I want you to ruin my life
pairing: poly ateez x reader
genre: fluff, mafia au
tw: some mentions of blood and violence related injuries, but nothing too explicit
wc: 6.2k
summary: as a trauma doctor, you are good in a crisis, a level head in an emergency. You make good decisions under pressure that save lives. But a chance encounter with an injured gang member catches your interest, more than it should have. You weren’t expecting that they are just as invested in you, or how much your life would change.
part 2 // part 3
masterlist // requests: open
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The first time you saw them, it was with a gun in your face.
The hospital you worked at was on the small side, in the middle of nowhere. The trauma department and emergency medicine was basically the same thing, somewhere always on standby for when the busier hospitals would send a patient your way when their beds got too full. The hospital director thought your area of expertise was important so it stayed. You were grateful to have the job you did, even if it meant you were working nights.
It had been quiet until it wasn’t.
They burst through the doors, dressed in black but dripping blood along the floors. In the moment, you’d barely had a second to process before the weapon was squared up between your eyes. Your eyes crossed to look into the barrel.
Behind you, the over night team gasped, as terrified as you should have been. You were scared of course, but it was hard to have any visible reaction with the business end of a gun so close to your face.
“Help him,” the voice had been rough, wrecked. Begging.
You looked to the voice’s owner. He was taller than you, broader and stronger in every physical way, devastatingly handsome behind the dirt and blood that smeared his cheekbones. That didn’t matter at that moment, not with the way that he looked at you.
Desperate.
His hands might be steady but his vision shook with it.
“I will,” you promised, “put him here.”
You urged the injured body into one of the open beds. He was placed there as gently as possible with one hand. The man groaned and muttered a curse, pain wrapping and squeezing around his pretty features.
You didn’t waste a second more, your role of doctor slipping to the forefront easily.
“What’s your name?” You asked.
There was a moment of silence, a pause where you wondered whether you’d actually get anything, before an answer came as given through gritted teeth. “Wooyoung.”
“Nice to meet you, Wooyoung-sshi,” you replied. “Let’s have a look.”
You brushed hands out of the way to look at the wound.
Gunshot to the abdomen.
You called to the nurses, asking for scissors and a drip of anaesthetic.
“No drugs,” Wooyoung spat out.
You objected, “you’re in pain and I can’t just-“
“No drugs,” the second man repeated, firm.
Stubborn you thought but obliged. You had to cut the shirt free from the wound, angled the man’s body so you could look for an exit wound. Thankful you found it.
“Went right through,” you told him, “no vital organs pierced. No surgery needed.”
“Lucky me,” Wooyoung mocked, and let out another litany of curses that would have made you blush in any other situation.
You ignored him, and worked quickly, efficiently. You applied pressure, wrapped the wound and then covered that with a medical grade plaster. Wooyoung, for his credit, grit his teeth and tried to stay still. He took the pain well, like he was used to it.
“It’ll still hurt like a bitch,” you told him, honest because you figured they’d want that. Your eyes flickered to the second man. His gun hand had lowered ever so slightly, even as he watched your every move. “You should change the bandage every 3 hours for the next 24 hours. Then every 8 hours for the next 72. I’d recommend bed rest.”
“Fuck that,” Wooyoung was already moving to stand, swinging his legs off the side of the bed, even as you and his friend made noises of objection. “Get me out of here,” he insisted.
“No offence taken,” you murmured.
Wooyoung smirked, despite the pain. “It’s not you pretty,” his tongue seemed to wrap around the word, “just don’t like hospitals.”
You shouldn’t have but you blushed at the unexpected compliment. You dropped your gaze, taking a moment to reset yourself, to squash the wildly unprofessional whirl in your chest, before raising them again. “Try not to get shot next time.”
The second man snorted, the first sign that panic that lost its chokehold on him. You watched as Wooyoung’s arm was shoved over the man’s shoulders, keeping him up, one hand curling around his waist.
“Thank you,” he offered, stiffly, like the words were alien to him.
You couldn’t help but huff your laughter. “It’s my job,” you reminded, “I would have done it with or without threats.”
One of the other patients resting on the ward had called the police. They arrived in a whirl of lights not long after the two men had left, slipping into an unmarked car and leaving way over the speed limit. You spoke the uniformed officer calmly, shared vague details - one taller, one shorter. Dark hair, dark eyes. Black car - I don’t recognise car types, sorry.
