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aaagustd · 3 months

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for the night | min yoongi

title: for the night

pairing: drug lord!min yoongi x waitress!(f)reader

genre/rating: angst, childhood best friends to strangers to friends??, unrequited love, valentine’s day au, smut, romance, 18+

summary: Yoongi lives a dangerous life. So why is he so afraid of you?

warnings: idk what to say about these two, just a bunch of feelings (spoken & unspoken), light pining, pov switches, mentions d*ath & grieving, mentions dr*gs and violence, swearing, bl**d & injuries, p*stol wh*pping/ mild description of t*rture, crooked justice systems (it’s the wild wild west out there), mentions a robbery & a**ault (nothing involving the main story), mentions illnesses & health related topics, alcohol/drinking but no intoxication unless you count staring at yoongi for too long, black hair with the undercut yoongi, chains, rings, TATTOOS…. oh my !!!, yoongi has a gl*ck (a piece, that iron… whatever you wanna call it), everybody’s shipping these two but they’re just…yeah, eye f*cking from both parties, explicit content, the friend version of kiss & makeup??, dry h*mping, Dom!yoongi, yoongi getting head is a warning, protected s*x, gagging/deep throating, throat/face f*cking, hair pulling, crying, i’m sure yoongi has Sir kink hiding in there somewhere, manhandling, face slapping, yoongi’s fingers down your throat, missionary with your leg over yoongi’s shoulder, big d*ck!yoongi, his jewelry stays on bc why would it not?, cl*t stimulation, teasing, spitting, org*sm control, c*m shots, body worship, p*ssy eating, throat grabbing, i think that's all...

wc: 11.6k

release date: february 16, 2024; 10:15pm est

note: sorry i took forever. this is my first oneshot in a while so i apologize for mistakes. i'm just finding my footing in this writing thing again. thanks to @itaeewon for my banner and @cafekitsune who makes these pretty dividers. please follow both of them for cool graphics. anyway, happy late valentine's day. i love you guys.

masterlist | playlist | ao3 version

“Enjoy the rest of your night… and be safe!”

As you wave goodbye to the last lovely couple dining at your restaurant tonight, you express how thrilled you are of their return.

You stand in front of your father’s little restaurant and watch the lovebirds bundle up as they make their way to their vehicle, embracing each other and protecting themselves from the same frigid temperatures that threatened to ruin their Valentine’s day plans.

It’s nights like these that make the sacrifice of putting your nursing career on hold well worth it. This neighborhood doesn’t have a lot to offer as far as entertainment goes, so keeping this place in business is your top priority. This is your home, and the people you love put their all into this establishment.

You’ll make sure it thrives and continues to be a source of comfort to the community.

You’re excited to tell your father about tonight’s turn out. You know he will be pleased. It’s been busy all day with dine-ins and take outs; everyone looking for the perfect date night meal.

“The food is made with love,” is what your dad always says.

He always looks forward to this time of year, and he’s always talked about seeing you sitting in one of his booths with a special someone of your own some day.

You only nod when he brings up your dating life; sometimes his love for you blinds him from reality. You’ve never brought anyone home, or ever mentioned being involved with someone to him. Even if you came out and said it, he’d never believe you’re the problem.

A chilly breeze in the mid-February air snaps you out of your thoughts—so as soon as the couple’s sedan departs from the parking lot—you slip back inside.

The warmth instantly envelopes your trembling figure, and draws a small exhale from your lips.

Looking at your watch, you notice that it’s almost midnight. You switch the sign from open to close, but don’t bother locking the door because there’s one more visitor that should be arriving shortly.

You keep that in mind as you begin to clean the front of the house.

One by one, your father’s employees complete their duties in a haste, then clock out so they can go home to whoever is waiting for them. Their eagerness only brings a smile to your face.

As you’re sanitizing a table, you catch a glimpse of one of the waitresses dashing towards the door.

“Well, see you tomorrow, Kaci!”

She halts, then turns around to say her goodbyes—and to gossip.

“Night, boss lady,” she chirps.

Why she calls you “boss lady” is a mystery to you; your dad only left you in charge, but you’re just a manager. You still get on the floor and serve tables like everyone else.

You’re curious about the bit of mischief hidden in her tone. It’s not long before she reveals her true intentions.

“Did he stop by yet?”

And of course…she’s talking about Yoongi.

Usually, someone stops by on his behalf to collect the rent. His family allows your father and a few others to occupy the buildings on this lot for business. Payment is always to be paid in cash, so you make sure you visit the bank the morning of collections.

Your family has had a close relationship with the Mins for years, so they’ve been working with you while your father recovers.

You met Yoongi right in this restaurant at the young age of four, and from there, your friendship blossomed. You were inseparable throughout grade school, but senior year is when everything shifted.

It had to be the first time you both realized that you were on different paths after graduation. While you prepped for college, he was being introduced to the hustle that built his family’s empire.

If that didn’t tear a rift in your relationship, the underlying tension and unspoken feelings surely did. People used to always say at least one of you would eventually want something different, and you used to always laugh at them…until it became a fact.

You’ve always wondered if he ever felt the same as you did—or if he ever thought about exploring something more.

Unfortunately, you’ll never know what he was feeling. After graduation, he shut you out and never looked back. That was so long ago, though. You’ve grown, and the pain of losing someone you cared about eventually went away.

…So you thought.

Being home again brings back so many memories and forgotten feelings. Things you wish you still had, and things you wish you could have had. After experiencing so much throughout college, and learning more about yourself, you’d kill to go back in time so you can handle things differently.

You can’t help but think your friendship was torn apart by nothing more than a curious mind and raging hormones.

Yoongi’s so different now, though. However, you still see glimpses of the boy who would sneak into your window just to watch reruns of 90s cartoons with you. You smile just thinking about all the fun times you’ve shared, and all the trouble you got into.

“Look at you getting wet just thinking about him! I knew it. You’re whipped!”

“Can you keep your damn voice down,” you hiss. “Last thing I need is gossip right now.”

You’re so fed up with her teasing. If you two hadn’t just clicked when you took over the restaurant, you’d probably just kick her ass out in the cold.

“And, no. He has not. So, you can leave now, ma’am.”

“Oh, for sure,” she sighs dramatically. “Hell only knows what you two do when you are alone.”

Your jaw drops.

Sometimes this bond you share is a blessing; but other times, it’s a curse.

Kaci’s a sweetheart, but her mouth… Well, let’s just say these comments are normal for her.

And just like your father, she loves to play Cupid. No wonder he hired her.

“Just get your ass out of here.”

You can barely keep your laugh from bursting through your lips as you send a rag flying towards her. She dodges it, then proceeds to give you a middle finger. She has another shady comment ready to roll off the tip of her tongue, but then she glances out of the glass door and smirks instead.

You scoff. “Bitch, what is it now?”

Kaci then shakes her head.

“Nothing, babe. I’m out,” she winks. Kaci then points towards the parking lot and whispers, “Daddy’s here.”

“Huh? What are you talking about—”

Crawling into one of the booths, you partially open the blinds with your fingers and peek out of the window.

About seven sets of headlights stare back at you, all belonging to vehicles that are as dark as the midnight hour. A BMW sits in the center, blacked out with tinted windows and black custom rims. However, you don’t need a look inside to know who it is. No one else would pull up like they own the lot.

All the businesses are closed, which means these aren’t customers. It’s the boss.

Your heart rate builds up when the door opens and his sneakers touch the concrete. He stands there for a moment fixing his jacket and discreetly observing his surroundings.

Your eyes follow his movements. You can only hear the bass from his music and the noises coming from your throat as you try to gulp down the saliva building up in your mouth.

All you needed to see was the top of his head to confirm what you already knew.

Yoongi’s here, and he’s the one coming to collect payment tonight.

You don’t know why your heart is about to pound out of your chest like you’re hexed by some teenage crush. Maybe you are still hung up on him a little bit. You can’t deny how attractive he still is. He definitely wears age well.

The dark hair suits him perfectly. You can remember the horror stories about the color experiments gone wrong when you were teenagers. It’s a surprise that it’s still luscious and healthy as it is.

However, that isn’t the only thing that has changed in his appearance.

They’re hard to spot under his jacket, but his torso, back, and arms are covered in tattoos. You only know about this because another waitress working here loves to share the story of how she was on her knees in a bathroom giving a shirtless Yoongi a blowjob.

You would never admit jealousy, but damn; that lucky bitch.

Yoongi starts to make his way across the parking lot, pushing back his hair with his ringed-fingers to grant better vision out of his peripherals. You know he’s always watching his back; he can never be too careful when he’s making moves.

His haircut allows you to get a glimpse of the ink crawling up his neck, disappearing behind his ear. His earring dangles in the wind as he strides in your direction.

Each step is confident and dominant; his aura dark and mysterious.

A man who is about his business, it’s no shock that heads turn when he steps into the room. He’s reserved, but not afraid to enforce his authority when he deems necessary. You heard stories, and crossing Yoongi is considered a death wish.

He’s like the hot badass described in movies or books, but he actually is that guy. Handsome, street-wise, tattoos and scars; paired with money, jewelry, and you’d be stupid to think he isn’t packing.

You can smell the power and Dior emitting from his body all the way from where you are.

Each step he takes towards the entrance of the restaurant gives you a better view without being noticed. It’s a sin how good he looks and he’s just wearing a simple outfit with some sneakers. You have no business feeling these kinds of things, but it’s impossible to not.

“Can he just bend us over already?”

You hear Kaci whisper the same words you were just thinking. But she can’t know that, so you swat her again for good measure.

“Fine…I’m leaving,” she whines, walking to the door.

You back out of the booth and move over to the host stand so you can roll silverware and act like you weren’t watching him.

Kaci opens the door just as he’s about to reach for the handle, and of course, she gives him a warm welcome.

“Hi, Yoongi,” she beams. You roll your eyes the second you hear that annoying high-pitched voice she uses when she’s being coy.

“Hey, can you hang back for a bit? It won’t be long.”

“Yeah, sure. Everything okay?”

The look he gives her sends your radar up, so you set down the utensils in your hand and join them in the lobby.

“Hey,” you greet him when he notices you. “What’s going on?”

Yoongi sighs before he answers, shaking his head as he gathers his words.

“You know the alterations shop over there?”

His head nods in the direction of the Leonard’s shop a few stores down. Both of you nod because they take lunch breaks here everyday.

“Somebody hit them up about an hour ago. Left their daughter in bad shape before they stripped the registers,” he informs.

“Are you serious? That’s awful.”

“Yeah, they’re good people. Who would do something that disgusting?” Kaci asks.

Yoongi only shrugs. “Don’t know, but as soon as I find out…”

He doesn’t even need to continue. It’ll be bad; probably worse than you can imagine. One thing the Min’s don’t tolerate is disrespect. You mess with one of their people, you get handled. In this case, you can’t even feel bad for the bastard. That family doesn’t bother anyone. It’s a shame they were targeted.

“Anyway, I don’t want either of you lingering around here at night anymore. Stick together during opening and closing until we catch this motherfucker understand?”

“Yeah, got it,” you reply, and Kaci also agrees.

“Sure, not a problem.”

With everyone on the same page, you make a note in your mind to update the security system in the restaurant and think of some safety tips for employees. No one can ever be too careful, especially after what just occurred so close to home.

“And Kaci?” he calls, just as she’s getting ready to depart.

“Yeah?”

“Don’t walk home. Your pepper spray is expired. Ask one of the guys to drive you.”

“Is Hoseok out there?”

You and Yoongi share a look. He’s probably wondering what it’s about, but then again, who doesn’t know they’re fucking?

“Yeah…he is—”

“Kay, bye!”

Before the door slams in your face, you call out to her.

“Text me when you’re home!... Or when you’re able to use your hands.”

Yoongi chuckles as the both of you watch her dash across the lot. You aren’t sure how she’s able to spot the right SUV, but she does within seconds.

“This has been going on for a while, huh?” Yoongi inquires.

“Mhm. Fight, fuck, repeat.”

After a moment goes by, you realize you forgot to bring the money you owe Yoongi. You snap your fingers when you remember why he’s there in the first place.

“Oh, yeah. Come on, it’s back here,” you tell him.

Yoongi follows you toward the back of the restaurant until you reach the small manager’s office tucked in a corner of the kitchen. While you dig in your apron for the key, Yoongi checks in with you to see how everything’s going.

“How’s your dad?”

You pause to look at him and answer with a proud smile. Your father’s been working really hard on his road to recovery; it’s nice to talk about his accomplishments without someone looking at you with pity, which Yoongi never does.

“He’s been doing better. Lots of physical therapy, but he walked on his own yesterday.”

With a nod, Yoongi’s expression softens. “That’s the shit I like to hear.”

“Me too.”

Once you find the keys, you unlock the door and the both of you step inside the dark room.

“Thanks,” you whisper when he flips the lightswitch for you.

You can feel him watching you as you walk around the desk, and when you squat down to open the safe underneath, you hear his footsteps approaching.

You start entering the combination while he whistles and looks around your office.

You’re curious about what he’s looking at, but right now you can't even take a peek without him noticing. Instead, you focus on gathering the cash you owe him for last month and this month while he’s busy snooping around.

