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The rain came down in silver sheets, sluicing through the jagged mouths of shattered warehouse windows. It hissed when it met the heat radiating from Taehyung’s skin, steam curling lazily into the night air. The scent of rust, rainwater, and burnt ozone clung thick in his lungs.
Namjoon’s voice crackled in his ear, sharp and clipped through the comms.
“South corridor. Three hostiles incoming. Don’t—”
A deep, resonant boom rolled through the metal skeleton of the building, rattling bolts in their sockets.
Namjoon’s sigh was audible even over the static.
“—split up. I literally said don’t split up.”
Taehyung pressed his shoulder to a rusted pillar, flexing his fingers as a flicker of flame danced across his knuckles. “Relax, hyung,” he murmured, voice light, teasing. “I’ve got it handled.”
“You never have it handled,” came Jungkook’s voice — low, firm, threaded with that subtle undercurrent of worry Taehyung pretended not to notice. “Where are you?”
“North corridor,” Taehyung replied, lips quirking. “Having a great time, thanks for asking.”
The static in his earpiece shifted, and then Jungkook’s voice arrived again — no longer filtered by comms.
“Taehyung!”
He appeared from the shadows like something conjured — hood pushed back, rain in his hair, eyes aglow with the faint golden sheen that came when he was ready to heal. Water tracked down his jawline, catching on the edge of his mouth before falling.
“You were supposed to wait for me,” Jungkook said, striding closer.
Taehyung’s smile was quick and deliberate. “What, and let you steal all my fun?”
“You’re reckless,” Jungkook shot back.
“And yet,” Taehyung drawled, “you keep chasing after me.”
The retort died on Jungkook’s tongue as three figures emerged from the darkened hall ahead — broad-shouldered, their heavy boots splashing through the rain-slick floor. Sparks leapt from the metal gauntlets encasing their fists, casting jagged shadows up the peeling warehouse walls.
Taehyung stepped forward, heat unfurling from him in invisible waves, but Jungkook’s hand found the sleeve of his jacket, a warm anchor.
“Don’t overdo it,” Jungkook said quietly, the edge of command in his tone. “Last time you burned yourself.”
Taehyung tilted his head, gaze cutting sideways to meet his. “Aw,” he murmured, “you care.” And then, with a grin that was all trouble — he charged.
________________
The fight was heat and thunder. Taehyung’s flames lit the corridor in a violent bloom of gold and orange, throwing sparks into the rain. Jungkook was there in every gap — darting forward to press glowing fingers against a cut, dragging Taehyung back by his collar when an electrified fist swung too close.
“Left!” Jungkook barked.
“I know,” Taehyung snapped — even as Jungkook’s shove kept a gauntlet from cracking into his ribs.
“Sure you did.”
“Brat.”
________________
When the last hostile crumpled to the wet floor, Namjoon’s voice returned, drier than the rain-soaked air around them.
“You’re both benched next mission.”
Back at HQ — a sprawling loft of exposed brick and flickering lamps — Jin was already herding them toward the couch, muttering about children who think they’re immortal. Yoongi passed by with a muttered, “Idiots,” while Jimin replayed mission footage on a tablet, laughing so hard he had to lean into Hoseok for support.
“You two sound like an old married couple,” Hobi said between grins.
Jungkook dropped into the armchair, toweling his hair, and scoffed. “More like a babysitter and his reckless charge.”
Taehyung sprawled on the couch, one arm over the backrest, gaze trained lazily on Jungkook. “Don’t pretend you don’t like it, Jeon.”
Laughter erupted, Jin yelled about someone spilling noodles, Namjoon tripped over a cord, and Jimin declared it the best mission footage yet. In the midst of it all, Taehyung’s eyes lingered on Jungkook just a heartbeat too long — and when Jungkook finally looked back, the air between them felt warmer than it should have.
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The rain had slowed to a gentle tap against the HQ’s tall windows by the time the mission debrief wrapped. The team was scattered across the open-plan loft — a living space cobbled together from mismatched couches, shelves overflowing with supplies, and a perpetually humming fridge that had seen better days.
Jin was in the kitchen, clattering pans with the kind of theatrical exasperation only he could pull off. “You risk your lives like idiots and then come home expecting dinner? I’m not running a restaurant for death-defying children.”
“You love us,” Jimin sing-songed from where he was perched on the countertop, swinging his legs like a cat with no fear of getting shooed away.
“I tolerate you,” Jin corrected, though his hand still found Jimin’s head for a fond ruffle.
________________
Across the room, Jungkook sat cross-legged on the floor, a first-aid kit open beside him as he cleaned the shallow poison burn along Taehyung’s forearm. His touch was steady, precise — the glow from his palm knitting the skin back together in moments.
“You need to stop charging in like that,” Jungkook said quietly, eyes fixed on his work.
Taehyung tilted his head, studying him. “I thought you liked a challenge.”
“This isn’t a challenge, it’s suicidal. You’re not fireproof just because you have powers of the Fire.” Jungkook’s gaze flicked up, irritation and something softer caught behind it.
Taehyung’s lips curved slowly. “So you do care.”
Jungkook scoffed. “I care about not wasting my energy on reckless idiots.”
“Mm,” Taehyung hummed, leaning back on his hands. “If that’s what you have to tell yourself.”
From the couch, Hoseok called over, “You two flirting again, or should we give you a moment?”
“We’re not—” Jungkook started, heat rising in his ears.
“Definitely not,” Taehyung said at the same time — though the smile tugging at his mouth didn’t exactly help his case.
Yoongi, stretched out with a blanket and looking two seconds from a nap, murmured, “Could’ve fooled me.”
________________
Dinner descended into the usual chaos. Namjoon dropped a plate, Jin yelled, Jimin nearly choked from laughing too hard at something Hoseok whispered. It was loud, warm, and messy — the kind of atmosphere that had become as much home to Jungkook as any place he’d ever lived.
But in the midst of the laughter, Jungkook found himself too aware of Taehyung sitting across the table. The way the light caught in his hair, the curve of his smile when he wasn’t aiming it like a weapon — softer, almost unguarded.
When Taehyung caught him staring, his eyebrow arched in silent question. Jungkook rolled his eyes and looked away, pretending his heart wasn’t beating louder than the rain outside.
