you again, relaxing minutely at the familiar cadence of his presence.
“I didn’t exactly have a choice, did I?” you mutter bitterly.
Jeongguk tilts his head slightly, considering.
“No,” he agrees softly. “But you remained nonetheless.”
The phrasing makes something twist painfully low in your stomach. Before you can respond, he approaches, slow, careful steps as though approaching something fragile.
Which, in his eyes, you suppose you are.
He lowers himself gracefully beside you on the bed like surface, close enough that you feel the subtle hum of his energy brushing against your skin.
“I have observed,” he begins, tone thoughtful. “Prolonged isolation causes distress beyond simple physical discomfort in your species.”
You scoff, wrapping your arms around your knees protectively.
“Yeah. That’s called being human.”
He hums softly, as though filing the information away like a precious resource.
“I have no desire to harm you, little star,” he murmurs, and his hand lifts, pausing in the air between you, as if seeking silent permission.
You don’t give it.
But you don’t pull away when his fingers brush lightly across your hair, tucking it back from your face.
His touch is careful.
Maddening.
“I desire only your peace.”
You choke on a bitter laugh.
“Peace? You abducted me, destroyed my planet, locked me in this ship and act like that’s kindness.”
His expression softens, strangely fond despite your venom.
“You misunderstand,” he says gently.
“I did not destroy your planet. I spared you from its fate.”
His fingers trail down, brushing against the curve of your cheek, the line of your jaw, and you shiver despite yourself.
“You were meant to end,” he continues softly, voice almost hypnotic. “But you burned. You raged. You survived.”
His thumb strokes softly against your lower lip, a touch so tender you forget, briefly, how much you despise him.
“You are rare,” he murmurs. “And rare things are not discarded. They are treasured.”
The words settle in your chest like poison wrapped in silk. You should recoil, should slap his hand away, curse him until your throat gives out.
But instead…you close your eyes.
Just for a moment.
Just long enough to feel the soft press of his palm against your cheek, anchoring you in this strange, terrible reality.
He takes your silence as permission.
Of course he does.
“Good,” he breathes, satisfaction humming softly in his voice. “You are learning.”
You force your eyes open, glaring weakly at him.
“Learning what?”
His lips curl faintly, not quite a smile, but something disturbingly close.
“To accept.”
You hate him.
You hate him.
But when he shifts closer, pressing his body flush to yours, wrapping an arm carefully around your shoulders, you don’t pull away.
You are cold.
You are tired.
You are alone.
And he is warm.
He is steady.
He is here.
You rest your head against his shoulder before you can think better of it, disgust warring with relief in your chest.
Jungkook says nothing, but the ship hums softly around you, glowing faintly in shades of rose and gold. Contentment radiating from every surface.
You don’t realize how tightly you’ve curled against him until his mouth brushes the crown of your head.
“You will see soon,” he murmurs, words sinking deep into your bones. “I am not your enemy. I am your only constant.”
You fall asleep before you can argue. And for the first time since Earth fell, you sleep through the cycle without waking to scream.
::::::::::::
You wake to warmth.
Not the clinical, neutral temperature of the ship. That engineered comfort that feels more like a lack of discomfort than real heat but true warmth.
Soft.
Heavy.
Alive.
For a moment, your mind refuses to grasp why.
You are tucked beneath something impossibly smooth and weighty , fabric like liquid silk draped over your body, cocooning you in decadent softness.
And behind you, against the curve of your spine, something solid.
Firm.
Breathing.
A heartbeat thrums, steady and deep, so close it vibrates through your back and into your bones.
Not the ship.
Him.
Jeongguk.
You go rigid before you can think. Your hands clench the sheets, alien and faintly iridescent m, as you strain to control your breathing.
You are being held, no, you are being kept.
His arm is heavy across your waist, claws retracted but still unsettling, his fingers resting just beneath your ribcage with terrifying intimacy. His face is pressed lightly to the crown of your head, long hair brushing against your temple like ghost silk.
For several agonizing seconds, you debate your options.
Pull away.
Wake him.
Escape—if that’s even possible anymore.
But as your heart hammers and your stomach twists, you realize something worse.
You don’t want to move.
Because for the first time in what feels like forever, you are not cold, you are not alone, or terrified of what silence might bring.
You are simply… held.
And that, somehow, feels more dangerous than anything he’s done so far.
He stirs before you can make a decision.
The shift is subtle, the faint tightening of his grip, the softening of his breath, the way the ship’s hum lifts faintly, mirroring the change in atmosphere.
Then his voice slides into your mind, quieter than usual.
Thicker.
“You are awake.”
You flinch slightly, but he does not move away. Instead, he exhales slowly, the sound almost… content.
“You slept well,” he murmurs aloud this time, his voice low and textured, as though speaking in words costs him more effort than using your mind.
“You did not cry.”
Shame burns through you instantly. You twist beneath his arm, trying to put space between your bodies, but his hold tightens slightly.
“No,” he says softly, head dipping lower so that his breath brushes the shell of your ear. “Stay.”
Your heart races painfully.
“Why?” you whisper, hating the smallness in your voice.
