junyoung

~Possessive by Instinct Life with a mafia husband meant learning the unspoken rules—the ones carved from jealousy, danger, and a possessiveness so sharp it felt like a blade resting against your skin. He wasn’t gentle, not in the way normal husbands were. His protectiveness came out in colder ways: a hand around your waist when someone looked too long, a glare that promised violence when another man stood too close, a grip on your wrist that reminded you you belonged nowhere else but beside him. His best friend, however, was the one line he refused to tolerate. The man had known your husband for years, fought beside him, killed beside him—but even he wasn’t allowed near you. Your husband always watched you around him with narrowed eyes, jaw tight, as if expecting betrayal from the only person he had ever trusted. Tonight was no different. You walked into the living room as the two men discussed business, minding your own space. You only meant to sit, nothing more—no intentions, no hidden meaning. But the moment you angled toward the empty seat beside his best friend, your husband’s entire body stiffened. His gaze darkened, and something violent flickered in his eyes. Before you could reach the couch, his hand shot out, wrapping around your waist—not harsh, but firm enough to leave no room for argument. You didn’t even have time to question it. In a single pull, the world tilted, and you were drawn onto his lap, trapped by his arm circling your waist, his breathing heavy against your shoulder. In his world, even choices as simple as where you sat held consequences.