Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The day Jungkook meets Park Jimin at the club is a day he initially plans to just have fun. He’s not looking for anything serious. He’s broke, busy, and reckless enough without throwing love into the mix. But for tonight he just wants someone pretty, someone fun, someone who’ll laugh at his dirty jokes and let him take them home.

The music is so loud he can feel the bass in his bones as he dances with his eyes closed and a smile on his lips. When he opens them, though, that’s when he sees him. 

Through the purple and pink lights, and the crowd of people dancing around him, he sees the man perched at the bar, seemingly ordinary—yet for some reason, Jungkook can’t look away. His gaze is drawn to the blond hair falling over the man’s forehead, as he tilts his head, talking to the bartender and gesturing charismatically the way someone used to people listening to him would.

Jungkook stops dead, because holy fuck, that man is gorgeous in an expensive, untouchable way. He’s the type who looks like he’d sip champagne while turning down marriage proposals, the type Jungkook should absolutely leave alone.

Which, obviously, means he’s heading straight toward him.

He passes Hoseok who is already halfway gone, dancing like his life depends on it, and leaves Yoongi slouched at the other side of the long bar, pretending he hates being here even though he’s the one who suggested the club.

Even from a distance, Jungkook can tell that the man’s shirt, unbuttoned to the middle of the chest, is made of a material more expensive than his own college tuition. The closer he gets, the more things he notices, like how the man’s rings glint under the neon lights, how shiny are his dangly earrings, that dimples show up in the creases of his face when he laughs at something the bartender says, before turning away.

Jungkook slides into the empty seat beside him, not caring much about the fact that he’s contrasting madly, wearing the ripped denim and with tattoos peeking out from under his sleeve, and waits.

The guy doesn’t look up. He lifts his glass, takes a sip, and sets it back down.

“You look bored,” Jungkook notices casually, leaning closer so that his voice carries over the music.

The man finally turns. His eyes are sharper up close as he tilts his head, sweeping over Jungkook from hair to boots. It’s not subtle or nice, but fuck, it makes Jungkook’s stomach flip.

“And you look like trouble,” the man replies smoothly, even a little mockingly.

Jungkook doesn’t stop the grin that naturally stretches his lips. “You say that like it’s a bad thing, hyung.”

He gets a faint lift of one brow. “Hyung?”

“You look older than me.”

He actually means richer and more established, because it’s rather difficult to pinpoint the exact age of the man before him, but the charisma betrays him, and Jungkook has a radar built in to recognize older, wealthy men… Apparently.

He just shrugs, shameless. “Hotter too, but definitely older.”

The man laughs, and it’s a soft, surprised sound, as if he wasn’t expecting to be amused. It makes Jungkook want to chase it, wring it out of him again.

“I’m Jimin,” the man says finally, offering his name.

“Jungkook. So, Jimin-hyung, what’s a guy like you doing in a place like this? Looking for a quick fuck?”

Jimin’s deliciously plump lips twitch upward. “Bold.”

“I have the impression that neither of us likes wasting time.” Jungkook leans closer, accidentally brushing his arm against Jimin’s sleeve. “You, me, my place. We could skip the drinks. What do you say?”

Once again, Jimin lifts the glass and starts sipping his champagne. His eyes sparkle with curiosity, though, and Jungkook knows he’s got his attention. “Do you think I go home with every guy who flirts with me?”

“No. But I think you’ll go home with me.”

Jimin laughs again and Jungkook could listen to this laugh all night—bright and light, like bells in the wind. He watches Jimin set his glass down and lean in so close that Jungkook can smell the subtle but expensive scent of cologne on his skin—perfect to recognize when someone is confident enough to never have to show off.

“And what makes you so sure?”

Jungkook waited for that question. He dips his head, brushing Jimin’s ear with his lips as he whispers, “Because you laughed at my jokes. And because I’ve been watching you stare at my tattoos since I walked up. I know you want me… hyung.”

A small breath slips through Jimin’s teeth, and Jungkook feels victorious for a moment there.

But then Jimin only leans back, amused as he takes Jungkook in with dark eyes again, but this time almost like he’s… studying him? “You’re cocky.”

“Confident.”

“Shameless.”

“And hot.” Jungkook grins. “Don’t forget hot.”

Jimin rolls his eyes, but his smile betrays him. He looks at Jungkook like he’s both ridiculous and interesting—two things that usually don’t go together.

For a second Jungkook thinks he’s won. That he’ll get to rip that thin shirt open, map those rings across his own skin. He leans in, brushing Jimin’s cheek with his lips, ready to seal the deal—

When Jimin stops him with one gentle, infuriating word. “No.”

Jungkook blinks slowly, pausing. “No?”

“No,” Jimin repeats, but his mouth suddenly spreads in a suspicious smirk akin to a shark. “But I have a better idea.”

Jungkook laughs, leaning back. “Better than sex with me? Doubt it, hyung.”

“Be my boyfriend.”

That makes him freeze. “Excuse me?”

Jimin sips his drink like he’s discussing the weather, before he clarifies, “Fake, of course. I need one.”

Jungkook stares. Then bursts out laughing. “That’s the worst pickup line I’ve ever heard.”

“I’m not joking. And I think you’re perfect for the job.”

And for the first time all night, Jungkook doesn’t have a ready line. He just stares at the beautiful, insane stranger and wonders if he’s in trouble.

The thing about Jimin is that he never, literally never, does anything reckless. Calculated risks are fine. Petty rebellions, absolutely! But dragging a stranger into his life? Into his family’s life? That’s insanity.

But he can’t stop looking at the boy—man—beside him, and not imagine his parents' reaction. The messy curls, tattoos trailing down Jungkook’s arm, multiple piercings to seal his bad boy aura. And that shameless tongue, like he’s never been told “no” in his life.

The exact type his parents would despise. Which makes him perfect.

“Be my boyfriend,” Jimin repeats, savoring the way the word almost makes Jungkook spit his drink.

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, chuckling nervously. “Are you serious? Hyung, you don’t even know me.”

“I know enough.” Jimin leans his elbows on the bar. “You’re bold, shameless. You make me laugh and don’t look like anyone I would be approved to marry. My family would hate you on sight.”

“Aw, I’m flattered. So what, you need a tattooed bad boy to piss off daddy or something?”

His jaw tics, but he hides it quickly behind a smile. “Something like that.”

Truth is, it’s worse. If Jimin said his family is displeased with him, it would be the understatement of the century. They disagree with his every life choice. They don’t just want him obedient, though—they want him chained. Preferably in an arranged marriage with some heiress, cementing a business alliance between his father’s company and some other influential name, over the public champagne toast. Then, he would be the perfect Park heir, groomed like every cousin.

It’s generational in their family to get the same degree at the same university and  take over the position in the Parks’ finance empire. Except Jimin chose differently—different major, different university, and a nail in the coffin—career in tech instead, to piss them off and prove himself. He’s successful, respected, thriving, all on his own, and still it’s never enough.

So no, he’s not marrying a stranger for the sake of a merger. He’d rather bring home the messiest man in this club and watch his father’s blood pressure spike.

Jungkook watches him with a tilt of his head, his lips twitch like he can read Jimin’s thoughts. “So what’s in it for me, hyung? Cause I’m not cheap. I’m hot and high-maintenance,” he jokes.

Jimin snorts. “I’ll pay you, of course.”

That makes Jungkook blink in surprise, and then laugh so loudly that people turn to look. He stops, taken aback. “Holy shit, you’re serious.”

“Of course I’m serious.” Jimin’s forehead creases. “You’ll play the role of my boyfriend, take part in some public appearances, family dinners, parties… Just be… obnoxious, bold, be exactly yourself.” One corner of his mouth lifts higher at the thought alone. “They’ll hate it.”

“And in exchange,” Jungkook leans on his elbow, his eyes widen slightly. Actually they’re almost glittering, like he’s finally starting to get it. “I get money? Like… allowance money? Sugar daddy shit?”

Jimin’s lips twitch once again in amusement. “Think of it as a business arrangement.”

“Business arrangement with benefits?”

“Not those benefits.”

“Shame.” The corner of Jungkook’s mouth hooks up, shameless as ever. “I was hoping you’d at least offer sex as a signing bonus.”

Jimin rolls his eyes, but can’t help the heat that he feels creeping up his neck. “You’re insufferable.”

“You still picked me,” Jungkook drags the word out, grinning wider. “Out of everyone here. Guess I’m special, huh, hyung?”

Jimin ignores the flutter in his chest. Jungkook is charming and handsome, sure. But he’s also young and careless. This is strategy, nothing more.

“Do you think you can handle it?” he challenges, but also can’t help but worry. “My family isn’t kind. They’ll question you, test you, tear you apart. You’ll need a thick skin.”

Jungkook shrugs casually, and somehow he’s even more cocky. “Hyung, I survive on instant noodles and four hours of sleep. Your family doesn’t scare me.”

This time it’s Jimin’s turn to blink and then burst out laughing unexpectedly. Because, god help him, maybe this will work after all.

Jungkook holds out a hand across the bar, and the spark in his eyes alone should tell Jimin that this is a bad idea, because Jungkook sure is a trouble. “Deal?”

Jimin studies him for a few seconds, once again taking in the tattoos—this time on his palms and wrist—that smug smirk, the lip piercing, that reckless energy radiating off him. Everything his family would despise, everything Jimin shouldn’t want.

“Deal.”

When Jimin called him to get some training, before meeting his parents, Jungkook thought that training meant maybe watching a few etiquette videos on YouTube, perhaps learning which fork is which—the easy stuff.

He didn’t expect to stand in Jimin’s ridiculously expensive apartment two days later, in front of a full-length mirror, while Jimin circles him like a hawk.

“Shoulders back,” he orders and presses two fingers against Jungkook’s spine. “You slouch like a teenager.”

Jungkook's smile blooms in the reflection before he can stop it. “Do you like touching me that much already, hyung?”

Unimpressed, Jimin’s eyes meet his in the mirror, annoyed and so gorgeous. “Don’t test me.”

Jungkook tests him immediately. He rolls his shoulders exaggeratedly and lets out a loud, fake moan. “Mmm, yeah, just like that, press harder, hyung.”

“You’re impossible.”

“And you’re bossy. We’re actually perfect for each other.”

The man ignores him, moving to fix the knot of Jungkook’s tie that he was gifted and forced to wear. His fingers brush against Jungkook’s throat for a moment. “Be gentle with me, hyung, that’s a sensitive spot.”

In response, Jimin tugs the knot tight enough that Jungkook has to inhale sharply. “Maybe you’ll shut up for once.”

Instead, Jungkook leans down, allowing his breath to ghost over Jimin’s ear. “Want me to call you sir instead?”

Jimin’s hands freeze for half a second. His forehead wrinkles, and then, as if he realizes that Jungkook is just joking, he looks up flatly.

Jungkook bursts out laughing. “God, your face,” he wheezes. “You look like you’re about to murder me. Or fuck me. Hard to tell honestly.”

Jimin swats him in the chest, exasperated. “You’re a disaster.”

“Your disaster apparently.”

Jimin mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like never again, but he doesn’t pull away. He smooths Jungkook’s shirt, adjusting his stance. The younger man leans into the touch, shamelessly puffing his chest.

Jimin doesn’t react. When he finally steps back, crossing his arms, he nods. “Better.”

“Thank you, Professor Park.” Jungkook bows mockingly. “Do I graduate from etiquette school now?”

“Not even close.”

“It’s okay, I like our private lessons.”

Jimin groans, pinching the bridge of his nose like he regrets every decision that led him here, and Jungkook just laughs.

Jimin has made many mistakes in his life, but bringing Jungkook into a high-end boutique might be his worst. The boy sticks out like fish on land, with his tattoos and ripped jeans. But once again Jimin is proven something he already knows—that charisma can win over anyone. Despite not fitting in in the slightest, somehow, the staff trip over themselves to assist Jungkook. Probably because he lounges in the chair like Jimin normally would, and grins, complimenting and flirting with every attendant until they blush.

Jimin rubs his temple, feeling the ache coming. “Try to look less… you.”

“Aw, hyung, do you think I’m too hot for them?”

“Too obnoxious, if you ask me.”

“Whatever you say, princess.”

Jimin inhales through his nose. Regret is a bitter taste.

They pick out a stack of outfits—tailored suits, designer shirts, elegant pants and more. Jimin insists on a minimalistic wardrobe and muted tones, while Jungkook picks leather pants and a mesh top just to watch Jimin twitch.

When the attendant gestures to the dressing rooms, Jimin makes the second-worst decision of the night.

“I’ll come with you.”

Jungkook raises a brow, and a smirk tugs at his pierced lip. “Oh? Can’t resist watching me strip, hyung?”

Jimin ignores him. He only wants to make sure that Jungkook doesn’t waste time on trying on the clothes that they won’t take, anyway. He follows inside with his arms crossed, pretending this is all professional.

The dressing room is big and has one full-length mirror, plus plush seating. Jimin never before noticed how intimate the setup is.

“Change,” he orders, tossing Jungkook the first suit.

The younger man peels his shirt off immediately, but he does it slowly and theatrically. Jimin’s sure that he’s flexlexing his abs, showing off the muscles covered with tattoos on purpose. He forces himself to sit still, outwardly calm, inwardly screaming.

“You’re staring,” Jungkook singsongs, shimmying out of his jeans.

Jimin narrows his eyes and waves his hand. “Just put the clothes on.”

Of course, Jungkook doesn’t just put them on. He continues to strip unhurriedly, smiling wickedly as he undoes the button. When his jeans slide down over his strong legs, to the floor, Jimin allows himself to stare, before looking up… and freezes.

Jungkook is naked. Completely naked.

“Where are your boxers?” he asks, sharper than intended.

Jungkook blatantly kicks the jeans aside. His cock hangs heavy between his thighs, half-hard. He doesn’t even try to cover it. If anything, he steps closer, flaunting it.

“I don’t wear them,” he explains casually. “I like the air. Plus…” His grin turns dirty. “It makes it easier when someone wants to get at my cock.”

Jimin’s throat tightens. He stares resolutely at Jungkook’s face, not down, not even when Jungkook shifts his weight so his cock swings lightly with the motion.

“Put the pants on,” he commands coolly.

Jungkook laughs, grabbing the first pair of tailored trousers. He pulls them up slowly, leaving the zipper undone. The cut frames his hips indecently, fabric hugs him so tight that Jimin can see the outline anyway.

“How’s it look?” The younger asks, tugging the waistband down an inch, enough to flash the start of a happy trail. He’s boldly fishing for praises, already knowing he looks fucking good like this—strong, covered up in ink, wearing only those polite pants. Oh, he’s awfully indecent. 

Jimin swallows. “Better than you deserve.”

Instead of looking at his reflection in the mirror, Jungkook stares down at him, coming a step closer. He lowers his voice, until it becomes deeper, when he calls, “Hyung, it kinda sounds like you wanna fuck me in these.”

Jimin doesn’t answer. He stands, fixing the waistband himself, accidentally brushing his fingers against the hot skin of the younger’s stomach. Jungkook makes a low, filthy noise, nothing like the fake moans from before.

Jimin steps back fast. “Next outfit.”

Jungkook winks at him like he knows exactly how he makes Jimin feel, and pulls on the next set—a dark turtleneck and slim trousers. He looks devastating. “Better?” he asks, tugging at the collar. His hair is messier.

Jimin adjusts it himself, brushing his throat, and Jungkook tips his head back, parting his lips, making a soft sound that shoots straight through Jimin’s spine.

“Stop making noises,” he warns, quickly taking his hands off.

“Make me.”

He sits back. “Next outfit.”

And so it goes. Shirt on, pants on, shirt off, pants off. Of course, Jungkook doesn’t make it easy. By the fifth change, he “involuntarily” brushes his hand over the entire length of his cock lazily, while he’s standing naked, thickening, with his eyes fixed on Jimin in the mirror.

“You’re staring, hyung. Do you enjoy watching me like that?”

“I’m not,” Jimin lies flatly.

“You are.” Jungkook smirks, giving his cock one slow tug before letting go. “It’s okay. I like your eyes on me.”

Jimin’s nails bite his palm. “Enough.”

Jungkook ignores him, flaunting every inch of himself before dragging on the next outfit. By the seventh, he’s so shameless Jimin can barely breathe. He’s pulling his shirt off, flexing in the mirror, while his fully hard cock’s swinging as he bends to grab another pair of pants.

Finally, Jungkook dresses and turns, but the pants are still partially open at the front, the bulge straining against the fabric, visible and impossible to ignore.

“Hyung,” he drawls, stepping close enough that Jimin can smell his sweat, his soap, he swears he can feel the faint musk of arousal, even though it should be impossible. “If you want my cock, just say it.”

Jimin forces his face into perfect calm, hoping that it wasn’t betraying too much when Jungkook was getting dressed up. If this deal is going to work, he needs to be more professional about this, right?

He smooths the waistband, zipping Jungkook up with careful hands. Then he steps back. “We’ll take them all.”

Jungkook stares at him, slowly tilting his head to the side. “You’re so full of shit.”

“What?”

“You don’t care about clothes right now. Your eyes are fucking me already.”

Jimin blinks and sits down again, composed, gesturing at Jungkook to change back to his own clothes. He’s pretending his pulse isn’t racing, pretending his pants aren’t too tight, while Jungkook is still laughing, still shameless.

Jungkook has figured that if he’s getting paid to play boyfriend, and to a man like Park Jimin, he might as well go all in. He’s going to make it believable, which in his book, means handsy, flirty and dirty.

Judging by the way Jimin keeps side-eyeing him as they wait for his sister at the café for the first public test run… maybe a little too believable.

“Don’t embarrass me,” Jimin mutters, straightening his sleeve.

Jungkook gives him a lopsided grin, sliding his hand up Jimin’s thigh under the table again. “No promises, princess.”

Jimin shoots him a glare, but Jungkook just allows his thumb to keep tracing lazy circles dangerously close to the man’s crotch. He’s so tensed up ever since they started preparing Jungkook for his role, that he surely needs some of that.

Before Jimin can swat him away, his sister arrives.

She seems slightly younger, stylish in this elegant but comfy way, and has clever eyes just like her brother. But where Jimin radiates composure, Hana looks like she lives to stir trouble, just like Jungkook. And the second she spots them, her lips stretch in a blood-red smile.

“So this is the infamous boyfriend.” She slides into the seat, staring over Jungkook’s tattoos, his piercings, even the way his arm is draped possessively over Jimin’s chair. “Wow, you weren’t kidding. He’s… definitely not mom and dad’s type.”

“Thanks,” Jungkook responds brightly, leaning forward to shake her hand. “I get that a lot. I’m Jungkook, but you can call me Jimin’s hot boyfriend.”

Jimin makes a strangled noise beside him, but Hana just bursts out laughing, widening her eyes for a second, as if she wasn’t used to someone speaking this way to her. “Oh my god, I like you,” she calls out, excited. “He actually found someone with a personality for once.”

Jungkook beams. Yeah, he likes her already.

Jimin forces them to order drinks right after, looking like he might lose ten years of life if they keep going back and forth—which of course, doesn’t stop them. Hana asks questions, and Jungkook answers them, sprinkling in pet names just to watch Jimin’s ears turn pink.

“Baby, do you want cake?” He asks sweetly at some point, sliding the menu toward Jimin.

“Don’t—” Jimin starts, but Hana cuts in.

“Yes, baby, have some cake.” She smiles wickedly, mocking him.

Jungkook nearly chokes, laughing, while Jimin kicks him under the table. He can’t help himself and leans over, leaving a kiss on Jimin’s temple, short enough to seem casual, but lingering enough to fluster someone like Jimin—who as Jungkook have noticed these past days, can be awfully stuck up, when he can’t control the situation.

Naturally, Jimin stiffens in reaction.

“Oh, this is gold.” Hana claps her hands. “I’m telling mom immediately.”

Jungkook presses his advantage, sliding his hand higher on Jimin’s thigh. He does it just for Jimin, though he can tell that Hana is watching the entire interaction closely.

“You’re lucky this table’s here,” he whispers, grazing Jimin’s ear with his lips. “Otherwise I’d have you on my lap right now. Or do something real nasty in this very public place.”

Jimin grips his fork like he’s about to stab him.

“You’re blushing,” Hana notices, leaning back in her seat, sipping her drink with delight. “My perfect, icy brother, blushing. God, this is the best day of my life.”

Jungkook laughs, victorious, giving Jimin’s thigh one last squeeze before pulling away. “What can I say? I bring out the best in him.”

Jimin mutters something venomous under his breath, but doesn’t push Jungkook’s hand off. For all the scolding, it doesn’t seem like he really wants him to stop.

When the day of the family dinner comes, Jimin is sweating, rethinking his life’s decisions again, but it’s too late to call this off.

When he arrives with Jungkook at his side, the man doesn’t seem as bothered by the splendor of the dinner as Jimin expected him to be. He seems comfortable in every space and Jimin is slowly learning that it’s very difficult to throw him off balance.

Jungkook lives on his own planet, unbothered by outside forces, and Jimin is genuinely jealous of that. Would he not care about his family’s opinion, they wouldn’t be here, trying to make his parents mad.

The dining table is embarrassingly long, enough to seat a board of directors, and not an ordinary sized family. His father sits at the head like a king, while his mother looks absolutely pristine at his side. Taehyun, his cousin who gladly took Jimin’s position in the family business, sits opposite her with that smug smile that Jimin has hated since childhood.

Suddenly Jimin is happy Jungkook is with him. He doesn’t blend, doesn’t even try. Tattoos peek from his cuffs, and Jimin knows his piercings give the present a heart attack. When he takes the chair, he lounges in it, as if it was made specifically for him. 

Jimin can feel his parents’ disapproval all the way from across the table.

“Mother. Father,” he greets them. “This is Jungkook, my boyfriend.”

His father’s jaw tightens, while his mother tries to smile politely. “How… unexpected.”

Taehyun raises a brow. “Bold choice, cousin.”

Jungkook looks at him, unfazed. “Thanks. I like being bold.” He takes Jimin’s hand under the table, lifts it to his lips, and kisses his knuckles like they’re in a fucking romance movie.

Jimin’s heart stutters. He wants to yank his hand back instinctively, but stops himself. Still he gives Jungkook a quick warning glare. Don’t overdo it.

“So,” his father begins, and his voice is heavy with disapproval, “what is it you do, Jungkook?”

“I’m an art student,” Jungkook replies cheerfully. “And a tattoo apprentice. I draw permanent masterpieces.” He grins, showing his teeth. “Want me to show you sometime?”

The silence is deafening. Jimin actually wants the floor to swallow him whole at how awkward it is. His father looks like he might really combust, and his mother’s smile has frozen. Taehyun chuckles into his wine glass, giving him an ick.

Jungkook leans in, brushing Jimin’s ear with his lips. “They love me already.”

“Shut up,” Jimin sighs, hoping this will end soon. Those dinners are always too much for his mental state.

