Chapter Text
Jeon Jungkook never had thought on hide his status as a little - how could he? All his stuff is known by fans and media. But that doesn’t mean he had accepted his classification. Growing up in the industry of entertainment had forced him to master the control over his headspace’s, to lock it down so tightly specially when they had schedules.
He had never had wanted a caregiver. Not really . Regression was something he avoided at all cost. Especially because he’s headspace feels too young, too little, barely two at three years old, a fucking baby. That young he can’t even control well his bladder, and that was humiliating enough. Worst still, he’s the only little of the group, so not really the best situation.
Jungkook doesn’t seem to be the type of a little. Or maybe he was, but he refused accept it. Maybe that’s why he covered himself with tattoos and piercings, why he worked so hard to
to create an image of “tough guy” instead of a cute little boy.
Maybe if he pretended hard enough, no one would notice how close he sometimes came to slipping.
He wasn’t naïve. He knew his biology. Littles needed regression the way caregivers needed to take care of littles, the way humans needed sleep, the way lungs needed air. It was natural. But Jungkook had spent years convincing himself he could push it off, that he could live like anyone else.
And yet, some nights, when the exhaustion cracked him open and the silence settled heavy, he could feel it—the pull, soft and insistent, dragging him toward the headspace he hated.
He ignored it. Always ignored it.
He was Jeon Jungkook. Idol. Performer. Tattooed, pierced, strong. He wasn’t a baby.
At least, that’s what he told himself.
And that’s why he ended up in a bar in Tokyo, instead of going back to the hotel to rest like the other members after long schedules. He could feel his hold on his headspace slipping - how not? - He’s been avoiding to regress since he was discharged from military service, more than two months. Also with the stress of schedules, he’s not doing fine. Unfortunately biology wasn’t something he could out-stubborn forever. Littles needed to regress; it was written into them.
The bar was dimly lit, music humming low. A couple of locals greeted him like an old friend—he had met them before, friends-of-friends, people who knew how to keep things quiet. Drinks appeared fast. Laughter came faster.
He told himself he’d stop at one.
But one turned into two, then into three. A glass of something strong burned its way down his throat, chasing away thoughts he didn’t want.
Then came the drugs. Passed casually into his hand. Familiar. Dangerous. He had promised he’d stopped. Promised to the company, to the staff, to the members. To himself.
But promises broke easier in the haze of Tokyo neon.
The first drag made him laugh, a soft giggle bubbling out before he could stop it. His head swam, lighter, floaty. The world blurred at the edges, and everything that usually pressed heavy on his chest, melted into the background.
“Shit,” he whispered, though the word was swallowed by laughter again.
He knew it. He was playing with fire.
His thoughts slipped, words clumsy in his mouth. He hid it behind another drink, behind another giggle, hoping no one noticed. To anyone watching, he was just quiet, spaced out, a little too gone.
But inside, he could feel the pull.
The fuzziness. The floaty warmth. The danger of slipping into the very headspace he’d sworn he didn’t need.
And Jeon Jungkook laughed again, because if he didn’t, he might admit the truth.
That he wasn’t just drunk.
That he wasn’t just high.
That he was one breath away from being the thing he hated most: a baby. Maybe he’s stupid, why he would decide to drug him up if he knows that drugs tend to encourage him to regress.
The laughter carried him out of the bar, into the Tokyo night. Neon signs blurred together as he walked, too fast and too slow all at once. The air was cool, the streets alive with chatter and traffic, but Jungkook barely noticed. His legs felt disconnected from his body, carrying him on autopilot toward the hotel.
He shoved his hands into his pockets, head ducked, giggling softly to himself at nothing in particular. He was good at hiding when he needed to be—quiet, spaced out, no more than another late-night tourist weaving his way home.
The lobby lights were too bright when he finally stumbled in, head spinning. He gave the staff a polite bow, covering his slack expression with practiced ease, then dragged himself into the waiting elevator.
The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, spilling Jungkook into the quiet hallway of the hotel. His steps were uneven, the carpet catching beneath his sneakers as he leaned too heavily against the wall.
He yawned wide, eyes barely open, thumb drifting toward his lips like gravity pulled it there. The hallway blurred; all he could focus on was the promise of a bed. A bed, a blanket, the silence of sleep.
He fumbled with the key card in his pocket until his clumsy fingers managed to pull it free. Staring at the glowing number on the wall, his foggy mind convinced him this was his door. He shoved the card toward the slot, missed, tried again. The light blinked red.
“Come onnnn,” he mumbled, words slurred, swaying where he stood. His hand shook as he tried the handle, tugging, rattling, whining under his breath when it didn’t budge. His chest ached with the sting of sudden, stupid tears. “Open…”
“Jungkook.”
The voice was sharp, cutting through his haze. He turned sluggishly, thumb half-slipped into his mouth, only to find Taehyung standing a few feet away, an eyebrow raised and his hotel key in hand.
“That’s my room,” Taehyung said flatly, watching him with a mix of suspicion and annoyance.
“Uh-uh,” Jungkook replied stubbornly, blinking slow, still holding up the key card like proof.
Taehyung stepped closer, plucking the card easily from his unresisting grip. He flipped it over, checking the number, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Yah, Jeon Jungkook…” He looked back at him, gaze narrowing. “You’re at the wrong door. Your room’s three floors down.”
Jungkook just sighed, heavy and frustrated, as if Taehyung was the one making this difficult. He pushed off the door, stumbling a few steps, mumbling to himself about finding his room instead.
