Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Even after twelve hours of incessant camera flashes, pretentious photographers, and paltry conversations, in a room full of well-bred ingrates who had done nothing to veil their attempts at extortion, Taehyung did not trudge into the house. He arrived just as he left, with a mien embodying all the mulishness and sullen determination of an omega who had spent his life trapped in a cage so gilded people expected him to be grateful for the view.

As the automated lock clicked shut quietly behind Taehyung, the silence of the living room bloomed soft and sweet, ready to absorb his essence like a familiar secret, and it was the very antithesis of the cacophony Taehyung had endured all day. There were no footsteps that followed him, no voices that called for his attention, no excited yips greeting him, no eager click of nails that rushed towards him or soft paws that skittered across the floor, and certainly no familiar weight pressing against his ankles. Not since Tan left anyways. Taehyung grimaced. That thought still landed wrong like a bruise, Taehyung kept poking to check if it still hurt, only to find that it indeed did. 

At the end of a day, Taehyung’s house was just him and the stillness of the world he had unpeopled, pared back to the reckless few who had stayed, borne and survived him. 

Taehyung’s movements carried the slow, unthinking rhythm of someone who had repeated the same routine too many times to pay it heed anymore. It was like switching on an autopilot meant for days and nights when his exhaustion outweighed any lingering intention. 

The apartment was swathed in shadows and heavy black curtains were drawn tight across the windows allowing only slivers of the street light to sneak in around their edges. Across the couch, was a dim lamp on a small side table adorned with elegant smatterings of colorful patterns as it casted a soft light that barely pushed back against the shadows clinging to the white walls. Taehyung didn’t bother reaching for the adjacent light switches. He didn’t actually need to when his feet knew the path better than his eyes ever could. Many a drunken stumble and crawling his way through the labyrinth of his apartment had entrenched the layout into Taehyung’s mind. 

Taehyung didn’t look at his phone, didn’t turn on the music or call Jimin and his mother like he usually did, to let them know he had arrived home safely. Taehyung would no doubt receive an earful come morning but that’s a cross he chose to bear willingly. Tonight, the thought of another voice, even one he loved felt like another thread pulling at his already taut sanity. 

He crossed the room barefoot, ignoring the perfectly soft house slippers waiting in the foyer. Everything had begun to suddenly feel like too much with the noise of the day still ringing in his head, the phantom touch of stylists tugging at him, and the trivial chatter of strangers grating against his exhausted patience. So slipping into the slippers, innocuous as it was, or to wrap one more thing on his skin, felt suffocating in a way Taehyung was incapable of processing normally. 

Taehyung was overstimulated in a way that required divesting rather than outfitting, so when Taehyung reached the polished marble of the kitchen counter, the tailored jacket slid off his shoulders in one eager motion. He caught the lapel on a single manicured finger and flung the jacket across the back of a chair with deliberate carelessness. The silken shirt his stylist, In-hye had chosen for him, clung to the gentle curves of his body, buttons half undone, collar stretched wide open, and sleeves rolled to his forearms. The light from underneath the cabinets caught the faint gleam of Taehyung’s glitter doused skin, and his hair, mussed by the day’s wind or cameras or probably a combination of both, giving him the appearance of a thing marred from touch. 

Behind the kitchen counter, nestled between matte black cabinets and the brushed steel espresso machine, stood a trio of low glass cases that were precise, elegant, and unassuming in a way Taehyung found both droll, and quirky. Each case was custom built into the marble wall, lined with soft gray suede, and backlit with lights that made the various canisters inside look faintly theatrical. All the canisters were bespoke containers of brushed copper, polished silver, or hand painted porcelain, bearing an elegant, calligraphed label. It was as if they belonged more to a tea house than Taehyung’s untouched kitchen. 

Starting the lineup were tall, airtight silver cylinders of Hōjicha, Tieguanyin, Genmaicha, Darjeeling First Flush, amongst others. Taehyung had procured them from a discreet tea sommelier based in Kyoto who specialized in small batch of seasonal harvests and shipped it directly to a select list of clients. These were the jars rotated weekly by someone paid to care. 

Then there were the more eclectic sets of ceramic tins with flaking gold trim, a few dented copper canisters, and one tin still faintly redolent of a place that beguiled the ghosts of Taehyung's memories. These were blends with amusing names like Evening Smoke or Winter Orchid or Silver Needle, names that seemed to come straight out of a Bath and Body Works Catalogue and sounded entirely too silly. Taehyung in his continued attempt at outlandishness had made sure no two labels matched. This was the section people were meant to ask about with a modicum of polite interest that masked their condescension and Taehyung was meant to smile vaguely, never answering properly because these curated selection of teas were a whisper of Jungkook’s connoisseurship, and the sliver of inhabitance Taehyung had allowed him. 

At the end was a third set of colder, more conventional rows of individual sachets sealed in uniform black foil with their caffeine levels printed in clean digits on the lower right corner. It was no frills, and just pure function. They were his morning teas, emergency teas, something for jet lags, something for press junkets, something for headaches, something to stave off heat sickness, and something to suppress hunger when Taehyung had let the inner glutton reign free before he went on camera. Most had been recommended offhandedly by his makeup artists, and other models in green rooms, whispered solutions to shared miseries he had quietly collected and never bothered to question.

None had been touched in weeks, except for the one tin near the center with a simple jasmine pearl blend that was halfway gone. It was something soft to balance out the distinct bitterness, and sourness Taehyung couldn’t quite rinse out of his mouth these days. It was also calming, allegedly. Which was rich, considering the fact that he’d been drinking it every day and still felt like blowing a fuse when someone so much as looked his way. 

Usually Jungkook would brew Taehyung a tea of Jungkook’s choice and guide him through a ritual of appreciation because supposedly each brew was far from a mere fix and deserved respectful indulgence. Taehyung had humored him more times than he could count, letting himself be lectured about oxidation levels and water temperature as if Jungkook were imparting the secrets of the universe instead of steeping leaves in hot water. And to be fair, the man wasn’t wrong. Every cup had been exquisite, fragrant, and layered in a way that lingered on his tongue long after he was done. However, today Taehyung had neither the care for his absent lover’s refined appreciation nor the patience for delayed gratification. 

Taehyung spooned a small handful into the bottom of a clear glass teapot, letting the pearls rattle bluntly against the glass and with a steady hand, he poured the steaming water over. Instantly, the tightly bound pearls began to slowly expand, their green leaves loosening, and drifting in the swirling water. It was strangely soothing to watch. The gentle, sweet scent of jasmine began to rise, subtly at first, and then fully bloomed into the air. The water gradually took on a pale, green hue signalling it was ready to drink and Taehyung carefully poured the tea into a thin walled porcelain cup, and the steam carried the jasmine scent directly to his nose as he brought it to his lips. 

When Taehyung fell against the high-backed chair, finally exhaling, finally unwinding, his breath sounded like a surrender to his exhaustion. Like an obeisance to the sentinel of caution and doom that had begun living between Taehyung’s ribs and never quite wanting to leave. 

Taehyung refilled the cup again and guided by his internal compass traversed the cold pathway leading to his private wing. He could sense the hallway narrowing slightly, and the carefully handpicked art adorning its walls blurred into indistinct impressions in Taehyung’s path. In his room Taehyung peeled the rest of his clothes off with a kind of ceremonial detachment that turned every button, and layer into an unspoken release from the muck of the day, the mask, the weight, the hawklike scrutiny, and the fanatic dissection of his being. When Taehyung sunk onto the mattress naked, back against the cool wooden board of his bed, long limbs still and tired in the kind of way he’d never admit even to himself, Taehyung felt less a man settling in for the night, and more a sore pit of hurt. 

A breath rattled through him, too close to a sigh and he leaned his head back letting his eyes fall shut. Taehyung knew this wasn’t just post heat blues. It was the cold, wet douse of reality, the type that didn’t ask if Taehyung was ready before sluicing through whatever fantasy he had built fancifully. 

The familiar, low hum of discontent was not a new guest to Taehyung because it was the veritable ghost that lingered almost perceptibly in Jungkook's absence. And then as it always did when the air grew heavy with unspoken things, and the silence stretched thin, and brittle around him, Taehyung’s mind with a sickening lurch, drifted back. Unbidden, and unwelcome to that night when he, Kim Taehyung, had given himself over utterly and completely in the throes of heat, to an alpha who hadn't even had the decency to say goodbye. Not a word or a text explaining his absence. Nothing except a cold, sterile note left on his nightstand, tucked under the alarm clock with instructions to contact him should complications arise. Complications. The now revolting word had seared itself into Taehyung’s brain. Jungkook hadn’t even bothered with a perfunctory “Call me when you’re up” or “I’m going to be back soon.” He had just left him an impersonal missive, instructing that if Taehyung unfortunately found himself pregnant, only then did Jungkook want to hear from him because all he was to Jeon Jungkook, was a potential fucking biological complication.

Clarity had cleaved through Taehyung’s lingering haze and he still remembered the fury coursing through his veins as he had stumbled out of the tangled, sweat-soaked sheets, his body humming from the alpha’s touch, and marched straight into the bathroom. Taehyung hadn't hesitated rummaging through his medicine cabinet for the morning-after pills, swallowed two of them dry, and chased the chalky bitterness down with a gulp of water. Taehyung had wanted to purge every trace, and every possibility of Jungkook, from his very core. He’d thought irrationally that ‘if I can just take these, then none of it will matter. He won’t linger inside me. He won’t stay.’ Funnily enough, it hadn’t even crossed his mind that it might already be too late and that Jungkook had already claimed a part of him irreversibly. Taehyung had just wanted to feel like he was doing something, anything to undo the week before but the universe had already sealed his fate.

Taehyung had no grand delusions left about where he stood in Jungkook’s life. He knew Jungkook wasn’t the type to make room for softness, not when everything in his life had to be efficient and clean, and uncomplicated. Taehyung knew it was foolishness of the highest order to think Jungkook would ever make an exception for him. He was certain, and yet he hoped quietly and stupidly, in the way people do when they’re starved for something and someone offers them an illusion of it. 

Jungkook had come to him, and chose to stay even after realizing Taehyung was close to his heat. Jungkook had not walked away like every other time in the three years they had been together, so Taehyung foolishly believed Jungkook had stepped on a line and chose to erase it, that they were done with their incessant games, where no word was permanent and no emotion rightful. But Jungkook hadn’t stepped over a line, he’d only paused at it and when morning came, he’d crossed back without a word, like none of it had ever meant anything at all.

Each sip of the scalding hot tea was a futile effort to scrub away the lingering humiliation, and the raw sting of Jungkook's absence. Taehyung wanted to forget the way he had turned docile for the alpha, and given into his baser urges, only to be discarded like a fleeting inconvenience the moment Taehyung’s heat broke. Jungkook could not have been more obvious about his disdain for their unplanned intimacy and Taehyung couldn’t shake off that feeling while his every instinct screamed rejection. Taehyung’s body was tainted by the lingering scent of Jungkook and he had bitten his lips raw trying not to call the pompous alpha, trying to maintain some semblance of self restraint. Because what would he even say? “Come back and finish rejecting me properly? Oh and by the way, your complication grew a spine and gave me morning sickness. Congratulations. Next week it’ll probably have fingernails. Which is more than I can say for the alpha who helped make it.”

While Taehyung was lost in thought, his phone started buzzing near the foot of the bed, low at first, then again and again like an incessant tremor. It didn’t stop jittering slightly against the ottoman like it was trying to crawl its way into his sphere of attention and still Taehyung didn't move or care. He couldn’t. The mere thought of having to engage, to even acknowledge the outside world, felt like an insurmountable burden at the moment. Taehyung saw the screen light up again until it became a faint annoyance in the periphery of his exhaustion. Once, twice, thrice and then the dam broke. 

His mother, Minho-hyung, Jimin, Seojoon, Bogum, and even Seungkwan. It was a torrent of known names followed by a relentless slew of unknown numbers. A deluge of missed call, missed call, new message, new message, new voicemail, and new voicemail. He thought fleetingly, what could they all possibly want at once? Did someone die? Did someone post something while drunk? Taehyung knew he should be alarmed, or at the very least mildly curious but mostly, he just felt inconvenienced, completely oblivious to the frantic energy on the other end of those lines, the urgent tones of people trying to reach him, and more importantly to warn him. 

The light kept flashing across the ceiling in brief, rhythmic pulses like a siren with no sound until the battery ran out and Taehyung, already a deep impression in the mattress, instinctively shifted lower, face half-buried in the pillow and fell asleep like that in the sheets, still cold, and the room still too quiet. Taehyung slept heavy, dreamless and woefully unaware, while outside his apartment, the headlines moved insidiously, and punishingly. 

[Breaking] Homewrecker or Happily Ever After? Jeon Jungkook Reportedly Expecting 4th Child With Model Kim Taehyung Following Recent Divorce

Business Tycoon Jeon Jungkook Faces New Allegations as “Other Omega” Kim Taehyung Rumored Pregnant

[Exclusive] “Scandal After Scandal” - The Omega behind the Split? Titan of Trade Jeon Jungkook and Kim Taehyung at Center of Pregnancy Rumors

Model Kim Taehyung Allegedly Pregnant with Jeon Jungkook’s Child

Jungkook's Ink Just Dried: Is Kim Taehyung Allegedly Pregnant With His Fourth Child? Netizens Point Fingers at Model as Divorce Aftermath Heats Up

“THE FOURTH CHILD WITH THE NEW OMEGA?”: Jeon Jungkook's Divorce Drama Explodes As Kim Taehyung Faces "Homewrecker" Accusations Amidst Pregnancy Rumors

[EXCLUSIVE] 3 a.m. Visits, & Private Doctor Appointments— Is Runway Model Kim Taehyung Pregnant with Oligarch Jeon Jungkook’s Baby Just Months after His Divorce?

Inside Taehyung’s room, the lights stayed low, and his phone untouched as the entire city kept raging against glass. The same Taehyung, who had built his life on knowing everything before anyone else, slept through the moment everything changed. And it wasn’t just any sleep but the kind of deep, unforgiving sleep where the world shifted beneath your feet and you didn't even stir. The irony wasn’t lost on anyone but Taehyung. The ruthless omega who thrived on always staying ten steps ahead, now lay sprawled on his bed while his name fractured and burned just beyond the door.

When Taehyung finally awoke the room was soaked in shadows and Taehyung blinked warily like he had been dredged up from the very entrails of a visceral nightmare. His mind stirred sluggishly, as if moving through molasses while trying to stitch together fragmented and incoherent thoughts. His eyes fluttered open with a weight that came when your body hadn’t quite caught up with your mind and the first thing he saw was the ceiling, then his dead phone tangled up in the sheets by his ankle. Like some forgotten tether to the waking world, useless now that everything had already slipped out the door. 

Out of habit, Taehyung plugged his phone into the charging port on his night stand, wanting to check his schedule for the day, but an unsettling feeling told him this Monday would not be what he expected. Taehyung’s instincts had never steered him wrong, and right now, every nerve in his body screamed with that anxiety that came just before something unraveled forever.

When Taehyung’s phone finally powered on, it quite literally exploded and for ten minutes, it pinged constantly, a relentless assault of missed calls, text messages, news articles tagging his social media accounts, and direct messages flooding every platform he was on. The security station’s notifications about his ringing doorbell added to the pandemonium, and confirmed his growing dread. A quick glance at the building’s exterior cameras showed Taehyung reporters swarming in the area, a sea of faces and lenses blocking the entrance to his apartment. 

It took Taehyung a few agonizing minutes for the magnitude of it all to sink in. Then, with a chilling clarity, Taehyung returned to the articles, and every single headline screamed the same news - he, a homewrecker, was pregnant with Jeon Jungkook’s fourth child. 

Beneath the bashing, between the recycled press jargon and grainy stolen photos of Taehyung, sat one line that made his blood run cold. It was a line citing “exclusive medical confirmation” from an unnamed clinic. His fucking clinic. The only clinic Taehyung had snuck into under a fake name, and the one that had promised utmost discretion. Fucking hell. 

Taehyung didn’t need a smoking gun to confirm if it was the same clinic, the trail was too obvious and fresh. Only a handful of people could’ve touched his charts and he had been in this industry long enough to recognize a leak that serendipitously bled straight into a headline.

They assumed it was Jungkook’s child and honestly, as far as assumptions went this one practically gift wrapped itself. A tabloid reporter had caught a grainy photo of Jungkook slipping into Taehyung’s Jeju villa during his last heat, and he hadn’t been seen leaving until a week later. It wasn’t exactly subtle, because the implications were impossible to ignore and the story practically wrote itself. From then on, there had been no need for speculation, just the aftermath of Taehyung’s poor judgment, Jungkook’s possessiveness, and the kind of silence that had turned into a somethingburger. Rumors swirled, fan accounts lit up and Taehyung and Jungkook’s publicists scrambled to “no comment” their way through it but alas. If it were any more convenient, the baby would have actually come out of Taehyung with its own press release. 

Since then, the same accursed reporter had tried to tail them both hoping for something juicier than a blurry driveway shot but Jungkook had people for that. He moved like someone who expected the world to watch and was prepared for it. It was unsurprising, really, for a man whose empire spanned industries, continents, and every screen that mattered. Surveillance wasn’t an inconvenience for someone like Jungkook, it was an asset he had long learned to weaponize. 

Jungkook’s security detail wasn’t just tight, it was basically a force field, and when it came to Taehyung, they closed ranks even harder. Weirdly that part hadn’t even been a conversation. It just happened one day and Taehyung had rolled with it because arguing with former Secret Service Agents in tailored, bulletproof suits wasn’t on his agenda, and frankly, trying to make a point while being manhandled into armored cars had lost its novelty after a week or two. 

