Temptation, they said, was the devil's favorite weapon…subtle, patient, and often disguised as something beautiful.

Your beauty was the kind that invited sin. Like a priceless painting in a museum, admired by many but forbidden to touch, existing only to test the restraint of those who stood before it.

Yet despite the effect you seemed to have on everyone else, Fr. Jeon remained frustratingly untouched by it all. Men had always looked twice, their attention lingering long enough to make their interest known. But his eyes never lingered on you. They would meet yours for a fleeting moment before moving on, calm and unwavering, carrying the same gentle warmth they offered every soul that walked through the church doors.

Pathetic.

Wearing a long white virginal skirt, a matching conservative blouse, and your hair falling neatly down your waist, you grabbed your purse before heading downstairs to meet Sana.

“Glad you finally wore something decent,” Sana commented with a sheepish smile when she saw you stepping out of your house.

You pouted, looking down at the modest skirt fluttering around your ankles. “My cute dresses are decent too, you know.”

You weren’t a very religious person, but when your friend Sana told you she wanted to join the church choir, you were more than happy to come with her. 

Between the two of you, she was the religious one—always carrying a small pocket bible in her purse, always reminding you to watch your words and actions because God was watching.

A lot of your friends were confused about how the two of you became so close. You were playful, rebellious, and bratty—more of a bad influence beside someone so polite and devout. But despite your mischievous nature, you were very sweet, friendly and charming. At university, you were one of the popular students, with plenty of friends and a reputation as a social butterfly.

When you first met Sana, you hadn’t expected the two of you to get along. She was a new student, still adjusting to the unfamiliar environment and trying to find her place among the other students. Being the friendly social butterfly that you were, you became the first person to approach her.

Your personalities couldn’t have been more different. Sana was calm, reserved, and quiet, while you were bold, bright, and loud. 

Despite being complete opposites, the two of you grew unexpectedly close. You liked Sana because she was a breath of fresh air. Her calmness grounded the chaos within you, while your playfulness brought balance and excitement to her peaceful life.

Ever since you became best friends, you often accompanied her to church. Although you looked somewhat out of place trailing behind her while she helped with various church duties, volunteer work, and parish activities...you still enjoyed spending time with her.

You liked how she always listened to your rants and endless rambles. Following her around while she busied herself carrying boxes and helping wherever she could, your kitten heels clicked softly against the church’s marbled floors, and the longest dress you could find in your closet swayed gently with every step. As unusual as it felt to be dressed so modestly, you couldn’t deny that you enjoyed these moments with Sana.

Your usual style of dressing didn’t exactly align with the church’s dress code… you had to trade your short skirts, midriff-baring tops, tight dresses, and cute spaghetti-strap tops for something more... demure.

At first, you tried to argue against it, but Sana quickly reminded you that those clothes weren’t appropriate for church. And of course, you had no choice but to listen unless you wanted another lecture about being a poor instrument of the Lord.

“Since when did you become a singer?” you teased as the two of you entered the church alongside a few parishioners and choir members.

Sana was dressed similarly to you, wearing a long skirt paired with a flowy long-sleeved blouse. In her right hand, she carried a small booklet filled with choir songs.

She pouted. “I can sing a bit, you know.” she opened the booklet and flipped through its pages. “As long as I’m serving the Lord, then no voice shall sound bad.”

You chuckled, already accustomed to her holy little remarks.

“If you say so,” you sang back playfully, following her up to the choir loft. You offered a polite smile to the other choir members, who were already busy practicing.

Since you weren’t actually there to join the choir, you let Sana focus on rehearsal while you wandered around the church on your own. Normally, you would have spent the entire time chatting her ear off, rambling about anything and everything, but today you let her concentrate.

A few parishioners were arranging fresh flowers around the framed images of saints, while others carefully dusted and polished the statues lining the church walls. The distant voices of the choir drifted through the air, blending with the soft murmur of prayers and quiet conversations, creating a peaceful atmosphere that settled gently around you.

When Sana first invited you to come with her to church, you had agreed out of nothing more than curiosity. You traded your usual weekend night outs for sunday mass, wanting to see the world through her eyes and understand why this place, with its quiet prayers and solemn rituals, meant so much to her.

The church offered a kind of quiet that rarely existed in your everyday life. Away from crowded parties, endless conversations, and the glittering chaos of your social circle, there was something unexpectedly comforting about this place. It gave you a chance to slow down, to breathe, and to simply exist without needing to be the loudest person in the room.

“Good morning, Fr. Jeon.” a few choir members and parishioners greeted.

You turned around absentmindedly, your head tilting curiously when you saw a priest entering through one of the church's side doors. Dressed in a long black cassock, he offered everyone a warm smile and a slight bow as he stepped inside.

A new priest?

“Are you here for the charity blessing, Fr. Jeon?” someone asked.

The woman approached him and received a gentle pat on the head in return.

He smiled. “Yes, I stopped by to gather a few materials for the blessing.”

Your head tilted slightly as you watched him, finding yourself taking an unconscious step forward.

A handsome fucking priest.

For the past few months that you'd been spending time at the church with Sana, this was the first time you'd seen him, and unfortunately for your soul, he was ridiculously attractive. 

You found yourself shamelessly staring, almost in awe as he greeted everyone with effortless kindness. 

He bowed politely, acknowledged each person with a warm smile, and listened attentively whenever someone spoke to him. It should've been a crime for a priest to be that good-looking. 

Sinful.

The long black cassock he wore looked attractively sinful wrapped around someone so impossibly holy, the stark contrast only making him harder to ignore. His sharp jawline became more pronounced whenever he turned to greet someone with a kind smile, and a pair of thin-framed glasses rested neatly on his nose, lending him an air of quiet intelligence that did absolutely nothing to help your situation. His eyes were dark and warm behind the lenses, attentive whenever he listened to someone speak, and his jet-black hair was styled neatly, though a few stubborn strands had fallen across his forehead. 

Everything about him looked composed, dignified, and entirely inappropriate for the thoughts currently running through your head.

You almost let out a dramatic gasp when Fr. Jeon finally waved his goodbye and turned to leave. A curse nearly slipped from your lips as you watched him make his way toward the church doors. 

Everyone else had managed to greet him and earn one of his warm smiles, some even receiving a fond pat on the head. Meanwhile, you had spent the entire time standing near the altar, staring at him like an absolute creep, too mesmerized by his existence.

Internally rolling your eyes at yourself and the sheer ridiculousness of the situation, you watched him disappear through the church doors. And then, because apparently your dignity had already left the building before he did, you immediately made your way back to Sana, who was still busy practicing her choir lines.

“So...” you began, trailing behind Sana as she walked around with her booklet, quietly memorizing her choir pieces.

“Is Fr. Jeon a real priest?”

Sana lowered the booklet and stared at you, her brows knitting together as she caught the suspicious wiggle of your eyebrows.

“Huh?”

“I mean...” you hesitated. “Is he a real priest or, like… an intern priest?”

The moment the words left your mouth, you realized how stupid they sounded. 

Was there even such a thing as a priest internship?

Sana blinked. Then she burst out laughing. “He's a real priest, Y/N. What do you mean, intern priest?”

Your cheeks immediately warmed. You looked away while she continued laughing, lifting the booklet back up as you followed after her.

You pouted. “Well... he looks young.” And hot. “And I've never seen him before. Every time I've attended mass with you, he wasn't the presider.”

You tried to think back to the past few months but came up empty. No handsome priests. Because if there had been one, you definitely would've remembered.

In fact, you were pretty sure you would've started sitting in the front row.

“Yeah, because he only got appointed recently,” Sana answered, her attention back on the booklet. “A few months ago, I think.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, almost groaning when you haven’t met him before he got appointed. 

What the fuck, Y/N. Are you seriously eyeing a priest?

Absolutely not. That was...unholy!

For the following weeks, you found yourself clinging to Sana more than usual.

At first, you convinced yourself it wasn't anything out of the ordinary. Going to church with her wasn't exactly new. 

You just weren't nearly as consistent as she was.

There were plenty of sundays you skipped altogether, choosing late nights with your friends over early mornings in church. Besides, you figured there would always be another mass to attend, while convincing Sana to show up at one of your parties was practically impossible.

That was why you never attended as regularly as she did.

Lately, however, the situation seemed to have reversed. Now, you were the one volunteering to come.

Party invitations sat unanswered in your messages. Night outs were declined without hesitation. Instead, you found yourself asking Sana about choir practice, church activities, and whether she planned on volunteering for any upcoming events.

