doievital .☘︎ ݁˖.

“another one?” you shoot a judgemental look at the man sitting next to you during the reception. the emotional beats of the ceremony have long passed. now, all guests are dancing, drinking, chatting—generally having a good time. everyone except you.

“mind your own business, princess.”

oh, that nickname. you hated that nickname ever since the first time he called you that. you’re convinced he only still calls you that because he knows it pisses you off.

he doesn’t spare a glance in your direction as he downs the rest of the champagne left in his tall glass. he purses his lips as he swallows, the liquor coating them in a thin, glassy sheen.

he taps his finger on top of the linen tablecloth, as if he’s waiting for something.

you scoff, rolling your eyes. “your best friend’s getting married and you can’t even pretend to be happy for him for one night?”

“who said i wasn’t happy for him?” he looks at you. you could probably count the amount of times he’s looked in your general direction tonight on one hand.

“right, 'cause you definitely look like you are.”

you look away, over towards the dance floor where your brother and sister-in-law are lighting up the space. you could feel a presence getting closer to you. when you turn back around, doyoung’s face is a lot closer than it was a few seconds ago.

“fuck off, i can smell the liquor on you.” you couldn’t, not really. you’ve just had enough of him for tonight and he was getting on your last nerve.

“yeah, now you know how it feels. mind. your own. business.” he punctuated that sentence with a heavy glare at every pause.

doyoung gets up from his seat. you’re far away enough and it’s late enough into the night where no one would really notice if a guest or two slips away.

it’s an outdoor wedding, in the middle of a big open grass field. the taller grass sway in the gentle breeze of spring in the nighttime. the stars are out, though you can’t really see them with how many lights are lighting up the reception area.

doyoung tucks his chair under the round table.

“where are you going?” your voice coming out maybe a little too much like a strict mother.

“my god, do i have to tell you everything i do?” he’s exasperating, truly, and you tell him such.

that doesn’t stop him, he walks off and before he gets completely out of your field of vision, you get up and follow him.

his hands are tucked inside the pockets of his trousers. they fit him well enough. first thing you thought to yourself when you first saw him this afternoon was that he at least made himself presentable for such a big moment in your brother’s life. although, thinking about it now, maybe that’s the only thing he’s truly ever good at—looking good.

“hey!” you shout after him, pacing a few steps behind. he doesn’t turn or react. “can you stop being a jerk for one night? just one night!” he stops and you do as well, having finally caught up to him. you’ve reached where all the cars are parked, the road that leads into this bit of the field ends with the small parking lot.

you watch as his hand goes a little deeper into his pocket, and he pulls out the keys to his car. with a beep, the car in front of you unlocks.

he gets inside the driver’s seat.

worried that he’s going to drive away—and with especially knowing how much he’s had to drink tonight—you panicked and get into the passenger’s side as quick as you can.

you shut the door. he looks at you blankly.

“what do you think you’re doing?” he says completely deadpan.

you can’t help but scoff. “you’re unbelievable, kim doyoung,” you mutter under your breath. “are you going to drive?”

“no.”

you give him a puzzling look, you just can’t seem to get to a common ground with him.

“i’m smoking.” he pulls a box of cigarettes out of the small compartment on your side. his forearm lightly grazing your thigh.

“oh,” the realisation slips through your lips absentmindedly.

you watch quietly as he picks up a cigarette in between his fingers, slots it between his lips, and lights it with a lighter he’s fished from his pocket. he rolls down the window on his side, resting his elbow on the frame and blows the smoke out.

he doesn’t say anything else about your being there. with him. in his car.

but it feels more like he’s ignoring your presence, rather than him accepting it.

you speak up again, “what’s your issue?”

that catches his attention. he turns his head around, eyes locking on you. “excuse me?”

“you’re always such an ass.” you lean back into your seat, crossing your arms under your chest.

he laughs, probably not out of humour. “i’m an ass, okay.” he nods his head gently a few times before turning back around to take another drag of his cig. “well,” he sucks in a short breath through his teeth and taps the ashes off, “i’m sorry you feel that way, princess.”

“stop calling me that,” your annoyance seeps through every inflection of your voice.

“oh, but that’s what you are, aren’t you? the precious princess who always gets her way.”

you can’t even conjure up a sentence, all you can do is pull a face in disbelief.

