Chapter 61 || BOUND AND TORN BY PROPHECIES

 

The Silent Tease and the Training Punishment

 

The morning sun cast golden rays through the arched windows of the grand hall, but Jungkook felt no warmth.

Not when he walked into the breakfast chamber and immediately locked eyes with a certain smug expression — Taehyung’s, seated at the head of the table like a prince with too many secrets and far too much satisfaction.

He didn’t say a word. He didn’t need to.

One glance. That was all it took. Taehyung's eyes dragged over him with casual interest, but Jungkook felt it like a silk glove threaded with static — a silent reminder of the night he’d spent pressed to Taehyung’s chest, trapped with no escape, no excuses, and dreams that still pulsed under his skin like a fever.

He tried to focus on his plate, on Nyla’s chatter, on anything except the phantom warmth on his cheeks. But the moment he sat down, his posture snapped straight — as if every inch of him had been summoned.

Then it started.

A whisper of sensation traced the back of his neck — almost nothing, barely a suggestion of touch. Like warm breath. Or the teasing edge of a feather.

But it moved. With purpose.

Down his nape. Across his shoulder.

Jungkook stiffened.

His eyes flicked to Taehyung. The bastard was sipping his tea like the picture of indifference. Not a twitch. Not a blink. Certainly no guilt.

Phantom magic.

“You—” Jungkook hissed.

Taehyung lifted a brow, so innocent it was offensive. “Something wrong, Jungkook?”

He gritted his teeth. “No.”

But then—again. The sensation returned, this time trailing along the inside of his wrist. He jerked, nearly knocking over his cup. Nyla raised a brow that screamed I know, while Yoongi glanced at him like he was watching something unravel.

Taehyung simply drummed his fingers on the table, orchestrating every caress like a conductor.

By the end of breakfast, Jungkook was seething — face warm, thoughts chaotic, and a quiet scream of frustration clawing at the back of his throat.

And then Taehyung stood.

“Training grounds,” he announced. “Now.”

“What?” Jungkook blinked.

Taehyung leaned in — too close, too casual. “You disobeyed me. Last night was only the second lesson.”

“You absolute—”

“Wear something that stretches,” Taehyung added with a sly smile, already walking away.

---

The training hall echoed with quiet — wind tapping against the high dome, the soft scuff of boots against polished stone.

Jungkook stood in the centre of the floor, dressed in a fitted training set that left nothing to distraction. His hair was tied back, his glare laser-focused on Taehyung.

Taehyung looked infuriatingly smug.

“You may be trained in dragon combat,” he said, tossing a length of cloth to the ground beside them, “but your human body still forgets how to move. If Mili or the others aren’t beside you, you’re vulnerable. Today we fix that. Proximity training.”

Jungkook narrowed his eyes. “When you say ‘proximity training,’ I hear ‘thinly veiled harassment.’”

Taehyung just grinned and stepped forward.

Too close. Again.

His hands landed on Jungkook’s hips — firm, guiding. “Feet shoulder-width apart.”

“I know,” Jungkook muttered.

“Then stop shivering.”

A brush of knuckles against his side. Jungkook flinched.

“You’re not cold anymore, are you?” Taehyung murmured.

“That was your fault!”

“But you cuddled so sweetly,” he whispered, eyes gleaming. “Like you never wanted to let go.”

Jungkook shoved at his chest. He didn’t move.

Instead, he caught Jungkook’s wrists and spun him smoothly — pressing his back lightly to Taehyung’s chest, holding his arms in place.

“Balance,” he said softly. “Focus.”

“Your breath on my neck is not helping,” Jungkook growled.

“Apologies,” Taehyung murmured. He didn’t move.

Instead, his hands guided Jungkook’s arms into a defensive pose. Fingers warm. Sure. Unrelenting.

“You’re trembling,” he whispered into Jungkook’s ear. “I wonder why.”

“Because you’re touching me—everywhere,” Jungkook hissed.

Taehyung leaned lower, lips barely grazing the shell of his ear. “Then I must be doing it right.”

Jungkook snapped.

He drove an elbow back — Taehyung dodged with a laugh, light and boyish, eyes lit with wicked joy.

“Last punishment’s this evening,” he called as he stepped back, tossing a towel at him. “Hope you rest well, Jungkook.”

Jungkook caught the towel. Face flushed. Chest tight. And despite it all, beneath the rage — there was thrill.

Damn him.

---

By the time he returned to his chambers, Jungkook was ready to collapse.

What he was not ready for was Taehyung, already seated by the fire — legs crossed, robe loose, a massive tome resting on his lap.

“Come here,” he said, without looking up.

Jungkook narrowed his eyes. “What now?”

“Guardianship punishment,” Taehyung replied calmly. “You’re under observation.”

“I’m not a child.”

Taehyung finally looked up — predatory and calm. “You’re acting like one.”

Jungkook rolled his eyes but stepped forward. “Fine. For how long?”

“Until I say otherwise.”

Before he could protest, Taehyung reached out, took his wrist — and pulled him onto his lap.

Jungkook landed with a startled grunt, thighs trapped between Taehyung’s, back against his bare chest. His thin robe did little to help.

“Taehyung—”

“Shh,” Taehyung murmured, flipping the page. “We’re reading about ancient elemental bonds. Focus.”

His voice was low, deliberate. Each word buzzed through Jungkook’s spine. Occasionally, when he turned the page, he leaned in just a little — lips brushing his ear, breath warm on his cheek.

Jungkook tried to shift.

Arms tightened.

“Sit still,” Taehyung said, mimicking his tone with a smirk.

“You’re enjoying this too much.”

“Oh, absolutely… Mommy.”

Jungkook groaned. “You’re such a little—”

But he didn’t finish.

Because Taehyung’s hand had slid lower — resting lightly on his thigh. Not moving. Not quite inappropriate. Just enough to burn through cloth and common sense.

He could’ve fought it.

Should’ve.

But instead, slowly, humiliatingly… Jungkook leaned back against him. Letting the warmth seep in. Letting the sound of his voice take root in his chest.

For one long, confusing moment…

He forgot to hate it.

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