You were at your friend's place for a girls night when suddenly your iphone rang.
*A new message*
You quickly stand up and excused yourself for a while, then you headed into the bathroom and open the message.
The message read: > *Send me the pictures NOW, luna.*
You looked at his messages a little nervous. And you replied.
I told you baby, I'm with my friends. It's girl's night.
I can't right now..
The phone buzzed again almost instantly — a call this time.
When you answered, his voice was low, rough like gravel and smoke. No greeting. Just pure impatience.
> "You think I care where you are?"
A beat of silence. Then—
> "I want those pictures in the next thirty seconds… or I’m showing up at that address."
The next moment you stripped yourself and send him a picture of yourself naked.
"Sent"
The second the photo arrived, your phone lit up with another call — he didn’t even let it ring once.
You answered. Silence at first… then a slow, deep inhale on the other end — like he was savoring every pixel of you.
Then his voice came through, darker now. Thicker with something primal.
> "Fucking perfect…"
A pause.
You could practically *feel* him staring at the screen.
> "Turn around and send me another one."
"Daddy, I told you i can't right now."
"I have to go. My friends were waiting for me outside."
"I excused myself just for a second. They'll look for me soon."
The line went dead silent for a few seconds — the kind of silence that made your skin crawl.
Then—
> "No."
*One word. Flat. Final.* And then the call hunged up.
A text buzzed through immediately after: > *Stay in there.*
> *I don't care about your friends.*
> *Another picture. Now.*
Your phone screen glowed like an accusation, his message bold and unyielding at the top.
You replied.
Fine.. Just one.
Final picture.
Then I'm going back...
You took another picture and send it to him.
The photo loaded.
And for a long moment — nothing. No call. No text. Just the heavy silence of someone on the other end completely entranced by you.
Another second passed… then your phone rang again — his caller ID flashing with that same dangerous energy as before.
The call connected instantly.
No hello. No softness. Just his voice — deep, low, and laced with something possessive that sent a shiver down your spine.
> "You look so fucking good…"
A beat of silence where you could hear him breathing slowly on the other end — controlled, but strained.
Then suddenly—
> "I'm coming to get you."
And you replied...
Baby, I told you, I'm staying with my friends tonight.
Don't do this...
The line didn’t go silent this time — instead, you heard a low chuckle. Cold. Unamused.
> *"You don't tell me what to do, luna."*
There was the sound of keys jingling in the background — his car keys.
A car door slammed shut on his end.
Then another message came through while he was still on the phone:
> *I'm already in my Lamborghini.*
> *Be outside your friend's apartment in 20 minutes.*
> *If you're not there… I’ll come inside and get you myself.*
The engine roared to life in the background — loud, aggressive, like his mood.
Then he spoke again, voice icy calm. The kind of calm that meant danger was coming.
> "I don't *want* to do this."
A pause. The tires screeched as he pulled out of the driveway.
> *"But I will. Because you're mine."*
Another text buzzed through:
> *20 minutes is generous.*
> *If your face isn’t at that door when I arrive…*
> *You’re sleeping in my bed tonight anyway — whether you like it or not.*
The Lamborghini roared down the streets, lights cutting through the night like a predator’s eyes.
Then your friend knocked on the bathroom door — soft at first, then again louder.
"Luna? You okay in there? We ordered pizza…"
The world outside was normal. Warm.
But inside your chest? Panic.
"Yeah... Good."
"Give me a second. I'm coming out."
I opened the door and went to my friend.
Something urgent came up. I need to go.
Your friend’s smile faded as she saw your face — tense, pale, eyes darting to the door.
"Go? Now?"
She blinked. "It's almost midnight…"
I'll manage.. Don't worry...
He's coming to pick me up.
Your friend’s eyes widened slightly — she knew exactly who "he" was.
She didn’t say anything judgmental. Just gave you a slow, knowing look
"He's really coming?"
Her voice dropped to a whisper, glancing toward the door like she expected him to kick it in any second.
You nod.
You quickly grabbed your purse, slipping on your shoes without tying them.
Your friend stepped forward and hugged you tightly — a silent apology for the ruined night.
"Be safe, okay?"
She whispered into your ear before pulling back.
The second you turned toward the front door… a familiar engine growled outside. Low. Threatening.
A black Lamborghini idled at the curb — windows tinted dark as sin.
The engine idled like a caged beast — smooth, but ready to pounce.
Then the passenger window rolled down slowly… revealing him.
Jeon Jungkook. 6’8” of pure dominance. Messy black hair shadowing his sharp hazel eyes, jaw clenched tight with irritation and something hotter underneath — hunger.
He didn’t smile.
He just stared at you through the dark glass like you belonged in that seat already.