“we both know that’s true,” he mutters before exhaling the smoke out of the window.

“that is not true,” you protest.

“that one time you wanted a mercedes for your birthday, but oh no, they didn’t have the colour you wanted. and so your daddy went all over searching for you just to get the car you wanted on your 23rd birthday.”

it sounds like he had that one ready.

“and you can’t even drive that well,” he adds.

“fuck you,” is all you manage to say.

he cocks his eyebrows, a smirk sitting on his lips like that was sufficient of a victory for him. “oh, and who can forget, princess yn who cried that one time we all went out for dinner ‘cause they didn’t have the lobster dish you liked.” he sighs, “you’re insufferable.”

“i’m insufferable?” your voice raising a bit louder than his.

he nods, a quiet “mhm” accompanies it.

“well- you’re a jerk!”

he looks at you with his eyebrows raised. not shocked, but rather provoking you to say more.

“you’re always getting drunk somewhere, and then my brother always have to go get you from whatever club or brothel you’re at. you- you’re spoiled as well. and you have an annoying face!”

you can’t see yourself, but you imagine the expression on your face is one of pride, because doyoung breaks into a chuckle a second after you finished your declaration.

“that’s it? that’s all you’ve got?”

“it’s true,” you back yourself up.

“well, guess we’re even then. aren’t we, sweetheart?” he takes another puff.

you hate it when he calls you those condescending nicknames.

“only if you stop calling me those names,” you say as you cross your arms again.

“i like them,” he simply states and he drops the cigarette onto the cement ground, “they suit you.” doyoung leans his head back onto the rest of his seat. he places both his hands on the steering wheel, his eyes are lowered as he looks through the windshield, back at where the wedding was taking place in the distance.

he exhales a deep breath.

both of you let the silence pass through you.

“you’re extra asshole-y tonight, though,” you start off, resuming your banter. “is something… wrong?” you try to ask as carefully as possible.

your brother has told you that doyoung has been acting even more reckless lately, and he said he didn’t know why. the exact words your brother said to you when he told you he’s making doyoung your date to his wedding was, “look after him. he’s going through a hard time.”

and now, sitting in his car alone with him, you’re beginning to see the façade fade away. he’s a jerk, sure, but both of you know that to some extent, this is just how your relationship has always been, and probably will always be. he’s not actually a jerk. at least, that’s what you thought deep down inside.

“no, eeeverything’s just fine.” his shoulders slump.

you punch him lightly in the arm, “come on. i’ve known you for so long,” you sit up, turning your body slightly to face him. “who else are you gonna tell?”

it’s like you can see the gears actively turning in his head. he slightly puckers up his lips as he contemplates. “you’re right. i’m going to tell you,” his gaze darts over to you, “but you can’t tell anyone else, okay?”

the way the conversation is going is reminiscent of when you two would share secrets in the playground.

“okay.”

he looks back at the wedding. “you see your sister-in-law?” he asks, his eyes following her every move. the dress she’s chosen for her reception was short. way too short to be classed as traditional. she looks good.

you hum in agreement, watching the woman in question alongside doyoung.

“we used to date.”

“what?” the reaction comes involuntarily. you never knew that—your brother never mentioned that to you, or anything of the sort.

doyoung simply widens his eyes briefly, as if it’s a tired matter that he’s sick of hearing about.

“and… does my brother know?”

“yeah,” he lifts his right hand up and drops it back down onto the steering wheel. the sound the leather makes is dull. “oh, your brother,” he sighs, “he’s just the perfect, perfect man.”

you can sense his disdain, and frankly, you can’t blame him. you never knew about this, and you couldn’t believe that your brother would keep this away from you.

“i’m… so sorry,” this is probably the first time you can say that you meant every apologetic word you’ve uttered to kim doyoung. “i didn’t know.”

“i know,” he replies, “we never told anyone—her and i. except your brother found out.”

“how did he find out?” you can’t help but ask. it’s like you’ve dug into a goldmine, and now all you wanna do is keep digging.

“doesn’t matter,” doyoung shakes the topic off. “but that’s why… if i’ve been extra ‘asshole-y’ tonight, as you put it so eloquently, then, i’m sorry.”

you can’t think of what to say, so you don’t say anything.

there’s a second pass of silence.

you both sit in his car, the music in the distance can be heard faintly. your brother and his wife are dancing together.