After a while, you figure he’s found something interesting because the room becomes quiet. You grab the stack you set aside and close the safe, making sure it’s locked before you do anything else.

“So how was your day?”

Yoongi’s deep voice tears a giant rift in the silence, startling you and causing you to bump your head on the edge of the desk. Thankfully, his back is turned and he didn’t hear the small thud because you’d be beyond embarrassed.

“It was okay,” you reply as you regain your footing.

Yoongi turns in your direction when he hears your words become clearer, indicating you’re no longer digging around in the safe. He meets you halfway and you extend your hand with the stack of money resting between your fingers.

“This is all of it.”

Yoongi looks at the stack before he responds. Most of the time, it’s so hard to know what he’s thinking because his expression is always so stoic.

“Just okay?” he quizzes.

“Yeah, pretty much. It was busy so I was stuck in autopilot most of the day.”

He still hasn’t made a move to accept the money. You feel kind of awkward being so close to him as is, and his lack of response makes you feel even more anxious.

Finally, he speaks. “Do you even have this to give me?”

“Yeah, we’re good. Please, take it.”

You gesture for him to take the money, and he reaches for it, making you believe he’s going to grab it.

“It’s all here. If you want me to count it, I—”

“Don’t worry about it,” he insists.

“What do you mean?”

“Exactly what I said,” he shrugs.

“Yoongi, no. We haven’t paid in a month. My dad would already be mad at me for being behind.”

“Does he have to know?” The look Yoongi gives you reminds you of all the times he’s talked you into doing something wild. He’d always take the blame if you got caught, but the thrill always made getting grounded irrelevant to you. “Keep it. We’re good until he gets back, okay?”

“Yoongi, I can’t.”

“You can’t?”

“I won’t,” you declare confidently.

“So you’re arguing with me?”

Your eyes widen, realizing that he wasn’t giving you an option.

“I-I’m sorry. I was just—”

“Don’t worry about it, alright? Just keep doing what you’re doing. I only hear good things about this place,” he concludes.

“Okay, ok. Thanks, Yoongi.”

“Don’t mention it.”

As you’re returning the money to the safe, Yoongi brings something to your attention.

“I don’t see your car outside.”

“Ah, shit. It needed to be serviced. I was supposed to pick it up on my lunch, but I forgot.”

After visiting the bank this morning, you dropped your vehicle off at the dealership for maintenance, but the breakfast rush swarmed in as soon as you arrived at work. By the time you thought about picking it up, it was well after business hours.

“Um, do you mind—”

“Wanna ride?” Yoongi offers.

“Please.” Relieved, you exhale a needed sigh. “If it’s not an inconvenience.”

“Not at all, love.”

You quickly grab your purse and switch off the light in your office, ignoring that feeling you got from the little pet name.

Yoongi leads the way this time. As you’re following him through the restaurant, you’re sure to double check everything before you leave. Even Yoongi turns to ask you if you’ve secured everything.

“Good?”

“Yeah, everything’s turned off and we’re locked up tight.”

“Cool.”

Walking into the dining area, you give everything a quick once-over before following Yoongi to the exit. Everything looks tidy and neat how you like it so you step out into the cold night with your chauffeur.

He waits with you while you lock the front doors, looking around for any curious eyes. After you’ve finished turning the lock and key, you give the handle a tug to make sure it doesn’t open.

Growing up in this neighborhood will teach you a thing or two about being cautious and aware of your surroundings.

“It’s freezing tonight,” you comment.

Sometimes you like to make small talk with Yoongi, see where the conversation goes. Depending on the mood he’s in, he’ll either have one sentence responses or he’ll engage in light conversation.

You don’t mention the past much. It seems like pretending it never happened is easier for both of you. However, sometimes you have an impulse to bring up the subject, or at least try to mend what’s broken.

If that’s possible.

“Cold? This is perfect weather.”

You roll your eyes. He’s definitely fucking with you.

“Oh, whatever. You know it’s freezing out here.”

You don’t care how ridiculous you look speeding towards his car. You’re shivering and Yoongi takes forever to unlock the door.

You shuffle from foot to foot, wiggling to build up some body heat. You can hear the fabric of your jeans rubbing together due to the friction.

“You know it’s already unlocked, right?”

Oh.

You climb inside and relief washes over you. The heat is blowing warm and strong, making the leather seats even more comfortable. The seat warmers keep your butt cozy, and the vents are aiming towards your upper body. It’s perfect; you could fall asleep right here.

When Yoongi gets in the driver seat, your head lolls in his direction.

“Thank you.”

“For?” he asks.

“Your car feels like heaven right now.”

Yoongi scoffs softly.

“It isn’t always this warm. Trust me,” he replies.

“Well regardless, thanks. I appreciate it.”

“Not a problem, love.”

Fuck.

Yoongi’s engine revs as he pulls out of the parking lot. A thought comes into your mind as the vibrations travel up your body.

“Does it ever make your balls tingle?”

He coughs, clearing his throat while checking to see if he heard right.

“Uh, what?”

“The car,” you elaborate. “When you’re driving it…You don’t feel anything?”

Honestly, you’re just chatting to keep yourself from falling asleep. You don’t even expect him to answer as you stare out of the window, watching the SUVs fade in the distance.

“I guess I never really thought about it,” he responds.

You nod, vibing to the music. He’s turned the volume down since you’ve joined him, so you can actually hear each other speak.

“Hm. Sure does make your pussy tingle.”

You don’t think he heard that part. It was barely a whisper. If he did, he chose to ignore it.

“You alright?”

“Yup,” you answer. “Just ready to unwind.”

“Any plans tonight?”

You sit up in your seat, and turn to him.

“You bet.”

Yoongi laughs. “Oh, yeah?”

“I have a date with my bed, and I’m gonna let my blanket top me.”

“Gotcha. So you’re locked down, huh?”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“Well, it sure sounds like it. I never see you having any fun.”

You give him a look.

“Well, look who’s talking. Besides, you know I’m dealing with a lot right now.”

“Fair enough, but you’re still allowed to do something for yourself for a change. Some of us don’t have that privilege,” he replies.

“I think everyone has the privilege to do something for themselves. You just have to be selfish enough to go for it, I guess.”

“That is true.”

Yoongi then turns the music up a few notches. You already know what that means. He’s over conversation and wants to get lost in his thoughts.

As you cruise through the streets, people may look on the surface and think this is some young bachelor taking his car for a late night drive—maybe heading to one of the city’s hot spots.

But Yoongi is all work, and no play. If it’s not about moving product, it’s placed on the backburner.

You can relate, but tonight you’re switching it up. Self care is calling your name and you aren’t hanging up this time.

“What happened to the garden?”

You’re pulled from your thoughts by Yoongi’s voice.

As he pulls up to the curve in front of your childhood home, he can’t stop himself from teasing you about your dying plants. You really tried your best with them, but unfortunately, you weren’t gifted with nurturing hands.

“You’re not funny,” you mutter, acting ignorant.

You know you’ve destroyed your dad’s flower bed, but he doesn’t have to make fun of you.

“I’m just saying, shouldn't you cover them?”

“I forgot!”

“You always do,” he mumbles.

You giggle as you’re opening the door; finally having a carefree conversation with your old friend again feels nice. As soon as you step out into the elements again, the winter air nips at your cheeks and you know you’ll be trembling by the time you get to your doorstep.

“Well, thanks for the ride.”

Yoongi just nods and tells you that he’d do it anytime you needed him to.

As you stand outside of the car, you start to get that feeling in your gut. That urge you know you shouldn’t have, but the temptation is stronger than ever.

Yoongi tilts his head, wondering why you’re standing in the cold. You’re frozen, silently debating on what you should do.

Ultimately, you go for it, knowing the risk you’re taking without being prepared for the aftermath.

You’re even sure why you’re asking, or where you expect things to go. But tonight made you realize something. You miss having a best friend.

Your best friend.

“Hey, it's late. You wanna come inside?... If you don’t have any plans.”

Regret washes over you as soon as the words leave your mouth. You weren’t ready, neither was he. You curse yourself for rushing it. The silence goes on for ages, but you’re so numb, the cold doesn’t faze you.

Finally, he gives you an answer. “You know I can’t do that.”

Well, now you know you’re the only one still holding on. By can’t, he means he won’t.

Nodding, you lie and pretend that you understand where he’s coming from. “Yeah, I get it. Sorry about that.”

You were sure he’d be more open now that time has passed. However, you’re still stuck where you left off. He still won’t hear you out.

“There’s no need,” he assures.

Still, you feel guilty. Selfish.

Foolish.

“Well look, I'll see you around, yeah?” He checks his phone and tosses it on the passenger seat. "I have to go deal with something."

“Okay, thanks again for the ride. Stay safe.”

You try not to look disappointed, but it’s probably no good. You’re sure he hears it in your voice. Or maybe you sound more tired than anything. You are exhausted. Maybe it’s your restless mind that's causing you to get ahead of yourself and open old wounds. It’s best you go inside before you can dig yourself a bigger hole.

“You'll call me if you need me, right?”

If you need him…

You always need him. He’s your rock. Well, probably not anymore. How do you learn to forget someone who’s always been there for you?

You swallow the bitterness coating your tongue before you reply. You’ll get over it. You always do.

Just not right now.

“Yeah, I’ve tried that already. Goodnight, Yoongi.”

You shut his car door and retreat to the safety of your home. You’re unsure if he says it back or not. You walk away before he can respond.

Everything in your sight becomes blurry as your vision is blocked by a wave of pending tears. You urgently open your front door in case he’s following you.

A part of you wishes that he did.

But the longer you stand there, back pressed against your front door, secluded from the same world you’ve just finished servicing—you realize that the chances of that happening are too slim to hold onto.

Minutes go by, and you start calming down. You find your strength again, and you realize that your vulnerability made you panic. You got too comfortable, and that’s your fault.

Tonight will just be another solo night; nothing you aren’t used to.

You wipe your face and rid yourself of all the negative energy. Tomorrow you’ll be fine and the blow of rejection will start to fade away. Shaking your head, you clear your mind and start taking off your clothes.

You put it in your mind that you won’t hold this against Yoongi, and whenever he’s ready to talk—if ever—you’ll tell your side of the story if he wants to hear it.

Until then, you’ll just focus on you because he was right about one thing.

You should treat yourself; you deserve it.

“Get your sorry ass up.”

Yoongi stares at his hand as he walks away from the battered man lying on the ground. His knuckles are bruised and covered in the thief’s blood. The sight would bring shame to his father. He shouldn’t be out here behaving like a street thug when he’s got power moves to make.

But when he found out there was danger lurking so close to you, he had to deliver the message himself. He’s sure it was heard loud and clear.

Possibilities played through his mind with every blow that rained down on the guy. What if it was your father’s restaurant that had been hit up? What if you had been inside?

He’s furious, enraged; but mostly at himself for how he keeps letting you down. You wanted to forgive him tonight, put everything that happened behind you and maybe try again. But what did he do?

He ruined it.

He always figured that he would, but it’s what you needed to hear. He’s not a good guy or some bad boy you can turn good. Yoongi’s in this too deep to be pulled out. There’s no way he could ever look your father in the eye and tell him that he’s put your life in danger.

That’s why he refuses to address those feelings he has for you. He’d either end up breaking your heart, or getting you into a nasty situation.

If the wrong person were to know that he has a thing for you, you’d become a weapon for an opp to use against him. Yoongi’s respected by many, but there are some who want everything he has; you’d be added to the top of that list if they knew he’d died for you.

He can’t lose what his family’s worked hard for, but he can’t lose you either.

There’s only two options if that line’s ever crossed. Either you’re with him, and you’ll have to step into his world; or you’re not; and the streets deem you fair game.

The latter infuriates him. He’d kill anyone who would ever think of laying a finger on you. That’s why he has to make examples out of motherfuckers like the one behind him.

“You need to find you something safe to do, my friend.”

Yoongi turns around just as the man rises to his feet, staggering and weak from the beating he’s received. One of his arms cradles his torso while the other wipes blood from his lips. He’d receive pity from anyone without the context, but if they knew what he did to that seamstress—they’d be wondering why he’s still alive.

This is far less than what this scum deserves. His apologies fall on deaf ears. Yoongi’s men don’t give a shit about his apology, and neither does he.

“I’m so sorry. I…I didn’t know this was your block too. I was just—”

Yoongi pulls out his glock and fires a shot near the guy’s foot, barely missing him. He doesn’t recall asking him to speak.

“You better assume every block is mine, motherfucker. I own this fucking city. Have you forgotten?”

“I—”

Another shot nearly blows his head off because once again, Yoongi never asked him to talk.

“Who told you to open your mouth?...” he seethes. “Speak again and I won’t miss.”

The man nods, lifting his shaky hands as a surrender.

Yoongi’s jaw clenches as he contemplates his next move. A few minutes ago, he was set on ending him right in this spot, but after thinking about you he’s calmed down a lot.

That’s the only reason this man’s life will be spared. His mind is somewhere else now; all he can think about is his own mistakes. This guy’s learned his lesson; no need to waste anymore of his time here.

“Look, don’t ever put me in this situation again. Am I clear?”

“Yes, Sir. I won’t. I promise.”

