15
Just to clarify Seokjin and Jungkook are cousin brothers! ?? I’ve noticed some confusion, so I thought I’d clear it up once and for all.
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Third Person Pov
Taehyung leaned against the hallway wall, arms crossed, his eyes flicking to the wall clock. 11:00 P.M.
The house was painfully quiet, heavy with the kind of silence that follows chaos. Gyubin had finally fallen asleep after hours of whispering comfort, brushing trembling fingers through his hair, and holding him close until his sobs melted into exhausted breathing.
Taehyung shook his head sighing.
A seven-year-old shouldn’t have to see that.
He exhaled sharply through his nose, eyes narrowing as his mind replayed the scene: Jungkook, tall and composed, lifting his gun without hesitation.
A shot echoing through the hallway. Blood splattered.
A body collapsing. And Gyubin Gyubin—just a few feet away, standing frozen with a cube toy still clutched in his tiny hand.
It took Taehyung two full minutes to snap him out of it.
Two minutes where Jungkook stood in the middle of the mess like nothing had happened, as if executing someone in cold blood inside a family home was part of his evening routine.
And Gyubin? That child was already carrying more than most adults ans This? This was too much.
Taehyung clenched his fists, pushing off the wall.
He was waiting.
Not out of concern. Not out of longing.
He needed to look Jungkook in the eye tonight and ask him what the hell was wrong with him. What kind of monster did something like that in front of a kid? And then walked away without so much as glancing back?
It didn’t matter that Jungkook was some untouchable CEO, feared and respected. Taehyung wasn’t scared of him—not tonight.
The clock ticked louder.
Taehyung crossed his arms again, back leaning against the wall, expression unreadable but ice-sharp. His gaze was fixed toward the entryway like a storm waiting for the first crack of thunder. Not because he was furious.
Because he was done.
Jungkook had stepped too far this time.
And when he walked through that door, Taehyung would be ready.
Soon, he heard the groaning creak of the iron gates outside, followed by the low hum of a car engine coming to a halt. Taehyung straightened from where he was leaning against the wall, glancing at the closed main door. His hands were cold despite the warmth in the hall.
Mr. Haenam appeared silently from the shadows and walked towards the door, his footsteps echoing against the marble. A click, and the grand mansion door opened.
There was a brief pause. No one stepped in immediately.
And then he appeared—Jeon Jungkook.
Taehyung's gaze sharpened as the CEO walked in, eyes cold, expression blank. But before Taehyung could move or say a word, someone followed behind him.
A woman.
Elderly, yet elegant. Her posture straight, her presence commanding. She was draped in an expensive silk shawl, her silver hair pinned into a neat bun. Despite her age, her beauty was unmistakable...refined, graceful.
Jungkook didn’t even glance in Taehyung’s direction. He removed his coat and threw it on the couch before slumping down with an exhale, one arm resting casually on the backrest.
The woman sat beside him, a soft, enigmatic smile curling her lips as she looked around.
Taehyung stood frozen near the staircase, confused. Who was she? Why was Jungkook with her? Was she...?
And then
"Taehyung."
His name was spoken gently, yet it cut through the air like a whip. He looked up, startled, frowning slightly as he met her gaze.
“I’m sorry, do I....do I know you?” he asked quietly, stepping closer out of courtesy.
"You don’t." She smiled warmly. “But I know you. Quite well, actually.”
Taehyung’s brows furrowed deeper. She gestured to the seat beside her, patting the space with soft fingers adorned with pearl rings. Jungkook's stare burned into his side, but Taehyung ignored it and walked toward her, bowing slightly before sitting down, albeit hesitantly.
“I saw you on television… during the press conference,” she continued. “The world knows you now, but I knew about you much before.”
Taehyung blinked. “How?”
She smiled, this time with meaning. “I’m Seokjin’s mother.”
And it all made sense.
Taehyung’s lips parted slightly in surprise, then curved into a polite, if slightly unsure, smile. “Ah… I see.”
Jungkook just sat staring.
"You are even more beautiful in person. You carry elegance quite well," the woman said gently, her hand briefly brushing Taehyung’s arm in a gesture that felt warm maternal even.