Once they had become a thing, Jungkook had always made sure there was some security detail around Taehyung but it had always been a minimal prudence and just enough to say “I care” without actually interrupting the aesthetic of Taehyung’s life. It was a shadow here, a discreet earpiece there, and the background noise of unobtrusive oversight sometimes. Not whatever it had been the past few weeks. After Jeju, everything had changed drastically. There were more men, tighter protocols to follow, Taehyung’s routes and schedule planned down to the minute, and two men were always stationed outside his dressing room like he was storing nuclear codes in his skincare fridge. It was ridiculous but necessary. 

The only time Taehyung had slipped past the wall of protection was for a single visit to a supposedly discreet gynecologist, who had promised him anonymity, and false assurances that the appointment would be off the record, cash paid, and buried beneath layers of privacy protocols. There had been no security, no staff, no entourage, and not even a car remotely associated with Taehyung or Jungkook. It was just him in Jungkook’s hoodie, and a quiet cab hailed two blocks from anywhere the driver would think to look or get suspicious about. Taehyung had planned it quietly, on a day when Jungkook had back-to-back meetings and wouldn’t notice that Taehyung was gone for a few hours. It wasn’t exactly espionage, but it was close enough to feel mildly impressive. Besides nothing said control over your own body like sneaking out to a prenatal appointment like some teenager buying a pregnancy test behind a 7-Eleven.

Taehyung could have taken someone along with him and made it easier on himself. Jimin would have gone with him in a heartbeat, no questions asked and just offered his unequivocal support. His mother would’ve flown down the same day, probably with a bag of food and too many worried looks but Taehyung hadn’t been able to reach out to any of them. Taehyung had not wanted anyone to know. Especially Jungkook. At least not until he was absolutely sure.

Taehyung had already known, of course. Three at home tests said so, his body said so, the clumsy weight in his lower belly said so, the raw edge of exhaustion said so, and the strange calm that wasn’t really calm at all really said so. Taehyung’s scent had started to shift too, just slightly, and not quite enough to be obvious to the untrained nose. But it held a new, sweet undercurrent, something softer, and milkier like something in him was already reorienting itself. Even strangers had noticed and on two separate snack runs, old women at the convenience store had smiled at him in that knowing way and murmured quiet congratulations to Taehyung as they passed by. He had awkwardly mumbled thank you both times, stunned not because they were right, but because it felt surreal, like they’d read something off his skin he hadn’t even admitted out loud. Being seen like that was oddly comforting and deeply uncomfortable all at once. It was as if Taehyung’s body had already made its choice, committed to the role and Taehyung was simply the last to truly comprehend his part, struggling to find his footing in a reality his own flesh had sealed and scripted. 

Still Taehyung had needed more than two pink lines. He had needed certainty, a fucking sterile room and a pair of measured, clinical hands, the biting cold gel on his stomach, the click of keys, with the doctor telling him what he already suspected, with words like “confirmed gestation” and “viable embryo.” Taehyung had needed something official and something to hold up between himself and the thousand irrational hopes trying to take root in his chest. He needed it to feel real before it turned into something he couldn’t take back.

And if Taehyung was being honest, above all, he had needed time to process this seismic shift. Time to fall apart in peace, time to lay on his back in the dark and feel every raw inch of what this meant for the future he had carefully laid out for himself, the trajectory of the career he had fought tooth, and nail for. Taehyung needed time to cycle through disbelief, panic, and that strange, aching acceptance that came after the crying stopped but before anything practical began. Taehyung had had a few days now to cry into the pillow, flip through worst case scenarios at 3am, feel everything and then nothing and then everything again. Apparently, Taehyung’s uterus had no interest in his five-year plan.

Now that the panic had worn off, Taehyung was at the waiting stage. He wasn’t hoping exactly because that felt too naive, but he was watching and waiting for Jungkook to say something, anything really. Taehyung kept looking for signs. He wanted something stupid and human and some tiny sign that Jungkook might want this too, might want him enough to make room for what came next in their unplanned future. But Jungkook had been normal, and consistent in that maddening, unshakeable way of his. And that was harder than anything for Taehyung. So Taehyung waited and in the waiting, he told himself a hundred things, that he could do this alone, that he had done harder things, that it wasn’t a big deal, that millions of omegas had birthed children without the sky caving in and that he would figure it out. But when he caught himself checking for cues that weren’t there, or rehearsing how to say “I’m pregnant” in a way that didn’t make his pregnancy seem like a trap Taehyung had orchestrated, Taehyung knew he was lying to himself. Not about the baby but about how badly he wanted Jungkook to choose him and their baby of his own volition.

Taehyung knew the optics weren’t good for Jungkook. The divorce had barely cooled down, and the world still believed his ex-wife had given birth to their third child just months ago. Everyone wanted to believe the neat, polished picture of a husband, wife, and their three children. A portrait of familial and marital bliss that could be framed and sold as stability. What the public didn’t know and what they weren’t allowed to know was the fact that the child wasn’t Jungkook’s. Not biologically, and certainly not in any sense that mattered at the end of the day. It belonged to her longtime boyfriend, a quiet presence who had never appeared in the spotlight but had always been in the background, waiting for the right moment to step in, and take his rightful place by her side. 

Only Jungkook’s inner circle and the tightest layer of family knew the truth, and even then it was treated like a fragile secret, as though speaking it aloud might make it slip into the wrong ears. The boyfriend had never made himself or their relationship known publicly because he hadn’t been allowed to. Jungkook and his ex-wife’s families were deeply traditional, and steeped in the kind of draconian legacy that didn’t tolerate public embarrassment, especially the kind that involved infidelity, and illegitimate children. 

Taehyung knew better than to romanticize the marriage. It had been a marriage of convenience from the start, something meant to be strategic, carefully maintained, and financially beneficial. A deal, not a vow. Neither Jungkook nor his ex-wife were ever truly free to speak the full truth, because doing so would mean shattering the image their families had worked decades to build. Which was why Taehyung was sure, when the truth came out about Jungkook, Taehyung, and the quietly ticking time bomb inside his womb, the Jeons and Chois were going to respond with the kind of composure usually reserved for palace coups and mid-century scandals.

Jungkook had taken the fall, because it was cleaner that way and easier for everyone. Taehyung understood that. In their world, perception was everything. You weren’t just managing fame, you were managing the narrative, always. The world didn’t care about what was real, they only cared about what looked consistent and what looked good. So even before Taehyung’s pregnancy, there had been this rule. An unspoken one, but definitely there. It was a line Jungkook had drawn saying, not yet. Not until the divorce was far enough in the past that no one would think Taehyung had anything to do with it. Not until the public had moved on, or forgotten, or found a new story to obsess over and Taehyung had agreed. Silently, and maybe even eagerly. Taehyung had told himself it made sense, that he could wait, and that whatever they had, didn’t need to be public to be real. 

Taehyung had even been a little relieved when Jungkook finally filed the papers. There had been a flicker of hope then, small and stupid, that maybe this meant they could start building something that belonged just to them. Taehyung had celebrated it privately by ordering his favorite wine, and letting himself smile a little too long at the ceiling but that feeling hadn’t lasted. Weeks passed and then months and nothing changed. Jungkook was still careful, and distant. Jungkook was still keeping Taehyung tucked into the part of his life that no one else was allowed to see and now, with the pregnancy and this whole other reality quietly forming inside him, Taehyung couldn’t quite ignore it anymore. The waiting, the silence, the fact that Taehyung was doing the mental math alone, that he had gone to appointments alone, and that he was second guessing everything just to keep from getting hurt made him feel like a dirty secret. Taehyung felt like an inconvenience in a very intricate story Jungkook had no desire to ruin and the worst part of it all was that Taehyung understood. He understood every single reason, every calculation, and every careful move Jungkook made. He just wished understanding didn’t always feel so much like losing.

Granted, what hadn’t factored into Jungkook and Taehyung’s plans, assuming they even had real plans, was a child. They had made comments here and there, sure. They had kissed words into each other’s skin in the throes of passion, and made casual jokes but none of it had weight. Nothing that sounded like let’s do this and nothing that felt like a choice either of them had actually, consciously made.

Jungkook already had two young daughters, and a phantom third, from his previous marriage. The girls were loved and lived with Jungkook most of the time. Taehyung had met them a couple of times briefly and decided it would probably be wise to avoid any future visits. Jungkook was good with them and you could tell he obviously cared about them and doted upon them. 

Jungkook never said he didn’t want more children but he never said he did either.  And Taehyung hadn’t exactly grown up daydreaming about fatherhood. One look at the life Taehyung and his brother had lived because of his deadbeat father was enough to permanently kill any good feeling inside Taehyung. 

Taehyung didn’t even know what kind of father he would be. Taehyung’s life had been all about momentum, shows, shoots, flights, rehearsals, headlines, runways, and events. Even his relationship with Jungkook had to fit between their calendar slots, so the idea of raising a child, an actual being, had always lived somewhere vague and future-shaped, in that part of his mind labeled “someday”. But that someday was now and no part of Taehyung felt ready. Not really.

In fact, if he was being brutally honest with himself, Taehyung had a sneaking suspicion he didn’t even like children all that much or at least not the idea of raising one full-time. He was quick to anger, slow to tolerate, and impatient in ways that even Taehyung found exhausting. Taehyung didn’t like being needed more than he could give and helplessness in general made his skin itch uneasily. Taehyung wasn’t wired for the kind of constant, gentle availability that parenting demanded and there was something in him that was entirely too sharp, and volatile that recoiled at the thought of being needed that much by anyone. 

Taehyung didn’t have the mellowed temper, the bottomless patience, the high threshold for pain or the instinct to give without ever asking for something back. Taehyung wasn’t selfless or sacrificial, and he certainly didn’t carry that quiet resilience that let people wake up six times in the night and still offer a gentle voice in the morning. And Taehyung knew parenting wasn’t just about loving a child. It was about tolerating them when they broke something you loved or said they hated you. It was about not reacting when you wanted to scream. Taehyung could already picture the moments that would push him over the edge. A child wailing at 3 a.m., inconsolably, food thrown on the floor after hours of careful preparation, repeating the same instruction five times without being heard and not because the child was wrong, but because they were a child. Taehyung hated the thought that some small part of him would flinch, that his instinct might be to pull away instead of lean in. 

Despite all this Taehyung was good with kids. Objectively speaking babies settled in his arms and toddlers laughed when he spoke in that weird voice he didn’t know he had. Taehyung’s younger cousins clung to him like a favorite blanket growing up, and their parents had always praised how naturally Taehyung stepped in when things got chaotic. He knew how to bathe a baby, change a diaper, warm a bottle, and soothe a tantrum. He had done it all before, uncomplaining, competent, and even affectionate but this felt different. This wasn’t babysitting or stepping in for a weekend or being the cool adult. This was Taehyung’s life. A forever kind of responsibility that didn’t go away when he got tired of it. Taehyung didn’t know if he had that in him. Not the instinct to stay soft when everything in him was tightening up and not the capacity to keep showing up when it was thankless, sleepless, and endless. 

More than anything Taehyung didn’t want to be the kind of parent who resented his own child because he was scared that maybe down the lane, he could be. Not because Taehyung was a bad person but because he had built a life around being alone when he needed to be, around having space, around choosing when to show up and this was the exact opposite of that. It terrified Taehyung, in a way nothing else ever had and worst of all, he didn’t know if he was even allowed to feel that way. Not now when the choice wasn’t a choice anymore.

So no, being pregnant with Jungkook’s child didn’t exactly feel like a miracle, it felt more like a warning. A glowing, pulsing, neon hazard sign for anyone foolish enough to mistake this for a fairytale. Even if Jungkook let it slide, even if he didn’t react the way Taehyung feared, there was still Jungkook’s family. The unspoken shadow behind everything. They would never accept this. Not quietly, or gently, and definitely not with Taehyung involved. 

In fact, if things were running on schedule, they should be outside his apartment soon armed with umbrellas, and moral superiority, demanding, insisting, and dressing it all up as concern. They wouldn’t say terminate, not directly but it would be in the subtext, in the silences, and in the careful offers to “handle everything” if he just let them. If Taehyung didn’t comply, they would ruthlessly push for custody, and frame it as offering their protection, assuring they were looking out for the child, for the name, and that it was for the sake of preserving the family’s legacy. As if it were a kindness. He wouldn’t win that fight alone against a family who had law firms on speed dial that could spin a scandal into a trust fund within the week. So yeah, Taehyung had a lot to think over and it was more than he was ready for, more than he could unpack alone.

It was obvious he needed Jungkook’s uncompromised support but Taehyung hadn’t even told Jungkook yet. He couldn't and every corner of his mind was already imagining every way it could go wrong. The silence, the detached look, the careful, too-reasonable voice Jungkook used when he was trying not to hurt him or worse the shift in his eyes that said he had already started pulling away. And still some stupid, stubborn part of Taehyung wanted Jungkook to want this. He wanted him to say okay, or we’ll figure it out, or just stay. Not because it made sense, or out of some misplaced sense of obligation and responsibility but because he wished to.

For all of Taehyung’s reluctance, for all his so called clarity about not being cut out for parenthood, Taehyung hadn’t once seriously considered getting rid of the child. He had tried, he had made himself imagine it, logically, as a way out and a reset. There would be no pain, no more headlines, and no Jungkook shaped silence after the fact. It would be a quiet appointment, a quiet recovery, and life returning to its neat, controlled rhythm. But every time the thought brushed too close, Taehyung’s chest immediately seized with something that wasn’t quite fear and wasn’t quite grief, it was a breathless ache he couldn’t push past. It was like his body had already decided what his mind hadn’t and maybe it had because some part of Taehyung had already accepted the child. Not out loud but in the way he touched his stomach when no one was looking, and in the way he found himself lying still at night just listening as if the silence might suddenly become two heartbeats.

Taehyung hadn’t planned for it, hadn’t even wanted it but something inside him was already softening, and shifting. His rough edges weren’t gone, but they felt blunter now, like they were sawing off to make space for something impossibly small and impossibly his. It was ridiculous. So ridiculous, in fact, that he’d scoffed the first time he caught himself thinking about names. It was a stray thought while rinsing rice or folding a hoodie but it had come uninvited, and that made it worse. 

Taehyung knew this wasn’t only about him suddenly discovering some hidden paternal instinct, or about becoming a better person, or rising to the occasion. No, Taehyung was pretty sure he knew exactly why this was happening. It was because it was Jungkook’s child. That was the heart of it, the thing he couldn’t seem to walk away from. If it had been anyone else, any other alpha Taehyung could’ve shut the door on it. Maybe not without pain, but at least with certainty. But Jungkook was different and Jungkook had always been different. This baby, this tiny life growing quietly inside him, was a part of Jungkook and Taehyung despite everything he said, despite everything he was afraid of, couldn’t let that go.

Taehyung wanted a piece of Jungkook irrevocably. He wanted something of Jungkook that couldn’t be taken away, rewritten, or quietly forgotten. The knowledge that they had created something inside Taehyung, that Taehyung’s body had readily accepted Jungkook down to the cellular level, was exhilarating in a way that frightened Taehyung. There was a boundless satisfaction in it. It was not paternal, and gentle but something deeper, and visceral. The thought that his womb, his body, had been strong enough to carry Jungkook’s child when Jungkook’s ex-wife hadn’t been able to, lit up something in him he didn’t want to name. The fact that his ex-wife’s body had rejected Jungkook’s seed, and needed surrogates who had nearly been wrecked from the attempt, while Taehyung’s body had held it without complaint, without rupture gave him gratification. It was a dangerous and pride soaked high. It wasn’t rational, it wasn’t healthy, and it felt territorial, even a little deranged, and Taehyung knew that.

Taehyung had spent the first week in an emotional freefall, ashamed of how far gone he was, ashamed that he was flattered in some deeply rooted biological way to be the one who had done what someone else couldn’t. Disgusted that he was this smitten, this attached, this soft over Jungkook, so much so that he was willing to let his entire life shift permanently just to hold onto this thing they had made together. Taehyung should have been horrified by how fast he adjusted. How quickly he moved from I can’t do this to maybe I want to. But he wasn’t.

In reality, it wasn’t a gradual decision and looking back, the choice had already been made the moment he saw the two lines. Yes, fate and biology had brought Taehyung to that moment but moving forward? Continuing? That part was all him. Taehyung was choosing it, eyes open, chest tight, and heart incredibly stupid. He wasn’t being swept away by instinct, he was walking into it fully aware of everything it would cost him and maybe a little drunk on the fact that he still wanted it anyway. Because this wasn’t just about wanting this child but also about wanting something of Jungkook’s that no one else could take from him, and for better or worse, he had it now.

It was almost startling, how much faith Taehyung had readily invested into the idea of becoming a father and how quickly that belief had hardened into resolve. As soon as the initial fog of shock cleared, Taehyung’s mind raced ahead, decisive and almost disturbingly focused. Within a day, Taehyung had already started making mental notes about prenatal vitamins, researching gynecologists with discretion clauses, and calculating when to scale back his schedule. It wasn’t just cautious planning, but also strategy.

He hadn’t told Jungkook but he had told two other people who mattered most - his mother and Jimin. Taehyung had called them sobbing and leaking tears like his body couldn’t hold the truth in anymore. The words had caught in his throat, and eventually he had choked them out over the phone, “I’m pregnant.”

They had come over immediately without any questions or judgment, just soft hands, warm soup and firm voices that told him he wasn’t alone, and that they would support any decision he made. For a full week, they orbited around him, filling in all the gaps, laundry, errands, and holding Taehyung when the panic flared up at night, and he couldn’t breathe through it. Their presence hadn’t solved anything but it gave Taehyung something to stand on, a little ground beneath the emotional chaos, and that was all Taehyung needed to take the next step. That support had helped him make his decision.

The baby was staying.

