Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

There were two very different worlds breathing under the same Seoul sky.

One reeked of gunpowder, blood, expensive cigars, and the kind of silence that came only after a scream.

That was Jeon Jungkook’s world.

A world of shadow where power wore Italian leather and morality was just a decorative myth. He moved through the underbelly of the city like a ghost—too dangerous to be real, too real to be ignored. Sharp suits hugged muscle and menace, and ink bloomed up his throat like a secret rebellion. His presence was a loaded gun with a heartbeat.

He ruled it all with eyes like winter and a silence that made men sweat bullets.

Across the city, across universes, really, was a corner of Seoul that smelled like sugar, rain-washed concrete, and raspberry candy.

That was Kim Taehyung’s world.

It was tucked into a narrow street, behind a crooked iron gate and a leaning sign that read BLOOM & BREW in fading gold paint. Inside, fairy lights blinked like shy stars and mismatched chairs held the weight of poets, loners, and the dangerously hopeful. Jazz dripped from the speakers like honey, and every latte came with a little foam heart and, occasionally, unsolicited emotional advice.

Here, cups had names and personalities. Muffins had warning labels ("Don’t trust the blueberry, he’s dramatic")

Two worlds. One of blood. One of bubble tea.

Jeon Jungkook, 27 years old and a Mafia Boss. He sat at the head of a long table, a glass of whiskey balanced between two tattooed fingers. The room was low-lit, filled with the smell of smoke and tension. Maps were spread across the table, red Xs marking places that no longer existed thanks to Hoseok’s good aim and Yoongi’s hacking brilliance.

"This deal with the Russians isn’t clean," Namjoon muttered, pushing up his sleeves. "Something’s off."

"When is anything ever clean?" Yoongi drawled from his spot on the couch, laptop glowing on his lap, gum in his mouth, hoodie half-zipped.

"Boys, don’t make me inject all of you with sedatives just so I can hear myself think," Seokjin said from the minibar, pouring himself a cup of chamomile tea like it was vodka.

Jungkook stayed quiet. Watching. Calculating.

That’s what he did best.

He didn’t speak unless necessary. Didn’t smile unless someone was about to die. And he definitely didn’t care about anyone.

Or so he thought.

Kim Taehyung. 23 years. Profession, Daydreamer. Weapon, Whipped cream.

It was mid-morning at Bloom & Brew. Rain slid down the foggy windows in slow-motion, and Taehyung leaned over the counter, chin in hand, watching the world as if he could change it just by loving it harder. Jimin, pink apron and all, was trying very hard not to dump an oat milk latte over his head.

"Jiminie, do strawberries have feelings?"

Jimin blinked. Twice.

"Tae, for the love of Prada, not this again."

"But what if they scream when we blend them? Just really quietly?" Taehyung asked, serious.

Jimin pointed a perfectly manicured finger at him. "If you start naming the muffins again, I swear to God, Taehyung, I will hide your plushies."

"You monster."

Despite the threats, they worked well together. Like sugar and spice. Jimin was all sass and confidence, hips swaying even when there was no music. Taehyung? Taehyung was glitter in human form. Gorgeous, soft-looking, a little too pretty for his own good. The kind of pretty that made old ladies squint and ask if he was a girl. Taehyung just smiled and asked if they liked his lip gloss.

Taehyung wasn’t clueless. Not even close. He was soft by choice, not by accident.

Some people mistook his glitter for naivety, his flower-print shirts and sparkly lip gloss for a mind that floated above reality. They were wrong. Taehyung understood darkness, he just refused to live in it. He knew exactly how cruel the world could be. That was why he made the effort to be kind. To notice things. To care. Not because he was oblivious but because he knew how much it mattered.

He wasn’t dumb. He just… thought differently.

Where others saw subtext, Taehyung saw face value. He took things literally because that’s how his mind worked, practical in the oddest ways. When someone said they were drowning in work, he offered them a towel. If a customer joked that the espresso was so strong it could punch them, he looked genuinely concerned about potential injuries.

He once asked Jimin if heartbreak could cause actual cardiac damage and offered to look up emergency contacts just in case.

He wasn’t joking.

That’s what made him disarming. Dangerous, even, in his own way.

He listened. He believed people. He saw straight through lies because he never bothered pretending, he understood the game.

People underestimated him because he was chaos wrapped in pastel, with a mind full of constellations and questions no one else thought to ask.

Back to the Other Side

"This kid’s been sniffing around the docks," Hoseok announced, striding into the room like he’d just stepped off a runway themed organized crime and leather jackets. His hair was still damp from the rain, curls sticking to his forehead, and he smelled vaguely of gasoline and trouble. He tossed a photograph onto the table like it owed him money. "You want him scared or gone?"

Jungkook didn’t respond right away. He picked up the photo, eyes narrowing. The kid in the picture couldn’t have been older than twenty-five, all gangly limbs and misplaced confidence, captured mid-snoop behind a shipping container. A rat with sneakers and a death wish.

"Gone," Jungkook muttered, voice as calm and final as a closing casket. "But make it poetic."

Hoseok’s grin spread slowly, wide and feral. He clapped once, loudly. "So… flaming car and toss him in there?"

"Surprise me."

"That’s my favorite genre," Hoseok said, already pulling out his phone to text someone who probably only responded to emojis and body part counts.

Namjoon looked up from a tablet with thirty open documents and one existential crisis. His glasses were perched on the edge of his nose, his sleeves rolled up like a man trying to appear put-together while slowly dying inside. “We need a vacation,” he said, rubbing at his temple like it was holding in his last three brain cells.

Seokjin, lounging at the minibar like a housewife in a mafia drama, raised his cup of chamomile tea with the solemnity of a man drinking straight vodka. “We need therapy,” he said, as if it were a diagnosis. “Group sessions. With snacks.”

Yoongi, half-buried under a hoodie and approximately two weeks of sleep debt, didn’t even look up from his laptop. His fingers tapped lazily on the keys, some code running in the background that would probably crash a small country’s power grid. “We need both,” he deadpanned. “And a pet. Maybe a turtle. Something low-maintenance but emotionally grounding.”

“Turtles live forever,” Seokjin replied. “We’ll be in jail by then.”

“Exactly,” Yoongi said.

Namjoon looked up, alarmed. “Wait, are we getting arrested?”

“No, but you said we need a vacation,” Seokjin replied. “If we go to prison together, technically it’s a group retreat.”

Hoseok snorted. “You’re assuming we’d be in the same block. Jin-hyung would definitely be in minimum security for emotionally traumatizing the guards with passive-aggressive tea quotes.”

Seokjin raised a brow. “I am an elite emotional terrorist.”

“I call top bunk,” Yoongi muttered.

Meanwhile, Jungkook hadn’t moved. He sat there in silence, smoke curling upward from his cigarette like a dark halo, watching the storm clouds press against the windows like they were trying to get in. His face was unreadable. Sharp. Still. A statue carved by someone angry and very good with knives.

He didn’t speak unless it was necessary. He didn’t laugh. And he sure as hell didn’t care for banter when a war was looming over the skyline like a promise.

There were too many things moving in the shadows. Deals with cracked edges. Names that kept showing up on dead men’s phones. The Russians were too quiet. The docks too loud. People who were supposed to be afraid had started to get curious.

He exhaled, slow and deliberate, the cigarette burning low between his fingers.

There were enemies closing in.

And not one of them would see him coming.

He didn’t have time for distractions.

But fate doesn’t give a damn about your schedule.

Because in exactly seven days, Jeon Jungkook would walk into a sugar-scented cafe looking for a safe house.

And walk straight into Kim Taehyung.

Chapter Text

It all started with a missing can of whipped cream and Jimin’s deep, bone-tired sigh, the kind of sigh that came from working a double shift and babysitting a grown man in his rather paster color hoodie.

"Taehyung, I need you to run an errand," Jimin said, staring into the near-empty fridge like it had personally betrayed him.

Taehyung perked up immediately, like a puppy hearing the word run.

"Adventure?"

"No. Grocery store." Jimin handed him a neatly folded note and some cash.

Taehyung saluted with both hands. "Aye, aye, Captain Oat Milk!"

"Taehyungie, focus. I need you to go to the grocery store, okay?" Jimin's voice was calm, measured, too measured. The kind of calm those parents used when handing their toddler, a glass of red wine and saying, "Don't spill."

Jimin narrowed his eyes, suspicious. "Repeat what I just said."

"Go to the store. Buy… uh…" Taehyung paused and tilted his head, then looked down on the list that Jimin handed him, his brown curls bouncing. "Fluffy milk?"

"Whipped cream," Jimin corrected with a deep sigh at the younger, “We’re out. And get the good vanilla, the one with the gold label, not the one that tastes like sadness.”

"Got it. Golden vanilla. Whipped fluff. No sadness."
"And come straight back," Jimin stressed, grabbing his shoulders and shaking him slightly, like he could install a GPS via eye contact. "No detours. No following stray cats. No helping old ladies reorganize their purse. No existential conversations with lamp posts."

Taehyung pouted. "That was one time. And that lamp post had VIBES, Minnie."

"It was a parking meter, Tae."

"Still. Judgy energy."

Jimin groaned into his apron, muffling a prayer to every deity of patience he could name. “Just—go. Now. And please take an umbrella, it looks like it’s going to rain!”

But Taehyung, already halfway out of his apron like a man on a mission, chirped a cheerful, “Okay, Jiminie!” before promptly ignoring the umbrella part and skipping out the door.

Jimin stared after him, jaw slack. “Of course. Selective hearing strikes again.”

And so, five minutes later, Taehyung skipped out into the humid Seoul evening, his oversized hoodie zipped up over his flowy cream shorts and his steps light, even musical. His tiny tote bag swung at his side, full of potential and zero understanding of street maps.

The city was a quiet hum at this hour, flickering neon signs, couples huddled close on street corners, and the occasional roar of a scooter zooming by. Taehyung made it to the store just fine. Bought the whipped cream also the strawberry because he said, “Then we can have strawberry whipped cream.” And bought some questionable bread. He even remembered the gold-label vanilla and stared it down for a full two minutes before choosing the one with the “cuter font.”

With his mission accomplished and a proud bounce in his step, he stepped out onto the sidewalk.

Just in time for the sky to crack.

Thunder rolled like a drum solo, and the heavens promptly lost their mind.

"Ack!" Taehyung squeaked, stumbling back under the tiny plastic awning as the rain came down in fat, icy drops. His eyes widened, lips forming a dramatic pout as he stared at the rapidly soaking sidewalk. “My hoodie!”

He looked down at himself. The pale purple hoodie, his favorite, was already clinging to his arms like sad laundry. His soft hair frizzed instantly, curls going wild as he tried to tug the hood up, only for it to flop uselessly back down.

“Are you really going to betray me?” he muttered at the sky.

Clutching the grocery bag like a helpless puppy, Taehyung dashed toward the nearest alley, one he either just noticed or had magically appeared, he wasn’t sure. Maybe he was lost. But at least he’d found cover from the rain. The downpour wasn’t showing mercy, and he wasn’t about to let the whipped cream suffer a traumatic experience.

He huddled under the lip of a low roof, dripping and shivering slightly as water rolled down his bare legs. The plastic bag crinkled against his chest as he leaned his head back against the wall and sighed dramatically.

“I look like a sad sea otter.” He pouted.

Then, like fate had a bad sense of humor, lightning lit up the alley and that’s when he noticed it.

Footsteps. Not his.

Heavy. Measured. A click of heels over soaked concrete.

Rain slicked down his inky black hair, strands clinging to his sharp cheekbones, his lips, where a cigarette hung, lazily burning despite the downpour. A long dark coat, soaked and heavy, molded itself to his broad frame, each step slow and deliberate, as if the chaos of the world couldn’t rush him.

Their eyes met.

And Taehyung, blinking through wet lashes, whispered, "Oh no. He's hot."

Jeon Jungkook exhaled smoke and silence.

The tip of his cigarette glowed briefly before he flicked it away with a flick of tattooed fingers, the ember dying mid-air like a snuffed-out warning.

He hadn’t planned to be here.

Hours earlier, he’d been in an abandoned parking structure on the edge of the city, a place that smelled of oil, rust, and something had burned. The kind of place deals went to die. It was supposed to be a routine meeting, a drop-off, a quick exchange. Nothing complicated.

Except betrayal never sent invitations.

Their supposed partners, two-faced bastards with shaky hands and greedy eyes had turned on them. Guns were pulled. Shots rang out. Screams echoed off cold concrete. But Jungkook didn’t flinch. He moved like a ghost with a grudge, eyes calm, every shot he fired a promise delivered.

Namjoon, ever the strategist, barked orders between ducking behind metal barrels. Hoseok laughed through it all, chaos dancing in his eyes as he twirled his gun like it was part of a show. Their men scattered and fought in pockets, sharp, clean, deadly.

Jungkook’s voice never raised, but his silence ‘commanded’,

They won, of course. The other side was buried beneath the price of their mistake. But the fight had stretched longer than expected. There were stragglers, hidden men with bad aim and worse decisions, forcing them to split and vanish into the dark.

So now Jungkook walked alone, cutting through back alleys and crooked corners, letting the rain wash away the gunpowder and blood on his coat. He didn’t mind the rain. It gave him cover. Quiet. A moment to exist without someone asking for orders or lives.

He leaned against the graffiti-covered brick of a narrow alley, head tilted back, letting the cold drops pepper his face. His chest rose slowly, like the calm after an explosion.

And that’s when he saw ‘him’.

The soft shuffle of footsteps. A squeak. A blur of pastel and pout stumbling into view.

A man.

No, a boy, young and soaked through, clutching a grocery bag to his chest like it held the secret to life itself. Water clung to his lashes, to his cheeks, to the curve of his lips parted in surprise. His hoodie, once fluffy and purple, now drooped sadly around his shoulders, utterly defeated by the rain.

Jungkook’s sharp eyes immediately caught one thing.

The eyes.

Big. Beautiful. Wide with a kind of raw innocence Jungkook hadn’t seen since his childhood bled out in front of him. There was something oddly hypnotic about how this boy looked at the world, as if it hadn’t yet taught him to flinch.

Taehyung blinked through the rain, head tilted, and their eyes locked.

And in the middle of a dark alley, soaked to the bone, standing before the most dangerous man in the city, he softly gasped.

“Oh no,” he whispered, barely audible. “He’s hot.”
Jungkook’s brow twitched, a flicker of something, confusion? amusement? breaking through the icy stillness of his face.

Because in all the years he’d made men beg, scream, run… no one had ever look at him like this.

He didn’t speak. Not yet. He just stared. Rain dripping from his jaw, smoke still clinging to his breath.

Taehyung looked down at his now squishy hoodie, then back up at Jungkook, lips trembling in a dramatic pout. “My hoodie’s wet,” he informed him solemnly, like this stranger was responsible for the weather.

Jungkook blinked.

Who WAS this creature?

Somehow, despite the night, despite the cold, despite the guns that had fired only hours before, Jeon Jungkook felt something he hadn’t in years.

He felt... thrown off.

And Taehyung, beautiful and wet and mildly inconvenienced, just kept pouting.

Taehyung continued to stare.

The man hadn’t moved, hadn’t spoken. Just stood there in the alley like he was grown from the rain itself, dark, brooding, and vaguely illegal-looking.

Taehyung took a slow step forward, eyes squinting through the water. “Are you…” he paused, sniffed, then leaned in just a little, “...a vampire?”

Jungkook’s jaw tensed, brows meeting at that absurd question. “No.”

“Oh.” Taehyung nodded, accepting that instantly. “Because you’re standing in the dark like you own it. And you smell like smoke and blood and maybe cologne? I don’t know what that last thing is but it’s really dramatic.”

Jungkook exhaled through his nose, which may or may not have been a sigh.

Taehyung tilted his head again. “You’re not lost, are you? Because I’m kind of lost. But not in like, a ‘send help’ way. More in a ‘where the heck am I and why is my bread wet’ kind of way.”

He raised his grocery bag and poked it.

Jungkook finally spoke, voice low and flat. “You should go.”

“But it’s raining,” Taehyung said, scandalized. “And you’re standing in it like a dramatic music video. Wait—are you filming something? AM I IN IT? Should I pose?”

Jungkook turned his head away, biting back whatever sound threatened to escape. His patience was legendary... and somehow this... creature was testing it.

“I’m not filming, kid.” he muttered.

“Oh.” Taehyung pouted again. “Shame. I’ve always wanted to be in a movie. Or a shampoo commercial.”

Silence. Rain. The soft drip drip drip off Jungkook’s coat.

Taehyung took a small step closer, peering at the tattoo peeking from Jungkook’s collar to his neck. “Do your tattoos mean something, or did you just point at the wall and say ‘I want that one?’”

Jungkook looked him dead in the eye. “Are you always like this?”
“Like what?” Taehyung blinked innocently.

Jungkook didn’t answer. He just stared at him, rain still pouring, and for the first time in a long time, he looked… mildly baffled.

Taehyung smiled, rain dripping from his chin. “My friend Jimin says I ask too many questions.”

“Your friend is right.”

Taehyung nodded brightly. “I know.”

Then, still standing there, smiling like the alley wasn’t sketchy and the man in front of him wasn’t built like a final boss, he added, “You want a soggy jelly bread? I bought too many.”

Jungkook narrowed his eyes.

What the HELL was a jelly bread?

Chapter Text

The sound of tires cutting through puddles echoed down the alley as headlights splashed against the brick walls, washing out the dim glow from the flickering streetlamp above. The black SUV rolled to a slow stop in front of the drenched pair, Jungkook, leaning against the wall with a cigarette stub between his fingers, and Taehyung, pouting over a squished jelly bread and the fact that his hoodie now looked like a wet puppy, not the fact he himself looks like a wet puppy.

The driver’s door swung open with purpose, and Hoseok jumped out, slamming it behind him with a splash. “Found you, boss!” he chirped, his soaked sneakers slapping against the pavement as he made his way over. “You know Yoongi tracked your GPS and almost had a panic attack, when you didn’t move from your location? We thought they got you or something.”

Namjoon followed more cautiously from the passenger side, one hand shielding his glasses from the rain, the other clutching his phone that had 27 missed messages from Seokjin alone.

Jungkook didn’t answer them.

He didn’t need to.

He flicked his cigarette to the wet ground, stepped over it, and walked right past Taehyung like he didn’t exist, shoulders squared, soaked coat trailing behind like a cape, face unreadable. He opened the back door of the SUV and slipped inside wordlessly, leaning back in his seat like the last half-hour hadn't involved dodging bullets and betrayal.

Taehyung blinked after him, lower lip jutting out.

“He didn’t even take the jelly bread,” he mumbled, cradling the damp plastic bag like a disappointed parent. “More for me, I guess.”

Namjoon raised an eyebrow at the sight of the soaking wet boy standing alone in the alley with bags in hand and a very confused expression on his face. Hoseok squinted.

“Hey, pretty kid,” Hoseok called out, curious as ever and now walking closer. “What are you doing out here in the rain?”

Taehyung perked up like a puppy who just heard his name.

“Oh! Hi. I was sent to buy fluffy milk and some other stuff, but then the rain attacked me and I took shelter here. And then that man”—he pointed at the SUV— “appeared like a vampire. Very tall vampire. And I think he smokes sadness.”

Namjoon blinked. “You mean Jungkook?”

Taehyung gasped. “You know the vampire man?!”

Hoseok wheezed. “Oh my god.”

“I don’t actually know where I am,” Taehyung added cheerfully, brushing wet hair out of his eyes. “I’m supposed to go back to Bloom & Brew but I think I walked into another dimension.”

Namjoon gave him a flat look. “You really shouldn’t go around asking strangers for help, kid.”

Taehyung’s eyes widened like saucers. OH NO. JIMIN WARNED HIM ABOUT THIS.

Flashback…

In their shared apartment, Jimin sat Taehyung down like it was a serious life lesson. “Tae, if a stranger offers you candy or tries to get you into their car, you don’t go. No matter how shiny or how many flavored it is.”

Taehyung tilted his head, blinking. “What if it’s strawberry? The strawberry is not a candy.”

“That’s still a NO, stupid bear,” Jimin said, exasperated.

Taehyung thought hard. “But what if it’s like, REALLY GOOD strawberry, so red and juicy and—”

Jimin tackled him to the bed, yelling, “YOU’RE MISSING THE POINT!” and tickled him until he wheezed and promised to listen.

End of flashback…

Back in the alley, Taehyung narrowed his eyes at Namjoon.

“…Are you offering me candy?”

Namjoon blinked. “What? No!”

Taehyung nodded solemnly. “Good. That means you're not THAT stranger.”

Namjoon and Hoseok exchanged a very slow, very confused look.

“I’m Kim Taehyung!” the boy beamed, stepping closer and completely unfazed by how soaked he was. “I like strawberries, puppies, anime, soft clothes and warm blankets. What’s your name?”

Hoseok, who was barely holding it together, finally laughed and clapped once. “You’re unreal, kid. I’m Hoseok. That’s Namjoon. And the tall vampire in the car is like we said is Jungkook.”

Taehyung lit up. “Oh, yeah, Jungkook. That's a strong name. He doesn’t talk much, huh? He just stared at me like he was deciding if I was an alien.”

From inside the car, Jungkook was watching through the window, jaw tight. The moment Taehyung pointed at him again, his voice echoed coldly from inside the SUV.

“Hurry the fuck up.”

Hoseok turned with a grin. “Looks like vampire’s getting cranky.”

Taehyung squinted at the car. “Do you think he sleeps inside the coffin like in the movies?”

Namjoon shook his head with a snort and opened the back door. “Come on. We'll drop you off.”

Taehyung blinked. “Really? That’s nice. Now that I know your names and you’re not offering candies, it’s perfectly safe.”

He climbed into the backseat beside Jungkook without hesitation.

The moment the door shut, Jungkook slowly turned his head toward Hoseok and Namjoon standing outside the car, his eyes wide with disbelief.

“…What the fuck is he doing here?” he asked, voice low and dangerous, practically vibrating with restrained rage.

Outside, Hoseok wiped away a dramatic tear of joy. “He grows up so fast.”

Namjoon just shook his head, already pulling out his phone. “Seokjin is going to kill us if we didn’t response.”

The rain drummed steadily on the roof of the SUV as the vehicle pulled away from the alley, tires slicing through wet asphalt. Inside the car, warmth began to replace the cold dampness that had seeped into their clothes but the tension? That was just getting started.

Taehyung sat upright in the backseat like a golden retriever experiencing his first car ride. His wet hoodie clung to him like a second skin, a little lopsided tote bag still clutched in his lap like a prized possession. He turned his head toward the man beside him, Jungkook, the mafia boss known in whispered circles for toppling entire crime syndicates without flinching.

But to Taehyung?

He was just a grumpy bat.

“You know,” Taehyung started, voice soft but oddly enthusiastic, “your eyes are very intense. I bet you can scare people just by looking at them.”

Jungkook said nothing.

Taehyung nodded to himself, lips pursed like he’d solved a mystery. “Do you moisturize? Your skin looks really good. Except you scowl too much—you’ll get forehead lines. Jimin said that’s how people end up looking like a potato.”

Namjoon choked from the passenger seat.

Hoseok, driving, glanced at Namjoon with wide eyes and a grin threatening to explode across his face. “Did he just say... potato?”

“I think so,” Namjoon wheezed, covering his mouth to suppress the laugh bubbling up.

Jungkook’s jaw ticked. He turned slowly to glare out the window, counting down the minutes until he could drop this human sunbeam off and reclaim the silence that once defined his terrifying existence.

Taehyung wasn’t done.

“Is this leather?” he asked, gently patting the seat with reverence. “It’s nice. I bet you don’t let anyone eat in here. But I have jelly bread if you want—oh wait, never mind, you didn’t take it earlier. Rude, by the way.”

Namjoon gave up and full-on laughed. “Oh my god.”

Hoseok hit the steering wheel, chuckling hard. “Jungkook, I think he’s your karma.”

“I don’t believe in karma,” Jungkook muttered under his breath.

“Of course you don’t,” Hoseok snorted. “But she believes in you, clearly.”

Taehyung peered at Jungkook again. “Are you like... in a gang or something?”

The temperature in the car seemed to drop two degrees.

Namjoon turned so fast his seatbelt locked. “Kid—”

“I mean,” Taehyung added, completely unfazed, “you just have that look. Cold. Dangerous. Mysterious. Like you own a warehouse full of illegal pickles or something.”

There was a pause. A beat of silence so surreal it suspended time itself.

Hoseok’s laugh exploded. Loud, contagious, echoing off the car windows as he slapped the steering wheel.

“Illegal... pickles?!”

Namjoon was bent forward in his seat, wheezing. “I... I can't—!”

Jungkook exhaled slowly through his nose, fingers flexing against his thighs like he was restraining himself from reaching for a gun. “They’re illegal weapons.”

Taehyung blinked innocently. “You sell weapons made from pickles?”

Namjoon choked.

Hoseok had to pull over to the side of the road for a minute, wiping tears from his eyes as he gasped, “Jungkook, I’m begging you—keep him.”

“I will kill you,” Jungkook deadpanned.

Taehyung simply beamed, completely misunderstanding the tone. “You guys are fun. I thought strangers would be scary but you’re just weird.”

From the rearview mirror, Hoseok grinned. “You’re not supposed to go with strangers, remember?”

Taehyung nodded solemnly. “But you didn’t offer me candy and I know your names so, you’re not strangers.”

Namjoon smacked his own forehead.

Eventually, once Hoseok recovered enough to drive, the car rolled back into motion. Taehyung kept chatting about the bakery, about how fluffy milk was sacred, Namjoon and Hoseok ask what is that, about how Jimin told him the difference between a gun and a glue gun, “one is fatal, the other is for crafts!”, and about a pigeon he once tried to befriend named Gerald who rejected him.

Through it all, Jungkook sat like a statue carved from stone, jaw clenched, one vein in his neck throbbing.

When the café finally came into view, illuminated softly beneath the streetlamp, Hoseok exhaled like he’d just survived a rollercoaster. “We made it. Praise Seokjin.”

Namjoon turned back to Taehyung. “This is your stop, kid.”

Taehyung looked at the café, then at the three men.

“Thanks for the ride!” he chirped. Then leaned toward Jungkook and whispered conspiratorially, “Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me, Mr. Pickle Lord.”

Jungkook stared at him like he was already mentally erasing the entire night from existence.

Taehyung hopped out of the car, the bag swinging from his hand, and ran toward the café door, his soaked hoodie flapping behind him like a cape.

Hoseok was still giggling as he pulled away.

Jungkook, staring ahead with dead eyes, muttered, “I should’ve let them shoot me.”

Namjoon snorted.

“I like him,” Hoseok grinned.

“I love him,” Namjoon said, wiping his eyes. “Let’s keep him.”

Jungkook growled.

Chapter Text

The bell above the café door jingled delicately, far too delicately for the storm that came walking in behind it.

Dripping from head to toe, hoodie clinging like wet seaweed, bag of groceries dangling from his fingers like a defeated soldier, Kim Taehyung stepped into Bloom & Brew as though he hadn’t just returned from a war zone.

“Minnie,” he announced, voice as dreamy and casual as ever, “I’m back~”

From behind the counter, Park Jimin froze mid-wipe, eyes widening at the sight before him. It took him exactly two seconds to process, one, his best friend was soaked, hood up, sleeves hanging, pants sticking to his legs like soggy noodles. Two, his prized hoodie, the light purple one with the dancing bear and strawberry, looked like it had been through tsunamis. And three—THREE—Taehyung was holding up the grocery bag like it was a medal of honor.

“Taehyung,” Jimin said, voice dangerously calm, “what. The actual. Hell?”

Taehyung blinked. “Hi.”

“Why are you WET?!” Jimin screeched, dropping the cloth and rushing over. “Where’s your brain?! You were gone for forty-seven minutes and I was THIS CLOSE to calling the police, or the fire department, or the animal shelter—because clearly, you’ve forgotten you're HUMAN!”

Taehyung slowly raised the bag of groceries with a proud little smile. “But I got the fluffy milk!”

Jimin stared. Then he snatched the bag and peered inside, eyes scanning—

“…Why are there three tubs of whipped cream, strawberries, what— what is this soggy thing and where is my GOLDEN vanilla? This not a GOLD, KIM TAEHYUNG!”

Taehyung looked confused. “But we needed fluffy milk.”

“One. One tub, Tae. And what’s the strawberry for?!”

“It looks delicious and we can have strawberry whipped cream,” Taehyung admitted with a pout. “And the font of that Vanilla looks cute.”

Jimin pressed both hands to his face like he was about to spiritually ascend.

“Okay,” he breathed through gritted teeth. “Let’s rewind. What happened?! I told you—go straight there, buy the things that I NEED and straight back. What part of that turned into ‘let’s soak my spine and buy whatever’?!”

“Oh,” Taehyung said, eyes lighting up like he’d just remembered a dream. “I met a weird pickle gang boss. In an alley, because I hid from the rain.”

Silence.

“What.”

“He was smoking and broody, and at first, I thought he was a vampire. You know, sharp cheekbones, all black clothes, the usual.” Taehyung peeled off his wet hoodie as he spoke, flopping it dramatically over a chair. “Anyway, I tried to give him jelly bread but he didn’t take it. I think he was shy.”

Jimin’s eye twitched. “Tae…”

“And then two other guys came—one with dimples and the other looked like he does yoga, he always laughing—”

“TAE.”

“—and then they drove me home! Don’t worry, Minnie, they didn’t give me candy. So, it’s okay, they are not that stranger you warned me about.”

“DROVE. YOU. HOME.” Jimin looked like he was having an out-of-body experience.

“Oh! And the grumpy vampire pickle boss has a name. It’s Jungkook. Cool, right?”

“TAEHYUNG!”

Taehyung squeaked, bracing for impact as Jimin grabbed a nearby towel, walk towards him and started furiously rubbing his hair, muttering in disbelief.

“You talked to three strange MEN—in an ALLEY—accepted a RIDE—and one of them is possibly a GANG OR A MAFIA BOSS?! Do you want to get kidnapped?! Do you want to end up on the news? Do you want ME to end up on the news?!” Jimin’s voice cracked as he towel-smacked the top of Taehyung’s head. “I’m gonna have to commit a felony at this rate!”

“But Minnie hyung,” Taehyung said through the towel, muffled, “they weren’t strangers! One of them told me their names!”

“That doesn’t make them NOT strangers, you goldfish-brained angel!”

Taehyung peeled the towel down to his chin. “You always say don’t go with strangers offering candy. They didn’t offer candy.”

“Oh my GOD—”

“Just a ride.”

“Which is WORSE!”

“But I told them my favorite fruit hyung. That’s bonding.”

Jimin looked like he aged ten years in ten seconds. He dropped the towel and staggered back like he needed a chair and a strong drink.

“Never,” he declared, “am I letting you run errands again. Ever. This is why we can’t have nice things, Taehyung. This is how you get possessed in horror movies.”

“But you said I need to be more social.”

“Not with the MAFIA OR GANG WHATEVER!”

Taehyung gave him puppy eyes. “He had really pretty eyes.”

“TAE!”

“…Also, I might’ve thought he’s hot.”

Jimin sat down.

On the floor.

He just… sat down.

Taehyung blinked at him and then squatted next to him, patting his shoulder. “Don’t worry, Minnie. I’m alive, and I brought fluffy milk. Three, actually.”

Jimin groaned into his hands.

Taehyung beamed. Mission accomplished.

The mansion’s massive iron gates creaked open with a soft groan as Hoseok rolled the sleek black SUV up the long private drive, tires crunching against gravel. The rain had dwindled to a moody drizzle, the kind that hung in the air like a whisper, casting the mansion in a dreamy silver fog.

By the time they parked, the atmosphere inside the car was… stifling.

“Okay, but seriously,” Hoseok said for the fifth time since they left Taehyung outside Bloom & Brew, “you saw the way he blinked up at you? Like a wet puppy with glitter eyes?”

Namjoon snorted from the passenger seat, muttering, “The jelly bread—the SOGGY jelly bread, Hobi. He offered him jelly bread.”

“He didn’t even flinch when you glared at him, Jungkook!” Hoseok cackled, flinging the door open. “That kid’s either a total cinnamon roll or a golden retriever in a human body.”

“I will shoot both of you,” Jungkook said, voice flat as steel, as he stepped out after them, slamming the car door shut with finality.

They didn’t listen.

They never listened.

“He literally told us his ‘favorite fruit’ like we were on a picnic date!” Hoseok kept giggling as they strode up the wide marble steps, soaked boots squeaking softly. “Strawberries. What kind of baby animal—”

Jungkook pulled out his gun.

He aims it at them.

He simply pressed the cold muzzle gently to the backs of both their heads as they walked up the front door. Silently.

Namjoon immediately stopped breathing. “Okay—yep—message received.”

Hoseok choked on a laugh, holding his hands up. “Gun down, Romeo. We’re just saying—he was cute.”

Jungkook didn’t say a word.

Didn’t need to.

The glint in his eye spoke volumes. And it said, ‘Keep talking and I’ll repaint the hallway with your brains.’

The heavy front doors creaked open before anyone could knock.

Kim Seokjin stood there.

Arms crossed. Apron still on. Hair pinned back with a Hello Kitty clip. And furious.

“Oh, ‘now’ you show up?” he said, voice deceptively calm. “Was it too much to ask for ONE text? One little update? Or did all three of your murderer hands just stop working simultaneously?”

Namjoon visibly paled. “Honey—”

Seokjin held up a finger. “Namjoon, don’t. I SENT TWENTY-THREE MESSAGES AND CALLED EIGHT TIMES. I was about to call the coroner!”

Hoseok muttered under his breath, “You ARE the coroner.”

“I heard that!” Seokjin hissed.

Namjoon, ever the damage control specialist, stepped forward and gently took his husband’s hands, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. “I’m sorry, darling. The deal went sideways. Guns came out. We scattered. But I’m safe. Hoseok’s safe. Jungkook’s safe.”

Seokjin narrowed his eyes.

“And you look absolutely divine in this lighting,” Namjoon added quickly.

Pause.

“…Fine,” Seokjin sighed, shoulders dropping as Namjoon kissed his cheek. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“I really am,” Namjoon said, relieved, patting his own chest dramatically.

Jungkook rolled his eyes and pushed past them, stripping off his damp coat, clearly done with this conversation and the day, until Hoseok, ever the chaos incarnates, called out.

“By the way, we picked up a kid.”

Jungkook froze mid-step.

Namjoon choked on a laugh. “Hobi.”

Seokjin’s eyes sparkled immediately. “A kid? What kid? Like a small one? Like… Yoongi’s height?”

Jungkook slowly turned back around, jaw ticking.

“Not ‘that’ small,” Hoseok snickered, kicking his boots off at the door. “He was a barista, we guess or a waiter? Tall, pretty, big brown eyes, kind of a space cadet. Offered Jungkook a soggy bread.”

Seokjin gasped. “Oh my god, did he take it?!”

“Stop!” Jungkook barked.

“He glared at it like it insulted his lineage,” Namjoon added.

Seokjin folded his arms, eyes narrowing. “So, who’s this tall, pretty, big brown eyes, kind of a space cadet barista?”

“Kid said his name’s Kim Taehyung,” Hoseok said, hanging his jacket. “Got lost in the rain. Literally wandered into Jungkook’s alley. Called him a vampire. Thought we were strangers until we said our names, then decided we weren’t strangers anymore because we didn’t give candies. And asked us for a ride.”

Seokjin stared.

Jungkook rubbed his temple.

“And get this,” Hoseok grinned, “he called Jungkook’s a Mr. Pickle Lord.”

Namjoon wheezed.

Jungkook raised the gun again.

Namjoon and Hoseok scattered, laughing.

“Kitchen! I’m going to the kitchen!” Namjoon shouted, hands up.

“Bathroom! I have to pee!” Hoseok yelled, diving down the hallway.

“Idiots,” Jungkook muttered, tucking the gun back into his waistband with a sigh. He turned to head toward his wing, but not before he heard Seokjin call after him with a smug grin.

“So… when are you seeing the pretty boy again?”

A beat.

“I’m not.”

“Sure, sure.”

Jungkook didn’t turn back. But as his boots echoed down the polished hallway, his mind refused to quiet. That kid, Taehyung, was lodged in his thoughts like a misplaced piece in a puzzle he didn’t ask to solve. Soft eyes, soaked hoodie, that ridiculous pout over jelly bread. Something about him didn’t fit the world Jungkook knew… and that made it all the more infuriating.

The rain had long since stopped, but Jungkook’s thoughts hadn’t.

-

It was the next morning, and he sat at his desk in his private office at the far end of the mansion, a clean and quiet space that contrasted heavily with the chaos usually clinging to his world. His brows were knitted, eyes unfocused, fingers twitching as they hovered over a pile of unfinished paperwork he hadn’t read in hours.

The kid wouldn’t leave his head.

That soaked hoodie. Those wide, blinking eyes that looked up at him like Jungkook hadn’t just come from a shootout but had descended from the clouds with the grace of a soggy angel. And the jelly bread. Who the hell offers jelly bread in the middle of an alley during a storm?

Jeon Jungkook, mafia boss, arms dealer, and certified nightmare of the criminal underworld… was being haunted by a kid with a grocery bag and the attention span of a puppy.

He sighed, exasperated.

“Yoongi hyung,” Jungkook said into the communicator clipped to the edge of his desk, his voice low and commanding, rough from the cigarette he'd stubbed out moments earlier.

The silence that followed was thick, save for the faint hum of the office’s air conditioning.

A few minutes later, there was a soft knock, deliberate but unhurried. The heavy door creaked open, and in stepped Yoongi, dressed head to toe in black, hoodie half-zipped, dark circles bruising under his eyes like permanent war paint. His hair was messy from sleep or from simply not caring, and he walked like someone who resented vertical existence.

He raised a single brow, unimpressed. “What?”

Jungkook didn’t glance up from the array of reports and maps scattered across his desk. His fingers absently traced the corner of a file he had no intention of reading. His voice was sharp and direct. “I want a file. Kim Taehyung. Works at Bloom and Brew.”

Yoongi stared for a beat, eyes narrowing slightly. “Is this a target or a new business contact?”

His tone was casual, but his eyes flicked with something else, curiosity.

Jungkook’s jaw ticked. “Just get it done.”

Yoongi sighed, long and theatrical, but with no real resistance. He rolled his shoulders like a tired cat and turned on his heel. “You got it, boss.”

As the door clicked shut behind him, the quite returned, thick, cold, and full of questions Jungkook refused to admit even to himself.

It took Yoongi less than half a day to track down everything there was to know about Kim Taehyung. The café, the apartment, the employment history, school records—hell, even his middle school art contest loss, to a squirrel drawing that, in Yoongi’s opinion, had definitely been rigged.

By afternoon, he walked back into Jungkook’s office, dropping a thick manila folder onto the mahogany desk with a heavy thud.

“Here. Kim Taehyung. No criminal record. No mafia ties. Probably allergic to confrontation. Likes strawberries and apparently used to collect bottle caps for fun.”

Jungkook paused, then opened the file. Inside were photographs, printed records, and an absurdly detailed timeline of Taehyung’s life.

Yoongi slumped into one of the chairs across the desk. “Kid’s an orphan. Raised in one of those government homes with Park Jimin—also an orphan, 2 years older than Taehyung. They stuck together like tape and glitter. When they were old enough, they moved out, finished high school, worked a few part-time jobs—barista, waiter, dog walker, and one-off balloon mascot at a children’s fair. Not kidding.”

Jungkook hummed, scanning the contents intently.

“Eventually, they saved up enough to rent an old building. Second floor's their home. First floor’s Bloom and Brew. They run the place themselves—small business, decent reviews online. Taehyung mostly works front of house, charm of the café, apparently. Customers say he makes ‘the fluffiest foam hearts ever.’ Whatever the hell that means.”

Jungkook didn’t respond. He was still reading.

Yoongi blinked slowly. “Sooo… are we planning to blow up their café or marry him? Because I can’t tell anymore.”

Jungkook’s head slowly lifted, eyes dark and dangerous as they locked onto Yoongi’s. “Get. Out.”

Yoongi smirked, completely unbothered. “That’s not a no.”

“Yoongi.”

“Alright, alright. I’ll leave you and your little lover alone.” He stood, still grinning. “Honestly, kid’s pretty. Way too pretty. Even I—”

Jungkook’s hand casually slid under the desk, and the soft click of a gun being cocked echoed in the room.

Yoongi raised his hands like a lazy hostage. “Fine! Geez. Kids these days, no sense of humor.”

He opened the door—

And bumped directly into Hoseok.

“Oh! Yoongles~” Hoseok beamed, already reaching out like he was about to lasso Yoongi into a hug.

Yoongi immediately stepped back like he’d touched an electric fence. “Why are you always here?”

“To see your face, obviously,” Hoseok said sweetly, winking. “Also, I’m headed to the training grounds. But you—” he tilted his head toward the office door— “What were you doing in Jungkook’s room of darkness?”

Yoongi looked skyward in suffering. “Work.”

“Mmhm,” Hoseok said, clearly not buying it. “Were you two talking about the kid from yesterday? What was his name? Sunshine boy? Sparkle deer? Oh, right! Taehyung.” Then he laugh, slapping Yoongi's shoulder.

Yoongi muttered, “You’re too nosy for your own good.”

But inside the office, Jungkook’s voice barked through the door.

“Hoseok. GET LOST.”

Hoseok grinned like Christmas came early. “Aw~! He’s thinking about him, isn’t he?”

“Out,” Jungkook growled.

Yoongi turned to Hoseok, deadpan. “You’re gonna get shot one day.”

Hoseok winked again, already strolling toward the training ground. “Not if you fall for me first.”

Yoongi blushed so hard he nearly tripped over his own feet. “Delusional idiot.”

Behind the closed office door, Jungkook stared at the file again.

A page fluttered as the air conditioning kicked on, revealing a blurry snapshot of Taehyung behind the café counter—smiling, holding a foam heart latte, eyes bright like the sun hadn’t risen until he told it to.

Jungkook exhaled slowly.

“This is so fucking stupid,” he muttered.

But he didn’t stop looking.

-

The morning sun filtered through the windows of Bloom & Brew, casting golden beams across the cozy wooden interior. The café was already alive with the scent of freshly baked pastries, brewing coffee, and an overly enthusiastic waiter who nearly tripped over a chair—twice.

Taehyung was practically bouncing from table to table, his oversized cream-colored cardigan flaring behind him like a dramatic cape every time he spun around too fast. He wore a headband with little strawberry ears sticking out of it, something he insisted made him "more approachable" and he greeted every customer with the same wide smile and twinkle-eyed sincerity that made half the patrons blush and the other half question if they’d just seen an angel.

“Here’s your matcha latte!” he beamed, carefully placing a drink in front of a man in a suit. “Be careful, though, she’s hotter than my roommate when someone uses the wrong sponge.”

The man blinked. “Uh… thanks?”

At the counter, Jimin groaned as he wiped down a shaker and muttered, “Why are you like this?”

Taehyung popped up beside him seconds later like a meerkat, startling the older into almost dropping a glass.

“Jiminie~” he sang sweetly, “Did you know fluffy milk actually gets sad when it rains?”

Jimin blinked at him. “Taehyung, no, it doesn’t. That’s literally not a thing.”

“Well,” Taehyung huffed, pouting and resting his chin on his fists as he leaned dramatically against the bar, “it LOOKED sad yesterday when I had to run to the alley with it. Poor baby cream. I cuddled it.”

Jimin dropped the shaker on the counter. “You cuddled the whipped cream?”

“I didn’t want it to feel abandoned.”

Jimin stared. Hard. “You—y’know what? No. I’m not doing this before ten a.m.”

Taehyung only hummed and reached for the whipped cream canister beside him. “You think I should name this one? She looks like a ‘Daisy.’”

“No naming the dairy products!”

A small line of customers giggled quietly at the exchange as Taehyung waltzed back to the tables, singing a song about whipped cream love and strawberries being misunderstood fruit. One woman at the corner booth whispered to her friend, “I think he might be a little unhinged, but in a cute way.”

Jimin leaned across the counter to hiss, “Taehyung, please don’t tell strangers about your whipped cream cuddling—also, don’t go wandering off again!”

“I didn’t wander! I just walked passionately into a mysterious alley of unknown origin to survive a natural disaster. That’s what heroes do.”

“You got ‘lost’ during a drizzle and almost handed jelly bread to a mob boss.”

“…he didn’t want it,” Taehyung said sadly. “More for me.”

Jimin face-palmed so hard it echoed.

Still, despite the chaos, there was something charming about the warmth of their café. Customers kept coming, drawn in by the scent of croissants and the sight of the curly-haired boy who accidentally knocked over a sugar jar while asking someone if they believed squirrels, were spies.

Taehyung, for all his whimsical weirdness, kept the room light and glowing.

And from the corner of the café, sitting with a laptop open and a latte untouched, was a man in a black hoodie. Quiet. Watching.

Chapter Text

The steady hum of the espresso machine was the only thing keeping Jimin from crawling into the pastry case and pretending to be a croissant.

Taehyung had just spilled a tiny bit of honey syrup on his sleeve and declared it a "sticky betrayal." Again. He was currently at Table 3, telling a very confused elderly woman how he once accidentally adopted a caterpillar that turned out to be lint.

Jimin was scrubbing the counter like it had personally insulted him when the bell above the café door chimed.

He looked up instinctively, plastering on his polite customer-service smile.

And then it froze.

The man who stepped in wasn’t the usual early office worker or gossip-loving yoga mom. He was tall, built like someone who didn’t skip gym days, wearing a fitted shirt and black coat that did absolutely nothing to hide the way he moved, quiet, deliberate, alert. His black baseball cap was pulled low over his face, but not low enough to hide the sharp jawline or the way his eyes scanned the café like a heat-seeking missile.

He sat at the corner table, facing the room. No coffee order. No phone. Just… watching.

Jimin’s entire barista-sense tingled.

‘That man is either a spy, a loan shark, someone Taehyung accidentally offended with his curiosity or someone who saw Taehyung smile once and decided to rearrange his whole personality because of it.’

He squinted. ‘Wait. No. 'That hot one'. That aura of 'touch me and die.’ Taehyung's words not his.

Jimin stiffened.

‘Oh, hell no.’

That was the man. The same dripping wet, tattooed, mafia-action-movie lead Taehyung had babbled about all night while snacking on leftover jelly bread and wiping rain off his beloved hoodie. The one who refused his food offering and disappeared like a shadow with trauma issues.

And now he was here.

In their café.

Staring.

Jimin slowly ducked behind the counter like he was in an action movie.

“Who’s the guy in the back?” he whispered to himself, peeking over the pastry display.

Taehyung wandered past at that exact moment, humming an off-key tune about bubble tea and destiny. “Hmm?”

“Nothing, Tae,” Jimin said quickly, grabbing the whipped cream can before his best friend could start naming it again. “Hey—why don’t you take your break early? Go… polish the strawberry jar or something.”

Taehyung blinked. “Strawberries don’t need polishing, Jiminie. They’re already naturally luminous.”

Jimin forced a smile. “Exactly. Go remind them of that.”

Taehyung shrugged happily and skipped off to the kitchen, probably to monologue to fruit.

Jimin, meanwhile, popped back up like a meerkat behind the counter, eyes narrowing at the still-silent stranger.

Still staring.

With one hand discreetly under the counter, Jimin reached for the emergency taser he kept next to the receipt paper.

Because no one stared at his stupid bear like that without being thoroughly investigated.

-

Jimin wiped his hands on a towel and approached the only occupied corner table, eyes narrowing ever-so-slightly.

He sat like a shadow, legs spread, back relaxed but radiating an unmistakable air of danger. The black coat clung to his frame like it belonged there, sleeves pushed up just enough to show a sliver of ink, his rings catching the warm light of the café. Sharp jaw, darker eyes. And too still for a regular customer.

Jimin swallowed his unease and offered a smile. “Everything alright, sir? Need anything else?”

Jungkook didn’t even blink at first.

Then his gaze flicked upward, slow and deliberate, and for a split second Jimin felt like he’d just been dissected and filed away in some invisible record book.

“I’ll have a black coffee,” Jungkook said, voice like gravel wrapped in silk.

Jimin’s smile held, but he caught the message.

No small talk. No questions.

“Coming right up,” he said politely, stepping away.

As Jimin turned, Jungkook watched him with a glint of amusement, so he was the reason Taehyung hadn’t come out again.

Because make no mistake, the second he entered and saw Taehyung just was finished delivering a tray of pastries from one of the tables, when he sat down just to watch then suddenly a sight of him walking towards the kitchen door, the kid vanished faster than Hoseok spotting free samples.

Jungkook let out a quiet breath, leaning back in his chair.

What the hell was he even doing here?

He had three meetings stacked before noon, a shipment arriving in Busan, and a guy in Hongdae to make disappear.

And yet…

He was here. Sitting in this floral-scented sugar trap, a cup of coffee he didn’t even want. For what?

He glanced toward the back, toward the door that led to the kitchen—still closed.

He knew Taehyung was back there. Probably pouting. Possibly rearranging the entire framework of his personality based on whatever dumb thing he’d blurted out about everything.

Jungkook didn’t understand why that was funny— annoying.

Or why he’d come in at all.

He scoffed to himself. “Ridiculous.”

Reaching into his coat, he pulled out a few neatly folded bills, dropped them on the table beside the untouched coffee, and stood.

No need to drag this out.

As he moved past the counter, he let his gaze flicker one last time toward the kitchen door.

Still closed.

He didn’t stop. Just kept walking, pushing the café door open with a soft chime and stepping back out into the morning air, vanishing into the street like he’d never been there at all.

Inside, Jimin stepped out from the kitchen just as the door chimed shut behind the mysterious customer.

He glanced toward the corner table. The coffee remained untouched. A neatly folded bill sat beside it.

He frowned.

“…Okay, weird,” he murmured under his breath, collecting the cup and money.

The kitchen door cracked open again.

“Is it safe?” Taehyung whispered, half-hiding behind it. “Did whoever made you talk all formal leave?”

Jimin sighed. “Yeah, he’s gone.”

Taehyung emerged with a bowl of whipped cream in one hand and a spoon sticking out of his mouth.

"Okay."

-

Jungkook was in his private office reviewing updated files for the meeting for the deal later when Hoseok burst in unannounced with Yoongi in tow and Namjoon dragging a chair like it owed him money.

“Alright, team,” Hoseok said grandly, “let’s talk about tonight before you kill someone for blinking wrong.”

Jungkook didn’t even look up. “Get out.”

“Rude,” Hoseok said, plopping down on the velvet couch like he lived there. “Anyway, Yoongi, you got that background on the cartel guy’s son, right?”

Yoongi nodded, flipping open his laptop. “Sent it to your secure inbox—also, he’s been in Korea before, under a false ID. Boring stuff.”

Namjoon scratched the back of his neck. “Wait, when did you even—?”

“Oh,” Yoongi added, eyes still on his screen, “same way I got info on that Bloom and Brew kid last week.”

Silence.

Yoongi paused. Looked up. Blinked.

Hoseok turned in slow, gleeful disbelief. “Wait, what now?”

Yoongi blinked again. “...I wasn’t supposed to say that, huh.”

Jungkook didn’t look up from his file, but his pen paused mid-scribble.

Namjoon’s face lit up like a kid on Christmas. “Jungkook... You made Yoongi hyung do a background check on that pretty kid we gave a ride home to?”

“No,” Jungkook said immediately.

“You did,” Hoseok sang.

“I didn’t.”

Yoongi smirked. “You 100% did. Said ‘I want a file. Kim Taehyung. Works at Bloom and Brew. Just get it done.’ Sounded serious.”

Namjoon was wheezing.

Jungkook's head snapped up. “I will kill you all.”

“God, I haven’t heard Jungkook speak in italics since we were fifteen!” Hoseok cackled.

Jungkook slowly reached under his desk.

Namjoon immediately raised his hands. “Alright, alright! No guns indoors!”

Hoseok dove behind the couch. “Please don’t shoot the gossip department! We’re essential workers!”

Yoongi was the only one unfazed, sipping from his thermos like this wasn’t another Tuesday of Jungkook threatening homicide.

Jungkook finally stood, towering. “One more word, and I’ll let Seokjin hyung handle your next round of bullet wounds.”

All three men immediately fell silent.

The sleek black SUV came to a smooth halt outside a towering building tucked deep in Seoul’s financial district. On the surface, it was just another corporate high-rise. But thirty floors up, behind polished glass and under flickering low lights, a very different kind of business was being conducted.

Jungkook sat at the head of a long obsidian conference table, expression carved from stone. He wore a black suit with a subtle blood-red pocket square, a silent warning dressed as fashion. Namjoon sat to his right, clean-cut and composed despite his usual clumsy reputation. Hoseok lounged at his left, legs crossed, smiling like this was brunch and not a high-stakes meeting with a Japanese cartel.

Yoongi, dressed like a sleep-deprived Grim Reaper, leaned against the wall behind Jungkook, arms crossed, eyes sharp under messy bangs. He rarely spoke during these kinds of meetings. But he heard everything.

Across from them sat the Shiraishi Group, known for their quiet brutality and vast weapons pipeline. Their leader, an aging but sharp-eyed man named Kenji, spoke with a velvet-smooth accent in fluent Korean. The atmosphere was taut, polite smiles, but with the weight of veiled threats beneath every sentence.

Jungkook answered every offer, every demand, in flawless Japanese. His tone was measured, cold, confident. He didn’t look down at his notes once. He didn’t need to.

But even while negotiating weapons prices and smuggling routes, something ‘infuriatingly soft’ wormed its way into his head.

Brown curls. Big doe eyes. That voice— soft and velvety

He blinked slowly, resisting the urge to sigh mid-discussion.
“Jungkook-ssi?” Kenji’s voice drew him back.

Jungkook straightened slightly. “We agree. But you’ll transfer half the amount before shipment. We’ve been generous before. That won’t happen again.”

The room stilled. Kenji nodded slowly. “Understood.”

Namjoon looked mildly impressed.

Jungkook's jaw tightened as his thoughts betrayed him again.

“What the hell are you doing to me, kid?” he muttered lowly.

Yoongi blinked. Hoseok whistled under his breath.

The meeting ended successfully. They had what they wanted, and Jungkook had shown once again why he was feared on multiple continents.

But when the cars pulled into the estate, and his men went inside to celebrate or collapse, Jungkook didn’t follow.

He walked alone.

Through the winding stone paths of the mansion gardens, boots crunching on gravel, the sharp scent of rain in the air again. The clouds rumbled above, and a light drizzle began to fall, almost poetic in timing.

He lit a cigarette with practiced ease and leaned against a wrought-iron lamppost, staring out at nothing.

His mind drifted.

Back to the alley. That ridiculous jelly bread. That voice.

“Oh no. He’s hot.”

He scoffed to himself, smoke curling past his lips. What was this? A week had passed. He had missions to lead. People to kill. Deals to close. And somehow, that kid still clung to the back of his brain like static.

He stayed there until the cigarette burned low.

And for once, he didn’t feel like the scariest man in the world.

He just felt...annoyed.

Utterly and completely annoyed.

By big brown eyes and the fact that he’d have to see Yoongi, Hoseok, and Namjoon again tomorrow.

Because they would not let this go. He may be the boss but still, they are his hyungs, the persons who raised him.

It was nearly midnight, and the mansion had mostly quieted down. The rain tapped gently against the windows, and the halls were dim, except for the soft golden light spilling from the master bedroom on the second floor.

Inside, Kim Namjoon stood shirtless in front of the bathroom mirror, brushing his teeth with the concentration of a man solving quantum physics. Behind him, Seokjin sat on the bed, flipping through his phone with one eyebrow raised, silk pajamas glinting in the low light like royalty on vacation.

“Hey,” Seokjin suddenly said, not looking up. “Who's Taehyung, again?”

Namjoon froze mid-brush, foamy toothpaste drooping from his mouth. “…What?”

“You heard me, Joonie,” Seokjin said, voice laced with suspicion and curiosity. “You mentioned something earlier. About Jungkook asking Yoongi to look up a kid? What’s that about?”

Namjoon spit into the sink and rinsed. “Ah. Right. That.”

Seokjin raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “So, I did hear it right. He really had Yoongi pull a full report on the café kid?”

Namjoon stepped into the bedroom, drying his face with a towel. “Yep.”

Seokjin slowly lowered his phone. “He met him once. Once. And now we’re running background checks?”

“…It’s Jungkook.”

Seokjin stared at him. “Our ruthless, dead-eyed, bullet-between-the-eyes mafia boss is out here stalking a barista like some moody love interest?”

Namjoon grinned. “Pretty much.”

Seokjin let out a long, dramatic sigh. “I need to see this kid for myself. What kind of witchcraft does a man have to wield to make Jeon Jungkook act like a hormonal teenager?”

Namjoon sat beside him, already knowing where this was going. “He won’t admit it. But Hoseok and Yoongi saw it too. He’s been weird.”

“Weird how?”

Namjoon smirked. “He lights a cigarette, looks all mysterious, and then mutters things like, ‘What the hell are you doing to me, kid?’ when he thinks no one’s was listening.”

Seokjin gasped. “No.”

“Yes.”

“Oh my god,” Seokjin whispered, hand dramatically flying to his chest. “Who is this Taehyung and what spell has he cast on our baby boss?”

Namjoon chuckled, leaning back against the headboard. “Yoongi said he’s harmless. Bit of a weirdo, literal thinker, very pretty. Living with his best friend. They own a café. Nothing dangerous.”

Seokjin’s eyes gleamed. “What’s the café name?”

Namjoon hesitated. “Hyung…”

“Namjoon.”

Namjoon sighed. “Bloom & Brew. Corner of Aeryeong Street, near the bookstore.”

Seokjin immediately opened his notes app and typed it in.

“Why do I feel like you’re planning an ambush?”

“Ambush?” Seokjin sniffed. “Please. I just want to see the boy who made our little Jungkookie question his entire mafia career. Maybe order a latte. Maybe observe him silently from behind a croissant.”

Namjoon laughed and leaned over to press a kiss to his husband’s cheek. “Just don’t scare him.”

“I would never. I am a vision of warmth and beauty.”

Namjoon grinned. “And sass. Infinite sass.”

Seokjin flopped back against the pillows, already mentally planning his outfit. “If Jungkook can stalk him once, I can at least sip an espresso in his presence and casually observe him.”

Chapter Text

Seokjin was not a spy.

He was a doctor. A respected, licensed, ethically sound (most of the time) professional who also happened to stitch bullet wounds and perform field surgery for the mafia from time to time.

But today? Today, he was on a mission.

Namjoon had, very offhandedly the night before, mentioned that Jungkook asked Yoongi to look up some “kid” from a café. The same Jungkook who wouldn’t look twice at a crying puppy or a sobbing civilian unless they were holding an Uzi. So naturally, Seokjin had demanded the café name, slapped on his most neutral sweater, and drove himself to Bloom & Brew, armed with nothing but curiosity and a finely tuned intrigued expression.