His answer is simple.
“Because you do not truly wish to leave.”
You freeze.
He doesn’t say it cruelly.
He doesn’t taunt or mock.
He speaks it as though it is a fact he has long since accepted and is merely waiting for you to do the same.
Before you can respond, he shifts, drawing back just enough to allow you to turn and face him. The sight steals the words from your throat.
Up close, he is devastating.
More than alien.
More than beautiful.
His features are carved from something you do not have words for, too elegant to be called soft, too precise to be human. His silver violet eyes glow faintly in the dimness, framed by dark lashes that cast delicate shadows across high cheekbones.
But it is the way he looks at you that truly leaves you breathless.
Not with desire.
Not with hunger.
With… possession. As though you are the first and only star in his universe.
You turn your face away, pulse hammering.
“Stop looking at me like that.”
He does not obey.
“Like what?”
“Like I’m—”
You falter, teeth sinking into your lower lip.
“Yours,” you finish bitterly.
His hand moves, fingers brushing your jaw, guiding you gently to meet his gaze again.
“You are mine,” he murmurs softly, as though stating something as mundane as the time of day. “You remain only because I desire it. You live because I allow it. You breathe because I have given you this sanctuary.”
The words are cruel in logic, yet his voice is gentle.
You tremble beneath the weight of them, but he only continues, thumb stroking softly against your cheekbone.
“But you do not need to fear that.” He leans closer, voice dropping lower, coaxing you like one would soothe a frightened animal.
“You do not need to fight so hard. You are cared for. Sheltered. Treasured.”
You want to scream. Want to tell him how wrong he is, how suffocating this is.
But your body remembers the days alone in the dark.
The cold.
The ache.
The crushing silence that left you frantic and desperate for any presence at all. And your body, traitorous and desperate, does not want to return to that.
So instead, you say nothing.
You simply let him hold you.
Let his touch stroke soothing patterns against your spine.
Let your eyes slip closed, not because you want him, but because for now… he feels safe.
—
The days that follow blur together.
Jeongguk becomes a near constant presence, no longer leaving for long stretches. He is always near. Quietly watching, quietly touching, quietly existing in every corner of your small world.
Meals are no longer delivered in silence.
Now, he brings them himself, sitting beside you as you eat, observing your reactions with soft fascination, as though memorizing every flicker of expression.
He asks questions, though never demands answers.
“Why do you frown when eating this?”
“Does this flavor please you more?”
“Do you enjoy these colors?”
It’s strange. Stranger still when you find yourself answering.
Not out of obligation or out of fear. But because the emptiness left by silence is worse.
You talk quietly, giving short answers at first, but over time, they grow longer. You explain foods you miss. You describe music, books, seasons. You speak of snow and rain and laughter, and though he listens with alien detachment, he seems oddly enchanted by your words.
“You will show me,” he says one cycle, after you describe autumn leaves falling in lazy spirals.
You blink at him in confusion.
“Earth is gone.”
His head tilts.
“Virexum can make what you desire.”
You do not know whether to be horrified or grateful. But when the next cycle arrives, your room transforms.The walls ripple and shift until soft amber light filters through projected trees.
Illusions of wind rustle leaves that glow faintly gold and crimson.
You laugh, startled and disbelieving.
And Jeongguk…
He smiles.
Not wide.
Not human.
But soft, and faintly victorious.
As though every small inch you offer him, every smile, every word, every sigh, is another chain wound tightly around your wrists.
—
It happens one night as you sit side by side on the bed, eating quietly. Your hands brush when reaching for the same dish and you both freeze.
The contact is brief.
Innocent.
But it lingers. His fingers slide softly over yours, slow and intentional as though mapping the shape of them.
You don’t pull away, pulse racing, your cheeks flush, but still, you let it happen.
Something shifts in his gaze.
It’s not hunger, not cruelty…longing.
The moment stretches and the ship grows impossibly quiet, as though the walls themselves are holding their breath. You’re the one who breaks it, pulling your hand away with a nervous laugh that sounds too loud in the stillness.
Jeongguk says nothing.
But his eyes follow you all the same, glowing softly in the dim amber light.
Watching.
Always watching.
—
That night, as you lay down and let him pull you close, his arms wrapping securely around your body as though sealing you in, you don’t resist.
You let him tuck your head beneath his chin, your hands curl lightly against his chest.
And when he whispers against your hair, voice low and factual, “you are becoming mine.”
You don’t argue.
Because deep down, beneath the remnants of your rage and sorrow, beneath the tangled mess of shame and longing—
You know he is right.
two | masterlist
Two Puppets, Thrown Aside
A request for @that-one-lilith / @vilithshaven hehehe
Summary: Scaramouche finds himself another person much like himself. He takes you in and so, your future is shaped.
Warnings: animal dying, blood, torture, yandere themes. Reader is definitely not sane here but neither is scaramouche. Reader is referred to as "sister" once or twice but there is no other mention for reader's gender.
THIS IS NOT SAGAU.
You were his dirty little secret.
You were his greatest failure.
You were his mistake.