When Taehyung finally checked his call logs, he saw that Jungkook had only called him once. One fucking time. That cold, tight-lipped bastard and his perfectly unbothered composure. Jungkook probably hadn’t even flinched while pressing dial, probably hadn’t paced around like Taehyung was, second guessed himself, or stared at the screen anxiously while waiting for the call to connect. Jungkook never did anything he didn’t mean to and that one measly missed call, with no follow-up, carried more weight than a dozen voicemails ever could. Taehyung stared restlessly at Jungkook’s contact for a while, then locked his phone, and then unlocked it again. He hated how something so small could make him feel so dithery. Taehyung couldn’t shore up the guts to call him back and that alone pissed him off. Pathetic. 

Normally, Taehyung was good at confrontations, thrived in it, even when the odds were stacked against him. Give him a tense dinner rife with emotional accusations, or a PR meeting gone wrong, and he’d verbally pirouette his way through it without breaking a sweat but something about Jungkook’s silence, that single unanswered call made his stomach clench queasily because how was he supposed to convince Jungkook he hadn’t betrayed him? There was nothing Taehyung could say right now that wouldn’t sound like excuses, like Taehyung trying to explain the truth after the fact. So he chickened out. 

He would feel things out with a text first, see if Jungkook was calm enough to not metaphorically snap his neck the moment he picked up. His fingers typed and deleted a dozen different messages, all varying shades of supplication and confession. 

He finally settled on a text that was simple enough to sound like an innocuous question, but still distant that it would give him an out if he needed one. He typed: “You called?”, and immediately hated it. It was such a stupid, pointless thing to say. Of course Jungkook had called, there was the call log, plain as day in front of his eyes but Taehyung always did this. He hated calls, hated the obligation of them, so he would send that question like a preemptive shield, like maybe the other person would explain what they wanted and spare him the whole performance of ringing them back. Taehyung hit send and tossed his phone on the bed as if it were a grenade about to go off.

A few minutes passed and then the reply came in.

Jungkook:

“That’s funny Taehyung. If I weren’t already so incensed with you, that pathetic little question would have been the thing to push me over the edge.”

Taehyung was immediately ashamed but in his true, ‘in for a penny in for a pound’ fashion, he persisted, “Is that how we’re going to start this conversation?”

Jungkook:

“Oh please accept my apologies. I should have prefaced this with a bouquet of flowers and a fucking cake. Perhaps even personally delivered my congratulations on your pregnancy while I was at it.”

Taehyung’s heart jumped, then sank and stalled in the tight, nauseating middle space. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Jungkook was absolutely livid. He hesitated, fingers hovering over the screen before typing back, “Jungkook can we please do this like adults? There's too much at stake here to be snapping at each other. We need to discuss this calmly. Please. You know how hard it is for me to talk to you when you’re that angry.”

Jungkook:

“Taehyung, if you think I care about you having a hard time facing my rightful anger right now then you haven’t fully grasped the magnitude of your actions. I had to sit there this morning, watching while some nasty reporter smirked on air about my private life, about you, and about the child I apparently fathered without even knowing it existed until the words were out of his mouth. You think that was easy for me?”

Taehyung:

“You don’t understand. It wasn’t supposed to come out like that. None of this was supposed to unravel the way it did Jungkook. Do you really think I would do this to you?”

Jungkook:

“I don't give a fuck, Taehyung. We’re past the point of me being reasonable. You know exactly how many chances you get with me and you know exactly what it means to deceive me. Whatever your reason may have been for hiding this from me, you did willingly deceive me.”

Taehyung: 

“I did not deceive you Jungkook. Why won’t you listen to me? I didn’t orchestrate this. I’m not sitting here with some sickening sense of satisfaction for having kept this from you for so long.”

Jungkook:

“Well, you have my attention now Taehyung. I'm listening. Tell me who the lucky alpha is. Was it Seojoon? Hyungsik? What does it matter right? Maybe I'll send them both my congratulations for mounting and impregnating my omega.”

Taehyung:

“Jungkook, don’t you dare go there. I'm not someone you can talk to that way. What is wrong with you?”

Jungkook:

“The news. I heard it on the fucking news, Taehyung. Do you have any idea how humiliating and insane that is? To have strangers know before I do?”

Taehyung:

“I’m sorry. I really am. But you have to understand that I had every reason to keep this from you until I was done processing it myself. You’re not the one going through a life changing decision. You have children already, regardless of whether you want a child with me or not, you’re prepared for this. I’m not Jungkook. I’ve never imagined being somebody’s parent and I don’t know how to do this. And it isn’t helpful that you’ve been very transparent about where we stood since my heat. Did you really expect me to believe you would react positively? I was terrified and I still am but I would never do this to you.”

Jungkook:

“So you’re going to pin this on me? I am the big bad alpha that couldn’t give his omega the reassurance to confess he was pregnant? Fine. Pray tell me then how else was I supposed to leave you after spending your heat with you Taehyung? Because this is the worst case scenario I wanted to avoid, your name dragged through the mud, while they blamed you for breaking something that never was pieced together.” 

Taehyung:

“Jungkook, you have to believe me, going public with this was never my intention. The clinic sold my information to the tabloid reporter that has been following us since Jeju once they realized who I really was. I swear I wasn’t deliberately hiding this to deceive you. I just needed more time to wrap my head around this.”

Jungkook:

“You had time, Taehyung. You had weeks, you planned doctor visits, got your bloodwork done, noticed symptoms, and yet at no point did you think to inform the man whose name that child will carry. Do you even know how infuriating it is to hear you say those words? You went to a place like that without consulting me, knowing it was dangerous, knowing your name was tied to mine, knowing the tabloids were sniffing around us for weeks. With that much at stake this was your judgment call?”

Taehyung:

“I was desperate. I needed confirmation before making the decisions that mattered. And you made it very clear this was nothing beyond a complication to you, so forgive me for presuming you didn’t care enough to accompany me while the doctor announced your worst case scenario.”

Jungkook:

“Careful Taehyung. You're starting to sound a lot more unreasonable than I am. Say what you will but this is about the fact that I was owed the truth and you very clearly failed to understand that decisions of this scale are never yours alone to make. Not when they involve me. You should’ve called me before the clinic, before the whispers, and well before the tabloids had a breadcrumb to follow. You didn’t just lose control Taehyung, you handed it over, and now you’re a situation that needs handling.”

Taehyung:

“I am not. I can handle myself just fine, Jungkook. I’ve never asked for your help and I won’t start now. You’re so caught up in your own perspective you don’t even realize how hypocritical you sound. You can knot me, leave a godawful note on the nightstand, vanish for weeks without a word but god forbid I make a misstep.”

Jungkook:

“You can’t beg for mercy with one breath and claim you never needed anyone with the next Taehyung. You’re the one who put this in front of the whole goddamn country, not me. And you know what the worst part is? You didn’t just lie to me, you lied to yourself thinking this could stay quiet. All you did was hand them a narrative that they can bleed dry for weeks. And for what? A little silence? Some twisted sense of self-protection?”

Taehyung:

“Oh please. You’re such a fucking prick. I absolutely resent the implication that I orchestrated any of this for attention, as if I wanted any part of the circus that comes with your name attached to mine.”

Jungkook:

“You should be grateful that implication is all I’ve offered so far.”

Taehyung:

“Grateful for what, exactly? The insinuation that I’m a liar? That I’m incompetent? That I'm purposefully reckless? You think I should fall to my knees because you’ve only implied it instead of spelling it out. Get over yourself Jungkook. You’re not a victim in this and you’re definitely not angry that the world found out, you’re just angry because you didn’t find out first, that I didn’t come running to you like a damsel in distress.”

Jungkook:

“You’re treading on thin ice, Taehyung. I trusted you to be the smartest person in the room, but you've just proven you're the most foolish and thoughtless. You have an hour to get yourself together and be at the house.”

Taehyung:

“Why? So you can continue to explain at length how I've disappointed your incredibly high expectations of me?”

Jungkook:

“Pettiness does not become you, Taehyung. Save the drama for later, if you will, because this conversation is far from done. Now if you can gather the remnants of your dwindling wits and focus on what's important, you'll realize this isn't a suggestion. I will not have you wandering around pregnant while everyone with a phone is watching your life like a live broadcast, salivating for your next fuck up.”

Taehyung:

“No.”

Jungkook:

“Is that what you think this is, Taehyung? A choice? Because I assure you, it is not. You have an hour to be here, or you'll understand exactly how much worse this can get, and you won't like the lesson.”

Taehyung:

“Do not confuse me with the other omegas you’re accustomed to Jungkook. I don’t need you and I’ve never needed you. I’ve lived all by myself just fine and if you think I’ll come running to you because you’re snarling now, then you’ve clearly forgotten who you’re dealing with. Remember you chose me Jungkook, despite Choi Eun-ji, your parents, your children and your empire. So I'm the exception to all your expectations and rules.”

Taehyung threw the phone onto the bed with a little more force than was necessary, and the thud was swallowed by the pillows. He locked the screen, and the glow faded into black, leaving him staring at his own faint reflection for a beat too long before shoving it facedown like he couldn’t bear to see it again. The conversation was technically over, but the echo of Jungkook’s words cold, pragmatic, and utterly devoid of the tempestuous feelings Taehyung had been struggling with reverberated in the silence of his room. It wasn’t just what he said, it was how easily he had said it. Taehyung couldn’t believe the sheer audacity, or the palpable blame wrapped in his every word. 

The anger didn’t hurt as much as the exasperation in Jungkook’s tone had, as if he was talking about something banal and not their life. Taehyung hadn’t even said the words aloud yet, hadn’t asked for anything, but Jungkook was already treating him like some reckless sidepiece dragging down the clean lines of Jungkook’s life. Like Taehyung was an inconvenient loose end, and not a human being sitting on the edge of a life changing decision. It could not have been more obvious that Taehyung was the only one harboring any illusions about what mattered here. 

Taehyung made up his mind then. If this was such a goddamn burden to Jeon Jungkook, if the mere idea of it was enough to wrinkle his perfect composure then fine, Taehyung would handle it alone. He didn’t need this and he didn’t need him. 

Whatever Taehyung had today, he had clawed out of a world that was hell-bent on making sure he had nothing. No one had held doors open for him, and definitely no one had softened life on his behalf. Obviously he wasn’t afraid of doing this without Jungkook. He was only afraid of expecting anything different because people like Jungkook were born in rooms where everything was already decided, where choices didn’t bleed and the consequences didn’t settle into your bones and change the shape of you.

So fuck Jeon Jungkook and everybody else. It wasn’t like he was having a great time, either. He wasn’t exactly enjoying being labeled the homewrecker of the century by every person on the internet, every blog, gossip site, and talk show host with access to Koreaboo and an ounce of spite. People had decided what he was the moment the Jeju photos surfaced. They saw what they wanted, an affair, a scandal, and most of all an undeserving, lowly omega tearing apart a picture perfect family. Never mind that there hadn’t been a marriage to wreck or that Jungkook and Choi Eun-ji had been sleeping in separate bedrooms, living separate lives, fucking other people for years. It was a marriage of convenience and it had served its purpose but no one wanted to hear that. No. Everyone was perfectly content aboard the delusion train when it suited their needs and narrative. 

Of course, Taehyung wasn’t about to crown himself as some misunderstood hero either. He knew what he’d done. He had gotten involved with a married man and that was a choice. A selfish, messy, and human one. Taehyung wasn’t going to climb onto a rooftop and scream “You don’t know the full story!” to the entire nation because he knew it wouldn’t matter. People cared about what things looked like, not what they were. Still, Taehyung hadn’t expected it to get this ugly with the coverage, the frenzy, the bashing, the comments, and the quiet cold shoulders. At this rate, it felt like he couldn’t walk down a street without someone wanting to egg him, possibly the entire Republic of South Korea forming a line just to take turns.

And now Jungkook, the one person who actually knew what the hell the truth was, was treating him like he was a fucking stain on the floor no one wanted to acknowledge. So, Taehyung wasn’t going to follow Jungkook’s order like some well-trained lapdog, begging for scraps. Let Jungkook release another perfectly worded statement or work himself into a brooding silence while Taehyung did what was necessary. 

He was nothing if not practical. He could fall apart internally and he had surely done plenty of that in the last few weeks, but when it was time to act Taehyung didn’t hesitate. He never had the luxury to because his whole life had been about maintaining control of his body, image, and story. Even now pregnant, overwhelmed, and borderline exhausted, Taehyung’s instinct was to contain the situation anyway. 

The conversation with Jungkook had solidified everything. Jungkook saw him as a complication, a crisis to manage and it was humiliating, yes, but it also gave him the horrifying clarity that Taehyung couldn’t afford to collapse. He had to plan and he had to protect himself. 

When Taehyung had broken the news to Jimin, the light of his life, the savior come to rescue him from the very bosom of Persephone herself they had talked it through for hours. Jimin had been a whirlwind of support and pragmatism, a perfect blend of emotional backup and strategic thinking. They discussed what to do, how to survive this, and how to keep the worst of it from swallowing Taehyung whole. 

Jimin had suggested leaving the city, at least until the baby was older. Somewhere quieter, more private, and where people didn’t care about who Taehyung used to be. Although Taehyung was reluctant to give up his life to not inconvenience others, he couldn't deny the logic behind it. Taehyung needed to protect himself and the baby and staying in Seoul, under the intense glare of the media and Jungkook’s family, was a vulnerability he couldn't afford. 

The thought of leaving everything behind was terrifying and yet, the foolishness of staying back was even more terrifying. Jimin had already been working with his contacts, mapping out an exit route that wouldn't put Taehyung in anyone's line of sight. All Taehyung needed was a way out of the house, away from the reporters currently camped outside his door and a diversion that would allow him to make his escape. Nothing could be better than a press conference where he fed them exactly what they wanted, and just enough to choke on the information he spread. Taehyung took a deep breath, steeling himself and picked up his phone to call Jimin.

“I’m ready,” Taehyung announced, his voice steady. “Can you set up a press conference in a few hours? We’re announcing the news about my pregnancy.” 

He knew the reporters would flock to their company, and leave his backdoor clear for his departure. It was a calculated risk but one he was willing to take. Taehyung had learned long ago that when people were watching your one hand, you moved with the other. Let them crowd the press room, let them feed on the frenzy, and let them scribble their little hearts out about him. As long as the cameras were facing the podium, no one would be watching his apartment.

“I don’t think that’s wise right now, love,” Jimin said, voice low, and already scanning four problems ahead. “Besides, what would we even say? That the child isn’t Jungkook’s? They’ve got those goddamn pictures from your villa. You know they’re never going to believe anything we say. Unless you suddenly developed a talent for immaculate conception, we're rather stuck.”

Taehyung ran a hand down his face. “Jimin, I love you but you don't have to remind me of the finer points of my public humiliation. I still haven’t forgotten," he muttered. “And the idea isn’t to stand up there and lie about being pregnant. The damage is already done. Those stupid fucks at the hospital leaked my test reports to every news outlet with a Wi-Fi signal, so let’s just give them a headline they can’t argue with. Go ahead and tell them I’m pregnant with Seojoon’s child. My reputation is already in tatters, so it shouldn’t matter that I was a two timing omega who couldn’t keep his heat or heart in one place. What’s one more moniker right? I’ll just add it to the list right under a lowlife whore.”

“You can’t be serious. First of all, never ever talk about yourself like that. In this household, self-deprecating humor is strictly prohibited,” Jimin said finally, his tone caught somewhere between exasperation and disbelief. “Second of all, it’s like you’ve never met Jeon Jungkook. Did you already forget what happened the last time you left him in the dark and hoped he’d understand? He doesn’t just take things personally, Taehyung, he makes it personal and this time it’s so much more different.”

Taehyung barked a humorless laugh. “That was one time. Come on Jimin, why not? Things aren’t good between us and I need to take him out of the equation while we keep the heat off him. I don’t want his family showing up here, staging an intervention or dragging me off to some lawyer’s office while I’m still throwing up my breakfast.” He leaned back into the couch cushion, and stared up at the ceiling like it had answers. “And it’s not like Seojoon would mind.”

“That’s not the point and you know it,” Jimin said, soft but firm. “Don’t speak like a brat when you and I both know that’s not who you are. Seojoon wouldn’t mind, no. He’d probably move halfway across the world if it meant being with you. He’s loyal to you and that’s exactly why we can’t do this. He’s too important to the company right now. And we definitely need someone stable running the show while you’re gone.”

Taehyung exhaled through his nose, chest tightening. Jimin wasn’t wrong and he hated that he wasn’t.

“Alright, alright. God, I hate it when you sound like the only adult in the room,” Taehyung muttered.

Jimin snorted. “I am the only adult in the room. Let’s not flatter ourselves.”

“Fine,” Taehyung relented, rubbing his temples. “Not Seojoon. Who then?”

There was a brief pause while Jimin thought and Taehyung could almost hear him switching gears mid-breath.

“Mingyu,” Jimin said, quick and decisive. “He’s clean, high profile, and Jungkook wouldn’t touch him, not with the amount of eyes on him anyways. He’s been working under our label for years, so there are already a million photos of you two together. I can spin something believable, slow burn, long time friendship turned low key romance. Plus, he’s flying out this evening on a private jet for personal reasons so the timing works in our favor.”

Taehyung blinked. He hadn’t thought of that but suddenly, it made a weird sort of sense. It was safe, and exactly the kind of batshit rationale the universe seemed to be running on these days.

“Park Jimin, you absolute genius.” He stood, already moving toward the bedroom. “Okay. I can be ready in three hours. Let’s aim for me to be out by 4:30 p.m. If you announce the press conference at 3:30, that gives everyone enough time to scramble in and leave my apartment unattended. All I need is five minutes to make my getaway.”