You didn’t mention the distinct moles beneath Wooyoung’s blood splattered face, or the bruising on his friend’s knuckles. You didn’t mention the tattoo, bold thick lines that curved along his rib cage, distinctive, that you found under Wooyoung’s shirt just above his gunshot wound, even though you knew what it meant.
You’d seen others with the same mark before. An hour glass, sand slipping forever down an expanse of skin. Not surprising. The trauma department was bound to get a handful of gang related injuries over its time. Your hospital was no different.
You merely removed your bloody gloves, and got a fresh pair for the next patient. There was always another patient.
You didn’t expect to see any of them again, at least not any time soon. So it was a surprise when, nearly 10 days later, a car with blacked out windows slowed to a crawl beside you.
You had just finished a long shift, your body aching in the worst ways as exhaustion settled firmly into your bones. The roll of the wheels over the tarmac, the very obvious fact that the driver had slowed for you, should have made you tense, made you walk a little bit faster.
Should have.
But it didn’t.
You recognised the car. The shaded window on the driver’s side rolled down and you definitely remembered the face there. It was smooth now, just as handsome as you thought without the blood splatter, and lips curled up with knowing satisfaction.
“Hey doc,” he curled the words around his tongue, giving you a mocking two fingered salute.
“Do you often pull up to people like this?” You asked. Your fingers flexed around the strap of your bag.
“Only the pretty ones,” he was quick with his reply.
You hummed, unconvinced but amused. “How’s Wooyoung?”
“You remembered his name,” he sounded pleased.
“Hard to forgot people who pull a gun on me,” you reminded, “really sticks in the memory.”
Much to your surprise, he actually looked bashful at the reminder. He didn’t apologise, of course, but it was a moment that took you back to how he had looked that night. Pained and terrified, so very human. Perhaps it was that which made you linger, had you pushing, “so how is he?”
“Complaining, as usual,” the man rolled his eyes good-naturedly.
The corner of your lips twitched into a ghost of a smile. You’d only known Wooyoung for a short time and yet that didn’t sound out of character.
The driver considered you for a moment before nodding, as if coming to a conclusion. He angled his thumb to gesture beside him. “Get in,” he ordered.
You arched an eyebrow. You might have laughed if you were’t so surprised. “Get in?” You repeated, “I don’t even know your name.”
“San,” he offered. “Now you do. Get in.”
You hesitated, self-preservation kicking in for the first time, finally. You knew they were gang affiliated at least, and your mind ran through all the reasons why they would be interested in you. Does this count as a kidnapping? You wondered. It was less dramatic than it appeared in movies but perhaps just as terrifying, the unknown threat pressing in.
While you panicked, San’s smile widened in amusement. It made his eyes squeeze together, like a smug cat. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he teased, “I have a…friend in need. Can’t be taken to the hospital.”
You don’t even want to ask why they can’t be. You don’t want to know. But the doctor in you, the one who wanted to help everyone, wavered. “In need?”
“With or without threats right?” San echoed back what you had said back then, and something said he very easily could lean into threats, if you so chose.
It didn’t really leave you with a choice, did it? So against your better judgement, you walked around to the passenger side of the car, opened the door and slide into plush leather seats. San was leaning back in his seat, one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the lowered window. He watched as you tried to get comfortable in the chair, hands shaking a little as you reached for the seatbelt.
You jumped when he moved, fingers slipping around the belt, the tips brushing your own. “Let me,” he murmured. Your breath caught, heart pounding harder, as he took over, clicking the buckle into place.
Even when he moved away, you were dazed.
San didn’t even look phased. He rubbed his thumb over his bottom lip thoughtfully, before clicking the button to wind up the window. Now closed, it muffled the outside world and you felt like you could float away - or sink.
“Open the glove box,” he instructed. He waited, collected, even as you scrambled to follow the instruction.
The glove box had two things - a gun and a blindfold.
Your eyes darted away. A stupid, stupid idea, you had cursed yourself.
“Blindfold,” San pointed. “Put it on. Can’t just give you our address, right?”
He laughed in amusement. You thought about bolting from the car, running as fast as your tired legs could carry you until you reached the safety of your home and the security lock. One look at San though told you that, if you tried, you wouldn’t make it that far.
