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He leaned in slightly, his smirk widening as Jimin’s breath hitched.

Jimin’s free hand shot up, pressing against Jungkook’s chest to keep him at bay.

“Back off,” he said, though his voice lacked the venom he intended.

Jungkook’s grin softened, his gaze flickering briefly to where Jimin’s hand rested against him. “Relax, Vanilla. I’m just teasing.”

“Stop calling me that too,” Jimin muttered, shoving him lightly but firmly away. “And stay out of my space.”

“Sure thing,” Jungkook replied, holding his hands up in mock surrender as he took a step back. “For now.”

Jimin glared at him, his pulse still unsteady as he tried to steady his breath. “I don’t know what game you’re playing, but you’re not winning.”

Jungkook tilted his head, his smirk turning playful. “We’ll see about that.”

Jimin didn’t bother with a response. He turned on his heel, gripping the painting tightly as he started down the hallway again, determined to put as much distance between himself and Jungkook as possible.

“By the way,” Jungkook called after him, his voice laced with amusement. “You’re welcome for saving your ass back there.”

Jimin didn’t stop, but he did shoot him a middle finger over his shoulder.

Jungkook laughed, the sound echoing down the velvet hallway. “You’re fun, Vanilla. Let’s do this again sometime.”

“Stop calling me that,” Jimin snapped, carefully setting the painting down. He began to untie the frame, his fingers moving quickly and efficiently.

The man watched with amusement, his dark eyes gleaming. “What are you doing?”

“Taking what’s mine,” Jimin replied, not bothering to look up. He pulled the painting free from its ornate frame, rolling it up neatly.

“I don’t have time for your games.”

“Interesting,” the man said, stepping closer. “But you’re not leaving with that.”

Jimin straightened, the rolled-up painting in his hands. “Try and stop me.”

The man grinned. “Gladly.”

What followed was pure chaos.

Jungkook lunged, grabbing one end of the painting. Jimin held tight to the other, their movements a frenzied tug-of-war.

“Let go!” Jimin hissed.

“Not a chance,” jungkook shot back.

They stumbled down the hallway, their struggle punctuated by whispered insults and breathless tension.

“Do you even know what you’re doing?” Jimin demanded, his voice rising slightly.

“Better than you, shortstack,” the man replied, his grin infuriating.

Jimin swore under his breath, tugging harder. The man tugged back, their bodies colliding as they fought for control.

Jimin's breath hitched, his grip on the painting tightening as the stranger’s weight pressed against him.

“Let. Go.” Jimin hissed, glaring up at the taller man, his fingers refusing to release their claim on the prize.

But instead of obeying, the man smirked. “Not a chance, sweetheart.” His voice was deep, smooth, and infuriatingly teasing, like he was enjoying this far more than he should.

Their struggle shifted, the painting tilting between them as they jockeyed for dominance.

Suddenly, the stranger yanked harder than Jimin expected, sending both of them stumbling.

“Shit!” Jimin gasped as his foot caught on the edge of the frame.

Before he could catch himself, gravity took over. The painting slipped from his grasp, and the next thing he knew, they were both on the cold marble floor.

For a moment, neither of them moved. The painting rested awkwardly against their tangled legs, forgotten as they stared at each other.

Jungkook’s hands were braced on either side of Jimin’s head, his breath warm against Jimin’s cheek.

“Comfortable?” Jimin snapped, his voice sharper than he intended, though it did little to hide the slight flush creeping up his neck.

Jungkook didn’t answer right away. His dark eyes flickered down, lingering on Jimin’s lips for just a fraction too long. A lazy grin spread across his face.

“Not bad,” Jungkook drawled, his tone dripping with amusement. “Though I think I’d prefer this if you weren’t trying to kill me with your glare.”

Jimin scoffed, turning his head to the side, which only brought their noses dangerously close. His heart hammered in his chest as he tried—and failed—not to notice how annoyingly attractive the man was.

“Get off me, you—”

“Careful, honey,” Jungkook interrupted, his voice dropping an octave. “Wouldn’t want to say something you might regret.”

Jimin’s breath caught again, his sharp retort dying in his throat. Damn it. Damn him. There was something about the way Jungkook looked at him, like he already knew how to unravel him with just a few words.