“You got it,” Jimin replied. His voice had shifted into full PR-exec mode and Taehyung smiled fondly. “I’ll text you Mingyu’s address. It’ll be better if you leave from there. We’ll make sure the paparazzi get a good shot of you both heading to the airport. That should do half the work for us.”

Taehyung nodded slowly, half to himself. “Yeah. We’re really doing this. We’re going to sell the act.”

But even as he said it, he felt something twist in his gut. This wasn’t just scheming, this was survival as well and he hated that the two had become the same thing.

Taehyung dressed in silence and his fingers moved with mechanical precision. He dressed in a black turtleneck, oversized coat, with sunglasses tucked into his breast pocket not because he wanted to look a certain way, but because looking composed mattered. In his world appearing unshaken was usually the first line of defense. If people thought he was in control, they’d ask fewer questions. The truth was, Taehyung felt like he was crawling out of his own skin, and a single wrong thing could send him into full scorched-earth mode, press conference mic in one hand, and a list of Jungkook’s emotional shortcomings in the other. 

Taehyung moved through his apartment in a daze, letting the plan unfold quietly and Jimin’s text confirmed the press conference was announced. Taehyung could see how Jimin’s team had thrown every contact they had at it when the headlines came fast and chaotic. 

KIM TAEHYUNG TO CONFIRM PREGNANCY AT 4PM. FATHER UNCONFIRMED. INSIDER CLAIMS IT’S NOT JEON JUNGKOOK. 

Within twenty minutes, every reporter camped outside his house had bolted toward the press room like moths to a brighter flame and the streets were nearly clear by 4:10 p.m. This was it, Taehyung thought. He didn’t waste any time as he hastily left through the back, a mask over his face, and slipped into the waiting car driven by one of Jimin’s trusted drivers. Taehyung had no bodyguards, no entourage, except his duffel, documents, and nerves which were stretched bloody fucking thin. The city blurred outside the window, and each passing block felt like a leap away from the life he was abandoning.

Mingyu’s apartment wasn’t far, it was a penthouse, discreet, and tightly secured just 20 minutes away from Taehyung’s apartment. Jimin had chosen well. Taehyung texted once from the car. Five minutes out. When he stepped into the lobby, Mingyu was already waiting by the elevator. Tall, impossibly confident, and wearing the expression of someone about to put on the performance of a lifetime.

“Well well well, if it isn’t the scandal of the season,” Mingyu said with a grin, eyes raking him over far too obviously.

“Don’t start,” Taehyung muttered, lips twitching in spite of himself. The nerves didn’t leave, but they shifted, and thinned into something that almost passed for amusement.

“Oh hell no. I’d be doing you a disservice if I didn’t at least acknowledge that you’re trending” Mingyu said, walking ahead of him with that infuriating, and unhurried swagger. “You look good,” he added as they stepped into the elevator. “Radiant. Pregnancy suits you.”

“Shut up,” Taehyung said, but he didn’t really mean it. He needed this. He needed someone to act like this wasn’t the worst day of his life. 

The elevator doors slid shut with a soft hiss behind them and Mingyu leaned against the mirrored wall, grinning like the devil himself. “You know, if this modeling thing doesn’t pan out, there’s always the reality TV arc. Scandalous omega gets knocked up by the richest alpha in the country and lives to tell the tale. I’d watch.”

Taehyung let out a short laugh, half a scoff, and half a breath of relief. “Dude you’re insufferable.”

“Granted but here I am nonetheless being your emotional support himbo,” Mingyu said, giving a mock bow. “Now. Where are we going, and how dramatic are we planning to be?”

“Zurich, or Italy” Taehyung replied, tugging his sunglasses down over his eyes. “Or somewhere quieter. I haven’t decided if I want glacial silence or a villa that aids and abets emotional repression, with a swimming pool.”

Mingyu clasped delightedly. “All excellent choices. How about we head to Zurich first and then to Italy? Do the whole cold and hot thing.”

Taehyung chuckled wryly, “What makes you think you’re tagging along? As far as I am aware, we part ways at the airport” 

Mingyu slid a hand over his heart dramatically. “Ooof. Cruel but okay. While we’re being honest, why was I the chosen one?”

“I called you because you don’t ask stupid questions.”

“And yet, I’m definitely about to.” Mingyu leaned closer. “Tell me this isn’t about him.”

Taehyung’s silence was an answer in itself.

Mingyu whistled low. “God. The grip this man has on you. Did he threaten to wife you up and lock you away in his big scary mansion now that you’re pregnant with his child?”

“I’m not running away because of Jungkook,” Taehyung said, voice tight.

“Of course not,” Mingyu replied smoothly and Taehyung cracked a reluctant smile.

They stepped into the sleek black car in the garage, and Mingyu gestured for the driver to head toward the private terminal in the airport. The silence stretched, and warmed with anticipation.

“You know,” Mingyu said, stretching his legs out and draping one arm along the back of Taehyung’s seat, “if I were your baby daddy, I wouldn’t be letting you fly halfway across the world looking like that.”

Taehyung raised an eyebrow. “Like what?”

“Like heartbreak personified. Honestly, it’s irresponsible of him and he should be so worried.” Mingyu tilted his head, pretending to ponder. “Actually, maybe he’s not showing up because he knows I’m here.”

Taehyung blinked. “You think he’s scared of you?”

“I’d be scared of me,” Mingyu said lightly. “I’m taller. Hotter. Less emotionally constipated.”

Taehyung snorted. “And you’re also delusional.”

“Maybe,” Mingyu said. “Okay let’s get you out of this country before Jungkook realizes how much better his omega looks next to me.” 

As they neared the airport, the swarm of reporters were already waiting with cameras, microphones, and shouted questions. Taehyung’s pulse spiked but the moment the car stopped, Mingyu’s hand found his back, gentle and anchoring.

“Just breathe,” Mingyu murmured. “Stay close to me.” And Taehyung did.

The second they stepped out, it began. A thousand flashes, voices overlapping, someone screaming his name, and someone else yelling, “Who’s the father?!” All the reporters clamored for a quote, a picture, and confirmation of the fabricated story.

Mingyu, however, was a professional. He wrapped an arm securely around Taehyung’s waist, and pulled him close. He moved with practiced ease, moving and saying nothing but exuding just enough possessiveness to convince the crowd. Mingyu played the role of a concerned, devoted alpha perfectly, shielding Taehyung from the clamor, his face a mask of resolute focus. Taehyung leaned into him tiredly, and the warmth of Mingyu’s body was a comforting shield against the chaos. He felt a fleeting sense of gratitude for Mingyu’s quick thinking and his willingness to step into this absurd charade.

At the tarmac the plane stood waiting, the stairs were lowered and Mingyu walked ahead slightly, protecting him still, head dipped toward Taehyung’s like they were sharing something private. They were two steps from the stairs when the quiet tension snapped suddenly, and Taehyung felt dread slice through him. 

There was a ripple of movement that didn’t belong to the press, and six men in dark suits broke through the barrier without badges or name tags. They didn’t shout as they moved with a quiet purpose, fanning out before the steps, between the plane and the reporters. Mingyu’s grip on Taehyung’s waist froze and tightened, fingers digging in just enough for Taehyung to feel the truth behind the gesture that this wasn’t a coincidence.

Taehyung didn’t have to be told who they were. His heart thudded once, hard and slow.

“Tell me,” Mingyu murmured under his breath, not quite a question, or an accusation. “That’s not your security detail, is it?”

Taehyung’s mouth went dry. “No,” he said, too quietly. “It’s his.”

And just like that, it was over. The stairs, the plane, and the clean line out of Seoul vanished before Taehyung’s eyes. Everything had been a setup. Jungkook had been watching him the whole time, probably with a glass of something expensive and the kind of smirk carved to humiliate. A polished cruelty, right down to the tilt of his jaw. Taehyung hadn’t slipped the leash, Jungkook had loosened it long enough for him to hang himself with it. 

This was not an escape, this had been a spectacle for Jungkook’s viewing pleasure. 

Of course he wouldn’t call, wouldn’t beg but he’d send people, move pieces and close off exits. Taehyung realized then, really understood that Jungkook wasn’t reacting to this like someone hurt. Jungkook wasn’t afraid of losing him, he was wholly amused by how fast Taehyung ran in circles only to end back up in the palm of his hand. 

Yoongi emerged from the cluster of Jungkook’s men, hands in the pockets of his long coat, and expression unreadable as always. Jungkook hadn’t sent his lackeys, he’d sent his second in command, and that meant Taehyung had already lost. He felt his stomach tighten the moment he saw him. 

Yoongi didn’t show up unless things were past the point of nicety. There was something ruthless in the way he moved, no wasted steps, no visible weapons, and yet every inch of the man promised consequence. He looked like he’d stepped out of a courthouse in a noir film, ready to play the judge, jury, and executioner. The worst part of it all was that Yoongi didn’t seem angry, only resolved like someone who’d warned you once, maybe even twice, and was done repeating himself.

He stopped a few feet from them, gaze flicking over Taehyung first, then settling on Mingyu like he was measuring the cost of keeping him alive.  

“Turn around,” Yoongi sighed, voice low. It was the kind of tone you'd use to tell someone the show's over. “You’re not boarding that plane.” 

“You must be Yoongi,” Mingyu said, eyes flicking over the other alpha’s coat like it personally offended him. “Jungkook’s mouthpiece in a nicer trench.” He smiled with teeth.

“You’ve got three seconds before I paint this tarmac with your spine and make it the cover of your posthumous album” Yoongi said conversationally.

Mingyu blinked, slow and unimpressed.

“Sorry,” Yoongi added with a mild shrug. “Boss’s orders. We’ve got precious cargo here, you see and Mr. Jeon doesn’t take kindly to people touching what’s his. Big scary alpha and what not.”

Taehyung’s heart stopped for a beat as the word ‘his’ hung in the air like the snap of a collar around his neck. It wasn’t a metaphor when coming from Jungkook’s second in command.

To his credit or misfortune, Mingyu didn’t flinch. “Your boss sounds like he has attention seeking issues,” he said smoothly. “Maybe have him call my therapist? She’s fantastic. Charges a bomb, but she’s got the best couch-side manner and she pulled me out of a funk just last year. It certainly helps that she’s easy on the eyes too.”

“Mingyu, shut up,” Taehyung snapped, voice low and strained, wishing he could reach over and press a hand to his mouth before his trash talk did more damage.

He knew Yoongi wasn’t bluffing. He was never dramatic, or one for flairs, and he certainly didn’t posture. He made threats the way other people gave weather reports, dry, and inevitable.

“All right, sweetheart.” Mingyu stepped back, raising his hands in mock surrender.

Taehyung turned to Yoongi. “You need to go back,” he said. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

Yoongi didn’t blink. “I’m afraid that’s not an option Taehyung. Jungkook wants you home.”

Taehyung’s jaw tightened. “We don’t have a home.”

Yoongi threw his head back, sighing. “Potato, potahto, Taehyung. He wants you back under his roof this instant, or so help him God.”

Taehyung scoffed, breath catching sharp. “Well, he should’ve thought about that before jerking me around.”

Yoongi’s voice was mild. “He’s thinking about it now.”

“That’s convenient.”

“So this little stunt of yours. You think that’s the kind of thing he misses?” Yoongi asked, gaze unreadable. 

“I think,” Taehyung said tightly, “that it’s the kind of thing he doesn’t get to control anymore. He cannot order me around forever, Yoongi. I made my decision and I’m not his responsibility anymore.”

Yoongi took a step closer and his voice softened, not out of kindness, but fatigue. “Taehyung, please humor me. I do not want to go back and tell Jungkook anything, much less the fact that I saw his omega gallivanting off into the sunset with Korean Zayn Malik.”

“Easy there, tiger,” Mingyu drawled, smirking again.

Yoongi turned around slightly. “I’ve seen corpses with more self-preservation than you man. I’d ask if you’re brave or brainless, but frankly, I don’t care. At this rate, I’m going to have to clean you off my shoes.”

“That’s enough,” Taehyung snapped. “You don’t get to threaten my friends like that.”

“Friend?” Yoongi raised a brow. “I thought he was the father of your unborn child?”

Taehyung winced. “Yes. That. Whatever.” He waved a hand like the words left a bad taste in his mouth. “Just go away Yoongi. I’m exhausted, I feel like I’m going to throw up, and if I don’t get a nap in soon, I’m going to start sobbing or biting people, and honestly, neither of us wants that.” His voice cracked just slightly. “And tell Jungkook the world doesn’t revolve around his goddamn ego. I played my part, I fixed the press, salvaged the damage, and scrubbed his name clean. He’s literally off the hook, so what else could he possibly want from me now?” Yoongi’s face didn’t change but his silence felt like a door locking. 

He studied Taehyung for a long second, really studied him. The pale exhaustion under his eyes, the stiff set of his shoulders, the way his hand kept unconsciously drifting to his lower stomach. He wasn’t just running, he was protecting and Yoongi could see that now, and under different circumstances, maybe he would’ve admired it but not today. “Look,” he said, voice lowering into something almost kind, “this doesn’t have to be a scene. You come with us quietly, and I’ll make sure no one touches you. I’ll even keep Jungkook off your back for a few nights if that’s what you want. Just don’t make him come down here himself, Taehyung. You know how that ends.”

Taehyung let out a quiet, humorless laugh. Not because anything was funny, but because it was either that or screaming his throat raw.

“You’re really dangling basic human decency like it’s a favor,” Taehyung muttered, eyes locked on Yoongi, mouth twisted into something between a sneer and a smile. “Like if I just behave, I get a few nights without being dragged across the coals. Wow. Be still my heart.” He let out a breath, quieter this time, and his posture sagged for just a second, barely noticeable unless you knew what to look for. 

“You think I don’t know what this is? I step into that car and I disappear, Yoongi. Just like that, into the silence and behind locked doors with Jungkook playing God while you hold the keys.”

He shook his head once, slowly. “I’ve been running on fumes for days,” he said, voice lower now. “I haven’t slept more than four hours in a row since the test turned positive. My bones hurt, my skin hurts and I wake up nauseous, and go to bed too tired to cry. And I’ve still managed to show up for Jungkook.” His hand came up to rub at the back of his neck, then dropped again like even that cost too much effort.

“I’m not asking for an awful lot, just space, some quiet, and the right to be fucking exhausted by everything that's been done to me.” He looked up, gaze sharp despite the weariness. “I’m so tired of being handled. You can tell him that or better yet, don’t. Let him come.”

Yoongi tilted his head slightly, as if he was disappointed more than annoyed. “You say that like you think he won’t.”

He paused, just long enough for it to be unsettling.

“He’s already impatient, Taehyung. And whatever version of quiet you’re hoping for? It ends the moment he realizes you’re not coming back on your own.”

“I’m not scared of him,” Taehyung lied.

Yoongi stared at him for a long second and then sighed. It wasn’t frustration. It was finality.

“You should be,” he said quietly.

Taehyung flinched, just a little like the words hit a bruise he hadn’t admitted was still there.

Yoongi folded his arms. “Not because he’s violent or cruel. You know he’s neither one of those things to you.” He tilted his head, voice barely above a murmur. “But because he never loses, not even to you.”

Taehyung looked away, swallowing hard. His fingers trembled slightly at his sides, but he tucked them into the sleeves of his coat like a child refusing to admit he was cold.

Behind them, Mingyu’s voice piped up with hesitant concern. “Hey I think you should -?” The sound was barely out before it was cut off. 

Taehyung didn’t register it at first because his eyes were still fixed somewhere beyond the tarmac, and glazed over in thought. Then there was a thud. Not too loud but distinct like a stack of books tipping off a shelf or something soft landing against the floor. Taehyung blinked and turned his head in confusion. Mingyu was crumpled on the floor and it took a second for Taehyung’s brain to catch up to what he was witnessing. Mingyu was laid out cold, and head turned awkwardly to the side. He wasn’t bleeding and there wasn’t a struggle but he was deathly still as if his consciousness had been quietly removed like a light switched off.

Yoongi straightened from where he’d crouched, his movements slow, and sleeves rolled up neatly like he’d just finished putting away a nuisance and not just incapacitated a man.

“What did you do?” Taehyung screamed and took a step forward, heart stammering in his chest.

“Relax,” Yoongi said. “He’ll be fine. I didn’t hurt him. He’s only sleeping for a bit.”

“A bit?” Taehyung’s voice cracked. “You knocked him out!”

Yoongi gave him a look, flat, and unrepentant. “He wasn’t part of the plan and I wasn't feeling very magnanimous today.”

Taehyung staggered a step, boot scraping the edge of the suitcase he carried. He looked at Mingyu again and suddenly, the world tilted sideways.

“You—” Taehyung’s throat felt dry. “You can’t just—he didn’t do anything—”

“I know,” Yoongi said quietly. “That’s why I didn’t break anything.” It wasn’t comfort or even cruelty. Just information.

Taehyung’s hand gripped his hair, knuckles white and his vision swam, with Mingyu’s unconscious form, Yoongi watching him, and Jungkook’s name ringing in his ears. The lights were too bright and the cold wind on his cheeks burned. The jet behind him seemed to groan quietly and twist into a panic alarm inside his skull. 

Taehyung’s stomach turned. Everything inside him was unraveling, and no matter how hard he gritted his teeth or clenched his fists, he couldn’t hold them together. Then the sound dropped out altogether and he didn’t notice it happening until it was already gone. The ambient hum of the runway, the low throb of the engines, and the wind. All of it dulled to a cottony nothing, like Taehyung’s head was being submerged in warm water. His vision grayed at the edges and his knees buckled without any warning. He tried to right himself, to shift his weight but his body didn’t respond. There was a whisper of air, a soft snap of his head lolling forward and then he was falling. Everything blinded out before his body even hit the tarmac and Yoongi caught Taehyung as he crumpled, lighter than expected, like someone already halfway worn out from the fight. 

