Chapter Text
song🥀
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⟡ 𝑾𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒘𝒆 𝒉𝒊𝒅𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒆𝒂𝒄𝒉 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒊𝒏 ⟡
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Five Years Ago
One Week Before the Accident
It's Sports Day at Blackthorn Academy, and the air hums with electric anticipation. The sun burns bright in the late morning sky, casting golden rays over the sprawling school grounds. The scent of freshly cut grass mixes with the faint tang of sweat and cologne as students gather in droves, crowding near the entrance.
A roar erupts as the soccer team steps off their bus, clad in matching jerseys, their cleats clacking against the pavement. The cheer squad, shimmering under the sunlight in glittering uniforms, bursts into synchronized motions—pom-poms slicing the air with each practiced flick of their wrists. Laughter, whistles, and scattered applause swell around the school front as eager spectators hustle toward the bleachers, ready for the match to begin.
Among them, Taehyung arrives in style. A sleek black SUV rolls up smoothly to the curb, the tinted windows catching glints of sunlight before the driver steps out and opens the door for him. He emerges effortlessly, as if he owns the very ground he walks on.
His grey blazer rests over grey shorts, the ensemble casual yet expensive, a perfect blend of effortless wealth and school regulation. His sneakers—pristine white—contrast against the asphalt, and his dark hair, wavy and slightly tousled, frames his sharp features. Around his neck dangles his school ID, and in one arm, he clutches a long sketchpad and a bundle of notes.
The crowd barely fazes him. He strides forward, head tilted downward, fingers flying across his phone screen.
"Are you still coming?"
"I wanna see you before the game starts."
"Sorry, I couldn’t make it last night. My mum caught on and delayed me."
He exhales sharply, irritation flickering across his face. His mood is already fraying at the edges, and the last thing he wants is to endure a full day of school spirit. But before he can spiral further into his thoughts, a familiar figure stands in his path—Jimin.
The decorating team huddles behind him, arms full of banners and streamers. Jimin, ever the perfectionist, balances a box of decorations against his hip, eyes narrowing as he takes in Taehyung’s late arrival.
“Really? You’re late.” Jimin sighs, shifting the weight of the box.
Taehyung barely looks up as he pockets his phone. “Blame it on my mother.”
Jimin scoffs but says nothing as they start walking inside, their team trailing behind them.
“What was it this time?” Jimin prods knowingly. Taehyung might appear put-together, might exude an air of refined elegance, but behind closed doors, he's the black sheep of his family. A nepo baby with just enough charm to get away with his antics—until he doesn’t.
“The usual,” Taehyung mutters. “I need to change my sneaking-out tactics. Jungkook is mad at me.”
Something heavy lingers in his voice, an unspoken ache. Jungkook hasn’t answered his calls. Hasn’t replied to his messages. The silence is louder than any words could be.
Jimin scoffs, shaking his head. “You’re still seeing that boy? What, is he getting into gang fights again?”
Taehyung halts mid-step, eyes flicking toward his friend in irritation. They’ve reached the crowded school hallways, where students mill about in waves, conversations overlapping, laughter echoing against the lockers. The air smells like paper, sweat, and faint traces of cafeteria food from the open doorways of classrooms.
He exhales slowly, placing his books inside his locker before slamming it shut. “Maybe. Or maybe he’s just having a bad day. Or stuck at work. Or sick. Perhaps literally anything else besides your stereotypical assumptions about him.”
Jimin raises his hands in surrender. “Okayyy, I’m sorry.”
They make their way toward the sports field, where the bleachers stretch across the expanse of green. A table sits tucked beneath the stands, already stacked with supplies. The two set their boxes down, the weight of responsibility settling onto their shoulders. From this angle, the schools’ team is already on the field, running drills, their movements sharp and precise. Some parents have started arriving, settling into their seats, their voices blending into the hum of the crowd.
The moment Taehyung's phone vibrates in his pocket, he feels it like a pulse straight to his heart. He barely breathes as he pulls it out, fingers quick to unlock the screen.
Jungkook: Meet me at the old equipment shed. Just us.
The world tilts. The tension in his chest vanishes, replaced by a warmth so overwhelming it spreads through his limbs like fire. The noise of the field, the distant chatter of parents, the shouts from the soccer team—all of it fades into static.
The school bell shrieks, signaling the start of classes, leaving only the sports and social team lingering on the field. Jimin is still catching his breath, already strategizing the logistics of the decorations.
"Okay, we got the front line and the food stands," Jimin pants, rubbing at the sweat forming on his brow. "Where do you want the B-team for clean-up to go?"
Taehyung barely registers his words. His entire world is condensed into the glowing screen in his hands. He presses a finger to his lips, silencing Jimin without a second thought.
"Cover for me," he whispers, eyes gleaming with uncontainable excitement.
Jimin groans, already predicting the worst. He watches as Taehyung slips his school ID from around his neck and hands it over like a bribe.
"Not again," Jimin mutters, running a hand down his face. But it’s useless. He knows there’s no stopping him. Taehyung is already bouncing on the balls of his feet, his entire demeanor shifting from composed to downright giddy.
Jimin has seen this before. Jungkook has a way of making Taehyung light up—turning the sharp, sophisticated social prefect into something young and reckless, something soft and desperate. Love does that.
But Jimin also wonders.
What really happened that night?
The night Taehyung ran away from home.
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The old equipment shed sits at the far end of the school grounds, its wooden panels faded from years of neglect. Once a space for students to craft woodwork projects for fundraising events, it has long been abandoned, awaiting renovations that never seem to come. Dust clings to the workbenches, and the air smells faintly of varnish and aged timber. It’s the perfect hideout—secluded, quiet, and, most importantly, theirs.
Jungkook paces inside, rolling his shoulders as he waits. His black leather jacket hangs loose over a plain tee, the dark denim of his jeans hugging his frame. His wolf-cut hair falls effortlessly over his forehead, strands shifting every time he moves. The piercings glint on his nose and lips, matching the ink that decorates his neck—sharp lines, faded meanings, all pieces of a story Taehyung has memorized like scripture.
His gloves creak as he flexes his fingers, the helmet tucked under his arm. He isn’t nervous—Jungkook never is—but the anticipation coils in his stomach all the same. Then, the door creaks open.
The moment Taehyung steps in, light from the cracked windows catching in his dark curls, Jungkook stills. A slow smile tugs at his lips, his teeth white against the dim interior.
Taehyung, on the other hand, practically hops in place, his joy unrestrained. Jungkook barely has time to react before Taehyung launches himself into his arms, legs wrapping around his waist. Jungkook catches him effortlessly, stumbling back a little before settling against the edge of the desk, holding Taehyung tight against his body.
"I missed you," Taehyung breathes, voice thick with emotion. His lips press against Jungkook’s face in a flurry of kisses—his cheeks, his jaw, the bridge of his nose. "I’m so sorry about last night."
Jungkook chuckles, the deep, velvety sound sending a shiver down Taehyung’s spine. He smells like engine oil and leather, but underneath it all, something distinctly Jungkook—warm, heady, intoxicating.
Taehyung buries his face in Jungkook’s neck, rolling his hips instinctively. "You smell so good," he mumbles, clinging tighter.
Jungkook smirks, letting his fingers dig into the soft flesh of Taehyung’s thighs. "We literally saw each other yesterday morning," he teases, tilting Taehyung’s chin up before kissing him slow and deep. He can taste the remnants of cherry lip balm, the sweetness melting against his tongue.
"We meet here every morning," Taehyung confirms, sighing as Jungkook's hands slip lower, fingers pushing up the hem of his pleated shorts.
Jungkook hums against his lips. "Mhmm, but I still needed you last night—if not for the fact that your mom loathes me."
Taehyung groans in frustration, pressing closer, nuzzling into the crook of Jungkook’s neck. "She can keep hating," he murmurs between kisses, voice breathless, "but you’ll keep loving me, right?"
Jungkook tightens his grip, his voice dipping into that husky tone that drives Taehyung insane. "Forever."
Taehyung's stomach flips, heat curling in his chest. "I love you," he moans, the words slipping out between frantic kisses, both of them desperate to make up for lost time.
Jungkook chuckles, his breath warm against Taehyung’s skin. " Your mom’s the reason we met. She should really blame herself."
Taehyung bursts into laughter, the sound light and airy, making Jungkook's heart clench. His eyes soften as he watches him, completely enchanted.
"Well, I have her to thank then," taehyung murmurs, brushing his nose against jungkook’s. "Imagine going through this world and never coming across something as magical as you." jungkook says.
Taehyung squeals, kicking his legs, face heating at the cheesiness. "Say another poetic line and I might actually die."
Jungkook grins, nipping at his lower lip. "My baby, don’t die on me."
They both dissolve into laughter, lips meeting again in a kiss that lingers, sweet and intoxicating. Neither of them wants to let go, not when the world outside demands they be apart.
The air inside the old equipment shed is thick—heavy with dust and the lingering scent of varnish, but none of it matters. Not when Taehyung is here, legs wrapped loosely around Jungkook’s waist, lips swollen from the relentless press of their kisses.
Jungkook pulls back just slightly, his breath warm against Taehyung’s mouth. "It’s the weekend tomorrow—I need to take you somewhere," he says, though his voice is rough, like he’s fighting every instinct to dive back into Taehyung’s kiss.
Taehyung tilts his head, lips curving into a teasing smile. "Ooh, let me guess—is that why you look so put together today?" His gaze drags over Jungkook’s frame—black leather jacket hugging his shoulders, dark jeans fitting just right, the silver glint of his piercings catching faint light.
Jungkook chuckles, lifting a brow. "What’s that supposed to mean?"
"It means," Taehyung murmurs, pulling him closer by the collar, "you look hot, and I like it." He presses their lips together again, the kiss deeper—slower—his tongue sliding against Jungkook’s, tasting the faint bitterness of gum and something purely him.
Jungkook hums into the kiss, but there’s a flicker of something else beneath his teasing edge. When he pulls back, his tone softens. "I mean it, Taehyung—I’m trying hard to be less of a troublemaker. I can’t change my past, but I can change my future."
The vulnerability in his words tugs at something deep inside Taehyung. His hands come up to cradle Jungkook’s face, thumbs brushing along the sharp angles of his jaw. "Hey, hey—I see you, Jungkook," he whispers, eyes searching his. "I see everything you’re trying to do. You don’t ever have to defend yourself to me. Not now, not ever."
Jungkook closes his eyes briefly, leaning into the touch, letting the warmth of Taehyung’s reassurance settle the ache he rarely admits is there. When he opens them again, they burn with something stronger—something unwavering.
"I want a future with you, Taehyung," he says, his voice low but fierce. "A proper one. I mean that."
He doesn’t care about the walls the world wants to put between them. Social status, expectations—none of it matters when he’s holding the one thing he refuses to lose.
A soft smile blooms across Taehyung’s lips, though there’s nothing soft about the way he rolls his hips against Jungkook’s, dragging a groan from his throat. "You know I’d run away with you in a heartbeat," he murmurs, voice dripping with promise.
The words snap something inside Jungkook. His control, already thin, frays at the edges. "If you keep moving like that," he rasps, lips brushing the shell of Taehyung’s ear, "I’ll have no choice but to spread you out on this desk right now, love."
A shiver runs down Taehyung’s spine at the dark edge in his voice. Still, he meets Jungkook’s gaze, eyes sparkling with mischief. "Well, what are you waiting for?"
Jungkook doesn’t hesitate. In one smooth motion, he lifts Taehyung onto the desk properly, the wood groaning beneath the sudden weight. Their mouths crash together again—hotter, messier—like they’re both starved for each other. Taehyung’s blazer slips off his shoulders, pooling behind him as Jungkook’s hands trail down, rough fingers grazing the bare skin of his thighs.
His breath hitches when Jungkook tugs at the button of his shorts, knuckles brushing teasingly over the fabric stretched beneath. The deliberate slowness drives Taehyung wild, his head falling against Jungkook’s chest as his body trembles under every touch.
"You drive me insane," Jungkook murmurs against his neck, biting down softly before soothing the mark with his tongue. Jungkook’s hands trail down, fingers deftly undoing the button of Taehyung’s shorts.
The fabric loosens, giving him just enough space to slip his hand inside, warm fingers wrapping around Taehyung’s cock. A slow, deliberate stroke follows—just enough to tease, enough to make Taehyung’s breath stutter.
His body tenses for a moment before melting into the touch, a soft flush creeping up his skin. His head falls against Jungkook’s chest, breath hitching, the steady rhythm of Jungkook’s strokes pulling him under—drowning him in pleasure, in the heat of the moment, in him.
"Good," Taehyung whispers, his grip on Jungkook’s jacket tightening as he loses himself in the way Jungkook touches him—like he’s something precious. Something worth fighting for.
And if the world tries to tear them apart—so be it.
Jungkook has already decided—he’ll fight it all.
For him.
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Chapter Text
Song🥀
❀⋆｡˚⎯⎯⎯⟡🌹⟡⎯⎯⎯˚｡⋆❀
⟡𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒆 𝒊𝒏𝒌𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒎𝒚 𝒔𝒐𝒖𝒍 ⟡
❀⋆｡˚⎯⎯⎯⟡🌹⟡⎯⎯⎯˚｡⋆❀
Taehyung swings his leg over the bike, the heat of the sun pressing against his skin as his black heeled boots hit the pavement with a sharp click. The ripped bum shorts barely cover him, the frayed edges teasing the soft curve of his thighs, but Jungkook’s jacket draped over his shoulders adds a layer of comfort. His black tank top clings to his frame, the slight sheen of sweat making the fabric hug every contour.
With a swift motion, he pulls off his helmet, and waves of dark hair tumble over his face, wild and untamed. He bites his lower lip, eyes flickering with excitement as he stares at the tattoo shop in front of them. The glass reflects the sunlight, streaked with details of bold lettering and intricate designs that hint at the kind of art waiting inside.
Jungkook is behind him before he can fully take it in, his presence unmistakable. Hands snake around Taehyung’s waist, strong and possessive, pressing their bodies together. A kiss lands just below his ear, slow and sensual, the heat of Jungkook’s lips against his damp skin making Taehyung shiver.
“You opened a shop?” Taehyung breathes, turning his head slightly, his voice teasing, but laced with wonder.