Jungkook puts his hand on his thigh under the table, tracing slow circles dangerously close to his crotch—his new favorite habit. Jimin stiffens, stabbing his fork into the roasted lamb a little bit too hard.

His mother notices his twitch and her eyes narrow. “Jimin, are you alright?”

“Perfect,” he assures in a tight voice. “Absolutely perfect.”

Jungkook squeezes his thigh, biting back laughter.

“Cousin, you’re blushing,” Taehyun comments like he knows exactly what’s going on.

“I’m not.”

Jungkook leans in again, whispering low enough only Jimin hears, “Want me to get under the table? Maybe no one would notice.”

Jimin nearly chokes on his wine. He grips Jungkook’s wrist hard, digging his nails in the skin, but Jungkook just keeps smirking like nothing happened, while his eyes sparkle with mischief.

When dessert is served, Jungkook casually cuts a bite from Jimin’s plate, and holds the fork up to his lips. “Say ah, baby.”

The table goes silent once again. Jimin’s face burns. He can refuse, he should scold, except not really. He opens his mouth and takes the bite. His mother gasps softly and Jimin reminds himself that giving her a heart attack is exactly what he wanted.

Jungkook kisses his cheek sweetly, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Delicious,” he says, licking the fork clean. “Everything here’s delicious.”

Jimin wants to strangle him. Or make out with him. Or both. Probably both.

Once the dinner is finally over and they’re going back, Jungkook can feel Jimin’s anger during the elevator ride up to his apartment. His arms are crossed, jaw clenched, and he’s glaring at the doors like he could burn a hole in them if he’s insistent enough.

Jungkook leans against the wall, smirking. “They loved me.”

“They hated you.” Jimin’s voice is a hiss of annoyance and desperation both at once. “You were obscene.”

“I was charming.”

“You fed me like a toddler in front of my mother.”

That’s what he’s most mad about?

“Yeah, and you opened your mouth for me. Bet she’s still recovering.”

Jimin’s head whips around. “Do you think this is a joke?”

“Hyung,” Jungkook calls, following him into the apartment once the doors slide open. “Everything about tonight was a joke. Rich people with their display of money? Taehyun staring at me like I’m dirt? I’m supposed to care about that?”

Jimin spins, slamming the door shut behind them. “You’re supposed to behave. What was all this training for?”

Jungkook laughs, looking happy and reckless. “That’s not what you hired me for. You wanted a nightmare, remember? A bad boy to make daddy’s blood pressure spike?” He steps forward, close enough to be in Jimin’s space. “Mission accomplished.”

Jimin doesn’t move, but his nostrils flare. “You humiliated me.”

The younger tilts his head. “Then why are you hard?”

The words settle in the silence between them. Jimin’s eyes widen, then narrow, and before Jungkook can blink, Jimin has him shoved against the wall, chest to chest.

“You think you can say whatever you want?” Jimin’s breath is hot against his face, their faces are only inches apart now.

Jungkook’s smirk softens, his gaze becomes hungrier. “I know I can. In this relationship I’m a brat, but you’re a spoiled rich child—”

Jimin kisses him. Just like that. To cut Jungkook off or to prevent him from talking further—it doesn’t matter. He throws himself at Jungkook and presses his mouth against Jungkook’s with force.

He’s not a gentle kisser, at least not now. He’s not tender—he’s mad and needy—and Jungkook moans, grabbing his waist, dragging him closer.

Finally. Finally, after days of teasing, of tension in the dressing rooms and thigh grabs under tables, Jimin snaps because of him. Jungkook drinks it down like he’s been starving.

He bites Jimin’s lip, and gets shoved harder into the wall. Their tongues clash when Jimin tries to maintain control over the kiss, messy and filthy, but neither of them wants to let the other win.

Jungkook drags his hand down Jimin’s back, squeezes his ass through those tailored trousers, groaning when Jimin gasps against his mouth. There’s not a single centimeter of space left between them, their cocks brush through the pants.

“Fuck,” Jimin breathes, breaking for air. His pupils are blown wide, those full lips swollen, his chest’s heaving against Jungkook’s.

“Say it, hyung. Say you wanted me all this time.”

Jimin groans, grabs his jaw and locks their lips together once again. Jungkook kisses back desperately, straining against his jeans. He swears they’re seconds from tearing clothes off… when the front door slides open.

“Hey, Jimin, you home?!”

Jungkook freezes. Jimin curses against his mouth, shoving him back just as an unfamiliar man rounds the corner with a grocery bag.

“Oh.” He blinks. And then a grin slowly stretches his lips. “Ohhh. Don’t stop on my account.”

Jimin looks like could actually murder him right here and right now.

Unable to contain himself, Jungkook wheezes, and laughter spills out of him as he presses his forehead against Jimin’s shoulder. “Next time,” he whispers in Jimin’s ear. “Promise.”

Jimin shoves away from off, storming toward the kitchen without another word.

Jungkook just leans against the wall, grinning, still high off the kiss. “I think you should call me an uber home, daddy!” he calls just to make the stranger laugh, too.

Family gatherings are officially worse than dinners. At least dinners end when dessert does—gatherings drag on for hours, and this one is no exception.

A week later, Jimin is back again, to his family’s displeasure, with Jungkook at his side—and to his cousin’s amusement.

Park Taehyun is truly the perfect heir that Jimin’s parents would like him to be. He’s the same age as Jimin, but smugger, more opinionless, exactly what their family tried to raise. Taehyun graduated top of his class, works at the family company and already is on first-name terms with the board.

And now, apparently, he is eager to humiliate Jimin in front of his “boyfriend.”

“Well, cousin,” Taehyun starts sweetly in a voice practically dripping with sugar. “Quite the partner you’ve found.” He throws a glance at Jungkook’s tattooed knuckles. “Unique style.” His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Not really what I pictured for you.”

Jimin’s jaw tightens. He wants to say something, anything, but Taehyun has a way of twisting words until Jimin always ends up the loser. While he considers the possibilities and tries to figure out a polite answer, Jungkook shifts at his side.

“Not what you pictured, huh?” He’s leaning back in his chair, his arm is slung over Jimin’s tense shoulders. Jungkook's fingers squeeze his shoulder once, reassuringly. “Good thing I don’t fuck you, then.”

The room becomes dead quiet, as if on command.

Jimin freezes, taken aback by the turn of events, watching his mother’s hand fly to her pearls. Taehyun blinks, caught off guard for once in his perfect life. Jimin doesn’t think more scandalizing words have ever been said at any of the family gatherings.

Jungkook continues, smirking in that wolfish way, taking the advantage of everyone’s paralysis. “As for Jimin, he pictures me naked. On my knees. Probably begging for him.”

“Jungkook,” Jimin hisses, once he snaps out of the trance, elbowing him, but Jungkook just squeezes his shoulder tighter.

“Relax, baby,” he says loud enough for everyone to hear. “They’ll get used to us eventually.”

Taehyun’s jaw works, still he tries to plaster a smile on his face. “You’ve… certainly chosen someone confident.”

“Confident enough to say what he thinks,” Jungkook responds for him. “Unlike some people who hide behind everyone else’s approval.”

For once, Taehyun has nothing to say.

Before Jimin can process the strange rush of satisfaction in his chest, Jungkook turns, cups his face, and kisses him. He doesn’t offer Jimin a polite peck, nothing even close. He locks their lips in a deep, hot, messy kiss that draws gasps from around the table.

Jimin should push him away. He should roll his eyes, call him obscene jokingly to save some face. He wanted to annoy his family, not make a scene. But the second their mouths meet, his body betrays him.

Heat rushes through him suddenly, his blood pulses in his ears. Jungkook tastes like Jimin’s favorite wine and freedom that doesn’t ally with Jimin’s plan for life. Jungkook tastes like something reckless, wild, like possibilities Jimin didn’t consider before.

His lip ring drags against Jimin’s mouth, making his pulse stutter. For a split second, Jimin forgets the audience, forgets Taehyun, forgets everything except the boy kissing him in a way that feels true and not just for show.

Jimin pulls back first, letting out a huge breath. His ears are burning. Jungkook licks his lips and murmurs quietly against his lips, “That shut him up, huh?”

Jimin  clears his throat, forcing composure. “You’re insufferable.”

He breaks away and glances across the table. To his surprise, he sees Taehyun gaping for once in his life, and Jimin can’t help the twitch of his lip at his cousin’s reaction.

Maybe, just maybe, Jungkook isn’t the disaster he thought.

If Jimin’s world is made of sumptuous dinners and owning an expensive apartment with three very nice cleaning robots, Jungkook’s world resembles plastic cups he uses, and ramen steam fogging the air. And honestly? He prefers his.

“Hyung, you’ve got to try this!

He shoves a paper bowl of tteokbokki across the sticky table. The little hole-in-the-wall joint smells like spice and grease, and it’s the kind of place Jimin probably thinks should be condemned.

The older man eyes the bowl like it might bite him. “Don’t they even use real cutlery here?”

“It’s real enough to eat.” Jungkook stabs a rice cake with a flimsy fork and holds it out. “Say ah.”

Jimin shoots him a glare. “I’m not a child.”

“Then prove it.” The younger wiggles the fork. “Eat it or I’ll feed it to you in front of everyone.”

Jimin’s nostrils flare as he leans forward. His lips close around the bite slowly, suspicious. He’s chewing carefully like he’s judging a five-star chef.

Jungkook watches his throat work with excited eyes. “Hot, huh?”

“It’s edible.”

“Edible? Hyung, this stuff’s legendary.”

“You’re being dramatic right now.”

“Wait till you eat the entire portion. You’ll fall in love with it.”

Jimin doesn’t deny it. He even takes the fork from Jungkook’s hand for another bite, which Jungkook considers a personal victory.

Because Jungkook has many assignments for college and a whole ADHD not allowing him to take care of the things he actually should, he’s hell bent on showing Jimin his own life. Plus he doesn’t want to part ways. He’s gotten used to having Jimin around and paying for all of his junk food cravings.

And so afterwards, they crash at Jungkook’s apartment. It’s a small, messy flat, with posters peeling on the walls and a gaming console tangled in wires. 

His friends are already there, because Jungkook wanted everyone to get to know each other. Yoongi’s passed out on the couch, and Hoseok’s bouncing around to some dancing game, while music’s blaring too loudly from a Bluetooth speaker.

Jimin looks horrified for a full five minutes. Then Hoseok drags him into a drinking game. When Yoongi wakes up, he cooks, and they eat again, while Jimin pretends this time to be Jungkook’s date.

Jimin and Yoongi both enjoy sarcastic commentary when they discuss—hate on—Jungkook and Hoseok’s dance battle. And Jimin’s laughing. His chuckle is as authentic and bright as the first night at the club, when Jungkook made him laugh, unguarded and pretty.

Jungkook can’t take his eyes off him.

Finally, hours later, they’re alone, just the two of them on the floor, with controllers in hand. Jimin’s focused, nibbling on his bottom lip, his brow furrowed as he stares at the TV.

Shameless—and comfy and needy for affection, thank you very much—Jungkook sprawls across his lap, half playing, half watching Jimin’s expression as he swears at the screen.

“You suck at this,” the man mutters, jabbing the buttons.

“I’m a bit distracted,” Jungkook justifies, propping his chin on Jimin’s thigh. “It's hard to concentrate with a hot guy playing with me.”

Jimin doesn’t push him off or comment as Jungkook would expect him to. He keeps playing, fully immersed. His one hand drifts absently into Jungkook’s hair, stroking without thought.

Jungkook freezes for a second, surprised, then relaxes, leaning into it. The casualness of it guts him more than any kiss he got to steal so far from those politely impolite lips. He stares at the screen, not seeing the game, instead focusing on the sensation of that gentle hand. If he could spend the rest of his life in this moment, he’d die a happy man.

He risks looking to the side and up, at the older man.

Normally Jimin is guarded, tensed up, but there are a few moments when he puts his walls down, as if he can’t help himself, when Jungkook tells a joke. But no movement was as gentle as this one is.

Jungkook could get used to it.

“You like touching me,” he murmurs softly, teasing in a rough voice.

Jimin freezes for half a second. “You’re warm.” He shrugs, cool as ever.

The younger giggles, but it comes out shaky. “Do you want me to warm your bed too?”

Jimin swats at his chest lightly. “Shut up and play.”

Jungkook thinks, for the first time, that maybe he doesn’t mind pretending to be Jimin’s boyfriend. Maybe he’d be okay not pretending at all.

After a pleasant and peaceful evening with Jungkook, galas start feeling even more like Jimin’s second circle of hell.

The champagne flows from every side as polite waiters stop by each vulture—board member, that is. It’s nothing but an opportunity to show off wealth and power, and he’s expected to smile on cue, nod politely, and pretend he can shape himself into a birdy that will fit into this suffocating cage.

Hell nah.

Technically speaking, it’s not exactly Jungkook’s job to show up for this kind of event, since it’s more public and doesn’t include only his parents. But the thought of arriving at another dreadful party-in-disguise without Jungkook’s confident, reassuring presence next to him, makes him nauseous. 

The black suit they chose for this occasion suits him a little too well. The tattoos peek from his cuffs when he brushes Jimin’s hand with his own, the ring in his lip shimmers as he grins. Heads turn for all the wrong reasons.

Jimin’s mother is pale as a vampire, seeing him at Jimin’s side, his father is stiff at hers, but Jungkook looks like he doesn’t care about a single thing in this universe. He thrives.

“Baby,” Jungkook calls loudly, slipping an arm around Jimin’s waist. “You didn’t tell me we’d be drinking grape juice in crystal cups tonight.”

“It’s wine,” Jimin mutters through clenched teeth—clenched only because he’s working really hard not to chuckle.

“Fancy grape juice,” Jungkook corrects, grinning wickedly, before he presses a kiss to Jimin’s temple in front of half the board.

His father looks like he just swallowed glass. 

Jimin pinches Jungkook’s side, but Jungkook only squeezes him tighter. He sighs and leads the younger to one of the sitting spots.

Devil works hard, but Jungkook works harder, answering questions from random people with cheerful irreverence.

“What do you do?” one of the gray-haired men asks.

“Tattoos. You want a koi fish on your ass? I’m your guy.”

The man nearly chokes on his drink. Jimin downs his champagne in one swallow.

“Stop it,” he hisses once they escape to the edge of the ballroom.

“Stop what?” Jungkook leans in, shameless, brushing Jimin’s ear with his lips. “Stop acting like I don’t make you hard every time I call you baby?”

Jimin’s breath stutters, almost as if he’s frustrated. He glares, but the younger doesn’t stop smiling. “You’re seriously impossible,” he mutters, dragging his fake boyfriend toward the balcony. At least there, no one can hear them.

He braces his hands on the railing, breathing deep, trying to collect himself. Except Jungkook steps behind him, pressing close, grazing his jaw with his hot mouth.

“Hyung,” he mumbles, and somehow he manages to make it sound impossibly dirty. “Bet you want me to bend you over this railing.”

Jimin whirls, shoving him back against the wall. “You’re out of control.”

“Yeah?” Jungkook smirks. His chest, solid and warm, rises against Jimin’s grip. “So are you.”

He’s truly impossible, happily making jokes, being content with Jimin’s death grip, as if it’s just a foreplay for him.

The air between them thickens. Suddenly Jimin realizes that the space between them is almost nonexistent. To anyone from the outside, they’d look like an actual couple, stealing a private moment at the empty balcony.

Jimin can feel his own pulse in his throat, in his cock, he sees the twitch of Jungkook’s lips. The younger knows exactly what he’s doing and how he makes Jimin feel. One second more and he’ll give in—kiss him, ruin him, right here.

“Jimin!”

The spell shatters as his mother’s voice gets between them. She’s standing in the doorway, narrowing her eyes with a fake smile.

Jimin steps back instantly, adjusting his cuffs, forcing composure. “Yes, mother?”

Her gaze flicks between them, knowing and disapproving, before she’s tilting her head towards the inside. “I want to introduce you to some people. Would you be so kind and join us?”

Without waiting for a response, she steps back and inside.

Jimin exhales when she disappears, and turns his gaze back to the bane of his existence. All the threats to behave die on Jimin’s tongue, when he sees Jungkook grinning so obscenely. His eyes blaze with want, but also with mischief.

Jimin wants to throw him off the balcony. Or fuck him against it. It’s both.

Jungkook likes testing limits, always has. But testing Jimin’s limits? That’s a whole new level of fun. When the waiter—young, cute and doe-eyed—sets down another tray of champagne, Jungkook offers him the most charming smile. “Thanks, handsome.”

The waiter blushes, mumbling something, and Jungkook lets his hand brush his wrist when he takes the glass. “Appreciate you,” he adds, flirtatious, lowering his voice.

He feels Jimin instantly stiffening beside him, and he hides a smirk behind his drink.

As the waiter continues to serve guests engrossed in conversation around the table, he asks the waiter about his shift, compliments his tie, even winks at him, making the boy spill the wine.

At some point Jimin’s hand tightens on his arm. “Jungkook,” he says finally. His voice is soft, but there’s a barely audible warning there that Jungkook enjoys. Finally, he’s getting the attention he wanted.

He beams. “Yes, hyung?”

Jimin doesn’t answer. Instead, he sets his glass down, suddenly grabs Jungkook’s jaw with determined fingers, and kisses him. Surprised, Jungkook gasps against his mouth.

He’s a simple man and a simp, so he melts instantly, parting his lips and allowing for his tongue to tangle with Jimin’s.  Thankfully, it’s not a polite peck reserved for events like that, and it’s not exactly for show. Jungkook knows when a man wants to claim something, and Jimin is definitely claiming him right now. The kiss is rough and hot enough that a couple across the table gasps in scandalized horror.

Jimin pulls back, but only enough to whisper against his lips, “When we’re together, you’re mine, Jungkook. Act like it.”

Jungkook’s cock twitches in his pants, because holy shit! Park Jimin just got hotter and he was already burning hot.

 Jungkook blinks and chuckles, dazed, licking his swollen lips. “Say that again, hyung.”

Jimin gives him another one of his famous glares, but his cheeks are slightly flushed, his breath uneven against Jungkook’s face. He drops his hand and returns to his drink like nothing happened, ignoring the room whispering about them.

Jungkook is quite literally still floating and wondering if it’s a good idea to inform Jimin that he just did something reckless in front of so many important people. He decides to keep this moment in his wild heart, because hot Jimin is also a little bit scary.

Jimin should have canceled tonight. After that disastrous cocktail party—after Jungkook dared to flirt with a waiter, after Jimin kissed him—he should’ve cut this whole farce short.

Instead, he invited Jungkook back for another “lesson.”

Now Jungkook is sitting in the chair across from him, slouching and chewing gum with that infuriating smirk tugging at his pierced lip. “So, hyung, what’s on the syllabus today? Table manners? Posture? Or should we practice how to make out in front of board members? I vote for the last one!”

Jimin inhales slowly through his nose. “Sit up straight.”

Jungkook stretches, curving his spine deliberately. “Mmm, like this?”

“Straighter.”

As he stretches, his shirt rides up, exposing inked skin and the sharp line of his hip. Jimin’s throat tightens. “Fix your tie.”

Jungkook tugs it loose instead, baring more collarbone. He tips his head back, tongue darting to wet his lip. “You fix it for me, hyung, since you like touching me.”

Jimin’s patience evaporates. He crosses the room in three strides, fisting the tie and yanking the younger to his feet.

Jungkook laughs, his eyes are shining with victory. “I knew you couldn’t resist.”

“Shut up.” Jimin rolls his eyes, shoving him back until his shoulders hit the wall. He presses close, chest to chest, with the tie still wrapped in his fist, holding Jungkook in place.

The younger’s smug smile fades and his breath hitches. For one dangerous second, Jimin feels him soften, leaning into the touch, closing the distance between them.

Jimin steps back. “You’re impossible,” he mutters, but his voice comes out low and rough.

“Then make me possible,” Jungkook whispers, tilting his head, parting his lips slightly as he licks over the piercing.

Heat coils low in Jimin’s stomach. He wants to bite at that lip, taste. His grip on the tie tightens, dragging Jungkook closer, close enough to feel the warm puff of his breath—

His phone rings He jerks back, fumbling for the device.

Jungkook steals a glance at the screen, then leans against the wall. “Saved by Daddy.”

Jimin glares, furious with him, furious with himself. He rejects the call and mutes his phone.

“This just reminded me of the reason I called you in. We’re going to my family’s countryside estate this weekend.”

“We are?”

“Yes. They want me there, so you’ll go, too.”

“To piss them off?”

“Exactly.”

“And not because you want me there?”

“Crazy idea, Jungkook. Are you going to become a comedian next?”

Jungkook shrugs, about to joke, when the bell rings.

Jimin sighs. “I bet that’s my father. Go inside my room and wait for me.”

Surprised and amused, Jungkook huffs. “Are you hiding me like we’re fifteen?” But he already turns around, because the temptation to see the older man’s personal space—and maybe peek into his drawers—is too strong to pass.

Thirty minutes later Jungkook is lurking in every room, because Jimin went out somewhere with his father, and now he has nothing better to do. He’s probably not supposed to be in Jimin’s closet, but he’s bored, and the shirts of all sizes were calling his name.

So now he’s sprawled on Jimin’s leather couch with his legs spread wide for comfort, his hair is damp from the shower he gave himself permission to take—because water is very expensive in his old building—and he’s wearing one of Jimin’s oversized grey-colored shirts with nothing under it. Not even pants.

He hears Jimin come back before he sees him. The sound of keys rattling and clicking of expensive shoes echoe off the floor. He stretches deliberately, letting the hem ride up indecently high.

“Hyung,” he calls, smirking when Jimin steps into the room and stops dead.

The latter stares at him for a solid five seconds, before blinking slowly like he’s rebooting. “Why,” he asks flatly, “are you naked in my clothes?”

“Correction, I’m not naked. I’m wearing your clothes, just like you mentioned. Looks good on me, huh?”

“You’ll stretch it out. You’re too big.”

“Thank you. It’s worth it, though.” Jungkook lounges further, tugging the hem up so his cock peeks out, half-hard, bold. “Besides, don’t pretend you don’t like the view.”

Jimin’s jaw tics. “You’re… insufferable.” But he looks.

Being a brat is a full time job, but it works, because it gives Jungkook everything he wants, and right now it’s Jimin’s attention.

“You’re still looking,” he teases, licking his lip.

Silently, Jimin drags his eyes up from Jungkook’s thighs to his face. His expression is tight, unreadable. His dark eyes bore into Jungkook’s, and for the first time the younger feels like he’s actually noticing him. His expression softens, when his gaze slides over the lines of Jungkook’s face, over his messy hair, and returns to wide eyes.

“Bunny.”

Jungkook’s smile falters. “What?”

Jimin blinks, his composure slips for a heartbeat, when he realizes what he said. “Nothing.”