He adjusted his grip silently, steady and practiced. Behind him, one of the men dragged Mingyu off the tarmac without ceremony, as instructed. Something about the way Taehyung’s head lolled against his shoulder made the back of his neck itch. He hated being the one to deliver Taehyung because he wasn’t just another name on a list. They had always had a good rapport, dry humor, easy rhythm, and the occasional late night drink when things got too loud. Yoongi respected him, even liked him in that quiet, infrequent way he reserved for people who didn’t demand too much and now here he was, carrying Taehyung like a problem. It sat wrong in his gut.

The car was already waiting at the edge of the tarmac, black and soundless. Yoongi slid into the back with Taehyung still unconscious against him. No one spoke and he gave a single nod to the driver, and stared out the window as the city slipped past, then gave way to the long, winding roads that led to the Jeon estate. He’d been to that house more times than he could count, but tonight the air inside the car felt heavier, like guilt trying to pass itself off as duty. It wasn’t his job to care, and yet he kept glancing down at Taehyung’s pale face and jaw clenched even in sleep like he might wake up halfway, and ask him why.

By the time the gates opened and the isolated and sprawling house came into view, Yoongi exhaled through his nose, steadying himself. He wasn’t afraid of Jungkook but he didn’t like the man Jungkook became when things stopped going his way. Possessive and controlled to the point of violence. Taehyung didn’t know what he’d walked into, not really and Yoongi had no intention of explaining it to him. He was just the messenger. The one who made sure everything stayed intact. That was what he told himself, anyway, as he carried Taehyung inside and handed him over to the house staff with the detached efficiency of a man dropping off an expensive package he never ordered.

But as Yoongi turned to leave, he hesitated, just for a moment because deep down, even he didn’t know what was going to happen next. Taehyung was the only person who could unravel Jungkook without even trying, the only one who could walk into a room and make that unreadable face shift, even slightly. And that made everything more volatile. Jungkook didn’t do feelings, he possessed, controlled, and calculated but Taehyung bypassed all of that. He got under his skin in a way no one else had. It wasn’t only love. It was something messier, more dangerous and Yoongi wasn’t sure if bringing Taehyung back meant Jungkook would cage him or worship him. Maybe both. Either way, it wouldn’t end cleanly because it never did with the people Jungkook cared about.

Yoongi paused at the threshold of the hall, the weight of his silence drawing Jungkook’s attention from the fireplace. The room was dim, quiet, and refined like everything Jungkook surrounded himself with. There was nothing soft, nothing vulnerable, only sharp lines and quiet power.

“He didn’t put up a fight,” Yoongi said after a beat, tone unreadable.

Jungkook didn’t look up. He was turning something small over in his hand, a cufflink, maybe, or a button from one of Taehyung’s coats. Something he'd kept.

“Didn’t expect him to,” Jungkook said.

“Seriously? You knew he wouldn't react well to anything but your acceptance, so what was the point of provoking him only to press your heel down? He is pregnant with your child Jungkook. Yours. And you answer to that with your clipped little dismissals. Tell me, are you proud of that or just too much of a coward to admit you wanted him on his knees?” Yoongi hissed, shoulder still tight from the phantom of Taehyung’s collapsed head. 

“Would you have let your omega tell the whole world he was pregnant with your child before he told you? And when you finally did hear from him, could you have offered him anything except resentment? Do I not have the right to be angry? While I am still processing the way he's betrayed my confidence, is it fair for my omega to disclaim me as the father of our child to the whole world and let some two bit alpha claim my title?” Jungkook regarded him silently, almost eerily calm, but his words coiled tight with menace, like a knife pressed flat against a throat.

Yoongi watched him for a moment longer. “What exactly are you planning to do with him?”

Jungkook glanced at him then, just briefly. “You brought him back. That’s all I asked for.”

“I did,” Yoongi said, voice low, “but that’s not an answer.”

Silence stretched between them. The kind that made people squirm but Yoongi didn’t. Jungkook moved slowly, deliberately, and placed the object down on the glass table in front of him.

“Since when did I need to explain myself, Yoongi?”

“You don’t,” Yoongi agreed. “But I’ve seen you ruin people for less than what he’s done. You are incapable of letting this slide, so you’ll forgive me for asking what the fuck this is.”

Jungkook finally looked up. His eyes were unreadable, and without a trace of doubt.

“What this is, Yoongi, is mine. Every betrayal, every lie, every bruise he leaves on my pride, still mine. And I don’t let go of what’s mine just because the world has an opinion. He thinks I’ll cage him? Maybe I will. He thinks I’ll break him? Maybe I’ll do that too. But he’ll never belong to anyone else as long as I am breathing” he said, voice soft but unyielding.

Yoongi didn’t flinch, but his jaw ticked, a clear sign of his simmering frustration.

“You’re insane Jungkook. You cannot cage something you don’t truly understand. And as long as we’re being honest, you cannot fathom all that Taehyung is and is capable of. Taehyung is not someone to be broken in and molded to your exacting standards. He is someone who outgrows every room built to contain him, including yours. So if I were you, I’d stop pretending you still have the upper hand and start praying you don’t become the cautionary tale he tells your child without ever saying your name. And for the record, this situation should never have spiraled the way it did. What Taehyung needed from you was assurance, not the uneasiness of knowing you did not approve or rejoice. Call it what you want but at the end of the day you're just tying your own hands and Taehyung will walk away, just like he always does when something stops deserving him. The only difference is that this time, he’s going to carve out a bigger piece than you can afford to lose, you fucking idiot.”

“Then let him walk,” Jungkook said, tone low and clipped, more iron than surrender. “Let him run, if he wants to but don’t stand there pretending like he’s some innocent thing I tried to chain up. You think I didn’t know what he was? I knew exactly who Kim Taehyung was when I touched him. I knew he’d make a mess of everything, and I let it happen anyway.” He stepped forward just enough to make the air feel heavier. “So no, Yoongi, I won’t pray, I won’t beg for someone who chose to burn this all down with me. And you’d do well to remember, he may walk away, but he always comes back and I’ll always take him back because there isn’t a world where Kim Taehyung doesn’t belong to me.”

Yoongi said nothing as he watched Jungkook disappear down the hall, the quiet echo of his steps colder than anything he could’ve said.

****** * ******

Jungkook pushed the door of his bedroom open without a sound, his palm lingering against the polished handle longer than it needed to. The lights were dim, filtered by the velvet curtains drawn tight across the tall windows and a haze hung in the air because of Taehyung’s scent. 

It began in violet leaf, sharp in the way a forbidden thought might first take shape, a little too intimate to ignore. There was nothing sugary or powdery about it, instead, it carried the clarity of something uncomfortably honest. Beneath that edge lingered the crystalline lilt of lily of the valley, delicate yet piercing. Jungkook remembered the first time he’d smelled it, and how it had made him stop mid-sentence, mid-thought, his body reacting before his mind could name the reason. 

From afar, Taehyung’s scent was elusive, hovering just out of reach like a memory you couldn’t quite name or something imagined in part, and remembered in part. As you drew closer, it began to resolve into something more distinct, like a night-blooming tuberose, potent and decadent, almost indecent in its sweetness. It curled through Jungkook’s lungs and tightened behind his eyes. He inhaled deeper than he meant to, like it was a compulsion, a thirst, and his punishment. Buried deeper still, and barely there, barely perceptible unless you were close enough to regret it, was the faint breath of blue lotus, subtle and rarefied. Unfathomable, otherworldly, and maybe what infuriated him most, because Taehyung made him want to reach for things he’d never cared to possess before. 

There was nothing easy about it, nothing that offered welcome, and yet, when aroused, the neroli that rested at the base of it all ripened into something deeper and more intoxicating, its citrus bite softened by the creamy fullness of magnolia petals. Jungkook wouldn’t call it sweet, but it was bold, almost brazen, and the kind of heat that drew the very air toward Taehyung. When Jungkook breathed it in, he felt it low in his spine, heat winding up, and curling possessively in his chest like an instinct cracking through bone. 

When Taehyung was angry, that warmth vanished completely. The violet leaf turned metallic, cold, and the freesia, once vivid and bright, dimmed into something brittle, and desiccated. There was no comfort in it then, only ominous warnings. But in those rare moments when he was at peace, always unknowingly, always in Jungkook’s presence, his scent transformed completely. It grew weightless, and unguarded like sunlight on washed linen. It didn’t cling, and linger but passed by, softened by the fragile ghost of orchid. It was not a scent that welcomed touch, but one that invited longing and then disappeared before you could name it.

Taehyung was asleep, sprawled sideways across Jungkook’s warm bed, his body curved protectively around his midsection, which although still slight had begun to show the earliest hints of a second life. The heavy duvet was kicked halfway off, his lips were parted, and his breathing shallow. Even from across the room, Jungkook could see the sheen of sweat on his skin, the pallor of his cheeks and the sharp lines of fatigue under his eyes. 

Taehyung’s face, usually vibrant and expressive, was pale and drawn. He looked like someone who hadn’t slept properly in weeks and there were dark smudges bruising the skin beneath his eyes. He was curled around one of Jungkook’s pillows, fingers white at the knuckles, nose buried deep into the cotton like he was trying to smother himself with it but Jungkook knew better. Taehyung was chasing his scent and comforting himself with it. Standing there, Jungkook couldn’t decide if the sight made him feel victorious or gutted.

Before anyone had brought him here and before the guards had even crossed the threshold of the estate Jungkook himself had stood in this room, and made sure the bed reeked of him. He had rubbed it into the sheets with his bare hands, pressed his face into the pillow Taehyung now clung to, even dragged his wrists along the seams of the mattress until the air was thick, and undeniably saturated with Jungkook’s scent. Let him breathe me in, Jungkook had thought as he worked. Let him know down to his marrow that this place belonged to him, and that he was in Jungkook’s domain.

When Jungkook reached the edge of the bed, he didn’t speak and just looked, and thought how dare he? The guilt came, yes but it was thin, wispy like something he could afford to ignore. And he would. What had Taehyung expected? That he would betray and deceive Jungkook in silence for weeks and now collapse pathetically in his sheets like nothing had happened? 

Jungkook’s gaze swept from the tufts of damp blond hair clinging to Taehyung’s forehead, down the shallow curve of his shoulder, and to the protective arch of his spine around his abdomen. He looked so fragile and yet no part of Jungkook could summon sympathy in the face of Taehyung’s deception. Jungkook's jaw tightened, a muscle ticking once, slow and deliberate, as if he were physically grinding down the edge of his fury to keep from acting on it. 

There was a storm just beneath his skin, but he kept it leashed, because letting it loose now would do nothing but wake the person he had every reason to be furious with and every instinct to protect. It wasn't the pregnancy or the public revelation and dissection of it. It was the lies, by omission it may have been, but lies nonetheless. Taehyung had said nothing and attempted to disappear from Jungkook’s life. Like he did not matter. Like what they had did not matter. 

He had let the media feed on him like rabid dogs, let his name rot in insulting whispers, let them call him a homewrecker, a fucking social climber and it had driven Jungkook mad with rage. 

They always delivered it with the thinnest veil of professionalism, just enough plausible deniability to avoid lawsuits, but not enough to hide the humiliation, degradation, and dismissal. They had turned Taehyung into a story, a scandal, and a punchline. The commentators dissected his photos like vultures picking clean the bones of a carcass, analyzing the lines of his face, the curve of his mouth, and the way he had looked at Jungkook during public appearances. The tabloids speculated on how long he’d been plotting it, as though carrying his child was part of some grotesque scheme for social elevation, as though Taehyung hadn’t earned his place at every table, like he’d ever needed Jungkook’s name to shine.

The anger didn’t come like a fire, it came like frost, and slipped into the gaps between his ribs, and filled the cavities where pity might have bloomed if things had been even slightly different. He sat close to Taehyung, without touching him. 

Jungkook refused to touch him with this much fury thrumming inside of him. He exhaled sharp and uneven, and forced stillness into his limbs. He waited for a few minutes, and then carefully reached forward, brushing a damp lock of hair behind Taehyung’s ear, watching silently as it clung to the curve of his lobe, caught by sweat. Jungkook’s fingers hovered just above the delicate skin, near the faint pulse at his temple, but they didn’t linger, afraid to disturb his deep slumber. 

Even in sleep Taehyung’s sweet scent lanced straight through Jungkook’s self-control and lodged somewhere behind his teeth painfully. He couldn’t help but lean in reflexively, his breath stirring against the wisps of hair on Taehyung's forehead, and for a moment he was transfixed. Jungkook held deathly still and inhaled deeply, letting the scent wrap around him like the underside of a throat before a bite, so intimately exposed, and begging for teeth. 

There was something savage surging up from the depths of his consciousness, avaricious, primal, and utterly devoid of mercy. It was the unmistakable call of gluttony, and the kind that obliterated thought or reason. His gums ached with the pressure of holding back, and his jaw locked, pulse hammering against the walls of his throat. Jungkook wanted to sink his teeth in, he wanted to draw blood, and then soothe the hurt with reverent lips only to paint the rest of Taehyung’s body with the bruises of his canines. He wanted the metallic tang flooding his mouth, the sweet salt of skin breaking under his greed, and the knowledge that Taehyung was his to consume, desecrate, and worship.

Before Jungkook had even realized what he was doing he had moved, breath catching as his lips poised just above the juncture where Taehyung’s neck met his slender shoulder. That curve, a delicate hollow of skin and vulnerability, was flushed damp with sweat and radiated warmth. The scent wafting from the moist flesh was exquisitely punishing, like it had been waiting to besiege him and Jungkook shuddered. It was the place where Taehyung’s essence lived the thickest and where it had soaked in weeks of unspoken want. Jungkook stayed there for a moment, unmoving, and breathing Taehyung in until he thought he might choke on it. 

Jungkook was paralyzed by the sheer violence of his desire and his thoughts dissolved into fragments of bite, taste, claim, and ruin. His body ached with the need to break skin, to anchor himself in the salt and copper of Taehyung’s blood, to leave proof that he had been here, and that Taehyung belonged nowhere else. The appetite was so sharp it was almost pain, and still it pulled him closer, stripping him of the last thin thread of restraint. 

Jungkook gave in and pressed his mouth to that glistening curve, slow and open, dragging his tongue across the heat of Taehyung’s skin with a deference that tasted every bit like hunger and depravity. Sweat and scent mingled on his tongue, delectable and undeniably Taehyung. 

The taste ignited something brutal in Jungkook’s chest, something that clawed its way up his throat until a rough, involuntary sound ripped from him, not quite a growl, or a breath, but something laden with want, and claim. Because Taehyung was his. His Omega. His chosen. Carrying his child and full of a life they created. It was proof of everything Jungkook had taken and everything he refused to give back. For one splintered second, all he could think was how close he had come to losing it and how the whole fucking world had almost succeeded in driving them away from him.

Jungkook drew back an inch, nostrils flared and his pulse pounded in his ears loudly. Taehyung’s scent clung to the back of his throat like smoke after a fire. It thickened and ached with familiarity, and Jungkook didn’t know how he’d ever let himself go without it for this long. He sat there trembling with restraint, jaw clenched tight and trying to calm the storm he had summoned all on his own because Taehyung was sleeping, and he was worn down to the bone, and whatever this was, had to wait until Taehyung could look him in the eye.

“You’ve made a mess of this,” Jungkook murmured, the words slipping from him with the weary calm of someone who’d spent too long simply feeling the anger. “But you’re not going to be the one to clean it up.”

Rising from the bedside with a smooth motion, Jungkook reached into the inner pocket of his tailored vest, fingers brushing the silk lining, and drew out his phone. The moment his thumb pressed against the screen, it came alive, three signal bars pulsing a deep green, and indicating a secure channel that was reserved only for his personal command network. Jungkook didn’t hesitate and the first call connected immediately.

“I want the obstetrics unit mobilized within the hour,” he said, voice clipped and laced with the unmistakable authority of a man who was never told no. “Ask for full spectrum specialists that run hormonal panels, assess vitamin deficiencies, cardiac stress factors, placental mapping, and neurological screening. I want no oversights. They’ll arrive by jet and land at HeliPad Three. Let Hoseok know to prepare a secure route to the estate.”

Without waiting for a response, Jungkook ended the call and immediately opened another line.

“Reach the Guild of Aromatic Healers,” he instructed, already pacing slowly back toward the window, where the world pulsed beyond the glass like a sleeping beast. “Inform them that Jeon Jungkook is invoking blood-oath confidentiality and that I require two of their verified scentline specialists. Nothing less than the best, and they need to be fully bonded.”

He paused for a single heartbeat, listening, and then exhaled quietly through his nose.

“I don’t care if they’re on a bloody retreat in the northern provinces or cloistered in a monastery, Secretary Choi. Charter an aircraft if you must and use my diplomatic routes to facilitate their travel. The paternity will be confirmed by scent before dawn.”

A third call followed.

“This is for Dae Pharmacy,” he said. “I need a tailored formulation for prenatal supplements that is aligned to Kim Taehyung’s profile. It’s already stored in your database and will be updated soon.”

When Jungkook finally lowered the phone, the air felt heavier, as if the sheer force of his decisions had changed the atmosphere itself. He turned back toward the bed, where Taehyung remained utterly still, his body curled around himself like some wounded creature trying to shield its most vulnerable parts from a world that had already done its worst and it struck Jungkook again, how fragile he looked like this. How defenseless. And yet, there was irony in that image, because Taehyung wasn’t fragile, not really. He had survived this long on his own, he had hidden the truth, endured the storm alone, and had the impudence to deceive Jungkook.

“You really believed you had to do this without me,” he muttered, voice low, but not without a trace of steel. “You fucking idiot.”

