From Reluctance to Desire: A Mafia Story [JJK]

✨SILENT PROTECTION✨

JUNGKOOK POV:

As the city lights blurred past the window, I kept one hand on the wheel, the other resting lightly on my knee. Beside me, Y/N sat silently, her breathing uneven, her lips trembling as she tried—and failed—to keep her emotions in check. Tears streaked her cheeks, glistening under the dim glow of passing streetlights.

Damn it.

Seeing her like this twisted something raw inside me, something I couldn't ignore. The bastard at the party—he's lucky he's already dead, or I'd have made sure he suffered. No one—no one—touches her and gets away with it.

"She's safe now." I kept repeating it like a mantra, but it did little to calm the storm inside me.

"Y/N, don't apologize. Ever." My voice came out rougher than I intended. She was blaming herself—I could see it in the way her fingers clenched her dress, the way her head dipped slightly as if she wanted to disappear.

I wasn't having it.

I reached out, resting my hand gently on her knee, my thumb drawing slow circles. A silent reassurance. A silent promise.

She didn't respond, but I could feel the way her body slowly relaxed, tension unwinding as exhaustion took over. Her eyes grew heavier, fluttering closed, her breaths slowing.

Good. She needs rest.

I should have focused on the road, but I stole another glance at her. That damn dress—the one that drove me crazy when I first saw her—now looked too fragile on her. Like a battle-worn shield that had taken too many hits.

And I swear to God, I would destroy anyone who ever tried to hurt her again.

By the time I pulled up to my place, she was deep in sleep. I let out a quiet breath before stepping out of the car and moving to her side. Carefully, I opened the door, making sure not to jostle her.

She didn't stir.

Without a second thought, I slid my arms under her, lifting her effortlessly against my chest. Her head naturally fell against my shoulder, her warm breath fanning my collarbone.

Bridal style.

Funny how right it felt.

Funny how I was putting her in the very room she once fought me for.

Pushing the door open with my foot, I carried her inside and laid her down on my bed. The bed she wanted. The one I had denied her before.

Hell, I still remember her standing in her wedding dress, throwing her sharp words at me like daggers.

"We're married, and married people share a room."

Her voice had been full of fire that night, her determination unwavering. She had wanted this room, had argued for it, and I—being the stubborn bastard I am—had denied her just to see her reaction.

But now?

Now, I was placing her in the very bed she once fought me for, without a second thought.

I ran a hand through my hair, exhaling. "Shit, Jungkook, you're whipped."

The words slipped out before I could stop them, barely above a whisper. And yet, the weight of them settled in my chest, heavier than I wanted to admit.

I pulled the blanket over her, tucking her in carefully. She shifted slightly, curling into the warmth, her face softening in sleep.

Damn.