Betrayal [trope Mingi]

betrayal [trope — mingi]

inspired by: shut up flower boy band — kdrama + this post

pair: rockstar!mingi/afab!reader

word count: 4.5k

content: angst, smut, heartbreak, mingi looks like he could kill you but is the sweetest cinnamon roll, (can you believe mingi is the betrayer gasp), reference to past drug use, drinking, smoking, violence, mingi gets beat up, (seonghwa's kind of a dick... and lowkey like a disney villain whoops), safe sex, car sex, bedroom sex, hand kink, tattoo kink, consensual sex

author's note: i actually had a completely different idea in mind, but then @byuntrash101 posted this and i immediately had a much better idea for the series so thank you for the inspiration love 💕 also someone for the love of god tell me how to stop turning drabbles into novellas thx

trope masterlist

Mingi flung his head back and sighed loudly in the dressing room as he stood before the vanity. He felt your presence behind him and immediately spun around, his shaggy hair covering the sadness in his eyes. You took a hesitant step towards him before he lashed out.

“What are you doing here?” Mingi spat out.

You winced. Sure, Mingi looked like he could kill someone, but in the time you knew him, he was the sweetest fucking cinnamon roll.

“I c-came to support you and the boys,” you murmured— it was the truth. You just wanted to support the band you had come to love, but honestly, you also wanted to see Mingi because you missed him. You missed him so fucking much.

“I told you to never let me see you again, Y/N. What is so fucking hard to understand about that?” Mingi huffed and ran his fingers through his hair, messing it up further.

“But why?” your voice wavered, tears threatening to spill out of your eyes. Tears actually did spill out of your eyes when you cried, “Why are you doing this? Can you tell me what I did wrong? Please? You break up with me over a phone call and tell me you want nothing to do with me, but you never said why!”

Mingi flinched. He hated seeing you cry, and he desperately wanted to just hug you and dry your tears, but he couldn’t. He had to stay away from you, and he couldn’t figure out a way to keep you away without just telling you to stay away. He wasn’t one to cheat or to move on so easily— hell, he had been performing for years, and it took him years to find someone like you, someone who could make everything go away, someone he could actually fall in love with— so he couldn’t bring himself to lie to you. He just needed you to trust him and to just stay away.

“Just get out of my face. Don’t ever come near me again,” Mingi bit out.

He didn’t even brush past you on his way out. He completely avoided you. You fell to your knees and cried as the curtains to the room swished upon his departure.

Before he could even get two steps away from the dressing room, Mingi ran into the one person he did not want to run into.

“Dude, I did what you fucking asked, okay?” he held his hands up and took a step away from him. “I didn’t do shit.”

“I know. I just came to collect,” he responded. “We’ll be out of your hair.”

Mingi nodded and quickly got away before the conversation could persist. He left the venue and slammed the door on his way out. He wanted to just run away into the night, but it was pouring. Of course it was raining. He settled for leaning against the side of the establishment and fishing his carton of cigarettes and his favorite lighter out of his back pocket. He lit one up and took a deep drag before the pain in his heart started to subside.

“I thought I’d find you here,” Mingi heard the bassist’s voice behind him.

“Not now, Yeosang,” Mingi murmured.

“No, dude. Spit it out. One day, Y/N was the love of your life, and the next you’re screaming at her to leave you alone? Nothing’s adding up,” Yeosang pushed further.

“Yeah, we’ll only be able to help you if you tell us what’s going on,” the keyboardist, Yunho, added.

Mingi found himself boxed in by the members of his band and let out his twentieth deep sigh of the day. “Fine,” Mingi mumbled as he took another drag from his cigarette. “But after I tell you guys, I don’t want to hear another word of it. I don’t want to hear her name ever again, got it?”

The men nodded, allowing Mingi to finally reveal what had happened between the two of you.

“Hey, who was that preppy chick in the front row?” the red-headed drummer asked his fellow bandmates.

“Beats me, dude,” Yunho shrugged. “She definitely doesn’t belong here, though.”

“Yeah, she’s like super preppy and shit,” the guitarist giggled.

“Isn’t that your type though, Wooyoung?” the drummer pointed out.

“…Shut up, San,” Wooyoung grumbled.

“It is weird, though. I’ve seen her so many times at our concerts. Is she one of our groupies?” Yeosang asked.

“Are groupies even a thing anymore?” Mingi furrowed his eyebrows.

“She’s definitely not a drug dealer from the looks of her,” San mused out loud.

“Okay, that was one time, and she seemed excited to be considered a groupie. I wasn’t talking to her because she sold— and I’m not about that shit! I haven’t done any more since I met you guys!”

“Mingi! Chill, that’s not what he was talking about!” Yunho grabbed Mingi’s shoulder to calm him down before he could throw a tantrum. “Besides, you almost went to jail. We know you don’t do drugs, so you don’t gotta get all defensive on us.”

“Yeah, okay, fine,” Mingi reclaimed his shoulder and adjusted his sweater before plopping to the ground.