Jungkook chuckles, his tone deep, rough around the edges. “No, it’s for a friend, but I got the keys for the whole day.”
Taehyung grins, giddy, his heart hammering in his chest. Jungkook guides him forward with a firm hand on his waist, leading him inside.
The moment Taehyung steps in, he’s stunned. The air shifts—cooler, heavier, carrying the sharp scent of antiseptic and ink. The walls are black, but neon streaks carve through the darkness, glowing pink and electric blue, snaking over graffiti-style lettering and intricate artwork. The designs feel alive, curling along the walls like whispers of rebellion, bold and untamed.
A glass cabinet stands to the side, framed in rustic wood with vibrant turquoise doors, showcasing an array of tattoo machines, ink bottles, and sterilized tools bathed in golden light. The workstation at the back is cluttered but controlled, a laptop open, wires tangled around equipment Taehyung doesn’t recognize. A sleek leather chair sits near the corner—big, imposing—like a throne for those willing to endure pain for the sake of art.
Taehyung barely registers Jungkook’s grip tightening on his waist as he takes it all in. His fingers graze over the cool glass of the cabinet, mesmerized. He has never been inside a tattoo shop before. Never felt this kind of atmosphere—intense, electric, raw.
Jungkook watches him, leaning against the counter, denim slung low on his hips, the white tank top doing nothing to hide the ink curling over his skin. His tattoos spill from his neck down his arms, dark lines against golden flesh, stories written in permanence.
Taehyung swallows, his heart pounding. He turns to Jungkook, eyes shining. “It’s… beautiful.”
Their first year together had been anything but smooth—a storm of love and longing caught between Taehyung’s suffocating home and Jungkook’s unruly world. Taehyung’s mother dictated every aspect of his life, wielding control like a blade, carving him into the perfect son she envisioned. Jungkook, on the other hand, had no one to control him—no structure, no safety net—just a disordered existence of fending for himself, a college dropout with ink-stained hands and a past he wasn’t proud of.
But the day they met wasn’t disorganized. It wasn’t another chaotic brush against fate. It was written in the stars—two cosmic bodies pulled toward each other in the perfect instant, the kind of moment that feels predestined.
Taehyung had been on one of his scandalous escapades, slipping through the cracks of his mother’s rule, lungs filled with rebellion, heart wild with the thrill of running free. And Jungkook—Jungkook had been seated on a worn-out park bench, hands in his pockets, eyes tracing constellations, trying to piece his life together after severing ties with a friend he once dealt drugs with. He was losing hope, sinking into the cold grasp of loneliness.
He had pulled a cigarette from his pocket, fingers shaky as he flicked open his lighter, only for it to be snatched right out of his hands.
His breath hitched. And then he saw them—prettiest brown eyes he had ever known, wide and speckled like the night sky, mischief glimmering beneath long lashes. He had expected the younger one to toss the cigarette away, to scold him like everyone else did. But instead, Taehyung lifted it to his lips and lit it for himself.
Jungkook had chuckled, deep and amused. Taehyung chuckled too, the sound light, like wind chimes in the dark. And then he sat beside him, legs crossing gracefully, unbothered by the chill of the night, as if he belonged there all along.
They talked. About everything and nothing. The night stretched endlessly, the world shrinking until it was just them—two lonely souls speaking in hushed voices beneath the stars. And then they kissed.
And at that moment, they knew.
Their stars had aligned.
Because all it took was one brave heart to meet another that had only ever known how to be brave in a lonely world.
And from then on, their worlds were no longer separate. They had collided, tangled, burned into one.
Taehyung twirls around the space, eyes wide, lips parting in quiet awe. The tattoo shop is nothing like he imagined—no clutter, no chaos—just sleek, black walls absorbing the light, giving the place an almost intimate feel. The dark wooden floorboards creak softly beneath his boots as he moves, trailing his fingers over the smooth, polished leather of the tattoo chair in the center of the room. It looks intimidating, luxurious even, like a throne meant for sinners.
A large, framed artwork hangs above the mirror—a series of moon phases, each celestial body etched in silver against the black frame, watching over them like silent witnesses. The reflection in the mirror captures Taehyung’s delicate figure as he moves, his black tank top clinging to his frame, Jungkook’s oversized jacket draped over his shoulders. Behind him, Jungkook stands tall, denim clinging to his thighs, tattoos stark against the pale stretch of his skin.
“So, what are we doing today?” Taehyung asks, his voice playful as he twirls again, hands settling on the edge of the chair.
Jungkook smirks, stepping forward to open the door leading to the inner rooms. “Just tattoo each other’s names.”
Taehyung freezes, mouth hanging open, shock and thrill swirling in his eyes. Jungkook watches with amusement as realization dawns, his lips curling into a devious grin. “That’s so rebellious,” Taehyung whispers, bouncing on his toes, “I love it.”
Jungkook chuckles, scooping him up effortlessly, setting him onto the leather chair with ease. The material is cold against Taehyung’s bare thighs, sending a shiver up his spine. He hooks his legs around Jungkook’s hips, pulling him closer, hands smoothing over the hard muscle of his chest.
“You really want my name tatted on you?” Taehyung murmurs, voice softer now, as if the weight of it is settling in.
Jungkook mirrors his words, fingertips trailing over Taehyung’s waist. “Oh, baby, you really want my name tatted on you?” His voice is thick, laced with something raw, something desperate.
Taehyung nods, lips brushing over Jungkook’s nose before capturing his lips in a deep kiss. “Of course,” he breathes against him, hands fisting into Jungkook’s tank top. “Of course, baby, I do.”
Jungkook groans into the kiss, the heat between them growing unbearable. His grip tightens on Taehyung’s waist, fingers sinking into the soft flesh of his thighs as Taehyung grinds against him.
“Fuck, you’re getting me hard,” Jungkook whines, burying his face in Taehyung’s neck, inhaling him like an addict. Taehyung chuckles breathlessly, sliding a teasing hand down, palming over Jungkook’s clothed length.
“I want you so bad,” he moans, hips rolling, teasing, tempting.
Jungkook grits his teeth, pulling back just enough to pepper kisses along Taehyung’s jaw. “Baby, me too—but let’s get started first, hm?” He presses soft, kitten kisses along Taehyung’s collarbone, up to his lips.
Taehyung pouts, eyes sparkling with mischief before bursting into laughter. “Okay, okay.”
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Who would’ve thought Taehyung would choose such a spot to be tatted on? He’s half-naked, his entire bottom exposed, legs bent and pinned to his chest, cock resting against his belly as Jungkook works. The tattoo machine hums steadily, already thirty minutes in, ink seeping into his soft skin with every careful stroke.
Not only is it a good hiding spot, but Taehyung had grinned and said, “Every time I spread my legs for you, I want you to see it. And every time I spread them to get off, I wanna see it.” His tone had been filthy, doing nothing to help Jungkook’s already aching problem.
Even now, as Jungkook stays focused, he chuckles when Taehyung squirms. “Stop,” Taehyung whines when Jungkook blows a teasing breath over his sensitive tip , his body trembling. “I swear, if you keep doing that, I’m gonna pee.”
Jungkook only smirks, pressing a kiss to his thigh before steadying his hand to continue. The black ink stands out against Taehyung’s golden skin, the rose-gold shimmer catching the light beautifully. “It’s so pretty,” Taehyung pants, eyes glazed as he watches Jungkook work.
Jungkook hums in agreement, gaze flickering up, softening just slightly. Taehyung is a mess—flushed, panting, desperate. He’s so easy to ruin. “Babe,” Taehyung suddenly gasps, voice trembling, “please—just suck on the tip a little. I wanna cum.”
Jungkook pauses, stunned, before scoffing. “What? Out of nowhere?”
But he knows Taehyung too well—knows that when he gets like this, there’s no stopping him. He shakes his head but sets the tattoo gun aside, running a hand down Taehyung’s trembling thigh. “You’re so ridiculous,” he mutters, but he’s already leaning down, already taking him in, slow and warm.
Taehyung lets out a soft, choked moan, fingers slipping into Jungkook’s curls as his hips stutter. The sight is sinful—Jungkook’s messy dark hair against his bare skin, his tongue teasing, lips wrapping around him like he’s savoring something sweet. Taehyung’s breath hitches, his fingers tightening, his own pleasure winding too tight.
“Fuck—Jungkook—” His body tenses, thighs shaking, and then he spills, moaning through it as Jungkook takes it all, lips still pressed against him, his hands soothing over flushed skin.
Jungkook licks up every last drop, his tongue slow and deliberate, making sure Taehyung feels every second of it. Taehyung, flushed and spent, melts into the sensation, his cock softening against his thigh, his body hazy and sweaty. Jungkook finds him utterly adorable—eyes half-lidded, lips parted, skin glowing with warmth. He leans in, claiming Taehyung’s mouth, letting him taste himself in the kiss.
Then, with one last peck, Jungkook pulls away and refocuses on his work. The tattoo gun hums back to life, and he gets lost in the details, his strokes precise and steady. Taehyung watches, awestruck—not at the tattoo but at Jungkook himself. He’s captivated by the way Jungkook’s brows furrow in concentration, how his dimple appears when he’s focused, the way his curly hair falls over his forehead, his lips pursed in thought. He’s so handsome, it’s unfair.
“If you keep staring like that, you’re gonna get turned on again,” Jungkook murmurs without looking up.
Taehyung lets out a loud laugh, shaking his head. “You’re so annoying.”
Jungkook only smirks, and Taehyung tilts his head, grinning playfully. “Well, you could always fuck it out of me.”
Jungkook finally glances up, eyes darkening, lips curling into something downright sinful. “Gladly.”
With that, he does the final touches on the tattoo, wiping down Taehyung’s skin with practiced ease. He’s already prepped everything for the next one—his own. The plan is simple: Taehyung’s name in cursive, intertwined with rose thorns and blooms. Since Taehyung isn’t experienced, Jungkook will do it himself, letting Taehyung watch.
As he sets the tattoo gun aside, Taehyung exhales, eyes tracing the new ink. “I love you,” he murmurs, voice soft, filled with something deep and unshakable.
Jungkook hums, gaze lingering on Taehyung’s face before he rises, undoing his belt with a slow, deliberate motion. The sound of the buckle unfastening sends a shiver through Taehyung, and when Jungkook pulls his pants down, revealing his aching cock, Taehyung’s jaw slackens.
Jungkook chuckles at his expression, leaning down to press a kiss to his temple. “Well, I love you more, baby. To the moon and back.”
Then he climbs onto the seat, settling between Taehyung’s thighs, and with one smooth motion, he sinks in, stretching him open, filling him completely. Taehyung’s back arches, a moan spilling from his lips as pleasure overtakes him.
“So good,” he gasps, nails digging into Jungkook’s arms.
Jungkook kisses him deeply, moving slow, deliberate, savoring every moment as they melt into each other, tangled and lost in the rhythm of love.
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Chapter 3
Notes:
Updates run till Friday ❤️🔥
Chapter Text
Song❤️🔥
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⟡ 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒏𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒘𝒉𝒊𝒔𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 ⟡
❀⋆｡˚⎯⎯⎯⟡🌹⟡⎯⎯⎯˚｡⋆❀
The city hums beneath them, alive with neon lights and the rhythmic thrum of late-night traffic. Seoul at night is a dream—streetlights stretching into infinity, flickering billboards flashing in vivid colors, the faint scent of rain lingering from an earlier drizzle. The roads, slick under the glow of red and green signals, weave like rivers of light through the towering skyline.
Jungkook grips the handlebars, his body firm and sure as he maneuvers through the streets with practiced ease. The purr of the bike is steady, a mechanical heartbeat beneath them, vibrating through Taehyung’s chest as he clings to Jungkook from behind. His arms are wrapped tight around Jungkook’s waist, fingers gripping his jacket, face buried against his back. The scent of leather, cologne, and something distinctly Jungkook fills his senses, grounding him even as they speed forward.
The adrenaline pulses through Taehyung’s veins, a rush that makes his breath hitch with every sharp turn, every tilt of the bike. He doesn’t need to see where they’re going—he trusts Jungkook with his life. The wind roars past them, cool against his exposed skin, rushing through his hair and carrying the scents of the city: fried food from street vendors, the faint bitterness of cigarette smoke, the fresh, crisp air from the riverbanks. It’s intoxicating.
They weave past cars and blinking storefronts, the city's pulse matching the rapid thud of Taehyung’s heart. Jungkook beams beneath his helmet, a thrill running through him as he leans into another turn, expertly navigating the streets like second nature. The headlights flicker across their bodies, casting their shadows long against the pavement. For a moment, it feels like they’re infinite—just two souls racing through the night, untethered, unstoppable.
But tonight, there’s no hill, no secluded cliff where they can lay side by side, fingers entwined, staring into the abyss of the stars.
Taehyung has to go home.
He sighs, resting his cheek against Jungkook’s back, inhaling deeply. His heart aches at the thought. He wishes—God, he wishes—that one day, he wouldn’t have to leave Jungkook behind. That he wouldn’t have to sneak away under the guise of late-night drives just to taste freedom. That he wouldn’t have to sit at his family’s dinner table pretending to be someone he isn’t, forcing a smile while his mind drifts to the boy he loves.
One day, he tells himself. One day, he’ll bring Jungkook home, stand before his mother, and refuse to bow to expectations. One day, he’ll choose himself.
But for now, all he can do is hold Jungkook tighter, pressing closer as the city lights blur past, as if trying to memorize the feeling of belonging before the night inevitably slips away.
As they near Taehyung’s estate, the towering walls and grand iron gates come into view, looming in the soft glow of streetlights. Taehyung presses a lingering kiss to the nape of Jungkook’s neck, breathing him in, already feeling the ache of parting settle deep in his chest. He knows that once he steps past those gates, into the suffocating world of expectations and obligations, all he’ll have is the memory of tonight—the pulse of the city, the wind in his hair, and the name tattooed on his inner thigh, a permanent mark of longing and devotion.
Jungkook slows the bike to a quiet stop by the curb, his eyes scanning the estate’s perimeter. The walls stand tall, the security cameras stationed like silent sentinels, and the guards posted at the entrance remain still, their sharp eyes missing the boy who always finds a way to escape. Jungkook doesn’t know how Taehyung does it—how he slips out undetected, how he returns without raising suspicion—but he admires the recklessness of it, the defiance that burns in Taehyung’s heart.