Taehyung flushed, lowering his gaze with a shy smile. “That’s very kind of you,” he said softly.
From the corner of his eye, Jungkook shifted his posture on the couch, head slightly turned, eyes cold and disinterested not out of irritation, but because he seemed detached from the entire interaction.
“I had just stopped by the company,” the woman continued cheerfully, oblivious to the tension in the air. “Seokjin had left early today, and I was all alone. Then Jungkook asked if I wanted to come along with him... and well—he rarely asks for anything, so how could I refuse?”
Taehyung smiled at her softness. “I’m glad you came,” he said sincerely, clasping his hands in front of him.
“I’m also starving,” she added with an exaggerated sigh, placing her palm on her stomach.
That made Taehyung chuckle, easing some of his nerves. “Well, dinner is already prepared,” he said. “You must’ve had a long day.”
She nodded dramatically. “I have. But I’ll freshen up first I don’t look half as radiant without a good face rinse.” She stood gracefully and walked away down the hall, almost as if she already knew the layout of the house.
Taehyung watched her leave before turning back toward Jungkook, who had just begun to stand. His back was to him, one hand in his pocket, the other casually adjusting his shirt as he took a step toward the staircase.
“Mr. Jeon,” Taehyung called out, voice quieter, more reserved.
Jungkook stopped at the foot of the stairs, his hand resting on the polished railing but didn’t turn around.
“I need to talk to you about something,” Taehyung said, his voice steady despite the faint tremble under it.
There was a pause.
Then, Jungkook replied plainly, “Not now.”
No emotion. No sarcasm. Just a simple refusal.
He climbed the stairs slowly, his footsteps even and unhurried, leaving Taehyung standing there in the open silence of the living room his heart feeling heavier than it should after just two words.
~~~
The clinking of cutlery echoed softly in the quiet dining room, the lights above casting a warm, mellow glow across the long table.
The lady sat comfortably at the center, gently slicing her food with the grace of someone who had lived through years of etiquette but spoke with the softness of a mother, not a guest.
Taehyung sat beside her with only a bowl of soup in front of him. He’d already eaten earlier but hadn’t wanted her to dine alone, so he politely stirred at the light broth, occasionally sipping from his spoon to match her rhythm.
Across from them, Jungkook sat with an effortless, detached poise. His plate was full, but his attention wasn’t. He ate slowly, in silence, his eyes fixed on his food, not engaging but not outright dismissive either.
“Seokjin was always the bossy one between them,” the woman said, laughter lacing her words as she took a bite, then dabbed her lips gently with a napkin.
“But Jungkook... oh, he was the quiet rebel. Would never speak, but once he made up his mind? No one could change it. Not even his mother.”
Taehyung smiled hesitantly, glancing toward Jungkook for even the smallest reaction Just kept chewing slowly, cutting his food with deliberate care, as though the conversation wasn’t about him at all.
“He once ran away just because Seokjin told him to wash the car. Said he wasn’t made for such work,” she laughed again, eyes crinkling with warmth. “That stubbornness is still there, I think.”
Taehyung raised a brow curiously, and despite himself, gave a small nod. He wasn’t particularly invested in Jungkook's past, but he found something comforting about listening to someone so affectionate speak of family.
She smiled thoughtfully. "Eventually. Jungkook always had a quiet way of caring. He never said much, but he was fiercely protective when it counted. Once, when Seokjin got hurt at school, Jungkook sat outside the nurse's office for three hours, refusing to leave until he was sure Seokjin was fine."
That made Taehyung pause for a moment. He looked down at his soup, stirring it gently. He could care less about Jungkook's caring nature.
“He was always good at disappearing too,” she added more quietly. “Sometimes... we’d find him on the roof, sketching clouds. Said they looked lonelier up there.”
Taehyung smiled, eyes soft. It was strange seeing Jungkook through someone else’s lens.
Jungkook rose before dessert was even served. He pushed his chair back without a word, his plate mostly finished, and walked off slow, unfazed, not a single glance behind.
Taehyung watched him disappear through the hallway, so disrespectful.
The woman noticed but didn’t comment. She simply patted Taehyung’s hand gently.
