#memes writes

Yoongi had never really cared about the holidays. 

They were often too busy, too crowded, and took time away from all the things he could be doing otherwise. If it were up to him, he’d be locked away in his studio all month not dealing with any of it. Unfortunately, like most things in his life, Yoongi couldn’t have it that easy. 

Though, he supposed that was part of what he gave up when he joined the company. 

Now, he was doing all sorts of things he would rather not be doing, like singing and learning complicated dance choreo that he secretly enjoyed but would never admit. He would much rather spend his days working on music or sneaking in a nap when the rare desire to sleep arose. Unfortunately, he had responsibilities he couldn’t avoid, which was how he ended up at one of the casual holiday parties that the company decided to throw. 

It was an incredibly informal event, hosted at someone’s house; filled with festive drinks, stupid games, and corny decorations like tinsel strung up all over the place. Music filled every inch of the space, some fancy sort of surround system probably, with people drunkenly singing along loudly and off-key to whatever Christmas jingle was playing. 

Yoongi was off on his own against a wall, mulling over his options. In his hand was his second cup of spiked eggnog, half drained, and he was pondering a refill as his gaze drifted across the room. 

A couple was making out on one of the couches, a game of truth or dare mixed with spin the bottle went on close to the Christmas tree, people were chatting around the food spread and punch bowls. 

None of those things kept his intention until his gaze slid over those gathered for the silly game, lingering on one particular, familiar, face. 

You looked up, locking eyes with him before someone was saying your name and your attention was pulled away. Yoongi debated meandering over before deciding against it. Instead, he took a swig of his eggnog and pushed off the wall. 

You could have your fun; there were other things he could distract himself with if he wanted. 

Yoongi had played truth or dare once or twice before and while he was usually content to let you, his sort-of girlfriend (because the relationship was still really casual and he didn’t care to label it), drag him into things…he had opted to skip this go around. 

Game crowds tended to be more unruly than he had energy for and…he wanted to sneak off and find a place to chill without others, maybe nap if it was quiet enough. He had found a nice spot in a corner that wasn’t too loud and allowed him to crowd watch as he sipped on the remains of his drink .

Yoongi was in the middle of debating getting up and securing a refill when you found him, lips a little kiss swollen and your hair mussed. His pleasant buzz had him grinning up at you, opening his arms to welcome you into his lap if you were so inclined. 

“There you are,” you cooed, tugging on his hands to pull him to his feet, Yoongi swaying slightly because his brain was a little foggy, in that good kind of way. 

“Here I am,” he replied, smile softening into that special one he saved for you. Stepping closer, he allowed his hands to rest on your waist. “Did you have fun? 

Yoong didn’t really care, but he figured it was polite to ask. 

You tucked yourself against him, pressing a kiss to the underside of his jaw while your hand slid along his back and curled around his hip bone. “It was amusing,” you admitted, “but it would have been more fun with you.” 

Yoongi laughed, the sound louder in his ears than he liked, and shook his head at you. “Nah,” he replied, “I’d just keep you from doing all the outlandish stuff.” You giggled, high off the adrenaline from whatever you got up to and Yoongi took the opportunity to kiss your temple. 

Silence settled over you both and he looked down at you, watching the way you stared off before you were tugging him along by his belt loops. He went easily, helpless to do anything to deny you. 

“Where are you taking me, sweetheart?” Yoongi asked, feeling his words slurring; he wondered how spiked the eggnog was. “Gonna take advantage of me?” He teased, enjoying the darkening of your expression and the way it told him: yeah, I’m going to do just that. 

When you finally stopped, it involved you pushing him against a door frame with the metal hinges digging uncomfortably into his back. He was too busy staring at you with a crinkled brow to complain. “The bed’s–” 

Your lips were soft, but firm against his. He kissed back eagerly, a dopy, pleased smile on his mouth when you pulled back. 

“Mistletoe,” you whispered against his mouth before kissing him again. Yoongi’s head spun a little between the breathlessness of the kisses and the buzz of the alcohol sloshing in his veins. 

“You don’t need mistletoe to kiss me, babe,” he mumbled, stumbling backward and tugging you with him until you were falling onto the bed with him. 

“Yeah,” you huffed, rolling your eyes like it was a ridiculous thing to say, “but it’s the season.” Still, you were straddling his hips and there were more kisses, no mistletoe required, and likely more to come. 

When Seokjin’s knee gave out on him, it was a surprise. 

He hadn’t registered what had happened until he had collapsed on his kitchen floor, head spinning and pain ricocheting through his leg. The knife he had been holding clattered to the floor beside him, skittering across the tile when he groped around blindly to find enough purchase to push himself up. 

Twisting his torso caused another fresh burst of pain to shoot through him, Seokjin immediately flattening back onto the ground and trying to curl into himself with his hands cradling his knee. 

He didn’t know how long he had been laying there, only that the throbbing refused to go away. 

This was the worst he felt since he first injured himself, even when he had stubbornly refused to do the things that would help him get better. In fact, up until that moment he hadn’t had a single incident where he felt like he was going to lose the progress he had made.

Now? 

He worried that the slip had been bad enough that he would have to go back into surgery, something he dreaded. Something he wasn’t sure he could handle the possibility of. It had been weeks of therapy, of working on his exercises on his own time, and the steady rise and improvement on the charts you meticulously kept. 

Seokjin had been going without his brace more than he’d been wearing it and the strength of his resistance bands had been increasing. 

But he couldn’t fathom doing more than laying where he was, the prick of tears in the corners of his eyes, willing for the ability to straighten his leg without hurting so badly his entire body locked up. So, there he stayed, curled into a ball on his kitchen floor struggling to breathe while his mind raced trying to figure out what to do. 

It was a Sunday, which meant the clinic was closed, and he didn’t have another session until Tuesday. Due to the progress he had been making, you had relented and moved him back to bi-weekly visits under the stipulation that he was maintaining his progress and while he had been elated at the time, now he was cursing the decision.

There was no way he could wait two days to figure out if he’d fucked himself over somehow. 

When he finally felt like he could move without pain freezing him in place he reached for the phone tucked into his pants pocket. His fingers felt clumsy and Seokjin had to blink several times before his vision cleared enough for him to see properly. Finally, he was able to pull up the number he wanted, thumb hitting the call button before bringing the phone to his ear. 

His eyes closed again, Seokjin focused on keeping himself calm while it rang. For a moment, he feared it’d go to voicemail.

“Hello?” 

“Oh thank god,” Seokjin breathed, feeling relief wash through him at the sound of your voice. “Y/N.”

“Seokjin? Is everything alright? You sound…” You hesitated and he took the opportunity to interrupt. 

“My knee, it’s-- it gave out and I can’t--” He tried to explain while attempting to sit up, causing him to hiss in pain. “Can you come look at it?”

You were quiet for longer than he liked. “Jin,” your voice was soft, like you were afraid of upsetting him, “I don’t do home visits and-- I’m not a doctor, I don’t think--”

“Y/N, please, I can’t wait until our appointment and I can’t get to a doctor on my own right now. I don’t think I can put weight on it.” He was begging and if this had been weeks ago, he would have been embarrassed, but he had been so close to the goalpost that he was willing to throw his pride away. 

“I’ll be on my best behavior always, no more snarkiness, no attitude, I promise.” 

You huffed into the receiver. “Send me the address.” 

It took him seconds to do as he was told and he let his phone fall onto his chest when he dropped back against the floor with a long sigh. Now, he needed to hope that he’d be able to stand and answer the door whenever you got here.

.

When his doorbell ran, Jin somehow managed to drag himself up off the ground and hobbled his way to answer it. He kept one shoulder pressed against the wall, inching his way slowly across the hall until he could unlock the door. The sight of you was relieving, but the way your face crinkled in concern at his paleness and labored breathing was not. 

“Hey,” he croaked out, trying to crack a smile only to wince in pain when he put too much weight where he shouldn’t have.

Immediately you surged forward, ducking beneath the arm he used to keep himself propped up and wrapping yours around his waist until you could pull more of his weight onto you and off of his bad leg. Seokjin was impressed by how you moved him, dragging him along until you found your way to his couch and helped lower him onto it. 

There was a bag on your shoulder that dropped to the floor once he was settled and he wondered how he had missed its presence until now. 

“How’s it feeling?” You asked, digging through your supplies until you pulled out a towel that you used to dab at his face. 

He hadn’t realized how sweaty he was until it was being wiped away. Fuck, he probably looked like a mess.

“Terrible,” he answered, voice and expression flat as he met your gaze. You snorted, rolling your eyes at him before pressing the back of your warm hand against his clammy forehead. 

“You look it,” you shot back and he had the decency to gasp like he was appalled. 

“That’s no way to speak to a patient.” 

“Good thing you’re not technically my patient right now, huh?” 

Despite himself, Jin found the corners of his mouth lifting in a grin. “Then what am I?”

You paused, gaze tipping towards the ceiling while you tapped your chin. “A butthead.” 

He blinked once, then twice, before laughing. It was nice, despite the circumstances, to see a different side of you. It was obvious you were trying to distract him, keep his mind off of the problem while you got situated and he appreciated it. 

He certainly didn’t deserve it considering how he treated you initially, but he was grateful nonetheless. 

“So,” you started, forcing Seokjin to pay attention to you instead of his wandering thoughts. At some point, you’d settled on the ground before him with his coffee table pushed back to give you more space and your fingers were gentle as you probed at his swollen, sore kneecap. 

“It’s pretty tender,” you commented, palm pressing flat against his knee and the other carefully wrapping around his ankle to see how bending his leg might go. His fingers dug into the couch cushions as he hissed, eyes squeezing shut and nostrils flaring to fight back the pain. You froze, gaze flicking up to his face and waited until he looked back at you before continuing. 

You were extraordinarily gentle as you worked, taking cues from the way his body tensed or his breathing hitched to know if you were pushing too far. After a few moments of careful tests, your fingers massaged into his skin while you chewed on your lip. 

“How bad is it doc?” He wheezed, shoulders hunching in anticipation of bad news. 

“I told you Seokjin,” you sighed, clicking your tongue at him, “I’m not a doctor.” 

Dark eyes watched you scrunch up your nose. “Heh, well, you’re more of one than I am.” 

You hummed in agreement before you were rocking back onto your heels and standing. Giving yourself a minute to get used to being upright, you let your gaze drift across Seokjin’s body. It made him feel shy, somehow, like you might be scrutinizing him, and he did his best to look anywhere else but you in return. 

“I don’t think it’s anything too terrible.” He watched you move away, towards his kitchen from the corner of his eye. “We definitely need to ice it and you ought to avoid doing anything too strenuous, keep from agitating it while it’s still sensitive.” 

Once Seokjin was certain you weren’t looking at him, he turned his head so he could watch you rifle through his kitchen in search of supplies. Seeing you in his space, away from him, felt strange and made his stomach twist. 