“No, no, no,” the younger laughs, sitting up. The shirt slips off one of his shoulders. His heart’s beating fast. “You called me bunny. Hyung, that’s—fuck, that’s cute.”

Jimin’s ears flush red. “Forget it.”

“Not a chance. Say it again.”

“Never.”

Jungkook leans back, feeling victorious anyway. “Fine. But I know that if you slip once, you’ll slip again.”

Jimin’s gaze lingers, and Jungkook knows he’s right.

Jimin seriously hates family retreats. They involve too much staring contests and suffocating control disguised as bonding. His parents’ countryside estate has it all—sprawling grounds, old money grandeur, too many rooms.

Despite that, Jimin forgot about one very important thing—he and Jungkook have to share one room to keep their little lie afloat. And that means actually sharing one bed.

He keeps stepping on the floor like it personally wronged him, feeling grumpy, lacking sleep and coffee, while Jungkook strolls next to him, smiling as if Christmas came early. By the time they reach their bedroom, he’s already teasing.

“One bed, hyung,” he singsongs, coming up to the queen-sized bed and dropping onto it, spreading his arms wide. “Looks like we’ll have to cuddle.”

“Shut up,” Jimin mutters, tossing his bag on the dresser. “It’s big enough. You’ll stay on your side.”

“Sure,” the younger agrees easily, toeing off his shoes. “But I roll in my sleep.”

Jimin groans, disappearing into the bathroom to change. When he comes out, Jungkook’s already stripped down, sprawled across the mattress in nothing but grey sweats. He isn’t wearing any underwear either, which Jimin notes immediately. Of course.

“Comfortable?” he asks dryly, climbing in on the other side, keeping a strict line of pillows between them.

“Very.” Jungkook stretches, flexing his muscles shamelessly. “You smell good, hyung. You’re gonna make it hard to sleep.”

Jimin turns off the lamp. “Sleep anyway.”

But sleep doesn’t come easily. Jimin’s actually not used to sharing the bed with anyone for the whole night. He never dated seriously, and never allowed his one night stands to stay.

The mattress creaks quietly every time Jungkook shifts and his weirdly comfortable warmth radiates from just inches away. The faint sound of Jungkook’s breathing is slow, deep and steady. Jimin almost relaxes listening to it. He comes to a conclusion that it’s surprisingly comforting, luring him into the dreamland.

And then the pillow barrier shifts. A heavy arm drapes across his waist.

“Jungkook,” he warns quietly.

“M’cold,” Jungkook mumbles, half-asleep, pressing closer. His chest molds against Jimin’s back, while his breath is warm on his neck.

Jimin should push him off. Instead, he lies stiff as a board, as his heart flutters in his chest like a caged bird, not used to that kind of intimacy. Heat pools low as Jungkook’s hips shift, nudging against him, loose and unthinking.

Minutes pass. Eventually, Jimin relaxes slowly, tension melts into calm as he listens to Jungkook breathing almost inside his ear, peaceful. Against his better judgment, he lets himself sink back into the warmth of the younger man’s body. 

Jungkook makes a soft, pleased noise, burrowing himself closer, brushing his fingers against Jimin’s stomach.

For the first time in years, Jimin falls asleep at a family retreat without feeling suffocated. When he wakes in the morning, Jungkook is still wrapped around him, warm and solid and safe.

According to Jungkook, family retreats are hellishly boring. Parks are poking left and right, while Jimin’s walking around looking like the crown prince of suffering and the god of wraith exchangingly.

Jungkook somehow gets through it by pushing his buttons for his own amusement. Usually he just whispers filth at the breakfast table, brushes Jimin’s thigh in front of Taehyun, kisses his cheek just to see him blush, because these things are his favorites.

But two days later, when the night falls, and they stumble inside their shared bedroom, Jungkook leans on the door, watching Jimin tugging off his jacket and loosening his tie, looking unfairly perfect.

“You know, you’re really fucking hot when you’re angry,” he teases.

Jimin shoots him a glare. “You’re drunk.”

“Buzzed,” Jungkook corrects, stepping closer. He only got a few with his new good friend Taehyun that he kept bullying all day. “And horny.”

He steps closer towards Jimin, because the man looks really, really fucking good tonight. Not that he ever looks bad, but after feeding him food all evening in front of his family, Jungkook feels extra touchy.

“Jungkook—”

He doesn’t let Jimin finish. He grabs his tie and yanks him forward, crashing their mouths together.

Jimin gasps, but not shocked like Jungkook the other night. He melts first, and then moans, giving into it, kissing Jungkook, as if he’s also been starving. His hands grip the younger’s waist and he shoves him against the wall, kissing him like he wants to erase every smartass word he’s ever said.

Jungkook groans, grinding up against him as his cock strains in his sweats. He lets go of the tie, sinking both of his hands into Jimin’s soft hair, holding his face.

Jimin’s lips are incredibly soft and they taste like the fruity lip gloss he uses, driving Jungkook mad with it.

“Fuck,” the older mutters, breaking for air. His pretty lips are swollen. “You’re a nightmare.”

“But your nightmare?” Jungkook grins, dragging his shirt off and tossing it aside. He does the same with his pants. His cock bounces free, hard and aching, because he didn’t even bring any underwear with him.

Not that he ever needed any. It’s just an unnecessary expense.

Jimin's gaze drifts down for a second, making him chuckle.

“You’ve been staring for weeks,” he teases, wrapping his hand around himself, stroking slowly and dirty. “I bet you wanted this every time I stripped in front of you.” He teases, biting his lip, but doesn’t actually expect Jimin to take him up for the offer.

Jungkook has been clinging to him for two nights now, parading without underwear in their room, and Jimin never even spared him a comment. Yet, now, he pushes Jungkook onto the bed with surprising strength.

“Shut up.”

Jungkook laughs breathlessly and sprawls back. “Make me.”

Jimin climbs over him, shoving his thighs apart, grinding down hard enough to make Jungkook cry out. Their cocks rub together through Jimin’s trousers, hot and slick with precum already.

“Fuck, hyung,” Jungkook moans, clutching his shoulders, digging his nails in. “Please.”

Jimin’s smirk is cruel, when he leans down to licks over his jawline. “Begging already?”

“For you, always.”

Jimin lets out a sound, something between a sigh and a moan. Then he rips his belt open, shoving pants down, freeing himself. His cock slaps heavy against Jungkook’s stomach, and the younger groans at the sight. Jimin straddles his hips, grinding down, until Jungkook’s choking on another whiny moan.

“Fuck, hyung—”

Jimin grabs his throat, squeezing lightly, but enough to shut him up. Jungkook’s grin falters and turns into a gasp.

“You talk way too much.” The older murmurs and catches the ring in Jungkook’s lip between his teeth, tugging at it, before licking over his mouth. ”I really want to see how much you’ll have to say once I’m done with you.”

Lifting both eyebrows, Jungkook's face transforms as amusement softens his features. “Oh, so you did like it, when I whispered shit into your ear at dinner. Did you enjoy the way I talked about sucking your cock in front of your family? You liked it, didn’t you, hyung?”

Since Jimin doesn’t answer, only gives him another glance, darker and more promising, he sinks against the pillow, watching Jimin go up to the bag and rummage in it, until he finds lube.

Fuck. Jungkook’s pulse quickens, when he realizes he’s finally going to feel Jimin over himself, finally fulfilling all the fantasies he created in his head that night in the club, when they met.

 He watches the way Jimin slicks himself quickly, almost frantically, like he’s losing patience that he’s got so much for his family—never for Jungkook, though.

“Hyung,” the younger sighs and points towards his own unpacked luggage.

Luckily, Jimin doesn’t argue, just sticks his hand into the side pocket and takes out a box of condoms. Then, he lifts an eyebrow. "Were you hoping you'd get lucky?"

Jungkook gives him a lopsided grin. “A man can dream. They’re going to be useful now, anyway. You should be thankful.”

“Should I?” Jimin questions, slowly climbing on top of him, sliding his hands up the younger’s tense body, until his fingers grip the jaw.

Something in Jungkook tells him that Jimin is not to argue with, so he just does as he’s told. Jimin spits into his mouth and forces it closed.

“Swallow.”

Jungkook does, before Jimin is done speaking. The way the latter’s hand wraps around his length is rough. He lines up and sinks onto Jungkook’s cock in one smooth drop, swallowing him whole, making them both hiss in pleasure.

Jungkook cries out, arching his back, as Jimin starts moving languidly on top of him, holding onto Jungkook’s shoulders. “Fuck, fuck—Jimin—”

Jimin grinds down harder, throwing his head back. He parts his full lips in a sigh. “God, you’re thick,” he grunts in a husky voice, almost like the breath was knocked out of him unexpectedly.

Jungkook pants, lifting his hands to Jimin’s waist, but Jimin slaps them away.

“No touching,” he orders

The younger whines. His hips twitching up at the way Jimin bounces up and circles his hips, pushing down. “You’re fucking milking me. How the hell am I supposed to just lie here?”

“That’s the point, you brat. You don’t fuck me here. I fuck you.”

“Shit,” Jungkook moans. His breath shatters, sweat beads at his temples. His body dissolves into bliss at the tight clench of Jimin’s walls around him.

He clenches his fists on the sheets, opening his legs wider, pressing his heels into the mattress to keep from thrusting upward. He looks up towards the ceiling, before shutting his eyelids close.

Jimin tightens around him, fucking him faster, his ass slapping against his thighs. The way he slides over him, so warm and tight and wet, is unbearable.

 “You’re—fuck—you’re worse than your family, you know that? At least they just want to control your life, you wanna control my cock.”

Jimin rides him faster, digging his nails into Jungkook’s chest, flicking Jungkook’s nipple with one hand. “Why don’t you cry about it?”

“I—fuck—”

“What happened? Speechless? Tell me how good I feel around you. How do you like it?”

“I love it,” Jungkook rasps immediately. “I wanted it for weeks. Watching you strutting around like you don’t want anyone, but looking at me like—like—”

“Like what?” Jimin demands, snapping his hips down hard enough to make Jungkook lose the train of thoughts.

“Like you wanted me,” Jungkook whimpers. “Like you wanted this cock in you.”

Jimin lets out a strangled noise of pleasure, dragging his walls over Jungkook’s sensitive, pulsating cock in more prolonged rolls. His head falls back, and Jungkook nearly comes just from the sounds he makes.

“You’re so fucking smug,” Jimin breathes, chasing his own high. “But look at you now, whining, doing whatever the fuck I tell you to do. Do you consider yourself a good boy, Jungkook?”

If he’s going to keep talking like that to Jungkook, it’s going to be over soon.

“I’m—fuck—I’m trying—” Jungkook groans, fighting to keep control, but every move of Jimin’s hips rips another needy sound from him. “Hyung, I can’t—”

Jimin takes his time with his answer. He slowly traces Jungkook's jaw and lower lip before squeezing his chin to force him to look him in the eye. “You’ll wait until I’m finished.”

Cock twitching deep inside him, Jungkook whines, “God, you’re gonna kill me.”

Jimin leans over him to kiss him, and as much as he’s an amazing kisser, Jungkook can only focus on the way he presses deeper inside Jimin, on the way their bodies touch, both hot and sweaty.

Jimin kisses down his face, through his jawline, over his neck, sucking his skin and soothing it by licking it, before continuing lower. He doesn’t stop bouncing and Jungkook groans brokenly, pressing his head back into the pillow.

“Fuck—you’re—fuck—you’re insane.”

Lips brush his ear. “Say you’re mine.”

Jungkook’s eyes roll back. “Fuck—fuck, I’m yours, hyung, all yours—please.”

Jimin comes with a breathy moan, clenching around him, dragging Jungkook over the edge seconds later. He spills hard, calling Jimin’s name, arching helpless under his weight and finally thrusting up, digging his fingers in Jimin’s ass.

He tenses, freezing buried deep inside, his eyes closed, until the spasms pass. When it’s over, Jimin collapses against him, sweaty and panting.

Jungkook laughs, breathless, wrecked. “See?” He kisses Jimin’s damp temple. “I told you you wanted me.”

Jimin groans and smacks his chest weakly, but doesn’t move.

Jimin wakes to warmth. A heavy, solid body is draped all over him. He blinks at the ceiling, trying to piece together where he is, why his thighs ache, and why he feels wrecked in the best way.

Then Jungkook groans against his shoulder, tightening his arms around his waist, breathing warm air on his neck.

Right. Last night.

Jimin shuts his eyes, replaying pictures he should not be remembering—Jungkook gasping under him, cursing and begging, his own voice breaking as he came undone.

He should feel regret. He should feel mortified. He doesn’t.

“Morning, hyung,” Jungkook mumbles in a voice gravelly with sleep. He nuzzles against Jimin’s throat and leaves a lazy, wet kiss on his collarbone.

Jimin stiffens at this display of affection. “Stop that.”

“Why?” Jungkook grins with his eyes still closed. “You loved it last night.”

“I tolerated it.”

“Uh-huh.” The younger bites his shoulder playfully. “You tolerated it so much you came on my cock.”

Jimin shoves at him, but Jungkook only laughs, rolling on top. His brown hair is messy from sleep, but his eyes are shining. He looks infuriatingly good like this—bare, smug, utterly unashamed.

“You’re heavy,” Jimin complains.

“Strong too,” Jungkook reminds, flexing his muscles, before dropping back down to smother him in kisses. “God, you’re warm and you smell so fucking good in the morning. I’m never leaving this bed.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“And you love it.”

Jimin should push harder and put an end to this—make it clear that last night was a mistake. But his hands betray him, sliding up Jungkook’s back, fingertips tracing tattoos almost on its own, holding the younger man closer.

Jungkook sighs, content, resting his head on Jimin’s chest like it’s a normal occurrence. Jimin never thought something could feel so easy in life. He stares at the ceiling, trying not to pay attention to the way his own heart is pounding in his chest.

He forces his voice to sound normal. “Don’t think this changes anything.”

Jungkook hums, unconcerned. “Sure, hyung. I also love coming with you.”

“Jungkook—”

“Relax.” He lifts his head and smiles widely, until his eyes are crinkling. “I’ll keep playing your perfect fake boyfriend.” His tone softens, somehow slipping past Jimin’s guard. “But you should know, I’m really fucking good at blurring lines.”

And with that, he flops back down, snoring fake-loud into Jimin’s chest.

Jimin groans, burying his face in his pillow, because something tells him that Jungkook’s telling the truth. He doesn’t know how long it passes, but they lie like that for what feels like hours, with the sheets tangled around their legs, when Jimin realizes Jungkook hasn’t moved.

He should have. By now, he should’ve gotten up, showered, joke about pissing his parents for breakfast. He should’ve done something loud and disruptive instead of laying here, motionless breathing calmly. But he hasn’t. Instead, he rolls on his side, propping his head on his hand, watching Jimin with a lazy smile like he’s got all the time in the world.

“What?” Jimin asks finally, glaring at the ceiling.

“You,” Jungkook says simply. “I wanna know you.”

A snort Jimin lets out isn’t pretty. “You already know more than you should.”

“Not like that.” The younger nudges his ribs. “I mean, yeah, I know you’re bossy as hell in bed and that you secretly like my dirty talk, but—”

“I don’t.”

“But I don’t know, like, your favorite food. Or what you do when you’re not glaring at your family or yelling at me.”

“This is still an arrangement, Jungkook. You don’t need to know my favorite food.”

“Hyung,” he calls in a soft tone, forcing Jimin to look at him. “I want to.”

Jimin falters. Something in his chest twists. He shouldn’t answer. He should shut this down before it gets too complicated. But the warmth of Jungkook’s body against his, the genuine looks in his gaze, pries him open.

“I… like strawberries,” he finally admits.

Jungkook grins. “That’s cute as fuck.”

“Shut up.”

“What about music?”

“Classical piano.”

“Of course,” he teases, rolling his eyes. “You are a princess.”

Jimin kicks his shin lightly, but his lips twitch. He needs to stop talking about himself. “Your turn.”

Jungkook lights up, like he’s been waiting for the chance. “Pizza, obviously. My favorite color’s red. I like dogs. I don’t like mornings. I hate wearing underwear—”

“I noticed,” Jimin chimes in.

“And my favorite thing right now is making you laugh.”

Jimin blinks. His chest tightens, because such sincere and sweet confessions are not part of the deal. Right? He looks away quickly. “This doesn’t mean anything,” he recalls stiffly.

Jungkook leans closer, smirking, but his voice is warm, not teasing. “Sure, hyung, keep telling yourself that.”

Jimin meets his eyes again, ready to retort. But what he finds in Jungkook’s brown eyes isn’t a taunt but an odd seriousness. The younger looks at him like Jimin is someone special, someone he feels genuine affection towards.

And Jimin doesn’t know what to do with that.

He lies back, closes his eyes, and lets Jungkook keep talking about his life—favorite movies, stupid stories from college, the time he almost got an embarrassing tattoo. Jimin listens, silent, pretending he doesn’t care.

Except he cares more than he should.

He tells himself it’s the afterglow, that’s why he hasn’t moved. That’s why he’s still in bed, still tangled with Jungkook under warm sheets, still letting that brat sprawl against his shoulder like they’re not a fake couple.

He should’ve left himself, showered, changed, put distance back where it belongs. But Jungkook keeps talking and Jimin doesn’t want to hurt him by making him stop, by making it look like he doesn’t care.

“So yeah,” Jungkook says, fiddling with the hem of the sheet draped over Jimin’s hip. “I’m at Seoul Arts, third year, focused on visual art, but I do tattoo apprenticeships on the side. Gotta pay rent somehow.”

Jimin blinks, surprised. “You’re still in college?” Actually, now that he thinks of it, Jungkook did mention it, but it slipped past Jimin’s head.

“Mmhm. Shocking, right? You thought I was just some club rat with nice abs?”

“I didn’t—” he pauses. Jungkook raises a brow. “Fine, I did.”

Jungkook laughs, pressing a kiss to his shoulder before continuing. “Anyway, I like it. Drawing on skin permanently feels like you leave a piece of yourself on someone forever. Guess I’m a sentimental brat.”

An invisible hand clutches at Jimin’s heart for the hundredth time this morning. He covers it with a scoff. “Sentimental isn’t the word I’d use for you.”

“Hot? Sexy? Irresistible?”

“Obnoxious.”

Undeterred, Jungkook chuckles. “What about you, hyung? You never told me why tech. Everyone says your family’s business empire is like… oil money levels of boring. I thought you’d be chained to it.”

“I was supposed to be,” Jimin admits. His fingers trace patterns absently across Jungkook’s tattooed arm.

“And you said fuck that to daddy?”

Jimin chuckles faintly. “More politely. But yes, I chose a different path—computer engineering. I liked building things. Codes just make sense, machines make sense... People don’t.”

When he looks up, Jungkook watches him closely. “What do you do?”

“I’m a systems architect. The company pays lots of money and has a good enough reputation to keep my family quiet about me not joining them.”

“Quiet? Hyung, you’re literally fake dating me to keep them off your back.”

Jimin’s lips twitch despite himself. “Point taken.”

There’s a moment of silence after that, but it’s not uncomfortable. Jungkook’s hand drifts down to his chest, resting over his heart, brushing his skin absentmindedly.

“Do you ever regret it?” he asks softly. “Not going along with them?”

For a long minute, the older man stares at the ceiling. He wants to say no and sound confident. But the truth slips out instead. “Sometimes. I guess it would’ve been easier in some ways.”

Jungkook hums, thoughtful. “Yeah, but easier’s boring. You’d be miserable. And then you wouldn’t have me to tease the hell out of you every day.”

Jimin snorts faster than he can think. And his chest feels warmer, too, in a way he can’t name.

“See?” the younger quirks an eyebrow, smug again. “Me being here isn’t so bad.”

Jimin shakes his head, trying to hide the fact that he just can’t help the way a smile pushes itself onto his face. “You’re unbearable.”

“Sure, hyung,” Jungkook repeats, pulling him back into his arms. “Keep pretending.”

Jungkook thought that bullying Jimin’s parents was fun, but that was until they started bullying him back by practically shoving some girl into Jimin’s lap. It’s the definition of torture.

Suddenly, he agrees with Jimin that family gateways are the worst. 

“Jimin,” Mrs. Park calls, sugary. “You remember Min Hyejin. From the Min family.”

Jungkook slouches in his seat, glaring at his untouched champagne. He knows this name, Jimin had mentioned her. She’s the Hyejin—a woman they wanted Jimin to marry, their golden ticket merger.

Jungkook glances at Jimin who just sat down next to him. Instead of recoiling, as one would expect, he actually smiles.

“Hyejin,” he says warmly, rising to greet her. “It’s been a while.”

She beams as if they’re old friends. “Too long. You look good.”

You look good?

And then to Jungkook’s dismay, they laugh—actually laugh, naturally and brightly, like childhood best friends catching up. Jimin leans in to hear her, nodding and smiling to stories she tells the way Jungkook thought was only for him.

Something ugly twists in his stomach. He tries not to show it, to stay cocky, smirking, draping his arm around Jimin’s chair, because he’s the one who owns him. But still, he’s seething as Jimin and Hyejin keep talking about school, travel, and god knows what.

Jungkook’s knee bounces under the table. He hates it. Hates how well they get along. Hates that Jimin apparently forgot what he brought him here for, playing right into his happy parents’ hands. Hates how his chest aches at the thought of Jimin with someone else…

Finally, after what feels like forever, the dinner ends. The second they’re alone, he grabs Jimin’s wrist, dragging him down a side hall and into an empty lounge.

“What the hell was that?” he snaps.

Jimin blinks, composed as ever. “What was what?”

“You and her,” Jungkook growls. “Talking and smiling, all—fuck—like you two are already married.”

Jimin stares at him confused for a moment longer, and then he just smirks, infuriatingly calm. “Jealous?”

“Yes!” The word bursts out before Jungkook can stop it. His chest heaves. “Fuck yes, I’m jealous, hyung. Watching you smile at her like that while I’m right next to you—like are you even serious? What am I here for, if you’re going to behave like this, giving your parents hope?”

“You’re being ridiculous. She’s a friend. Just because my parents want something, doesn’t mean that it’s going to happen. We don’t—”

Jungkook steps closer, caging him against the wall, brushing his lips against Jimin’s ear. “Then prove it.”

Jimin stills. “Prove what?”

“Prove you don’t want her. Let me suck you off. Right now. You’ve been denying me for weeks. Every time I asked, every time I begged, you pretended you were above it. But you want it, I know you do.”

Jimin exhales slowly, but his eyes darken. “You’re impossible, we’re—”

“You’re hard,” Jungkook whispers, grinding against him, feeling the shape through expensive trousers. “Let me, hyung. Let me show you what I can do.”

For a heartbeat, Jimin looks like he’ll shut it down, scoff, roll his eyes, walk away. His jaw clenches, his hands fist in Jungkook’s hair, tilting his head and making him moan.