“He’s like that. But he listens. Even when it looks like he isn’t, he hears everything.”
Taehyung gave her a small nod.
“I know,” he whispered with a hesitant smile.
He wasn’t interested in the man’s life. But when the woman spoke about Jungkook’s childhood how reckless and loud he used to be, how Seokjin always cleaned up after him—Taehyung found himself asking, “Then what happened to him?”
The woman sighed, her expression soft. “After his parents died, he just changed. Became quiet, distant. Locked himself away in studies, and one day he was just… this serious boy who only cared about the company. No friends, no girls, no distractions. He drifted from Seokjin too.”
Taehyung gave a faint nod, lips pressed in a line.
But he didn’t feel sorry for Jungkook. Not for the silence. Not for the loneliness.
Because no past could justify the kind of man he had become now heartless, and terrifyingly indifferent.
Let others think he was just cold.
Taehyung had seen what was beneath.
.
.
.
Taehyung stood outside Jungkook’s room for a moment longer than necessary, hand raised mid-air as he hesitated.
The hallway was quiet, the echo of the day’s events still ringing in his mind Gyubin’s frightened face, the gunshot, the blood, the unnatural silence that followed.
His knuckles finally met the door in a soft knock, barely loud enough, before he slowly pushed it open.
The room was dim. The curtains were half-drawn, casting fractured patterns of city light across the floor.
Jungkook sat on the bed, one leg bent, the other stretched out.
His back rested against the headboard, a cigarette held lazily between his fingers.
He wasn’t looking at Taehyung just staring into space as if the smoke curling around him was more interesting than anything else in the world.
“Mr.Jeon, I wanted to talk to you,” Taehyung began, his voice quiet but steady as he stepped inside and gently closed the door behind him.
Taking that as a sign to go on, Taehyung approached, stopping a short distance from the bed. He didn’t sit down. There was a distance between them physical and emotional that didn’t feel right to cross.
“Gyubin got really scared today…” Taehyung started, his fingers nervously curling around the hem of his sleeve. “You… shot a man right in front of him.”
Still nothing.
“I know,” Taehyung continued carefully, “you probably had your reasons. Maybe that man really was dangerous....like your guards said he was a spy. I’m not here to question your decisions.” He paused.
“But that’s not something a child should ever see. He didn’t even cry...he just froze. Like he was trying to pretend it didn’t happen.”
There was a flicker of movement Jungkook tapped ash off the edge of the cigarette, but he still didn’t speak.
Taehyung watched him, frustration mixing with something else disappointment, maybe. Disbelief. He had seen cruelty before, but this coldness this detachment made it feel worse. Like Jungkook didn’t even recognize what he’d done. Like it was just… routine.
Taehyung exhaled, his voice softening without meaning to. “You can’t just walk around killing people like it means nothing. Not when there’s a child watching.”
Taehyung stayed a moment longer, waiting hoping, even for a word. A reaction.
Jungkook stood up from the bed, the dim light behind him casting his figure in shadow as he slowly walked toward Taehyung. Each step felt deliberate, unhurried, like a predator studying its prey.
Taehyung frowned but didn’t move until Jungkook came too close, too fast. He instinctively took a step back… then another, until his back hit the cold wall behind him.
“What…” Taehyung’s breath hitched as he looked up, trying to steady his nerves.
“Mr. Jeon…” he muttered, pressing his palms flat against Jungkook’s chest in an attempt to maintain some distance.
“You shouldn't speak about things you have no idea of.” Jungkook said quietly, but the edge in his voice was unmistakable.
Taehyung looked up into his eyes, confused, frustrated, but still calm. “I just… I didn’t want my son to witness something like that,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.
He could feel Jungkook’s heartbeat under his palms steady, unmoved, frighteningly calm. His skin felt warm even through the fabric of his shirt, and it unsettled him.
“You don’t get in my business,” Jungkook said again, firmer this time.
Taehyung clenched his jaw, willing himself not to raise his voice. “I’m not getting into your business,” he said, his tone careful, “I’m protecting my son.”
There was a shift in the air.