Yoongi knocks the guy out cold with his gun. He looks over at the officer who was escorting the guy to jail and gives him a nod, giving him the clear to take him in.

“This was a citizen’s arrest,” he insists, handing the cop a wad of cash.

“You got that.”

He dismisses his men, and goes to have a cigarette while he thinks.

After the criminal is placed in the back of the squad car, the cop rejoins Yoongi as he sits on the hood of his vehicle, having a smoke before he goes on with his night.

“Never thought I’d see you get dirty, especially tonight.”

Yoongi scoffs. “Yeah, me either.”

Yoongi looks at his personal phone, looking to see if you’ve texted him, or called. He doesn’t know why he’s checking. He shouldn’t expect you to reach out after how he left you tonight. It’d be a miracle if you ever wanted to see him again.

“It’s not too late, you know.”

“The fuck are you talking about, Shark?”

Shark is one of his longtime friends. He comes from a long line of crooked cops.

He’s been present through the ups and downs of his friendship with you. Shark’s always been rooting on your side, always telling him to reach out when you left for college.

Yoongi has never taken his advice, though.

“I’m just saying. Maybe you should just call her,” he explains.

“Who?”

“You want me to say her name out here?”

Yoongi shakes his head. “Absolutely not.”

Both of them share a laugh at Yoongi’s reaction, but then silence falls over the night.

Now that the adrenaline is wearing off, Yoongi’s hands are beginning to throb with pain. He tries focusing on something other than that awful feeling, but he can only think about you.

Why couldn’t he just hear you out? That would have been fair. He’s regretting more and more as time goes by, wondering if the opportunity has slipped away.

He notices the way you look at him, the way you perk up when you see him. He knows there are a lot of unspoken words because honestly, he’s always had deeper feelings for you. It was way before you realized you like him as well. He bottled that shit up throughout high school, and when he had the chance to tell you how he felt, he fumbled.

You even gave him a second chance to come clean, and he still couldn’t get it together.

“Seriously, what happened tonight? I see it all over your face.”

Yoongi sighs. “I took her home, and she invited me inside.”

“And you said no? Dude, no way.”

Yoongi looks over and finds his friend’s face stuck in a grimace. He feels shame creeping up his neck, so he quickly shifts his focus somewhere else.

“What was I supposed to say? You know I can’t let anyone see me walking in her place,” he argues.

“You could have invited her to yours, explained things a bit more. I’m sure she’s capable of making decisions for herself.”

Yoongi’s at a crossroads, but every way he turns leaves him with doubt. It’s like he’s damn regardless.

“What if it doesn’t change her mind? What should I tell her dad, huh?” Yoongi rants. “He asked me to keep her safe, man.”

“And what do you think he meant by that?”

Shark looks at his watch and turns to Yoongi as he prepares to leave.

“Look, my shift ends soon, so I gotta go. But I think you know as well as I do that you have the old man’s blessings. Just stop overthinking it. You’ll screw yourself.”

With that, Shark walks to his vehicle, and puts it in drive.Before he pulls from underneath the overpass, he rolls his window down and yells out.

“It’ll be alright, brother. Trust me!”

When Shark leaves, he switches cars with his right hand, not wanting to double back to your part of town in the same ride. As he starts driving away from the secluded area, he thinks back on how tonight has gone so far. That’s when something you said hits him…and it hits him hard.

“You said you needed me,” he whispers.

All day you’ve been surrounded by people, loving each other; only to go home to an empty house. You just wanted some company, a distraction. You wanted a friend.

It’s then he realizes that he’s hurt your feelings more than a little. You weren’t hung up on a crush you had over five years ago. He’s so stupid. How did his brain not perceive what you said as an invitation to hang out?

Just like you used to.

Yoongi does a U-turn and heads straight for your house. He has no idea what you’ll say to him, or if you’ll speak to him at all. But he needs you to know one thing; he gets it now. And he won’t ever let you down again.

No matter how many times you watch it, the horror classic Thirteen Ghosts never gets old. Your dad laughs whenever you call it your comfort flick, but he’s also not a horror fan so he just wouldn’t understand.

That bath worked more magic than you could ever imagine. It’s super late, and you should be in bed, but you’ve been thinking about the bottle of wine you bought the other day since earlier.

You aren’t really a drinker, but the bottle was cute. You figured tonight would be the perfect chance to eat some snacks, watch a movie, and give it a try. But as soon as the glass touches your lips, your doorbell rings.

You’re not expecting anyone this late. When you don’t answer, they pound on the door, startling you. Wine spills all over your hands. Quickly, you use your shirt to dry them off before making a bigger mess. You drink what’s left in the glass in one gulp before checking your Ring camera, letting out a gasp when you discover who’s standing at your doorstep.

“Yoongi?” you whisper.

Placing your phone and empty glass on the coffee table, you go to see what he wants. If you’re honest, you’re a bit worried. Did someone break into the restaurant?

Your dad would be devastated.

Without a second thought, you open the door, and interrogate Yoongi before he can even open his mouth.

“Is everything okay? Did something happen to my dad’s—”

“Oh, fuck. No! No, that’s not why I’m here,” he interrupts.

You breathe a sigh of relief, clutching your chest as the panic slowly leaves your body. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“No, it’s okay. What’s up? Are you okay?”

Now that you’re not shaken with worry, you notice how disheveled he looks. His hair is messy; his expression seems anxious, his knuckles bruised.

“Were you fighting?” you quiz.

“Huh?” Yoongi looks confused but then suddenly seems to remember his injury. “Oh, this is nothing. I’m good. I just came to uhh… To see you.”

Your eyebrow raises curiously. “To see me?”

“Yeah,” he confirms.

“Okay, well… that’s nice of you, but I was planning on going to bed in a bit. I have to get up early.”

You aren’t sure why he’s acting weird. Is he in trouble? Surely, he’d tell you if he was. If so, why would he come here?

“Um, okay. Sorry,” he answers.

You tell him goodnight and attempt to shut the door, but Yoongi lodges his arm into the opening.

“What are you doing—”

“I’m listening.”

“What?”

You open the door once again, fully believing this man has lost his mind. It’s freezing out there, and he’s just standing there babbling.

“I said I’m listening,” he repeats. “Tell me.”

“Tell you what, Yoongi?”

You’ve never been more confused. First, he drops you off and hauls ass across town. Now he’s pacing at your doorstep, fumbling all over his words. Something’s going on.

“You wanted to talk, but I ghosted you, remember?”

Oh. So he remembers that.

“That’s water under the bridge. Just forget it,” you insist.

“So now I’m water under the bridge?”

“What?! No! That’s not what I said.”

“Well, explain,” he pleads. “Or just tell me it’s too late.”

“Yoongi…”

“I just wanna be friends again, but this haunts me. If you have feelings for me, I can’t—”

“I don’t,” you admit.

This is the first time Yoongi has stood completely still since he got here. He stares at you with wide eyes, not uttering a single word.

It took you a long time to understand your feelings for Yoongi. You had to experience a few unnecessary hook ups and break ups to realize you weren’t in love. You just wanted to fuck him like everyone else.

Who knows where things would have gone? But it would have been nice to let things happen naturally than to bottle up feelings.

You open the door again, and step to the side.

“Come in. It’s cold.”

This time he doesn’t reject your invitation.

Yoongi follows you into your living room, looking around and probably reminiscing over the past. Nothing’s really changed other than the furniture. However, the memories of the days you two used to run around while your mom scolded you for messing up the floors are still present.

You point to the couch and offer him a seat while you stand there gathering your words.

“You can sit here.”

“Thanks,” he replies.

Yoongi sits and does that thing he does with his hands when he’s nervous. His fingers intertwine and he just watches his thumbs chase each other in a loop. He used to do it all the time whenever he’d stay too late at your house and his dad would come looking for him.

Your parents always were able to calm Mr. Min down before he could reprimand Yoongi. It took him a while but he finally understood that you and his son were best friends, and your place was Yoongi’s second home.

There are so many evenings he’d miss basketball practice to hold you while you cried after your mom died. Yoongi never left your side. Even when you were unrightfully resentful and angry with him for still having his mom in his life; he understood every stage of your grief.

So no, he’s not just water under the bridge to you. He could never be. He may be wrong for shutting you out, but everyone has their breaking point.

“I wanted to tell you that I was in love with you. That I wanted you to go with me to college,” you confess.

Yoongi’s jaw nearly hits the floor. You can tell he’s shocked because he starts tripping over his words.

“I-I… I didn’t know that. I’m sorry. You—”

“...Was confused,” you add.

You can’t help but laugh at yourself and at the situation. All this time you’ve been scared to rip the bandaid off, and the wound’s already healed.

“I didn’t have anyone to talk with about dating and stuff; not from a young woman’s perspective, at least. I would watch rom-coms and thought I had butterflies whenever I saw you. Whole time…”

You fold your arms and lean against the wall, watching the television with a blank stare. Already, it feels like a weight is being lifted off your shoulders. So much tension has built up over time, so many unspoken words and unresolved feelings that it’s a relief to get it all out.

“...My pussy was throbbing.”

Yoongi picks his mouth up off the floor, and straightens in his seat. Once again, he’s caught off guard.

“Huh-What?”

You snort. “I was horny, curious… I just wanted you to bend me over and deflower me.”

“Deflower you? The fuck?”

Yoongi’s laughter erupts from his chest, lightening the vibes in the room. It’s nice to hear him laugh, like genuinely grin and reveal his cute smile. You didn’t realize how much you missed seeing the image until it’s presented to you at that moment.

“Well, it’s true!”

“I see you are still an over-sharer,” Yoongi chuckles.

“And you’re still stubborn.”

Both of you look at each, shaking your heads and sharing a fond smile. You can tell this has been weighing on him as much as it did you. He’s regretful of how he handled the situation, and you’re sorry for staying away so long.

You should have tried harder. Yoongi always did whenever it got tough.

Regardless, it’s in the past. It’s time to move on.

You walk across the room with your arms open, inviting your friend into an embrace.

“Seriously? No way,” he grimaces, trying to get up before you can close him in.

Unfortunately, he’s not fast enough.

“You know you want to. Come here.”

Wrapping your arms around Yoongi, you giggle when he acts like he’s all tense. He always pretends he doesn’t want to hug you at first, but then, he gives in.

“Fuck it,” he groans, pulling you closer.

You melt in his arm almost immediately. You don’t even care if you slide to the floor. All of your weight rests on him, but he still holds you up while complaining about you smothering him.

“I wish I could breathe,” he gripes.

“Fine…”

Yoongi expects you to back away; but instead, you climb on his lap.

“What are you doing?”

You shrug. “My bad. I thought we were cool.”

Maybe you did move a little too quickly, but it’s nothing you haven’t done hundreds of times. You’ve shared beds, seen each other naked… accidentally found each other’s Pornhub accounts. You were just acting on instinct.

You’re about to stand, but Yoongi stops you. “We are, but aren’t you mad at me?... From earlier?”

“A little, but…”

“But what?”

“Can’t friends kiss and make up?” you propose.

His hands rest on your bare thighs, fingers gently nudging at your big t-shirt. The room seems warmer now that there’s no distance between you. Or maybe it’s just the fires building in your belly that’s making you hot?

“Maybe…”

You trace his lips with your finger tips while looking in his eyes. You could spend the night like this if it were up to you. He’s beautiful; inside and out.

“Wanna try and find out?” he whispers.

You respond by softly connecting your lips, moaning instantly as your entire body begins to tingle.

Yoongi pulls you closer, holds you tighter, and encourages you to deepen the kiss you share by parting your lips with his tongue. You don’t deny him, and he invades your mouth—taking over and leaving you dizzy from the lack of oxygen.

Suddenly, he pulls away, and you’re quick to whine.

“I smell wine,” he comments. “Are you—”

“I had a sip, and the rest spilled all over my hands.”

You show him the stains on your hands and shirt, and he just stares in disbelief. “Only you.”

“Whatever,” you dismiss, trying to steal another kiss from his wet lips. “I need you.”

You drag your crotch across his lap, seeking friction. You’re shocked when he grabs your waist, thinking you’re overstepped once again.

“Hold on.”

Yoongi reaches under his shirt and grabs his gun from his waistband. He shoves it in the folds of your couch, and throws you a wink.

“We’ve kissed. Now let's make up.”

With a smile, you get up and grab his hand.

“Follow me…”

“Get on the bed,” he moans against your lips, pulling away to take off his shirt.

You begin to move, but a thought pops up in your mind.

Instead of climbing on the bed, you watch him remove his t-shirt and reveal his ink covered body. You bite your lip in awe at the masterpiece standing in front of you. He has no idea how hot he looks while simply undressing. You’re ready to pounce on him right now, but you pace yourself.

You have all night.

When Yoongi notices you’re still standing in the same spot, he tilts his head with a puzzled expression.

“Change your mind?” he quizzes.

You shake your head, and close the small space between you. Before he can say anything else, you drop to your knees. With skilled hands, you pull on his belt until it's free from the buckle. You flash Yoongi a smirk when you discover he’s watching you with those dark eyes.

As you pop open the button on his pants, your other hand flattens over his denim covered dick, noting the way it begs to be freed.