“Kneel.”

Jungkook drops instantly, smirking up at him. He palms Jimin’s cock through the fabric, feels how needy he is, the weight of what he’s hiding under that composed facade. “All that for me? Is it from thinking about me under the table at dinner? Admit it, hyung,” he teases, licking his lip.

“Shut up,” Jimin sighs, unzipping his pants.

The younger chuckles only and licks a strap of Jimin’s stomach and lower. The first taste of Jimin’s need has him groaning, sucking him down deep, messy and eager. He moans around the cock stretching his throat, looking up with wet, shining eyes.

Tipping his head back against the wall, Jimin swears, tightening the grip on his hair. “God, you’re filthy,” he gasps, jerking his hips shallowly.

Jungkook pulls back, lips glistening, just enough to say, “And you like it.” Then he swallows him again, deeper, sucking harder, letting spit drip down his chin. He makes it loud, obscene, just to wreck Jimin further.

He doesn’t care if someone will pass by and hear them. As a matter of fact, it’d be great if they did.

When Jimin finally comes, his hand starts trembling, tightening around Jungkook’s hair. He lets out a guttural groan, snapping his hips while Jungkook swallows every drop. At the end Jungkook licks his lips smugly.

“See?” he pants. “No way your parents could believe you’d ever marry her. You’re mine.”

Jimin glares down at him, but his chest is heaving in a way that makes it obvious he’s affected. “I’m going to the bathroom,” he states, fixing his hair, and leaves quickly. 

Jungkook’s throat is raw, and the taste of Jimin still lingers on his tongue, when he watches the older man go, trying to keep himself upright.

No matter what he says, no matter how cool he acts, that blowjob is proof that Jimin wants him, and he wants him bad.

Proud and vain, Jungkook slips away to grab some air in the garden, pulling out a cigarette. He doesn’t stand for longer than a minute, when he hears, “You think you’re clever, don’t you?”

He turns. Jimin’s father stands behind him with hands clasped behind his back. His gaze rakes over Jungkook’s tattoos and piercings, taking in the messy hair, with undisguised contempt.

“Sir,” Jungkook says lightly, exhaling smoke. “Nice night, huh?”

The man ignores him. “I know exactly what you are.”

The corners of Jungkook’s lips tug up, though his stomach twists. “Hot? Irresistible? Amazing in bed?”

“Trash.” The word is merciless. “You’re using my son, milking his rebellion for your own gain, taking his money, parading around like a parasite. Do you think we’re not aware of people like you?”

Jungkook’s grin falters a little.

Mr. Park steps closer. His voice is venomous. “Listen carefully. This… won’t last. My son will come to his senses. And when he does, you’ll be discarded, back to your dingy little apartment, back to your pathetic life. You’ll be nothing. Do you understand?”

Jungkook swallows, forcing a smile back into place. “Bold words for a man whose son moaned my name last night.”

Mr. Park’s face darkens, but Jungkook doesn’t miss a flicker of fear or perhaps doubt in his eyes. They both know Jimin is slipping out of his parents’ grip, never to come back again.

“You think this is funny, but you’re just something temporary. Disposable. And if you drag him down with you, I’ll make sure you regret ever meeting him.”

He turns on his heel and leaves, leaving Jungkook standing there with his cigarette burned down.

For once, Jungkook doesn’t feel smug or bold. Not anymore. The words have left something in him and knocked on his walls. The truth is gnawing at him, undeniable now, that doesn’t want to be temporary.

He doesn’t want to be disposable.

He doesn’t want Jimin to wake up one day and let him go.

But he knows he’s got nothing to offer, aside from his temporary services.

Something’s different. Jimin notices it in small things about Jungkook’s behavior. He still smiles like a devil, makes inappropriate remarks and drapes himself over Jimin in front of his family. But when they’re alone, his edge disappears somewhere. He doesn’t push Jimin’s buttons, and doesn’t beg or demand like he used to.

At first, Jimin thought he was still offended by Hyejin. Later Jungkook claimed to be jet-lagged. But now they’re in his apartment, back in the city, and Jungkook’s on the couch, quietly doodling something in his sketchbook.

Usually, he would be filling the silence of Jimin’s home with his yapping and annoying Jimin. But tonight, he just keeps his head down.

Jimin watches him too long, irritated at himself. “Your’re very calm.”

“Mm,” the younger hums without looking up.

“Did someone finally shut you up?”

Jungkook smiles faintly, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’m just tired.”

Jimin frowns. Jungkook, tired? Jungkook’s never tired. He fills every room with his ridiculous energy. Seeing him subdued feels just… wrong.

The older man moves closer, sitting on the edge of the couch. “Tired of what?”

Jungkook flips the page, shrugging, and Jimin can’t shake the feeling that the younger didn’t want him specifically to see what’s inside. “Nothing important.”

Jimin studies him—slope of his shoulders, the way his jaw works, recalls the fake nonchalance in his voice.  Something happened. He knows it. But Jungkook won’t tell him.

For the first time, Jimin feels the sting of helplessness.

Technically speaking, Jungkook doesn’t owe him any explanations. This is supposed to be just an arrangement. But if this were just an arrangement, he wouldn’t care. He wouldn’t notice things about Jungkook, but he does. At least he cares enough that the thought of Jungkook losing his smile, makes his chest ache.

“Jungkook,” he calls softly, surprising even himself.

Finally, Jungkook looks at him. For a moment, the facade breaks, something sad hides behind his tired eyes. And then he smirks again. “Don’t look at me like that, hyung. You’ll fall in love.”

Jimin’s heart stutters. He forces his expression flat. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

Jungkook winks, flipping the page again. Jimin sits there in silence, waiting for him to say anything else, but Jungkook doesn’t.

Suddenly their arrangement feels very fragile. Cracks are starting to form on the surface, and Jimin doesn't know how to stop it.

Jungkook really hates silence. But that’s what he and Jimin have now—a silence that’s heavy and suffocating.

Ever since they came back from the estate, he can't muster the strength to look Jimin in the eyes and flirt, without remembering that the gap between them is too wide to ever close it.

Dinner is abandoned on the counter, and Jimin sits by the window, staring out at the city. His glass of wine stays untouched.

Jungkook restlessly repeats the words Jimin’s father had said to him in his head. His own words burn holes in his throat. Finally, he can’t take it anymore.

“Why do you even keep me around?”

Jimin turns to him, frowning. “What?”

“You heard me. I hang out with you in your apartment, then I act like your boyfriend in front of your family. We sleep together, and then you keep pushing me away. Am I just a joke to you? A way to piss off your dad until he caves?”

The man’s eyes narrow. “That’s what this was always supposed to be,” he says carefully.

“Supposed to be,” Jungkook repeats bitterly, laughing without humor. “Yeah, well, it doesn’t feel like that anymore.”

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what? Don’t say what we both know?” Jungkook throws his arms out, gets up from the couch and starts to pace. “You think I’m too dumb to notice? You look at me like—fuck—like I mean something to you. And then you pull back, act like I’m nothing. Which is it, hyung?”

“You’re overstepping.”

“Overstepping?” he barks a laugh, angry. “Your dad thinks I’m trash. He thinks I’m using you, bleeding you dry. And maybe he’s right. Maybe I am just a broke, dirty boy you picked up at a club to make mommy and daddy mad. But in this case you shouldn’t keep pulling me in and acting—“ His voice cracks. “Like I’m more than that.”

The silence afterwards feels brutal. Jungkook watches Jimin standing up slowly, almost like he’s trying to control himself, stop himself from doing or saying something he would regret.

“Don’t talk about my father.”

Jungkook scoffs. “Oh, right. Because daddy Park’s word is law, isn’t it? It doesn’t matter that I’ve been at your side for weeks, playing the perfect boyfriend, letting your family look down on me while I smile through it. Doesn’t matter that I—”

He cuts himself off, sinking his teeth into his lip. He almost said too much.

Jimin’s gaze is unreadable. “That you what?”

Jungkook shakes his head, laughing even though it’s not funny. “Forget it.” He grabs his jacket, moving for the door. “Forget all of this. I’ll see you at the next dinner, hyung. I’ll put on the show for you just as we agreed, but don’t expect me to keep pretending when we’re alone.”

“Jungkook—”

The door slams behind him before Jimin can finish.

Jimin stands frozen in the middle of his living room, his fists are clenched at his sides. An invisible hand squeezes his chest, telling him he deserves all that for ever coming up with this game.

Your dad thinks I’m trash.

There are no more irrelevant opinions than those of his father. Jimin almost stopped caring about them. Almost. He had always rebelled against them, letting only a small pieces inside his heart, those that pierced the most.

But he said the wrong thing, as always.

Don’t talk about my father.

He hadn’t meant it like that. God, the thought of siding with his father against Jungkook makes his stomach turn. He only said it because he didn’t want his father in the room with them, didn’t want that man’s shadow poisoning the air between them.

But Jungkook had looked at him like he’d been betrayed, and Jimin was always too weak at arguments to continue this battle.

He sinks onto the couch and hides his head in his hands. He hates this. He hates that one misstep cut so deep, that he even cares enough to hurt in the first place.

Because he does care. More than he should.

He thinks about the little things—Jungkook pretending to be fascinated by forks in expensive restaurants, just to make him laugh. Jungkook sprawled across his lap, warm and heavy, while they played games. Jungkook calling him “baby” in front of his family. Jungkook’s mouth on his.

And he thinks about tonight.

It doesn’t matter that I’ve been at your side for weeks, playing the perfect boyfriend, letting your family look down on me while I smile through it.

Jimin presses a hand to his chest, hating how fast his heart races, how bad and guilty he feels about making Jungkook hurt. He wrongly assumed that since acting comes so easily to the younger, then he probably doesn’t care about some strangers’ opinion.

And maybe he didn’t at the beginning, but eventually he started acting in front of Jimin, too.

This was supposed to be a simple, strategic deal, but now Jungkook’s under Jimin’s skin in ways he can’t undo.

And Jimin has to admit to himself that he doesn’t want Jungkook to be temporary. He doesn’t want Jungkook to leave. He wants him.

All his life Jimin aspired to be independent, until Jungkook came into his life, fearless and bold, changing everything Jimin knew about himself, challenging him, even today, when they argued, making Jimin face all of his fears. Fear of confrontation, commitment, critique. Love.

The realization leaves him breathless, almost angry with himself. Because now what? How does he take those words, this is just an arrangement, and swallow them back down? How does he tell Jungkook that he cares but he’s not ready to let anyone in so quickly, especially that Jungkook already thinks he doesn’t care?

He throws his head back, staring at the ceiling. For once, he doesn’t have a plan.

Jungkook’s copying mechanism has always been simply downplaying things that hurt him and acting like they didn’t. He drowns the doubts by talking, smothers fear with laughter.

When he struggles to pay tuition and rent, he tries not to think about it too much. When he’s down he buys cheap instant ramen and invites his friends to play games.

But after the fight with Jimin, he doesn’t want to do any of those things. After Jimin took his father’s side, he doesn’t feel like joking anymore. After getting spoiled for weeks, the vision of soggy ramen doesn't seem so appealing anymore.

Jimin took everything from him—even his comfort food—and yes, Jungkook is going to be dramatic about it.

It’s still not the end of their charade, so in front of the Parks, he still puts on the show. He wouldn’t be himself, if after talking to Jimin’s father last time, he wouldn’t take any revenge. It being PDA and dirty jokes at the table, scandalizing enough to make Mrs. Park choke on her wine.

But the second they’re alone, the mask falls. He doesn’t push Jimin into walls anymore, doesn’t see him long enough to lie across his lap. Doesn’t beg to suck his cock again, though the memory of it still makes his stomach twist with want.

Instead, he scrolls his phone, leaves Jimin’s texts on read, answers shortly, and  sleeps on the edge of the bed when they’re forced to share it.

And it kills him, because he can feel Jimin’s eyes on him, and every time he catches a flicker of hurt in the older man’s gaze, every part of him wants to grab him, kiss him, tell him the truth.

I’m not scared of your family. I’m scared of losing you.

But he doesn’t.

Because Jimin’s father was right. Jungkook’s temporary, disposable. He’s a poor kid playing pretend with a rebelling rich boy. And Jimin proved it when he chose the wrong side of that argument.

So Jungkook keeps his distance, even when it rips him apart.

Eventually, one night, after another suffocating dinner, Jimin corners him in the hallway. “What’s going on with you?”

“I finally learned my lesson.”

Jimin steps closer, searching his face. “This isn’t you.”

Jungkook forces his lips to stretch in a smile, but it’s hollow. “You don’t know me well enough to say that.”

The look on Jimin’s face—a flash of pain before he puts on the mask again— nearly breaks him. But he swallows it down, shoving his hands in his pockets, and walking away before he does something stupid.

Because if Jimin doesn’t want him, if what they’re playing are just roles and nothing more, then distance is a safer option. Even if it feels like dying.

“Enough.”

Jungkook glances up, blank. “Enough what?”

“This.” Jimin’s voice is sharp “The cold shoulder. The silence. Whatever game you’re playing.”

The younger raises a brow. “I didn’t realize shutting the fuck up counted as a game.”

Jimin strides forward, snatching the phone out of his hand and tossing it aside. “Talk to me.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Bullshit. You’ve been different since—” He cuts himself off, his jaw clenches. “Since that night.”

Jungkook laughs bitterly. “Which one? The one where we fucked until you couldn’t walk, or the one where you basically defended your dad?”

“That’s not what I—”

“You told me not to talk about him, so I shut up just like you wanted. Because maybe he’s right—maybe I’m just trash you dragged in, a brat you’ll play with until you’re bored, like a nice toy.”

Jimin genuinely freezes in place, shocked. His limbs lock, but his heart pounds in his chest. Fury and panic tangle in his throat at once.

“Don’t—don’t you dare put words in my mouth.”

“Then what the fuck am I to you?”

He stares at Jungkook. His eyes drift over Jungkook’s messy hair, tattoos, lip ring—everything that makes him uniquely him—and for once, words fail him. 

The truth is right there, clawing its way out. You’re everything. But fear clamps down on his throat. That kind of confession is too intimate to say out loud.

He forces himself to step closer anyway, curling his fists in Jungkook’s shirt, dragging him near until their noses almost touch.

“You’re not trash,” Jimin convinces, and his voice is shaking. “Don’t you ever think that again.”

Jungkook’s breath hitches. For a second, his eyes soften. “Then say it,” he whispers. “Say what I am to you.”

Jimin’s chest aches. The words are there. He almost says them. But his jaw locks, pride is a chain around his throat.

Silence stretches unbearably while he fights with himself.

Jungkook lets out a hollow chuckle, stepping back and shaking his head. “That’s what I thought.”

Jimin, furious at himself, lets him walk away.

He doesn’t usually storm into his father’s office. It’s always pointless. His father’s word is law in this family, and disobedience is met with disdain.

Tonight, though, Jimin slams the door open.

“You spoke to him.”

His father doesn’t look up from his papers. “If you’re referring to that boy—”

“Jungkook.” Jimin corrects sharply. “His name is Jungkook. And you had no right.”

Now his father looks up, but his eyes are cool, unimpressed. “I warned him. The same way I’ve warned every parasite who’s tried to latch onto this family.”

Jimin’s hands curl into fists. “He’s not a parasite. He’s—He’s” He swallows hard, feeling the heat cracking up his neck as his father stares him down, even while Jimin is standing above him. “He’s mine—my boyfriend.”

An expression of surprise crosses his father’s face, maybe because Jimin never openly steps up against him, but he recovers quickly. “Do you even hear yourself? You’d throw away everything we’ve built for a tattooed troublemaker who can barely pay his bills?”

“Yes,” Jimin says without hesitation. “Because at least he’s genuine—morethan anything you’ve ever taught me to value.”

The silence between them is suffocating. His father’s jaw tightens, but he says nothing. Jimin realizes that for once, he doesn’t care. He’s done listening, he’s done with this conversation that will lead to nowhere.

His father never changed his mind. He’d never support Jimin in anything. So he turns on his heel and walks out, feeling his pulse racing.

Back at his apartment, he pulls his phone out and his thumb hovers over Jungkook’s name for a second. He calls. There’s no answer. He calls again and is sent straight to voicemail. A third time. Nothing.

Panic claws up his throat. He scrolls through messages, all unread. He checks social media. Silent.

Finally, he opens the location-sharing app Jungkook once insisted on for “when I’m drunk and lost at 3 a.m., hyung, come pick me up.”

The map loads and a blinking dot shows up, far across the city.

Jimin exhales shakily, grabbing his keys.

“Fine,” he mutters to himself. “If you won’t pick up, I’ll come find you.”

Jungkook doesn’t remember how he ended up at this bar. One minute he was storming out of Jimin’s apartment, the next he was downing shots with a stranger whose name he doesn’t remember.

Maybe the stranger never told him, or maybe Jungkook wasn’t listening enough, but at least that is someone who listens! Someone who doesn’t make his chest ache the way Jimin does…

“So lemme get this straight,” the guy says, with a chin propped on his fist. “You’re fake dating some rich heir just to piss off his family?”

Jungkook laughs, nearly spilling his drink. “It started exactly that way. Except now I’m the idiot who caught feelings.”

The stranger winces. “Ouch.”

“Yeah. Ouch.” Jungkook slumps against the counter, looking at what’s left in his glass. “I thought I could handle it, be the cocky brat, take the money, play the role. Easy. But then—fuck—he looks at me like I’m more than that, and then the next second, he looks at me like I’m nothing. It drives me insane.”

The stranger hums sympathetically, flagging the bartender for water. “Sounds like you need better communication.”

Jungkook groans, burying his face in his arms. “Sounds like I need to stop loving him.”

His heart twists even as the words leave his mouth. He’s too drunk to lie to himself. He cringes inwardly, imagining how Jimin would react to this truth. It’d be hard to swallow.

“Jungkook.”

Great. Now he’s hallucinating Jimin’s voice.

He lifts his head, and blearily sees Jimin standing there like a vintage picture from the past, framed by neon light, wearing that unreadable expression.

Then he blinks and Jimin still stands there.

“Oh hey, hyung,” Jungkook slurs, plastering a sloppy grin on his face. “How’d you find me?”

Jimin doesn’t answer. His eyes dart to the stranger, the half-empty glasses, and the way Jungkook’s leaning on the other man, laughing. His jaw clenches.

“You should go,” he tells the stranger.

The guy raises his hands. “I was just keeping him company, man.” He slips away quickly, leaving the two of them in charged silence.

Pout already forms on Jungkook’s lips as he blinks up. “You scared off my new friend.”

“He wasn’t your friend.” Jimin stands in front of him, steadying him when he sways. “You’re drunk.”

“No shit. Why are you here?”

Jimin exhales slowly. He allows his thumb to brush Jungkook’s jaw despite himself. “Because you didn’t answer your phone.”

Jungkook’s chest aches. He wants to lean into that touch, wants to cry, wants to laugh. But he doesn’t do any of those things. He just whispers, “Bet your dad would love to see me like this… Trash at the bar, drunk off my ass, easy to throw away.”

Jimin’s hand tightens on his chin. “Don’t say that.”

Jungkook searches his face as the longing bleeds through the alcohol. “Then what am I, hyung?”

The older man stares at him and Jungkook can’t read the emotion that passes behind his eyes. But when he sways again, Jimin crouches in front of him, holding him. 

“Come on, let’s get you home.”

Jungkook shakes his head stubbornly. “Don’t want to.”

“Jungkook—”

“No.” His voice cracks a little. He’s drunk but still determined. “You can't drag me around like I'm your project. I’m not a fucking toy you show off to piss off your parents, then toss away when you’re done.”

Jimin flinches. He deserves it, he knows it, still…

“You’re not,” he protests firmly and pleading at the same time. “You’ve never been that.”

Jungkook laughs bitterly, tipping back on the stool. “Yeah? Could’ve fooled me. That night we argued about your father—” His voice breaks again. “It felt like you picked him over me. And I’ve been by your side all this time.”

Something in Jimin's chest crumbles and separates from the rest of his body. He can’t stand the sadness in Jungkook’s glassy eyes in his trembling voice. He grabs the younger’s chin, forcing him to meet his eyes.

“Listen to me. I wasn’t defending him. I said that because I didn’t want him between us. He poisons everything he touches, and I didn’t want him in our space.”

Jungkook’s lips part. He stares at him wordlessly with tears threatening to spill but not falling, only shimmering in the corners of his brown, surprisingly innocent eyes.

“And today,” Jimin continues. “I went to him. I told him he couldn't talk to you like that. I told him you were mine, that I chose you. Not him, not them. You.”

For a moment, Jungkook just blinks at him, drunk and disbelieving. “You really said that?”

“Yes.” Jimin’s voice shakes, but he doesn’t look away. “I don’t care if he hates me for it. I don’t care if the whole family does. You’re not temporary, Jungkook. You’re not trash. You’re—” His throat tightens. “You’re everything I want.”

Jungkook makes a sound, low and wounded, and pushes at his chest weakly. “Don’t say that now, when I’m drunk. Don’t say it just to make me come home with you.”

Desperate, Jimin grips his hands. “I’m saying it because it’s the truth. I should’ve said it sooner, but I was a coward. I’m not letting you walk away thinking you’re disposable.”

Silence. The younger lips tremble between a pout and a smile. A single tear slips from the corner of his eye, and Jimin wipes it away with his finger before it falls down his nose. Jungkook’s breathing becomes ragged. Finally, he whispers, “I missed you.”

Jimin's chest rises with a deep breath. He tilts his head forward so that their foreheads touch. “I missed you too.”

For a moment they don’t move. Then Jungkook sighs, leaning into him, pliant and stubborn but softening. “Fine. I’ll come home with you. But only cause your bed’s comfier,” he declares in a pout.

Jimin almost laughs as relief fills the cracks of his ache. “Liar.”

“Yeah,” the younger mumbles, burying his face in his neck. “It’s cause it’s yours.”

“Hyung,” Jungkook calls, kicking off his shoes and nearly toppling over. “Did you know your floor is richer than me? Like, this marble probably has more money in it than my whole bank account.”

Jimin sighs, shutting the door behind them. “Jungkook—”

“Wait, wait, no—” Jungkook stumbles into the kitchen, pulling open a drawer, gasping. “Hyung. Oh my god, I just remembered. Gold forks? You actually own very expensive murder weapons? Do you keep them polished by butlers, or do they clean themselves with magic of the rich?”

Jimin drags a hand down his face. “They’re just forks.”

“Just forks, he says! My apartment doesn’t even have matching chopsticks, hyung. You live in a museum.”

“Sit down before you break something.”

Jungkook doesn’t even think to sit. He bounces toward him instead. “You like me though, right? Even if I don’t know which fork to use for salad?”

“You’re impossible and need to go to bed.”