“Anyway, that preppy girl— how many shows has she been at now?”

“Eight,” Yeosang answered immediately, only for four pairs of eyes to shoot directly to him and widen. “Not that I’ve been counting! …I’m just observant guys.”

“”Observant”,” Wooyoung mocked.

Before Yeosang could get up to slap the giggling guitarist silly, there was a knock on the dressing room door. Mingi got up and answered the door to see one of the stage managers standing there, a look of irritation on their face.

“Yes?”

“I thought we said you weren’t allowed to give anyone backstage access,” the stage manager said with disgust.

“We didn’t though?”

“Uh, actually…” San interjected and slowly raised his hand, the other four bandmates immediately groaning and yelling at the boy.

“Come on, man— We just talked about this!”

“You seriously suck.”

“That email was literally sent for you, San!”

“Sorry, sorry! I’ll handle it!” San held his hands up and scurried out of the room.

“Someone go with him to make sure he isn’t going to do stupid shit,” Yunho sighed while rolling his eyes.

“On it,” Mingi grumbled.

Leaving the other three to apologize profusely to the stage manager, Mingi left in pursuit of San. He got into the lobby of the venue and saw San with his arm already around the waist of the girl he had invited back to the dressing room— that bastard. Mingi made a mad dash for them, only to turn the corner and nearly crash into you, the preppy girl that looked like she didn’t belong at a rock concert, the preppy girl that Wooyoung (and also maybe Yeosang) had a tiny crush on. Well, he nearly crashed into you, but that didn’t stop you from tripping over your own two feet and falling back on your butt.

“Oh shit, I’m so sorry,” Mingi apologized as he held out a hand to help you up.

“Can you—” you were about to tell the tall figure off, only to see his face and recognize him as the lead vocalist of your current favorite band: IT’S YOU(TH). “— sign my bra?”

You immediately clapped your hands over your mouth, your face burning red from sheer embarrassment. Mingi couldn’t help but laugh— so many girls had asked him to sign their bras in the past, but no one was ever shy about it, so your reaction to the words flying out of your mouth was honestly hysterical.

“I mean, I can if you want,” Mingi replied, a chuckle still lingering in his voice.

“R-really?” you squeaked.

One signed bra, eleven concerts, sixteen dates, and eighty-eight days later, Mingi was absolutely in love with you. Of course, he would never admit it first, but everyone in IT’S YOU(TH)— and honestly the whole damn world— could tell that the lead vocalist and guitarist of the young up-and-coming rock band was head-in-the-clouds, rose-tinted-glasses, cupid-shot-an-arrow-through-his-soul in love.

“Okay, Miss Astronomer, what am I looking at?” Mingi whispered to you, his lips dangerously near your ear.

IT’S YOU(TH) just finished their set for the night, and Mingi had promised you that he would be right by your side as soon as the concert ended. The two of you had driven way out of the city to the local rural area and laid in the wheat fields while staring up at the night sky. You had promised Mingi a night under the stars when he found out you spent four years of further education to study astronomy and physics, and you were finally delivering on that promise.

“So, that right there?” you whispered back as you started your astronomy lesson. “That’s you.”

“What?”

“That’s the Leo constellation,” you giggled— Mingi wasn’t really one for astrology.

“Oh, I get it,” Mingi responded with a half-hearted laugh, then genuinely asked, “But where is it?”

“Right there,” you responded as you traced the sky.

“Where?”

“Here,” you reached for Mingi’s hand and held it so that his pointer finger would be out. You then brought his hand to the sky and traced it for him with his hand. “Right… There…”

Mingi shifted ever so slightly closer to you the second you held his hand, and you felt his breath hit your neck as he rubbed his nose against your ear. You stifled a little moan mixed with a giggle and brought his hand down, his fingers lacing with yours as he did so.

“Can I… Tell you about my favorite star?” you asked him as you turned your head to face his.

“Tell me.”

You completely turned your body and scooted closer to him, his own body turning so he could face you properly. He let go of your hand so he could move his arm under your head to rest, and you snuggled into his soft chest. You placed your hand lightly on his chest and whispered, “This one. You’re my favorite star.”

“God, princess, you’re so cheesy,” Mingi rolled his eyes, but he had the biggest grin on his face.

“You’re also the brightest star, the prettiest star, the sexiest star,” you continued.

“I’m sexy, you say,” Mingi’s baritone voice dropped further, sending tingles of excitement down your spine.

“Of course you’re sexy. Your messy, dark hair, your smokey eyeshadow, your dark eyeliner,” you started listing, your fingers running through his hair then tiptoeing down his face. “Your beautifully angled nose, your… Soft… Lips…”

Your eyes lingered on his lips— eighty-eight days, and he had yet to kiss you. Well, he had kissed you, but he gave you those fleeting kisses, the kisses so quick that if you blinked, you’d miss them. Or, he’d kiss you “properly”, but those were usually on your forehead or cheek or shoulder— basically everywhere but your lips.