He pushed open the glass door and was immediately assaulted by the warm scent of espresso, cinnamon, and a hint of “this place is too cute for a mafia boss’s love interest.”

“Welcome to Bloom & Brew!” a sweet voice called from behind the counter.

Seokjin looked up. A young man stood there—round cheeks, dyed strawberry-blond hair, a barista apron wrapped neatly around his waist, he looks pretty, plump lips, sweet voice but not tall. This must be the best friend? He assumed.

“I’ll have a caramel macchiato,” Seokjin said smoothly, offering a charming smile.

“Coming right up, sir,” Jimin replied, friendly but professional. As Seokjin moved to sit at a table by the window, Jimin muttered under his breath, “He looks like a model.”

Seokjin pretended not to hear it.

His eyes scanned the café slowly, trying to match the mental image he had of the so-called "pretty barista" with the customers and workers currently moving around.

Thirty minutes passed.

He sipped his macchiato slowly, eyes occasionally flicking to the counter and to the other people that might be the person who was he looking for. ‘Too short. Too tall. Too much eyeliner. Definitely not him. He even tried subtly sniffing the air. Would Jungkook fall for someone who smells like banana muffins?’

Then—

“Taehyung, table four!” Jimin called out.

Seokjin froze mid-sip, nearly choking.

A boy in a brown apron with soft brown hair perked up from where he was arranging pastries. He had a faraway look in his eyes, like he’d just remembered a dream from 2006. He picked up a tray with two drinks and shuffled toward the tables, humming softly and nearly knocking over a chair without realizing it.

Seokjin narrowed his eyes.

‘Found him.’

It was like watching a Studio Ghibli character operate in real life.

Still pretending to mind his business, Seokjin waited for the perfect moment, then stood and approached the counter again.

Jimin looked up. “Hi. Need anything else?”

“Yes, I’ll have that—” Seokjin squinted at the display, “—lemon tart.”

“Sure thing.” Jimin punched it in. Taehyung walked over then, trailing sugar and innocence like perfume.

“Jiminie, where’s the honey drizzle?” he asked, completely ignoring Seokjin’s existence.

“It’s right next to the caramel sauce, like it always is—left, second shelf—no, your other left,” Jimin said without missing a beat, pointing behind him.

Seokjin watched in fascination as Taehyung spun in a slow circle like a lost Roomba.

‘This? This is the kid that broke Jungkook’s brain?’

“Name’s Taehyung, by the way,” the boy said suddenly, turning to Seokjin with an unbothered smile.

“I didn’t ask,” Seokjin replied, too stunned to filter himself.

Taehyung gasped.

Jimin stared.

Seokjin coughed. “Sorry. That came out wrong.”

“You don’t want to know my name?” Taehyung repeated dramatically, like he’d just been abandoned at a train station in the rain. “Should I just stop introducing myself to customers now? Jimin, this is how villains are made.”

Jimin pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sir, don’t mind him. He’s… naturally like this.”

“I can hear you, you know,” Taehyung sniffed.

“Excellent,” Seokjin muttered.

Jimin narrowed his eyes slightly. “Not to be disrespectful sir, but you’ve been watching him since you came in.”

Seokjin smiled. “I’ve been watching everyone.”

“Creepy,” Jimin muttered.

Seokjin leaned in slightly, elbows on the counter. “I’m a doctor.”

“That explains nothing.” Jimin says, looking up and down at Seokjin.

Taehyung, now nibbling a leftover whipped cream decoration off his pinky, tilted his head at Seokjin. “Are you here to adopt someone? Or are you the health inspector? Because I DO sanitize. I just also sometimes forget where the sanitizer is.”

Seokjin opened his mouth and closed it again.

“I like your sweater,” Taehyung said brightly, completely derailing the moment. “You look like one of those handsome models on a billboard. Very… important and expensive.”

“…Thank you?” Seokjin blinked slowly. “You’re a very... strange young man.”

“I try my best,” Taehyung beamed like he’d just won an award for it.

Jimin let out a long, soul-weary sigh. “That’s it—we’re closing early today,” he muttered to the espresso machine, as if it were his therapist.

Seokjin chuckled under his breath. He leaned an elbow on the counter, ever so casually, the picture of calm curiosity.

“I suppose I should introduce myself, since I’ve already creeped you both out,” he said, offering a charming smile that somehow made Jimin even more suspicious. “I’m Kim Seokjin. 32 years old.”

“Seokjin, can I call you Seokjin-hyung?” Taehyung beamed and tilted his head like a confused puppy. “Are you famous?”

“I’m famous in my own kitchen and in the operating room.” Seokjin replied smoothly. “I cook a lot. Saving lives. Sometimes blow things up. But I mean well.”

Jimin narrowed his eyes. “Are you saying that as a metaphor or do you literally blow things up?”

“Depends who’s asking,” Seokjin said sweetly, and that did NOT help Jimin’s growing suspicion.

Taehyung’s eyes went wide. “Wait… like BOOM? With fire and everything?”

Seokjin, sipping his caramel macchiato like this was a normal Tuesday, nodded serenely. “Sometimes smoke, sometimes fire. Depends on the recipe.”

Taehyung gasped. “What kind of recipe needs an explosion?!”

Jimin turned slowly to stare at Seokjin. “You’re giving him mental images. He’s going to try microwaving eggs again, and I refuse to clean that up a second time.”

“I didn’t know eggs could fight back!” Taehyung said defensively.

“They didn’t fight back, you nuked them in a mug, Tae!”

Seokjin chuckled, looking far too pleased with himself. “This café is fun.”

Taehyung leaned in closer, eyes sparkling. “So, wait—do you have a license for your explosions? Or is it like a hobby? And how do you save lives and blow stuff up at the same time? Are you part of a spy hospital? Are you Batman?”

“I’m not at liberty to say,” Seokjin replied smoothly, taking another calm sip.

Jimin smacked a hand to his forehead. “Oh no. He thinks you’re a vigilante surgeon with grenades now.”

“I mean,” Taehyung whispered dramatically, “you do have the face for it.”

“Thank you,” Seokjin said with a wink. “Finally, someone appreciates my looks.”

Jimin sighed again, louder this time, for dramatic emphasis. “Taehyung, go check if Table Four needs water.”

“But they’re not even—”

“Now, Taetae.”

Taehyung puffed out his cheeks dramatically and marched off to the empty table, clearly just for show. He even brought a jug of water like it was a sacred mission.

Seokjin watched him go, eyebrows raised in amusement. “He’s really like that all the time?”

Jimin, crossing his arms, gave Seokjin a sideways glance. “He’s sunshine dipped in chaos, wrapped in a pretty package. And I will ‘physically fight’ anyone who tries to take advantage of that.”

Seokjin lifted his hands in surrender. “Noted. I just came for a coffee and a snack.”

“Yeah?” Jimin said, still eyeing him. “Because from the way you were watching us earlier, I thought you were scoping the place out like an undercover health inspector. Or someone about to buy the building.”

“I’m just very observant,” Seokjin replied, throwing on his best harmless smile. “Also, your caramel macchiato was amazing. You could be charging double.”

Jimin looked mildly appeased. “Well... okay. Thanks, I guess.”

Just then, Taehyung returned, holding the water jug proudly.

“They didn’t need water, but I refilled their sugar packets! Even though they didn’t ask! Because hospitality!”

Seokjin laughed out loud this time. “He’s precious.”

“Debatable,” Jimin mumbled. “You want a loyalty card while you're at it? You look like wants to become a regular.”

“Oh yes,” Seokjin grinned. “I think I already am.”

-

The common room was quiet but tense, a space reserved only for Jungkook and his closest, Namjoon, Hoseok, Yoongi, and Seokjin. Their men were stationed in separate buildings scattered across the sprawling compound, leaving this room for strategy and conversation.

Jungkook stood near the window, arms crossed, a storm behind his dark eyes. Namjoon and Hoseok exchanged curious glances while Yoongi lounged with his usual detached expression, scrolling through his phone.

Seokjin lounged on the plush sofa, feigning casual calm but with a sly smirk playing on his lips. Jungkook’s voice cut through the silence, low and sharp. “I know you went to Bloom and Brew.”

Seokjin raised an eyebrow, pretending to be surprised. “Oh? And here I thought my visit was a secret.”

Jungkook’s glare was enough to make most men shrink, but Seokjin just stretched, unfazed. “Cute place. Nice vibe. And that kid, Taehyung? Let’s just say you have very… interesting taste.”

Namjoon snorted softly from his seat, exchanging a look with Hoseok, who was trying not to laugh. Yoongi didn’t even bother looking up.

Jungkook’s scowl deepened. “You didn’t tell me you were going. You know I know everything happening in this compound. Don’t meddle with my business, hyung.”

Seokjin chuckled, tilting his head. “Relax, I was only keeping tabs. Just thought I’d see who was making you act all… distracted. But be careful, Jungkook. That kid is innocent—too innocent for your world. You might want to tread lightly.”

Jungkook’s scowl softened just a bit, but the warning in his voice remained clear.

Namjoon chuckled, shaking his head. “I don’t blame Seokjin for being curious. Honestly, who wouldn’t want to check out the reason behind Jungkook’s sudden ‘soft mode’?”

Hoseok leaned forward, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Yeah, I mean, Boss has been walking around like he swallowed a puppy. It’s kind of adorable, in a scary way.”

Yoongi finally looked up from his phone, smirking. “I did the background check on that kid, remember? Cute, innocent, definitely not the usual mafia material. I’m still trying to figure out what Boss sees in him.”

Jungkook shot Yoongi a warning glare. “Enough. Don’t make me kill you all.”

Seokjin laughed softly. “Relax, Jungkookie. We’re just enjoying the show. But seriously, be nice to that kid.”

Namjoon nodded. “Yeah, and if you ever need help keeping him safe, you know who to call.”

Hoseok grinned. “Besides, if Jungkook gets too distracted, we’ll step in.”

Jungkook crossed his arms, pursed his lips. “You’re all impossible.”

Yoongi returned to his phone, muttering, “Yeah, yeah, we’re your impossible family.”

The room filled with quiet laughter, the tension easing just a little as they all settled into the strange new rhythm that Taehyung had unwittingly started.

Chapter Text

The café's “Closed” sign flipped with a satisfying click, and the quiet neighborhood shimmered under the soft glow of streetlights. Taehyung swung the keys around his finger, humming like a Disney side character, while Jimin locked the door and pocketed his phone.

Taehyung held a paper bag of pastries close to his chest, like they were the crown jewels. “Jiminie, look at the moon. Doesn’t it look like a giant marshmallow? Like the kind you roast but it’s glowing because it’s blessed by the moon fairies?”

Jimin exhaled through his nose, amused but tired. “Tae, that sentence had so much whimsy I think I got diabetes.”

They began their evening walk, their routine before going back upstairs to rest, hands brushing, the cool breeze playing gently with their hair. All was peaceful… until Taehyung suddenly gasped and pointed like he’d spotted a wild Pokémon.

“Oh! Minnie—it’s them!”

Jimin blinked. “Them?”

“The weird hyungs who helped me home that one rainy night! The pickle boss, remember? Look, look—over there! That’s the super tall one who laughed at my joke! And the one with the really cool hair who drives! And—the vampire, pickle boss, Jungkook-ssi!”

Jimin froze, eyes flicking ahead.

Across the street, near a sleek black luxury car, three striking men in dark suits were talking quietly. They hadn’t noticed the baristas—yet. Three men in black suits stood nearby, probably bodyguards, standing so still they might’ve been decorative statues. The streetlights hit just right, making the mafia trio look like they’d walked off the cover of “Intimidating Men Monthly.”

Taehyung didn’t care. He was already waving.

“Hyuuungggsss!” he called cheerfully, his voice bouncing down the quiet street.

Jimin’s eyes widened. “Tae, NO—”

Too late. Taehyung had already started tugging him across the road, full of innocent enthusiasm and zero self-preservation.

Jimin dug his heels in, gripping Taehyung’s wrist. “Why are we approaching the men who literally look like they do tax fraud for fun?!”

“They’re nice!” Taehyung chirped. Across the street, Hoseok’s head turned first.

“Oh no,” Jimin muttered. “Eye contact.”

Namjoon turned next, followed by Jungkook—who was in the process of opening the car door. All three froze, eyebrows raised, as Taehyung enthusiastically marched toward them like they were old friends.

“Hi again!” Taehyung waved both arms, the pastry bag crinkling dramatically. “Remember me? The drenched human with the soggy jelly bread?”

Hoseok blinked. “Of course, we can never forget you kid” then smirked.

Jimin caught up, managing a bow, but placed himself just slightly in front of Taehyung again, his eyes sharp and protective. “Good evening, sirs. Sorry to bother you. He just—he remembered you from a while back.”

Namjoon smiled, dimples showing. “Oh yeah, don’t worry, we are happy to help him that time.”

“Thank you again for that!” Taehyung beamed. “But Jimin hyung says I’m not allowed to go alone anymore because strangers might kidnap me. You guys don’t kidnap people, right?”

There was a pause. A long one.

Hoseok snorted. Namjoon pressed a fist to his mouth to hold in a laugh. Jungkook… blinked very slowly, like he was praying for patience. Or divine intervention.

Taehyung tilted his head at the silence. “Oh no. Do you kidnap people? Was this a test? Am I failing?”

Jimin was close to curling into the asphalt out of secondhand embarrassment. “Tae, please.”

“We don’t kidnap people,” Jungkook said at last, voice low and calm but with a faint twitch at his jaw. “Especially not ones holding pastries.”

“Oh, good!” Taehyung exhaled, visibly relieved. “Because I only have two hands. I can’t fight AND carry tarts.”

Namjoon burst out laughing. Hoseok smacked his arm, howling. Even the stone-faced bodyguards looked like they were trying not to smile. Jungkook sighed and rubbed his temple.

“Anyway, what are you doing out this late?” Hoseok asks as he calm himself, this kid is ridiculous.

“Just walking! Jimin says walks help digestion and he was right—I can feel my intestines relaxing.” Taehyung nodded solemnly. “Also, we like to walk around at this time like watching the stars and the moon.”

Jimin gave them a polite, slightly tired smile. “We’ll head back now. Sorry again for the disturbance.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Hoseok grinned. “It’s been the highlight of our night.”

Taehyung waved dramatically. “Bye, hyungs! I hope to see you again! Don't stay too late!”

Jungkook turned slowly to him. “We don't—”

Jungkook sighed, cutting himself off mid-sentence as Taehyung disappeared down the sidewalk, literally skipping like he was auditioning for a fairytale while following his friend. His curls bounced with every hop, and the paper bag of pastries swung at his side like a little treasure pouch.

Namjoon stared after him with raised brows. “Does he always move like he’s enchanted?”

“Probably,” Hoseok chuckled. “Like some kind of bakery forest spirit.”

“Enough,” Jungkook muttered, then turned sharply toward the car. “Let’s go.”

Hoseok smirked as he followed, sliding into the back seat beside Namjoon. “You know,” he said thoughtfully, “for someone who claims not to care, you stared at him longer than your bank statements.”

“I was assessing a possible security threat,” Jungkook said flatly.

Namjoon laughed. “Right. The pastry-hugging, skipping, pretty threat.”

Jungkook ignored them both and got in last, slamming the car door behind him just a little too hard.

-

It had started as an innocent detour.

Taehyung, holding a tote bag with a freshly baked loaf of bread sticking out, wandered aimlessly. Jimin had told him VERY CLEARLY to go to the convenience store and ONLY the convenience store, then come straight back. But then Taehyung saw a cat. A very handsome cat.

And the cat had led him down unfamiliar streets.

He turned a corner and blinked. “Huh. This doesn’t look like the main road.”

The air felt strange here. Quiet.

Too quiet.

He continued strolling, humming to himself as he peered at the alley walls. “This place smells like ramen and… burning?”

Suddenly—BANG!

Taehyung jumped as a shot rang out not far from him. He turned his head slowly. “Was that... fireworks?”

Another BANG echoed, followed by a short burst of gunfire from somewhere ahead.

“Oh,” Taehyung mumbled. “Not fireworks.”

The streets were deserted now. Even the neon signs seemed dimmer. It was like he had walked into another world, one that people with common sense had already evacuated.

Still holding the tote bag and remarkably calm, Taehyung kept walking.

And then he saw him.

Jeon Jungkook.

Crouched in the shadow of a building, black-clad, a sleek pistol in hand, blood on his sleeve but clearly unfazed by it. His expression was razor-sharp, jaw clenched, eyes sweeping the area like a hawk. His body language screamed deadly.

Taehyung tilted his head.

“…Jungkook-ssi?”

Jungkook flinched and whipped his head around, his gun instinctively rising before his eyes widened.

“What the—” Jungkook cursed under his breath, lunging forward.

Taehyung opened his mouth to say hi and wave.

“NO—come here, you idiot—!” Jungkook snarled, grabbing Taehyung by the wrist and yanking him behind a dumpster just as a spray of bullets rattled the air.

CLANG. CLANG. A bullet ricocheted off the wall where Taehyung had been standing two seconds ago.

Without hesitation, Jungkook twisted around the edge of the dumpster, raised his gun, and fired three sharp, precise shots.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

A scream echoed, followed by the heavy thud of bodies hitting the ground.

Taehyung blinked, eyes wide, more fascinated than scared. “Whoa.”

His head slowly turned to Jungkook, then to the gun, then to the wall. “Are we… in a movie right now?”

Jungkook shoved him to the ground, pinning him behind cover with his arm while reloading his gun with lightning speed. “What the actual fuck are you doing here?!”

Another volley of bullets rained from further up the alley, pinging off metal and concrete—there were still more enemies lying in wait.

Taehyung blinked up at him, lips parted in innocent wonder. “Is that a real gun?”

Jungkook froze. “What?”

Taehyung pointed—blatantly, like they weren’t being shot at. “That one. Is it a prop or a replica? It looks real—like those ones in action movies. Very realistic.”

There was a beat of silence. Jungkook stared at him like his brain had short-circuited.

“…You just got shot at,” he growled, “and you’re asking about if its real or not?”

“Well, I thought maybe it was a paintball game?” Taehyung whispered, as if they were gossiping at a sleepover.

“You thought a paintball game was happening in the middle of a deserted street at night with real screams and explosions?!”

“I dunno,” Taehyung mumbled. “You look very professional.”

Jungkook groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “I swear to god—”

More shots rang out and Jungkook instinctively shielded Taehyung with his body, eyes scanning above the dumpster, jaw set. “When we get out of this, I’m going to personally glue your shoes to your floor.”

“I didn’t mean to come here,” Taehyung muttered sheepishly. “A cat distracted me.”

“A cat?!”

“It was really handsome…”

Jungkook inhaled slowly through his nose, visibly restraining the urge to scream. “Of course it was.”

A thud behind them made Jungkook aim again. “We’re moving. Stay low. Stay close. And don’t talk.”

“But—”

“Don’t talk,” Jungkook snapped, grabbing his wrist and dragging him silently into the shadows as more chaos erupted around them.

And somewhere—somewhere—Hoseok was watching this whole thing from a rooftop with a sniper scope and muttering, “Is that Taehyung? What the—OH MY GOD.”

Taehyung’s fingers dug into the sleeve of Jungkook’s jacket as the bullets rained again, closer this time. Jungkook didn’t flinch, he moved like water, smooth and sharp, leaning out from behind the dumpster with the precision of a predator. His gun barked in three crisp shots, the recoil barely moving his arm.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Taehyung gasped, flinching at the sound, but his eyes sparkled with awe.

"You're like an action star!" he whispered, stunned. "This is like a movie. Is this a hidden camera show?!”

“Yeah, and you’re about to get cut from the cast if you don’t shut up,” Jungkook snapped, eyes narrowed, scanning the alley. “Stay. Down.”

More bullets ripped through the night, one grazing the edge of the dumpster and sending sparks flying. Jungkook threw his body over Taehyung again, shielding him like a human wall.

Taehyung squished against the cold cement and blinked up at him. “Your arms are really strong. Like a superhero—do you have powers? Is this a mafia movie or a Marvel one?”

Jungkook groaned like he was seconds away from committing his own murder. “Why are you like this?”

Before Taehyung could even start to answer, a crackling voice buzzed urgently through Jungkook’s earpiece.

"Two targets on the left, boss! Three more heading your way—north alley, fast!"

Jungkook didn’t even need to reply. Hoseok’s voice rang clear through the earpiece. Their sniper was watching them from above, red dot bouncing like a warning across shadowed figures.

More enemy footfalls. A rustle of coats. The click of loaded magazines.

Jungkook hissed under his breath, yanked Taehyung up by the collar like a misbehaving puppy, and bolted down the alley, dragging him with force.

“Run when I say run. Duck when I say duck. Don’t stop. Don’t talk.”

“Wait—what if I trip—”

“Then I’m leaving your ass behind.”

Taehyung gasped dramatically. “So mean…”

They turned a corner and chaos erupted.

Two armed men lunged into their path. Jungkook didn’t pause. One shot to the chest. A spin. A swift kick that cracked against the second man’s jaw. Blood splattered the alley wall like modern art.

Taehyung ducked instinctively. “OH MY GOD.”

Jungkook grabbed him by the back of the hoodie like a wayward puppy. “Move!”

From the rooftop, Hoseok’s gun cracked, sharp, clean. One of their attackers fell, slamming into a trash bin with a grunt. More of Jungkook’s men appeared at the alley’s far end, clad in tactical black, moving in coordinated formation. Yoongi shouted something through the connected earpiece.

“We’re pulling out—go, go, go!”

Jungkook practically threw Taehyung into the back of a black armored SUV. His own body slipped in after, a smear of red blooming across his shoulder. The door slammed shut behind them.

Taehyung panted, eyes wild. “Are you bleeding?! You’re bleeding! OH NO. Should I press on it?! Wait—do you need alcohol?!”

“Shut up,” Jungkook gritted out, wincing as he yanked his jacket off. “Where the fuck were Hoseok and Yoongi?!”

“They’re behind us boss!” someone called from the front seat.

Indeed, seconds later, Hoseok slipped into the passenger seat, sniper case in hand, grinning like he’d just come from a concert. “That was fun.”

“How the fuck didn’t you two notice the kid!”

Yoongi, from beside the driver, sighed. “We didn’t see him until he literally waved at you, Jungkook. Blame your magnetic personality.”

Jungkook looked like he was ready to shoot both of them.

Taehyung, seated beside him, leaned in with big, worried eyes. “Is your arm gonna fall off?”

“I wish it would, so I could throw it at you.”

Yoongi turned back from the front seat. “He really was just standing there in the middle of a gunfight, like he was sightseeing.”

“I thought it was a movie,” Taehyung said innocently. “Also, your coats are very cool.”

Hoseok snorted.

Jungkook groaned and leaned his head back. “I swear, if I die from stress, I’m taking you with me.”

At the Mansion, the car thundered through the sprawling compound, the tires screeching sharply as they passed the main gates. The mansion itself towered ahead, an imposing fortress of sleek black steel and tinted glass, its angular silhouette swallowed by the creeping shadows of night. Armed guards patrolled steadily, eyes sharp, radios crackling faintly under the heavy silence that hung in the air. The atmosphere buzzed with a tense energy, like a coiled spring waiting to snap.

Bursting through the massive double doors, Jungkook practically threw himself into the common room, Namjoon already pacing there, face drawn tight with concern.

“What the hell happened?” Namjoon’s voice cut through the room as his sharp eyes flicked to Jungkook’s bleeding arm, then shifted to the figure behind him.

Jungkook peeled off his gloves with a growl, anger simmering in every line of his face. “Ask these two,” he spat, nodding toward Hoseok and Yoongi. “Ask why they didn’t notice a civilian waltzing into a fucking shootout.”

Namjoon’s eyes widened in disbelief as he stared at Taehyung. “Wait—is that Taehyung?”

“That’s him!” Hoseok beamed, clearly pleased with himself, ruffling Taehyung’s hair like an overgrown puppy. “Surprise!”

Taehyung, bright-eyed and cheerful despite the chaos, gave a small wave. “Hello again!”

Yoongi muttered from the corner, barely looking up from his laptop, checking the CCTV footage around the area and also delete the footage after saving it to his drive, “He actually waved at us mid-ambush. Like it was no big deal.”

The sound of footsteps made everyone turn as Seokjin swept into the room, medical kit in hand, eyes wide as they landed on Taehyung. “Where is he—oh my god, is that Taehyung?!”

Taehyung grinned, stepping forward a little. “You’re the handsome doctor who cooks! Seokjin hyung!”

Seokjin placed a hand theatrically over his chest, mock-flattered. “He remembers me. I’m famous.”

“Enough!” Jungkook barked, rubbing a grimace as he sank heavily into the sofa, clutching his shoulder. The dark stain spreading across his shirt was a grim reminder of how close things had come.

Seokjin muttered under his breath as he pulled on gloves, already kneeling beside Jungkook. “Shirt off. And stop glaring at me like I’m the enemy, brat.”

Taehyung’s wide eyes roamed the room in awe. “Is this a castle? Do you all live here? Is this like a mafia thing?”

The room froze at the word.

Jungkook’s head whipped toward Hoseok and Yoongi, his voice low and dangerous. “Why the fuck does he know that word?”

Yoongi shrugged lazily, as if it were no big deal.

Namjoon chuckled, settling beside Taehyung. “I see why you took a liking to him, Jungkook.”

“I don’t,” Jungkook snapped. “I hate him.”

Seokjin swabbed at Jungkook’s shoulder, shaking his head. “You dragged him across the road while bleeding. You could’ve left him behind.”

“I tried,” Jungkook growled.

Taehyung leaned toward Hoseok, whispering with a pout, “I think I made him mad.”

Hoseok chuckled softly.

Suddenly, Taehyung’s eyelids fluttered heavy as exhaustion tugged at him. His shoulders sagged, and he let out a tiny yawn, rubbing at his eyes.

“Oh no,” he murmured, eyes snapping wide again as a flood of worry crashed over him. “I’ve been gone for so long! Jimin’s going to be mad. Probably super mad.” His lip quivered into a pout, and his brows scrunched adorably.

Jungkook narrowed his eyes, raising an eyebrow as everyone else exchanged amused glances.

Taehyung’s voice dropped to a whiny murmur, “He might even—smack my ass for being so distracted again.”

Seokjin snorted and glanced at Jungkook. “You gotta admit, the kid’s got charm.”

Jungkook rolled his eyes but didn’t deny it.

Taehyung plopped down onto the sofa with a dramatic sigh, cheeks puffed out as he moaned, “I’m so tired, but I don’t wanna make Jimin mad… What if he’s waiting up, staring at the door, all worried?”

Jimin’s voice suddenly rang out in his head, imagining Jimin inside their house. ‘Tae! You better be ready to explain yourself, mister! And I’m definitely smacking that ass!’

Everyone burst out laughing, Jungkook’s scowl cracking but immediately stop himself as Taehyung groaned, covering his face.

The room filled with warmth despite the tension, an odd but comforting kind of family moment in the midst of the madness.

Chapter Text

Jungkook didn’t say a word for a while after Seokjin finished stitching up the graze on his shoulder. The room still buzzed faintly with adrenaline. Taehyung was slumped slightly on the couch now, his eyes fluttering with sleep, his head tilted against the plush backrest like a puppy who wandered too far and now found warmth.

“Boss?” Hoseok ventured, already halfway through a rice cracker he’d stolen from Seokjin’s snack stash.

“Drive him home,” Jungkook muttered, jerking his chin toward the dozing Taehyung.

Hoseok grinned. “Sure thing. I’ll grab Yoongi too. We need dinner anyway. It’s basically a date!”

Yoongi, across the room, choked on his coffee. “No, it’s not.”

“It is now,” Hoseok declared triumphantly, marching over to the sofa. “Come on, sleeping beauty. Let’s get you home.”

Taehyung’s head lolled up with a tired smile. “You’re taking me home? Yay! Wait—” He blinked, sitting up suddenly and pointing accusingly at Jungkook. “You! You’re the reason I’m here in the first place!”

Jungkook’s jaw ticked. “I literally saved your life.”

“And then kidnapped me to your castle!” Taehyung huffed, arms crossed.

“It’s not—” Jungkook’s retort died on his lips when he caught a clear view of Taehyung’s face, pouty lips and soft cheeks flushed from the residual heat and excitement. His gaze unintentionally dropped to those lips, and his stomach lurched.

God. No.

Jungkook scowled and yanked his gaze away, standing abruptly. “I need a fucking shower.”

“Language around the kid!” Seokjin muttered, cleaning up his kit.

Jungkook stormed out of the room, but not before Seokjin called after him, “Maybe cool your hormones off while you’re in there!”

Just as the bedroom door slammed, Taehyung puffed his cheeks and yelled at full volume, “BYE, MR. PICKLE BOSS! BE GLAD YOU’RE HOT!”

The room went still.

Namjoon blinked. Hoseok gaped. Yoongi almost dropped his laptop.

Seokjin doubled over laughing. “Oh my god. I love this kid. We probably keep him here.”

Once buckled in, the sleek black car hummed to life, and Taehyung leaned forward to wave dramatically at the mansion. Hoseok was grinning in the driver’s seat while Yoongi sat with his arms crossed in the passenger seat, brooding but very much listening.

“Oh! I didn’t introduce myself to you,” Taehyung said suddenly, leaning closer toward Yoongi. “Hi! I’m Taehyung. I think you were also there during the alleyway incident. Nice to meet you officially!”

Yoongi blinked slowly. “…Hi.”

Hoseok snorted. “Yoongi, you’re so smooth it’s criminal.”

“Literally criminal,” Yoongi mumbled as they drives away.

Taehyung, began chattering away. “One time, Jimin and I tried hiking for exercise! But then I got distracted because I saw a butterfly, and then a stream, and then I somehow ended up petting puppies down the mountain while Jimin thought I fell off a cliff. Rangers had to help find me.”

“…You were playing with puppies?” Hoseok wheezed.

“Yep!” Taehyung nodded. “And Jimin was so red-faced and embarrassed that he said we’re never going hiking again. But the puppies were so cute.”

Even Yoongi snorts at that.

After half an hour, as Hoseok pulled up to the quiet café, Jimin was already outside, arms crossed, pacing. The second he saw the black car and the familiar golden mop of hair inside, he stormed forward.

Taehyung hopped out and ran straight to him. “Jiminie! I’m sorry! I got distracted again!”

“You disappeared for hours!” Jimin scolded, hugging him tightly before pulling back with a stern glare. “I was about to call the cops!”

“I got rescued by hyungs again!” Taehyung said brightly, pointing at the car. “They drove me back!”

Jimin leaned to peer into the car, eyes narrowing.

“That’s Yoongi-hyung and Hoseok-hyung!” Taehyung added helpfully, beaming. “They’re very cool. Yoongi hyung doesn’t smile much but he’s secretly nice, and Hoseok hyung is loud but friendly. And they might be mafia—but like, the good-looking kind!”

There was a long pause.

Jimin’s eyes widened. “...Excuse me?”

Taehyung tilted his head innocently. “Yeah! Mafia. Like in those movies. Or that anime where the mafia wears suits and drinks tea.”

Jimin’s expression went from confused to horrified in under two seconds. He immediately stepped in front of Taehyung, shielding him with his arm as if expecting bullets to start flying. “You mean ACTUAL mafia?! Like real-life, criminal, ‘hey we kill people for money’ mafia?! Are you out of your fucking mind?!”

Hoseok, still in the driver’s seat, casually rolled more down the window and leaned one elbow on the edge, looking completely unbothered. “Hi there. You must be the famous Jimin. I’ve heard a lot about your... hiking trauma.”

“You flirting?” Jimin deadpanned, eyes narrowing to slits. “Because I don’t flirt with armed criminals.”

“Maybe,” Hoseok replied with a roguish grin.

“Stop,” Yoongi muttered beside him, eyes flicking to Jimin but otherwise still as a stone.

Jimin’s glare snapped toward Yoongi next. Yoongi just blinked slowly.

“You guys are insane. Oh my god.” Jimin turned his full scowl back to Taehyung. “How the fuck did you get involved with THESE people?!”

Taehyung’s lip wobbled a little, clearly torn, defending himself. “I—I didn’t mean to! I was just walking, and then I heard sounds, and then there were guns and dumpsters and Mr. Pickle Boss, and then I was in a mansion—!”

“You were in a what?!”

Taehyung pouted harder, cheeks puffing. “I know what mafia is! Kind of. But I thought it was just movie stuff. Like, dramatic suits and secret codes and emotional backstories. I didn’t think it was... you know, real.”

Jimin stared at him in disbelief.

“And besides,” Taehyung added with a tiny stomp of his foot, “they were nice to me.”

Jimin whipped back toward Hoseok and Yoongi. “They’re mafia. There’s no such thing as nice. They are literally criminals.”

“Allegedly,” Hoseok said with a shrug.

Jimin hissed like a tea kettle.

Yoongi just sipped from a flask he pulled from beside him. “We’re used to people panicking.”

Jimin ran a hand through his hair, muttering to himself. “I swear to god, if I wake up tomorrow and find my kitchen wired or our apartment blown up—”

“Wouldn’t be us,” Yoongi said.

“No promises,” Hoseok added with a teasing wink.

“Let’s go inside, Taehyung and please don’t get involved with them,” Jimin grumbled, grabbing Taehyung’s wrist and yanking him toward the café entrance. And Jimin shout at the two criminals that was still inside the car. “Don’t ever come back here, you hear me?!!” Then stomped in the stares, muttering.” I need a drink. I need five drinks. And you need a tracking chip.”

“I’m not a lost dog,” Taehyung pouted, dragging his feet behind Jimin.

“You are if you wander off into mafia shootouts.”

“…Fair.”

“Bye, hyungs!” Taehyung called over his shoulder, still waving furiously despite being half-dragged. “Drive safe! Eat something good!”

As the pair disappeared upstairs into the apartment above the café, Hoseok sighed, folding his arms behind his head. “That kid is something else.”

Yoongi adjusted the seatbelt, gaze lingering on the café door before he muttered, “So is his best friend.”

Hoseok’s eyes lit up with mischievous delight. “Wait. Are you saying Jimin caught your attention too?”

“I said nothing.”

“…Yoongi and Jimin sitting in a tree—”

“Shut up and drive.”

The car purred as Hoseok pulled away from the curb, grinning all the way.

The moment the apartment door slammed shut behind them, Jimin locked it with shaking hands. He whirled around and marched straight to Taehyung, who was busy toeing off his shoes like nothing was wrong in the world.

“Sit down,” Jimin ordered.

Taehyung blinked. “Huh?”

“Sit. Down. Now.”

Taehyung sat on the couch.

Jimin dropped to his knees in front of him and immediately started patting his arms, tugging at his sleeves, poking around his neck and hairline.

“Are you hurt? Scratched? Bruised? Bleeding?” Jimin said in a rush, inspecting him like a mother hen on caffeine. “Did anyone touch you? Did they threaten you? Are you burned? Is that soot, why do you smell like gunpowder?!”

“I think that’s because of the shootout,” Taehyung said, blinking down at him. “Also, I landed in a trash pile for like, five seconds. It was squishy.”

Jimin froze mid-poke. “You what?”

Taehyung shrugged sheepishly. “It wasn’t that bad. Jungkook-ssi shoved me there so the bullets wouldn’t hit me. Which was actually really nice if you think about it—”

“Taehyung.”

“Yes?”

“You. Were in a SHOOTOUT. With the MAFIA.” Jimin slowly stood up, his hands on his hips, his voice climbing in disbelief. “And now you’re casually telling me you smelled like gunpowder and trash because a mob boss tossed you behind a dumpster for your own protection?!”

“Mr. Pickle Boss, and he is hot, Minnie.” Taehyung corrected.

Jimin stared at him.

“WHAT. THE. FUCK.”

Taehyung scratched his head. “I know it sounds bad…”

“It ‘is’ bad!” Jimin half-yelled, flinging his arms. “Do you realize how close you probably came to dying?! Mafia, Tae. REAL MAFIA. Guns. Enemies. The kind of people that don’t hesitate!”

“They were really nice, though.”

“Nice?!”

“Well… Yoongi-hyung didn’t shoot me, and Hoseok-hyung said I was cute and didn’t throw me out of the car. Namjoon hyung is nice too, I like his dimple and OH Seokjin hyung was there too. And Jungkook-ssi was, like, just a grumpy, but hot.”

Jimin dropped onto the arm of the couch and dragged both hands down his face. “Seokjin, the doctor? Why the fuck is he there, WAIT— Oh my god. You’ve got Stockholm Syndrome already.”

Taehyung pouted. “I don’t know what that is, Minnie.” Taehyung leaned his head back against the couch, a guilty frown forming. “I’m sorry, Jiminie. I didn’t mean to worry you…”

At that, Jimin sighed, the panic easing just enough to let his heartache through. “You scared me, you idiot.”

He sat beside Taehyung and pulled him into a tight hug, practically curling around him.

“I was ‘this close’ to calling the cops. Or a search party. Or maybe even the President,” Jimin mumbled into Taehyung’s shoulder. “You’ve never been gone that long without texting. I thought you fell into a ditch.”

Taehyung hugged him back, squeezing. “There was a ditch. I tripped over it running from the bullets.”

Jimin pulled away and stared. “I’m going to kill you.”

“Please don’t. I’m tired.”
Jimin smacked him lightly on the arm. “Don’t do this again, Tae. Please. I can’t lose you to some mafia cult, no matter how hot their boss is.”

Taehyung nodded solemnly. “I won’t. But… can I still be friends with them?”

“Absolutely not.”

“But I think they are fun and also Jungkook-ssi is hot, I trust him.”

“That’s not how trust works! And stop saying that Jungkook whoever he is, is HOT!”

“They have a really big house…”

Jimin looked to the ceiling and prayed for strength.

Chapter Text

The room was dim. Quiet.

Too fucking quiet.

Jungkook sat on the edge of his massive bed, shirtless, arm bandaged neatly thanks to Seokjin, though it still ached from the bullet graze. His jaw was clenched so tightly he could feel it pulse. His gun rested on the nightstand, unloaded but within reach out of pure habit.

He’d showered. Scrubbed himself raw, even. But nothing could wash off the memory of him.

“That fucking kid.”

That loud, too-pretty-for-his-own-good, dangerously oblivious kid with big eyes and honey hair and soft goddamn lips—

“Fuck,” Jungkook muttered, dragging a hand down his face.

He didn’t do this.

He didn’t fixate. He didn’t let people in. He didn’t stare at civilians like he wanted to rip their clothes off one second and wrap them in bulletproof vests the next.

But all he could see was the way Taehyung had stood in the middle of a shootout, smiling, waving like an excited little idiot like he wasn’t two steps from death.

Like he hadn’t just made Jungkook panic harder than he had in years.

His heart had actually dropped. He felt it. The kind of drop that shouldn’t exist in the chest of a killer. He was supposed to be cold. Unshaken. Calculated.

He’d yelled at Yoongi and Hoseok like he was losing his mind, then hauled that dumbass civilian back here like a deranged babysitter. And when Taehyung had pouted? And whined?

God.

“Bye, Mr. Pickle Boss, be glad that you're hot,” Taehyung had shouted, lips curved in that damn cheeky grin of his as the others gawked like schoolboys.

‘Be glad that you're hot.’

The words echoed.

And that, that right there, was the problem.

Jungkook leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring blankly at the floor.

‘He’s fucking cute.’

That’s all it was. Right? It had to be.

He wasn’t catching feelings. He wasn’t soft. He wasn’t broken. He was Jungkook. Boss. Killer. He burned men alive for less than the inconvenience Taehyung had caused him today.

So why the fuck was he still picturing him smiling?

Why did his brain replay that moment in the alley, not the gunfire, not the bodies — but Taehyung asking if the gun was a toy with that spaced-out, curious tilt of his head?

Why did his chest clench when he thought of that confused, sleepy pout on the couch?

No. Fuck no.

This wasn’t love. Or attachment. Or whatever sick joke Hoseok or Seokjin would make if they found out.

It was just an infatuation. Basic. Primal. Animal-brain bullshit. That was it.

He’d seen Taehyung’s lips. That dumb way his shirt slid off one shoulder while he babbled about everything and puppies.

That’s what this was.

He just needed to get it out of his system.

‘Bed him once. Maybe twice. Fuck the fascination out. Go back to not giving a shit.’

He stared at his reflection in the wall-length mirror across the room. Wet hair. Bandaged arm. Eyes dark.

Cold.

Still the King.

He hadn’t changed.

He wouldn’t.

He just needed to get it done.

“Next time,” he murmured, already planning the next move. “Next time I see him, I’ll end this shit.”

But deep down, deeper than he’d admit, a part of him whispered that it wouldn’t be that easy.

Not with someone like HIM.

-

Taehyung’s legs twitched under the blanket as his brows furrowed in sleep. In his dream, the world was a bizarre blend of chaos and fairy tales.

He stood in the middle of a bullet-riddled alley again, only this time, the sky sparkled with glitter, and instead of echoes of gunfire, there was faint harp music playing. Opposite him stood Jungkook, but not in his usual all-black ensemble. No, this Jungkook was wearing a princely white tunic with silver embroidery, wind dramatically tousling his hair like he was posing for a shampoo commercial.

“Fear not, my beautiful Taehyung,” Dream-Jungkook said in a deep, overly dramatic voice, pulling out a rose… from a gun holster. “I shall protect you from the evil tax collectors.”

“Tax collectors?” Taehyung echoed, confused even in the dream. “Weren’t we just getting shot at?”

Suddenly, a unicorn galloped past, glitter trailing behind it like confetti. A rainbow arched perfectly overhead, and Hoseok rode in on a flying scooter wearing full glitter armor, throwing sparkles into the air like some kind of magical rave fairy.

Dream-Jimin floated by on a cloud with a megaphone. “This is why I said no more cheese before bed, Tae!”

Dream-Jungkook took Taehyung’s hand, his eyes serious and full of intensity. “Come with me. To the kingdom of Bangtan. Where you’ll be safe... and we live and love forever.”

Taehyung blinked, unsure. “Do I still get pastries there and strawberries?”

“Only if you marry me,” Jungkook said solemnly as doves exploded into the sky behind him in slow motion.

And just as Jungkook leaned in dramatically, lips puckered like some storybook prince—

Taehyung jolted awake, gasping, “OH MY GOD.”

His hair was a mess. His cheeks were flushed. He stared at the ceiling, blinking as the dream faded in and out like a bad fever.

“Did I just… dream Jungkook as a prince? With a unicorn?” Taehyung whispered in disbelief, face squished into the pillow. His eyes were wide, his heart still racing. Then suddenly, he slapped the mattress with both hands and groaned dramatically, “Ugh—I WANT that! Come on, Taetae, back to dreamland! Maybe this time he brings strawberries and actually MARRY me.”

With that, he yanked the blanket over his head, wiggling into a snug position like a determined little burrito. “Sleep mode, prince retrieval activated,” he mumbled, already dozing off again with a pout.

The next morning, Taehyung stumbled out of bed looking like a man who had lived through war, love, and possibly a dragon attack. His hair was sticking out in all directions, shirt falling off one shoulder, and his eyes were wide with chaotic emotion.

Jimin, already dressed and sipping tea in the kitchen, looked up. “You okay? You look like you fought a goose in your sleep.”

Taehyung dropped dramatically into the seat across from him. “Jimin. I had the dream.”

Jimin squinted. “What dream? The one where you’re being chased by flying toast again?”

“No, no. Worse. Or better. I’m not sure,” Taehyung said, eyes haunted. “Jungkook was in it.”

Jimin choked on his tea.

Taehyung pointed an accusing finger at his own brain. “And he was—get this—a PRINCE.”

“…Prince as in royal?”

“PRINCE as in sparkly white suit, wind blowing his bangs, sitting on a white UNICORN, Minnie. A unicorn with glitter hooves. Glitter. Hooves.”

Jimin stared.

“And we were in the middle of a shootout, right? Bullets flying, but Jungkook was doing those sexy gun moves like in the movies. Pew pew—backflip—then he caught me in his arms and said, ‘Fear not, fair maiden.’”

“You’re the maiden?”

“YES,” Taehyung shouted, slapping the table. “And then—get this—we rode off into the sunset. But not just any sunset, oh no. It was a rainbow road. A rainbow road made of cotton candy. There were singing birds and floating cupcakes.”

Jimin blinked. “What kind of fever dream—”

“And then we arrived at this magical castle where he proposed to me with a ring made of strawberry jelly. I cried. There were backup dancers. Jungkook twirled me. We almost kissed. But then the alarm rang.”

He slumped forward, devastated. “I never got to say ‘I do.’”

Jimin stared at him like he’d grown three heads. “…Do I need to check your temperature?”

“No, Minnie hyung,” Taehyung said seriously, “You need to check my heart. Because it belongs to Jungkook the Unicorn Prince now.”

Jimin slowly picked up his phone. “I’m calling a priest. Or an exorcist.”

-

Jungkook sat alone in his office, fingers tapping against the edge of the desk, his shirt half-buttoned and a cigarette burning out in the tray beside him. The wound on his shoulder had been bandaged days ago, but the irritation inside him had not healed a bit.

Namjoon had caught him zoning out mid-meeting. Yoongi called him out for nearly getting distracted during target drills. Seokjin had thrown a grape at his head and told him to “get laid or meditate, pick one.”

But the damn problem was, he couldn’t stop thinking about Taehyung.

That soft face. That weird little pout. The way he gasped when Jungkook pulled him to cover, equal parts terrified and impressed. And that damn parting line…

‘Bye Mr. Pickle Boss! Be glad that you’re hot!’

Jungkook had nearly choked on his own breath when Taehyung shouted that across the entire room, then giggled like it was the most normal thing in the world. The others had stared, stunned. Hoseok laughed so hard he fell into Yoongi. Seokjin clutched his chest like he’d been blessed. And Jungkook? Jungkook stormed off like a man on fire, only to spend the next hour sulking in the shower.

Now, three days later, he was still unsettled. Still checking his phone like a fucking teenager. Still thinking about a boy who didn’t even understand how dangerous it was to be near him.

Maybe… maybe he just needed to get it over with. Scratch the itch.

“Just fuck him,” Jungkook muttered under his breath, jaw clenching. “That’s it. Get it out of your system. Then it’ll stop.”

He stood, sliding his gun into its holster, his shirt clinging to his toned frame.

“End it before it begins.”

He didn’t even believe himself.

Chapter Text

The engine purred like a caged beast, low and dangerous.

Jeon Jungkook sat in the driver’s seat of his matte black sports car, parked two blocks away from Bloom & Brew. His sunglasses were pushed low on his nose despite the fact that it was cloudy, and he hadn’t moved in ten minutes except to occasionally drum his fingers on the steering wheel or mutter curses under his breath.

“Just go in. Drag him out. Be done with it,” he told himself, jaw clenched hard enough to crack. His eyes were sharp, cold, and merciless, the kind of look that made grown men piss themselves in negotiation rooms. And yet here he was, parked like a creepy ex-boyfriend outside a flower-themed coffee shop because of one distractingly soft barista.

“This is pathetic,” Jungkook muttered, slamming his head back against the seat. “I’m a mafia boss. I’ve tortured people for less than what this kid’s doing to my sanity.”

A loud HONK jolted him as a delivery truck squeezed past, the driver glaring at him for parking like a stalker.

Jungkook slowly turned his head and gave the man a look so cold, so spine-chilling, the guy actually flinched and sped off without another word.

“Smart,” Jungkook muttered, refocusing.

He’d been staying in a penthouse nearby, supposedly for a weapons meeting with a contact but the meeting ended three days ago. And yet, he hadn’t left. He couldn’t stop hovering near the damn café. It was pathetic. It was infuriating. It was… kind of terrifying.

He pulled out his phone and opened the café’s IG page. Latest post, a latte with a cinnamon bear design. Caption, “Taehyung made this!”

Jungkook zoomed in.

“He can draw bears in milk foam but can’t recognize when he’s in a fucking mafia ambush?” he growled.

Then he zoomed in again.

“…His fingers are cute.”

He immediately dropped the phone like it had bitten him. “No. No. I'm ending this. Today.”

He gripped the wheel tight, the muscles in his tattooed forearm flexing as he shifted gears with deadly precision.

“I’m going in. I’m grabbing him. I’m getting him out of my system. I’ll bed him. Maybe that’s all I need to end this madness.”

He slammed the door shut behind him as he exited the car, boots hitting the pavement with force. People on the sidewalk instinctively stepped aside. One look from him, that icy, sharp stare of a man who’s seen blood and made it spill was enough to clear a path straight to the café door.

Inside Bloom & Brew, Taehyung was currently trying to explain to a confused customer that their muffins were not filled with actual blueberries but “blueberry flavored love.”

Behind the counter, Jimin rolled his eyes so hard he almost passed out. “Tae. Please.”

“What?” Taehyung whispered. “It’s poetic.”

The bell above the door jingled.

And in walked Jungkook.

Still dripping danger, wrapped in a bomber jacket and confidence, exuding the kind of presence that made the air feel heavier. His expression was blank but not peaceful. No, it was quietly murderous.

Taehyung’s head popped up like a curious meerkat.

Jimin followed his line of sight and nearly dropped a tray. “Oh my god, it’s the mafia boss again!”

“Jungkook-ssi!” Taehyung gasped, smiling so wide it looked painful.

Jungkook blinked once. Slowly. Like a wolf acknowledging a deer who just offered it bubble tea.

Taehyung blinked back.

And then Jungkook said, completely deadpan, “Come with me.”

Jimin dropped the tray this time on purpose. “I’m sorry — come again?!”

“I need to borrow him,” Jungkook added, stepping toward the counter with a presence that made the room go silent. His voice was low, cold, and sharp, the kind of tone that usually preceded bullets or bodies.

“What the hell do you mean BORROW—he’s not a library book!” Jimin shouted, stepping protectively in front of Taehyung.

“I’ll return him in one piece.”

“THAT IS NOT REASSURING!”

“Can I come back with strawberries?” Taehyung asked, blinking innocently up at Jimin like this was a perfectly normal thing.

“I—what?! No! Tae, you can’t just be abducted! What if you get involved with some criminal activities? Or worse, what if you don’t get back?!”

Taehyung tilted his head. “Minnie, I’m not getting abducted?”

Jimin looked like he aged ten years.

Jungkook, on the other hand, smirked faintly, just one side of his mouth, the kind of smirk that looked like it belonged in a crime thriller. “One hour, Park Jimin.”

“One HOUR—”

But it was too late. Jungkook had already taken Taehyung’s wrist, gently, but with that same quiet authority that could bend men to their knees and was guiding him out the door.

Taehyung looked over his shoulder, beaming. “I’ll bring you a unicorn latte later!”

“WHAT DOES THAT EVEN—TAEHYUNG!!”

The door slammed shut.

Jimin threw his apron on the counter. “If he’s not back in one hour, I’m calling the cops, the FBI, and possibly a witch.” And went to follow them.

“KIM TAEHYUNG, YOU COME BACK HERE RIGHT NOW—WHAT THE HELL—WHAT KIND OF KIDNAPPING IS THIS—”

“I’ll return him,” Jungkook said flatly without turning around.

“That doesn’t make it better, you tattooed lunatic!”

The bell above the door jingled sweetly as it slammed shut behind them.

Outside, Jungkook didn’t speak as he opened the car door and nudged Taehyung inside. His eyes were cold, face carved from stone, tattoos peeking under his sleeves and gloves.

Still, Taehyung only smiled.

“Oooh, your car smells expensive.” He adjusted the seatbelt as Jungkook got in and slammed the door.

“Where are we going?”

Jungkook started the engine. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” Taehyung tilted his head, curls bouncing. “Then why did you abduct me from my workplace?”

“I didn’t abduct you,” Jungkook muttered, shifting gears. “You came willingly.”

“I’m still wearing my strawberry apron.”

“Not my fault,” Jungkook deadpanned.

The car rolled onto the main road, smooth and silent, at least mechanically. Internally, Jungkook’s mind was a chaos of curse words.

‘Where am I even taking him? Why did I just…walk in and drag him out like that? What the fuck am I doing?’

Next to him, Taehyung made a soft noise of thought. “Can we go to a strawberry store?”

“No,” Jungkook said immediately.

“What about a strawberry field?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t know where one is.”

“I do! It’s like thirty minutes out of town. You take the south exit, then a left after the weird chicken billboard. I’ve been there! They let you pick your own.”

Jungkook glanced at him.

Taehyung beamed.

“...You really want strawberries right now?”

“Yes. They are my comfort fruit.”

“Comfort fruit,” Jungkook echoed like the words hurt him.

“Don’t judge me, you kidnapped me.”

“I didn’t.”

“While I was in an apron and mid-shift.”

“…You’re impossible.”

Taehyung grinned.

Jungkook hit the blinker with a sigh and turned toward the south exit.

This was not the plan. This was ABSOLUTELY not the goddamn plan. Jungkook stood in the middle of a strawberry field. Wearing all black. Boots deep in soil. Surrounded by toddlers with baskets, couples in matching overalls, and a fucking old man playing a ukulele on a bench.

He looked like the final boss of a farming simulator.

“This place is adorable!” Taehyung chirped, spinning in a little circle beside him, apron still on, curls bouncing in the wind. “The air smells like sun and plants and happiness.”

Jungkook blinked at him, his eye twitching. “I’m going to kill myself.”

“I think you’d look really pretty next to the strawberries,” Taehyung said, completely missing the point.

The original plan was simple.

Bed Taehyung. Scratch the itch. Get back to his terrifying, brooding, emotionally-detached life.

He was JUNGKOOK. He didn’t DO emotions. He didn’t obsess over people. He didn’t think about mouths and moles and strawberry-shaped lips while trying to clean a rifle.

So yes—he was supposed to bed Taehyung.

Instead…

“Hi, Sir?” a teenage employee called timidly from the stand. “Would you like a complimentary basket?”

“Don’t talk to me,” Jungkook grumbled, taking the tiny woven container like it had personally offended him.

“Yours has a ribbon!” Taehyung beamed, holding his own pastel pink one. “Mine too! Let’s see who can pick more!”

“This is so fucking humiliating,” Jungkook muttered, following him down a sunny dirt path.

Taehyung’s eyes sparkled as he crouched to pluck a ripe berry, inspecting it with exaggerated care. “Look at this one! It’s plump and red and happy.”

“It’s a fruit,” Jungkook said flatly.

Taehyung ignored him. “You have to say nice things to it before you pick it. Like—‘hello, little berry, thank you for growing well!’”

“…I run a criminal empire,” Jungkook whispered to no one in particular. “And this is my life now?”

Still, as Taehyung darted from row to row, basket swinging, humming under his breath, Jungkook found himself watching.

Eyes trailing the curve of his smile. The way his nose scrunched when he found a good one. The soft giggle he made when a berry accidentally squirted juice on his apron.

Fuck.

He was doomed.

He wasn’t getting this kid out of his system anytime soon.

“Are you picking any?” Taehyung called.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t like strawberries.”

Taehyung froze.

The betrayal on his face could’ve triggered a civil war.

“You… don’t ‘like’ strawberries?”

“I don’t.”

Taehyung gasped. “How do you live? What do you snack on? Broken glass and regret?!”

“Sometimes.”

“Jungkook,” Taehyung said firmly—the first time he used just his name, and damn, it sounded way too good, as he marched up with his hands planted defiantly on his hips. “I’m putting you on a strawberry rehabilitation program.”

“That’s not a thing.”

“It is now.”

And before Jungkook could argue, Taehyung stepped into his space, lifted a bright red strawberry to his lips, and held it out.

“Try this one. It’s from me.”

Jungkook stared at the berry. Then at Taehyung. Then at the berry again.

“Fuck this!” he muttered, leaning down.

He bit into it.

Taehyung’s smile stretched wide. “See? Not so bad.”

Jungkook didn’t respond. He chewed in silence, eyes locked on Taehyung’s face.

His heartbeat thudded.

He was absolutely going to hell.

“It’s yummy, right?” Taehyung teased.

“I was supposed to fuck you and get it over with,” Jungkook muttered.

Taehyung blinked. “What?”

“I said the strawberries are fine.”

Taehyung squinted. “No, you didn’t.”

“Let’s go,” Jungkook growled, turning on his heel and stomping back toward the car like a vampire that had been forced into sunlight.

Taehyung skipped after him. “I got twenty! And I named this one Eugene, you just need more joy in your life!”

“No. I need a gun and silence.”

“I like spending time with you.”

Jungkook shoved the basket into the trunk and slammed it shut.

Taehyung leaned into the passenger seat, smiling as the car rumbled to life.

“Where are we going now?”

Jungkook didn’t answer. He only stared ahead.

But in his peripheral vision, he could still see the pink apron. The strawberry-stained fingers. The smile that was slowly driving him insane.

His jaw ticked.

He needed to fix this. End it.

Before it got any worse.

...Maybe after they stopped by the strawberry milk café Taehyung kept talking about.

Chapter Text

The sun had started to dip low behind the hills, casting a soft golden glow over the strawberry field. Taehyung was still humming a little off-key song to himself, a small grin on his face as he sat in the passenger seat, arms hugging the plastic basket of strawberries like it was sacred treasure.

Taehyung sat in the passenger seat, apron still tied around his waist, a basket of half-eaten strawberries in his lap. He had a smile on his lips and a soft hum in his throat. Everything felt oddly peaceful, until Jungkook’s hand tightened on the steering wheel. Eyes fixed on the road. Jaw tight. His knuckles white against the leather of the steering wheel. He didn’t speak much after they left. Not a word, not even a grunt at Taehyung’s rambling about whether strawberries could be turned into shampoo.

His foot slamming harder on the gas. The car leapt forward like a bullet.

Taehyung flinched, finally looking up from his basket. “Uh… Jungkook? We’re not going back to the field, right?”

Jungkook didn’t answer. His jaw was clenched tight, eyes narrowed on the rearview mirror.

A matte-gray SUV was tailing them. Close. Too close.

Then a second car appeared behind it.

Taehyung tilted his head, frowning. “Where are we going? You’re scaring Strawberry One and Two,” he added, motioning to his fruit. “And also me, kind of.”

Jungkook’s knuckles turned white. “Fuck.”

That one word dropped like a stone in the silence.

“What’s wrong?” Taehyung asked, voice shrinking.

“Hold on,” Jungkook growled, slamming the gas pedal.

The engine roared, and the car lunged forward. Taehyung yelped, one hand flying to the door, the other gripping his basket like a lifeline.

Behind them, tires squealed. The chase began.

Then—BANG.

Bullets suddenly sparked off the trunk, metal pinged and glass cracked.

Taehyung screamed, ducking as shattered rear glass sprayed over his seat.

Jungkook’s voice was like steel, cold and sharp. “Get your head down. Now.”