Taehyung slides off the bike, his arms immediately wrapping around Jungkook’s neck, a mischievous smile playing on his lips. Their mouths collide in a feverish kiss, deep and desperate, teeth clashing, tongues teasing. Jungkook groans into it, hands finding their home on Taehyung’s waist, fingers pressing into soft skin before trailing lower to cup his ass, squeezing and smacking it just enough to make Taehyung giggle against his lips.
“Mm, one day, I’m gonna make you sneak in and fuck me all night in my bed,” Taehyung whispers, pressing soft, teasing kisses between each word. His voice is thick with promise, with temptation, and Jungkook swears his whole body burns at the thought.
Jungkook chuckles low, his breath warm against Taehyung’s lips. “That sounds dangerous, baby,” he murmurs, pulling Taehyung impossibly close, pressing their bodies flush together. “I love dangerous.”
Their foreheads rest against each other, breaths mingling, hearts hammering in sync. Neither of them wants to let go, to step away and pretend they aren’t craving more. They inhale deeply, trying to prolong the moment, trying to memorize the feeling of being this close before the night steals them apart.
“I love you,” Taehyung breathes, his hands cradling Jungkook’s face as he plants one last kiss on the tip of his nose.
Jungkook smiles, his eyes soft, full of something deep and unspoken. “I love you more,” he whispers back, watching as Taehyung reluctantly pulls away, his silhouette retreating into the shadows of his gilded prison.
Jungkook stays there for a moment, sitting on his bike, his pulse still thrumming with heat and yearning. He exhales sharply, gathering himself, before slipping his helmet back on and revving the engine. As he rides off into the night, the ghost of Taehyung’s touch lingers on his skin, a whisper of everything they are and everything they’re willing to risk for love.
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The woman exhales shakily, her fingers curling around the nape of the young man's neck as she pulls him closer. Their kisses are deep, feverish, her moans muffled between their mouths. The dim glow of the bedside lamp casts soft shadows over her bare skin, her delicate lace underwear the only thing keeping her from complete vulnerability. Beneath the thick duvet, their bodies remain tangled, but her mind—her mind is far away.
Minjae groans against her lips, frustration seeping into his voice as he feels her slipping away again. His hands glide over the faint wrinkles on her skin, worshipping them, tracing the resemblance between her and her son. "What’s distracting you, hmm?" he murmurs, pulling back slightly, his brown eyes searching hers.
Heir to AD Automobiles, Minjae has always been close to the Kim family—always orbiting around them, waiting for his moment. He cradles her face in his hands, brushing his thumbs along her cheekbones, admiring her beauty despite the years between them.
"I just worry," she admits, her voice trembling. "What if he’s plotting something? He’s been gone for months now—what if I hear he’s bedded another? My heart will break." Her breath hitches, her throat tightening with the weight of her anxieties. "For once in my life, everything is out of control—Taehyung is being stubborn, and his father..." She trails off, swallowing thickly, her eyes glassy.
Minjae exhales sharply, his irritation masked beneath a smooth, charming smirk. "Probably a cheater," he whispers, cutting off her doubts with another deep kiss. "He doesn’t deserve you, Ana. That’s why I’m here, isn’t it? To be as close as possible, no matter what?" His voice dips, teasing yet firm. "Tell me, is there anything I can do to get rid of these distractions?"
She chuckles softly, almost entertained by his desperation. Poor boy—so eager to please, so eager to prove his worth.
But Minjae is nothing more than a tool to her, a means to an end. She indulges him, lets him worship her, lets him fill the void left behind by a husband who has long since turned cold. More than anything, she sleeps with Minjae because it gives her control over Taehyung again. Taehyung’s fiancé in her bed—her son’s future locked in her grasp. And Taehyung, foolish as he is, has no idea.
At least, that’s what she believes.
The moment Mr. Kim returns, she will rush the wedding, force Taehyung into marriage, bury the affair beneath vows and silk. She will regain control over her son’s life and, if she plays her cards right, worm her way back into her husband's heart.
A smirk plays at her lips. Yes, she is selfish, ruthless—only concerned with herself. And she wouldn't have it any other way.
Her phone vibrates against the nightstand, the soft buzz slicing through the thick air. She reaches for it lazily, her expression unreadable as she listens to the voice on the other end. Her personal guard—bringing news.
Her smirk widens.
She slips out of bed, reaching for her silk robe, the movement causing Minjae to frown in confusion. "What’s wrong?" he asks, his voice still thick with desire, his body still aching for more.
"It’s Taehyung," she hums, pouring herself a glass of liquor. "He snuck back in."
Minjae exhales sharply, running a hand through his tousled hair as he sits up, already reaching for his clothes. His irritation is palpable. "Of course he did," he mutters under his breath, buttoning his shirt with deliberate slowness.
Ana takes a sip of her drink, watching him with amusement. "Go talk to him," she orders smoothly. "And leave when you’re done. I want to rest."
Without another word, she turns on her heel, disappearing into the bathroom, the liquor swirling in her glass as she moves.
Minjae sighs, his patience running dangerously thin. He could have spent the night in peace, lost in Ana’s touch, but no—Taehyung, that insufferable brat, always has to ruin things.
Tonight, once again, he will have to remind Taehyung of his place. He will have to push, manipulate, and pressure him into accepting the inevitable—that this marriage will happen whether he likes it or not.
But this will be the last time Minjae warns him.
Next time, he’ll take extra measures. Deadly ones.
Anything to bring Ana peace.
Anything to get rid of that damn Jungkook.
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The night is quiet, eerily so, as Taehyung pushes through the side entrance of the grand Kim mansion. The click of the door is nearly silent, but his every movement is calculated. He’s done this a hundred times—slinking through shadows, skipping the main hallways, and especially avoiding the wide, echo-prone staircase.
The moonlight bleeds through the tall windows, brushing against marble floors as Taehyung moves past the grand stairway with silent steps. His heart hammers in his chest, more from nerves than exertion—every creak, every soft sound feels like thunder in the stillness.
Finally, he reaches the sanctuary of his room. The heavy oak door shuts behind him with a soft thud. He exhales in relief, clicking on the light as he tosses his sleek black purse onto the dresser.
But then—he jumps, stumbling back with a startled gasp.
Minjae is already inside. Leaning casually against Taehyung’s massive wardrobe like he owns the place. One leg crossed over the other, hands tucked neatly in his pockets, smugness practically dripping off of him.
Taehyung’s hand flies to his chest, heart pounding violently as his eyes harden. “Now what the fuck are you doing in here?” he spits, his fists clenching by his sides.
Minjae chuckles lowly, stepping away from the wardrobe with slow, deliberate confidence. “Now that’s no way to talk to your fiancé,” he drawls, closing the distance between them.
Taehyung backs up instantly, his spine brushing the dresser as his hands grip it for grounding. “Come any closer and I’ll gut your face,” he growls, eyes flashing.
But Minjae doesn’t stop.
He reaches out, fingers brushing the side of Taehyung’s neck—soft and slow, deliberate in the worst way.
“So pretty,” he whispers, voice laced with poison. “It’s such a shame… what I’m going to do to this face once we wed.”
Taehyung flinches, rage flaring in his eyes. “You disgust me. I’ll die before I marry you.”
Minjae’s grin stretches wider, wicked and unbothered. “Reject me all you want, dear. You don’t get a choice.” He leans in closer, breath ghosting over Taehyung’s cheek. “And I wonder… when do you plan on telling your little boyfriend, hmm?”
That lands like a punch to the gut.
Taehyung’s breath catches. His body stiffens. His eyes widen—shocked and terrified.
Jungkook doesn’t know. He doesn’t know about the engagement, doesn’t know about the contract tying Taehyung to this nightmare, doesn’t know how controlled and suffocating Taehyung’s life truly is.
And worst of all—Jungkook doesn’t know that Taehyung is planning something. Something big. Something that has to work before Minjae ruins everything.
“There’s nothing to tell,” Taehyung finally hisses, voice shaking. “I won’t be marrying the man who’s fucking my mother.”
Minjae’s smirk vanishes.
The slap comes hard and sudden. Taehyung gasps, his face whipping to the side as red blossoms across his cheek.
Minjae’s eyes are blazing now, fury replacing his calm exterior. “Your mother will hear of this,” he snarls, his voice laced with venom.
Without another word, he storms out, slamming the door behind him.
Taehyung stands frozen, the sting on his cheek burning—but it’s nothing compared to the fire igniting in his chest. He touches his face slowly, then clenches his jaw.
One thing’s for sure—he’s running out of time. And next time, Minjae won’t just bring threats.
He’ll bring war.
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see you tomorrow ❤️🔥
Chapter Text
𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈❤️🔥
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⟡ 𝑪𝒓𝒖𝒆𝒍 𝒄𝒓𝒖𝒆𝒍 𝒎𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 ⟡
❀⋆｡˚⎯⎯⎯⟡🌹⟡⎯⎯⎯˚｡⋆❀
Taehyung wrecks his room, hyperventilating as he trashes everything in sight. Clothes scatter like torn feathers, the rug flipped and bunched against the floor, lamps and chairs knocked over with loud, clattering crashes. His hair sticks to his forehead, veins popping against his flushed skin, mind a frantic, spiraling mess.
His mother stands rooted by the door, poised and elegant in a silk gown, not a hair out of place. She watches, face unreadable, lips pressed tight. She scoffs quietly, disgust barely masked as she watches the son she raised with such care for modesty and pride tear through the room like a rabid, orphaned child.
To her, it’s clear—this classless, vulgar rage—that boy has poisoned him. Jungkook.
She sighs, bored almost, waiting for Taehyung to finish his tantrum.
"You don't get it... you can’t," Taehyung gasps out, voice broken, chest heaving as he drops to his knees. He crawls a little toward her, desperate, shattered, sobbing like the world is ending. His hands claw at the air between them as if he could bridge the distance.
"You can't do this—I need to see him, okay?" he pleads, tears falling freely, hands trembling. "At least let me tell him before Minjae gets to him—please," he sobs recklessly, voice cracking at the edges.
His mother doesn’t move, her eyes cold, unmoved by the scene.
Taehyung had woken up this morning giddy to see Jungkook again, only to find his bedroom locked tight from the outside. He had banged on the door until his fists bruised, screamed until his throat burned. No one came, except the maids who brought him food he refused to touch.
He tried to run, tried to bolt when the door opened—but the bodyguards were faster, stronger. They dragged him back in, ignoring his wild scratching, his desperate kicks.
And then he saw it.
Minjae, smug and satisfied, leaving his mother's bedroom, tucking his shirt back into his slacks. He adjusted his belt slowly, caught Taehyung’s wide, shattered gaze, and winked—blowing a kiss mockingly before sauntering away.
Taehyung’s stomach had twisted, bile rising as rage and helplessness cracked through his very bones.
And now, he kneels here, trapped, broken, sobbing into a house that only echoes his despair back at him.
"You can't be this cruel," Taehyung weeps, body trembling as the sobs rack through him, fingers clutching the silk rug beneath him like it’s his last anchor.
"Oh honey—" his mother hums, voice almost tender as she squats down to his level, the silk of her gown pooling around her knees. Cold, slender fingers hook under Taehyung’s tear-streaked cheeks, forcing him to look at her. Her thumb wipes the tears away with a softness that feels like a mockery.
"My baby," she breathes, eyes glassy with tears of her own as she presses a fleeting kiss to his quivering lips. "You have no idea how cruel your mother can be," she whispers, voice shaking, a lone tear slipping past her painted lips.
"I've watched you disgrace me," she says, her tone flattening like ice forming over a lake. Then, slowly, her nails dig into his jaw—sharp, punishing—until Taehyung hisses, forced to stay still under her tightening grip.
"You infuriate me," she grits out, eyes dark and glistening with rage. "Why can't you just be good and obedient? Marry Minjae for mummy, hmm? Then daddy can come back and we’ll be a happy little family again. Don't you want mommy to be happy?"
"But—" Taehyung gasps, lips wobbling—"but you're sleeping with him—"
The slap cuts through the room like a gunshot. His face snaps to the side, hair whipping across his forehead, a red imprint already blooming on his cheek. For a moment, there’s just the sound of their heavy breathing. Taehyung stares at the floor, hand slowly rising to cup his stinging skin.
Above him, his mother straightens, the lines of her silk gown falling perfect again, her face smooth, unreadable.
"Watch your mouth," she hisses, like venom dripping from her tongue.
His mother rises slowly, brushing invisible dust from the sleeve of her gown. The silk catches the low light, shining like liquid ice. She straightens her spine, chin lifting in quiet triumph.
"You will never lay eyes on him again," she says, each word slicing the air like a blade. Her hand pauses on the doorframe, poised — cruel and composed. "Try me, Taehyung, and you'll be seeing his dead body instead."
She walks away — not hurried, not guilty — her heels tapping a slow, merciless rhythm on the marble floor.
The door clicks shut.
Silence.
It crushes him.
Taehyung collapses onto the cold floor, his fingers digging into the rug as he gasps. His chest heaves with the weight of everything — of being used, caged, paraded, and discarded. His whole life...a shining prison dressed up as privilege.
And they call this living?
He tilts his head back, looking at the ornate ceiling — golden moldings and crystal chandeliers sneering down at him. His hands ball into fists against the rug.
No.
No.
He refuses.
A sharp, violent energy claws its way up his spine. His limbs move before his mind can catch up. He tears down the heavy velvet curtains, the hooks ripping from the rods with sharp metallic clinks that fill the room. The fabric piles at his feet like the fallen robes of a king dethroned.
He grips the thick cloth, twisting it with furious hands, forming a rope.
He stumbles to the window, his breathing ragged. His boots thud against the floor as he jams his feet into them, not bothering to tighten the laces properly. Every movement is frantic, desperate. His heart pounds in his ears.
Taehyung grabs the nearest chair — heavy, antique wood — and with a roar, he swings it at the window.
Glass explodes outward in a shower of deadly diamonds. The cold night air rushes in, biting his sweat-slicked skin.
Somewhere down the hall, voices shout — guards alerted by the crash.