________________
Later, when most of the team had drifted off — Yoongi to his room, Jin and Hobi cleaning the kitchen, Jimin and Namjoon debating strategy at the table — Taehyung dropped onto the arm of Jungkook’s chair without asking.
“You patch everyone up,” he said casually, “but who patches you up?”
Jungkook glanced at him. “I’m fine.”
“You always say that,” Taehyung murmured, and for once there was no teasing in his voice. Just something warm, and heavy, and far too easy to fall into.
Before Jungkook could find an answer, Taehyung was already sliding off the chair arm, tossing a casual, “Don’t stay up too late, bunny,” over his shoulder as he walked away.
Jungkook sat there long after, staring at the place where Taehyung’s hand had brushed his shoulder.
________________
By the time morning spilled into the HQ, the city outside was washed clean — sunlight striking off rain-slick rooftops, glinting like molten gold between the gaps in the skyline.
The team had gathered in the briefing room, an old industrial conference space with exposed brick walls and a long steel table pitted with age. Someone — probably Jimin — had left doodles in permanent marker across one corner of the table, little cartoon versions of all of them, including an exaggeratedly grumpy Yoongi.
Namjoon stood at the head of the table, the pale light from the tall windows pooling around his shoulders. He looked like the embodiment of calm strategy — until he dropped a thin folder onto the table and flipped it open with more force than necessary.
“We’ve got a pattern,” he said, voice low, his eyes sweeping the room. “Three attacks in the last seven days. All the victims were healers.”
He slid a photograph forward — a woman in her twenties, sitting on a hospital bed, her hands wrapped in gauze that still bore faint traces of blood. The bruises along her jaw stood out starkly against her pale skin.
“They’re not killing them,” Namjoon continued, “but they are taking them. No ransom demands, no communication after.”
Jungkook, seated two chairs down from Taehyung, felt a faint coil tighten in his chest. He kept his face still, but his fingers curled against the edge of the table.
Yoongi, sprawled in his chair with a hood pulled over his head, glanced at him. “If they’re targeting healers…” His gaze sharpened. “…you’re their prime target.”
Jungkook’s mouth parted to respond, but before he could, the scrape of Taehyung’s chair on the concrete floor cut through the room.
“Then he’s not going in the field.”
Every head turned toward him.
Jungkook stared. “That’s not your call.”
“I’m making it my call.” Taehyung’s voice was steady, but there was something in it — an undercurrent, hot and unwavering. “You’re too valuable—”
“—to the team,” Jungkook finished sharply. “Which means I’m going. I’m not sitting here while everyone else takes the risk.”
Taehyung’s jaw worked, his dark eyes locked on him. They were the kind of eyes that caught and held — deep brown but threaded with that impossible warmth, like light through amber when the sun hit just right. Right now, they burned.
“You think I’m going to watch you walk into a trap?” Taehyung asked, low and dangerous.
The air between them was tight enough to snap when Namjoon finally interjected, voice firm. “You’ll both be on the mission. But no solo runs, no splitting up. Understood?”
They muttered agreement, but neither looked away first.
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The mission took them into the city’s industrial quarter after dark — an underbelly of half-abandoned shipping yards and rusted cranes silhouetted against a jaundiced sky.
They moved in a loose formation, their boots splashing through puddles left by the rain. Jimin, his eyes faintly gold, was already reading the tension in the air — able to sense the aggression in the shadows before it moved. Hoseok walked beside him, palms faintly aglow with light, ready to flare a shield if needed.
Yoongi melted into the darkness like it belonged to him, a shifting silhouette that could be anywhere the eye didn’t land. Jin, ahead of him, cast illusions into the corners — phantom figures to distract any watchers.
Namjoon’s voice carried low over their comms, steady as a heartbeat. “Targets are close. Keep it clean.”
________________
The ambush came fast. Figures slipped out from behind rusting shipping containers, gauntlets sparking blue-white, the scent of ozone sharp in the damp air.
The fight lit up the night.
Hoseok’s hands flared, a burst of white-gold light knocking one hostile backward. Jimin caught another in a wave of emotion — their rage faltering into confusion long enough for Yoongi’s shadow to coil around their ankles, dragging them to the ground.
Jin’s illusions bloomed across the yard — doubling the team’s numbers, sending their attackers swinging at empty air. Namjoon used the moment to hurl a length of metal piping telekinetically, knocking a weapon from an enemy’s grasp.
Through it all, Taehyung was fire. He moved with that reckless grace that drove Jungkook half mad — hair damp and curling against his temple, flames spilling from his hands in arcs that lit the raindrops into sparks. The glow carved shadows along the sharp lines of his cheekbones, caught in the curve of his mouth when he grinned at an enemy just before sending them flying.
________________
Jungkook was working his way toward Hoseok, patching a split lip and a bruised rib with the familiar pulse of warm light beneath his palms — when movement in the corner of his vision made him turn.
A hostile had slipped past the others — fast, too fast — gauntlet already sparking as they lunged for him.
Jungkook barely had time to inhale before the air roared.
Heat slammed into the space between him and the attacker, a wall of flame searing so close the edges of his jacket curled. Taehyung hit the hostile like a comet, shoulder driving them into the brick wall hard enough for cracks to spiderweb outward. The firelight painted his skin in bronze and gold, eyes molten as they locked on his target.
“Don’t. Touch. Him.”
Each word was a growl, rough and low enough to vibrate in Jungkook’s ribs.
The hostile scrambled, but Taehyung’s hand pressed flat against the wall beside their head, flames licking up the brick in a warning hiss. Only when they were disarmed and on the ground did he turn — scanning Jungkook head to toe, eyes lingering as though to reassure himself there wasn’t a single scratch.
Jungkook swallowed hard. “I was fine.”
Taehyung’s gaze softened — barely — but his voice stayed fierce. “Not on my watch.”
________________
They finished the mission without another close call, but the image of Taehyung’s face in that moment — the raw, unfiltered protectiveness in his eyes — stayed with Jungkook all the way back to HQ.
Long after the others drifted to their rooms, he found Taehyung in the kitchen, leaning into the glow of the open fridge.
“You can’t keep doing that,” Jungkook said quietly.
“Doing what?”
“Throwing yourself in the way.”
Finally, Taehyung turned to him. The shadows softened the planes of his face, but his eyes held steady, lit from within.