Taehyung screamed and immediately ducked, strawberries flying as the basket fell to the floor. Jungkook’s hand shot out protectively, pressing Taehyung’s head down before veering hard left, tires screeching against asphalt. The car swerved into a side road as another hail of bullets flew past.

“WHAT IS HAPPENING?!” Taehyung cried, curled in the footwell with his arms over his head.

“Yoongi,” Jungkook barked into the earpiece, tapping his comms with a gloved finger, “I’m being tailed. Two vehicles. Route 48 outside the eastern fields. Track them—fucking now.”

There was a beat of static before Yoongi’s voice came through, low and calm. “Copy. On it.”

“I need eyes on me NOW. I’ve got Taehyung.”

There was a beat of silence.

“…You WHAT—?”

“Don’t fucking start,” Jungkook growled, yanking the wheel into a narrow alley, their tires barely missing the dumpsters.

Jungkook gritted his teeth. “Not the goddamn priority, Yoongi. Get eyes on them before I make this road a graveyard.”

Behind them, more gunfire erupted.

Taehyung covered his head with his arms, curling instinctively toward Jungkook’s side, eyes wide as he peeked up over the dashboard. “Jungkook… are they trying to kill you or me or—wait, why would they try to kill me? Is this about the strawberry shampoo idea?”

“You still wearing your seatbelt?” Jungkook said, veering down a sharp turn that made the tires scream.

“Yes! I think—maybe—does apron count?!” as he was looking up now to see what’s happening.

“Taehyung.” His voice was low, furious, terrifying. “Stay the fuck down.”

That finally did it. Taehyung stopped talking, trembling slightly as he slunk lower in the seat, eyes wide and scared but still watching Jungkook.

Jungkook was terrifying.

His brows were furrowed in lethal concentration, tattoos flexing along his arms as he steered with mechanical precision, even as bullets whizzed past. His lips were parted, breath even, eyes calculating. He looked like a demon carved out of night and rage and Taehyung, despite the terror, couldn’t look away.

Because he had never felt safer and more afraid all at once.

“Yoongi!” Jungkook snarled. “Update!”

“Got ‘em. Three hostile vehicles. They’re not ours—might be the same group who hit the dock last week. Hoseok’s mobilizing the team. ETA eight minutes.”

“I don’t have eight fucking minutes.”

“Where’s your location now?”

“Crossing onto Riverbend Ridge.”

Yoongi cursed. “Bad choice.”

“Didn’t have many.”

“You better make it to the mansion in one piece.”

Behind them, one of the SUVs tried to ram the rear bumper. Jungkook slammed the brakes mid-turn and cut right—forcing the vehicle to overshoot and veer off.

Another car rammed them from behind. The impact jolted them forward, and Taehyung yelped, crashing back into the seat.

“I swear to fuck,” Jungkook hissed, throwing the car into a controlled spin, his hand bracing Taehyung’s head to keep him steady as he spun and shot out the window, two, three, four times.

A tire burst. One of the chasing cars screeched and flipped.

Taehyung screamed again.

Jungkook ignored him. He had to. If he looked at Taehyung now, if he saw those wide, terrified eyes, he’d crack.

He was cracking.

“Taehyung—” Jungkook barked, “Do not fucking cry.”

“I’m not crying! I’m leaking out of my soul!”

Jungkook growled under his breath and floored the gas again.

The road twisted, rising into the hills. Finally, on the horizon, the metal gates of the mafia compound.

Jungkook raised his wrist mic. “Namjoon! I need the gate open—full lockdown, now!”

“Already moving,” Namjoon’s voice came back instantly. “Yoongi briefed us.”

The car blasted past the security line just as armed guards took position along the perimeter. Behind them, one of the SUVs skidded to a halt under fire, riddled with bullets from the defensive line. The second car spun away, retreating.

Jungkook’s car screeched to a stop in front of the mansion’s grand steps.

Taehyung was wide-eyed, pressed into the seat like he might never leave it again. His hands were trembling.

Jungkook sat still for one long second. Then he turned slowly toward Taehyung, jaw clenched.

“You okay?”

Taehyung blinked. “Am I okay? Am I okay?! I think my soul peed itself!”

“…Good.”

He got out of the car and slammed the door hard enough to rattle it off its hinges. Guards ran to flank them.

“Shut UP!” Jungkook barked, wrapping one arm around Taehyung protectively and shoving him behind his back.

Everyone went dead silent.

Jungkook’s eyes swept the room, fire in every vein. “Where the FUCK was the patrol tonight? Who let them get that close to my car? If I hadn’t been in that alley—if I hadn’t taken that turn—we’d be DEAD.”

“Boss, we didn’t know they had eyes that far west,” one guard stammered. “We thought—”

“You ‘thought’ wrong. You thought with your ass instead of your head,” Jungkook roared. “What kind of fucking amateurs do I have working for me?!”

Behind him, Taehyung was shivering. His hands were clenched, his breathing shallow.

Jungkook felt it. The fear. The silence. Taehyung’s world had cracked.

This wasn’t just rainbows and cool suits anymore.

This was dangerous.

Namjoon appeared on the stairs, grim and serious. “We found a tracker on your car. Hidden under the passenger side.”

Jungkook went still.

His voice came out low. “Find who planted it. Burn everything they’ve ever loved.”

Then he turned around slowly. His heart twisted at the sight of Taehyung.

The boy looked like he’d been dropped into a war zone. Pale. Shaking. Eyes flicking from gun to guard to Jungkook.

“…Are you okay?” Jungkook asked quietly, voice different now. Softer.

Taehyung looked up at him, lips trembling. “You… save me?”

“Of course I did,” Jungkook said, almost angrily. “Fucking idiot.”

“I dropped the strawberries in your car.” Taehyung mumbled.

Jungkook stared at him.

Of course that’s what he’d focus on.

Then he shoved a hand into his hair and muttered under his breath, “I should’ve just fucked him and walked away.” Then shouted to one of his men. “Get the fucking strawberry inside the car!”

The kid had gotten under his skin. Into his life. Into his ‘world.’

Chapter Text

The doors of the mansion hadn’t even fully closed when Seokjin burst through them, coat flaring behind him, doctor’s bag swinging at his side like a weapon of justice. His usual calm was gone, replaced by frantic urgency, scanning the marble floor until he spotted a trembling figure by the stairs.

“Taehyung?”

The younger flinched like a startled puppy, turning his head slowly. He was still holding a half-empty basket of strawberries like it was a life preserver in a stormy sea. His eyes were wide, far too wide for someone who, just that morning, had probably been cheerfully arranging flower sugar packets at the café.

Seokjin’s chest clenched.

He approached gently, hands raised like he was handling an extremely nervous puppy. “Taehyung, sweetheart. Are you hurt?”

“I… I don’t think so,” Taehyung whispered. “But they shot the mirror. And Jungkook-ssi said at least fifteen bad words. I stopped counting at ‘motherf—’” He paused, eyes round. “Should I wash his mouth with soap?”

“You poor thing,” Seokjin murmured, resting a gentle hand on the back of his neck.

“And I think one of the bullets touched the air next to me,” Taehyung added gravely. “Does that count as getting grazed?”

Seokjin breathed out through his nose, trying not to laugh and cry at the same time. “Let’s get you upstairs, baby. You need to lie down.”

Taehyung blinked. “Wait. Am I even allowed to sleep here? Or do I need a mafia membership card?” He looked up. “Do you have forms?”

Seokjin blinked. Then snorted. “God, you’re adorable.”

“I’m just making sure,” Taehyung pouted, clutching the strawberry basket tighter. “What if I get fined? I don’t have mafia money. I only have loyalty card stamps for lattes.”

“No fines,” Seokjin said, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. “No membership card needed. You’ll be in the guest room beside Jungkook’s.”

Taehyung frowned. “Shouldn’t I be like... farther away from Jungkook, hyung? I think he was mad at me. Like, emotionally constipated mad. Not that I blame him. I screamed when the tire popped.”

Seokjin chuckled again, real affection threading through his voice now. “You’re not in danger here, Taehyung. Not from us.”

“…Not even from Jungkook’s glare?”

“Especially not from that.”

Step by step, Seokjin guided him gently up the grand staircase, never letting him go, not even when Taehyung randomly whispered, “If I die, can you give my apron to Jimin?”

Inside the guest room, Seokjin helped him take off his apron, still speckled with a single strawberry juice smear from earlier and coaxed him into the large, warm bed. The strawberry basket was set beside him like a guard dog.

He pulled the blanket up to Taehyung’s chin, smoothing his hair back with a soft sigh.

“You sleep now,” Seokjin said gently. “You’re safe.”

Taehyung blinked at him. “What if someone breaks in, and take my strawberry, should I scream?”

“Sleep, Taehyung.” Seokjin laugh softly at him.

“Okay,” Taehyung mumbled, eyes fluttering shut. “But I might snore a little…”

“You’re allowed.”

A pause.

“…Promise?”

Seokjin’s lips quirked into a smile. “Promise,” he whispered, brushing a thumb across Taehyung’s forehead. “You’ll be alright.”

Only when the boy’s breathing finally evened out, mumbling something about “bulletproof strawberries,” did Seokjin allow himself to step back, casting one last, fond glance before slipping out the door to deal with far more dangerous things.

Downstairs, the atmosphere was different—tense, thick, cold.

The living room had been transformed into a tactical center. Guns sprawled across the table, laptops open, radios buzzing. Jungkook stood at the head, black jacket stripped off, gun holster still on. His jaw was locked, eyes dark and wild with fury. Namjoon stood beside him, arms crossed. Hoseok leaned against the wall, Yoongi hunched over a tablet, eyes darting behind his bangs.

“Who the fuck tracked me?” Jungkook’s voice cut through the room like a blade. “Who knew I was on that route?”

“We’re still combing the feed,” Yoongi said calmly. “The tracker on your car was cloaked. It wasn’t just some street rat.”

“I want to know who and I want to know now,” Jungkook growled, slamming his fist into the table. “Because they almost shot him. They got that fucking close.”

Namjoon’s brow furrowed. “You think it’s related to the warehouse breach?”

“Maybe,” Jungkook spat. “Maybe someone knew I’d be out. Maybe someone thought it’d be a good time to take me down. Or maybe—just maybe—we’ve got a fucking rat.”

The word echoed.

Then Seokjin’s voice followed it.

“Why you had Taehyung with you?”

Jungkook turned, eyes flashing—but froze when he saw Seokjin’s expression. No humor. No sass. Just sharp, scathing disappointment.

“He was with you during that ambush?” Seokjin repeated, stepping forward.

“It wasn’t supposed to happen,” Jungkook said, his voice lower now. “I didn’t know we were being followed.”

“That’s not the point,” Seokjin snapped. “The point is, you took him out there. You exposed him to this life—and now he’s lying upstairs, clutching a basket like it’s a damn shield, because someone tried to kill him.”

Jungkook looked away, jaw tight.

“I’m not saying you meant for this to happen,” Seokjin went on, calmer but no less firm. “But it did. And if you can’t draw the line between this world and that boy, you’re going to break him.”

No one spoke.

“Did he ask to be in that car?” Seokjin pressed.

“No,” Jungkook muttered.

“Then it’s your fault.”

That landed like a punch to the gut. Jungkook flinched but said nothing.

Seokjin sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “He trusts you, Jungkook. And you’re using that trust like a leash.”

Yoongi looked up from the tablet. “Security perimeter’s clean. Whoever tailed you pulled out after the gate.”

“Then we’re lucky,” Seokjin said. “Because next time, that boy might not make it out.”

Jungkook stood still, his fingers twitching against the edge of the table. Every muscle was tense, his entire being coiled with fury and something deeper—guilt.

He had brought Taehyung into this.

And whether he wanted to admit it or not…

He wasn’t sure he could let him go.

-

The mansion was quiet.

Too quiet for Jungkook’s mind to rest.

He stood in the hallway outside the guest room door, hand clenched into a fist at his side, the soft hum of security sensors in the walls the only sound around him. Everyone had retreated for the night, except Yoongi, still holed up in the basement control room, and Hoseok, pacing outside like a restless guard dog and some of the guards.

Inside that room, behind that door… Taehyung.

Jungkook had paced his own bedroom for over an hour, shadowboxing his own emotions.

Remembering the image of Taehyung in the passenger seat, pale, wide-eyed, gripping that stupid strawberry basket like it was a shield. Flinching every time a bullet cracked through the air. Jungkook hadn’t been able to get the boy’s trembling hands out of his head.

He exhaled through his nose, jaw clenched. Just check on him. That’s it.

The door creaked open with a gentle push, barely a sound in the quiet hall. Inside, the guest room was cloaked in the soft amber glow of a bedside lamp, shadows curling along the walls like they were afraid to disturb the stillness.

Taehyung lay curled on the bed, blanket twisted around him like a lazy cocoon. His strawberry-stained apron was gone, but the faint scent still lingered in the air. His dark lashes rested against his cheeks, mouth slightly parted in sleep, the curve of his lips soft, peaceful.

Jungkook didn’t move at first.

He stood in the doorway, tall and rigid, his shadow stretching long across the hardwood floor. His eyes were unreadable, but locked on the boy in the bed like he was something delicate. Fragile. Something that didn't belong anywhere near the world Jungkook lived in.

Slowly, he stepped inside. His boots made no sound. His expression didn’t soften.

But his gaze did.

He stopped at the foot of the bed, staring at Taehyung with something dangerous behind his eyes, not rage, not calculation. Something worse. Something far too close to longing. As if Jungkook were studying a painting he knew he'd never be allowed to keep. Memorizing every inch like the image might be torn from him at any second.

The way Taehyung's fingers curled against the blanket.

The faint line of dried strawberry juice smudged near his wrist.

The way his chest rose and fell in slow, gentle rhythm, so alive, and so far from safe.

Jungkook clenched his jaw.

He had meant to check in. Just see that Taehyung was sleeping. That he was okay. That the madness of earlier hadn’t broken something in him.

But now he couldn’t move.

And that terrified him more than the bullets ever had.

After several long, still moments, Jungkook finally forced himself to take a step back. Then another. He reached for the door handle and paused, eyes flicking to Taehyung one last time.

A silent breath.

Then the door closed behind him with a soft click. And the hallway swallowed him whole.

Meanwhile, in the basement… Yoongi’s fingers flew across the keyboard in front of a multi-screen setup. Red lines flashed across a map of the city, a blinking dot tracking Jungkook’s last known car location.

“This isn’t just a tracker,” Yoongi said, frowning. “This was paired to a remote transmitter. Someone knew where Jungkook was in real time and they were waiting.”

“They don’t hit our warehouse and go after our boss unless they’re trying to start a war,” Hoseok muttered, leaning on the back of the chair.

“Or end one,” Yoongi added. “I’ve narrowed it to three families who had the intel. But there’s a leak, Hobi. No one outside knew about the strawberry detour except us. We only knew because of this fucking tracker I had install on his car. Someone was fucking messing with my security.”

Hoseok’s eyes narrowed. “You think it’s one of ours?”

Yoongi didn’t answer. He smirked as he already typing at his keyboard to track that rat.

Back at Bloom & Brew… It was nearing 9 PM.

The café was dark, save for one soft lamp left on behind the counter. Jimin sat on the worn leather couch near the window, his arms folded tightly across his chest, phone clutched in his hand. He had already called seven times.

Voicemail. Every single time.

Taehyung hadn’t come home.

He hadn’t texted.

He hadn’t even sent a stupid meme.

Jimin stood up and began pacing. His gut twisted with unease. Sure, Taehyung was a little odd, easily distracted, prone to wandering but he wasn’t that careless. And he’d never gone a half a day without checking in.

He was with that Jungkook.

‘Fucking mafia.’

Jimin stared at his phone, thumb hovering over the call button again. If Taehyung didn’t come home soon, he was going to storm out and walk around the area himself, even if he had to bring a baseball bat and a prayer.

He called again.

Voicemail.

This time, Jimin didn’t just feel worried.

He felt afraid.

Chapter Text

Taehyung stirred just as a beam of morning sunlight crawled across his face. He wrinkled his nose, lips parting in a sleepy sigh as he turned away from the brightness, face burrowing into the pillow. It smelled like lavender

His brows furrowed.

Groggily, Taehyung sat up, blinking blearily around the unfamiliar room. The soft bedding, elegant drapes, and expensive furniture made no sense. He glanced to the side and spotted a vintage-looking clock ticking on the nightstand.

6:04 AM.

His eyes widened.

“Oh no,” he whispered. “Oh no oh no oh no—JIMIN’S GOING TO MURDER ME AND USE MY BODY AS COFFEE BEANS.”

In his panic, he flailed out of bed, momentarily tangled himself in the sheets, and then finally managed to escape the covers like a man fleeing a bear trap. Still in his pastel hoodie, hair fluffier than ever, he scanned the room desperately. Spotting the strawberry basket, his loyal emotional support produce, he grabbed it with both hands like a baby koala and the apron, he wears it first then bolted to the door.

The hallway was eerily silent.

“Okay… maybe everyone’s still asleep. No biggie. He nodded at himself.

He tiptoed down the corridor, whispering dramatic “duuun dun… duuuun dun…” sound effects under his breath like his own theme song, then peeked around each corner like a spy in a cartoon.

To his relief, the mansion’s front doors came into view and to his further surprise, they weren’t even locked.

“Wow,” Taehyung said. “I didn’t notice the door was this big.”

Once outside, he blinked at the size of the estate. Trees lined the driveway like royal sentinels, and several high-tech black vehicles were parked near the garage. Birds chirped cheerfully, completely unaware that a mafia boss was probably about to have an aneurysm.

Taehyung began skipping down the gravel path like he was in a musical, humming “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star” with his strawberry basket swinging by his side.

When he reached the main gate, he spotted two large, stone-faced bodyguards at their post.
“Hello!” Taehyung beamed at them.

The guards, who had barely recovered from their night shift, stared.

“Uh… hi?”

“Can you tell me where the nearest bus station is?” Taehyung asked politely, smiling as if he didn’t just spend the night in the den of deadly criminals.

The guards exchanged a glance, utterly baffled.

“Y-You wanna take the bus?”

“Yes! I have work, and my roommate will cry if I’m late.”

One of the guards hesitantly pointed down the long driveway. “The nearest bus station’s about a twenty-minute walk that way, just follow the road until you see the main street.”

Taehyung’s face lit up like sunshine. “Thank you, ajusshi! You’re, like, super-duper nice. If I become rich, I’m coming back to give you a cookie bouquet.”

The guard blinked.

Then Taehyung beamed, gave a two-handed wave, and skipped off with his strawberry basket bouncing at his side, happily humming what sounded suspiciously like the Pororo theme song.

The guards stared at his retreating figure in pastel, apron strings fluttering behind him.

“…Did we miss a security alert?”

“…Who the hell is that kid?”

“…HOW did he even get in here?!”

Meanwhile, inside the mansion, 7:12 AM.

Jungkook cracked open one eye, still half-wrapped in blankets. He could hear footsteps and movement, someone clinking in the kitchen, Hoseok’s half-asleep laugh, Yoongi grumbling something about coffee.

And then he remembered Taehyung.

The idiot. The strawberry menace. The one who nearly got killed in his passenger seat yesterday.

Jungkook sat up with a grunt, running a hand through his hair before heading to the bathroom. After a quick rinse, he threw on a black shirt and some jeans then strode toward the guest room beside his own.

He knocked once. Waited.

Nothing.

He knocked again, this time louder. Still no sound.

His brow twitched. Why the hell was he knocking in his own damn mansion?

“Tch.” He opened the door.

The bed was empty. Sheets slightly messy, pillow askew. No pastel hoodie in sight.

Jungkook froze.

“…What the fuck.”

He checked the bathroom inside the guest room, nothing. His steps turned sharp, fast, echoing off the hallway walls as he marched downstairs.

The dining room came into view. Namjoon was reading the newspaper with his glasses sliding down his nose, Yoongi looked half-awake holding his mug, and Hoseok was laughing with Seokjin as he makes his iced americano in the coffee machine and Seokjin as he cooked.

“Where the fuck is Taehyung?” Jungkook growled.

The whole room froze.

Yoongi squinted. “Isn’t he still asleep?”

“He’s not in his room. He’s not anywhere,” Jungkook snapped. “Did anyone fucking see him?”

Seokjin blinked. “Wait—he’s gone? But he was exhausted. There’s no way he—”

“I said. He’s not. In his room.”

The room exploded into chaos.

Namjoon dropped the paper, Yoongi was already pulling out his phone to track security logs, and Hoseok ran to check the rooms. Jungkook stomped to the intercom and barked at his patrol teams.

“EVERYONE TO THE MAIN LIVING ROOM. NOW.”

Within minutes, armed men were scrambling into the mansion’s living area, boots pounding against the marble floor as they assembled in a loose formation. The air was thick with tension, but no one quite knew ‘why’ yet, until Jungkook stormed in like a goddamn hurricane.

Jungkook stood at the center, black shirt unbuttoned at the collar, hair still slightly damp from the shower, jaw clenched so tight it looked carved from stone.

“Did any of you,” Jungkook growled, voice dangerously low, “see the kid this morning?”

The men glanced at each other, unsure.

“A pastel hoodie,” he barked, stepping forward and making several of them flinch, “with a fucking ‘apron’. Carrying a ‘strawberry basket’. That ring a bell?” the men look at each other as if questioning if one of them knew who the kid or they see him.

Still, no answer.

Jungkook's fists balled at his sides, the muscles in his arms flexing beneath the ink of his tattoos. “Are you all blind, or just stupid? How the FUCK does someone like that stroll through my compound and NONE of you see him? What is this—hide and seek?”

The silence was deafening. Even the trained killers looked like they wanted to melt into the floor.

“I’m surrounded by useless shitheads,” Jungkook snarled, veins ticking in his neck. “He was in a PASTEL HOODIE. The fuck do you think this is, a bakery?! You didn’t see a pastel rainbow bouncing through the yard like a fucking cartoon?!”

A few men winced. One looked like he might pass out.

“FIND. HIM.” Jungkook shouted, voice echoing off the walls. “Check every camera. Every hallway. Every bush if you have to. I swear to god if someone let him walk past security without raising a finger—”

One of the men slowly raised a hand. “Um… sir. The guards at the front gate reported that…they saw someone.”

Jungkook’s head snapped toward them.

“Someone?”

“He… he asked for directions to the bus station… said thank you and left. He was humming. Something about a penguin?”

There was a pause.

“HE WHAT?!”

“He… uh… left. About an hour ago? Sir.”

Jungkook’s jaw clenched so hard you could hear it grind.

“GET ME THE GATE GUARDS.”

In less than a minute, two very confused and terrified men appeared.

Then Jungkook’s arm moved so fast it was a blur, drawing his gun and aiming it at the wall behind them, firing a single, furious shot that made everyone duck.

“You let him leave?” he bellowed, advancing on the poor guards like death in black boots. “You let someone just ‘walk out of a mafia fortress’, and you didn’t fucking question him?!”

The guards stammered. “W-We didn’t know who he was, Boss! He was smiling! And polite! We—We thought he was someone’s cousin?”

“DOES ANYONE HERE HAVE A COUSIN WHO LOOKS LIKE THAT?”

The guards were sweating bullets now. One of them held up a shaky hand.

“He… he had a basket, sir…”

“Oh, great! The basket gave him clearance?! Should we issue strawberry badges now?!”

The other guard swallowed hard. “He said thank you.”

Jungkook clicked the safety off his gun. “Do I look like I care if he was polite?!”

Behind him, Namjoon cautiously stepped forward, raising a hand to pat Jungkook’s tense back like he was soothing a wild animal.

“Kook… you need to breathe.”

“I AM breathing,” Jungkook hissed, voice low and laced with murder. “I’m breathing and mentally listing every method of chaining that kid to this mansion when I find him.”

Yoongi, slouched against the arm of the couch with a mug of black coffee, didn't even look up. “Right. Because THAT won’t make you sound unhinged.”

“How did we go from ‘find him’ to ‘chain him to the mansion?’” Seokjin asked, blinking, somewhere between horrified and amused.

Hoseok finally lost it, wheezing into his iced coffee. “Okay, no—are we sure he’s not some kind of divine test? Like, from the universe? Because this feels like a prank.”

Yoongi sipped his coffee and muttered dryly, “The prank is on us for letting the final boss of organized crime fall for a human marshmallow.”

Namjoon muttered, “That kid’s gonna be the death of us all.”

Jungkook ran a hand down his face and groaned, “How the fuck did I lose a full-grown man-child wearing an ‘apron’ in my own goddamn fortress?”

The apartment was quiet, too quiet, except for the faint sound of a ticking clock and the ominous clink of a coffee mug being placed just a little too hard on the table.

Jimin was on the couch. He hadn’t slept. His phone sat in his lap, screen dark but constantly checked. The lights were still on. His hoodie was rumpled, his eyes bloodshot.

When the door finally creaked open, slowly, like someone trying to avoid the wrath of a god, it stopped halfway.

Then it slammed shut again. Hard.

A muffled voice came through the door.

“Hyung?” Taehyung called, voice soft and pitiful. “Please don’t kill me. I brought strawberries.”

Silence. A terrifying silence. The kind of pause that feels like the whole world is holding its breath. The kind of pause where someone is clearly calculating how loud they’re allowed to be before the neighbors call security.

And then—

“KIM. TAE. HYUNG.”

Taehyung winced. “Yup. I deserve that.”

The door flung open again.

And then Jimin stood there, arms crossed, mouth trembling between rage and relief, eyes filled with fire and for a split second, Taehyung thought about diving out the window.

But then Jimin just grabbed him.

Hard.

Tugged him into a tight, almost bone-crushing hug that made Taehyung almost drop the damn strawberries.

“You idiot,” Jimin whispered shakily into his shoulder. “You absolute, beautiful, dumbass idiot. I thought you were dead. I filed a MISSING PERSON REPORT,” Jimin shrieked. “I called the POLICE! I called SIX HOSPITALS!”

Taehyung blinked. “You called six—?”

“DO YOU KNOW HOW HARD IT IS TO EXPLAIN TO A DETECTIVE THAT YOUR BEST FRIEND IS SWEET BUT DUMB AND MIGHT’VE BEEN KIDNAPPED BECAUSE HE’S TOO PRETTY?”

“I am pretty,” Taehyung said weakly.

“SHUT UP!”

Taehyung stumbled forward, arms full of his now-slightly-wilted strawberry basket. He set it on the table like it was an offering to a god and held his arms out wide. “Hyung. I survived.”

Jimin’s nostrils flared. “You disappeared! You didn’t answer your phone! You didn’t even come home for dinner!”

“I was shot at.”

“You were—WHAT?!”

“Just a little bit!” Taehyung waved his hands. “Like, the air around me. Not me directly. Mafia things. It’s fine.”

“MA—?!”

“Shhh.” Taehyung walked up and threw his arms around him, crushing Jimin into a bone-melting hug. “I’m okay. I promise.”

Jimin stiffened. Tried to resist. But then his fingers curled into Taehyung’s hoodie and he slumped. “You absolute idiot. I thought I lost you.”

Taehyung’s voice was soft now. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“You’re lucky I didn’t storm that, that hideout or wherever you are, myself.”

“I think there are snipers.”

“I’d outdance them.”

Taehyung chuckled, pulling back just enough to look at Jimin’s face. “I brought strawberries.”

“Oh my god,” Jimin whispered, massaging his forehead. “I will call the police to let them know you’re here now.”

Taehyung suddenly gasped. “Wait. Am I still a missing person? Like… legally?”

“YES. They told me they’d ‘get back to me.’ I will update them now,”

“NOOOOO, I’m gonna keep that status for a little,” Taehyung declared. “Feels spicy.”

Jimin shook his head in disbelief. “You’re grounded.”

“I’m twenty-three.”

“You’re emotionally AND mentally twelve.”

Taehyung held up a strawberry like a peace offering. “Truce?”

Jimin stared at it. Then at Taehyung. Then sighed and plucked the fruit from his hand, biting into it angrily. “…It’s sweet.”

“Like me,” Taehyung said brightly.

Jimin glared. “Say ONE more word and I’m calling the cops again. This time for ‘myself’, because I’ll murder you.”

Taehyung giggled and hugged him again. “Love you, hyung.”

“I hate you,” Jimin grumbled into his shoulder. “So much.”

But he held him tighter than ever.

Chapter Text

The meeting room was silent, too silent.

Namjoon glanced up from the tablet he was reading. Yoongi sipped his coffee with narrowed eyes, brows drawn in. Hoseok was trying not to make eye contact with the furious man pacing back and forth like a storm cloud with legs.

Jungkook's jaw flexed. Again. And again.

His steps were slow and measured, but each one thudded across the polished floor with suppressed rage. He was on his fourth lap from the fireplace to the glass wall when he stopped dead in front of his men.

“All of you,” he barked, voice low and furious, “follow him.”

One of the guards blinked. “Follow who, boss?”

Jungkook’s eyes snapped to him, murderous. “The pastel-wearing, strawberry-hugging human that slipped past your eyes this morning like a freaking ghost. Who do you fucking think?”

The men flinched. “M-Mr. T-Taehyung?”

Yoongi muttered from the couch, “Should’ve used the security drones, like I said. But no, let’s trust the human eyes that didn’t see a bright pink hoodie walking past the north gate.”

“I said follow him,” Jungkook growled. “I want eyes on him 24/7. I don’t care if he’s buying toilet paper or petting a squirrel—I want a full report.”

Hoseok tilted his head. “What if he goes to the bathroom?”

Jungkook shot him a look.

Hoseok held up both hands. “Right, no bathroom reports. Got it.”

Namjoon cleared his throat and finally set down his tablet. “Jungkook, you're seriously going to assign surveillance on the kid? You do realize this is how obsessive stalker subplots start, right?”

“This isn’t some subplot,” Jungkook said coldly, eyes dark. “This is a goddamn war. And now our enemies know Taehyung’s face—they saw him during the ambush.”

That got everyone’s attention. A cold weight settled in the room.

Jungkook ran a hand through his hair, dark strands falling back over his temple. His rage had simmered into something colder—more focused.

“You’ll really want to kidnap him?” Hoseok offered with a dramatic sip of his juice.

Jungkook looked at him. “Yes.”

Yoongi sighed. “We’re really doing this?”

“Of course we’re doing this,” Jungkook snapped. “If anything happens to him, I’m going to burn down the fucking city.”

Hoseok raised his brows. “Someone’s in love~”

Jungkook picked up a coaster and hurled it at him without looking. Hoseok yelped as it bounced off the couch cushion.

“I'm not in love. I’m responsible. He got involved because of me. He deserves to live a normal, safe. That’s it.”

Namjoon smirked knowingly. “Right. And you’ve been scowling at his empty guest room doorway for the past six hours because you’re... ‘responsible.’”

“I AM responsible!” Jungkook shouted, throwing his arms up. “He escaped! Who the hell even escapes a mafia mansion!?”

Yoongi shrugged. “Someone like your Taehyung, apparently.”

“Don’t let me shoot you, Yoongi hyung!”

There was a knock at the door. Everyone froze.

Namjoon glanced toward it, brows furrowing. “Were we expecting someone?”

“No,” Jungkook said tightly, already reaching for the gun holstered beneath his shirt.

Yoongi smoothly set down his mug, pulling a small blade from beneath the couch cushion like it was normal household decor.

Hoseok ducked behind the armchair with a weirdly delighted grin. “Ooooh, mystery knock. Finally, some action.”

The knock came again. Polite. Rhythmic.

Jungkook stalked toward the door like a predator, every step calculated, his jaw clenched so hard it could’ve cracked marble.

The door creaked open—

And there, stood Seokjin, holding a large bowl of freshly sliced mangoes, scandalized.

“Seriously? No one could open the damn door? My hands were full of mangoes! And why the hell does it feel like I just walked into a live-action crime documentary? I left for fruit and came back to a mafia meltdown!”

Jungkook exhaled so hard it was practically a growl. “You knocked.”

“Because I have manners,” Seokjin said, shouldering past him into the room. “Which apparently died a tragic death in this house sometime after 6 a.m.”

He paused, noticing the tension that practically clung to the furniture. “What happened? Why do you all look like you watched Yoongi try to socialize?”

Yoongi raised a brow. “I’m sitting right here.”

“And I’m not wrong,” Seokjin said sweetly, placing the fruit bowl on the table before plopping onto the armrest beside Namjoon. “Now, someone start talking before I start guessing—oh wait, I already know.”

He turned to Jungkook with a bright, infuriating smile.

“This is about Taehyung, isn’t it?”

Jungkook didn’t answer. He was too busy glaring holes into the back of the trembling men, who was currently sweating under the crushing weight of all their sins.

“Jungkook wants the kid tailed,” Yoongi muttered, rubbing his temple like this entire conversation gave him a headache. “Apparently, our enemies saw him during the ambush yesterday.”

Seokjin hummed thoughtfully. “That’s plausible. The kid was in the middle of a live shootout holding a strawberry basket.”

“And now,” Hoseok chimed in cheerfully, “everyone’s under strict orders to keep eyes on Taehyung 24/7—even when he’s buying toilet paper or petting a squirrel, hyung.”

“Oh my GOD,” Seokjin wheezed, covering his mouth to stop a laugh. “Isn’t that a little excessive, Kook-ah?”

Namjoon, seated nearby with a visible stress crease between his brows, pinched the bridge of his nose. “He’s about five minutes away from installing ankle trackers and electrified fences.”

“I ‘will’ do it,” Jungkook said darkly, arms crossed, jaw tight. “He slipped past more than thirty trained guards. Thirty.”

Seokjin patted his shoulder sympathetically. “Well. You’re really bad at babysitting.”

“I’m not babysitting,” Jungkook snapped. “I’m protecting him.”

Seokjin raised an eyebrow. “So let me get this straight—you brought a cinnamon roll into our very illegal, very murdery mafia world—”

“Not on purpose—” Jungkook interjected, voice strained.

Seokjin blinked slowly. “Wow. You’re in so deep.”

Jungkook turned away, grabbing a stress ball off the shelf and violently squeezing it like it owed him money. “I’m not.” he growled again, through clenched teeth.

There was a collective silence. The kind of silence that tasted suspiciously like no one believed him.

Yoongi sipped his coffee. “Sure, you’re not.”

Hoseok hummed a soft tune under his breath. It sounded suspiciously like a wedding march. Jungkook launched the pocket knife at his head. Hoseok ducked and cackled.

Namjoon sighed deeply. “This isn’t a mafia anymore. It’s a daycare for emotionally unstable criminals.”

Hoseok sighed dreamily. “It’s like a tragic love story. Mafia boss and the puppy who ran away with the strawberries.”

Yoongi rolled his eyes. “That sounds like a weird indie film.”

“It sounds like our actual life,” Namjoon muttered.

-

Another day, the morning sun spilled golden light over Bloom & Brew, catching on the windows, the potted plants, and the unapologetically cheerful face of Kim Taehyung, who stood behind the counter, humming to himself as he arranged a tray of freshly baked cookies.

He was back.

He was fine.

He had no idea he had triggered a full-blown mafia surveillance protocol with a security budget bigger than the café's yearly earnings.

Outside the café, behind a suspiciously leafy Ficus that had definitely not been there yesterday, a large man in black tried to crouch lower. He wasn’t exactly inconspicuous, partly because he was built like a refrigerator, and partly because the pot plant he was hiding behind was shaking like it was experiencing a minor earthquake.

Inside the café, another man, this one wearing a baseball cap and oversized sunglasses, sat stiffly at a corner table. He kept whispering into his sleeve and eyeing Taehyung over the top of a menu.

“Sir, are you ready to order?” a Jimin asked.

He panicked. “Thirteen caramel macchiatos.”

“Thir—”

“Fourteen. No—wait, thirteen. Yes. Lucky number.”

Jimin blinked. “You... want thirteen caramel macchiatos?”

“Yes. Extra caramel, please.” the man said like that explained everything.

Meanwhile, a third man had attempted to disguise himself as a delivery driver, but he’d forgotten to bring any actual packages and was currently loitering near the back door, holding a shoebox and pretending to check Google Maps.

Inside, Taehyung wiped his hands on his apron and beamed at Jimin new request. Everything felt peaceful again. He missed the café, the smell of cinnamon, and the way customers smiled at him when he accidentally gave them three extra cookies.

Jimin, however, stood by the counter again after telling Taehyung the thirteen order of Caramel Macchiato with a deepening frown on his face.

Something was off.

Very off.

Too many sunglasses indoors. Too much static on the walkie-talkie he just heard from under someone's jacket.

Then he saw it.

Behind the menu, beneath the hoodie and ridiculous sunglasses, was a VERY familiar jawline.

He squinted.

“...Is that Jungkook-ssi?” he asked out loud.

Taehyung perked up, waving enthusiastically. “Oh! Jungkook-ssi! Hi! Want a cookie?”

At that, the sunglasses man twitched.

Jimin spun around. “He what now?”

The words had barely left his mouth noticing a suspicious man before he stormed toward the trembling plant in the corner.

“You,” he barked.

The ficus rustled.

“I SEE you.”

The leaves parted, revealing a mortified guard who was very much not trained for dealing with irate baristas in oversized cardigans.

“I—uh—we’re just— Hi, Sir.”

Jimin narrowed his eyes. “Just what?”

“Just... protecting him,” the guard squeaked. “Please let us stay, sir. If we lose sight of Taehyung again, the boss said he’d personally shoot us in the knees—both knees.”

“WHO did!?” Jimin demanded, now fully red in the face.

“Boss! Jungkook! Jungkook-ssi! I mean—!”

Jimin turned, fire in his eyes, just as the hoodie-wearing intruder attempted to slink out the door with all the stealth of a panicked alley cat.

“Oh no you don’t,” Jimin growled.

The figure froze mid-step. The café lights caught the glint of his sunglasses, indoors, no less and his jaw ticked as he slowly turned around.

The air seemed to thicken with tension.

Jeon Jungkook. All-black hoodie pulled low, muscles coiled tight beneath layers, expression unreadable. His aura screamed lethal, like he was two seconds away from flipping the café into a battlefield.

“Hi,” he said, voice low and razor-sharp. “Nice… weather.”

Jimin didn’t flinch. “YOU put a tactical team on my best friend?!”

“I was being cautious,” Jungkook said coolly, tone laced with authority.

“He’s selling muffins!” Jimin exploded.

“Someone could poison the muffins.”

From behind the counter, Taehyung chirped, “I don’t think anyone poisoned the muffins, hyung. I taste-tested them all. Twice.”

Jimin stomped forward and jabbed a finger right into Jungkook’s chest, solid muscle beneath layers of menace.

“You assigned three stalkers, plus yourself, to my best friend!”

Jungkook didn’t blink. “Bodyguards.”

Jimin gawked. “You don’t see how creepy that sounds?! He’s a soft, apron-wearing, butterfly-chasing innocent and now he’s being tailed like a cartel informant in a crime docuseries!”

Jungkook’s expression didn’t budge. “He's being protected.”

“By men in trench coats hiding behind potted plants! One of them knocked over a display trying to do a forward roll across the pastry rack! Our customers thought we were being robbed!”

Jungkook’s eyes narrowed. “That wasn’t part of the plan.”

Jimin’s fists balled at his sides. “You want to protect him? Here’s an idea—DON’T drag him into your mafia turf in the first place!”

“I didn’t mean to,” Jungkook said through clenched teeth, the hint of guilt buried deep under his usual glacial calm. “It happened. I’m dealing with it.”

“By throwing him into the middle of a gunfight and then assigning secret agents with zero chill to breathe on his neck while he’s talking to his strawberry?”

“I told them to be discreet.”

“One of them ordered thirteen lattes, Jungkook-ssi. THIRTEEN!”

A long pause.

“…They were decoys,” Jungkook muttered.

Jimin groaned, voice low and dangerous. “You are so lucky there are customers right now and that Taehyung is watching because otherwise I’d be dragging you out back and ‘planting you like a tree’. Alive. No funeral. Just soil and my foot on your face.”

Jungkook arched a brow, voice low and razor-sharp. “Careful, Jimin. Don’t test your luck—I don’t tolerate disrespect, even from you.”

Jimin didn’t flinch. He stepped forward, eyes blazing. “And I don’t tolerate mafia bosses stalking my best friend like it’s some twisted rom-com. Try me, Jeon. I’ve got years of rage, short legs, and zero impulse control.”

Behind the counter, Taehyung peeked up from icing a cupcake, entirely too cheerful. “Do you want a cookie, Jungkook-ssi? I made them extra soft.”

Jungkook’s icy demeanor cracked the moment Taehyung spoke. His gaze shifted, sharp eyes locking onto the boy behind the counter. His voice dropped, low, almost reverent.

“…Yes, please,” he said, like the words weren’t just about cookies anymore.

Jimin looked between the two of them, utterly scandalized.

“I’m leaving now,” Jungkook muttered, grabbing the offered cookie from Taehyung like a defeated criminal and shuffling out the door. “Keep your eyes on the target,” he ordered the guards, who all saluted while clutching coffee cups.

Taehyung waved cheerfully. “Bye, Jungkook-ssi! Come again soon!”

Behind him, Jimin turned back to the counter with the slow, ominous grace of someone about to commit a crime.

Taehyung blinked mid-hum. “...Am I in trouble?”

Jimin let out a long, theatrical sigh before slinging an arm around him and pulling him close.

“No, Tae. You’re not in trouble.” He ruffled Taehyung’s hair with equal parts affection and despair. “You’re just so sweet and oblivious, I swear to God I want to shrink you down, put you in my pocket, and lock us inside for a week. You’re surrounded by caffeine-crazed bodyguards, a literal mob boss who looks at you like you’re sunshine dipped in honey, and an entire mafia surveillance network is now tracking your muffin schedule.”

He exhaled, dramatically.

“I’m the one in trouble. I can feel myself edging closer to a criminal record every time that man breathes near you.”

Chapter Text

The tiny bell above Bloom & Brew’s door gave a cheerful ring as it opened. Cheerful did not suit the grim-faced mafia sniper who stepped in first.

“Why do I feel like I’m walking into a trap?” Yoongi muttered, eyes already scanning exits and wall-mounted cameras.

“Because you are,” Hoseok chirped, sliding in behind him with a grin wide enough to cause suspicion. “A trap of love.”

Yoongi turned his head with murder in his eyes. “I swear to God, if you say that in front of—”

“Welcome to the Bloom and Brew!” a familiar voice.

Jimin had spotted them from behind the counter, his eyes immediately narrowing as he stalked over like a storm front wrapped in a cute apron.

“Oh no,” Yoongi mumbled.

“Well, well, well,” Jimin said, arms crossed and one eyebrow arched. “If it isn’t the tactical duo of Chaos & Disaster. What brings you two here? Checking if the espresso machine’s a threat to national security?”

Hoseok beamed. “I missed you—uh, I mean, we’re doing a full security evaluation per Jungkook’s orders.”

“Oh really? And not just to annoy me?” Jimin’s eyes flicked to Hoseok’s face, annoyed.

Yoongi, caught in the crossfire, cleared his throat. “We’re here to check the security feed links, panic button response time, and surveillance lines.”

Jimin smirked, eyes sliding to Yoongi. “Sure, grandpa.”

Yoongi choked on his own spit.

“I’m 31,” he hissed.

“And you act 81,” Jimin countered sweetly. “Want some ginseng tea to go with your grumpiness?”

Hoseok was already at the counter, pretending to inspect the electrical wiring under the toaster. This would’ve gone fine, except Jimin leaned over the counter to grab a cookie jar, and Hoseok caught the edge of his smile in peripheral vision.

Click.

The toaster sparked ominously.

“Hobi, what the fuck did you touch?” Yoongi hissed, running over.

“NOTHING!” Hoseok said, backing away. “The toaster was unstable! I didn’t do anything! I swear on my Gucci boots!”

Jimin casually unplugged the toaster. “Good thing you guys aren’t on bomb squad duty.”

Meanwhile, from the back of the café, Taehyung came skipping out of the kitchen holding a cookie tin and wearing a handmade sticker on his apron that said ‘Today’s Special: Joy’.

“Oh! Jungkook-ssi! You’re here again!”

Every head turned as the café door closed with a low thud. The mafia boss entered, black coat slicing through the cozy warmth of the café like a blade. His expression was carved from granite, sharp jaw, unreadable eyes, and the kind of presence that made people instinctively straighten their posture and reevaluate their life choices.

The energy in Bloom & Brew plummeted ten degrees.

At table three, a college student froze mid-bite of her croissant, eyes wide over her laptop. Her friend nudged her, whispering, “Do you think he’s from a K-drama or a hit list?”

A mother ushered her toddler closer, eyeing Jungkook’s tattoos with thinly veiled alarm. “Sweetie, let’s color in this corner today. Far, far from the scary man.”

Taehyung, entirely unfazed by the swirling fear and sudden silence, waved at Jungkook with both hands, bright as ever. “You came back! I saved a sticker for you!”

Jungkook paused just inside the door.

His eyes swept the room in one slow, lethal pass, first to Hoseok, who was still suspiciously near a smoking toaster, then to Yoongi, who looked like he’d rather get hit by a car than be associated with anything happening right now.

The customers visibly recoiled as Jungkook's gaze passed over them, some pretending to focus extra hard on their lattes or suddenly finding the floor deeply fascinating.

From behind the counter, Jimin deadpanned, “Could you ‘try’ not to make the café feel like the final scene of a noir thriller?”

Jungkook ignored him.

Taehyung trotted up and peeled a sparkly sticker from the back of his hand, it was a pastel bunny with the glittery words “Less Moody Today!”

With the cheer of someone handing out gold stars at kindergarten, he reached up and pressed it right onto Jungkook’s chest. Directly above his heart.

“There! I think you’ve been really good today.”

Jungkook stared down at the sticker. The room held its breath.

“…Thanks,” he finally said, voice low and gravelly like it had been dragged through fire and threats.

And then, with a quiet deliberateness that somehow made it even scarier, he reached into the inner lining of his coat and tucked the sticker away like it was classified intel.

Table three let out a synchronized gasp. Someone audibly whispered, “He accepted the sticker.”

Behind the counter, Hoseok leaned toward Yoongi and whispered, “He’s keeping it.”

“I know,” Yoongi muttered. “That sticker just got more affection than I’ve received in five years.”

“I will shoot both of you,” Jungkook said darkly, eyes still on Taehyung.

“See?” Hoseok whispered back. “He’s basically flirting.”

-

The warm hum of chatter returned to Bloom & Brew after Jungkook, Tattooed Death God and now Certified Sticker Recipient, tucked himself into a corner booth with a black Americano and a stare that could peel paint off walls.

Taehyung had fluttered back to the counter like a happy sparrow, humming and shaking sprinkles onto cupcakes. Jimin, on the other hand, kept throwing suspicious glares toward Jungkook’s table every time a customer even looked mildly terrified. Hoseok and Yoongi loitered nearby, pretending to check the wiring of a wall-mounted camera that absolutely didn’t need checking.

Jungkook took a slow sip of coffee, eyes narrowed above the rim of the cup.

There. At the back. Near the freaking ‘Ficus.’

Two men had entered ten minutes ago. Nothing unusual on the surface, casual jeans, hoodies, one reading a menu upside down like a tourist in distress. But their hands were too still. No orders placed. No real eye contact. And they hadn’t looked at the pastries once.

Rookie mistake.

Jungkook tapped a finger against his cup once. Then twice.

Yoongi stiffened slightly from where he stood fiddling with the Wi-Fi router. He didn’t look up, but a tiny mic clipped into his hoodie buzzed to life.

“Eyes on Ficus,” Jungkook said softly.

Yoongi tilted his head slightly. “Yeah. They’re not here for the carrot cake.”

Hoseok stepped away from the counter with exaggerated flair, waving at Taehyung like he was off to find a bathroom. As he passed Jungkook’s table, his voice dipped low. “You want them breathing or twitching?”

“Follow,” Jungkook murmured. “Discreetly.”

Then, with a movement too small for anyone else to notice, he reached into his coat, touched the concealed earpiece hooked over his ear, and activated the channel.

“Namjoon. We’ve got a possible recon team. Two men. Back of café.”

A pause. Then Namjoon’s calm voice replied, “Confirm exit route clear. The men’s five minutes out. Do not engage in front of people, Kook.”

Jungkook’s jaw flexed.

From the counter, Taehyung piped up, holding out a spoon. “Jungkook-ssi! Try this. I made the frosting fluffier today. Jimin says it’s illegal levels of good.”

Jungkook stood up.

In a blink, his cold mask dropped back into place. He strode toward the counter with quiet purpose, glancing once, casually toward the men by the Ficus. One of them met his gaze for half a second.

A mistake.

They looked away too quickly.

He was right.

He reached the counter just as Taehyung leaned up on his toes to offer him the spoon. “Come on, just one bite! Don’t make me guilt-trip you.”

Jungkook took the spoon. Tasted it.

Deliberately let his shoulders relax, eyes softening slightly.

“Good,” he said, low and quiet, like a secret.

Taehyung beamed like a sunrise. “I knew it!”

Jimin, meanwhile, narrowed his eyes. He leaned forward and hissed, “Are we being watched right now? Say it now or else I will throw frosting in someone’s face.”

“No,” Jungkook replied smoothly. “Everything’s under control.”

At that moment, the two suspicious men stood abruptly.

Jungkook’s eyes snapped to the glass door. Team Two, three suited men with carefully hidden holsters and blank expressions, were already entering from the side alley.

The two strangers exchanged a glance and then split in opposite directions. Jungkook moved.

In an instant, he was blocking Taehyung and Jimin from view, arm outstretched as though casually leaning on the counter. His entire frame radiated authority, and his voice dropped into pure command.

“Yoongi. East side. Hoseok, alley.”

“On it,” Yoongi muttered, already following one of the men out the front with the grim focus of a bloodhound on a trail.

“Got the alley,” Hoseok chirped.

Taehyung blinked. “Oh. Is this like...a special drill?”

“Just checking something,” Jungkook replied smoothly.

Jimin’s eyes darted between them. “Jungkook—”

“I said it’s under control.”

Jimin’s mouth snapped shut. Even he knew better than to argue with the voice Jungkook was using now, the kind of voice that could silence a riot.

The café had quieted again, but this time it wasn’t from fear. It was the hush of something about to happen.

But then—

One of the suited men from Team Two returned, adjusting his coat. He gave the slightest of nods toward Jungkook as he passed. The target was gone.

“All clear,” Namjoon’s voice said in Jungkook’s ear.

Jungkook slowly let his arm drop, tension draining like a loaded spring easing back into rest.

Jimin stared at him. “What. Just. Happened?”

Taehyung, oblivious as ever, gently patted Jungkook’s sleeve. “Did the frosting help?”

Jungkook glanced down at the sparkle-eyed boy looking up at him with nothing but earnestness.

His voice was softer this time. “Yeah.”

And then, turning back toward the corner booth, Jungkook murmured over the comms, “Double the shift rotation. I want two more stationed outside the café. No slip-ups.”

Taehyung happily returned to frosting cupcakes. Jimin watched him, then glanced at Jungkook, whose gaze had returned to the street beyond the café window, like a wolf watching the tree line.

He wasn’t just playing bodyguard anymore.

Jungkook knew something was coming.

And he would raze the world before letting it touch Taehyung.

-

By the time the black SUV pulled through the towering iron gates of the mafia compound, night had fully cloaked the sky. The vehicle’s headlights cut through the mist that clung to the forested grounds like breath on glass.

Jungkook stepped out first. His coat swept behind him like a shadow with a spine, jaw locked, eyes dead silent. The usually cool air was thick with tension. Yoongi followed without a word, hands jammed into his pockets, and Hoseok slammed the door with just a bit too much force, still high on the adrenaline of nearly losing the ficus runners in the alley.

“They tried to flank the café,” Jungkook muttered, voice low as he walked ahead, already approaching the underground entrance.

“They were recon, no doubt,” Hoseok confirmed. “No weapons drawn, but their movements were off. Hesitant. Like they were tracking patterns.”

“Or waiting for orders,” Yoongi added grimly.

The three of them passed through the secure entrance, past biometric scanners, steel doors, and cameras until the cold concrete swallowed them.

And down they went.

Into the basement.

The interrogation room was windowless, soundproof, and freezing. Harsh fluorescent lights buzzed overhead like impatient wasps. Two men sat restrained in separate metal chairs, wrists bound, faces already bruised from the less-than-polite extraction process.

One of them spat blood onto the floor as Jungkook entered.

Jungkook said nothing at first.

He only stared.

The temperature felt like it dropped five more degrees.

Yoongi stood in the corner, laptop already pulled up, his fingers ghosting over the keys like a concert pianist warming up for a requiem. He took a picture if the captives then proceed to type on his laptop. Hoseok leaned against the wall, one hand on the butt of his pistol, the other twirling a pen that he definitely didn’t need.

The silence stretched, thick and razor-sharp.

Jungkook slowly walked toward the first man. His boots echoed like thunder.

“I asked you one thing,” Jungkook said, voice dangerously soft. “Why were you at the café?”

The man smirked. “It’s a free country.”

Wrong answer.

Jungkook’s fist connected with his jaw in a blink, no preamble, no wind-up. Just violence. The chair scraped across the floor as the captive jerked to the side, blood trailing from his lip.

Yoongi didn’t even look up. “Try not to break his jaw yet. I need his voiceprint if we get into his phone.”

Jungkook grabbed the man by the collar and hauled him back upright. “I’m losing my patience.”

The other captive barked a laugh. “Good. Maybe when you’re done playing big bad wolf, you’ll realize we don’t talk so easy.”

Hoseok stepped forward with a grin that never reached his eyes. “You sure? I once got a man to confess by rearranging his fingers into Morse code.”

“Enough,” Jungkook growled. He turned to Yoongi. “Track their phones. Their families. I want addresses.”

Yoongi’s fingers paused for only a moment. “You want me to…”

“Find them,” Jungkook said darkly. “And send a message.”

Yoongi met his eyes. The room tightened. “Okay, we will send someone personally to send them.” He walk out of the room for a while.

Even Hoseok straightened.

“Good,” Jungkook said. “I’m done playing defense.”

He turned back toward the restrained men, who were now visibly shaken. The one Jungkook hit looked like he’d gone pale.

“You touch the wrong boy,” Jungkook continued, eyes dark with promise. “And you thought you could trail him like he’s just some civilian? You don’t know who you’re dealing with.”

As the door creaked shut behind them, muffling the lingering cries from the basement, Yoongi stepped forward in his usual silent fashion. Without a word, he extended a sleek black tablet toward Jungkook, the screen glowing with encrypted data.

“Their full profiles,” Yoongi said, voice clipped but steady. “Names, aliases, family connections, recent bank transactions, burner phone logs—everything we could scrape so far.”

Jungkook took the tablet without looking at Yoongi, his eyes scanning the display with the cold precision of a man who’d done this too many times. The blue light cast shadows across his sharp features as he flicked through the files, each line of information a thread in a dangerous web. His jaw tightened as he saw one of the names, familiar. Connected to a rival syndicate they thought long since buried.

He didn’t speak, but Yoongi could tell by the way Jungkook’s grip tightened that he was already planning the next move.

“They’re not just scouts,” Yoongi added, tone darker now. “They’re tied to Shin’s secondary branch. Embedded deeper than we thought.”

Jungkook’s gaze never left the screen.

But the fury behind his eyes said everything.

The second man suddenly thrashed against his restraints. “You fucking psycho—leave them out of this! Our families didn’t—!”

Jungkook leaned down until they were face to face. “Then you should’ve thought of that before you walked into my territory.”

The man lunged forward as much as the cuffs allowed, spit flying. “You think you scare us? We’ve seen worse—!”

“You haven’t,” Jungkook whispered, voice like smoke. “But you’re about to.”

He turned to Yoongi. “Start with the older brother. He’s military. Take him out first.”

“Wait—no—NO! Please!” the captive howled.

Cracks were forming.

The desperation spread like panic in a sealed room.

“Then tell me who sent you,” Jungkook snapped, slamming his hands on either side of the chair, rattling metal and bone.

The man whimpered now, eyes wide, but still clenched his jaw. “You’re bluffing—”

“Yoongi,” Jungkook ordered without blinking.

Yoongi tapped a key.

A distant sound played from the laptop—a scream, sharp and gut-wrenching. It was a bluff. Synthesized, pre-recorded, enhanced with the exact tones of someone losing everything.

The man broke.

“Okay! Okay! You’re right, it was the Shin—they’ve been tracking café, trying to find the boy! They think he’s your weakness—!”

Jungkook didn’t move. His silence was louder than the screams.

“I swear, we were just told to watch!” the man sobbed. “Just to track him, report movements—we didn’t know he was someone—someone you cared about—”

Jungkook straightened slowly, the fury simmering beneath his calm mask returning to ice.

“That’s your second mistake,” he said coldly. “Assuming I care.”

He walked away.

But no one in the room believed the words.

Not when his fists were clenched. Not when his jaw trembled with restrained rage. And not when he turned to Hoseok and said, “Clean this up.”

Yoongi closed the laptop.

The screams stopped.

Only silence remained.

Chapter Text

The mansion was quiet.

Too quiet for a man with blood on his hands and chaos still fresh in his veins.

Jungkook stood in the center of his bathroom, the marble floors gleaming beneath the low, golden lights. The air was thick with steam, curling around him like a ghost’s embrace. He had long since peeled off his blood-streaked shirt, the bruises blooming across his knuckles ignored, dismissed. His shoulder ached from the tension but it was nothing compared to the storm in his chest.

He sank into the bath slowly, the hot water lapping up his skin. The scent of lavender, one of Seokjin’s ridiculous calming bath oils, hung in the air, but Jungkook didn’t care. He needed silence. Stillness. Something to drown out the images of shaking captives and the violent rage still lingering under his skin.

But it wasn’t the basement that haunted him.

It was Taehyung.

Wide eyes, soft voice. That ridiculous sticker on his apron. The way he called out “Jungkook-ssi!” like he was a friend dropping by for sugar, not a man who could shoot someone between the eyes without blinking.

Jungkook let his head fall back against the edge of the tub, wet hair clinging to his temples.

What the hell was wrong with him?

He'd dealt with enemies, traitors, spies. He'd buried emotion so deep it forgot how to breathe. And yet—Taehyung had looked at him with a smile so sincere, so unguarded, it had nearly unhinged something inside him.

He didn’t know if it was fascination or madness. Obsession or instinct. He just knew it was dangerous.

And that made it worse.

Jungkook’s fingers curled around the porcelain edge of the tub. The warm water couldn’t wash the weight from his chest.

Taehyung had no idea what world he’d stumbled into. He didn’t know the cost of Jungkook’s protection. He didn’t realize he’d been inches away from death that morning, again.

And somehow... Jungkook wanted to keep it that way.

Wanted to preserve that softness. That light. The way Taehyung hummed behind the counter while decorating cookies like war didn’t exist.

