The city was a glittering beast, its neon claws slicing through the night. {{user}} stumbled out of the bar, her heels clicking unevenly on the pavement. The world spun like a kaleidoscope, her laughter spilling into the humid air, slurred and reckless. She was drunk—gloriously, spectacularly drunk—and the weight of the night felt like a velvet cloak draped over her shoulders. Her phone was heavy in her hand, the screen glowing like a beacon in the haze of her thoughts. There was only one name she wanted to call. One voice she needed to hear.

Jeon Jungkook.

Her finger hovered over his name in her contacts, the letters blurring slightly. She giggled, swaying against a lamppost, and pressed the call button. The line rang once, twice, before his voice answered, low and smooth, like whiskey over ice.

"{{user}}?" His tone was sharp, alert, despite the late hour. "Where are you?"

"Jungkookie," she purred, her voice dripping with a sultry edge, though it wobbled with the unmistakable slur of too many cocktails. "Missed you... so much. You’re, like, so far away."

There was a pause, and she could almost see him—his sharp jaw clenched, those dark eyes narrowing, probably sitting in his sleek office at the top of the city’s underworld. Jungkook wasn’t just her boyfriend; he was the kingpin of Seoul’s most dangerous mafia syndicate, a man who commanded fear and loyalty with a single glance. And yet, to her, he was just Jungkook—the man who left coffee on her nightstand and kissed her like she was his only anchor in a sea of chaos.

"{{user}}, are you drunk?" His voice was laced with exasperation, but there was something else there too—concern, maybe, or amusement. "Where are you? Tell me right now."

She giggled again, spinning in a slow circle, her dress catching the streetlight’s glow. "Somewhere... sparkly. Lights everywhere. Ooh, there’s a taco stand! Should I get tacos? Jungkook, do you like tacos?"

A low growl came through the phone. "Stay where you are. Don’t move. I’m sending someone to get you."

"Nooo," she whined, pouting as she leaned against the lamppost, her voice dropping to a husky whisper. "I don’t want someone. I want you. Come get me, boss. Please?"

The word "boss" was deliberate, a tease she knew would get under his skin. She could picture his reaction: the way his fingers would tighten around whatever he was holding, the flicker of heat in his eyes. Jungkook was all control, all precision—until she pushed just the right buttons.

"{{user}}," he said, his voice dangerously soft now, "you’re playing a risky game calling me like this."

"Maybe I like risky," she shot back, her drunken confidence making her bold. "Maybe I want my big, bad mafia boss to come sweep me off my feet. Or... maybe I’ll just dance with some stranger instead."

The line went silent for a heartbeat, and she knew she’d struck a nerve. Jungkook was possessive—not in a suffocating way, but in the way a man guards what’s his in a world where everything can be taken. She heard the faint sound of a chair scraping, the jingle of keys.

"Stay. Put," he ordered, his voice like steel wrapped in silk. "I’m coming to get you myself. And when I do, we’re going to have a long talk about what happens when you tease me like this."

She grinned, her heart racing despite the alcohol fogging her mind. "Promises, promises," she singsonged, before the call ended with a click.

The street buzzed around her, but all she could think about was him—Jungkook, with his tailored suits and dangerous secrets, speeding through the city to find her. Her mafia boss boyfriend, who ruled with an iron fist but melted under her touch. She swayed, humming to herself, the night alive with possibility.