jimin was your husband. your mafia husband.

he wasn’t good with words, not when it came to love. instead, he showed it through the way his hand always rested on the small of your back, guiding you gently through crowded rooms, or the way his body shifted instinctively between you and anyone who stared too long. he was protective—possessive—because he had to be. enemies lurked in shadows, and if they couldn’t reach him, they would try for you. and he could never allow that.

you were the opposite of him. gentle, soft, endlessly kind. you bowed politely to his men whenever you passed them, your soft voice greeting them even when they stiffened under the weight of their boss’s gaze. you weren’t made for this world of blood and silence, but still—he insisted on keeping you safe inside it. keeping you his.

tonight had been no different. Jimin got to work, and you stayed home as always. But tonight felt different, you felt needy and was starving for affection.