It was becoming a little concerning.

Wearing one of your now-usual long skirts and a modest blouse approved by church standards, you applied an extra layer of lip gloss in front of your mirror. Excitement bubbled inside you as you remembered what Sana had told you earlier that week—a charity event was coming up, and the church needed volunteers to help organize donations.

There had been plenty of charity events before, many of which you had skipped. Sana would usually spend the entire day helping sort donations and assisting the parishioners, leaving little time for the two of you to actually spend together. As much as you enjoyed tagging along with her, wandering around the church by yourself for hours wasn't exactly appealing.

This time, however, you were genuinely excited to come.

It wasn't as though you couldn't visit the church on your own. Nobody would stop you if you decided to drop by one afternoon.

The problem was that it would be… strange.

Ever since you started coming to church, it had always been because of Sana. Everyone knew you as her friend, not as someone particularly devoted to the church.

If you suddenly started showing up by yourself every weekend, people would notice. You weren't exactly known for your devotion. 

Especially when the answer involved a certain priest.

It was already strange enough that you were beginning to resemble a devoted Christian.

False piety.

When you arrived at the church, your heartbeat picked up immediately. Volunteers moved in and out of the building carrying boxes and supplies, conversations blending into a lively hum that filled the grounds.

“You can help with the boxes, Y/N. I'll just talk to the choir members,” Sana said with a smile.

You nodded a little too eagerly, grateful she didn’t question your sudden burst of interest in coming with her to church. It helped that you had accompanied her before—enough for it to not feel completely out of the blue.

“Okay! I'll help with the boxes!” you smiled brightly.

The moment Sana wandered off to join the other choir members, you immediately began looking around for ways to help.

“Let me carry those,” you offered with a bright smile, reaching for a volunteer struggling with a stack of old toy boxes meant for donation.

The woman thanked you and asked if you could bring them outside, where a small truck was parked to collect everything.

You happily agreed.

“I hope he comes today,” you muttered under your breath as you carried the boxes toward the truck, your eyes drifting toward the church entrance every few seconds.

According to Sana, Fr. Jeon frequently stopped by to check on donation drives, visit the parish office, or help coordinate volunteer work.

You had already carried nine boxes, then… ten. With every trip back and forth, you found yourself slowly losing hope that Fr. Jeon would show up at all. You were starting to regret wearing your cutest pink skirt today, and the growing disappointment was beginning to settle in alongside your irritation.

Just as you were about to accept that all your effort had been wasted, Fr. Jeon finally appeared, walking into the church hall.

Your eyes widened.

“Fuck—” you immediately winced, biting your lip the moment the word escaped. Mentally apologizing for cursing inside the church.

With a fresh box of donations balanced in your arms, you hurried toward the entrance, trying your best to look useful, helpful and responsible. Like the kind of person who volunteered here regularly and wasn't secretly waiting for your handsome priest to show up.

Your heart hammered against your ribs when he finally glanced in your direction.

“Good day,” he greeted with a smile and a polite nod, raising his right hand to gently pat your head.

Your cheeks immediately flushed, almost dropping the boxes when he touched you.

He patted my head!

Today, he was dressed in a fitted black long-sleeved shirt tucked neatly into black slacks, a simple brown cross necklace resting against his chest. His jet-black hair was styled neatly away from his face, exposing a heart-shaped forehead that made him look unfairly handsome. He wore his usual pair of glasses, the thin frames resting on the bridge of his nose and softening the sharpness of his features. Behind the lenses, his round eyes looked steady and attentive, always observant, as if he noticed everything without ever needing to say so. 

Goodness gracious.

Your gaze drifted lower, almost shamelessly staring…only to pause on his right hand.

You frowned slightly, you wanted to take a longer look, but his sleeves hid the rest of his arms from view, making it impossible to tell how far they extended.

Was that a tattoo?

For some reason, that discovery stunned you more than it should have. Priests and tattoos weren't exactly a combination you'd ever imagined together.

You were so distracted staring at his hand that you didn't realize he had already walked past you and moved on to greet the other volunteers.

You didn't even greet him back! Oh God.

Panic immediately settled in your chest. Adjusting your grip on the donation box, you hurried after him, determined to salvage the interaction somehow. You just needed a reason to talk to him. 

A simple religious question, maybe?

Unfortunately, your brain had chosen this exact moment to stop working.

You couldn't exactly walk up to him and ask if priests were allowed to have tattoos. Nor could you suddenly start quoting bible verses when the majority of your religious knowledge came from Sana lecturing you every other week.

You wanted to sound natural and virginal.

The problem was that you had absolutely no idea how to start a holy conversation without sounding fake about it, like you were trying too hard to be someone you weren’t.

When you saw him entering the church office, you frowned and stomped your foot against the floor in irritation.

Pity.

You were a bit disappointed when his gaze didn’t even linger on you. You were used to boys in college always noticing you…showing their interest, getting swayed by your pretty face and charming personality. But here, inside the church, you were nothing more than another kind volunteer in his eyes—someone he greeted with the same calm respect he gave everyone else.

Importunate.

At this point, it had become a routine. You would come to church with Sana after school, grateful she had joined the choir because it gave you an excuse to be there almost every day instead of only on weekends.

While she attended rehearsals, you spent your afternoons helping with volunteer work and assisting the parishioners...all while discreetly searching the church grounds for your future boyfriend.

You even started dressing for it—slipping into the most “virginal” outfits your closet could offer in hopes of blending in. Long skirts, conservative blouses, dresses that covered everything they possibly could. It was almost laughable how much effort you put into looking like the perfect church girl, when a few months ago you would’ve rather died than be seen in half of these outfits.

The worst part was that it wasn't even guaranteed to work.

There were days when your timing simply didn't align. You would arrive at the church only to hear that Fr. Jeon had already stopped by earlier, or spend the afternoon helping around the parish before finding out he had come and gone while you were busy elsewhere. Sometimes you would leave just before he arrived, missing him by mere minutes.

You would come home without seeing even a glimpse of him, staring at your ceiling later that night and wondering why you felt so deflated over someone you barely knew. 

Then there were the good days—when your schedules happened to align and you finally saw him. Your eyes would immediately light up the moment you spotted him across the church grounds, your smile growing brighter despite your attempts to act normal, your cheeks burning whenever he greeted you with that gentle smile and absentminded pat on the head.

Transgression.

At first, seeing him had been enough. Now, however, you found yourself expecting more. Not much...just a conversation that lasted longer than a few seconds. Something beyond charity drives, donation boxes, retreats, and volunteer work.

But Fr. Jeon was frustratingly...polite.

He greeted everyone with the same kindness, smiled at everyone with the same warmth, and spoke to everyone with the same respectful attentiveness. Whenever you managed to stand near him long enough for a conversation, he would ask about the charity, the donations, the volunteers, or whatever church event happened to be coming up next. 

The discussion always remained firmly within the boundaries of church matters, and before you knew it, he would excuse himself to continue helping elsewhere.

You couldn't even ask him anything personal. Every question that came to mind sounded ridiculous the moment you imagined saying it out loud. Are those tattoos real? How old are you? Why are you so handsome for a priest? 

None of them exactly sounded appropriate for church conversation.

So you remained stuck in this strange little cycle of yours, coming to church almost everyday with hopes far bigger than the interactions you actually received. And despite how ridiculous it felt, despite how much you scolded yourself for it, the highlight of your day was still that brief smile and the weight of his hand resting atop your head for a few seconds.

Shameful.

A shame that you had never actually talked to him. 

Not beyond a few good afternoons exchanged in passing and the occasional greeting whenever your paths crossed around the church. 

You didn't want to be too bold, afraid that he would notice your embarrassingly obvious attempts to get his attention. As someone who wasn't particularly religious, you found yourself in an absurd predicament. 

Should you start reading the bible? Memorize a few scriptures? Learn enough about church teachings to hold an intelligent conversation with him? 

The fact that you were even considering studying scripture just to impress a priest made you question every life decision that had led you to this point.

You wanted his eyes to linger on you. Wanted him to look at you a little longer than everyone else. Wanted to feel special in some way. But every time your gaze met his, he would simply smile and move on, his attention never staying in one place for too long. 

Sometimes you wondered if the only thing capable of holding his complete devotion was God himself.

Which was unfortunate for you. Because you were used to being noticed.

You were pretty, and you knew it. Attention had always come easily to you, yet the one man whose attention you wanted most remained completely out of reach.

A man who was distant, unattainable, and forbidden in every possible sense of the word.