He lowered himself back to the edge of the bed, resting his forearms on his knees, and fingers loosely clasped. “I’m going to fix this,” he said, more to the dim air than to the man asleep before him. “Every word they said about you, every lie they printed, and every whisper they let fester will be repaid in full. I’ll make them beg to write retractions. I’ll make your name shine so brightly it’ll sear the tongues of anyone who dares to stain it again.”

His gaze drifted downward to the faint curve beneath Taehyung’s shirt, and for a moment, all the icy resolve in his voice cracked under something much softer, maybe wonder, or disbelief, and even, awe.

A sudden knock struck the door, snapping the moment in half and the door’s biometric lock gave a soft hiss before releasing. He straightened without a word, moving away from the bed in a subtle shift of his weight, and his spine held straight with the practiced ease of someone accustomed to commanding rooms far colder than this one. The scent of Taehyung still lingered on his lips, clinging faintly to the roof of his mouth, but he pushed it down, and buried it beneath a colder priority. 

The obstetrics unit entered in silence, four of them gliding into the room like a well-oiled machine, dressed in black uniforms with silver-banded sleeves, and their faces partially obscured by sterile, scent-neutral masks. They did not look around the room and they did not ask questions. They had been briefed to work swiftly, cleanly, and without chatter. There was precision in the way they moved, the kind of restraint reserved for clients whose reputations preceded them by more than mere title and Jeon Jungkook’s name didn’t require explanation in circles like theirs. It shaped policies, redirected funding, and silenced committees. His presence demanded a particular kind of stillness, born from fear and the awareness that a single misstep in his presence might not be corrected but might simply be erased.

At the front was Dr. Bae Nayoung, a renowned maternal fetal specialist whose discretion and efficiency were valued above all else by clients of Jungkook’s level. Dr. Nayoung bowed deeply and then moved straight to the bedside, her gloved hands already moving to the diagnostic interface on her monitors.

“We’ll begin with vitals,” she said, her tone brisk but respectful, her fingers dancing across the controls as a soft hum began to fill the room. “Temperature is slightly elevated, pulse is stable but slow. Let’s initiate a full panel to determine the cause.”

One of the attendants, a quiet Omega male with tattoos lining his forearms, knelt beside the bed and began attaching slim sensor pads to Taehyung’s wrists and ankles, his movements gentle and practiced. The contact drew a faint twitch from Taehyung’s brow, but he did not stir. His body, despite the touch, remained still, caught in a slumber that came from running on empty for far too long.

“Gestational age is measured between six and eight weeks,” announced another clinician, reading from the monitor. “Placental bond is secure and there is no evidence of detachment, calcification, or internal tension. Fetal heart rate is within optimal range.”

Jungkook remained silent, his arms crossed loosely over his chest as he stood just behind the lead physician, his gaze anchored to Taehyung’s sleeping form, and searching for the smallest sign of discomfort, pain, or awareness.

“However,” Dr. Nayoung continued, her voice taking on a measured edge, “the Omega’s stress index is significantly elevated and his Cortisol saturation is well above the safe gestational limits. His body’s been in a near constant state of adrenal activation, likely for weeks, if not longer.”

Jungkook’s jaw clenched slightly, though his voice remained perfectly level. “Has this impacted my Omega or child?”

“Not permanently, no,” Dr. Nayoung replied, eyes still fixed on her readings, “but I think an immediate intervention is necessary. His system needs to be calmed and reinforced with hydration, and nutritional absorption. His sleep cycle must be stabilized and regulated over the next seventy-two hours. I’ll prescribe a hormone balancing regimen that is calibrated to his results, and it will not overwhelm the pregnancy or tax the omega's organs.”

“We’re also introducing a slow-drip IV with tailored electrolyte support,” added one of the nurses, who was already preparing the line with practiced efficiency. “A light sedative has been included, non-invasive, safe for the fetus, and scent-neutral.”

Jungkook nodded once, not to acknowledge their skill, but to give permission for what was being decided. His presence was less an invitation and more an unspoken command. When the equipment had been positioned and the monitoring calibrated, Dr. Nayoung turned to face him fully for the first time, and her eyes were intelligent, and calm.

“We’ve also initiated hormonal scans,” she said carefully, as if aware that this next part required a different kind of discretion. “The fetal markers are genetically aligned with your DNA and the dominance has been confirmed in the preliminary readouts.”

Jungkook’s expression didn’t change. “Preliminary doesn’t interest me.”

She inclined her head. “Understood. The scentline verifiers are en route. Once their confirmation is complete, you’ll have absolute proof of paternity.”

His eyes flicked back to the bed. Taehyung’s breathing had deepened again, and his expression finally slackened into something that resembled true rest.

“You can leave,” Jungkook said quietly, without looking at her. “The equipment and monitors can remain in place. You’ll be called back when he wakes.”

The doctor hesitated just a moment, enough to register the finality in his tone, then bowed again and gestured to her team. Within seconds, they were packed and gone, the door whispering shut behind them as if it had never opened at all. The silence that followed was heavier than before, tinged now with the soft mechanical pulse of the monitors and the faint rhythm of Taehyung’s breathing blending into the low hum of the room.

The stillness held for only a few minutes more before it was interrupted again. Jungkook didn’t move from his seat, but his eyes flicked once towards the door, just as the lock disengaged with a smooth click, and the scentline specialists entered in a single file. They wore long robes dyed in muted slate gray, the fabric stitched with thin threads of copper and bone, a traditional pattern, identifying them not just as practitioners but as consecrated verifiers, bonded by blood oath and memory. Their faces were unobscured as they did not believe in masking. To them, the nose was sacred.

There were two of them, as requested. One of them was an older man, tall and reed-thin, with white hair braided into a single knot down his spine and an angular face etched with a thousand furrows that spoke of years immersed in scent records. The other was a woman, younger, with her hair slicked back into a high knot, her eyes sharp and dark as obsidian. Both of them stopped two paces inside the room and bowed deeply. Jungkook rose slowly, gaze cool, and gestured once to the bed without speaking.

“He sleeps?” the older verifier asked, voice smooth.

“Yes,” Jungkook replied. “He is exhausted and under medication.”

They nodded in unison.

“We will begin.”

The woman moved first, approaching the bed without hesitation, her steps light and near silent. She did not touch Taehyung. Instead, she bent slowly over the space above his shoulder, where the blanket had fallen just low enough to reveal the hollow of his throat and the rise of his collarbone. Her nostrils flared once, then again, more deeply, as she inhaled in slow, controlled pulls. The scent of Jungkook’s mark saturated the bed, of course and it hung in the air thick as fog, but she ignored it, and focused instead on what lived deeper, beneath skin, within blood, and inside the molecular echo of the child nestled low in Taehyung’s abdomen. She leaned in closer, breathing low over Taehyung’s side, her body going still in the trance-like concentration that came from trained scent dissection. The room was absolutely silent, and at last, she straightened.

“He carries,” she said, her tone flat with finality. “The fetus carries your scent. Your genetic marker is dominant.”

The man stepped forward next, repeating the same motions, though his inhalations were slower, more methodical, as if parsing not just lineage but temperament, and emotional resonance. After a long moment, he turned to Jungkook.

“There is no ambiguity,” he said. “The child he carries is yours.”

Jungkook didn’t speak right away. He let the truth settle in the room like weight dropped into water, undeniable, and shifting everything beneath the surface. It wasn’t that he’d doubted. Every part of Jungkook had already known and his instincts had screamed it from the moment he had stepped into his bedroom. But instinct wasn’t enough. Not in Jungkook’s world. He hadn’t ordered these tests for confirmation but for proof because there was no guarantee that Taehyung, when he finally awoke, wouldn’t try to push him away again and lie through his teeth to protect what he thought needed protecting. There was no guarantee, none at all, that Taehyung wouldn’t look him dead in the eye and claim that the child wasn’t Jungkook’s in some desperate attempt to keep him out of their lives whether out of fear, resentment, or just to punish Jungkook in the only way that would truly land. 

“I want a certification issued under oath,” Jungkook said over his shoulder. “Sign it, seal it, and send it to my legal team within the hour. No leaks and if any trace of this reaches the outside world before I release it myself, I will destroy the Guild. Completely.”

“You will have your certification,” the man replied. “Bound and sealed within the hour.” With that, the two verifiers bowed again, this time lower, and silently departed.

He lifted Taehyung’s hand slightly, turning it over in his palm, thumb brushing over the delicate veins just beneath the skin. Now there would be no lies, no headlines that the child belonged to anyone else but him. Jungkook hadn’t needed the test to believe it, he had needed it to own it, and to make sure that, no matter what Taehyung tried to say or claim, Jungkook would never be written out of this child’s life. Not by accident or choice.

Jungkook stood at the window once again, eyes fixed on the estate walls, and the phone pressed to his ear. The silence between rings didn’t bother him, he wasn’t in a rush anymore. The storm had already started. When Jin answered, Jungkook didn’t waste time on greetings.

“Every single outlet that ran a headline against him,” he began, voice low and composed, but sinister in that way it only got when violence wasn’t just an option, but an inevitability. “I want them taken apart piece by piece until there’s nothing left. I don’t care how big they are, who backs them, or what it costs. I want them bleeding from the mouth before they even realize we’ve moved.”

There was a pause on the other end, then the quiet sound of Jin exhaling. “You mean discredited?”

“No hyung,” Jungkook said flatly. “I mean destroyed. I want full acquisition strategies drafted by morning. Start with the smaller ones first, the gossip columns, the social media syndicates, the back-alley digital rags that survive off ad clicks and controversy. Strip their funding, pull advertising from every corporation with even a sliver of our holdings, get their traffic flagged and pull search priority. Smother their reach until their analytics drop below the threshold for survival, and then bury them in lawsuits they can’t afford to litigate, let alone survive.”

There was another pause, longer this time.

“And when they’re gasping, when they’re selling office chairs on auction sites and laying off interns just to keep their lights on, I want you to offer buyouts. Minimal, inconsequential, and scrap-everything-but-the-license kind of offers. Then shut them down and erase the name.”

He exhaled once, slowly, and quietly, a finality in the gesture.

“Then we move to the larger networks. The ones who thought their reach made them untouchable, the ones who paraded half-truths as journalism and masqueraded conjecture as credibility. We’ll start with legal, go in hard with libel, slander, and defamation Every inch of baseless rhetoric they spewed will be dragged into courtrooms and dissected in front of judges, and shareholders alike. There will be no settlements or negotiations. I want them dragged through the very filth they tried to throw on his name. And while the lawsuits choke them in red tape, we’ll leak what they never wanted public, their internal memos, emails, off the record directives that show just how intentional their smear campaign was and we’ll make their own anchors question their loyalty, and turn them against each other until the rot shows on air. When the chaos starts to splinter their organization, we freeze their financials from the outside, target accounts through our backchannels, halt payrolls, and disrupt investor confidence until their stock nosedives so hard they can’t breathe without us giving them permission.”

He paused for a fraction of a second, only to set the last piece in place.

“Get Namjoon hyung to push something aggressive through the overseas shell companies. It doesn’t matter what it looks like on the surface, play it as a hostile acquisition attempt, a regulatory audit, a breach in their data pipeline, just something loud enough to attract federal scrutiny and slow enough that the damage can seep in before anyone even knows who pulled the trigger. I want it to look like the world is caving in on them, and I want them to think it’s their own fault.”

“Understood,” Jin said quietly. “All of them?”

“All of them,” Jungkook repeated. “If they so much as printed his name next to a question mark, they’re done.”

He glanced toward the bed, where Taehyung still slept beneath the heavy duvet, skin pale beneath the weight of sedation, a quiet rise and fall to his chest.

“No one gets to touch him like that and walk away,” Jungkook said, more to himself now. 

Then, a soft chuckle crackled through the line. The sound of soft jazz filtered through wherever he was, some place full of people who didn’t realize they were standing next to the man who once orchestrated the collapse of an entire media dynasty over canapés.

“I’ll start with the columnists. They’re the easiest, paper-thin loyalties and full of secrets they think no one bothered to record. A scandal here, a sudden leak there, maybe a well-timed whistleblower claiming editorial bias. Give them forty-eight hours and they’ll be too busy clawing at each other to remember how to spell Taehyung.”

He swirled something in a glass, his voice lifted, pleased, and almost melodic.

“The larger networks will require more finesse, but not much. I’ve already had Namjoon send me their backend vulnerabilities this evening just in case you woke up murderous.”

His tone dipped, not dark, but conspiratorial, like a friend sharing the best part of the story.

“I’ll plant a narrative suggesting internal fraud, nothing provable, of course, but enough to shake their investors. I’ll have at least two anchors resign by next Thursday, citing ‘creative differences,’ and someone’s assistant will have a nervous breakdown in a very public restroom. The shareholders will start sweating, the board will panic and when their PR teams finally look up, we’ll already own the servers they’re typing on.”

There was a pause, and a hum.

“Oh, and if anyone grows bold enough to fight back, I’ll remind them gently that I still have the recordings from that retreat in Marbella. The ones with the pills, the underage omegas, and the particularly unfortunate audio bite about how some bodies just aren’t built for consent.”

Another sip and Jin smiled, though Jungkook couldn’t see it.

“Don’t worry, Jungkook. By the time I’m done, they won’t just retract, they’ll kneel, and beg for forgiveness.”

****** * ******

When Taehyung came to, it was like surfacing from deep underwater, slow, disoriented, and weighted down by something far heavier than tiredness. His breath lodged thickly at the back of his throat, dry and coarse, as if he’d been inhaling dust for hours. His heartbeat throbbed behind his eyes, a dull but persistent ache that pulsed in sync with the pounding in his temple. Every beat landed like a warning and he grimaced, muscles tightening in protest, as he fought to pull himself further into consciousness.

His skin felt wrong, clammy and coated in the lingering grime of old sweat and something more intangible, like his very self had been handled too roughly, left bruised, and wrung out. There was a deep fatigue nested in his bones, and Taehyung felt tampered with, as if someone had spent the night dismantling and rebuilding him with parts that didn't quite fit. He didn’t know how else to describe it because this sickness felt elemental, and woven into the very essence of his being. He was feverish without the heat, tender without the bruises, like there were only symptoms and a shadow that clung to everything. Beneath it all, there was a sharp hunger gnawing at the pit of his stomach like he’d missed several meals instead of just one.

It had been like this for weeks now. Every morning or whatever time of the day his body decided counted as morning, he woke up to the same grim parade of symptoms. There was the dragging, deadened exhaustion, followed by a profound weariness that seemed to cling to his very bones. Then came the dry heaving that wrenched nothing but bile from an empty stomach, and the acidic tang that clung to his throat for hours after. But today was different in one small, and strange way. 

There was no nausea waiting to ambush him, no immediate trip to the sink or toilet, only the lack of energy and a hunger that felt oddly urgent. Still, it wasn’t the hunger that finally forced Taehyung to move, it was the headache. That deep, relentless pressure behind his eyes, as if someone had lodged a ticker in his skull. He knew that this particular torment wouldn't simply let up on its own. It sought attention, as it signaled that his body, in its own cryptic way, was demanding something from him.

Taehyung didn’t need to open his eyes to know exactly where he was, the air itself gave it away, that warm, unmistakable scent that clung to everything in this room was Jungkook’s. It was all around him, saturating the sheets, the pillows, the duvet, and his very skin in an achingly familiar way. He inhaled resentfully and the scent slid into his lungs like a balm. 

His headache was still there, dull and dogged, but the edges of it had softened, blunted slightly by the involuntary comfort blooming through his chest. His nausea, the bone-deep lethargy, and the clinging disorientation hadn’t left, but they had retreated just enough to be unnoticed momentarily. And all it had taken was a whiff of Jungkook’s scent, like a druggie getting his fix. 

The room was a familiar landscape of muted grays and deep blues, a carefully curated blend of design. The low platform bed sat in the center, covered in slate-gray sheets and a dark wool throw folded at the foot. Taehyung remembered, with a kind of distant clarity, how he had once nested here before one of his heats, pulling extra blankets from the linen closet without asking, dragging Jungkook’s oversized hoodies and pressed shirts across the mattress simply because it smelled stronger than the pillows. He’d arranged everything into an endearing pile, layering soft textures and familiar scents, until the space felt just slightly less uninhabited, and slightly more his. Jungkook had watched from the door at the time, saying nothing, offering nothing, but not stopping him either and that quiet permission had meant more than Taehyung would ever admit. 

It was ridiculous, how well he remembered all of it, how intimately familiar this space was even though he had sworn he wouldn’t come back. And yet here he was, back in Jungkook’s bed, in Jungkook’s space, and under Jungkook’s hold. His so-called plan, his oh so carefully calculated escape had not only failed, but had failed in such a spectacular fashion that he had somehow ended up wrapped in the very arms he had tried to outmaneuver. The irony stung. 

Taehyung gritted his teeth and shifted slightly, but even that small movement came with consequences and Jungkook’s arm, slung over his middle, tightened instinctively, a small unconscious tug that only deepened the embrace and the longing that came with it. Taehyung hated this, hated how easily Jungkook’s presence breached all his defenses, how the scent of him could lower his guard faster than reason ever could, and how his own biology seemed complicit in responding to Jungkook’s nearness like it meant something safe, and comforting. 

It was maddening the way Jungkook’s arm fit around him, heavy and sure, like it had always belonged there. The way his hand, calloused from strength and too many hours of training, now rested so gently over Taehyung’s bare stomach. Jungkook’s fingers splayed instinctively in a protective curve and it made something inside Taehyung unclench, a tight knot of tension that he hadn't realized he was holding. 