“If it’s you,” he said simply, “I’ll risk it every time.”
The words landed deep — deeper than Jungkook wanted to admit — and before he could find something to say, Taehyung closed the fridge and walked past him, the heat of his presence trailing in his wake.
________________
The safehouse smelled faintly of cedar and rain-soaked concrete — a one-room hideaway tucked into the upper floor of an old building, its windows barred, its lighting low and warm. A single couch sagged in the corner, a mismatched armchair by the window, and one narrow bed pressed into the far wall.
Namjoon had dropped them there after the mission, insisting they stay overnight until the rest of the team cleared the sector. “You’ll be safer out of sight,” he’d said, already turning away before either of them could protest.
Jungkook stood just inside the door now, damp hair falling in loose waves over his forehead, the collar of his jacket still smelling faintly of smoke. His pulse hadn’t settled since the fight, though he’d tell himself it was just the leftover adrenaline.
Taehyung was by the small kitchenette, head bent as he poured water into two mismatched mugs. The lamplight caught in the curve of his neck, the slope of his shoulders under his black shirt, and something about the quiet way he moved — deliberate, precise — made Jungkook’s chest tighten.
Neither had spoken since they left HQ.
The silence pressed in until Jungkook couldn’t take it.
“You didn’t have to do that tonight.”
Taehyung’s back stayed to him. “I already told you. I’m not letting them get to you.”
“That’s not your job—”
“Isn’t it?” The words were soft, but they cut clean through the room. He turned then, setting the mugs down with a muted clink. His gaze found Jungkook’s like it was the easiest thing in the world, like there was no effort in holding it — though Jungkook’s stomach was suddenly somewhere near his knees.
Taehyung stepped closer, slow enough that the sound of his boots on the wood seemed too loud. “You think I’m going to stand by and watch someone hurt you? Jungkook, I—” He broke off, jaw tightening. “I can’t.”
The air between them felt charged, each breath heavy with the scent of rain still clinging to their clothes. Jungkook’s fingers curled into the strap of his bag, knuckles whitening.
“You make it sound like I’m helpless,” he muttered, but it came out softer than intended.
Taehyung’s lips curved — not in amusement, but something gentler, as if he knew exactly what was hiding under Jungkook’s defensiveness. “Not helpless. Just… mine to protect.”
The words landed like a physical touch, low in Jungkook’s stomach. His chest felt tight enough to ache. He looked away first, focusing on the steam curling from the mugs instead of the weight of Taehyung’s gaze.
When he finally turned back, Taehyung was closer — close enough that Jungkook could see the fine drops of water still clinging to his lashes, the faint smudge of soot at his jaw. Close enough that their knees brushed when Taehyung handed him the mug.
“You’re shaking,” Taehyung murmured.
“It’s nothing.”
“Don’t lie to me.”
Jungkook’s laugh was short, uneven. “You’re exhausting.”
“And yet—” Taehyung’s voice dropped, warm and almost teasing, “—you haven’t moved away.”
Jungkook didn’t have an answer for that.
________________
There was only one bed.
Of course.
Taehyung didn’t comment, just tossed his jacket over the armchair and toed off his boots. “I’ll take the floor.”
Jungkook rolled his eyes, already pulling at the zipper of his hoodie. “Don’t be stupid. It’s freezing. We’ll share.”
The way Taehyung looked at him then — a flicker of surprise, a slow curl of something unreadable — made heat lick at the back of Jungkook’s neck.
Minutes later, they were lying side by side in the dark, the blanket pulled high. Jungkook could feel the length of Taehyung’s body beside his, warm even through the layers of clothing. The rain outside had started again, soft against the roof, but it wasn’t enough to drown out the sound of Taehyung’s breathing.
They didn’t speak.
They didn’t need to — not when every shift, every brush of fabric, every inhale felt louder than words.
Jungkook told himself he wouldn’t fall asleep. But it was hard, with Taehyung this close, his scent like warm spice and smoke, his presence a steady, unshakable thing in the dark.
And just before sleep claimed him, he felt it — the faintest touch against his hair, gentle enough to be imagined.
________________
By morning, the rain had cleared, leaving the city washed clean under pale sunlight. The skyline shimmered in the distance like glass teeth, the streets below already thrumming with noise. From the safehouse balcony, Jungkook could hear the faint hum of traffic and the sharper crack of someone hawking bread from a corner stall.
Inside, the team was anything but serene.
Seokjin and Yoongi were at the tiny table, bickering over breakfast rations as if the fate of the city depended on whether or not the last slice of bread was evenly cut. Namjoon was leaning against the fridge, pinching the bridge of his nose while Hoseok rummaged through their gear bag, muttering something about a missing shock baton.
Jungkook hovered by the doorway, sipping coffee that was far too bitter. He hadn’t slept much — sharing a bed with Taehyung had been… impossible to ignore. Every turn in the night had brushed them together, and the memory of that proximity still lingered like static under his skin.
And, of course, the man in question was now leaning against the far wall, arms folded, eyes on him in a way that felt… intentional.
Taehyung’s hair was still damp from his shower, curling at the nape of his neck. The sunlight caught in the warm brown of his skin, in the sharp line of his jaw, and his mouth curved faintly when Jungkook made the mistake of meeting his gaze.
“Jungkook,” Taehyung said, voice a little too casual. “Training. Now.”
Jungkook blinked. “What?”
“You rely on your healing too much in the field. I’m not saying it’s a bad thing,” Taehyung said, pushing off the wall with lazy grace, “but I don’t like the idea of you getting cornered and having nothing to fall back on.”
“I can fight,” Jungkook said, bristling automatically.
“Not well enough.” That faint smile deepened. “Lucky for you, I’m an excellent teacher.”
Seokjin snorted from the table. “Excellent at irritating people, maybe.”
“Shut up, hyung,” Taehyung replied without looking back, already heading for the open space near the balcony. “Come on, Kookie. Unless you’re scared I’ll beat you too easily.”
Jungkook rolled his eyes, but his feet moved anyway. “You’re infuriating.”
“Mm. And yet, you’re following me.”
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The training space was little more than a cleared patch of floor, but Taehyung treated it like an arena. He shrugged out of his jacket, leaving just the fitted black shirt underneath — the fabric stretched over lean muscle in a way that was, frankly, distracting.