Before he could move, Taehyung felt fingers brush against his waist light, testing, grazing over the hem of his shirt. His body tensed as Jungkook’s touch lingered, thumb tracing a slow path over his skin.
Taehyung tried to shift sideways, but Jungkook’s other hand came up beside his face, resting against the wall, caging him in.
“You don’t even know what you’re dealing with.” Jungkook said his voice raspy from the ciggarette.
Taehyung swallowed, heart racing. He didn’t like this closeness not because it scared him, but because it overwhelmed him.
He refused to be intimidated.
“He’s my son,” he said firmly, eyes not wavering. “And I will always do what I think is right for him… even if that means standing between him and you.”
The silence that followed was thick, Jungkook’s fingers still warm against his waist.
And still, Taehyung didn’t look away.
Jungkook stared at him, unblinking, like he was watching something squirm for his own amusement. The way Taehyung stood there—still, tense, pretending to be strong it only made Jungkook’s smirk deepen.
But his eyes didn’t miss a thing.
Not the twitch in Taehyung’s throat as he swallowed.
Not the subtle flinch in his fingers.
Not the fear flickering behind those eyes no matter how hard he tried to bury it.
Taehyung glanced away quickly, breath hitching when Jungkook stepped even closer. He didn’t want this he never wanted this. And yet, here he was, again.
“I-I told you to stop touching me,” Taehyung said through clenched teeth, trying to brush Jungkook’s hand off his waist. The words lacked power, but his desperation was clear. He didn’t want to set Jungkook off. He just wanted him to stop.
But Jungkook only shook his head in amusement.
“And I told you,” he muttered, voice laced with mockery, “your resistance makes it more fun.”
Before Taehyung could react, Jungkook’s fingers were already sliding up his jawline, slow and deliberate, like he was dragging the moment out just to watch Taehyung break.
Taehyung froze.
The touch made his skin crawl, stomach twist, rage boil.
“Stop—” he said, voice trembling, trying to jerk away.
But Jungkook’s grip only tightened.
“Look at you,” he whispered, leaning in until Taehyung could feel the breath against his cheek.
“Acting like you have a say. You really haven’t learned anything, have you?”
Taehyung’s jaw clenched, his hands curled into fists at his sides. He wanted to scream. He wanted to shove him off. But Jungkook’s presence was overwhelming, poisonous like being choked with no hands around your throat.
“You think you’re strong?” Jungkook sneered, fingers hooking under Taehyung’s chin and forcing his gaze upward. “You’re not. You’re still that same pathetic little thing...just wearing thicker skin to pretend otherwise.”
“Get off me,” Taehyung said, eyes burning with anger, but his voice cracked, exposing the fear he tried so hard to hide.
Jungkook leaned closer, lips nearly brushing his ear.
“That’s more like it,” he murmured. “I like you better when you remember where you stand.”
And with that, he finally pulled away slowly, as if savoring every second of Taehyung’s discomfort leaving behind a silence heavy with humiliation and fury.
“Make me a drink,” Jungkook said, voice calm but commanding as he settled back into the chair.
Taehyung didn’t move at first.
He stood still, jaw tight, hands slowly curling into fists at his sides.
But silence only fed Jungkook’s amusement, so after a few seconds, Taehyung turned, swallowing the bitter taste in his throat as he reached for the bottle of whiskey on the shelf. He didn’t look at Jungkook—not once. He couldn’t afford to.
He poured the drink with measured hands, the ice clinking louder than it should’ve in the quiet room. Every movement felt mechanical, controlled. He hated this being reduced to nothing more than someone who served Jungkook’s whims. Again.
Glass full, he stepped forward and held it out.
Their fingers brushed.
Taehyung immediately recoiled, like the contact had burned him. He looked away, heart hammering from something that wasn’t fear but something far more humiliating fury mixed with helplessness.
Jungkook took the glass, slow and deliberate. His eyes never left Taehyung’s face, savoring the reaction.
He took a slow sip, letting the silence stretch thin like a blade.
“You're still so easy to rattle,” he said, voice low, almost amused. “One little touch and you act like I’ve scarred you.”
Taehyung didn’t answer.