So you did as you were told. It was a sleep mask, pretty basic but effective. You jumped when San’s fingers brushed your ears as he adjusted the mask to fit more comfortably.
“It won’t be long, I promise,” he said cheerfully. As if that was reassuring to you in anyway.
It was probably 20 minutes at most, but with your vision impaired and your heart beating in fear for your life, it might as well have been hours. You could feel the rumble of the high power engine under your thighs; hear the honking of cars on the road beyond; smell San’s cologne as it clung to every inch of this vehicle. San hummed as he drove, tapped his fingers against the steering wheel.
It was probably ridiculously common for him to have a blindfolded woman in his passengers seat, you reasoned.
Slowly, the outside sounds drifted away, leaving only the car and San to keep you grounded.
When the car stopped, you held your breath. When San touched your face, you let out a sharp yell. Over the pounding in your ears, he was chuckling. “Calm down doc,” he soothed, “We’re here.”
You bit down on your tongue to stop the string of curses you wanted to let out. He must have seen it on your face because, once you were able to see again, he was grinning like he would love nothing more. He pressed the buckle on your seat belt, and then leant over, his brown eyes never wavering from yours, to push open the passenger side door. “Come on doc.”
Then he was pulling away, climbing out the car, and you needed to calm your racing heart for a separate reason.
The building he had brought you to was unassuming. Just an old church, sturdy in its stance, and clearly used if the cars surrounding you were anything to go by. San had pulled the car around the back, behind high brick walls. From the front, it was unlikely anyone could tell it was occupied. Made sense, you reasoned, even the sacrilegious nature of using a church as a criminal safe house added an additionally layer of secrecy.
Because that’s what it was. When San let you in, hands gesturing you in before him, you noticed how the building had been renovated as a living space. The walls were the same brick as the outside and no doubt did not keep the warmth in during the winter, but there were more modern doorways, new walls put in to section off the space better. It could have been just any other converted building.
The door closed behind you followed by a turn of the lock, and you remembered it very much wasn’t.
San stepped around you, arm brushing against your own. He angled his head. “This way. Take your shoes off.”
You could only follow his instructions, toeing off the simple white sneakers you wore, before falling into step behind him on sock clad feet. It felt strange, oddly vulnerable, more so than you had at any other point in the day.
You were led upstairs, onto a landing with multiple doors. Home for multiple people, you considered. San went to the first one, knocked firmly before pushing it open with the words, “I brought doc.”
Doc. Like there was no other one.
A voice inside replied. “Good, I’m getting tired of Mingi’s bitching.”
Another voice - Mingi, you guessed - made a noise of objection. “I’m not bitching. I can’t breathe.”
“Breathing enough to talk,” San shot back, but he was smiling, like this was a usual occurrence. He looked back at you then, eyebrow arched and gestured towards the room, the command silent.
You worried your lip for a moment, before you steeled yourself. Use your trauma brain, you told yourself.
The room itself was well lived in, cluttered with life and memories that felt way too personal for someone you knew was a criminal. On the bed, pressed up against one of the walls, was a person, legs long, hands clutching his side, face screwed up in pain. You could already see the hesitant way that they were breathing, as if too deep a breath would destroy them. Mingi. The person next to them looked unimpressed, hair dyed blonde, arms folded across his chest. Objectively, they were pretty. Incredibly so, just like Wooyoung and San, and you wondered if attractive and dangerous was just your type.
Their eyes went to you immediately, snapped into place and you were suddenly on display. You stopped short of entering the room.
“That her?” the blonde asked.
San hummed. “Go on doc, do your stuff.”
You approached the bed like one might approach a dangerous animal - cautious, fingers out splayed in front of you, making steady eye contact. Mingi watched you back.
It was easy to fall into professional mode. You introduced yourself quietly and asked if it was okay to touch him.
“If you’re having trouble breathing,” you murmured, “I’ll need to check your chest cavity.”
Mingi waited a moment as if considering rejecting before he nodded, short and sharp. He felt warm under your hands, as you carefully lifted the edge of his jumper baring an expanse of scarred skin. You barely considered it, dutifully focusing on the task at hand. Your fingers pressed along his clavicle, down his sternum, along the bottom of his ribs -
Mingi bit back a curse.
Your fingers lightened as you followed the path along his ribs. Mingi didn’t hold back the next curse and you pulled back.
“Normally,” you said lightly, “I’d ask for the cause of injury, but I have a feeling I don’t want to know right?”