Before Jimin could shove him off, the sound of footsteps echoed down the hall.

Both men froze.

The guards.

Jungkook’s gaze hardened instantly, his body shifting as he pressed closer to Jimin, his lips brushing against his ear.

“Don’t move,” he whispered, his voice barely audible but firm.

Jimin’s pulse raced for reasons he couldn’t fully blame on the danger. He swallowed hard, trying not to focus on the strong arm now draped over his waist or the steady rise and fall of Jungkook’s chest against his own.

The footsteps grew louder, accompanied by the crackle of radios. Jimin felt Jungkook’s fingers curl against his side, holding him in place.

The bastard was surprisingly good at keeping still, his every movement deliberate and controlled, as if he’d done this a hundred times before.

And yet, Jimin’s mind wasn’t on the guards or the painting anymore. It was on the faint scent of cologne clinging to Jungkook’s jacket, the heat of his body, and the way his lips had looked earlier when he smirked.

Jimin bristled, though the feeling of Jungkook's breath against his skin sent a ripple through him—one he didn't want to acknowledge. He hated how his pulse quickened, how his body betrayed him every time the man came too close.

Damn it.

As soon as the footsteps faded, Jimin shoved at Jungkook’s chest, ignoring how solid it felt under his palms. “Move,” he demanded.

Jungkook obliged, but not before flashing that infuriating grin again. He stood, brushing himself off as if this were all just another game to him.

“Didn’t know thieves came in such cute packages,” Jungkook teased, holding out a hand to help Jimin up.

Jimin slapped it away, rising on his own and grabbing the painting. “So what happened to you?,” he muttered, tying a rope to a nearby column as he prepared his escape.

Jungkook tilted his head, watching him with obvious amusement. “You’re really just going to run off with my painting?”

Jimin rolled his eyes. “Your painting? That’s cute.”

“It’s not just cute, honey,” Jungkook said, stepping closer. His voice dropped again, silky and low. “It’s mine. And I don’t share.”

They both grabbed the edge at the same time, their fingers brushing in the process.

Jimin cursed under his breath, trying to pull it away, but Jungkook’s grip was unrelenting.

“What's your name again? Dickhead? Because you sure act like one” Jimin snapped, tugging harder.

Jungkook’s smirk deepened. “It's Jungkook, no need to act all sassy if all you want to hear again is my name.”

The tension between them simmered, charged and electric. Jimin hated how Jungkook’s words made his stomach flip, hated how much he wanted to wipe that smug grin off his face—and not entirely in a bad way.

Before either could make another move, the sound of guards returning jolted them back to reality.

“Fuck,” Jimin whispered.

"Last chance," Jimin whispered through gritted teeth. His hand tightened on the painting as he tried to pull it away, a desperate edge in his voice.

"Fucking let go."

But Jungkook only smirked, refusing to budge. "Never."

In a panic, Jimin yanked harder on the edge, hoping the painting would slip free from Jungkook’s unrelenting grasp, his heart racing at the thought of the art tearing.

But Jungkook held on, his grip unyielding.

As Jimin yanked the painting away from Jungkook's grip, the fabric strained in his hands. This was it—everything he had worked for.

His heart lurched as the sound of tearing cloth pierced the air. He stared at the jagged tear, disbelief washing over him.

It was ruined. “Damn it…” His voice was barely a whisper, the frustration thick in his throat.

Jimin couldn't stop staring at the ripped edges of the masterpiece, his breath caught in his throat.

His heart skipped a beat, but it wasn’t just frustration bubbling inside.

Jimin stood frozen, staring at the jagged tear in the fabric.

Was this all he had left? Years of carefully cultivated skill, all leading to this—ruined by a single, impulsive move.

His heart stuttered. This wasn’t just a painting—it was the symbol of everything he’d worked for. And now... it was nothing.

“Fuck you, Angelcock,” he muttered, throwing himself over the balcony edge.

“If i can't have it neither will you ” Jungkook called after him, his voice tinged with laughter.

The painting may have been torn, the escape less than smooth, but the spark ignited between them was undeniable.

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i need more comments TT y'all don’t like it?
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