“do you… wanna leave?” you ask him. your task was to make sure he behaves himself tonight at the wedding, if he’s not there, then he’s not your responsibility, right?

to your surprise, he shakes his head. “no, i’m happy for him. for them.”

“listen, if you want me to get back at him for you, i’d do it,” you say in an attempt to lighten the mood. “bleach his hair in his sleep, make him bald. just name it.”

he laughs a humourless laugh, “i’m over it.”

“mmh.”

you don’t say anything in response, but you both knew what you meant. sure, you’re over it.

doyoung glances over at you. you expect to be met with the same, annoyed face that you’ve grown to hate over the years. but instead you’re met with an expression that you haven’t really seen before from him. it puzzles you.

he gives you a quick look up and down, scanning the dress you’re wearing. one that the bride specified had to be a light shade of butter yellow, or else it seemed like the world was going to end. the chiffon pools in your lap, the soft folds making each overlap more opaque than the last.

“you look good,” the words come out of him casually.

it’s a trite statement, but somehow it feels different coming from him. “thanks, you too,” you return.

“can i kiss you?” the swiftness and boldness of his question catches you off guard. if something were to ever happen between the two of you, you would’ve imagined there would've been some type of hesitation. but there’s none on his end.

“are you doing this as revenge on my brother?” you point out, eyes narrowing at him.

“yes and no.”

“why no?”

“you’re my best friend’s sister,” he drops his gaze to your lips. you’re suddenly too aware of the fact that your lip gloss has been washed away by the evening drinks. “you think i didn’t want you all those years?”

“am i just supposed to believe that?” your mind flashes through every single moment you’ve spent with doyoung ever. you always had a crush on him, just because he was older and you figured it was normal for girls your age to have crushes on older boys. but you always thought it to be one-sided.

“what could i have done? you were my best friend’s sister,” he reiterates, emphasising on those three words this time. “little sister, may i add.”

“and tonight is when you decide to tell me.”

he shrugs, “if your brother can do whatever he wants, why can’t i? only if you want to, of course.”

you look at him for a second, studying his sharp features. eyes lingering a little too long on the opened buttons of his shirt. 

“okay,” you mumble softly, a bundle of nerves buzzing up inside you in excitement, or anxiousness—you can’t quite tell.

“yeah?” he raises his brows, scanning your face for any hint of reluctance.

“mhm, you can kiss me.”

at the sound of those words, he leans in closer to you over the console. his fingers find the tip of your jaw, tilting your head at just the right angle so he can plant a kiss on you. his lips are softer than you’d imagined, and the kiss lasts shorter than you’d expect.

he pulls back, there’s a certain softness in his eyes, “are you sure?”

rather than a verbal response, you place your hand on his neck and kiss him again. this time, neither of you pull away.

his hand rests on your waist, holding back from gripping tightly onto you.

the way his touch feels on you is exhilarating; you’ve pictured this many a time when you were in your teenage years. sneaking away from your families, going under the cover of the night sky, and kissing doyoung in his car. now that it’s finally happening, some part of you doesn’t believe it to be real.

your thumb grazes his cheek, this is all too real. his flesh is flushed with heat—either from the alcohol or from something else, you’re not too sure.

he envelopes your lips within his softly. the sounds of you kissing faintly fill the space between you.

you moan lightly as you’re pressed up against him, barely stopping to catch your breath. the kiss deepens quickly and with a sense of urgency unlike before. his hands around your waist are digging into you, pulling you as close as he possibly can to him. his fingers trail down to your hips, and then your ass, grabbing as firm a hold of you as he can with the slippery material in the way.

he grips tightly onto your leg, and lifts you up and over the console so that now you’re sitting straddling him. he does it effortlessly, as if he’s done this a million times. your dress is fanned out all over his lap.

doyoung pulls away, fingers now brushing your hair out of your face so that he can see you. it’s dark outside, the only light being that of the one mounted in the ceiling of his car. the glow falls over his features, highlighting every point of his face—his cheekbones, his cupid’s bow, his nose. you feel your heartbeat suddenly picking up.

you get the urge to say something stupid, but you hold it down for long enough that he speaks before you can.