“Smart,” the blonde nodded.
You turned back to Mingi. “You’ve got an injury to your ribs, could be bruised, could be fractured,” you explained carefully, “I can’t know for sure unless we do an x-ray and since that’s off the table, you’ll need to keep them bandaged and take a shit ton of painkillers.”
San arched an eyebrow. “Is shit ton a medical term?”
Your lips quirked into a smile but didn’t answer.
The blonde tapped Mingi’s leg. “See, not dying. Stop bitching and take a Tylenol.” Then he turned back to you, eyes dragging over you from top to bottom, assessing. “I’m Seonghwa.”
“He’s second in command,” San filled in. You didn’t know who the first in command was but you did know that this man looked like he thrived on being in control.
“Big boss is away,” Seonghwa added, “thank you for your help. San said you patched up Wooyoung.”
“It’s my job,” you replied, irritated that you were flushed under such basic praise.
Seonghwa’s lips twitched at the corner, amused. “A job you didn’t have to get into a mad man’s car to preform, yet you did.”
You ignored San’s indignant noise behind you.
“But then I wouldn’t have the pleasure of your charming acquaintance,” you said. You regretted it as soon as you said it, your default of sarcasm and quips feeling very much like a bullet being loaded into a chamber in front of these men, even if one was currently bed bound.
To your relief, you got a laugh in return, startled and loud. Seonghwa put a hand over his mouth to hide the grin. “I like you,” he decided.
You felt like you’d be claimed by some overgrown wild cat and you figured that probably wasn’t a good thing. Yet, the words still hit you right in your chest, had your heartbeat hitch and your throat tightened. Your face felt hot and you ducked your head to hide it, letting the front strands of your hair act as a curtain. You knew it didn’t work but no one called you on it.
You heard Seonghwa give instructions to San to drop you back, and then a hand slipped into your line of vision, under your chin. You recoiled but not fast enough, long forefinger and thumb holding you in place, urging your head up with a mere flex. You obliged because what else could you do?
The look he gave you was hard to read. You didn’t want to mistake it for anything more than what it was. Definitely a shade of interest, you were comfortable saying that.
You wondered if your breathlessness, your fear, your own interest, was obvious on your face.
“I’ll see you soon darling,” Seonghwa mumbled as if it were a private moment and not one shared with two others.
What was with these guys and pet names, you thought, but you bit your lip, stayed quiet. They could call you whatever they wanted, you reasoned, you couldn’t exactly stop them.
But the way they spoke didn’t sound demeaning, didn’t sound mocking - maybe it should. All it did was make you feel warm all over and weak at the knees.
You were still questioning exactly what was wrong with you when you were back in the car, blind fold in place as San drove you back home. When he pulled up to your apartment block, you should have been terrified, should have felt like you were doused in cold water. A walking nightmare.
Should have, but you didn’t.
San smiled at you once you could see him again, murmured his thanks for your help and tucked a strand of loose hair behind your ears.
“I’ll see you soon doc,” he parroted what Seonghwa had said, a promise, a vow.
It was a promise you found yourself itching for him to keep.
It didn’t take long before the same car was pulled up behind your work place. It became routine. Sometimes you’d go weeks at a time without seeing anyone, sometimes it would be days in a row. Most of the time, it was San would picked you up - once had been Wooyoung, who grinned at you boyishly and drove just far enough over the speed limit that your heart would race and you’d scold him viciously. He seemed to like that, getting a reaction out of you, but when you’d told Seonghwa, he’d frowned and said that Wooyoung couldn’t drive you anymore.
“Precious cargo,” he called you.
You tried not to blush.
You met everyone eventually. Yeosang was a surveillance operation leader, who had far too many screens in his room, and the kind of bags under his eyes that came from staying up too late. He had been by Wooyoung’s side when you were checking out how the shot wound was healing, eyes wide, flittering everywhere as to not make eye contact with you.
He was shy, a strange word to use to describe a man that had access to every camera and every file in the city.
He would bring you tea when you visited and blushed so prettily when you thanked him.
Then there was Jongho. The youngest, San had said, despite his disposition being far more serious than anyone else around him. He’d terrified you at first, broad shoulders filling the doorway, knuckles bloodied, lips split. His dark eyes had watched your every move and you instinctively knew that one wrong move and he’d break you.