He exhaled slowly, jaw clenched.

Caring was weakness.

But he was starting to anyway.

And God help the next bastard who tried to touch Taehyung, because Jeon Jungkook was done being subtle.

-

Days had passed since the incident at Bloom & Brew. The surveillance team was now tighter. Jungkook had doubled the perimeter checks and rotated guards more frequently than ever. Not that Taehyung noticed, he was too busy naming flowers in the alley and organizing the café napkins by “vibe.”

But today... Jungkook did something drastic.

Jimin barely had one arm in his jacket when it happened.

“I’ll go get the groceries. Be back in—”

Snatch!

Taehyung zipped past the café counter like a sugar-fueled breeze, hijacked the grocery list from the register, and grabbed the neatly folded cash in one smooth motion. The paper list fluttered slightly from his fingers, annotated with adorable drawings of strawberries and tiny hearts beside the word "snack eggs."

“I’ll go!” Taehyung beamed, already halfway to the door. “There’s a flower blooming next to the light post near the store. I HAVE to see if it survived the rain!”

Jimin blinked. “Tae—wait! You can’t go! I’m—”

Too late.

The bell above the café door chimed. The door swung closed.

“—the responsible one,” Jimin muttered, arms still mid-shrug into his jacket. “He took his tote bag too.”

Outside, Taehyung stepped out into the golden morning sun, spring in his step, holding the grocery list like it was a treasure map.

And that’s when the black SUV pulled up.

It purred to a stop with sleek menace, parking neatly across from the café. The aura around it felt like a silent roar, rich, fast, and likely harboring weapons.

Inside the tinted windows, Jungkook was already glaring.

He didn’t miss much, especially not the way Taehyung had slipped out without the assigned guards flanking him. His cold eyes flicked to the two mafia men stationed discreetly near the café's side alley. One of them had been sipping coffee. The other was pretending to read a newspaper upside down.

Useless.

Jungkook slammed the gear into park, stepped out of the SUV like a shadow unfurling, and headed straight across the street.

Taehyung turned just in time.

“Oh! Jungkook-ssi!” Taehyung chirped, his smile blooming the moment he saw him. It was so bright, so blindingly sincere, it made the morning sun look lazy. “You’re here!”

Jungkook stepped out of the SUV like a silent shadow, his long black coat catching the breeze, eyes scanning the street with lethal calculation.

Taehyung, oblivious to the tension behind those dark eyes, bounced on his heels, hugging a rolled-up grocery list to his chest. “I was just about to walk to the store! There’s a flower I want to check on—it’s beside the grocery building, by the light post. I think it might’ve bloomed after the rain!”

Jungkook didn’t look impressed.

“You’re going alone?” he asked, voice low, sharp, and clipped.

Jungkook’s jaw tensed. “Where are your guards?”

“I told them I’m super-fast and they can’t catch me.”

“I will kill them.”

“Okay,” Taehyung chirped. “But then who’ll eat the strawberry tarts when I mess up the recipe?”

Jungkook exhaled through his nose. He wasn’t sure if he was being threatened or teased. Probably both. Definitely both.

“I’m driving you,” he finally said, voice even but leaving no room for argument. “For safety.”

Taehyung didn’t blink. “So... like a date.”

“No.”

“Right. Not a date. A tactical grocery operation involving snack logistics and fruit analysis.”

Jungkook gave him a flat look.

Taehyung beamed. “I have my tote bag!”

They both went inside the SUV, Taehyung fiddled with the seat warmer. His eyes lit up when the button glowed red.

“This is like sitting on toast!” he declared with glee. “Warm toast!”

Jungkook grunted. “Don’t touch things.”

“I’m part of the elite grocery squad now. I deserve toast seats.”

Jungkook didn’t reply. He was too busy scanning the street in his mirrors. Two unmarked cars slowly coasted through traffic behind them—his men, finally catching up to do their jobs.

Taehyung, meanwhile, leaned forward with a gasp. “There’s a turtle crossing sign on that post! Do turtles live here?!”

“Taehyung. Focus.”

“I am. On turtles, I think it’s a turtle. Oh, and discount bell peppers.”

Jungkook briefly closed his eyes. This was going to be chaos.

And yet… he kept driving.

Inside the supermarket, Taehyung took off like a rainbow-blasted comet, tote bag slung over one shoulder and the cart wobbling behind him like it was being held hostage.

Jungkook followed several paces behind, the picture of intimidating silence in his long black coat, sleeves rolled just enough to flash his tattooed forearm. His eyes scanned every corner, subtly assessing exits, suspicious glances, and potential threats, like the man near the frozen peas who lingered just a little too long with a bag of mixed vegetables. Jungkook’s hand ghosted near the holster beneath his coat.

Meanwhile, Taehyung was already at the fruit section, holding a carton of strawberries up to the light like he was inspecting a jewel.

“These remind me of you!” he called.

Jungkook stopped mid-step. “...What.”

Taehyung turned with a bright grin. “Like, if a fruit had a criminal record but still got invited to picnics.”

Jungkook blinked slowly. Once. Twice. “That’s not how analogies work.”

Taehyung spun the cart around and darted toward aisle seven with a squeak of wheels. “Let’s go, my tall criminal shadow. We have gummy bears to acquire!”

Jungkook sighed and followed like a very unwilling and deeply conflicted, bodyguard.

Taehyung, now humming a song that may or may not have been titled Operation Snack War, skidded to a stop at the candy aisle. He grabbed a family-sized pack of gummy bears with triumphant flair.

“These are vital,” he declared.

“For what?”

Taehyung turned and held up a gummy like it was sacred. “Each one is one of you.”

Jungkook stared at him.

“Red is Hoseok-hyung—he’s spicy and laughs like a volcano. Green is Yoongi-hyung because he’s moody but soft inside. Orange is Namjoon-hyung, because his hair was that color last month. Yellow is Seokjin-hyung—because he’s sunshiney and screams dramatically when the soup boils over. And blue... is you.”

Jungkook’s brow furrowed. “There’s no blue gummy bear.”

Taehyung beamed, unbothered. “Exactly. You’re the flavor that doesn’t exist. Mysterious. Rare. Also terrifying. Like, ‘oh no, he’s here to kill me but wow, thighs.’”

Jungkook dragged a hand down his face. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

“But an aesthetic death, right?” Taehyung chirped, already dumping marshmallows and three unnecessary jars of honey into the cart. “We can do a forest theme.”

Jungkook said nothing.

But he did reach over and take the cart handle from Taehyung, easily pushing it with one hand like it weighed nothing at all, despite the fact that Taehyung had just added an industrial-sized bag of rice and something sparkly “for ambiance.”

If Taehyung noticed that his intimidating mafia bodyguard was now personally chaperoning his snack adventure like a reluctant boyfriend in a black-and-white commercial, he didn’t say anything.

But he did look up once and smile so wide, Jungkook had to look away.

Just for a second. So, his heart wouldn’t give him away.

At Checkout Taehyung tried to carry the bags.

He really did.

But Jungkook scooped them all up like it was nothing, stacking six bulging bags on each arm like he was in a grocery-based Olympic event.

Taehyung’s eyes went wide. “You’re like a sexy pack mule.”

The old woman at checkout dropped her change. Jungkook’s soul briefly left his body.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Okay,” Taehyung grinned. “What about Grocery Daddy?”

“Taehyung.”

“Grocerkook?”

“You’re making it worse.”

Back at the Café Entrance, Jungkook set the bags down on the steps. Taehyung looked up at him, head tilted like a curious puppy.

“This was fun,” he said, smiling so brightly it could blind a sniper. “Next time, we should go buy socks.”

Jungkook grunted. “I’m not your shopping buddy.”

"But you looked like you were totally enjoying our little grocery adventure."

Jungkook's jaw clenched. “You’re imagining things.”

Taehyung beamed. “Don’t deny it!” Then he leaned in. Kissed Jungkook’s cheek. Soft. Sweet. Gummy bear-scented.

“Thanks, Jungkook-ssi. I feel really safe with you.”

And just like that, with a cheerful wave and the soft jingle of the café doorbell, Taehyung skipped back inside, curls bouncing, leaving behind the most feared mafia boss in the country standing frozen on the café steps. Jungkook’s cheek still burned from the unexpected kiss, his hands useless at his sides, and his dignity? Scattered somewhere between the flowerpot and the front door.

Chapter Text

The air inside the weapons vault was thick with gun oil and tension. Stainless steel crates lined the reinforced walls, rifles gleaming under sterile overhead lights, each one tagged, serialized, and deadly. A long steel table stretched through the middle of the room, littered with tactical blueprints, suppressor parts, and open crates of ammunition. The scent of metal and cold stone settled deep in the lungs.

But Jeon Jungkook wasn’t focused on the arsenal in front of him.

He sat at the head of the table, black-gloved fingers drumming slowly against the surface. A red folder lay unopened before him, an intel packet he should’ve already memorized.

But his mind refused to let go of one single, infuriating phrase.

‘Grocery daddy.’

What did that even mean? Why did it echo in his head like gunfire?

“Jeon,” came a gruff voice, snapping him back.

Across from him stood Sergei Makarov, broad-shouldered, thick-bearded, and wearing a bulletproof vest more out of ego than necessity. His gloved hand slammed a thick black binder onto the table. “You look tired. Maybe your boys make you soft now? Not focused. Not sharp.”

Jungkook’s eyes flicked up, cold and unreadable. “Choose your next words carefully.”

Sergei smirked. “I am just saying. Maybe the brat with flowers makes your trigger finger slow.”

There was a quiet shift in the room.

Yoongi, leaned against a nearby wall with eyes glued to the security monitors, stilled his typing. Hoseok, arms crossed, raised a brow but said nothing, for now.

Jungkook’s chair creaked as he leaned forward, every movement deliberate. His voice dropped, flat and low. “You’ve been given access to my compound. You sell under my name. And you’re three seconds away from eating your own teeth.”

Sergei laughed, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Don’t be so sensitive, Jeon. We do business, yes? I bring you beautiful toys.” He opened the binder with a dramatic flick, revealing blueprints for a modified grenade launcher system. “Belgian design. Very clean. Five-unit set. But price goes up now. Shortage.”

“Convenient timing,” Jungkook said coolly. “Last week, it was a customs delay. Week before that, an ‘accidental warehouse fire.’ I’m starting to think your weapons are as fictional as your loyalty.”

The room dropped into tense silence.

Sergei’s expression hardened. “Are you accusing me of deception?”

“I’m stating a fact,” Jungkook replied, tone sharpened with steel. “You’ve pulled this stunt before—with the Turkish suppressors. I paid full. You delivered half. Try that again, and I’ll deliver your jaw in a lunchbox.”

Sergei stepped closer to the table, face inches from Jungkook’s. “You talk big for someone playing house with barista.”

Jungkook’s hand slid beneath his coat. Not hurried. Not panicked. Just efficient. His fingers curled around the grip of the Glock holstered at his ribs.

Yoongi looked up from the monitors now. “Boss,” he warned lowly, “We got eyes in here. Thirty seconds ‘til the backup feed loops again.”

Jungkook didn’t look away from Sergei. “Twenty’s all I need.”

Hoseok stepped forward, voice smooth and deceptively cheerful. “Or... we could all take a breath and remember this is a weapons deal, not a gladiator match. Unless you ‘really’ want to find out how fast Jungkook can redecorate this room with your blood.”

Sergei stared a beat longer, nostrils flaring. Then he stepped back, laughing with empty bravado. “Very well. You are still fun to deal with, Jeon. I give you discount. One-time offer.”

Jungkook leaned back in his chair, eyes never leaving Sergei. “You’ll give me the agreed shipment. No price hike. No delay. Or the next discount will be your funeral.”

Sergei’s jaw clenched, but he nodded once.

Yoongi’s voice cut in, sharp. “Footage loop started. We’re clear.”

Jungkook stood, ignoring the binder entirely. “Deal’s done. Hoseok will see you out.”

Hoseok clapped his hands together like a bored host at a party. “Come on, Sergey-boy. Let’s not make this awkward.”

As Sergei left the vault with Hoseok, grumbling curses in Russian, Yoongi crossed the room to Jungkook’s side.

“You okay?” the hacker asked, tone quieter now.

Jungkook stared down at the red folder he still hadn’t opened. He tapped it once with two fingers. “He mentioned Taehyung.”

“Yeah,” Yoongi muttered, “I caught that.”

“He shouldn’t know his name. Or the café.” Jungkook’s brow furrowed. “I want surveillance cross-checked. I want to know who’s talking and why.”

Yoongi nodded. “Already on it.”

Jungkook clenched his jaw and finally opened the folder, though the words still blurred with unwanted thoughts. Taehyung’s smile. His voice. The way he had blinked up at Jungkook with that frustratingly innocent, devastatingly genuine sweetness.

It was getting harder to separate the mafia king from the man who’d accepted a box of strawberry-flavored Pocky like it was a wedding gift.

He didn’t know what was worse, caring about someone again, or realizing that someone might already be a target.

Either way, his hands curled into fists, and he made a silent vow.

‘Anyone who touched Taehyung would bleed. Slowly.’

Jungkook spoke, voice low, clipped, lethal.

“Yoongi.”

The hacker turned from his monitors without hesitation. “I’m listening.”

“I want surveillance on Sergei’s every movement. Use the backchannel trackers we slipped into the last shipment crates. No contact. No alarms. Just watch.”

Yoongi’s eyes narrowed. “You want eyes or a clean-up team?”

Jungkook didn’t blink. “Both.”

Across the room, Namjoon had just stepped in. His sharp mind, already absorbing the atmosphere, didn’t need details. Just Jungkook’s tone.

Namjoon stepped closer, arms crossed. “Confirming—are we talking containment… or full dismantling?”

“Dismantle.” Jungkook turned, slowly removing his gloves, fingers flexing like they craved a throat to crush. “Quiet. Subtle. No mess that can be traced back. Strip his channels bare. Bank accounts. Arms warehouses. Supply routes. Start with his men in Busan. Take them out one by one. Make it look like rival hits.”

“Understood,” Yoongi said grimly. “You want any survivors?”

“Just one,” Jungkook replied coldly. “I want him paranoid. I want him looking over his shoulder so hard he forgets what sleep feels like.”

He grabbed his black coat from the back of the chair, shoulders tight with control as he threw it on. “When he’s completely alone—no money, no crew, no safehouse left—you tell me.”

Yoongi nodded. “And then?”

“Then I’ll put a bullet in him myself.”

No one questioned him.

Not Namjoon, who merely turned and began composing encrypted messages to trusted units. Not Yoongi, who was already pulling satellite feeds and cracking into Sergei’s account shells. And not Hoseok, who returned from escorting the arms dealer, caught the atmosphere in a second, and quietly muttered, “Guess he crossed the last line.”

Jungkook didn’t answer.

Because he was already walking out.

Later in Bloom & Brew. The black Maserati eased into a side street off the main café strip, engine humming low and predatory.

From behind the tinted windshield, Jungkook scanned the area like a hunter, his eyes sharp, movements precise. He noted every pedestrian. Every parked vehicle. The reflection of a camera lens in a second-story window. The suspicious tilt of a trash bin too far from the curb.

It was muscle memory now. This neighborhood, this café, this boy, it had become territory.

And protecting it wasn’t optional anymore.

He stepped out of the car.

The moment his boots hit the pavement, he loosened the tension in his shoulders, slipping on a more civilian mask. But the adrenaline from the vault still simmered beneath his skin, coiled and deadly.

The bell above Bloom & Brew jingled softly as Jungkook stepped in, the door swinging shut behind him with a final, quiet click.

He moved like a shadow, silent, sharp, eyes sweeping the room with precise calculation. The soft aroma of roasted beans and cinnamon sugar wafted through the air, mingling with something warm and buttery fresh from the oven. A radio hummed softly behind the counter, and someone laughed near a corner table.

Too quiet. Too easy. Too open.

He scanned the reflection on the espresso machine, noted the odd angle of a potted plant in the window, the subtle shift of a man reading a newspaper with a little too much focus. His hand twitched near the inside of his coat, where the weight of his Glock was a familiar comfort.

Then—

“Jungkook-ssi!”

Taehyung’s voice rang out like sunlight breaking through tension.

The younger’s fluffy brown hair was half-covered in powdered sugar. He had flour on his apron, one sock higher than the other, and his entire body practically vibrated with cheerfulness as he popped up from behind the counter, holding a tray of heart-shaped puff pastries like it was a national treasure.

“You came back!” he beamed. “Did you want a muffin this time? Or… tactical cookie reinforcements?”

Jungkook blinked.

“…What?”

Taehyung held up a cookie decorated like a little strawberry grenade. “You know, for battle. Sugar explosion. Very effective.”

Jungkook’s lips pressed into a tight line, barely containing the sigh that threatened to escape. “Coffee,” he said. “Black.”

Taehyung visibly grimaced. “Ugh, right. The one that tastes like burnt sadness.”

“It’s espresso. Double shot.”

“It tastes like betrayal,” Taehyung muttered, already preparing it. “How are you not dead inside drinking this every day?”

Jungkook didn’t answer. He was busy checking the exit angles behind the pastry shelves and the visibility from the window booths. Subtle, practiced movements. He circled behind a mother and her toddler, noting how the father adjusted his phone camera, too slow. Too deliberate. His jaw tightened.

Behind the counter, Taehyung poured the coffee with exaggerated caution, like he was handling biohazardous material. “I don’t know how you survive without cream. Or sugar.”

“I like it bitter,” Jungkook muttered, eyes briefly landing on the boy’s face.

Taehyung turned with the mug, carefully placing it on the counter with a smile. “You say that like it’s a personality trait.”

He had whipped cream on his cheek. Again.

Jungkook didn’t move. Just stared. Thought about Sergei’s words. About the Shins. Thought about how this boy, this strange, literal, too-honest boy—could be standing in the middle of his world so unaware, so exposed, so… alive.

Too alive.

He forced himself to speak. “Security check.”

Taehyung tilted his head. “Again?”

“Yes.”

“You sure you’re not secretly a ghostbuster or something? Because you check this place like you’re hunting invisible ghost.”

Jungkook took a seat at the corner table, back against the wall. “You have no idea.”

Taehyung blinked. “Should I get salt? I saw that in a movie once. They poured it in a circle.”

Jungkook dragged a hand down his face.

‘God help him.’ The kid was going to be the end of him.
And yet…

He sipped the coffee, dark and bitter like the things he never said, eyes locked on the doorway, and then, just briefly, on Taehyung. Who was now arguing with the espresso machine because it hissed at him like “a rude little dragon.”

Jungkook should’ve been focused. The city was on edge. Rival gangs were making moves. His orders to dismantle Sergei’s network were already in play.

But all he could hear was Taehyung asking, “Do muffins count as tactical gear?” and getting frosting on his nose again.

He was going to lose his damn mind.

And the worst part?

He didn’t mind at all.

The kitchen door swung open with a bang, and Park Jimin emerged in a cloud of warm steam, balancing a tray of golden, fresh-from-the-oven scones.

He halted mid-step.

Eyes locked on Jungkook.

And narrowed like a cat spotting a laser pointer.

“Oh, you again,” Jimin said, the words practically frosted with suspicion. “Is there a mafia meeting in table three, or are you here to just to annoy me?”

Jungkook raised an eyebrow, completely unfazed.

“I’m here for coffee,” Jungkook deadpanned.

Jimin crossed his arms, gaze sharp. “You’re drinking that again?” He pointed at the jet-black liquid now in front of Jungkook. “Does your soul drink it with you or just dissolve completely?”

Taehyung leaned in to whisper—loudly—“It’s so bitter, I think it burned the air. I tried it once and almost ascended.”

Jungkook didn’t respond. He was too busy watching the way Taehyung leaned over the counter, eyes crinkling with laughter, a smudge of flour dusting the tip of his nose like soft, accidental decoration. He looked like warmth wrapped in sunlight, like something fragile and fleeting that Jungkook didn’t know how to hold but couldn’t stop staring at.

He looked like peace.

And Jungkook had no idea what to do with that.

He swallowed hard, trying to drown the knot in his throat with a sip of his bitter coffee. The heat scalded his tongue, but he barely flinched.

“Still tastes like gravel and regret,” Jimin muttered, setting down a tray of scones with a pointed glance.

“And yet he still drinks it,” Taehyung added, genuinely puzzled, head tilted in that soft, curious way he always did when something didn’t make sense to him.

Jungkook’s jaw flexed. “I like it because it’s efficient.”

“Sure,” Jimin said, voice dripping with amusement. “Just like how you efficiently show up here three times a week to see Taehyung.”

Jungkook froze. His grip on the mug tightened slightly, but he didn’t speak.

Taehyung blinked, turning to him, wide-eyed. “Wait… do you?”

The question hung in the air like static.

Jungkook looked away, jaw clenched, heart thrumming in his chest like an alarm he didn’t know how to silence.

Taehyung stared for a beat longer. Then a quiet flutter stirred in his chest, light and warm, like the wings of something he didn’t yet have a name for. He felt it in his stomach too, a soft swirl that wasn’t coffee or sugar, but something sweeter. Something dangerous.

Jimin, ever the predator with a smirk, arched a brow at Jungkook and leaned in like a victorious cat. “Gotcha.”

Chapter Text

The café was quiet in the late afternoon light, golden rays spilling through the windows like honey, warming the counters and glinting off the tops of clean espresso machines. Taehyung stood near the bathroom door, holding two candles in each hand, brow furrowed in serious debate.

Lavender or sandalwood?

This was no ordinary decision, it was about ambiance. Vibes. Aura. Bathroom identity.

He stared at both candles, then pulled out his phone.

There was only one person who, for some strange reason, made him think of sandalwood. And since Jimin was busy in the kitchen humming along to an old pop song while whipping meringue, Taehyung made the executive decision.

He dialed Jungkook's number.

He scrolled through his contacts with a hum, thumb pausing over the name he’d saved weeks ago after a single, weirdly intense midnight call, “Mister Growly 💀☕️”.

FLASHBACK two weeks ago.

Upstairs at Bloom & Brew, the lights were dim, the window cracked open to let in the cool evening breeze, and Taehyung was in the middle of an important ritual, arguing with his pajama shirt.

"Why are there so many buttons?" he muttered, battling the last one like it personally betrayed him.

He’d just flopped onto his bed in a pile of sleepy triumph when his phone buzzed. Unknown number.

He stared at it.

“Oh! Maybe it’s the giveaway entry for the scented bread lamp,” he said to himself, then answered without hesitation.

“Hello! This is Kim Taehyung—future bread lamp winner and current pajama conqueror. Who’s this?”

There was silence. A slow, long inhale on the other end.

Then, “…Why are you announcing yourself that?”

Taehyung blinked. Sat up straighter. “Wait. Wait. I know that growly tone!”

“…What.”

“Jungkook-ssi! Helloooo”

A pause.

“Hello yourself.” Jungkook muttered, clearly regretting every life choice that led to him calling. “You answered a random number without even checking—what if I was a scammer?”

“Well, if you were, at least I’d have company while being scammed,” Taehyung replied brightly. “Also, are you calling, did you forget some cookies? I sound cute on the phone, don’t I?”

There was a low groan. “I’m hanging up.”

“No! No wait! I already mentally committed to this call. I even sat up for it.”

“Taehyung.”

“Yes, Jungkook-ssi~?” he sing-songed, rolling onto his stomach with a goofy grin.

Jungkook was silent for a beat. Then, voice quieter, rough around the edges.

“…Just checking if you're safe.”

Taehyung’s grin faltered—for a moment. His heart did something strange and fluttery.

“Oh.” He beamed. “Well, that’s very sweet for someone who scowls like a thundercloud. I am safe. Jimin-hyung is in the living room snacking on leftover chicken and some soju and judging reality TV. Also, I didn’t know you had my number.”

“I didn’t ask for it,” Jungkook said flatly. “I just have it.”

Taehyung tilted his head. “That sounds illegal.”

“It is.”

Taehyung smiled wider. “That sounds cool.”

“…I’m hanging up now.”

“You can. But now you’re saved as Mister Growly in my phone,” Taehyung added proudly, “with a skull emoji. And a coffee cup. You’re very on-brand.”

Jungkook muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “Why did I call.”

But he didn’t hang up.

Not for another five minutes, during which Taehyung told him about his cactus (his name was Bean), a dream he had about a muffin mafia, and how he wasn’t sure if cinnamon was a spice or a lifestyle.

And Jungkook just…listened.

Back to Present day. The phone buzzed again.

Jungkook was in the middle of loading his handgun when the screen lit up with a single word,

Strawberry

He stared at it. A slow throb pulsed behind his temple. Why was his heartbeat suddenly aware of gravity?

He answered it, voice gruff and flat. “What happened? Are you okay?”

Taehyung’s voice came through like birdsong wrapped in sugar. “Oh—yes, totally fine! But this is very urgent.”

Jungkook stood straighter, ready for a threat.

“Do you prefer lavender or sandalwood for the café bathroom candle?”

A beat.

“What.”

“It’s for the vibe, you know? Lavender’s all soft and calming—like a nap in flower form. But sandalwood’s warm and kind of mysterious… like you. Just, you know, less likely to glower at people.”

Jungkook pressed his hand to his forehead. “You called me. For candle vibes.”

“Yes!” Taehyung chirped. “I trust your scent judgment.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“You drink coffee that tastes like firewood and mistakes, and yet here I am.”

Jungkook opened his mouth. Closed it.

Sighed.

And said, “Sandalwood.”

Taehyung made a pleased sound that Jungkook wanted to keep in a glass bottle and protect forever.

“Excellent choice. You’re definitely a sandalwood. Like… intense, but cozy. Scary and soft.”

Jungkook had faced down death more times than he could count, but nothing had prepared him for Taehyung’s chaotic poetry.

“I’ll be there in ten minutes,” he said before he could stop himself.

There was a small pause. “Wait—what?”

Click.

This time, Jungkook hung up.

20 minutes later, the door jingled and a cold gust of wind swept in as Jeon Jungkook walked in, dressed in black, looking like a hitman who’d gotten lost in a pastel bakery.

Namjoon followed Jungkook into the café, clutching a tablet in one hand and a half-buttoned coat in the other.

“I only came because I wanted coffee,” he muttered. “Didn’t realize we were all just casually moving headquarters to a bakery.”

“I didn’t ask you to come,” Jungkook replied, scanning the café’s interior with silent intensity.

Across the room, Taehyung popped up from behind the counter like an excited meerkat. His face lit up immediately.

“You came for the candle decision in person! That’s real dedication.”

Namjoon blinked. “Candle?”

Before Jungkook could respond, a loud crash came from the far corner of the room.

Yoongi and Hoseok were both somehow seated in the same booth, bickering over a laptop screen, elbows jabbing, knees knocking. Yoongi had a death grip on his third espresso. Hoseok had a sugar packet in one hand and an expression that promised violence—or flirting. Possibly both.

“Stop hacking like you’re defusing a bomb,” Hoseok said, “you’re shaking the entire table.”

“Then go away from my table,” Yoongi snapped back.

Jimin, emerging from the kitchen with a tray of cupcakes, halted at the sight of all of them and let out a sound between a sigh and a growl.

“Why are you all here? Again?” he asked, eyes darting from Hoseok to Yoongi to Jungkook, who was just now stepping fully into the café like some dark, brooding omen.

Jungkook didn’t answer, gaze still scanning every corner like he was expecting a sniper behind the napkin dispenser.

“I’m here for a coffee. Ice Americano, please.” Namjoon says politely, dimples showing.

“Mm-hmm,” Jimin said flatly. “And the three lattes and cinnamon roll Yoongi ordered are for surveillance too?”

Taehyung was still smiling, eyes locked on Jungkook. “Do you want to smell the samples again? I made little scent cards—lavender, sandalwood, and I added cinnamon.”

Yoongi didn’t look up, mumbled. “He’s so whipped it’s embarrassing.”

Hoseok leaned back in his stool, grinning. “He almost smiled walking in here. I saw his cheek twitch.”

Jungkook didn’t dignify the “cheek twitch” accusation with a response, mostly because Hoseok wasn’t wrong. He just slid into a seat at the corner table that gave him full view of the entrance, the windows, and most importantly, the counter where Taehyung stood like a walking sunbeam holding a tray of scent cards and a cookie sample.

Namjoon sat across from him, calmly waiting for his iced Americano like this was the designated mafia conference room.

“I counted six of our men,” Namjoon murmured, not looking up from the tablet he was scrolling through. “Two by the window pretending to read books, one near the pastry shelf fake-eating a croissant, and the rest scattered around like confused hipsters.”

“Seven,” Yoongi corrected without lifting his eyes from his laptop. “There’s a new guy by the ficus. Bad wig. I’m offended.”

“I know he’s one of yours,” Jimin muttered, dropping off Namjoon’s drink with a clink.

Hoseok snorted into his coffee.

“Why are they even in here? This is a café, not a bunker,” Jimin continued, hands on hips, glaring at each fake customer like he could banish them with the power of pastry-based judgment.

“It is a café,” Taehyung chimed in cheerfully, completely oblivious, as he passed by with a plate of brownies and a little mint leaf on top. “And the ficus guy tipped me two whole dollars!”

Yoongi made a sound like a dying computer. “God, he’s too pure for this planet.”

Taehyung leaned across the table toward Jungkook, holding out one of the scent cards with both hands like a peace offering. “Smell this one. I think it’s my favorite.”

Jungkook blinked. Took the card. Sniffed. Immediately regretted breathing—because the scent was warm and sweet and Taehyung was close enough for Jungkook to see flour still clinging to his eyelashes.

“Cinnamon,” Taehyung announced, beaming. “It’s a little spicy but not the angry spicy. The nice spicy. You know, under all that... brooding eyebrow energy.”

Jungkook choked slightly. Namjoon pretended not to hear.

Across the room, Hoseok leaned toward Jimin with a smirk. “Bet you ten bucks he takes the cinnamon one.”

Jimin rolled his eyes. “He already did. I saw him pocket it.”

Yoongi reached out, snatched Hoseok’s latte. “You’re all insufferable.”

Just then, a quiet ping echoed from Namjoon’s tablet. His dimple disappeared.

“Jungkook,” he said quietly, tone shifting. “Movement near the alley behind the bookstore. Two men casing the shop.”

Jungkook’s jaw clenched.

In that moment, it didn’t matter that the café smelled like cinnamon sugar and fresh espresso. Didn’t matter that Taehyung was still humming softly behind the counter, pouring latte art like he was painting with milk clouds.

Jungkook’s world sharpened.

“They’re getting closer,” Namjoon continued. “They’re testing our perimeters.”

“Let them,” Jungkook said, voice low. “We’ll remind them who owns this street.”

Across the café, Taehyung turned toward him again, waving a candle tin above his head. “Jungkook-ssi! This one smells like marshmallows! Want to sniff?”

Jungkook blinked. The tension in his jaw eased—just slightly. He exhaled, long and slow.

Then he stood, walked over, and took the candle from Taehyung’s hands with quiet precision.

He sniffed. Paused. Nodded once.

Taehyung’s face lit up like sunrise. “You like it?”

“It’s acceptable.”

Yoongi groaned from across the room. “He’s so far gone, it’s hilarious.”

Jimin tossed a towel over his shoulder. “Tell me about it. You are holding a mafia strategy meeting between cupcakes and scented candles.”

“And that,” Hoseok added brightly, “is exactly how I want to die.”

-

The morning air outside Bloom & Brew was unusually crisp for spring, sunlight dusting the sidewalks in soft gold. Taehyung, sleeves rolled up, hummed quietly as he stepped outside with a tote bag slung over his shoulder, headed for the small grocery shop two blocks down. The bakery supplies had run low again, vanilla beans, oat milk, and those overpriced organic lemons he insisted made all the difference.

He didn’t notice the man in the corner booth stand and slip out the door behind him.

Nor did he clock the woman pretending to take photos of a flower cart but subtly adjusting her jacket sleeve to reveal a transmitter.

He just walked, cheerful and gentle, oblivious to how many shadows twisted after him.

Back inside the café, Jimin wiped the counter with unnecessary aggression, glancing out the front window for the third time in a minute. “He left again without telling me. That boy has the survival instincts of a napkin.”

But outside… someone was definitely trying.

Across the street, a black car had been idling for ten minutes too long. A man in a grey jacket leaned against the hood, sunglasses perched low. He wasn’t there for coffee or tulips. He was there for a photo, one target.

Kim Taehyung.

Jungkook had ordered it clear as glass. ‘If anyone gets close, they don’t walk away.’

The black car hadn’t been parked for more than ten seconds.

No lights. No sound. Just the hum of the engine and the soft whirr of tinted windows lowering a fraction, enough for a man in the front passenger seat to murmur into a comm.

Across the street, Taehyung stood at a fruit stand, gently cradling two apples in his palms as if they were fragile eggs. Sunlight curled through his honey-brown hair, catching on the edge of his cheekbone like a painting that had wandered into reality.

“Do you think this one looks more thoughtful?” he asked the fruit vendor, brows creased. “This one’s got a sort of… tragic backstory.”

The vendor didn’t answer.

He wasn’t a vendor. It was one of Jungkook's men.

His left hand was already hovering over the small pistol holstered beneath the counter. His eyes, hidden behind mirrored aviators, weren’t on the apples.

They were locked on the man in the grey jacket. The one closing in. Fast.

The grey-jacketed man moved with uncanny calm, a predator in disguise. He didn’t hesitate, he aimed directly for Taehyung’s back, one hand slipping into his pocket to retrieve a folded cloth. The other was already stretching out to clasp the barista’s arm.

Just a few more steps.

Closer.

Closer—

And then bam.

A blur in khaki intercepted the man like a battering ram, slamming into him with such force that both bodies staggered into the side of a parked bike, the impact sharp and loud.

Taehyung glanced up in surprise, blinking at the commotion.

“Oh—oh my, are you two okay?”

Neither of the men responded.

Because the man in khaki had already wrenched the attacker’s wrist back at an unnatural angle, disarming him of a concealed blade with practiced, brutal efficiency. The cloth meant to muffle screams fluttered to the ground like a discarded petal.

The attacker gasped, choked on it.

“Wrong neighborhood,” the khaki man hissed into his ear, before shoving him down hard.

A second figure darted from a nearby alley. Another assailant, trying to recover the mission but he barely made it two steps before someone from the rooftop opened comms.

“Engage,” someone said in the earpiece, cold and clear into the mic. “Targets moving. Eliminate the tail.”

On the rooftop, two snipers adjusted their aim. No need to fire, yet. Not when the enemy was retreating.

Not when two motorbikes from Jungkook’s crew screamed out of hiding, chasing the black car as it peeled away, tires shrieking.

Taehyung turned back to the vendor, holding up the apple again. “This one’s smiling, don’t you think? He’s been through a lot but he made peace with it.”

The vendor exhaled shakily, nodding. “Very... resilient apple, sir.”

Across the street, a third man was already being dragged into a service alley, unconscious, courtesy of a backhand strike from a man with a beard and tattoos who’d been pretending to drink coffee on a bench.

None of the passersby noticed.

And neither did Taehyung.

Not the car, not the cloth, not the man who nearly vanished him in broad daylight.

He was too busy wondering if cinnamon would pair well with tart apples or if he should ask Jimin to experiment.

-

The business meeting had gone well.

Jungkook had secured three arms deals, one silent auction agreement, and threatened a Tokyo syndicate leader over a glass of aged scotch.

All before noon.

He and Namjoon walked into the mansion side by side, Hoseok behind them still bickering over cinnamon roll logistics when one of Jungkook’s men approached with grim urgency.

“Boss.”

The voice cut through the corridor like a blade.

Jungkook paused mid-step, the low hum of post-meeting chatter dying instantly. The tone wasn’t casual. It wasn’t routine. It was the kind of tone his men only used when blood had almost been spilled.

He turned slowly.

The guard approaching was one of his elite, sharp-eyed, steel-backed, and never one to rattle. But even he looked tight-jawed as he halted, nodding once in silent respect before lowering his voice.

“We’ve received a report from the surveillance team stationed at Bloom & Brew.”

Jungkook’s posture didn’t change, but something in the air around him dropped ten degrees colder.

The guard’s next words were clipped. Deadly serious.

“There was an attempt. On Mr. Kim Taehyung. While you were out.”

Silence.

For a fraction of a second, time fractured around Jungkook. He didn’t breathe. Didn’t blink. His entire body stilled, every sense locked and sharpened like the trigger of a loaded gun.

“…Define attempt,” Jungkook said, voice low and lethal.

The guard stood straighter but can still see that he’s slightly trembling at the scary tone of his boss used, delivering the report like facts in a war briefing. “One hostile. Approached the target while he was outside. They armed. Attempted abduction using a sedative-soaked cloth. Black vehicle stationed for extraction. The move was clean, Russian precision. Possibly a Makarov or Shin-linked operation.”

“And Taehyung?” Jungkook’s voice was dangerously quiet, almost too calm.

“Safe. Now back at Bloom & Brew. The Guard rotation is increased. Four additional units shadowing. He was unaware, sir.”

Jungkook’s jaw clenched. The cords in his neck shifted like piano wire.

“And the one who tried?”

“Captured. He’s alive, Sir. In our custody. Currently restrained in Sublevel 3.”

The air vibrated with something volatile, rage in its purest form. Not loud. Not explosive. But cold, calculating, and on the edge of eruption.

Jungkook turned, black coat flaring at his heels like a drawn curtain.

“Elevator,” he snapped. “Now.”

Namjoon exchanged a look with Hoseok. “That’s the same pattern we saw in the Helsinki files,” he muttered, already rolling up his sleeves. “Too surgical to be a freelancer.”

Hoseok let out a low whistle, following behind. “Someone just bought themselves a front-row seat to hell.”

Jungkook said nothing as he stepped into the elevator.

But the light in his eyes promised only one thing:

No one touches what’s his and walks away breathing.

Chapter Text

Sublevel 3 of the compound was soundproofed. No screams made it to the marble halls above. No begging slipped through its concrete walls. It was built for a single purpose, to remind anyone who dared challenge Jeon Jungkook that mercy was not a language he spoke.

The metal door groaned open.

Jungkook stepped in like a storm, silent, coiled, lethal. His black coat was gone, replaced with a fitted tactical shirt that clung to his frame like second skin, sleeves pushed up to his elbows. His left shoulder twitched—barely, where a bullet scar had long since healed.

His jaw was stone. His eyes? Dark and deadly.

The man strapped to the reinforced chair didn’t look so composed. Blood matted his hair. His lip was split. Dried crimson trailed down the side of his neck from where one of Jungkook’s guards had “encouraged” him into the vehicle.

His arms trembled against the restraints. But worse than the pain was the look he now faced, Jeon Jungkook, standing over him with a stare that felt like death incarnate.

Namjoon entered behind him, gloves already on.

Hoseok leaned against the far wall, spinning a knife between his fingers, not smiling. Not today.

Yoongi was already in the room, perched beside a surveillance feed in the corner, arms crossed, eyes cold.

The only sound was Jungkook’s boots crossing the concrete floor.

Click.

Click.

Click.

He stopped directly in front of the man. Tilted his head.

“You thought you’d take him?” Jungkook’s voice was low, too calm. Too quiet. “In broad daylight?”

The man didn’t answer.

So Jungkook backhanded him across the face—hard. The crack of skin echoed like a gunshot.

The man gasped, spitting blood.

Jungkook leaned in, eyes gleaming with rage veiled in ice. “You thought, you could get past my men?”

Namjoon opened the tablet, given by Yoongi earlier, voice clinical. “Russian protocols. Close-contact extraction. Car waiting with engine idle. Syringe backup found in his jacket. Targeted for capture, not kill.”

Yoongi’s lip curled. “They wanted to take him. Maybe use him too, to caught you.”

Hoseok’s hand stilled on his knife.

“They almost had him.” Jungkook’s voice shook now, not with fear. With fury. “He almost stepped into that car. Taehyung. My—”

He stopped himself.

The man in the chair laughed weakly, a sound soaked in contempt.

Jungkook slammed a fist into the wall beside the man’s head, cracking the concrete. The laughter died instantly.

“You don’t get to laugh,” Jungkook whispered. “You don’t even get to breathe unless I decide you’re worth it.”

He crouched—eye level now. Close enough to see the flicker of panic break through the man’s bravado.

“You think I don’t know who sent you? Shin? Makarov? You think I won’t burn your whole operation for touching what’s mine?”

Still no answer. Just heavy, wheezing silence.

Jungkook stood. Nodded once.

Hoseok stepped forward, knife glinting under the overhead light. “You ever seen someone skin a lie off a man?” he asked, voice too cheerful. “It’s slow. I’ll show you.”

Yoongi didn’t even flinch as the screams began.

Namjoon stayed near the wall, arms crossed, watching everything. Monitoring. Calculating.

Jungkook didn’t turned away, fists clenched at his sides. His blood roared in his ears.

This was necessary.

Because in the café, Taehyung was probably pouring coffee for a customer with that soft, oblivious smile. Because Jungkook had felt his heart stop in real time the moment he heard the word attempt.

And because he knew— next time.

They wouldn’t just try to take Taehyung.

They’d try to use Taehyung to hurt him.

So Jungkook did what he always did.

He made the world afraid of touching what he loved.

Even if Taehyung had no idea.

-

The hallways of the compound echoed with Jungkook’s footsteps, sharp and unrelenting. He hadn’t spoken since he left the interrogation room, just tossed his blood-spattered gloves into a bin and shrugged back into his black jacket like he was sealing himself into armor.

Namjoon tried to speak once. Jungkook didn’t answer.

Hoseok whistled low again, but didn’t press.

Yoongi, unusually quiet, only muttered under his breath, “He’s going to go see him.”

He was right.

Because Jungkook was already halfway to the garage.

By the time the car pulled up outside Bloom & Brew, night had softened the edges of the sky, a warm gold spilling from the café windows. Inside, laughter rang out, muffled through the glass. Someone had turned on the jazz playlist Taehyung liked. The one with trumpets that made everything feel like a daydream.

Jungkook stepped out slowly, the wind catching the hem of his coat as he straightened, obsidian eyes scanning the street with lethal precision.

Every corner.

Every shadow.

Every flickering light.

He took in the details like a soldier mapping a battlefield, muscle memory from years in the underworld. His jaw was locked, shoulders squared with a tension so deep it made the very air around him hum with restrained violence.

The soft chime of the café door broke the stillness as he stepped inside.

Warmth hit him immediately, sugar, cinnamon, and roasted espresso swirled through the air, wrapping around him like a scent only this place, only he, knew.

And then he saw him.

Taehyung.

Behind the counter.

Wearing that cream cardigan Jungkook remembered from a rainy morning weeks ago, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, forearms dusted with flour. His soft, brown hair was tousled from absent fingers, and a smear of batter or maybe whipped cream clung adorably to his cheek.

He looked like something painted in light.

And he was laughing.

His eyes had crinkled, his shoulders shaking slightly as he giggled at something Jimin was saying. Unaware. Completely untouched by the hell Jungkook had just walked out of.

Jungkook’s heart squeezed so tight he nearly staggered. Because that sweet oblivious smile had nearly been taken from the world today. From him.

And Taehyung had no idea.

Then Taehyung looked up. Eyes wide. A spark lit behind them.

And that smile—God, that smile, broke across his face like morning sun spilling through storm clouds.

“Jungkook-ssi!” he called, bright and innocent, as if his name had never been spoken in fear, only in joy. “Hello!”

Jungkook’s throat worked. His boots moved before his brain did.

Slowly. Silently. Each step muffled by the polished wooden floors but echoing through his chest like cannon fire. Every movement deliberate, controlled. A storm walking into a bakery.

Taehyung tilted his head, blinking up at him, soft and curious like a golden retriever in human form.

“Are you okay?” Taehyung asked, brows pinching slightly. “You look…” He paused, lips twitching. “Like a very serious cloud.”

Jungkook stopped in front of him.

Just stared.

Because this was what they’d tried to touch. This gentle, chaotic boy who made jokes about clouds and philosophical fruit.

This boy who still had flour on his cheek and a heart that beat like birdsong.

His fingers curled into fists at his sides, nails biting into his palms.

He cleared his throat once. Voice low. Rough.

“You… been here all day?”

Taehyung nodded with a sheepish grin. “Mmm. Mostly. I went out for apples.”

He giggled, eyes dancing. “And I saw a crow that looked like he wanted to fight me. Very aggressive energy.”

Jungkook closed his eyes.

That moment. That stupid, beautiful moment in the street with apples and crows and his cardigan too loose on his frame. That was when they tried to take him. When he almost disappeared from Jungkook’s reach.

He couldn’t protect him like this.

Not while the Russians in his tail. Not while Shin’s men prowled corners like rats in the walls. Not while Taehyung danced around town with a heart wide open and no idea the city was laced with traps.

So Jungkook made a decision.

Right there.

Under the soft café lights, surrounded by the smell of cinnamon and jazz trumpets and innocence.

If the world wanted to take Taehyung, then let it try.

But they’d have to take him from Jungkook’s cold, dead hands.

‘Before they can steal him—I'll steal him first.’

“Taehyung.”

His name came out like a vow.

Taehyung blinked. “Yes?”

Jungkook took a step closer, the warmth of their bodies only inches apart.

His voice dropped, quiet and thick like velvet stretched over a dagger.

“Come with me.”

“To where?” Taehyung tilted his head again, voice barely above a whisper, heart already stuttering in his chest.

Jungkook’s lips curved—just slightly.

The faintest, most dangerous smile.

“Home.”

Jungkook didn’t say anything after that.

Instead, in one clean movement, he leaned down, slipped an arm around Taehyung’s thighs and another around his back and lifted him off the ground like he weighed nothing at all.

“W-Whoa—wait—!” Taehyung squeaked, legs flailing for a half-second before he suddenly found himself flipped upside down over Jungkook’s shoulder like a sack of flour. “Wait, what are we doing?? Is this a bakery thing?? Is this the emergency croissant protocol?!”

“JUNGKOOK!” came a loud, furious voice behind them.

Jimin.

The café floorboard slammed under hurried footsteps. “Where the hell do you think you’re taking him?!”

“I’m taking him,” Jungkook said without looking back, marching out of Bloom & Brew like a soldier on a mission, Taehyung dangling from his shoulder like a giggling koala in confusion.

“You can’t just take him! Stop or I will call the police!” Jimin shouted, practically climbing over the counter. “Put him down! What is happening?!”

“No, no, it’s okay!” Taehyung chirped upside-down, laughing into the back of Jungkook’s jacket. “I think it’s a surprise adventure or a bread rescue mission! Maybe a date!”

“You’re upside down,” Jimin snapped, throwing the door open as Jungkook stormed toward the car.

“I know!” Taehyung giggled, grabbing at the back of Jungkook’s coat to steady himself as they descended the steps. “If I fall, I get a concussion and a lawsuit! Right, Jungkook-ssi?”

“You’re not falling,” Jungkook muttered, tightening his hold instantly.

Because even now, even furious, he wouldn’t let Taehyung fall. Not one inch. Not when someone tried to steal him. Not when the world proved it couldn’t be trusted.

Taehyung squirmed slightly, shoes bumping against Jungkook’s thigh. “Your jacket smells like…” He inhaled dramatically. “Cigarette and car engines.”

Jimin caught up just as Jungkook opened the back car door with one hand.

“PUT HIM DOWN. RIGHT NOW!” Jimin barked, flushed with anger. “You can’t just—kidnap—Tae, what the hell is happening?!”

Jungkook finally turned his head, calm and lethal. “He’s not safe here.”

“You have six men on rotation—”

“Not enough.”

“You can’t just take him—”

“I just did.”

Jungkook carefully ducked into the car, placing Taehyung down gently onto the leather seats, not dropping him, not rushing, as if he were setting something precious into velvet.

Taehyung blinked, now upright, slightly dizzy but grinning. “This is fun. Is this a mafia thing?”

Jimin slammed both palms against the windshield with a crack of skin to glass, eyes blazing, fury radiating through the window like a solar flare.

“Open the damn window, Jeon Jungkook! Let him go!”

Inside the car, there was a stillness, a beat of breathless tension before the rear window slowly hissed down.

Taehyung’s fluffy brown head popped up into view like a gopher spotting daylight.

“Jiminie!” he chirped brightly, as if this was an ordinary Sunday brunch and not an active kidnapping. “Don’t worry! You can come with us! Let’s go for an adventure!”

He beamed, cheeks round, nose pink from excitement. “I wonder if I’ll get to have a water gun. Like the big one! Pew pew—” He mimed an exaggerated spray with his fingers and made a ridiculous shooting sound.

“Get out of there, right now, Kim Taehyung!” Jimin’s voice cracked like a whip, his entire body pressed against the car as if he could rip the car apart with rage alone. “That man is STEALING you!”

Taehyung blinked, confused. “Stealing? But I’m not bread…”

From the driver’s seat, Jungkook’s voice sliced through the chaos like a dagger wrapped in velvet.

“Seatbelt.”

His tone was flat. Commanding. The sound of a man holding the world together by sheer force of will.

Taehyung gasped. “Oh! Right.”

He fumbled for the belt, twisting around in the seat, tugging and clicking it into place with a proud little noise. “Jungkook-ssi is very safety conscious,” he said to no one in particular, adjusting the strap over his chest like it was some fancy accessory.

Jungkook didn’t look at him. Didn’t blink.

His fingers wrapped tight around the steering wheel, knuckles whitening against leather. His jaw was clenched, throat working once, hard, swallowing down the molten coil of rage still lodged in his chest.

Because someone had tried to take Taehyung today.

And now, he was taking him first.

Not a glance to Jimin, who was practically vibrating with rage on the curb.

The engine purred low as Jungkook shifted into drive.

And the car pulled away.

Taehyung waved through the open window like a child on a school trip. “Bye, Jiminie! Don’t forget to water the cactus! Love you!”

“Taehyung!” Jimin’s voice chased after them, sharp and breaking, fists clenched at his sides. “Call me! Text me! I swear to God, Jeon Jungkook, I will—”

The window slid closed again, silencing him.

Jungkook stared ahead.

The fury was still there, simmering low in his gut like a bomb on standby but next to him, Taehyung was humming under his breath, head tilted as he admired the buttons on the dashboard like the last time he was there.

Something in Jungkook’s chest ached.

Because no one—not even God—was taking him away now.

‘He’s mine now’

Chapter Text

The sun was just beginning to peek over the horizon, golden light spilling into the vast halls of the Jeon estate like butter across marble. Taehyung, dressed in blue pajamas dotted with sleepy clouds and cartoon bears, padded barefoot across the floor with the quiet wonder of a child in a dream.

Technically, it was his third time inside the mansion. But the other two didn’t count. He’d been sleepy during the first, and during the second, Jungkook had looked too angry for Taehyung to explore properly. This morning, however, he was on a mission.

To explore every single hallway, to touch every gleaming, sparkly surface, to soak in every echo of mystery wrapped within the mansion walls.

Taehyung wandered through the massive corridor like a sleepy prince on an adventure. A plush blanket trailed behind him like a cape, catching on corners of ancient furniture and whispering softly over the glossy marble floors. His hair, sleep-tousled and curling slightly over his ears, bounced with each barefoot step.

When he passed an intimidating guard, towering, barrel-chested, and bristling with weaponry strapped over tactical black, Taehyung simply beamed.

“Good morning, ajusshi!” he chirped, as if they were old neighbors meeting in a sunny courtyard.

The man blinked. Once. Slowly. As if unsure whether he was dreaming or if the mafia compound had indeed just been infiltrated by a drowsy woodland sprite dragging a blankie.

From a shadowed doorway just down the hall, Jungkook stood motionless, shoulder pressed into the frame. Dressed in black sweatpants and a fitted shirt, A mug of untouched coffee hung loosely in his hand, forgotten.

His dark eyes didn’t leave the boy.

They followed the sway of Taehyung’s steps, the soft bounce of his socked feet, far too close to slipping on the polished floor and the exposed nape of his neck that peeked out from under his loose collar. There was something so utterly innocent, so breathtakingly unaware about him… it made Jungkook’s chest twist in a way that felt dangerous.

His jaw flexed once. Then again.

“Kook-ah,” came Namjoon’s voice from behind, half-amused, half-chiding. The older man stepped into view, one brow raised as he took in the sight of his boss, one of the most feared men in the underworld, brooding silently over a sleep-deprived boy in teddy bear pajamas.

“You’re watching him again,” Namjoon noted.

Jungkook’s eyes didn’t move from Taehyung.

“Shut up,” he muttered, the words low and hoarse like gravel.

Namjoon smirked but said nothing else. Because Jungkook wasn’t just watching Taehyung.

He was orbiting him.

And it was already far too late to escape the pull.

The kitchen was quiet when Taehyung padded in, blanket still loosely wrapped around his shoulders. The space was intimidating, sleek, immaculate, and probably custom-built for a cartel gourmet chef but to Taehyung, it was just another place to explore.

He yawned, rubbing one eye as he walked in with barefoot that made no sound on the cool floor. “Good morning, kitchen,” he whispered to no one in particular, then smiled faintly as if the walls whispered back.

He shuffled over to the large wooden counter, eyes lighting up when he spotted a loaf of crusty bread sitting on a cutting board. There was a little jar of strawberry jam beside it, along with a butter knife. Almost too convenient, like someone had known he’d come looking.

“Fate,” he nodded to himself and began preparing.

He spread the jam carefully, tongue poking out in concentration. The red fruit sparkled in the sunlight. “You’re a very good jam,” he murmured, and added, “Your name shall be Sir Berryson III.”

Milk came next, thankfully, he found a full jug in the glass-fronted fridge. He poured himself a generous amount into a fancy cup that probably cost more than his entire monthly rent. It tasted cold and smooth and comfortingly familiar.

As he chewed his bread and wandered lazily around the space, he came upon a tall set of wooden shelves lined with glass jars, row after row of powders, seeds, grains, and herbs. Most were unlabeled, which to Taehyung, simply meant unloved.

He blinked once. Then set down his glass with purpose.

“Time for an upgrade.”

Fifteen minutes later, anyone walking in would’ve thought a kindergarten class had stormed the mafia kitchen. On every jar was now a handwritten label in colorful marker, featuring tiny doodles.

He stepped back to admire his work.

He giggled proudly, pressing his palms to his cheeks. “They look so happy now.”

Somewhere behind him, a security camera caught the entire thing.

And somewhere across the mansion, Jungkook’s phone buzzed with a silent alert. He glanced at the feed.

There was Taehyung, in tiny cloud pajamas, barefoot, talking to a jar of couscous named “Fluffy Planet Orbs.”

Moments later, Yoongi stood in front of the pantry with a frown.

“…Where the hell are my seaweed crackers?”

“Yoongi-hyung!” Taehyung peeked his head in, then scurried past the threshold like a raccoon in moonlight. “I found your snack hidey-hole! It was behind the bookshelf, right?”

Yoongi turned slowly. “You what.”

Taehyung beamed and held up a bag labeled in soft handwriting: ‘Sleepy Cat Chips – Property of Grandpa Min 🐱’.

“I labeled them all so no one gets confused!”

There were post-it notes on every snack now.

‘Spicy Anger Noodles – For Hoseok-hyung (🔥😇)’

‘No Touchy or Seokjin hyung Will Cry’

‘Namjoon’s Smart Brain Crackers’ (Namjoon loved those.)

Yoongi stared for a long second.

Then muttered, “I’m not your grandpa.”

10:07 a.m., the living room was oddly calm for a building full of trained killers.

Muted sunlight filtered through sheer curtains, painting soft gold lines across the glossy floor. The hum of the air conditioning mixed with the subtle rustle of a newspaper, the faint dialogue of a morning drama playing on the oversized TV, and the quiet tap-tap of fingers skimming across a tablet.

Namjoon sat in the far corner, legs crossed neatly on the edge of a caramel leather sofa, the Seoul Daily spread open in his lap. His brow furrowed as he adjusted his glasses and flipped a page, mumbling under his breath about international politics and crumbling trade agreements. His reading glasses slid slightly down his nose.

Hoseok lounged nearby on a giant beanbag, dramatic as ever, eyes wide and lip trembling as he clutched a throw pillow like a lifeline. The TV displayed a tear-filled confrontation between two lovers in hanbok under cherry blossoms. “No, no, no,” he whispered. “Don’t leave him, Sun-mi, you fool, he made you a rooftop garden!”

Across from them, perched on the armrest of a modern armchair like some royal mafia gargoyle, sat Jungkook.

All black again, slacks, sleeves rolled up, forearms tensed, full sleeve tattoo peeking out as he reviewed a manifest on his tablet. Shipments. Gun orders. Container routes out of Osaka. A normal day in the underworld. His face was unreadable, sculpted from marble. Sharp lines, dark eyes, laser-focused.

At least until the softest sound broke the moment.

“I should go to work.”

The voice came from the hallway.

Barefoot still in his bear pajama, Taehyung entered like a pouty puppy, head tilted, eyes hopeful. His hair was a bit messy from earlier explorations, and the blanket he had worn like a cape was now tied in a loose knot around his waist, trailing behind him like a noble train.

Everyone in the room turned slightly. Jungkook didn’t look up. But his jaw twitched.

“You can’t,” he replied simply.

Taehyung blinked. “But my shift starts earlier—”

“You’re not going anywhere.”

There was a silence.

Then—

“Wait…” Jungkook’s voice softened a fraction, eyes still glued to the tablet screen. “Didn’t you say you wanted a water gun?”

Taehyung paused. Eyes blinking. Then they widened.

“Oh my gosh I DID,” he gasped, half-giddy, half-golden retriever. He rushed forward, work forgotten. “Like the big ones, right? With the backpack tank? The serious kind?”

Jungkook finally looked up. Eyes dark. Neutral. Dangerous.

“I’ll have one of the men bring you five.”

Taehyung nearly bounced. “Five?! So, anyone can play with me?”

Jungkook barely gave a nod and pressed something on his phone. A silent order was issued.

Behind the newspaper, Namjoon made a strangled noise like a cough laced with laughter.

Hoseok didn’t even try. A tiny, audible snort escaped as he buried his face deeper into the pillow, shoulders shaking with silent wheezing.

Jungkook’s gaze snapped to them. One sharp, glacial glare over the tablet. That glare said, ‘Not. One. Word.’

Namjoon lifted the newspaper higher to hide the smirk blooming on his face.

Hoseok coughed into his fist. “Sorry. Pollen.”

Taehyung, oblivious, was twirling in the middle of the living room. “Can I decorate them with stickers? Like flamingos and clouds? Oh! Maybe I can name them—like Captain Splash and Sir Soggybottom.”

Jungkook ran a hand down his face, looking like a man on the brink of collapse.

But he nodded.

Because Taehyung was smiling again.

And in a house full of weapons, bloodstained ledgers, and the weight of the criminal empire, that smile was the only thing that felt like safety.

-

The mafia garden had seen its share of blood.