He just stood there, staring straight ahead, like if he looked anywhere else especially at Jungkook... he’d break.
Jungkook leaned back, fingers tapping the glass.
And Taehyung hated how his hands were still trembling behind his back.
“I’ll think about what you said.”
Taehyung’s head snapped up, heart skipping at the unexpected words. Just those few syllables were enough to stir something fragile inside him something dangerously close to hope.
His eyes met Jungkook’s across the room. “You will?” he asked, barely able to hide the relief in his voice.
There was a flicker of warmth in his chest. A glimmer that maybe just maybe Jungkook was finally listening. That maybe he saw how broken this was. That maybe the child didn’t deserve to suffer in the storm of their twisted game.
“A seven-year-old shouldn’t have to witness this… these things. It’s not right for his mental health,” Taehyung said softly, a strange weight lifting off his chest. “He’s just a child.”
He didn’t realize how tightly he’d been clinging to that sliver of hope until Jungkook shattered it like glass.
“What will I get in return?” Jungkook asked, casually swirling the liquid in his glass as if the conversation was just a business deal.
Taehyung blinked.
“I... I don’t understand,” he said slowly, brows drawing together.
Jungkook didn’t bother to hide the smirk playing at his lips. “I don’t do charity. You want something from me, you earn it. Do something for me, and I’ll give you what you want.”
The chill in his voice made the air in the room feel colder. Taehyung stood there, silent, mouth pressed into a thin line. He wanted to scream. To argue. To tell Jungkook he wasn’t a thing to be bargained with.
But what choice did he have?
“What… what do I have to do?” he asked, voice flat, defeated.
Jungkook didn’t answer immediately. He took another slow sip, eyes never leaving Taehyung. There was a gleam there sharp and merciless. A cruel sort of amusement.
Then, finally, he spoke.
“Go stand in the shower,” Jungkook said, voice calm but commanding. " Until I say otherwise.”
Taehyung’s heart dropped.
He looked at Jungkook like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. But Jungkook just leaned back, watching him like it was all a game.
Taehyung didn’t move.
He wanted to say no. To walk out. To scream that he wasn’t his toy, wasn’t something to humiliate just for fun.
But that hope the tiny spark that Jungkook might show mercy if he complied kept him rooted.
His feet moved before his pride could catch up.
Without a word, Taehyung turned and walked to the bathroom.
And Jungkook watched him go, drink swirling in his hand like he was toasting to his own cruelty.
Taehyung stepped into the massive, dimly lit bathroom, his footsteps echoing against the cold marble floor. The moment he closed the door behind him, the silence felt heavy almost suffocating.
He simply walked to the center of the shower, turned the knob, and let the water crash down over him.
The icy stream hit his skin, forcing a shiver to ripple through his body, but he didn’t flinch. He welcomed it. Maybe the cold would numb something deeper than his skin.
He tilted his head back, letting the water soak through his clothes until the fabric clung to his chest, his shoulders, his thighs making him feel smaller, like he was being swallowed by the weight of it all.
His dark hair slicked down across his forehead, plastered to his face as droplets trailed along his jaw and neck like unwelcome touches.
He didn’t cry. He didn’t speak. He just stood there silent, drenched, and humiliated.
Because he knew one thing for sure nothing came for free. Especially not from a man like Jungkook.
Outside, Jungkook sat alone in the velvet armchair, glass of liquor in hand, unmoving. The only sound filling the space was the distant hiss of the water from the shower. It echoed through the walls like a lullaby only he could hear.
He didn’t need to see Taehyung to know what he looked like right now.
Soaked. Submissive. Silent.
Jungkook’s eyes glinted in amusement, his thumb rubbing the rim of his glass as he let the mental image play on repeat.
There was something wickedly satisfying about it all...not the act itself, but the fact that Taehyung had walked into the shower without a word. No fight. No scream.
Just acceptance.
And that… satisfied Jungkook more than he cared to admit.
His eyes remained fixed on the bathroom door, listening imagining every drop that slid down that trembling body he once touched without care while marking his skin with ink.
And for a long moment, he didn’t move just sat there, heart pulsing slow and deep, as the sound of running water filled the silence between them.