He didn’t know how to feel about it. 

“There’s an icepack in the freezer,” he told you, torso twisting as he stretched an arm along the back of the couch. “Towels in the third drawer down by the stove.” 

You glanced towards him with a soft smile and his fingers curled into the back of his couch from the way his heart jolted. “Great. I’m glad to see you’re somewhat prepared.” 

After you collected both, you came back over and offered them to him. “Where’s your brace?” 

He was too focused on positioning things just right so it wouldn’t slide off if he shifted that he hadn’t heard you. 

“Jin?” 

His head shot up, eyes wide at the casualness of the way you said his name. It took you saying it again, for him to snap out of his daze. “Ah, in my room I think? On the nightstand.” When your brow furrowed he waved a hand at you. “It’s fine, I can’t exactly get it on my own can I?” 

“You could but I want you staying put,” you retorted, rolling your eyes at him before turning on your heel and disappearing down the hall. 

It did something to his chest to see you close the door of his room behind you, brace clutched in your hands, padding towards him. It made him wonder when the last time someone else had been in his house besides you. Or since before Sejin showed up to chide him. 

Seeing you existing in his space shouldn’t have felt as strange or confusing as it did. 

He was grateful when you gave him something to focus on, like your voice, when you handed it to him and took a seat on the armrest.

“I think you should wear your brace for the next couple of days,” you paused, looking up while trying to make a decision about the duration. “To our next session too. If you’re still experiencing weakness and are unable to bend your knee without a lot of pain then...We’ll need to get it x-rayed.” 

“Is it really--”

“N-no!” You cut him off quickly, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I don’t think it’s too serious. Stuff like this happens sometimes for a variety of reasons. You’ve been making a lot of progress on your exercises and recovery but maybe we upped the difficulty too soon.” Your thumb rubbed against the curve of his shoulder soothingly and Jin found it easy to zone out if he focused on the motion. 

“Or you just happened to step the wrong way. Maybe it caught on cartilage damage from the initial injury.” Your fingers dug into his collarbone for a second before you pulled your hand back. He had to consciously stop himself from trying to stop you, uncertain about why he was compelled to do so in the first place. 

“That’s not very helpful, I know,” you sighed, “but, I think if you take it easy for the next week or so it shouldn’t set you back far, if at all.” 

Your optimism was comforting, though that irritable, grumpy, child that lived in his chest wanted to lash out. The only reason he didn’t was because he had promised that he would be on his best behavior if you came to help him. Which kept his mouth shut, even if his teeth grit together and his jaw ticked to keep it that way. 

“Thank you,” he made himself say, feeling smaller than he had when Sejin had put him in his place. “You didn’t have to-- With how I’ve treated you before--”

“It’s fine, Jin.” You interjected, slipping off your seat to put things back into your bag. “The situation isn’t ideal for either of us but we have a choice. We can either make the best of it, or wallow in self-pity.” 

He hunched his shoulders further, tips of his ears reddening with embarrassment. “I’m not wallowing,” he huffed, twisting to look at you. 

The smile on your face was cheeky and it soothed some of the burn from his embarrassment. “You wallow, but you’ve been doing it less.” Your fingers toyed with the strap of your bag and when your mouth opened, he knew you were going to leave. 

“You should let me get you dinner. As thanks.” He said, words tumbling out of his mouth in a rush that was nearly incoherent. “If you’re not…if you don’t need to go. We could order take out. I uh,” he was fumbling and his ears were red for a different reason now. “I’ll need someone to answer the door for it anyway.” 

You bit the inside of your cheek, looking like you were holding back a giggle. “Yeah. Okay, but I get to pick what we get.” 

Seokjin pursed his lips together in a frown, brows crinkling in scrutinization. “Out of three places I pick.” 

Amused, you tapped your chin and let your bag drop back down to the floor. “Fine, I know how to compromise.” 

His mouth hung agape for a moment before he shook his head, a low chuckle rumbling through his chest before he fished out his phone. “Yeah, yeah. If that’s what we’re calling it.” 

.

Cartons of Chinese takeout littered Seokjin’s table. Something was playing on the TV, but the volume was so low it was practically white noise in the background. You sat on the other side of the couch, one leg tucked under the other so that your back was against the armrest and you were facing him. His foot pressed against your thigh because his bad knee was still stretched out across the length of it but neither of you seemed to mind. 

“No! You can’t have any of my noodles,” you protested, yanking your food away from him and holding it as far above your head as possible. “You should have ordered your own.” 

Seokjin let out a whine, plush lips pursing together in a pout while he leaned forward, practically folded in half with his chopsticks extended, still trying to snag a bite. “Oh come on! We didn’t needtwo orders of noodles.” 

Your head tilted back as you laughed, the earlier tenseness of your visit dissipating in the wake of warm food and the wine he insisted on you bringing out. Dinner, he had argued, wasn’t complete without a drink and he only had water to offer otherwise. “Yeah well you’re not asking, you're trying to steal it!” 

“It always tastes better when you’re stealing a bite!” He protested, falling back against the cushions. “Look, I’ll trade you some of my chicken.” His expression had fallen serious, like he was bartering for something more important than more food than either of you could reasonably eat. 

With your food carton tucked by your chest, chopsticks pressed against the edge of your mouth, you contemplated his offer. “Or,” you drawled, uncurling from yourself, “I could just take some.” A mischievous grin lit up your face and Seokjin’s immediately crumpled with suspicion.

Unfortunately, for him, you were much more limber and able to snatch a piece of chicken from the carton in his hand before he could react. You had even popped it into your mouth in a fluid motion while his hung open. 

“You know,” you said slowly as you chewed, “I think you’re right. It does taste better when it’s stolen.” 

Seokjin wanted to be upset that you had easily played him, but instead he was marveled and the corners of his mouth edged up into a smile as he shook his head, floofy fringe falling into his eyes as a result. Plus, he liked the way your nose scrunched from your smile and the way said smile made the anxious coil in his chest unwind. 

It felt easy, or easier, in that moment to pretend like he didn’t have to be worried about the way his knee ached dully or that he had been in so much pain only a few hours ago. The wine certainly helped too, making for loose limbs and looser mouths. 

He was grateful that he had managed to coax you into accepting at least one glass, even if the two of you had already consumed half the bottle by now. 

“You know,” you started, setting your food on the coffee table in a spot you knew he couldn’t reach without moving his leg regardless of how flexible he proved to be, “I don’t normally drink with patients but--”

“Well it’s a good thing I’m not a patient right now, huh?” Seokjin teased, following suit and trading his food for his wine glass.

“Oh, right,” you giggled, fingers wrapping around the stem of your glass so you could raise it to your lips for a drink. “You’re a butthead.” 

Seokjin pretended to sigh heavily, making a big show of being wounded by your comment. “And here I’d hoped that we were friends having dinner, but I’ll never escape the butthead label. Will I?”

“Nope!” You chirped, downing the rest of your wine but opting out of refilling the glass. “Besides, we’re not really friends, we’re more acquaintances aren’t we?” 

He had to hide his disappointment behind his wine when he shrugged, “Let’s pretend? Just for tonight?” 

The pleading in his tone made you soften, brow crinkling with concern that he didn’t like. It made his stomach twist in ways he wasn’t prepared to sort out. “I just-- I could use a friend right now. After tonight, we don’t have to talk about it ever again. It can be strictly business again,” Seokjin rambled, ignoring the way it felt like his own heart was sinking at the suggestion. 

You did that thing where you chewed on your cheek, hesitating before answering him because your instincts were screaming that it was a bad idea. Yet, you gave in anyway. “Okay, just for tonight.” 

.

Somehow, Seokjin had convinced you to drink more wine. His excuse was that the bottle was nearly finished anyway and if you didn’t, then he’d be forced to drink it on his own and that couldn’t be good for his recovery could it? 

That meant you were gigglier, constantly clasping your hand over your mouth to suppress laughter even when there was no possible way the things he was saying were that funny. For him, it meant that he was quieter, often zoning out as he watched you and getting lost in the way your eyes crinkled or how he thought he saw a hint of dimples when you smiled brightly at him. It also meant that he was very aware of how it felt whenever you touched him. 

Like now, you had your hand resting on his thigh just above the top of his brace. You were leaning forward, going on about a previous client of yours and how their mother had caused a scene because you had asked her to give you a moment alone. You’d placed your hand on his thigh for stability, the pleasant tipsiness from the wine making you sway slightly. . 

It was warm, almost to the point of burning, but he was frozen in place, barely daring to breathe lest it made you move away. 

His head felt heavy too, in that empty fogginess kind of way, which made it difficult for him to focus on what you were saying despite not wanting you to stop talking. He liked the sound of your voice, even when you were using it to chide him because was being a jerk. 

“Jin?” You called gently, fingers curling against his skin. His body startled, torso swaying forward when he shook his head like it might clear the haziness away.

“Yeah? Sorry.”

“What’s going on in that head of yours?” You asked, smile soft and fond as your head tilted. 

“I--” He stopped, frowning because he didn’t know. He hadn’t been thinking about anything specifically, except for how nice it felt to be close to someone again, but he couldn’t say that. Instead, something worse tumbled from his mouth. 

“What if I can’t play again?” 

You blinked in surprise, pulling back to his chagrin. Your hands folded in your lap and you pursed your lips, contemplating while struggling to get your mind to produce coherent thoughts. The longer you stayed quiet, the more antsy Seokjin felt and he wished that he had kept his mouth shut so you had continued to tell him stories he could only half pay attention to. 

“You will,” you told him, unfolding your hands and reaching for one of his. He gave it readily, allowing you to squeeze his fingers and run your thumb along his knuckles. 

“But what if I can’t?” He insisted, clenching his jaw to keep all of his fears from spilling out his mouth. “I’m getting close to aging out of the sport.” The tabloid headlines were playing on repeat in his head. In a career like his, getting injured could be the end of everything. 

“You don’t believe that.” Your voice was soft and you scooted closer, mindful of his leg, so you could peer up at him when he wouldn’t look at you. “You’re only thirty.”

He knew that you were trying to be reassuring, comforting even, but your gentleness only served to frustrate him. “Most players are only in their prime in their early to mid twenties.” There was more of a bite to his tone than he intended, but you were as steady and calm as ever. You didn’t flinch, even if you looked away and exhaled slowly. 

“This isn’t my first injury, let alone surgery” His tongue ran along his teeth before they dragged against his lower lip when he inhaled. “This could easily be my last season and I’m missing most of it!” 

“That doesn’t mean you’re going to miss all of it.” You tried, but his snort made you pause. “Hey.” Your tone was stern and you’d hooked fingers beneath his chin to tip it up and force him to look at you. “What did we say about wallowing in self pity?” 

Seokjin’s dark eyes couldn’t leave yours. He found himself searching for something in your gaze that he could hold onto; hope, faith, fondness? He didn’t know what it was, just that you might be able to offer it to him. After all, weren’t you sitting here in his living room despite your rules trying to make him believe in himself again? 

