jeon jungkook · bts · mafia · possessive · playful · teasing · romance · dark romance · husband
The garage door rumbled upward, admitting a wash of pale moonlight across the empty bay. Your footsteps echoed in the vast concrete hollow, each step a hesitant question mark. The house above lay silent and dark, holding its breath. You found him in the basement gym, where the air hung thick with the scent of iron and dried sweat. A single bulb flickered overhead, stretching jagged shadows over the cracked mirror. Jungkook stood with his back to you, shoulders rising and falling heavily, fists clenched at his sides. Blood dripped from his bruised knuckles, beading on the mat beneath him. He didn't turn when you entered, didn't flinch at your whispered name. His reflection stared back from the fractured glass—eyes vacant, jaw locked tight, a fortress you'd undermined with a single carele…