“First lesson,” Taehyung said, stepping close enough that Jungkook could see the flecks of gold in his irises, “don’t take your eyes off your opponent.”
“I’m not—” Jungkook began, then yelped when Taehyung’s foot hooked his ankle, sending him stumbling forward.
Strong hands caught him before he could fall — one splayed over his chest, the other gripping his forearm. The heat of Taehyung’s touch burned straight through his hoodie.
“See?” Taehyung murmured, voice low enough that it seemed meant only for him. “Distracted already.”
Jungkook shoved at his chest, ignoring the way his pulse spiked. “You’re doing that on purpose.”
“Doing what?” Taehyung’s grin was pure trouble.
They moved into sparring stance — Jungkook tense and defensive, Taehyung loose and predatory. He didn’t attack right away, instead circling, letting Jungkook make the first move. When Jungkook lunged, Taehyung caught his wrist, twisting just enough to pull him off balance before guiding him into a quick lock.
“Too predictable,” Taehyung said, and if his breath brushed Jungkook’s ear and hand lingering on his ribs savouring, well, that was probably just coincidence.
The next half hour was a blur of movement — Taehyung’s smooth dodges, the quiet thud of bare feet against the floor, Jungkook’s frustration mounting as every attempt to land a hit was turned effortlessly aside. But beneath the irritation was something else, something far warmer and far more dangerous: the constant awareness of Taehyung’s nearness, the way his hands lingered a second too long when correcting Jungkook’s stance, the way his voice dipped low whenever he murmured instructions.
At one point, Taehyung moved behind him, sliding a hand down his arm to adjust his grip. “Loosen your shoulders,” he said, and Jungkook nearly forgot how to breathe.
“You’re… distracting,” Jungkook muttered.
“That’s the point.”
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By the time they stopped, Jungkook’s hair clung damp to his forehead, and his hoodie was clinging in places it shouldn’t. Taehyung looked infuriatingly untouched — just a little tousled, a faint sheen of sweat at his temples, eyes still bright with amusement.
“Not bad,” Taehyung said, tossing him a bottle of water. “We’ll make a fighter out of you yet.”
“I’m already a fighter.”
“You’re something,” Taehyung said with a smirk, and turned away before Jungkook could demand what that meant.
________________
They were still catching their breath when Namjoon strode over, a datapad in hand. “Alright, kids, playtime’s over. We’ve got a lead.”
The room shifted instantly — Seokjin straightening, Hoseok abandoning the gear bag to join them, Yoongi pulling his gloves on.
Namjoon brought up a holo-map over the table, the glow painting his features in cold blue. “Abandoned research facility on the edge of Sector 7. Surveillance shows unusual power surges every few hours. Could be nothing. Could be the thing we’ve been looking for.”
Taehyung’s expression cooled, all playfulness gone. “What’s our approach?”
“Stealth in. Minimal contact. But…” Namjoon’s eyes flicked toward Jungkook. “We may need the healer ready, just in case.”
Jungkook’s stomach tightened. He felt Taehyung’s gaze on him again — not teasing this time, but steady, protective.
“Don’t worry,” Taehyung said quietly, so only Jungkook could hear. “I’ll be there.”
It was infuriating how much comfort that gave him.
________________
Sector 7 sat at the city’s far edge, past the industrial sprawl and into the skeletal remains of districts long abandoned. The streets here were cracked and silent, weeds pushing through asphalt, the air heavy with the faint scent of rust and ozone.
The research facility loomed like a scar on the horizon — four stories of concrete and glass, windows shattered in jagged mouths. Even from a distance, Jungkook could see faint pulses of blue light flashing irregularly through the upper floors, like a heartbeat gone wrong.
They moved as a unit, each footstep purposeful. Seokjin was on point, his shield field shimmering faintly around them. Hoseok flanked left, gloves sparking as he tested his charge. Yoongi was all but silent, shadows clinging to his frame in ways that made the edges of him blur. Namjoon’s eyes swept the perimeter, calculating angles, exits, possible threats.
Taehyung was beside Jungkook — close enough that their shoulders brushed as they walked. Every time their arms touched, it felt like a tiny burst of static.
“Stay near me,” Taehyung said quietly as they approached the facility.
“I can handle myself,” Jungkook whispered back.
A low hum of amusement. “Mm. Humor me anyway.”
________________
They breached the main doors with a soft hiss of hydraulics. Inside, the air was colder, thick with the sterile tang of old chemicals and the faint coppery scent of dust long undisturbed. Their footsteps echoed faintly over the cracked tile.
Namjoon gestured, and the team split — Hoseok and Yoongi peeling off to check the east wing, Seokjin and Namjoon taking the west. That left Jungkook and Taehyung heading for the central stairwell, the flickering light above casting them in fractured shadows.
The climb was quiet, save for the faint buzz of power through the walls. It grew louder as they ascended, until Jungkook could feel it vibrating faintly in his teeth.
“What do you think it is?” Jungkook asked softly.
“Don’t know,” Taehyung replied. “But I don’t like the sound of it.”
________________
The third floor was a ruin — overturned desks, shattered monitors, paper curling with age. But ahead, through a warped doorway, a strange glow spilled into the hall.
They entered cautiously.
In the center of the room was a containment unit — or what was left of one. Its glass panels were cracked, its restraints broken. Blue light poured from the damaged core at its base, each pulse sending ripples of energy across the floor like heat haze.
“That’s not good,” Taehyung muttered.
The air shifted — a sudden drop in temperature. Jungkook’s breath fogged.
A shape moved in the shadows.
________________
It came fast — a humanoid figure, limbs unnaturally long, its skin a rippling metallic sheen. Its eyes glowed that same electric blue.
Taehyung shoved Jungkook behind him just as the thing lunged. The impact rattled the floor, claws scraping sparks off the wall where Taehyung had been a heartbeat before.
Taehyung moved like lightning — twisting low, driving a kick into the creature’s ribs. Energy flared briefly across his skin, golden and fierce. The thing snarled, swiping again.
Jungkook pressed back against the wall, trying to track the blur of movement — Taehyung feinting left, driving a punch into its jaw, sliding under its counterstrike. Every move was controlled, lethal.
“Jungkook!”
He barely had time to react before another figure — smaller but just as fast — darted from the opposite side. Jungkook dropped low, the swipe missing him by inches. His pulse roared in his ears.
