Chapter Text
With a single swift motion, Jungkook lifted Taehyung into his arms in a perfect bridal style, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Taehyung’s soft hands instinctively wrapped around Jungkook’s neck, his slender fingers curling into the short dark hair. He giggled into Jungkook’s ear—light, musical, like the chiming of silver bells.
His thick, smoky lashes fluttered and his eyes crinkled in pure, playful joy, cheeks flushed in a delicate rose as Jungkook spun fast with him in his arms. Taehyung squealed and laughed, heart pounding against Jungkook’s chest, until Jungkook gently lowered him onto the bed.
Jungkook loomed over him, staring.
Taehyung lay on the bed, lips parted, eyes gleaming with mischief. An inviting smile curved on his mouth as he lifted one delicate hand, slender and graceful, his elegant fingers wiggling playfully—beckoning Jungkook closer.
Wrong move.
Jungkook surged forward in a blur, practically sprinting onto the bed like a predator unleashed. His strong limbs caged Taehyung in, arms planted beside either side of his head, muscles taut. Taehyung gasped, wide eyes staring up at the man above him—heart hammering.
His arms flew up, wrapping around Jungkook’s broad back, clutching his wide shoulders like a lifeline. The way Jungkook’s presence engulfed him, powerful and commanding, made his breath hitch.
And then—Jungkook began planting open-mouthed kisses across his skin. Starting at the jaw. Down the throat. Across the fluttering pulse of his collarbone. Lower, lower…
“Ahhh!” A breathy moan slipped from Taehyung’s parted lips, body trembling beneath him.
Jungkook had latched onto one nipple, biting it with just enough force to draw out another whimper. At the same time, his other hand was twisting and flicking the other nipple—teasing, claiming, devouring with a lover’s hunger.
When Taehyung tapped Jungkook’s shoulder, the younger looked up, eyes slightly dazed, questioning. But Taehyung only smiled—teasing, playful—and blinked slowly at him, mischief dancing in his lashes as he sat up on the edge of the bed, legs dangling.
Jungkook shifted back slightly, only to lean forward again and wrap his arms around Taehyung from behind. His chest pressed to Taehyung’s delicate back in a tender back hug.
Taehyung smiled fondly, his beautiful boxy smile lighting up his face as he tilted his head to the side. Their cheeks brushed together, soft skin against soft skin, and Jungkook leaned in to press a warm kiss to his cheek—then moved to gently nibble on Taehyung’s earlobe.
Taehyung melted into the kisses with a soft exhale, his lashes fluttering down as his hand reached up, fingers threading through Jungkook’s dark hair to cup the side of his head.
“Jungkook…” he whispered, breathy and sweet.
“Hmm?” Jungkook murmured back, his warm breath tickling the shell of Taehyung’s ear.
Taehyung gently patted Jungkook’s arm, and Jungkook loosened his hold. Without a word, Taehyung stood up—only to turn and sink gracefully to his knees in one liquid, elegant motion.
He looked up at Jungkook with wide, innocent eyes, silently asking for permission.
Jungkook’s breath caught slightly as he looked down at the vision kneeling before him. Then, slowly, he pulled open the drawstring of his pajama pants. Taehyung giggled softly, eyes twinkling, as he slid the pants down to Jungkook’s knees with delicate fingers, his touch feather-light and teasing.
For a moment, everything slowed. The air between them was heavy with electricity, thick like summer rainclouds about to burst. Moonlight bathed them both, making Taehyung’s tousled brown hair glow like a halo. His fingers, delicate and graceful, skimmed Jungkook’s thighs—not with urgency, but reverence, like he was touching something sacred.
Jungkook’s hand cupped the side of Taehyung’s face, thumb tracing along the curve of his cheekbone. He didn’t speak—he didn’t need to. The way his dark, molten eyes stared down was enough. Possessive. Fierce. But tender.
Taehyung leaned into the touch, eyes fluttering closed for a heartbeat before they slowly opened again—filled with longing, and something deeper. Something unspoken.