Albedo Kreideprinz created you from pure alchemy, from chalk much like himself. You were meant to be a sister, one that could relate to him and furthermore help him learn the secrets of the world. You were meant to be perfect, a true testament to the powers of alchemy, to his studies and efforts just as Albedo and Durin had been for Gold.
But you turned out wrong— there was a certain gleam in your eyes, burning bright and shiny when you looked at dissected specimen leftovers from Sucrose's experiments. Cold curiosity shone through the way you let your finger drag along his sword, eyed Klee's unfinished bombs, and giggled when you stomped over slimes and hilichurl remains.
You were cruel, too cruel for him to keep around and too cruel for him to let you leave for Mondstadt. And Albedo knew what he had to do to fix this mistake, to make sure it— you did not cause trouble for Mondstadt or worse, Klee.
"Leave," he tells you, shoving a satchel of what little belongings you have. There is a pity in his eyes but it doesn't matter, does it? He's leaving you alone, on a cold, lonely mountain and under the starry sky of Teyvat with no one to turn to because nobody in Teyvat would accept you, not when Albedo himself is against you. "Leave, and never return."
You do leave. Even if it hurts, even if you're scared because despite it all Albedo is the only one you knew and found comfort it. You leave even if you're so angry no hilichurls or monsters are spared alive by your weapon— because you don't have a vision, not like how perfect Albedo or his little sister Klee do.
But Dragonspine is a mountain never alone despite its sheer cold or violent weather; Fatui agents litter around every corner, ever-searching for secrets yet to be known and always keeping an eye on the strange alchemist and his unsual experiments.
They know of you, are privy to the knowledge thst you are not quite human nor quite a deity, and if they know about you then their asdigned superior most certainly does as well.
You meet Scaramouche on the coldest night Dragonspine has yet seen, and he is looking at you with an empty smile much like a doll. Lightning and Electro falls from his fingertips and in the shaded contours of his face, monsters bleeding and dying before him, his smile stretches to something more genuine, blood-thirsty and bright.
Is this the same expression I had when Albedo got rid of me? You ask yourself, eyes aglow with greed. He doesn't have a vision and yet— you want to learn, to reach out and pluck that power like a feather from him to see how strong you'd be.
He turns to you then and offers you his hand. "Come with me," he says, and he looks at you not with the painful reluctance and disappointment Albedo used to, but with the excitement of a promised good time, with the same greed as you. "You and I are alike in more ways than you think. I can help you reach your true potential, dear humunculus. Come with me."
Who are you to refuse him, when he stares at you like that? When your blood thrums at the mere thought of more power, of more fight, of more? Of someone that accepts you?
Your hands meet and above the snow and dense clouds of Dragonspine, thunder lights up the sky in shades of violent purple in one of the worst storms the mountain has ever seen. It is the only witness to an agreement between two discarded puppets.
──・──・・ ♡ ・・──・──
Scaramouche pushes you past your limits; his training, if it can be called that, is brutal. Day after day you end up more often than not bruised and battered from the vigorous activities he puts you through. And yet— you bear it all with a vicious grin, painted a picture of elegant savagery with the way monsters and even agents lie at your feet.
Scaramouche, however, is your favorite opponent. You have to actively think of your next move, of how to avoid and attack him but that's exactly how you like it. The cryo delusion he gives you reacts wonderfully with his electro, and the training grounds resemble a ruination more than a stable building by the time you two are done.
You don't spend every second with him training, of course; despite how he keeps you a secret from the Tsaritsa and the rest of the Harbingers ("for your safety," he says but you aren't stupid, you are not blind, yet you don't bother arguing with him; you doubt any of them would be as fun as he is, anyways) he does not keep you locked out of sight, out of mind like Albedo did.
He takes you to the islands of Inazuma, sakura blossoms tangling in the strands of your hair as you so excitedly take in all the colors and sights, with him as your constant, watching shadow. You get to explore Liyue's mountains that you'd only seen the peaks and distant shadows of from Dragonspine, and your trips there are made all the better by the Treasure Hoarder camps you and him get to play with.
But, much to your annoyance, these trips are becoming rarer and rarer because a certain cicin mage thought she could talk about you in her little report for Signora.
Her pleas and begs, gurgled through a mouthful of blood, mean nothing to you— enraged as you are because Scaramouche is unrelenting on your new restrictions— or the Harbinger who only keeps on electrocuting her to the very edge of her life before bringing her back.
When she's well and truly dead, you ignore the blood seeping into the ground to latch on to Scaramouche, pouting at him. "Can't I just hide better?" You ask him, kicking away the mage's limp head away from your boots. "Maybe change my appearance? We could get some new, better agents—"
"No," Scaramouche scowls yet he doesn't remove your arms from around his person. Rather, his own grip around your waist is tight, unwilling to let you go especially after this mess. "You will stay here and I will ensure none of the other agents will dare run their mouth about you to the other Harbingers."
No matter how much you plead, Scaramouche remains steady in his resolve. He's remind you of Albedo's insistence at keeping you hidden, but unlike your no-longer brother Scaramouche promises that soon, you can go out on those trips again. He runs his hand through your hair and stares deep into your eyes, and then cups your face to kiss your forehead, soothing the wrinkles there from annoyance in the same breath.