“Stay with me!” Taehyung’s voice was sharp, almost panicked, as he drove the larger creature back with a burst of golden flames that left afterimages burning in Jungkook’s eyes.
From the hall came the distant crack of Hoseok’s electricity, the muffled thump of Seokjin’s shield intercepting a blow, Yoongi’s shadows swallowing the edges of something moving too fast to see.
The whole building was alive now — echoes of combat, the rising whine of unstable machinery.
________________
Jungkook’s focus snapped back to his own fight when the smaller creature lunged again. This time, he sidestepped, remembering Taehyung’s training. He twisted his body just enough to grab its arm and use its own momentum to send it stumbling into a desk.
It wasn’t much, but it bought him a breath.
Taehyung was suddenly at his side, one arm blocking him from the larger creature’s counterattack. The golden flare of Taehyung’s power lit his features in a way that made his eyes burn with intensity — an image Jungkook knew would stay with him.
“You’re okay?” Taehyung asked, without looking away from the threat.
Jungkook nodded, breathless. “Yeah.”
“Good.”
Then Taehyung stepped forward, and the room lit up like a storm breaking.
________________
The floor trembled under their feet, dust drifting from the ceiling like snow. Somewhere down the hall, a blast of Hoseok’s electricity lit the darkness in a white-blue flash, followed by the heavy slam of Seokjin’s shield taking an impact. Yoongi’s shadows curled along the walls like restless smoke, reaching and retreating in rhythm with something moving too fast to catch.
The creature in front of them shrieked — a sound that felt like it clawed straight through Jungkook’s skull — and lunged. Taehyung didn’t hesitate.
“Move!” he barked, shoving Jungkook out of the way.
Jungkook hit the ground hard, the world tilting as his palms scraped against the rough tile. He pushed himself up just in time to see Taehyung take the hit — a glancing slash of those claws, raking across his side.
Golden light flared bright and violent, but it flickered at the edges.
“Taehyung—”
“I’m fine!” Taehyung’s voice was sharp, but Jungkook could hear the strain. He pivoted, driving a glowing fist into the creature’s chest. It staggered back, snarling, but the effort left Taehyung’s stance uneven, his left arm tightening against his ribs.
Jungkook’s pulse spiked, panic clawing at the back of his throat.
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The fight was a blur after that — Taehyung moving with a kind of desperate precision, Jungkook trying to keep up, using his own small bursts of defensive energy to push the smaller creature back when it tried to flank.
Finally, a ripple of shadow swallowed both creatures whole — Yoongi stepping into the doorway, his eyes glowing faintly. “Move,” he said flatly.
They obeyed, retreating into the hall as the shadows twisted tighter around the thrashing figures until they simply… vanished. The space where they had been was empty, the floor blackened like something had burned without fire.
Yoongi didn’t wait for thanks — just turned and stalked off toward the next corridor, shadows still licking at his heels.
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Only then did Jungkook notice the blood.
It was seeping between Taehyung’s fingers where he pressed his hand to his side, the fabric of his suit torn and wet. His jaw was tight, eyes avoiding Jungkook’s.
“Sit,” Jungkook ordered.
“I said I’m fine—”
“Sit down, Taehyung, or I swear I will make you.”
Taehyung’s lips curved — not quite a smirk, not quite serious — but he obeyed, lowering himself against the wall with a wince he tried to hide.
Jungkook dropped to his knees beside him, the cold tile pressing through the fabric of his pants. His hands hovered for a moment before peeling Taehyung’s grip away from the wound. Warmth met his palms — not the reassuring kind, but the slick heat of blood.
He pressed his hands gently to the gash, letting his power flow. It started as a faint pulse in his fingertips, a soft glow blooming where skin met skin.
“Keep still,” Jungkook murmured.
Taehyung’s gaze was on him now — heavy, steady. Jungkook could feel it even without looking up.
“You always get this serious when you’re worried,” Taehyung said quietly.
“I’m not—” Jungkook’s voice caught, betraying him. “Just… don’t do that again.”
“What, protect you?”
“Get hurt because of me.”
The words were barely a whisper.
Taehyung tilted his head, a slow smile ghosting across his lips. “That’s not negotiable, Jungkookie.”
________________
The healing light spread, sinking into torn flesh, knitting muscle and sealing skin with a warmth that chased the chill from the air. Jungkook’s breath was steady, but his heart was anything but.
He risked a glance up — and regretted it instantly. Taehyung was watching him like there was nothing else in the room, eyes deep and unreadable, but softer than Jungkook had ever seen them.
For a moment, the world narrowed to that look.
Too close.
Too warm.
Too much.
Jungkook’s hands lingered longer than necessary, even after the wound was closed. Taehyung didn’t move, didn’t speak — just stayed there, letting the silence stretch taut between them until the sounds of battle in the distance dragged them back.
Jungkook pulled away first. “Let’s move.”
Taehyung stood, rolling his shoulders like nothing had happened, but as they fell back into step, his hand brushed Jungkook’s — deliberate, fleeting.
It shouldn’t have made Jungkook’s chest ache the way it did.
________________
The corridor opened into a vast chamber, its domed ceiling webbed with cracks that glowed faintly red, like the whole structure had a heartbeat. The air was hot and sharp with the smell of scorched metal, and every sound echoed — the scrape of boots, the hiss of Hoseok’s electricity, the deep thrum of Namjoon’s telekinetic barrier forming just ahead.
“Left flank!” Namjoon’s voice carried over the din, steady as always.
Jungkook darted forward, skirting the edge of Seokjin’s shield just as a bolt of energy ricocheted off it. The blast lit up the room, revealing the swarm of smaller creatures spilling out from a jagged tear in the far wall.
“Great. More of them.” Yoongi’s voice was flat, but his shadows unfurled like smoke in water, curling toward the advancing shapes.
________________
Jungkook threw his focus into his work — bolstering the team’s defenses, sending small bursts of healing to Jimin when sparks burned too close, keeping his distance from Taehyung because he thought it would make breathing easier.
It didn’t.
Every time he glanced up, Taehyung was there — not looking at him, not directly, but moving in a way that kept them connected. A sweep to Jungkook’s side to knock an enemy back. A sharp pivot that put his body between Jungkook and an incoming strike. The golden light of his power cut through the smoky air, catching on the edges of his hair, turning the strands into threads of fire.