“you really are beautiful, princess.”

you land a soft blow to his chest, “i told you to stop calling me that.”

“i can’t help it,” doyoung smirks before he presses his lips onto yours again.

you find yourself moving on top of his lap. the way he kisses you makes you crave him in his entirety. your hips drag over his crotch, slow enough that you thought he wouldn’t notice. but he does.

“you’re grinding on me,” he mumbles in between kisses.

his words only prompt you to move faster. doyoung puts both of his hands on your hips, guiding you in your movements. you think you feel something rising up underneath all those layers of chiffon.

you kiss his neck. “fuck,” he curses. “fuck, i want you so bad,” doyoung moans softly, it feels more subdued than something he’d say voluntarily.

you plant kiss after kiss all over his neck, finding a spot that elicited a groan from him when you bit him soft enough.

curses continue to fall from his lips. he hikes your dress up all the way to your thighs, his fingertips kneading and digging into your bare skin.

“i need to have you now,” he says breathily, “please.”

you couldn’t hold back a smirk, seeing how unravelled he’s already become beneath you.

you push yourself up onto your knees, fingers fidgeting with the zip of his pants in the darkness. you undo his trousers, finally revealing the extent of his desire for you. pulling his waistband away from his skin, his dick springs up red and hard.

you feel your pussy soak through your panties at the sight of it.

you only notice that you’re biting down hard into your lip moments later.

“look what you did to me,” doyoung mutters delicately. 

you pull your panties to the side, feeling the wetness on the side of your thigh. the urge to sink down entirely on his cock consumes you, you want him to fill you all the way up.

with one hand, he holds onto his base, and the other rests on the side of your leg. he lines his tip up with your slit. “fuck…” he drags the sound out, running the tip of his cock over the wetness that’s pooled all over your cunt.

you can’t bare the teasing; your patience is running thin. “just fuck me already,” you whine.

he smirks, “there she is. there’s my spoiled princess.”

with a groan, he pushes himself into you. slowly, very slowly, until he’s all the way inside you. you hold back your whines as you feel his cock fill you up inch by inch. your walls wrap tightly against him. “you feel so fucking good,” he breathes. “you okay?”

you nod. you just want him to fuck you properly, unable to think of anything else.

he slides himself out, then back in, quickly reaching a stable rhythm.

doyoung grunts softly with every thrust inside you. you find yourself looking for anything you can hold onto—a notch, a handle—just to stabilise yourself as he fucks himself into you. it feels as though you’re splitting apart on his cock, knocking gasps and moans out of you with every thrust.

“we could’ve done this so much sooner,” he mumbles in between grunts. “then, i would’ve known how fucking good your pussy feels.”

you can only let out whines and whimpers as you focus on the way his tip hits the spot inside you.

he puts his hand on your neck, his thumb pressing against your jaw. “you’re taking it so well, baby,” he caresses your face with the pad of his thumb. “such a good fucking girl.”

you hold back near cries of pleasure. your fingers find themselves in between your legs, acting as though they have a mind of their own as they begin circling your clit. it doesn’t take long before you start to feel the familiar pressure building up inside you.

“fuck, you’re getting so tight,” doyoung says breathily. “you gonna cum?”

“mhm,” you have never sounded so pathetic. nodding your head eagerly, desperate to cum with his cock slammed all the way inside you.

“do it,” he grumbles. his hips moving up into you relentlessly. “let me feel my bratty princess cum all over me.”

you feel the pressure building onto itself, until it finally boils over. you release all over his lap, body so weak that you can barely hold yourself up. you’re slumped over his shoulder as you feel your walls clamp down onto him. the noises coming from you could’ve easily been mistaken to have came from a porno.

you feel his hips still, all the way inside you. it takes you a moment to realise that he’s coming inside you. he desperately pants for air, sucking cool breaths in between his teeth. 

you feel something hot dripping out of you and down your thighs. his hips stiffen up, giving it one last thrust up into you, going deeper than he ever did.

“fuck,” he groans.

you’re feeling a little light-headed and you’re still holding onto your shoulder as if your life depends on it. you’re both panting for air, you feel his chest rising and falling alongside yours. the last wave of your orgasm still riding through your body as you feel your legs tense.

you hear a scoff, or a chuckle. 