Of backroom negotiations, hushed betrayals, and midnight disappearances. But today… it saw something else entirely.

Something more terrifying than enemy fire. Something stronger than any criminal code.

Kim Taehyung with a water gun.

He stood barefoot on the perfectly trimmed grass, still in his soft pastel pajamas, hair fluffed like a cloud and cheeks pink with excitement. Strapped to his back was a bright orange water tank, the kind usually reserved for overenthusiastic dads at summer barbecues. In his hands? A comically large, neon-green blaster with two pressurized barrels and far too much power.

Around him stood four of Jungkook’s top-tier men.

Real killers. Efficient. Steady. Black-clad, muscle-bound, sunglasses even indoors. The kind of men who could dismantle a rifle in seven seconds flat and didn’t blink under interrogation.

And all of them were holding child-sized water pistols like sacrificial lambs.

“Alright,” Taehyung said seriously, squinting up at them like a detective surveying suspects. “You’re all the bad guys.”

One man gulped.

Another nodded. “Yes, sir—I mean, yes, Detective Taetae.”

“Excellent!” Taehyung beamed. “On the count of three, run! I’m going to cleanse the streets!”

Behind the garden doors, Namjoon and Hoseok had dragged out patio chairs and were already doubled over laughing. Hoseok was wheezing. “Oh my god. This is the best day of my life. Look at Leehyun’s face—he’s about to cry.”

Namjoon wiped a tear under his glasses. “They survived shootouts, torture, and cartel wars. But this? This is their greatest test.”

Inside, at the living room window, Jungkook leaned with one hand braced on the glass, the other clutching his coffee as his jaw worked overtime.

He wasn’t watching.

He was supervising.

That’s what he told himself as he narrowed his eyes at the garden, at Taehyung, who’d just yelled “Go!” and chased after the men with righteous giggles and a jetstream of water that blasted a direct hit on one man’s back.

“ARGH—!” the man shouted dramatically, stumbling like he’d been hit by actual bullets. “Detective, have mercy!”

“I have no mercy for evil!” Taehyung called out, lips in a firm pout as he advanced like a one-man cleansing storm. He pressed the trigger again.

FOOM.

The stream hit another man right in the chest. The water pressure knocked his sunglasses askew.

“TAEHYUNG-AH!” Hoseok gasped through laughter. “THAT GUN COULD START A REVOLUTION.”

Namjoon nearly fell out of his chair. “IS THAT A FIRE HOSE?!”

Upstairs, Yoongi stepped onto the balcony with a mug in one hand and sleep in his eyes, after the fiasco at the kitchen earlier in the morning, he went back to sleep. He squinted down.

Four deadly men screaming and slipping on wet grass.

Taehyung standing triumphantly with water dripping from his bangs, yelling, “This city is CLEAN now!”

Yoongi blinked.

Stared.

Then muttered: “What the hell happened to this world?”

And then it happened.

WHAM.

A sharp stream smacked into Taehyung’s side.

“Ow—!” he yelped, more startled than hurt. His hands flailed, and the gun clattered down briefly.

Inside the mansion, Jungkook heard the sound like a shot in his soul.

His chair scraped violently as he stood.

The door burst open.

And the next second, the king of the criminal underworld stormed into the garden, black shirt billowing behind him like wrath incarnate, footsteps slicing across the manicured grass. His eyes, dark and seething, locked onto the scene with laser precision. A muscle in his jaw ticked. His hand was already at his side, smooth and deadly, drawing a matte black pistol like it was second nature.

His voice was a growl ripped from the depths of hell.

“Who. Fucking. Did. That.”

The four men froze mid-splash, water pistols dangling from their twitching fingers. One of them had water streaming down his face, his slicked-back hair now clinging to his forehead. Another dropped his brightly colored gun with a small plastic clunk, as if it weighed a thousand pounds.

Their eyes darted from Jungkook’s gun to Taehyung, to the sky—anywhere but the cold fury aimed at them.

“Boss—sir—it was an accident! We didn’t know the pressure was that high!” the tallest one sputtered, shielding himself with his arms even though there hadn’t been a shot—yet.

“I swear we didn’t touch the settings—!” another tembled, slipping slightly on the wet grass as he tried to shuffle back.

“I HAVE A FAMILY—!” yelled the third, voice cracking.

“Please, let us live!” whimpered the fourth, trying to fold himself into a shadow.

Jungkook’s finger twitched over the trigger. His aura darkened like a thundercloud about to burst. Every nerve in his body screamed protect. The mere idea, the very thought, that someone hurt Taehyung made him see red.

His eyes were pure fire, cold and hot all at once.

Until—

“Jungkook-ssi!”

Taehyung’s voice rang through the garden like sunshine cutting through smoke.

The boy came bounding across the grass, still barefoot, still soaked in water, pajama shirt clinging to his frame and sleeves dripping at the ends. His eyes were wide, cheeks puffed in a dramatic pout, and his bottom lip jutted just slightly in adorable protest.

“That’s cheating! That’s not a water gun!”

Jungkook blinked.

‘What.’

Taehyung pointed directly at him, indignation all over his cute face, like he was scolding a child for sneaking an extra cookie.

“You’re not part of this game,” he said firmly, like a courtroom judge. “And I didn’t say the bad guys can have another ally! You’re out!”

Jungkook’s expression morphed—first from confusion to disbelief, then to stunned silence.

And then the final betrayal happened.

Taehyung marched right up to him and shooed him.

SHOOED HIM.

Like a cat on the kitchen table.

“Go. You’re banned,” Taehyung said, wagging a damp finger at him. “This is a water fight. No bullets allowed.”

Jungkook gaped at him, brows furrowing in stunned outrage.

Behind them, Namjoon choked on his coffee. His glasses slid down his nose as he slapped a hand over his mouth.

Hoseok HOWLED, nearly tumbling out of his chair and wheezing like a broken instrument. “Did he—did he just SHOO Jungkook?!”

The four men stood frozen, like stone statues mid-battle, watching this divine act of suicidal bravery unfold in real-time.

Jungkook slowly holstered his weapon, fingers tense, nostrils flaring.

He looked at Taehyung.

Then at the men—who recoiled like they were being lined up for execution.

Then back at Taehyung.

The water gun in the boy’s hands was still dripping. A bead of water ran down his neck, catching on his collarbone. His nose crinkled as he adjusted the tank strap on his shoulder, ready to jump back into battle.

Jungkook exhaled through his nose, long and slow, as if restraining every instinct to correct this absurd disrespect.

He turned without a word.

Inside, his booted steps thudded heavily across the hardwood floor as he stalked away from the garden door, black shirt clinging to his back from the heat.

But as he reached the threshold, fingers curled loosely at his side, he paused.

Just for a second.

And looked back.

His eyes found Taehyung instantly.

Still laughing.

The boy stood in a spray of sunshine, water glinting like diamonds in the air around him. His hair was messy, eyes squinting with joy as he chased one of the mafia men with righteous vengeance. Pajamas completely soaked, but his smile brighter than anything Jungkook had ever known.

Jungkook lingered for a heartbeat more.

Then stepped inside.

And pretended—just barely—that his heart wasn’t soaked, too.

-

After the chaos of the garden water war, the mansion had settled into a hush once more. The sun dipped lower outside, casting warm honeyed light through the tall windows, illuminating the marble floors and rich mahogany furniture with a late-afternoon glow.

Taehyung now sat curled up on one of the velvet couches in the grand living room, clean and dry. His dark hair was slightly tousled from the towel dry earlier, a fresh oversized hoodie swallowing his frame, navy blue, soft as clouds, and clearly expensive. The matching sweatpants pooled around his ankles, making him look like the coziest human burrito the mafia had ever housed.

He didn’t know where the clothes came from, only that they suddenly appeared, neatly folded with the tags still on, and the bodyguards had pointed awkwardly and muttered something about “the boss’ orders.”

He assumed Jungkook.

Of course it was Jungkook.

Taehyung sniffed slightly, a touch dramatic, as he adjusted the blanket draped over his lap. “I miss Minnie hyung,” he mumbled into the plush velvet throw, his bottom lip poking out just slightly. “And Mr. Peupeu…”

Yoongi, seated across from him in an armchair with his legs kicked up and a tablet in hand, glanced up with a furrowed brow. “Who’s that?”

“My stuffed bear,” Taehyung answered without missing a beat, his voice tragic and tender, like a war widow describing a fallen soldier. “He gets scared when I’m not home. He doesn’t like being alone.”

He emphasized this point by hugging the blanket tighter, his entire body cocooned like a sleepy caterpillar of emotion.

Yoongi blinked.

“Oh,” he said slowly, like someone processing the concept of weaponized cuteness in real time. “…Okay.”

From the far side of the room, Jungkook sat near the fireplace in silence. A low table in front of him held a laptop, a half-full glass of whiskey, and a thick folder of international shipping documents. He hadn’t said much since lunch, which had been an elaborate affair of delicate rice dishes, grilled vegetables, and a miso-marinated fish so tender it melted on the tongue. A private chef had arrived, by Jungkook’s order, just to prepare things Taehyung might like.

Jungkook had acted indifferent, of course. Barely glanced up while Taehyung ate like a delighted child at a royal banquet.

But now, his eyes flicked up.

A quiet click echoed in his mind, as clear as the metallic snap of a gun locking into place.

Taehyung was lonely.

And Jungkook, ever the strategist, knew exactly how to handle that.

He didn’t move. He didn’t speak. His face remained carved from stone, expression unreadable. But his gaze was sharp. If Taehyung missed his comforts…Then Jungkook would simply bring those comforts to him.

Jimin included.

Without a sound, he reached for his phone.

One hour later at Bloom and Brew. Jimin, dressed in his pineapple-print pajamas, was standing in the middle of the living room with an expression of pure, undiluted rage. His fists were clenched, and his feet were bare as he swung a fluffy slipper like a weapon at a towering man who was calmly folding T-shirts into a suitcase with surgical precision.

“YOU LEAVE MY SWEATERS ALONE! WHO THE HELL ARE YOU?! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING HERE!!!” Jimin screamed, his voice a mix of fury and sheer disbelief as he lunged forward, narrowly missing the man’s head with the slipper.

The man, at least twice Jimin’s size, didn’t even flinch. He looked down at the small, furious barista as though he were an amusing inconvenience.

“Sir,” the man said stiffly, his voice utterly composed despite the assault on his personal space, “We are under orders to pack your essentials.”

Jimin’s eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. “By who?!” He demanded, moving swiftly toward the man and swatting at a pile of neatly folded clothes. “You don’t just waltz in here and start throwing my stuff into a suitcase! I’m not some... some... hostage!”

The man, utterly unbothered, straightened the pile of sweaters Jimin had knocked over. “Mr. Jeon’s orders,” he said in a tone that suggested he had already been through this countless times and could probably recite the mafia boss’s preferences in his sleep.

Jimin’s jaw dropped, a mix of disbelief and pure indignation lighting up his face. “Mr. Jeon?!” He looked as if he might combust from sheer frustration. “That’s it! You’re not touching my collection of hand-knitted sweaters, you hear me? I’m going to call the cops—wait—” His expression shifted mid-rant as he realized how utterly powerless, he was against the clearly armed, much larger man standing before him.

Just then, the door to the café swung open with dramatic flair, and Hoseok strutted in like he was walking the runway at a fashion show.

“Hello, darling,” he announced, dramatically placing a hand on his hip and striking a pose that screamed ‘theatrical villain in a rom-com.’

Jimin’s face turned even redder. “YOU STAY OUT OF THIS, INCUBUS!” He shouted, launching the slipper he was still clutching directly at Hoseok. The force behind it was enough to make the man dodge to the side, but he managed to catch it effortlessly, holding it up with a smirk that bordered on cocky.

“I’m just here to help, sweetie,” Hoseok winked, then spun the slipper like it was a baton. “And I must say, you really need to work on your aim. Is that really the best you’ve got?”

Jimin gaped at him, his arms crossed over his chest in indignation. “YOU... are not the one who gets to touch my things! Why is everyone in this mafia obsessed with my and Taehyung's stuff?” He threw his hands up in exasperation, his pineapple-print pajama top slipping slightly as he stalked around the living room.

The man packing the suitcase continued with his task, now moving on to folding Jimin’s carefully organized stack of T-shirts, clearly unfazed by Jimin’s chaos.

“We’ve been instructed to make sure you have everything you need... while you’re away.” Hoseok explain cooly.

“While I’m away?! I’m not going anywhere!” Jimin snapped, eyes wide and filled with incredulity. “I’m not some damsel in distress! What is this, a kidnapping too?”

Suddenly, the low hum of Yoongi’s voice cut through the madness. He had entered the room from the back, looking like he would rather be doing anything else—anything at all. “Do I need to sedate him?” he asked, deadpan, glancing between the chaos unfolding in front of him.

“NO ONE IS SEDATING ME!” Jimin shouted, his cheeks flushed with rage. “If anyone’s getting sedated, it’s HIM!” He pointed dramatically at the man packing his suitcase, who simply ignored him.

Yoongi sighed, rubbing his temples like the world had become too much to bear. “I kind of want to now,” he muttered under his breath, his voice tinged with exasperation.

“I’m good with that,” Hoseok said, still holding the slipper as if it were a precious artifact. He casually tossed it in the air, catching it again. “But you know what? I’m going to be a good friend today and save Jimin from himself.”

“Excuse me?!” Jimin whirled around to face Hoseok, his eyes practically shooting lasers. “I don’t need saving from anything!” He threw his hands up again. “Stop packing my stuff, and just go away!”

Hoseok, clearly enjoying the entire exchange far too much, took a step closer to Jimin with an exaggerated pout. “Aww, you wound me.” He pressed a hand to his chest, mocking hurt. “But sweetheart, I’m just here to help. You don’t want to go without your essentials, do you?”

Jimin's face went even redder. “MY ESSENTIALS are not whatever mafia guy ‘essentials’ you all are talking about!” he huffed, hands on his hips.

Yoongi, seeing the perfect opportunity to finally leave, sighed one last time, checking his phone. “You’re on your own,” he said, stepping backward toward the door. “Just get this over with and lets go.”

Jimin barely noticed, still arguing with Hoseok, who was now twirling the slipper in a manner that suggested he might be auditioning for some sort of strange, mafia-related circus act.

Chapter Text

The inside of the black van was filled with tension. And yelling.

Mostly yelling.

“LET ME OUT!” Jimin screamed, thrashing like a feral cat. “I swear to every deity watching, I will haunt both of you when I die, and it will be dramatic.”

He kicked the back of the passenger seat with a vengeance that would make a war general flinch.

Yoongi, seated beside him with the serenity of a monk, didn’t flinch. He stared calmly out the window, one arm slung across the seatbelt that crossed his chest. “You’re not dying. You’re being relocated.”

“I WAS RELOCATING TO MY BED BEFORE YOU TWO CRIMINAL NUTJOBS DRAGGED ME OUT IN MY PAJAMAS.”

“Ehhh,” Hoseok chirped from the passenger seat, cheerfully balancing a Tupperware of suspiciously perfect macarons on his knee, “you look great in your pajamas. Very editorial. Pineapples are in this season.”

“THIS IS NOT ABOUT FASHION!” Jimin shrieked. “YOU BROKE INTO MY HOUSE, TOOK MY SWEATERS—”

“They’re safely folded,” Yoongi muttered.

“—AND NOW I’M IN A KIDNAP VAN BEING CHAUFFEURED TO SATAN’S HIDE OUT.”

“Technically, it’s a fortress,” Hoseok offered helpfully, twisting in his seat with a smile like sunshine. “Three layers of security, a wine cellar, and a koi pond.”

Jimin launched forward, slapping the back of Hoseok’s seat with enough force to make the van jolt slightly.

Hoseok let out a surprised giggle. “Wow, that one tickled.”

“SHUT UP, YOU!”

Yoongi, completely unbothered, tapped something on a sleek tablet, eyes trained on a blinking red dot. “If you keep this up, I will sedate you. Just a tiny bit. Like a spa nap.”

Jimin elbowed him in the ribs.

Hard.

Yoongi wheezed slightly. “...Assault noted.”

“You DO NOT get to medicate me when I bark!”

“Technically, you're growling.”

“Technically, I’m about to go full poltergeist in five minutes.”

Hoseok popped open the Tupperware lid with a delicate click. “Macaron?”

Jimin turned slowly, eyes glowing with righteous fury.

“I hope you choke on it, Jung fucking Hoseok.”

“Aw, you remembered my middle name.” And Hoseok laugh loudly.

Yoongi sighed, the long-suffering kind that said he regretted every decision that led him to this moment.

Jimin slumped back in his seat, arms crossed, huffing so hard the window fogged beside him. His pineapple-printed pajama top was rumpled, his slipper had fallen off during the struggle, and his dignity was somewhere back at Bloom & Brew, probably under the couch, sulking.

“I swear to god,” he muttered, glaring out the window, “if Taehyung isn’t in one piece when I get there, I’m burning the whole place down. Mafia or not.”

And in front of the van, hidden in the dash cupholder, the macaron container trembled ever so slightly with the force of Jimin’s rage.

The second the van rolled to a stop in front of the mansion gates, Jimin flung the door open with the grace of a hurricane and stormed out.

“WHERE’S TAEHYUNG?!”

The guards standing by the fountain didn’t even flinch. They had seen worse. Mostly from Jungkook.

Jimin stalked up the marble steps, seething. His sweater flapped behind him like a flag of war.

“If he has ONE scratch, ONE bruise, I am burning this castle down, do you hear me?!” he snapped at the closest man in a suit, who wisely stepped aside and avoided eye contact.

Yoongi and Hoseok followed at a much slower pace, Yoongi adjusting his collar, looking so done but inside, he was feeling warm knowing Jimin was here too.

“I told you he was going to scream the whole ride,” Yoongi muttered.

“You love it,” Hoseok grinned, nudging his side.

Yoongi scowled. “Shut up.”

Inside the grand living room, velvet drapes glowed gold in the late afternoon light. Jimin threw open the doors with dramatic flair and immediately shouted, “KIM TAEHYUNG!”

A startled chef nearly dropped a tray of fresh croissants.

Jimin stomped past mafia members and expensive furniture until he reached the main hall, shouting again. “Tae, baby?! It’s Jiminie! Where are you?! Are you okay?!”

And then—

“Jiminie?”

Taehyung peeked his head from around a corner, hoodie too big and hair still a bit fluffy from his afternoon nap. His eyes blinked owlishly in confusion and then lit up.

He ran.

Jimin opened his arms instantly, catching Taehyung as he practically threw himself into his best friend’s embrace.

“You’re safe,” Jimin whispered fiercely, arms wrapping around him tightly. “I was going to storm the gates and punch a mafia boss in the face if you weren’t.”

Taehyung giggled. “You’d lose. Jungkook-ssi is very strong.”

“I’d still do it,” Jimin mumbled into his hair, squeezing harder.

From behind them, Hoseok and Yoongi finally entered the hallway.

“Oh, look at that. Reunion.” Hoseok smiled, touched.

Then Jimin slowly turned his head, eyes glowing with pure vengeance. He gently pulled away from Taehyung, placed him behind his back like a precious heirloom—

—and pointed a finger at both men.

“We’re going home. Get out of our way,” Jimin snapped, his voice low and sharp like a knife freshly drawn.

His fingers were firmly wrapped around Taehyung’s soft hand as he stormed across the marbled hallway, slippers slapping against the polished floors, a walking storm in pineapple-print pajamas. Taehyung shuffled beside him, blinking up innocently.

But just as they reached the grand front doors, two guards stepped into their path, tall, muscled, and terrifying in black suits. And behind them stood Hoseok and Yoongi, the most aggravating humans Jimin had ever laid eyes on as of now.

“Step aside!” Jimin barked, pulling Taehyung behind him like a protective barrier of rage.

Hoseok stepped forward with both hands raised, expression maddeningly calm. His lips curled into a smug little smirk, the kind that made Jimin want to commit a light crime. “Sorry, Cutie. Boss’s orders. You’re both staying here—indefinitely.”

There was a beat of silence.

Jimin yanked off his slipper like a seasoned warrior unsheathing a sacred weapon.

Yoongi blinked. “Jimin. Don’t—”

Too late.

With the righteous fury, the precision of a sniper, Jimin launched the slipper. It flew through the air in a graceful arc and smacked Hoseok dead center in the chest with a satisfying thwack.

Yoongi immediately took two steps back, hands raised in surrender.

“DON’T TELL US WHAT TO DO!” Jimin shouted, eyes blazing. “Or I swear, I’ll poison your coffee, label it a detox cleanse, and watch you cry.”

Hoseok clutched his chest like he’d just been shot. “So... welcome to the mafia?”

“MOVE before I lose my other slipper.” Jimin hissed, standing like a pajama-clad warlord.

Taehyung tugged gently on his sleeve, voice sweet and curious. “Do we get to share a room now?”

Jimin’s fury short-circuited mid-tirade. He blinked down at Taehyung, his rage crashing into confusion like two colliding weather systems.

“...Okay, that part’s not so bad,” he admitted, face twitching. “But no, Taetae, we are leaving. This is a mafia mansion, not a weekend spa!”

Taehyung pouted. “But they have velvet couches and fancy water.”

“NO ONE NEEDS SPARKLING WATER AT GUNPOINT.”

Meanwhile, upstairs, amidst the chaos echoing through the marble halls, Jungkook stood at the top of the grand staircase, arms folded, one brow twitching as voices shrieked through the air.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaled slowly, and muttered, “Why do I feel like I just invited a bomb into my house?”
Namjoon strolled past, tablet in one hand, coffee in the other, not even breaking stride. “You didn’t,” he said blandly. “You invited two. And one of them throws shoes.”

Evening had begun to fall over the estate, casting amber light through the tall windows of the mansion. Inside the guest wing, usually reserved for diplomats or very unlucky enemies, two cups of hot cocoa steamed on the bedside table, and a mountain of blankets buried Taehyung and Jimin on the king-sized bed like a cozy fortress.

“…and then,” Taehyung said in a whisper, eyes wide, hugging Mr. Peupeu to his chest “they let me be the police. I arrested a hitman with my water gun, Jiminie.”

Jimin blinked slowly, “You were playing cops and criminals with real assassins?”

Taehyung nodded proudly. “They were very respectful. Except for the one who screamed when I arrested him. I think he was scared of my water gun.”

“I would be too,” Jimin muttered, glancing around the lavish room like it might explode. “This place is too rich. I feel like I’ll be charged for breathing.”

“I like it, there’s a lot of places to see here, there are even a little forest in the garden. I can build a tree house.” He giggles. “But I missed you the whole time.” Taehyung said softly

Jimin melted instantly, arms flinging around Taehyung in a rush of pure relief, hugging him like he might vanish again if he let go. His voice cracked as he clutched the back of Taehyung’s head. “You scared me, Tae. I thought something happened to you. You were gone for a whole day, and Jungkook didn’t bring you home and when I woke up this morning, the house was full of scary men folding our shirts like it was a hostage-themed laundry day!”

Taehyung let out a breathy giggle, muffled by the safety of Jimin’s shoulder. “It’s okay. We have our own clothes here now.”

Jimin pulled back, blinking. “…Wait. What?”

Taehyung smiled sweetly, completely unaffected by the chaos. “They brought our stuff. Even my fluffy socks. The lavender ones.”

Jimin’s eyes narrowed. “Are you saying you’re okay staying here? Tae, this is a mafia fortress. There’s probably a dungeon underneath us.”

“I haven’t found it yet,” Taehyung said cheerfully.

“Tae!”

“But Jiminie,” he said with a small tilt of his head, eyes bright, “I had fun.”

Jimin’s jaw dropped.

Taehyung went on, fingers playing with the edge of Jimin’s sleeve. “The guards played water guns with me earlier… even if they cheated and one of them slipped on a bush. Hoseok hyung made me laugh so hard I choked on lemonade. Namjoon hyung’s been teaching me random facts about turtles and uranium—I'm not sure how they're related, but it was interesting! And Yoongi hyung is always sleepy, but…” He paused, grinning. “He left a cookie for me on the windowsill. I saw him do it, and when I thanked him, he growled and denied it, but he turned red.”

Jimin blinked slowly, like his brain was rebooting.

“And…” Taehyung hesitated, eyes drifting toward the grand hallway, where shadows shifted and footsteps echoed distantly. “Jungkook…”

Jimin’s eyebrows lifted.

“He’s scary sometimes,” Taehyung admitted in a quiet voice. “But he lets me play. He makes sure I’m safe. He even yelled at his men because the water pressure in the water gun was too strong.”

“That… is not I was expecting,” Jimin muttered.

Taehyung smiled, something soft and almost dreamy creeping into his expression. “And when he looks at me… it feels warm. Like the sun, but not burning. I think…” He tilted his head. “I think I like seeing him.”

Jimin stared.

“I know he’s dangerous,” Taehyung added thoughtfully. “But he makes me feel protected. Not trapped.”

Jimin’s expression shifted, still full of concern, but now layered with something deeper. As much as he hated to admit it… there was a light in Taehyung’s eyes that he hadn’t seen in a long time. Not since their childhood days of daydreaming in orphanage windows, spinning impossible fantasies of safe castles and kind princes.

Who would’ve thought one would come in the form of a gun-wielding mafia boss with trust issues?

Jimin exhaled, rubbing his face with both hands.

“I can’t believe this,” he muttered. “We were just making coffee and pastries in our regular days. And now you’re friends with a bunch of heavily armed criminals.”

Taehyung beamed. “And they gave me strawberry jam this morning.”

“Of course they did.”

A beat passed, and Jimin looked around, the luxurious hallway, the guards standing at a respectful distance, the faint sound of someone arguing about security logs in the background.

“I’m still not okay with this,” he grumbled, “but I can see you are.”

Taehyung’s voice softened. “I don’t want to leave you, Jiminie. But maybe we can stay… for a little while?”

Jimin sighed. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“I am,” Taehyung nodded, then tugged at Jimin’s hand. “Want to come see the velvet couches?”

“Do they bite?”

“Only if Yoongi’s on them.”

“…I’ll bring a slipper.”

And as they wandered deeper into the criminal fortress, a strange sort of peace settled into the air, chaotic, questionable peace, sure, but peace nonetheless. Somewhere in the mansion, Jeon Jungkook stood behind a dark-paneled wall, listening without meaning to, heart thudding like the world’s most dangerous metronome.

He heard the words.

He saw the light in Taehyung’s smile.

And for the first time in a long while… he didn’t feel like a monster in his own home.

Dinner was supposed to be peaceful.

That idea lasted approximately two seconds.

Because when Seokjin walked into the dining hall, expecting to see his adorable, sunshine-souled Taehyung and maybe a few half-bruised mafia men, he DID NOT expect to find a second pajama-clad, furious young man sitting stiffly at the dinner table.

Seokjin froze in the doorway.

Eyes wide.

Nostrils flaring.

One elegant finger rose slowly to point. “Is that… PARK JIMIN?!”

Yoongi sighed and rubbed his forehead. “Here we go.”

“WHY is Jimin here too?! Did you kidnap him too?! Jungkook!” Seokjin’s voice hit full volume.

“I was kidnapped by this two!” Jimin growled through gritted teeth, pointing accusingly at Hoseok and Yoongi.

“Technically it was Jungkook's idea,” Yoongi reminded without looking up.

“And you were screaming and throwing stuff like a tiny, angry tornado,” Hoseok said brightly, grinning. “I think one of your socks is still stuck to Yoongi’s back.”

“BECAUSE YOU BARGED INTO MY HOME!”

Seokjin marched into the room, his cardigan flaring behind him like a cape as he stormed past Namjoon, ignored Jungkook, and immediately crouched in front of the two youngest like an anxious mother duck.

“Taehyung-ah! Jiminie!” He clutched Taehyung’s face gently, turning it side to side like he was checking for bruises. “Are you eating enough? Did they give you water? Did anyone touch your hair?!”

“They let me play water gun fight earlier today,” Taehyung said brightly, smile wide and angelic. “Also, we had spaghetti.”

“We are currently having spaghetti,” Namjoon corrected, but wisely kept his voice low.

Seokjin turned to Jimin, brushing imaginary dust from his shoulder. “And you, did they manhandle you? Did anyone threaten you?”

Jimin, eyes locked on everyone but Taehyung and Seokjin, pointed a fork like a weapon at Hoseok. “No but they touch my things and also my… my underwear and it’s a crime.”

“I color-coded them,” Hoseok said proudly.

“DO NOT TALK TO ME.”

Seokjin stood and spun dramatically toward the older men. “Unbelievable! Jungkook! You kidnapped Taehyung, and now Jimin?! What is this, some kind of hostage collection?!”

“They were in danger,” Jungkook replied evenly, swirling his wine like it offended him. “Now they’re safe.”

Seokjin scowled. “They’re children!”

“I’m twenty-three,” Taehyung said at Seokjin, hands up.

“I’m twenty-five,” Jimin muttered.

“Still a baby,” Seokjin said, patting their heads.

“I will throw this spaghetti at someone,” Jimin threatened, glaring at Yoongi as if he was the reason the mafia existed.

Yoongi didn’t even blink. “That’s my favorite plate.”

Jimin aimed harder.

Across the table, Taehyung happily twirled noodles on his fork, leaning toward Seokjin. “Seokjin-hyung, Jungkook lets me play with your guards. And Namjoon-hyung taught me how the moon affects the tides!”

“That’s... great?” Seokjin blinked.

“And Hoseok-hyung taught me how to make balloon animals with gun holsters!”

Seokjin slowly turned to Hoseok, eyes murderous. “WHY.”

“Creative enrichment,” Hoseok said with a wink.

“Creative arrest is what you’re asking for,” Jimin growled. “Touch Taehyung again and I’ll turn your bed into a glitter trap.”

Namjoon, seated beside Jungkook, whispered to him, “Did you know Jimin was this scary?”

“No,” Jungkook muttered. “But I’m kind of impressed.”

Seokjin dropped into a seat between the boys, still fussing at Taehyung’s collar and checking Jimin’s wrist like he might have been handcuffed. “From now on, you’re both sitting beside me at meals. And no one gets to talk to them unless I approve it first. Especially the gremlin squad.”

“I’m not a gremlin,” Yoongi said, sipping his wine.

“You have threatened to sedate Jimin three times,” Seokjin snapped.

“I was being efficient.”

“I will sedate YOU.”

Across the table, Jungkook, who had remained quiet for most of the chaos, finally looked up and said firmly, “We’re all here because I wanted to make sure they’re safe.”

“And yet,” Jimin said, arms crossed. “I still don’t know much any of you and I’m stuck in a crime castle full of well-dressed lunatics.”

“Excuse you,” Hoseok gasped. “I’m charming.”

“You’re lucky I haven’t stabbed you.” Jimin glared at him.

“I AM THE VICTIM HERE,” Hoseok wailed dramatically, throwing his napkin like a flag of surrender.

Taehyung reached for another meatball, leaning on Seokjin’s arm. “I like it here, Jimin. I mean… I miss our home. But this place has snacks. And a big playground, I get to play the big water guns anytime. And Jungkook.”

The room went silent.

Jimin raised a brow.

Seokjin stopped mid-pour of sparkling juice.

“...You like Jungkook?” Seokjin asked carefully.

Taehyung tilted his head. “I think so. He’s quiet, but nice. He pretends not to watch me feed the koi fish, but I know he’s there.”

At the end of the table, Jungkook stared into his wine glass like it personally betrayed him.

Seokjin slowly turned to Jungkook and squinted. “You didn’t say anything inappropriate to him, did you?”

Jungkook’s tone was flat. “No.”

Jimin narrowed his eyes. “You didn’t touch him, right?”

Jungkook growled. “No.”

Taehyung blinked at them all. “Can I have more breadsticks?”

Seokjin immediately grabbed three and gave them to him like a proud dad handing out gold stars.

Dinner resumed, with suspicious side-eyes, lingering glares, and silent cookie passing from Yoongi (who still denied leaving it near Taehyung’s cup earlier).

Jimin remained stiff and watchful beside Taehyung, as if any moment, the mafia might pull a trapdoor under them.

But as laughter picked up, jokes flew across the table, and Seokjin flicked spaghetti at Hoseok’s hair, Jimin noticed something…

Taehyung was smiling and laughing so brightly.

Brightly. Comfortably. Like he belonged.

And maybe, just maybe, this terrifying mansion filled with criminals and chaos… wasn’t the worst place they could’ve landed.

Jimin still wasn’t taking his slippers off, though.

Not yet.

Chapter Text

The morning sun filtered through the towering windows of the Jeon estate, illuminating the grand hallway with soft gold. Everything was quiet until a certain pair of pajama-clad tornadoes erupted into the dining room.

“I’m going to work.” Jimin’s voice cut like a blade through the peace as he stomped in, arms crossed, jaw tight, eyes set to murder anyone who says otherwise.

Taehyung trailed behind him, yawning adorably and rubbing his eyes, hair a soft mess of curls. “Me too... my jars need me. I think the toaster misses me.” He wore a hoodie far too big for him, courtesy of Jungkook’s overcompensating wardrobe bribe and socks that slid with every steps.

Yoongi blinked from behind his mug of coffee. Namjoon looked up from his tablet. Hoseok grinned like it was a variety show.

And Jungkook… Jungkook froze mid-sip of his black coffee.

“You’re not going anywhere.” Jungkook’s tone was low, calm. Too calm.

“Yes, we are.” Jimin pointed a very pink, manicured finger at Jungkook. “We can’t neglect the shop just because you and your scary mafia guns think it's okay to kidnap civilians like we’re in some k-drama spin-off of Taken.”

Namjoon cleared his throat. “It wasn’t exactly a kidnapping.”

“Really? Because last time I checked, there was duct tape, a van, and a man packing my sweaters like I was going on an exile vacation.”

“They fold well,” Yoongi muttered.

“And I’m the barista and waiter and happy pill!” Taehyung added, stepping forward and pouting like the world was ending. “My strawberry syrup jars are probably crying.”

Jungkook stared at him, heart twisted in four different directions.

Taehyung patted his own cheeks solemnly. “Even the milk frother said goodbye. I promised I’d be back.”

Hoseok choked on his coffee.

Yoongi whispered, “Is he talking about appliances?”

“Of course he is,” Jimin muttered protectively, gently patting Taehyung’s shoulder.

Seokjin entered the room at that moment, wiping his hands with a dish towel. “What’s this I hear about you two trying to go out?”

“Seokjinnie hyung!” Taehyung immediately ran over and latched onto the older’s arm like a baby sloth.

“Young man,” Seokjin said, glaring at everyone except the two youngest like an angry, beautiful tiger mom. “I allowed you to kidnap one barista, not two. What is wrong with all of you? Jimin has dark circles! Taehyung talks to machines! Let them go like this is their normal days!”

“I talk to them because they talk to me first,” Taehyung whispered.

Jimin nodded solemnly. “The fridge hums a lot when he's not around. It’s tragic.”

“See?” Jin motioned to both with a scowl. “Traumatized! You can’t keep them in a mansion like they're indoor plants! They need sunlight and their cafe!”

“Hyung.” Jungkook rubbed the back of his neck, steel bleeding into his gaze now. “It’s not that simple.”

“Oh, really?” Jimin narrowed his eyes. “Then explain it to me, Boss Baby.”

Jungkook's expression darkened. He exhaled slowly and turned toward Namjoon and Yoongi. “Tell them.”

Yoongi shifted in his seat. “There’s been chatter in the underground. The Makarov Russians are unstable after Jungkook… handled some of their business fronts.”

Namjoon continued, pushing up his glasses. “They’ve started poking around again. The Shin syndicate is losing connections too. It won’t be long before they realize who’s behind it. We’ve already intercepted two scouts near the café.”

Jimin’s glare faltered.

Taehyung’s pout disappeared entirely.

“You mean… danger danger? I will bring my water gun!” Taehyung said, voice in a high pitch like an excited puppy.

Jungkook facepalm. “They don’t know it’s me yet, but if they ever connect the dots—”

“Then Bloom & Brew becomes ground zero, because Taehyung had been seen with Jungkook-ah” Namjoon finished.

The silence that followed was thick.

Jimin looked at Taehyung, who looked back at him. Neither of them spoke. For a long moment, the warmth of the kitchen felt a little colder.

“…But…” Taehyung finally whispered, eyes wet but determined, “I still want to work. I love it. And I feel better when I’m there. And the people… the regulars miss me too.”

Jimin touched his arm. “Tae—”

“And I wanna play with my jars again.” Taehyung says, then added softly but firmly, “Bloom & Brew is my happy place. I need to go back… I wanna go out please, Jungkook?”

That’s when Jungkook realized the worst possible thing was happening—Taehyung wasn’t just fighting him.

He was choosing to be brave.

Against him.

Jungkook exhaled, slow and deep, his jaw clenched.

“I can’t lock you away,” he said finally, looking at Taehyung, then at Jimin. “But you have to understand, this isn’t just about you anymore. You’re involved now. Whether I like it or not.”

Taehyung stepped forward, close enough for Jungkook to catch the faint scent of strawberry and fresh linen. His fingers gently brushed the sleeve of Jungkook’s black shirt, soft and hesitant, yet it sent a jolt straight through Jungkook’s chest.

“I know,” Taehyung said quietly, eyes wide and pleading. “But… can you at least let me make smoothies and cupcakes while you guard the café?”

Jungkook’s breath hitched. His heart thudded violently, painfully, as if it had forgotten how to beat correctly with Taehyung standing this close. The morning light caught on Taehyung’s features, flushed cheeks, long lashes, the curve of those soft pink lips that looked far too inviting for his peace of mind.

Jungkook’s eyes fluttered shut for just a second, trying to compose himself.

When he opened them again, Taehyung was still looking at him like that, like someone who trusted him, not feared him.

And that ruined him.

He gave the tiniest nod, jaw tight. “...Only if I’m there.”

Taehyung beamed, bright as sunlight and warm as honey as he tugged gently on Jungkook’s sleeve, nodding like he’d just solved world peace. “Okay then. You can guard the café. I’m still making the drinks. And Mr. Latte Machine missed me too.”

It should’ve been a calm, heart-fluttering moment.

It should have been peaceful.

But it wasn’t.

Because Hoseok let out a very audible gasp from the hallway.

Followed by Namjoon’s muffled snort of laughter.

And then Yoongi, voice deadpan as ever, muttered, “God, you’re so whipped. It’s actually hard to watch.”

Jungkook froze.

So did the smile on his face.

And then—

Click.

The very real sound of a safety switch being undone echoed through the room.

Jimin froze on his chair, eyes wide, scared that Jungkook might really shoot them. And Seokjin continues eating, used to the scene.

Yoongi’s eyes widened like saucers.

“Jeon Jungkook,” Namjoon started slowly, one hand raised in caution. “Let’s not scare the kids—”

But it was too late.

Jungkook raised his pistol in one fluid, practiced motion, aimed directly at the three older men who had clearly forgotten that he was still the most feared mafia boss on the eastern seaboard.

“OUT,” Jungkook growled through gritted teeth, ears flushed red, voice cracking somewhere between murderous intent and absolutely unhinged embarrassment. “GET OUT BEFORE I START SHOOTING.”

Hoseok screamed, actually screamed and ran like a man possessed.

Yoongi turned and bolted, but not before yelling, “I REGRET NOTHING!”

Namjoon tripped over the hem of his sweatpants but still managed to leap over the nearest couch like an Olympic athlete. “YOU’RE IN LOVE AND IT’S GROSS!”

Jungkook let out a feral sound, growl and took off after them, gun still in hand, cursing under his breath.

“Get back here—”

The doors slammed.

Taehyung blinked, turning to Jimin with wide eyes. “Why is Jungkook chasing them with a gun?”

Jimin, arms crossed and still tucked protectively in front of Taehyung, just muttered, “Because love makes people weird, and that’s what happens when you flirt with mafia bosses. You break them.”

Seokjin, standing beside them, shook his head slowly, exhaling like a disappointed parent at the school play. “And now we have three escapees and one emotionally compromised warlord.”

Taehyung just giggled.

Then softly, like it was the most natural thing in the world, he turned to Seokjin and said, “Can I make cookies today?”

Seokjin sighed again but this time with a smile. “Only if you help me keep Jungkook from actually shooting anyone before dinner.”

From somewhere down the hallway, Hoseok’s voice echoed faintly.

“HE’S STILL COMING—YOONGI, STOP LAUGHING AND RUN FASTER—!”

-

The morning sun spilled over the cobblestone path leading to Bloom & Brew, painting the street in gentle gold. Inside, the café glowed with familiar warmth, soft hums of conversation, the hiss of the espresso machine, and the gentle clatter of cups that echoed like a song only the regulars knew by heart.

Taehyung stood behind the counter, a light blue apron tied snugly around his waist, soft strands of hair curling over his forehead as he carefully layered strawberry compote into a glass jar. His tongue peeked out in concentration, and the sunlight caught the curve of his cheekbones like a painter’s highlight. Every now and then, he smiled at the regular customers, so naturally charming it left a few blushing and stammering as they took their orders.

Near the back, Jungkook sat in his usual all-black ensemble, a steaming black coffee untouched in front of him. He looked like a shadow personified among the pastel walls and dainty potted plants. One leg was crossed over the other, his arm thrown over the back of the chair, and his eyes… were fixed only on Taehyung.

The younger moved like a dream, flitting between tables, greeting a little girl with a gentle head pat, laughing as he handed an older man an extra cookie “for being nice to Mr. Peupeu,” who now sat on a shelf wearing a little barista hat someone must’ve sewn overnight. It was Seokjin sewn the little hat.

Jungkook’s fingers twitched near his cup. His heartbeat thudded in his ears with every flick of Taehyung’s hand, every soft giggle that danced through the air. He was mesmerized, utterly undone by someone arranging scones like it was the most important task in the world. His lips were pink, plush, and so close when he leaned across the counter… Jungkook had to drag his eyes away or risk doing something unforgivable.

Across from him, Yoongi sat with his arms crossed, hood pulled low, watching with a blank expression. But his eyes occasionally flicked to Jimin, who darted past with a tray of muffins. The moment Jimin neared their table, Yoongi smirked and offered dryly, “You missed a spot of flour on your nose, Shortcake.”

Jimin stopped, narrowed his eyes, and flicked him off without breaking stride. “You missed the spot where I don’t care.”

Yoongi’s smirk widened.

Meanwhile, a team of guards lingered inside and outside the café, disguised as customers or passersby. One read a book in the corner. Another posed as a man waiting for his date, checking his watch. A few occupied the patio outside with newspapers and cappuccinos, eyes always scanning.

Namjoon and Hoseok were currently handling business offsite, tending to Jungkook’s orders regarding the Makarov’s and the Shins. The tension in the underground world had been rising, and while Jungkook was the storm behind it, today, he sat inside a peaceful café, watching his favorite chaos.

Around noon, the bell above the door chimed gently.

Seokjin entered, still in scrubs beneath his beige cardigan, hair slightly tousled, hospital badge tucked in his pocket. He looked exhausted but the moment he saw Jimin and Taehyung giggling behind the counter, something in his shoulders relaxed.

“You two better not have added ten grams of sugar into the cake again,” he warned, sliding off his coat and grabbing an apron.

“Hyung!” Taehyung lit up and rushed around the counter to hug him. “You’re here! Come help us decorate duck cookies!”

Jimin grinned as Seokjin kissed his forehead and then immediately pointed a spatula at Jungkook and Yoongi. “I see you’ve been here and not helping these cuties. I’m not mad, I’m just… okay, I’m mad.”

Yoongi looked unbothered. Jungkook blinked slowly, too distracted by the way Taehyung was now placing tiny icing hearts on the duck cookies.

“Don’t bother,” Jimin whispered to Seokjin. “He’s in his ‘oh-no-he’s-adorable-and-sweet-and-baking mode’ again.”

“God help us all,” Seokjin muttered, rolling up his sleeves. “Let’s bake.”

And so, while the café buzzed with soft laughter, warm light, and the sound of whisks against bowls, the mafia boss sat in a floral chair, utterly smitten, surrounded by sugar and secret guns, and ignored entirely by the man he wanted most.

It was a regular day at Bloom & Brew. And chaos had never looked so cozy.

-

The mafia mansion was quiet. A rare silence blanketed the compound, broken only by the occasional rustle of wind brushing against the tall windows. Somewhere outside, guards walked their nightly routes. Inside, most of the household was asleep.

Jungkook wasn’t.

He stood near the floor-to-ceiling windows in the hallway, dressed in a simple black T-shirt and loose pants, one hand shoved into his pocket, the other holding a glass of whiskey he hadn't touched. His eyes, distant and heavy-lidded, reflected the moonlight streaming in. His body was still, but his mind… wasn’t.

The weight of recent days pressed against him. The Makarovs were stirring, the Shins destabilizing, and his own men out weaving chaos on his behalf. But none of that occupied his thoughts right now.

Not compared to the image of a barista with soft eyes and a lullaby of a laugh.

He didn’t hear the soft footsteps at first. Only when the light in the hallway near the kitchen flicked on did he shift. And then—

There he was.

Taehyung stood barefoot in oversized pajama pants and a loose cream sweater, one hand rubbing his sleepy eyes, the other clutching a glass of water. His hair was messy from sleep, lips pink and slightly parted, and his expression, wide-eyed and blinking into the hallway, looked as if he’d walked straight out of a dream.

They both froze when their eyes met.

Taehyung tilted his head. “Hi, Jungkookie. Can’t sleep?” he asked softly. The nickname slips from his lips, mind still sleepy.

Jungkook swallowed. His voice felt caught in his throat, but he managed a quiet, “You too?”

Taehyung nodded and shuffled a little closer, not yet aware of how dangerously he was affecting the man in front of him. “I got thirsty… and hungry,” he added shyly, glancing down at the cookie in his other hand. “Midnight snack.”

Jungkook gave a breath of a laugh, the corner of his lips twitching. “Figures.”

Taehyung took another step. “What about you?”

Jungkook nearly choked on air.

Taehyung smiled, that sleepy kind of innocent grin that made Jungkook’s chest ache. “You look like you're thinking too hard. Did you try warm milk?”

“No.” Jungkook’s voice was low, rough. His eyes never left Taehyung. “Does that actually work?”

“Dunno,” Taehyung shrugged, “but when Jimin hyung drinks it, he stops yelling about taxes in his dreams.”

Jungkook’s laugh, quiet, genuine, echoed faintly in the hallway. It was then that he realized how close Taehyung had come.

Too close.

The kind of close where Jungkook could count the faint freckles on his nose. Where he could see the way his sweater slipped off one shoulder. Where he could smell the faint scent of strawberries from earlier at the café. His gaze lingered on Taehyung’s mouth for a second too long.

His heart was thundering now.

He was used to blood. Violence. Men begging. Screaming. Guns, strategy, war.

He wasn’t used to this.

Not the flutter of nerves in his stomach. Not the pull. The gravity that was Taehyung.

And maybe it was foolish or dangerous but his body moved before his mind could stop him.

He leaned in.

Taehyung’s breath caught.

Their eyes met, deep brown and molten dark and Jungkook paused only inches away, his voice a whisper barely audible over the silence of the night.

“Why do you keep doing this to me?”

Taehyung blinked, brows drawing together. “Doing what?”

Jungkook let out a slow breath, shaking his head slightly. “Being so close… and looking at me like that.”

Taehyung tilted his head. “Like what?”

Jungkook closed the distance just a little more, nose brushing against Taehyung’s lightly. “Like you’re not scared. Like you see me.”

Taehyung’s voice was steady, soft. “I do.”

That broke something in Jungkook.

He wanted to kiss him.

He wanted to run.

Instead, he did something entirely different, he gently lifted a hand and brushed a crumb from the corner of Taehyung’s mouth with his thumb.

“Midnight snacks suits you, like I want to eat.” he said, voice hoarse.

Taehyung looked up at him through his lashes, cheeks dusted with pink. “You’re acting weird.”

“You make me weird,” Jungkook murmured without thinking.

For a moment, the world tilted.

And then—

Footsteps echoed distantly from another hallway, probably one of the guards checking in. Taehyung blinked, pulling back slightly.

“I should go back to bed,” he whispered.

Jungkook nodded, but his eyes followed him the whole way as Taehyung walked away, still barefoot and glowing under moonlight.

Just before he disappeared around the corner, Taehyung glanced back with a tiny smile. “Goodnight, Jungkookie.”

Jungkook groaned into his hands the moment he was alone again, heart pounding wildly, head full of everything he shouldn’t want but now couldn’t stop.

And far down the corridor, Taehyung leaned against the wall, breath light, hand to his chest.

Neither of them slept that night.

Chapter Text

The morning sunlight bled lazily through the high windows of the mafia mansion, warming the marble floors and casting golden streaks along the hallways. The household had already begun to stir, guards changing shifts, the kitchen staff preparing breakfast, and distant murmurs of morning routines echoing faintly through the corridors.

Jungkook sat at the long dining table, hunched slightly over his coffee.

His fingers drummed soundlessly against the table surface, jaw tight, eyes unfocused.

He hadn’t slept.

At all.

Because every time he shut his eyes, he saw Taehyung. Standing barefoot in that sweater. Cookie in one hand. Lips flushed. Smiling.

‘You make me weird.’

God. He was weird now. His right-hand men were sitting at the same table and he had no clue what anyone was talking about. He hadn’t even barked a single order yet and it had been over an hour. An hour. Something was wrong.

Yoongi, sitting across from him with his arms crossed, narrowed his eyes. “You’re being weird.”

“I’m fine,” Jungkook muttered, eyes fixed on his untouched toast like it had personally offended him.

Namjoon raised an eyebrow. “Did you sleep?”

Hoseok leaned forward with a bright grin. “Did someone crawl out of bed and get rejected?”

Jungkook’s head snapped up, eyes sharp and ready to fire but it was too late. All three hyungs leaned back instantly in their chairs like synchronized swimmers, hands raised in surrender.

“Relax, Kook-ah,” Hoseok said quickly. “It was a joke—”

Click.

Jungkook’s gun was out, safety off, pointed directly at the center of the table.

All three dove for cover.

“You said it was a joke!” Namjoon shouted from behind the kitchen counter.

“I panicked!” Hoseok yelled from under a chair.

Yoongi’s voice came muffled from behind the curtain. “It’s 8:00 AM. You lunatic.”

Jungkook stood, shoved the gun back into the waistband of his sweats, and pinched the bridge of his nose.

Why was this his life?

Why was Taehyung in his brain like some cursed melody on repeat?

As if summoned by sheer thought, light footsteps entered the room, and Jungkook nearly disintegrated on the spot.

Taehyung walked in with Jimin beside him, both looking freshly showered and too chipper for people who hadn’t just ruined Jungkook’s internal stability the night before. Taehyung was in soft, pale-yellow today, sweater tucked into loose pants, hair still slightly damp and curling at the ends, his sleepy smile immediately lighting up the space like sunshine.

“Morning, everyone!” he chimed, voice like a yawn wrapped in sugar.

Jungkook felt his throat close.

Taehyung gave him a little wave.

And Jungkook? He blinked at him. Once. Twice. Forgot how to breathe.

Taehyung tilted his head.

“…You okay, Jungkookie?”

Jungkook felt a full system shutdown.

Namjoon, peeking back into view, looked between the two and muttered, “What in the romantic tension.”

Hoseok grinned wide from the floor. “Someone’s blushing.”

“I will shoot you,” Jungkook hissed, not even looking at him.

But it was true, he could feel the heat climbing up his neck. Could feel the back of his ears burning. And worse, Taehyung smiled at that.

Jimin, ever the overprotective roommate, noticed the weird energy too and narrowed his eyes. “What’s with him?” he whispered to Taehyung, nodding at Jungkook.

Taehyung just shrugged with a soft smile and reached for the butter knife. “I don’t know Minnie, maybe he needs a hug.”

Jungkook nearly choked on his coffee.

Across the room, Seokjin strolled in from the front door, dressed in a polo and a long coat, hair tousled from a four-hour surgery shift. “Why is everyone hiding? And who didn’t save me a croissant—” He froze. “Jeon Jungkook. Why are your brothers cowering like raccoons?”

“They’re being stupid,” Jungkook muttered darkly.

“I leave for a few hours,” Seokjin sighed, rubbing his temples. “And all of you revert to middle school.”

But then he spotted Taehyung and Jimin at the counter and his entire demeanor shifted. “You two! Babies! How are you feeling? Did you sleep well?”

“Yes, hyung,” Jimin said with a small smile. “We’re okay.”

Seokjin immediately pulled them both into a hug, glaring over their shoulders at everyone else like a furious cat protecting its kittens.

“They are soft,” Seokjin hissed. “Handle them like it.”

Taehyung giggled into Seokjin’s shoulder, completely unaware that Jungkook was staring at him like a man dying of thirst in a desert of his own making.

Yoongi climbed out from behind the curtain, brushing himself off with a groan. “Great. Now that the soap opera is over, can we eat?”

Hoseok finally crawled back up onto his chair, grabbing a piece of toast. “It’s not a soap opera. It’s more like a slow-burn mafia romance starring Jungkook and the barista of his dreams.”

Click.

“PUT THE GUN AWAY—”

-

It started with the scent of rain.

Bloom & Brew had just hit its usual morning rhythm—espresso machines hissing, cups clinking, soft music humming beneath conversations. The warmth inside was a perfect contrast to the heavy clouds outside, casting a dusky gray over the café windows.

Taehyung was in his element, moving gracefully between tables with his apron tied tight around his waist, hair falling into his eyes as he leaned in to chat with customers. He laughed softly when one of the elderly regulars complimented his new cookie recipe, then turned to wave at Jimin, who was behind the counter dusted in flour, sleeves rolled up as he piped cream onto a tray of pastries.

It was almost normal.

Almost.

Except Jungkook was sitting near the window, eyes sharp behind a pair of tinted glasses, not drinking the cappuccino in front of him. He hadn’t moved in ten minutes. His jaw clenched with every passing second. And Yoongi, beside him, tapped his finger slowly against the table like a silent metronome, watching too.

Because the men outside hadn’t moved either.

Two of them. Leaning near a parked car across the street. Smoking, laughing too loudly. One had a thick black coat despite the warm weather. The other kept glancing at the café door like he was waiting for something.

Yoongi murmured under his breath. “Makarov?”

Jungkook gave a subtle nod.

Taehyung passed by, his sleeve brushing Jungkook’s arm as he placed a latte in front of a customer.

Jungkook didn’t breathe for two seconds.

His entire body was on alert.

“I’ll message Namjoon,” Yoongi said calmly, eyes flicking to his phone. “And Hoseok. If they move, we end them.”

Jungkook’s voice was quiet but hard as steel. “If they even look at him wrong, I’ll shoot through this window.”

Then the bell above the café door rang. Everyone looked up.

A man stepped inside, tall, sharp-featured, with pale eyes and a leather jacket. He looked like any other customer. Calm. Composed.

But Jungkook’s blood ran ice-cold.

Taehyung, still smiling, walked toward the counter with a notepad. “Good morning! What can I get you toda—”

“Actually,” the man said, his voice low and thick with a Russian accent, every syllable drawn like a blade. His lips curled as if the words tasted sweet on his tongue. “I’m looking for someone.”

Taehyung blinked, smile still resting on his lips, not yet sensing the storm behind those eyes. “Oh?”

He didn’t get the chance to say more.

Because behind him, Jungkook was already rising.

The chair scraped back slightly. His hands flexed once at his sides, jaw tightening, muscles coiling like a predator ready to strike. His gaze was fixed on the man, dark and unreadable, danger condensed into bone and blood.

The stranger tilted his head, gaze slowly sliding past Jungkook—past Yoongi, until it landed on Taehyung. “Kim Taehyung,” he said with a smirk, like the name alone gave him power. “You know—”

Jungkook moved.

It was a blur.

Yoongi stood up at the same moment, swift and silent, body shifting to block the view of the back of the café, shielding the few remaining customers as guards began subtly clearing the room.

But Jungkook was already there.

He reached the man in seconds and slammed him against the doorframe with such violent force that the bell overhead clanged wildly, swinging on its hinge. The wood cracked. A nearby customer shrieked.

Jungkook’s forearm was pressed to the man’s throat, pinning him hard against the frame. His voice came out low, guttural, barely human. “Say that again.”

The café fell into a stunned silence.

Even the hiss of the espresso machine seemed to die.

Taehyung stood frozen, still holding the notepad, eyes wide and lips parted. He could feel the temperature in the room drop, could hear the metallic ring of fear in his own ears.

The man, now bleeding, grinned, a smear of crimson sliding down his chin. “Jeon Jungkook,” he rasped, eyes shining with something cruel. “The shadow king himself. I just wanted to see what made you weak.”

Jungkook didn’t hesitate.

His fist collided with the man’s face with a sickening crack, bone meeting bone, sending him sprawling onto the tiled floor, blood splashing in a messy bloom across the white and terracotta pattern.

Yoongi was already on his feet, pulling a silenced pistol from under his jacket with one smooth motion, cool and deadly. He didn’t point it yet but the message was clear: if this man so much as twitched, he’d be gone.

Outside, chaos erupted in eerie silence.

Two other men across the street were suddenly surrounded by Jungkook’s guards, camouflaged until that exact moment. They moved with the precision of a military unit. The two suspects didn’t stand a chance.

Inside, the café air turned cold and sharp like a blade drawn across skin.

It had been an ambush.

A threat.

A message.

Jungkook stood over the downed man, breathing hard, his fists clenched at his sides. His heartbeat thundered in his ears, but his face remained calm, too calm. The kind of calm that made people beg for chaos instead.

“You made one mistake,” he hissed through gritted teeth. “You walked in here.”

The man chuckled, blood bubbling at his lip. Even bleeding, he smiled like the devil. “It was worth it. Now everyone knows.”

“Knows what?” Yoongi asked, voice quiet but deadly.

The man turned his head slowly, deliberately, toward Taehyung.

“That he matters.”

Time stopped.

Taehyung’s breath caught in his throat.

And Jungkook—

Jungkook saw red.

He kicked the man in the chest so hard his body thudded against the floor with a hollow, sickening sound. The man didn’t speak again. He didn’t move.

Yoongi knelt beside him, checked his pulse. “He’s alive,” he muttered. “Barely.”

Jungkook didn’t care.

His eyes flicked to Taehyung.

The younger was trembling now, not out of fear of Jungkook, but from the sudden weight of reality that had crashed into him like a freight train. The notepad fell from his fingers. It hit the floor with a soft papery flutter.

Jimin had rushed out from the back kitchen, flour still dusted on his cheek, and was already pulling Taehyung back gently. “Tae, baby—come here. Don’t look. Don’t look.”

But Taehyung did look.

Straight into Jungkook’s eyes.

And Jungkook, for all his training, for all his power—looked terrified.

“Get him out,” Jungkook ordered, voice low and dangerous, to his guards.

Yoongi was already texting Hoseok and Namjoon.