Jungkook hated that he noticed.
________________
A shriek split the air, louder than the rest. One of the larger creatures — taller than Namjoon, its limbs jointed wrong — barreled through the swarm, sending debris skittering across the floor.
“On me!” Taehyung’s voice was a whipcrack.
He launched forward, flames blooming around his fists as he struck. The creature reeled but didn’t fall, swinging an arm that hit the ground hard enough to shatter stone.
Jungkook moved on instinct — too close, too reckless — sending a shock of energy into the thing’s exposed flank. It turned toward him, eyes flaring.
Before it could reach him, Taehyung was there, his hand on Jungkook’s shoulder, shoving him back just as a blade of shadow swept in from the side, courtesy of Yoongi.
“Stay behind me,” Taehyung said under his breath.
Jungkook bristled. “I can handle—”
“Not interested in finding out what happens if you can’t.”
________________
From somewhere behind them, Hoseok called, “Wow, you two gonna flirt in the middle of a fight or—”
“Eyes forward!” Namjoon barked, but Jungkook still caught the glint of a grin on Hoseok’s face before he turned back to the swarm.
Jungkook’s ears burned. Taehyung, infuriatingly, didn’t look the least bit fazed. If anything, there was the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at his mouth.
________________
The battle ground on, a blur of light and shadow, sparks and steel. When the last creature finally crumpled into ash, the team stood in a loose circle, breathing hard.
“You good?” Namjoon asked, scanning the group.
“All limbs accounted for,” Hoseok said cheerfully.
“Not sure about these two,” Seokjin murmured, nodding toward Jungkook and Taehyung. “They seem… distracted.”
Jungkook stiffened. “We’re fine.”
Taehyung didn’t deny it — just glanced at Jungkook, eyes warm in a way that made Jungkook’s pulse trip.
________________
They regrouped and moved out, the echo of footsteps filling the empty corridors. Somewhere ahead, the faint red glow of the cracked ceiling deepened, and the sound of distant movement rumbled through the walls. The mission wasn’t over.
But the air between Jungkook and Taehyung had changed.
Neither spoke of it.
Both felt it.
________________
The deeper they went, the louder the hum in the air became — a low, vibrating thrum that crawled up Jungkook’s spine. The corridor widened into a cavern so vast the far walls dissolved into darkness. In the center, the source of the glow pulsed like a living wound: a rift in the air itself, jagged-edged and bleeding red light into the shadows.
“Stay sharp,” Namjoon said, voice tight. “It’s unstable.”
“Understatement,” Yoongi muttered, eyes tracking the shapes moving just beyond the rift’s edge.
Then the ground shuddered.
A shape emerged — enormous, twice the height of the earlier creatures, with armor-like skin and a mouth that split too far across its face. The moment it stepped forward, the air seemed to bend around it.
The team scattered into formation. Hoseok’s lightning cracked, arcing through the air; Seokjin’s barrier rose like a dome to deflect the first blast of energy the creature hurled at them. Yoongi’s shadows slid along the ground like hunting snakes, wrapping around its legs to slow its advance.
“Go for its eyes!” Namjoon called.
Jungkook sent a burst of energy toward the creature’s side, but it barely flinched. Taehyung was already moving, a blur of golden flare that struck at the thing’s head, forcing it back a step.
For a moment, it seemed like they were holding their ground—
—until the floor split beneath them.
________________
The shockwave threw Jungkook sideways. He hit the ground hard, sliding toward the fissure opening across the cavern floor. A hand caught his wrist — warm, unyielding — and yanked him to his feet.
“Stay with me,” Taehyung said, low and fierce.
Before Jungkook could answer, another blast hit, separating them from the rest of the team with a wall of debris. The noise of the battle dulled to a muffled roar beyond the stone.
“Great,” Jungkook breathed. “Just the two of us against the monster from hell. No pressure.”
Taehyung’s mouth quirked — even here, even now — but his eyes stayed locked on the approaching shadow. “You take the left. I’ll draw its fire.”
________________
They moved together, almost without thinking. Taehyung struck in bright, decisive bursts, each attack pulling the creature’s focus while Jungkook darted in to heal him between blows, sending the occasional blast of energy to its weaker points.
But it was relentless. One massive swing caught Taehyung in the side, sending him stumbling. Jungkook didn’t think — just lunged forward, grabbing his arm.
“Taehyung—”
“I’m fine.” He wasn’t. Jungkook’s hands were already glowing, pressing against the injury. The skin under his palms was hot with adrenaline, and Taehyung’s breath hitched — whether from pain or something else, Jungkook didn’t dare guess.
“Don’t do that,” Jungkook muttered.
“What?”
“Act like you’re invincible.” His voice cracked on the last word.
Taehyung’s gaze softened, just for a heartbeat. “I’m not. That’s why I need you.”
________________
The creature roared, cutting the moment short. They fell back into motion, their rhythm tighter now, each move instinctively complementing the other’s. When Taehyung finally drove a final, searing blow into its chest, the thing staggered and collapsed, the ground trembling beneath it.
The red light from the rift dimmed to a flicker.
For a long moment, they just stood there, breathing hard, staring at each other in the stillness.
Jungkook’s mouth opened — he didn’t even know what he meant to say.
Taehyung stepped closer, the space between them charged, his eyes flicking briefly to Jungkook’s mouth—
“Hey!” Hoseok’s voice rang from the other side of the debris. “You two dead or just making out?”
Jungkook jerked back. “We’re fine!”
“Debatable,” Yoongi’s dry voice added.
The debris shifted as Namjoon forced it aside with a gesture, the rest of the team spilling into view. The moment was gone.
But not forgotten.
________________
The mission was over, but the air still tasted of ozone and burnt stone. They trudged back through the corridors in a loose, uneven line — the kind that only a team too tired to care about formation would keep.
Hoseok was already complaining about how his jacket was “basically ruined” from an acid splash. Seokjin was dramatically clutching his side as if he were mortally wounded, even though Yoongi had just patched him with shadows that knit the tear in his uniform like new. Namjoon walked ahead, pretending not to hear the chaos behind him.
Jungkook might’ve smiled — if not for the solid, constant presence at his side.
“You’re limping,” Taehyung murmured.
Jungkook glanced at him. “You’re bleeding.”
