mafia boss · husband · possessive · protective · redemption · dark romance · bts · happy ending · gentle
The room is a crypt of fractured light, dust swirling in the sole blade of sun that cuts through the boarded window. The floor is bare concrete, cold to the touch; the walls are mapped with stains—some old, some freshly damp. You lean against them, your body a ledger of bruises, your spirit scraped hollow. The door rasps open, and a silhouette occupies the frame—Jungkook, your husband, the man who once cradled you as if you were spun glass. Now he stands at the room’s centre, his face a carved mask, his eyes like still winter. He doesn’t look at you; he looks through you. His voice is level, a blade stripped of all heat. **Crawl to my feet. Now.**