No time.
He ties the curtain rope around the thick bedpost, yanking it once, twice — it holds.
Boots crunch against glass as he climbs onto the windowsill, the sharp winter wind slapping against his face. He throws the rope over, watches it unfurl and disappear into the darkness.
The door behind him bursts open — guards spilling in, shouting.
But he's already slipping out, gripping the rope tight, hands burning as he lowers himself down. The rope swings against the side of the building — the world a blur of stone and shadow.
He hits the ground hard, rolls to absorb the impact, and sprints — heart hammering like a war drum.
Alarms blare behind him, voices shout, searchlights sweep across the courtyard.
Taehyung ducks low, darting behind tall hedges, skimming along the edges of the grand estate like a ghost. He moves on instinct, slipping between statues and over manicured flowerbeds. Every breath is a knife in his lungs, but he doesn’t stop.
Freedom is close.
Jungkook is close.
And for once — he is choosing himself.
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Chapter Text
𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈🌹
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⟡ 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒅𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒍 𝒍𝒖𝒓𝒌𝒔 ⟡
❀⋆｡˚⎯⎯⎯⟡🌹⟡⎯⎯⎯˚｡⋆❀
The night hangs heavy over the street corner, painted in bruised hues of deep indigo and silver. A lazy mist curls along the cracked sidewalks, softening the edges of the shabby homes that line the block. The streetlights buzz faintly overhead, casting sickly yellow halos onto the damp asphalt.
Parked in the shadows, a sleek black car sits quietly by the curb, its engine long since silenced. The metal body gleams under the dim streetlights, predatory and patient. Inside, the atmosphere is thick, almost choking.
Minjae lounges in the passenger seat, legs spread carelessly, one arm slung over the door. A cigarette burns between his fingers, the embers flaring bright every time he takes a drag. He exhales slowly, the smoke slithering from his lips and coiling in the stale air.
Behind the wheel, Leo shifts uncomfortably, tapping his fingers against the leather steering wheel. His eyes flicker toward the ramshackle house across the street — a squat, crumbling structure with peeling paint and rusted bars on the windows.
They’ve been parked there for over an hour now. Waiting. Watching.
Leo sighs under his breath, the sound loud in the claustrophobic silence. “Man, how long do we have to—”
Minjae cuts him a look — sharp and cutting — his dark eyes flashing with warning. He takes another slow puff of his cigarette, the tip glowing red like a tiny eye in the dark.
"How about you shut up and wait much longer," Minjae says, voice low and dangerous. Smoke spills from his lips as he speaks, drifting into Leo’s face. Leo winces, pulling back slightly, swallowing thickly.
The house remains still — a hollow shape against the night. But Minjae is patient. He taps ash onto the floor mat with deliberate slowness, lips curling into a humorless smile.
He chuckles, low and mean, the sound rumbling deep in his chest.
"Once we do this," he mutters, eyes glued to the house, "Tae won’t even get a chance to say goodbye to his little deadbeat lover."
The smirk that twists his mouth is cruel, dripping with venom. The cigarette burns down to his fingertips, and he flicks it out the window without a second glance, the tiny ember dying against the wet ground.
The night grows colder. The city beyond them hums quietly — a world oblivious to the trap being set in its forgotten corners.
And Minjae waits, patient as a vulture.
Tonight, he plans to end it all.
Leo shifts in his seat, jittery and uncomfortable, glancing between Minjae and the dark street ahead. His voice is low, almost a whisper, thick with uncertainty.
"I don't know, man. This is crazy. You sure the lady said it’s okay to... touch him? You’re already marrying Tae, so what’s this for?"
The words barely leave his mouth before Minjae snaps, his entire body coiling with rage.
"What part of shut the hell up did your ass not get?" he hisses, fist whipping through the air in a blur. Leo flinches just in time, ducking the blow. He bows his head in submission, grinding his teeth.
Tension crackles between them — but it shatters at once when the low, familiar growl of a motorbike cuts through the night.
Both men instinctively duck, sinking low in their seats. Through the windshield, they watch as a lone rider pulls up to the crooked little house across the street. The bike rumbles to a stop, and the rider — Jungkook — swings a leg over the side, removing his helmet with a rough shake of his hair. He looks exhausted, weighed down by the day, his shoulders sagging as he hooks the bike into a safe spot by the fence.
Minjae’s lips curl into a cruel smirk as he shifts his gaze to Leo, his eyes glinting with malicious glee.
"So listen," he mutters, voice low and thick with excitement. "All you gotta do is tamper with the screws a bit, huh? Make it seem like the bike’s fine when it’s turned on... but later on—" He pauses, taking a drag from his cigarette. The tip flares bright, casting eerie shadows over his face.
"—the motherfucker’s gonna crash."
He laughs under his breath, a sound so dark and twisted it barely sounds human. The thought of Jungkook’s blood on the asphalt, of Taehyung mourning him — it thrills him.
Leo swallows hard, his palms sweating. He fidgets, heart pounding against his ribs.
"Wow, so why do I gotta do it? Why can't you do it?" he asks, voice cracking, weary and distrustful.
Minjae turns on him like a whip, his glare poisonous.
"Motherfucker — get out of the goddamn car!" he roars, voice echoing in the cramped vehicle.
Leo flinches again, cursing under his breath. He fumbles for the door handle, shoving it open with a grunt. Stepping out into the cool night air, he pulls a small screwdriver from his pocket, the metal catching the streetlight with a glint.
Behind him, Minjae leans back in the seat, watching with a smug, poisonous satisfaction as Leo skulks across the street — towards Jungkook’s bike — towards betrayal.
The night holds its breath, the shadows whispering promises of ruin.
The air is cold — a biting chill that snakes down his spine and sets his nerves on edge. Shadows loom over the cracked pavement, the yellow streetlights flickering weakly overhead. Everything feels too quiet, too still, as if the world itself is holding its breath.
Behind him, Minjae leans back in the seat, a king watching his pawn move across the board. He takes another drag, the smoke curling around his smug grin.
Leo moves fast, heart hammering in his chest. He darts across the street, ducking low behind parked cars, his eyes locked onto the sleek motorbike sitting innocently by the crooked fence. Every step he takes feels louder than it should, his sneakers scuffing against the gravel, every shadow a threat.
He reaches the bike — hesitates — and glances back once. Minjae is still in the car, lounging, watching, expectant.
Leo curses under his breath and crouches, trembling fingers reaching for the screws that hold the bike together. It’s easy, disgustingly easy, to twist them loose — just enough to make it look untouched, just enough to make sure it fails when it matters most.
His stomach knots painfully as he works, the silence around him deafening, the dirty streetlights casting long, accusing shadows over his crouched form.
When he’s done, he bolts — sprinting across the street and sliding back into the car. He slams the door shut, chest heaving.
Minjae doesn’t even look at him. He just smiles, slow and satisfied, tossing his spent cigarette out the window.
"Good boy," he murmurs, tapping Leo’s cheek condescendingly.
Then he starts the engine, the sleek black car purring back to life.
They peel away from the curb, vanishing into the night — leaving only the lonely bike sitting there under the flickering lights, waiting for its rider.
As Minjae and Leo finally drive off, their sleek black car melting into the night with a low growl, they don’t notice the figure that stumbles out of a taxi at the opposite end of the street.
Taehyung.
He’s breathless, trembling, his clothes rumpled from the frantic escape. The night air claws at his bare arms, but he doesn’t care—his heart slams against his ribs as he bolts toward the small, battered house. His boots slap the pavement, every step desperate, panicked.
He reaches the door, fists flying against it in a frantic rhythm.
"Jungkook!" he cries out, voice raw, cracking with terror.
"Jungkook, please open—!"
Inside, Jungkook’s head snaps up. The moment he hears Taehyung’s voice, he's on his feet, knocking over the small table in his rush. He rips the door open—and there he is.
His baby. His Taehyung. Wild-eyed and broken.
Jungkook doesn’t hesitate. He surges forward, wrapping Taehyung in his arms, pulling him in so tight it’s like he’s trying to fuse them together.
"Baby—" Jungkook breathes, hands cradling the back of Taehyung’s head, feeling the shudders wracking his body.
"I got you—I got you, it’s okay."
Taehyung clings to him, fingers knotting into the fabric of Jungkook’s shirt, sobbing against his chest as the night hums low around them—cool, dark, uncaring.
They have no idea of the danger hurtling toward them.
Not yet.
❀⋆｡˚⎯⎯⎯⟡🌹⟡⎯⎯⎯˚｡⋆❀❀⋆｡˚⎯⎯⎯⟡🌹⟡⎯⎯⎯˚｡⋆❀❀⋆｡˚⎯⎯⎯⟡🌹⟡⎯⎯⎯˚｡⋆❀❀⋆｡˚⎯⎯⎯⟡🌹⟡⎯⎯⎯˚｡⋆❀❀⋆｡˚⎯⎯⎯⟡🌹⟡⎯⎯⎯˚｡⋆❀
oh shit 🫠
Chapter Text
Song❤️🔥
❀⋆｡˚⎯⎯⎯⟡🌹⟡⎯⎯⎯˚｡⋆❀
⟡ 𝑩𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒎𝒆 𝒊𝒏 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒊𝒕´𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒍𝒂𝒔𝒕 ⟡
❀⋆｡˚⎯⎯⎯⟡🌹⟡⎯⎯⎯˚｡⋆❀
The shabby bed creaks under their weight, old springs whining quietly in the thick night air. The room is small, the moonlight spilling through a cracked window in soft silver-blue streaks. The battered mattress sinks under them, covered in worn-out sheets that smell faintly of detergent and comfort.
Taehyung lies curled against Jungkook, dressed in tiny black booty shorts and a loose black tank top that clings to his trembling frame. His bare leg is thrown over Jungkook’s waist, skin to skin, their bodies locked together like two lost souls desperate for warmth. Jungkook, shirtless and still in his jeans, cradles him in strong arms—those arms that once inked promises into Taehyung’s skin now soothing the quake in his body. He presses tender kisses into Taehyung’s hair, breathing him in like he’s afraid he’ll vanish.
For what feels like hours, Jungkook whispers nothing but gentle sounds against him, rubbing slow, careful circles on his back.
“It’s okay, baby. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”
The words seep into Taehyung's shaking frame, into his bones.
When Taehyung's sobs finally quiet, Jungkook leans back slightly, hands cupping Taehyung’s cheeks to lift his face toward him. His voice is thick with worry.
"Baby... what’s wrong? You scared me earlier, hmm?" he murmurs, brushing tears off Taehyung's flushed cheeks. "You know you can tell me anything."
Taehyung tries—he really tries—to find the words. To tell Jungkook everything. The engagement. The trap. The way his whole life has been a lie stitched by other hands.
But he can't.
He's terrified.
Terrified of seeing the galaxy in Jungkook’s eyes—the wonder, the fierce love—dim and die the moment the truth spills free.
Terrified of losing the only person who has ever made him feel real.
So instead, he does the only thing he can.
He kisses him.
Their mouths meet in a slow, desperate press of lips, Taehyung’s hands trembling as they climb up Jungkook’s nape, threading through his hair, pulling him closer, tighter. The kiss is messy, salty with fresh tears, but neither of them cares. Taehyung kisses Jungkook like his life depends on it—because in a way, it does.
He shifts, straddling Jungkook’s hips, grinding down hard, needing more—needing to feel alive, to lose himself. Jungkook senses the urgency, the fear hidden in Taehyung’s feverish movements, but he doesn’t question it. He just holds him, lets him lead for a moment.
Clothes are shed in a frantic dance. Taehyung rips off his tank top, baring his flushed chest, the cool air brushing his skin. Jungkook hurriedly kicks off his jeans, never once letting Taehyung slip from his grasp.
When Taehyung pushes Jungkook down into the mattress, it's Jungkook who flips them easily, taking control, his need to ground Taehyung overwhelming. He pins both of Taehyung’s delicate wrists above his head with one hand, his palm huge and sure against Taehyung’s slender arms.
"You're safe, baby," he whispers, before lowering his mouth to Taehyung’s neck.
His tongue darts out, tasting salt and skin as he sucks, nibbling softly—first at his neck, then traveling lower, catching one of Taehyung’s pretty nipples between his teeth. He nibbles and sucks, gentle but insistent, while his other hand roams Taehyung’s side, feeling the way he shudders under every touch.
Taehyung moans, arching off the bed, his hips grinding up desperately. His legs fall open, offering himself, and Jungkook groans low in his throat at the sight. Their cocks brush, hot and leaking, sending bolts of pleasure through both of them.
Jungkook moves lower, trailing kisses down Taehyung’s trembling body. When he settles between Taehyung’s thighs, he spreads him wider, reverent, like he’s about to worship at a holy altar. His mouth finds Taehyung’s rim, and he licks—a slow, deliberate stroke of his tongue that makes Taehyung whimper and thrash.
Taehyung can’t help it—he sits up slightly, gripping Jungkook’s head and pressing him closer, needing him, needing to drown in this feeling. Tears slip down his cheeks silently, lost in the dark. His body begs for more even as his heart threatens to crack apart under the weight of everything unsaid.
Right here, in this tiny shack of a room, with the night humming low around them and the stars hidden by clouds, Taehyung clings to Jungkook with everything he has left.
Because outside this fragile bubble, the world is already ending.
Jungkook continues his ministrations, his mouth gliding messily between Taehyung’s trembling thighs, tongue moving in slow, wet strokes that make Taehyung keen softly into the night. Taehyung’s hands are buried in Jungkook’s hair, desperate and guiding, grounding himself in the only anchor he trusts.
His cries are broken, breathy, little hiccups of pleasure and grief mixed together, and every now and then he reaches up to wipe away the tears slipping down his cheeks—tears that won't stop, no matter how hard he tries.
When Jungkook finally kisses his way back up Taehyung’s body, leaving tender, worshipful kisses along his skin, their eyes meet—and for a moment, time stalls. Jungkook’s gaze is warm, worried, endlessly in love, and it almost breaks Taehyung open again.
Instead, Jungkook simply smiles, the sweetest thing, and shifts, flipping them over carefully until Taehyung is straddling him.
