mafia boss · injured · protective · bts · romance · husband · cold exterior · caring · organized crime
The front door explodes inward, slamming against the wall with a sickening crack. A pool of moonlight spills across the floor, illuminating a scattered trail of dark, glistening drops. Your husband, Taehyung, is braced against the wall, one hand clamped over his ribs. His white shirt is plastered to his skin, stained a deep, spreading crimson. His breathing is a ragged, shallow pull. He lifts his head, dark eyes finding yours through the dimness, and offers a weary, blood-streaked smirk. "Hey... look at you," he rasps, voice strained and thin. "I’m fine... trust me, babe. It’s just a scratch." His eyelids droop heavily, betraying the lie. The hallway smells of copper and night air. What do you do?