Then, after what felt like an eternity forty-five minutes—Jungkook finally rose. He grabbed the whisky bottle off the table, half-empty now, and made his way toward the bathroom. His steps were steady, deliberate. The door creaked open under his hand.
Taehyung stood there in the shower, fully clothed, water still pouring over him.
He hadn’t moved an inch.
His shoulders were trembling slightly, his frame almost fragile beneath the soaked fabric clinging to his skin. His hair hung limp against his forehead, eyes red either from the water or from knowing the fact that his life was a just a game for someone.
When their eyes met, there was no surprise on Taehyung’s face. Just quiet acceptance. A dull ache.
Jungkook tilted his head slightly, taking in the sight like it was his art—raw, bruised, drowning in silence.
He stepped into the shower fully clothed, letting the water soak into his black shirt as if it meant nothing. The whisky bottle in his hand remained just outside the spray, gripped firmly.
Taehyung's hand rose slowly, hesitantly, and pressed against Jungkook’s chest, not in resistance but as a reminder of space. Of dignity. Of everything unsaid between them.
The shower suddenly shut off with a metallic clink, the abrupt silence louder than before. Taehyung gasped quietly at the shift, water still dripping down both their bodies.
Jungkook didn’t break eye contact.
His hand moved without pause strong fingers gripping Taehyung’s waist, pulling him just slightly closer. His touch was firm, not gentle. Not soft. Just real.
And Taehyung stood still, his palm still against Jungkook’s chest, the thin line between distance and closeness trembling like his breath.
And then Jungkook lifted the bottle slowly, watching Taehyung with a gaze dark and unreadable.
Without a word, he tilted it letting the amber liquid pour, not into his own mouth, but onto Taehyung’s neck.
The whisky hit Taehyung’s skin with a sharp chill, sliding down his collarbone, seeping into his already soaked shirt. Taehyung gasped, gagging at the unexpected burn and scent, stepping back on instinct only to have his back hit the cold wall of the shower.
"Don’t." Jungkook said, voice low and firm.
And Taehyung froze.
He didn’t move as Jungkook stepped in closer, their bodies nearly brushing, heat and tension clashing in the space between them.
Jungkook’s hand lifted the hem of Taehyung’s wet shirt slowly, deliberately, the fabric clinging to his skin until it revealed the raw, red tattoo just below his ribs...his name, carved in aching permanence.
Taehyung didn’t have time to react.
A strangled sound tore from Taehyung’s throat as the alcohol hit the sensitive skin, a cruel burn trailing through him like fire. He gripped Jungkook’s shoulder tightly, his fingers digging in.
“It hurts...” he whispered, voice trembling.
“Does it?” he said, voice dripping with mockery. “Then maybe I’m doing it right.”
He ran his fingers across the soaked tattoo, rubbing the liquid deeper into the sting, watching every twitch in Taehyung’s face, every flicker of pain and restraint. Taehyung inhaled sharply, his body tensing under the assault of touch and memory.
Jungkook’s fingers trailed lower, grazing the curve of Taehyung’s waist, slow and unhurried. Another stream of alcohol followed, dripping lazily down Taehyung’s side, burning wherever it touched.
And again...over his neck.
The liquid traced his pulse line as Jungkook tilted the bottle with precision, watching it fall, watching Taehyung react.
Taehyung’s chest heaved with every breath, caught somewhere between pain, confusion, and something dangerously close to surrender.
And then Jungkook leaned in...his movement slow, calculated.
Taehyung immediately turned his face away, jaw tightening, eyes locked on the wet tile as if looking anywhere else could save him. He knew what was coming. He could feel it in the weight of Jungkook’s gaze, in the way the air shifted with tension so thick it was suffocating.
And then he felt it.
Jungkook’s lips pressed against his neck right where the alcohol had been poured, where the skin still burned.
The contact was soft, too soft, almost mocking in contrast to the sting beneath. Jungkook’s tongue flicked out and licked the damp skin, slow and unhurried, tasting the mix of whisky and Taehyung’s heat.
Taehyung’s body jerked slightly in disgust, his fists clenched at his sides, nails digging into his own palms. A low, involuntary shiver ran down his spine. His lips pressed into a thin line, jaw ticking as he gritted his teeth refusing to make a sound.