Taehyung gasps, gripping Jungkook’s broad shoulders for balance. He bites his lip as he lowers himself down slowly, feeling Jungkook stretch him open, fill him completely. A shudder wracks through his body, and Jungkook is right there, hands steady on Taehyung’s hips, caressing him soothingly.
The pace they set is slow—achingly slow—as Taehyung begins to move, rolling his hips up and down with sensual grace. His lips part in silent moans, eyes fluttering shut as he rides Jungkook, moving with a rhythm born of trust, of desperate, clinging love. Every rise and fall of his body is an offering, a prayer.
Jungkook groans beneath him, hands sliding reverently over every inch of Taehyung—his waist, his trembling thighs, his back slick with sweat. He buries his face in Taehyung’s chest, pressing open-mouthed kisses along his perked nipples , sucking gently until Taehyung’s fingers thread into his hair again, holding him close.
Their bodies move together like a slow tide, rocking, pulsing in sync, the room thick with the scent of sex, sweat, and something tender and breaking.
"God, I love you, baby," Jungkook mutters against Taehyung’s skin, voice hoarse, almost wrecked with feeling. The words hit Taehyung’s ears like a benediction, and something deep inside him cracks.
Jungkook’s grip tightens. He starts to thrust up harder, hips driving into Taehyung’s body with more urgency, but still holding him so gently, so carefully, like he's afraid he might break him if he’s not careful.
Taehyung’s moans grow louder, breathier, as he moves faster to match Jungkook’s pace, skin slapping wetly against skin, the sound echoing around the tiny room. Jungkook’s strength is overwhelming, his broad frame a fortress around Taehyung’s smaller body, trapping him in heat and love and safety.
Taehyung clings to him, nails scraping down his back, mouth seeking blindly for kisses he can’t stop giving, can’t stop needing. Their foreheads press together, sweat mingling, the world outside forgotten.
Right now, there is only this.
Only Jungkook’s heartbeat pounding against Taehyung’s chest.
Only Taehyung’s cries filling the air, his body giving itself fully to the boy who has always, always been his home.
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Now above him, Jungkook presses Taehyung’s trembling thighs wide apart, gently but firmly pinning him down into the shabby bed that creaks beneath them. His body looms large, muscles rippling under the dim light, the veins on his arms bulging as he holds Taehyung open like something precious, something he refuses to lose.
Jungkook’s hips roll forward, sinking into Taehyung slowly—so slowly it’s almost agonizing. Each thrust is deep, sensual, even, every stroke a quiet promise against Taehyung’s swollen, sensitive walls. His face buries into the crook of Taehyung’s neck, groaning low as he moves, making love with all the passion he’s held back for so long.
Taehyung sobs silently beneath him, the pain and beauty of it all overwhelming. His nails scrape red trails down Jungkook’s back, clinging to him like a lifeline as the truth weighs heavier in his chest. Every deep thrust brushes against that sweet spot inside him, sends his body arching, but the pleasure is tangled with raw, aching grief.
Jungkook can feel it.
The way Taehyung shakes.
The way his breath hitches.
The way his body trembles beneath his.
He pauses, hips stilling deep inside, and lifts his face slowly to look at him.
Their eyes meet—Taehyung’s wide and wet, shimmering with tears he can no longer hide. Jungkook doesn’t ask.
He doesn’t rush.
He just waits, his hand cradling Taehyung’s flushed cheek like he’s the most delicate thing in the world.
Taehyung's lips quiver as he speaks, voice breaking apart, a soft confession bleeding into the space between them.
"I... I love you, Jungkook—and I..." Taehyung swallows thickly, more tears spilling as he cups Jungkook’s face in both hands. "I don’t want my mum to separate us more than she already has... Can you steal me away? Right now? Take me far away from here... so I can be with you and only you."
He sobs harder, choking on it, the desperation raw in his voice, the weight of years of fear and helplessness crashing down at once.
Jungkook's throat bobs as he gulps down the emotion choking him. He presses their foreheads together, noses brushing, and kisses every tear that falls from Taehyung’s beautiful eyes. He moves again—slowly, lovingly—burying himself deep inside Taehyung with a groan, sealing their lips together in a kiss so tender it nearly breaks them both.
By now, Jungkook understands everything.
He had suspected it all along—the cruelty of chaebol traditions, the arranged engagements looming like specters.
And now he knows it's happening. It's real.
But what Taehyung doesn’t know is that Jungkook has already been planning their escape for months.
That this shabby apartment, this worn bed, these bare walls—they were all temporary.
He’s been working in secret, building a new life for them in a countryside house far from the chains of Taehyung’s family.
He’s elevated his status, secured their future, mapped every route they would take the moment Taehyung said the words he just did.
"I got you, baby," Jungkook whispers fiercely against Taehyung’s temple, voice thick with emotion.
His hips twitch uncontrollably, pleasure building rapidly now, driven by the strength of Taehyung’s confessions and the love shining through his tears. Taehyung sobs again, back arching as he squirts weakly around Jungkook, his body so sensitive and overwhelmed.
The thrusts become desperate, deep, hard—but still loving, still worshipful—until Jungkook cums inside him with a shuddering moan, filling him, claiming him in the only way he can right now.
They lie there for a moment, panting against each other’s mouths, bodies trembling, hearts racing.
Jungkook kisses him—slow, sinful, almost holy.
And when their heads clear, when they can breathe again, Jungkook lifts Taehyung’s face to meet his gaze.
"Just say the word," he says again, low and rough, his entire soul pouring out through his eyes.
Taehyung grips him tighter, gaze unwavering even as fresh tears slip free.
"Take me away," he whispers fiercely, "far away."
That’s all Jungkook needs.
With a growl of determination, Jungkook scoops him up into his arms—Taehyung gasping and clinging to him—and they dress hurriedly, hearts thudding in tandem, urgency burning between them.
They stumble outside into the cool night, streetlights flickering above them like distant stars.
Jungkook swings a leg over his black motorcycle, engine purring to life beneath him.
He reaches back, helping Taehyung onto the seat behind him, pulling Taehyung’s arms tightly around his waist, feeling his trembling body pressed flush against his own.
"Hold on to me," Jungkook murmurs over the roar of the engine.
"I always will," Taehyung breathes against his back.
And with that, they speed into the night—two souls racing toward a future they would build with their own hands, together, no matter what storms chased after them.
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Brace yourself for next update
Chapter Text
Song❤️🔥
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⟡ 𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒂𝒍𝒎𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 ⟡
❀⋆｡˚⎯⎯⎯⟡🌹⟡⎯⎯⎯˚｡⋆❀
The motorcycle slices through the night like a bullet of hope, carving a path through the veins of Seoul.
The city stretches endlessly around them—a living tapestry stitched from neon and steel, pulsing with life. Skyscrapers loom overhead like silent guardians, their glass faces reflecting the kaleidoscope below. Windows glitter like scattered diamonds against the velvet sky, blinking in rhythm with the heartbeat of the city.
Traffic signals glow in slow, hypnotic cycles—red, amber, green—throwing their colors across Jungkook's black helmet, making him a moving canvas of light. The sleek, matte body of the motorcycle gleams under the sporadic flashes, a shadow weaving through the bright arteries of the night.
At first, Taehyung clings tightly—hands curled into the fabric of Jungkook's jacket. But as the speed builds, the rush of the wind and the wildness in his blood overcome him.
He lets go.
Arms stretch wide open, jacket catching the air like wings, the fabric snapping behind him. His hair whips in the cold wind, dark strands dancing wildly against the night sky. No helmet weighs him down.
No fear shackles him. Just the raw, unfiltered sensation of the world pouring over him—the sharp kiss of the breeze on his skin, the roar of the wind in his ears, the fierce, aching taste of freedom etching itself on his tongue
Taehyung tilts his head back, laughing silently into the rushing darkness, lashes wet with the tears he refuses to let fall.
This—this was it. This was what love was supposed to be.
Raw. Reckless. Alive.
A beautiful, aching thing that burned so bright, he could almost taste forever with every breath.
Behind the handlebars, Jungkook beams beneath the visor of his helmet—his chest splitting with something vast and beautiful. His heart pounds against his ribs, hammering out a rhythm faster than the wheels against the asphalt.
In the side mirror, he catches fleeting glimpses of Taehyung—arms outstretched, head thrown back, the city lights wrapping around him like a halo. He looks ethereal, almost too beautiful for this earth, an angel set loose against the night sky.
And for a moment, it feels like the world belongs only to them.
Around them, Seoul hums—
Billboards flash vivid reds and blues, advertising dreams for sale.
Crosswalk signs blink lazily, the flickering figures wading through rivers of people.
Distant voices murmur like ghosts through open windows.
The thrum of engines, the low bass of music from passing cars—all of it blends into a wild, living symphony that carries them forward.
The roads blur into endless rivers of asphalt beneath the wheels. Every second, every heartbeat, pulls them closer to something that feels like destiny.
Jungkook's gloved hand reaches back for just a second, brushing Taehyung's bare knee—a fleeting but fierce tether between them.
"Just hold on, Taehyung," Jungkook thinks, his chest aching with the force of it.
"We're almost there.
Soon you'll never have to be scared again.
Never cry again.
You'll know only love, only joy—only me."
He squeezes the throttle harder, the bike surging forward with a growl that echoes off the concrete and glass around them, slicing a path into the unknown night.
His dreams blaze bright and blinding ahead of him.
Taehyung leans forward slightly, pressing his forehead against Jungkook's back, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat through the layers of leather and denim. The warmth of it anchors him, steady and strong, and for a moment, he lets his eyes slip shut, trusting the road ahead to Jungkook.
The world around them blurs into a sea of neon and moving shadows. The wind races past, dragging at Taehyung's hair and clothes, but he doesn't fight it. He lets it carry him. He feels lighter than air, as if the whole city has let go of him, leaving only the sensation of weightless freedom behind.
In the quiet of his mind, he pictures the life waiting for them at the end of this road—a small house hidden away from curious eyes, quiet mornings with Jungkook's arms wrapped around him, the warmth of coffee shared between kisses. He pictured children, messy laughter filling sunlit rooms.
A faint smile curves his lips as he opens his eyes again, heart aching with the sheer fullness of it all.
But the city doesn't stop for dreams.
From a narrow side street, a black trailer bursts into the road without warning, headlights still dark, tires screaming against the pavement.
The motorcycle thunders down the neon-lit road—a desperate blur of motion amid Seoul's midnight chaos. Now, every nerve in jungkook's body screams as he swerves sharply, trying to dodge the trailer.
But as his eyes widen in alarm, he realizes the brakes are dead. The pedal presses fruitlessly under his foot and no matter how hard he tries to slow, the bike roars on at full speed. In a slow-motion cascade of terror, the tires skitter and then, with a gut-wrenching crunch, begin to come apart. His heart sinks at the sound—a metallic cry of surrender as the rubber peels from the rim.
"Jungkook, watch out!" Taehyung's scream echoes through the night, sharp and pleading. Yet, even as the words ricochet through the air, they come too late. The motorcycle slams directly into the trailer with a force that shatters everything. In that suspended moment, time itself seems to split open—the impact hurling the bike, and Jungkook with it, high into the air.
They soar for a brief, agonizing instant above the asphalt, the chaos around them a frozen tableau of shattered dreams and flying debris. Then gravity wins. The bike crashes down in a spray of metal, glass, and twisted steel. The violent collision crushes the once sleek machine into a mangled ruin.
Jungkook lies crumpled on the pavement, every limb screaming in torment as darkness fringes his vision. With raw determination, he forces himself to shift, groaning in pain as he drags a shattered hand to his head and slowly removes his helmet.
Blood drips from a shallow cut on his brow and splits at the corner of his lip; his legs feel like lead and an arm hangs awkwardly at a jagged angle. Yet, he doesn't allow himself the luxury of collapse.
❀⋆｡˚⎯⎯⎯⟡🌹⟡⎯⎯⎯˚｡⋆❀❀⋆｡˚⎯⎯⎯⟡🌹⟡⎯⎯⎯˚｡⋆❀❀⋆｡˚⎯⎯⎯⟡🌹⟡⎯⎯⎯˚｡⋆❀❀⋆｡˚⎯⎯⎯⟡🌹⟡⎯⎯⎯˚｡⋆❀❀⋆｡˚⎯⎯⎯⟡🌹⟡⎯⎯⎯˚｡⋆❀ ⋆❀❀⋆｡˚⎯⎯⎯⟡🌹⟡⎯⎯⎯
Where is Taehyung ?
Chapter Text
❀⋆｡˚⎯⎯⎯⟡🌹⟡⎯⎯⎯˚｡⋆❀
“Ta… Tae… my Tae baby , my baby” he mutters in a broken rasp, voice barely audible over the distant hum of city life. Each syllable is a prayer, a plea for salvation. His heart pounds with regret and fierce longing as he snaps his arm back into place and rises slowly—a limping, excruciating journey toward the curb on the other side of the street, where, even amidst the chaos, he sees a single glimmer: Taehyung.
“No… no…” Jungkook croaks, dragging his shattered body toward him. Each step is agony—his broken leg barely holding him upright—but he doesn’t stop. He can't. Not when Taehyung lies there, so still, so terrifyingly still, amidst the wreckage.
The motorcycle lays in a grotesque heap next to Taehyung’s body, its twisted metal cruelly embedded in his flesh. Jagged shards of the bike stab through Taehyung’s thigh, his leg bent unnaturally, bones clearly snapped. His right arm is twisted backward, limp like a broken doll.
Worse still, Jungkook’s heart caves in as he sees the pool of blood spreading beneath Taehyung’s head—a deep wound at the base of his skull—and a cruel stab wound torn across his abdomen, blood bubbling from it with every shallow breath. His lips leak crimson rivers, his chest rising faintly, barely clinging to life.
“No—Taehyung—stay with me! STAY WITH ME! You're NOT dying!” Jungkook screams, voice raw and desperate, kneeling at his lover’s side. His trembling hands rip off his shirt, tearing the fabric into strips with frantic energy. Pressing his palm hard against Taehyung’s bleeding stomach, he tries to stop the blood gushing out, even as his own broken fingers shake from the effort.
With another torn strip, he wraps Taehyung’s bleeding leg tightly, securing it with the roughness of pure panic. Taehyung’s body shudders under his touch—alive, but fading. His lashes flutter weakly, and his beautiful, delicate face is ghost-pale under the fluorescent streetlights. He tries to speak, his mouth twitching—but all that comes is a gagging, wet gasp, blood foaming at his lips.