“what?” you breathe out.

“nothing,” doyoung responds, equally as out of breath. 

you peel your body away from his, your balance still recovering. “what?” you repeat yourself with a stern gaze.

“i guess i don’t hate you as much as i’d thought after all.”

you roll your eyes. “you think us having sex one time is gonna make me not hate you?”

the most exciting thing that has happened in your town for the past 20 years was probably the introduction of your church's new priest. he's young, he's hot, he's a man of god. that's all you really know about him. but what else could you ask for?

it's been 5 weeks since he took over. with the spare time that you get from living in a small town, you'd go over to the church and just sit there quietly. sometimes you'd get a glimpse of father kim walking in and out of the confessional booth, other times, he'd be sitting next to one of the other churchgoers on the bench, talking about what you're not sure.

you never considered yourself a big religious person. but maybe you just haven't found the right motivator, yet.

you're hoping one of these days father kim would come and sit by you. to talk to you.

does that sound a little desperate? maybe. but isn't there that saying, 'all great things are born out of desperation?' maybe you're making things up.

you're sitting at the very back of the nave, overlooking the rows and rows of pews lined up in front of you. the altar holds several candles atop it, all in their own ornate holders. though it's already nearing afternoon, the sunlight barely filters in through the stained glass behind the altar.

you haven't seen any of father kim today, yet. the church is also rather empty, just a few people at the front of the hall mumbling prayers under their breaths.

you hold open your complimentary bible, the thin pages sticking to the sweat of your thumbs. you read the same verse over and over, nothing really going into your head.

you're focused on the feeling of the wooden back up against your spine, and the cold concrete floor. the way it's a little bit too cold in here with the occasional echo of footsteps filling the space. how the hem of your skirt fans against your shins from time to time. in other words, you're paying attention to everything but the words laid out in front of you.

"is there anything i can do for you, miss?"

a voice jostles you out of your daze. you didn't even notice anyone approaching you.

you turn in the direction of the voice over your shoulder, and you're met with the very face you've been anticipating to see all morning.

"father kim," you greet him, half surprised.

he returns a small smile to you, "i've seen you here before, i think," he says. his tone is kind but measured, the voice of someone who has learned to make people feel at ease. "though i don't believe we've been introduced."

"no," you agree. "we haven't."

"well," he folds his hands in front of him, "you're very welcome here. is there something specific that brought you in today, or were you just looking for some quiet?"

the question is gentle, yet precise, he wants to know what category you fall into: grieving, searching, curious, lost. you get the sense he's good at sorting people.

"the latter," you say. "mostly."

he nods, as though that's a perfectly sufficient answer. something in his expression is patient, but carefully so, like a door that's ajar without outright being an invitation.

"then i won't keep you from it." he pauses briefly. "i'm always here, if you ever do need anything."

he turns to leave, but before he can, you speak up.

"actually," you say, glancing down at the open page in your lap, "i was hoping someone could help me with something. if you have a moment."

there's a small pause. you don't look up immediately.

"of course," he says.

he moves to the pew in front of you and sits, turned slightly so he can see the page you're indicating. close enough to be helpful. not close enough for anything else.

"which passage?"

you point to the verse you've been staring at for the better part of an hour without absorbing a word of it. "i'm not sure i'm reading this the right way," your fingertip underlining the words on the page gently.

he looks at it for a moment.

"this one trips a lot of people up," he says, "it's not really a warning so much as an observation. the distinction matters." he pauses, choosing his words with the same care he seems to apply to everything. "it's saying that temptation itself isn't the failure. it's what you do with it, what you allow it to become."

you look at the page as though you're following along.

"so, it's about intent," you scramble for a response, his words not really sticking as much as his voice is. soft-spoken and lenient.

"partly. and partly about attention." he glances at you briefly. "what you keep returning to. what you let take up residence in your mind." he looks back at the page. "the idea being that we're all susceptible. that's not the point of shame. the point is the choice that comes after."

there's a brief silence. somewhere near the front of the church a candle shifts in a draft.

"that's a more forgiving reading than i expected," you say.

something almost amused crosses his face, though he keeps it brief. "we try to be," he replies.

father kim straightens, putting a little distance back between you two.