You do end up staying, but the agents that now keep guard over you in his stead shake and shiver whenever you pass by, the cryo delusion reacting to you emotions and making the place frigid cold.
Scaramouche only laughs at their predicament and praises you for keeping them on their toes, afraid and wary.
"You'd make a wonderful Harbinger, (Name)," he laughs, a cruel smirk on his face after he noticed one agent practically run out of the room when you entered. You and him share a grin, equally bloodthirsty yet fond.
"No, thank you, I've seen the paperwork you have to do," you make a face, plopping down on a chair. "Scara. . . can we please go out today? I've been stuck here now for weeks!"
You are expecting him to refuse, have prepared yourself to try your best to persuade him— you aren't expecting him to nod.
"We are going to Dragonspine."
──・──・・ ♡ ・・──・──
Dragonspine is exactly as you remember it, cold winds howling and snow never ending. Nevertheless— and totally ignoring any and all memories of your time with Albedo— the mountain still does make you happy. Well, happier than you'd been locked up even if it was for your own safety.
You two are in one of the Fatui camps where Scaramouche does whatever it is that a Harbinger does— you don't really cade or pay attention much to that— but you're instead more focused on that one agent that keep on gazing at you.
What are you planning? You think, not letting him know that you are aware of him. That you are aware of the way he slips behind and hides.
You ignore Scaramouche and the others— watching you as you follow the agent and find him working on a report with your name in it.
When you turn to Scaramouche, he is grinning, arms spread open in invitation. His pose and being in Dragonspine reminds you of the day you two first met, you no more than a useless, discarded puppet— but that is in the past. You are now with Scaramouche and Albedo is but a forgotten project to you.
Scaramouche's wants and opinions matter way, way more than your dear brother ever did.
That is why you so happily tear apart the agent and spill his blood upon the snowy grounds; I will not disappoint him, you think to yourself, giddy at the thought of making him proud instead. I will not fail him. I will be better.
But Scaramouche is not staring at you, despite how the empty space of his heart bursts with joy at seeing you in your element. His eyes are up, staring straight ahead at a certain alchemist.
Look at your failed project, Scaramouche's mind crows in delight. Look at your failed project and see what has become of them. See their magnificence and strength, and know that it is my doing. How does it feel, alchemist, to know that your puppet is mine now?
Possessive as he is over you and because he wants to drive the point home, Scaramouche wraps an arm around your waist and tugs you close to his side. He cares not for the blood soaking the both of you as you cling to him, laughing and joyful.
"Having fun, darling (Name)?"
You beam at him and nod, eyes bright. You are still laughing when he takes your chin and kisses you, hard and possessive and so, so wonderful.
For all that you remain unaware, the same cannot be applied to Scaramouche; he stares straight at Albedo and smirks, pulling you even closer as he raises his voice just enough.
"You're mine, (Name)."
If Sucrose returns to Albedo's lab and sees it in a total disarray and the man himself muttering strange things about a sister that is not Klee, then it remains a secret between her, Albedo, and (unknown to her) Scaramouche.
— THE SEANCE
↳ part of the ghouls just wanna have fun collab.
pairing; seokjin/reader ft. ot7 genre; ghost hunters au, demon au, horror words; 8,780 rating; mature
— synopsis; you and your friends go exploring in an abandoned house in the middle of the woods surrounded by mystery and ghost stories; what you find there may not be what you were looking for.
contents; major character death, horror, demons/ghosts, graphic violence, gore, blood. pov switch in the middle. based on the movie “demonic.”
“You really wanna go there?” you asked, skin buzzing. Jungkook looked at you and smiled, nodding his head excitedly.
Hoseok picked at the sleeve of his sweater. “Isn’t that a bit dangerous?”
“Scared of some ghosts, Hobi?” you teased, snickering along with the other boys.
“Don’t be a scaredy cat, Hoseok,” Jungkook continued to tease.
Keep reading
November Sun | jjk
☆summary: whenever he breaks, the november sun shines on him. and jungkook chases you across the sky - but you've gone some place he can't reach you now.
☆pairing: Jungkook x reader (I genuinely don't think the gender is ever mentioned? please let me know if it is so I can adjust this here), mentions-ish of Namjoon x reader
☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI, it deals with heavy themes)
☆genre: grief au/funeral au?, exes au, angst
☆warnings: angst, like. Just angst. OC is dead and Jungkook is grieving her. Curses words, very light mentions of sex, flashbacks of moments when jungkook broke. mentions of christianism (the funerals are held in a church), mentions of alcohol, jealousy. Namjoon is a broken man as well
☆word count: 3.7k
☆a/n: I started writing this tonight because I was sad and then just realized I won't have the strength to look back on it ever again so I'm posting it even tho it hasn't been beta-ed, and even tho the person that makes my moodboards is unavailable rn. Idc. It needed to be out of my system, and now it is.
☆a/n pt2: I know this piece is extremely heavy. If you ever need to speak, please reach out to me. My blog is a safe space for every single one of you <3
☆☆☆☆☆
The church is a tall building. Grand, elegant in its simplicity, though it cuts against the blue sky up above in stark lines, shaped like a prison.