"No—shh—don't speak—I'm here," Jungkook whispers, voice cracked with terror as he lifts Taehyung as carefully as his broken body allows. He cradles him close, pressing a wadded cloth against the back of Taehyung’s fractured skull. His other hand finds Taehyung’s, still faintly warm, fingers barely twitching in his grasp.
“Hold me, baby—please—just hold me,” Jungkook begs, pressing Taehyung’s palm against his own chest, anchoring him there as if sheer force of will could tether him to life.
Taehyung’s eyes struggle open, dull and glassy with pain. His lips move again—this time managing a whisper, so faint it barely cuts through the blood and tears.
“…we… we almost made it…” Taehyung rasps, his voice a death rattle. Blood runs freely from the corner of his mouth, painting his chin red as his body spasms weakly.
“No, no, don't say that—we will make it—okay?!” Jungkook sobs, kissing the backs of Taehyung’s bloodstained hands again and again, tears dripping onto Taehyung’s cheeks. “You can't die—please—listen to me—you’ll be okay—you’ll live—you’ll live with me—you'll wake up and we'll be free, my love, my sweet baby, please…”
Jungkook cradles him tighter, his own bones screaming in agony, but he doesn't even feel it anymore. The only thing he feels is Taehyung—slipping, fading in his arms, as the world blurs around them, sirens still too far away, the night air too sharp and cruel.
And Jungkook, broken but still fighting, sobs into the crook of Taehyung’s neck—refusing, refusing to let go.
The night is suffocating—sharp with cold, the distant sound of sirens too far, too slow. Jungkook doesn’t care. His own body is breaking, his limbs screaming in agony, but none of it matters. Not anymore. The only thing that matters is the warmth of Taehyung’s fading touch, the way his breath is slowing, the way his eyes flicker weakly, fighting to stay open.
“Taehyung, please,” Jungkook whispers, his voice breaking, fragile as glass. He presses his forehead against Taehyung’s, their tears mixing, and he sobs harder, unwilling to acknowledge the fading pulse beneath his fingers.
The world blurs, becomes a haze of flashing lights and the cold metal of the ambulance doors. The nurses are swift, moving like shadows around them, but none of it feels real. Not the antiseptic smell, not the sterile coldness of the van.
Not the endless beeping of monitors that seem to grow louder, more frantic, as Jungkook’s hands, now bandaged and trembling, cling to Taehyung’s. He’s whispering apologies into his ear, his voice raw, torn from his chest. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I should’ve—should’ve protected you. Forgive me, please…”
But the words hang heavy in the air, unanswered. They drift like ghosts, fading into the sterile hum of the ambulance.
When they reach the hospital, everything is a blur again—hands grabbing him, pulling him away from Taehyung, who is wheeled away into the ICU. The nurses are too kind, their eyes filled with pity, and Jungkook’s heart aches as he fights to stay with Taehyung, fights to follow him, but they hold him back. He stumbles, dizzy, his own body betraying him as the door slams shut between them.
The surgery lights flicker on, cutting through the dark, and Jungkook, a broken mess of blood and despair, crumples against the wall. He slides down to the floor, his hands slick with Taehyung’s blood, his body shaking uncontrollably. His mind is a swirling mess of memories—Taehyung’s laugh, the way his eyes lit up when he talked about their future.
The way they whispered their promises to each other in the quiet of their room, the tattoos they shared as symbols of forever. The nights they spent racing through the streets, hearts pounding, hands tangled in each other’s, their love a secret just for them.
All of it is slipping away. All of it is crashing down on him like a wave. And yet, in the midst of this storm, he still holds on to the warmth of Taehyung’s hand.
The nurse is running toward him, but he can barely see through the haze of exhaustion and grief. “We need to get you checked out,” she says, her voice gentle, but it only makes him feel more broken.
But it’s too late. Jungkook’s heart is heavy with the weight of what ifs. He closes his eyes for a moment, and in that moment, everything goes dark. Not because he wants to die, but because he can’t bear the thought of living without Taehyung by his side.
The love they shared, the life they dreamed of—it all feels like a cruel joke now. Maybe running away with him was a mistake. Maybe they should’ve stayed in the shabby house, safe in their bubble, far away from the world that took everything from them. Maybe if he had stayed behind, Taehyung would still be with him.
But it’s too late for regrets. Too late for second chances.
He doesn’t know how long he sits there, lost in the dark, the hours stretching into eternity. But when he opens his eyes again, the sterile lights of the hospital glare down at him, and his body aches in ways he didn’t think possible. He doesn’t feel the pain anymore. Not when he’s lost everything that mattered.
And then, in the back of his mind, a single thought cuts through the fog.
Maybe love was never enough.
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Song💔
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⟡ 𝒊 𝒎𝒂𝒚 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 ⟡
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If you ask Jungkook what is happening right now, he wouldn't be able to give you a straight answer — not because he doesn’t know, but because nothing feels real anymore. Everything is disoriented. His surroundings have blurred into a mess of fluorescent lights, sharp antiseptic air, and the weight of too many hands grabbing at him.
He doesn’t feel alive — he doesn’t feel dead either. It’s like being stuck in a half-conscious nightmare, where the darkness in his thoughts spins so violently it’s impossible to tell where one feeling ends and the next begins.
His wrists are pulled back, cold iron cuffs digging into his skin, the metallic taste of dread heavy on his tongue as police officers flooded the hallway with curt, measured steps — all of them arriving just seconds after he had been screaming and shielding himself from Taehyung’s mother, who had clawed at him like a woman possessed.
It had all happened so quickly, the chaos unraveling in messy layers, one disaster rolling over another.
10minutes ago
His leg was still wrapped in bandages from the accident, trembles beneath him — and from the glass window of the ICU, all he can do is stare at Taehyung, lying helpless under a web of translucent tubes and thick wires. The ventilator keeps his chest rising and falling in rhythmic silence. Taehyung doesn’t look like himself.
Pale, bruised, lips chapped and skin like fragile porcelain, he is completely still. The surgery had been declared successful earlier that night, but success is a relative word — because what followed was far from it. The doctors had been blunt: Taehyung would need multiple transplants, and for now, he had been placed in an induced coma.
Which meant no one knew when he would wake up — if he would wake up.
The moment Jungkook heard those words, something inside him snapped so violently it felt like his soul had cracked. He had screamed — a raw, heart-torn sound that rattled the hospital walls and silenced entire corridors. He had screamed and screamed until his voice was nothing but static, collapsing to the ground as if struck by lightning.
He began hitting himself, fists colliding with his injured leg, pounding the bruised muscles of his own arm, slamming his knuckles into the cold wall until the skin split open and blood smeared the white. The nurses tried to hold him down, tried to speak calmly, but Jungkook couldn’t hear them — he thrashed in their grip like a wounded animal, his sobs wracking his chest until he was choking on them.
He rolled across the floor, curling in on himself, begging for someone to stop the pain, but no one could. No one could bring his baby back to him. His Taehyung — the love of his life — didn’t get the fairytale ending. Didn’t even get the chance to choose.
And it’s all Jungkook’s fault. All of it. He was the one who had dragged Taehyung onto the bike, in the middle of the night, knowing full well it was dangerous. He should have waited. He should have waited — just a few more minutes, a few more hours — but the fear had taken over.
The fear of losing Taehyung forever.
If they hadn’t left that night, Taehyung’s mother would have caught up to them, taken him away from Jungkook, locked him back in that hell of a house and forced him into a life of pretend happiness beside a man he didn’t love. His Taehyung had been so scared, sobbing into Jungkook’s arms like a broken child, whispering again and again that he didn’t want to live if Jungkook wasn’t in his life. And Jungkook had promised him safety. He had promised him forever.
And now forever was lying behind glass, silent and unresponsive.
Jungkook’s body was still trembling when he tried to step into the ICU room, desperate for just one moment by his side — to kiss his cold knuckles, to whisper apologies, to cry in silence by his baby’s bed. But he never got the chance. The hallway had erupted again, chaos crashing into him like a tidal wave.
Taehyung’s mother stormed into the hospital, Minjae — his supposed fiancé — right beside her. Before Jungkook could even register their faces, a fist connected with his jaw. His nose cracked sharply under the weight of the blow and blood spilled instantly, warm and metallic down his lips and chin. Minjae didn’t stop.
He grabbed Jungkook by the collar, screaming curses, raining down punches while the world spun around them. Jungkook didn’t fight back — he didn’t even move. He was barely conscious, coughing blood onto the pristine hospital floor, his vision a shaking blur.
Behind them, he could hear Taehyung’s mother sobbing — wailing so loud it drowned out every noise in the building. She rushed past the guards and collapsed beside Taehyung’s bed, throwing her arms around his limp body, crying hysterically as she begged the doctors to save her son.
Jungkook could only lie there, body limp and aching, watching from the ground as the woman who had once vowed to keep them apart now held onto her child like she had just realized what she’d almost lost.
And despite everything she’d done — every cruel word, every threat, every moment of hatred — Jungkook felt something inside him shatter at the sight. She was still Taehyung’s mother. She was still the one who had raised him, fed him, knew every inch of his childhood, and now, she too was broken beyond repair.
Watching her weep over Taehyung’s still body — watching her hands tremble as she caressed her son’s face — it twisted something deep inside Jungkook. It gutted him. It made him feel like the worst kind of monster. Because no matter how wrong she had been, he too had failed.
He was supposed to protect Taehyung. He was supposed to save him.
And now his baby lies in a coma — heart beating, body warm, but mind suspended in nothingness. A dark, terrifying limbo. Jungkook knows Taehyung must be so scared right now, floating somewhere between dreams and death, hearing voices but unable to speak, unable to move, unable to open those beautiful eyes that Jungkook fell in love with.
And so he lays there on the floor, blood pooling beneath him, pain numbing every part of his body, and wonders how long forever will be without them.
How long it will take before he sees those eyes again.
Jungkook barely registers what’s happening as he’s forcefully dragged up from the floor by a pair of stern-faced officers, their grip unrelenting as his arms are twisted behind his back and cold steel cuffs lock around his wrists.
His body feels heavy, aching from bruises and exhaustion, and it’s only in this moment, as reality crashes into him like a wave, that his senses begin to clear and the gravity of the situation settles in. He hadn’t even noticed when the police had entered or how they had managed to surround him so quickly—everything had unfolded in a blur of sterile white walls and the faint beeping of hospital machinery in the background, the air thick with antiseptic and grief.
The sudden sting of betrayal pierces through the numb fog when his gaze lands on Taehyung’s mother and Minjae, who stand a few feet away with unmistakable hatred written across their faces. Their eyes burn with fury and disgust, and there’s no mistaking the source of their rage.
Of course they blame him. Of course, in their eyes, he is the cause of all this suffering. Even in his own mind, Jungkook can’t entirely shake the guilt he carries, the heavy burden of what-ifs and could-haves, but the accusation that lingers in the air is far more sinister than self-reproach.
They don’t just blame him for what happened—they believe he intended it. That he orchestrated the entire incident to bring Taehyung to this state, to sabotage his life out of desperation or vengeance.
He doesn’t hold back the surge of emotion that tears from his throat, his voice raw as he twists in their hold, shouting with everything he has left. “Let me go! Let me go, I’m innocent!” His voice cracks from the strain, and it draws immediate attention, but not sympathy. The officers only grip him tighter, and his pleas are quickly drowned by the sound of swift footsteps approaching and the sharp slap that comes before he even sees the hand raised.
Taehyung’s mother strikes him across the face with such force that it stuns him more than the blow itself. Her expression is unhinged, her features contorted with a grief that has festered into rage. Her hair is disordered, strands sticking to her damp cheeks as tears stream freely down her face, and her voice trembles as she screams at him with all the pain of a mother whose son lies unconscious in a hospital bed.
“You’re innocent? Is that what you’re saying now?” she yells, pointing a shaking finger at his face, her body trembling violently as she steps closer, restrained only slightly by Minjae’s arm around her.
“You tried to kidnap my son, you inflicted this pain on him because you couldn’t stand to see him happy without you, because you couldn’t accept that he wasn’t going to end up with someone like you! You did this to him because you couldn’t control him anymore!”
Her accusations hit harder than the slap, each word like a blade digging deeper into a wound that’s already gaping. Jungkook stares at her, throat tight, unable to form the words he desperately wants to say, and instead, he turns his head just enough to see Minjae standing behind her, his expression composed in a way that does not match the chaos surrounding them.
There is no fear, no sorrow in his eyes—only satisfaction, quiet and cruel, lurking behind the facade of concern. Jungkook knows then that Minjae is the one who orchestrated it all, that despite Taehyung’s mother’s instructions for him to stay away, he went behind her back and tampered with Jungkook’s bike, rigging it in a way that would make it look like an accident.
The plan had always been to harm Jungkook—to get him out of the picture, to punish him for disrupting the carefully constructed fantasy Minjae had built around himself and Taehyung’s family.
What Minjae hadn’t anticipated, however, was that Taehyung would run away, that he would defy his mother, flee the home they tried to keep him trapped in, and seek refuge in Jungkook’s arms. Minjae hadn’t planned for Taehyung to take that bike instead.
The target had never been him.
But now, watching everything unfold, Minjae says nothing, and Jungkook sees it for what it is—this twisted outcome works in his favor. Taehyung is bedridden, unable to speak or defend himself, which means the engagement is stalled, maybe even cancelled.
And Jungkook, the source of all the chaos, is being taken away in chains, which means he will no longer be an obstacle between Minjae and Taehyung’s mother, whom Minjae has always sought to manipulate for his own gain. It’s a perfect result for him. In Minjae’s eyes, everything has fallen into place.
“You will not take me away from him! I would never do this to him!” Jungkook screams again, the desperation breaking through every word as he thrashes in vain, his body aching from the strain. His heart is pounding with the realization of what’s at stake—not just his own freedom, but Taehyung’s trust, his reputation, their entire future.
He knows what these people are capable of, how easily the rich can twist the truth and buy silence and paint villains out of those who don’t have the power to fight back. If he’s taken away now, he might never get to see Taehyung again.