“I’ve been wallowing less,” he made himself say, a weak smile offered alongside it. 

“You’ve been making progress, I know it’s not as quickly as you would like but, Jin, we have to do this right.” Your hand shifted to rest your palm against his cheek and he found himself leaning into the touch, eyes closing as he listened to your reassurances. “The season’s not even half over, we have time. Okay?” 

“But-- What if they’re right?” He asked, proud when his voice didn’t crack. “What if it’s time for me to retire? What am I supposed to do then?” 

Soccer had been his focus since he was a child. Practicing again and again until he was confident he could prevent nearly any goal. Until his injury, he had been keeping in top shape and was almost always at the field if he could manage it. He had been the best. 

Jin felt like he needed to stay the best in order to keep his position as main goalie instead of reserve. He didn’t have any backup plans, no alternate paths to take, and he hadn’t thought about retirement once in his ten plus years of playing professionally. 

Before this, he had expected to play for at least another ten years-- assuming the national team still thought his skills were suitable. Each extra day of recovery that had to be added felt like a red card penalty to keep him from doing what he was meant to. What was he without soccer? 

Who was he without the sport that he had built his entire life around? 

“Jin,” you called quietly and when he opened his eyes, both of your hands were cradling his face. “You can’t get caught up in the what ifs. If you let those stupid articles poison your mind then of course they’re going to be right. Shouldn’t you be trying to prove them wrong?” 

Your words washed over him and his entire body shuddered as they settled into his skin. He lifted his hands, wrapping them around your wrists, which felt so tiny in his grip. Gently he tugged you forward until his forehead pressed to yours and just stayed there for a moment while counting his breaths until his anxious heart started to settle. 

“Thank you,” he whispered after a long moment. “For everything today.” 

He felt your fingertips slide across his skin, pressing against his chin before leaving completely and he missed the warmth of your palms. Reluctantly he released you, pulling back until your face was in focus without having to blink several times. 

He took in the way you were leaning forward, how you had scooted even closer until your knee was pressing against his and your feet were centimeters from his. You were close enough that if he shifted just right, he could close the gap between you but he stayed, rooted in place, unable to look away until clarity seemed to wash over you and you scooted back, tucking hair behind your ear as you mumbled something about the time. 

It would have been so easy, in that moment, for Seokjin to ask more of you again and part of him desperately wanted to. But, you had already done so much for him  that he couldn’t bring himself to ask for more. 

So, when you told him that it was time for you to go, he didn’t try to convince you to stay. 

.

Tuesday came without another incident. 

Seokjin wore his brace dutifully and he had been taking it easy. Instead of doing any of his usual exercises, he had simply stretched and hoped that he would be limber enough that he could mostly ditch the brace again. 

When you finally called his name, you looked nervous. Uncomfortable. 

His stomach twisted, brows furrowing as he pushed himself up and hobbled over. Sunday had changed your relationship, even if he had tried to convince himself that it hadn’t. The tension was back, but this time it was a thick, dreary cloud that he didn’t know how to deal with. 

“Seokjin,” you said and he felt a zing of relief. Things were weird but they weren’t ruined. 

“I was a good boy all weekend doc,” he tried to joke. When the edge of your mouth curled upward, his heart leaped. 

“I told you, I’m not a doctor.” You replied, eyes rolling as you jotted some things down and got busy examining his knee. While your fingers prodded at his skin, moved his leg, and messed with his brace Seokjin busied himself with appreciating you. 

You were focused enough with your task that you didn’t seem to notice the way his gaze roamed over you. Surely you felt the weight of it, but you didn’t look up once until you were finished, which Seokjin appreciated. It gave him time to appreciate the curve of your jaw, the length of your neck, the way your brow wrinkled and your lips pursed together whenever you found something that concerned you. 

It was so easy to get lost in his observations that he barely noticed that you’d undone the velcro of his brace and taken it off completely. You had cleared your throat when you placed your palm on his shin, obviously trying to get his attention. 

His ears reddened when he realized he was caught staring. 

“You seem out of sorts, Seokjin. Is everything alright?” You asked, always far more gentle with him than he deserved.  He wondered if you were like this with other patients, if you would have shown up for them the way you had shown up for him. The thought made his stomach churn, bile rising in his throat that he swallowed back down. 

He didn’t like how it made him feel, especially when he didn’t feel like he had a right to feel any which way about it. 

“I’m fine,” he answered, after a beat. When he met your eye, you looked unconvinced and your lips pursed like you were going to push it. “I was just-- I was thinking about how I would like to thank you,” Seokjin blurted out, wincing immediately after. 

“We could do dinner?” He asked, nerves rattling against his ribcage. 

“Last time was…unprofessional,” You told him. “I don’t think it’s very wise for us to engage in activities outside of the clinic again.” 

Seokjin felt his heart plummet in response. “It wasn’t…it wasn’t so bad was it?” 

You looked away, tongue poking at the corner of your mouth before swiping across your lips. “No,” you sighed. “It was nice Jin, but we should keep our relationship professional.” 

“It’s just dinner,” He protested, ignoring the way his heart jumped when you used the shortened version of his name. “A thank you dinner, for how much you’ve done and, heh, how well you’ve put up with me.” 

Your silence made him ache. He struggled with hiding how it bothered him, how disappointment began swelling in his chest and settling between the spaces of his ribs. He hated how he couldn’t tell if you weren’t saying anything because your pity didn’t know how to reject him or if it was because you wanted to say yes but there were boundaries you couldn’t keep crossing. 

If he let himself beg, let all of his weakness bleed through the cracks of his cranky, scared, front would you cave? 

Probably. You had every other time. But Seokjin knew he didn’t have the right to exploit your kindness any more than he already had. 

So, he sat in your silence, let it settle in all the spaces he wished it didn’t and braced himself for your gentle rejection. 

Finally, you sighed and he let his gaze lift from where it had fallen to the hands he kept twisting over each other. “Wouldn’t it be better to wait until you’ve finished therapy completely?” 

Seokijn pretended that the pity he could see in your eyes was yearning instead. 

“When I finish, I’ll go back to playing, right? That’s the goal,” he started, words spilling from his mouth like an overflowing fountain he didn’t know how to stop. “Now’s the best time, no practice. No re-learning to play with the team again. No obstacles besides my recovery.” 

His teeth dug into his bottom lip before he sighed. “But you’re right. It’s unprofessional. I just-- I don’t think I would have made it this far if I had anyone but you as my physical therapist.” 

“That’s not--” 

He waved his hand to interrupt you, to continue with his thoughts even as his voice quieted. “It is true, someone else would have written me off for my attitude or made me suffer for it.” He thought only you had the capability to chide him in the way he needed. “So, thank you. I want to thank you, dinner or no dinner.” 

He cracked a half-hearted smile when he said, “but it’d be nice if I could do it over dinner.” 

Your cheek had been sucked in, hesitation flashing over your features before your own, shy, smile crept out. “I suppose I do need to eat. Food is always better with company.” 

It was impossible to contain the elation that spread through him, his entire body straightening. “Really?” 

“Just this once. We don’t want to make a habit out of this.” 

“Of course.”

.

Seokjin’s kitchen was an absolute mess. 

The trash can had been pulled towards the sink so that he could dispose of unusable parts of the vegetables he was chopping. Several bowls were filled with various items, spices, sauces, cut vegetables, and he was constantly flitting from the stove to the sink to the countertop in varying orders. 

His dark hair that he’d let grow too long was pushed back, staying that way from the sweat that clung to his hairline and trickled down the side of his face. His brows looked as though they might get stuck with how furrowed he held them. His deep frown complimented them when he brought a spoonful of liquid to his mouth to taste and decided it wasn’t to his liking at all. 

After a long moment of consideration, he grabbed the pot handle and carried it over to the sink, dumping all of the contents before rinsing it out enough that he could try again. He froze, stomach pressing the edge of the counter and soaking his shirt with the water residue that he hadn’t yet wiped down, before he looked over everything else he had half-prepped. 

What was he doing? 

He had been in the kitchen, attempting to make a suitable meal, for hours and he had virtually nothing to show for it. Sure, there were bowls of carrots, onions, peppers, whatever but none of it made a meal. Every time he thought he had found the perfect meal to prepare it was tossed in the trash after sampling it. 

He could hear his mother’s scolding voice in the back of his head. Seokjin, you’re being so wasteful!

He didn’t care, this dinner had to be perfect. He would start over as many times as he felt necessary. Feeling guilty about the waste would have to wait until after. If he ever figured out what to cook and to do so to his liking. 

The soft exhale of steam being released and the following beeps pulled Seokjin from his spot at the sink, feet carrying him across the tile to where his rice cooker sat at the end of the counter. Methodically he opened the lid, grabbed the rice paddle, and set to fluffing the rice. 

The motions were relaxed, familiar, and something he’d done a million times. They allowed his thoughts to wander, gaze fixed to the wall, and he zoned out. He thought about you; how important it was that this dinner conveyed his thanks, how he’d gone from hating you to admiring you to...whatever it was he felt for you now, and then he wondered what you thought of him. 

Surely you had to like him to some degree, right? After all, why would you invest so much time or energy into him, especially out of clinic hours? 

Teeth pulled the edge of his plump bottom lip in for chewing when his knuckles skimmed the sides of the inner pot. Hissing he jerked back, scoop falling into the rice, and pressed his lips against the surface burn as if it would soothe the pain. 

It brought him out of his daydreaming with several blinks and slow breaths. However, it took a moment for him to remember where he was and what he had been in the middle of. Sucking on his knuckles his brow furrowed.

What was he doing again?

He was fluffing the rice. He was fluffing the rice because the rice was done. 

He was fluffing the rice…because the rice was done.

The rice was done.

Dark eyes snapped over to the illuminated numbers on the display screen of his oven. It was only 3:26 P. M. There were at least two hours before you were supposed to arrive and the rice was already done. If the rice was ready now then it would no longer be at the optimal temperature for eating. Not to mention it could also end up being too crispy if his rice cooker misbehaved. 

He couldn’t serve you this. 

Hastily he unplugged the rice cooker, found himself an oven mitt and pulled the inner pot out. He carried it towards the sink where the trash can sat nearby and hovered above it for a moment. One hand held the pot, the other gripped the rice scoop and he looked fully prepared to scrape the perfectly good rice into the trash.

Except…he couldn’t. 

How could he possibly waste perfectly good rice whose only flaw was that he was a fool who cooked it too soon? It had been prepared just right…at least…he was certain that he’d done it right. He’d washed it the appropriate three times. 

Wait. 

Had it been three times? 

What if he had only washed it twice? 

If his handsome face could look anymore stricken, then it would have. 