Jungkook thinks life has become a prison a while ago.
It’s a mystery, why your family chose this space for your funeral. You never believed, never practiced. Is it a betrayal to mark your passing in a space that feels so unlike you?
Jungkook thinks it is.
He sighs, chases the heaviness away the same way the clouds chase themselves in the sky up above. He doesn’t know how the sun is shining in the blue expanse of the sky. It’s November, yet the day is warm, the sun is blindingly glowing. It feels like a crime – how can the sun shine in a world deprived of your existence?
Jungkook doesn’t want to know.
Only knows that he’s watched from afar the people that gathered on the front steps. Chatting, heads hung low and shoulders bent forward. He heard sniffles, he heard laughs, and he just waited for everyone to go in to get closer.
Jungkook doesn’t know why he was invited. Why someone from a distant past figured he would need to be here, to share his grief with people that could understand.
Though Jungkook thinks no one can understand.
He remembers you, in all your glory. His first love, when he had been a stupid college kid who didn’t know what he wanted in life. You were two years older, and now... and now one day he’ll be older than you. Because you've stopped aging, you came and went like a moment in time, when he'll still be here for who fucking knows how long.
He chases the thought away with a long inhale, holds the air in knowing that it’s choking him up before he lets it out on a sigh.
You were beautiful. A star that walked the Earth, only to return to the night sky above far too soon. He had loved you dearly, in his own twisted way. Had tried to be what you sought, what you needed, until he had realized he was never going to be enough.
Would you still be alive today, if he had fought harder?
*****
“I’m not doing this,” you said. “I’m so fucking done with your indecision, with your fear of commitment.”
Jungkook scoffed. “Please, you graduated and now you think you’re so high above me. Get down from the fucking horse, Y/n, it’s not going to bring us anywhere.”
He’d said the words hoping that they would hurt you. And they did: he saw you physically recoil as if he’d punched you. As if the words had been a physical blow, and not just letters of the alphabets shaped into words and sound, into arrows to pierce that beautiful soul of yours.
“Maybe I don’t want us to go somewhere anymore,” you replied after a quiet moment of breaking hearts.
“I didn’t mean that.”
“I know.” You sighed, slightly shaking your head as your eyes fell to the floor between you and him. “I know, but I mean it.”
“Please,” was all Jungkook thought to reply.
“You say please all the time,” you told him. “You beg me, and for what? We always circle back to fighting, to hurting each other.” You paused, and though you were avoiding his features he could see you blinking back tears. “Maybe we aren’t supposed to be together at all.”
“Don’t say that,” Jungkook warned. “Don’t you fucking say that. I love you. Isn’t that enough for you?”
“I love you too, Jungkook,” you answered. “I’ve loved you since the first day I met you at that stupid party last year.”
Jungkook felt the tear rolling down his cheek, felt the gravity pulling on his heart until it was shattering on the ground.
“Then why stop now?” he asked. “Give me time, Y/n. I’ll graduate, and I’ll be able to move in with you, and to provide for you and give you everything that you need.”
You sighed heavily, finding courage to finally meet his gaze. At the stark finality shining behind your pupils, Jungkook’s knees weakened. His whole fucking body weakened, ready for the blow.
For the end that was coming for you and him like a car barreling down a dead-end street.
“But I’m tired of waiting,” you answered. “I don’t want to spend my life waiting around for someone.”
“I’m still in college, I just can’t move in with you right now…”
“I know, Jungkook. I know.”
He wanted to fight. Wanted to tell you to stay in his dorm tonight, and to never leave again. But he could tell that you were already gone.
So he steeled himself. Readied himself to let you go even though you were the blood in his veins.
“I’m holding you back, aren’t I?”
You wiped a tear on your cheek, blurring behind those in his gaze. “You are.”
He choked on a sob, hiding his eyes behind his hand as if that would stop the breaking. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault,” you reassured him. “We just aren’t at the same place in life anymore.”
An empty silence surrounded you, so loud Jungkook could hear every beat of his heart in his ears, could feel the walls pressing in.
“I don’t want you to go,” he softly said.
“I know,” you murmured. “I…” You choked on a sob, and it took you a moment before you managed to continue. “I’m sorry.”
He laughed, a sound so devoid of joy he wondered if he’d ever feel happiness again. “Please don’t be. You’re allowed to want more.”
“I wish I didn’t.”
Anger rose up on the horizon of Jungkook’s conscience, and he pushed it away. He refused to be angry at you, refused to put the blame on you when you made it clear that you wanted him to move in so long ago, and he disregarded it without even once thinking about it.
“I’ll find you again,” he promised, voice strained and heavy with emotion. “I’ll graduate and find you.”
You stepped closer to him, gently cupping his cheek. “Go find someone that loves you for what you are, Jungkook.”
“And you don’t?”
“I don’t want you to settle for someone that asks too much for you,” you explained, renewed silver lining your eyes. “Find someone that loves you for who you are, right now.”