Standing in front of your mirror that afternoon, you smoothed down your floral dress and examined your reflection one last time. The modest dress fell neatly against your figure, paired with white kitten heels that made you look far more innocent than you actually were. You dabbed a little extra blush onto your cheeks before adding a touch more glitter to your eyelids, your excitement growing as you remembered what Sana had told you earlier that week.

Fr. Jeon would be presiding over today's mass.

It would be the first mass of his that you would be attending, and as you stared at yourself in the mirror, unable to stop smiling, you realized your excitement felt dangerously close to the kind of anticipation one would have before a date.

Sana had noticed that you were coming with her far more often nowadays, but being as naive and obedient as she was, she only took it as a good sign. In her eyes, your heart was simply getting closer to God, closer to faith, closer to something pure and meaningful.

Closer to Fr. Jeon, rather.

“You look excited,” she said with a soft smile, her eyes twinkling when you mentioned wanting to sit in the front row. The thought only made her happier, convinced that your devotion was finally deepening in the way she had always hoped for you.

Oh, you were devoted. 

“Excited for the Mass, you know,” you replied with a small giggle, clasping your hands together as if to sell the image. “Wonder what bible chapter will be discussed today.”

Of course you were gonna listen, be a good little church girl and have your eyes and attention to him.

Your eyes were practically shining when you stepped into the church, making a beeline for the front row without hesitation. You sat down shamelessly, smoothing your skirt as if you had done this every sunday of your life.

Sana only smiled at your eagerness, completely oblivious to the fact that your decision had nothing to do with spiritual focus and everything to do with proximity. Sitting at the front felt less like devotion and more like VIP seating for the sole purpose of seeing Fr. Jeon up close.

When the bell finally rang, the entire church rose to its feet. Your heart kicked up immediately as the sacristans entered in procession, one of them carrying a smoking thurible that swung gently with each step. And right at the center of it all was him.

Your future boyfriend.

Your lips parted slightly, eyes widening as Fr. Jeon walked slowly down the nave with calm, deliberate steps. His hands were clasped together in front of him in prayer, and he wore the full liturgical vestments—a long white linen robe beneath a green chasuble, a thin stole draped over his shoulders, and a cincture tied neatly at his waist. The fabric moved softly as he walked, making him look almost unreal under the church lights, like something out of a painting you weren’t supposed to stare at for too long.

He greeted people with gentle smiles along the way, bowing his head politely, even pausing to pat a few children on the head as he passed the pews.

By the time he reached the altar, your attention was fully locked in. 

Disingenuous.

You nodded a little too eagerly when responses were required, your voice coming out brighter than necessary during the choir parts, as if enthusiasm alone could prove your devotion. Every time he spoke, your focus sharpened, hanging onto his words a little too intently, even when you were supposed to be blending in with the rest of the congregation.

He was wearing his usual pair of glasses, slowly turning the pages of the bible with precise, practiced movements. His voice was steady and clear as he read, each word delivered with a calm authority that made it clear this role suited him completely. There was nothing rushed about him, nothing uncertain.. only a quiet certainty in the way he stood at the altar, as if it had always belonged to him.

By now, you had started mirroring him without even realizing it. Whenever he closed his eyes to say the prayers, you would close yours too, hands folded a little tighter than necessary, breathing in sync with the rhythm of the mass.

You were fucking crazy.

When it was time for the holy communion, you stood up almost too quickly, your heart thudding loudly in your chest as you joined the line forming in the aisle. Each step forward felt heavier than it should have, not because of the sacrament itself, but because of who was waiting near the altar.

“Are you alright?” Sana commented quietly when she noticed your flushed expression after the bell rang.

You let out a small, awkward laugh and instinctively smoothed down your long hair, trying to compose yourself. “Just thinking about my prayers,” you said lightly, as if that explanation made any sense at all.

She gasped, like you were really serious about your prayers, when all you could think about was—

He’s gonna feed me the host!

You were almost sweating as you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, feeling the moment inch closer with every step in the line. Sana’s voice was still beside you, something about God always listening and having faith in his timing, but her words barely registered anymore. Your mind was elsewhere entirely, stuck on the growing realization that you were seconds away from facing him directly.

Preparing your hands in a prayer position, your brain almost short-circuited when you finally faced him, his right tatted hand holding the host up for you.

“The Body of Christ,” he said in a soft tone, almost detached in its reverence.

You wanted him to recognize you—the obedient good girl who always volunteered at the church. But fuck, he was too absorbed in God and the communion.

Your lips parted. “Amen…”

When he finally fed you the host, you almost choked when you felt the slight, accidental brush of his index finger against your lips as he withdrew his hand. You were left completely flustered, while he remained composed and focused on the ritual, seemingly unaware of the effect he had on you.

To you, it felt intimate. 

To him, it was simply the Eucharist…a sacred duty, a practiced motion repeated countless times.

When you returned to your seat and lowered yourself to kneel again, you pressed your hands together a little too tightly. In your head, you immediately apologized to God for every impure thought, questionable intention, and shameless moment you had done.

Then, without even a full second of self-reflection, you proceeded to ask if he could somehow let you be a little closer to Fr. Jeon.

Your priorities were clearly a work in progress.

“Sana, are you gonna visit the church this week?” you asked with a small smile, falling into your usual habit of checking with her.

For the past few weeks, your afternoons and weekends had quietly reshaped themselves around her schedule. 

It had become something strangely comforting… helping wherever you could, spending hours in a place that once felt unfamiliar but was now slowly turning into routine.

But of course, you couldn’t deny that recently, there was another reason woven into it too.

“Nope,” Sana replied as she hugged her books closer to her chest. “I have to study this week. Finals are coming up, and I still have a chemistry exam to review for before vacation starts.”

You groaned softly and walked beside her as the two of you left the campus. “Then why don’t we just stop by for a bit? To pray for good grades?” you suggested, lifting a brow as if it was the most logical solution in the world.

Please. Please. Please agree with me.

Sana pouted, clearly considering it for a moment, and your heart almost stopped in anticipation. Then she shook her head slowly, and your excitement deflated instantly.

“You’re right,” she said gently, “but it’s a long test, Y/N. I need to review all week. God would understand.”

She smiled softly and slipped her arm through yours. “Let’s just pray at home and do the rosary before reviewing.”

You forced a small smile, though your shoulders sagged slightly at the realization. It wasn’t just a missed church visit—it was a missed chance, even if you kept telling yourself it wasn’t supposed to be about that.

Sure, you would probably still see Fr. Jeon at sunday mass. He was the new presider in the city now, after all.

But it still wasn’t the same.

You almost groaned when you found yourself at the church that saturday morning. You were wearing a cream-colored dress, kitten heels, and a rosary necklace you had recently bought for the sole purpose of impressing Fr. Jeon. You had no idea whether he would even notice it, but in your mind, it felt like the kind of thing a good church girl would wear.

Preposterous.

Sashaying your way inside, you took in the usual parishioners and volunteers already busy arranging boxes for the charity drive.

You bit your lip. This was your first time visiting the church without Sana. Still, as you walked in, you were relieved when a few volunteers recognized you.

Thank God and all the saints.

You smiled and bent down to help with the boxes, already familiar with the routine—carrying them to the truck, sorting old clothes and toys, or helping with the lists.

If any of your uni friends saw you here alone, they would be completely confused. Without Sana, your sudden appearance at church would make absolutely no sense.

“Good day, Fr. Jeon.” someone greeted, and your ears immediately perked up. You turned just in time to see him entering the church halls in his usual black long sleeves and slacks.

You were only on your third box today! He was early!

Your lips curled into a small, excited smile as you instinctively stepped closer, box still in hand, already anticipating the familiar greeting and gentle pat on the head.

“Good day,” he said as expected, offering a polite nod before his hand lifted to pat your head.

Your eyelashes fluttered.

But instead of letting him move on to greet the others…for the first time in the past few weeks, you actually gathered the courage to stop him.

“Uh, Fr. Jeon?” you called softly just as he was about to turn away.

He paused, tilting his head slightly. “Yes, sweetheart?”

Jesus– God in heaven.

Your cheeks instantly reddened at the nickname, fingers tightening around the box. Still, you forced yourself to breathe, and finally blurted out the question you had been rehearsing all night.

“Just wondering if you have any c-chapter recommendations? I’m currently reading the bible and I don’t know where to start,” you said shyly.

There was a brief flicker of pleasant surprise on his face, quietly impressed that you were asking about the bible in the first place. It wasn't often that someone approached him with genuine curiosity about scripture.

He was about to answer when, suddenly…his attention shifted.