Perhaps it was fate intervening, him cooking it too soon. He couldn’t possibly serve you this rice if he couldn’t be certain that it had been washed three times. But…he also couldn’t toss perfectly good rice. Surely it could be used for something else later, that was just for him right? 

He could save it, repurpose it. 

Carefully he set the pot down in the empty side of the sink and moved the drawers in which he kept his Tupperware containers. Rifling through them and matching lids to containers took far too many minutes for his liking but in enough time he was carefully packing rice into clear containers. And…a few sturdy once-take-out ones too. 

Until he ran into another dilemma. 

He had too much rice and not enough containers. 

His brain short circuited once more as he snatched up his phone and dialed his mother. When the call went unanswered, Seokjin groaned and tossed the device onto the counter before bracing himself against the sink. His mind raced, trying to figure out what to do. 

Every container that he owned was overflowing with rice, some of the grains surely caught in the lip of the lids when he had forced them down. There was still a decent amount of rice sitting in the pot. Why had he made so much rice? 

It was incredibly unlikely that all of it would have been eaten. Sure, Seokjin could eat when he had an appetite but he couldn’t remember your eating habits. Had everything been consumed when the pair of you ordered Chinese? 

You hadn’t shared your entree with him, but still, he had made an unreasonable amount of rice. Though, he supposed the unreasonable amount of rice went along with the unreasonable amount of half-prepped food lining his counters. 

What was going on with him? He had never been so frazzled before. 

His phone screen lit up, informing him that he was running out of time. He had less than an hour and a half to get himself together and scrape up something edible. 

But…he hadn’t solved the problem of too much rice that he couldn’t possibly throw away. He stared at the offending food with all the frustration he could manage like it would do something about it. 

Really, there was only one solution. 

He had to eat the rice. 

In the midst of his attempts to consume the remaining rice, his phone rang. In his haste to answer it, he failed to <;i>swallow</i> said rice and had shoved the paddle with a fresh scoop of rice into his mouth. His cheeks were puffed out like a chipmunk storing nuts for the winter and, between the mouthful of rice and utensil in his mouth, he barely had the ability to say a coherent word. 

“Hemwo?” 

“Kim Seokjin, is your mouth completely full?” His mother’s stern voice had his jaw dropping, plastic clattering against the metal of the sink along with clumps of rice he failed to save when he swallowed once, twice, three times to get enough of the rice to slide down his throat instead of sticking to his mouth. 

“Sorry eomma,” he apologized, tongue running along teeth to catch stray grains. He held his phone against his ear using his shoulder as he fumbled for a cup to fill with tap water to wash the rest of his shame away. “Do you have any containers you could bring me?” 

He had managed to get the rice down to a reasonable, one more container’s worth. 

“Ah, Jinnie, we’re out of town, remember?” 

His entire body sagged at the reminder and Seokjin had to resist the urge to smack his forehead. “Right. Sorry. I--” He stopped, heaved a heavy sigh and failed to speak again. 

“What’s going on sweetheart?” His mother asked, voice gentle in that are you hurt type of way. 

“Nothing eomma,” Seokjin mumbled. There was a short pause before he sighed again. “I just-- I’m making a thank you dinner and nothing seems to be going right. I made too much rice, too soon, I don’t have an entree, the kitchen is a disaster and,” he laughed bitterly, “every storage container I own is filled with rice.” 

When he heard his mother giggle, words muffled as she clearly relayed information to his father, he couldn’t bring himself to be annoyed or mad. If this was a situation one of his brothers or a friend was in, he’d laugh too. 

Being a laughing stock sounded like it went along great with his washed up athlete title. 

His mother’s gentle voice drew him out of his self-loathing. “This person must be important to you if you’re fumbling in the kitchen, Jinnie.” 

“No!” Seokjin answered too quickly, feeling both his cheeks and ears warming. “I mean-- I’m just grateful, that’s all eomma.” 

His mother was suspiciously quiet and he could picture the way her lips were likely pursed together in thought. He was grateful that she wasn’t in the same room knowing that he would wilt beneath her ever observant gaze. “You know,” she started slowly, mischief in her voice that made her son want to groan, “my braised pork belly won your father over on our first stay-in date.” 

“It’s not a date--” 

“Whatever it is, honey, doesn’t matter. All I’m saying is that it’s a foolproof recipe.”

Seokjin’s tongue pressed against his cheek, lips pursed firmly together as he gave his mother’s unsubtle nudging a thought. He did have pork belly thawed in his fridge and it wasn’t like he had any other ideas. The stress of everything with the rice incident ™ had left his pretty head empty, void of practical thoughts. 

That’s why he had tried to call his mother; she had a solution for everything. Not listening to her would mean that he was simply digging a deeper hole for himself or he would be forced to resort to ordering take-out. Which, while a reasonable option, was not what he wanted to do. He had already spent hours in the kitchen, he couldn’t throw all that time and effort away when there was an alternative option. 

Right? 

Switching to chewing on his lip, he swallowed his pride knowing that he would likely be grilled by his mother the next time he spoke to her about how things went and said, “Okay. I think I remember how to make that but, send me the recipe. Just in case?” 

He couldn’t trust his brain to not short out again. 

“Of course, honey.” He could hear the pleased grin in his mother’s voice. “Good luck! Love you!” 

Hanging up and setting his phone back down on the counter, Seokjin took a moment to breathe and center himself. His fringe dusted his forehead, tickling his eyebrows, as he hung his head over the sink and closed his eyes. In. Out. 

Each breath made the tension slither down his spine and by the time his phone dinged with a text notification he felt a little less unhinged. Normal. Reasonable. Capable. 

Seokjin checked his phone, skimmed over the recipe and good luck message, rolled up his imaginary sleeves and got to work.

He could do this. 

.

The knock on his door was soft, but firm. A series of taps that was long enough to get his attention but short enough to keep from being annoying and Seokjin nearly tripped over his feet in his haste to answer. It didn’t help that he was tugging on a fresh v-neck at the same time.

The rice debacle™ had cost him the time he planned to shower and dress more appropriately and he was tugging his shirt down while he pulled the door open, breathless. 

His eyes widened when he took in your appearance; the way your hair fell in soft curls around your shoulders with some of the strands tucked behind your ear, the simple dress and cardigan combo with dark tights, and the way you looked at him with an unguarded, almost flushed expression. It was hard to think when you were looking so <;i>soft</i> before him. He couldn’t remember you ever looking like this before, even when you showed up to reassure him about his knee and it was doing something to his heart.

Hell, he was certain that his jaw had dropped slightly from the way you seemed to fidget beneath his gaze. 

“I brought dessert,” you told him, eyes meeting his when you gestured with the box and offered him an uncertain smile. “I went something simple, maybe…plain? In hopes that it would pair with dinner since you wouldn’t tell me what we were having.” Your nose wrinkled and Seokjin felt his heart clench before his mother’s voice in his head scolded him for being so rude. 

“Oh,” he said, stepping closer to retrieve the box from you. When his fingertips brushed your knuckles he audibly swallowed, body tensing slightly before he forced himself to relax. Every part of him felt strung up like a live wire and he didn’t know how to manage it. “Thank you.” 

The way you shifted, folding your hands together before you now that you no longer had the box to hide behind, gave away your slight discomfort and Seokjin’s body startled into action, shuffling back to allow you space to enter. “Shit, sorry. Come in?” 

He grimaced at how awkward he was being but your lips pursed with amusement and you covered your mouth to hide your giggle. The anxiety that was curling between his ribs was starting to unfurl and he felt like he could breathe again. Nerves still fluttered in his belly but they felt like he could manage them now.

“You look nice,” he told you, quiet as he glanced over his shoulder.

Your chin lifted, eyes widening, and your lips parted in surprise before he caught your eye. “Oh,” you said, sounding as breathless as he felt. A pleased little smile graced your lips and Seokjin could feel his heart stutter as his ears warmed. “Thank you.” 

He struggled to look away, only doing so by virtue of tripping over his own feet and stumbling forward. His movements were exaggerated and wild as he tried to keep from sending the dessert you’d so thoughtfully brought flying down the hallway. His shoulder hit the wall hard, but the box was kept safely in his hands and he let out a huff in relief. 

“Are you okay?” You asked, already at his side with your brows crinkled with concern. You were acting immediately, stepping around his broad frame to peer at the injured shoulder and when your fingers gently touched it, he jerked away. 

“I’mfine.” He said so hurriedly, it became one word. “I–” His mind blanked, all thoughts fleeing at the sound of his heartbeat raging in his chest. “Thank you. Sorry. I–” He took a moment to exhale slowly, recentering himself. “I don’t know what’s going on with me today.” 

Instead of soothing you like he’d hoped, you were still looking at him with confusion and your head was tilted in a manner that let loose strands of hair slide to your cheeks. It took everything he had to keep from reaching out to brush them away. 

“It’s just me, Jin,” you said softly, letting your hand drop to the front of you. 

That was the problem, wasn’t it? 

It was you before him, you in his house looking at him with a softness he didn’t think he deserved but wanted so badly, and you that dredged up feelings Seokjin didn’t know he could have. 

“Yeah,” he said quietly, turning to continue making his way to the dining room table. “That’s why it matters.” 

He spoke quietly enough for there to be a chance that you hadn’t heard, but he was certain you had from the way you seemed to straighten in his peripherals. Seokjin hurried forward, determined not to look back and make a further fool of himself. 

.

The start of dinner was quiet. 

Seokjin was lost in his thoughts, serving food onto plates and only seeming to settle back into the present when his back pressed against the chair. You were looking at him with quiet curiosity, head cocked, and he knew that you were waiting for him to say something. 

Meeting your gaze was difficult, but he tried anyway because that’s what you deserved. 

His long fingers toyed with his chopsticks, a plump lip tugged between teeth as he tried to work up the courage to say something, to do anything. Finding his voice felt impossible, his throat dry despite the saliva he’d worked up in his mouth in his silence, but he tried anyway.

“Thank you,” he said, voice as soft as earlier and he knew it wasn’t carrying across the table like it should have. “Thank you,” he tried again, clearing his throat and sitting up a little straighter. 

“You don’t need to thank me,” you replied, nose wrinkling as mild confusion rippled across your face. 

“But I do,” he insisted, feeling his bravery start to blossom in his chest the longer he forced himself to speak. “I know you were hesitant to come but you did anyway– you keep coming when I ask and I don’t deserve it so the least I can do is be grateful for it.” 

Seokjin was more than grateful, but he didn’t think that admitting he was harboring confusing, growing, possibly romantic feelings for you should be his next move. 

“Jin–” 

“I know, I know you’re going to tell me that I’m overthinking in some way.” He thought back to the conversation at the clinic. “I just– throughout all of this,” he gestured between them, to his knee, “I was angry, afraid, and throwing a tantrum like a child. You? You didn’t put up with my attitude and called me on my shit and talked me down when I was panicking.” He let out a breathless laugh, shaking his head before running his hand over his face and into his hair. 