Jungkook’s breaths moved against the back of his neck, warm and damp exhales on overheated skin. Each one pulled a line of goosebumps up his spine, even as the heat of Jungkook’s body seeped into him from behind, steadily, and inescapably. Taehyung had always liked the weight of him, and the way it grounded him. The certainty of Jungkook’s body pressed along his own, the solid line of Jungkook’s chest at his back, the cradle of his hips against the curve of Taehyung’s ass, and the way their legs tangled naturally without either of them needing to think about it was gratifying. Taehyung’s body betrayed him with a dumb, traitorous pleasure at being held exactly like this, like he was wanted, like Jungkook already knew, and had no intention of letting go.

His scent was everywhere, curling into Taehyung’s senses with a quiet insistence that made it impossible to ignore. It was the bitter tang of bark that clung to trees long after the rain had passed. It was the fresh, almost overwhelming rush of leaves unfurling after a storm, alive and on the verge of something. Beneath it all ran a steady undercurrent of damp earth, like the forest floor after a downpour, like the forest itself had wrapped around him, and pulled him into its arms, and settled him into its heart. 

Jungkook didn’t just smell like nature, he smelled like the moment just before it bloomed into something irreversible. The more Taehyung breathed it in, the more he realized how much he had needed it, how deeply he had missed it, how his body, tense and battered from days of restlessness and sickness, and self-inflicted exile, seemed to unlock at the presence of that scent. How it wasn’t just a comfort, but a quiet anchor in his chaos. A reminder of something real, and something that made sense in a world that, lately, had begun to twist around itself.

Alphas always smelled too artificial to Taehyung, too sharp, and staged, like they’d been doused in something designed in a lab to seduce instead of connect. Even the ones who smelled passably natural lacked the nuance and were just loud, predictable, and blunt instruments. 

Jungkook had always been different. His scent was layered, subtle, and endlessly shifting. He didn’t broadcast it, he inhabited it, like a second skin and it had taken Taehyung far too long to understand it. At first, he’d mistaken Jungkook for something typical, pine needles or deep cedar, maybe. Strong, earthy, and common. But the longer he spent around him, the more time he’d lingered in his vicinity, the more he realized how wrong that assumption was. Jungkook’s scent didn’t sit still, it evolved, responded, and conjured within Taehyung the feeling of arriving somewhere without ever having left.

When Jungkook was aroused, it deepened into something innate, like raw and intoxicating petrichor, the kind of smell that came only after the first hard rain of summer, when the earth gasped and opened itself up. That mineral tang of wet soil became so rich, so visceral, it made Taehyung’s mouth water, made his instincts pulse with want. In those moments, he wanted to press his face against Jungkook’s throat and breathe him in until there was nothing left but that storm soaked scent. He wanted to taste it on his tongue, drag it into his lungs, and somehow imbibe it into his very cells.

When Jungkook was angry, the scent sharpened cruelly. It twisted into the acrid edge of burnt wood, damp ash, and the coppery scent of churned earth beneath a violent storm. It pressed down on everything, suffocating in its intensity, like thunder waiting just beyond the next breath and Taehyung hated that version of it. Not because it scared him but because it felt like watching something wild and untouchable be poisoned from the inside.

But when Jungkook was pleased, in those rare, golden moments. When the edges of his mouth softened and his eyes smiled before the rest of him caught up, his scent transformed entirely. It became a heap of sun warmed pine needles, and the rich, damp earth giving way to something new. Threaded through it all was a note of wild honeysuckle Taehyung could never quite anticipate. It was dizzyingly sweet, and bright enough to make his chest ache. That was his favorite because it was rare, real, and it was Jungkook stripped of the weight he so often carried, tinged with joy and stillness. Now wrapped in that scent, and wrapped in Jungkook, Taehyung was confusingly exuberant. 

Taehyung didn’t know exactly when it had started, when he had stopped letting Jungkook leave the house without first scenting him, when he began insisting that every shirt, every coat, every scrap of fabric Taehyung owned had to carry Jungkook’s scent. At some point in time, it had become a thoughtless routine, with a shirt draped over the back of a chair after a meeting, a hoodie placed at the foot of Taehyung’s bed before he left, or a worn coat pressed into his arms during a tense day, and it wasn’t just comfort. It was his solace, and his undoing.

His nest back home was more Jungkook than himself now. His very essence woven into the blankets, the sheets, the hoodies Taehyung refused to wash. Jungkook was the anchor in the room even when he wasn’t there. His scent lingered in the air, in the fibers, and in Taehyung’s lungs perpetually. Taehyung hadn’t realized how dependent he had become until one week Jungkook left for a work trip, and the scent began to fade. By day three, Taehyung was unraveling at the seams. He had cried shamefully and called Jungkook’s phone in a wrecked voice at strange hours, trembling, unable to sleep, and unable to rest. Begging, not even for Jungkook himself, but just something that smelled like him. Taehyung’s voice had gone raw with longing and his hands had shook. Jungkook had been furious when he came back. He’d walked through the front door tense and cold-eyed, mouth tight with irritation. His trip had been cut short, deals paused, important people put off, and staff scrambled to adjust, but he stayed. Like he always did.

Even now, lying in the familiar chill of Jungkook’s bed, Taehyung couldn’t help it and his body acted on its own volition. He burrowed his face into the nearest pillow, pressing it tightly to his nose, and dragged in the scent like it could undo all the time spent apart. He inhaled until his lungs ached. Taehyung didn’t know how he had ever convinced himself he could stay away. Especially now. while he was pregnant, and his body too raw and yielding. Every nerve flared with need and his skin prickled with over sensitivity. Taehyung’s emotions flooded without warning, and through it all, his instincts screamed for Jungkook. For his scent, for the presence that soothed the relentless panic that crept in during the nights alone. 

Taehyung had taken so many breaths since waking that it felt like he’d sucked all of Jungkook’s scent from the room and still wanted, no, needed more because somehow Jungkook’s scent was washing away the weeks of sickness, pain, fatigue, one breath at a time, and Taehyung wasn’t sure whether to resent that or accept it.

Taehyung stared at the dark coffered ceiling feeling equal parts relieved, angry and defeated. He shifted slightly, careful not to wake Jungkook up. The room was still dim, the soft light from behind the headboard tracing the shapes of their bodies without pushing away the quiet. Slowly, he turned his head on the pillow until his gaze landed on Jungkook’s face. He was still asleep, breath slow and even, full lashes resting against the tops of his cheeks. His dark hair, slightly tousled from sleep lay in soft strands across his forehead, some brushing against his brow. It had probably been neatly styled that morning. He always wore it in a center part that framed his face cleanly, letting his natural structure show through. Even mussed, the hairstyle suited him. There was a faint crease between his brows, as if his body hadn’t quite let go of whatever tension it had carried into sleep. His lips were full and naturally downturned at the corners, giving his expression an unintentional seriousness even now. Taehyung didn’t reach out, he didn’t need to, being close like this and just looking was enough. There was a time when he would’ve rushed to fill the silence with touch or words. Now he simply lay there, eyes tracing the man who had somehow become both constant and complicated in his life.

Taehyung studied him in silence, his eyes moving over familiar features without urgency. The curve of his nose, the strong line of his jaw softened by sleep was all familiar, but never dull. Taehyung had looked at that face, across tables, across rooms, from under him, over him, on television, in dreams, but it still enraptured him somehow. Jungkook was beautiful and he wondered if Jungkook knew how easily his face held onto other people’s attention. How often it stayed with them after he left, and how it stayed with Taehyung ceaselessly.

Taehyung had always known Jungkook wasn’t someone people crossed lightly. You don’t get called the Titan of Trade, or sit at the top of one of the world’s most powerful conglomerates, and rule the upper echelon of the financial food chain without a certain kind of presence and reach. But Taehyung hadn’t understood the full extent of it, of who Jungkook truly was until someone else had told him. It had been a passing conversation over lunch with an old friend who read business pages the way others read gossip columns and they had casually dropped Jungkook’s name in the same breath as heads of state, and muttered something about “the youngest major oligarch on record” and “that port scandal in Busan that quietly disappeared.” Taehyung had nodded along without reacting, but the words stayed with him. 

Jungkook’s name rarely appeared negatively in headlines, and when it did, it was controlled and deliberate. Articles read more like curated profiles than reports, filled with vague praise, unchallenged quotes, and sanitized data. There were no scandals, no direct accusations, no whispers that stuck. If anything questionable did surface, it vanished just as quickly, and was absorbed into the void of silence. 

Jungkook didn’t need to raise his voice or make threats. His influence wasn’t loud, but it was understood. People moved when he wanted them to because they knew better than to stand in his path, because he made things happen without announcing it and because in rooms that mattered, his name didn’t need to be spoken for it to shift the outcome.

Jungkook’s influence stretched further than Taehyung could ever fully grasp, and he never pretended otherwise. He didn’t ask questions, and Jungkook never offered answers. There was a double edged epiphany to that knowledge, one Taehyung didn’t like to examine too closely. It wasn’t fear, not exactly but something adjacent, and remarkably close to instinct, the one that tells you to not touch the fire even if you’ve never been burned. An awareness that the man he slept beside, and whose arm curled around him so casually, operated in a world where consequences looked very different. It was just easier not to think about it.

He’d never googled Jungkook. Not even once. Not even out of idle curiosity. He avoided being in the same room when Jungkook took business calls and if the Jeon Consortium board members came to the house, Taehyung always found a reason to excuse himself, sometimes upstairs, sometimes into the garden, sometimes into a book he suddenly remembered needing to finish. He didn’t hover and neither did he listen in. He’d never touched Jungkook’s phone either, not even when it buzzed on the nightstand or flashed with unfamiliar names, because he wasn’t sure he’d like what he found. And more importantly, he didn’t want to find out. 

It was plain and simple really, Taehyung didn’t want to be culpable or complicit even in the remotest sense of the word, and Taehyung certainly did not want to bear the burden of his inflamed conscience. Life was already hard enough trying to live on the straight and narrow, but to assign responsibility to himself over Jungkook’s moral or ethical or financial transgressions was too much and well more than he was willing to manage. There was a line, and Taehyung had chosen to keep it there and that was self-preservation.

He knew what kind of man Jungkook was in the public eye. He didn’t need the specifics to fill in the rest. So Taehyung had consciously decided that for his own peace of mind he would stay in the space Jungkook made for him and not reach beyond it. Not out of helplessness, but because knowing more wouldn’t change anything and might only make things harder. Sometimes, there was comfort in not knowing and letting things stay uncomplicated where they could.

But what happened today at the tarmac had given Taehyung a taste beyond what he had bargained for and given him a glimpse of the world Jungkook lived in, one far beyond what he’d allowed himself to imagine. One moment, Mingyu had been standing beside him, confused but calm, and the next, he was on the ground, unconscious. Yoongi had done it without hesitation, without even looking like it cost him anything. As if knocking a man out in broad daylight was as mundane as shutting a door.

There hadn’t been a flicker of remorse on Yoongi’s face, just inherent efficiency and Taehyung had no doubt that, had he not fainted from the sheer shock of it all, Yoongi would’ve used the same force on him, with just as little hesitation. He would’ve gotten Taehyung into that car and out of that plane, unconscious if necessary. That realization stayed with him, heavy and cold. It wasn’t just the violence that bothered Taehyung, it was the fact that Jungkook had allowed it.

Taehyung had always known, at least intellectually, that parts of Jungkook’s world didn’t operate within the boundaries of law or diplomacy. The Jeon Consortium didn’t rise to its position through soft power alone. There were deals brokered in backrooms with the amount of nefariousness a normal person would be scared witless by, problems made to disappear, influence was bought, sometimes taken and sometimes sold. It wasn’t something people spoke about openly, but anyone with sense knew how power at that level sustained itself.

Taehyung knew all of that. But the thing was, he had chosen to live around it, not in it.

And so he’d been shocked. Not by Yoongi’s actions alone, but by what they revealed. That Jungkook had given him permission for this, that somewhere, in some private conversation, Jungkook had told Yoongi to use whatever methods were necessary and that violence was not an accident, but a contingency plan. What stung more than the force itself was the abject indifference it was steeped in.

There had been other ways to reach him. Had Jungkook wished, Jungkook could have called, could have shown up in person, sent the reporters away, and asked him to talk. He could have admitted he reacted poorly, and apologized or begged even, if it came down to that for being a ginormous jerk. Taehyung might not have forgiven him, not immediately because it wasn’t in his nature, but he would have listened and they would have spoken, not dragged each other through the harrowing ordeal that was today.

But Jungkook hadn’t done any of that. Instead, he had let Taehyung believe he was in control, that he was making the right choices to protect himself and the baby, and that he had no choice but to do this alone. Jungkook had waited until the very last possible second to remind him in no uncertain terms that he was never really the one holding the reins and Yoongi had been the one to deliver that message.

The fact that Jungkook had done it at all infuriated Taehyung to a level he found hard to put into words. It wasn’t just the act but the message behind it. The deliberate disregard. Taehyung felt disrespected, talked over, and handled. And if there was one thing Taehyung had never responded well to, it was being condescended to. No matter who it came from. He had endured enough of that in his life with people treating him as if he didn’t know what was best for himself, and as if all his choices needed correction. Jungkook knew that. Knew exactly how Taehyung felt about those lines and where they were drawn, and yet, he had crossed them anyway. It was worse that he had crossed them because he could, because he had the means, the people, the power to do so without resistance, and mostly because somewhere along the way, Jungkook had convinced himself that Taehyung needed to be shown, not reasoned with. That he had to be taught something and that stung the most.

If Jungkook had come to him in anger, Taehyung would have accepted it and if he had been hurt, Taehyung would have listened because he had caused that hurt, and he wasn’t blind to it. Taehyung had been prepared for a massive fallout because that is how one reacted to a situation where their partner kept them in the dark about a life changing event, but what Jungkook had done was eliminated Taehyung’s choices instead of confrontation and in doing that, he had taken away any understanding Taehyung might have offered him. Now all that was left inside of him was the cold aftermath of a move made to punish and Taehyung had no intention of rewarding that with acceptance or dismissal. 

Above all, Taehyung didn’t like that he and Jungkook hadn’t defined what they were yet. There had been no illuminating conversation, no explicit promises exchanged, and no actual sign of permanence beyond their constant proximity. He wasn’t expecting a ring or a grand romantic declaration, but the absence of even a simple acknowledgment that they were in this together, that they were for real, that they were more than just two people caught in an unspoken arrangement, left Taehyung feeling unsettled and anxious. What they had felt too vague, too insinuated, especially now that everything had changed and Taehyung needed more than gestures, more than assumption. 

Jungkook had responded terribly once the pregnancy came to light. He had simply claimed their child and, by extension, Taehyung, and decided they would both be under his care moving forward. He hadn’t bothered allowing space for Taehyung to weigh in, as if his opinion did not matter and as if decisions about them would be made regardless of whether Jungkook had Taehyung’s consent or not.

If they were going to raise a child together, if they were going to build a life that included late nights, scent-marking blankets, heat proofing their home for safety, remembering every check-up, and talking through scent-triggered tantrums, and everything in between, Taehyung needed to know that Jungkook actually wanted that future. That Jungook wanted him in it and not just as a solution to a situation they hadn’t planned for. He needed to hear from Jungkook that Jungkook saw him as a partner, and not just a responsibility. That he wanted this life with Taehyung, and did not just feel obligated to step in because it already hurt knowing the pregnancy had been an accident, and it hurt more to wonder if Jungkook’s involvement came from a sense of duty rather than desire, love or concern. Taehyung would be understandably crushed if Jungkook was doing all of this because it was expected of him, and because it was the right thing to do. 

Taehyung’s mood instantly soured and he clawed at Jungkook’s hands still around him, unyielding, and heavy across his waist. The weight of it made something snap in him.

“Let go,” he growled, fingers digging into Jungkook’s wrist, trying to pry it off. “Get off me.”

Jungkook stirred with a low, sharp inhale, blinking blearily into the dim light. “What…?”

But Taehyung was already pulling harder, twisting in his hold like a trapped animal. The sudden violence of it made Jungkook sit up, displeasure sharpening his face.

“What the hell is going on Taehyung?” he asked, voice rough from sleep.

“You’re a fucking bastard,” Taehyung snapped, voice louder than it should’ve been in the stillness of the room. “You think you can do whatever you want, and I’ll just let you?”

He tried to slide off the bed, but Jungkook moved faster. Jungkook hooked one arm around his middle and dragged him back into the bed in an effortless motion, his startling strength, a stark reminder of how little Taehyung could do physically against Jungkook when the freakishly formidable alpha decided something.

Taehyung yelped embarrassingly and shoved at Jungkook’s broad chest with both hands, struggling harder while screaming, “Don’t you fucking touch me, you fucking asshole!”

However Jungkook was already on top of him, pinning him down with his heavy body. Jungkook’s actions were neither painful nor hurtful, but they were obvious in that unyielding way which made it very clear he wasn’t going to let Taehyung leave. His solid knees bracketed Taehyung’s flailing thighs, and his calloused palms planted on either side of Taehyung’s shoulders on the mattress. Jungkook wasn’t restraining him with any real effort, and he didn’t need to, the look on his face said a thousand words.

His eyes were still sleep-warmed but narrowing by the second as they locked onto Taehyung’s, and Taehyung’s stomach dropped. He knew that look, knew what it meant and immediately understood what Jungkook was considering. His scent was already shifting slightly and there was the faintest change in the air, a low ripple of misplaced calm starting to bleed into the room. Taehyung’s body felt it before his brain fully registered it and he stiffened. There was buzz right beneath his skin that hadn’t been there before, an involuntary dip in his breath, a senseless pull to go still and pliant. It was an instinctive urge to slacken and relinquish his awareness, and it downright infuriated him. The fucking audacity of this knot head.