“I can’t wait,” you murmur, stroking it over his jeans.

Once you’re finally able to access his underwear, you reach inside and retrieve his thick, warm cock. You don’t care if you moaned before your lips even touched it. Shame is long gone, and you aren’t afraid to show Yoongi how long you’ve been waiting for this.

“I can tell,” he scoffs.

You let his smart remarks slide for the sake of your impatience, and move in to run the tip of your tongue up and down his slit. His precum oozes out and coats your taste buds, giving you a tiny sample of what he’ll taste like when he dumps his load on your tongue.

Yoongi hisses, probably reacting to sensitivity. You keep going, giving him a moment to ground himself before you give him the real deal.

While you tease him, you admire his girth. He’s heavy in your hand, but his dick is the perfect size to wrap your hand around it. It’s smooth, but textured and veiny��just like his hands.

No longer able to wait any longer, you part your lips and let your saliva cover the tip. You use your fingers and palm to lubricate the rest of his shaft so that it slides into your mouth with ease. Only when he’s dripping wet with spit do you take him in, and his reaction is golden.

“Ahh, fuck.”

If you could smile, you would right now. Knowing you have him on his tiptoes almost feels as good as the blunt head of his dick touching the back of your throat.

You can feel his muscles tenses up once your head begins to bob up and down, purposefully slurping loudly to create sinful noises.

“Fuck,” Yoongi curses.

His voice is rough as he pants through his words, attempting to keep his composure, but failing.

When Yoongi’s hand finds the back of your head, you look up to see what he’s doing. You keep going as you watch him whisper profanities into the air, running his ringed fingers through his dark strands.

He gathers your hair in his palm, making your scalp tingle and sting due to his strong grip. He starts controlling your movements, managing how much of him you take in at once. It’s not long before you’re choking and gagging on his cock.

Drops of your spit and tears fall to the floor. Your head starts to spin from the vigorous motions, but the feeling doesn’t prevent you from allowing Yoongi to fuck your throat until it’s raw.

Craving more, he thrusts into your mouth. The look on his face and the desperation of his movements lets you know he’s almost near his peak. However, once he realizes what’s happening, he swiftly pulls out, leaving you coughing due to the sudden intake of air.

“Look at me,” he commands after you catch your breath. “You’re fucking hot for that.”

“Thank you—”

Yoongi’s hand smacks the smirk off your face. You’re caught off guard, but that doesn’t stop your pussy from gushing at the change in his tone.

“But is that what I told you to do?”

You try to shake your head, but he’s still holding your hair.

“No, use your fucking mouth.”

When you try to speak, he shoves his fingers in your mouth, pushing them deep enough to gag you.

“You like using your mouth, don’t you?” he asks, but you know he isn’t looking for an answer. “So speak.”

“I do,” you croak around his digits.

“Now get the fuck on the bed like I told you to the first time.”

Yoongi snatches you up, and you scramble to the bed. You sit and wait for him to take off the rest of his clothes, trying to remain patient as you see he’s not in the mood for disobedience. You weren’t bothered the slightest by his lack of respect.

In fact, you crave more; and if you have to beg for it, you will.

“Second thoughts?” he asks randomly.

You notice that his wallet’s in his hand and after a few seconds he pulls out a condom. You get butterflies the moment he places a knee on the bed. For you, it’s not even happening fast enough.

“No way.”

“Good,” he winks. “Because I’m not gentle.”

“And I’m not glass.”

Yoongi growls when he hears that response, crawling over to you at lightning speed.

“Come here.”

He grabs your thigh and pulls you closer, pushing your legs apart so he can access your center. His fingers trace over your lace panties until he ultimately decides to rip them off of you.

You squeak in surprise when you hear the fabric tearing.

“Yoongi!”

“Shh,” he coos. “They’re ruined anyway.”

With a face burning with embarrassment, you turn away and stare at the wall while Yoongi puts the condom on. You can feel his eyes on you, observing the way he makes you fidget and squirm.

You get too comfortable lying there in your own thoughts. The sensation between your thighs catches you off guard.

“Ooh, shit Yoongi!”

Your body reacts the instant his dick rubs against your clit. You’re already worked up and ready to be filled, but Yoongi doesn’t want to skip the foreplay.

“Damn, it’s wet.”

He rubs the tip over your crevice, taunting you each time he passes your entrance. Just when you think he’ll slide in, he moves up to your throbbing clit and repeats.

“Please stop teasing,” you beg.

Yoongi laughs. “Why should I?”

“Because—”

You begin to whine and complain, but your words get stuck in your throat when Yoongi suddenly enters your pussy.

“Oh my god.”

Your wetness allows him to slide in easily, but your body wasn’t prepared to take him all at once.

You grip your sheets for support, but the initial shock of him moving so quickly takes almost a minute to subside.

Yoongi’s patient, giving your body time to adjust before he worries about pleasure. His thumb slowly massages your clit, getting you to relax under his touch. When your grip on the sheets finally loosen, he makes tiny strokes to test the waters.

“Good now?” he asks.

“Mhm.”

With your approval, he positions himself over you and fucks you a little deeper. Once he finds the perfect rhythm, he moves your right leg and places it on his shoulder.

You’re already moaning loudly, not caring who hears. You cry out everytime his dick digs into your cervix, exploring places you never knew could be reached.

You’ve begged guys to go deep, but they’ve always been scared to test their limits. Not Yoongi; he’s giving you everything he has, and even though you’re barely holding onto your sanity, you’d probably cry if he stopped.

“Take that damn shirt off,” he growls, gripping the giant t-shirt draped over your body.

You almost can’t figure out how to get it off, but by a miracle you manage. Now completely naked, you toss the clothing aside and start groping your tits while you lift your hips to meet his thrusts. You thought Yoongi would enjoy watching you, but he’s not impressed.

“Who told you to touch yourself?” he presses.

You don’t answer quickly enough for him. Honestly, you weren’t going to reply because your mind is so far away that his words just drift through your ears.

A hand around your throat snatches you back to real time. He’s pissed, biting his lip and trying not to spill his load before he’s ready.

“Answer me.”

This time you speak up immediately. “No one.”

“Hm. So you just do what you want?”

The sound of his deep voice mixed with the sound of your slapping skin and squelching juices turns you on beyond explanation. That familiar tension starts to build in the pit of your stomach, informing you of what’s soon to follow.

“I don’t like rules, Yoongi.”

“Oh, you will,” he promises.

Yoongi’s thrusts get stronger, making your body shift towards the top of the bed. He somehow keeps you in place using the hand he has wrapped around your neck, but you’re still being bounced around like a ragdoll.

“Since you don’t like it, I’ll finish up and leave.” His movements suddenly become faster, and it doesn’t take you long to figure out what he’s implying. “You can make yourself cum, right?”

“What?” you shriek. “No!”

His laughter resonates through your bedroom as he mocks your desperation. You try reaching between your legs, attempting to induce an orgasm yourself but he forbids.

“Uh-uh.”

He pushes your hand away and pins your wrist to the mattress, leaving you with no other resort.

“Yoongi, I wanna cum. Don’t be an asshole.”

“Better watch what comes out of your mouth then.”

You groan, realizing he’s too stubborn to give in. He’s not bluffing; he’d actually leave you stuck.

You can taste the pleasure on your tongue. You’re so close, but Yoongi’s thrusts are starting to become wild. If you don’t give him what he wants, you won’t get what you crave.

“Tell me now…” he grunts, lust oozing from his lips. He leans forward, pushing your leg to your chest as he tries to come closer. The coolness of his chains pressed against your feverish skin brings you a little relief, but it’s not nearly enough. “You sorry?”

Fuck.

“I am.”

He chuckles. “I know.”

Yoongi’s thumb then wipes the single tear rolling down your cheek. Your body’s restless and seeking some relief from all the tension building inside your core.

He finally slows down, pacing himself so he’s no longer ahead of you in the race to ecstasy. His finger gently tugs at your bottom lip, silently asking you to relax your jaw.

“You’re mine, right?”

You nod. “Yeah.”

“Good... Now open.”

Gauging your reaction, he smirks when you don’t oblige. You stick out your tongue, waiting for what you already expected.

Yoongi spits directly into your mouth, and you don’t even flinch. You look into his eyes as you close and swallow. He’s pleased when you reveal that nothing’s left when you open again.

“Good girl. Good fucking girl,” he moans, repositoning himself.

Whatever he says after that is lost between his swearing and muffled cries as he presses his lips against your leg. He slowly picks up his speed this time, allowing the heat to fill up inside of you before he drills you like before.

“Fuck, you feel so good.”

“You too, Yoongi.”

You’re desperate for more tension, but you’re afraid you’ll be punished if you chase it yourself.

“More, please.”

“More?”

“Please…”

“I got you,” he assures.

Without another word, his thumb finds your clit. His name rolls off your lips over and over, surely traveling far outside your bedroom. Your body tenses aside from your fist pounding the bed.

“Cumming!”

You can hardly breathe, air getting trapped in your lungs as his hips snap violently into yours. Your back arches as a wave of pleasure hits you like a ton of bricks. Your cries begin to fade away and all you can hear is your rapid heartbeat erupting through your ears.

Yoongi doesn’t let up, giving you his all until your body slowly falls back on you. He then pulls out and peels the condom off of his pulsing cock. As soon as it’s freed, he releases his hot seed onto your skin—painting your stomach and breasts white and sticky.

Both of you stay where you are, panting and struggling to catch your breaths.

You can see Yoongi through your heavy eyelids, slumped over and exhausted from everything he’s given in the past few minutes. His hair hangs over his eyes, but you know he’s just staring at your pussy, replaying everything that just happened in his mind.

“Yoongi?”

“Hm?” He snaps out of it at the sound of your voice, gently lowering your leg before he crawls toward you.

You feel like you’re melting when he kisses your lips. It's almost like a dream being this close to him again. Even after so long you remember the way he smells, the way he breathes… You remember everything like it was yesterday.

“You’re so perfect,” he whispers against your skin. lips make one final journey over your body, kissing every inch of you and not caring about the taste of his cum staining your flesh. He gives you endless compliments and praises, making you bury your face in your pillows. “I can’t forget to taste you.”

“Wait!” you gasp when he spreads your pussy and devours you.

Your sensitive clit throbs in his mouth as he slurps up all your juices. Your body is limp by the time he’s done, eyes nearly shut and your mind shut down for the rest of the night.

“Goodnight, sweetheart,” he mumbles into the darkness.

Whatever he says next is a mystery because your tiredness ultimately puts you into a deep slumber.

“I’m so fucking stupid.”

You groan as the sun pierces your eyes. Throughout the craziness of last night, you forgot to bring your phone to bed with you. Now, you’ll have to walk and—

Or you can ask Yoongi.

With that in mind, you roll over and unfortunately find an empty bed.

Of course, he left last night. He was probably out of the door as soon as you shut your eyes. You can only hope it’s because he has work to do and he’s not avoiding you after everything you talked about. You won’t even let your mind go there.

Instead, you get out of bed and stumble to the living room—finding your phone on the coffee table right where you left it. You’re still getting notifications as you pick it up; most from Kaci, one from another employee, but nothing from Yoongi.

Before you make your daily morning phone call to your dad, you text back that server regarding time off, and see what Kaci’s fussing about.

6:58am Kaci: BITCH YOU’RE STILL AT HOME!?

7:10am Kaci: you so got fucked last night. i want all the detail STAT heaux

You roll your eyes. She won’t be getting anything other than the usual shoulder shrug. Last thing you need is for her to make a scene every time Yoongi’s in the room.

7:23am You: omw. please cover for me.

7:23am Kaci: already am. get some ‘good morning’ dick sis

“I swear I wanna kill this girl sometimes,” you sigh.

Before you can leave the messaging app, your phone rings. The number isn’t saved so you answer it with caution.

“Hello?”

It’s Yoongi.

“Hey, what’s up?”

You hope he doesn’t hear the puff of air you let out as relief washes over you. You were sure you’d lost him again after the things you did and said to each other during the heat of the moment. Not like you didn’t mean everything you said, but you aren’t sure if he did.

“Nothing, just late for work. What’s up with you?”

“Not much right now. I might go home and catch some sleep,” he replies. “Your car’s outside, by the way.”

“Really?” You walk over to the window and open the blind, shocked when you see your car parked in front of your house. “How did you…”

“I told them I was taking it as collateral.”

“What?!”

Yoongi laughs. “I’m kidding.”

If he was standing next to you, you’d punch him. You don’t know how you fall for it every single time.

“I have my ways. Just um… do me a favor?” he asks.

“Yeah, anything.”

“I think my phone’s somewhere in your house. Can you check later?”

You look around to see if maybe you can spot it but it’s nowhere in plain view.

“I know you’re already late so…”

“Oh, yeah. For sure,” you respond. “If you want, you can stop by and look. The spare key is in the same spot it’s always been.”

“It’s cool. I’ll wait until you’re off work.”

“That works.”

Both of you stay silent, waiting on the other to speak. You realize you should be getting ready for work so you decide to end the call.

“Well, I have to get ready so… I’ll text this number later?”

Yoongi clears his throat before he answers. “Yeah, it’s a burner but I’ll get the message.”