“Fuck that,” he choked out, and he pulled you flush against his chest. “Fuck this nonsense. ”
“I’m so sorry,” you cried against him.
“Don’t be,” he reassured you, though he was crying too. “Don’t be. Give me a few years. I’ll have it all figured out in a few years.”
*****
The priest at the front of the church is going on and on about something that Jungkook doesn’t care to listen to. It’s impersonal, nothing like you, like the vibrant girl he remembers. So he lets his memory guide him to you, where you’re awaiting him. Your lips on his, your hand running through his hair. Your own hair catching in the wind that time you’d gone hiking, and he’d believed being at the top of the mountain with you felt like he had won in life.
Or that time you’d driven on the coast, windows down, screaming the lyrics to a song he can’t listen to anymore. Now the song is haunted by ghosts of a past he never learned to let go, perhaps because for months after the breakup he’d kept the conviction that he’d find his way back to you. He’d believed it the same way he believed the sun would always rise in the morning. A simple truth of nature, that nothing could ever break.
Except a car accident, apparently. Because all it took was a car accident to wipe you off the surface of the Earth, to take your light and shove it into shadows, into darkness and a void so wide he knows he’ll never find you again.
But he’d believed he’d find his way back to you. Never let anyone in after you, for the months and years it took him to graduate because he always knew he’d find his way back to you. You were his silver lining, the finish line at the end of the race. On a November day, just as sunny as today, Jungkook reached that finish line.
He did find you again, only you never knew.
*****
Jungkook had never felt so light before. Like he had grown wings, like he was soaring in the clouds up above. Though the sun was out, the weather was cold, wind running cold fingers through the lapels of his coat until he found himself shivering as he made his way to the flower store.
He’d get the biggest bouquet for you, and then he’d head to where he knew from a common friend that you lived now. It was Saturday, and he hoped to catch you unaware, to catch you in the middle of cleaning your apartment the same way that you cleaned it back when you were dating.
The image of you, with your hair pulled back in a high ponytail as you danced around instead of sweeping the floor shone in his mind, brighter than the star in the sky above.
He bought the flowers, heart beating fast in his chest. Because it was time. It was finally time to go home, to tell you that he did everything he said he would, that he changed and now had a job that could support what you both wanted. He wanted to ask you out, and in his dreams you had been answering yes every single time since he had decided to go see you.
His heart fluttered as he gently rested the flowers on his passenger seat, careful not to damage them. Memories floated to him, and a smile grew on his lips as he remembered you, screaming out the window that day you had driven along the coast. You had stopped to watch the sunset in the waves, and he’d kissed you stupid on his back seat until every single inch of your skin knew about his love.
He couldn’t wait to create new memories with you.
He drove carefully, enjoying the warmth of the sun now that he was safely hidden from the wind. You actually didn’t live too far from where he did now, and soon enough he parked his car near your building. He got out of the vehicle, almost running to the other side in his excitement to grab the bouquet on the passenger seat. When it was safely tucked in his hand, Jungkook shut the car door, locked it, and started walking to your building.
He didn’t even know which apartment was yours. He believed fate would guide him, and so he crossed the street to your building, trusting the universe for what was to come next.
He heard your laugh before he saw you. Love swelled in his chest, and he wondered if you were laughing because you’d seen him, because you’d known that he’d come back for you.
And then he saw you. The wind was ruffling your hair, which he assumed had prompted the laugh. Your eyes were closed, hands struggling to push the wild strands behind your ears.
You were more beautiful than he remembered. Shone brighter, with the same stuff that stars consisted of. He was struck for a moment, watching you with his bouquet hoping that you’d open your eyes and see him.
The world slowed down to a stop, and time halted, and Jungkook watched you, feeling at home for the first time in years.
The illusion fractured the instant someone else came into view, making him realize that you hadn’t been laughing at the wind. No, perhaps your laughter took root in the dimples gracing the man’s cheeks as he smiled at you, as he pecked your forehead before grabbing your hand.
Jungkook ducked behind a car, clutching the flower bouquet like a lifeline the moment that you turned towards him. Did you hear his heart breaking? Did you hear the mockery in the November sun rays – you’d broken up on a similar day, years ago.
Jungkook couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think around the shattering of his heart, around the blood turning to ice in his veins as he heard you speak to the man – Namjoon, he heard you call him.
He would have rather not known the name.
Still Jungkook drank in the sound of your voice, trying to shape it into the words he was so willing to hear you say today. It didn’t work, and soon enough your voice disappeared, leaving him in a deafening silence of wind and sun and the realization that after all, he had come back too late.
Perhaps he should have known that he'd be too late.
*****
When Jungkook received the call last week, he’d sat outside in the silence until he thought his eardrums would start bleeding. He hadn’t moved, hadn’t breathed, hadn’t done anything other than to stare at the fading light of the sun.
He wonders, why is it that whenever he breaks, November sun is shining high above? As if the universe takes pleasure in his torment, in undoing him until he barely counts as a human being anymore.
He got pissed out drunk that night. Last time he had been as drunk was when he had found out you were dating someone new, that day he had come to find you.