So, when he held your chin with a soft yet somehow still firm grip and tilted your chin up, your entire body flushed with warmth, with anticipation. Then, when his lips pressed against yours, you felt like you were soaring. You always imagined his lips were going to be soft since you spent so much of your time staring at them when he was on stage singing his heart out, and they were so much softer than you could imagine.

One kiss, then he leaned back, his eyes slightly darting back and forth as he observed your facial expression. Your rosy cheeks and small smile, your eyes turning into half crescents and sparkling brilliantly— God, Mingi loved all of it. So he kissed you again, a little more drive and passion behind the second one, and the intensity of his kisses only increased the more he kissed you.

You clung to him as his hand cupped your face, his long fingers brushing the nape of your neck and making you even more flustered. Your breaths and sighs mixed with his as your gentle string of kisses got heavier and hotter.

“What else?” Mingi asked in between kisses breathlessly. “What else do you find sexy?”

“Your neck tattoos.” Kiss. “Your hand tattoos.” Kiss. “Your nails.” Kiss. “Your rings.” Kiss. “Your style.” Kiss. “Your voice.” Kiss. “You.”

“Fuck, you’re so perfect, princess,” Mingi groaned, sending shivers down your spine.

Mingi forcefully disconnected himself from you, making you whimper and nearly whine. He stood up quickly, and before you could even begin to pick yourself up, he scooped you off the ground and carried you to his car. Unlocking it, he laid you down in the back seat and got in with you, his lips mashing into yours the second the car door closed.

His body rolled into yours as his hands roamed your body, your own restless hands tugging at his clothes, begging him to take them off. The sounds of your feverish lip locks with Mingi overpowered the rustling of your clothes and the clinks of his belt as they hit the ground one by one, leaving you completely naked and Mingi in just his underwear. You didn’t know when he managed to, but Mingi grabbed the condom he had stashed in his wallet and tucked it into the waistband of his underwear.

You wanted to ask why he was waiting to, for lack of better words, give it to you, but all of the thoughts and questions in your head disappeared in a heartbeat when Mingi traced two light fingers along your folds. A sigh of pleasure rippled out of your lungs when you felt his fingers slide through your slick and curl within you, the tips of his fingers digging softly into your walls. You could feel his rings press against your folds— they had yet to enter you. But, when he pulled his fingers out then shoved them right back in, he went further, his rings pushing past and into your cunt.

“Oh shit! Mingi!” you moaned loudly as he fingered you consistently and roughly. “Fuck, it feels so good!”

“Just keep moaning prettily like that for me, princess,” Mingi rasped as he added a third finger to the mix, his other hand beginning to massage your breast.

Your nails left red marks on his shoulders as you clung to him, your fingers and toes curling with every stroke. You bit your lower lip every so often so keep your moans to a minimum, but all hope was lost when his thumb started circling your clit, one circle for every stroke, and it definitely didn’t help when he started spreading his fingers inside you and pinched and tugged your nipple. You raked your fingers through Mingi’s hair and pulled him closer to you as you felt your orgasm wash over you, your loud moan sounding through the car.

“Princess, did you cum?” Mingi asked, although he didn’t need to know because he could feel your walls convulsing around his fingers.

You let out a little noise and nodded weakly, tears pooling in the corners of your eyes. Mingi caressed your face and wiped the tears away quickly before kissing you softly.

“Mingi,” you whimpered in between kisses. “I want you in me.”

You thought was going to laugh at the desperation in your voice, but he did anything but. He sat up and stroked your thigh gently as he said, “I’m going to need you to relax, okay?”

Mingi shed his boxers to reveal his massive cock. He just told you to relax, yet you couldn’t help but tense up when you saw what he was working with because he was fucking huge. It only made you even more fearful when you saw the letters XXL on his condom packet.

“Princess, just relax, okay?” Mingi instructed again softly.

He leaned down again and distracted you with his soft lips. His large hands went under your thighs and pushed your legs up, the length of his cock rubbing against your clit before pushing in slowly. You did your best to focus on kissing Mingi and tighten your hold on him to get yourself to loosen up to the best of your ability, but that didn’t stop you from feeling his like cock was going to tear you a new one.

Mingi kept his lips on yours as he moved slowly and calmly, his dick not completely leaving your body nor going all the way inside. He was just warming you up, but you felt like you were about to combust into flames with the way he was making you feel. You moaned and cried into his kisses while he grunted, his own restraint starting to weaken— he didn’t want to hurt you, at least not the first time the two of you had sex together.

The car bounced and shook when Mingi’s last string of self-control snapped. His cock filled you up and went so far deep inside you that you thought he was going to bruise your cervix. The sound of your sloppy kisses and heavy breaths and the raunchy squelches of his cock moving in and out of your soaking cunt harmonized, the sounds nearly escaping the confines of the car. What did escape, though, was your crying moan when Mingi rubbed against your G-spot and hit your cervix at the same time. The two of you came together, Mingi’s low groan ringing in your ears.