“I asked first.”
“And I’m answering second. Sit down.”
________________
They’d reached the base’s medical bay. The fluorescent lights overhead made Taehyung’s skin look even paler than usual, the faint sheen of sweat at his temple catching on the edges of his hair. He didn’t protest when Jungkook nudged him toward the cot, but his mouth curved like he was holding back a laugh.
“What?” Jungkook asked, peeling off his gloves.
“You get this bossy when you’re worried,” Taehyung said, leaning back on his hands.
Jungkook ignored the heat that crawled up his neck. “Hold still.”
His palms lit with that soft, clean gold, warmth seeping into the angry bruise blooming along Taehyung’s ribs. The rise and fall of Taehyung’s chest slowed under his hands, and the sound of the others faded until there was only this — the scent of rain that clung to Taehyung’s uniform, the steady beat of his heart under Jungkook’s fingertips.
“You didn’t have to jump in front of me like that,” Jungkook said finally, voice quiet.
“Yes, I did.”
“Taehyung—”
“I’m not sorry, Jungkookie.”
The nickname landed somewhere low in Jungkook’s stomach, like a spark on dry kindling. His hands stilled, the glow dimming.
Taehyung’s gaze was steady, but softer now — the kind of look that left Jungkook’s lungs uncooperative. He pulled back too fast, muttering, “You’re healed.”
“Am I?” Taehyung’s mouth tilted, but there was something unreadable in his eyes.
________________
Across the room, Hoseok groaned. “If you two are done making heart eyes, someone help me with the med-kit before Seokjin dies of dramatic flair.”
“I heard that!” Seokjin snapped.
The moment fractured. Jungkook stepped back, shoving his gloves into his pocket, and Taehyung slid off the cot with a slow, unhurried grace, brushing close enough that Jungkook swore he could feel the heat radiating off him.
Neither of them said another word — but the quiet was far from empty.
________________
The base’s common room was a mess of noise, blood, and banter — the kind that always came after a mission where nobody died but everyone swore they almost had. Jimin was half-perched on the armrest of the couch, poking at a cut on Yoongi’s jaw just to annoy him. Hoseok had already raided the fridge and was now dramatically offering Jin a stolen pudding cup like it was a peace treaty after nearly getting him blown up.
Jungkook sat cross-legged on the far end of the couch, the faint glow from the healing energy still fading from his palms. He was pretending to scroll through mission logs on his tablet, but his eyes kept flicking — betraying him — toward Taehyung.
Taehyung stood by the window, his jacket discarded, dark shirt clinging in ways that made it hard not to notice the muscle beneath. There was a smudge of soot along his cheekbone, a cut at his temple, and that infuriating little smirk curling at his mouth every time someone glanced his way.
“Alright,” Jin clapped his hands. “We survived. Go shower, go eat, go—whatever. I don’t care. Just don’t bleed on the rug.”
One by one, the team scattered — Hoseok dragging Jimin off, Yoongi muttering about finally getting peace, Jin disappearing toward the showers. The door clicked shut behind them, and the hum of the room softened until there was only the faint buzz of the ceiling lights.
Jungkook didn’t look up when Taehyung moved closer, but he felt it — that strange heat that always rolled off him like a warning.
“You’re quiet,” Taehyung said, leaning a hand on the back of the couch. His voice was low, warm. “That’s not like you.”
Jungkook’s jaw tightened. “You were reckless out there.”
Taehyung’s smirk deepened. “I saved you.”
“I didn’t need saving.” The words were sharper than intended, but the image of Taehyung stepping in front of that blast still burned behind Jungkook’s eyes.
“Sure,” Taehyung drawled, coming around to stand in front of him now, close enough that Jungkook had to tilt his head back. “That’s why you were standing there wide-eyed while debris was about to hit you.”
Jungkook shot to his feet, chest brushing Taehyung’s before he could think better of it. “You think this is a game? You could’ve—”
“What?” Taehyung’s voice dipped. “Been hurt? I’ve been hurt before.” He leaned in, eyes glinting. “It’s worth it if it’s you.”
The air between them tightened, humming with something neither wanted to name. Jungkook’s pulse thudded in his throat, and he hated — hated — that Taehyung could sound so casual while saying something like that.
“You—” Jungkook started, then faltered, because Taehyung’s hand had found his wrist, fingers brushing against the skin like he was testing how far he could push.
“Me?” Taehyung’s smile turned softer, dangerous in a different way. “Say it.”
“I can’t stand you,” Jungkook said, but it came out weak, almost a whisper.
“Liar.”
Jungkook’s breath caught. And before he could think himself out of it, he grabbed Taehyung by the collar and pulled him down.
The kiss was nothing like he’d imagined — it was more. Heat and teeth, the sound of breath catching, Taehyung’s hand sliding to the small of his back and pulling him flush. The world narrowed to the press of lips and the thud of hearts, to the faint taste of adrenaline still on both their tongues.
The air between them was a taut wire, stretched so thin it hummed. Jungkook could still hear the echo of his own voice — the confession that had tumbled out before he could stop it — and the answering truth in Taehyung’s low, rough “Finally.”
Jungkook’s back hit the wall before he’d even registered moving. Taehyung had closed the distance in three long strides, one palm braced beside Jungkook’s head, the other ghosting over his jaw like he was afraid Jungkook might vanish if he touched too quickly.
“You drive me insane,” Taehyung murmured, so close Jungkook could feel the words against his mouth.
Jungkook swallowed, pulse sprinting. “You… you’re impossible.”
Taehyung’s smile was slow, wicked. “And yet—” His thumb brushed the corner of Jungkook’s lip. “You’re still here.”
Jungkook didn’t move, didn’t breathe, afraid that one wrong twitch would shatter whatever had taken hold of them. Taehyung tilted his head, gaze sweeping over Jungkook’s face with the kind of focus that made it hard to stand upright.
The first kiss wasn’t gentle. It was warm and urgent, a collision that stole Jungkook’s breath and left his fingers curling into the fabric of Taehyung’s shirt. Taehyung tasted like coffee and adrenaline, like every half-buried feeling Jungkook had tried to ignore until now.
When Taehyung pulled back, his eyes were dark, voice husky. “Say it now.”
Jungkook blinked. “What?”