Then, with fluid grace, Taehyung pressed a kiss to Jungkook’s inner thigh—soft, reverent, like a prayer. Jungkook's head fell back, a quiet gasp escaping his lips as Taehyung wrapped his soft lips around Jungkook’s length, first giving teasing kitten licks on the head.
"Don’t tease.." Jungkook grunted in a deep, rough voice. He pulled Taehyung’s hair as Taehyung took fully his member and Taehyung’s mouth felt like warm heavenly touch around his half awaken cock. Taehyung gagged slightly as he bobbed his head sucking and licking yet in a teasing slow motion. Jungkook tightened his grip on Taehyung’s brown strands, demandingly and Taehyung obeyed.
And just as Jungkook’s breathing grew shallow, his body tensing under the weight of longing and the surreal beauty of it all…
He gasped sharply—and his eyes flew open.
Darkness. The pale moonlight still spilled in through the window, but the room was empty now. Silent. The lingering phantom of warmth on his skin, of kisses that never were, evaporated like morning mist.
Jungkook sat up with a sudden jerk, chest heaving, his skin slick with sweat. His breaths came in shallow pants, and he pushed the damp strands of hair off his forehead. Then he felt it. The sticky discomfort between his legs. His brows furrowed as he looked down, cheeks blooming in heat.
He had—dreamt. And now he was—
He turned away, jaw tightening, eyes burning with silent shame and confusion. Pulling the blanket higher up his chest, he leaned back slowly, exhaling through his nose as he stared at the ceiling.
Taehyung’s face still lingered in his mind, soft and sweet—an angel laced with temptation.
----
Taehyung entered quietly that morning, carrying fresh supplies with a practiced ease. The room was still dim, the sunlight filtering in pale strips through the blinds. Jungkook lay on the bed, seemingly resting — but his eyes were open, dark and alert, already watching.
Taehyung approached with gentle steps, a faint smile tugging the corner of his lips as he reached for the blanket.
But Jungkook’s gaze sharpened.
He didn’t speak — not a word — but his body stiffened under the sheets, his jaw clenched tightly. His eyes, once soft and distant, now brimmed with the quiet storm of someone fully present… someone deeply ashamed.
Taehyung paused, sensing it immediately.
Jungkook wasn’t regressed anymore. He remembered.
He knew.
And he refused.
There was no tantrum. No outburst. Just a silent, powerful rejection that spoke volumes. His eyes said it all — raw with unspoken humiliation.
Jungkook remembered what had happened last night.
He knew what that damp, used diaper contained.
Not just urine.
There was a different scent clinging to him now. A heat-laced shame — the unmistakable musk of arousal… and the bitter, drying scent of spent semen. And that knowledge — the awareness that someone else might see it, smell it — it burned him alive.
He turned his face away from Taehyung, shame carved into every rigid line of his body.
Taehyung blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the silent defiance.
Then, softly, he asked, “Do you… want someone else to do it, sir?”
The question hung in the air like a thread pulled taut — unsure, gently offered, but straining.
Jungkook’s gaze snapped to him, sharp as glass. He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to.
That look alone — unwavering, heavy-lidded, and brooding — was a full sentence.
Then, without warning, he shifted.
Slow. Painfully slow.
With clear effort, Jungkook began to sit up, muscles taut, arms trembling under the strain.
Taehyung instinctively reached forward to steady him, hands gentle on his shoulders.
Once upright, Jungkook didn’t thank him — just pulled the blanket off with a swift, stubborn movement.
Then came the real struggle.
He gripped the waistband of his hospital pants, fingers curling, tugging downward — but coordination was not on his side. His movements were stiff, uneven. Every inch of cloth fought back.
Taehyung stepped in again, a soft offer unspoken in his outstretched hand.
But Jungkook’s response was immediate — a sharp swat of his wrist, the slap of skin on skin echoing louder than expected in the quiet room.
Taehyung gasped and drew back, startled.