“It means a lot and deserves thanking, even if you don’t think it does.” 

You’re quiet for a moment, hands having slid from their resting spot on the table to your lap. It made Seokjin’s nerves ramp up again but there was nothing but a soft kindness on your expression as you looked at him and it was the only reason he didn’t lose himself to his thoughts and spiral…Completely. 

“You weren’t acting like a child,” you started, the corner of your mouth twitching while he braced himself for whatever (deserved) insult you were going to throw at him, “you were acting like a butthead.” 

It took a moment for the word to sink in and when it did his face blanked, then he let out a honking round of laughter. 

“I’m never going to escape the butthead title, am I?” He asked, and just like that, the tension dissipated.

You couldn’t seem to hide the grin that broke across your face when you shook your head. “Nope. Seems like you’ll always be a bit of a butthead,” you teased, letting your hands resurface to grab your chopsticks and dig into the food Seokjin had meticulously prepared. 

“Now can you stop being in your head so we can eat?” You asked, reaching across the table to snag a piece of pork belly. It was in your mouth before he had a chance to answer, giving him the pleasure of watching your expression change as you savored the bite. 

“Oh my god,” you moaned, tipping your head back when you swallowed like you’d never tasted anything better. “This is amazing, I might be in love.” 

Seokjin couldn’t help but beam, ears burning a bright red when he wiped his sweaty hands off on his pants and dove into the meal too. “It’s my eomma’s recipe, she’ll be pleased to know you like it.”

He could already hear her teasing, I told you it would make her fall in love with you, in his head. 

He didn’t fight the surge of affection that filled him at the sight of you enjoying everything he’d prepared, deciding that all of his worry and panic earlier had been worth it if it meant he got to see you so unguarded and happy. 

Dinner was lively after those first bites, the ease and comfort of the last time you’d dined together returning and Seokjin found that he didn’t mind that his cheeks and ears were flushed. 

He would do everything again over again if it meant you’d be here in his home, laughing at his stupid joke, enjoying food he made, and letting him pretend that this was more than a thank you dinner. 

When you snuck into the men’s locker room the very last thing you expected was to run into a dripping, half naked Min Yoongi grinning at you like the cat who caught the canary. 

You had thought that it was empty because most of the community center’s patrons had headed out once the activities from their summer shindig had concluded. Really, it was your bladder’s fault because it had decided that no, you couldn’t survive the fifteen minute walk back to your apartment and demanded that you take care of it immediately. 

But then, the women’s locker room had been closed for cleaning to your despair and frustration. The individual family bathroom had also been occupied like some damn conspiracy created to deny you the ability to relieve your too full bladder. A condition caused by your insistence on being a ‘hydrated bitch’.

You were seriously reconsidering whether or not the increased need to pee was worth it when it occurred to you to check the men’s. Upon first peek in, it was devoid of people. You’d even called a probably too quiet, “Hello?” only to be met with relative silence.

You figured that meant it was empty and you were safe to slip in and do your business and ideally slip out without anyone knowing. 

Upon exiting the stall and washing your hands, you stepped out of the bathroom area of the locker room and quite literally ran into someone.

Shit. 

The first thing you noticed was that they were wet. The second thing you noticed was that they were naked. Half-naked, technically, because there was a towel wrapped around their waist but still more naked than not. And the third thing you noticed was the lazy smirk on their face. 

Oh. 

You knew that smirk. 

“Yoongi, this isn’t what it looks like,” You say hurriedly, feeling your cheeks heat up with embarrassment. Both of your hands are raised in front of you, palms out, in the universal gesture of I’m innocent, I swear.

Yoongi looks far too amused, too cocky, when he raises a brow at you in a look that indicates he doesn’t believe you. 

Ugh. He’s exasperating. You thought he’d left at least an hour ago. 

“Uh huh,” he drawls, arms folding over his wet, naked chest. You hate how the action draws your attention to it because you can’t stop the way your gaze drifts over him greedily. It’s certainly not helping that there’s a specific droplet of water that’s making its way down the center straight towards his belly button and the "v" of his hips that you want to lick---

“You’d be a lot more believable if you stopped staring at me like you want to devour me.” 

Yoongi’s deep voice had your head snapping up, the cloudiness from lust being blinked out of your eyes. “I wasn’t--” You get distracted by the way water drips from his hairline down his cheek and off his jaw. 

He looks sinfully good with his slicked back orange hair and that fucking smirk that won’t leave his stupid smug face. 

You’re staring again and you can feel your cheeks heating. At this point you feel like you’re permanently blushing. His mouth opens for what surely is another taunt and you exasperatedly try to push past him to escape. Unfortunately, the bag you’ve been carrying manages to snag on something and you lose your grip, sending it crashing into the ground. 

Yoongi loses his towel. 

Your gaze drops to down, for your bag, but your eyes lock onto his dick instead. Fuck.

As far as dicks go, it’s a pretty nice dick. 

It’s half hard, curling towards his stomach. You don’t think it’s particularly long, nothing impressively above average but the girth? It makes you swallow a little and take a step back. Yoongi doesn’t let you get very far away. 

His fingers wrap around the wrist of the hand you’re lifting to cover your mouth, tugging you towards him when he steps closer. The grip he has on you is loose, something you could easily pull free from, but you don’t. Instead, you stumble forward and catch yourself with a palm on Yoongi’s…wet…surprisingly broad chest. 

“It’s okay, you can look if you want,” he tells you, leaning in so you feel the curve of his lips against your cheek and his voice is that low, gravely register that makes you shiver. “You can touch too,” he offers, guiding your hand lower. 

It feels like your brain is short circuiting, overwhelmed by the residual heat from the locker room’s showers, the warmth spreading through your body, and the heat in the man standing across from you’s gaze. Part of you wants to deny your interest in drinking in his body, to avoid touching him despite the fact that you’ve spend several minutes basically gaping at him as he stood confidently across from you. 

The other much stronger part, wants to give in and touch. Yoongi’s inviting you to, he looks sinfully good, and…maybe you want to do something that you think might wipe that smirk off his face. 

So, you pull your hand away and find yourself grinning when Yoongi’s body tenses up because he’s waiting for you to act. The hand pressed against his chest slides a little higher, fingers digging into the flesh above his collarbone, and you step a tiny bit closer. Your other one slips between your bodies and wraps around his cock. 

Or, well, that’s what you were trying to do. 

You’d thought his girth was impressive upon sight, but now that you’ve got your palm wrapped around it you’re faced with the reality of just how thick he is. He’s heavy in your hand with your fingers unable to wrap around the width of his shaft. 

“Fuck,” you hiss. Your graze drags upward, eyes wide when you meet Yoongi’s half-lidded gaze. The smirk’s dropped slightly and you almost think he’s looking at you with something like fondness when the cockiness overtakes him again. 

“We should,” he says, far too conversationally for the tension swirling in the air. 

You take a moment to weigh the options in your head, absentmindedly stroking his cock while you chew on your lip. Yoongi hisses, thick fingers curling around your wrist again to stop you. 

“You can’t play with my dick while you’re deciding if we’re going to fuck,” he groans and when you smirk at him, his grip tightens. 

“It’s helping me make a decision,” you cheekily reply and the way Yoongi’s gaze darkens sends a flush of arousal through you. When he was smirking at you earlier you were embarrassed but now, with his dick in your grasp and him looking at you like that you feel powerful, aroused, and frankly? 

Bratty. 

So, while your hand can’t freely move you can tighten your grip around him, fingers stretching like you might be able to get your thumb and middle finger to meet if you try hard enough. His brow arches in response, mouth twisting into a frown as he presses closer, reaching for your hip with his other hand. 

“What are you doing pretty girl?” Somehow, his voice has gotten deeper, huskier and you bite your cheek to hold back the moan it incites from you. 

“Mm, nothing.” 

“Doesn’t feel like nothing,” he says and you can hear the warning in his tone. It doesn’t stop you. “It feels like,” he pauses, pulling your hand away completely and sliding his fingers between yours when he moves forward, forcing you to walk backwards until you hit one of the walls, “you’re taunting me.” 

Like this, Yoongi seems to tower over you and that makes your heart race. You try to maintain eye contact with him, but your gaze keeps dropping to his mouth. His lips look soft, plush, and oh-so kissable. You want him to kiss you, but you don’t want to ask. 

“Good girls get kissed,” Yoongi’s words interrupt your thoughts. Shit, you must’ve said them outloud. “Girls who like to taunt and tease don’t.” He leans in close enough that his mouth hovers above yours and his breath is warm on your face. “Now are you going to be a good girl?”

You pout, stretching to try and close the distance between you but Yoongi sees right through you and pulls far enough back that you can’t. When you try to follow you find that he’s captured your other hand and brought them both over your head. 

“Fine,” you huff, trying to pretend like you don’t find all of this incredibly attractive. You’ve always found the man attractive, you just didn’t think that he thought the same. Or that you’d end up here after wanting him to fuck you while also not wanting to admit it. 

Yoongi’s head tilts, damp strands falling across his forehead, and looks at you expectantly. You blink back up at him. 

“I didn’t realize you were such a brat,” he sighs in a way that tells you he’s more amused than displeased. “Guess you’ll have to earn your kiss.” 

You’re furrowing your brow before his grip on you shifts to your shoulders and applies enough pressure to coax you downward. You resist just enough to make his gaze narrow before easily, and willingly, sinking to the ground. It’s not exactly pleasant on your knees but it puts you directly in front of Yoongi’s now very hard dick. 

Like this, it seems even bigger than it felt and that makes your mouth water. 

“Why don’t we put that bratty mouth of your to good use?” He says, hand slipping up to caress your cheek before his fingers tangle in your hair. 

You think about being bratty, to say something to make him pull your hair, to punish you, but you also think about how you want him to kiss you. How you want to be called good girl and be praised. But mostly you’re thinking about how you want to see how much of him you can fit into your mouth, if you can even fit more than the head inside. 

So, when Yoongi takes his cock in his hand and smears the leaking head across your lips and says, “Open up pretty,” your mouth falls open. Your tongue lolls out and you think you ought to be embarrassed but you aren’t.

How could you be when he’s looking at you like that?

He taps the head against your outstretched tongue, nails scraping along your scalp when he tilts your head back just enough that you have to look at him. “Wider baby, or it’s not going to fit.” 

You’re eager to do as he asks, relaxing your jaw until your mouth is as open as it can get. Even then, when his hips push forward and you can actually feel the weight of his dick on your tongue you know it’s going to be a struggle. Your jaw is going to ache for days, probably, and you’re not sure you’ve ever wanted anything more. 

The taste of precome is salty on your tongue when you manage to swallow the spit that’s gathered in anticipation. Your lips close around the head, suckling as you look up at him with wide, blinking eyes. Yoongi’s own gaze is heated, eyes half closed and a hint of smugness clinging to the curve of his mouth. 