“Kay. Bye then.”

“Hey,” he calls out before you can hang up.

“Yeah?”

“Still mine?”

A smile grows on your face, and you don’t try to stop it. You didn’t want to bring it up, but you were definitely still thinking about last night, wondering what it would mean today.

But you can’t let him have what he wants so easily, can you?

“Maybe,” you tease.

There’s a pause, but when Yoongi does speak his tone grows dark.

“You still haven’t learned, have you?”

You smirk. “I suppose I haven’t.”

“Well, then. I guess I’m coming over later.”

Shit.

If you didn’t think the restaurant would burn to the ground without your presence, you’d tell him to get his ass over here now. The mere thought of a repeat of last night has you clenching your thighs together.

No working late tonight. You’re sure it’ll be slow anyway.

“I guess you are.”

“I’m not being nice this time either,” he warns.

You bite your lip, trying to conceal your excitement, but you’re really bursting at the seams. You’re sure you’ll be anticipating his visit all day, letting your mind flood with scenarios. You decide to go ahead and taunt him some more, adding fuel to the already roaring fire.

“Good. Neither am I.”

He begins to speak but you end the call before he can get it out.

As you stand in your living room giggling, a wave of nostalgia hits you. You remember he’d do the same to you after you’d complain about something silly. You’d be pissed, so the thought of him tasting his own medicine puts you in the lead on your imaginary scoreboard.

You’ve probably done a lot more that got on his nerves in the past, but who’s counting? It’s your job to push each other’s buttons and make up.

Isn’t that what friends are for?

hope everyone enjoyed !!! let me know what you think !

#yoongi x reader #yoongi fanfic #yoongi smut #bts x reader #bts fanfic #bts smut #bts fics #yoongi fics #yoongi imagines #bts imagines #min yoongi smut #min yoongi fanfic #aaagustd.fics

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mingigoo · 3 months

Text

look after you || k.hj (m.)

🩺 pairing ⇢ nurse! (fem) reader x struggling musician! Hongjoong

🩺 synopsis ⇢ after a long night at work with little to no sleep, you nearly doze off on your way home, hitting a tattooed, spikey-haired guy in the middle of the road. Panicking, you run out to help him and go with him to the hospital, only to lie and say he was your husband so you could go back with him. Well, when he woke up, he didn't exactly take it the way you thought he would...

🩺 genre/au ⇢ enemies to lovers (kind of), some angst, smut, fluff, hospital au

🩺 warnings/tags ⇢ 18+ MINORS DNI, injury, car accident, hospital scenes, unprotected sex, undefined relationship, mention of possible suicide attempt, Hongjoong is a scruffy underground musician, trauma with touch, tattoo!joong, grumpy sunshine, cum shot, biting, teasing

🩺 word count ⇢ 10.3k

🩺 taglist ⇢ @atinywhore @jjhmk @yukine-smx @roe-sinning @meowmeowminnie @yeritheloml @y00nzin0 @yesv01 @halesandy @shegotboreddsoo @kangyeosangelic @gayliljoong @sanshineeeeee @kodzukein @baguette-atiny @seokwoosmole @nyeatinyjunkie @juliettechokilo @pockyddalgi @justaqueerbufoin @hwaightme @likexaxdaydream @ssaboala @gtr-skyline-lover @miriamxsworld @daegale @knucklesdeepmingi @naiify @yeoyeoland @arya9111 @mdibby @8tinytings @angelicyeo @wooyoungjpg @lonewolfjinji @asjkdk @charreddonuts @mangishii @yeoyeoland @pink-hwaberry @wooyoluvrr @maru-matt @pearltinyy @loveuwoo @m3chigo @northerngalxy @silverpixiedust23 @interweab @skz1-4-3 (if I missed you please lmk!! bold = can’t tag)

masterlist

A/N ⇢ this story is purely fictional! I am not nurse, and do not have unlimited knowledge on this topic. However, I am a healthcare worker, so I know a little, but not a lot. I am sorry for any information this is incorrect. This is meant for entertainment purposes only. This is not meant to take place in reality.

They never prepare you enough for the things you might see within the hospital walls.

Nothing is ever enough within those few years of education, the desperate attempt to create life savers. No one tells you how much it hurts to see a child suffer until death, a mother, a daughter.

You just wanted to be something. Do something. Be like the girl you dreamed of being as a child—a child who put bandaids on her mother, all over, decorating her like a painting. Sometimes, your mother would act like she was hurt, just for you to play make-belief, “stitching” up her “wounds.”

And here you were, in the hospital locker room, tears falling silently down your cheeks as you unclipped your hair, letting it fall just like the tears. You sniffed, hiding your face in the locker, although no one was around to see. It was embarrassing enough to yourself—you couldn't believe you were crying. You just…couldn't stop.

The day was rough—just too much. Too much death, too much sadness. This wasn't what you dreamed of. You never thought about how hard it would be to put a smile on your face to a patient, right after witnessing someone leave the world. To act, really. You should've taken up that career instead. You were pretty damn good at doing it—well, until you landed behind the curtain.

You haven't slept in ages. It's been constant insomnia on top of twelve-hour shifts, sometimes even longer, and once you are able to lay down, the only thing you hear is the sound of a patient crashing, the cries of family members. It had you questioning your profession. Your devotion. Your childhood.

As you made your drive home, for some reason, the lines on the road soothed you. Your eyes began to beg for sleep, rolling back ever so slightly as you continued. The gentle patter of rain graced the windshield, the red hue of the stoplight in front of you nearing.

You stopped at the light—pausing to look at the city around you. The city was bright, even at the dark hour of midnight. People were walking, carrying on, bar lights bright, apartments lit up in an array of colors. You took in a breath and closed your eyes.

And you closed them a little too long when a car horn sounded behind you.

You jumped, feeling apologetic for holding up the line, and continued forward. People passed you with impatience, but you didn't care. You kept going, crawling, really, till you felt sleep creep up once again, shutting your eyes. You drifted off, only for a short moment, and suddenly you awoke with haste—but not quick enough. In your headlights stood a man, walking across the street, and you didn't have enough time to move. You slowed as best you could, tires screeching, praying to anything, anyone, that this was your imagination.

As your car came to a screeching halt, you hit the man with a thump, causing him to crumble to the ground. You gasped, now wide awake, a scream caught in your throat.

You swallowed hard, hands shaking as you pulled over as best as you could and put your vehicle in park, looking around for any sign of someone.

No one, absolutely no one, but you and this man you just hit. Just a few blocks back, the city was bustling, bars were hopping, but now, it was like a wasteland. You stepped out of your car, gasping for air, and sprinted through the rain to get to the man.

He was lying still, his head bleeding, his back on the asphalt. His black clothing hid the damage he received from the hit, hiding his body, his black hair covering his face. The only thing you saw was the black ink of a tattoo on his hand as it grasped the road.

“Oh my god,” you breathed, kneeling down to him. You assessed him as best as you could, fighting an anxiety attack. “I am so sorry, oh my god.”

He groaned in response, his arm visibly broken. You hurriedly dialed the emergency line, panting, nearly in tears. You didn't even think about the consequences of this action—you were only worried about the man, the stranger, in front of you.

After nearly crying once more on the phone, the paramedics explained that they would arrive quickly. You hung up and looked over the stranger once more. “Are you alive?” you asked like a dumb ass, nearly face-palming. You were a nurse, goddammit. Act like one.

You leaned over him, as gently as possible, putting a finger under his nose, and you felt a soft breath hit it. You checked for an airway obstruction, but nothing. He was breathing fine. In pain, but breathing.

The man tried to move, to roll over sharply, but you quickly bellowed, “Wait, please, you could have a spinal injury,” you pleaded, and surprisingly he stopped. “Don't move.” You caught a glimpse of his face. A large cut near his eyebrow painted his skin crimson, but his eyes were beautiful. His lip was cut, too, and you felt immense pain just looking at him. God, what if he was homeless? He looked it. What if he didn't have insurance? Oh god—

You saw how much blood was coming from his head as he looked up at you. His eyes were hazy, like he wasn't really seeing. You hurriedly looked around for anything to stop his bleeding, and when you found nothing, you took your coat off, then your scrub top, and you quickly put your coat back on. You held your shirt to his head as gently as possible, applying pressure, praying that the paramedics would come soon—

Your anxious thoughts were interrupted by sirens. You let out a sigh of relief.

When the ambulance pulled up, two men came to you with a stretcher. You were barely alert enough to hear them say anything. You mumbled a few things, your hands shaking as they set down the gurney. You mumbled to have them put on a neck brace, chest tightening at how the man cried in pain. You let out an ugly cry with him, but no tears fell. They gently rested him on the stretcher, his head steady, but his arm—

“Are you crazy!” you hissed, standing up quickly. “His arm….he needs his arm stabilized!”

“I’m sorry, mam,” the one man condescendingly said, giving you a dull look. “We know how to do our job. We don't need your input.”

You huffed. Mam? Mam? That was insulting. “I’m a nurse, I also know what I’m talking about.”

They ignored you like everyone seemed to ignore you. They began to move away, but a small object caught their eye that lay right where the man was. You picked it up, finding it to be an empty wallet—you’d give it back later.

They rolled him towards the ambulance, and you followed, forgetting about your car, and everything in it, leaving the scene behind. The paramedics didn't seem to care that you went with them, so you sat in the vehicle, watching them treat the guy you hit. You wanted to throw up as they treated him, as you sat still, like a worthless piece of paper. A crumbled-up piece of paper. Yeah. Crumbled.

When you arrived at the hospital—a hospital that wasn't yours, you walked beside the homeless man, nearly reaching for his hand. However, your race with him was put to a stop as the emergency room staff stopped you as he headed into the wing.

“I’m sorry, only family members are allowed inside,” the woman softly muttered, her eyes genuine.

She reminded you of yourself.

What….what if this man was really homeless? What if he had no help, no insurance, no family? You had to do something. You’d feel horrible if you didn't do anything.

“I’m—I’m his wife!” you blurted out, louder than you intended.

The young lady gave you a heartfelt look and nodded towards the door. “Go ahead. There’s a waiting room inside. What’s your name? I’ll let them know you’re the guardian.”

You told her your name, sparing no second longer than needed, and you ran into the emergency room, sitting down in a hurry.

It was now a waiting game.

—

For what seemed like forever, a doctor came out into the waiting room, looking right at you.

“Miss y/n?” He asked.

“Yes?”

He cleared his throat. “….You are Kim Hongjoong’s guardian?”

You paused, almost forgetting your whole spiel at the entrance. You remembered the name from his ID in his wallet, and nodded sharply, standing up quickly. “Is he all right?”

“He sustained many injuries, but nothing too major. His arm is broken in three places, and that will limit his mobility quite a lot. We set his arm, but he might possibly need surgery.”

You nodded, relief washing over you. Good, minor injuries. Phew.

The doctor pondered for a long while as he stared at you. “The paramedics stated that you were the one to hit him with the car.”

You sighed. “Yeah, he came out of nowhere—”

“Why was he walking alone so late at night?”

You looked around the waiting room, seeing only one other soul in the corner seat, sleeping. You wondered about what to say, as your little white lie was becoming a web.

“I uh….he works late?”

“He was intoxicated at the time of the accident—”

“He works at a bar?” you tried not to sound like you were questioning that statement.

The doctor deadpanned and then sighed. “Listen, I’m sure there's stuff that’s none of my business. So I’m going to choose to ignore this,” he nodded toward the emergency wing. “But you’re welcome to go see him. He’s awake now.”

You wondered for a second whether you should go back there. If he was going to rip your head off for lying, for hitting him with your damn car.

You nodded, telling yourself to grow some damn balls. “Okay, I’ll see him.”

The doctor led you to a room at the very end of the hall, the lights dim. There, in front of you, was the man you hit. He was all bandaged up, a large one spanning around his forehead, covering some of the spikey black hair. His arm was wrapped in a cast and held up for circulation, and his eyes were wide open. Right on you.

“Your wife is here,” the doctor spoke nonchalantly as he entered with you. However, you were stationary at the door.

“Wife?” he scoffed, coughing a bit. He tried to sit up, but you put on your act, walking up to his bedside.

“Don't move,” you spoke sweetly, eyes pleading. The attractive man just furrowed a brow, his lips curling down in a grimace.

“We’re gonna keep you here for observation tonight, and see how you are doing in the morning to keep an eye on that arm of yours.” The doctor quickly did what he needed to do and left, leaving you alone with….your husband?

The pretty homeless guy spared no second in the questioning. “Who the fuck are you?”

Your eyes widened, looking down at him. He gazed up at you, his eyelashes fluttering as he blinked. A tattoo peaked out of his hospital gown, where it met the skin of his neck.

“Listen,” you sat down roughly on the seat next to the bed. He watched you emotionlessly. “I’m sorry—I didn't see you when you walked across the road. I take full responsibility,” you breathed, getting nervous under his gaze.

You were expecting him to scream at you. Well, at least to freak out in some way. It was more alarming that he sat still, completely still, his mouth set in a line.

You blinked.

“I don't care, it’s fine,” he sighed. He showed no emotion, nothing. Not even a twinkle of anger. It was the look in his eye that told you that maybe, just maybe, he ran in front of your car on purpose.