His gaze drifted downward, landing on the rosary hanging around your neck—the small cross resting between your breasts.

His lips pursed. “Sweetheart…rosaries are not meant to be worn as necklaces,” he chuckled softly, his eyes lingering on the rosary before looking back at you.

Your eyes widened. “I-It’s not…?” you asked, your ears and neck already heating in embarrassment.

Fuck. You didn’t know that! 

Fr. Jeon exhaled gently. “It’s a prayer tool,” he explained, his tone patient and calm. “Meant to be held in the hands… used in prayer, not displayed like jewelry.”

You blinked. “I-I didn’t know,” you admitted quickly, almost defensively. “I just really… like rosaries.”

Deception.

Fr. Jeon sighed softly, then lifted a hand to gently pat your head. “It’s okay…if you want, you can still wear rosary bracelets.” he offered you a small, reassuring smile.

You almost melted at his kindness. “R-Right, that would be better,” you said shyly, barely keeping yourself together.

He chuckled softly at your reaction, adjusting his glasses before finally returning to your original question. “If you’re reading the bible,” he added at last, “start with the gospels. Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John.”

You nodded quickly, smiling up at him as he returned a warm, genuine smile of his own.

“Noted, Fr. Jeon.” you smiled, unconsciously stepping a little closer. “...Uhm, d-do you have a bible in your office, Father?” you asked shyly, doing your best to sound innocent and academically curious. 

The moment the question left your mouth, you almost mentally slapped yourself.

Of course he has a bible in his office!

You opened your mouth, ready to rephrase the question, to save yourself from the embarrassment of sounding so foolish—but Fr. Jeon answered before you could.

“I do have a few bible collections in my office…would you like to see them?” Fr. Jeon offered, gesturing gently toward the church office.

You dropped the boxes. “Oh, my-”

Your plan actually worked!

Your eyes widened in horror. Mortified, you immediately bent down to pick them up, only to find Fr. Jeon already reaching for them.

“Careful, sweetheart,” he chuckled softly, lifting the boxes with ease as if they weighed nothing. “Let me carry these.”

“S-Sorry, it was kinda heavy,” you reasoned out, your neck already turning red. You still couldn’t believe you were actually having a full conversation with him.

And now he was even taking you to his office!

The Lord had truly answered your prayers.

With a polite smile, Fr. Jeon handed the boxes to the truck before gesturing for you to follow him toward the office.

“I can let you borrow a few scriptures if you’d like. I have the new version of the bible—would you want that?” Fr. Jeon asked as he reached into his pocket for his office keys.

You nodded immediately, hands clasping together behind your back. “Uh, yeah. That would be heavenly!”

Heavenly? For Christ’s sake, Y/N.

Fr. Jeon only smiled at that, unlocking and opening the office door as if he were letting you step into a space you had no right to be so excited about.

Pious.

You had done your research last night—it had been difficult since he was such a private person, but you had managed to learn a few things.

Fr. Jeon had been ordained only six months ago and was now officially assigned as the priest of your city’s parish, something you were embarrassingly looking forward to.

He was twenty-eight. He had studied arts before eventually pursuing theology. There were only a handful of photos of him online…mostly seminarian group pictures, a few formal ones where he wasn’t wearing his usual cassock, though he was always in long sleeves.

You had even found one rare image where he had rolled his sleeve slightly during a group photo, revealing part of a tattoo on his arm beneath a white long-sleeve shirt and a cross necklace.

“Fuck… he’s hiding all that under his sleeves?” you had muttered to yourself last night, squinting at the screen and trying to find more…only to realize there was barely anything else. No social media, no casual photos, nothing.

“Take a seat here. I’ll get the books for you,” Fr. Jeon said now, smiling as he gestured toward the small couch in front of his desk.

You nodded and sat down obediently, trying very hard to look like a good parish girl. 

His office was quiet and orderly in a way that immediately made you straighten your posture. The walls were lined with wooden bookshelves filled with thick religious texts, bible editions, theological commentaries, and neatly stacked parish documents. A simple desk sat against one side, organized and uncluttered, with a few folders, a pen holder, and a small lamp.

In the center of the room, mounted on the wall above the desk, hung a large crucifix—christ on the cross—watching over everything in silent stillness. The soft light from the window fell across it gently, making the entire room feel even more solemn, almost sacred.

Yet your thoughts were nowhere near sacred. You were here to attempt a very dangerous, carnal sin.

Seduction.

Masked in your perfect good-girl appearance, wondering if you could crack that unshakable composure he wore so effortlessly—if you could make his calm, holy restraint finally slip.

You slowly stood up from the couch while his back remained turned, focused on his bible scriptures. Your head tilted slightly as you tried to make it look as innocent as possible…to enter his space without revealing your true, sinful intentions.

“Fr. Jeon,” you called softly, standing too close behind him.

You needed to converse, to interact with him, to get him interested—to show him how much you adored God as much as he did.

“Hmm?” He didn’t glance at you, still focused on the scriptures.

You pouted, slowly taking a peek at what he was doing. “I was wondering if I could just read the bible here instead of borrowing it….” you attempted softly. “That way, if there’s something I don’t understand… I can ask you about it right away.” you said in a sweet, suggestive tone.

Fr. Jeon glanced at you, subtly stepping back when he realized you were right behind him, your vanilla scent brushing his senses.

He paused for a moment, looking into your hopeful eyes. 

“Hmm,” he hummed thoughtfully, a small smile appearing on his face. “That's actually a good idea. Understanding scripture is easier when you can discuss it with someone. If I'm here, feel free to ask me anything you're confused about.”

Providence.

You smiled brightly, feeling your relationship with him finally take another step forward.

“That would be great! Thank you, Fr. Jeon,” you said, tilting your head and giving him one of your most charming smiles.

It was absurd.

After your finals, you were granted a two-month semestral break, and instead of using that time to party, travel with friends, or go on night outs, you had spent nearly all of it at the church. 

Sana, unfortunately, never questioned your growing interest. She was too kind to question your faith.

Over the next few weeks, your afternoons were spent in the parish office, reading scripture, flipping through commentaries, and waiting for the familiar sound of the office door opening.

During those weeks, you managed to have a few small talks with him whenever he stopped by. You learned that he visited the church every day…sometimes to pray, sometimes to help with ongoing charity work, hear confessions, or simply check on the church office before moving on to his next responsibility.

Hearing about his schedule made you quietly adjust your own, ensuring you arrived at the office around 3 p.m.—the time he usually came in to check mails and paperwork at his office.

Today, you were wearing a baby blue dress that flowed nicely around your ankles, trimmed with delicate lace at the hem. Your hair was tied in a half ponytail with a blue ribbon, your makeup subtle, and your kitten heels matching the softness of your outfit.

Sana didn’t come with you every day anymore—she had other “holy” activities outside the church, like charity visits, helping at retreat houses, touring other churches, and even climbing mountains to visit shrines and statues. 

You had politely declined most of those invitations, telling her you found comfort in staying within your church’s city.

Disingenuous.

The rhythm between you had become almost routine. You would come to the office in the afternoons, sit down with a bible, and quietly read while asking him occasional questions whenever something didn’t make sense. 

Fr. Jeon would remain at his desk, either going through papers or reading his own scripture in silence. The room would stay mostly quiet, filled with the soft turning of pages and the steady presence of his focus, as if the world outside didn’t quite reach either of you in that space.

Sometimes you would try to steer the conversation a little further, testing small openings beyond scripture, but it always naturally circled back to the same things—bible passages, God, charity work, church matters… anything within that same unspoken boundary of the holy.

Yet, that alone felt like a privilege—being allowed into the quiet rhythm of his office, as if you belonged there too.

“Good day, Fr. Jeon. I brought some snacks for you,” you said with a smile as you entered the church’s office.

As usual, he was sitting at his desk, wearing his framed glasses while reading some papers.

You walked toward him and held up a small box of cookies you had gladly baked. “I made these…kind of like a thank-you gift for letting me stay here in the office,” you said proudly.

During your free time, you had spent the entire afternoon baking cookies for Fr. Jeon, thinking it would be a nice thank-you gift for him. At first, you had even wanted to decorate them with cute frosting faces of Jesus, convinced it would make you look extra devoted in his eyes.

Unfortunately, after staring at your frosting bag for ten minutes, you realized it might look a little too....performative.

So, with great reluctance, you abandoned your tiny Jesus-face cookie idea and settled for regular chocolate chip cookies instead.

The result sat neatly inside the box you now held out to him, carefully packed and decorated with far more effort than necessary.