And now he wonders, if he had approached you that day, would you still be dead today? Would life still have put you on that road with its drunk driver so that you could meet your end?
Or would you be laughing at some dumb comment he’d make, telling him that he’s stupid with eyes so full of love he wouldn’t be able to do anything else but agree with you?
It’s hard to tell. So, he doesn’t try to figure it out – he has an eternity ahead of himself to figure out how to live without you anyway.
Maybe in all his misfortune Jungkook actually had some luck. He’s learned to grieve you a while ago already, and perhaps grieving someone that still lives is harder than grieving someone that’s passed. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t think he knows anything. Just that, so far back in the past he should have said fuck it and move in with you. It was such a simple request, but he had been too young and dumb, and he’d forever live with the regrets of it.
If someone from your family notices his presence at the funeral, recognizes him from your shared past, they don’t say. Especially not as the end of the ceremony comes before he’s had a chance to really take in the picture of you, smiling, over there next to the urn with your ashes.
You’re ashes now. Everything that made you – your laugh, your smile, the way you carried yourself with that simple elegance – all of it is gone to be replaced with mere ashes.
He doubts they can hold the truth of your essence, but then again he doesn’t think anything can, or anything ever will again.
He blinks away the tears as they come, leaving the ceremony like a whisper in the wind. He doesn’t want to speak to your family, doesn’t want to see them coddling the man that you loved, that survived the accident when he should have been the one to go.
Jealousy and selfishness are ugly, Jungkook realizes. But it’s easier to hate the man that took you away from him, no matter how unknowingly he did it.
And Jungkook tried to hate you once. He tried hard, in the months after that fated November day, when you’d laughed to that man’s joke, smiled when he’d smiled that soft dimpled smile of his. He had tried, because hating you felt like it was the only way he wouldn’t hurt. But he still hurt – he still hurts.
All he’s been able to do in his life since you broke up is hurt, and he highly doubts he’ll ever feel differently again.
Perhaps he’ll grow numb. Perhaps he should have grown numb a while ago.
At least that’s what he’s telling himself days later, when he’s looking at the tombstone they picked out for you. The finality of your name and the dates, the ending, is unnerving. He wishes it was fake, wishes it was a joke, and that he didn’t spend most of his life loving someone that moved on to a new love in just a few years.
It’s been over a decade and he hasn’t moved on even a little bit.
He kicks the ground, mad at the leaves littering the ground where you’re buried, as if they’re sullying you. And as if laughing at him, sun rays pierce through the clouds up above, that dreaded November sun making an appearance when it should stay gone.
He allows himself to cry. To break down, to sit on the ground and curse everything and everyone that’s ever been between you and him. He curses his stupidity, curses the sun and the leaves and the etchings on the stone. He hates everything. Hates himself, hates you, hates the whole fucking universe for taking you away, for not giving him the chance to be with you.
That’s how Namjoon finds him. Jungkook’s tears have receded, and he’s just sitting there, an empty shell that once held love and laughter and your lips on his. He hears the scuffle of Namjoon’s steps, of his cane as he walks up the path.
The man’s features are grave when Jungkook can’t help but glance towards him, sees him ambling up the path with that cane, the only indication that he too was in that car accident. And Jungkook wonders if Namjoon knows about him. If Namjoon knows that he wasn’t the first man whose love for you was a bottomless ocean, one Jungkook has drowned in time and time again since you broke up.
Namjoon remains standing, and Jungkook remains sitting. Like there’s an understanding between them, and silence conveys more than words could. Jungkook doesn’t want to move, and Namjoon clearly doesn’t have anywhere to go.
Jungkook thinks the Earth has revolved around the sun at least once before Namjoon scrapes his throat.
“It’s hard to believe that she’s gone, isn’t it?” he speaks, deep voice carrying the weight of the universe.
Jungkook doesn’t deign reply as his eyes fill with tears, though he refuses to let them out right now.
Especially not in front of the man you loved after him.
“You’re Jungkook, aren’t you?”
The simple sentence makes Jungkook lose it. He hides his face in his hands, his whole soul bleeding out under the November sun.
“She told me about you,” Namjoon continues, and Jungkook is convinced he hears pain, tears and grief laced with Namjoon’s words.
What did you tell him, Jungkook wonders? Did you tell Namjoon that you should have waited for Jungkook, that you should have given him a chance to become what you needed?
“She loved you a lot,” Namjoon adds after a silence, and he chokes on a sob. “She never forgot about you.”
“Why are you telling me this?” Jungkook asks with that broken voice, raspy with disuse.
He hasn’t been able to speak since you died.
“You deserve to grieve. She loved and loved, and I wish it would have been enough for her to live…”
“Stop,” Jungkook begs. “Please.”
Namjoon falls silent, offering salvation to Jungkook, though Jungkook doesn’t know if he deserves it.
Would he have been able to offer salvation to someone in his position if the situation was reversed? He highly doubts it.
“It’s just…” he trails off when he finds words again. “You got fucking years with her. You got years of loving and-“ it breaks on a sob. “And you were fucking engaged.” Jungkook pulls at his hair. “You were engaged, and all I got was months. Not even a full year.”