Your eyes widened at the man in front of you—at hongjoong in front of you. He looked distraught tired, brown eyes never leaving your face as you gazed at him. He raised his eyebrows slightly, tilting his head.

“You can leave now,” he huffed, eyes dropping to your open mouth before darting up back to your eyes. “I’m not sure why you're even here in the first place.”

It was your turn to scoff. You crossed your legs in irritation at his lack of care. “Well, maybe because I hit you with my damn car? Maybe I’m worried, maybe I feel horrible, maybe I wanted to see if you were going to be okay.”

Hongjoong just blankly stared. He didn't show any signs of pain, of anger, of anything, really.

“You don't have to worry,” he spoke eventually, turning away from your gaze to look forward. You watched the tattoo dance against his neck as he moved. “I’m fine. This is all fine.”

You didn't know what to say, how to feel. Your head was spinning, all the tiredness washed away. It pained you to see him so empty, so barren, even though he was a stranger. “I feel like I need to do something for you.”

He bit the bottom of his busted lip, as if forgetting. He made a face, the only expression he’s shone. “No need.”

“But I need to,” you leaned forward, closer to him. He turned to you, eyes void. “I’ll pay for your hospital bill, maybe treat you for a dinner, I don't know—”

“Don't,” he hissed. His eyes grew dark, the fire in them rising. You nearly shrunk back in response to his sudden change of attitude. “Listen, just forget about this, about me, all of it. I don't need your money, or your time, or—” he paused, his anger faltering as he looked at you. “Just…just carry on with your life. I’ll only affect it if I stay in it.”

You frowned, wondering what he meant by that. It didn't matter, though. Your guilt was all-consuming—and the fact that he most likely ended up in front of the car on purpose really was overbearing.

After a second of just…staring at one another, you sighed. “One meal.”

He didn't make a face. Didn't change his plain, empty expression. You looked at his starless eyes, his pale skin. You had the need to brighten him up, to heal him. That was your job, after all.

He opened his mouth to speak, but a nurse came in before he could say a word. You immediately straightened, putting on a smile, hoping he would keep up the act even though he had no reason to. You didn't want to be kicked out—not right now.

“How are we feeling, Hongjoong?” the young nurse asked, a smile on her bright face.

“Fine, I guess.” His response was toneless. The nurse still bubbled around, checking his vitals. You watched as he stiffened as the woman touched him.

She looked at you, arching a brow. “Oh? Are you the wife?” she let out a hum of appreciation, then turned her gaze to Hongjoong. “You’re lucky with this one. They said she freaked out when they didn't stabilize your arm and when they wouldn't let her inside the emergency wing! She must really love you to nearly fight someone to get back here.”

Hongjoong, for the little time you knew him, showed more emotion on his face than ever after hearing that. After hearing that someone—you, a stranger nonetheless—was distraught at his expense. His lips flattened in a line, his gaze faltering.

You grabbed his good hand, although bruises were painted across his knuckles. Old, yellowing bruises. You furrowed your brows, subconsciously rubbing a thumb softly over the colored skin. Hongjoong stiffened, eyes widening, at either your caring touch or the pain it could have been causing. Or both.

You felt your stomach tighten as you met eyes with him. The air was stuffy, his eyes were….practically begging for a reason for your attention, as if he’d never had it before.

“I’m lucky to have him,” you sighed, acting but feeling an intense pull to him. Just touching him, although you didn't even know him, felt like a second nature.

Maybe it was the regret, the disparity, of hitting him, of being the reason his life was almost nonexistent. Maybe this feeling was because of the responsibility you felt for doing this to him. It didn't matter if it was true; this tension you were feeling with the stranger was more powerful than what you felt with your ex, the one before that, and the one before.

His face was devout of color besides the bruises that scattered his skin. He looked drained, tired, alone. The nurse just smiled at you two, noticing your bloody scrubs and messy exterior. “You’re a nurse, too?”

You just nodded, lost in the feeling that strummed through your body.

Hongjoong’s hand twitched under your hold, his eyes still wide. Still on you.

“Well, Hongjoong,” the friendly nurse smiled. “Don't let her go, she’s a keeper.”

He tore his gaze from you to look at your hand on his. He swallowed hard, blinking. “Ah, yeah.”

Soon after the nurse left, your hand still rested on his. He sat silently, staring forward at the whiteboard with his name on it.

“I….” you struggled with your words, realizing you were still caressing his hand. “I’m sorry,” you said as you pulled your hand away. His head shot towards you.

After a few moments of silence, he said, “It’s okay.” His tone was soft, defeated.

You wiped your hands on your thighs, sweating buckets. “I, uh, I should go.”

He watched you stand up, but your back was turned, unable to see the wishful glance he offered you.

You stopped in the door frame, turning around to meet his eyes once more.

“It was nice to meet you, Hongjoong,” you smiled, watching the glimmer in his eye trying to sparkle. “I wish you well.”

Before you were able to leave the room, he called for you.

“Wait,” he breathed, voice raspy.

You froze.

He took a breath in, exhaling his words. “What’s your name?”

You turned around. “Y/n,” you spoke softly, your chest aching at the little half-smile peeking through his bruised lips.

“y/n,” he repeated, blinking slowly. He didn't say anything else. You didn't either. You smiled at him once more before turning on your heel and walking out of the room, despite the tear in your heart telling you to stay.

And on your way out, you paid his hospital bill in full, not a single regret in your mind about it.

—

After a few days, you continued your days like normal.

Well, as normal as they could be. Your mind wandered to the spikey haired guy at every sparing second, thinking of how his eyes pleaded something unreadable, how his hand twitched underneath yours.

You were at the hospital, reaching the end of your workday in the emergency room. After running in with a few scruffy-looking guys, they reminded you of a certain someone, and you just wanted to tear at your hair. You were certain your odd feelings were due to the fact that you hit him with your car, and nothing else. This will pass.

When the quietness of the night was about to still, a man ran into the emergency room door.

“My friend is hurt,” The man huffed in desperation. You turned to the commotion, seeing a thin, black-haired man holding up another—his friend. But that friend and his familiar spikey hair jolted something inside of you.

You jumped out of your seat behind the nurses’ station and ran to the men, meeting eyes with the taller one. He was just as beautiful as hongjoong was, but his eyes were frantic.

“Sir, what happened?” you questioned, reaching out to the man who was just who you thought. Hongjoong’s head rolled back, his eyes squinted in pain, his teeth barred. You carefully steadied him. “What’s hurting you?”

At your voice, Hongjoong opened his eyes wide, looking straight at you. “Y/n?” he grunted out, his breaths strained. He shut his eyes again, and you almost couldn't take the look he had on his face.

“His arm,” the other guy said to you as you called for help, struggling to hold Hongjoong up. “He got into a fight at the bar, some guy decided to mess with his broken arm and, well…..”

You felt a sense of rage fill your body. You wanted to ask Hongjoong why the hell he was at the bar only days after getting hit by a damn car, let alone getting into a fight.

A few other nurses gathered around, all helping to walk him over to a bed. The wing was empty at this time of night—only a few people around. Once again, Hongjoong looked extremely uncomfortable as the nurses touched him.

You held him gently as you set him down on the bed, feeling his fingers curl around your arm.

He held on to you with his good arm—the hand you held only days before. The other nurses fluttered around, setting things up, but Hongjoong just stared up at you.

“Hi,” is all he said, his fingertips etching into your skin.

Your chest tightened, forcing yourself to smile. “We must be fated or something,” you joked, hoping to brighten him up. “That or you just frequent hospitals often.”

He blinked up at you, his eyebrows knitted in pain. “Maybe I just wanted to see you again.” He coughed as he joked.

Your heart skipped a beat, the other nurses and the man that came with him side-eyeing you.

“If you wanted to see me again, there are better ways than this,” you huffed, looking around. “We have to get an X-ray, alright? We’ll give you something to ease your pain meanwhile.”

The air between you two was undeniable. He nodded, emotion sparkling in his eyes, unlike the days before. You wondered if you were the reason for it.

It was probably just the pain.

The other nurses wheeled him to the radiology room, leaving you alone with the man who brought him there.

“You’re the girl that hit him, aren't you?” His voice was soft, gentle. It held no anger.

You turned to him, seeing the caring exterior he showed. “I….yes.”

He tilted his head at you, blinking, as if figuring you out in a single glance. “He’s been looking all over for you. You…paid his bill. He doesn't like handouts.”

Your eyes widened. “Oh? I didn't think he ever wanted to see me again. You know, I hit him with my car—that isn't something to take lightly—”

“You paid his bill,” the man repeated, crossing his arms. “He feels indebted to you. Please just make sure he knows not to feel that way.” The man sighed, looking into your eyes. “Despite how he looks, he ruminates over things. He’s sensitive. He’s a mess right now.”

You sighed, too. “I…I paid his bill because I did this to him—”

“No,” he interrupted, eyes serious. “You didn't.”

You knitted your brows. “....What do you mean?”

The man gave you a deadpan stare, as if not wanting to spell it out. He let out a breath he seemed to be holding. “He….he jumped in front of your car on purpose, y/n,” he bit his bottom lip. “So no, you really didn't do it to him. He’s…he’s just been a mess lately—and now that you acted sweet, played a wife, held his hand or whatever, he’s even more of a mess.”

Before you could ask what he meant by that, Hongjoong was back, alert and upright, but the pain still rested on his face. His gaze met yours, and you felt your stomach swirl in a mess of emotions.

You couldn't look him in the eye as you took care of him.

—

Hongjoong was sleeping as your shift was about to end. Before you clocked out, you couldn't help but go to him, check his injury out, check his vitals. His friend—Seonghwa, you learned his name—left about an hour ago.

As if noticing your presence, his eyes slowly peeked open, slightly drugged and delirious from the pain medications.

“I didn't expect to see you here,” he mumbled out, blinking lazily.

“I didn't expect you, either,” you spoke, keeping your emotions in check.

Silence enveloped you as you checked his pulse ox.

“Why’d you do that?”

He turned his head to look at you. “Do what?”

You unclipped the pulse oximeter from his finger. “Why’d you get into that fight? You were really injured.” You wanted to ask the deeper question, the question as to why he stepped in front of your car, but you didn't want to overstep.

He shrugged, wincing. He didn't have an answer. He didn't owe you one, really.

“Just,” you breathed, moving over to the computer to open his chart. “Just don't do anything like this while you’re healing. You need surgery. You need rest.”

He bit his lip, probably stopping himself from saying something he shouldn't.

“Also,” you sighed, looking over at him. “Your friend told me you were looking for me?”

“Yeah, well,” he scoffed. “I really didn't mean to meet you here.”

You let out a chuckle. “Well, here we are.”

He nearly smiled at you, lips curling beautifully. He had a bit of dried blood on his lip, and knowing that you were supposed to be leaving, you still reached for a washcloth. You didn't need to do this—in fact, you were acting against every thought in your head as you leaned forward and brushed the cloth against his lip, watching them part.

His breath hitched as you neared, as you touched him, and once again, his hand twitched, begging to touch you.

Your hand lingered on his cheek for a moment too long, meeting his eyes. He stared at you, expression unreadable, lips parted.

“Thanks,” he muttered.

You took a second to study his face before you moved away from him. His eyes followed you as you put space between you and him, dark and beautiful.

You logged out of the portal on the computer. “We’ll move you to your own room before we prep you for surgery,” you said gently, heart aching as you met his gaze once more. “The doctor will tell you more.”

“Will you….be there for the surgery?” he showed no specific feelings as he asked the question.

“I am only part of the emergency department right now,” you shrugged. “I don't think so.”

He pondered for a second before nodding, settling himself back into the comfort of his hospital bed. “Okay,” he spoke softly.

You offered him a solemn look, causing him to stiffen.

“What?” he asked.

“What?” you repeated, confused.

He blinked. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?” you frowned.

“Like you feel sorry for me.” He looked pained, a deeper type of pain.

You thought about a response to that—you didn't necessarily feel sorry for him, you didn't pity him either. In fact, you just felt an immense feeling of wanting to see him happy, to see him without pain.

Which confused you incredibly, given that he was just a stranger.

“I don't feel sorry for you,” you clarified. “I just don't want you to be in pain.”

“You don't even know me,” he huffed, his expression contorting, and you figured that he didn't even know how he was feeling—what he was feeling. “Why would you even care if I’m hurting?”

You smiled at him. “Because you don't deserve the pain.”

He just stared at you, hazily, emotionally. There was a light in his eyes—a light that wasn't there the other day. “You don't know me well enough to know that.”

The air grew cold; you had nothing left to say. You wished he realized that he didn't have to suffer like this.

“Goodnight, Hongjoong,” you hummed, walking away, feeling his stare burn into your back.

—

The next day, you found yourself drawn to the bed Hongjoong was in yesterday. It was empty, with him now in a room of his own in another part of the hospital.

You typed away at your computer as your colleague, Yeosang, came up to you.

“Hey,” he leaned over the counter of the nurses’ station. “There's a guy asking for you.”

Yeosang, although very young, was a surgical resident in orthopedics. He was super smart, super sexy, super everything. You went to school together, spending lots of time in the library and everywhere else together.