Jungkook kept going, jaw clenched, breath coming harder now as he yanked and dragged the pants down. After considerable effort, he managed to pull one leg free. But the other…
The fabric clung cruelly around his ankle. His breath caught, shallow and ragged.
The heart monitor flared — red.
The beeping accelerated. Urgent.
Taehyung stepped forward again, more desperate now. “Please, sir… let me help.”
But Jungkook didn’t answer. His glare sliced through him — fierce, wounded, proud.
And he tried again. He pulled harder, shifting his weight just a little too far—
—and the world tilted.
The bed railings, which Taehyung had quietly lowered earlier, offered no protection now. Jungkook’s body lurched sideways.
He fell.
Hard.
---
Taehyung gasped, his heart leaping into his throat, and screamed, “Sir!”
Jungkook, now crumpled on the floor, twisted as though the fall hadn’t even registered. His breathing came in short, broken bursts — ragged, wild.
He tried to rise, but his limbs betrayed him — too stiff, too weak — and frustration snapped the last fragile thread of control.
With a guttural sound, he began punching at his own thighs, fists slamming down again and again with a violence born of helplessness. His nails raked harshly across his skin, leaving angry red trails in their wake.
He groaned — deep, from somewhere primal — and then let out a raw, tortured scream:
“Aaaaaahhhhgg!!”
The cry tore through the room like glass shattering.
Taehyung stumbled backward in fear before regaining himself and lunged for the call button, slamming it with the heel of his palm. The alarm lit up red.
Footsteps thundered in the hallway outside as doctors and nurses came running — but Jimin… Jimin wasn’t there. He had gone out of the hospital premises moments before.
Jungkook was still thrashing, caught in the grip of something deep and consuming. His eyes were wild, unseeing, his mouth twisted in anguish.
Taehyung, trembling but resolute, crouched down and threw his arms around him, trying to restrain him — trying to hold him still, to keep him from hurting himself more.
But Jungkook’s leg lashed out — hard.
The kick landed squarely in Taehyung’s abdomen, knocking the breath from him. He folded with a sharp gasp, his grip loosening as pain bloomed like fire across his torso.
No one dared come close to the lieutenant. He wasn’t just agitated — he was feral, a wild animal lashing out in raw panic and pain. The memory of Taehyung’s scream still echoed, and no one was eager to be the next to take that blow.
Taehyung had been flung across the room, his slender frame crashing against the edge of a table with a dull thud. A sharp cry escaped him —
“Ahhh!”
— as he crumpled, hands clutching his lower abdomen, face twisted in pain.
That sound — that one whimper — pierced through the haze.
Jungkook, mid-swing, froze. His head turned sharply. His dark, frantic eyes locked onto the source of the sound.
And in that split-second — he stilled.
Dr. Soobin, watching with practiced focus, seized the opportunity. He stepped in swiftly, injecting midazolam into Jungkook’s IV port with one smooth motion. The sedative coursed through Jungkook’s veins, and his body, once taut with fury, began to sag. The tension drained from his muscles as his breathing slowed, and finally, he slipped into sedation.
Taehyung remained on the floor, grimacing, one hand still pressed to his aching abdomen. But he didn’t speak a word of blame. He didn’t need to.
He had seen it — the shift in Jungkook’s face. That flicker of horror. Of recognition. Of regret. The way those large black eyes, once clouded with rage, had widened in realization and remorse the moment they met his.
With a soft, strained whimper, Taehyung pushed himself upright, every movement making his bruised body protest. His expression was tight with pain, but his focus remained on Jungkook.
As the staff lifted the lieutenant’s heavy, unresisting frame back to the bed, Taehyung was already there, adjusting the pillows, tenderly guiding Jungkook’s head into comfort. His hands moved gently despite the tremor in them.
Dr. Soobin stood at the foot of the bed, gaze unreadable as his eyes lingered for a moment on Jungkook’s bare, marked legs.
Then, curtly and without looking up, he said,
“Head nurse Kim, please change the patient.”