"I-I have never seen a man like you," Taehyung stammered in fury, fists clenched at his sides, every muscle in his body tight with fury and disgust.
Jungkook didn't stop. His hand stayed where it was possessive, controlling.
"You won’t ever again," he said flatly, eyes burning into him.
"Men like me don’t exist twice." He said...biting Taehyung's skin who whimpered closing his eyes.
"You don’t survive them once."
And Taehyung exhaled shakily hearing that.
Every move felt like a violation slow, taunting, purposeful.
He wasn’t touching Taehyung out of affection. He was doing it because he could. Because it gave him power.
And Taehyung hated it.
He hated every second of it the way Jungkook’s mouth moved with such ease, the way his breath fanned over his skin, the way his own body trembled not out of want, but because he was trying so hard not to break.
There was nothing romantic about it.
It was cold. Cruel.
Control disguised as intimacy.
Jungkook’s other hand slowly slid up again, his fingertips brushing over the raw, inflamed skin of Taehyung’s fresh tattoo the wound that still hadn’t healed and it felt like it would never heal.
It burned like fire. Each stroke was deliberate, slow, and cruel, sending jolts of pain through Taehyung’s body. And yet Jungkook moved with that same unsettling calm, as if he were simply admiring his handiwork.
Taehyung bit down on his lip to muffle the whimper threatening to escape, but he couldn’t stop the slow tears that began to trail down his cheeks. They mixed with the alcohol’s sting, his soaked shirt clinging to his cold skin, every inch of him trembling.
“I hate your touch—” Taehyung’s voice broke mid-sentence, trembling, breath catching as if the words themselves were rotting on his tongue.
“Just… don’t.” he broke down as a whimper left his mouth.
He couldn’t mask the revulsion in his tone. It was laced with something raw not just pain, but helplessness.
Like the very feel of Jungkook’s skin on his made him want to crawl out of his own.
His fists clenched, nails digging into his palms, trying to anchor himself but the cold, soaked fabric of his clothes only made him feel filthier.
“You—You make me sick.”
The words came quieter. Hoarse.
“Every time you touch me, I feel like I’m disappearing.”
"Do I?" Jungkook said, low, quiet, as if Taehyung’s broken voice amused him.
No sympathy. No pause. Just that cold flicker of interest, like he was watching something unravel exactly the way he planned.
His clothes were drenched, clinging to him like a second skin...transparent in places, outlining every curve he wanted to hide. Especially from this man.
Jungkook didn’t look at him. His face was buried deep in the crook of Taehyung’s neck, breath brushing over the sensitive skin like a secret.
"I’m your husband," he murmured, voice low, deep, lethal in its calmness.
"I can touch you wherever I please."
His fingers slid across Taehyung’s waist again, the soaked fabric yielding under his touch.
"Like here..."
Then lower his hand skimmed Taehyung’s thigh, slow enough to make him shiver...grazing the clothed skin.
"Here..."
And then, he grabbed Taehyung’s butt with one hand, pulling him flush against his own body,
"And especially here."
"Do you feel that?" he whispered, squeezing it hard earning a muffled sound from Taehyung who squirmed visibly.
"That’s mine, too."
Taehyung squeezed his eyes shut, his body stiffening under the weight of Jungkook’s presence. His breathing grew shallow, not from arousal but from restraint. From holding back the scream lodged in his throat. The tears kept falling silently.
And Jungkook just stayed there smirking in the hollow of his neck like he owned him.
Like breaking Taehyung bit by bit was a pleasure he refused to give up.
“Why are you even doing this?” Taehyung rasped, voice thin, barely holding back the tremble. The cold made his teeth chatter but not as much as the man in front of him.
“I’m just a janitor,” he said, forcing the words out like poison. “Too low for someone like you to touch.”
Jungkook didn’t laugh. He didn’t speak.
He pulled back from his neck as he stared at the soaked man...staring into those red teary eyes.
Then, his voice came low, cruel, stripped of warmth.
“Exactly.”
His fingers ghosted over Taehyung’s waist, dragging along the wet shirt that clung to his skin.
