Neon Tears and Stardust (Taekook)
Chapter 1: The Artist of Intoxication
The ice sphere cracked perfectly under the heavy brass spoon, a sound almost lost beneath the thumping bass of the club, Velvet.
Jeon Jungkook didn't look up. He didn't need to.
His hands moved with the grace of a symphony conductor, measuring gin, a splash of elderflower liqueur, and a twist of lemon zest.
He shook the shaker near his ear, his eyes closed for a brief second, listening to the rhythm of the ice. To the patrons of Velvet, he was a spectacle.
Jungkook was beautiful. It was a dangerous, sharp kind of beauty that cut people when they got too close. His hair was long, partially tied back, with loose strands framing a face that looked like it had been carved by angels but abandoned by God.
His shirt was unbuttoned just enough to hint at the lean, tattooed muscle beneath, and his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, exposing the ink that crawled up his arm—a graveyard of memories he refused to speak about.
He poured the drink into a crystal coop. It was flawless.
Jeon Jungkook
For the gentleman at table four.
(Jungkook said, his voice low and devoid of emotion.)
He slid the drink to a waiter and finally looked up. The club was packed. It was a high-end establishment in Seoul, the kind of place where rich men came to spend dirty money and pretend it was clean.
Dozens of eyes were on him.
Jungkook could feel them physically, like distinct points of heat on his skin.
Men, women—it didn't matter.
They looked at him with hunger.
They didn't see a person; they saw a prize. They saw the "Artist of Alcohol," the sexy mixologist who looked like sin personified.
Jeon Jungkook
*If only they knew*
Jungkook thought, wiping down the mahogany counter.
Jeon Jungkook
*There is nothing inside.*
To the world, he was an object of lust. In his past, he had been just that—a body for rent.
He had done things to survive, sold pieces of his soul until he felt there was nothing left to sell.
He had stopped offering his body a year ago, clawing his way into this job, trying to reclaim some dignity.
But the reputation lingered like the scent of cheap perfume. He was the dirt in the alley that people stepped over, or in this case, the pretty ornament they wanted to take home.
He felt a familiar, crawling sensation on the back of his neck.
Jungkook’s eyes shifted to the VIP section. CEO Kang was there. The man was powerful, older, with a smile that looked more like a snarl.
Kang had been pursuing Jungkook for months, offering cars, apartments, unimaginable wealth just for a week of Jungkook’s time. Jungkook had refused every time. He was done being a product.
Kang raised a glass, catching Jungkook’s eye.
Jungkook looked away, focusing on slicing a lime. He felt hollow. He went home to an empty apartment, stared at the ceiling, and wondered why he was still breathing.
He had nothing to gain, nothing to lose. He was just... existing. Waiting for the clock to run out.
The manager, a nervous man named Mr. Lee, scurried over.
Mr. Lee Sang
CEO Kang sent this over. He insists you taste it. It’s a rare vintage, a peace offering for... past persistence.
Jungkook stared at the glass of amber liquid. He wanted to pour it down the sink.
But refusing a "peace offering" from a man like Kang in a place like this could get him fired. And Jungkook needed the money to survive.
Jeon Jungkook
Fine..
(muttered)
He picked up the glass. He sniffed it—rich, oaky, expensive.
He took a sip, then downed the shot to get it over with, slamming the glass down. He met Kang’s eyes across the room and gave a curt, dismissal nod.
It hit him ten minutes later.
Chapter 1 (continue)
It hit him ten minutes later.
He was shaking a martini when his hands trembled.
It wasn't a tremble of fear; it was a tremble of energy.
Sudden, scorching heat bloomed in the pit of his stomach. It wasn't normal. It felt like fire was licking up his spine, pooling in his groin.
The sounds of the club—the bass, the laughter—began to warp. Everything became too loud, too bright.
Jungkook thought, gripping the counter.
Jeon Jungkook
*No... Please..*
His breath hitched. A wave of arousal, violent and chemical, crashed over him.
It wasn't natural desire; it was a forced, biological imperative.
His skin felt too tight. He felt a desperate, clawing need to be touched, to be filled, to be ruined.
The crowd was blurring, a sea of neon lights and hungry faces. But one face was clear.
CEO Kang was standing up, buttoning his suit jacket, a predatory smirk plastered on his face. He was walking toward the bar.
Jungkook’s heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird.
Jeon Jungkook
*Aishh. He drugged me. He actually drugged me.*
Panic, cold and sharp, cut through the haze of lust.
If Kang got him now, in this state, Jungkook wouldn't be able to say no.
He wouldn't be able to fight. He would just be a body again.
Jeon Jungkook
I... I need a break
Jungkook gasped to the other bartender, stumbling back.
"Jungkook? You okay? You look red—"
Jungkook didn't answer. He turned and ran.
He pushed through the "Staff Only" door, stumbling into the kitchen, knocking over a tray of silverware.
The clatter sounded like gunshots in his sensitive ears.
He burst out the back exit into the alleyway.
The cold night air hit him, but it didn't help. The heat was inside him. He was panting, sweat beading on his forehead. His vision swam. He needed to get away. Far away.
He stumbled down the alley, his legs feeling like jelly. He could hear the heavy door behind him open.
Kang Hee Soon
Jungkook-ah!
Kang’s voice echoed, mocking and sickeningly sweet.