The bratty side of you wants to make his knees buckle, but the side of you that wants your promised kiss insists that you be good and ultimately wins. 

Yoongi is surprisingly gentle when he starts to trust shallowly into your mouth, letting you get used to the thickness of the shaft sliding across your tongue. Still, it doesn’t take long before both of you grow impatient; your hands wrapping around his dick and his grip tightening in your hair when his pace increases. 

He thrusts sharply enough to hit the back of your throat and you gag, eyes watering when you try not to cough or jerk away. Concern flickers across his face for half a second before you resume stroking with your hands, pulling your head back enough to feel like you can breathe but not so far that you might pull off. 

The eagerness in which you return to the task of sucking him off reassures Yoongi that you’re fine and the man doesn’t waste time when it comes to helping you with your task. The grip in your hair pushes your head further down, making you gag again, and his speed increases leading you to believe that he’s close even if he’s been relatively quiet outside of grunts and moans here and there. 

Normally you’d prefer your men more vocal, but you can tell that Yoongi’s holding back if the way his face twists in pleasure is any indication. There’s a warm coil in your belly at the thought of what you might do that would make him break, that’d get him singing for you and you hope that this whole thing doesn’t just end once he comes. 

Yoongi might seem like he enjoys being mean to you, but he doesn’t strike you as someone who would be cruel like that. 

When his hand reaches down to wrap around his cock, you let yours fall to your thighs and let him do whatever he wants because you’re a little more eager than you’d like to admit for him to come. You’re enjoying yourself, immensely, but both your jaw and knees are starting to ache. 

He pulls back until just the head is still in your mouth and says, “Be a good girl and open wide.” 

Despite your reservations that you can't you do your best to relax your jaw until it really can’t drop down any further again. Fortunately he seems pleased, letting out a low moan when he comes. 

Yoongi pulls back, dark eyes taking in the sight of you with a smirk. 

You hold your mouth open, tongue stretched out as far as it can go so that you can show off all the come that’s collected. The act seems to please Yoongi who lets out a hum that you think could almost be mistaken for a cat’s purr. He taps his cockhead against your tongue a few times, like he’s shaking off any stray drops, before tipping his chin up in a gesture that makes you think he wants you to swallow.

So you do, taking pleasure in the way he seems to watch the way your throat bobs as you swallow. You also enjoy the way he watches you lick your lips messily, nosily smacking them together to ensure there’s not an ounce of his seed left. 

Once again, you let your tongue loll out of your mouth to show him that you’re the good girl he’s wanted you to be and there’s nothing left. It shouldn’t thrill you so much, how pleased he looked or how clouded with lust his expression still is. Nor should you be so eager to take his hand when holds it out to you.

If you’re enamored with the way your hand fits in his, well, that’s your secret to keep. 

When Yoongi pulls you to your feet, your legs wobble, pinpricks of sleeping limbs from being held in one position for too long, and you stumble into his still very naked chest. It’s no longer wet though, to your disappointment, as the thought of getting to lick droplets off his sternum flickers to mind again. 

His finger hooking beneath your chin bring you back to the real world and you don’t resist when he tips it up so that you’re looking at him. 

“What are you thinking pretty girl?” He asks, that low gravelly register of his making you shiver as much as it makes your pussy throb. 

You don’t want to admit your daydream however, because you’re not sure you could handle what he might do with the information so instead you pout, blinking pretty at him. “I was wondering where my kiss was,” you say, low and sultry, “I was a good girl wasn’t I?” 

He hums, shifting so his palm rests against your skin with his fingers splayed across your cheek and his thumb pressing down on your slick and swollen lip. Your tongue licks out to lick at the tip before you give him your best pouty look. 

“The best,” he says finally, leaning in and capturing your mouth with his in the promised kiss. 

Yoongi starts slow, leisurely like he has all the time in the world to kiss you against the wall of the men’s locker room and not like he’s butt naked with his towel forgotten on the floor. His teeth nip at your lower lip, making you gasp and he takes advantage, deepening the kiss and licking into your mouth. 

When he draws away, he’s pulling your lip with him and you blink up, blearily, with a heaving chest. He looks so smug that you want to hit him, but you’re a little too woozy from everything he’s done to you and he’s not even touched in the ways you know you’re aching for. 

“I’m going to get dressed, be a good girl and wait here for me okay?” 

You’re nodding before you realize it, thighs pressing together like it’ll help the throbbing between them. “Yoon--”

“I have another reward for you, for being so good for me,” he interrupts, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear when he backs away. “You’ll get it when we get to my place, then…” Yoongi pauses, suddenly looking a little less sure of himself, “dinner after?”

You can’t help the huff of laughter when you push off the wall and shove him. “Yeah,” you reply, amused by his sudden uncertainty,  “We can do dinner. Now hurry up.” 

His smugness returns, the man straightening as he turns away and you resist the urge to slap his ass as you watch him go. 

In hindsight, going ice skating for a first date was a bad idea. 

It had seemed perfect when he suggested it and it wasn’t until you were at the rink that it occurred to Namjoon that things were about to go horribly wrong. The activity seemed like the perfect winter outing, until he realized that he had never ice skated before. At least not that he could remember. 

Nerves gathered in his belly as he finished tying his laces and his palms were sweaty when he wiped them on his coat. Beside him, you were doing the same and he flashed a tight smile your way when you looked up before wincing. Mentally he smacked his forehead before berating himself. 

It was just ice skating, it couldn’t be that difficult. Besides, you had sounded so excited when he’d suggested it and he didn’t want to let you down. 

“Is everything okay?” 

Joon lifted his head to find you standing in front of him with a hesitant smile on your lips. 

“Y-yeah, of course,” he stuttered, patting his thighs before standing. Immediately he felt off balance, teetering on the skate’s blades. “Just…” he huffed out a laugh, “first date nerves.” 

It wasn’t a lie, just a half-truth. 

Your smile softened, the corners of your eyes crinkling with fondness, when you offered him your hand. “I’m nervous too,” you admitted, “but in a good way.” Your nose crinkled and Namjoon found himself wanting to lean forward and kiss the tip. “I’ve been looking forward to spending time with you in person.” 

Butterflies still fluttered in his stomach but the racing of his worried heart calmed with your words. He liked that, how easily you seemed to push his worries away and he was reminded of why he cared so much. 

He liked you, a lot. 

Namjoon also liked that you reminded him you liked him too. 

“Me too,” he replied, giving you his first genuine smile since he realized he had no idea how to skate. He slid his fingers between yours and nodded towards the rink. “Ready?” 

Instead of answering, you turned to lead him towards the rink’s entrance. He followed readily, taking a moment to both appreciate you while you weren’t looking and to survey the ice. Fortunately, it was sparsely populated. If he made a fool of himself, there would be less witnesses to his shame. 

When you stepped onto the ice, it was with grace and confidence. 

Namjoon could not say the same for himself. 

The second he stepped into the rink, it felt like he forgot how to stand. Balancing was a fictional thing he had only heard of, not something he had ever practiced. His legs refused to listen to the messages his brain was sending. 

Disaster was imminent. There was nothing Namjoon could do to stop the next chain of events. 

One foot slid forward, the other having not made it onto the ice, and his entire body jolted forward. Panic zinged through his entire frame and he could already feel the muscles by his groin aching from the slips he was sure to end up in. His free arm began to flail and in an attempt to stop himself from falling his other foot scrambled to provide better support. 

Naturally, he failed to catch himself and released your hand as his arms flailed and he fell face first. 

He could hear your gasp, the way the blades of your skates scratched across the ice when you circled to the front of him, and he felt the way his cheeks warmed with embarrassment. 

Namjoon kept his head down while he pulled himself together. His palms pressed against the ice and he pushed himself up onto his knees. Several parts of him ached, but he let the cold bite against his skin help ground him. When he looked up, you were crouched low before him, with a brow crinkled with concern. 

“Joon?” Your voice was soft, arms wrapped around your knees as you gave him a once over. “Are you okay?” 

His knees ached and he was pretty sure he clocked his chin on the ground, but overall the only thing that had truly been hurt was his pride. “Y-yeah,” he huffed, swallowing hard when he tried to rock back onto his heels to stand. 

Unfortunately, to add more insult to his injuries, Joon found himself flat on his back when the attempt went awry. At this point he wished a hole would open up beneath him and swallow him whole. 

Before you could help it, you giggled, shadow falling across Namjoon’s frame before you stuck your hand out. “Let me help you up.” 

Part of him wanted to protest, to prove that he could get up on his own, and assert that he was fine. The other, far more logical part, told him to shove his pride aside and accept the help. 

That part won. 

“Heh,” he laughed, rubbing the back of his head once he was on shaky, but mostly stable, legs, “I should probably tell you I don’t know how to skate huh?” 

Your hand covered your mouth, probably to hide how wide your grin had become, before you shrugged and offered him your hand. “That’s okay, I can teach you.” Your fingers were warm against his skin when you laced them together and started to slowly skate forward, casting your gaze back at him.  

“Or we can just do this,” you offered, referring to the hand holding and casually leading him along and keeping him upright. “Doesn’t really matter, as long as we’re spending time together…right?” 

Namjoon was quiet for a moment, enjoying the way your words eased the anxiety that had bubbled at the beginning of the date and how his embarrassment was starting to ebb. 

“Right,” he affirmed, making the smallest effort to pick up speed only to find himself nearly flailing again. Fortunately, you’d turned around and caught his other hand to steady him. “Besides, you’ll catch me when I fall?” 

You giggled again, tugging on your joined hands to bring him closer. Namjoon was surprised that he wasn’t sent careening into you and knocking you both over. Maybe he just needed to relax and everything would work out. 

“Of course,” you promised, “I’ve got you.” 

You had never lived in a place where it snowed. 

You’d been teased by the promise of it once, when there was a soft layer of frost that covered the grass outside your old house, but it hadn’t amounted to anything more than that. You could still remember how it felt to be elated and then quickly disappointed as the sun rose and stole away the tiny bits of winter. Your smile faded as quickly as the warmth returned to the tip of your nose and cheeks. 

This year was going to be different. 

You had packed up your whole life and made a cross-country move in a daring moment to follow the tug in your chest that told you it was time to take life in your hands and go after everything you thought you wanted. Fortunately, the place you had chosen had more than a vibe you enjoyed. 

It had friends that filled the longing in your heart and your long-distance partner. 

You still had to get used to the fact that you were now short-distance and that neither of you had to go out of your way to be able to spend the night together. 

No longer were the days filled with I wish you were closer texts or trying to arrange your schedules so that you could work in a call for sexy times. Nor did you have to deal with the minor inconvenience of different time zones. You didn’t have to schedule a block of time to visit each other and hope that it would soothe the ache in your heart long enough to keep you sated until next time. 

Now you had the privilege of taking a short walk to your boyfriend’s place or vice versa. 