And he walked out.
---
Taehyung went to work in complete silence.
Not a single word passed his lips as he straightened up, his hands steady even though his body throbbed. A few nurses and interns lingered at the door — some with wide eyes full of shock, others whispering among themselves with sneers and sidelong glances. But one stern look from Taehyung — blank, unreadable, cold — was enough. They scattered quickly, their shoes squeaking against the floor as they left.
Then it was just him and Jungkook again. And the quiet.
Taehyung turned back to the bed.
He carefully removed the soaked pants, revealing the heavy, sagging diaper beneath. His movements were gentle, respectful — clinical, almost — but the tension in his jaw betrayed the weight of it all.
Then he opened the diaper.
The scent hit him instantly. It wasn’t the usual sterile tang of urine. It was thicker. Warmer. Musky. Intimate. His fingers froze.
Taehyung didn’t need to ask what it was.
His cheeks flushed violently — a rich, mortified hue that spread across his high cheekbones, crawling up to the tips of his ears. The color deepened into something like rose wine, shame and something unspoken blooming in his chest.
He swallowed and forced his hands to move again, reaching for a clean diaper. After cleaning he slid it beneath Jungkook’s hips with quiet precision, dusted the skin with baby powder, and gently dabbed diaper rash cream on the irritated patches in the groin. His fingers moved with care — no part of this was strange to him anymore, but something about today made it feel like the very first time all over again.
Then he saw them — the angry, raw scratches on Jungkook’s thighs. His nails. From the outburst. From the shame. From the pain.
A muscle twitched in Taehyung’s jaw. He didn’t say a word.
Instead, he reached for the antiseptic cream and squeezed a generous amount onto his fingers. The ointment was cold, but his touch was warm as he spread it gently over each red welt. Then, lowering his face slightly, he blew softly across the marks — a soothing breath, light as air.
He had to dress Jungkook on his own. It should’ve been a two-person job — lifting limbs, guiding the arms through sleeves, repositioning the lines. But Taehyung didn't call anyone. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t.
Each movement sent a sharp ache shooting through his own abdomen, the spot where Jungkook’s foot had landed earlier. Still, he powered through it, muffling the little whimpers that slipped out despite his best effort.
Finally, as he bent to pull up the side railing, a sudden jolt of pain stabbed through his stomach.
“Ahhh—” he gasped, clutching his belly with one hand as he braced himself against the bed with the other.
He stood there for a long moment, taking deep, deliberate breaths. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale again.
Only once he was sure that Jungkook was lying comfortably — head supported, lines untangled, sheets smoothed — did he step back.
Still silent, he turned and left the room.
He didn’t go far.
Just down the corridor — where the lights were colder, harsher — into the staff washroom.
Where no one could see.
Where the walls could hold what he couldn’t say.
He stood before the large mirror above the sinks, the fluorescent light casting an unforgiving glow over the pale blue of his scrubs. His chest rose and fell slowly, then he lifted the hem of his top.
There it was.
A bruise — low on his flat, soft abdomen — already blooming into a deep, mottled shade of bluish-purple. Angry and tender. The imprint of a moment that wasn’t meant to happen… but did.
He stared at it in silence for a beat, the corners of his mouth twitching downward.
Then, inexplicably, a smile touched his lips. Small at first. Gentle. Almost affectionate.
But it grew.
The softness stretched into something twisted — a crooked, lunatic grin. And then came the laugh. Hollow. Uneven. It cracked at the edges, brittle as broken glass.
“I’ll take whatever you give, Jungkook,” he whispered to the mirror, voice low and trembling. “Even if it’s pain.”
His eyes gleamed, wide and glassy as he tilted his head slightly.
“Because I deserve pain,” he continued, the grin still etched on his face. “I even love pain… if it’s from you.”
Then he stopped smiling.
He stared at his reflection — long and hard — until the laughter faded and silence returned like a fog. His eyes didn’t blink. He just kept looking.
As if trying to recognize the man standing there.