You were practically knocked out when Mingi pulled out of you, your weak and trembling hands struggling to push your sweaty hair away from your forehead. Mingi watched with slight amusement as you slowly started to regain your sanity.

“You look so pretty right now, princess,” Mingi said softly, nearly cooing. “I just want to see you disheveled like this under me all the time.”

“Tell me when and where, and I’m there, rockstar.”

After 100 days of being together, the problem started to arise.

“Hey, pretty princess,” Mingi greeted you as he walked into the coffee shop for your coffee date.

“Hey there, rockstar,” you greeted right back.

Mingi leaned down and kissed your lips quickly before taking the seat in front of you. He reached for your hands and held them, your hands fitting perfectly in his.

“Did you order yet?” he asked.

“Yeah, for both of us.”

Right on cue, one of the baristas announced your drinks were ready. Mingi got up and quickly returned with the drinks in hand. He set both the drinks down, your eager hands immediately picking up your iced one.

You only got to take one sip of your drink when your phone started ringing. You looked at the caller id and immediately declined the call before setting your phone face down on the table, Mingi warily watching all of your actions.

“Who was that?”

“Spam,” you replied with a frown— you hated lying to him, but to be fair, the caller was spamming you, and you had no intention of ever picking up the calls.

“Ugh, hate that,” Mingi grimaced.

“Tell me about it.”

The phone calls persisted. Every time the two of you went on a date or hung out or did anything together, you would get the “spam” calls. Mingi didn’t think much of it at first because spam calls usually were very annoying, but he started to worry when you phone would ring two, three, even four times in a row no matter how many times you declined the call.

“Hnngh— Harder! Fuck— Faster!” you shrilled as Mingi fucked you from behind. “Ugh, Mingi, so good!”

Your face was nearly smashed into your mattress as Mingi ruthlessly stuffed his large cock in your tight hole. He grunted loudly and affirmatively as he gripped your ass harder, his rings digging into your skin, your skin getting redder with his occasional slap.

Mingi was the first to notice. Your phone was on the nightstand, and it was ringing. He slowed his pace so he could reach over and grab it to decline the call on your behalf. He tossed your phone onto the bed near your hand and upped his tempo while pulling your ass higher into the sky.

And yet, your phone rang again. You quickly declined it before Mingi could notice, but he did. It was when it rang for the third time that Mingi had enough.

“Princess,” he grunted. “Gimme your phone.”

“W-why?”

“Just gimme.”

You unlocked your phone and pushed it backwards towards him— you trusted Mingi, so you had no problem doing as he asked. And Mingi didn’t abuse that trust. He simply opened the call log and saw the sea of red missed or declined calls, all of them from the same, unsaved number. He blocked the number and locked your phone before setting it back on the nightstand where it originally was, then he continued to fuck your brains out.

Mingi wanted it to be done then and there, which technically it was because you blocked the number, but that didn’t stop a bad feeling from manifesting within him.

“Yo, Mingi, you gonna meet us at the restaurant?” Yunho asked the singer.

“Yeah, I’m gonna call Y/N first—”

“You mean your pretty princess?” San teased— your name on Mingi’s phone was “pretty princess”, and the guys teased him all the time for it.

“Your pretty preppy princess?” Wooyoung piled on.

“Yes, my pretty princess. Go choke on some soju,” Mingi frowned and shooed the boys away.

The four other members of IT’S YOU(TH) skipped cheerfully away, leaving Mingi alone by his car. He started calling you only for someone to grab his phone.

“IT’S YOU(TH), huh? Cute.”

Mingi whipped around, his jaw tensing as he got ready to beat the shit out of whoever stole his phone from him.

“What’s your fucking problem, dude? Give my phone back, or I’ll beat the shit out of you,” Mingi warned aggressively.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” the same voice said.

Stepping closer to him, a man with a flowery charm but deadly eyes appeared before Mingi. He dangled his phone as he stood before him, riling Mingi up further. He tightened his fist and prepared to swing, only for two pairs of arms to restrain him. The two people behind him brought Mingi down to his knees and kept him there, one man kneeling on his back while the other had a fistful of Mingi’s hair tight in his grasp.

“What the fuck do you want?” Mingi asked, his anger intensifying. “If it’s money, I’ll give you however much you want.”

“I don’t need your money, guitar boy. I want Y/N.”

“What?”

The man crouched in front of Mingi and held his phone up, the lock screen of you and Mingi shining brightly. He pointed at you and said, “I want Y/N back.”

“Oh, you’re a crazy ex-boyfriend,” Mingi couldn’t help but scoff. “Listen, she’s not one for me to give back. She likes me, so she’s dating me. She doesn’t like you, so she’s not dating you. It’s her choice, dude.”

Without a warning, the guy punched Mingi in the face. Mingi’s cheek immediately started bleeding, his eye throbbing with pain. Before he could recover from the shock of the punch, the man sent a mean hook into his jaw, Mingi’s head flying to the side. The guy behind him held his head back up, forcing Mingi to make eye contact with the asshole that just punched him.