"does that help?" he tilts his head slightly as he asks.

"yes," you say. "thank you, father."

the polite smile lingers on his face, and you decided to take this opportunity. god knows how many more you'll be granted in the foreseeable future.

"are you busy right now?" you try your best to make sure your voice is unwavering, not letting your deeper intentions seep through.

he pauses, studying the expression on your face, "not especially. why?"

you gesture vaguely at the nave around you, the open door, the occasional echo of someone passing outside. "it's a little hard to concentrate in here. all the coming and going." you let a beat pass, "i had a few more questions, if you had the time."

he looks at you for a moment. not suspicious exactly. just reading. always reading.

"my office is just off the vestry," he says. "it's quieter. if that would help."

"that would be perfect," you say, keeping your tone even.

the room is small and plainly furnished. a desk, two chairs, a narrow window letting in a pale wash of afternoon light. he gestures for you to sit and takes the chair behind the desk.

he folds his hands on the desktop. shelves holding what seems to be ancient books line the walls behind him. a few stacked atop the wooden desk with stray sheets of paper between them.

"so," he says. the warmth is still there, but it's been recalibrated somehow, measured out more carefully. "what else can i help you with?"

and you realise, sitting across from father kim in the thin afternoon light with the door shut and his eyes politely, firmly on yours, that whatever you say next will have to be about the bible.

you open the book in your lap again, more for something to do with your hands than anything else.

"i suppose i'm still stuck on the same idea," you start. "the choice that comes after. how do you actually make it, when something feels–" you pause, as though searching for the right word, "persistent."

he considers this with the same unhurried attention he's given everything else.

"persistent temptation usually means something underneath it hasn't been examined properly," he responds. "most people want the feeling to go away without having to look at it directly. that rarely works."

"so, you have to look at it."

"you have to understand what it's asking of you," he pauses, "that's not the same as giving in to it."

the afternoon light shifts slightly through the narrow window, falling across the edge of the desk between you. you become aware of how quiet the room is. how different it is from the open church, more enclosed, more still.

a silence settles.

he clears his throat quietly. "was there a specific passage you wanted to go through, or–"

"no," you interject softly, "this is helpful. this is what i needed." you close up the bible in your lap, your posture slightly relaxing.

you let the quietness run its course before you pick it back up again, "does it ever get easier, father?" your tone creeping on the edge of questioning.

"rejecting temptation?" he looks at you with a slight raise of his eyebrows. "over time. i hope you find the strength in you to do so."

there's a tangible shift in the atmosphere of this stuffy office.

"how do you do it?" your voice lowers, your eyes narrow ever so slightly at him.

that elicits a soft chuckle out of father kim. he drops his head for a moment before looking back up at you, "discipline. lots of it."

"surely, there have been some moments of weakness in your life, right?" you tilt your head, all the false pretences you've been holding onto now slowly melting away.

you watch as he parts his lips to give you an answer, but you can see the hesitance in his face. "yes," he answers sturdily, "i may have had a slip or two in my life."

his honesty only encourages you to continue down your line of questioning.

“maybe…” you begin sheepishly, “maybe telling me about it will help me learn.”

part of you expected to be shut down immediately. shunned, barred from ever stepping foot inside this church again. but, another part of you knew, however selfishly, that you needed to take this chance and run with it. if you do get shunned, so be it.

to your surprise, father kim doesn’t exactly shut the conversation down.

“well, that’s what i’m good for, right? helping others learn?” he cocks his head a bit to the side, eyebrows raised. “what do you want to know?” father kim visibly relaxes in his seat, his back no longer held perfectly upright, but rather slouched gently against his chair.

"when have you ever given into temptation?" the words roll off your tongue slowly and carefully. you watch his expression, if that question made him feel any sort of way, he did a good job of not letting it show.

he leans his head back against the desk chair, as if he's contemplating how to answer your question. "i tried smoking once, when i was in high school," he gives a light shrug of his shoulders, a look on his face that indicates he knows that's not exactly what you're asking. "can i ask you a question?" he adds before you're able to respond at all.

"sure," you mutter.

"you didn't come here for 'quiet,' did you?" he narrows his eyes at you suspiciously.

"maybe not entirely," you admit.

you tuck the book that's been resting in your palms behind you on your seat, but not too fast so that it draws father kim's attention.