When he smiled though, full lips spread, eyes creasing at the corners, all gum and teeth, he looked his age. Young. Carefree. He smiled at you often now, silently carrying the medical equipment you’d swiped from the hospital for you, acting as your assistant when stitching up this wound or that.
Yunho, you ended up meeting him at your own trauma surgery. He had come in due to a car crash, a head on to right side of car collision. Of course, you hadn’t known at the time exactly what had happened or who was involved. A car accident with casualties was called in and you went into action. Yunho had been conscious, smiling so much that you had originally thought he had a concussion. Other than a few scrapes and bruises, he’d been fine.
The driver of the other car however - not so lucky.
When the police officer involved had told him this, you’d watched the taller man hum, almost indifferent. A strange reaction for someone who had just killed someone else.
It all made sense when he caught your arm as you were leaving from your check in. His smile was in place, barely moving a fraction, while his eyes were dark, serious, taking you in.
“So you’re the doctor,” he said, “I can see why they’re so enamoured by you.”
“They?” You’d repeated dumbly.
Yunho’s gaze brightened. He introduced himself and then added, “Don’t tell Seonghwa I came here, he’d kill me.”
The second in command did end up finding out of course, probably told by Yeosang and his infinite wisdom. Seonghwa had been exasperated, but Yunho just continued to look delighted.
“He’s like that,” San had explained, “an adrenaline junkie.”
“Even if that thrill comes from getting scolded by hyung,” Yeosang added.
You don’t know when you started referring to them ‘your boys’. It happened a few times in your head - thoughts that slipped by, catch you up surprise and you’d brush them off, refusing to think about it any further.
It kept happening though, until it slipped out.
“You brought dinner,” San had happily accepted the takeaway bags into his arms as you took the passenger’s seat.
“Only the best for my boys,” you had said as you reached for the blindfold in the glove compartment.
San had tensed beside you, enough that you paused to look at him. He was wide eyed, surprised. He went pink, lips curling shyly and lowered his eyes, as he fussed with the food bags to put them into the backseat.
Neither of you said anything about it but you knew he must have told them, because Seonghwa caught you as you were leaving, arms slipping around your waist.
He lowered his head until his forehead pressed against yours. It was closest you’d been to one of them and it made you breathless. Your fingers curled nervously into the front of his shirt. His lips twitched upwards.
“You’re taking good care of them, darling,” he murmured.
You laughed nervously. “I can’t exactly leave them out with their insides hanging out,” you teased.
Seonghwa hummed and his grip on you tightened. “Your boys,” he breathed.
Your heartbeat picked up. “Your boys,” you corrected.
Seonghwa shook his head. “You fed them, you stitched them up - they’re your boys now,” he explained, and then chuckled, “God, Joong is going to have a field day.”
“Joong?” You said back.
“The big boss,” Seonghwa explained, “He’s been away on business, but he’ll be back soon. We’ve told him all about you.”
Your mouth felt dry. “Oh?”
“He’s very excited to meet you.”
When you finally meet Hongjoong, you could admit that you are intimidated. He wasn’t the tallest or the broadest of the men surrounding you on a daily basis at this point, but there was something in how he held himself. Head held high, shoulders back, eyes intense, lips curled into a smirk that said he knew all your secrets. You had no doubt he did.
You’d been picked up as normal, comfort found in the hum of a familiar engine and the low conversation that San shared with you. It wasn’t until you got to the church building, when the door closed behind you and San looked at you sheepishly.
“No injuries today,” he admitted, “Hyung is back.”
He didn’t have to say which hyung. It was obvious in how he looked a little embarrassed, a little nervous - like you were about to meet his parents for the first time. You swallowed, made note of the fact that no one had come to greet you as they normally did, and nodded sharply.
Everything felt quieter, tenser - or maybe that was just you. San knocked once on a door that you had passed numerous times but never entered. Now, a voice called from within.
San pushed the door open and murmured “good luck” in a way that made you feel like he was nervous for you. Not a good sign.
The room was an office, lined with repurposed pews and a wooden desk in the centre of the room. Sitting behind it was the man himself, eyes flickering up at you from a pile of papers, before he stretched, took you in.
Instinctively, you tried to make yourself smaller.
He pushed himself up from his chair, languid like a cat, and his footsteps clicked as he moved around to the front of the table, resting against it. He rolled your name around his mouth, before introducing himself.