Fr. Jeon looked at the cookies, his head tilting slightly when he noticed the box was covered in heart stickers. A soft smile formed on his lips, quietly touched by your kindness.

“That’s very kind of you, sweetheart.” he said softly, taking the box before looking up at you from his swivel chair. “Thank you, Y/N.”

Your cheeks flushed, making you feel like a schoolgirl finally noticed by your crush.

“No worries, Fr. Jeon… besides, I really like reading the bible here! it feels comforting,” you said, leaning in slightly as if to emphasize your point. “And thank you… you really help me understand it better when I get confused,” you added softly, fluttering your lashes at him.

He blinked slowly, clearly caught off guard by your sweet smile and the way you leaned in, his usual composure faltering for a brief moment as he paused.

“No...no problem sweetheart.” he said with a small smile. “I’m… glad you find comfort here. God will always find a way to comfort our souls.”

You smiled sheepishly and sat down on the small couch in front of his desk. “Hmm, I know…I always pray whenever I’m overwhelmed, somehow talking to God really helps me.” you said thoughtfully, even if you had only learned those kinds of phrases from Sana.

Fr. Jeon nodded quietly, he didn’t expect you to be this devoted.

You were very pure, kind, and charming. He had always noticed you volunteering at the church with your friend Sana—you would help with the boxes, sit around during her choir sessions, sometimes simply sit in the pew as if the presence of the church alone was enough for you.

It wasn’t hard to notice you. You were pretty and graceful, always smiling at everyone, carrying a soft, composed presence whenever he saw you at the church in your long skirts and modest blouses—like a quiet image of devotion itself. 

Despite that, his eyes never lingered. 

Always composed, always measured…because anything longer than a passing glance felt like something he shouldn’t allow himself.

Ever since you asked him about the bible that day, he had been quietly amazed. Nowadays, very few people showed genuine interest in scripture, let alone someone your age. 

Seeing your devotion—or what he believed was devotion…filled him with a warmth he hadn't expected. It was rare to meet someone so eager to learn more about God.

What he didn't realize was that your sweet, holy little plan had been working all along.

And what you didn't realize was that your sweetness, your smiles, your carefully built innocence—had been working from the very beginning.

You were so focused on the fact that his eyes never lingered, so convinced that he remained untouched by your presence, that you failed to see the subtle effect you had already left behind.

“What do you do during your free time, Fr. Jeon?” you asked casually one friday afternoon, trying your best to sound merely curious rather than interested. 

You had spent weeks keeping your questions safely within the boundaries of scripture. Careful not to reveal how badly you wanted to know the man behind the collar. 

So you kept your tone light and innocent, as though it were nothing more than a harmless question that had happened to cross your mind.

Fr. Jeon's head tilted slightly. He was sitting across from you at the small coffee table inside his office, a bible resting in his hands just like yours. 

“I visit charities,” he answered lightly. “I usually stay there for a while and spend time with the children.” a fond smile crossed his face at the memory.

Your lips parted. Oh! still religious.

“How about you, sweetheart?” Fr. Jeon asked.

You quickly searched for a suitably holy answer. “Umm, I-I sometimes climb mountains to visit shrines and blessed statues,” you said, biting your lip as you recalled one of Sana's favorite religious activities.

Fr. Jeon nodded thoughtfully, visibly impressed…his expression softening as if genuinely moved that you spent your free time in service of the Lord.

“What a good girl you are,” he said softly. 

His eyes lifted to meet yours for a brief moment—just long enough to make your heart stumble…before he looked away first, a small smile forming on his lips that he quickly hid as he lowered his gaze back to the bible.

Your lips parted slightly, warmth rushing to your cheeks at the compliment.

Good girl. Oh to be called his good girl.

Even though Sana had been busy lately with her other holy activities, you didn't mind attending mass alone. In fact, you were more than happy sitting in the front row. 

Your eyes would sparkle whenever Fr. Jeon spoke, your heart thumping whenever his gaze swept across the congregation and briefly met yours.

It always felt like a small victory, as though he was finally acknowledging you, finally noticing you.

“The Body of Christ.” Fr. Jeon held up the host.

“Amen,” you replied softly.

Unlike before, however, his gaze briefly lowered to meet yours. It lasted only a moment, accompanied by a small smile, but it was enough to make your heart skip a beat.

Enthralled.

Little by little, the distance between you seemed to shrink. The walls around him no longer felt quite as impenetrable as they once had.

Overtime, you had finally managed to crack through the edges of his usual reserve. What started as strictly scripture and charity talk had slowly, almost imperceptibly, begun to shift into something more personal. 

You learned how he first became interested in the priesthood, how his mother had served in the church, and how deeply devoted his family was to their faith. You even found the courage to ask about his tattoos, discovering they came from his love for art long before he pursued theology.

In return, you had shared little pieces of yourself as well—your hobbies, your favorite things, your likes and dislikes. Of course, you were careful to sprinkle in a little extra holiness whenever you could, always eager to impress him and maintain the image he seemed to have of you.

Fr. Jeon enjoyed your presence. It was refreshing to converse with someone who seemed to share the same interest and devotion that he held so dearly.

As the weeks passed, he found himself quietly looking forward to your visits, anticipating the familiar sound of your voice drifting into his office each afternoon. After all, you had always been naturally playful and talkative, and somehow… your constant babbling had become a welcome part of his routine.

It had been a month since you started spending your afternoons in his office. Upon entering, you found him sitting at the coffee table instead of his desk. Scattered across the table were several small boxes in different colors.

Curious, you stepped inside, your usual box of homemade cookies in hand—the same kind you brought him every week.

“What’s that, Fr. Jeon?” you asked, taking a seat across from him and placing the cookies on the table.

Fr. Jeon looked up and smiled. “When's your birthday, sweetheart?”

You blinked, a question that was out of the blue—like you were on a date, and he was casually getting to know you.

Your cheeks immediately flushed, you told him your birth date, unable to hide the slight confusion in your voice.

Fr. Jeon nodded thoughtfully before reaching for one of the small boxes on the table.

There were twelve of them in total, each a different color. Pink, purple, green, blue, yellow, and several others.

“This would be your birthstone color then,” he said with a fond smile, handing you the box that matched your birth month.

Confused, you picked up the box and slowly opened it.

A small rosary bracelet rested inside.

Your heart began thumping so loudly you could hear it in your ears as you remembered the conversation from weeks ago…when he had gently corrected you and told you that rosaries weren't meant to be worn as necklaces.

“T-This is for me?” you asked, eyes wide and sparkling.

Fr. Jeon smiled softly. “Yes, sweetheart. I didn't know your birthday, so I bought all twelve colors,” he admitted with a small chuckle, glancing at the remaining boxes on the table.

It was such a simple gift, yet your heart fluttered stupidly in your chest. Somehow, this meant more than the flowers, chocolates, teddy bears, and expensive jewelry your admirers had given you before.

Before you could stop yourself, you rose from your seat and threw your arms around him.

Fr. Jeon froze in surprise, his eyes widened as you suddenly closed the distance between you. The force of the hug nearly made him lose his balance in the chair as your arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders.

“Thank you, Fr. Jeon...so sweet of you.” you murmured, overwhelmed with happiness.

He gulped harshly. It had been a long time since he had been touched by a woman.

Not accidentally in a crowded place. Not a polite handshake after mass. Not a brief greeting exchanged out of courtesy.

A long time.

His heart raced against his ribs as your arms wrapped tightly around his neck. Your hot breath fanned softly against his collar, carrying the familiar scent of vanilla that had become impossible for him not to recognize. The closeness was overwhelming in a way he hadn't expected, making him painfully aware of how little physical affection existed in his life.

His hands hovered awkwardly in the air for a moment before gripping the edge of the table instead. Every instinct told him to return the gesture, to place a comforting hand against your back and reassure you, but he remained still, forcing himself to hold onto his composure.

“You're welcome, sweetheart.” Fr. Jeon rasped, his voice coming out rougher than usual.

When you finally pulled away, you smiled brightly and sat back down in your chair, immediately slipping the bracelet onto your wrist.

Meanwhile, he remained frozen for a moment, trying to swallow away the lingering awareness of your closeness. The warmth of your embrace, your breath against his collar, the brief press of your breasts against him.

The hug had been innocent, sweet and harmless.

Which only made it worse.

Because he had no reason to be affected by it at all. He found himself quietly unsettled by the fact that he had needed to restrain himself in a moment that should have been nothing more than simple gratitude.

Temptation.