“I’m sorry man,” Namjoon answers, voice so broken Jungkook wonders who’s suffering the most.
He doesn’t think it’s himself.
“Was she happy?” Jungkook eventually asks, once he can’t stand the silence hanging around. Once he can’t stand the etchings on the stone, the void in the universe that used to be filled with you.
“I made her as happy as I could,” Namjoon replies truthfully, his voice strained but not as pained anymore. As if he’s reached a conclusion, clarity filling his mind.
Not needing to hear more, Jungkook gets up, dusting himself off.
“Good talk,” he says, fighting against the next onslaught of tears, and then he’s storming off.
Storming away from you, from everything that you meant to him. And maybe the sun rays really are mocking him in that beautiful November sky, because Namjoon says, “I don’t think she ever truly was happy after you, though.”
Jungkook stops, convinced someone just stabbed him right in the heart. He doesn’t think the organ can beat anymore, doesn’t think he can live anymore. He just wants to be dust on the wind, to be forgotten, and to stop fucking feeling all the time.
“She was calling off the engagement,” Namjoon continues. “She…” Jungkook turns, and he doesn’t think he’s ever seen such agony as the one that graces Namjoon’s features right now. “She said she shouldn’t get married to me when she still loved another.”
Clouds pass in front of the November sun, and Jungkook remembers the smile on your face whenever you’d catch his gaze. He remembers the way you’d lovingly cupped his cheek even when you were breaking up with him. He still feels the ghost of your fingers on his skin as he holds Namjoon’s broken gaze.
He holds Namjoon’s broken gaze, unable to offer the man salvation. It might make him a monster, might make him selfish and jealous and everything that he finds disgusting about humanity. But Jungkook doesn’t care.
Not when he realizes that perhaps, perhaps he’s the one that you’re waiting for on the other side of the veil, so that you can rest in the eternity of afterlife together.
And perhaps, perhaps there’s some sort of beauty in the thought.
☆☆☆☆☆
I am crying and in pain and I am sending everyone that read this whole thing lots of love and if you need to talk just hit me up bc grief is a bitch and we hate her and I just wish I could take everyone's grief away
All rights reserved to @/oddinary4bts, 2023. Do not copy, repost or translate.
🥰🥰
Fall Back in Love | jjk
> jungkook somehow grew a reputation of sleeping around on campus, leaving him lonely and inexperienced with relationships. so when you, his old childhood best friend moves onto campus, he discovers what a relationship can feel like as he finds himself falling in love with you
> jungkook x f.reader, childhood best friends,friends to lovers, slow burn, light smut, jealous! jungkook, needy!jungkook, mature, mentions of blood and fighting
Fall Back in Love drabble
wc: 17.6k (got carried away)
“why would we go on a date?” jungkook fought the frown that wanted to appear on his face. not again. this had to be the at least the third time this month he’s had the exact same conversation the morning after he slept with a woman he either got chatting to at a party or a local club. it was like every woman within a five mile radius had a meeting and collectively decided to sleep with him then never see him again afterwards. he didn’t want to seem pathetic, isn’t that exactly what the majority of guys his age wanted? in their eyes he had the perfect situation going on, constant sex when he wanted it with no strings attached. what he wanted to know however was how they dealt with the constant loneliness that occurred every time the hook up left? or the heartache that came when he saw a college couple walking around campus throwing their love in his face every morning at 8am? he tried not to be bitter, it was cute they found someone to spend their college years with. no he was bitter, so very bitter. he was a romantic at heart, so how did he get such a reputation that meant no woman ever wanted to even go on one date?
Keep reading
The Caretaker
✂ Pairing: Yandere! Childe x Female! Reader
✂ Word Count: 1,7k+
✂ Trigger Warnings: Implied forced marriage, mention of manipulation
[Edited]
Do not re-upload my writing to another website or use it without my permission.
Keep reading
Eunoia // Masterlist
eunoia (noun): beautiful thinking, the possession of a well-balanced mind, which exhibits goodwill and kindness
Pairings: Hybrid! BTS x reader
Summary: You are a world famous director and you have dedicated your life to your job.You have everything you could ever dream of; wealth, recognision, talent, your friends and family. But loneliness isn’t cured by success. So what happens when you somehow rescue seven hybrids? Can they fill the void?
Genre: Angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, eventual smut
Warnings: past abuse, past sexual abuse
Part I
✧ Chapter 1
✧ Chapter 2
✧ Chapter 3
✧ Chapter 4
✧ Chapter 5
✧ Chapter 6
Part II
✧ Chapter 7
✧ Chapter 8
✧ Chapter 9
✧ Chapter 10
Part III
✧ Chapter 11
✧ Chapter 12
✧ Chapter 13
✧ Chapter 14
✧ Chapter 15
✧ Chapter 16
Part IV
✧ Chapter 17
✧ Chapter 18
✧ Chapter 19
✧ Chapter 20
✧ Chapter 21
✧ Chapter 22
✧ Chapter 23
Part V
✧ Chapter 24
✧ Chapter 25
✧ Chapter 26
✧ Chapter 27
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