“She didn’t break up with me because she stopped liking me, you asshole. She broke up with me because of you.”

Mingi didn’t bother responding— villains usually always revealed everything without being prompted.

“Ever since she went and saw your cute little band, she told me she “fell in love with you” and that she would literally “do anything” for you. Someone like you with your fucking pretty boy make up and your painted nails and your criminal face tattoo,” the man sneered in Mingi’s face. “Someone like you of all fucking people.”

“Seonghwa,” one of the men behind Mingi uttered. “Get to the point.”

“Shut the fuck up, Hongjoong,” the man, who Mingi could now identify as Seonghwa, snapped. Turning back to Mingi, Seonghwa continued, “She was still dating me the day you signed her fucking bra. And then the concert after that, you fucking asked her out, and she said yes and dropped me in a heartbeat.”

“How is that my fault?! I asked her out, but she could’ve said no!” Mingi argued.

“It’s you and your fucking band’s fault for even existing, you asshole!”

Seonghwa grabbed the collar of Mingi’s shirt and pulled him up, the two other men behind Mingi still holding onto him.

“Hongjoong, Jongho, let go. I want to beat this guy up,” Seonghwa hissed.

“Seonghwa, calm down—”

“Fucking drop his ass!”

Hongjoong and Jongho let go of Mingi, and Seonghwa immediately swung before Mingi could stop him. Mingi fell to the ground, allowing Seonghwa to start kicking the shit out of him. He couldn’t even get away from Seonghwa, but thankfully, his two friends held him back.

“Do you really think Y/N is going to want to be with you if you do shit like this?”

“Don’t give her a reason to hate you, dude.”

“Ugh, fine!” Seonghwa admitted defeat before shaking his friends off. “But you, Song Mingi, you better break up with her or else.”

“Or else what? You’ll kill me?” Mingi scoffed.

“No. I’ll destroy the rest of your band.”

The color in Mingi’s face drained. He could handle someone threatening him, but the thought of anyone from IT’S YOU(TH) getting hurt because of him or disbanding because of him was terrifying to him.

“Y-you… You wouldn’t.”

“I can, and I will. Break up with Y/N, and you and your band can sing your silly songs for the rest of time. Stay with her, and I’ll drive everyone in your life away from you.” Seonghwa tossed Mingi’s phone back to him. He crouched in front of him and added, “You have ’til the next concert.”

With that, Seonghwa and his friends left Mingi next to his car bleeding, afraid, and alone.

“That’s why your eye was black?” Yeosang asked with shock.

“Yes.”

“Mingi… I’m so sorry,” San sounded like he was about to cry.

“Yeah, you shouldn’t have to choose like that. Her ex-boyfriend is a complete psychopath!” Wooyoung added just as emotionally.

The three boys smothered Mingi with hugs while Yunho stood a little bit away, a frown plastered to his face.

“Alright, but now you all will drop it, right?” Mingi grunted as he tried to escape the group hug.

The boys nodded and verbally agreed. They started to head back inside, but Mingi stayed outside to burn through another cigarette. Yunho stayed with him.

“Don’t say anything, man. I know you,” Mingi sighed as he fished out his carton of cigarettes again.

Yunho didn’t say anything. Instead, he gave Mingi a silent hug, his hand petting the back of the singer’s head. Tears welled up in Mingi’s eyes. He dropped his face into Yunho’s shoulder and hugged the keyboardist back as he silently sobbed about his broken heart.

trope masterlist

trope taglist: @eyeryis @sinnarols @k-hotchoisan @aaasia111 @sunshineangel-reads @hwallazia @dazzlingstarrs @hyukssunflower

network: @cromernet

apply for the taglist here!

ATEEZ as EXES

who can’t leave each other alone

pairing: ex!ateez x gn!reader

warnings: strong language, sexual innuendos, mentions of porn (but nothing serious), both ateez & reader are insane and obsessed with one another, possibly toxic to some viewers

note: omg it’s been nine months o_0 i sincerely apologize

bf texts w/ jongho pt 3

warnings - a single kms joke, mentions of giving head

miscommunication [trope — yeosang]

inspired by: friends — sitcom

word count: 2.1k

content: angst, smut, miscommunication, bedroom sex, (unintentional) infidelity, unprotected sex (pls remember to wrap up irl!), completely consensual (sex)!

trope masterlist

You were waiting for Yeosang at the restaurant. You both agreed on the time and the place earlier in the week, and yet, he was still late. He was always late. The only time you ever saw him on time was the very first date you went on with him, and he was early for that because he was nervous. Now? Now he was late.

If it was only by ten or fifteen minutes, you would’ve been okay with it. However, it was never just ten or fifteen minutes. It was hours. Once, he kept you waiting at home with a home-cooked meal you put your back into for three hours. The worst part was that he always had an excuse, and his excuses were legitimate. Honestly, you wondered why you were still torturing yourself with the guy, but then the second you saw his face, the second he showed you the love that you oh so desired, you forgave him. Just like that.