The next day, you proudly wore the rosary bracelet he had given you. You had even chosen a dress that matched its color, complete with a ribbon in your hair to tie everything together.

When you entered his office, you found Fr. Jeon standing by the bookshelves, a scripture in one hand. His glasses rested low on his nose as he read through a passage.

“Good day, Fr. Jeon,” you greeted happily, practically sashaying toward him.

His attention lifted from the page.

Immediately, you raised your wrist and showed off the bracelet. “Look,” you said with a grin.

Fr. Jeon glanced down, you were already twirling in place, eager to show him how the bracelet matched your dress.

Pretty.

The thought came so naturally that he frowned at himself.

“Good day, Y/N.” he replied, forcing his attention away from the observation.

You smiled brightly and wriggled your wrist. “I matched the bracelet with my dress and ribbon, see?”

Turning in a small circle again, you proudly showed off the entire outfit.

Fr. Jeon watched for a brief moment before lowering his gaze. Lately, he had become far too aware of things he shouldn't be noticing.

How pretty you looked whenever you walked into his office, how your face lit up whenever you talked to him, how easily your excitement filled the room.

Even your long dresses—soft fabric falling gently to your ankles, lace details tracing along the edges…began to feel distracting in a way he could not fully explain or justify. 

Turning innocent things into distractions. The modesty that should have protected his thoughts was beginning to have the opposite effect, making him painfully aware of the woman hidden beneath layers of fabric and lace.

Perhaps it was because it had been so long since he had allowed himself to be this close to a woman. Years spent in seminaries, rectories, church offices, and ministry had made him accustomed to a life of distance and discipline. He had grown comfortable in it.

Until you.

“Glad you like it, sweetheart,” he said at last, forcing a small smile before returning his attention to the scripture in his hands.

It was easier to focus on the page than on the way you were still standing there, smiling at him as if he had just given you the greatest gift in the world.

You giggled and stepped a little closer. “You know, I didn’t remove the bracelet yet… I’m planning on wearing it forever.”

Fr. Jeon raised a brow at that, glancing at you from the corner of his eye.

“Really?” he asked, unable to hide the delightfulness in his voice.

“Yes! I didn’t even remove it when I took a bath,” you giggled, smiling at him with pure adoration.

His brows furrowed slightly at what you had just said, but before he could stop himself, a faint flush crept across his cheeks.

Test of faith.

His mind betrayed him for a brief second, wandering toward the image of you showering while still wearing the bracelet he had given you, carefully keeping it on even then. The thought was so sudden and inappropriate that he immediately felt ashamed.

He gulped harshly, disappointed in himself. He would have to repent later and ask the Lord for forgiveness for allowing such a crude thought to cross his mind.

Fr. Jeon could not entertain that desire. It was forbidden, a temptation that needed to be buried and forgotten before it could take root.

Yet despite the turmoil quietly unfolding inside him, he weakly reached over and gently patted your head.

His heart immediately thumped against his ribs when your eyes lifted to meet his, shining with unmistakable adoration at the simple gesture.

You beamed at him...letting out a small, delighted giggle that softened the moment even further.

Craving.

The past few weeks had been exhausting. As the city's new presider, he had been buried beneath paperwork and responsibilities. The church had also been flooded with parishioners seeking confession, and the lines seemed to grow longer with each passing day.

Hundreds of voices had passed through the confessional since then, each carrying their own sins, burdens, and regrets. Most of them faded from memory the moment absolution was given.

Yours hadn't.

Fr. Jeon leaned back in his chair and stared at the crucifix hanging on the office wall. The afternoon sunlight filtered through the window, casting long shadows across the room.

He had spent years strengthening his faith, disciplining his mind, and dedicating himself entirely to the Lord. Yet lately, all it took was a sweet smile, an innocent touch, or the sound of your voice to shake that discipline.

Closing his eyes, he lowered his head.

"Lord, forgive me," he murmured quietly.

A threat to his devotion.

-

“Ouch, fuck,” you groaned, pulling the tray of cookies out of the oven.

You were baking a fresh batch for Fr. Jeon today, trying out a larger baking tray than usual so you could make more cookies at once. Unfortunately, the experiment immediately backfired.

As you bent down to take the tray out, the hot metal edge accidentally brushed against your inner thigh. You winced, pouting as you watched your skin slowly turn red.

“This looks so bad,” you murmured, setting the tray of cookies down on the counter.

Luckily, you had been wearing long skirts these days.

Prepping the boxes of cookies you had baked, you decided to wear a purple long lacey skirt paired with a cute ruffled top. Your hair was styled into low pigtail braids, each tied with a ribbon at the ends. Holding the box carefully, you frowned slightly when you felt the bandage rubbing against your swollen skin.

“Good day, Fr. Jeon, I got you cookies!” you beamed.

You noticed he had become even busier after being appointed as the city’s official presider, though you didn’t realize he had been deliberately drowning himself in paperwork—anything to keep his thoughts from drifting where they shouldn’t.

“Good day, Y/N,” he replied, glancing up for only a brief moment to return your smile before his attention went back to the documents in front of him.

You frowned slightly and placed the box of cookies on the table in front of him. “Got you a different flavor! It’s red velvet this time,” you said, pointing at the box with a small, proud smile.

Fr. Jeon glanced at them, warmth flickering in his chest before he quickly pushed it down.

“Thank you, Y/N… that’s very kind of you,” he said gently, his tone careful, as though he was trying to place distance even while accepting your kindness.

You pouted almost immediately. The response felt far too brief for someone who had spent the morning baking for him.

Wanting his attention back on you, you shifted your weight and played with the ends of your braid, searching for something that would pull his focus away from the paperwork on his desk.

“You know… I even got burned earlier because I used a bigger tray and it hit me,” you said with a small chuckle, watching him carefully for a reaction. “But it’s fine, I’m just worried it might leave a mark,” you added with a light giggle, unable to hide the hopeful note in your voice as you waited for him to look at you again.

That got his attention immediately.

His brows furrowed as he looked up from the papers, concern breaking through the careful distance he had been trying to maintain. His eyes instinctively moved to your hands, searching for any sign of injury.

“Where is it? Let me see,” Fr. Jeon said, the concern in his voice unmistakable. His gaze lingered on your fingers and wrists, unable to find the burn he was looking for.

You had to fight the smile threatening to appear.

Slowly, you made your way around the table until you were standing beside him. From his swivel chair, he tilted his head back to follow your movement, his attention still fixed on your hands.

“It’s not there, Fr. Jeon…” you said softly. “Here...”

A small giggle escaped you as you gently lifted the hem of your long skirt. 

His eyes widened instantly, panic flashing across his face before he could hide it. Before you could lift your skirt any higher, his hand shot forward on instinct, wrapping around your wrist to stop you.

“W-What are you doing?” he asked, nearly choking on the words.

The reaction was immediate, almost alarmed, as though the sight of you standing there with your hands on your skirt had caught him completely off guard. His grip wasn't harsh, but it was firm enough to halt your movement, his composure visibly rattled.

“I burned my thighs, Fr. Jeon… see?” you said innocently, lifting the fabric just enough to reveal the bandage wrapped beneath.

His lips parted at the sight, momentarily stunned.

The bandage sat against your soft thighs, the realization of how close he was to something so private making his mind go blank for a second. 

He had never seen so much of you like this before—not this close, not this exposed in such an unguarded, unexpected way.

Your thighs looked so soft, pink and smooth… faintly marked by the redness around the bandage, drawing attention to how tightly you had wrapped it. 

“It hurts a little,” you pouted, pointing at it.

His throat tightened as he swallowed hard, his gaze immediately faltering. Behind his glasses…his pupils were dilated, his ears and neck flushing red. His hands gripped the sides of his swivel chair tightly, as though grounding himself in place.

“Y-You wrapped it wrong,” he managed to say at last, his voice strained. He cleared his throat and forced his attention elsewhere, brows furrowing as he tried to recover his composure.

You tilted your head. “I did?” you looked down, trying to check your bandage when he suddenly stood up.

“I-I have a first aid kit in my cabinet. Sit in my swivel chair...I-I’ll wrap it for you,” he said quickly, already turning away from you as if creating distance would steady him. Without waiting for another reaction, he walked toward the cabinet near the bookshelves.

You bit your lip. “Okay…”

You obediently sat down in his swivel chair, a small, satisfied feeling flickering in your chest when you noticed how concerned…and slightly flustered—he seemed.

When he returned, he was holding a small first aid kit. Your breath caught slightly when he suddenly knelt in front of you.