Jungkook gasps dramatically, clutching his chest. “Hyung likes me even though I’m impossible. Write it down. Generations from now, they’ll say, ‘Park Jimin, heir to an empire, fell for the tattooed brat who didn’t wear underwear.’”

“God, you’re loud.”

“God, you’re hot!” he fires back immediately, swaying closer, instinctively dropping his eyes to Jimin’s mouth. “Hot and bossy and mine.”

“You need to sleep.”

“I need you.” He throws his arms around Jimin’s neck and tries to hang off him like a koala. “Hyung, carry me to bed like a prince. Except, you know—reverse, because I’m poor. It’s kinky, though.”

Jimin groans, trying to pry him off. “You’re insufferable, when you’re drunk.”

“And you love it,” Jungkook sings, pressing sloppy kisses along Jimin’s jaw, missing more than he hits. “Admit it.”

Jimin finally hooks an arm under him, hauling him up bridal style with a grunt. He’s surprisingly strong, taking into consideration that Jungkook is rather big and addicted to working out.

Throwing his arms wide, the younger whoops. “Oh my god, you are my prince!”

Jimin mutters something like, “I’m going to regret this,” as he carries him toward the bedroom. He throws Jungkook on the bed like he’s an unruly child.

“Okay, hyung,” Jungkook announces as he bounces onto the mattress, sprawling starfish. “One problem. I can’t sleep in clothes. I’m very allergic. I break out in hives.”

“You’re making stuff up.”

The younger’s already fumbling with his shirt. He yanks it over his head in one dramatic move. Then he wiggles out of his sweats with no shame, until his cock springs free, half-hard. Shameless.

Jimin groans, dragging a hand down his face. “Do you ever wear underwear?”

“Nope. Gotta keep the boys breathing, hyung. Wanna tuck them in for me?”

“Go to sleep,” he half pleads, half grumbles, reaching for the blanket.

Jungkook catches his wrist, grinning. “Not until you’re naked too.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Hyung.” He pouts dramatically, then sits up and tugs at Jimin’s shirt. His drunk hands are clumsy, fumbling at the buttons. “Let me help.”

Before Jimin can protest, Jungkook is in his lap, straddling him. His tongue pokes from the corner of his mouth as he wrestles with the fabric. “Why so many buttons? Is this shirt or armor? Are you hiding a chastity belt under here?”

“Jungkook—”

“Got it!” he cheers, popping the last button, pushing the shirt off Jimin’s shoulders with greedy hands. His eyes gleam with hunger. “Fuck, hyung, you’re hot. Why’d you hide this from me?”

“I wasn’t hiding. You literally saw me—”

“Shh,” Jungkook hushes him with a finger to his lips, then smirks, sliding off the bed. “What about these pants?”

Jimin stiffens. “Leave them.”

The brat is already sliding to the floor, staring at Jimin’s black pants. “Laces, hyung? What is this, medieval cosplay? You want me to rescue your cock from a dragon?”

“Jungkook.”

Instead of listening, Jungkook leans in, catching one of the laces with his teeth, tugging it loose. He keeps eye contact the whole time. “Bet you want me to use my mouth for more than this.” His voice is muffled.

Jimin’s heart stutters as the heat coils low in his stomach at the sight. His breathing becomes heavier.

“God, you’re so hard already,” Jungkook teases, tugging another knot with his teeth. “All that talk about going to sleep, but it seems like you want something else.”

“Shut up.” Jimin rolls his eyes, sinking his hair into Jungkook’s hair to get him away from his pants.

Jungkook moans at the pull. “There he is, my bossy hyung. Wanna ride me again? Or will you let me suck you until you cry?”

“Forget it. You’re drunk.”

“I’m horny.” Jungkook pouts again, licking up his stomach now. “And you’re so fucking sexy when you pretend you don’t want it.”

Jimin clenches his jaw, torn between dragging him into bed and tying him down until morning.

“Please, hyung,” Jungkook murmurs against his skin, desperate and filthy in the way he slides his fingers over the older’s thighs, stomach, kissing Jimin’s navel. “Let me be good for you tonight. Just once, before I pass out.”

When he looks up, Jimin’s expression is implacable. “Sleep. Now.”

Jungkook stares for a moment longer. Finally his smile falters, when he sees how uncompromising the older man is, and he crawls under the blanket, irritated and disappointed, while Jimin throws the cover over him, grumbling something.

The first thing he feels when he wakes the next day is his headache. He groans, rolling over, expecting to find empty sheets like he did for the past days, but instead, he finds Jimin—sitting up on the bed, with glasses perched on his nose, reading a thick book. His expression is soft while he focuses, following the text with his eyes.

At first Jungkook is confused, seeing him so beautiful—and in the same bed—like this is any normal morning. Like Jungkook didn’t spend last night drunk out of his mind making an absolute fool of himself…

“Oh my god,” he groans, dragging the blanket over his face. “Kill me now.”

He hears the faint rustle of a page turning. “You’re alive. That’s punishment enough.”

“Hyung,” he whines. “I tried to blow you before passing out. And my teeth… I was—fuck—so cringe.”

“You were drunk,” Jimin mumbles, concentrating. “And you didn’t blow me. I told you to sleep.”

“Yeah, and you tucked me in like some kind of hot, bossy babysitter.” Jungkook peeks out from under the blanket, pouting. “Kinda ruined the fantasy.”

Jimin’s lips twitch, but he doesn’t look up from his book. “You should be grateful I stopped you. You would’ve choked in that state.”

Jungkook groans again, flopping onto his stomach, burying his face in the pillow. Then the embarrassment gives place to relief, when he remembers Jimin crouching in front of him in the bar. He remembers the confession that followed, the truth he’d wanted for weeks.

He peeks up again, fixing his gaze on Jimin—the way his glasses slide down his nose, the slight furrow between his brows as he reads, the curve of his mouth. 

Jungkook’s cock stirs under the sheets. Of course, he’s hungover, relieved, stupidly smitten, and horny. Typical.

“Hyung,” he mutters, and his voice comes out rough, “you’re hot in glasses. Like, ridiculously hot. Sexy professor shit. Wanna fuck?”

Jimin sighs, finally lowering the book to glare at him. “You’re insufferable. Go back to sleep.”

“Can’t,” Jungkook whines, rolling closer. He makes Jimin’s thigh his pillow as he looks up with a drunkenly sweet smile. “Not when you’re sitting here looking so fuckable.”

Adjusting his glasses, Jimin huffs, trying to ignore him. His ears are starting to turn pink, though. Jungkook nuzzles into his thigh, brushing his lips over the fabric.

“Hyung,” he grunts softly, but needily because it’s on brand for him. “You look so good like this, so serious in those glasses, pretending you don’t wanna bend me over.”

“Jungkook.”

“Mm?” Jungkook kisses the inside of his thigh through the loose cotton, trailing higher, gently tracing the shape with his lips. Jimin’s thighs tense, bulge twitches. “You don’t know what you do to me,” he whispers against Jimin’s crotch. “Sitting here like a sexy professor. I want you so bad.”

Before Jimin can stop him, Jungkook slides down, tugging at the blanket until Jimin’s bare legs are revealed. He presses open-mouthed kisses down to his knee, and back up, sucking marks into pale skin.

“Stop,” Jimin breathes, but his hips lift a little as he shifts uncomfortably.

“You don’t mean that,” the younger teases right against the inside of his soft, strong thigh. “You’re already hard.” He noses at the swell in Jimin’s boxers, letting out a dirty little sound. “Fuck, hyung, your cock missed me.”

Jimin’s hand flies to his hair, intending to push him away, but Jungkook moans at the grip, grinding his tongue against the fabric, wetting it until Jimin curses.

“Take them off,” the latter half hisses, half begs.

Jungkook obeys instantly, tugging down the waistband, freeing him. He doesn’t wait a second longer, just licks the head slowly and obscenely, humming. “Mm, breakfast of champions.”

“God, you’re disgusting.”

“You love it.” Jungkook smirks, wrapping his lips around the tip, sucking until Jimin’s squirming. He pulls off with a pop and grins up at the older man whose glasses fogged up from heavy breathing. “But that’s not what I want right now.”

He shifts lower, spreading Jimin’s thighs wider, kissing down the soft inside. “I’ve been thinking about this,” he murmurs, breathing hot air against Jimin’s ass. “How you’d taste… How you’d sound.”

“Jungkook—”

Jungkook spreads him open, before licking over his hole, sloppy and determined.

“Fuck—” Jimin gasps, tugging at his hair. His head falls back with a grunt, glasses slip down his nose as he pants.

Jungkook moans against him, pushing his tongue deeper, opening him up. He eats him out shamelessly, making sure he’s loud and messy about it, spreading Jimin wider with his spit and fingers to get in deeper.

“God, hyung,” he whispers between licks. “So tight. You’d clench around my cock the same way. You’d love it.”

“Shut up,” Jimin pants, but his hips roll helplessly, grinding against Jungkook’s tongue.

Jungkook laughs, pleased, before plunging back in. He fucks Jimin with his tongue, until the man is trembling, cursing, coming untouched, unless you count Jungkook’s fingers caressing his sensitive thigh. When he finally pulls back, his chin is wet with his own saliva. He crawls up Jimin’s body, not caring that Jimin’s cum spreads sticky over their stomachs.

Filthy, he kisses Jimin deeply, smearing spit and taste between them. Jimin moans into his mouth, gripping his back, digging his nails into Jungkook’s skin.

“See, hyung? Didn’t I tell you a few times that you’d love me putting my mouth to use?”

Jimin swallows. His gaze is still hazy from the orgasm, but he has enough strength to say, “you’re too cocky for your own good.”

“Mm,” Jungkook hums, grinding against him with his hard cock, leaking between them. “And you’re about to let me fuck you again anyway.”

He kisses back down Jimin’s body with a messy tongue, teeth catching at his throat. Jimin drags him closer, tilting his head, groaning into his mouth as they kiss again and it becomes frantic—so dirty and hot as Jungkook likes it.

Jungkook grinds down, sliding over Jimin’s hardening length, slicking and spreading the precum between them. Jimin tilts his pelvis, coming to meet him, letting out a pleased hum.

The younger slides his hand over his chest. “Fuck, hyung, you’re unreal, soft everywhere. I could bite you all over.”

“Do it,” Jimin dares, digging his hand into Jungkook’s ass to bring him closer, at the same time pushing his hips harder.

Jungkook sucks a mark into his collarbone, then licks down his chest, letting out a strangled noise when Jimin drags his nails up his back. His glasses are still hanging crookedly on his face, lenses fogged completely by now. He pulls them off slowly, setting them aside with a smirk that makes Jungkook swell with anticipation and leak even more.

“Fuck,” he rasps, rutting harder. “That was so hot. You knew I would be getting off on it.”

“I did.”

He’s being brought back into another breathless, passionate kiss. They’re both grabbing at hips, thighs, hair, shoulders. Jungkook palms Jimin’s cock, stroking him sloppily, while Jimin kneads his ass, spreading him open. The sounds, debouched and desperate, fill the room.

Jungkook pulls back for a moment. He fumbles with the drawer, pulling out lube, quickly slicking his fingers with shaking hands. “Tell me how you want it, hyung,” he breathes. “I’ll do anything, just say it.”

“So eager. Stretch me slowly. Let’s see how much you want me.”

Jungkook whines, nodding, pushing slick fingers inside carefully. “God, you’re tight. Fuck—gripping me.”

“Good boy,” Jimin whispers, and Jungkook nearly comes untouched at the praise.

He works him open, prepping sloppy kisses on Jimin’s jaw, moaning at every little noise Jimin makes, at the way his back arches against the sheets.

“Now,” Jimin purrs. ”Fuck me like you mean it.” 

Jungkook’s whole body shivers. “Yeah, fuck, yeah,” he babbles, lining up, pushing in slowly. The perfect stretch of Jimin’s tight walls around him makes him cry out in ecstasy. “God, hyung, you feel—fuck, you feel insane.”

Jimin cups his jaw, forcing him to meet his gaze. “Move for me.”

Jungkook rolls his hips shallow at first, then deeper, guided by Jimin’s hand on his ass. “Harder,” Jimin says, and Jungkook obeys, fucking into him with deep, languid thrusts. “Faster.”

He pounds, snapping his hips faster, and Jimin pushes against his thrusts, until their bodies smack together.

 “There—yes, there.”

The way Jimin looks right now is fucking lewd—so messed up, needy, gripping the headboard with one hand as he bares the pretty column on his neck for Jungkook to bite. Those plump lips fall open in pleasure. 

Jungkook moans because of the way he clenches.

“You’re so fucking bossy,” he gasps, pressing his forehead to Jimin’s neck, licking his skin. “Making me your toy—Fuck, I love it.”

“You like me telling you what to do, don’t you?”

“Yes—yes, fuck, I do,” Jungkook pants, his cock twitches inside, swallowed in warmth with each push.

“Then be good for me,” Jimin breathes, sneaking his hand between their bodies and stroking his own cock in time with Jungkook’s thrusts. “I want every inch. Finish off for me.”

Jungkook cries out, rolling his hips harder, sinking in deeper, chasing Jimin’s words, moans, his approval. “Anything, hyung. Anything for you.”

He slams in, circles his hips, presses more, penetrating every inch, relishing. It’s pure agony how Jimin clenches around him. Jungkook shatters, spilling inside him with a strangled moan, whole body trembling. The tight grip is too much, the desperate sound of his name ripped from Jimin’s throat, has him spilling inside Jimin.

 The older man tips over the edge seconds later, coming hot and messy between them. They collapse together, breathing heavily, still kissing, melting into one another.

Jungkook buries his face against Jimin’s temple. “Best hangover cure ever.”

Jimin huffs a surprised laugh, dragging a hand through his messy hair. “Idiot.”

“Your idiot,” Jungkook mumbles, and for once, Jimin doesn’t argue. “No point in acting like you’re not into me.”

Boneless and panting, he starts laughing suddenly.

“What’s so funny?” Jimin asks, wiping his chest with a discarded shirt.

“If you were my professor, hyung, I’d be top of the class.”

“You said you barely pass your classes now.”

“Yeah, but imagine.” Jungkook props himself on his elbows, smirking. “Sitting in the front row, all wide-eyed and eager, taking notes with my cock hard under the desk every time you push those sexy glasses up your nose.”

“Jungkook—”

“Office hours would be insane,” he keeps going, eyes gleaming with mischief. “I’d be in your lap begging for extra credit. Or on my knees under the desk while you grade papers. Fuck, hyung, I’d be the perfect student for you.”

Jimin shakes his head, but his lips twitch. “You’re seriously incorrigible.”

“And you’re hard again,” Jungkook singsongs, reaching out to palm him lazily.

Jimin catches his wrist. “Do you truly think you’d make a good student?”

“Best you’ve ever had.”

“You’d be good for me?”

Before Jungkook can say exactly how good he’d be, Jimin shoves him flat on his back, sliding down between his thighs. He gasps, as Jimin takes him into his mouth in one long, filthy swallow.

“Fuck—hyung!” His back arches, hand closes on Jimin’s hair. “Oh my god, you—you never—”

The older man hums around his cock, swirls his tongue, and sucks hard enough to make his thighs shake.

“Shit, hyung, wait—” Jungkook pants, tugging weakly at his hair. “I was supposed to finish you off. Let me—fuck, let me make you come again—”

Jimin pulls off just long enough to say. “Be quiet and take it.”

Jungkook whimpers, throwing his head back. His cock twitches helplessly as Jimin goes down again, relentless, slurping loudly. Evert flick of his tongue makes him unravel.

“God—fuck—yes—” Jungkook babbles. His thighs shake as he bucks his hips up, while his eyes roll back. “Hyung, you’re—fuck—you’re too good. I can’t—oh my god, I can’t—”

Jimin grips his hips, pinning him down, sucking harder, bobbing his head faster. Jungkook comes again, crying out loud, spilling down his throat with a choked sob of Jimin’s name.

When Jimin pulls off, wiping his mouth, Jungkook is a mess, spread out, shaking, with his lips bruised from biting them.

“Holy fuck,” he pants, dazed,l. “If I had you as my professor, I’d have a 4.0 GPA and a permanent hard-on.”

Jimin giggles, crawling back up to kiss him, and it’s filthy because he tastes like Jungkook. “Shut up, Bunny.”

Jimin doesn’t usually cook for anyone. He doesn’t usually let anyone stay the night, let alone linger into the morning.

Jungkook is sprawled on his couch in yesterday’s sweatpants, his hair a complete mess, which feels weirdly domestic. His eyes track Jimin working in the kitchen, cutting the vegetables, while the pan hisses and the smell of sizzling garlic fills the apartment.

“Why are you staring at me?” Jimin asks without looking up, sliding eggs into the pan.

“Because you’re hot,” Jungkook declares shamelessly, propping his hand on his chin.

Jimin huffs a laugh, stirring the pan.

“No, seriously, hyung. You’re bossing the kitchen around in just those little shorts? I’m getting wet in my sweatpants.”

“You’re not even wearing underwear.” He looks over his shoulder, watching an eyebrow, glancing pointedly at the younger’s crotch.

“Exactly. You’re frying eggs and I’m dripping. This is what you do to me.”

“Disgusting.”

“Your ears are pink. Just admit it’s hot,” Jungkook teases, sliding off the couch to pad barefoot into the kitchen. He comes up behind Jimin, wrapping his arms around his waist, pressing his hard-on against him, all cheeky. “You’re giving sexy househusband vibes. It makes me wanna bend you over the counter.”

Jimin flips the eggs neatly onto a plate, ignoring him. “Sit down before I burn you with hot oil.”

Jungkook laughs, but obeys, plopping into a chair, watching with shining, curious eyes as the older man plates food.

When the latter sets the dish in front of him, Jungkook blinks, caught off guard. “Wait, you… made all this for me?”

Jimin arches a brow. “Who else would it be for?”

For a moment, Jungkook just stares. Something shifts in his expression. For a moment, he’s almost vulnerable. “No one’s ever… cooked for me like this.”

Jimin feels a pang in his chest. He sits opposite him, pretending it’s nothing. “Eat before it gets cold.”

Jungkook picks up his chopsticks, takes a bite, and his eyes widen. “Holy shit. Hyung. Marry me.”

“It’s just eggs.”

“I’m in love,” Jungkook insists with his mouth full. “You’re so hot, bossy and sexy, damn.”

Jimin shakes his head, hiding his smile as he digs into his own plate.

“We should go on a real date.” It sounds as if Jungkook blurted it out before could stop himself.

With his chopsticks pausing midair, Jimin looks up. “A date?”

“Yeah.” Jungkook shrugs, trying to play it casual even as his heart flutters in his chest. “Just us. Like… a movie, or a park, or a shitty food truck. Something normal.”

Jimin studies him for a long moment. His stomach twists, but then Jimin nods slowly. “Maybe.”

Relief washes over him. He’s about to press when his gaze catches the can of whipped cream standing forgotten on the shelf.

“Hyung,” he sing-songs sweetly. “You know what would make this breakfast even better?”

Suspicious, Jimin narrows his eyes. “I don’t want to know.”

“Dessert.” The younger hops up, snatching the can and shaking it, wagging his brows. “On you.”

“Jungkook—”

“Come onnn. We’ve got a kitchen, we’ve got whipped cream, and we’ve got you in those tiny shorts. It’s the recipe for my favorite meal.”

Jimin pinches the bridge of his nose. “Have you ever considered therapy?”

Jungkook tips his head and steals a quick kiss, pressing him back against the counter.  The grin on his face is wicked as he pops the cap, squirting a dollop right onto Jimin’s collarbone. The latter inhales sharply, glaring, but he just leans in, dragging his tongue slowly and filthy across the skin.

“Fuck, hyung,” he moans around the taste. His lips are sticky with sugar. “You’re so sweet. What a perfect breakfast.”

The older man hisses as he trails lower, spraying a line down the bare stomach, licking it off with obscene slurps.

“You’re seriously obscene,” Jimin mutters, but his breath is uneven and loud. A strangled sound escapes his lips when Jungkook sucks on a spot just above his waistband.

When the younger looks up, smirking up at him, whipped cream is smeared on his chin. “And you’re already hard just thinking about me eating every drop straight off your cock.”

Jimin rests his hand on his head, slowly sliding his fingers into his hair, combing through them gently, then suddenly grips a handful, tugging. “You talk too much.”

Jungkook moans at the pull, nuzzling against him.

“Don’t even think about it—” Jimin starts, but the words die when the brat pulls the elastic of his pants away from his skin, and the first cold spray covers his tip.

The sudden chill of cream against flushed skin, makes him jolt. Thick swirls of white curl around the head, dripping down the shaft, pooling at the base, while Jungoook watches with hungry eyes, tugging the pants down to his thighs.

“Fuck, Jungkook—”

“God, that’s pretty,” Jungkook groans. His dark eyes blaze with hunger, his mouth water at the sight. “Like the world’s dirtiest sundae.”

He doesn’t wait. He licks a long stripe up Jimin’s cock, moaning indecently as the cream coats his tongue. “Sweet… and then fuck—your taste under it? Hyung, you’re better than anything else I—”

“Stop talking,” Jimin grits out, pulling at the brown strands.

“I can’t,” Jungkook laughs breathlessly, wrapping his lips around the head again and sucking it clean. “I need you too bad. Need to tell you how fucking good you are. Fucking paraside, hyung. Do you like it?”

He swirls his tongue around the pink tip, sliding his hand up the base. He squeezes out more cream, then tilts his head to lick the sweet cream from the side, along the pulsing vein. Jimin twitches, his thighs tensing under Jungkook's forearms.

The younger moves with urgency, it’s actually impressive how much he gets immersed into it. He takes Jimin in with languid, rhythmic bobs of his head, relaxed and tender, almost affectionate, as he kisses over Jimin’s cock, massaging it with one hand once he’s clean.

Then he becomes sloppy, quickening his movements, stretching his mouth wide, smearing spit and precum across his lips, dripping down his chin as he takes Jimin deeper. Each sway of his head leaves wet, sticky trails across Jimin’s skin. As he kneels on the floor, one of his hands cups his cock while the other travels up and grips Jimin's waist. He’s doing everything wholeheartedly, as if his life depends on it. He’s greedy, almost insatiable as he relishes in it.

“God, look at you,” Jimin pants, as if he’s being tormented. “Messy little slut.”

Jungkook yelps around him, and the sound vibrates down his cock. He pulls back just long enough to gasp, “Wanna eat you forever.”

His eyes are so earnest as he glances up with those big brown, striking eyes. It's ridiculous, given the situation. And then he swallows him again, louder, wetter, lewd.

The kitchen fills with the sounds of the slick slide of his mouth, the squelch of cream mixing with spit and Jimin’s broken curses. Jungkook claws at his skin, sucking avidly, eyelids hooded as if this is heaven.

“Hyung—” he groans when he comes up for air, pumping with a slick fist. “You taste so good. Sweet and salty and fuck—I could live off your cock.”