Jungkook turned slowly toward Taehyung, and his expression shifted.

From rage… to guilt.

“Taehyung—”

“Who was that?” Taehyung asked, his voice soft but shaken.

“No one important,” Jungkook lied instinctively.

But Taehyung saw it, something dangerous in Jungkook’s eyes, something primal. Protective. Terrified.

He realized then, Jungkook wasn’t just angry.

He was afraid.

And the fear wasn’t for himself.

The café was nearly empty now.

The bell above the door had long since stilled. The scent of blood lingered faintly under the warm hum of coffee and baked goods, an unnatural intrusion in the place Taehyung loved most.

The guards had disappeared with the Russian man and his companions, no sirens, no noise, just shadows swallowing shadows.

Yoongi had gone with them, muttering into his earpiece, expression grim.

Jimin was tending to a shaken customer out back, reassuring her with gentle smiles and warm tea, ever the mother hen even in crisis.

But here, near the barista counter, it was just Taehyung and Jungkook.

Jungkook was still standing where he had last moved, body taut, fists clenched so tightly his knuckles were white. His jaw ticked. His heart thundered in his chest, so violently it hurt.

And Taehyung… Taehyung stood just a few feet away.

The younger’s eyes were wide but calm now, filled not with fear, but with something deeper.

Understanding.

It was a different kind of silence between them. Not heavy. Not broken. Just raw.

Jungkook’s throat worked. “I didn’t want this to touch you, Tae. I tried. I tried so hard.”

Taehyung’s gaze softened. “You think I don’t see how hard you try? You stand in front of me like some kind of wall… even when I don’t ask.”

Jungkook said nothing. He couldn’t. His chest was a battlefield of emotion, shame, rage, protectiveness, and something that burned so hot it scared him, devotion.

“I’m not mad,” Taehyung added gently. “I’m… just scared. Not of you. Never of you.”

That nearly broke Jungkook.

Taehyung took another step. Close enough now that Jungkook could see every freckle, every flutter of his lashes, every tremble in his fingers that he tried to hide.

“You said I matter,” Taehyung whispered. “He did too.”

“You don’t matter to them,” Jungkook growled suddenly, voice ragged. “Not to them. Not in that way.”

Taehyung tilted his head. “But I matter to you.”

Jungkook’s breath caught.

Taehyung’s voice dropped even quieter. “Don’t lie to me, Jungkook. I know now. You were about to tear the world apart because someone said my name.”

And there it was.

The moment.

The unspoken turned tangible.

Jungkook stepped back half a pace, his hands twitching like he didn’t know where to place them, on Taehyung’s cheeks, on the wall behind him, on the gun still holstered at his hip, on his own chest just to stop the aching.

But Taehyung reached forward first.

Soft fingers brushing over his wrist.

“Let’s go home,” Taehyung whispered.

The grand hallway of the mafia mansion felt colder than usual.

Jungkook walked in silence, jaw set like iron, coat thrown over one shoulder as he barked orders into his phone.

“Double security at every entry point. No exceptions,” he snapped. “Track every face from the café today. I want names. I want where they sleep.”

Namjoon met him halfway down the corridor, his face unreadable. “You think it’s tied to the Makarov?”

“It’s too direct not to be. And I’ve been chipping at their empire for months. They’re starting to feel it.”

“They’ll come again,” Yoongi muttered. “Harder.”

“I know.”

Jungkook walked faster.

Behind him, Taehyung followed, a little slower, wrapped in one of Jimin’s cozy sweaters that reached his knees. The compound guards bowed slightly as he passed, softly protective now, not just out of duty.

Taehyung noticed.

He noticed everything now.

Seokjin was already in the hallway near the stairs when they arrived, still in his hospital scrubs, dark circles under his eyes from the emergency surgery earlier but his expression was anything but tired. It was tight with worry, lips pressed into a thin line as he paced with his arms crossed, glancing toward the door every few seconds like he might will Taehyung and Jimin into existence.

The moment he saw them walking in, Taehyung wrapped in one of his oversized sweaters and Jimin close behind, Seokjin exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for hours.

“Tae!” he rushed over instantly, hands out, eyes wide as he scanned Taehyung from head to toe. “Are you okay? Are you hurt? Did they touch you? Did anyone lay a hand—”

“I’m okay,” Taehyung said softly, offering him a gentle smile, though his eyes still carried the weight of what had happened. “I promise, hyung.”

But Seokjin wasn’t satisfied with words. He reached out and pulled Taehyung into his arms, hugging him tightly to his chest like a mother who’d just found her lost child.

“You’re never allowed to scare me like that again,” Seokjin mumbled into his hair, voice thick. “You hear me? Never. I’ll bubble-wrap you and put you in my pantry next to the rice cooker if I have to.”

Taehyung let out a quiet laugh against his shoulder. “You’d really put me next to the rice cooker?”

“It’s the safest place in the house,” Seokjin said, pulling back only to cup his cheeks and inspect his face like a protective hawk. Then he turned to Jimin, pulling him into the hug without hesitation, cradling his head. “And you. You look like you haven’t slept in days.”

“I haven’t,” Jimin muttered into his chest. “I’ve been too busy trying not to lose my damn mind.”

“Well, congratulations, because I’m about to lose mine for both of you,” Seokjin said, brushing his fingers through their hair like he was checking for injuries. “You two are the worst. My heart can't take this.”

“Love you too, hyung,” Jimin murmured, sniffling slightly.

“I know,” Seokjin replied, kissing the top of both their heads before tightening the hug one last time. “Now come on. You’re both eating something hot and sugary before you even think about going to bed.”

The mansion was silent by the time the lights dimmed and footsteps vanished into bedrooms.

Taehyung wandered quietly through the halls, barefoot in his pajama bottoms and a soft white sweater. He’d only meant to grab a glass of water from the kitchen… maybe a leftover pastry Seokjin forgot to hide. But halfway back, he saw a light glowing beneath a door down the hall.

Jungkook’s office.

The thought made his heart hiccup.

Without fully understanding why, maybe it was the tug in his chest, or the look Jungkook gave him earlier that refused to leave his mind, Taehyung padded softly toward it and knocked once.

No answer.

He turned the handle anyway. The door creaked softly as Taehyung stepped inside.

The air was warm, quiet, still, except for the gentle hum of the old desk lamp casting a pool of amber over stacks of paperwork. And there he was.

“Jungkook.”

Sitting on the edge of the couch this time, not at his desk, hunched forward with his elbows on his knees, jaw clenched, hair a little disheveled from raking his fingers through it too many times. His black shirt clung to the lines of his back, muscles taut like a bowstring, like something inside him was about to snap.

He looked up when the door clicked shut.

“Taehyung.”

It came out like a breath he didn’t mean to release. Like the one word had been sitting in his throat, choking him.

Taehyung stood there for a moment, hesitant but only just. He didn’t need a reason, not really. His feet moved on instinct, carrying him across the room in soft, padded steps.

“Are you okay?” he said quietly.

Jungkook’s gaze dropped, his hands tightening together like they were bracing against the ache in his chest. His voice came out lower this time. Strained.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“I wanted to see you.”

Jungkook shut his eyes.

“Taehyung…” His voice cracked this time. “Do you even understand how close the enemy to you?”

Taehyung didn’t flinch. “I understand.”

“No, you don’t,” Jungkook said, louder now, rising suddenly to his feet. “You don’t... You could’ve died.”

Taehyung blinked up at him, the hurt in Jungkook’s voice winding around his chest.’

“And whose fault is that?” Jungkook muttered, almost to himself now. “Mine. I brought you into this mess. I should’ve pushed you away the second I knew.”

“You didn’t bring me in,” Taehyung said, voice soft like a bedtime secret. His brows furrowed gently, as if he was still puzzling it out in his head. “I kind of… brought myself.”

He glanced up at Jungkook, head tilting a little. “I didn’t listen to Jimin hyung. He told me to be careful. That something felt off. That you were dangerous.” He blinked slowly, thoughtfully. “And I guess… technically, you are. But not to me.”

A small, sheepish smile curled on his lips as he hugged his arms loosely around his waist, like he wasn’t quite sure where to put his hands.

“But even after he warned me, I still talked to you. A lot. I knew something was different about you, but… I didn’t want to stop.”

He paused, brows knitting as he tried to explain the knot of feelings inside him the only way he could.

“It’s like… when I see a candle and know the fire might burn, but I still want to feel the warmth anyway. That’s you.”

His eyes lifted again, sincere and wide.

“So, if someone has to be blamed for all this, I think it’s me. I picked this. I picked you.”

Taehyung took a tiny step forward, voice growing even quieter as his fingers nervously played with the hem of his sweater.

“I don’t regret it. Not even a little bit. But you don’t have to be all sad and grumpy about it either, okay? I’m not broken.”

He tried to smile, soft and warm.

“And I really don’t want you to see you like this just because you think you’re supposed to protect me from… everything.”

Something in Jungkook’s expression cracked open, utterly, completely. And then—

He moved.

Fast, but careful. Like a storm that wasn’t sure whether to destroy or to shelter. His arms wrapped around Taehyung in one sudden, seamless pull, pressing the younger tight to his chest. His nose buried in Taehyung’s hair. One hand cradling the back of his head like it was something breakable, precious.

Taehyung gasped quietly at the force of the embrace, but didn’t pull away. He couldn’t. Not when Jungkook was holding him like he needed him to keep breathing.

“I’m so sorry,” Jungkook whispered against his hair. “I should’ve kept you safe. I should’ve—God, Tae, I should’ve known they’d go after you.”

“You did keep me safe,” Taehyung murmured. His hands slowly lifted, one curling around Jungkook’s shirt, the other resting against his shoulder. “Like always.”

Jungkook pulled back just enough to look at him.

Just enough.

His eyes were dark and wild, the edges wet like he hadn’t realized he was blinking back tears until now. His thumb brushed Taehyung’s cheek. Once. Then again, slower.

And then he kissed him.

Soft.

Desperate.

Like he was both apologizing and asking to be forgiven all at once. Like this was the only thing he could give that wasn’t violence or vengeance.

Taehyung’s eyes widened. His breath hitched in the kiss, heart fluttering in his chest like it didn’t know what to do, like it had been thrown into the sky without a parachute.

It wasn’t a perfect kiss. It trembled at the edges. Jungkook’s hand tightened in his hair, the other still clinging to his back like he was scared this moment would vanish if he let go.

When he finally pulled away, barely an inch between them, Jungkook didn’t open his eyes right away. His forehead rested gently against Taehyung’s, their breaths mingling in the silence.

“I didn’t mean to do that,” Jungkook said hoarsely.

“I know,” Taehyung replied, voice small but steady. “But I’m glad you did.”

Jungkook opened his eyes then.

Taehyung was looking up at him like he always had. Like Jungkook was made of more than the war in his bones. Like the kiss didn’t scare him. Like maybe… he’d wanted it, too.

Jungkook’s jaw trembled just a little, and Taehyung reached up—soft fingers cupping his cheek.

“I’m here,” Taehyung whispered. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

And this time, when Jungkook pulled him close, it wasn’t out of desperation.

It was out of something quieter. Softer.

Something that almost felt like hope.

Chapter Text

The night was deep and still, the only sound a soft hum from the heater and the distant whisper of wind outside the windows. Taehyung’s eyes were growing heavier where he stood in the center of Jungkook’s office, still cradled loosely in the older man’s arms.

“You should sleep,” Taehyung mumbled, his cheek squished softly against Jungkook’s chest. “Your brain’s going to melt if you keep being this serious all the time.”

Jungkook didn’t answer right away.

His arms just tightened a little around the younger, jaw brushing the top of Taehyung’s head like he was memorizing the feel of him.

“I don’t want to let go yet,” Jungkook murmured.

Taehyung tilted his head, blinking up with those impossibly wide brown eyes. “Then don’t,” he said simply, like it was the easiest answer in the world.

There was a beat of silence.

“Can you sleep with me tonight?” Jungkook asked, voice quiet, almost unsure.

Taehyung lit up like a lamp. “Oh! Yeah. That’s okay. I don’t kick or snore unless I dream about penguins chasing me—which is rare.”

Jungkook chuckled softly, brushing his nose against Taehyung’s hair, the knot in his chest loosening with every ridiculous thing that left the younger’s mouth.

They left the office together, steps hushed down the dark hallway.

Jungkook’s room was large, sleek, dimly lit by a single wall sconce and framed in dark wood and soft shadows. It smelled like something warm, cedar, leather, and a hint of something smoky. Like Jungkook himself.

“I’ll shower first,” he said, grabbing a clean shirt and some sweatpants from his walk-in closet.

Taehyung nodded with a sleepy smile, then as soon as the bathroom door clicked shut, his eyes lit with childish curiosity.

And the adventure began.

“Ooooh, fancy furniture,” he whispered dramatically to no one in particular, crouching to peer at the edge of Jungkook’s low modern bed. “You’re definitely expensive. Probably too expensive to sit on while wet.”

He moved to a tall, sleek bookshelf. “Hello, Mr. Bookshelf. You’re taller than Jimin and definitely more serious.”

A faint chuckle echoed from the bathroom as water began to run.

Taehyung padded over to the windows next. “This one’s got curtains that look like they’d win a staring contest.” Then, spotting the bedside lamp, he gave it a few innocent pokes—until the light changed from white to green, then red, then pink.

“Oh! You do rainbow magic!”

Jungkook was drying his hair with a towel when he stepped out to this, Taehyung hunched over the lamp with his mouth slightly open in amazement, pressing buttons like he’d just discovered a secret treasure.

“Do you have a nightlight?” Taehyung asked as soon as he noticed him, spinning around like an excited puppy. “Like a real one? Mine glows blue and smells like lavender. It makes star shapes.”

Jungkook blinked, amused. “No. I just sleep in the dark.”

Taehyung gasped. “That’s scary. What if a ghost tries to borrow your socks and you can’t see him to say no?”

Without giving him a chance to spiral into full ghost negotiations, Jungkook chuckled, grabbed Taehyung gently by the wrist, and tugged him toward the bed. “You’ll live.”

They settled in under the blankets, warm and soft, the quiet of the room folding over them like a secret. The hush of the night seemed to pause for them as if even time was holding its breath.

Face to face, noses nearly touching, their breaths mingled in the small space between them. The shadows from the lamp danced gently along the planes of Taehyung’s face, his soft cheekbones, the little mole under his lip, the curve of his lashes as they fluttered with sleep.

Jungkook lifted a hand, slow and deliberate, brushing a stray strand of hair away from Taehyung’s forehead. His fingers lingered for just a second longer than necessary, like they were memorizing the feeling.

Taehyung blinked up at him with wide, curious eyes, tilting his head just slightly. “Why are you staring?” he asked, his voice hushed and soft as moonlight. “Do I have bread crumbs again?”

A small, breathy laugh escaped Jungkook’s lips.

“No,” he said, his voice low, warm, and threaded with something unspoken. “You’re just…”

He didn’t finish.

He didn’t need to.

The silence between them was thick with feeling, gentle and unfamiliar, like a glass of something warm held too close to the chest. Neither moved, but something had already shifted, pulling them closer, heart first.

Then, Taehyung blinked once, his gaze dropping to Jungkook’s mouth before lifting back up again.

His voice was barely above a whisper, a little eager, a little shy. “Can we kiss again?”

Jungkook choked on his own breath.

Eyes widening for a split second, caught completely off guard.

Taehyung, as always, remained unbothered, watching him with the same innocent earnestness of someone asking for seconds on dessert. “I liked the feeling,” he said matter-of-factly. “Your lips were soft. And warm.”

The corners of Jungkook’s mouth twitched upward despite himself, chest aching from how absurdly, unintentionally charming the boy in his bed could be.

And he thought, ‘God help me.’

Because all he wanted was to kiss him again. He smiled, God, he smiled—and leaned forward, their lips meeting again in something slower, deeper this time. Taehyung squeaked in surprise as Jungkook tilted the angle of their mouths, parting his lips just enough to deepen the kiss, slow and warm, like sinking into something he hadn’t realized he’d been waiting for.

Then came the tongue.

Taehyung’s eyes popped open mid-kiss, blinking rapidly as he pulled back just slightly, lips still wet and breath catching in his throat. He looked adorably baffled, brows scrunching as his fingers gently curled into Jungkook’s shirt.

“Wait,” he whispered, voice high pitched with genuine confusion. “Is that your tongue?”

Just moments before, he had felt the slow, curious press of something softer, wetter than lips, a subtle flick, then a more confident glide, like Jungkook’s tongue was politely asking to enter, to taste, to explore. The sensation had sent a warm shiver down Taehyung’s spine, unfamiliar and strange, but not unwelcome—just… new.

He blinked again, eyes wide with literal curiosity, lips parted as he tried to understand what his mouth had just experienced.

Jungkook nodded, trying not to laugh. “Yes.”

Taehyung squinted. “Are you… trying to give me yours? Like trade?”

Jungkook laughed so hard he had to bury his face into the pillow beside Taehyung, shoulders shaking.

Taehyung, still confused but smiled anyway at the way Jungkook was laughing.

“You can keep it,” he said graciously, patting Jungkook’s cheek. “I already have one, but thank you.”

That made Jungkook laugh harder.

He turned back, still grinning like an idiot, and rolled partly on top of Taehyung, one hand braced beside his head, the other resting against his waist. His eyes softened, pupils blown wide with something tender and heated all at once.

“You’re insane,” Jungkook whispered, his voice low and husky, but laced with affection.

“You’re welcome,” Taehyung replied without missing a beat, proud and entirely unaware of how devastatingly adorable he looked, arms wrapping loosely around Jungkook’s shoulders like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Jungkook leaned down again, brushing their noses before his lips met Taehyung’s in a kiss that melted slowly into something deeper. His mouth moved gently, reverently, coaxing instead of taking. When his tongue brushed against Taehyung’s bottom lip again, he paused—waiting.

Taehyung whimpered softly, lips parting out of instinct, overwhelmed and startled by the warm slide of Jungkook’s tongue exploring his own. It was unfamiliar, intimate, and made his toes curl under the blanket.
His fingers clutched at Jungkook’s shirt as the kiss deepened, breath caught somewhere between confusion and wonder, his entire body reacting before his mind could catch up.

And Jungkook… Jungkook kissed him like he had all night to learn the taste of him.

He pulled back with a breathless noise. “That was… a lot. My mouth feels tingly.”

Jungkook let out a low laugh and kissed his forehead. “You’re impossible.”

“Still better than ghosts stealing your socks,” Taehyung mumbled, already curling against Jungkook’s chest like a sleepy cat.

Jungkook held him close, heart full, lips pressed to the crown of Taehyung’s head.

He didn’t know what tomorrow would bring. But tonight?

Tonight, he had the moonlight, the warmth of a body beside him, and a boy who thought he was giving away his tongue.

And it was enough.

-

The light was soft when it spilled through the enormous windows of Jungkook’s room, warm golds creeping across the thick comforter and brushing against two tangled figures beneath it.

Taehyung was a lump of warm, unmoving softness.

Jungkook, however, was very much awake, barely.

He blinked slowly at the crown of brown hair smushed against his chest, Taehyung's cheek pressed firmly against his collarbone, mouth parted just slightly as he breathed in quiet puffs. One of his legs had wormed its way between Jungkook’s at some point in the night, and his arms were wrapped securely around the mafia boss’s torso like a very sleepy, very clingy octopus.

Jungkook was trapped. Not that he minded.

He glanced at the clock. 9:02 AM.

“Taehyung,” he whispered, brushing his thumb against the younger’s cheek. “We should get up.”

No response.

He tried again, a little louder this time. “Taehyung. Breakfast.”

Still nothing. Only a sleepy whine, followed by Taehyung burrowing his face deeper into Jungkook’s chest like a stubborn kitten refusing to leave its warm blanket.

Jungkook chuckled under his breath.

Plan B.

He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Taehyung’s temple. Then another on his forehead. Then the tip of his nose.

“Mmngh,” Taehyung grumbled, squirming.

“You awake?” Jungkook whispered, nuzzling his lips across Taehyung’s cheek.

“No,” came the mumbled reply, muffled against his shirt. “This bed kidnapped me. I’m the hostage now.”

Jungkook snorted. “You’re the one holding me hostage.”

“That’s a lie,” Taehyung said, eyes still shut. “I’m a blanket ghost. You’re cursed to stay here forever.”

Jungkook rolled his eyes but smiled fondly. “You’re impossible.”

“Thank you,” Taehyung said sincerely, without moving.

Finally, with a little more persistence, read, more kisses to the neck and jaw, Taehyung peeked one eye open.

“Are we having pancakes?”

“Only if you get up.”

“Cruel,” Taehyung whispered. “You’re cruel, Jeon Jungkook.”

But after another few minutes of sleepy flopping and dramatic sighs, the two eventually managed to shuffle out of bed, Taehyung in his oversized sweater and mismatched socks, his hair sticking out in all directions.

Down in the dining room, the rest of the mansion was already buzzing.

Jimin looked wild, with bed hair, a steaming mug of coffee, and a visible twitch in his left eye. “He’s gone,” he muttered. “He’s actually gone. Taehyung disappeared in the night.”

Namjoon blinked over his newspaper. “Maybe he wandered into the greenhouse again?”

“I checked the greenhouse. And the pantry. And the east wing sauna! He was NOWHERE!”

Yoongi sipped his black coffee calmly. “Could be dead.”

Hoseok snorted. “He’s not dead. Jungkook would be on a murder spree by now.”

And right on cue, footsteps echoed from the stairs.

Jungkook entered first, all tall and rumpled in a fitted black tee and sweatpants, followed by Taehyung, who skipped behind him, hair messy, eyes still half-lidded with sleep.

“Taehyung!” Jimin shot up, pointing an accusatory finger. “Where the hell have you been?!”

Taehyung blinked innocently. “Sleeping.”

“Where?”

“With Jungkook.”

Spit-take. Seokjin choked violently on his orange juice while Jimin’s jaw dropped so hard it nearly hit the floor.

Namjoon, Yoongi, and Hoseok all whipped their heads toward Jungkook at once with the force of synchronized mafia judgment.

Jungkook’s eye twitched. “Taehyung—”

“It was nice!” Taehyung added cheerfully, plopping into a seat next to Seokjin. “He has these blackout curtains like a vampire, and a really comfy bed, and I got to push the buttons on his color-changing lamp. And we kissed again!”

Another spit-take. This time from both Jimin and Seokjin, sputtered violently and slammed his coffee down, eyes bulging.

Seokjin wheezed. “You what?!”

Jungkook immediately reached out in a slow-motion panic to cover Taehyung’s mouth, but Taehyung was already happily stuffing a piece of toast into it, completely oblivious to the chaos he just dropped on the table like a breakfast bomb.

“Taehyung,” Jungkook hissed under his breath.

“What?” Taehyung mumbled with full cheeks.

Yoongi was staring at Jungkook with an expression that said ‘we will talk about this later’, while Hoseok looked ONE SECOND AWAY from bursting into a scream-laugh.

Namjoon just sighed and folded his paper. “Of course, you two kissed. Of course you did.”

Seokjin clutched his chest like he’d just been personally betrayed by the universe itself. His eyes were wide, his voice full of dramatic horror.

“And what EXACTLY do you mean by again? That wasn’t the first time?!”

Taehyung lit up like he’d just been asked to talk about his favorite plant. “Well—”

Before the sentence could bloom into an entire monologue, Jungkook shot forward with reflexes honed in gunfights, slapping a hand gently over Taehyung’s mouth with a panicked, “Nope!”

Taehyung let out a muffled “mmph?” while Jungkook glared across the table, dark eyes slicing through his hyungs like a warning blade.

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to,” he muttered through gritted teeth, jaw ticking.

But the hyungs were already cackling, Yoongi smirking over the rim of his coffee, Hoseok howling into a napkin, Namjoon slowly shaking his head like he regretted being born into this timeline, and Seokjin visibly short-circuiting.

Meanwhile, Taehyung continued trying to pry Jungkook’s hand off his mouth with two fingers, completely undeterred.

Then, as if remembering something incredibly important mid-struggle, he paused, poked Jungkook’s side, and said, still muffled against his hand.

“Oh, by the way. You don’t have a nightlight. We need to fix that.”

Jungkook groaned, slumping in his seat with his face in one hand, the other still keeping Taehyung from oversharing his entire romantic itinerary.

The rest of the table erupted.

Yoongi choked on his toast. Hoseok was fully doubled over, thumping the table like it owed him money. Seokjin threw a napkin in the air and declared, “This house is cursed!”

All while Taehyung cheerfully wiggled in his seat like this was just another Tuesday morning.

And maybe, for them, it was starting to be.

Jimin leaned forward, eyes narrowed. “You kissed him? You slept with him?”

Taehyung tilted his head. “Yes!”

“Willingly?”
“Yes, Minnie hyung!”

Jimin slammed both palms on the table. “You’re grounded.”

“You’re not my dad.”

“I practically raised you!”

“Then you raised me well,” Taehyung said, holding up a piece of toast like a trophy. “Because look—I got breakfast and kisses.”

Everyone groaned.

Except Jungkook, who, even as he dragged a hand over his face, couldn’t stop the tiny, helpless smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

-

The compound’s east wing was a fortress of steel, leather chairs, and dim lights, far from the warm, lived-in luxury of the main mansion.

Inside the soundproofed war room, a long polished table gleamed under harsh overhead lights. Jungkook stood at the head of it, back straight, shoulders drawn tight like a coiled weapon.

His black dress shirt was rolled at the sleeves, ink swirling up his forearms like smoke. A faint bruise kissed his jaw from a past scuffle, but it only sharpened the brutal edge in his already cold expression.

All eyes in the room were on him, twenty of his best men, gathered without a single joke in the air.

“We’re done waiting,” Jungkook said, voice low, clipped, final.

He tossed a file folder onto the table. It skidded open, revealing surveillance shots, lists of shell companies, and bank trails that led directly to Shin’s trafficking network and the Makarov family’s black-market trades.

“Shin’s operations — every shell business, every laundering front — torch them. Quiet if you can, loud if you must. No mercy.”

He looked up, eyes like bullet casings.

“As for Makarov… hit the warehouse in Busan tonight. Then cut the port route near Incheon. I want their sea line crawling by morning.”

His men nodded silently. No questions. They’d seen Jungkook like this before, focused, deadly, driven by more than strategy.

Driven by fury.

Jungkook paused for a second, eyes flickering to the photo at the edge of the folder, one of the Russian men watching Bloom & Brew.

His jaw ticked.

“Anyone connected to their surveillance of the café, bring them to me breathing,” he added quietly.

The room filled with tension. Not fear. Obedience.

Jungkook nodded once. “Go.”

They dispersed like shadows into the hall, orders moving faster than the clock.

Back at the Main Mansion, while Jungkook was planning calculated destruction, back in his personal quarters… an entirely different kind of operation was underway.

Taehyung stood in the middle of Jungkook’s sleek, minimalistic bedroom, barefoot, oversized hoodie, sweatpants, and holding a brand-new mushroom-shaped nightlight like it was a sacred artifact.

He puffed his cheeks. “Okay, Commander Kim,” he whispered to himself dramatically. “Mission, Insert Glow Friend. Code name… Mushroom Sparkle Stars Baby.”

No one was around to hear it. That didn’t stop him from saluting the air.

He made his way to the far nightstand, unplugged the phone charger, and gently plugged in the pastel nightlight. It flickered once, casting a soft blush-colored glow across the dark room, stars forming in the ceiling.

Taehyung beamed. “Perfect.”

But his curiosity didn’t stop there.

Next to the nightstand, a built-in shelf had a slightly uneven panel. He blinked. “Oh?”

Like any good adventure enthusiast and chaos goblin, he pressed it.

Click.

A section of the wall hissed and slid slightly open.

“...Ooooh, what does this button do?” Taehyung whispered like a child who just found a hidden level in a video game.

Inside the compartment, rows of weapons gleamed under a soft blue light. Handguns, throwing knives, ID cards in foreign languages, and… was that a dart gun disguised as a cologne bottle? Ehhh, his big water guns are much more better.

Taehyung squinted, slowly closing the door with the gentleness of a preschooler putting away a lollipop. He took a step back, whispered, “Okay, Sparkle Baby. We don’t touch that door.”

And then he clapped his hands. “But we glow in stars!”

Ten minutes later, Jungkook stepped back into the main mansion, the weight of authority still clinging to his shoulders like a second skin.

From the hallway, the muffled chaos of the kitchen reached his ears, Seokjin and Jimin were clearly baking again… or more accurately, arguing while baking.

“I’m telling you, matcha and chocolate do not go together!” Seokjin’s voice carried out.

“Yes, they do! It’s called fusion, hyung!”

Jungkook didn’t even glance toward the commotion. He was too tired to play referee between two flour-covered drama queens. Without missing a beat, he moved past the kitchen and down the hall, long strides silent against the polished wood floors.

His fingers reached up to loosen the collar of his black shirt, then dragged the jacket from his shoulders in one fluid motion.

He reached his bedroom door, pushed it open with a quiet exhale, one that came from deep in his chest, the kind that only showed when the world wasn’t looking.

The door clicked shut behind him.

The room was quiet… except for a soft pink glow blinking gently from his nightstand.

He froze.

Taehyung sat cross-legged on the bed, pointing to the nightlight proudly like a child showing a macaroni drawing.

“Tadahhh!”

Jungkook stared at the glowing mushroom, then at Taehyung’s beaming face, then back at the mushroom.

Taehyung tilted his head. “You didn’t have a nightlight. That’s very unsafe.”

Jungkook blinked slowly. “Unsafe?”

“Yes. Because of the ghosts under your bed, what if you can’t see them?”

“…I am the monster under the bed, Taehyung.”

“Well, even monsters trip over slippers.”

Jungkook snorted, genuinely, helplessly, then walked over, pulling the younger into a hug from behind, resting his chin on Taehyung’s shoulder.

“Did you touch anything else?” he asked lazily.

“Only the lamp, the weird closet wall button, the shelf with the knives and guns—”

Jungkook straightened.

Taehyung blinked up at him. “Is the dart-cologne thing real?”

“...Taehyung.”

“Yes?”

“Don’t touch any of that,” Jungkook said gently, nodding toward the locked cabinet of gleaming, very real weapons. “I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

Taehyung turned with wide, innocent eyes, already mid-reach. “Okay!” he chirped brightly. Then, without missing a beat, he added with complete sincerity, “But I still think my water guns are better. You should replace all of THOSE with water guns instead. I remember one of your guard cries because of that. We can buy every color and size. Maybe even glitter ones. Oh! And frog-shaped ones.”

Jungkook blinked at him.

Taehyung beamed.

With a breathy laugh, Jungkook closed the distance and pressed a soft kiss to Taehyung’s temple, lingering for a second longer than necessary. “You’re going to be the death of me,” he murmured against his skin.

Taehyung only giggled, lifting the small nightlight in his hand like he’d just won a prize at a carnival. “But a cute one, right?”

Jungkook groaned, grinning despite himself as Taehyung proudly held the lamp above his head like a glowing, pastel trophy.

Chapter Text

After the glittery-water-gun proposal and one very proud lamp display, Jungkook finally managed to wrangle the nightlight out of Taehyung’s hands and set it back on the bedside table, where it promptly changed colors again with a cheerful boop.

The room settled into a soft glow, pink, then blue, then yellow.

“Okay,” Jungkook said, voice low and warm. “Come here.”

Taehyung didn’t hesitate. He all but dove into Jungkook’s arms like a starfish, flopping with an exaggerated sigh onto the bed and immediately tangling their legs together like it was the most natural thing in the world. “You’re very warm,” he mumbled into Jungkook’s chest, “like a big blanket but with biceps.”

Jungkook chuckled, wrapping his arms tightly around Taehyung and pulling him even closer. “And you’re soft,” he murmured into Taehyung’s hair, “like a very talkative pillow.”

Taehyung hummed contentedly, already burrowing like he was trying to melt into the fabric of Jungkook’s shirt. “You smell nice. Like… smoky and laundry detergent.”

“That’s oddly accurate,” Jungkook muttered, nose brushing the top of Taehyung’s head as he smiled.

They stayed like that for a while, their breaths falling into rhythm, the room quiet except for the occasional color change of the lamp and Taehyung’s sleepy little mumblings.

“Do mafia bosses cuddle a lot?” Taehyung asked suddenly, his voice muffled against Jungkook’s chest.

“I don’t know but I am only with you,” Jungkook replied instantly, pressing a kiss to the top of Taehyung’s head.

Taehyung tilted his head up to look at him, eyes drooping with sleep, mouth in a soft pout. “That’s good. I’d be jealous. I’m not good at sharing.”

Jungkook smirked. “Duly noted.”

Then, as if it had been a pressing concern this whole time, Taehyung whispered, “We should name the nightlight. Something strong. Like...Captain Glow.”

Jungkook burst out laughing, his chest shaking beneath Taehyung, who grinned proudly at his own genius.

They eventually settled again, Jungkook curling around Taehyung protectively, one hand stroking lazily down his back. The silence that fell this time was warm, full, and glowing.

“You’re not going back to your room, are you?” Jungkook asked quietly.

Taehyung was already half-asleep. “Nope,” he mumbled. “This is my room now. You have biceps and Captain Glow. It’s perfect.”

Jungkook let out a soft breath, eyes fluttering closed.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “It really is.”

The room had long gone still, wrapped in the soft glow of Captain Glow, who now cast a calm amber hue across the bed. The occasional flicker of color shifted across the wall, lavender, then rose gold but neither of them moved.

Jungkook lay on his side, one arm tucked under the pillow, the other draped securely over Taehyung's waist. His thumb traced slow, lazy circles on the small of Taehyung’s back, like he couldn’t stop reminding himself the younger was real, here, in his arms, soft and warm and safe.

Taehyung didn’t speak. Not for once out of sleepiness or distraction, but because he didn’t need to. His head was nestled under Jungkook’s chin, one leg slung comfortably over the older man's thigh, his breathing slow and rhythmic like the ocean’s hush. Every few moments, he nuzzled a little closer without even realizing it, instinctive, natural, like he belonged there.

Jungkook felt it in his chest, this delicate, gentle weight that was Taehyung. Not just his body, but the peace he brought with him. Like the world didn’t have to be sharp edges and loaded weapons all the time. Like Jungkook could just exist.

He looked down, brushing a stray curl from Taehyung’s cheek, careful not to disturb the boy's quiet breathing. The nightlight gave his skin a honeyed glow, lashes fanned out, lips slightly parted in sleep. Completely unguarded.

Jungkook’s heart ached.

He hadn’t realized just how silent his nights had been until now. How empty the quiet could feel when it wasn’t shared.

Taehyung shifted slightly, mumbling something incoherent, something about “rainbow cereal pirates” and “no pickles on spaceships”—before settling again, a sleepy little puff of air warming Jungkook’s collarbone.

Jungkook chuckled softly under his breath, pressing a small, reverent kiss to the top of Taehyung’s head.

“I’ll keep you safe,” he whispered into the stillness, barely louder than a breath. “Always.”

The words didn’t wake Taehyung. But maybe he felt them anyway, because his hand curled gently against Jungkook’s chest, fingers twitching slightly, like he was reaching for the echo of those words in his dreams.

And so, they stayed that way, tangled, quiet, and safe.

Together.

-

Taehyung lay dramatically across the velvet couch inside Jungkook’s office, arms limp, one leg dangling dramatically over the armrest like a swooning Victorian ghost.

“I’m dying,” he whispered to the ceiling.

“You said that ten minutes ago,” Jungkook muttered without looking up from the stack of intel files in front of him.

“That’s because it’s still true,” Taehyung groaned. “I need activity. Purpose. A steamed oat milk latte to craft with love and whipped cream art.”

Across the mansion, Jimin’s furious voice rang out from the living room, sharp and echoing like a fire alarm. A loud clatter followed, likely a tray or perhaps a poor, innocent vase caught in the crossfire.

“SEOKJIN HYUNG, TELL YOUR SHADOW TO STOP FOLLOWING ME!”

From the kitchen, Yoongi’s dry, unbothered tone drifted through like a breeze. “I’m not your shadow. I’m surveillance.”

“YOU'RE SURVEILLING ME IN THE SHOWER!”

“It’s called protection. You're welcome.”

“And HOSEOK! STOP FLIRTING WITH ME!”

From the couch came Hoseok’s signature singsong voice, dripping with amusement. “But I like flirting with you~ You make it so fun.”

Seokjin, who had been stirring something in a mixing bowl, slapped the spoon down onto the counter like a gavel. “Can everyone calm down before I season this soup with cyanide?”

“Please do,” Yoongi muttered.

“Hyung!” Jimin cried out dramatically, stomping into the kitchen with flour somehow now dusted on his shoulder. “I can’t breathe in this house anymore! Every hallway I walk down—bam! Yoongi. Every time I turn a corner—bam! Hoseok winking at me, THEY ARE LIKE GHOSTS!”

Hoseok popped his head in from behind the kitchen doorway, already winking. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Someone gets me a taser,” Jimin grumbled.

“I have five,” Yoongi offered casually.

“Stop all of you!” Seokjin yelled.

Chaos echoed down the halls, wild and loud, and the mafia mansion, fortress of secrets, weaponry, and deadly deals, felt more like a daycare full of overly dramatic adults.

They’d temporarily closed Bloom & Brew after the recent security threat, securing both Taehyung and Jimin to the mafia mansion for their safety. While the decision had been necessary, it created a clash of worlds, where the mafia thrived on tension, silent operations, and strategy briefings, the café boys were used to the hum of a coffee machine, customer compliments, and arguing over latte art. The mansion was safe, yes but to Taehyung and Jimin, it was also stuffy, echoey, and severely lacking in caramel syrup and gossiping grandmas.

Big difference.

Jungkook sighed, dropping the folder on his desk. He leaned back in his chair, eyes drifting to the vision of Taehyung now making sock puppets from his own feet.

Jungkook closed his eyes for a second. “Tae.”

“Hmm?”

“You want to work again?” he asked, already regretting what he was about to offer.

Taehyung bolted upright. “Yes! Desperately. I keep organizing your bookshelf by rainbow color and I don’t even know if you read any of those.”

“I don't.” Jungkook stood and stretched his shoulders. “What if…” he hesitated, then ran a hand through his dark hair. “We built a small booth. Outside. In the garden.”

Taehyung blinked. “For…?”

“You make coffee,” Jungkook said, walking over to the couch and pulling Taehyung up gently by the wrist. “Just like you do at Bloom & Brew. But for us. For the hyungs. For the men.”

A slow, delighted smile spread across Taehyung’s face like sunrise.

“Like… a garden café?”

Jungkook shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “Sure. With an espresso machine. And you behind the counter. I’ll have one built. Tomorrow.”

Taehyung gasped and threw his arms around Jungkook’s neck. “I love this idea. I’m going to name it.”

Jungkook blinked. “Name what?”

“Our new café,” Taehyung said seriously. “I’m thinking... Mocha Mafia. No, wait—Caffeine & Crime. Oh! Barista of Chaos.”

Jungkook chuckled under his breath as he hugged him back, letting his chin rest on Taehyung’s soft sweater-covered shoulder. “Whatever you name it… just don’t put real guns in the pastry case.”

“But I want to put my water gun in there,” Taehyung whispered.

Jungkook pulled back just enough to stare at him, deadpan. “Taehyung.”

“Yes?” Taehyung blinked up at him, eyes wide and guileless.

“No weapons. Not even plastic.”

“But it’s lemon-scented when it shoots,” Taehyung whispered like he was sharing state secrets.

Jungkook sighed, pressing two fingers to his temple. “You’re impossible.”

“Thanks!” Taehyung beamed. “Can we also have a tip jar shaped like a grenade? Oh! And instead of punch cards, we can give out little knives and—”

Jungkook cut him off by cupping his cheek and kissing his forehead. “You are not in charge of design.”

Taehyung pouted but leaned into the touch like a sunflower finding the sun. “Fine. But I want a bell.”

“You’ll get a bell,” Jungkook said dryly. “A very soft, non-lethal bell.”

Taehyung clapped excitedly. “Can I wear my apron?”

Jungkook raised a brow. “The one that says Brew It and Weep?”

Taehyung nodded proudly.

Jungkook bit back a smile. “You can wear whatever you want. But if any of the men stare at your legs, I’m shooting them in the face.”

“But I’m wearing a pants.” Taehyung hummed.

Jungkook rolled his eyes but squeezed Taehyung’s hand gently. “We’ll start construction tomorrow. Yoongi will hate it.”

“Perfect,” Taehyung chirped. “He needs more joy in his life. And caffeine.”

Just then, a loud bang echoed from downstairs, followed by Jimin’s unmistakable screech: “GET YOUR FLIRTY FACE AWAY FROM ME, JUNG HOSEOK!”

Jungkook didn’t even blink. “Speaking of needing caffeine.”

Taehyung giggled. “I’ll make Jimin a special drink! Something pink and calming.”

“Can you make one for Yoongi that shuts him up for ten minutes?”

“I can try,” Taehyung said seriously, already planning ingredients. “Chamomile. And maybe glitter.”

Jungkook groaned. “Remind me again why I’m letting you do this?”

Taehyung grinned, wrapping his arms around Jungkook’s waist like a koala. “Because you’re secretly in love with me and you want to see me happy and I make your cold, mafia heart feel like a cinnamon bun.”

Jungkook stared at him.

Then he kissed the tip of his nose. “Damn it.”

-

The morning sun spilled across the compound’s garden like a gentle invitation to peace. Which was quickly destroyed by the sound of a power drill dying mid-scream.

“I TOLD YOU TO HOLD THE BASE!” Namjoon barked, currently on his knees beside what was supposed to be the espresso counter but currently looked like a fallen log in a war zone.

Hoseok held up both hands innocently, eyes wide. “You said hold the beam! That’s not the beam! That’s the decorative shelf!”

“That shelf just broke my toe,” Yoongi muttered from where he sat on an upturned tool box, nursing his foot and glaring at a wooden panel like it had insulted his family.

Across the disaster zone, Taehyung stood like a proud commander overseeing mess, wearing his Bloom & Brew apron and holding a clipboard that said BARISTA OF CHAOS: GRAND VISION. Beside him stood Jungkook, arms crossed, sunglasses on despite being under a tree, looking like a bodyguard assigned to protect a very excitable marshmallow.

“Are they okay?” Taehyung asked, pointing toward the madness.

Jungkook turned to him, looking so done with those three. “They’re bonding.”

“They’re bleeding.”

“That’s part of it!”

A loud crash echoed as Jin’s voice yelled from inside the house, “WHO PUT THE MILK FROTHER IN THE DISHWASHER?! IT IS NOT DISHWASHER SAFE!”

Namjoon looked sheepish. “...It was very frothy.”

“I’m gonna froth YOU.”

Yoongi just let out a low, exhausted groan, muttering something about caffeine poisoning and splinters.

“Should we call professionals?” Jungkook asked mildly.

Taehyung gasped dramatically. “And rob them of this enriching character development?”

Jungkook sighed. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“Deeply.”

And despite himself, Jungkook smiled.

By mid-afternoon, the booth was in full swing. The compound, usually filled with the tension of gun oil and low voices murmuring over encrypted plans, now smelled like vanilla beans and toasted caramel. Mafia foot soldiers, bruisers, and assassins who’d once interrogated rival gang leaders were now comparing oat milk to almond milk with alarming seriousness.

Jungkook sat at the nearby stone bench, arms crossed over his chest, pretending to be unaffected. But his eyes were glued to the booth, specifically, to the barista with fluffy brown hair and too much sparkle in his smile.

Taehyung, blissfully unaware that Jungkook had nearly murdered a man for calling his foam art “cute,” was decorating the chalkboard menu with tiny hearts. His sweater sleeves were pushed up, exposing pale forearms dusted with coffee grounds. Occasionally, he’d twirl in place as he reached for toppings behind him, murmuring, “Cinnamon… cinnamon… where art thou, spicy king?”

Jungkook blinked slowly. He was going to need therapy.

Namjoon approached, sipping his Think Tank Tea like a philosopher plagued by glitter. “We’ve lost control of the compound.”

“I noticed,” Jungkook muttered, narrowing his eyes as Seokjin handed over a customer feedback form with the word ‘adequate’ scrawled across it.

Namjoon pointed at Taehyung with his cup. “You’re whipped.”

Jungkook didn’t look at him. “You’re married.”

“Touche,” Namjoon said, saluting with his mug.

“Also,” Jungkook added flatly, “remind me to have whoever put edible glitter in my espresso shot… quietly relocated to Siberia.”

“That was Taehyung.”

Jungkook didn’t hesitate. “Never mind. Promote them.”

Just then, a soft screech came from the booth.

“Jungkook!” Taehyung called, waving both arms in the air. “Emergency!”

Jungkook was on his feet before he realized he’d moved. “What happened?” he asked, storming toward the booth like the world was ending.

Taehyung looked up at him, eyes wide. “We’re out of whipped cream.”

Jungkook blinked. “That’s the emergency?”

Taehyung grabbed his arm. “A crisis. Hoseok’s been waiting for his cloud-topped cappuccino for three minutes. He’s spiraling.”

Jungkook looked over his shoulder. Sure enough, Hoseok was dramatically clutching his chest like a telenovela protagonist. “I’m losing the will to foam!”

“Get Yoongi to slap you,” Namjoon called from his seat.

“He already did!” Hoseok yelled back. “It just made me feel worse!”

Jungkook sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “Where’s Jimin?”

“Inside. Making more whipped cream by hand. He said the electric whisk was ‘possessed by caffeinated demons.’” Taehyung paused. “I think it sparked.”

“Of course it did,” Jungkook muttered. He looked down at the younger. “You need anything else?”

Taehyung smiled sweetly. “Do you want to help behind the counter?”

Silence.

The compound seemed to go still. A bird somewhere chirped nervously.

Jungkook’s jaw tightened. “I’m the mafia boss.”

Taehyung tilted his head. “And I’m the café boss.”

Jungkook opened his mouth to argue and paused. His ears turned the faintest shade of pink.

“…Fine,” he muttered, stepping behind the booth. “Just this once.”

Ten minutes later, the peaceful mafia compound had descended into foam-scented chaos.

Jungkook stood stiffly behind the garden café counter, sleeves rolled up, espresso stains on his knuckles, and a scowl so sharp it could curdle milk.

Which, unfortunately, wasn’t helpful because the soldier in front of him had just asked for soy.

“What the hell is wrong with normal milk?” Jungkook growled, narrowing his eyes like the man had just confessed to treason.

The poor soldier shrank in place. “I—I’m lactose intolerant, sir.”

Jungkook leaned forward. “I’m ‘tolerance’ intolerant.”

The soldier audibly whimpered.

“Jungkook,” Taehyung chirped sweetly from beside him, completely unfazed by the rising tension. He reached out and gently poked Jungkook in the side with his elbow. “Be nice.”

Jungkook’s scowl melted, instantly, irreversibly.

He sighed through his nose, took the soy milk like it hadn’t personally offended him, and began preparing the drink with a quiet grumble. “We support... digestive diversity in Barista of Chaos,” he muttered under his breath like a hostage reading a script.

Taehyung smiled brightly and patted his arm. “That’s the spirit! Don’t forget the cinnamon heart.”

“Of course not,” Jungkook mumbled, already drawing it with absurd precision.

From a few feet away, Yoongi leaned against a tree, arms crossed, sipping something dark and suspicious. “He’s one customer complaint away from drop-kicking someone into the koi pond.”

Hoseok, seated with a sunglasses tan and his third iced mocha, scoffed. “Please. He’s terrifying to everyone but Taehyung. Look at him. Jungkook’s out here committing acts of caffeinated war, and the second Taehyung tells him to smile, he turns into a puppy with a mug.”

Yoongi raised a brow. “You’re just mad because your drink’s called the ‘Drama Latte’ again.”

“I EARNED this foam,” Hoseok declared, holding it aloft like a trophy. “Do you know how hard it is to survive in this madhouse with Namjoon!”

Yoongi just shakes his head and continues to sip his own espresso.

Back behind the counter, Jungkook was now holding a piping hot cup in one hand, looking terrifying as ever as he called out the next name on the order list.

“Double shot caramel macchiato with… oat milk,” he read with disdain. His eyebrow twitched.

He looked up. “Namjoon.”

Namjoon strolled over, grinning far too wide. “You’re doing great, boss.”

“Shut up and take your vegan bean water,” Jungkook snapped.

From behind him, Taehyung piped up, carefully arranging sprigs of lavender in mason jars. “Jungkookie, can you wipe the counter down again? It has tiny sticky spots.”

Jungkook, man who once shot a man in the leg for stepping on his Persian rug—nodded without hesitation.

“Yes, baby.”

There was silence.

Hoseok nearly dropped his drink.

Yoongi choked on his espresso.

Namjoon blinked slowly. “…Did you just call him—”

“No, I didn’t,” Jungkook cut in sharply, already wiping down the counter with excessive focus. “You hallucinated. Everyone shut up.”

But Taehyung just hummed happily and leaned over to place a sunflower sticker on Jungkook’s name tag, which already read Mr. Pickle Boss in glitter ink.

Jungkook said nothing.

He just wiped harder.

As the sun began to lower, casting golden light across the garden, Jungkook found himself oddly calm. His sleeves were rolled up. There was espresso on his hands. His shirt smelled faintly of vanilla and sweat.

And Taehyung, sweet, smiling, pretty Taehyung, was leaning on the booth beside him, talking about naming drinks after constellations.

“It’s a vibe,” Taehyung said, tapping his chin. “Imagine… Sagittarius Spice. Or Celestial Mocha.”

Jungkook watched him fondly, hiding it behind a deadpan tone. “What about ‘Bulletproof Brew’?”

“Ooh,” Taehyung gasped. “That sounds hot.”

Jungkook smirked. “That’s the name of my autobiography.”

Taehyung tilted his head, a curious look in his eyes. “Does it have pictures?”

“…Get behind the counter.”

Taehyung beamed.

-

The convoy rolled out before sunrise.

Engines rumbled low like beasts beneath the fog, tires slicing over the cobblestone driveway of the mansion as the iron gates creaked open. Black SUVs, matte and unmarked, gleamed faintly in the pale blue haze of dawn.

Inside the lead vehicle, Jungkook sat in the passenger seat, silent. His fingers drummed restlessly against his knee, a cigarette burning between them though he hadn’t taken a drag in minutes.

Beside him, Namjoon was checking the encrypted tablet, skimming intel from their inside contacts in Busan. Yoongi sat in the back, eyes closed beneath dark shades, earbuds in. Hoseok was beside him, legs crossed, humming to himself while casually checking the trigger on his custom sidearm like he was twirling a pen.

They looked calm.

They weren’t.

This wasn’t just another shipment, another handoff of weapons or fake identities. This was a multi-million-dollar underground trade routed through the Makarovs’ southern port contacts and Shin’s name had reappeared on the dock manifests. It meant something more dangerous was brewing. Possibly betrayal.

Jungkook didn’t like unknown variables.

And he hated leaving the mansion.

No, he hated leaving Taehyung.

Before the drive, he'd walked the mansion perimeter himself, personally checking the guards, the cameras, the sniper towers—hell, he even checked the kitchen locks.

Overkill? Maybe.

“You’ve left nearly fifty men behind,” Namjoon murmured without looking up. “20 of them are ex-special forces. No one’s getting in that place.”

Jungkook didn’t respond. Just flicked ash out the cracked window, his jaw tight.

“I heard one of them is sleeping outside Tae’s door,” Hoseok added, stretching with a grin. “Poor guy volunteered. Probably doesn’t know Taehyung sleep-talks about turning Jungkook into a bunny.”

Yoongi snorted softly.

But Jungkook was still watching the road. “If any of them screw up,” he said lowly, “I’ll gut them myself.”

There was a beat of silence.

“Totally fair,” Hoseok chirped.

Back at the mansion, the morning was still quiet. Sunlight slipped through the thick curtains of Jungkook’s bedroom, where Taehyung had curled up on the bed Jungkook didn’t let anyone else touch.

He was wearing one of Jungkook’s oversized black sweaters, sleeves hiding his hands, hair tousled from sleep. One of the guards had delivered his strawberry milk just the way he liked it, sweet, too much cream, sprinkled cinnamon on top.

Taehyung didn’t seem worried. Not really. He trusted Jungkook, trusted the men he left behind. But still, he pulled Jungkook’s hoodie tighter around himself and stared at his untouched drink.

Jimin barged into the room moments later with bed hair and a mouthful of toast. “They’re gonna be gone for like… two days, Tae. You’ll survive.”

Taehyung blinked. “Do you think Jungkook remembered to eat breakfast?”

Jimin gave him a look. “He once lived on gunpowder tea and spite for a week.”

“I’ll send him a reminder.”

“You’ll what?”

Taehyung pulled Jungkook’s phone out of the nightstand drawer, Jungkook had a second phone just for Taehyung, even though he claimed it was for “emergency contact.” Taehyung had filled it with cat sticker apps and pastel wallpapers.

He texted:

Taeberry:
remember to eat or I’ll send Hoseok to give you a reminder too

Back in the car, Jungkook’s phone buzzed in his coat pocket.

He pulled it out and read the message.

A slow, imperceptible smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Yoongi noticed from the rearview mirror. “Was that Taehyung?”

Jungkook didn’t answer.

But his fingers replied quickly

Kookie:
Don’t open the door for anyone.
Stay inside. Stay warm.

Three dots. Then he added.

Kookie:
I miss you already.

He hit send before he could second-guess it.

Namjoon glanced over. “You good?”

Jungkook exhaled slowly and tucked the phone away. “Let’s finish this fast.”

Because he had a business deal to crush.

And a boy to get back to.

Chapter Text

The port of Busan was cloaked in a heavy mist, the salty air thick with anticipation. Jungkook stood atop a warehouse rooftop, eyes scanning the labyrinth of shipping containers below. Beside him, Namjoon adjusted his earpiece, while Hoseok and Yoongi flanked the perimeter, their movements silent and calculated.

"Target's on the move," Yoongi's voice crackled through the comms. "Black SUV, license plate matches. They're heading to Dock 9."

Jungkook's jaw tightened. "Positions. We intercept at the loading bay."

As they descended, the atmosphere grew tense. The distant hum of engines and the creak of metal containers were the only sounds accompanying their approach.

Suddenly, a deafening explosion shattered the silence. The ground trembled as flames erupted from a nearby container, sending debris flying. The air was filled with the acrid scent of burning fuel and scorched metal.

"Ambush!" Namjoon shouted, diving for cover.

Gunfire erupted from multiple directions, the sharp cracks of rifles echoing through the port. Jungkook rolled behind a stack of crates, drawing his pistol. Bullets whizzed past, thudding into wood and metal.

"Yoongi, flank left! Hoseok, suppressing fire on the right!"

The team moved with precision, returning fire as they advanced. Jungkook's mind remained focused, but a flicker of concern for Taehyung surfaced. He pushed it aside, channeling his worry into determination.

A second explosion rocked the area, this time closer. The shockwave knocked Jungkook off his feet, ears ringing as he scrambled to his knees. Through the smoke, he spotted the SUV attempting to flee.

“Namjoon, the vehicle!”

Namjoon didn’t hesitate. He sprinted through the smoke and gunfire, raising his weapon with practiced ease. One clean shot, the front tire blew out with a sharp burst of rubber and sparks, and the black SUV skidded violently, crashing into a rusted stack of shipping containers with a groaning crunch of metal.

The firefight died quickly after that.

Too quickly.

A strange, eerie silence fell across the port as the remaining assailants threw down their weapons, dropping to their knees with their hands raised.

Yoongi moved in with precision, securing the perimeter with sharp glances and narrowed eyes. Hoseok stood ready, guns still drawn, breathing hard but something didn’t sit right. There was no resistance. No backup. No chaos.

Just… surrender.

“This is too easy,” Yoongi muttered, eyes scanning the docks. “Where the hell are the rest?”

Jungkook didn’t answer.

He stalked toward the crashed SUV, eyes sharp as blades. Reaching the crumpled driver’s side door, he yanked it open and grabbed the bloodied driver by the collar, dragging him out and slamming him against the twisted frame.

“What’s happening?” Jungkook growled, voice low and deadly.

The man laughed, hoarse and ugly, blood trailing from the corner of his mouth. “You think you won?”

Jungkook’s jaw clenched. “Start talking.”

“You got it all wrong,” the man rasped, teeth flashing in a grin that chilled Jungkook to the bone. “We weren’t just here.”

Jungkook’s brow twitched. “What the hell are you saying?”

“This—” The man coughed, blood spattering onto Jungkook’s shirt. “This was just a distraction. Just enough noise to keep you away.”

Silence.

Hoseok froze mid-step. Yoongi turned around slowly. Namjoon’s head snapped toward them with dawning horror.

Jungkook felt it before he even heard it.

That creeping, gut-punch cold that started from the chest and dropped like a stone into his stomach.

“They’re on their way to your mansion,” the man whispered, eyes gleaming with triumph. “Your boy toy? He’ll be dead before you even get back.”

The breath left Jungkook’s lungs.

He shoved the man back with enough force to send him crumpling to the ground, spinning on his heel. “Get the cars. Now.”

“Jungkook—” Namjoon started, but Jungkook was already moving, furious strides toward their vehicles.

“This wasn’t the real hit,” Jungkook barked, rage coating every word. “It’s a goddamn cover. Shin and Makarov played us.”

He grabbed his phone and cursed when he saw no new notifications from the mansion. No updates. No alarms.

Nothing.

The silence was worse than gunfire.

“They’re going for Taehyung,” Jungkook muttered, voice shaking with barely restrained panic as he climbed into the car. “He’s not safe. I should’ve stayed—I should’ve known—”

“We left the best men with him,” Yoongi said quickly, jumping into the passenger seat. “They won’t get through easily—”

“They better not,” Jungkook snarled. “Or I swear, I will burn them to the ground.”

The engines roared to life, headlights cutting through the lingering smoke as their convoy sped out of the port like wolves unleashed, fury, fear, and desperation their only fuel.

Back at the mansion, something was already happening.

And Jungkook wasn’t there.

-

The main mansion's kitchen smelled like vanilla, cinnamon, and impending disaster.

"Okay, hyung—this is a latte,” Jimin said with the exaggerated patience of someone trying to teach a cat to do taxes. He handed Seokjin a cup like it was made of gold. “And this”—he slid over a smaller cup—“is a macchiato. Not to be confused with a frappé, a mocha, or an existential crisis in a cup.”

Seokjin blinked. “But they all just taste like hot milk and burnt beans.”

“BLASPHEMY!” Jimin clutched his apron dramatically. “You take that back. Taehyung, tell him!”

Taehyung looked up from where he was attempting to steam milk in the shape of a dolphin. “Jimin’s macchiatos taste like sunshine and slightly burned hopes.”

“THANK YOU,” Jimin beamed.