“L-Lift your skirt, please.” he said, his tone firm but strained, his brows drawn together as he deliberately avoided looking too directly while waiting for you to comply.

Your heart stammered, green thoughts flowing inside your filthy brain.

With shaky, anticipatory hands, you lifted your skirt up to your inner thighs, purposefully raising it a little higher than necessary.

When he looked at your exposed thighs, his breath hitched. He tried to remain as calm as possible, forcing himself to focus. Slowly, he reached for the bandage, almost flinching when he felt the softness of your skin beneath the rough pad of his fingers.

“It’s too tight,” he said breathily, his hands trembling as he unwrapped the bandage from your thigh.

“Is it?” you said softly, watching the way his lips were slightly parted, his expression focused and controlled.

When the burn was finally exposed, his brows furrowed. “You should be more careful, Y/N.” he said quietly.

He took a small tube of ointment from the kit, applying a bit to his index finger before carefully spreading it over the burn.

You winced slightly at the contact, while his attention remained fixed and steady as he worked.

“Does it hurt?” he asked, his voice lower than usual as he briefly checked your reaction before focusing back on the injury.

You bit your lip. “J-Just a little bit.”

He sighed harshly at that, gently rubbing the ointment in with steady movements, though you could see beads of sweat slowly forming on his forehead.

“Just a little more,” he murmured almost under his breath, applying another layer of ointment. His control was thinner now, each movement more deliberate than the last, as if he was carefully holding himself together.

When he took the new bandage, he wrapped it carefully around your burn with precise, practiced hands. Once he was done, he immediately adjusted your skirt, smoothing it down with controlled efficiency…perhaps a little too quickly, as though creating distance from the moment itself.

When he stood up, you could see it more clearly now: the restraint in his posture, the tension in his jaw, the way his composure wasn’t as effortless as before. He looked like he was actively holding himself back from something, grounding himself before it showed too much.

“Thank you,” you said warmly, smiling up at him.

He looked down at you, tilting his head slightly at how innocent you appeared with your ribbons and braids.

Forbidden.

That night, Fr. Jeon fell into the forbidden temptation he had been trying so hard to resist.

It was ten o’clock, yet he remained inside the church office, refusing to leave the premises until his mind and soul were free of guilt.

Frustrated, he buried himself in scripture, but his thoughts kept drifting back to your soft, beautiful thighs and the rosary bracelet on your wrist that had stirred such sinful thoughts within him.

“Forgive me,” he muttered under his breath, his tattooed hand sliding down his slacks to palm his hardening cock.

His lips parted. It had been a very long time since he had touched himself...he had almost forgotten how good it felt. With a shaky breath, he slowly stroked his growing erection, murmuring apologies and curses beneath his breath.

He nearly rolled his eyes back at the sensation. It felt far too good. His cock hardened with alarming ease at the mere thought of you.

Lust.

With trembling hands, he slowly pulled his cock free from his slacks. It was thick and pulsing, a bead of precum already forming at the swollen tip.

When his tattooed hand squeezed the base, more fluid gathered at the head, coating his throbbing shaft.

“Jesus Christ,” he whispered under his breath, a groan escaping him as he rediscovered how good it felt to touch himself after so long.

It was sinful. Dirty.

He was still inside the church office, dressed in his usual black clerical shirt with its roman collar. Scripture lay open on his desk, and his glasses had begun to fog from the heat of his breath.

It had been years. He could no longer remember the last time he had touched a woman, nor the last time he had thought of one this way. When he devoted himself to the Lord, he had promised never to indulge in such acts again.

The longer he had restrained himself, the better it felt to finally release that tension after so many years. His cock almost ached. Thick and veiny, it twitched whenever he rolled the foreskin down.

“God, help me.” Fr. Jeon moaned shamelessly, jerking himself in slow, deliberate strokes, determined to savor every second of it.

He gathered spit in his mouth and let it trickle down his aching shaft. The added lubrication drew a groan from him. He bit down hard on his lip as the realization struck him once more—how good this felt, how much he had missed touching himself.

His thoughts drifted to you.

He imagined your sweet confession about still wearing the rosary bracelet he had given you... even while bathing. The thought lingered longer than it should have, unfurling in his mind as he pictured your small, delicate hands gliding a bar of soap across your soft skin. The rosary would brush against your chest with every movement, the beads shifting and sliding as you washed your nipples.

And then his thoughts wandered further, painting one image after another—your inner thighs, the way the beads might accidentally graze your soft skin as you shower. Each vision arrived unbidden, more vivid than the last, and far more difficult to suppress.

A sacred desire.

He was leaking more and more with every thought of you. The only sound echoing through the office was the wet rhythm of his hand jerking along his hard leaking cock.

Curious, he gathered a bead of precum between his thumb and index finger and brought it to his lips. The taste was salty, thick, and strangely addicting.

“Oh, God,” he groaned, collecting more of it only to taste himself again.

Your forbidden thighs.

The softness of them. The way he had been close enough to imagine burying himself in their warmth. The way they flushed pink beneath his touch. The way they looked so plump and beautiful, tempting thoughts he should never have entertained.

He imagined pressing kisses along your legs, lingering there as though each touch were an act of devotion. He imagined how soft your pussy would feel beneath his lips, how he would part your folds just to stare at your glistening cunt, worshipping it with the reverence of a prayer.

Fr. Jeon was close to climaxing, using memories of your past interactions to fuel his sinful fantasies. His hand was slick with saliva and precum, his thighs tensing as he struggled to hold himself back. He tried to edge himself, to prolong the moment, because the sensation felt far too good after so many years of restraint.

Your body. Even beneath your long dresses and modest blouses, he could tell you were beautiful.

It shamed him that it had been one of the first things he noticed when he saw you wearing that rosary. The way your chest filled out your modest clothing. The way your waist appeared so delicate beneath layers of fabric. The way he found himself wondering what was hidden beneath all that lace and decency.

It was a sin he was terrified to acknowledge. A sin he was terrified to put into words.

But you were beautiful, kind, gentle, and devoted in your faith.

He wanted to fuck you.

When the shameful thought finally broke free from the restraints he had placed upon it, he came hard, his release staining the dark fabric of his slacks.

A deep groan tore from his throat as he continued to stroke himself, milking every last wave of pleasure from his body. His thumb brushed along the underside of his cock, chasing the lingering sensitivity.

“Fuck, I’m still hard,” he muttered, biting his lower lip as he glanced down at himself.

It was understandable.

After years of abstinence, it wasn't surprising that his body responded so eagerly. The restraint he had maintained for so long seemed to have shattered all at once.

Yearning.

All night, instead of losing himself in scripture, he gave in to temptation. His hand jerked shamelessly over his cock as his thoughts returned to you again and again. To every forbidden desire he had tried to suppress. To every impulse he had buried beneath prayer, discipline, and devotion.

Hours passed unnoticed.

He had so much pent-up desire, so much neglected hunger, that he remained awake until dawn, caught in an endless cycle of pleasure in jerking his insatiable cock. The office grew quiet around him while the darkness slowly gave way to morning light, yet his thoughts never strayed far from your face, your kindness, and the feelings he had spent so long denying.

And the fantasies that filled his mind were so sinful that he feared they had carried him beyond forgiveness.

“This should do it,” you giggled to yourself, wrapping the bandage poorly on purpose so he would have an excuse to fix it for you again.

Your box of cookies was already prepared, resting neatly on your lap while you held a bible in your hands and waited for Fr. Jeon.

Unfortunately, hours passed with nothing but the sound of turning pages accompanying you. You flipped through scripture after scripture, occasionally glancing toward the door, expecting him to appear at any moment.

Yet he never came.

Confused, you eventually stepped out of the office to look for him yourself. Perhaps he was outside helping with the donations or speaking with parishioners, as he often did. But after wandering around the church grounds and checking every place you could think of, you still couldn't find him anywhere.

“Where is he?” you pouted to yourself, a disappointed sigh slipping past your lips as you made your way back to his office.

By the time you returned, the warm glow of sunset had already begun spilling through the stained-glass windows.

Realizing he wasn't coming, you reluctantly decided to leave the cookies behind along with a small handwritten note. The thought alone made your chest feel strangely heavy.

“I miss him already,” you murmured, frowning at your own words.

It wasn't as if you could simply call or text him. Despite spending weeks at the church, Fr. Jeon had never given you his number, and you had never found the courage to ask for it. Perhaps it was because you preferred seeing him in person.