This time, however, you were not going to do that. You were going to let him have it, and you were going to end it.

“Yeosang… You did it again," you uttered the second Yeosang arrived wheezing and panting.

“I’m sorry, baby. I really am,” Yeosang apologized earnestly. “I just forgot that we switched the location, and then time got away from me—”

“How many times will you use that excuse?! This is the third time this month! And I even texted you this morning to confirm, and you replied saying that you got it, so what the fuck?!”

You slammed your hand down on the table and got up. Yeosang grabbed your arm, but you snatched it away immediately and stormed out of the restaurant. He followed behind you shortly, and he walked behind you as you continued to walk away. Unfortunately for you, the light turned red, and you were stuck at the intersection, allowing him to catch up and pull you into a tight hug.

“Yeosang, let go of me,” you said as you fought to get out of his ridiculously strong arms.

“No, I’m not going to,” Yeosang responded, his embrace tightening. “Baby, I’m seriously sorry. You know I’m just really bad with these things—”

“You say that all the time, and nothing’s ever changed!”

“Let me make it up to you.”

“How are you going to do that this time?”

“Move in with me.”

Your eyes widened. You leaned away from him and looked into his eyes, yours darting back and forth as you tried to make sense of the situation. He seemed to be very serious about his proposition, and the thought of moving in with a boyfriend, not going to lie, scared the complete shit out of you.

“Or, if that’s too daunting,” Yeosang quickly added. “I want you to have a key to my place, and you can stay whenever, sleepover whenever— I just want you to know how serious I am about you. Please, baby.”

“Yeosang, one of these days, you either need to get it together, or this isn’t going to last,” you warned him.

“I know. I will. I’m sorry. Please.”

You knew that it wasn’t going to be so simple, that Kang Yeosang was incapable of changing so easily, but you loved him. You were going to make it work, right?

“Alright.”

The two of you went back to his place so he could give you the set of spare keys, but that never happened. Instead, the second you got there, Yeosang pinned you against the front door and kissed you passionately. Both of his hands cupped your cheeks, his palms resting on your cheeks while his fingers supported your neck. He was kissing you earnestly, as if he was trying to prove his love.

His hands worked on getting your clothes off as the two of you remained in the foyer, his impatience getting the better of him. He traced his hands over your bare shoulders and down your arms, the feeling of his hands alone enough to cover your entire body in goosebumps, the sound of your mingled gasps and breaths adding to the effect.

You were completely stripped down to nothing when Yeosang turned you around and pressed you against the door, his hand tracing the curve of your waist before grabbing your ass cheek tightly and pulling up on it, the intensity turning you on quickly. He continued to grope your ass and used his other hand to play with your breast while his mouth planted on your neck and left little pink marks scattered along the side of your neck and on your shoulder.

When he turned your face, he kissed you passionately again, completely distracting you as he, too, stripped down. He slipped his hand down to your neck, and his other hand began stroking your cunt, the tips of his fingers teasing you by scratching in lightly. You shared soft, breathless moans that melted into your endless kisses, the sound enough to turn you on so much that the second Yeosang’s finger brushed past your clit, you felt your insides clench, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as you came.

Without giving you so much as a moment to prepare, Yeosang slid his cock into you, making you moan so loudly that it echoed in the foyer hall, overpowering the loud smack of his waist against your ass.

“Yeo—” you calling his name got cut short when he rutted into you suddenly, his thrusts short and sporadic. “Yeosang… N-Not here…”

You were honestly waiting for a verbal confirmation from the man. Instead, he quietly pulled out and turned you so that your back was pressing against the door. He stuffed you full with his cock again, a muffled cry leaving your pressed lips. You were honestly so worried that he was going to fuck you into the door, letting his neighbors hear every single thing the two of you were doing, but instead, he cupped the underside of your thighs and lifted you.

Your legs were wrapped tightly around his waist as he walked you into his bedroom, his cock still deep inside you. He brought his head up and connected your lips with his again, his tongue teasing yours. When he got to his room, you thought he was going to drop you on the bed. Instead, he remained carrying you, his ridiculously strong arms lifting you and dropping you quickly on his cock, the sheer speed and impact making stars appear in your eyes.

“Ah— Yeosang! P-Please don’t drop me,” you begged as you clung to him tightly, your nails digging into his back muscles as you pressed your head into the his collarbone.

“Don’t worry, baby. I’ve got you,” Yeosang uttered, his lips by your ear.

You continued to moan as Yeosang moved you even more forcefully, the slapping of his waist to your ass reverberating in the room. You felt like you were starting to slip, making you hug the man tighter. Not only did your arms get tighter, but so did your walls, his dick feeling the intensity of your clench. Yeosang’s breathing hitched, and he let out a low groan as he came. He held you in place and let his cock twitch inside you, his cum just filling up to the point where it was leaking out of your cunt and onto the area rug in his room.