The image of him, unconscious and alone in a hospital bed, burns in his mind, and it’s too much to bear.
Fueled by panic, Jungkook throws himself against the corridor wall, trying to break free—not to escape, but simply to reach Taehyung, to see him one more time, to whisper through the glass that he never gave up, that he didn’t leave willingly, that he still loves him.
But the officers are stronger, more experienced, and he’s quickly subdued. His body is pinned, his shouts muffled as they haul him through the hospital corridor, past onlookers whose faces are either stunned or indifferent.
Behind him, Taehyung’s mother collapses into Minjae’s chest, sobbing uncontrollably, unaware of the poison that lingers in the arms that hold her. The sirens outside are already flashing, the red and blue lights flickering through the entrance glass as Jungkook is shoved into the backseat of the police vehicle, his wrists bruising beneath the cuffs, his heart shattering with every inch that grows between him and the boy he loves.
And in that silence, as the car door slams shut and the engine roars to life, all he can do is stare ahead with hollow eyes, praying that someone—anyone—will uncover the truth before it’s too late.
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Chapter Text
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⟡ 𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒍𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝒔𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒓𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒔 ⟡
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The courtroom is oppressively quiet—too quiet. The kind of silence that doesn’t soothe but suffocates. It hums with judgment, hangs heavy in the air like the scent of varnished wood and cold stone. Marble pillars line the sides like stoic sentinels, unmoved by the weight of human grief and betrayal that echoes within these walls.
Every breath, every rustle of paper or scrape of a chair feels too loud against the hush, like the room itself is holding its breath—waiting to see how a love story ends in handcuffs.
Jungkook sits at the defendant’s table, his wrists are still cuffed, chain-linked and bruised from the struggle of the night before. The steel digs into tender skin, but he doesn’t flinch. He barely blinks. His head is bowed slightly, dark hair falling into his eyes, shoulders hunched beneath the weight of everything he’s lost.
The public defender seated beside him flips through a thin folder of rushed notes—generic, impersonal, incomplete. No one fought for time. No one fought for truth. Jungkook never got to call anyone. Never got to explain. It all moved too fast, the legal machinery greased with wealth and influence, with a mother’s fury and a family name that opens courtroom doors before they’re knocked on.
Across from him, the Kims sit like royalty. A line of composure, sharp suits and stony expressions. Taehyung’s mother commands the room with her mere presence, a vision of cultivated grief dressed in elegance, her makeup flawless even as her lips press into a thin line of restrained anguish.
Beside her, Minjae stands in a dark, tailored suit, one arm draped lightly around her shoulders in calculated sympathy. The family’s private lawyer—well-groomed, confident, prepared—organizes their case with meticulous precision, exchanging quiet words and nods, casting glances Jungkook’s way that read more like warnings than curiosity.
The judge hasn’t arrived yet, but the air crackles with anticipation. Cameras aren’t allowed in the room, but the tension is theater enough. People whisper in the pews behind, observers, a few reporters, family friends of the Kims, and legal aides scribbling in notepads.
All eyes fall to Jungkook from time to time—some curious, others indifferent, most already convinced of his guilt. He doesn’t return their stares. His thoughts aren’t here.
He’s in that hospital room.
He’s with Taehyung.
He sees his face—soft, serene, terrifyingly still. He sees the lines of pain etched into his features even in unconsciousness. He remembers the way Taehyung’s hand had slipped from his that night, fingers limp, warmth fading.
He remembers the last kiss—rushed, trembling, a silent promise neither of them had words for. He clings to that moment, to the feel of Taehyung’s breath ghosting over his skin, to the echo of his voice saying run away with me, because it’s all he has left. They ripped him away before he could even say goodbye.
His lawyer nudges him, whispers something about procedure, about standing when the judge enters. He nods but doesn’t really hear. His ears ring with grief, not noise. He’s not scared of prison.
He’s scared of never seeing Taehyung again. Of never getting to explain. Of losing him forever to a coma and a narrative crafted by someone who wants him erased.
The doors open.
“All rise.”
The judge walks in, and just like that, the stage is set. On one side, power. On the other, love in chains.
The polished walls of the courtroom echo faintly with the hum of whispers, camera shutters, and the occasional shuffling of papers. Reporters crowd at the back, their lenses trained on the front where the two parties sit like opposing forces in a war neither of them ever truly wanted—but one side clearly came prepared to win.
At the plaintiff’s table, the Kims sit like a living portrait of power and grief. Taehyung’s mother is dressed in a sleek black coatdress, her face pale but poised, a tissue clenched tight in her hand like she’s holding onto sorrow by the throat.
Beside her, Minjae leans forward, his presence subtle but strategically placed—his arm often brushing against her shoulder, murmuring words only she can hear. Their lawyer, an older man with a steel-gray suit and an expression as sharp as his diction, rises with practiced ease.
On the other side sits Jungkook—head bowed.
His wrists are cuffed in front of him, chained lightly to the chair’s armrest. The fabric of his shirt clings to his collarbones, bruises faintly visible beneath the collar. His hair hangs messily over his eyes, hiding the way he flinches when Taehyung’s name is said aloud.
His state-assigned lawyer, a younger woman with tired eyes and a stack of files, sits beside him. She leans over to whisper something—he doesn’t respond. His mind isn’t in the courtroom.
It’s in a hospital room. It’s in the curve of Taehyung’s cheek as he slept against him. In the taste of his breath on their last kiss. In the weight of his silence.
The bailiff calls the court to order.
Then, the Kims’ lawyer stands.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the court,” he begins, his voice smooth, deliberate, projecting just enough emotion to suggest empathy while never straying from control. “This is not a case of mere recklessness. This is not about two boys and a tragic accident. This—” he gestures with one hand toward Jungkook without ever needing to say his name “—is about manipulation. Grooming. Obsession.”
Gasps ripple through the smaller gallery.
The lawyer continues, calm and collected. “The defendant has a well-documented past. Raised in state care, no permanent residence until he was seventeen. Arrested twice for street-level possession and intent to distribute. Tattoos from neck to knuckles—clearly marking a subculture that thrives on rebellion, danger, and disregard for rules.
” He walks slowly before the bench, letting each word sink like poison. “This young man infiltrated Taehyung Kim’s life not by chance, but with purpose. A predator doesn’t walk into the woods for the view.”
He pauses for effect.
“He knew exactly what he was doing—targeting someone from a wealthy family, offering him thrills, rebellion, love without boundaries—knowing well that Taehyung had begun to question the expectations placed on him by his family. And what do predators do when they feel their grip slipping?” He turns to face the jury.
“They resort to fear. Control. In this case—kidnapping. And it ended, tragically, in violence. My clients have reason to believe that the defendant had every intention of demanding ransom once the boy was secured. The injury sustained by Taehyung? A consequence of a plan gone wrong. Not an accident. A misstep.”
The room is dead silent for a beat.
And then, Jungkook’s lawyer stands.
“Your Honor, if I may—”
She steps forward, clutching her notes but choosing not to look at them.
“My client nearly died in that accident too,” she says firmly. “He wasn’t found running from the scene. He wasn’t in hiding or calling to demand anything. Would he have risked his own life, broken bones, head trauma, if this was just about money?”
She walks to the center, her tone rising with each sentence. “There was no ransom call. No threats. No demands. No motive, no proof—only assumptions rooted in bias. You say he targeted Taehyung Kim—but for what? Love? Are we punishing people now for falling for someone outside their class?”
Taehyung’s mother gasps softly, gripping Minjae’s hand.
“This wasn’t grooming. This was love. A messy, beautiful, defiant love. And the only reason we are in this courtroom is because of the tragic outcome of an accident—an accident which, I remind the court, has yet to be proven as intentional sabotage.”
She nods toward Jungkook. “This case should have ended in a civil discussion. Maybe a settlement for damages, therapy for grief, space to heal. But instead, here we are—dragging a boy who’s lost just as much as the Kims into a criminal trial, painting him as a villain simply because he doesn’t have a father in the gallery, or a trust fund, or a polished last name.”
The Kim lawyer stands again, voice sharp.
“Your Honor, the defendant had access to Taehyung’s personal life—his location, his belongings. He alone had control of the vehicle. It was his bike. It was his helmet. And yet Taehyung is the one in a coma.”
He lifts a photograph—an image of the twisted bike wreckage.
“Intent isn’t always spoken aloud, Your Honor. Sometimes it’s in the pattern. The history. The desperation of someone who had nothing and saw Taehyung as a lifeline. A ticket. A possession.”
Jungkook barely hears any of it. It’s all clanging in his skull like broken church bells. Kidnapping. Grooming. Predator. His fingers twitch in the cuffs, his throat tight. He sees Taehyung’s face in every shadow, every flash of white. He can still feel his kiss, soft and shy, stolen behind cheap motel curtains.
He whispers under his breath, “I didn’t… I didn’t mean for this.”
But the words go unheard.
The judge finally raises a hand. Silence floods the courtroom.
“I will now review the statements and evidence presented before this court,” the judge announces, voice firm, neutral. “Given the emotional complexity and the serious nature of the charges laid out before us today, I will adjourn to chambers and return shortly with a ruling.”
The gavel strikes once.
Jungkook is already sagging in his seat, head bowed, vision foggy. The officers move in, standing near him again. Behind the thick glass windows at the back, reporters start scribbling. Flashbulbs go off like gunfire.
He doesn’t care. All he sees is a hospital bed. Pale skin. Quiet machines. And the boy who hasn’t opened his eyes since the day they rode away together.
He’s not scared of prison.
He’s scared of never seeing Taehyung again.
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Chapter Text
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The courtroom is a chamber of breathless tension—every cough, every shuffling shoe, every scribble of a journalist’s pen swallowed by the weight of what’s about to come. The doors creak open and the judge reenters, black robes whispering across the marble floor, an almost spectral figure in the fluorescent wash of overhead lights.
His face is carved in stone, unreadable behind the tired set of his jaw and the way his glasses sit low on the bridge of his nose. He doesn’t immediately look at the defendant or the plaintiff. He merely adjusts the mic in front of him with one bony hand and clears his throat—softly, but it slices through the courtroom like the prelude to a guillotine drop. Silence falls like a thick blanket.
Jungkook doesn’t look up.
He can’t.
Not yet.
His gaze is fixed across the room, where Minjae sits with perfect posture and his signature designer stoicism, like he’s carved from the same smug marble as the court columns. Their eyes meet—no, collide. No masks this time. No court-appropriate civility. No strained politeness or perfumed diplomacy.
This is a stare from the underworld—two gods of ruin locked in unspoken war. Jungkook’s fists tighten where they rest on the table, the veins in his forearms pulsing with restraint, with memory, with rage so bone-deep it could light his blood on fire.
He knows.
God, he knows.
The brake failure had been too precise. No squealing warning, no jittery tension on the handles, just sudden dead weight and the sickening lurch of gravity as the bike careened into a blur of steel and gravel. No witnesses. No CCTV.
Just one ghosted street on a night no one was watching. That crash didn’t feel like fate—it felt like a message. A correction. A punishment. And Jungkook has spent every second since the hospital piecing it together in his mind, puzzle by puzzle, night by night, pain by pain.
And now he’s here, dressed in a suit that feels more like shackles than fabric, watching the man he suspects orchestrated the whole thing breathe freely in a room meant to deliver truth.
But truth is not what this courtroom is built on.
It’s built on proof. And silence.
And that silence is what’s killing him.
The judge’s voice begins—measured, slow, heavy with the kind of authority that’s used to altering lives like flipping pages.
“After reviewing the evidence, testimonies, and arguments presented before this court…”
He pauses. A long one. His eyes move over the gallery, landing on the press with their stiff ties and pens at the ready, then lingering a beat longer on the plaintiff’s table—where Taehyung’s mother sits, red-eyed but composed, every inch the elegant victim.
“…it is clear this case walks a complicated line between tragedy and intent. While the prosecution argues premeditation, there remains insufficient direct evidence to support a full charge of kidnapping with ransom intent.”
A ripple moves through the courtroom—whispers like wind rustling through dry leaves.
Jungkook’s chest rises, falls.
His hands curl tighter.
But the judge isn’t done.
“However—”
Now the gaze shifts, laser-focused, drilling straight into Jungkook. The weight of that look is not unfamiliar; it’s the same one teachers gave him growing up, the same look cops have when they pull you over even before you do anything wrong. The look that says: you were born halfway guilty, weren’t you?
“—the court acknowledges gross negligence on the part of the defendant, including unlawful restraint and reckless endangerment resulting in severe bodily harm. Regardless of the emotional context, Mr. Jeon Jungkook failed to seek immediate help after the crash, operated a vehicle under questionable mechanical conditions, and placed the life of Taehyung Kim at risk.”
Every syllable is a stone dropped into Jungkook’s stomach. Not because he didn’t expect it, but because this is how it ends—not with the truth carved into the record, but with enough gray area to blur the entire line between love and harm, devotion and danger.
No one asked why he waited by Taehyung’s side for hours instead of calling for help. No one believed that the silence came from panic—not malice. That he was scared Taehyung would die if he moved, that he was trying to stop the bleeding, whispering broken apologies into Taehyung’s hair as the sky slowly turned light.
But that’s not written down anywhere.
That’s not evidence.
The judge breathes in deeply, straightening his spine as if bracing for the drop.
“Jeon Jungkook, this court hereby sentences you to Five years in a correctional facility, with the possibility of parole after three years served, based on good behavior. You will also undergo mandatory psychiatric evaluation, trauma counseling, and vocational redirection upon release.”
The room doesn’t simply react—it ruptures. Like the hush before an earthquake giving way to a fracture in the earth’s crust, the courtroom cracks open with sharp gasps, muffled cries, the frantic scribble of pens and rustle of shifting bodies as the weight of the verdict lands.
It isn’t loud, not in volume, but in gravity—it’s the collective sound of heartbreak, relief, disbelief, and the twisted triumph of spectators hungry for closure, no matter whose blood paid for it.
Taehyung’s mother releases a breath she’s been holding for months—shaky, fragile, as if it’s the only thing anchoring her to her seat. Her fingers curl tighter around the handkerchief in her lap. Her eyes stay locked on the bench, but the storm behind them simmers.