“I meant that as a compliment,” Taehyung added seriously, poking the milk foam with a chopstick.

Seokjin rubbed his temples. “I feel like I have two very sparkly puppies in human form living in my kitchen.”

“Wrong.” Jimin smirked, licking icing off his finger. “We're wolves. Cute wolves with deadly hearts.”

“You tripped over the measuring cup twice,” Seokjin deadpanned.

Taehyung gasped whining. “Hyungieee. We agreed not to talk about that.”

Across the counter, three of Jungkook’s elite guards were crouched behind the marble island, watching the commotion with a mixture of awe, horror, and frosting on their bulletproof vests.

“Why are we even here?” one whispered.

“Protection,” another muttered.

“From what?! The cupcakes?!”

Just then, Taehyung giggled and stuck a cookie into one of their shirt pockets. “Snack for later!”

The guard froze like he’d been hit with a sniper dart. “Th-thank you, sir.”

“It has little candy fish inside!” Taehyung beamed.

Jimin wiped his hands and leaned over to whisper to Seokjin, “He made those with soy sauce by accident.”

Seokjin choked. “You let him give it to a guard?!”

“Then, do you want them, hyung? I could ask Taehyung to give you one.” Jimin whispered back as Seokjin shake his head in disgust.

Meanwhile, Taehyung had moved on to placing latte art stickers on the guards’ guns that was strap on their backs.

“You’re my favorite!” he told one of them, who visibly trembled under the pure beam of affection.

“I—I don’t deserve this,” the man whispered, eyes wide, as a cartoon penguin sticker covered his forehead visor.

Seokjin watched the chaos unfold, flour dusting his shirt like snow, heart full and chest warm.

He glanced at Taehyung, now trying to spoon-feed Jimin his tenth cookie, and smiled softly. “I swear, these two are gonna make me cry.”

“They’ve already made that guard cry, Sir.” one of the kitchen staff muttered.

Seokjin ignored it. Instead, he stepped over and ruffled Taehyung’s hair.

“You’re really something else, you know that?”

Taehyung blinked up at him, cheeks puffed with marshmallow.

“Thank you,” he said earnestly. “Do you think Jungkook would let me get a pet alpaca?”

Seokjin blinked. “Absolutely not.”

Taehyung nodded sagely. “I think we should get one, I wouldn’t tell Jungkookie, hyung, we can hide the alpaca at the mini forest in the garden. And we could name it Jungkook Jr., please hyungie?”

Jimin burst into laughter. “I’m writing that down.”

As flour flew through the air (don’t ask), and frosting somehow ended up on the ceiling, Seokjin watched the two whirlwinds of joy spin through the kitchen, messy, mischievous, full of light and something in him tightened.

This mansion had seen bullets and blood. But right now, it was filled with bubble laughter and chaos cookies.

And Seokjin would protect that.

No matter what.

The kitchen buzzed with warm light and the scent of cinnamon. Laughter rang like wind chimes, Taehyung was currently trying to convince a guard to wear whipped cream on his nose “for aesthetic purposes,” while Jimin danced to some tune only he could hear, and Seokjin tried (and failed) to keep both from setting the blender on fire.

But outside, beyond the stained-glass windows and the flowering hedges, the mood was shifting.

Near the outer perimeter of the estate, two of Jungkook’s top perimeter guards — Daesik and Minjae, moved in quiet synchronicity along the tree line, heads tilted toward their comms.

“Sector three,” Daesik murmured. “Movement. Unmarked vehicle. No signal ping.”

Minjae tapped his earpiece, eyes scanning the dense brush. “Visual confirmed. Two figures. No approach yet.”

Back in the kitchen, Seokjin scolded Jimin for putting way too much syrup in the mocha again.

“You’re making a sugar bomb.”

Jimin grinned. “It’s how I cope.”

“You’re not in a drama—”

“Every day with you people is a drama.”

“HYUNG!” Taehyung called from across the kitchen. “I made a bunny in my coffee!”

Seokjin turned, already cooing. “You precious little—wait, is that supposed to be a bunny or a mutant jellybean?”

“It has ears!” Taehyung defended, pouting.

Meanwhile, outside the east wing of the mansion, another group of guards stood by the glass garden doors. They were still. Watching.

A dark silhouette moved briefly behind the treeline. Another. Then vanished.

One of the guards stiffened. “They’re flanking.”

“Call it,” another muttered.

“No. Not yet.” The lead guard’s voice was tense. “We go quiet. We keep the house calm. The boss would want them safe.”

Inside, Taehyung laughed as he accidentally flicked whipped cream into a guard’s hair. The poor man stood frozen, hands at his sides like he’d been marked by a god.

“Hyung, look!” Taehyung beamed. “I knighted him Sir Vanilla Whip.”

Seokjin shook his head, amused, and gave the guard a pitying look. “You’ll need therapy.”

Taehyung skipped back to the counter, humming. Everything about him radiated softness, sunshine, innocence.

And that made the men guarding him even more alert.

A new signal crackled through the earpieces.

“Visual on Makarov’s scout. Repeat—scout identified. Possible Shin interference confirmed.”

Inside, the happiness in the kitchen continued unchecked.

“Who wants to try my top-secret caramel recipe?” Jimin offered, eyes sparkling with mischief. “It may or may not involve sea salt and questionable decisions.”

“Questionable?” Seokjin asked, raising an eyebrow. “Is that what we’re calling criminal levels of sugar now?”

“No, that’s what we’re calling your fashion choices in the mornings.”

From the hallway entrance, two guards quietly took up position by the kitchen entrance—subtle, almost unnoticed, but not quite.

Taehyung noticed. His head tilted. “Are we playing hide and seek?”

The guard hesitated. “No, sir. Just… making sure the cookies don’t escape.”

Taehyung nodded solemnly. “Good. The gingerbread men are rebellious this season.”

The guard blinked once. Twice. “Yes… sir.”

Further out, the garden perimeter team was already moving to intercept a faint click, metal on metal, someone testing the gate, perhaps, or preparing something worse.

“Possible breach point being probed. Still no full approach.”

“Hold them back. Silently. Nobody goes near the kitchen. That’s an order.”

Inside the safety of the mansion, laughter continued to bubble like warm syrup. Taehyung was now wearing an apron that said Barista of Chaos in glitter paint. Seokjin was starting to lose the will to live under the weight of frosting accidents, and Jimin had claimed a rolling pin as his “authority stick.”

But outside—guns were being loaded. Footsteps slithered between hedges. A quiet war was preparing to knock on the garden gate.

And still, the house remained peaceful.

For now.

-

The explosion shattered the peaceful illusion.

It boomed so loud, the earth beneath the mansion trembled. A flash of orange and smoke lit the horizon beyond the garden wall like hell cracking open.

Taehyung, Jimin, and Seokjin screamed in unison, Jimin spilling a bowl of sugar, Seokjin dropping the pan he was holding, Taehyung jolting so hard he slammed into the countertop. The sound was unlike anything they’d heard before, raw and violent.

“W-What the—?!” Seokjin gasped, voice shaking.

“W-what was that?” Jimin whispered, eyes wide, face pale.

But Taehyung, startled and trembling, blinked rapidly, then tilted his head, confused then happily scream “Was that… fireworks?”

Before either of the others could react, Taehyung had already taken a step toward the door.

“Taehyung—NO!” Seokjin yelled, panic rising in his throat as he chased after him.

Jimin screamed, sprinting after them as Taehyung threw the door open and bolted onto the entrance. “Wait! Tae, don’t go out there!”

A guard tackled Taehyung back just before he could step down the stairs into the garden. “Sir—inside! Now!”

“What? I—I just wanted to see—”

More explosions roared, closer this time. Not one, but three, shaking the sky. The air was filled with gunfire now, fast and unrelenting. The guards on the perimeter were shouting commands, rushing to engage. Shouts turned to screams. The war had arrived.

And then Taehyung saw it.

Smoke, dark, acrid—rising from beyond the walls. The once beautiful trees that lined the outer courtyard were now bathed in red and yellow flashes. Shadows moved behind the smoke… men. Armed. Too many to be just the guards.

He turned, eyes wide, finding Seokjin and Jimin’s faces and what he saw made his blood run cold.

Fear.

Seokjin clutched his chest, breath short, whispering Namjoon’s name like a lifeline. Jimin looked frozen, trembling as tears welled in his eyes.

“Taehyung!” Seokjin cried, voice sharp with fear as he grabbed his arm, yanking him back just before he could step out fully. “That wasn’t fireworks. That was a bomb. Please, baby, we need to go inside. It’s not safe—"

Taehyung staggered a little as he turned, confused but then his eyes widened.

Beyond the trees and smoke, flashes of gunfire cut through the garden like lightning bolts. Shadows, men with rifles, darted between walls and hedges. One of the mansion guards collapsed to the ground, blood blooming dark across his chest. Another screamed as he fired blindly over a toppled marble fountain.

“Wh-What…” Taehyung’s voice cracked. “Why are they…? That man—he’s—he’s not moving—”

“Don’t look, Tae,” Jimin choked out, wrapping an arm around him as his own voice shook. “Please, just come inside—we have to go! NOW!”

The air thundered again with a fresh explosion, this one closer. The walls rattled. Glasses in the kitchen clinked violently. Smoke began seeping into the house from beneath the doors.

“GO INSIDE, SIRS!” one of the guards barked, his expression grim, blood on his sleeve. “NOW!”

They rushed them through the kitchen, Seokjin clutching Taehyung’s wrist so hard it hurt, Jimin pulling from the other side. Taehyung stumbled as he was dragged back inside, mind reeling.

“I—I thought it was just fireworks—I didn’t know—why are they—”

“It’s an attack,” Seokjin gasped. “Oh God, Namjoon—where are you—”

Jimin whipped around just as another guard came barreling into the kitchen, shouting, “Secure the passage! Get them to Safe Chamber Two—now!”

With a click, one of the tall wine shelves creaked forward on hidden hinges, revealing a narrow steel-framed doorway. Behind it, a steep stairwell plunged into darkness. Cold, silent, and hidden from the world.

“This way, hurry!” a senior guard ordered, pressing a bloodied hand to his earpiece. “We’ll hold them off. You must go. Protect them at all costs.”

“But—what if Jungkook—he doesn’t know—” Taehyung stammered, eyes wide, body trembling. “He’s not here—he’s not—he’s not here—”

“He knows, Sir” another guard said firmly, his face covered in sweat and dirt. “We’ve already contacted him. He’s coming.”

Behind them, the sounds of chaos only grew louder, gunfire, shouting, the roar of engines outside the gates. Another window shattered upstairs. The scent of gunpowder began to drift in, sharp and metallic.

“Taehyung-ah!” Seokjin begged, pulling him into the stairwell. “Please,”

Jimin was crying now, teeth clenched. “You don’t have to be scared—you just have to listen. Please, Tae.”

Taehyung looked up at them—at their trembling hands, at the fear in their eyes. He swallowed hard, chest heaving.

“…Okay,” he whispered.

The heavy door creaked slowly shutting behind them, sealing with a hydraulic hiss. Outside, more gunfire echoed, followed by screams. The mansion shook again as another explosion went off, this time somewhere near the east side.

Taehyung looked back, just once—at the kitchen, now abandoned, frosting still dripping from a bowl, an apron half-draped on the counter. Everything they’d just been laughing about now felt a hundred miles away.

Meanwhile, on the outskirts of Busan, Jungkook’s knuckles were bone white on the steering wheel, the leather beneath his grip groaning from the pressure.

His jaw was clenched so tight it could’ve cracked enamel. Every red light was a suggestion. Every speed limit was a lie. The black SUV roared down the highway like a bullet out of hell, slicing through traffic without mercy.

Horns screamed. Tires skidded. Someone cursed as Jungkook swerved, nearly clipping a taxi.

“YOONGI—WHERE THE FUCK IS THE NEAREST UNIT?!” Jungkook exploded, voice ragged, eyes burning.

“Chopper was stationed in Daegu, rerouting now—ETA fifteen!” Yoongi barked back, on the phone with two teams at once, his fingers flying over the tablet screen. “I’ve ordered the Seoul perimeter to tighten around the compound. The men at the mansion, initiated lockdown protocol. The safe chamber’s sealed—they got Taehyung, Jimin, and Seokjin underground in time.”

Jungkook’s head dropped forward slightly as he drove, a harsh breath leaving him. Then—

“FUCK!”

He slammed the heel of his hand into the steering wheel. The horn blared in protest.

“They actually fucking did this. They had the audacity—they went for him.”

Hoseok, riding shotgun, stayed silent, but the rigid tension in his frame was louder than words. His SIG rested in his lap, safety already off. His eyes were tracking every movement outside like a sniper before the kill.

From the backseat, Namjoon was on the comm, coordinating with the home base through his earpiece, barking low orders to the guards stationed in the underground levels of the mansion. “Reinforce Hall C. Watch for infiltration through the east wall—rotate thermal scans every ninety seconds.”

He switched channels and addressed Jungkook, keeping his voice calm. “The guards know what to do. That safe chamber was built to survive a siege. They’re trained. They’ll keep them safe.”

“They’re TERRIFIED, Namjoon!” Jungkook bit out, voice cracking.

He sucked in a breath, shaking his head violently. “Taehyung doesn’t even—he doesn’t even understand what’s happening, he probably thinks it’s fucking, rainbows and coffee beans and or some twisted joke—he’s probably standing there trying to figure it out while everyone’s bleeding around him—”

“HE SHOULDN’T EVEN BE IN THIS FUCKING MESSED UP WORLD!”

Jungkook’s voice broke completely, harsh and hollow. “He’s—he’s there—and I’m not there. I’m not there to protect him.”

His foot slammed on the gas. The engine growled. The SUV blew past a red light, narrowly dodging a delivery truck.

Hoseok finally spoke, voice low and tight. “We’re gonna get there. We’re gonna fix this. And when we do—Makarov and Shin? They’re fucking dead.”

Namjoon leaned forward, his hand on Jungkook’s shoulder. “You will protect him. You ‘are’ protecting him. You gave the right orders. You left your best men. The guards are buying time. Now we finish the job—we get in, we get them, and then we BURY every bastard who touched our walls.”

But Jungkook wasn’t hearing reason anymore. He was already in the aftermath, in the vengeance.

“I’m going to find Shin’s corpse,” he growled, “and drag it through every fucking sewer in Seoul. Makarov? I’ll carve the fear of God into that snake before I burn him alive. If they so much as breathed near Taehyung—I’ll skin them breathing.”

His eyes were glassy now. But it wasn’t sorrow.

It was rage.

And fear.

Guttural, heart-ripping fear.

Because in his mind, he still saw Taehyung that morning, barefoot in the kitchen, apron tied in a lopsided bow, humming as he stirred cream into a ridiculous triple-mocha something. Lips sticky with syrup, cheeks warm with sunlight.

And now he was underground, hearing gunfire echo through steel and stone. Terrified. Alone. And Jungkook wasn’t there.

Above the roar of the tires and the crackle of comms, the distinct thump of helicopters began to echo overhead, emergency air support inbound. Yoongi was already pulling up security feeds on his tablet, growling coordinates into the second comm line.

“We got motion on the west courtyard,” Yoongi said grimly. “They’re pushing hard. East wall’s still holding. Our men are giving everything they’ve got, they’re fucking getting inside.”

Jungkook’s hands tightened again. He didn’t blink. He didn’t breathe.

He just drove.

Like a man possessed. Like a man with something to lose.

And he did.

‘Please be okay…’

Back at the mansion, the underground chamber doors slammed shut behind them, metal locking into place with a sharp hiss. One of the guards keyed in the security seal. The lights inside flickered on—low, warm, dim.

Taehyung huddled between Jimin and Seokjin, trembling now, small whimpers escaping his lips as reality started sinking in, as more explosions shaking the upper ground. “I… I d-didn’t think… it was r-real. I thought it was just…” tears falling down his cheeks.

“I k-know,” Jimin said softly, wiping his tears.

Seokjin pulled Taehyung to his chest and hugged him tightly. “It’s okay. We’re okay. We’re safe.”

But even as the lights hummed softly in the chamber, above them, chaos reigned. Enemies had breached the outer courtyard. Gunfire cracked like thunder. Explosions rocked the eastern wing. The guards were giving everything they had to keep the fire from reaching the heart of the home.

And somewhere out there—

Jungkook was coming.

Chapter Text

The steel-reinforced door groaned beneath the force of the explosion above. Dust trickled from the ceiling, and the dim emergency lights lining the underground tunnel flickered with each vibration.

Taehyung stood frozen, his back pressed against the cold stone wall, hands clutching the hem of his sweater like it was a lifeline. His breath came in short, trembling bursts, curls sticking to his temple from sweat. The humming buzz of gunfire above had become background noise, until the moment it moved closer.

BANG.

BANG.

Then came the sound no one wanted to hear.

Pounding. On the sealed chamber door.

“Wh-What is that?” Jimin whispered, his voice barely audible as it cracked.

Everyone stiffened.

“Who’s there?!” One of the guards called out, stepping forward, gun raised, the red targeting dot glowing on the metal surface. His earpiece crackled.

“Alpha Four, check status—who’s outside the chamber door?” he demanded.

No response.

He tried again, voice sharper this time. “This is Chamber Two security—do NOT approach unless cleared! Identify yourself!”

Still nothing.

And then—

RAT-TAT-TAT!

Gunfire. Sharp and cruel, bullets pelted the door from the outside. Louder now. Closer. Too close.

Taehyung let out a tiny yelp and jumped, slamming his back to the wall. Jimin grabbed his arm, holding it tightly. Seokjin’s eyes widened in horror as he took in the deafening realization.

“They’re trying to force it open,” he whispered, paling. “They found us.”

“No, no, no—shit,” muttered the other guard. “We’ll be trapped if we stay here.”

He turned to Seokjin, urgency in every movement. “Sir—we need another exit. There’s always a backup route. A hidden escape hatch, passage—ANYTHING.”

Seokjin’s eyes darted across the narrow room, mind spinning, trying to recall the architecture schematics. “There should be… Yes. All the safe zones are designed with emergency tunnels in case the main entry is compromised.”

“Then we find it. Now,” the lead guard ordered. “Everyone, search! Look for wall panels, pressure tiles—anything unusual.”

Taehyung and Jimin flinched as another thud rocked the chamber. The sealed door behind them now had a jagged dent punched in its center. Sparks danced around the edges. They were trying to blow the lock.

“Taehyung,” Seokjin said gently, crouching beside him. “Sweetheart, I need your help. Look at the walls near the floor. Feel for anything out of place. Can you do that for me?”

Taehyung’s fingers trembled, tears falling as he nodded. “O-Okay…”

He dropped to his knees and crawled along the cold stone wall, his palms sliding over the rough surface. Jimin mirrored him on the opposite side, glancing nervously behind them at the damaged door.

Every few seconds, the chamber echoed with another sharp blast, another groaning creak, closer now, louder.

Seokjin’s heart thudded in his throat. He whispered Namjoon’s name under his breath like a prayer. ‘Please get to us.’ ‘Please be safe.’ ‘Please get here in time.’

And then—

“I-I think I found something!” Taehyung’s voice cracked through the chaos, thin and trembling.

Everyone snapped around.

His hand hovered shakily over a spot low on the wall, just above the floor, a single stone that jutted out at a strange angle, as if it didn’t belong. His fingers hovered like he was afraid it would bite him.

He looked up, wide-eyed, pale as paper. “It’s loose…”

“Push it, Sir!” the lead guard barked, voice sharp with urgency.

Taehyung hesitated. His lips parted like he wanted to speak but another thunderous bang at the sealed door cut him off. The ground shook beneath them.

With a gasp, he pressed his hand flat against the stone.

CLICK.

A quiet hiss. Then the wall beside him rumbled, dust falling from the ceiling as a crack split open down the middle, revealing a hidden door, barely wide enough for a person to slip through. Beyond it, blackness. Total blackness.

The darkness beyond was suffocating.

“Where’s the light?” Jimin rasped, his voice tight, high-pitched with panic.

“No lights,” the younger guard said grimly. “It’s a stealth route. Crawl tunnel. We’ll hit a motion sensor near the far end—but it’s pitch black until then.”

He didn’t wait for questions. He turned, safety off, and gestured fiercely. “We go. NOW.”

Another explosion rocked the chamber. The sealed steel door behind them bulged inward, a loud metal screech shrieking like a death knell. Dust rained from above like ash.

Taehyung whimpered, staggering back. “They’re coming—oh god—”

Then came the worst sound yet.

CHUNK.

The sound of the lock disengaging.

The door was opening.

“MOVE!!” the lead guard shouted, panic ripping through his voice.

They surged forward.

The tunnel yawned before them, tight, cold, black as the void. The air was thick with the scent of earth, metal, and old stone. The floor was damp, uneven, the walls brushing against their shoulders, suffocating.

The lead guard slipped in first, gun ready.

Seokjin grabbed Taehyung’s wrist tightly. “With me. I’ve got you,” he whispered, voice shaking as he pulled him into the black.

Taehyung’s feet dragged. “I—I can’t see—hyung, I can’t see anything—”

“You don’t need to, just keep moving. Stay beside me, okay? Stay with me.”

Jimin scrambled behind them, breath hitching with every step. “This is a nightmare. This is a nightmare—”

Behind them, the final guard forced the hidden panel shut with a heavy slam.

CRACK—CRACK—CRACK!

Gunfire exploded outside, so close it rattled the stone around them. Screams. Shouts. Boots pounding. A grenade went off just beyond the wall. The air in the tunnel rushed inward like the tunnel itself had gasped in fear.

Taehyung flinched violently. “They’re right there—they’re right there!”

“DON’T stop!” Seokjin barked, not even sounding like himself anymore.

The tunnel shook again, loose stone clattering onto their shoulders as they crawled forward, breath ragged, skin slick with sweat. Jimin’s hand fumbled for Taehyung’s back, terrified of losing contact in the dark.

“Don’t let go,” he choked out. “Please don’t let go—”

“I’m here!” Taehyung sobbed. “I’m right here!”

The tunnel seemed endless. Every shuffle forward was a mile. Every sound behind them a reminder that death was one heartbeat away.

And then, a glint.

A faint sliver of light.

“Exit sensor,” the lead guard gasped. “Keep going—almost there!”

The light grew, just barely enough to make out shapes. A hatch. An old steel door, moss-covered and narrow. The guard slammed his palm against the sensor plate.

HISSSSS.

With a final groan, the hatch opened to the night outside.

Cool air rushed in, sweet and sharp like salvation.

They stumbled out of the tunnel like survivors clawing their way out of a grave.

Taehyung collapsed to his knees, gasping. Seokjin knelt beside him, wrapping both arms around his trembling frame. Jimin looked back toward the tunnel, still shaking.

From behind them, the distant roar of gunfire echoed like thunder but farther now. Muted.

They were behind the compound now, at the tree line bordering the forest. Smoke curled into the sky in the distance. The mansion, their home, was aflame, war raging behind the walls.

And in the clearing ahead—two black SUVs. Armed men.

A man stepped forward, eyes sharp like he was waiting for them.

-

The roar of the chopper blades was deafening.

Jungkook sat hunched at the open edge of the aircraft, fingers clenched tight around the barrel of his rifle, wind slashing across his face as they cut through the air like thunder. His black coat whipped violently around him, and his jaw, tight. Unforgiving.

Beside him, Yoongi was checking his ammo in silence. Namjoon had his earpiece in, murmuring commands into the line with clenched teeth. Hoseok’s gaze never left the dark stretch of land below.

There were five helicopters in total.

Each carrying elite guards, weapons, bloodlust.

And rage.

"Thirty seconds out!" the pilot called over the comms.

Jungkook leaned forward. His eyes locked on the sight rising into view.

The mansion, the Jeon Mafia, was on fire.

Charred smoke billowed into the sky. Walls scorched, the once-pristine southern wing was in pieces. Explosions had left craters in the ground like wounds torn open in flesh. From above, it looked like a battlefield in hell.

But Jungkook didn’t see the flames.

He didn’t see the cracked marble, the bullet-riddled gates, or the bodies of his fallen guards strewn across the garden floor.

He only saw Taehyung.

Or rather, the absence of him.

Somewhere in that chaos… he was hiding. Or worse.

“Get us down,” Jungkook growled.

“Landing in ten.”

“I want him found,” he barked to no one in particular—everyone at once. “Before I kill everyone who dared step foot on my land.”

The second the chopper touched down with a sharp jolt, Jungkook leapt out first, boots hitting cracked stone with thunderous impact. Gun in hand, finger already on the trigger. The others followed immediately, fanning out as gunfire cracked from across the property.

“We’ve got hostiles at the west gate!” Hoseok yelled, taking cover behind a ruined fountain. “Snipers on the second floor windows!”

“I’ve got them!” Yoongi snarled, firing two clean shots into the upper level. A body dropped.

Jungkook’s eyes scanned the wreckage like a wild animal. He grabbed one of their surviving men who was bleeding but alive, crouched behind a destroyed SUV.

“Where are they?” Jungkook barked.

The man coughed, blood on his chin. “They were in Safe Chamber Two. The guards took them below but we lost comms right before they breached—!”

“Fuck—!” Namjoon turned sharply, looking pale as death. “Seokjin—!”

“We’re going now!” Jungkook spat.

Without waiting for another word, he took off toward the east hall, what was left of it. His boots splashed through broken glass and ash, gun swinging at every shadow. His mind only saw him.

‘Please, be okay, Taehyung. Please—just stay hidden. Please, don't cry. I'm coming.’

They reached the heavy vault door of Safe Chamber Two within minutes.

And froze.

The steel had been torn open. Blackened and warped. Bombed. The lock shredded, bolts melted.

Jungkook’s heart nearly stopped.

“Oh god…” Namjoon whispered, pushing past him. “No—no—”

Yoongi approached first, sweeping the flashlight inside. Guns raised, breath held—

But no blood.

No bodies.

No sign of a fight—just… absence.

“They’re not here,” Hoseok said, breath ragged, chest heaving under the weight of the smoke and chaos. His eyes swept the chamber, taking in the absence like it was a wound. “They escaped.”

“Or were taken,” Namjoon muttered, his voice raw, dark, like it had been scraped across gravel. “There’s no guarantee.”

“No.”

Jungkook’s voice cut through the air like a blade. “No—there’d be blood. A sign. He wouldn't go quietly. Seokjin-hyung wouldn’t. And Jimin—they wouldn’t go without a fight.”

His fists clenched at his sides, knuckles pale. “Taehyung…” The name left him like a prayer, cracked and burning.

Then—

A narrow beam from Yoongi’s flashlight froze mid-sweep.

“Hold on,” Yoongi said sharply, stepping forward. The beam landed on the back wall, on a small scuffed patch of stone. Dust was displaced, the faint outline of movement etched into the grime like fingerprints of the desperate.

He crouched low, fingertips brushing along the uneven wall with the precision of a surgeon.

“There,” he murmured. “This is it. Crawl route. Old design—pre-renovation. Jin and I insisted on redundancies after the 2019 breach. Only five of us knew.”

His hand slid under a twisted steel beam, feeling for the mechanism. A breath later—

Click.

The wall shuddered with a hidden hiss, a seam splitting open like the skin of the earth parting for something forbidden. Cold air curled out of the dark passage, stale with dust and silence.

“A secret escape path,” Yoongi confirmed grimly. “They used it.”

“I knew it,” Jungkook breathed, jaw clenched, eyes burning. “I fucking knew he’d run. Smart boy.”

“They didn’t have a choice,” Hoseok muttered as he racked his gun and stepped in behind him. “They were cornered. Desperate.”

Namjoon’s voice trembled, only slightly as he stared into the abyss.

“Seokjin… hold on, please…”

They entered.

One by one, they stepped into the narrow dark, weapons up, breaths held, as the heavy silence of the tunnel swallowed them whole. The walls were damp stone, claustrophobic and cold, pressing in like a tomb. Each step echoed in the tight space, boots thudding over old concrete and dust-covered steel. Their flashlight beams cut slivers into the black, revealing thick wiring, emergency piping, the scars of a structure meant to survive siege.

The only sound was their breath—ragged. Tense.

Smoke still clung to them, seared into their coats, hair, and skin. Behind them, firelight pulsed faintly at the mouth of the passage, flickering like a dying heartbeat.
And ahead?

There was nothing.

Just an endless stretch of shadows.

But Jungkook didn’t hesitate. He didn’t look back.

He walked with the weight of fury in his chest, the scream of every bullet in his blood. His trigger finger twitched. His jaw ached from how tightly he held it shut.

He would burn the earth,

Break every bone,

Kill every soul that dared stand between him and the boy with tear-bright eyes and syrup-stained fingers.

He was coming.

And God help the bastards who got in his way.

The tunnel spit them out at the back edge of the compound, where the concrete gave way to wild overgrowth. Cold air slammed into them like a slap. Smoke drifted in the wind, dark, thick, rising like a death flag from the burning mansion behind them.

They barely took two steps into the clearing before Yoongi froze mid-stride.

“Wait—shit.”

Jungkook’s boots skidded on the gravel. His breath hitched.

There, crumpled in the grass just past the treeline—a body.

Blood soaked through the front of the enemy’s, pooling beneath him, still warm and glistening under the moonlight.

“Fuck,” Hoseok hissed.

Jungkook’s heart stopped. His fists clenched so tightly they ached. Then, he exploded forward.

“FAN OUT! Check every goddamn corner!” he barked, voice hoarse with rage.

They surged into the clearing, shadows in motion. The quiet was broken only by the crunch of leaves underfoot and the ominous buzz of distant gunfire.

Then they saw another.

A second corpse, then a third—slumped against a tree, head caved in by a close-range shot. The forest floor was littered with shell casings and blood trails, a warpath carved through desperation.

A rustle.

“THERE!” Namjoon shouted, pointing.

Leaning heavily against a tree trunk, his chest heaving, body slumped, a familiar face.

One of the two guards who had been assigned to protect Seokjin, Jimin, and Taehyung.

The man was pale, bloodied, one arm limp at his side. But his other hand still gripped his gun, white-knuckled.

Jungkook dropped to a crouch instantly, eyes scanning the woods, gun up.

Namjoon reached the man first and grabbed his shoulders. “Where are they?!”

The guard coughed violently, blood flecking his lips. “F-Forest… north route. I tried—I tried to hold them off, but there were too many. I failed—I couldn’t—”

“No,” Namjoon said firmly, shaking him once, gaze locked with steel. “You didn’t fail. You bought them time. You did good. You held the fucking line.”

Yoongi turned back and signaled to one of the men sprinting up behind them. “GET HIM OUT. Med evac NOW.”

As the injured guard was hoisted up between two soldiers, Jungkook was already moving.

He didn’t need more confirmation.

He could smell the panic in the air, the scent of gunpowder still lingering in the trees. And far ahead, distant, like a thread of fire against silence, a burst of gunfire. Then another.

They were still in there.

Hiding. Running. Being hunted.

Jungkook’s legs were already burning, his coat flaring behind him like smoke. His boots tore through grass and thorns and uneven ground as he dove into the treeline, his hyungs shouting behind him, their own boots pounding the earth in pursuit.

Every branch cracked like a warning. Every second felt like a lifetime lost.

The forest was alive with war now. Shadows darted between trees, the glint of rifles flashing in the dark. Somewhere not far off, a man screamed before going silent. Another shot cracked the air like a whip.

Then—

A scream.

Pained. Hoarse. Familiar.

“TAEHYUNG!!”

It was Seokjin’s voice—desperate, broken, full of fear and fury.

Jungkook’s blood went cold.

He didn’t think. He didn’t breathe.

He just ran.

“TAEHYUNG—!!” Jimin screamed, voice sounds so terrified.

Jungkook broke into a full sprint, gun raised, heart hammering as that scream echoed again, closer now, deeper into the woods. He crashed through the underbrush, branches clawing at his arms and face, eyes wild, teeth clenched.

“Please…” he whispered through gritted teeth. “Please be okay. Please be okay.”

Behind him, the hyungs were calling out positions, flanking, covering ground. Hoseok fired shots into the woods, someone screamed. Yoongi moved like a ghost through the trees, calm and ruthless. Namjoon was right behind, shouting orders, eyes manic with fear for his husband.

But Jungkook—he only had one direction.

Forward.

Toward that scream.

Toward him.

Chapter Text

The forest felt endless.

Dark trees clawed at the sky, their skeletal branches creaking like whispers of death. The air was thick with smoke and gunpowder, the stench of blood and sweat clinging to every breath. Somewhere behind them, the mansion was still burning, a skeletal silhouette against the flames. Their world was on fire.

And they were running.

“Keep going, don’t stop!” Seokjin’s voice cracked like lightning behind them, sharp and commanding through the chaos.

Taehyung’s legs were barely functioning. His knees buckled with every step, arms flailing to keep balance as he stumbled over roots and jagged earth. His lungs screamed for air. His vision blurred with tears. He wasn’t fast, he had never been fast but right now, survival clung to his heels like death’s shadow.

Because this wasn’t a chase.

It was a hunt.

Gunfire cracked behind them.

Pop. Pop-pop. Boom.

Taehyung let out a strangled scream as bark exploded near his shoulder, a bullet striking the tree just inches from his head. He ducked, heart slamming in his chest like a war drum.

“J-Jiminie—!” he gasped, flailing toward the blur beside him.

“I’m here—I’m here!” Jimin’s hand gripped his tightly, almost painfully. It was sweaty and trembling but strong, grounding Taehyung in a world that felt like it was crumbling beneath them.

“I-I can’t—I can’t—!”

“Yes, you can!” Seokjin barked, his tone hard but his voice cracked. “Just a little more!”

Another explosion rattled the ground, the force of it shuddering through the trees. Taehyung's foot caught on a root. He went down with a cry and then fire lanced through his thigh.

A gunshot. A graze.

He screamed.

“Tae!” Jimin shouted, pulling him up frantically.

Seokjin turned, eyes wild. “What happened?!”

“H-he, he was s-shot—his leg!” Jimin cried, panic rising in his throat.

“Shit—” Seokjin inspects Taehyung immediately and glad that it was only a graze but still the younger got hurt. “Tae baby, lean on us, we need to keep moving!” Seokjin dropped into a crouch, raising his gun. “Cover us, Minsoo!”

The last remaining guard with them, a broad-shouldered man, face smeared with dirt and blood, nodded once, wordless, and turned to fire into the trees. Muzzle flashes lit up the night.

Enemies poured from the darkness. Figures in black. Boots thudding against the forest floor. Shadows with guns.

“They’re gaining!” Minsoo shouted, squeezing off shot after shot.

“Don’t stop, Tae!” Jimin grabbed Taehyung by the other arm, slinging it over his shoulder. “We can’t stop here!”

Taehyung was crying now, full-bodied sobs that shook his frame as he limped, pain shooting down his leg with every ragged step. Blood soaked into his pants, hot and sticky.

“I d-don’t wanna die—” he gasped, almost choking on it. “I wanna go home—I want—”

“You won’t!” Seokjin snapped, breathless, eyes wide and terrified. “You’re not going to die, Taehyung. I won’t let you.”

They moved like ghosts through the trees, three bodies clinging to one another, trying to stay ahead of the enemies at their back.

A bullet struck near Jimin’s head. He let out a startled yell and pushed Taehyung behind him. “Stay down!”

Seokjin fired. One. Two. Three. Someone screamed and fell.

Minsoo was limping now too, bleeding from his shoulder, but still shooting, covering them with everything he had.

Then he cried out. A shot slammed into his side. He stumbled, fell to one knee, and still raised his gun and took down another man.

“Oh god!” Jimin screamed.

“I—I’m fine, Sir!” the guard coughed, spitting blood. “Go—keep going—!”

But more enemies were flooding through the woods. More than they could handle. Too many.

Seokjin dropped to one knee beside Minsoo, firing again and again, body shaking with adrenaline. “Fall back! Fall back!”

“I will hold them b-back, Sir,” Minsoo rasped, voice thick with self-loathing. “You must go, I failed—”

“You didn’t fail!” Seokjin growled, eyes blazing. “You’re still here, aren’t you? You bought them time.”

Taehyung couldn’t stop trembling. His teeth chattered despite the heat. The wound in his thigh burned. His vision swam.

Jimin held him tightly, voice cracking. “Please—please hold on, Tae. Please.”

Leaves rustled beneath heavy boots. Shadows broke through the trees like monsters, sleek and armored, their guns raised, their grins twisted.

They’d been caught.

Minsoo coughed blood, staggering to his feet with a trembling arm raised, his gun pointed even as his legs barely held. “Stay b-back—!”

Jimin shifted in front of Taehyung, shielding him instinctively with his smaller frame. His hands were shaking, but his glare was burning. “D-don’t come closer.”

Taehyung’s breath hitched.

And then—they appeared.

From between the trees, two figures stepped forward with calm, measured arrogance. Black boots, long coats slick with ash and power. One tall and lean, the other a snake in human skin. Both smiling.

Makarov.

And Shin.

Makarov’s grin was wide and cold. “Well, well,” he drawled, his voice thick with mockery. “What do we have here?”

Shin tilted his head, eyes gleaming like a predator spotting a wounded fawn. “The little prince and his knights.” He snorted, voice oily. “Adorable.”

“Stay back,” Seokjin barked, standing between them and Taehyung, gun steady but breath uneven. His stance was wide. Ready to die. “Don’t come any closer.”

Makarov’s lip curled. “Oh, I think we’re well past that.”

Behind them, more men stepped into the clearing, ten, maybe more. Armed. Smirking. Circling. Like wolves closing in on a cornered stag.

Taehyung’s vision spun. His thigh throbbed with every heartbeat. But it wasn’t the pain that scared him, it was the way Jimin’s hand trembled around his, the way Minsoo’s blood stained the ground, the way Seokjin stood like a wall ready to crumble.

They were going to die.

He could feel it.

“Look at you,” Shin sneered. “Trembling like leaves. Is that fear? Or guilt?”

“You sick bastards,” Jimin hissed. “You’re not touching him.”

“Oh, but we will.” Makarov took another step forward. “We’ve waited long enough.”

Taehyung’s breathing came in ragged gasps, his hands slick with sweat and blood. The pain in his leg pulsed with a searing rhythm, each heartbeat a scream under his skin. His body trembled violently, not just from the wound, but from the dread curling like ice around his heart.

The others, his hyungs, they were still fighting to shield him, still standing even as the shadows closed in.

But it wasn’t enough.

Makarov’s smirk widened with every inch he advanced. The barrel of his gun dipped lazily at his side, his body relaxed, confident. Like a man who already knew he’d won.

"Pathetic," Shin sneered, circling behind Seokjin and Jimin. "You thought you could hide him forever? You really thought we wouldn't find our little prize?"

“Shut your filthy mouth,” Seokjin hissed, jaw tight, gun still raised, though his arm had begun to shake.

Makarov tilted his head mockingly. “Oh, but don’t you see? This isn’t a war anymore. It’s a collection.”

Then, without warning, one of the enemy soldiers lunged, disarming Seokjin with a brutal strike to his wrist. Another yanked Jimin away. Minsoo, already wounded, tried to lift his weapon, but it was kicked from his grasp as rough hands slammed him to his knees.

“NO!” Jimin screamed, thrashing wildly as two men held him down. “Don’t touch him! Don’t you dare!”

Seokjin was fighting, clawing, even biting, but they were outnumbered, outmatched. In a matter of seconds, the three of them were forced to the ground, knees pressed into dirt, arms wrenched behind their backs, breath coming in harsh sobs.

Only Taehyung remained standing. Alone. Trembling.

He took a stumbling step back, eyes wide, swollen with tears.

“Run,” Seokjin rasped, voice strangled. “Taehyung, run!”

But he couldn’t. His thigh gave out, he crumpled to the ground with a sharp cry.

That was all the opening Shin needed.

He crossed the space like a shadow with teeth, grabbed a fistful of Taehyung’s hair, and yanked him up with vicious force.

Taehyung cried out in pain, hands scrabbling at Shin’s wrist. “L-Let go! Let me go—!”

“Such pretty screams,” Shin cooed, yanking him upright until Taehyung was nearly off his feet. His fingers twisted cruelly in the soft strands. “You’ll make a fine message.”

“No—no, please—!” Taehyung sobbed, kicking feebly, his injured leg collapsing beneath him.

Seokjin screamed his name like it was his last word. “TAEHYUNG!!”

“LET HIM GO!” Jimin bellowed, throat raw, thrashing against the arms holding him. “YOU TOUCH HIM, I’LL KILL YOU!”

Minsoo didn’t speak, his body was too weak, too far gone but his eyes burned with fury, blood trailing from the corner of his mouth as he shook his head, helpless.

Shin dragged Taehyung toward Makarov, step by step, Taehyung’s body limp and fighting at once, his breaths shattered sobs. He clawed, kicked, pleaded.

Makarov was waiting, arms outstretched like a puppet master greeting his new marionette.

Taehyung looked at him and he saw death.

He felt it in the way the sky darkened behind them. In the way the forest seemed to go still, like the whole world had inhaled in dread.

And he screamed—not out of pain, but terror.

“JUNGKOOK!!”

But no answer came.

Only the sound of laughter.

-

The forest was a blur of movement.

Twigs cracked beneath boots. Breath hissed in sharp bursts. The air stank of smoke, blood, and burning metal.

Jungkook ran like hell was at his heels and in his heart, it was.

Each second carved deeper into his chest. Every scream that wasn’t Taehyung’s felt like a dagger. He didn’t even feel the sting of branches cutting across his cheek or the ache in his legs. All he heard was that scream.

Taehyung’s scream.

It hadn’t been pain. It had been fear. Pure, soul-wrenching fear.

And Jungkook was going to answer it—with blood.

“Faster!” he barked over his shoulder, voice ragged.

Namjoon was close behind, face pale and furious. Hoseok flanked left, holding his gun, eyes scanning the trees like a wolf scenting prey. Yoongi was reloading mid-sprint, his jaw clenched tight, his breath uneven. The remaining guards moved in formation, ready to tear the forest apart.

Then—

They heard it.

Laughters.

High, cruel, arrogant.

Jungkook’s entire body went still for a half-second. Then he sprinted.

They broke through the trees into the clearing and chaos.

Jimin was on the ground, held down by two enemy soldiers, still screaming. Seokjin was beside him, bloodied, snarling, trying to rise. A guard, was barely upright, swaying, gun hanging limp at his side.

And Taehyung—

Taehyung was in Shin’s grip, his body twisted painfully, one leg dragging, face wet with tears. Makarov stood in front of him, smiling like the devil himself.

Time fractured.

Jungkook didn’t think. He reacted.

Gun up. Shot fired.

The bullet slammed into the man holding Jimin. Another scream, this time not theirs. Jungkook didn’t stop. He kept moving. His boots slammed against the ground, and his rage hit the clearing like a storm.

“TAEHYUNG!!” he roared.

Makarov turned, just as Hoseok dropped one of his men from a distance, a perfect headshot.

“Shit—shoot them!” Shin shouted, yanking Taehyung back like a shield.

But Jungkook was already upon them.

Gunfire exploded around them like thunder. Namjoon and Yoongi were flanking, precise, brutal. Two enemies dropped with gurgling cries. One of Jungkook’s men tackled the enemy holding Seokjin.

Hoseok dropped another target, blood spraying bark.

“GET HIM OUT OF THERE!” Namjoon yelled, ducking behind a tree as bullets shredded the air around them.

Seokjin was scrambling to his feet, eyes wide with shock and hope. “Jungkook—!”

But Jungkook wasn’t listening.

He had only one target.

“Let him go, now!” he growled, voice like a growl of thunder.

Taehyung’s eyes met his and they shattered. Terror. Pain. A sobbing plea, locked in a trembling frame.

Then Shin pulled the gun.

And Jungkook charged.

“No, you fucking don’t—!” he snarled, crashing into the man with bone-breaking force.

The battlefield was chaos, guns still smoking, blood seeping into the earth, screams echoing into the treetops like ghosts refusing to fade.

Jungkook held Taehyung in his arms, his breathing ragged, chest rising and falling like the world itself was trying to break through him. Taehyung’s thigh was grazed, the wound hot and bleeding, but Jungkook had him. That was all that mattered.

Behind them, Jimin sobbed quietly, wrapping his arms around Taehyung’s shoulders protectively. Seokjin staggered upright, crawling toward Minsoo and barking orders to the nearest guards to get him stabilized.

“Surround them!” Namjoon snapped, his voice like cracking thunder.

The remaining enemies, half-injured, half-shocked by the counterattack, were being driven into the center of the clearing. Jungkook’s men emerged from the trees like shadows, guns drawn, movements merciless. Makarov and Shin were among them, trapped, finally cornered.

Makarov spat blood, seething. “You think this ends here?”

“Oh, it ends,” Yoongi muttered darkly, pressing the barrel of his gun against a man's temple before kicking him to his knees.

Shin's smirk had faded. He was panting now, cut across the cheek, his hands above his head. But his eyes still glimmered with something cruel, like it wasn’t over yet.

Jungkook didn’t even look at them. His eyes were only on Taehyung.

“You’re safe,” he whispered. “I’ve got you…”

Taehyung blinked slowly. “You… found me,” he rasped. His voice was thin. Fading. “You really found me…”

“I’d burn down the world to find you,” Jungkook breathed, voice breaking.

Taehyung’s trembling hand reached for his cheek, brushing blood and ash.

Then—

A click.

A shift in the air.

Jungkook’s instincts screamed.

Bang.

The world exploded.

Jimin screamed.

Seokjin roared.

And Taehyung—

Taehyung jolted in Jungkook’s arms.

A bloom of red burst from his side. His body went limp.

“No—NO!!” Jungkook caught him as he sagged forward, his weight crumpling.

“TAEHYUNG!” Jimin shrieked, lunging forward.

Everything froze.

Jungkook looked up, eyes wild, mouth open in silent agony and saw Makarov standing there, gun still smoking. He had grabbed it from a fallen soldier. One last, desperate act.

His smile was crooked. Mocking. “I will never let you win, Jeon.”

He didn’t see Hoseok until it was too late. One shot, clean—tore through Makarov’s shoulder, sending him crashing back.

But Jungkook didn’t flinch.

He cradled Taehyung tighter, blood pouring through his fingers, soaking into his shirt.

“Tae… stay with me,” he begged, pressing his forehead to Taehyung’s temple. “Please, baby, no. No no no—look at me. Look at me, please!”

Taehyung’s lashes fluttered. His lips moved. “K-Kookie…”

“I’m here, I’m here,” Jungkook sobbed, brushing hair from his pale face. “You’ll be okay. You’ll be okay—you’re going to be okay.”

Taehyung closed his eyes.

“FUCK! Tae, baby p-please.” Jungkook sobbed louder.

“TAEHYUNG!!” Jimin fell beside them, clutching Taehyung’s other hand. “Please—please don’t—wake up! Wake up!”

Seokjin dropped to his knees with a choked cry, already checking his pulse. “We need a medevac—NOW! He’s still alive! Jungkook, he’s still breathing!”

Jungkook looked up slowly, his eyes molten with something terrifying.

He stood, lifting Taehyung’s limp body into his arms.

Then his gaze snapped to Makarov, who was being dragged forward by two guards, blood pouring from his arm.

“Don’t kill him,” Jungkook said, his voice low. Cold. Deathly calm.

The men froze.

Jungkook’s jaw clenched. His teeth bared. “Keep him alive. Both of them.”

Shin swallowed visibly as the guards grabbed him too.

Jungkook's voice dropped into a growl. “Because I’m going to make their lives hell. And I want them alive to feel every second of it.”

There was no argument. The air itself held its breath.

Then Jungkook turned back to Taehyung, holding him tighter. “Hang on. Just hang on a little longer.”

He was already walking.

“The car!” Namjoon shouted, shoving one of the guards toward the trees. “NOW! We’re not losing him!”

The convoy was a blur, burning rubber, slammed doors, frantic calls to the nearest hospital. Yoongi barked coordinates. Seokjin kept pressure on the wound in the backseat while Jungkook cradled Taehyung, whispering to him over and over.

“You’re okay, you’re going to be okay, baby,” he choked. “You can’t go. Not yet. Not yet.”

Jimin pressed against Seokjin in the other seat, face streaked with tears, rocking slightly.

Jimin’s voice shook as he held Jimin’s hand. “Come on, Tae. You’ve always been the strongest of us.”

Red lights blurred past. Sirens howled in the distance.

By the time they reached the hospital, Jungkook was halfway out of the vehicle before it stopped.

“EMERGENCY!” Namjoon roared. “Gunshot victim! NOW!”

Doctors surged forward. Gurney wheels screamed. They tried to pry Taehyung from Jungkook’s arms, but he clung until one of the nurses placed a firm hand on his chest.

“We’ll save him,” she said. “But we need you to let go.”

Jungkook did. Barely.

They rushed Taehyung away.

The doors slammed shut.

And silence fell.

Jimin collapsed into Hoseok’s arms. Namjoon sat down, hands shaking as he went to hug Seokjin. Yoongi leaned back against the cold hospital wall, eyes squeezed shut.

And Jungkook stood there.

Covered in blood that wasn’t his.

Hands open and empty.

Waiting to know if the boy who made him feel alive…

Would survive.

Chapter Text

The hospital room did not look like a hospital room.

It looked like it had been stolen from a billionaire’s penthouse suite. The walls were a warm cream textured with velvet panels, the floor was polished imported marble, and floor-to-ceiling windows revealed a glimmering view of the Han River stretching into a golden afternoon. There were even fresh orchids in the corners and a chandelier overhead.

The only reminders that it was a hospital were the soft hum of machines nearby and the gentle beep-beep of Taehyung’s heart monitor, though it had been subtly disguised in a matching cream-colored cabinet, like even the medical equipment had to respect the aesthetics.

In the middle of it all, Taehyung was draped in a cocoon of cloud-like pillows, wrapped in a dove-gray custom silk robe, which shimmered faintly under the sunlight. His chest was still tightly bound beneath, the bandages carefully covering the scar left by the bullet that nearly took him from them.

But he was here. Breathing. Glowing. Being a little menace as usual.

“Absolutely not,” Jungkook said firmly, voice low and almost soothing, like he was trying to tame a wild puppy. “No sugar. The doctor said no sweets for at least another week.”

He calmly blocked the spoonful of forbidden chocolate pudding that Taehyung had stealthily aimed toward his mouth.

“You promised me I could have anything I wanted,” Taehyung said whining with the betrayed conviction of a prince ousted from his throne. He crossed his arms with a sulky huff, dramatic pout in full bloom.

Jungkook raised a brow. “I said you could have whatever is ‘good for you’. There’s a difference between nutrients and... diabetes in a cup.”

“This,” Taehyung said, gesturing at the bowl of warm porridge Jungkook was offering, “is a betrayal of everything I stand for.”

From the couch near the corner, Yoongi, hood up, blanket around his legs like an ancient monk, murmured without looking up, “Jungkook’s feeding him like a toddler. I’ve never seen anything this pathetic.”

“Record it,” Hoseok whispered to Jimin beside him, already halfway through opening the camera app. “This is career-ending blackmail.”

Jimin had his entire face hidden behind a pillow, muffling explosive laughter. “This is historical documentation. We’ll show it at the wedding.”

“I can hear you all,” Jungkook snapped without turning. “Keep talking, and I’ll shove this porridge into all of your faces.”

Meanwhile, Taehyung had twisted dramatically away from the offered spoon, nose crinkled. “It tastes like cardboard boiled in sadness. I’m injured, not being punished.”

“Baby, you got shot in the chest, not invited to a buffet,” Jungkook muttered, trying not to let the corner of his mouth twitch upward. “You need bland food while you heal.”

“It tastes like old socks,” Taehyung whined.

Hoseok leaned forward. “Have you… eaten socks before?”

Taehyung pointed accusingly. “Don’t shame me.”

Jimin wheezed into his pillow, muffled, “Oh my God…”

“The pudding is right there!” Taehyung suddenly announced, as if he had uncovered a dark conspiracy. He jabbed his finger toward the dessert tray with theatrical flair. “It’s chocolate. And it’s calling to me. Whispering my name!”

Jungkook didn't even flinch. “You’re hallucinating.”

“Kim Taehyung…” Jimin whispered from behind his pillow in a ghostly voice. “Eat me… I am soft… I am sweet… I am available…”

Taehyung gasped and clutched Jungkook’s sleeve. “See! He hears it too!!”

Yoongi snorted so hard he choked on his water.

Jungkook closed his eyes like a man on the brink of war. He exhaled slowly, massaged his temple, and aimed the spoon back toward Taehyung’s mouth. “I swear, you’ve been like this since the moment you woke up.”

“I almost died!” Taehyung flopped back into his pillows like a Shakespearean damsel. “This is trauma, Jungkookie. I’m expressing myself!”

“You’re expressing that you’re a manipulative little brat,” Jungkook muttered, unable to hide the small fond smirk that tugged at the corner of his lips.

Taehyung sat up, wide-eyed, scandalized. “Did you just insult me?!”

Jungkook leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to the corner of Taehyung’s pouty mouth. The room went completely silent.

Even Yoongi sat up straighter.

Taehyung blinked, stunned, then whispered, “I liked the kiss… but I still like the pudding more.”

Jungkook gave a look of pure deadpan and shoved the spoonful of porridge into Taehyung’s open mouth. “Now chew. Or I’ll throw all of your strawberries.”

“You manipulative buff—” Taehyung gagged mid-insult on the porridge, waving his hands like he’d just been poisoned. “Blughhh.” So dramatic.

Jimin clapped once, loudly. “Bravo. Someone give him an Oscar. That was beautiful.”

Jungkook, ignoring them all, gently dabbed the corner of Taehyung’s lips with a cloth napkin like a Victorian nursemaid.

“You’ll get strawberries later when Seokjin-hyung comes back,” he said. “He and Namjoon went to get lunch.”

“Lunch and bribery,” Yoongi muttered, stretching. “At this rate, Tae’s going to have a stash of candy bars hidden behind the flower vase.”

Jungkook turned immediately. “Don’t. Give. Him. Ideas.”

Taehyung blinked innocently. “What flower vase?”

Jungkook’s head snapped toward him. “Taehyung.”

Taehyung slowly reached out toward the large porcelain vase on the stand beside the bed.

“Don’t you dare.”

Taehyung reached faster.

“Don’t move—”

Jimin screamed-laughed as Taehyung dove for the vase.

Yoongi spilled his water, Hoseok fell off the couch, and Jungkook caught Taehyung mid-reach, pinning him back against the pillows.

-

In the new Jeon Mafia compound, miles away from the ruins of the old mansion, the underground basement smelled of rust, blood, and something darker.

Makarov and Shin hung by chains, barely conscious. Their bodies were bruised, some bones cracked, but still alive.

They had begged for death two nights ago.

They hadn’t gotten it.

Jungkook visited before night falls.

He didn’t shout. He didn’t scream. He didn’t waste emotion on monsters.

He simply smiled, cold and sharp and reminded them with every slice, every silence, that they had dared to touch something he loved.

“You’ll suffer,” he whispered once, dragging the edge of a knife across Shin’s cheek. “But your families? They’ll disappear.”

And they did.

Corrupt businessmen. Dirty politicians. Addicts with empires built on ruin. Jungkook brought the hammer down with no mercy.

Makarov’s legacy turned to ash in a week.

Shin’s holdings were ripped apart, exposed in headlines Jungkook controlled behind the scenes.

“Jeon Jungkook” was nowhere in the story.

But he made sure THEY knew it was him.

He made sure they never forgot.

-

One week into his hospital stay, the room was wrapped in a hush so gentle it felt like the world was holding its breath.

Golden sunlight streamed through the tall glass windows, casting dappled light across the pristine white sheets and warm honey-colored walls. The city shimmered beyond the glass in quiet motion, a stark contrast to the soft serenity within the room. The air smelled faintly of antiseptic, but the faint scent of strawberries from the bouquet at the windowsill made it bearable, another little indulgence Jungkook insisted on, just to keep Taehyung calm.

Taehyung lay nestled in a cocoon of silk and blankets, a gentle breath rising and falling in his chest, the monitor beside him beeping a quiet rhythm Jungkook had memorized by now. A book rested on his lap, half-open, forgotten and one delicate hand had found its way to Jungkook’s sleeve, curled into it with sleepy insistence, like a lifeline.

Jungkook hadn’t moved in over an hour.

He sat at the edge of the hospital bed, elbow resting on his knee, hand loosely holding Taehyung’s. His thumb brushed back and forth over the younger’s knuckles absentmindedly. His gaze didn’t waver from Taehyung’s face, those soft features finally at peace, no longer twisted in pain, no longer pale with blood loss.

Each breath Taehyung took felt like an anchor in Jungkook’s chest, holding him together. The scar on his chest still ached in Jungkook’s mind more than it ever could in Taehyung’s body.

Behind him, the room had settled into a lazy afternoon rhythm.

Yoongi had succumbed to sleep on the luxury couch in the corner, one arm thrown over his face, mouth slightly open, snoring softly. Hoseok lounged beside him, scrolling lazily on his phone, eyes occasionally flicking up to check on Taehyung, a fond smile ghosting his lips every now and then. Jimin, who had been fretting like a mother hen all week with Seokjin, had finally dozed off with his head resting on Hoseok’s shoulder, soft strands of blond hair covering his eyes.

It was quiet, warm, filled with the gentle breath of people who had survived hell and made it through the fire.

Jungkook’s phone vibrated once in his coat pocket, barely audible. He slipped it out and checked the screen.

‘Treehouse framing started. Garden walls secure. Compound expansion at 47%.’

He turned his gaze back to the figure curled beside him, fragile and real, and somehow more precious than anything he'd ever guarded in his life.

Leaning closer, Jungkook spoke softly, his voice low and reverent.

“You said you wanted a treehouse,” he whispered, brushing a strand of dark hair away from Taehyung’s brow. “So, I’m building you one. And marshmallow-like pillows inside… the big, squishy kind you can sink into for hours. And a mini fridge so you can stuff yourself anytime there.”

Taehyung stirred faintly at the sound of his voice, head nuzzling gently against Jungkook’s wrist.

“...marshmallow… fridge…” he mumbled half-coherently, lips twitching into a smile even in sleep.

Jungkook chuckled under his breath, unable to help the soft smile that bloomed across his face. His hand moved slowly to cradle the back of Taehyung’s head, as if reassuring himself that this was real, that he was here beside him.

He bent down and pressed a kiss to Taehyung’s hair, slow and lingering.

“You’re safe now,” Jungkook murmured, his lips brushing against the crown of his head. “I’ll make sure of it. Always.”

And in that sun-washed silence, beneath the soft hum of machines and the breath of sleeping friends, something sacred settled around them, a promise, carved not in marble, but in blood and love and the quiet warmth of being alive.

-

The black convoy snaked through the hills like a sleek, armored serpent. A dozen vehicles strong, it moved with precision and power, windows tinted, tires silent on the private mountain road leading to the newly built Jeon mansion.