“Who?” you mumbled without looking up.

“He’s a patient I’m prepping for an open reduction surgery, but he’s having a hard time letting anyone touch him. Says he only needs you or something.”

You looked up, hands freezing on your keyboard. Hongjoong. “He won't let anyone touch him?”

Yeosang sighed, propping his head up on his palm as he leaned on the counter. “We had to give him more pain medication, and it made him a bit….difficult. I suspect he has some sort of trauma.”

You frowned. “And why is he asking for me?”

Yeosang gave you a knowing look. “I don't know. He kept saying your name, saying he needed you.”

You tried to avoid the rush of blood to your cheeks. “I don't even know him.”

“Yeah, about that….” Yeosang looked a bit confused, a smile peeking through his lips. “He keeps calling you his wife.”

Oh, dear god. “How drugged is he?” you huffed, looking defeated.

Yeosang laughed. “I kept telling him that you weren't his wife, and he got super mad at me. He said only his wife can touch him. I really need him to stop this so I can get him into pre-op,” The surgeon sighed, giving you a pleading glance. “I’ll ask the attending if you can scrub in—”

“I’m an ER nurse,” you raised a brow. “I have other duties, Yeosang.”

“Y/n, please,” Yeosang pleaded, “ignore the rules or whatever. Can you just come and help me so we can get him into surgery?”

Your mind wandered to the fact that Hongjoong was having a hard time. Sure, he was delirious off of his meds and pain, but knowing that he was struggling with touch, a part of you crumbled.

So you followed Yeosang—after getting approved by the charge nurse, and went up to the third floor.

As you neared the room, you let Yeosang enter first.

“Mr. Kim, I have Nurse y/n here for you.”

There Hongjoong was, his eyes frantic, his breathing rushed. He was anxious, a mess. The nurses tried to ease him, and relax him, but he wasn't having it. That is, until he saw you in the doorway.

“y/n,” he breathed, as if he knew you forever. Everyone in the room let out a sigh of relief.

“Hi, Hongjoong,” you spoke softly, walking slowly near him. You sat in the chair next to his bed, scooting closer as the room emptied, Yeosang being the only other presence. “I heard you were asking for me.”

He blinked, his eyes lined with worry, with anxiety. For someone who looks so tough, he looks like a completely different person.

He didn't speak; he just looked at you, his eyebrows furrowed, his expression all over the place. You took a glance at Yeosang, who was observing you before you reached for Hongjoong's hand just like before.

The bruises were faded now, only old scars left on his skin. A tattoo trailed the skin of his arm. You went to rub his knuckles, but Hongjoong gripped your hand tightly.

You met his frantic gaze. No words were spoken. He just pleaded with his touch, his eyes. You knew he was scared.

“It's okay,” you hummed, fighting the urge to tuck his hair behind his ear. “It's a simple surgery. You will be just fine.”

He mumbled something, but you weren't able to catch it. Yeosang stood in the doorway with his arms crossed, the other nurses peering over his shoulder from the hall. Hongjoong’s gaze moved to the door, seeing everyone watching him.

And you realized that, more than being anxious, he was embarrassed, too.

You looked to Yeosang, giving him a desperate look, a silent cry for him to leave and to get those damn nosy bitches out, too. He complied, and they were alone once more.

“It’s alright,” you hummed, and this time, you did reach out to his face, gliding a gentle hand across his cheek. Without thinking, he leaned into your touch, craving it, longing for it, as if you were really his wife. “They’re gone now.”

His eyes were droopy, his lips downturned. He looked tough, someone with a rough exterior, but now, he was crumbling. He was alone. Alone to the point that he called for you, basically a stranger to him.

The moment could have lasted forever. His eyes bled into yours, yours into his, your hand on his cheek drawing circles into his skin. He took in a breath, and nodded.

“Will you let them take care of you?” you asked him gently.

He hesitated. You also did, as you realized that he leaned into your touch rather than avoiding it. That he felt comfortable with you—the one who hurt him. In his eyes, though, he didn't see it that way.

Your hand stilled on his cheek, his worried eyes lighting up a little. You didn't even realize that his good hand—the hand that you were holding just a minute before, was now resting on top of your hand that was on his cheek. He gripped it, his medical haze confusing him, confusing you.

You froze, your eyes wide. You allowed his fingers to interlock yours, having him hold your hand to his face as he shut his eyes. He was vulnerable. Human. Although he looked tough, looked troubled, he was just a person under all that trouble. Just a normal guy with normal feelings, normal fears.

And you were indebted to each other. You for hitting him, him for his gratefulness of your care.

“I’ll be there with you,” you murmured, knowing that Yeosang was still outside the room, close enough to hear, close enough to see. “I’ll be in the room while they’re operating.”

He nodded, his grip loosening slightly, but he still didn't release your hand.

“I’ll look after you,” you offered, and his eyes met yours once more.

He slowly let go of your hand, allowing you to move back. You looked at Yeosang through the window, giving him a curt nod for him to come back in.

Hongjoong let the other nurses touch him, but not without a grimace on his face. Yeosang’s words swirled around your mind; I suspect he has some sort of trauma.

Trauma. Trauma that didn't quite reach you—your touch. He allowed it, actually, he wanted it. You wondered what made him okay with yours. Why he needed you when you were the one to do this to him.

Eventually, Hongjoong entered the operating room, knocked out by anesthesia, but not without you holding his hand, making him childlike, making him….a normal human being.

—

After the surgery, Hongjoong sat in his bed even more dazed than before. Before the daze wore off, he kept calling you his wife, causing confusion to stir around the hospital.

As you left Hongjoong’s room to go back to the ER, Yeosang followed. “What’s this about?”

“I don't know what you mean.”

You walked faster.

“I mean, why does that guy keep calling you his wife?” Yeosang’s shoulder bumped into yours accidentally as you turned a corner. “And why are you the only one who can touch him? Why did you—”

You stopped suddenly. “Why did I what?”

Yeosang let out a breath. “Why did you….touch him like that? As far as I know, you….you aren't married.”

“I’m not married, you’re right,” you nodded, confused by why you touched him like that, too. Confused as to why he looked so relaxed with your touch rather than freaking out. “And…let’s just say we have met each other before. I did that to calm him down.”

You continued walking towards the elevator, Yeosang following still. “Okay, but you still didn't answer my question about why he keeps calling you his wife.” you pressed the down button and waited.

“Is that really any of your business?”

“Just a little—”

“Why?” you interrupted, turning towards him, arms crossed. “Why does it matter to you?”

You didn't mean to sound rude, you and Yeosang were good friends for a while. You've never dated, but you’ve flirted with each other occasionally. You never thought much of it other than being a little playful.

But the look on Yeosang’s face caused you to pause your racing thoughts. “Because I thought we…we had something going on?”

You blinked. “Do we?”

“I mean,” Yeo scoffed. “With the way you were looking at him, I don't think I have a chance.”

The elevator dinged, doors opening. You paused for a second before entering, Yeosang following.

It was quiet before the doors closed.

“I didn't think I looked at him any differently than anyone else,” you admitted honestly, causing Yeosang to look over at you.

He gave you a smile, although it didn't quite reach his eyes. “You feel something for him, huh?”

You frowned, leaning back against the wall. “I barely know him. I only…” you sighed. “I only met him twice.”

“But yet, you are the only one he allows to touch him,” Yeosang breathed as the elevator dinged on the first floor.

“That’s something to think about.”

—

Hongjoong was back to his normal self when you went to check on him in the evening; the anesthesia and meds had worn off. His arm was bandaged up and held in a sling, his eyes empty once more.

You hesitated on entering, but his stare moved to you.

For a second, you saw regret, and embarrassment, cross his face before melting back into a void stare.

You entered, but he didn't look at you. He avoided your gaze, too. Very unlike his earlier, medical high self.

You took his blood pressure, fingertips gently wrapping around his tattooed bicep as you put the cuff on. He didn't say anything, didn't even spare a passing glance. He just kept looking forward.

“119 over 79,” you mumbled out, letting loose of the cuff.

He nodded, coughing a bit. He didn't say anything, though.

“Dr. Kang told me that you’re cleared to be discharged,” you tried to start a conversation, but things just felt too awkward. You wrote down his vitals in his chart. “That’s good. Can I call anyone to pick you up? Maybe the guy that was here—”

“No,” he said quietly, looking down at his arm. “There is no one to call.”

“You need someone to help you. You just had surgery—”

“I have no one, y/n,” he hissed, finally looking at you. “Not like that’s any of your business, anyway.”

You didn't know what to say, so you just stared at him with confusion. He was putting his walls up.

“I just….don't want you to suffer alone,” you admitted.

“Why?” he let out a laugh, but it wasn't humorous. “I don't need your worry.”

“Okay,” you breathed, defeated. There was no point; he was just a stranger, just a man. Although, this feeling you had about him was overwhelming. And when you touched him, you wanted to hold him longer. Wanted him to feel better.

You left the room without a glance toward him and carried on the rest of your day as best you could.

—

Hongjoong was sitting on the bench outside the hospital entrance, head low, as if sleeping.

You knew you should keep walking. You shouldn't give him any attention, any time of day. But your chest ached as you got closer and closer, and as you reached him, you couldn't bear to walk past him.

“Why are you still here?” you asked him, keeping a good amount of distance away from him.

At your voice, he looked up quickly, as if waiting for you despite his nastiness earlier.

He took a second to respond. “I, uh, I’m just sitting here.”

You looked him over. His black hair was no longer styled spikey, it laid flat across his forehead softly. His tattoos were on full display in the black t-shirt he wore.

“You don't have anywhere to go,” you meant to ask it like a question, but it came out more like a declaration. He furrowed his brows at your words but didn't deny it.

“I’m fine, I’ll figure it out,” he sniffed, the cold air dancing around him. He didn't even have a coat.

Without thinking, you spoke quickly. “Come with me.”

He tilted his head. “Why?”

“Because,” you huffed, taking a step closer to him. “I owe you.”

“For what?” he spat out, probably not intending to sound rude.

You gave him an honest look, and his eyes softened. “Did you just forget that I hit you with my car? That I broke your arm?”

He just sat there, blinking slowly. “You don't owe me anything, y/n.”

You reached your hand out. His own hand twitched. “Come with me.”

After a long moment of just staring at your outstretched hand, he let his hand find yours, standing up at his full height. You got a good look at his face, his eyes, his lips. He was breathtakingly beautiful. So beautiful.

You held his hand as you walked to your car, feeling a flutter of emotion in the pit of your stomach.

When you got to the car, you helped him into the passenger seat, despite his aggravated digs at you. You leaned over him, buckling his seatbelt, feeling his hot breath against your cheek.

You paused, frozen, inches away from his lips.

He swallowed hard, eyes glancing down at your lips. He didn't make a move. You didn't, either.

You pulled away, forcing yourself to get out of his personal space to shut the door. You saw him tilt back his head and take a deep breath before you got to the driver's seat.

As you drove, you asked random questions like a goddamn idiot.

“So, uh,” you swallowed, looking over at him for a second. “What do you do for a living?”

What kind of damn question is that?

“I’m a musician,” he mumbled, looking out the window. “Kind of.”

“Ah,” you nodded, thinking of what to say next. Now you were thinking way too much into things. “What do you play?”

He looked down at his arm, sighing. “Well, I played the guitar, piano, some other things. I don't think I’ll be picking anything up for a while.”

“You will, eventually,” you tried to encourage him, but he just kept his gaze even out the window. You arrived at your apartment, pulled into the parking lot, and shut off the car. “We’re here.”

He nodded, watching you get out of the car. You opened his door, and with slight hesitation, you leaned over him again to unbuckle his seatbelt, but before you could, he stopped you with his good arm.

You paused, inches from his face, meeting his eyes.

“Thanks,” he muttered quietly. “I’m sorry for how I acted earlier.”

“You don't have to be sorry,” you whispered, feeling an immense pull to him, to his lips.

You ignored the urge and unbuckled the belt, but you didn't back away. Not like you could, anyway, with Hongjoong’s grip on your arm tightening.

The belt slowly slipped off of him.

He chewed on his bottom lip, his eyes dancing with emotion. “I was just… embarrassed. And drugged, and uh, well,” he paused, thinking. “Mostly embarrassed. I can't believe I freaked out over a little surgery. That’s so lame—”

“No, it's not,” you hummed softly, delicately. “It's a normal fear.”

He smiled. Actually smiled. From the little time you knew him, you haven't seen a genuine smile on his face. Or any sort of light, really.

“Thanks, uh,” he sniffed. “Thanks again. For looking after me.” his eyes fell to your lips. “You don't even know me, and you still…” he trailed off.

You realized that you were inhaling the air he was exhaling, that you were eye to eye, almost nose to nose. His breaths were shaky, labored, and tired.

“I would want someone to look after me in the same way,” You whispered. “That’s all.”

“That’s all?” he tilted his head upward, leaning against the headrest, warm, brown eyes on full display.

“Mhm,” you swallowed.

His eyes glimmered. He didn't have anything to say, and you didn't either. Realizing that you were shrinking the space ever so slowly, you took the opportunity to back away from the musician. He let go of your arm, but not without a little tug on it beforehand.