After he had cum completely and started going soft in you, Yeosang moved you to the bed. He pinned you down and gazed at your face with love and affection as you blinked the tears away from your eyes. He tucked a stray piece of your hair behind your ear and kissed your temple softly, his eyelashes fluttering against your skin and tickling you.

“I promise, baby,” he whispered, his low voice making your knees tremble. “I’m going to make it up to you all night tonight.

“I cannot fucking believe this, Kang Yeosang!”

You were screaming at the top of your lungs as you stormed around your apartment, your boyfriend’s eyes following your every movement.

“Y/N, I said I was sorry—”

“You keep fucking saying you’re sorry, and I keep fucking falling for it! Just stop apologizing, and just say that you don’t love me anymore, Yeosang!”

“You know that’s not it—”

“No, but it is because you do this to me every single time without fail!” You slammed your hands down on the kitchen countertop and kept your head down, tears threatening to slip out of your eyes. You sniffled and wiped your tears before yelling with a wavering voice, “How can you fucking forget Valentine’s Day of all days?!”

“It just… It just slipped my mind.”

“Right. Because the day that is literally the national sex day is something that can slip out of your goddamn head.”

“Well, yeah!”

“Yeosang, there are hearts and flowers and reds and pinks in every single fucking store, every single street and alley, and I even asked you about it yesterday!”

“Y/N, I’m sorry, okay! But what should I do about it now? Also,” Yeosang shoved his arm forward, revealing the big bouquet of flowers he got you for the holiday. “I did get you flowers! All I did was forget to book a table at the restaurant, and I definitely did not forget that it’s Valentine’s Day— I’m saying that the reservation slipped my mind!”

“I asked you about it yesterday. You didn’t think to tell me yester-fucking-day?!”

“I am sorry! What more do you want from me! I can’t undo the entire day and restart! We’ll just do it properly next year!”

“Next year?” your heart sank, and your tone dropped. “You seriously… You seriously think there will be a next year, Yeosang?”

Yeosang’s mouth was open, but not a sound came out. He wanted to say something. He really wanted to say yes, that there would be a next year, but based off the way you said it, he wasn’t sure.

“I think… We need a break.”

“A… Break?”

“Let’s take a break,” you said. Let’s take a break— as if you were Ross and Rachel. “Let’s take a break.”

How long are breaks supposed to last, anyway? It had been weeks since you spoke to him. You wondered if he expected you to reach to him, but there was no way you were going to because it was his fault. He should apologize to you and come crawling back to you, right?

So then why the fuck was he sitting in a café across from another girl who was clearly laughing and flirting with him? What was supposed to be a detoxing shopping trip quickly turned into high anxiety and stress the second you saw him sitting there, the biggest smile on his face as he let that girl touch him so familiarly, and it took everything in you to keep from storming in and grabbing that bitch by her hair.

Well, you stormed in, but you didn’t grab her by her hair. Instead, you stood right before him, your eyebrows knitted together as you stared at the situation in complete confusion.

“Y/N?” Yeosang sounded surprised to see you— not shocked or worried; simply surprised.

“What the fuck is this?”

“What do you mean?”

“This!” you pointed at the girl. “Who the fuck is this?!”

“A girl I’ve been seeing—”

“What do you mean a girl you’ve been seeing?! Why have you been seeing someone?! What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

Patrons of the café were definitely staring, and while you would’ve been embarrassed normally, you were too fucking pissed to give a shit about who saw your dirty laundry.

“What do you mean?” Yeosang stood up, the two of you locking eyes. Without so much as even a stutter, Yeosang continued, “Because we broke up, remember?!”

“What the fuck?! I said let’s take a break, Yeosang! I just needed time for myself!” You were damn near tears and were barely able to choke out, “I never wanted to break up with you!”

That was the thing. You never wanted to break up with him; but, seeing him in the café with another girl just a mere couple of weeks after declaring you needed a break, seeing him move on so fast without even bothering to check on you, without even thinking he should clarify what the status of your relationship with him was, was enough to show you how he really cared. You weren’t going to fight for him, you weren’t going to beg for him to come back, and you certainly were not going to just let him be without a final confirmation. You grabbed one of the drinks from his table and poured it on his head, the man gasping and hunching his shoulders in shock as the coffee trickled down his face and absorbed into his clothes.

“Consider yourself dumped, Kang Yeosang,” you bit out. “We’re definitely broken up now.”

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Ateez with an s/o who's always a little horny right after waking up. That's it. That's the thought.

(This totally doesn't come from the fact that I'm like that and wake up constantly wishing yunho's fingers or mingi's head were between my thighs)

~lyra

OKAY SO THIS?!?!?!? IMMACULATE IDEA!!

(warning for smut and somnophilia but i feel like that’s obvious)

seonghwa

okay so i’m of the opinion that seonghwa will do anything to keep the love of his life happy

if that means letting you grind on his thighs when you wake up first thing in a morning, then so be it!

like i can imagine him waking up to your moans one morning, all bleary eyes and confused while you try your hardest to push yourself to an orgasm

he watches through his lashes for a second while he decides what to do because he’s still tired but he can’t leave his love to suffer!