"then, how else can i be of service to you?" he leans in towards the desk, hands clasped together on top of it.

you look down at his fingers, studying the way his knuckles interlock with one another. the contours of his veins making an inconspicuous appearance on the back of his hands.

"i guess," your voice falters a little before you regain your composure, "i was looking for some company."

"and are you enjoying the company so far?" father kim asks with a demeanour you've never seen from him before, a minuscule smirk accompanying his words.

you take that as your green light to drop your guises.

“i could think of a better way to spend the time,” you say as innocently as you could. you lift off one of your feet from the ground and gently raise it up towards his calf under the desk. slowly, you drag your foot up against his leg, reaching his knee. the soft linen of his trousers bunching up as your foot moves higher and higher.

father kim firmly grabs a hold of your ankle, restricting any more movement from you. you can see him visibly take in a deep breath as his eyes follow from where your foot has landed all the way up to your face.

he gently sets your ankle back down onto the ground. he doesn't spare you another glance as his fingers go to work unbuttoning his cuffs. in one fluid motion, he pulls his sleeves up to his elbows. catching your gaze again, he whispers, "come".

you took that instruction and stood up. you turn slightly so that your back was facing him, and you sit along the edge of his desk with your palms planted onto it beside you. smoothly, you lift your legs up and over the table, rotating your body so that you're now sitting atop his desk facing him, your knees pressed together. you're leaning your weight back onto your hands behind you.

he runs his palm up and down your calf, then he slowly inches higher. his fingertips going up the length of your thigh, tracing over your skin lightly.

"is this what you've been wanting?" he mutters quietly, eyes looking up at you with a certain darkness.

you couldn't bring yourself to respond, too focused on the fact his hands are touching you in ways that both of you are aware of being beyond appropriate.

"i see you here week after week," he continues, now with both of his palms lightly massaging your thighs, "this is what you're here for?"

a slight tinge of embarrassment stings your chest, partly because of how he's touching you, but also partly because you can't admit the fact that he's right.

"what's wrong?" his face taking on a teasing expression, "you can't confess it to me?" he pushes your knees apart with a gentle force, his thumbs working the muscles of your inner thighs.

his fingertips are nearing your core inch by inch as the seconds pass. the fact that you know this is highly unseemly only makes you want it more.

"come on," he whispers, hands now gripping onto your waist. he rises slowly from his chair. he brings his right palm up to your face, cupping your cheek within it. he leans in towards your ear, "if you don't confess, how will i know you won't sin again?" the coolness of his breath brushes against your ear, sending a wave through you.

he pulls back, now looking down at you. "ask for my forgiveness," he says softly, his thumb grazing your cheekbone. "ask, and i'll give you what you want."

your breath hitches in your throat. his face is inches apart from yours, his gaze full of intensity. you can't resist any part of the man in front of you.

"bless me, father, for i have sinned," you mutter under your breath, almost shyly. he tilts your chin up, and you watch as he goes to plant a kiss on your neck. that draws out a soft moan from you which you try to subside by biting onto your lip. "it's been–" you pause as you feel the softness of his lips covering more of your neck, "a long time, since i last confessed," you continue breathily.

he hums against your skin, his hand supporting the back of your head as he continues to leave a trail of kisses down your neck.

"that's alright. go ahead," he mumbles against you. you feel his fingertips toying with the hem of your shirt.

"i've been having... thoughts, i know i shouldn't. about someone i shouldn't." you take in a sharp gasp as you feel his bare fingers on your stomach.

"mm," he hums, as if he's truly listening to your confession with every proper intention. he pulls his lips away from your neck, coming face to face with you again. his eyes drop down to your chest, watching the way it's rising and falling rapidly. "and have you acted on these thoughts?"

"yes," you breathe out.

he grabs onto the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head. he tosses it onto the chair behind him. his eyes sturdily fixed onto yours, as if he's searching for any semblance of regret. "and are you truly sorry for it?"

slowly, you nod. you get the sense that's the answer he wanted, despite this being the most unorthodox of confessions.

a smirk appears on his lips. "tell me, what are some of these thoughts that you've been having?" he runs his middle finger all the way from your knee, going up your body, until it lands on your jaw.

the tension that you feel is almost suffocating you.