If you wanted to see him, you could ask him to come over and if he wasn’t actively in the middle of something, he would be there in a few minutes' time. If you wished to fall asleep wrapped up in each other all you had to do was stay the night knowing you could head home easily and do it all over again the next day. 

Change was scary, but you were so fulfilled in the aftermath. 

Waking up beside Jimin was a privilege you thought you might never get used to even as you stared at his sleeping face when you woke before him. The chill of the morning made you want to linger in bed, snuggle up, and doze off again. Your bladder, however, had different plans. 

Returning to bed after finishing your business sounded like a bad idea, as tempting as it was. Instead, you made your way into the kitchen to start a pot of coffee, hoping the warmth of the liquid would shake the rest of the lingering cold from you. Puttering around the kitchen, at least, was helping you warm up and resist the siren’s call of your mattress. 

You had just begun pouring coffee into a mug when you saw it. 

A squeal escaped and both the pot and cup were slammed down on the island counter before you were skittering across your apartment until you reached your balcony doors. They were thrown open, you stepping across the threshold and stuffing your feet into your lined outdoor slippers hurriedly. 

You let out a happy giggle when you tipped your head back and reached a hand out, palm up, to watch as snowflakes fluttered down from the sky and stuck to your skin. Behind you, your boyfriend had surfaced from his slumber and was meandering over. His hair was mussed, sticking up this way and that, and he was yawning while he slipped on a t-shirt.

“Babe?” 

Enraptured with the snow, you ignored him. 

Jimin took a moment to be amused before shuffling his way into the kitchen to finish the task you had started. You were still outside, giggling as snowflakes melted on your cheeks, when he joined you. 

Loosely draped across his shoulders was the blanket you kept on the couch and in his hands was your warm cup of coffee, a light brown color because he’d finished fixing it the way you liked. His elbow nudged yours, finally garnering your attention and your already broad smile widened at the sight of him. 

“Hey,” he cooed, voice low and thick with adoration. His lips were warm against your cheek when he kissed it, offering you the mug that you accepted graciously. You drew it close to your chest, grateful for the heat that spread through your fingers, then took a sip. 

“It’s too cold,” he tried to chide but you shook your head. 

“It’s snowing, Jimin,” you protested. 

He laughed, shifting the blanket on his shoulders until he had the corners curled into his palms and the length of it stretched securely across his shoulders. Stepping up behind you, he draped himself across your back, nose nuzzling against the sensitive skin of your throat. 

“I forget that you’re not used to snow,” Jimin mused as he placed a kiss on your neck before settling his chin on your shoulder. “Okay…five minutes, then back inside.” 

Leaning back into your boyfriend you nodded, humming before taking another drink. “Deal.” 

Taehyung’s teeth scrape down the column of your throat, earning a hiss out of you before your palms are against his chest, pushing him back slightly. 

“Watch the teeth,” you huff, eyes struggling to focus between the darkness of the closet you’ve sequestered yourself in. It’s hard to think through the headiness of the lust that’s fogging your brain, that’s got your pupils dilated so widely that there’s barely a ring of anything other than black. It’s easy to be impulsive when you’re with him like this.

But what happens between you is supposed to be private and that means no marks. 

Tae lets out a grunt that doesn’t quite sound like agreement but he draws back anyway, busying himself instead with rucking up the long skirt of your dress. 

When his lips find your skin again, he’s careful to keep his teeth to himself and the way his lips sloppily trail across your shoulder has you sighing as you slide fingers up the nape of his neck and into his hair. “Good boy,” you breathe, earning a little whine and a slight buck of his hips against your thigh. 

Your smile feels sharp against your lips when curl your fingers and use your grip to pull his head back. Like this you’re above him slightly, the way he’s pushed you up against the wall gives you a slight height advantage with your heels but he’s also got his knees bent so that when your eyes meet, you can see the reverence in his gaze. 

You’ve always liked Taehyung best like this; dark eyes, panting mouth, and ever so eager to please. 

The longer you hold him back like this, the more he whines and squirms against you. His large hands have slipped beneath your dress, helped both by the way he bunched most of it by your hips and the lengthy slits that ran along both sides, and are cupping your ass, trying to pull you against him for some relief. It makes you chuckle as you lean forward ever so slowly to rub your nose against his instead of giving him the kiss he desperately strains for. 

“Patience baby,” you coo, using your other hand to brush the hair sticking to his forehead back. Your fingertips trail along the side of his face, ghosting against his cheekbone before slipping beneath the well defined line of his jaw to press against the soft, squishy flesh beneath harsh enough to make him swallow. 

The way his lips parts in response is perfect, allows you to press the pad of your thumb against the center of his bottom lip until his mouth hangs open and you can press it inside, scraping against his teeth when his tongue flicks against it. You take a moment to savor the way his mouth closes around the digit, suckling, while he watches you in return. When you pull your hand away, you kiss him so sweet he melts against you. 

“Why don’t you show me how much you missed me, baby?” The question is barely out of your mouth before he’s sinking to his knees, those big fingers hooking into your panties to tug them down your legs as his palms create goosebumps along your skin.

Taehyung is always good looking, but you think he looks prettiest like this. 

It’s such a nice contrast from the confident, comfortable Fortune 500 heir that he presents himself as is. You wonder if he’s like this with anyone else, so eager to please, desperate for your approval and praise or if he’s only like this for you. 

Maybe that’s why you keep leaving even when he begs for you to stay. 

You don’t think about it too much, it’s impossible to when Taehyung is hooking one of your legs over his shoulder and nipping gently along your inner thigh. The front of your skirt is tossed over the suspended leg, to keep it clean and out of the way, and so you have a nice view of Taehyung when he presses his mouth against your cunt. 

You were already wet from all of the teasing kisses and watching how Taehyung couldn’t seem to control himself around you, but he’s always been a messy eater and you can feel the way your slick is coating those puffy cheeks of his with every lap of his tongue. He goes at it like he’s starving, like there’s no better taste than your juices, and each lick has you moaning. 

When he moves up and sucks your clit between his lips, your leg buckles. Your hips roll forward to encourage him and you can feel the way he grins against your thighs. 

Every flick of his tongue has you sighing, fingers threading through his fluffy dark locks as he works to get you off. Really, you think you could spend all day with him on his knees and his mouth at your cunt but you’re at a public event and someone is bound to come looking for one of you sooner or later. 

Which means you need him to hurry up or that there’s just not enough time for proper foreplay. That’s fine, you’re certain you’re wet enough if you can hear the way your companion literally slurps up your juices. 

“Tae, baby,” you breathe, tugging on the strands twined between your knuckles, “enough. Up.” 

He comes up with a whine, eyes dark as he licks at his lips, tongue flicking hard on either corner to collect any stray drips as if his mouth and chin aren’t glistening, even in the darkness of the closet, with your arousal. 

“You didn’t come,” he pouts and the way he looks like a scolded puppy tugs a bit at your heart. You push that feeling away and distract yourself by sliding your palm down his chest until you reach his groin, squeezing around the erection he’s been sporting since he found you alone. 

“No time,” you reply with a shrug, pressing your nails against the nape of his neck while your other hand busies itself with undoing his belt, then slacks, so you can pull out his cock. As always, it’s impressive girth has you sucking in a sharp breath when your fingers struggle to wrap around the shaft fully. 

There’s a lot of things about Taehyung to miss between these stolen, fleeting moments, but his dick is certainly what you miss the most. 

He won’t stop pouting, upset that he didn’t get to finish his meal, so you do the only thing you can think of, you kiss him. It’s softer than you mean it to be, something he sinks into when he presses you back against the wall with his hands roaming until they cup your ass and slide lower, just beneath the thickest part of your thighs so he can hoist you up. 

Wrapping your legs around him is easy, even if it means you have to let go of his length. Taehyung isn’t particularly built, so it impresses you every time he holds you up like that with relative ease. Still, you wrap your arms around him to make sure that you’ve got as secure of a hold on your partner as he does on you. 

It’d do neither of you favors if you fell. 

“Need you Taetae,” you murmur against his mouth, lips sliding across his cheek until you get to his neck where you plant a long kiss to his tanned skin. 

The soft begging is all the man needs to hear before he’s holding you up with one arm so he can fish out a condom from his pocket and slide it onto his length. He teases his cockhead through your folds, tapping against your clit a few times before he’s lining himself up and pausing. His gaze flicks up at you, waiting for your approval, for your permission, and so he can watch the way your face crumples with pleasure when he finally pushes inside. 

Even with how wet you are, arousal dripping down his shaft as he sinks deeper, Taehyung has to go slow. It’s always like this though, both of you hissing as you revel in the burn and stretch of the way he fills you. He stills halfway in, bottom lip sucked between his teeth and his brows are furrowed, like it’s taking everything in him to be patient. 

You don’t really want him to be patient, but you know he’s too afraid of hurting you to rush this part of your closet fuck. So, you make it a point to keep your breathing even, to keep yourself relaxed so that when he does push deeper inside you feel more pleasure than pain. 

And when he finally bucks his hips up hard to fit the last bit of his dick in you, one hand digs nails into the shoulder you’re gripping on for dear life and the other flings outward, catching on coats and hangers that you knock to the ground carelessly before your palm slaps harshly against the wall. 

“Fuck,” one of you curses. It maybe it was both of you since your mouth is hanging open and Taehyung’s leaning forward to press his forehead against your collarbone and you can feel his mouth moving against your skin. 

Eventually you get tired of the way he seems to be waiting for you to adjust to him, that point will never come and you think he ought to know that by now. So you click your tongue against your teeth in a way that makes him pull his body back even if his hips stay flush against yours with wide eyes. 

Taehyung’s cute like this, worried enough that he’s upset you or done something wrong that you can see the way he’s already thinking of making things better. 

It makes you smile, nails scraping against the wall as you drag your hand back towards his face. “Taehyung,” you say, clenching around him when you see the way your tone makes him swallow. He looking at you, though his gaze is a little unfocused and his eyes look glassy even in the darkness, mouth partially hung open like he’s drunk off the way it feels to have you wrapped around him. 

Fuck. When he looks like this, you struggle to remember why you always leave at the end. 

“We’re running out of time,” you remind him, rocking against him as best you can from how you’re wrapped around his hips. 

“Don’t wanna hurt you,” he mumbles and when he swallows again, you can’t help the way you lean forward to scrape your teeth against his Adam’s apple. 

“Don’t care,” you say against his throat, tightening around him again. "Be a good boy and fuck me, Tae.”

He doesn’t even manage to properly respond, a needy, strangled noise pulling from his throat as he hurries to do exactly what you ask. 

It’s perfect, every drag of his cock along your walls when he pulls out slowly only to thrust back in immediately like he can’t bear to have even an inch of him out of you for too long now that he’s inside. And you’re both so worked up from the risk of getting caught, from all the teasing earlier, that you know it’s not going to take too long before you’re coming around him.