“just use my thigh, darling,” he mutters eventually, voice still a little scratchy, “i cant sleep with you squirming about like that.”

you’re a little confused, but seonghwa just pulls you closer and slides a thigh between yours

“there you go,” he says as you grind down, “now go crazy, darling.”

hongjoong

hongjoong strikes me as someone who likes to use toys in the bedroom (idk why, he just gives me those vibes)

like he collects them like pokémon cards and just keeps them in one of his drawers for when the opportunity strikes

and it does strike when he wakes up one morning to you moaning and squirming in your sleep

he takes him time picking a toy out before shaking you awake and dangling in front of your tired eyes

“you want this, baby?” he watches as you sleepily nod, “ask for it like a good girl.”

and even though your voice is slurred with sleep and your eyes are already fluttering closed again, you can’t help but quietly beg for what hongjoong is offering

yunho

oh you’re so right about yunho’s fingers - i am a huge fan of them personally and i think he definitely gets off on seeing his partner fall apart on them

so when you have a conversation with him about always being horny when you first wake up, a million ideas flood his brain

“what if i woke you up by making you cum?” he asks as if it’s the most casual thing in the world, “y’know, play with you a little to get rid of that tension.”

you’re practically squirming in your seat at the idea, and of course yunho can tell

so the next time you sleep over, he puts it to the test and begins to play with your clit first think when he wakes up

and by the time you even wake up, he already has two fingers stuffed deep inside of you fucking you mercilessly as he pushes you closer to the edge

yeosang

yeosang would be so nonchalant about it but in the best way possible

like it’s kind of hot when you nudge him awake, a whine climbing up your throat as you struggle to make yourself cum with your fingers

he just grunts at you tiredly and pats his lap for you to climb on, which you do in a heartbeat

“you can ride me if you want,” he says with his eyes still closed, “i’d fuck you but i’m too tired right now.”

and you’re kind of too tired as well, but the horniness outweighs it and you power through the ache in your bones as you work to get him hard before sliding down onto his cock

and the moment you’ve finished he’s wrapping you in his arms and pulling you to his chest

“10 more minutes and then we’ll get up.”

san

if you don’t think san is doing everything in his power to make his lover happy then i’m afraid you’re incorrect

so when he finds out about your little morning horniness problem, he’s obviously filled with sympathy and compassion (and horniness…)

“you can wake me up, you know,” he shrugs, trying to seem chill about it, “or just use my body, or some shit. i don’t mind, babe.”

and of course you take him up on his offer; you use any part of his body you can think of

his thigh, his bicep, his abs - it’s all on the table for you, and it’s so good every single time

and when he wakes up to see you already a moaning mess, grinding on the muscles he’s worked so hard on, it’s safe to say you’ll have to prepare yourself for round two… and three

mingi

i’ve said it a million times before but this man has an oral fixation and you know i’m right!!!!

so obviously when you complain about how much you hate waking up horny all the time, it’s like christmas has come early for him

“do you want me to sort that for you?” he perks up, eyes glistening like you’ve just given him the moon, “i can sort that for you…”

and of course you agree because you’re so sick and tired of always having to wank first thing in the morning!!

but what you don’t know is that the alternative mingi is suggesting is you waking up to him mouthing at your core like a starving animal each and every morning

you cant complain when he does the job so well though

he always makes you cum at least three times before pulling away and shoving his dick inside of you to solve his own morning wood problem…

wooyoung

again, i’ve said it a million times before but he’s such an evil little shit!!!!

like i can imagine him waking up pretty early in the morning, only to hear the sweet sound of your moans echoing through the room

he turns to you with an amused grin, watching you way your face screws up as you desperately paw at your clit

“want some help?” you nod desperately, “you’ll have to say sorry for waking me up first. i couldn’t sleep with you being so loud!”

and if you weren’t so desperate you wouldn’t even considered it for a millisecond, but you’re right on the edge and you just need one more thing to push you over the edge so…

“m’sorry, youngie,” you say with a sleepy voice, “please make me cum.”

and how can he say no when you ask so nicely??

jongho

jongho is another little devil who i think takes great pride in teasing you for being so horny

“you want me to fuck you while you’re still asleep?” he cocks an eyebrow at you when you first bring it up, “you really can’t get enough of me, can you honeybun?”

and you can’t help but roll your eyes at him, even though he’s right; you really can’t get enough of him…

the next morning you wake up to jongho’s moans in your ear and a heavy cock spreading you open and fucking into you

“g’morning,” he grunts into your ear, “didn’t think you’d be asleep for so long but i guess you’re a slut even in your dreams.”

the both of you finish pretty soon after you wake up, and the moment you do, jongho goes back to being his usual teddy bear self

literally has you pinned to his chest and his soft cock still inside you for pretty much the rest of the morning

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.