“Shut up and finish what you started,” Jimin snarls, shoving him back down.

Jungkook wails, opening his throat, swallowing him to the base until Jimin’s head tips back, and a raw groan rips from his chest.

It doesn’t take long for tension to build up. The heat coils, unforgiven, so good, and Jimin’s thighs shake as he spills into Jungkook’s mouth, holding him down, forcing him to take it all.

Jungkook swallows eagerly, licking his lips when he finally pulls off, his face a sticky, wrecked mess of spit and cream. He looks up, batting his eyelashes elegantly, as if he didn’t just give Jimin the dirtiest blowjob for the second time today.

“Best dessert ever,” he croons, licking a stripe up Jimin’s stomach for good measure. “Better than anything on your fancy plates.”

In the afternoon, Jungkook is giggling at him like the sun, dragging him down the street by the hand.

Jimin lowkey regrets saying yes to the date—never because of Jungkook—but because for him it feels foreign. It’s almost, as if they’re stepping off the tightrope they’ve been balancing on and landing somewhere unknown. But he can’t bring himself to take it back, not when Jungkook looks so beautiful when he’s happy.

“Where are we even going?” he asks, lowering the baseball cap he received from the younger.

“It’s a secret,” Jungkook sings, tugging him along. “You’re too rich for surprises, hyung. You gotta learn how us poor people have fun.”

Jimin raises a brow. “I didn’t realize fun meant being kidnapped.”

“You love it.”

He does. God help him, he does.

The date ends up being nothing fancy. Jungkook takes him to a small park near his campus, to a vendor cart selling cheap tteokbokki. They pass by a pair of swings that squeak loudly with every push, but Jimin can’t remember the last time he felt this light.

They sit side by side on a park bench, sharing skewers, while Jungkook’s thigh is pressed warm against his. Sauce stains Jungkook’s lips, and he leans closer with a grin. “Hyung, clean me up,” he whines like a menace that he is.

Jimin glares, but his eyes dart to his mouth for a second. “Use a napkin.”

“Use your tongue. Please.”

Jimin sighs, but when Jungkook pouts, he gives in, leaning over to kiss him, licking the sauce from his lip. Jungkook sighs dramatically, clutching his chest. “Fuck, I’m spoiled. What a Michelin-star boyfriend treatment.”

“You’re so annoying.”

“And you love it.”

Jimin hides a smile behind his skewer.

Later, they wander the park. Jungkook insists on dragging him onto the swings, pushing off with wild kicks, laughing loud enough to turn heads. Jimin just shakes his head, but the sound makes his chest ache in this warm, unfamiliar way.

When Jungkook finally slows, breathless, he looks over at Jimin with a smile that could break Jimin’s entire world and turn it upside down.

“See? Not so bad, right? There’s no fancy restaurants, no forks, no parents—just us.”

Jimin studies him—the sweat-damp hair sticking to his forehead, the joy in his eyes that seems so effortless, coming from the smallest things in life, and the way their hands brush on the swing chain, when Jungkook reaches out to touch him, as if holding hands is something ordinary.

It’s not to Jimin, but maybe… he could get used to it.

“Yeah,” he agrees softly. “Just us.”

For the first time, he allows himself to believe this could be more than an arrangement.

Jungkook hesitates outside his own door. It’s stupid, because he’s had Jimin in his lap, in his bed, in his mouth—but somehow this feels scarier. He was in Jungkook’s living room, but only that, on Jungkook’s best day, when it was tidy and all the other doors were closed.

But in Jungkook’s kitchen there are no gold forks, it has mismatched mugs. His place holds laundry piles and a futon couch he bought secondhand.

“Are we going in,” Jimin asks behind him in a dry voice, unaware of Jungkook’s inner turmoil, “or are you planning to keep me in the hallway all night?”

Jungkook snorts, starting to move again, fumbling with the keys. “Just… lowering expectations, hyung. My palace doesn’t exactly compare to yours.”

“You think I care about that?”

The knot in his chest loosens a little. He pushes the door open.

The place is small, but feels even smaller as he guides Jimin. One bedroom, tiny kitchen, cluttered with sketchbooks and paint-stained mugs. Posters are peeling slightly at the corners. A pile of laundry he swears he meant to fold surprises him in the corner of the living room instead of the bathroom.

Jimin doesn’t react at first, then looks around. Jungkook waits for the judgment.

“This feels… lived in.”

Jungkook chuckles sheepishly. “That’s code for messy.”

“It’s chaotic, just like you.”

For some reason, that makes Jungkook’s heart flip.

Eventually, they end up on his bed, which is barely big enough for one, let alone two. Jungkook sprawls out with his arms wide. “Welcome to Casa Jeon. Five-star service, complimentary cuddles.”

Jimin rolls his eyes but sits beside him, careful not to topple off the edge.

Jungkook slides closer, pressing their thighs together. “Have you ever had a sleepover like this before, hyung? Like… ramen at midnight, movies on a shitty laptop, cuddling until someone snores?”

Jimin shakes his head. “No.”

Jungkook’s smile softens. “First time’s with me, then.”

He kisses Jimin slowly and sweetly this time, just pressing their lips together in the quiet of his tiny room. He feels the older man relaxing and melting in a way that’s very rare.

When they break apart, he can’t resist whispering, “It’s hot seeing you on my ugly sheets. You’d even make this dump look like a palace.”

Jimin chuckles warmly. “Idiot.”

“I’m your idiot, don’t forget,” Jungkook corrects, snuggling closer.

Jimin has never eaten instant ramen straight from the pot, not even once. Well, until now.

Jungkook’s bed is narrow but somehow he balances the pot between them. Steam fogs the room, lifting above the faint smell of paint and laundry detergent. Jimin really meant it when he said that if feels lived in—opposite to how his own place sometimes feels.

“This is criminal,” he complains, eyeing the orange broth, because if he doesn’t, the younger might think that he softened, and that would put Jimin at disadvantage.

“This is a Michelin-star, Jeon-style experience,” Jungkook corrects, slurping loudly. “Tell me this isn’t the best thing you’ve ever put in your mouth.”

“You realize I could answer that honestly, right?”

He nearly chokes on a noodle before bursting into laughter. “Fuck, you’re filthier than me now. My training’s working.”

“I wasn’t talking about—you know, whatever.” Jimin rolls his eyes, but he can’t fight the tug of a smile.

After ramen, Jungkook insists on queuing up a movie on his battered laptop. It has nothing on Jimin’s cinema-sized TV, but Jungkook’s sprawled against him with head on his shoulder, their legs are tangled, and somehow it feels… perfect.

Halfway through, Jungkook tilts his head up. “Have you ever made out during a movie before, hyung? Or is it not in the rich people menu?”

“I haven’t.”

“Wanna try?”

Jimin sighs. “I thought you wanted to—”

Jungkook already leans in for a kiss that tastes of ramen broth. They don’t finish the movie. Instead they end up lying tangled in the dark, talking nonsense—well, Jungkook mostly, while breathing into Jimin’s chest. “You know what my favorite part of sleepovers is?”

“Dare I ask?”

“Handjobs under the blankets,” Jungkook deadpans, then grins when Jimin smacks the back of his head. “What? It’s tradition.”

“You’re so insufferable.”

“You forgot to mention how hot. Imagine you whispering in my ear while we’re both pretending to sleep—Be a good boy, don’t make noise, or they’ll hear. Fuck, hyung, I’d cream myself in seconds.”

Jimin groans, burying his face in the pillow. “You’re not right in the head.”

“I’m just right for you.”

The words feel truer than Jungkook probably means them to, as his grin is still plastered across his face, but Jimin feels suddenly protective. He tightens his arm around him, pulling him closer.

Jungkook, satisfied, nuzzles into his chest, whispering, “Bet you ten bucks I can make you forget we’re watching a movie before the night’s over.”

Jimin smirks into his hair. “You’ll lose.”

“I won’t.” Jungkook slides a hand under the blanket, palming Jimin through his sweats.

Jimin inhales sharply, as if he didn't actually expect Jungkook to follow through, which is diminishing. Jungkook is always up for some sexy time. He smirks, mouthing at the older man’s jaw. “Fuck, you’re already hard. I knew it. You were probably pretending to watch this shitty movie while thinking about me jerking you off under the covers.”

“Jungkook—” Jimin warns, but his hips twitch into Jungkook’s hand.

“Shh.” Jungkook lifts himself on his elbow, kissing Jimin deep, allowing him to play with his lip ring, and swallowing his moan, when Jungkook’s hand squeezes a little harder around the shape of his need. “You’ll wake the neighbors.”

Jimin huffs, grabbing his wrist and guiding his strokes rougher. “You’re the one who never shuts up.”

“And you love it,” the younger pants, rutting against his thigh now. “You love me like this, loud, dirty, messy… Bet you’d love me even more with your cock in my throat.”

Before Jimin can retort, he’s sliding down the tiny bed, digging his knees into the sheets, tugging Jimin’s sweats down. The cramped space makes it awkward, but he doesn’t care. He gets Jimin’s cock out, leaking and heavy, but the older man pulls him back up.

“I didn’t say you could suck me off.”

“But—”

“Keep riding my thigh.”

Jungkook’s eyes shimmer as he does exactly what he’s told, good and obedient. He sighs, wrapping his hand around Jimin’s cock. The latter bends his knee, making it easier for him to grind. 

“You know what’s my favorite memory, hyung?” Jungkook rests his hand on the pillow and turns his head to kiss the top of the older’s hair. “When you ride me, all serious and mean, making me lie there while you bounce on my cock. It drives me insane, makes me feel like I’m the one being fucked.”

Jimin’s fingers pause on his chest, then slide lower, under the blanket, between their bodies. Jungkook stiffens, his breath hitches when those cool fingers graze down his stomach, under his sweatpants, and wrap around his cock. He pauses and kneels.

“Hyung—”

“I keep forgetting you’re never wearing any underwear,” Jimin observes calmly, pumping him once, slowly.

Squirming, Jungkook smirks. “I always sleep naked. Gotta keep it breezy for the boys.”

Jimin squeezes his cock lightly, smirking against his shoulder. He starts stroking lazily, teasing. His thumb brushes the head, smearing precum, and Jungkook jerks with a choked sound.

“So you say handjobs are a part of your poor culture?” Jimin murmurs, licking his lips.

Jungkook groans, twitching. “Fuck—yeah... Sleepover tradition.”

“Then I should respect your culture.” He tugs a little firmer.

Jungkook laughs breathlessly, already desperate. “You’re so fucking mean. Teasing me like this when you know I’m close, hyung—I’m already leaking.”

“You’re creaming the sheets just from my hand?” Jimin taunts, stroking faster. His other hand grips Jungkook’s thigh under the blanket and turns them around so that he is now on top.

“Yes—fuck—yes, I’m creaming, I swear,” Jungkook babbles, twitching and moaning. “Don’t stop—please don’t stop—”

Jimin chuckles darkly, kissing his jaw. “I like hearing you beg.”

And Jungkook, shameless and trembling, spreads his legs wider. “I know. You like me desperate for you, hyung, always begging for you.”

The bed squeaks again as Jimin strokes him through it, unhurriedly and relentlessly, pulling every filthy sound from his mouth until Jungkook’s writhing, messily creaming himself in the sheets just like he promised. Jimin follows shortly after.

“You’re evil,” Jungkook whines weakly, lying boneless, sticky, still gasping for air, and smiles.

Jimin kisses his jaw and repeats his own words, “You love it.”

And Jungkook, fluttering eyes shut, whispers, “More than anything.”

When Jimin wakes the next day, he notices things he didn’t before, too busy with Jungkook stealing all of his attention.

There are multiple sketchbooks piled on the younger’s small desk. Next to them stands a cracked mug full of brushes. Some laundry lies forgotten in the corner, posters are hung on the walls, some curling at the edges. It’s rather messy, chaotic, and very Jungkook.

And somehow, Jimin doesn’t hate it. Instead he can’t stop taking in the sight of the younger’s personal space.

Eventually, he lies still, allowing his eyes to notice the early light catching on the curve of Jungkook’s bare shoulder where he’s snuggled into the blanket. His hair sticks up in every direction, lips are slightly parted, face looks soft in sleep.

Jimin feels it then—that terrifying sensation of falling, the want to be part of this. He doesn’t want just the sex or nights that feel new, and he doesn’t want the staged family dinners, but mornings like this—peacful, warm, ordinary.

He’s so lost in thought he doesn’t notice Jungkook stirring until a shadow falls over him.

“Hyung,” Jungkook rasps in a voice rough with sleep. He's grinning, because his battery, of course, is endless. “You’re awake.”

Before Jimin can respond, Jungkook pounces on him, straddling his waist, pinning him to the mattress, kissing him while giggling, sloppy, tongue pushing in before Jimin can breathe.

“Jung—mm—” Jimin groans, gripping his waist, as Jungkook grinds down against him.

“God, you look so good in my bed,” The younger pants against his mouth, biting his lower lip. “I bet my neighbors are sick of hearing, but fuck, hyung, I don’t care. I wanna wake up like this every morning.”

Jimin smacks his thigh lightly. “You’re insane.”

Jungkook laughs, kissing him again, messier, wetter, until Jimin has to physically shove him off.

“Breakfast,” Jimin orders, sitting up.

“Already had a meal,” he says with a smirk, licking his lips obscenely.

Jimin tries to give him a glare, but his ears burn and he feels weirdly soft, not yet recovered from his thoughts from two minutes ago.

They end up eating cereal from mismatched bowls. He finds out that Jungkook slurps everything obnoxiously, not just the noodles. Now he’s leaning back in his chair shirtless, perfect for Jimin, because he can admire the tattoos.

“You know what’s crazy, hyung?” Jungkook asks, a spoon dangles from his mouth. “Last night was the best sleepover I’ve ever had.” Jimin feels his heart soften. “Usually they end with me jerking off under the blanket. This time I got you to do it for me.”

He nearly chokes on his cereal. “You’re disgusting.”

Jungkook chuckles, smiling so widely that his eyes crinkle. “Disgustingly in love with you.”

Jimin is in the middle of kicking him under the table, with the smile tugging at his lips, betraying him, when he realizes what Jungkook had just said.

Except Jungkook keeps slurping the cereal, as if he never said anything, not even noticing the way Jimin froze in shock. He just keeps babbling, and Jimin… He convinces himself that Jungkook couldn’t possibly mean what he said. It’s just another random thing he tends to say.

Eventually, they come back to Jimin’s apartment. His floors are heated, so there's no other place Jungkook would rather be.

He sits on the couch, balancing the sketchbook on his knee, allowing his pencil to scratch lazily. The rich smell of dinner fills the room along with the sound of pots clinking in the kitchen, while Jimin is busy making them dinner. That makes Jungkook’s chest feel weirdly full.

Home. That’s what it smells like.

Jimin keeps fussing around for what feels like forever, moving between the kitchen and the shelves, wiping surfaces that already look spotless, rearranging books into neat lines. Jungkook offered to help, but he was waved off immediately.

“You’re messy,” Jimin just said flatly, snatching a rag out of his hands. “I’ll do it.”

So Jungkook lounges, watching him bending to clean up one of the lower shelves. 

“Hyung,” he calls. “Yes! Keep showing off that perfect ass while you polish the furniture. You go, king!”

Jimin glances over his shoulder, unimpressed. “I’m cleaning.”

“God, I’m imagining bending you over that shelf and fucking you while you complain about the dust or something.”

Jimin only sighs, moving to straighten the books on the coffee table. Jungkook props his chin on his hand, watching with dreamy eyes. “You’re like my fantasy househusband, cooking, cleaning, and looking hot in casual clothes. I could get used to this.”

The older man pauses just long enough to shoot him a look that would kill any other person. “Househusband?”

“Yeah. My sexy little househusband. Do the chores, ride me after dinner. I’ll take real good care of you, promise.”

Jimin sighs, exasperated, but his ears turn faintly pink for the tenth time that day. “You’re impossible.” He returns to tidying.

“And you love it!” Jungkook flips his sketchbook around to show a doodle of Jimin bent over the table with cartoon sparkles around his ass. “See? Even my art agrees.”

Jimin pinches the bridge of his nose, muttering something under his breath, but Jungkook doesn’t miss the twitch of his lips, when he’s trying not to smile. He stretches out on the couch, satisfied. “It’s okay, hyung. You don’t have to thank me now. Later tonight, I’ll give back.”

“Give back?”

“Mm-hm. I’ll scrub your back in the shower with my tongue.”

Jimin groans, shaking his head. He throws down the towel and goes back to the kitchen. Still, Jungkook hears him chuckling to himself in amusement, banging pots and pans, hoping he can’t be heard.

“Hyung,” Jungkook says suddenly twenty minutes later, bouncing off the couch. “I made something.”

Jimin doesn’t even look up from wiping the counter. “That’s rarely good news.”

“Wrong. It’s great news. The best news.” Jungkook flops down beside him at the table, flipping the sketchbook around. “Ta-dah. A masterpiece.”

The older man sighs, reluctantly leaning over. His eyes narrow.

On the page there’s a sloppy, cartoon version of himself, complete with tiny glasses and little sparkles around his ass, wearing an apron that says Kiss the Cook. Beside him is a wide-eyed, messy-haired boyfriend character with tattoos scribbled all over his stick-figure arms, with a permanent erection bulging through his shorts.

“What. Is. This.”

“Our story,” Jungkook beams. “It’s called Sexy Househusband and His Bratty Boyfriend.”

Jimin presses a hand to his temple. “You’re… unbelievable.”

“Wait, wait, it gets better.” Jungkook flips to the next page.

The first panel shows Househusband Jimin bending over to scrub the floor. Bratty Boyfriend is crouched behind him, his eyes bugging out cartoonishly. The caption says, ‘Hyung, the floor’s already wet, let me mop it with my cock.’

That doesn’t even make sense.

For the panel two Househusband Jimin is stirring a pot on the stove, apron strings dangling. Bratty Boyfriend clings to his leg. The speech bubble: ‘Please ride me while the soup simmers, sexy chef hyung.’

Jimin glances up at him, unamused. Jungkook can barely keep a straight face as he flips again.

The final panel presents Househusband Jimin in bed, glasses on, hair mussed, giving that deadly glare. Bratty Boyfriend’s sprawled out under him with hearts in his eyes, speech bubble: ‘Yes hyung, I’ll cream the sheets for you again. Poor culture tradition.’

Jungkook bursts out laughing before Jimin can even react, doubling over. “Tell me it’s not perfect. Tell me it’s not us!”

Jimin glares, but his ears are bright pink. He flips the sketchbook closed with a snap. “You’re just so… insufferable.”

“And you love it,” Jungkook sings, leaning across the table to kiss his cheek. “Come on, admit it’s hot. I made you the hottest househusband in the comic universe.”

Jimin shakes his head, standing to go back to the stove. “I should throw you out.”

“Yeah, but then who would illustrate our domestic sex life?” Jungkook calls after him, laughing so hard he nearly falls off the chair.

When the day finally comes to an end, dinner’s done and dishes stacked, Jimin leans under the spray, closing his eyes, letting himself relax.

“Hyung,” Jungkook murmurs, pressing a kiss to his wet shoulder. “Thanks for dinner.”

Jimin hums without opening his eyes, not even surprised that the younger squeezed himself into the cabin with him. “It was just food.”

“No, it’s not,” Jungkook insists, sliding soap over his chest slowly. “You cooked for me, cleaned around me, let me stay. You’re like… my sexy househusband for real.”

Jimin groans. “You’re never letting that go, are you?”

“Never.” Jungkook chuckles, soaping down his arms, kissing each one. “You’re hot when you boss this place around. You’re hot when you fold laundry. You’re hot scrubbing shelves. Honestly, you’re too hot to be legal.”

The older rolls his eyes, but his lips twitch. Jungkook slides behind him to wash his back. His hands are gentle, thumbs knead at his shoulders. “Let me take care of you, hyung, at least tonight. No rich-boy stress, no family bullshit, just me spoiling you.”

“You don’t know how to spoil anyone.”

“Eh, watch me then,” Jungkook dares, offended, but also up for the challenge, breathing against his ear, kissing down his wet neck.

He soaps Jimin’s stomach, his thighs, his calves, taking his time, kissing the wet skin tenderly. By the time his hand slides around Jimin’s cock, slick with soap and water, Jimin’s head is tipped back against the tile as he breathes hard.

“See?” Jungkook whispers, teasing. “Househusband gets rewarded for being the best househusband ever. I’m keeping you.”

Jimin shakes his head, trying to hide the smile pulling at his lips. “Idiot,” he mumbles.

“Your idiot,” Jungkook whispers, pressing one more wet kiss to his jaw.

After the shower, it gets weirdly domestic as they sit on the couch. Weirdly, because Jimin isn’t used to that kind of level of comfort around daily tasks, while also having someone else with him.

He sits on the couch, drying his hair with a towel, while across from him, Jungkook is casually sprawled in one of his shirts. The collar is open, because he never buttoned the shirt, showing a scatter of tattoos as he sketches something in his notebook.

For once, the brat is quiet, save for the occasional sound under his breath as he scratches the pencil, and Jimin watches the way he chews his lip while he draws, the way his brow furrows when he focuses. The way his bare foot bounces against the carpet in a restless rhythm.

It’s… very comfortable. And Jimin isn’t used to comfort. But this… feels like home.

Jungkook glances up, catching his stare. Smile, consistently smug, tugs at the corners of his lips. “What? Are you falling in love with me, hyung?”

Snapping back to reality, Jimin scoffs, tossing the towel at him. “You’re insufferable.” He lost all the good comebacks ever since he met the younger.

“And you love it,” Jungkook claps back automatically, winking before returning to his sketch.

Jimin leans back, hiding the smile tugging at his mouth.

They end up tangled on the couch, watching TV. Jungkook has somehow maneuvered his head into Jimin’s lap, wrapping his arms across Jimin’s thighs. His hair is scattered in messy curls, and he looks up at Jimin with wide and lazy eyes as he sighs, “You’re comfy,” nuzzling into him.

Jimin smooths a hand through his hair without thinking. “And you’re heavy.” He’s straight up lying, or at least he doesn’t mind it at all.

“A strong househusband can handle it.”

He snorts, but his hand keeps moving, combing through soft brown strands, and Jungkook sighs like he’s a cat being petted.

A warm silence falls again, when Jungkook focuses back on the movie. Jimin looks down at him—at the ridiculous boy who eats straight from pots, draws filthy comics, and makes his world messy and loud and alive—and feels something twist in his chest.

With Jungkook in his lap, looking at him like there’s nowhere else he’d rather be, Jimin isn’t sure he can imagine the future without it.

Jungkook never thought he’d like sleeping at someone else’s place. Usually, he bolts after sex, or at least waits until the other person’s asleep, then ghosts. But with Jimin? He doesn’t want to leave.