Taehyung didn’t move to stop him. He simply slid his own card into the lock, watching as the maknae swayed down the hallway, his walk more of a wobble than anything.
“Idiot,” Taehyung muttered under his breath. He let Jungkook go a few feet further before following at a distance, hands in his pockets. If the kid actually managed to find his room on his own, fine. But if he wandered somewhere he shouldn’t—Taehyung would be right there to drag him back.
Because it was obvious.
Jungkook wasn’t just drunk.
He was too high, too far gone for his own good. And Taehyung wasn’t stupid enough to leave him alone like that.
The keycard slid smoothly this time, the little green light flashing as the door unlocked. Taehyung pushed it open with his shoulder, his free hand steadying Jungkook, who swayed like a marionette with cut strings.
“Inside,” Taehyung ordered, voice clipped.
Jungkook stumbled through the doorway, half tripping over his own sneakers. He caught himself against the wall and let out a quiet laugh, the sound high-pitched and careless.
Taehyung shut the door behind them, jaw tight. He had seen Jungkook drunk before—everyone had. But this was different. His steps weren’t just heavy with alcohol. His eyes were too red, too glassy, his giggles too soft and floaty.
Not just drunk. High.
Taehyung’s gut twisted.
“Sit down,” he instructed, pointing to the bed.
Jungkook blinked at him, thumb already sneaking back to his mouth. He dropped onto the mattress without protest, legs folding beneath him. The paci wasn’t in reach, so his thumb became the substitute, cheeks hollowing as he sucked lazily.
Taehyung sighed and crossed to Jungkook’s suitcase, flipping it open with little patience. A mess, of course—clothes shoved in with no order, socks tangled with shirts. He dug until he found what he was looking for: pajamas folded at the bottom, and next to them, a neat stack of pull-ups.
His hand hovered. For a second, he considered letting it be. But then he glanced back at Jungkook—at the sway of his body, the droop of his eyelids, the glassy unfocused stare.
No way. He wasn’t trusting a flimsy pull-up tonight.
Taehyung pulled a thicker diaper free, tossing it onto the bed along with the pajama set. “Up,” he said firmly.
Jungkook giggled instead, rolling sideways and hugging the pillow to his chest.
“Yah. Don’t test me.” Taehyung grabbed his wrist and tugged him upright. “Arms up.”
Clumsy fingers tried to help, but Jungkook’s coordination was shot. He tugged his t-shirt halfway off, got tangled, and laughed like it was the funniest thing in the world. Taehyung rolled his eyes and finished the job, peeling it over his head and tossing it aside.
“Useless,” he muttered under his breath, though his hands were careful as he guided Jungkook back.
The pajama top came next. Taehyung slid his arms through the sleeves one by one, buttoning it closed while Jungkook babbled nonsense—something about puppies, something about dancing, all broken up by soft giggles.
When Taehyung reached for the waistband of his jeans, Jungkook blinked down at him, brows furrowing for a moment. But then he spotted the diaper on the bed, the silly dog print staring up at him, and he grinned around his thumb. “Roar roar,” he mumbled happily.
Taehyung huffed, half a laugh, half disbelief. “Of course you would notice the puppies right now.”
Getting him out of his jeans was a struggle, Jungkook wriggling unhelpfully, but eventually Taehyung managed. The pull-up underneath was slightly crooked already, waistband twisted from how carelessly Jungkook had put it on earlier.
Taehyung ripped it off with no ceremony, balling it up and tossing it to the floor. “You’re lucky it’s me and not Jin-hyung,” he muttered darkly. “He’d have you red-faced for this.”
Jungkook blinked at him, clearly not comprehending. His gaze drifted instead to the diaper waiting on the bed, dog prints smiling up at him. He broke into a grin around his thumb. “Bamie…” he mumbled.
Taehyung gave him a flat look. “Yeah. Doggies. Congratulations, genius.” The little has an obsession with dogs, really.
Sliding the diaper beneath him was no easy task. Jungkook wriggled, floppy as a ragdoll one second, stiff as a board the next. Every time Taehyung told him to lift his hips, he either did nothing or lifted too much, nearly rolling off the bed.
“Stop fighting me,” Taehyung hissed, one hand pressed against his hip to keep him steady. He finally managed to pull the diaper up snug, securing the tapes with practiced speed.
Jungkook’s only response was another round of soft giggles, eyes fluttering closed and open again. His thumb was wet from constant sucking, smearing against his cheek.
Taehyung sat back, running a hand down his face, exhausted despite having done most of the work. “You’re more trouble than you’re worth,” he muttered, though his hands were already tugging the pajama bottoms up over the diaper, covering the silly prints.
He leaned in close, fingers tipping Jungkook’s chin up. The younger blinked at him, pupils wide, bloodshot eyes hazy.
“Yeah,” Taehyung confirmed to himself quietly. “Not just drunk. Definitely high.”
Jungkook hummed nonsense in reply, slipping his thumb back into his mouth.
Taehyung pulled it away gently, scanning the bed until he found the baby blue pacifier buried near the pillow. He pressed it into Jungkook’s lips instead. “This. Not your hand.”
Jungkook accepted it without question, eyes sliding half-closed as he suckled slowly, his body finally going soft against the mattress.
Taehyung sat there for a moment, watching him. Stupid. Stupid for getting high and drunk when he knows that consuming that things just make him more near to slip in little space.
“Idiot,” Taehyung muttered, pulling the blanket up over him. “You’ve got no idea what kind of trouble you’re in.” He ends up getting out of his jeans, he would sleep with the little tonight, it’s not the best idea to let him sleep alone this night.