Kang Hee Soon
Don't be shy. The night is just starting.
Jungkook forced his legs to move. He sprinted out of the alley and onto the main street near the stadium.
The massive Seoul Olympic Stadium loomed ahead. A concert had just finished. The streets were chaotic, filled with lingering fans holding lightsticks, security guards, and a line of massive black SUVs waiting for the VIPs.
Jungkook was gasping, tears of frustration and chemical need pricking his eyes. He felt dirty. He felt hot. The friction of his clothes against his skin was agony. He needed help.
He saw a line of black vans and luxury sedans. The drivers were distracted, talking to security. The rear door of a sleek, black sedan was slightly ajar, waiting for its passenger.
Jungkook didn't think. He acted on instinct.
He checked over his shoulder. Kang’s distinct silhouette was emerging from the alley shadows.
Jungkook ducked his head and scrambled toward the car. He pulled the heavy door open, threw himself inside, and pulled it shut, locking it instantly.
The interior smelled of expensive cologne, vanilla, and air conditioning. It was silent. Safe.
Jungkook collapsed onto the floorboard, curling into a ball, his breath coming in ragged, broken sobs.
Clutched his stomach, trying to hold himself together as the drug tore through his system.
"What the—" a deep, baritone voice spoke from the seat above him.
Jungkook froze. He slowly lifted his head, his eyes glassy and filled with desperation.
Sitting on the leather seat, looking utterly shocked, was Kim Taehyung.
The idol was wearing a silk shirt, his stage makeup still perfect, glitter dusting his cheekbones.
He looked like a prince from a fairy tale, a star that had fallen to earth. He held a bottle of water in one hand, staring down at the intruder shaking on the floor of his car.
Jungkook choked out, his voice thick with tears and the overwhelming, burning heat.
He reached out, his trembling hand grasping the hem of Taehyung’s expensive trousers.
Jeon Jungkook
Please... help me. Don't let him take me.
Taehyung’s eyes widened, shifting from confusion to concern as he saw the flush on Jungkook’s skin and the dilated, terrified pupils.
Kim Taehyung
Who are you?
(Taehyung whispered, though he didn't pull away.)
Jungkook couldn't answer. The heat spiked again, making him whimper, his body arching involuntarily.
He was trapped in a car with the most famous man in Korea, and his body was begging to be used.
Fate had just played its cruelest card.
Chapter 2: The Star and the Sinner
The silence in the limousine was thick, pressurized like the cabin of an airplane before a crash.
Jungkook was curled on the floor mats, his knees pulled to his chest, trembling so violently that his teeth chattered.
Every breath he took was a jagged gasp, rasping against a throat dry from fear and the chemical fire burning through his veins.
"Sir?" The driver’s voice came through the intercom, sounding suspicious.
"I thought I heard the door open. Is everything alright?"
Taehyung froze. He looked down at the shivering stranger at his feet. The man was undeniably gorgeous—even with sweat matting his dark hair to his forehead and his skin flushed a feverish, unnatural red.
But he was also terrifying. He was an intruder. A variable that Kim Taehyung’s strictly managed life did not allow.
Taehyung’s finger hovered over the intercom button. He should call security.
He should open the door and push the man out. It was the safe thing to do. It was what his manager would scream at him to do.
But then Jungkook looked up again.
They were dark, glassy pools of sheer terror.
They weren't the eyes of a fan obsessed with V, the idol.
They were the eyes of a hunted animal looking for a hole to die in.
Jungkook mouthed, no sound coming out. He clutched his stomach, a whimper escaping his lips as a wave of heat cramped his muscles.
Taehyung pressed the button.
Kim Taehyung
I’m fine, Hyung-nim. I just... dropped my water bottle. It made a loud thud. Let’s go. I’m tired.
The engine purred to life, and the heavy car began to move, gliding away from the stadium, away from the screaming fans, and away from the man named Kang who was currently cursing in an alleyway.
As the car merged onto the highway, Taehyung slid off the leather seat to the floor, disregarding his expensive silk trousers. He kept a cautious distance.
Taehyung said softly, his deep voice rumbling in the quiet space.
Kim Taehyung
We’re moving. Who was chasing you?
Jungkook couldn't focus on the words. The drug was peaking.
It wasn't just heat anymore; it was an itch, a maddening sensation under his skin that demanded friction. His clothes felt like sandpaper. His blood felt like lava.
Jungkook gasped, tearing at the collar of his shirt. Buttons popped, rolling onto the floor.
Jeon Jungkook
It’s... too hot.
He saw the expanse of Jungkook’s chest, the sheen of sweat, the way his nipples were hard and pressing against the fabric. He saw the tattoos—snakes and flowers winding up his arms—scars of a life Taehyung had only seen in movies.
Kim Taehyung
Are you sick? Do you need a hospital?
Taehyung reached out to check Jungkook’s forehead.
As soon as Taehyung’s cool fingers brushed Jungkook’s burning skin, Jungkook gasped, a sound so broken and erotic it made the air in the car heavy.
He lunged forward, not attacking, but clinging. He grabbed Taehyung’s hand and pressed it against his burning cheek, leaning into the touch like a starving man offered bread.
Jeon Jungkook
Don't stop..
Jungkook whispered, his voice wrecked.
Jeon Jungkook
Please... don't stop touching me.
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