You cleared your throat as he got out of the car. You shut the door for him, and you walked together—slowly, till you reached your apartment door.

When you entered, hongjoong strayed back behind the door, not entering. You turned to face him, eyebrow raised.

“Come in,” you beckoned, and with one more second of hesitation, he followed you in, shutting the door behind him.

He surveyed the place, his eyes finding the piano that sat in the corner of the room. His eyes danced as if surprised to see it there.

The air was thick. The room was quiet. You tossed off your shoes with ease, noticing his struggle with his own, so you bent down the help him. He didn't pull away, didn't speak. He just let you take care of it—of him.

“I don't mean to be a bother,” he mumbled as you untied his shoe. “But I’d really like to shower.”

You glanced up at him. “Oh,” you nodded, taking off his shoe before standing up. “Sure. it’s the first door down the hall.”

He didn't make any move. He stood, a confused, shy look resting on his face.

And then you realized.

He had no clothes to change into. Nothing. He also only had one working arm, and one covered in material that couldn't get wet.

“I can help you,” you trailed off, trying not to read too much into his stare.

“If you comfortable with that.”

—

In the bathroom, Hongjoong stood anxiously as you waited for the water to warm up. It took a second, and most of the time, the hot water only lasted so long.

You figured a shower would be too difficult to help him with without seeing too much. You opted for a warm bath, filling the water up once it got hot enough. You made sure to add some suds to it, so he wasn't too uncomfortable.

When you turned around to face him, his eyes were cloudy, his lips in a line.

“Do you….not like baths?” you mumbled, scratching your head. “I probably should've asked you before I—”

“It’s not that.” His eyes met yours, switching his weight onto his other leg.

You didn't pry, knowing he was just probably embarrassed that he needed help for something as trivial as a bath.

Walking toward him, he backed up into the door. You nearly smirked but maintained your cool as you grabbed the plastic bag off the sink counter. “I just have to wrap your cast in this. It'll just be a second. You might want to take your shirt off before I….”

He blinked, eyes wide. “Huh?”

“I don't think you normally bathe in clothes,” you murmured slyly, tilting your head. “Unless you like that.”

He didn't move. His body was as stiff as a board, his throat bobbing as he swallowed.

“Just take your shirt off, dammit, or I’ll do it for you.”

You saw his expression change the minute the words left your mouth.

His good hand found the hem of his t-shirt, hesitating to take it off. You realized that he probably did need your help with taking it off, but with the look in his eye, you weren't sure what would happen if you got any closer to him.

But you moved closer, anyway, setting the plastic bag back onto the counter. His back was nearly up against the wooden door, his breath hitching as your fingertips gently pulled at the fabric.

“Why are you….so okay with this?” he breathed before you could pull the shirt up.

You met his gaze, his eyes unreadable. Almost as if he didn't know what he was feeling, either.

“I told you already,” you shrugged, smiling.

He blinked, his eyes red with emotion, begging to send a flood down his cheeks. “I don't deserve your help.”

“You do, though.” Ever so slowly, you began to pull his shirt, soft, carved abs appearing as you moved it up. “Because you know, you don't have to suffer alone.”

“Who said I was suffering?” he croaked out, his eyes, his tone, spilling his guts out on the floor for her to see.

You didn't say anything. You just slowly tugged the black t-shirt over his casted arm, watching him wince slightly. Then, he stood, half-naked, emotionally charged in front of you. He was no longer a stranger. No longer someone that you classified as a patient, either.

His eyes spoke volumes, his good hand twitching at his side. You looked at it, and took it in your own.

“Come on,” you nodded behind you. “I’ll help.”

He looked like he was ready to cry. Ready to break down. He didn't, though, and you walked him over to the bath. You unbuttoned his jeans, but turned around as he stepped out of them and into the tub.

The soap covered his lower body, all that was on display was his torso, his slim shoulders, the tattoos inked on his tanned skin. He didn't break away from your gaze as you began to wash him.

“I feel….something I shouldn't be feeling,” he swallowed, his voice raspy, tender, defeated.

“And what’s that?” you wondered before running your hands through his silky hair, coating the strands in your lavender shampoo.

He shut his eyes, sighing. “I don't know what it is, but what I do know is, for some reason, your touch is very calming when everyone else’s hurts me.”

You paused, hands still tangled in his locks, but he opened his eyes.

A confession of feelings—worth more than any other cliche words. He stared up at you, heart on his sleeve, confusion and fear and everything in between dancing around his eyes.

“For the first time,” he whispered, the only sounds in the room being your shaky breathing and the quiet trickle of water from the spigot. “I feel…comfortable being touched. I….need it.”

His lips parted, his hair dripping wet, your hands still frozen within the strands. You didn't know how to respond, didn't know exactly how you felt, either. But you also knew one thing, and it became ever so apparent as his hand slowly reached your cheek, wet fingertips leaving a trail of soap across your skin.

You blinked slowly.

Softly, gently, you moved forward, over the tub, and brushed your lips against his. His eyes remained open from shock, but his lips moved slowly along with yours.

You pulled away, but didn't go too far, resting your forehead against his. His breaths tickled your skin, sending a blush to your cheeks.

Emotions are complex. You didn't know exactly why you kissed him. Why you needed to. Why you wanted to do it again. But what you did know was that you liked how his touch felt, liked the little smile that appeared as you kissed him, liked how he gently pulled you back into another kiss.

You took in his breath as you kissed once more, this time a bit more urgent. Your hands gripped his soapy hair, his hand rested softly on your cheek, his thumb on the corner of your lips, his fingers tickling the lobe of your ear.

He kissed you like he knew you forever. Like he knew just how you liked it. You found your hand trailing down his tattooed neck, fingers dancing on the ink, his dewy skin, his tongue in your mouth.

You parted once more, so close, breaths tangling, fingers scrunching. His breath was hot against your face, his dark eyes pleading.

You’d so get on top of him in that damn tub. You wanted to, so bad. But you remembered that his arm was hurt, that you were the one that did it, and you nearly stood up to move away before he gripped you by the arm.

“Don't go,” he breathed hazily.

So you didn't. You washed him, this time, knowing that you were begging to end this bath and fuck him silly till the sunrise. Till the warm, glow of the burning star fluttered through your blinds. And with that damn look on his face, you knew he was thinking about it, too.

You helped him out of the bath, not turning around this time. He stood slowly, body on full display, even more tattoos, even more scars covering the skin you didn't get to see.

You sheepishly handed him a towel. He took it, but didn't use it to cover himself up.

“You’re not dating that damn doctor, are you?” he spoke, his tone serious, deep. Sensuous.

You breathed out, “No.”

He grinned, cheshire-like. “Good.”

You could tell he wanted to rip your clothes off. He wanted to claw at your skin like some goddamn animal, his expression pained in all of the right ways.

You needed air. God, this bathroom was stuffy.

Turning on your heel, you forced yourself to walk out of the damn room, because if you didn't, Hongjoong would become something far more stranger than, well, a stranger to you.

But he had other plans. More impulsive plans.

He followed you out of the bathroom and into your main living space. He gripped your hand, his fingertips gently pressing into your skin. When you turned to face him, he was dripping wet onto the lightwash wood floor, beads of water collecting on the ends of his hair. His eyes were wide, begging you for something, anything.

So you gave up on your act.

“Do you want to fuck me right now?” you wheezed, smiling as his eyes widened even more. “Is that what you want?”

You stepped closer to him at his silence, and arched your body against his bare torso, feeling the hardness of him press your thigh, his lips begging to meet yours once more.

You teased him, lifting your mouth to his, letting out a sigh. He shivered as your hands felt up his bare skin, and your hot breath tickled his face.

He nearly growled, his good arm wrapping around your waist swiftly, tugging your body towards him completely, holding you here as his mouth crashed to yours. His broken arm begged to touch you, too, and without thinking, he moved it quickly. He hissed in pain, his arm definitely hurting him, but he didn't care as much as you did. You tried to part from his lips, to ask him if he was okay, but he bit hard down on your lip to keep you from speaking.

You moaned while he stuck his tongue down your throat, his hand now tearing at your top, your waistband. You hurriedly tore off your clothes for him, giving him no second to stare at your body before tossing yourself onto him again. He grunted, moaning into your mouth, the vibrations tickling every part of you. He pushed you back, nearly tripping over the throw rug, the coffee table, until your back slammed into the keyboard of your piano.

The keys slammed as your ass hit them roughly, the musician making music without even intending to. His hips bucked into yours, your core right where he needed it, his dick pulsing, aching to be inside you. You lifted your hips, grinding them against his cock, gaining pleasure in his expression.

He nearly whined as you bit his ear lobe, his hips shifting into you, begging for you.

“Can I get inside you?” he moaned, eyes frantic. “I need you, fuck, I need it bad.”

In more ways than one, he needed you, but now, he needed your body. Needed your touch, your moans. You obliged, your body already wet enough for him to enter. You lined up, and without a second to waste, he slowly moved into you, causing you to toss your head back at the feeling. His eyes rolled back; a whine left his pretty pink lips, his chest heaved in pleasure.

His head dipped to suck your nipple, tongue gliding over the sensitive skin of your breast. You huffed, trying so hard to breathe. He let out moans that did something dangerous to your body, to your mind. You moaned along with him as his hips snapped.

“Oh, god,” he whimpered, his tone light, airy. Water dripped onto the soft skin of his chest from his hair. “You feel so good.”

You smiled, tearing your hands up his back as the piano cried along with you. The keys clicked, moaning from the weight above them. The music filled the room, tangled within your breaths, your sweat. You gripped the back of his head, lacing your fingers through his wet, dripping hair, feeling yourself get wetter and wetter by the minute.

Your walls caved into him, his cock pulsing inside you. He looked into your eyes for a long moment as he moved, his black hair stuck to his forehead, his mouth open in gratification. He kissed you, tongue dragging across your bottom lip, tugging on it. He liked to bite.

You felt euphoria reach you before you knew it, and you cried out, gripping his hair, pulling it as he fucked you. His face pained, his teeth barred, his eyes shut tight. Just his expression—his appearance—could've made you come on the spot.

You felt tingles in your fingers, and your toes, and saw stars in your vision. Black spots fluttered, your heart rate probably much higher than it should be. You didn't care if you died right here, right now. It didn't matter. Nope. This was bliss. So much better than that damn vibrator.

You felt like you were on fire—no, more like a falling, burning star crashing to earth. Your stomach ached at his pressure, your hips aching, your head pounding. You came onto him with haste as your vision blurred, tearing into his shoulder blades, leaving little marks on his skin. At your actions, you witnessed the look of utter satisfaction on the pretty boy’s face, his breaths quickening, shallowing. He let out a whine, just as musical as the keys underneath you.

Before he could come, he pulled out, cumming all over your breasts, your stomach. You sighed, closing your eyes, trying to catch your breath.

He stared at you, eyes low, lips swollen and red. So fuckable, so delicious.

He looked at how he painted you, smirking a bit to himself. He was so full of life, full of emotion. “Let me go grab that towel,” he breathed, his voice crackling a bit. You watched in enjoyment when he walked away from you, watching his ass, his legs, the tattoos move with him.

He returned with the towel, wiping you gently as if he hadn't just made you nearly black out. You gazed at him, not sure what you were feeling, how you were feeling. You could do it all night with him, with this guy who was a stranger only a couple of days before. It wasn't too often that you acted on your desires, but there was no possible way you were supposed to avoid this, avoid him.

When he was done, when you were clean, he set the towel down on the floor, but his eyes didn't leave you.

“What?” you hummed.

“Just,” he breathed, smiling. “That was really good.”

“I hope so,” you chuckled the feeling of the room lightening, almost in a playful way. “I hope this wasn't your goal all along—you really freaked me out when I hit you.”

He looked down as you jumped off the piano. “Uh, yeah. I bet I did.”

You moved to him, gently reaching to hold his cheeks for him to look at you. “I got you now, huh? No more running in front of cars, unless it's mine. I’ll be prepared next time.”

His eyes widened as if he was shocked by your words. That you knew he did it on purpose. He didn't deny it. He just leaned into your touch, eyes closing tight in comfort.

“Like I said,” you started, giving his lips a little peck. “I’ll look after you, if you’ll allow it.”

He took in a deep breath, opening his eyes, meeting your sincere gaze. His lips curved up. “I’ll look after you, too.”

You smiled along with him. You wrapped your arms around his waist tightly, embracing him, feeling even more intimate than sex. He let out a shaky breath, as if finally realizing he wasn't alone, didn't have to be. That he deserved a caring touch, a longing touch, a needy touch. That he could actually have something to himself.

You didn't know what you were to each other, and it really didn't matter. There was no need to label it so specifically. You could be his rock, his personal nurse, the person to stitch him up when he gets hurt. The one he could confide in, have sex with, whatever he needed. Whatever you needed.

So when he kissed the top of your head while you hugged him, you tightened your arms just a little, holding onto him as long as he’ll let you.

You’ll look after each other.

#ateez #ateez smut #ateez fanfic #ateez angst #ateez hongjoong #kim hongjoong #hongjoong fic #hongjoong x reader #hongjoong smut #hospital au #enemies to lovers

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