And, because he’s so attuned to you and your body, Taehyung can tell how close you are. He slides his hand between your bodies, laying his palm flat against your pelvis and his thumb presses against your clit. His rubbing is slow in contrast to the way he speeds up when it comes to fucking in and out of you but it’s exactly what you need to reach your peak. 

When you come, his name falls out of your lips in breathy pants and your eyes squeeze shut as you focus on the way he feels, the way he doesn’t stop working his hips because he knows you like it when he keeps going. Just like you like the way the size of him always burns a little, you like it when overstimulation keeps your body lit up like a live wire until he comes too. 

Which, isn’t too long after you come, not when you start murmuring about how he’s such a good boy for you, how you love the way he fits inside of you, or how no one else fucks you quite as well as he does. 

The last one is a little mean, a little manipulative, because it’s part of what keeps him hooked on you but it’s the truth. 

His thrust grow jerky before they finally still, Taehyung letting his body sag slightly against yours trusting the wall to keep both of you up as he catches his breath. You open your eyes slowly, blinking several times to clear out the bleariness that comes with readjusting to the closet’s darkness. Your legs unwind from around his hips one at a time, limbs shaking as you steady yourself and wiggle until he relents and dislodges himself from inside you. 

Taehyung has to let go, to put a little bit of space between you as he removes the condom and ties it off. It gives you time to adjust your dress and pick up your panties, which you tuck into his pocket instead of shimmying them back up your hips. 

Smoothing out your hair, you press a kiss chastely against the corner of his mouth before slipping past him towards the door. 

“Later Tae,” you purr, waggling your fingers at him in a wave good-bye before you’re out the room. You hear him start to say something but the click of the door shutting muffles it. You don’t wait around to find out what he would have said, instead taking long strides that carry you to the nearest bathroom to make sure you don’t return to your ‘date’ looking as freshly fucked as you are. 

When you slide into your seat next to the guy looking the same level of perfection you did before you left the table, you’re relieved to find he didn’t notice how long you’d be missing. Still, he shifts to sling his arm around the back of your chair and gives you a look that makes you think he thinks he’s going to get lucky tonight. 

He won’t, but you force a pleasant smile on your face anyway. Then, your gaze drifts across the room and you lock eyes with Taehyung as he makes his way back to his table looking as handsome as always. 

He freezes briefly, watching you watch him before lifting his brows in acknowledgement before continuing on. When he passes by your table, you can’t help but notice that peeking out just above the collar of his button-up is a red lipstick stain. Your stomach flutters at the thought and your grin becomes genuine as you let your gaze linger.

Taehyung may get whiny about how he can’t leave marks, but you always find away to leave one on him even when you don’t mean to. 

Current you was cursing past you for being over ambitious. 

It’s the first year you’ve lived in a place with enough of an overhang or porch to warrant hanging lights and since you’d never been able to do it when you were a kid, you had been eager to do so. 

Now?

You wish you hadn’t been too cheap to pay someone to do it for you. Granted, you didn’t have a lot of expendable money and it was the holidays which meant you were stretched even thinner being a broke college student largely living off of your loans, grants, and what meager hours you could get working at the campus bookstore. But, you were sure you could have convinced some poor guy to help you with the promise of the baked goods your parents sent you for the holidays. 

Hindsight was 20/20 and you were paying the price as you stood precariously on the top step of the ladder you’d borrowed from your neighbor. 

The lights you had chosen weren’t anything fancy. You’d gone with some basic white lights and a string of icicle lights for the front of the porch. Unfortunately, you had only opted for one string of those and that meant you were struggling to get the plug connected to the adapter. 

All of this would be utterly and completely pointless if it weren’t plugged in and you didn’t get to enjoy the glow of festive lights whenever you were entering your home. 

“Oh come on!” You cursed, leaning precariously on the ladder for the end of the other string of lights. “Almost--” 

You felt the ladder wobble beneath you, panic widening your eyes as you tried to correct the imbalance too hastily. This resulted in your body tipping sideways, fingers scrambling to grab ahold of something stable, while the ladder tipped the other direction. Your nails scraped against the metal of the gutters but found no purchase and you found yourself tensing in preparation for your inevitable fall. 

You had drawn your elbows into your chest, cradling your head in an attempt to prevent a major injury, but instead of landing on hard concrete, smacking into unyielding wood, or falling face first into cold snow or a bush, you found yourself on something soft but firm. 

“Oof.” 

Warm, strong arms circled your middle and when you blinked your eyes open you found yourself greeted by the roughness of a zipper against your cheek before you pulled back. Slowly, it occurred to you that what you had fallen upon was a person, a person with a decidedly broad chest and long frame who was holding you against him very tightly. 

“Oh my god,” you gasped, face heating up at the realization. Immediately you pushed yourself up, palms pressed against solid pecs that distracted you momentarily. Until you realized that your shift in position had resulted in you straddling the stranger. Panic zipped down your spine as your embarrassment grew and there was no speed in which you could remove yourself from the compromising position that was fast enough. 

“OhmygodI’msosorry,” you told him in a rush of words, rocking back on your heels to spring to your feet. 

Part of you wanted to dash into your house and hide until the kind, ripped, stranger left. Another part of you wanted to be swallowed by a hole in the ground. The part of you that won was the one whose anxiety wouldn’t let you run off until you ensured your knight in delivery clothing was okay and thanked properly. 

He saved you from a possible concussion, or worse a broken limb, after all. 

The stranger propped himself up on his elbows and peered up at you. A hesitant smile started to spread across his lips, cheeks puffing up and lips parting to expose his teeth. The way his two front teeth sat reminded you of a bunny, it was cute. 

Charming. 

A contrast to the rest of him. 

As you stared back, you couldn’t miss the way he filled out the jacket he was wearing, couldn’t forget the way you’d felt his muscles beneath your palm before you scrambled to your feet. Even his style was intimidating, dressed in all black with matching combat boots. Despite the sweetness of his round cheeks and bunny grin, the man looked like he could easily bench press you. 

“I--” Your mouth opened, closed, then reopened and stayed that way with not a sound escaping. 

“I hope whatever you ordered wasn’t fragile,” your strange man said. He had the nerve to look sheepish, like he might be the embarrassed one in this situation instead of you, who fell off a ladder trying to put up Christmas decorations and had to be saved from harm by a passerby. “I, uh,” he shifted his weight to one arm and you had to keep yourself from ogling, “tossed it across the lawn when I saw you fall.” 

When his head turned, so did yours, gaze following his until you spotted the cardboard box that probably held one of your last minute christmas gifts. 

“Oh.” 

You felt stupid the moment the word left your mouth and you fidgeted with the hem of the sweater you were wearing. “Um, no. I think it’ll be fine. That’s why they put things in stupidly large boxes with lots of bubble wrap or whatever right?” 

Your delivery boy let out a little giggle and you found your gaze snapping back to him, shuffling forward before sticking out your hand in offering. He probably didn’t need your help getting up, but you felt that it was the least you could do. 

“Oh. Um. Did I thank you yet?” You asked as his hand, tattoo ink peeking out from where his sleeve didn’t cover, wrapped around yours. One quick tug and he was hopping to his feet. If you hadn’t seen that sheepish bunny smile, you might have been intimidated because he was as tall as he was broad.

He scrunched up his nose in a way that puffed up his cheeks and really highlighted the way his two front teeth made his smile bunny-like. It was incredibly endearing and you felt compelled to squish his cheeks. 

“No,” he replied, shrugging as he stuffed his hands into his jacket pocket. “It’s okay, you were busy being distracted by falling for-- I mean on me.” 

The reminder made you wish a hole would open up beneath your feet and swallow you again. “I--Well, thank you.” You mumbled, casting your gaze downward. “You probably saved me from a trip to the ER.” You chewed on the inside of your cheek before you dared to look up, heart skipping when you realized he was still beaming at you with that bunny grin. “How did you-- I mean. Your reflexes must be sharp.” 

You hadn’t even seen him approach, granted you were preoccupied but even then--

“Oh, I heard the chime of bells and when I looked up you were falling and I just--” He shrugged again, toeing at a crack in the ground like he had any reason to be flustered. When his large, brown, doe-like eyes met yours you could see the faintest dusting of red on his cheeks. 

Ugh. This wasn’t fair. First he saved you and now he was being endlessly adorable? What had you done to have whatever deities existed torture you like this? 

Then, his words registered and your head swiveled around to look at where your string of lights dangled, taunting you. Sure enough, the wind chime that had rested safely in the corner since you moved in was gone. You must have kicked it when gravity got the better of you. 

 “Oh. Um. Lucky me?” You didn’t know where to go from here but you weren’t sure you were willing to let your delivery boy leave just yet. Besides, he didn’t seem too keen on leaving or getting back to work. 

Oh. Right. He was working.

“I’m not keeping you from your job am I?”

He looked amused, tilting his head so the dark fringe of his hair fell across his forehead. “Nah, you were my last delivery.” 

Relief washed over you and you found that the smile on your face was widening. “Oh, maybe I can um thank you? I don’t really have anything to offer besides, like, cookies my parents sent me but, uh. I make a pretty mean instant hot cocoa?” 

Delivery boy’s shoulders hunched when he scrunched up his nose again then nodded, straightening enough that you had to tip your chin to keep meeting his eye. “I don’t think I could pass up a good hot chocolate.” 

“Great! I’ll grab my package and we can go inside…” You trailed off, realizing that despite everything you hadn’t gotten his name.

“Jungkook,” he offered helpfully over his shoulder. He had already crossed half of the yard, snow up to his ankles, to retrieve the package he still, technically, had to deliver. It took him seconds to make his way back, offering the package and looking terribly pleased with himself. 

You mumbled your name back, already turning to head up your porch stairs. 

“Oh, I can help you finish the lights, if you want.” He told you, nearly running into you when came to a sudden stop. “So you don’t, y'know, fall on some other unsuspecting delivery person.” 

“Hey!” You huffed, whirling on your heel to huff at him. “I’m not--” 

Jungkook leaned forward, that sweet bunny smile slipping into something more mischievous. For a moment your heart stuttered and you thought he might kiss you. “You can pay me back by going to get fancy not-instant-cocoa later.” 

“I--Wait. Are you--?” You shook your head in disbelief, wondering if you had managed to get a concussion or if Jungkook had in your stead. “Are you asking me on a date? After I fell on you?” 

He bit his lip before inching closer again, crowding you with your package being the only thing keeping him from truly invading your space. “Why not? Think of how great our meet-cute story will be.” 

You sputtered, brain shutting down at your delivery boy’s forwardness. Never in a million years had you expected your attempt at putting up holiday lights to turn out like this. You didn’t know how to react. 

When you finally responded, you were proud of how steady your voice was and how clever you thought you were being. “Let’s see how the lights look before I agree.” 

Jungkook looked unbothered, toying with the lip ring you’d failed to notice earlier because you were too busy dealing with everything else. “Deal.”