Inside the third car, a sleek obsidian SUV padded with reinforced glass and discreet steel plating, Taehyung sat in the backseat, cradled in luxury and far too many seatbelts.

“Jungkookie, I can’t breathe,” he muttered, tugging at the fifth strap. “Are these military-grade?”

“They’re custom,” Jungkook replied without blinking, reaching forward to adjust the cushion behind Taehyung’s back. “And you’re going to wear them or I’ll bubble-wrap you.”

Jimin, in the front passenger seat, let out a loud sigh. “Honestly, I’m shocked you haven’t already.”

“I suggested it,” Hoseok added from the driver’s seat, grinning in the rearview mirror. “Namjoon nearly ordered it. You should’ve seen the Amazon cart, Tae. Bubble wrap, one of those ‘My First Bedrail’ things for toddlers—”

“I will shoot someone today,” Jungkook said darkly.

“Anyway,” Jimin cut in with exaggerated calm, “we’re five minutes from the new mansion. Are you excited, Tae?”

Taehyung perked up like a puppy. “New mansion?”

Jungkook blinked. “...Oh, didn’t I tell you?”

Taehyung turned to him with wide eyes. “You didn’t tell me we moved.”

“I thought I did.” Jungkook looked baffled for a second. “Maybe I was busy panicking over the whole you.”

“You didn’t tell me!” Taehyung gasped, a tiny hand landing dramatically on his chest. “What if it’s ugly? What if it’s haunted? What if it doesn’t have a proper bathtub?”

“It’s a luxury fortress with a big ass garden,” Jimin said, holding in a laugh. “I think you’ll survive.”

“Does it have my water guns?”

The whole car went silent.

Taehyung looked between them slowly, face growing serious. “My. Water. Guns.”

Hoseok winced. “They might’ve… not made it, TaeTae. The fire—”

A loud gasp. Taehyung clutched the seatbelt across his chest, mouth falling open. “No!”

Jungkook’s jaw tightened. “I’ll buy you more. A hundred. Colorful ones.”

Taehyung sniffled. “I should’ve used them in the fight…”

And just like that, the mood shifted, Jimin choked back a cackle, Hoseok snorted into his sleeve, and even Jungkook’s lips twitched.

“You wanted to fight off the enemies… with neon water guns?” Jimin asked, already breathless.

“They had scope attachments!” Taehyung protested.

“Oh my God,” Hoseok wheezed.

Jungkook exhaled sharply through his nose, gently patting Taehyung’s thigh. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m resourceful.” Taehyung crossed his arms, pouting deeply. “I would've sprayed them right in the eyes.”

Laughter echoed through the car as the gates of the new compound slowly swung open.

The new Jeon mansion was less a house and more a modernized fortress disguised as an architectural masterpiece. Surrounded by dense trees and high-tech security fencing, it loomed proudly over the cliffside, built from dark stone, reinforced glass, and luxury everything.

As the car stopped in front of the marble steps, the front doors burst open dramatically.

Namjoon ran out first—wearing a chef’s apron that read “Kiss the Boss (or Else).”

Seokjin followed behind him with oven mitts and a ladle, and Yoongi emerged last, holding a sign that read in glittery, clearly-forced handwriting: WELCOME HOME, TAEHYUNG (DON’T DIE AGAIN)

“I told you to write something sweet,” Seokjin hissed.

“This is sweet,” Yoongi snapped. “He did die a little.”

“Not helping!” Namjoon hissed.

As soon as Taehyung was gently helped out of the car, braced between Jungkook and Jimin, the chaos detonated.

“TAEHYUNGIE!!” Seokjin cried, sprinting toward him and nearly tackling him into Jungkook’s arms.

“Careful, he’s still healing!” Jungkook barked.

Yoongi and Namjoon followed close behind with a tray of cupcakes and an entire roast chicken.

“What are you—why is there a chicken?” Jungkook growled.

“He needs protein,” Namjoon said matter-of-factly.

“We baked cupcakes too,” Yoongi muttered. “Even though it’s against doctor’s orders.”

Seokjin beamed. “They’re carrot flavored. That counts as a vegetable, right?”

“You people are insane.” Jungkook looked seconds from unholstering his pistol.

But Taehyung… laughed. A full, bright, sunshine-drenched laugh that echoed across the garden like a song. He clung to Jungkook’s side, giggling until his eyes crinkled and he had to pause to catch his breath.

“You guys…” he grinned, his voice still a little raspy. “You’re the best Hyungies. I love you.”

Jimin melted instantly. “He loves us. Jungkook, he loves us!”

Jungkook sighed.

“I mean it,” Taehyung said, more softly this time, eyes warm and damp. “Thank you for protecting me, hyungies. I’m really, really glad I’m home.”

“Okay, no one cry or I’m throwing someone into the koi pond,” Hoseok warned, but his voice cracked just a little.

Hours later, after the roast chicken was devoured, the cupcakes mysteriously disappeared (Yoongi blamed the security guards), and Taehyung was safely settled on the giant L-shaped couch in the living room, blanket over his legs, mug of tea in hand, Jungkook finally sank down beside him with a huff.

“Comfortable?” he asked, brushing hair from Taehyung’s face.

Taehyung nodded and nuzzled into his shoulder.

“You’re not allowed to almost die again,” Jungkook whispered.

“I’ll try not to,” Taehyung whispered back. “Unless I see some enemies again and I have a new water gun.”

From across the room, Namjoon burst out laughing. “Jungkook probably check out the water guns and are on the way here.”

That was the final straw.

Jungkook didn’t even look, he just pulled his gun from his side holster and aimed it across the room at Namjoon, Yoongi, and Hoseok all at once.

“Try me,” he said flatly.

The three mafia hyungs ducked behind the couch like children hiding from a parent with a slipper.

Taehyung giggled into Jungkook’s neck. “You’re so dramatic.”

“And you’re a menace,” Jungkook muttered, kissing his temple. “But you’re mine.”

The Jeon mansion may have been brand new. But as laughter bounced off its walls and love filled every inch of the space, it already felt like home.

Because Taehyung was finally back. And the world was, at last, right again.

Chapter Text

The treehouse was quiet.

Perched high in the sturdy arms of an ancient oak at the edge of the new mansion’s private grounds, it was less of a “treehouse” and more of a penthouse in a tree, handcrafted from polished cedar, complete with thick rugs, an open skylight, a swinging bench, and a small vintage record player that played soft jazz.

Warm golden light filtered through the leaves, the wind whistling gently through the branches like nature's lullaby.

Inside, Taehyung was sprawled across Jungkook’s lap on the swinging bench, his legs tangled over Jungkook’s thighs like he’d always belonged there. He twirled a lock of Jungkook’s hair around his finger, then let it bounce free before grabbing another. He did this repeatedly with a meditative focus.

Jungkook, in turn, leaned back with a glass of whiskey in hand, half-lidded eyes watching the lazy sway of the trees beyond the railing but mostly watching Taehyung.

“Why do you let me do this?” Taehyung murmured.

“Because I’m stupid in love with you,” Jungkook replied, completely deadpan.

Taehyung blinked, then grinned. “That was gross. Say it again.”

“No.”

Taehyung giggled, then stilled, poking Jungkook’s cheek. “Why did Seokjin-hyung say you wanna eat me?”

Jungkook choked mid-sip, the whiskey burning his throat as he coughed uncontrollably.

“I—what?!”

Taehyung tilted his head, voice soft and genuinely curious. “He said it last night at dinner. You glared at him like you were gonna bite his nose off. But he said it’s because you always look like you wanna eat me. Do you bite people?”

Jungkook stared at him. Openly. Then looked away. Then looked back again, because there was no way out of this conversation.

“…Not in the cannibal way,” he muttered, dragging a hand down his face.

Taehyung looked disappointed. “So, like, a vampire? I’m right before!”

“What? No!”

“Like a bunny? You know, like when they nibble your shirt? Or hands? Because you kinda have bunny teeth.”

Jungkook squinted at him. “What is this, interrogation?”

Taehyung shrugged and went back to playing with his hair, humming. “Just curious. You stare at me like I’m pudding.”

“Don’t bring pudding into this,” Jungkook muttered, but his ears had turned the color of Taehyung’s favorite strawberry jam.

They swayed together for a while, the silence full of birdsong and affection. Taehyung’s fingers carded lazily through Jungkook’s undercut, gentle and rhythmic.

“Did you mean it?” Taehyung asked after a beat. “That you’re in love with me?”

Jungkook looked at him, unreadable for a moment. Then he set the whiskey glass down and leaned forward, nose brushing Taehyung’s. His hand cradled the back of Taehyung’s neck with all the reverence in the world.

“I’ve meant it since the day you annoy me,” he whispered. “Probably before. And smiled like we weren’t surrounded by guns.”

Taehyung smiled, curling his hand around Jungkook’s wrist. “I do too. I love you, you know.”

“I know,” Jungkook said, eyes soft. “I’m never letting you go.”

And Taehyung kissed him, warm and lingering, the kind of kiss that didn’t need urgency, only presence.

But of course, it wasn’t Taehyung if he didn’t ruin the moment.

“Wait,” Taehyung blinked. “Do bunnies really nibble hands?”

“Oh my god.”

-

A few days later. The living room in the new mansion looked more like a lounge bar than anything remotely domestic. Rich leather sofas, shelves full of obscure liquor, and a roaring fireplace beneath a giant oil painting of a very suspiciously handsome Renaissance prince (probably Taehyung’s ancestor — or maybe just Taehyung dressed up).

Jimin was sprawled across the sofa with swatches of wallpaper, paint samples, and a tablet full of mood boards.

“I’m redoing the café today. Don’t wait up,” he declared, tossing a cushion dramatically at Hoseok who was trying to nap beside him.

“Please stop throwing things. You already broke my soul,” Hoseok groaned.
“I think we should hire more people,” Taehyung piped up from where he was curled into Jungkook’s side, sipping hot cocoa in a mug labeled ‘#1 Threat to National Security’, courtesy of Hoseok.

Yoongi looked up from his phone. “More people?”

“Yeah!” Taehyung chirped. “For Bloom & Brew. Now that we’re okay again and the café is safe and my bullet hole is closed, we’re gonna get busier. And Jiminie can’t redecorate and also run the espresso machine without crying. I still need to name those jars that was delivered last week.”

“I only cried once!” Jimin yelled from the other couch.

“And we’re opening new menu items!” Taehyung beamed. “We’ll need baristas, delivery help… and securities, I can lend them my water guns!”

Namjoon raised a brow. “You mean actual guards?”

“No,” Taehyung said with a suspiciously innocent smile. “I mean Minsoo and his two guard friends. The ones that guarded me during the mansion invasion.”

“…The ones who nearly peed their pants when you asked if they liked your strawberry lip balm?” Yoongi asked. Jungkook wasn’t happy when Taehyung said that, he almost shoots the guards back to the hospital.

Taehyung nodded proudly. “Those ones.”

“I’m gonna pray for them,” Seokjin said solemnly, hands clasped.

Thirty Minutes Later…

Minsoo and the two others stood stiffly in the middle of the living room, looking like prisoners awaiting execution. Their suits were perfectly pressed, brows beaded with nervous sweat.

“You want… us to work at a café?” Minsoo asked slowly.

“Yes!” Taehyung beamed. “As servers! And security sometimes. And maybe help water the flowers.”

“Do I look like I water flowers?” One whispered, horrified.

“You’ll learn,” Taehyung said cheerfully. “Also, you can have matching aprons. With frills.”

All three guards blinked.

One guard subtly moved his hand to his belt as if reaching for a smoke grenade. The other looked like he was calculating how far he could run before someone shot him.

Then came the glare.

Jungkook stood behind Taehyung, arms crossed, eyes narrowed like a predator bored of the chase.

“If any of you even think about saying no,” Jungkook growled, “I’ll personally assign you to babysit Yoongi-hyung on a ‘no coffee’ detox week or just die simply in about 10 minutes.”

Yoongi raised his mug. “Try me, bitches.”

“…We accept,” Minsoo said immediately.

“Thrilled,” One choked.

“Do you like strawberries?” Taehyung asked sweetly.

“Love them.” They answered, visibly sweating.

Jimin snorted from the couch. “They’re gonna die.”

Later that night, as Jungkook and Taehyung sitting on their bed.

“You know,” Taehyung whispered, curled tighter into Jungkook’s lap, “I think the guards are scared of me.”

“They should be,” Jungkook muttered, brushing a hand through Taehyung’s hair. “You’re terrifying.”

“I’m cute.”

“You’re both.” Jungkook kissed his temple. “And they’ll wear frilly aprons if you ask nicely.”

“I ordered them already, it will look nice on them.”

“…Of course.”

-

The mansion was quiet.

Too quiet.

Which, for a mafia estate crawling with heavily armed men, security cameras, snoring hitmen, and Seokjin’s occasional late-night cooking disasters, was rare.

Jungkook had just returned from a midnight meeting, his suit jacket slung over one arm, tie loosened, hair messily perfect and all he wanted was to curl up in bed with a warm Taehyung and maybe kiss him into giggles before they both passed out.

But the bed?

Empty.

He blinked, setting the jacket on the bedpost. “Tae?”

No answer.

He checked the ensuite bathroom next, the door ajar, the lights off. No sound. No Taehyung brushing his teeth while humming off-key Disney songs. No damp footprints. Nothing.

Jungkook’s brow furrowed. Something wasn’t right.

Then he heard a muffled thump, soft and faint, coming from the other door in the room. The one behind the wardrobe mirror that led to their walk-in closet.

Correction, Jungkook’s walk-in closet that also happened to contain a secret gun vault hidden behind a panel of expensive and artsy wood.

He stalked toward it in silence, the door creaking open slightly as he pressed a palm to it.

And there, bathed in the warm glow of the closet’s recessed lights, surrounded by perfectly arranged luxury coats, suit jackets, and rows of polished shoes...

Taehyung was standing on his tiptoes.

In fuzzy bear pajamas.

Holding two fluorescent plastic water guns.

And lovingly placing them on the topmost shelf, right beside Jungkook’s most precious, expensive, collector-grade sniper rifle.

The gun Jungkook had only used twice.

The one with the custom engraving, diamond-studded scope, and mahogany grip made from some extinct forbidden tree.

Taehyung patted the water guns like a proud parent, then adjusted one by 0.2 degrees.

Jungkook just stood there.

“…Baby,” he drawled, voice low and amused.

Taehyung gasped, spinning around with wide eyes like a kid caught sneaking cookies.

“K-Kookie!” he chirped, holding the water gun like a guilty raccoon holding a spoon. “You’re home!”

“What are you doing in my gun closet?”

“OUR closet,” Taehyung corrected proudly.

Jungkook raised a brow. “Okay, baby. Let me rephrase. Why is your water gun — which literally squeaks when you pull the trigger, next to my thirty-thousand-dollar tactical sniper rifle?”

Taehyung stood up, brushing imaginary dust off his pajama sleeves. “Because it’s my ‘precious gun’.”

“…Your ‘precious’ gun?”

“Yes.” Taehyung nodded solemnly, holding up the rainbow-colored squirt blaster. “This one has excellent range. I used it on Yoongi-hyung last week. Got him RIGHT in the ear. Instant victory.”

Jungkook blinked.

Taehyung continued. “Also, this one,” he said, holding the smaller one with glitter decals, “has the unicorn stickers, so she’s the emotional support weapon.”

There was a beat of complete silence.

Jungkook leaned against the wall, staring at the chaotic love of his life.

“Baby, you cannot put your toy water guns next to my precision-calibrated death machines.”

“They’re friends now,” Taehyung argued seriously. “Look at them. They balance each other. Yin and yang. Cute and killer. Sprinkle and snip—”

Jungkook let out a sound halfway between a laugh and a groan, running a hand through his hair.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but you’re dumber than Minsoo.”

Taehyung gasped. “I’ll have you know I’ve never flinched during a pillow ambush. I AM A WARRIOR.”

“Oh, you’re something, alright,” Jungkook muttered, pushing off the wall and stalking toward him.

Taehyung narrowed his eyes playfully, stepping back, but Jungkook caught his wrist before he could flee.

“W-What are you doing?” Taehyung asked.

Jungkook smirked. “Teaching you the real difference between guns and toys, baby.”

With zero warning, he swept Taehyung into his arms, bridal-style.

Taehyung squeaked. “KOOKIE!!”

Jungkook turned and marched them back into the bedroom, ignoring Taehyung’s flailing limbs and scandalized squeals.

He reached the bed and gently tossed Taehyung onto the mattress.

Taehyung bounced once, landed flat on his back, and glared at him with pink cheeks.

“You’re so dramatic,” he huffed.

“And you’re so ticklish.”

“Wait— NO!”

Jungkook pounced.

His hands went straight to Taehyung’s sides, fingers finding the soft spots he’d memorized over months of sleepy mornings and stolen cuddles. Taehyung thrashed instantly, laughter bursting out of him in helpless squeals as he kicked his legs and clawed at the sheets.

“KOOKIE—STOP—YOU MENACE—”

“Say you’ll respect my gun vault,” Jungkook demanded between attacks.

“NEVER—”

“Say my sniper is prettier than your unicorn gun!”

“YOU CAN’T MAKE ME—”

“Oh really?”

He dug into the spot just under Taehyung’s ribs, and Taehyung shrieked, twisting like a worm on a hot skillet, face red and hair a messy halo on the pillows.

“I HATE YOU—”

“You LOVE me.”

“OKAY FINE I LOVE YOU BUT I’M STILL PUTTING THE WATER GUN THERE—”

Jungkook laughed, full and breathless before finally collapsing beside him, chest heaving from the chase.

Taehyung rolled to face him, flushed and giggling, cheeks puffed out. They stared at each other for a moment, eyes sparkling, limbs tangled, breath mingling.

Then Jungkook reached out, brushing a strand of hair off Taehyung’s forehead.

“You’re ridiculous,” he whispered.

“And you’re mine,” Taehyung replied, voice soft.

Their noses touched.

The air shifted, laughter melting into something deeper, warmer, slower.

Jungkook leaned in, brushing their lips together, soft at first, a mere whisper of contact.

But it was enough.

Enough to make Taehyung gasp, eyes fluttering shut, lashes brushing against his flushed cheeks. Jungkook drank in that sound like it was oxygen, and then he pressed in harder, kissing him like he’d been starving for it.

Like he'd waited months to taste him again.

He shifted, weight sinking down as he moved over Taehyung’s body, fitting between his thighs with practiced ease. The moment their hips aligned, Taehyung whimpered softly, arching just enough to feel the press of Jungkook’s body against his own.

The kiss turned hungry, all lips and teeth and breathless moans. Jungkook tilted his head, deepening it, licking into Taehyung’s mouth with a groan that vibrated down to both their cores. Taehyung responded in kind, hands curling into the black silk of Jungkook’s shirt, tugging him impossibly closer.

Jungkook’s hand came up first to cradle the side of Taehyung’s face, thumb brushing along his cheekbone, gentle in contrast to the rawness of the kiss. Then it drifted.

Down, tracing the line of his throat, the curve of his collarbone exposed by his oversized pajama shirt that had slipped slightly off one shoulder.

And then lower.

His fingers ghosted across Taehyung’s chest, pausing at the dip between his ribs, before continuing their slow exploration like they were memorizing every inch. Like he hadn’t touched Taehyung a thousand times, yet tonight it all felt new. Reverent. Addictive.

“God, baby…” Jungkook murmured against his lips, voice thick and husky. “You drive me crazy.”

Taehyung smiled, dazed and breathless, eyes half-lidded and dreamy. “You always told me that and I always suggest we need to check you!”

Jungkook’s lips curved, shaking his head at the silliness of his boyfriend and then he leaned down, mouthing along Taehyung’s jaw, down the column of his neck. He licked the pulse point there and felt it stutter beneath his tongue.

Taehyung trembled.

Jungkook moved again, slower now, intentional, his hands mapping the ridges of Taehyung’s waist, thumbs teasing at the soft skin beneath the hem of his sleep shirt. He pushed it up, exposing more and more of the tan, warm skin he adored.

Taehyung gasped again as Jungkook’s hand slid over his thigh, strong fingers tracing along the inside with a softness that made heat coil in his gut.

“Touching you feels like… like I’m holding something I don’t deserve,” Jungkook whispered, dragging his lips back up to meet Taehyung’s again.

“Then hold tighter,” Taehyung whispered back, voice shaking. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”

Jungkook groaned low in his throat, and when their lips met again, it was a claim.

Their bodies shifted, tangled, pressed together, heat and silk and muscle and want, all wrapped up in soft moans and muffled gasps as they sunk deeper into each other.

It was hot. Intimate. Desperate in that slow, aching way where every touch meant something. Every sigh was a promise. Every kiss, a confession.

Jungkook’s hands slid lower, trailing fire along Taehyung’s sides, fingertips teasing just beneath the hem of his pajama bottoms. Taehyung gasped softly, a tremble in his chest, lips parting as Jungkook eased the fabric down—

And there they were.

The familiar, baby-pink boxers Jungkook had bought months ago, the ones that hugged Taehyung’s ass and thighs just right. Too right. Jungkook stilled, breath catching in his throat at the sight.

“Fuck…” he groaned, voice thick and low, like gravel soaked in honey.

Taehyung giggled, bright and soft, all dimples and mischief. “You do that every time,” he whispered, squirming just a little under the attention. “You act like you’ve never seen them before.”

“I’ve seen them,” Jungkook muttered, eyes dark as sin. “Doesn’t mean I’m ever ready for it.”

He dipped down, pressing a kiss to Taehyung’s stomach, just above the waistband. His lips lingered there for a breath longer than necessary, and Taehyung’s fingers found their way into Jungkook’s hair, tugging gently.

Then their mouths met again, open, warm, wanting, tongues gliding, breath mingling. Jungkook kissed him like he needed it, like he’d lose his mind if he didn’t. Taehyung moaned softly into it, back arching, body chasing every point of contact.

With a quiet, frustrated sound, Jungkook pulled back just enough to strip himself in one smooth motion. His shirt hit the floor. Then his pants. And then, nothing left but bare skin and a look in his eyes that made Taehyung’s heart race.

Jungkook paused, gaze roaming over Taehyung laid out beneath him.

Still wearing that oversized sleep shirt, wrinkled, slipping off one shoulder and those too-adorable boxers that should’ve been illegal. But Jungkook was patient… barely. He gently hooked his fingers into the waistband and tugged them down, slow and deliberate, revealing soft skin and long legs and all the parts of Taehyung that made him ache to worship.

He left the shirt on.

Of course he did.

It looked far too good on Taehyung, swallowing him up, hem riding high on his thighs, sleeves nearly covering his hands. Jungkook loved how delicate he looked in it. Loved how his Taehyung could wear something so innocent and still make it feel like a sin.

He pushed the fabric up carefully, just enough to reveal the dusky pink of Taehyung’s cute little nipples. His thumbs brushed against warm buds, and he let out a breathy groan.

“Perfect,” Jungkook whispered, reverent, breathless.

Taehyung’s cheeks flushed as he looked up at him, pupils wide, chest rising and falling in quiet anticipation.

“K-kookie,” he murmured.

Jungkook kissed Taehyung again, slow, deep, and possessive before leaning over the side of the bed and reaching for the drawer in the nightstand. He retrieved the familiar little bottle, the one with the strawberry scent Taehyung always insisted on using.

“Only strawberry,” Taehyung had once declared with a pout so serious it made Jungkook laugh for hours.

Jungkook popped the cap open with a soft click, coating his fingers with the silky sheen of it. The sweet scent filled the air almost immediately, and Taehyung’s eyes fluttered, pupils already blown wide with anticipation. He looked so eager. So shamelessly eager, laying back against the pillows with flushed cheeks, his thighs parting in invitation.

“Kookie…” he whispered breathlessly, voice trembling as he opened himself up with a desperation that made Jungkook’s chest burn and his resolve shatter.

Jungkook smirked, the corner of his mouth lifting as he admired the view before him, Taehyung’s glowing skin, that oversized shirt bunched up high, the way his body silently begged to be touched. Loved. Devoured.

“You’re really something else,” he murmured.

And then his fingers move towards his hole.

Slowly at first, just the lightest press against Taehyung’s warmth, testing, teasing, making sure he was ready. When he eased his index finger in, Taehyung gasped, his head tipping back against the pillow, hands fisting the sheets as his entire body shivered from the sensation.

“Still so tight,” Jungkook breathed, awe in his voice. “Like you’ve never been touched before.”

Taehyung moaned, hips twitching as Jungkook’s fingers moved deeper, curling just so, brushing against the spot that made him tremble all over. He let out another soft, desperate sound, as Jungkook add another finger.

“K-Kookie… p-please,” he whimpered, voice cracking like it physically hurt to hold back.

Jungkook leaned closer, his breath ghosting across Taehyung’s cheek. “Ready, baby?”

Taehyung nodded quickly, eyes shimmering with need, lip caught between his teeth.

Jungkook didn’t wait, his fingers worked faster now, gliding in and out with a practiced rhythm that sent sparks shooting up Taehyung’s spine. Taehyung arched his back, his legs kicking slightly from the overwhelming sensation. He felt like he was being teased and worshipped at the same time, each movement deliberate, each brush of Jungkook’s fingers calculated to unravel him.

“You feel so fucking good,” Jungkook murmured against his skin, his voice low and thick with hunger. “You drive me insane like this.”

Taehyung only moaned louder, his entire body trembling as he clung to Jungkook’s shoulders, needing more, needing him.

Jungkook’s movements stilled suddenly, fingers slipping away from Taehyung’s hole. The loss made Taehyung whine softly, his hips shifting instinctively toward the touch he craved.

“Patience, baby,” Jungkook murmured, voice thick and low with restraint.

He reached for the bottle again, this time pouring a more generous amount into his palm. The slick sound filled the room, the air heavy with the scent of strawberries and something far more intimate, desire, heat, need. Jungkook coated his cock messily, his chest rising and falling as his dark eyes flicked down, then up, meeting Taehyung’s gaze.

Taehyung was watching him.

Wide-eyed and dazed, lashes fluttering, breath shallow. His gaze dropped to Jungkook’s hand, watching the way he stroked himself, slow and purposeful, prepping for what they both knew was coming.

The look on Taehyung’s face made Jungkook smirk.

“You really like watching, don’t you?” he teased, his voice husky.

Taehyung didn’t answer with words, just a soft, pretty gasp as Jungkook leaned forward and gave his inner thigh a light slap. It was playful, more of a tap than anything, but the slight sting pulled a high moan from Taehyung’s lips, his body jolting in reaction.

“Such a responsive baby,” Jungkook murmured affectionately.

With steady hands, Jungkook guided himself to Taehyung’s entrance, his fingers curling around the softness of Taehyung’s thighs as he slowly pushed in. Inch by inch. The stretch made them both groan, heads tilting back, lips parting as heat surged between them.

Taehyung’s nails clutched the sheets, his eyes fluttering shut. Jungkook leaned over him, cupping his cheek as he kissed him softly, gentle, grounding.

“You okay?” he whispered against his lips.

Taehyung nodded, barely able to form a sound, overwhelmed by how full he felt, how good it always was when Jungkook was this close. “Y-Yeah, Kookie... feels so good…”

Jungkook began to move, slow at first, deliberate. Each thrust dragged pleasure through Taehyung’s body like fire, starting deep and slow, building tension between every breath. Taehyung’s whimpers filled the room, soft and melodic, his thighs trembling with every deep push.

Jungkook adjusted his grip, one hand sliding under Taehyung’s thigh while the other lifted the opposite leg, angling him just right. And then he picked up the pace, hips rolling, pushing deeper, harder, until the rhythm turned Taehyung into a mess beneath him.

Tears glistened at the corners of Taehyung’s eyes, his voice catching in his throat between moans as he arched and shook under the waves of pleasure. Jungkook’s name spilled from his lips in broken syllables, and Jungkook leaned over him again, forehead resting against Taehyung’s, whispering praise with every thrust.

“You’re perfect... so perfect for me.”

Taehyung’s legs wrapped around Jungkook’s waist instinctively, clinging to him like a lifeline. Jungkook held him tighter, hands splayed across his thighs, grounding them both in every movement, each one a promise, a confession, a vow wrapped in touch.

And still, the only thing louder than the sound of their bodies moving together... was the sound of Taehyung’s moans growing sweeter by the second.

Jungkook picked up his pace, the tension in his muscles coiling tighter with every thrust, every sound that fell from Taehyung’s swollen lips. Beneath him, Taehyung was a trembling vision, eyes glossy, cheeks flushed, mouth parted with soft, pleading whimpers that only fueled the fire in Jungkook’s chest.

Taehyung’s hands gripped the sheets, legs falling open further as if to offer more, take more, be closer. And Jungkook, utterly undone by him, angled his hips just right, hitting the spot that made Taehyung arch like a bowstring, a sob catching in his throat.

“K-Kookie,” Taehyung whimpered, voice breathless and wrecked, “I—ah—can’t… please—”

Jungkook’s hand slid from Taehyung’s thigh, wrapping around his cock that was pulsing just as desperately. But instead of giving, he grip tight, stopping him from cumming, just enough to make Taehyung gasp, hips jerking in protest as a tear slipped from the corner of his eye.

“I don’t think you deserve to finish yet, baby,” Jungkook rasped, voice dark and breathy as he leaned closer, brushing his lips against Taehyung’s. “You were bad earlier, weren’t you?”

Taehyung shook his head, eyes wide and pleading, lip caught between his teeth as he trembled beneath him. “I’ve been good… K-Kookie, please…”

His voice cracked on the last word, and it shattered something in Jungkook.

With a soft, low groan, Jungkook kissed him, deep and slow, tasting the desperation, the sweetness, the trust. Then he gripped Taehyung’s thigh again, lifting it just enough to shift the angle, and began to move faster. Each motion deep, deliberate, until Taehyung was trembling again, crying out against Jungkook’s lips.

The sound of skin slapping, breath, whispered names, the tension built, hot and overwhelming, until Taehyung’s body tensed with a desperate cry, trembling as he let go, come undone beneath Jungkook.

Jungkook wasn’t far behind, chasing that high with a growl low in his throat as he finally spilled over the edge, clutching the younger close like he was something sacred.

For a moment, there was nothing but their shared breath, the thrum of heartbeats, the faint tremble in Jungkook’s arms as he held him.

Taehyung’s fingers reached up weakly, brushing Jungkook’s hair back with a soft laugh. “Told you I was good…”

Jungkook kissed his forehead, still catching his breath. “You’re dangerous.”

Taehyung smiled. “And still your baby.”

Jungkook couldn’t argue with that.

The room was quiet now, save for the faint rustle of sheets and the lingering hum of spent breath. Taehyung lay sprawled across Jungkook’s chest like a well-loved plushie, his limbs all tangled, his cheeks warm and sticky against skin that still held the heat of their closeness.

Jungkook, with his arms tucked around the younger protectively, lazily brushed his fingers through Taehyung’s soft hair.

“You okay, baby?” he murmured, voice deep and husky from earlier but laced with a tenderness that made Taehyung melt.

“Mmm,” Taehyung hummed, too boneless to speak at first. Then he lifted his head and blinked slowly, lips pouting. “Kookie… I think I saw some bunny in the forest.”

Jungkook chuckled under his breath. “You say that every time.”

“I mean it this time,” Taehyung said seriously, before squinting. “Also… I can’t feel my legs. Is that normal?”

“Extremely,” Jungkook said with a smug grin.

Taehyung huffed dramatically and buried his face back into Jungkook’s chest. “You’re dangerous. I should sue.”

“For what?”

“For emotional damage. And leg damage.”

Jungkook let out a soft laugh, rolling over slightly to grab a warm towel from the drawer beside the bed, always prepared. As he wiped them down gently, taking extra care and soft glances at the flushed skin, Taehyung blinked up at him with sleepy affection.

“You always do that…” he whispered.

“Do what?”

“Treat me like I’m made of stardust after you ruin me like I’m a ragdoll.”

Jungkook snorted, half-exasperated and fully in love. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you love me.”

“So much it’s stupid.”

They exchanged soft, dopey smiles, the kind that made the moon outside jealous.

Once Jungkook had finished cleaning them up, he pulled the covers up around them, tucking Taehyung in like he was the most precious thing he’d ever held. Because he was.

Taehyung blinked sleepily, but not before whispering, “Next time, I’m using my water gun. Just to keep you humble.”

Jungkook groaned. “Baby, no. Not in the gun closet again.”

“Too late. I already hid one in your sock drawer.”

“…You didn’t.”

“I did,” Taehyung sing-songed, eyes fluttering closed with the smuggest little smile.

Jungkook stared at him, scandalized and utterly done. But as he pulled Taehyung closer, pressing a kiss to the crown of his fluffy hair, he knew one thing for certain.

There was no hiding from the chaos that was Kim Taehyung.

And he wouldn’t want to.

THE END. 💫🌷🔫

Chapter Text

The first time Taehyung and Jungkook made love, it was a perfect storm of soft kisses, tangled limbs, and unexpected laughter, tender and romantic in a way that felt almost cinematic, yet so uniquely them, it carried just the right dose of hilarity to keep them grinning through their nerves.

The day started at Bloom & Brew smelled like cinnamon, roasted espresso, and low-grade panic.

“Minsoo, I swear to god—NO, that is not a whipped cream dispenser!” Jimin shouted across the counter as white foam shot from the wrong end of the canister, splattering the floor and a very offended customer in floral corduroy.

Minsoo bowed repeatedly. “I’m sorry, Sir! I thought it was like… a… I mean, I really don’t know, Sir.”

Beside him, the other two guards, Donghyun and Ilhoon, stared at the espresso machine like it might explode. Again.

Taehyung, meanwhile, had flour on his nose and a cookie in his mouth, humming happily as he boxed pastries. “At least they didn’t shoot the ceiling this time.”

“Yet,” Seokjin muttered under his breath, leaning against the counter with a fresh cup of tea, dressed down in a black cardigan. “You two are too calm about this.”

Jimin rolled his eyes. “Says the man who once stitched a gun wound and made banana bread at the same time.”

“It was banana-nut,” Seokjin corrected, sipping his tea with a smug smirk. “And moist, thank you.”

The café buzzed with regulars and curious new customers. After a month of being open under Mafia Protection, Bloom & Brew had become the most suspiciously safe café in the city. A latte and a guaranteed lack of shootouts? Locals loved it.

By late afternoon, the crowd had thinned and Taehyung wiped the last table with an exaggerated sigh. “I need a massage. And cake. Possibly at the same time.”

Jimin raised a brow. “Don’t look at me.”

“I wasn’t.” Taehyung grinned. “I was thinking of Kookie.”

As if summoned by the nickname, the café’s door chimed softly.

In walked Jungkook, dark coat draped over broad shoulders, black gloves tucked into his belt, and his hair slightly windswept from the evening chill. His eyes swept the café, and the moment he spotted Taehyung, a subtle warmth bloomed in his gaze.

“Hey, baby,” he murmured, low and only for him.

Taehyung practically skipped over. “Kookieee,” he cooed, wrapping his arms around the taller man. “Did your smuggling go well?”

“Do you ask everyone that in public?” Jungkook deadpanned.

“Yes,” Taehyung grinned. “Especially when they look extra hot after crime.”

Jungkook groaned, hand tightening on Taehyung’s waist. “You’re going to get me arrested.”

“Too late, you already stole my—”

“Don’t say ‘heart,’” Yoongi grunted, entering behind Jungkook and immediately stealing a scone.

Namjoon followed, looking exhausted. “Do we even still have laws?”

“Only the laws of Jungkook’s obsession,” Hoseok snorted, flopping into a chair. “And I fully support it.”

The group settled around their now-traditional Friday Dinner Table, a long oak table set in the side room of the café that had become their version of a peace treaty. No guns. No business. Just food and bickering.

“Let’s take turns. What was the dumbest thing that happened this week?” Seokjin suggested.

“Minsoo tried to microwave a spoon,” Jimin offered immediately.

“I thought it would warm faster!” Minsoo defended from the kitchen, where he was attempting to make garlic bread under supervision.

“Taehyung ate an entire chili thinking it was a tomato,” Yoongi grunted.

“Traumatizing,” Taehyung said, holding his chest dramatically. “But I saw Kookie panic and rush to get me milk, so it was worth it.”

“I didn’t panic,” Jungkook muttered, tightening his arm around Taehyung’s waist protectively. “I just moved with urgency.”

Everyone snorted.

Dinner passed with laughter, teasing, Seokjin threatening to revoke all medical aid if anyone broke another teacup, and Hoseok accidentally spilling wine over Namjoon’s planner. Typical.

But later, much later, when the plates were cleared and laughter had faded into warm contentment, the sky above them was painted in indigo and velvet, dotted with stars that blinked like sleepy eyes. The air had grown quieter, the kind that made you whisper without knowing why. They lingered a little longer around the table, basking in the gentle glow of their chosen family, trading lazy jokes and sips of tea.

Eventually, with full bellies and soft smiles, the group began to gather their things and drove back to the mansion. There were goodbyes mumbled between yawns, playful teasing from Hoseok, and of course, a dramatic scolding from Seokjin who reminded everyone to hydrate, sleep before midnight, and stop kissing in public hallways like hormonal teenagers.

Taehyung giggled, a little too proud of the faint blush that crawled up Jungkook’s neck.

They slipped away from the group soon after, shoes tapping softly on marble as they made their way to their shared room in the mansion. The hallway lights were dimmed, casting long shadows and a calm quiet over everything.

Inside the room, the familiar scent of lavender and cedar greeted them like a lullaby. Jungkook turned to look at Taehyung, who was already stretching his arms with a small, sleepy hum. And then, without a word, Jungkook reached out, fingers threading through Taehyung’s gently. Their palms met like puzzle pieces, and Taehyung looked up with a smile that reached all the way to his eyes.

“Come on, baby,” Jungkook murmured, tugging him toward the bed with a look so soft it could’ve melted stone.

Taehyung didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. He just followed, hand in hand, heart steady, feeling like the stars had finally aligned just for them.

Taehyung showered first, disappearing into the bathroom with a sleepy smile and a towel draped over his arm. Jungkook stayed behind, lounging back against the headboard with his phone in hand, though he wasn’t really looking at anything, just listening. The sound of water running, the gentle splash as Taehyung moved around, and the soft humming that occasionally slipped past his lips, it all filled the room with a quiet kind of peace.

When Taehyung emerged, hair damp and fluffy, face freshly washed and glowing, Jungkook looked up, only to freeze for a second.

Taehyung wore one of Jungkook’s oversized black shirts, the hem brushing the tops of his thighs, and those familiar tight pink boxers that always made Jungkook’s breath catch. He padded across the room barefoot, toweling his hair gently as he went, then flopped onto the bed like a starfish, limbs spread carelessly as he stared at the ceiling.

Jungkook tried not to stare.

“Your turn,” Taehyung mumbled without looking at him, voice soft.

Jungkook cleared his throat and nodded, dragging himself into the bathroom with the faintest shake of his head. The shower was quick, efficient. But even as the warm water ran over him, all he could think about was the image of Taehyung sprawled on their bed, stargazing at the ceiling like the world wasn’t on fire whenever he smiled.

When Jungkook came out, toweling his damp hair, he saw him again, still there, the oversized shirt riding up slightly, a sliver of pink boxers on display like a silent invitation. Taehyung hadn’t moved, but when Jungkook groaned low in his throat, he turned to look.

It was low and involuntary, more of a sound caught in his throat than spoken aloud, but Taehyung heard it. He turned his head slowly, blinking up at Jungkook with wide, innocent eyes, curious, almost teasing, lips twitching in a half-smile.

“Kookie?” he asked, voice light and sweet. “What’s wrong?”

Jungkook slowly crawled onto the bed, the mattress dipping beneath his weight as he hovered over the younger, dark eyes fixed on him with a quiet intensity. Taehyung blinked up at him, still looking adorably confused, like he truly didn’t understand what kind of chaos he was causing just by existing in Jungkook’s favorite shirt and those damned pink boxers.

“What,” Jungkook said, stopping at the edge of the bed, “do you think you’re doing lying there like that?”

Taehyung blinked again. “Watching the stars?”

Jungkook ran a hand down his face, exhaling through his nose like he was holding back a storm. “Baby, you’re going to kill me.”

Taehyung tilted his head, amused. “How? I’m just lying here.”

“Exactly.”

And before the younger could respond, Jungkook leaned down and captured his lips in a kiss, gentle at first, soft and tasting of affection. But it didn’t stay that way. It deepened quickly, hunger creeping in, heat curling between them. Jungkook’s tongue slipped in with practiced ease, and Taehyung let out the tiniest surprised noise against his lips, still learning how to kiss with tongue, but eager to keep up, eager to give in.

As their lips moved, Jungkook’s hands wandered, sliding down Taehyung’s sides and then trailing over his thighs, fingers curving around the softness there like he was memorizing it. Taehyung hummed softly into the kiss, hips shifting instinctively, need stirring with every warm brush of Jungkook’s touch.

Jungkook’s mouth left his lips only to trail downwards, pressing kisses along Taehyung’s jaw, the curve of his neck. And then suddenly—

“Ah!” Taehyung gasped, eyes wide when Jungkook bit down, not hard, just enough to startle him. “You’re a vampire!”

Jungkook froze, then slowly lifted his head, one brow twitching.

“No,” he said flatly, voice deadpan. “I am not.”

Taehyung pouted, clearly unconvinced. “Then why did you bite me?”

There was a beat of silence. Then Jungkook groaned and dropped his head onto Taehyung’s neck with a muffled laugh.

“You’re so lucky you’re cute,” he muttered against Taehyung’s skin before placing another kiss there, then licking, then nibbling again, this time slower, more purposeful.

Taehyung squirmed under him, a soft moan escaping his lips. “K-Kookie... it feels weird... but good-weird.”

Jungkook smiled against his throat, pressing a kiss just under his jaw. “That’s kind of the point, baby.”

Taehyung giggled breathlessly, fingers carding through Jungkook’s still-damp hair, tugging lightly. “You better not bite me again or I’m calling Seokjin hyung.”

Jungkook laughed into his skin, his breath hot and teasing. “Call him if I care.”

Another laugh bubbled from Taehyung, airy and sweet, before it melted into a quiet sigh as Jungkook kissed his way down to his collarbone, worshiping every inch.

Jungkook removed Taehyung’s oversized shirt in one fluid motion, revealing soft, flushed skin underneath.

Taehyung gasped at the suddenness, blinking up at him with wide eyes.

“I just wore it, Kookie,” he pouted, lips jutting adorably as he shifted beneath Jungkook.

Jungkook only chuckled, low and warm, as he settled between Taehyung’s legs, gaze sweeping down his lover’s figure. Taehyung was now in nothing but those tight baby pink boxers, Jungkook’s personal favorite, a sight that never failed to make his self-control waver. The fabric hugged every curve, his cute little cock faintly outlined and legs spread carelessly like he didn’t know what it did to Jungkook.

Jungkook exhaled slowly, hands sliding along Taehyung’s thighs, fingers brushing the hem of the boxers like a tease. Taehyung didn’t stop him, instead, he watched with parted lips, chest rising and falling as anticipation built in the air between them.

Then, Jungkook dipped his hands beneath the waistband, slow and deliberate. Taehyung gasped, hips twitching slightly as Jungkook’s palms brushed against his cock. His eyes fluttered shut, one hand clutching the sheets beside him, the other grabbing lightly onto Jungkook’s arm for grounding.

“This okay?” Jungkook murmured, voice lower now, almost reverent.

Taehyung nodded breathlessly, eyes locking with Jungkook’s, wide and bright with something between wonder and nervous excitement. “Y-Yeah,” he whispered, voice barely there. “Just... feels weird.”

Jungkook smiled, soft and proud, before leaning down to press a kiss to Taehyung’s bare shoulder. His hands moved gently, stroking and exploring, his touch more worship than hunger, like he was learning Taehyung by memory.

One hand drifted down further, a bold path tracing the curve of Taehyung’s cock until he ran a finger teasingly lower. The moment his touch dipped between, Taehyung jolted, eyes flying open as he sucked in a breath.

“Kookie!” he squeaked, cheeks flushed a deeper red.

Jungkook froze for a moment, their eyes meeting and then he smiled. A crooked, dark little smile. “Relax, baby. I’ve got you.”

He leaned down and kissed Taehyung on his stomach, soft, slow, patient, while his fingers continued to explore gently, coaxing new reactions from the younger’s lips. Every shift of his hips, every breathy sound that escaped, only made Jungkook fall harder, deeper.

Jungkook exhaled shakily and gently pulled his hand out from Taehyung’s boxers, mumbling something under his breath as he reached for the bedside drawer.

Taehyung blinked, curiosity lighting up his eyes as he tilted his head. “What’s that?” he asked, watching Jungkook twist open a small tube of lube.

Jungkook didn’t miss a beat, voice low and honest. “It’s for you. So, it’ll be easier for me to… slide in better.”

Taehyung stared for a moment, eyes wide. Then Jungkook stood up and, without much ceremony, pushed down both his sweatpants and boxers in one motion, revealing all of him.

Taehyung’s jaw dropped. “Your pee pee looks so big!” he blurted out.

Jungkook froze, caught somewhere between mortification and amusement. “What,” he deadpanned, eyebrows lifting in disbelief.

Taehyung sat up from the bed, blinking at him like a child seeing a glittering toy for the first time. His eyes were wide and sparkly, lips slightly parted in awe. “It looks… good, too,” he added matter-of-factly. “Mine is pretty though. And cute.” Then looked down on his own cock.

Jungkook groaned, half in frustration and half because he wanted to bury his face in a pillow and scream. “Baby…” he muttered, dragging a hand down his face, ears turning red.

Then, without much warning, he leaned down and pulled Taehyung into him, crashing their mouths together. The kiss was hot and almost desperate, like Jungkook needed to reclaim his sanity, and Taehyung was the only cure.

Taehyung made a small surprised noise and instinctively grabbed onto Jungkook’s biceps, holding on as the world tilted a little under the weight of that kiss.

The kiss grew deeper, hungrier, as Jungkook shifted Taehyung gently onto his bare lap. Their bodies pressed close, and the sudden heat between them drew soft, breathy moans from both. Jungkook's arms wrapped securely around Taehyung's waist and lower back, guiding him closer, holding him like he might slip away. Taehyung clung to his shoulders instinctively, lips still moving against Jungkook’s with shy urgency.

Jungkook leaned back slowly, bringing Taehyung with him until the younger was settled fully on top of him, straddling him. The weight, the warmth, the closeness, it sent a buzz of electricity down Jungkook’s spine. His hands smoothed over the sides of Taehyung's thighs, coaxing them open around him, positioning him just right.

Still kissing, Jungkook reached blindly to the side, fingers searching the bed until they found what he needed, the small bottle of lube. He broke the kiss only briefly, his breath fanning over Taehyung’s lips as he opened it with a soft click.

Taehyung tilted his head, processing and then gasped as Jungkook slipped one hand towards his hole, gently lifting him just enough. His other hand, now coated, moved with care.

Jungkook paused, watching Taehyung’s reaction closely. But before Taehyung could pull away or fully react, Jungkook caught him in another kiss, deep and anchoring. Taehyung whimpered softly into it, trembling slightly, overwhelmed but trusting.

Jungkook’s free hand cradled the back of his neck, steadying him as the younger clung to his biceps, wide-eyed and flushed. The soft, stuttering sounds Taehyung made only spurred Jungkook on and when Taehyung gasped, pulling back just slightly, Jungkook held him close.

“You still okay?” he whispered against his cheek, pressing gentle kisses there.

Taehyung nodded, eyes big. “Y-Yeah… it feels… good.”

A teasing smile tugged at Jungkook’s lips. “Good, huh?”

Jungkook then slowly pressed a finger inside Taehyung, watching every reaction on the younger’s face, each flicker of surprise, each soft gasp. Taehyung bit his lower lip, brows drawing together as he adjusted to the unfamiliar sensation, his thighs instinctively tensing before relaxing under Jungkook’s reassuring touch. Jungkook whispered something soft, almost reverent, and smiled at how responsive Taehyung was, how his body leaned into the closeness, trusting him.

Once he was sure Taehyung was getting used to the feeling, Jungkook added another finger, gently coaxing him open. Taehyung whimpered against his shoulder, clinging closer, hips shifting on Jungkook’s lap as if seeking more. When Jungkook slipped in a third finger, Taehyung moaned, messy and sweet, forehead resting against Jungkook’s. His body was warm and trembling, grinding slightly, desperate for friction that made Jungkook’s self-control falter.

Sensing the impatience, Jungkook carefully rolled them over, now hovering above Taehyung. He grabbed the lube again, coating his hard cock with slightly shaky hands as he looked down at the flushed, beautiful boy beneath him. His voice was gentle when he asked, “Are you ready, baby?”

Taehyung nodded, eyes wide but unwavering. “Y-yes, Kookie… I trust you.”

Jungkook lined himself up and slowly eased in, inch by inch, stopping the moment he saw Taehyung wince. His heart ached, leaning down to kiss away the tension from Taehyung’s face, gentle kisses on his lips, cheeks, and eyelids, murmuring soft encouragements. After a quiet moment, Taehyung gave him a small nod, and Jungkook moved again, this time fully inside.

He started slow, rocking gently, letting their bodies find a rhythm. When he hit something inside that made Taehyung gasp sharply and arch his back, Jungkook paused, startled.

“W-What was that?” Taehyung panted.

Jungkook smiled and pressed a kiss to his temple. “That? That’s the spot.”

“Do it again,” Taehyung moaned shamelessly, fingers gripping Jungkook’s shoulders.

Jungkook groaned, chuckling softly, and obeyed. Each thrust became more purposeful, deeper, chasing that sweet sound from Taehyung’s lips again and again. The room filled with the sound of breathy moans, murmured names, and the occasional soft laugh between them.

“You’re so beautiful,” Jungkook whispered, looking down at him like he was the most precious thing he’d ever seen. “You feel like home.”

Taehyung blinked up at him, dazed and smiling. “You’re really good at this, Kookie… but your pee pee is still big.”

That made Jungkook laugh, a deep, husky sound and he buried his face in Taehyung’s neck, trying not to fall apart just from that. Their bodies moved together, not just in passion, but in sync, like they'd known each other forever.

Eventually, the pace stuttered. Jungkook leaned closer, and Taehyung clung tighter, and then, together, they tumbled over the edge, breaths catching, hearts thudding as the world seemed to pause around them.

-

The soft hum of Bloom & Brew’s closing hours wrapped the café in a cozy calm. The espresso machines had long stopped hissing, chairs were turned upside down on tables, and the scent of vanilla lattes and strawberry syrup lingered in the air like a pleasant memory. The usual three mafia guards were absent tonight, Taehyung had insisted on it with suspicious innocence. That left only him, Jimin, and Seokjin in the café, basking in the glow of the fairy lights still dangling from the ceiling.

Jimin sipped on the last of his iced caramel latte while Seokjin polished off a croissant.

Taehyung was nervously wiping strawberry juice from his cheek with the back of his hand, unsuccessfully.

“I’ve been thinking…” Taehyung began, voice soft, almost dreamy.

“Oh no,” Jimin muttered, setting his cup down slowly, “he’s about to say something unhinged again.”

Taehyung ignored him. “It’s been a year since Kookie and I got together…”

Seokjin blinked. “Wait, seriously? A year already?”

“A whole year?” Jimin gasped. “I feel like we just rescued you from a mafia shootout five minutes ago.”

Taehyung twirled the edge of his apron nervously. “I want to surprise him when he get back from the trip. I want to ask him something important. Like really, really important.”

Jimin leaned in dramatically. “You’re not gonna ask him if he wants a matching toothbrush set again, are you?”

“No!” Taehyung huffed. Then he grinned, shy and hopeful. “I want to propose.”

The café went silent. Jimin’s jaw dropped. Seokjin choked on his croissant.

“You—what?” Seokjin coughed, eyes wide. “You want to WHAT?”

Taehyung looked between them with big, innocent eyes. “Is that too much?”

Jimin slowly pointed to his cheek. “You’re literally covered in strawberry juice like war paint right now and telling us you want to propose to THE MAFIA BOSS. So yeah, I’m gonna need a second.”

But then Seokjin’s expression softened. “You really love him that much, huh?”

Taehyung nodded quietly. “I want forever with him.”

Jimin groaned into his hands. “Ugh, I’m gonna cry and scream and help plan this at the same time, damn you.”

And so, it began—the mission.

One Day Later…

Taehyung was sitting in the treehouse he built with Jungkook in the garden behind the mansion, dressed in a soft white dress shirt tucked into high-waisted black pants, makeup glowing under the strings of fairy lights. The treehouse was transformed, petals on the floor, a romantic table for two, and ridiculous little water guns hanging around the wooden beams. It was soft, magical, and utterly Taehyung.

Inside, he was panicking. “Jimin, is this too much? Should I have bought fireworks? Or a puppy wearing the ring?”

“You tried to hide it in a croissant, Tae,” Seokjin deadpanned from below. “The strawberry cake was the safer bet.”

“Besides,” Jimin grinned, adjusting his camera, “this is perfect.”

Back at the mansion, Jungkook stepped through the front door, suitcase in hand, hair tousled from travel. Namjoon, Hoseok, and Yoongi followed, tired from two days of meetings overseas.

“…Why are the lights off?” Yoongi frowned.

But before anyone could process the suspicious lack of security presence, Seokjin and Jimin jumped out of nowhere.

“No questions!” Seokjin hissed, grabbing Namjoon’s collar and shoving him toward a bush.

“Surprise protocols!” Jimin grinned wildly as he stuffed Hoseok behind a potted plant and dragged Yoongi behind a hedge. “Emergency hiding! Go, go, go!”

Yoongi glared. “I kill for a living and I’m being shoved behind shrubbery.”

Jungkook blinked, too tired to argue. “What the hell is going on—”

“Follow me,” Seokjin said, grabbing his arm. “And don’t shoot me.”

They led Jungkook toward the treehouse, the fairy lights twinkling like stars woven into the branches. His brows furrowed when he saw the ridiculous, miniature water guns strung around like party favors.

“…Is this an ambush?” he muttered.

And then he saw him.

Taehyung.

Sitting cross-legged inside the treehouse, glowing like he was lit from within, eyes bright, a glimmer of glitter on his cheekbone, lips pink like the strawberry cake sitting at the center of the table. A vision, beautiful and soft, ethereal and entirely his.

Jungkook stopped in his tracks, the wind knocked from his lungs.

Taehyung looked up, that signature boxy smile curling on his lips. “Hi, Kookie. How was your trip?”

Jungkook swallowed, voice barely steady. “Stressful. I missed you.”

“Well, I missed you more.” Taehyung patted the cushion beside him. “Come. I made all my favorite foods for dinner.”

Jungkook quirked a brow, sitting down beside him. “Your favorites?”

“You like them too,” Taehyung said with a playful pout. “You ate four strawberry tarts last time, don’t lie.”

Dinner was cozy and intimate, full of laughter and gentle touches, knees brushing, fingers stealing bites. Jungkook felt lighter with every minute, the tightness in his chest melting away.

“This is amazing,” he said, eyes soft. “You didn’t have to do all this.”

“I wanted to.” Taehyung hesitated, then looked him in the eye. Taehyung fidgeted, then cleared his throat. “So… do you want to get married?”

Jungkook blinked. “What?”

Taehyung blinked back, then panicked. “I MEAN—NOT NOW. I mean—maybe now. Because I kind of—um—put a ring in that strawberry cake so…”

Jungkook froze mid-sip of wine. “You what?”

Before Taehyung could blink, Jungkook dove into the cake with both hands, tearing through it like a man possessed.

“Kookie!!” Taehyung cried. “The cake didn’t do anything to you!!”

Jungkook emerged, victorious, holding a frosting-covered ring between his fingers. He started laughing, deep, uncontrollable.

But when he slid it onto his finger… it didn’t fit.

“Oh no…” Taehyung looked devastated. “I measured it with a string—like Pinterest said—but maybe it was my toe.”

Jungkook was still laughing. “This is the most us thing ever.”

“I can get it resized—”

“Nope,” Jungkook said, kissing his cheek. “It’s going on a chain around my neck. I’m keeping it like this.”

Taehyung looked up. “You’re not mad?”

“I’m in love,” Jungkook said, then reached into his own jacket and pulled out a velvet box. “Actually…”

Now it was Taehyung’s turn to gape. “You—what—”

“I was going to ask you next week,” Jungkook admitted, opening it to reveal a silver band with a small, pale sapphire. “But this is better.”

Taehyung launched himself across the table, knocking the cake sideways and nearly spilling the wine.

“I LOVE IT.” Taehyung covered his mouth. “It’s so pretty.”

“Like you.”

“I love you.”

They kissed under the fairy lights, laughter and sugar sweet on their lips.

In the bushes, Hoseok sniffled. “I can’t believe those two chaos gremlins actually pulled it off.”

“Shh!” Jimin hissed, phone filming every moment.

“Are you crying too?” Hoseok whispered.

“No, you’re crying,” Namjoon hissed back, dabbing his eye.

Jimin sniffled, zooming in with his phone. “This is going on TikTok. Mafia Boyfriend proposes back. Hashtag softcore criminals.”

Suddenly, one of them, probably Yoongi, snorted too loudly.

Jungkook’s eyes narrowed. He turned slowly toward the bushes.

“Hyung…” he muttered, reaching for one of the water guns hanging above.

“Uh-oh,” Jimin squeaked.

In a flash, Jungkook was up, loaded and aiming. “You better run.”

“HE’S ARMED—” Seokjin shouted.

SPLASH. A tiny squirt of water hit Namjoon’s shoe.

“WHAT THE HELL!” Namjoon screamed, dodging like it was a bullet. “YOU PSYCHO—”

Chaos exploded. Jungkook chased after them, water gun in hand, firing at their feet as the hyungs scattered into the garden, slipping, yelping, and laughing like kids in summer.

Back in the treehouse, Taehyung sat on the edge, legs swinging, watching his future husband go full chaos.

He smiled softly, ring on his finger, heart full.

“This is forever,” he whispered.

And somewhere in the distance, Seokjin yelled, “STOP SHOOTING AT MY BUTT, JUNGKOOK!”

“HE RUINED MY SOCKS!” Namjoon yelped, fleeing.

“You’re all dead,” Jungkook growled, chasing after them, water gun raised like a mafia-grade weapon.

Seokjin screamed as he was tagged in the back. “NOT THE BUTT, JEON JUNGKOOK!”

Taehyung just laughed. His ring sparkled in the soft light. His smile, tender and bright, lit up the night.

This wasn’t just his boyfriend anymore.

This was his future. His safe place. His Kookie.

And as Jungkook turned back, wild hair, shirt untucked, grinning like a man in love, Taehyung whispered to the stars,

“This is forever.”

And it was.