The sheets are soft, the room smells like Jimin’s pretty fabric softener and the dinner they ate together, and Jimin is lying right there beside him, scrolling absently through his phone, wearing his pretty glasses. It feels good and safe, and Jungkook really can’t imagine what will happen if Jimin will change his mind and he’ll have to return to his cold, empty flat.

Hurriedly, he tucks himself closer, nuzzling into Jimin’s side, breathing him in. “Hyung,” he mumbles and finds that his voice is thick with sleep.

“Hm?” Jimin hums, not looking away from the screen.

“You’re so bossy in bed, so fucking mean. I love it.”

Jimin snorts. “Go to sleep, bunny.”

“But you’re also…” Jungkook trails off, yawning. “You’re also really… nice. You take care of me, you make me food, wash my hair. You even let me drool on your couch.”

“Romantic,” Jimin comments dryly, but his hand moves to Jungkook’s back, rubbing slow circles on his bare skin.

Jungkook sighs happily, his eyelids fluttering shut. “Yeah, romantic. You’re my sexy househusband and my hot dom… the whole package. Lucky me.”

He feels Jimin shake his head. “You’re ridiculous. Sleep now.”

There’s a moment of soft and drowsy silence as Jungkook feels himself drift away, focusing on the way Jimin’s heart beats calmly under his fingers. His words slur, half-mumbled into Jimin’s chest. “Lucky… cause I think I love you, hyung.”

Jimin lies awake long after Jungkook’s breathing evens out.

I think I love you, hyung.

He runs a hand over Jungkook’s back, watching the slow rise and fall of his shoulders, the way his lips part slightly as he breathes, the mess of his hair. He’s never seen someone look so stupid and so beautiful at the same time.

I think I love you.

Jimin closes his eyes, forcing himself to breathe, to sleep, until eventually, exhaustion wins.

When he wakes, the bed is warm but empty. He pads out quietly, rubbing his eyes. He finds Jungkook on the couch in nothing but his sweatpants, and with hair sticking up in all directions, completely absorbed in his sketchbook. His tongue’s poking out of his mouth, brows are furrowed in concentration.

“What are you doing?” Jimin asks, still lethargic.

Jungkook looks up and his face lights up instantly. “Perfect timing, hyung. Come see.”

Warily, Jimin sits beside him. Jungkook flips the sketchbook around with a grin, uncovering another comic.

This time, the Sexy Househusband character is washing dishes in a frilly apron while the Bratty Boyfriend character sneaks up behind him. There’s a huge bulge drawn cartoonishly between his legs once again.

The Boyfriend says, ‘Hyung, the bubbles are making me hard. Let me soap your cock next.’

This makes even less sense than the first comic, but Jimin is not a comic reader so what does he even know.

Panel two has Househusband glaring while scrubbing with the speech bubble: ‘Shut up and rinse.’ Boyfriend replies: ‘I’ll rinse your ass.’

Panel three shows Househusband finally giving in, bent over the sink with bubbles everywhere. Caption at the bottom states “Domestic bliss.”

Jimin stares. “Why.” It’s not even a question, just a pleading to whoever’s listening.

“Because,” Jungkook exclaims proudly. “I have decided to build a whole franchise.”

Jimin pinches the bridge of his nose. “I need coffee.”

“You loooove it!” Jungkook sing-songs, leaning over to kiss his cheek.

The older man rolls his eyes, getting up, but the smile tugging at his lips betrays him.

That’s how the afternoon passes to them—without any major dramas. Jimin lounges beside Jungkook, pretending to read but side-eyeing him every time the younger laughs at his own drawings. Still, it’s perfect, cozy and domestic.

Until Jungkook randomly remembers something. Normally it would be something like a sudden midnight realization that he didn’t turn on the alarm on his phone, but… I think I love you, hyung.

He freezes and his eyes widen. Well, fuck. He turns his head slowly. Jimin is still simply just sitting there, unreadable as always, but Jungkook swears that he sees the faintest tension in his shoulders now.

He swallows, his heart pounds in his chest. He could pretend, laugh it off or joke about it. He could act like it never happened.

But that’s not him.

Loud, reckless and embarrassed, he blurts, “By the way, I meant it.”

Jimin blinks, lowering the book. “What?”

“Last night,” Jungkook mumbles, sitting up straighter. His heart is in his throat, but he forces himself to smile. “I said I think I love you. I wasn’t just half-asleep and running my mouth—I mean I was, but… I do. I love you, hyung.”

The silence that follows is deafening. Jimin just stares at him, with his lips parted like the words knocked every word out of him. Jungkook barrels on, because stopping now would kill him. “Yeah, you’re bossy, and mean, and you bully me about my underwear situation—”

“You don’t have an underwear situation,” Jimin corrects him automatically.

“Exactly.” He chuckles, breathless. “And I love that you hate it. I love that you cook for me. I love that you make me feel like I belong with you and into your world, even when I don’t feel like I do. I love you, hyung—the whole sexy househusband package.” His voice cracks on the last word. “So… yeah. Do what you want with that, don’t say anything, just know it’s true.”

For a long moment, Jimin doesn’t move, it’s like he doesn’t even breathe. Then he sets the book aside, leans over, and kisses him, until Jungkook squeaks. When they break apart, Jimin’s voice is husky. “You’re an idiot.”

Jungkook smiles, flooded with relief. “Your idiot, though?”

The apartment is awfully quiet and lonely after Jungkook leaves to attend classes. Before, Jimin prepared him breakfast and even bought some sweets from the bakery downstairs so that the younger wouldn’t starve during the day.

Now, Jimin sits at the kitchen table, staring out the window without really seeing. It’s strange, because he’s used to quiet, to solitude, but after weeks of Jungkook’s laughter echoing off the walls, of his constant stream of filthy jokes, the silence feels almost uncomfortable.

Jimin snaps out of his thoughts when his phone rings. He doesn’t need to look at the screen to know who it is. His chest tightens.

“Father.”

He spends the entire five minutes listening to comments disguised as concern, reminders of everything expected of him, of everything he’s failing to do by “wasting time with his little rebellion”. By the time he gathers the strength to hang up, Jimin feels hollow. He pushes his tea away and stands up.

He doesn’t know how long he’s pacing until he notices Jungkook’s sketchbook, left carelessly on the coffee table. With a sigh, he picks it up gently.

The first few pages are the ones he already saw, full of stick-figure versions of himself in aprons, bratty boyfriends with permanent erections, bubbles filled with dirty jokes. He almost smiles despite himself. But then he flips further, and pauses when he realizes what he’s looking at.

The latest story still has their characters, but it’s weirdly touching. The Househusband is placing a plate of food on the table, and there’s a little heart drawn above it. The Boyfriend character is beaming with exaggerated sparkles filling his eyes. “You made this for me?”

On the second panel the Househusband is sitting on the couch with a book, while the Boyfriend character is sprawled across his lap like a cat. There’s a cute little zzz scribbled above his head, and the whole scene softens Jimin’s heart.

The next panel showcases Househusband leaning down to kiss his Boyfriend’s forehead while he sleeps. There are multiple tiny hearts floating around them.

Jimin stares at the page with a tight throat.

It’s all still silly, still drawn in Jungkook’s careless lines, but it’s also very tender and romantic, like a window into how Jungkook sees them—not just through the prism of sex and jokes, but comfort, care… even love.

The heaviness in Jimin’s chest eases, just slightly.

Even when Jungkook isn’t here, even when the outside world is pressing in, his ridiculous—and now heartbreakingly sweet—presence in Jimin’s life changes everything.

“Hyuuung,” Jungkook sings, while kicking off his shoes and dropping his bag by the couch. “Your favorite brat is home. Ready for your daily dose of Jungkookie?”

He’s waiting for Jimin to call him insufferable while trying to hide his obvious, fond smile, but instead he finds Jimin looking up from where he’s sitting at the table. His lips are slightly pressed, eyes unreadable behind his glasses, but he tries to smile, as if for Jungkook’s sake.

Jimin doesn’t smile all that often other than ironically, so when he fakes it, it’s very obvious.

Jungkook pauses. He recovers quickly, plastering on a grin. “Damn, you look hot when you’re brooding. Should I strip to cheer you up?”

Jimin exhales through his nose, not even rising to the bait. He just shakes his head and looks back down at his tea.

Yeah. Definitely not normal.

Jungkook drops the act, padding over, leaning down until his chin rests on Jimin’s shoulder. “Hey,” he murmurs softly. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” Jimin mumbles, closing both of his hands around the mug.

“Liar.” Jungkook nuzzles against his neck. “You’ve got your scary-boardroom face on. Did your dad call?”

The older man doesn't answer but he tenses slightly, and Jungkook’s chest twists. He gently wraps his arms around Jimin’s waist, hugging his back. He doesn’t want to push, if Jimin doesn’t want to talk about it. Instead, he presses a kiss to his cartoon husband’s cheek.

“We don't have to talk, if you’re not in the mood,” he assures.

Jimin finally looks at him, and Jungkook sees the crack in his armor, that sadness behind his eyes.

“Come here.” He tugs Jimin from the chair, guiding him to the couch, pulling him down until Jimin’s half in his lap. Jimin resists for all of two seconds before giving in, slumping against him with head on his shoulder.

Jungkook kisses his hair, one hand stroking slowly up and down his back. “That’s better. See? I’m like a teddy bear to hug, but with very nice abs.”

That earns him a faint huff of laughter, muffled against his shirt.

Jungkook smiles into his hair, tightening his hold. “Whatever he said… fuck him. You’re mine and you’re perfect, and I love you.”

Jimin doesn’t answer. He just closes his eyes, letting himself sink into Jungkook’s warmth.

He has spent his whole life behind walls, he knows how to keep people out. But the thing about Jungkook is that he doesn’t knock politely at walls. He climbs them. Shirtless. With filthy jokes shouted from the top until Jimin can’t help but laugh. And then, when Jimin least expects it, Jungkook finds a crack and slips inside, just like tonight.

You’re mine and you’re perfect, and I love you.

Words Jimin never thought he’d ever hear, never thought he’d even want to hear them at all. But now, from the mouth of the most unexpected person, he finds comfort in them.

Normally Jimin hates being in public. The stares, whispers, the way people look at him when they recognize him occasionally, almost like he’s either a prize they could win or his father’s pawn. But Jungkook was adamant on going out and he was so excited about it, Jimin didn’t have a heart to deny him.

They hold hands as they stop at a street vendor once again. Jungkook insists on buying the same skewers dripping with sauce they did the first time they were here. Jimin watches, amused, as he balances two at once, sauce smeared across his mouth already.

“Hyung, you gotta try it. Expensive restaurants don’t sell that kind of delicatessen.”

Jimin rolls his eyes, wiping his mouth with a napkin before handing it to him. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you love it,” Jungkook fires back, grinning, and grabbing his free hand again, leading him through the park.

It’s the first time they’re actually walking around in public together as a couple, out in the open, holding hands and being very boyfriends, and Jimin knows that sooner or later the news will reach his father. But then Jungkook leans in, smearing a kiss against his cheek, shameless, sauce and all, and Jimin stops worrying about anything. Instead, he leans in and kisses him back.

When they break apart, Jungkook is breathless and beaming. “Holy shit. Did Park Jimin just kiss me in public? Am I dreaming?”

“Don’t get used to it.”

“Too late,” he says, tugging him closer as they start walking again. “I’m never letting you go. No refunds. You’re locked in, hyung.”

“Don’t make a scene,” Jimin mutters, flustered.

“Oh, it’s already a scene, and I’m milking it.”

They’re passing neon signs when Jungkook suddenly yanks him into a side street. His eyes are lighting up at a dingy karaoke bar.

“Hyung. Karaoke. Now.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Jungkook—”

Before Jimin can process, Jungkook is already paying for a booth, grinning like a madman, and dragging him inside. Minutes later, he’s standing on the couch, mic in hand, singing pop ballads while Jimin sits in the corner with his arms crossed, pretending not to smile.

“Hyuuung,” Jungkook wails into the mic, pointing at him with exaggerated passion. “This one’s for you!”

Jimin hides his face in his hand. “You’re unbearable.” He laughs so hard that tears well in his eyes.

“And you love it!” Jungkook screeches, throwing himself to his knees like he’s on stage at a sold-out stadium.

When he’s done, sweaty and grinning, he drags Jimin up despite protests, shoving a mic in his hand. “Duet time.”

Jimin scowls. “Absolutely not.”

Ten minutes later, they’re singing together, but only because Jimin is held hostage.

After karaoke, Jungkook spots an arcade across the street. “Round two!”

“Jungkook—”

“Too late!”

Inside, he demolishes Jimin at racing games, cheers when Jimin crushes him at claw machines, and nearly cries laughing when Jimin gets overly serious about Dance Dance Revolution.

“Holy shit,” Jungkook wheezes, doubled over, watching Jimin stomp the arrows. “You’re so hot when you’re competitive.”

By the time they leave, Jimin’s carrying a stuffed bunny Jungkook won for him after spending way too many coins, and Jungkook’s holding his hand.

By the next morning, headlines like Park Jimin Seen With Tattooed Mystery Boyfriend and Rebel Heir’s New Romance: Love or Scandal? are swirling online. There are grainy photos of Jimin and Jungkook leaving the arcade, laughing and holding hands, and blurry shots of them kissing outside the karaoke bar.

Jimin scrolls through them at the breakfast table with lips pressed tight and jaw clenched. He can’t help but worry how this invasion of privacy could affect Jungkook in the future.

Across from him, the sad man shoves cereal into his mouth, hair sticking in every direction, completely unbothered. “Damn, they got my good side. I look hot in this one.”

Jimin sighs. “You look ridiculous.”

“Right now or…?” Jungkook winks and chuckles through a mouthful of cereal at his expression. Then he peers over Jimin’s shoulder as he stares at the message popping up on his screen. “Ooooh, big family dinner. Finally time to show off your bratty boyfriend properly? Or should I show off my sexy househusband?”

“Don’t say that in front of them.”

“Fine. Bratty boyfriend, then.”

Jimin sighs, but the corner of his mouth twitches.

The dinner is really not that different from the previous once, except the table this time is much longer. And it seems like there are too many forks.

Jimin sits so straight-backed, he couldn’t be any more perfect in this suit. His hand rests casually on Jungkook’s knee under the table, and the younger doesn’t know if he’s trying to compose himself, comfort Jungkook or warn him.

“So, Jungkook,” Jimin’s father breaks the silence. “Remind me again, what do you do?”

“I study Fine Arts,” Jungkook answers honestly, leaning back. “And I draw. You might've heard of my work,” he lies. “It’s called Sexy Househusband and His Bratty Boyfriend.”

Jimin chokes on his wine next to him. His sister nearly spits hers across the table, trying not to laugh.

Jungkook pats Jimin’s back with exaggerated care. “Careful, hyung. Don’t want my househusband choking before dessert.”

The table goes silent.

“Househusband?” Jimin’s mother repeats slowly.

“Yes,” Jungkook beams, sliding an arm around Jimin’s shoulders. “He cooks, he cleans, he bosses me around. He’s perfect. I keep telling him he should quit business and become a full-time domestic goddess, but he’s stubborn.”

“Jungkook,” Jimin mumbles under his breath, while his ears are burning.

“What?” He whispers back innocently. “I’m praising you.”

Hana sighs, amused. “Finally, someone has the guts to call you out.”

“Hana,” Jimin warns, but she just smirks into her wine.

Jungkook activates in his chair. “Right? He’s perfect for it. You should see him in the kitchen. He makes me chop things twice when my slices aren’t ‘symmetrical enough.’ It’s hot, though.”

While Jimin’s mother clears her throat delicately, his father looks like he’s calculating how many years in prison it would take to make Jungkook disappear. “Do you take anything seriously?” He asks coolly, pinning Jungkook with his stare.

Jungkook shrugs, unbothered. “Sure. I take Jimin seriously. Take loving him seriously. Take being with him seriously. The rest? Eh.” He pops a piece of bread into his mouth, chewing casually.

Hana props her chin on her hand. “So… what’s the worst thing about dating my brother?”

“Hana, don’t—”

“Oh, easy. He’s always correcting me and telling me to shut up.”

“You need to be told to shut up.”

“But it’s hot, so really, no complaints.”

“And what about you?” Hana presses. “What’s the best thing about him?”

Jungkook turns his head, and his eyes soften as they stop on Jimin. “Everything. He’s smarter than everyone in this room combined, he cares more than he admits, and he makes me feel like I belong even when I don’t deserve it. So yeah. Best thing? He’s mine.”

The table goes quiet again. Jimin swallows.

Hana fans herself, looking between them. “God, you’re actually in love. This is better than any drama I’ve ever watched.”

“Can we eat in peace?” Jimin mutters, stabbing at his food.

The rest of the dinner is more of the same. Every time a question comes, Jungkook answers in a way that makes Jimin look like he wants to crawl under the table.

When asked where he lives, he shrugs. “Mostly at Jimin’s place. Why keep two apartments when you’ve got one bed that squeaks perfectly fine?”

When asked about future plans, he reveals with all confidence, “Marry your son, eat his cooking, die happy.”

Jimin’s father looks ready to faint. His mother presses her lips tight, trying not to scowl, however Hana is gleeful, egging Jungkook on with every outrageous answer. It’s like she picks exactly the kind of questions that could outrage her parents, while Jimin pinches his thigh under the table and mutters “shut up” more times than Jungkook can count.

But his hand rests gently on Jungkook’s knee all the time. When their eyes meet at some point, Jimin looks like he might throttle him... But also like he wants to kiss him. A win is a win.

By the time dessert is served, Jimin looks like he’s aged ten years. While everyone’s distracted with small talk, Jungkook pulls a pen from his pocket and grabs a napkin. He hunches over like a kid in class, tongue between his teeth as he sketches furiously.

Jimin notices, narrowing his eyes. “What are you doing?”

Jungkook grins as he flips the napkin around to show him. It’s a crude doodle of Sexy Househusband bent over a dining table with little glasses scribbled on his face. Behind him Bratty Boyfriend stands with cartoon hearts exploding around him. “Dessert can wait, hyung. Bend over the cake.”

Jimin nearly spits his drink.

“Do you like it?” Jungkook inquiries sweetly with sparkling eyes. “It’s a limited edition, Dinner Table Special, just for you.”

Jimin slams the napkin face-down before anyone else can see. “You’re insufferable.”

Chuckling, Jungkook slides his hand up Jimin’s leg, perfectly composed to anyone looking from the outside.

“God, this is better than TV.” Hana raises her wineglass in a silent toast.

When they stumble back into Jimin’s apartment, Jungkook tosses his jacket onto the floor, kicks off his shoes, and smirks at Jimin. “I was incredible tonight. Househusband propaganda was successful. Your family is terrified, Hana is in love with me, and you got off on a balcony. You’re welcome.”

Jimin narrows his eyes, throwing out of his head the moment Jungkook fell to his knees when they went outside for some fresh air.

Jungkook peels his shirt off slowly, tossing it aside. His hands go to his belt, sliding it open with a theatrical snap. “Should I put on some music? Or are you already enjoying the strip show, hyung?”

Jimin watches silently, arms crossed.

Jungkook smiles wider, pushing his pants down, leaving himself gloriously bare, because he doesn’t know underwear—of course. His hand goes to strokes himself lazily. “Come on, don’t be shy. Your bratty boyfriend’s performing. Where’s my applause?”

He saunters closer, grabs Jimin’s hands, and starts undoing his suit jacket, his tie, his buttons, piece by piece, grinning the whole time.

“Sexy househusband,” he teases, tugging Jimin’s shirt open. “Shouldn’t your duties include undressing for me too? Cooking, cleaning, and cock?”

Jimin’s lip twitch. “You talk too much.”

“Yeah, but you love it every time, so?” The younger slides the shirt down his arms, pressing messy kisses to his collarbone. “I bet you love your bratty boyfriend stripping just for you. Bet you wanna—”

Whatever filth he was about to say dies as Jimin pushes him onto the bed, straddles him, and then strokes Jungkook quickly while he preps himself. When he finally sinks down onto his cock in one smooth glide, Jungkook’s eyes roll back. “Fuuuck, hyung—”

Jimin grips his chest, rolling his hips down hard. “Shut up and take it.”

Jungkook gasps, twisting the sheets, his thighs trembling. “God—yes—fuck, you’re so tight—ride me, ride me until I can’t think—”

“Not thinking is your natural state. Mine is showing you your place.”

“Please—” he moans, wrecked. “Please, I can’t—fuck—”

“You wanted a househusband?” Jimin mocks, leaning down, until his breath ghosts against the younger’s ear. “This is what you get. Dinner, cleaning… and fucking until you beg.”

And Jungkook does beg. Filth spills from his mouth with every thrust, promising he’ll cream the sheets, promising he’ll worship Jimin forever if he doesn’t stop, babbling nonsense until he’s undone completely.

When Jimin finally lets him come, he collapses back against the mattress, drenched in sweat.

“Best… househusband… ever.”

Jimin laughs.

Jungkook wakes up wrecked the next day. His muscles are sore, thighs weak, body sticky everywhere. He groans, rolling onto his side, only to find Jimin already out of bed. He finds him in the kitchen, cooking, dressed in soft shorts and a t-shirt, wearing glasses.

Jungkook flops back against the couch. “Holy fuck. I think my soul left my body last night.”

Jimin doesn’t even look over. “Good for you.”

“Good?” Jungkook laughs hoarsely. His voice must still be rough from all the shameless moaning he’s done. “Hyung, I’m traumatized. Emotionally scarred. My cock’s never gonna recover.”

He drags himself up, limping dramatically toward the kitchen. He leans against the counter. “God, look at you. My perfect man is cooking breakfast after destroying me. Where do I sign the marriage papers?”

Jimin sighs, but there’s a faint twitch at the corner of his mouth.

“Do your duties always include making me breakfast after sex?” He continues. “Because if so, I’m never leaving.”

“Shut up and sit,” Jimin orders, sliding a plate onto the counter.

Jungkook plops onto a stool, eyes going wide, seeing eggs, rice and side dishes—everything perfect. He whistles. “Holy shit. Hyung, you could run a five-star restaurant and ruin me in bed. Do you know how unfair that is?”

“Eat.”

“Yes, househusband,” he teases, shoving a spoon into his mouth. He moans exaggeratedly. “God, you’re making me fall in love with you all over again.”

Jimin shakes his head, sipping his tea. “You’re impossible.”

“I’m the luckiest brat alive."

The days start to blur together, in the best way. Jimin wakes early, makes coffee, and sets up his laptop at the dining table. Most days he works remotely, typing away while the apartment fills with the smell of coffee. Sometimes Jungkook’s sketchbooks are scattered across the couch or there’s a sweatshirt left crumpled on the floor, or a stray sock found on the counter. It makes his apartment feel lived in.

Back in the days, before meeting Jungkook, Jimin hated that kind of messiness. It would irritate him. Now it feels like the place is finally alive.