The car door swung open with a heavy, mechanical thud.
No words. No "hey." Just his hand — large, veiny, tattooed knuckles on full display — reaching out toward you.
A silent command: **Get in.**
The city lights reflected off the wet pavement behind him. Rain had started falling softly — quiet and cold like his mood.
He didn’t blink. Didn’t look away from your face.
The door slammed shut behind you — loud, final.
Jungkook didn’t say a word. Just shifted the car into gear and pulled away from the curb with smooth, aggressive acceleration.
The city lights blurred past as rain tapped gently on the windshield. The heater was on low, but it did nothing to warm the icy tension between you two.
His hands gripped the steering wheel tight — knuckles whitening. Jaw clenched so hard a muscle twitched near his temple.
He wasn’t mad.
*Worse.*
He was disappointed in your defiance.
The silence stretched — thick, suffocating.
He drove through the rain-soaked streets with eerie precision, not once glancing at you. But his awareness? It was razor-sharp. He knew exactly where your face was turned. How you were deliberately looking out the window instead of at him.
After five long minutes…
His right hand suddenly left the wheel.
A large palm cupped your chin — firm but not rough — and *forced* your head to turn toward him.
His hazel eyes locked onto yours — cold, piercing, unrelenting.
The car slowed slightly as he held your face there, forcing you to meet his gaze in the dim glow of the dashboard lights.
No anger. No yelling.
Just quiet intensity.
Then… slowly… his lips crashed into yours — a punishing kiss. Not gentle. Not romantic.
*A claim.*
The kiss was hard — demanding, possessive. His lips moved over yours with no hesitation, his tongue piercing clicking faintly as it swept into your mouth.
One hand still gripped your chin while the other slid back to the steering wheel, keeping control of the car even as he dominated you.
Rain poured outside. The world blurred.
There was only this: him taking what he wanted.
When he finally pulled back — just an inch — his breath hot against your lips…
"You don't ignore me."
You looked at him.
Why not. You just do whatever you want with me. I don't get to say anything?
His expression darkened instantly — like a storm rolling in.
Without warning, he pulled the car over sharply, tires screeching against the wet pavement. The hazard lights blinked on automatically.
Then he unbuckled his seatbelt with one swift motion and turned fully toward you — all 6’8” of him caging you in by leaning across your seat.
One hand slammed into the headrest beside your face.
"Because," *he said lowly,* "you’re mine."
The words weren’t shouted. They were stated—like fact. Law.
Your palms over his chest. Trying to stop him...
The second your palms pressed against his chest, trying to push him back—
*He didn’t let go.*
Instead, he growled into the kiss — a deep, animalistic sound from his throat — and pinned both of your wrists with one massive hand above your head.
His other hand stayed in your hair, tilting your face up so he could *keep kissing you*, deeper now. More aggressive.
Rain drummed hard on the roof.
The city lights reflected off his wet jacket sleeve as it brushed against you.
You were trapped. Not by force… but by how completely powerless you were under him right then.
Jungkook stop... let go.
The word hung in the air — sharp, defiant.
For a heartbeat… nothing. He froze mid-kiss, his lips still hovering over yours.
Then slowly — dangerously slowly — he pulled back just enough to look into your eyes. His hazel irises were dark with something raw: anger? Hurt? Possession?
*Not guilt.*
Without saying a word… he released your wrists.
But instead of pulling away completely, his hand slid down to your throat—gentle pressure—not squeezing… but claiming.
His thumb brushed once — slow, deliberate — over your pulse point on your neck.
The skin there fluttered under his touch. Your heartbeat was fast. Nervous.
He studied it like a hunter watches prey… not angry anymore.
Calculating.
Then, voice low and rough as gravel—
"You don't get to say 'stop'."
A beat of silence filled only by the rain hitting the car roof.
"Not after you ignored me… not after you made me come get you."
You looked at him.
I didn't ask you to come get me.
*you insisted on it.*
I told you , I wanna stay with my friends tonight. And you didn't listened.
His jaw tightened — that muscle twitching again. The calm before the storm.
He didn’t yell. Didn’t slap you or snap back immediately.
*Worse.*
He went quiet.
The kind of quiet that made your stomach drop, because Jeon Jungkook wasn't a man who got told "no" often… and never by someone he owned.
His jaw tightened. A flicker of something dark passed through his eyes — not guilt, but frustration. Like a lion denied its kill.
He didn’t yell. Didn’t raise his voice.
But the air turned colder.
"You're *mine*," he said simply — like it explained everything.
As if that single word erased your friends, your plans, your night out… like ownership gave him the right to just take you whenever he wanted.
His thumb pressed slightly harder against your pulse—not hurting you—but reminding you who was in control here.
Write a comment ...