"inappropriate... thoughts," you divulge.

"be more specific, is someone doing something to you?" his hands roam freely all over your body, as if he could knead the words out of you.

you nod, the embarrassment being almost too much for you to take now.

"what are they doing?"

"touching me," the words escape you through heavy breaths, "putting their mouth on me," there's a long pause following your last thought, "fucking me."

there's a chuckle in his throat, "touching you like this?" he presses his thumb into your cunt, the sudden contact making you groan. you nod eagerly, not wanting him to take his hand away.

he smirks, bunching up the fabric of your skirt together and gathering it at your waist. his fingers draw circles over your panties, some light, some harder.

"you've been thinking about this for a long time, haven't you?" his eyes drawn completely to where his fingers are moving.

you hum in agreement, too overcome by desire to formulate a coherent thought.

"i can tell," he chuckles, fingertips pressing against the wetness of your pussy.

he pushes your panties to the side, "hold it here," his voice stern when instructing you. and you oblige, holding the fabric to the side with your fingers. your bare cunt on display for him, making you feel as though you were completely naked.

he rubs small, gentle circles over your clit, smearing your wetness all over you and his fingertips. he watches intently with his lips parted.

a groan escapes him and he kneels with his knees on the cold, hard ground before you. his lips now level with your cunt. he continues circling your clit with the pad of his thumb slowly, agonisingly slowly.

he watches your body arch, wanting to push yourself harder onto the pressure.

he closes the distance between his face and your pussy, his soft lips planted firmly on your cunt. you feel the tip of his tongue pointedly circling your clit.

you stifle the moans that threaten to spill out of you.

his tongue runs up and down your folds, the lewd noises of it turning you on even more.

you feel him groan against your pussy, as if the very act of eating you out is bringing him as much pleasure as it does to you.

his tongue is lapping over and over at your clit. the tip of his nose pressed firmly against your skin. you look down at him, his eyes shut. you never would’ve imagined him—your priest—in between your thighs, eating your cunt out like it’s the very thing he lives for.

without any notice, you feel a fingertip pushing into you, sliding all the way inside you. you throw your head back, a breathy “fuck” leaving your lips.

“you taste so good,” you hear him mumble faintly. “and you’re so fucking tight.”

that only makes you clench around his finger tighter. you feel him pumping his hand in and out of you, gently at first, letting you get used to it. “is this okay?” he asks softly, eyes looking up at your face to gauge your reaction.

you purse your lips and nod, “mhm.”

your hand finds itself tangled in his hair, holding him in place as you drip down his chin. he slides another finger into you, stretching your pussy out slowly.

he continues sucking on your clit, his fingers stroking against your g-spot as they move in and out. your breath is shaky, unable to hold it even anymore.

you didn’t expect him to be that good with his tongue, and his fingers. but the way he has you shaking and whining is clearly proving you wrong.

“fuck, i’m gonna cum,” you whisper, fearing that if you said it any louder, he’d suddenly stop.

“cum,” his tone rigid, like he was demanding you. “you want to cum for me, don’t you?”

you nod feverously, your core clenching and the pressure building up from within you. you can feel your orgasm within reach.

everything feels ten times more intensified. the way his fingers curl up inside you, the way his tongue feels on you, the moans and gasps that’s been filling the room.

you bite back a scream, your fingers grabbing ahold of his hair harder than probably is necessary. you feel your orgasm unravel, your body squeezing so tight on his fingers. this doesn’t stop him, he continues stroking your pussy, going even faster than before.

it draws out a guttural tone from you, “fuck, fuck, fuck-” you grip onto his wrist, trying to slow him down to no avail.

you feel another wave coming over your body with your cum dripping all over his fingers. your legs begin to shake, bracing for another hit of dopamine to crash over you.

you can’t hold back anymore, whines and whimpers all tumbling out of you as your second orgasm releases.

he holds his fingers still inside you, cleaning up the mess you made with his mouth. he pulls his lips away with a smack, the back of his hand going up to wipe away the excess from his chin.

he stands face to face with you again. your chest moving rapidly as you try to catch your breath. he leans in towards you, putting his hands on the desk on either side of you.

“will i see you back here this sunday?” he asks with a knowing smirk on his face.