Taehyung’s voice dropped to a sharp, dangerous whisper. “I swear to God, Jeon Jungkook, you so much as think about manipulating me into calming down with your stupid pheromones, and I will drive a knife straight through your fucking heart the moment I’m back to feeling the full extent of my displeasure again.”

Jungkook stilled and regarded Taehyung incredulously. Taehyung glared up at him vehemently, chest rising and falling too fast, eyes bright with fury and the knowledge of exactly how close he had come to being overruled not by mere words, but their biology. A long second passed between them and the scent in the air held steady, neither climbing nor falling. 

Jungkook didn't flinch as he absorbed the angry whisper and the promise of a knife with a flat, unreadable expression. His stillness was not the stillness of shock, but the deliberate, anchored calm of a man who was already two steps ahead. He met Taehyung’s furious glare with an unflinching gaze, the low, sharp tone of his voice cutting cleanly through the charged air between them. “You’re angry. That’s fine. But it’s not a tactic I would use when I know you’ll calm down on your own,” he stated.

Jungkook’s words, a simple, flat-toned prediction, didn’t douse the flames of Taehyung’s tempest and he saw red. His initial fury now became a desperate, burning need to be taken seriously. He refused to be a problem that would simply solve itself. In one fluid motion, Taehyung lunged forward, closing the space between them until his chest was a hair’s breadth from Jungkook’s. A hand shot out and clamped around the front of Jungkook’s shirt, twisting the fabric into a tight fist. 

Taehyung’s glare intensified, “Don’t you dare,” he growled, the whisper even more enraged than before. “Don’t you dare act like I'm some child you can dismiss and wait out. You think I'm just going to calm down? You think I won’t follow through?” He let the words hang in the air, as a challenge and yet, Jungkook remained a statue, not a single muscle in his jaw moved. His eyes stayed steady, his gaze unwavering, betraying no surprise, or recognition of the physical threat at all. It was as if Taehyung were nothing more than a gust of wind against a brick wall. The lack of a reaction was more infuriating than any fight and Taehyung felt the burning humiliation rise.

Then, with an almost bored detachment, Jungkook’s eyes lowered. He didn’t look at Taehyung’s face, but down at the hand twisting his shirt, as if casually inspecting an annoyance. His gaze was steady, and a single, low chuckle, completely devoid of humor, rumbled in his chest.

His voice, when it came, was an amused drawl. “Oh Minx when are you going to learn we’ll never play by your rules? If you are done you’ll release me and if this is the beginning of your tantrum you’ll walk yourself into a corner before I do.”

Jungkook smirked. It was that maddening, arrogant curve of his mouth that he wore when he knew he had the upper hand, when he knew exactly how much of a hold he had and wasn’t bothering to hide it. The sight of it pushed something over in Taehyung and before he even thought about it, his palm came down across Jungkook’s cheek. The sound cracked through the room.

It wasn’t a heavy slap, or enough to leave a mark, but the intention behind it was clear. Taehyung froze the moment it landed, guilt crawling up his throat even as the adrenaline still surged through him. He hadn’t meant to, not really, but his emotions were all over the place and Jungkook’s unrepentant arrogance had inflamed them further. There was too much resentment sitting beneath his skin, too many things that hadn’t been said, and all of it had just come out sideways and his body had acted for him.

Jungkook didn’t move. Not even a single centimeter. His head stayed turned exactly where it had been when the slap hit, the only change was a single strand of hair that slipped loose and fell across his forehead, softening the otherwise immaculate style he always wore. That one, almost imperceptible shift was somehow worse than if he’d struck back. Jungkook slowly turned to face him. There was no anger, no surprise, and just an eerie kind of calm, like he was choosing not to react, and as if this entire outburst was nothing more than an interesting puzzle.

Gods, he was beautiful.

Taehyung hated that the thought even crossed his mind. He hated that even now, angry and tense, heart thudding, and fists still clenched, he couldn’t ignore how infuriatingly attractive Jungkook looked with that hair out of place, and that dark, unreadable look in his eyes. There was a glint and a slight twitch at the corner of Jungkook’s mouth. It was a look Taehyung recognized instantly. It was a look he got when he was about to say something he shouldn’t, or do something worse. Something cruel and unforgivable.

For a split second, Taehyung had the startling realization that he’d finally pushed him too far. That the slap had cracked something underneath the surface and now Jungkook was going to show him exactly how far he was willing to go when provoked. But Jungkook just tongued the inside of his cheek slowly and deliberately, and then moved.

He grabbed Taehyung’s wrists and twisted them behind his lower back pulling him back down to the mattress a second time. The gesture was familiar, and practiced. His grip was tight enough to hold, but not enough to bruise. Taehyung barely had time to react before Jungkook was lowering his body on top of him, carefully adjusting his weight to avoid Taehyung’s stomach, keeping it protected without even needing to be told.

Taehyung bucked once, instinctively trying to break free, but he didn’t get far. Jungkook didn’t even strain. His body was an immovable anchor, holding him in place with an absolute, infuriating calm. It was a display of utter control, a complete suppression of Taehyung’s defiance. He was not being fought but he was simply being held.

Taehyung scoffed beneath him, breathless and furious, and stared up at him with narrowed eyes. “You’re fucking funny.”

Jungkook said nothing, eyes flicking over Taehyung’s face with that same calculated expression, like he was deciding what to do with him next.

Taehyung bared his teeth. “What? You’re afraid of hurting the pup, but not me?”

Something flickered in Jungkook’s eyes but his face didn’t change, and Taehyung could feel the shift in the air, like he’d said something Jungkook would remember longer than he should. Still, Jungkook didn’t loosen his grip. He simply hovered over Taehyung, eyes dark, expression unreadable, weight heavy enough to pin Taehyung down, and light enough to remind him he was choosing not to press harder. Taehyung hated the way his body responded to it. Hated the way something inside him wanted to lean into the tension instead of away from it.

“You deserve it,” he muttered.

Taehyung stilled. “What?”

“You deserve it but not it.”

There was a beat of silence. Then Taehyung’s face twisted in disbelief.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” he snapped. “Why are you calling our child it?”

Jungkook raised a brow, casually, like Taehyung was the one overreacting. “Our child?” His mouth curled slightly like he’d been waiting for that reaction. “I’m not so sure about that.”

The room chilled around them and the space between them shrank, but the distance widened in every other way.

Taehyung’s voice cracked with fury. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“I don’t know,” Jungkook said smoothly. “You tell me.” His face blank, eyes cool, and jaw tense. Taehyung could hear the edge in his voice, and the deliberate distance that came with it. “I don’t track your every move, Taehyung” He shifted his weight forward, tone sharper now. “I didn’t even know it existed until the world did. You didn’t call. You didn’t say a word. If it were mine, you'd have told me first before the reporters, before your friends and before attempting to board a plane to Italy with some random alpha. The fact that you did all of that speaks for itself.”

Every word came designed to hit hard and it worked.

Taehyung didn’t speak, his fingernails biting into his palms. He could see what Jungkook was doing, he was twisting the knife before giving it a turn. He was angry, yes, but he was also wounded, speaking from a place just behind the surface and Taehyung recognized that too well, he had worn it himself more than once.

Still, knowing that didn’t make it easier to hear.

“So that’s it?” he bit out. “You think I was running off to hide your kid with some random alpha because I felt like it?”

“You didn’t give me much else to think.”

Taehyung’s throat burned.

“Don’t you ever fucking say that again when I’ve laid myself at your feet since you walked into my life.”

Taehyung’s voice trembled furiously between them.

“I’ve spent three fucking years with you, Jungkook,” Taehyung snapped, jaw tight and eyes glassy. “Three years watching you walk out the door and go play perfect father, perfect heir, perfectly convenient husband while I sat around the corner like some well kept secret you were too much of a coward to claim. And I did not complain about being a ghost in your life because it was a choice I made.”

His lip curled, and the bitterness rolled off his tongue without pause.

“Every heat, I suffered through alone. Curled up in pain, and starving for something I couldn’t have, because if it wasn’t you, it couldn’t be anyone else. And I didn’t fucking complain, didn’t beg, didn’t so much as breathe a word about how fucking unbearable it was. So trust me when I say if I could have gotten pregnant by someone else, I would have. Years ago. It’s not like you’re the only alpha with a cock and available to knot me. You weren’t some miracle. You were just the only one I was stupid enough to wait for.”

The silence afterward was heavy just like the pause before something broke and Jungkook’s eyes darkened instantly. The shift wasn’t dramatic, but it was absolute as a low growl rumbled in his chest, deep and guttural. His hands shot out before Taehyung could move, gripping both wrists with enough force to make Taehyung gasp.

Jungkook’s face was close now, too close, and his voice a low snarl that vibrated between them.

“You let some alpha put his hands on you, you allowed him to play the role of a concerned partner, to pretend he belonged there next to you and now you dare sit here, and talk to me like you’re the one who’s been wronged?” His grip didn’t loosen. It tightened, a hard, and painful reminder of who was in control.

“You’ve crossed more lines in a single day than most people do in a lifetime, Taehyung,” he growled. “Do you even understand what you’ve done? What this means for you and what it means for me?”

Taehyung tried to twist away, but Jungkook held fast.

“You think this is about your little display of independence? You think it ends with a few photos and gossip? That people are willing to forgive and forget?” His voice dipped lower. “You’ve put yourself in a position where everyone’s watching now. Everyone wants to know who you are, what you mean to me, what I’ll do for you, and how far I’ll go to protect you.”

He leaned in, eyes gleaming with something that sat right between rage and disappointment.

“Maybe the only reason you don’t understand what’s happening is because you’re too far inside your fantasy to see what’s real.”

Jungkook’s breath was hot against Taehyung’s skin.

“Maybe I should do what you clearly thought was fair,” he said, mouth curled with venom. “Go out there and tell the world you were just another omega I fucked when I had time. Just a warm body. Convenient and replaceable.”

Taehyung flinched, breath catching. Jungkook leaned in, his voice dropping another register.

“Maybe I should show them exactly the kind of omega who’s worthy of standing beside me. One who knows how to protect my name and carry my child without turning it into a public ridicule.”

Taehyung stared at him eyes wide, breath uneven, lips parted like he couldn’t decide whether to scream or break. His wrists pulsed beneath Jungkook’s grip, skin already starting to ache. He let out a broken sound, somewhere between a sob and a gasp and his hand came up again, shaking, striking Jungkook’s chest once, twice, a third time.

“You’re cruel,” he cried, voice thin and high with disbelief. “You’re fucking cruel, Jungkook!”

He hit him again, this time with both fists, but there was no strength behind it. Just grief, frustration, and pain.

Jungkook’s jaw locked, and without a word, he tightened his grip around Taehyung’s wrists to force stillness into them. The movement was firm, and Taehyung struggled for another breath, shoulders trembling as his hands were frozen in place.

Jungkook leaned in slowly, his voice razor-sharp.

“If I were you, I would think very carefully before pushing me again.”

His eyes were dark and cold in a way that was almost terrifying.

“Not only did I have to find out you're pregnant with my child through some half-literate tabloid journalist,” he said, enunciating every word, “but I also got to hear that you were planning to leave the country permanently.”

Taehyung’s lip trembled, but Jungkook kept going.

“You were going to disappear without saying a word, without consulting me” He exhaled once, harsh and fast. “You’ve drained every ounce of patience I had for you, so let me make this very simple. You want to spend the next eight months of your pregnancy outside this room?” he said, voice dangerously quiet. “Then tread carefully, Taehyung.”

Taehyung’s eyes flashed. “You wouldn’t dare.”

Jungkook tilted his head, that unreadable smirk curling at the edge of his mouth.

“Oh, I would,” he said calmly. “And I will.”

He let go of Taehyung’s wrists finally but he didn’t move away from him.

“I don’t very much care what you want or think at this moment. You were foolish enough to believe you could raise my child away from me, and not only have you underestimated me but what that would cost you.”

His voice dropped lower, laced with quiet menace.

“You wanted a piece of me, Taehyung? Well now you have one. And you’ll carry that part of me for the rest of your life.”

Taehyung stayed frozen, chest rising and falling with each unsteady breath, eyes shimmering with angry tears. Jungkook’s eyes lingered on him for a moment longer like he was daring him to test him again.

Taehyung’s chest burned. He wanted to scream, to tear the walls down and to say everything he’d kept inside for far too long.

“You want to know why I was going to leave?” he said, voice shaking. “You. You’re the reason I wanted to go.”

Jungkook’s eyes flickered, but he said nothing.

“Because you’ve never told me you wanted a future with me,” Taehyung went on, louder now. “Even now, you sit there and talk about the pup like it’s nothing but a fucking problem you have to solve and how greatly we have inconvenienced you. But not once have you said a word about us, about wanting to raise the pup together, about not treating me like another omega you fucked when you had the time, about not just seeing me as a body that warms your bed. Convenient and replaceable.” 

Jungkook’s jaw tensed.

“You chose to be in the dark, Jungkook. So don’t come back now demanding answers to questions you deliberately avoided asking.”

His voice cracked, but he didn’t stop. He physically couldn’t.

Jungkook’s stare didn’t waver. “Kept in the dark? What precisely do you mean by that, Taehyung?”

Taehyung scoffed, wiping at his face with the back of his hand. “I mean I haven’t heard a single fucking word from you since my heat. You disappeared like none of it ever happened.”

He was trembling now, the anger, humiliation, and heartbreak twisting together inside his chest.

“And fine, I get it. You were always honest about this and you never promised me anything but you knew. You fucking knew what spending my heat with you meant to me.” He swallowed hard. “For years, we’ve done this, whatever the fuck this is, and never once have you asked to spend your rut with me. You have always kept that part of yourself locked away.”

Jungkook’s hands were clenched.

“And then it finally happened. For the first time, you stayed and you touched me like I meant something. I thought we were finally turning a corner. And then you left such abysmal fucking note. Like I was a one-night stand who needed a courtesy message.”

Taehyung’s voice dropped.

“Was I supposed to think you’d be happy to hear I was pregnant? That you’d suddenly want to play house with me after pretending I didn’t exist for weeks ?”

He poked each word into Jungkook’s chest, breath ragged. “So yes, Jungkook, you kept yourself in the dark and you distanced yourself from this whole debacle, and you made sure I never had space to ask for more.”

He looked him dead in the eyes.

“You made it obvious this wasn’t a future you ever saw for us.”

There was a pause.

“And this” Jungkook said slowly, voice low and tight, “this is the future you wanted for us? A child?”

Taehyung opened his mouth. He wanted to say yes, wanted to say I wanted you, wanted us but the words wouldn’t come. Because how could he say yes when their entire relationship had lived in the shadows? When Jungkook never showed up for his milestones, never stood on the sidelines watching him with pride, never acknowledged where they stood, and never fought for Taehyung? Apparently he was good enough to be claimed, but not loved.

Jungkook had always made sure the rules only bent one way. He could tolerate the flirtatiousness of the rich, high-society omegas at formal dinners, could be photographed at galas with alphas and betas who fit his public image but if Taehyung so much as looked at someone else, Jungkook’s temper flared possessively and brutally. He never admitted to being jealous, never even explained himself and just acted like Taehyung owed him blinding loyalty.

Taehyung’s silence stretched and Jungkook stared at him like he could see the war happening behind his eyes. Neither of them spoke for the longest time and the silence between them felt like a fight too, one they both refused to lose. Then there was a knock at the door.

“Mr. Jeon?” the housemaid called softly from the other side. “Dinner has been prepared for Mr. Kim.”

Jungkook didn’t look away and after a long beat, he got off Taehyung and let go of his wrist. Taehyung didn’t thank him. He didn’t even look at him again. He simply walked straight past him, and down the closet. The footsteps faded, but Jungkook stood frozen in place, and watched the space where Taehyung had just been.

Taehyung didn’t stop until he reached the bathroom. The tears came fast, hot, unforgiving, and humbling in a way that made his skin crawl and Taehyung didn’t try to stop them. There was no point. They welled up, blurring the walls, the tiles, the edges of the mirror as he stumbled into the bathroom and locked the door behind him with trembling fingers.

He stood there for a moment, hands braced on the edge of the sink, head bowed. His reflection stared back at him through the fog of his vision, flushed cheeks, bitten lips, eyes red and swelling. He hated how small he looked. He reached out and twisted the tap on, water crashing into the basin like white noise but it wasn’t enough. He needed to be somewhere else and feel something else, so he turned and stepped into the shower fully clothed. He opened the glass door, stepped inside, and turned the knob. The cold water hit him first and it was a full-body shock.

His breath caught in his chest as the fabric of his shirt clung instantly to his skin, heavy and suffocating. His pants darkened, weight dragging them lower on his hips and he stood there, blinking up at the ceiling as the water rained down, gradually warming but none of it felt real. A sob slipped past his lips before he could bury it. 

He hated crying like this, it was the kind of weakness Taehyung didn’t tolerate but it was coming in waves now. Tears mixed with the water, indistinguishable as they slid down his face. His shoulders shook beneath the soaked shirt and he pressed the heel of one hand to his eyes, trying to block it out, to keep something of himself intact. 

He slid down slowly until he was sitting on the floor of the shower, knees drawn to his chest, arms wrapped tightly around them and the tile was cold against his back. Every inch of him was damp, and wrung out. He wasn’t sure how long he sat there thinking and not thinking at all. Minutes passed, maybe more and his breathing evened, his tears finally slowing into something dull and exhausted. The water kept falling, and he let it, because if he moved, he might start feeling the full extent of his hurt again.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. Not the pregnancy. Not Jungkook. Not them.

He had always known their relationship wasn’t conventional. It had limits, and boundaries that Jungkook had never once let him cross. But somewhere along the line, he had convinced himself that maybe, just maybe, they were heading somewhere real. That those boundaries were only there until Jungkook was ready to break them and that all the staying, all the silence, all the waiting, it meant something.

But it hadn’t.