“That you want me.” Taehyung leaned in, lips grazing the edge of Jungkook’s jaw. “I need to hear it.”
Jungkook’s hands tightened on him, dragging him closer despite himself. “I want you,” he said, barely above a whisper, the words like a key turning in a lock.
Taehyung’s laugh was quiet and dangerous. “Good.”
Jungkook let out a startled sound against Taehyung’s lips, and Taehyung swallowed it whole, his other hand finding Jungkook’s hip and tugging him closer until there was no space left between them.
They stumbled together, Taehyung’s arm sliding around Jungkook’s waist, mouth finding him again with a deeper hunger this time. Jungkook’s back hit the couch, and suddenly Taehyung was half over him, bracing his weight on one arm while the other skimmed over Jungkook’s side in a slow, deliberate path.
When they broke apart, it was only for breath — ragged, shallow, charged with something dangerous. Taehyung’s lips brushed Jungkook’s ear as he whispered, “You have no idea what you do to me.”
A shiver shot straight down Jungkook’s spine. His fingers, almost without thought, curled into the fabric of Taehyung’s shirt, tugging him back down. Their mouths met again, slower this time but no less intense, each kiss drawn out until Jungkook felt lightheaded.
Taehyung’s thumb swept over the sharp line of Jungkook’s cheekbone before trailing lower, tracing the edge of his throat. “You’re shaking,” he murmured, voice dark with something between concern and want.
“I’m not—” Jungkook started, but his breath caught as Taehyung’s lips grazed that sensitive spot just beneath his jaw. “—shaking,” he finished weakly, though his body told a different story.
Taehyung smiled against his skin, pressing a lingering kiss there before moving lower, his mouth mapping a slow path down Jungkook’s neck. Each touch left heat in its wake, as if Taehyung’s lips were marking him in ways no one else would ever see.
Jungkook’s hands found their way to Taehyung’s shoulders, sliding over muscle before curling into the back of his neck. He didn’t remember deciding to pull him closer, but he did — and Taehyung went willingly, pressing him back until Jungkook’s spine met the cushions of the couch.
The shift in position had them chest to chest, hips brushing, breaths tangling. Jungkook’s own pulse roared in his ears, drowning out the rest of the world.
Every brush of Taehyung’s fingers left sparks in its wake. Every shift of his body brought them closer until Jungkook could feel the steady, pounding rhythm of his heart against his own chest.
“Still think you don’t need protecting?” Taehyung teased between kisses, the words muffled against Jungkook’s skin.
Jungkook let out something between a laugh and a groan, threading his fingers into Taehyung’s hair. “I don’t—” He broke off with a sharp inhale as Taehyung’s mouth traced the curve of his throat. “—need it… from anyone else.”
That earned him a kiss so deep it left him dizzy, Taehyung’s hand cupping his face with a tenderness that contrasted the intensity in every other part of him. The kiss turned messy, hands wandering without thought, seeking skin. Taehyung’s fingers brushed under the hem of Jungkook’s shirt, the barest graze over warm skin making Jungkook gasp into his mouth.
That sound broke whatever restraint was left. Taehyung pressed him harder into the couch, the rhythm of their kisses tumbling into something frantic, tangled, unstoppable.
Jungkook’s hands slid up into Taehyung’s hair, tugging just enough to draw a low groan from him — and Jungkook swore he felt that sound all the way to his toes.
Somewhere in the middle of it — the heat, the weight, the breathless laughter — the teasing gave way to something rawer. Taehyung’s forehead rested against Jungkook’s, their breaths mingling.
“Mine,” Taehyung whispered, and Jungkook didn’t even think before answering, “Yours.”
The world outside could wait. The noise, the danger, the rest of their team — all of it faded as Taehyung kissed him again, slower this time but no less consuming, hands memorizing every line they could reach.
Clothes became a blur — the slide of fabric, the brush of skin, the heat of shared breath. Every movement was urgent, but threaded with an aching kind of care, as if they both knew this was a line they could only cross once.
The rest came in fragments — heat, the slide of touch over skin, the sound of Jungkook’s voice breaking on Taehyung’s name — before everything blurred into nothing but closeness.
And then, somewhere in the rush of it, the lights in the room dimmed to black.
________________
The kitchen smelled faintly of burnt toast — which meant Hoseok was already up and experimenting again. Jungkook padded in barefoot, hair damp from the shower, hoodie tugged low over his face like it could hide anything.
“Morning, sunshine,” Jimin sing-songed from the table, leaning on one elbow with an infuriatingly knowing grin.
Jungkook froze mid-step. “Morning,” he muttered, reaching straight for the cereal box.
From the corner of his eye, he caught the door swinging open again — and there was Taehyung. The same damp hair, the same lazy smile, the same hoodie (suspiciously similar in color to Jungkook’s). He moved like nothing in the world could touch him, like he wasn’t currently broadcasting a giant I’ve been thoroughly kissed energy to anyone with eyes.
Yoongi didn’t even look up from his coffee. “You’re both late,” he said flatly.
“Training went long,” Taehyung replied without missing a beat, grabbing a mug from the cupboard.
“Training?” Jimin’s voice went sharp with amusement. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”
Jungkook choked on his cereal. “It was training!”
“Mm-hm,” Hoseok hummed, sliding a plate of slightly charred toast onto the table. “Was it before or after the dramatic confession?”
Taehyung only smiled over the rim of his coffee, clearly enjoying Jungkook’s fluster more than was healthy. “You all seem very interested in our schedule.”
Jin entered then, glanced between the two of them once, and sighed. “Finally,” he muttered.
Jungkook’s ears burned. “Finally what?”
“Nothing,” Jin said smoothly, though the smirk gave him away. “Eat your breakfast.”
The conversation swirled around them after that — Hoseok’s toast experiments, Jimin’s complaint about laundry, Yoongi muttering about wanting a quieter team to Namjoon. But every so often, Jungkook would catch Taehyung’s gaze across the table, and the rest of the noise would fade.
It wasn’t just attraction now. It was something steadier, heavier — and when Taehyung reached under the table to squeeze his knee, Jungkook didn’t pull away.
Outside, the day was already heating up, missions and chaos waiting as always.
But for the moment, in the crowded warmth of their makeshift family’s kitchen, it felt like the start of something entirely new.
waniey87 Sun 10 Aug 2025 05:14AM UTC
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