Minjae remains still, composed in the way only men too used to control can be. But Jungkook sees it—that barely-there flicker. The twitch at the corner of his mouth, the slight shift of his jaw. Like satisfaction trying to hide behind a courtroom poker face. He doesn’t need to smirk. Jungkook already knows he’s won—for now.
But Jungkook?
He doesn’t move. Doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t blink, even as the sentencing echoes through every bone in his body.
He doesn’t lower his head.
Because lowering it would mean surrender.
His face is carved from something older than stone, something forged under years of survival, grief, and unbearable yearning. But beneath the stillness, beneath the tight line of his mouth and the way his fingers dig into the edge of the table like anchors, there’s a storm erupting inside him.
A quake, deep and brutal and incandescent—a kind of emotional implosion so fierce it should burn him alive from the inside out. But it doesn’t. Because Jungkook has learned how to feel pain and keep standing. How to grieve and still breathe.
There is no sob. No shout of protest. No plea for mercy or clarity or truth. Just this eerie, breathless stillness of a man who has already been stripped bare—and now understands that there’s nothing left to lose except the memories he’s clawing onto with everything he has left.
And in those memories, Taehyung is not bruised or fading beneath hospital lights.
In those memories, Taehyung is golden—warm and flushed in sunlight, laughing softly, humming under his breath as Jungkook watched him scribble in his notebook, or kiss him behind the bleachers like the world didn’t exist.
In those memories, Taehyung is still his. Still gazing at him with the kind of wonder that could make a man believe in god. Still looking at him like Jungkook had strung every star across the sky just to see him smile.
So Jungkook swallows the verdict like shattered glass—painful, jagged, final—and lifts his chin ever so slightly.
Eyes forward. Spine straight. Heart breaking, but still beating.
And for the first time in weeks—maybe longer—he almost feels grateful.
Because the pain means the memory is real. And the memory means he hasn’t lost Taehyung completely.
Not to Minjae.
Not to prison.
Not to this courtroom dressed in false justice.
Because as long as he remembers—truly remembers—
no one can take Taehyung away from him.
Not ever.
❀⋆｡˚⎯⎯⎯⟡🌹⟡⎯⎯⎯˚｡⋆❀❀⋆｡˚⎯⎯⎯⟡🌹⟡⎯⎯⎯˚｡⋆❀❀⋆｡˚⎯⎯⎯⟡🌹⟡⎯⎯⎯˚｡⋆❀❀⋆｡˚⎯⎯⎯⟡🌹⟡⎯⎯⎯˚｡⋆❀❀⋆｡˚⎯⎯⎯⟡🌹⟡⎯⎯⎯˚｡⋆❀
Chapter Text
song🌹
❀⋆｡˚⎯⎯⎯⟡🌹⟡⎯⎯⎯˚｡⋆❀
⟡ 𝒎𝒂𝒚 𝒘𝒆 𝒎𝒆𝒆𝒕 𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒊𝒏 ⟡
❀⋆｡˚⎯⎯⎯⟡🌹⟡⎯⎯⎯˚｡⋆❀
They don’t cuff him.
That’s the first surprise.
There’s a quiet dignity afforded to him—maybe because of the cameras, maybe because of his silence, maybe because the judge saw something in his eyes that said: this man is already shackled.
But it doesn’t matter.
Jungkook doesn’t need metal on his wrists to feel the weight. Every step toward the side door of the courtroom drags like chains behind him. He doesn’t glance back. Doesn’t look at Minjae, or the rows of reporters, or the hollowed faces of Taehyung’s family. He keeps his head up, gaze fixed straight ahead, even as his palms sweat and his throat tightens with something unspeakable. He lets the guards flank him without flinching, lets the heavy door swing shut behind him with a finality that feels biblical. It sounds like the closing of a tomb.
The corridor is sterile and grey, lined with dull overhead lights that flicker like failing stars. He walks past muted walls, past frosted glass and heavy doors that buzz open only to seal again behind him with loud, echoing clicks. Every sound is amplified now—the soft slap of his soles against linoleum, the hiss of breath through his nose, the muted radio chatter from a guard’s walkie. His heartbeat is a roar in his ears.
Not fear. Not even grief.
Just knowing.
Knowing this is the part where the world forgets him.
They take him to a transport van—painted dull white, like an ambulance that’s given up on saving anyone. They wait for no ceremony. Just motion him in. He climbs the steps slowly, knees stiff, eyes half-lidded, body numb. The seats are cracked vinyl, and the windows are wire-reinforced. As the doors slam shut and the engine growls to life, Jungkook rests his forehead lightly against the cool metal wall, watching the city blur past in fragments.
Seoul no longer belongs to him. It passes like a stranger.
The ride is long. No one speaks. Just the low hum of the road beneath them and the soft whine of brakes every few kilometers. Jungkook lets himself be rocked by the motion—an imitation of comfort, like a baby rocked to sleep in the arms of something that doesn’t love him back.
The correctional facility looms on the outskirts like a fortress. Fences coiled in barbed wire. Watchtowers posted like silent witnesses. The air smells different out here—dry and cold, with a wind that cuts deep. By the time they reach processing, Jungkook’s limbs feel heavier than stone.
They strip him of everything.
Clothes first—jacket, shirt, socks, boxers—each peeled away with clinical detachment by gloved hands. His skin prickles under the cold air, muscles tensing. He doesn’t make a sound. He lifts his arms when told. Opens his mouth. Turns slowly. Stares at the wall in front of him as if it holds the last memory of Taehyung’s face.
Then the hose comes.
It’s not brutal—not the way prison dramas show it—but it’s degrading all the same. The water is ice-cold, blasting across his bare chest, down his spine, into the corners of his body where no touch has gone since Taehyung. He clenches his jaw, fingers curling inward. The floor beneath his feet is slick, stained, a graveyard of other men’s shame.
He is no longer Jeon Jungkook here.
He is a number. A file. A body to be clothed and contained.
They toss him a folded stack of rough prison garb—grey, shapeless, with a badge on the chest stamped with his inmate ID. He dresses slowly. Each article heavier than the last. The pants don’t fit right. The shirt smells of bleach and something colder.
Finally, they hand him his boots.
He slips them on. Stands. Looks at the guard who’s been silently watching him the whole time.
The man nods toward the door.
“This way, inmate.”
And Jungkook walks.
Not with pride. Not with fear.
But with the steady, unflinching gait of someone who’s already been through the worst kind of punishment—losing the only person who ever made him feel like a home.
And still choosing to remember.
❀⋆｡˚⎯⎯⎯⟡🌹⟡⎯⎯⎯˚｡⋆❀
Five years. That’s what their love had amounted to. Not a house by the sea, not aging hands, not Sunday mornings in each other’s arms. A sentence. A cautionary tale. Something people would whisper about—how a boy with nothing dared to love a boy who was born with everything. Maybe it was always going to end like this.
Jungkook lies on the top bunk, curled onto his side. The thin mattress barely softens the cold that creeps through the concrete. His knees are drawn up close to his chest, one hand tucked under the pillow, the other gripping his journal like it might vanish if he lets go. It smells faintly of soap and ink, the edges fraying already, corners bent from nights like this. He hasn’t written anything tonight. He’s afraid of what might come out if he tries.
The cell is quiet except for the low, rhythmic snore from the bunk below. His cellmate—some guy named Do-hwan—has already slipped into the kind of sleep Jungkook hasn’t touched in weeks. The kind that comes when you’ve surrendered to routine, to repetition, to the fact that nothing out there is coming to change anything in here.
He stares at the ceiling, eyes half-lidded. The yellow light from the corridor flickers through the bars, stretching shadows across the wall. He’s memorized the pattern. Every crack. Every stain. He thinks about Taehyung. About the way he used to tilt his head when he smiled, soft and mischievous. About the heat of his hands, the way he said Jungkook’s name like a secret meant only for him. About the last time he saw him—blood on his shirt, panic in his eyes, betrayal thick in the air.
He doesn’t know if Taehyung hates him now. Or if he ever will. But Jungkook knows he’ll carry this for the rest of his life. Not the sentence. Not the headlines. The look on Taehyung’s face when everything broke.
He swallows hard, blinking slowly. His throat burns from holding in too much. But he’s too tired to cry.
The journal stays pressed to his chest. He closes his eyes, not to sleep, but to remember. Because that’s all he has left.
His fingers tremble as he flips open the journal. The pages are worn, soft at the edges, smudged with old ink and the faint memory of tears. He doesn’t write tonight. The pen stays tucked in the spine, untouched. He just holds the journal against his chest, thumb tracing the rough stitching of the binding like it’s something alive, something tethering him to a time before everything collapsed.
Tucked inside the back cover are photos—creased, faded in places, but stubbornly vibrant. Taehyung in the backseat of the bike, head thrown back, wind in his hair, mouth open mid-laugh. Taehyung curled up on Jungkook’s couch in his oversized hoodie, sleeves swallowing his hands. Taehyung biting into a strawberry, juice staining his lips, eyes gleaming at the camera like he knew exactly how wrecked he was making Jungkook with that smile.
He pulls out the last one slowly—Taehyung looking right into the lens, eyes soft, mouth tilted into something gentle. It feels like a punch to the gut. Jungkook brings it to his lips, pressing a shaky kiss to the smooth, familiar face. Then another. And another. His throat tightens, eyes burning as he tucks it beneath his chin, burying his face into the pillow. The sobs are quiet. Contained. No one hears them but him and the echo of what used to be.
The silence here is oppressive. Thick. Heavier than the cuffs, the routine, the rules. It presses in on all sides like a second skin he can’t peel off.
He reaches under his mattress for the small mirror they let him keep. It’s scratched, the corners dulled, but the glass still reflects. He props it up, angles it carefully. His shirt’s already off. He adjusts until he sees it—right there, just over his heart.
Taehyung.
The name inked into his skin in clean, elegant script. Permanent.
He remembers that date like it’s etched into him just as deep. The low hum of the tattoo gun. The way they took turns holding the gun. The way Taehyung kept kissing the top of his head in between buzzes, giggling when Jungkook winced. He remembers how Taehyung touched it after, fingers feather-light, reverent. “Now I’m a part of you,” he had whispered, voice quiet like prayer.
Jungkook swallows, palm pressed over the ink. He doesn’t move for a long time. Doesn’t blink. Just stays there, wrapped around the memory of someone who once made the world feel like it might be worth surviving.
His voice barely makes it past his throat. It’s rough, scraped raw from nights spent silent, and when he finally speaks, it doesn’t sound like him.
“I hope…” He pauses, swallowing hard. “I hope in five years, when I finally walk out that door… your pretty eyes have opened up to view the pretty world again.”
The words tremble as they leave him. He speaks them into the dark like a secret offering. Like something sacred he doesn’t dare say too loud, in case it slips away.
“I hope our fates align,” he whispers, lower now, like he’s afraid the walls will swallow it. “And our stars can be rewritten.”
The silence settles again, but softer this time. Less suffocating. Less cruel.
“I hope… though our ending wasn’t forever, our love is. Steadfast. Beating.”
He exhales shakily, and closes his eyes.
The photo still rests against his cheek, edges curling slightly against his skin. It’s worn smooth from touch, but the colors haven’t faded completely.
And somewhere, buried deep in his chest—beneath the ache, the time, the punishment—Taehyung’s name still beats.
❀⋆｡˚⎯⎯⎯⟡🌹⟡⎯⎯⎯˚｡⋆❀❀⋆｡˚⎯⎯⎯⟡🌹⟡⎯⎯⎯˚｡⋆❀❀⋆｡˚⎯⎯⎯⟡🌹⟡⎯⎯⎯˚｡⋆❀❀⋆｡˚⎯⎯⎯⟡🌹⟡⎯⎯⎯˚｡⋆❀❀⋆｡˚⎯⎯⎯⟡🌹⟡⎯⎯⎯˚｡⋆❀
Chapter 13: 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑬𝑵𝑫 🌸🌷🌼
Chapter Text
✧･ﾟ🌻🌷🌸: ✧･ﾟ: :･ﾟ🌻🌷🌸 ✧:･ﾟ✧
⟡ 𝑭𝑰𝑽𝑬 𝒀𝑬𝑨𝑹𝑺 𝑳𝑨𝑻𝑬𝑹 ⟡
✧･ﾟ🌷: ✧･ﾟ: :･ﾟ🌸✧:･ﾟ✧
It’s long overdue. My questions, my suspicions. It’s been far too long since I last remembered anything, yet every time I stare into the mirror while brushing makeup onto my skin, it feels like a knife twisting in my chest.
I look deep into my own eyes—there's an emptiness staring back at me. Once, they held love, passion, desire. Now, they're vacant, filled only with a hollow reflection of someone I don’t feel connected to anymore.
It’s unfair. I don’t deserve this—this not knowing. But still, I ask myself, *what happened?* I try to sift through the fragments of my memory, but they slip through my fingers. I can’t fill the void in my heart or my eyes. Did I have an accident? I search my body daily for scars, but find none.
My family pretends everything’s fine, as if nothing is out of place. I wake up in this grand, beautiful mansion, but the glitter of chandeliers and the luxury around me bring no joy to my aching heart. Who am I missing? *What* am I missing? Every night, I cry, desperately seeking answers. I’m tired. I need to know. What could be worse than not knowing?
My parents act strange, rushing me through things as though they fear losing me. But I don’t remember recovering from anything. I don’t remember high school. I only remember waking up one morning and heading to therapy—yet I have no idea why. I don’t even recall how long I’ve slept. The therapist doesn’t treat me like a new patient, but instead plays along with this facade.
Who orchestrated my life? Who stole such a huge part of me? It hurts—deeply—and I don’t even know why. But I know there’s a piece of me, lost somewhere out there, and I want it back. All of it. But how? It’s left to me to remember...
-𝐊𝐢𝐦 𝐓𝐚𝐞𝐡𝐲𝐮𝐧𝐠 ( 5 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐜𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭)
୨୧───୨୧🌸🌻──🌷──🌸🌻──🌷────༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶──🌻──🌷──🌸 ୨୧──🌻────୨୧🌻🌷🌸🌻──🌷──🌸🌻──🌷──୨୧
The end of book 1 🌸🌻🌷and book 2 is up on my instagram 🌸.
but…This isn’t the end. Some doors were left open — some hearts too🌸💖.
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