“My boys speak highly of you,” he stated.
Despite yourself, it did make you feel happy to hear that. “I’m just doing what doctors do.”
“Not many people would put themselves in situations like this,” Hongjoong mused, almost like he was thinking out loud to himself. You knew he wasn’t. “Some would call it stupid even.”
You felt irritation flare at the word and barely clamped it down. “It would have been stupid to refuse,” you counted.
Hongjoong’s lips twitched. “Also true,” he agreed.
You didn’t lower your gaze when he walked towards you, taking note of the way each step was measured to get a response out of you, to challenge you. Maybe you succeed, you didn’t know, but when Hongjoong stopped in front of you, eyes locked on yours, they looked almost warm.
“Thank you,” he murmured, “for looking after them while I’ve been away.”
You swallowed around a dry throat. “You’re welcome.”
“I hope you’ll continue to do so,” he said, “when you’re needed.”
“Of course,” you agreed. Even if you could refuse, even if you should, you knew at this point you couldn’t. These men, terrifying in most ways, soft in others, had cut their way into your system and the selfish, thrill seeking part of you knew you’d do anything to keep them there.
Hongjoong didn’t touch you, but he was close enough that he could. You felt the brush of his coat against your own, the nudge of his house slippers against your own. When he moved his hand to push hair away from his face, his fingers brushed over your shoulder.
“I look forward to getting to know you, doctor,” he said, “really looking forward to it.”
He dragged his thumb across his bottom lip, and you followed it, momentarily distracted. And then he was stepping away, heading back to his desk chair. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been back,” he said, smiling ruefully, “Hwa always does a good job but he hates paperwork.”
“I didn’t realise a criminal organisation required paperwork,” you said.
Hongjoong chuckled. “Unfortunately so. Criminals are the most meticulous.” Then he tilted his head and added, “The boys want you to stay for dinner.”
You admitted you had been recently, but Hongjoong didn’t react as if this was new knowledge. You supposed it was part of his job to be told about everything - you included, in whatever capacity that had become.
You found yourself asking, “do you want me too?”
Hongjoong grinned at you again. “Beautiful, if I didn’t want you here, you wouldn’t be.”
It seemed like after Hongjoong’s approval, things became…more. Like they’d been holding themselves back until their leader gave the all clear and now they couldn’t stop themselves.
Seonghwa had always been one to hold you, pushing against you in dim corners of the house, but now, he didn’t shy away. In the dining room, he’d grab your hand as you walked past and brush his lips against the back. He’d touch your waist, fingers splayed into the barely there reveal of skin when you sewed up one cut or another. It made you shiver, goosebumps breaking out across your skin, but you never pulled away.
Wooyoung was probably the most obvious. He was a flirt. He’d flirted with you before, called you “pretty” whenever you could. He’d refuse to let anyone else in the kitchen when he cooked but you, lifting you up on to the counter top to be “motivation”, slipping between your dangling legs to nudge his forehead against yours, bump noses, nuzzle his face into your neck. He never kissed you though, even if he joked about it, never quite took that step.
But after meeting Hongjoong, it was like he couldn’t stop. He kissed you on the cheek, on the hand, on your forehead - never your lips. He even kissed your knee once, when you had been cohersed into staying to watch some action movie after dinner. Something surprising domestic. Wooyoung had pulled your legs into his lap, forcing you to lean against Mingi, who had gone completely red in the face but didn’t move you away. He had traced patterns absentmindedly with his fingers, and then ducked his head, let his lips brush for a moment then pulled away.
You had complained to Yunho about it when you were treating a stab wound to his hand, after he’d successfully lost a game of cards. He’d grinned at you the entire time, almost as if he didn’t have a hole between his knuckles.
“Don’t you know baby,” he said, “he’s waiting on you.”
“Not as if you guys ever asked before,” you grumbled.
Yunho’s smile stayed but his eyes became more serious. “We didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” he said.
You shook your head. “I’m complaining that I can’t get a kiss, and you think I’m uncomfortable,” you pointed out.
He covered his mouth with his uninjured hand momentarily. “Fair.” He conceded, “but sexual tension is different. A kiss…you wanting us to kiss you…that’s different.”