By evening, the sound of keys jangling at the door is his favorite part of the day.

“Hyuuuung,” Jungkook calls every time, loud enough to startle the neighbors if Jimin’s didn’t live on the top floor.

“Take your shoes off,” Jimin replies automatically, not looking up from his screen.

“They’re already off,” Jungkook lies, padding across the floor. He leans down, kisses Jimin’s cheek, then his jaw, then finally his lips until Jimin sighs and lets him.

“You’re sweaty.”

“Sexy,” he rebukes, before sniffing the air. “Dinner?”

“On the stove.”

He hums happily, tossing his bag aside. After eating and yapping about his day all at the same time, he flops onto the couch with his sketchbook.

All of this became so natural.

Last month they celebrated Jungkook’s birthday together, just the two of them and the cake and messy kisses and too many candles. Jungkook insisted it was the best birthday of his life, and Jimin pretended to roll his eyes even as his chest ached with something warm.

Jimin doesn’t know when it stopped feeling like an arrangement. Maybe it was the night Jungkook whispered his confession in his sleep. Maybe it was earlier. All he knows is that this is their life now. And he’s not sure he could go back to anything else.

Two hours later, Jungkook bounces in place, clutching the sketchbook to his chest. “Hyuuung.”

Jimin doesn’t look up from stacking dishes. “What now?”

“I finished the new chapter.”

“Of what.”

“You know of what.”

He sighs, resigned, when Jungkook flips the sketchbook open, showing it off. It says “Sexy Househusband and His Bratty Boyfriend: Domestic Bliss Edition.”

He mutters under his breath but walks over anyway, wiping his hands on a towel. He sits down beside Jungkook, already bracing himself.

Jungkook beams and points to the first drawing of the Househusband standing at the stove, wearing his apron, stirring a pot with sparkles all around him. Bratty Boyfriend hovers in the background, drooling exaggeratedly. “Hyung, your food makes me hard,” it says.

Jimin pinches the bridge of his nose. “Of course.”

The second panel shows Househusband typing on a laptop with glasses drawn comically big. Bratty Boyfriend lies on his lap. “Use me as your mousepad, hyung.”

Jimin groans to hide his laugh.

On the next one, the Househusband is cutting fruits. Bratty Boyfriend’s looking with stars in his eyes, while little hearts are all over the page. The caption says, ‘This is love.’

Jimin pauses, feeling his throat becoming tight.

The fourth square has Househusband in bed, blanket pulled up, clearly trying to sleep. Bratty Boyfriend is leaning over him with a mischievous grin, huge sparkly eyes and funnily quirked eyebrows. “Househusband duties aren’t done until I cream the sheets.”

Jimin slams the sketchbook shut. “Enough.”

When he looks up, Jungkook is watching him, his grin softening and becoming tender. “You like it.”

“It’s vulgar.”

“And romantic. Admit it, I nailed us this time. Sexy, funny, and…” He taps the closed sketchbook. “True.”

Jimin swallows, looking away. “Maybe.”

Jungkook laughs and kisses his cheek.

No matter how much Jimin pretends to be annoyed, he does stupidly nostalgic things, like later that night, when Jungkook is snoring into his pillow with his sketchbook sprawled across his chest, Jimin carefully lifts it away.

He flips back through the pages, silently. It should be ridiculous—it is ridiculous, but in between the smut, there’s love. And Jimin hasn't experienced a lot of love in his life. Sparkles, hearts, the way Jungkook always draws Househusband a little sharper than everything else—it’s almost as if it’s the way he sees Jimin.

Jimin’s chest tightens, so he closes the sketchbook, careful not to wake the younger, and slips it onto the shelf beside his own work folders. The napkin drawing he finds folded inside his laptop bag, where Jungkook must’ve left it as a joke. He should throw it away, but instead, he tucks it into a drawer, hidden and safe.

When he slides back into bed, Jungkook stirs, mumbling half-asleep. “Hyung?”

Jimin hums, brushing damp hair from his forehead.

“You like my comics,” Jungkook slurs, smug even in sleep. “You love them.”

Jimin shakes his head, lips twitching. “Sleep, you menace." He pulls Jungkook closer anyway, holding him until his snores even out again.

In the afternoon, Jungkook is on the floor with his sketchbook, tapping the pencil against his teeth, when the idea hits him.

For weeks, he’s been doodling their “Sexy Househusband and His Bratty Boyfriend” saga everywhere, even in the margins of his class notes, across half a dozen sketchbooks now piling up in the corner. What started as a joke has turned into a whole… well, thing.

And the more he flips through the pages, the more he sees it. It’s stupid and filthy, and kind of beautiful.

When Jimin comes out of the bedroom with a stack of work folders in hand, Jungkook scrambles up, clutching his sketchbook to his chest. “Hyung,” he blurts. “I have an idea.”

Jimin sighs, wary, fixing the glasses on his nose. “That’s rarely good news.”

“No, listen!” Jungkook flips the sketchbook open and holds it out. “What if I actually… make this a project?”

“A project?”

“Like a short comic series. Maybe for class, maybe to post online.”

Jimin stares at him, silent.

“I’ll draw you small and bossy, obviously, because it’s accurate—” Jimin’s glare sharpens. “—and me big and dumb, but sweet, which is also accurate,” Jungkook adds quickly, laughing. “It’ll be perfect, like a Sexy Househusband and Bratty Boyfriend: The Saga.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Hyuuuung,” he whines, tugging at Jimin’s wrist. “It’s genius. You’ll be famous, people will worship you. They’ll say, wow, Park Jimin, the hottest househusband in the comic universe.”

“I said no,” Jimin repeats, but there’s a faint pink at the tips of his ears.

“You don’t have to admit it, but I know you love it. You keep my napkins, hyung. You’re my biggest fan.”

Jimin looks away, muttering, “That’s ridiculous." He strides away, but Jungkook sees the twitch of his lips, so in the evening, he leaves the sketchbook open on the coffee table. He knows that when he’s hard asleep, drooling on the pillow, Jimin will go over it, because he does it quite often.

Jungkook knows because the loose sheets of paper and stickers are interspersed.

At 11pm Jimin takes the bait, reaching for it.

The Househusband is chopping vegetables and Bratty Boyfriend is sitting on the counter, staring lovingly. Doodled hearts are scattered around his head and the bubble, saying: “I love when you feed me, hyung. It’s better than sex.”

Jimin’s lips twitch despite himself. He flips further and finds a sketch of them curled on a couch together. Without thinking, he picks up a pen. He hesitates, but scribbles a small little arrow pointing to Bratty Boyfriend, with two words in tidy handwriting. Mine idiot.

In the morning, Jungkook will find it. He’ll probably tease him for weeks, but for now, Jimin lets himself lie down beside him.

Maybe resistance isn’t worth it anymore. Maybe it never was.

Jungkook’s morning routine consists of waking up late, kissing Jimin until he complains, drinking coffee Jimin makes, pretending to help with dishes, and getting shooed away. Eventually, he drops on the couch with his sketchbook.

Today, though, he notices something immediately when he flips it open. He stares, while his heart leaps straight into his throat. He bursts into the kitchen, waving the sketchbook like a madman. “HYUNG!”

“What?”

“You WROTE in my comic!” Jungkook almost squeaks, grinning so wide it hurts. He slams the book open on the counter. “Look! Look at this! You called me an idiot—”

“You are one,” Jimin mutters, flipping the pan.

“—and then you wrote mine! Hyung, you claimed me in my own comic. This is—this is the best day of my life.”

Jimin finally turns, his ears are pink. “You’re overreacting.”

“Overreacting?” Jungkook gasps, clutching his chest. “You wrote your first love confession. You’ve been denying me for months, and now you’re scribbling mine in the margins like some romantic househusband Shakespeare.”

“There’s not such a thing. Eat your breakfast.”

“No,” He says, grabbing Jimin by the waist and spinning him around, ignoring his scowl. “Not until you admit it.”

“Okay, I did it.”

It’s not what Jungkook asked for and they both know it, but for now, Jungkook takes it.

Jimin has never liked his birthday.

He was usually forced to celebrate it as a dinner with shareholders, because “coincidentally” the company was founded on the same day he was born. It was always an anniversary, it was never about him.

But this year, he wakes up to the weight of Jungkook draped over his back, and a ridiculous chorus of, “Happy birthday, hyung, your bratty boyfriend is the best present you’ll ever get.”

In the evening, after dinner and cake—Jungkook insisted on baking, which ended in flour handprints on Jimin’s ass—Jungkook practically vibrates with excitement as he pulls out a wrapped package from under the couch. “Okay, hyung. Best gift ever, no competition.”

Jimin arches a brow. “That’s a bold claim.” Especially that Jimin received no other gifts this year.

“Shut up and open it.”

He does, carefully, a little nervous. Inside, he finds a beautifully bound book with a glossy cover, titled in bold letters. Sexy Househusband & His Bratty Boyfriend.

He blinks. “You didn’t.”

“Oh, I did,” Jungkook beams, proud and amused. “I didn’t want to jinx it, but the censored version’s going public next month, all sweet, soft, couple-y shit. But this,” he taps the book, “this is the only copy in the world. The full, filthy, funny, romantic version. Yours, hyung. Special edition.”

Jimin hesitates, then opens it… And he’s floored. The pages are perfect, they’re not rough doodles, but detailed art of morning kisses, sleepy sex, messy breakfasts, ridiculous positions, soft couch cuddles. He goes over funny scenes that make him groan, filthy ones that make his ears burn, tender ones that make his chest ache.

Their life. Their love. Every page is them.

“Keep going,” Jungkook says, practically bouncing.

On one of the drawings, the Househusband’s in glasses, hands on his hips. Bratty Boyfriend beside him, eyes and cock cartoonishly bulging. “Hyung, I don’t need dinner, I need dick.” Gosh. On another one the Househusband is making coffee while Bratty Boyfriend comes up behind him. “Is this part of your duties? Morning blowjobs and cappuccinos?” The househusband replies, “Shut up and drink.”

On the next page the Househusband’s preparing food. Bratty Boyfriend is drooling at that. “Hyung, your knife skills make me wet.” 

Their life, ridiculous and filthy and tender, is captured perfectly.

Jimin’s throat tightens, but he tries to cover it with a scoff. “You’re literally insane.”

“I’m a genius. And in love with you, which, by the way, is why I spent three weeks killing my wrist to finish this.”

Jimin closes the book, hands trembling just slightly. He looks up at Jungkook, at his messy hair, tattoos running up his sleeve, grin so familiar and lovely.

The words tumble out before he can stop them. “I love you.”

Jungkook’s grin fades. For a split second, he just stares, eyes wide. Then suddenly he explodes. “HOLY SHIT. SAY IT AGAIN.”

Jimin groans, covering his face. “Don’t make a scene—”

“Too late!” Jungkook whoops, grabbing him, pulling him into his lap, spinning him around until Jimin’s laughing despite himself. “You love me! You finally said it! Hyung, this is the best birthday ever—for me!”

“Idiot,” Jimin grumbles, but his voice is soft, and his arms are already wrapping around Jungkook’s neck. “Of course I love you.”

Jungkook kisses him.

It’s the best birthday ever, indeed.

“Hyuuung.”

Jimin hums distractedly.

“Now that you love me—”

“Regretting it already,” he mutters, keeping his eyes on the page of the book he’s reading.

“—does that mean we can talk about the future?”

That gets his attention. He lowers the book to look at the younger laying on his lap. “What future?”

“Our future. Obviously.”

“You’re unbearable.”

Jungkook wiggles his brows. “Sexy unbearable. C’mon, humor me. If you’re the househusband, that means you’ll keep doing all the cooking, right? And laundry. And yelling at me to pick up my socks.”

“I already do those things.”

“Exactly.” Jungkook beams. “So it’s permanent now. Lifetime contract.”

Jimin rolls his eyes, but Jungkook notices the way his hand drifts down, absentmindedly brushing through his hair.

“I’m not kidding, though. I want… this. Always. Coming home to you, annoying you, drawing our stupid comics, eating your food. I want you yelling at me for never wearing underwear. All of it.”

Jimin stares at him with lips parted slightly like he doesn’t know what to say.

“So, should I buy us matching rings now, or wait ‘til you’re done reading?”

Jimin groans, dropping the book onto Jungkook’s chest. “You’re impossible.” His ears are pink and his fingers keep stroking through Jungkook’s hair.

That’s not a no.

A few months later…

Both of them hate it, but some things need to be done sooner than later. And so they meet Jimin’s parents at a crowded restaurant with Hana at their side.

“Congratulations,” Jimin’s mother says stiffly. “Your little comic is… popular.”

“Viral,” Hana corrects. “It’s everywhere. I’ve seen edits, fanart, merch. People are obsessed.” She smirks at Jimin. “Mostly with the househusband.”

Jimin clears his throat, ignoring the heat in his ears. He knows, because apparently people on TikTok have been begging the publisher for the explicit version, which Jungkook doesn’t fail to mention at least once a day.

Jimin’s not sure what kind of community TikTok gathers but they must be insane.

Across the table, Jungkook leans in, whispering only for Jimin to hear. “Hyung, I need a new title.”

“What?”

“The comic. Sexy Househusband stays, obviously. But Bratty Boyfriend? Doesn’t work anymore. Boyfriend’s outdated.”

“Jungkook—”

“I was thinking Sexy Househusband & His Lucky Fiancé,” he continues, thinking hard. “Or maybe Husband-In-Training. Or Future Bratty Husband. What do you think?”

Jimin pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Park Jimin,” his father calls. “Are we here to talk about… this comic, or is there something more important?”

Jimin straightens. His hand finds Jungkook’s under the table, squeezing once. Jungkook squeezes back, smiling like an idiot.

“Yes,” Jimin confirms calmly, meeting his father’s gaze. “There is something important and I wanted you to hear it from me.”

The table goes silent. Hana leans forward with anticipation.

He takes a breath. “Jungkook and I are engaged.”

His mother gasps softly. Hana bursts out laughing, clapping like it’s the best drama twist she’s ever seen.

“Engaged?” his father repeats coldly.

“Yes.” He lifts his chin. “We’re building a life together. He’s mine, that’s not changing.”

Jungkook kisses his temple, ignoring the scandalized look on his mother’s face. “Fiancé,” the younger whispers smugly. “Told you it sounds better.”

Jimin groans, but he can’t help the way his lips twitch.

Because yeah, maybe the world will talk, maybe his parents will frown, maybe chaos will follow, but this? This is theirs. Jimin’s not giving it up.

“Hyuuuung, hear me out. Sexy Househusband & His Bratty Fiancé. Rolls off the tongue, right? I think it’s the best option.”

“No,” Jimin mutters from the kitchen, pouring himself a glass of water.

“Fine. Sexy Househusband & His Future Husband. Romantic, poetic and sexy.”

“No.”

“Okay, but what about—” Jungkook flips to a fresh page, scribbling fast with tongue between his teeth. “Sexy Househusband & His Dick-Obsessed Spouse. I bet it would be relatable.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Alright, alright. Sexy Househusband & The Man Who Creams The Sheets. A little niche, but the fans will eat it up.”

Jimin groans while sinking onto the couch beside him. “You’re exhausting.”

“You said the same last night.” Jungkook flips the sketchbook around to show him a quick doodle of a Househusband with a wedding ring drawn on his finger and Bratty Fiancé clinging to his leg with stars in his eyes. “Look! Canon now!”

Jimin takes the sketchbook, stares at it for a long moment, then sets it face-down on the table with a sigh. “Jungkook.”

“Yeah?”

“You’re silly.”

“I’m your silly fiancé.” Jungkook rolls onto his side to nuzzle into Jimin’s shoulder. “And soon, your silly husband.”

Jimin mutters something under his breath while his arm comes up, pulling Jungkook close.

As Jungkook grins into his shirt, he knows one thing for sure. Whatever they call the sequel, it’ll be the best story he ever tells. Because it’s theirs.

Jungkook can barely sit still. Weeks of work, stolen hours between classes and late nights on the couch while Jimin muttered at him to “go to sleep already,” and now it’s ready. The first drafts of Sexy Househusband & His Bratty Fiancé.

“Hyuuuung,” Jungkook calls, bouncing on his heels like a kid. “Want to see?”

Jimin looks up from his laptop, unimpressed. “Do I?”

“Yes.” Jungkook plops down beside him and shoves the sketchbook at him, before he can refuse. “Behold.”

Jimin sighs, but he flips it open anyway.

The househusband in a suit jacket and apron is holding a grocery bag. It’s captioned: “Balancing budgets and bok choy.” Bratty Fiancé’s clinging to his arm. “Buy lube instead.”

Jimin pinches the bridge of his nose. It’s based on a real story, unfortunately.

On the next page the Househusband is trying to work on his laptop with Bratty Fiancé sprawled across him, a ring drawn exaggeratedly huge on his finger. “If I sit here long enough, does this count as marital support?”

The next panel is titled: “Househusband duties never end.” Househusband’s flushed, straddling Bratty Fiancé whose head explodes with hearts. “My favorite chore: getting ridden into the mattress.”

“Jungkook.”

“Genius, right?”

Jimin skips to the final draft. Househusband and Bratty Fiancé are sitting side by side on a bench, holding hands. Little rings are drawn on their fingers, small hearts in the corner. “Forever.”

Slowly, Jimin closes the sketchbook, sets it on the table, and leans back against the couch. He pulls Jungkook in by the collar and kisses him.

“HYUUUNG!”

Jimin sighs for the hundredth time this week, turning down the heat. “What.”

“Househusband duty!”

“I’m literally cooking.”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s duty number one,” Jungkook calls back. “But duty number two is more urgent.”

Jimin ignores him, setting the plates out. There’s silence for a beat, then Jungkook whines again. “Hyung, I’m hard.”

Jimin slams the spoon down on the counter. “Food is hot!”

Still, when he wipes his hands and walks to the bedroom. Jungkook is exactly as expected, laying on the bed. His shirt is tossed on the floor, sweatpants tugged low. He grins the second he sees Jimin. “Took you long enough, househusband. C’mon, dinner can wait, your fiancé can’t.”

“When I’m done with you, dinner’s going to be cold.”

Jungkook’s grins. “Worth it.”

“HYUUUNG,” he sobs, clinging to Jimin’s arm. “You’re late to our wedding. The cake is ruined. Hana stole my vows. And your dad replaced my suit with… with CROCS.”

Jimin stands in front of him in a perfectly pressed tuxedo, looking down with the same unimpressed glare he always has when Jungkook spirals. “Stop crying.”

“I CAN’T,” the younger wails. “The flower boy just mooned everyone and Hoseok hyung is officiating in a clown wig and our ring bearer swallowed the rings—”

“You’re insane,” Jimin mutters, but when Jungkook looks up through his tears, Jimin is smiling.

The aisle stretches out before them. Guests are laughing, shouting, snapping pictures. Jungkook grabs Jimin’s hand. “Marry me anyway?”

Jimin squeezes back. “Idiot. Of course.”

Jungkook jolts awake with a snort. For a second, he’s disoriented—there’s no clown wigs, no Crocs, no runaway flower boy. Instead morning light seeps into the bedroom and the sheets tangled around his waist.

And then there’s Jimin, sitting against the headboard, naked under the covers, pretty glasses perched on his nose, calmly flipping a page in a book.

Jungkook’s mouth goes dry, immediately forgetting the dream. “Holy fuck.”

Jimin hums, not looking up. “What now?”

“You’re naked. In glasses. Reading,” Jungkook notices smartly, awe dripping from every word. “Hyung, do you have any idea how hot that is? It’s literally illegal.”

Jimin lowers the book just enough to give him a flat look over the rim of his glasses.

Jungkook grins, flopping onto his side to wrap around him. “I just dreamed of the worst wedding in history, but you still married me in it. So it’s fate.”

The older man rolls his eyes, but his hand drifts up anyway, sliding into Jungkook’s hair, tugging lightly. “Go back to sleep.”

“Can’t,” the latter mumbles against his skin. “Too busy being in love with my hot, naked, bookworm househusband.” He rolls half on top of Jimin who marks his page with one finger.

“What did you imagine this time?”

“Oh, you know, cake on fire, Hoseok hyung dancing down the aisle,” he lies. “Hana caught the bouquet and proposed to the DJ. And you… you looked hot as fuck.”

Jimin snorts.

“Mm.” Jungkook nuzzles into his chest. “But you know what’d be better than tuxedos and flowers?”

“I don’t want to know.”

“Wedding sex. On the reception table. Right between the champagne and the cake.”

Jimin sets the book aside with a sigh. “I said not to tell me.”

“C’mon, hyung. Imagine it—you in a suit, me in a bowtie, guests outside wondering where the grooms went—”

“Jungkook.”

“—and you riding me slowly while I’m still wearing the ring we just exchanged.” Jungkook’s voice drops, dirty, teasing. “Your husband duties start before the honeymoon even begins.”

Jimin  curses under his breath, tugging Jungkook’s hair hard enough to make him hiss. “You don’t stop, do you?”

“Nope,” Jungkook grins, already sliding his hands under the sheets. “Not when my sexy househusband is naked, in glasses, and pretending not to get worked up.”

Jimin groans, but he doesn’t push him away.

By the time evening rolls around, Jungkook’s on the couch again with a new sketchbook balanced on his knees and tongue poking out in concentration.

When Jimin emerges from the bedroom with his laptop tucked under one arm, he pauses. “You’re still at it?”

“I’m drawing the Honeymoon issue,” he says proudly, flipping the sketchbook around to show him. “Look, Sexy Househusband & His Bratty Husband: Tropical Paradise Edition.”

The page is filled with palm trees, a beach, and two exaggerated figures—Househusband in sunglasses and a tiny apron, over a speedo, of course, and Bratty Husband on a lounge chair with an obvious erection. “Hyung, sunscreen my cock or I’ll burn.”

“No.”

“Yes,” Jungkook beams, flipping to the next page. “The second scene is on the hotel bed. Househusband’s fluffing the pillows, while Bratty Husband’s begging, ‘Hyung, sit on my face before the room service gets here.’”

“Absolutely not.”

“Come on, hyung. Help me brainstorm. You’re so good at dialogue. Just say something filthy and I’ll draw it.”

“I’m not participating in this,” Jimin mutters, settling into the armchair with his laptop.

Jungkook crawls over immediately, kneeling by his chair with puppy eyes. “Please? For me? For your bratty husband who loves you?”

Jimin glares down at him, silent.

“Fine. Then I’ll just draw what I remember—you riding me on the hotel balcony, hand over my mouth because I was moaning too loud—”

Jimin slams the laptop shut, blushing. “Stop.”

“Or the pool,” Jungkook teases, scribbling fast. “Hyung, I swear I’ll draw you naked in a floatie riding my cock if you don’t help me.”

Jimin groans, covering his face with one hand.

Jungkook shows him a doodle of Househusband tossing Bratty Husband into the ocean. “See? It’s already our best issue yet.”