“That’s what makes it so good.”
He slid his hand lower, grazing over Taehyung’s hip, thumb pressing down hard.
“You're beneath me. And that’s exactly where I want you.”
Taehyung stiffened trying to step back but Jungkook only grabbed him tighter, keeping him in place.
Jungkook’s lips brushed against Taehyung’s ear cold, sharp, a whispered threat that burned.
“You don’t get to feel wanted by me.”
His voice dropped to a cruel growl.
“I’ll use you however I want… and when I’m done, I’ll throw you away like trash.”
"No one will ever touch you again—not after me. You're tainted. Mine in the worst way."
Taehyung exhaled as another tear slipped down, but he stood frozen in place, too tired to push him away, too cornered to move, and too full of silent rage to beg him to stop.
And soon, the sharp sound of water echoed again Jungkook had turned on the shower without a word.
The cold alcohol that clung to Taehyung’s skin began to wash away, the heat of the water contrasting against the sting of open skin and icy remnants.
Taehyung gasped at the sudden sensation, blinking rapidly, his breath shallow as droplets slid down his face, mixing with the silent tears that had long gone unnoticed.
Jungkook didn’t say anything. He just stood there. Watching with a sadistic satisfaction.
Taehyung’s lips trembled before he finally gathered enough courage to speak. To ask for what he did all this for.
“I-I did what you said,” he mumbled, voice strained under the rush of the water. His eyes lifted to meet Jungkook’s, trying to stay firm, trying not to crumble. “And now it’s your turn… not to do any crime in front of my son.”
The moment the words left his mouth, the silence between them became unbearable.
Jungkook stared for a moment longer, his gaze lingering on the red mark on Taehyung's neck that he made.
"It’s almost admirable…" he drawled, eyes dark and void of softness,
"how far you’ll let yourself fall. Let me break you. Use you. All because you think your child is worth it."
The words hit Taehyung like a slap.
The CEO simply stepped back.
“Next time… I should ask for more.”
He tilted his head, fingers brushing the hem of Taehyung’s soaked shirt as if testing the value of something he owned.
“If your son’s survival depends on this,” he said, voice as icy as the bathroom tiles, “you better learn how to be useful. Properly.”
A faint, cruel smile curved his lips.
“Because I haven’t even started using you yet.”
And then, without a single word, he turned and walked out of the shower, leaving the door swinging slightly behind him.
Taehyung stood motionless, the cold tiles beneath his feet grounding him like shackles. The shower had stopped, but the echo of water still roared in his ears or maybe it was just the echo of his voice.
"You don’t get to feel wanted by me."
"Next time, I should ask for more."
The words weren’t just echoes...they were cuts. Deep, slow, echoing in his skull until they carved through every ounce of warmth he had left.
His hands hung limp by his sides. He couldn’t feel his fingers. He couldn’t feel anything except the bruising weight of those words not on his skin, but inside him, where it hurt worse.
He blinked once. A tear slipped out, unnoticed.
Then another.
But he didn’t sob. Didn’t scream.
He just stood there frozen, bare, and wrecked. Like if he moved, even a little, everything inside him might shatter.
Slowly, Taehyung reached up, fingers brushing the spot on his neck where Jungkook’s lips had touched. The skin there burned not from heat, but memory. He grimaced, as though trying to wipe the moment off him.
Dragging a towel from the hook, he wrapped it around himself with robotic motions. His body moved, but his mind remained hollow. Each step toward the door was mechanical, heavy with exhaustion, his thoughts muffled by shame.
He opened the door....only to stop in his tracks.
Jungkook stood just a few feet away, his back to him. He was pulling on his damp shirt, droplets sliding off him in silence.
Taehyung stared, not because he was drawn but because he felt nothing at all.
Not a flicker of warmth. Not even the sting of anger anymore. Just emptiness.
And for a second, that scared him more than anything.
He looked away.
Clutching the towel tighter, he turned without a word. His feet moved faster, water dripping from his hair, trailing behind him as he walked out the door leaving the heat, the silence, and everything else behind.
He didn’t look back.
Because there was nothing left to see.