You didn’t ask why, because you kind of understood the twisted logic. Sex, drugs and violence was par for the course - you could only imagine how much their days were filled with it, even if they didn’t actually share any specifics with you beyond what you needed to know to fix them up. Even as they’d dragged you in, you were kept sheltered from the entire truth. Perhaps, for them, kissing was the equivalent of a wedding proposal - big and serious and full of meaning.
You must have been quiet for too long because Yunho reached out with his uninjured hand, catching your chin in his palm. Your breath caught as his fingers traced along your bottom lip. He watched you with such intense eyes, as if he’d want nothing more than to throw himself at you, to close the distance.
He didn’t though.
“If you want this,” he said, voice unexpectedly hoarse, “you gotta take that step. This one is for you.”
So you did. You reared across the table, fingers flexing around the bandage you’d wrapped, only stopping when your lips barely brushed against Yunho’s. He was frozen, not daring to move even an inch, but you could feel the shuddered exhale of his breath against you before you closed it.
Kissing Yunho was surprisingly gentle. He didn’t rush, didn’t take control though you could tell from the flexing of his fingers that he wanted to. He let you lead, let you control the pace and how deep it got.
When you pulled away, he was dark eyed, flushed and breathless.
“Tell the others,” you said, “I’m ready to take that step.”
Word must have spread quickly because the next day, San nearly pulled you over the centre console in his eagerness to slide his lips against yours. Wooyoung backed you into the door as soon as it closed, stealing your breath from you. Jongho kissed you between mouthfuls of mochi, eyes hooded and intense.
Hongjoong chuckled. He lounged back in his dining chair, beer bottle caught between long fingers. “Regretting what you asked for?”
You looked at him, wide eyed and flustered. “Not even for a second.”
He smiled around his drink, eyes warm as he watched her, watched them.
It was when it was time to leave, when San had dragged his feet as he went to get his keys, and Seonghwa took the opportunity to press you against the door. You hummed, relaxed into the hold, and angled your head upwards to meet his hooded eyes.
“Joong said I should ask you,” he confessed.
Your fingers twitched in the fabric of his shirts. “He could have asked me himself,” you replied.
Seonghwa agreed. “Probably, but he knows you’re closer to us than him. He doesn’t want to push.”
“He wouldn’t be,” you murmured, distracted by the way his chest felt under your hands, the way his hands were so warm against the bared skin at your waist.
“I think he just needs to know that he’s yours as well,” Seonghwa mused.
Your eyes flickered upwards. “As well?”
The smile you received was wicked. “Are you surprised darling? We’ve been yours for a while. Just like you’re ours.”
Yours. Ours. Mine. You weren’t a possessive person but you felt like you could be.
“Hwa, is this you asking me out?” You teased.
Seonghwa brushed his lips against yours, slow at first and then deeper, slow and sensual, as if he had all the time in the world. “Do you want me to?” He murmured, “to take you on a date?”
“With flowers,” you asserted. “I’m sure Sangie knows my favourite.”
“Of course darling,” he agreed easily, “as many flowers as you want.”
Then his lips were back on yours, stealing any remaining thoughts from your head.
You didn’t end up going home. Hongjoong stole you from under Seonghwa’s amused gaze, leading you to his room with flushed cheeks. He held you close in the darkness and asked if you were sure, if you knew how dangerous it was, how it was different being their doctor and being theirs. You had traced the lines of his face, pressing kisses against his cheekbones and whispered your truth against his chest.
“It’s stupid, I’m stupid for allowing it,” you confessed, and felt the way that Hongjoong tensed around you.
You pressed a calming kiss to his pec, above his fluttering heart. “But It’s too late. I’m already yours.”
“And we’re yours, beautiful,” he whispered back, his voice deeper with emotion.
“Damn right,” you grinned up at him, “You’re stuck with me now.”
When Hongjoong laughed, it vibrated your whole body. “What a hardship,” he joked, dipping his head and - for the first time - pressed his lips against yours, claiming the last part of your heart that you’d left carved just for him.
You were aware that this didn’t make sense, that you had placed yourself again and again in a situation that couldn’t end well. If you let your rational brain speak, you knew that it could only end with heartbreak and blood.
It was worth it though, your heart sang.
In the quiet of a crime lord’s bedroom, strong arms wrapped around your waist, holding you close and safe, there was no place you’d rather be.
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a/n: please like and reblog if you enjoy it! Also if you have any mafia ot8 ideas, please drop them! I want to live in this world for longer haha ☺️💕