The idea of receiving his answers through a text message whenever you had questions about scripture felt disappointing somehow. You liked sitting across from him, listening to his voice as he patiently explained things to you. You liked the little smiles he gave you, the way his attention never seemed rushed, and the comfort that came with simply being around him.

That day left you unusually sad. It was the first time you hadn't seen him at all. Even when he was busy, he always managed to stop by, if only for a minute. No matter how much work he had, he never missed the opportunity to check on you.

Avoidance.

You came back today...hopeful that you would finally see him again and finally ask where he had been yesterday, you were instead met with confusion when he didn’t appear again. You pouted when you noticed the box of cookies you had left behind was still untouched, exactly where you had placed it.

“That’s odd, he can’t miss a bible reading,” you murmured to yourself, already accustomed to his usual routine. He always visited the church at a certain time to pray quietly and read scripture before continuing his day, and you had grown used to waiting for him during those moments.

But days passed, and he was still nowhere to be seen.

The cookies you had prepared for him began to lose their freshness, and the papers he usually kept neatly on his desk started to gather dust. A strange sense of unease settled in your chest as you tried to understand what had changed.

You asked around the church, speaking to parishioners and volunteers, hoping someone might have seen him or could explain where he had gone. But what you learned nearly broke your heart.

He was still coming to the church every day. He just arrived earlier now.

You had always known his schedule well—he used to visit his office around three in the afternoon, which was why you were always there waiting at that time. You never thought he would suddenly change it without warning.

“T-Thank you,” you managed to say, forcing a small smile when one of the parishioners finally informed you that he had been seeing Fr. Jeon every morning. You were lucky this particular parishioner stayed at the church throughout the day, otherwise you might never have learned the truth.

Still, the information left you disappointed and strangely hurt.

The fact that he was visiting every day but never acknowledged your cookies. The fact that he never even left a note to explain. The fact that you had been waiting for him all this time, dressed in your usual modest dresses, as if your presence alone meant anything to him.

Tears slowly began to gather in your eyes for reasons you couldn’t fully understand. It felt almost like being rejected without a single word, like a quiet heartbreak you hadn’t been prepared for. It seemed as though he was suddenly avoiding you.

“What did I do?” you pouted softly to yourself, walking home with slumped shoulders as you tried to wipe away the tears rolling down your cheeks.

On the way, your thoughts turned over your last interaction with him. Had you been too bold? Had he noticed something in you that you thought you had hidden well? Had he finally realized that your devotion wasn’t as pure as it appeared?

The more you thought about it, the more desperate you became to see him again. And instead of wanting to reveal your true ill intentions, you found yourself wishing the opposite—that he would see how devoted you were, how deeply you admired him, how willingly you would sacrifice your dignity just to remain close to him.

Restraint.

You didn’t know that he had been avoiding you all along, because your sick plan had finally taken effect, his careful restraint crumbling like a rock under pressure.

Fr. Jeon couldn’t bring himself to face you. Even the slightest eye contact felt like it would burn through his skin, your presence alone eating away at whatever remained of his guilt until there was nothing left but discomfort and temptation.

Desperate.

You woke up early that day, preparing yourself carefully so you could see him. The constant overthinking had become unbearable, and you were convinced that seeing him would finally calm your thoughts.

Slowly, you walked through the church halls, your kitten heels clicking softly against the marble floor. Your wandering gaze passed over parishioners and silent figures lost in prayer, the morning air gentle and warm as it settled over your chaotic mind. The scent of the church—fresh flowers and holy water—was oddly soothing as you moved deeper inside.

But as you went further in, you nearly lost your balance when you noticed his office door slightly ajar.

Your heart began to pound in anticipation as you carefully approached. And when you finally looked inside, your eyes widened.

There he was.

In his usual black clerical long-sleeved shirt and roman collar, Fr. Jeon stood looking down at the box of cookies you had left a week ago.

Your heart sank at the realization that he must have seen the box of cookies days ago—and still chose to ignore it.

Taking a steadying breath, you stepped inside and gently closed the door behind you, locking it without hesitation.

“Fr. Jeon,” you said softly.

He looked up immediately, his eyes widening as though he had seen something he shouldn’t have. For a brief moment, he looked almost like he had seen a ghost. His entire body stiffened, tension tightening in his posture as he forced himself upright.

“What are you doing here?” His tone came out sharper than intended, almost accusatory, as he tried to regain control of himself by straightening his clerical collar and adjusting the bridge of his glasses.

You frowned at the reaction, slowly taking a step closer. Something in your chest cracked when you noticed how his expression shifted with each movement you made—his brows tightening, his gaze dropping as if he couldn’t bear to hold it steady on you for too long.

“You didn’t get the cookies I got you,” you said with a small pout, glancing between the box and him as if the answer should have been obvious.

Fr. Jeon bit his lower lip and closed his eyes for a moment, as though needing time to steady himself.

“I was… busy,” he said, his throat tightening as he swallowed hard. He almost stepped back when you moved closer.

You tilted your head at him. “Am I taking too much of your time, Father?” you asked softly, your voice carrying a sad little pout.

Patience.

Fr. Jeon exhaled slowly and heavily, pressing his tongue against the inside of his cheek as if trying to ground himself. Your presence alone seemed to shut down every carefully built wall he had been maintaining.

He looked down at your sad pout, and something in him nearly cracked at the sight of your sadness. For a moment, his composure faltered as fantasies surged back in, uninvited and overwhelming.

For the past few days, he had been deliberately avoiding you. He had started arriving at the church earlier, knowing you always came in the afternoon, carefully timing his routines so he would not run into you. He avoided his office as well, because every corner of it reminded him of you.

But this morning, he had come in anyway.

And the first thing he saw was the box of cookies you had left behind… along with a small note that said you missed him.

Desire.

For the past few nights, he had been jerking his cock non-stop. Ever since that first time, he couldn’t shake the feeling, couldn’t resist the urge to return to it again and again—groaning your name under his breath like a sacred prayer.

“No, sweetheart… I’m just—”

“I’m sorry… I just really like it here, and I love talking to you,” you said in a soft tone, stepping closer until he could smell your vanilla perfume, your pleading eyes pulling him deeper into your orbit.

Fr. Jeon swallowed harshly, his pulse quickening at how sweet and beautiful you looked for him.

“Sweetheart—”

“Would you like me to leave?” you asked quietly, biting your lower lip.

His eyes dropped to your lips. His hands curled into fists, every passing second testing his hard-earned faith and devotion.

But no...he would rather endure the torment alone, rather than risk touching your beautiful, tempting soul.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t give you much of my time right now. I’ve been really busy—” Fr. Jeon said with finality.

Suddenly, you rose onto your tiptoes to meet his height and wrapped your arms around his neck, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek.

“It’s okay, Father… I understand,” you whispered, your lips lingering dangerously close to his.

Succumbed.

Before you could pull away, his hands slid to your waist, steadying you—holding you in place more firmly than expected. You were about to look at him in confusion when he suddenly crashed his lips into yours.

Your eyes widened, your body nearly falling backward, but he held you firmly in place. His kiss was harsh and desperate—like a man starved, and you were the only water in a burning desert.

His tongue forced its way into your mouth, and the sound of his low groan sent shivers down your spine.

His brows were furrowed tightly, every bit of pent-up frustration spilling into the kiss. It was rough, consuming—his control slipping as he pulled you deeper into it, saliva beginning to spill messily between your mouths from how intensely he claimed your lips.

When he finally pulled away, his pupils were blown wide. His lips were red and swollen, his chin damp with both of your saliva.

He released your waist almost instantly, as though you had burned him.

Swallowing hard, he stared down at your flushed cheeks and swollen lips.

Oh God. What had he done?

“W-What—” you stammered, bewildered, still in shock at how easily Fr. Jeon—a priest with such a good reputation….had fallen into your lips like a man undone by weakness and lust.

Surrendered.

When you saw him step back, his brows furrowing as if he had just realized what he had done, you immediately grabbed his arms.

“I—I’m sorry, this is blasphemous, I—”

You pulled him back and kissed him again, softer this time. “I like you, Fr. Jeon. Please don’t avoid me,” you almost pleaded, tugging him down so you could reach his lips again.

His eyes widened. He shook his head immediately. “Y/N, n-no… this is wrong,” he blurted weakly, trying to grab your wrists as you pulled him closer.

Hearing those words from your mouth struck something deep in him, shaking his resolve. He couldn’t fall for you, he couldn’t kiss you, he couldn’t touch you...he couldn’t even think about you.

The only solution was to stay away—to pretend none of this had ever happened.

You shook your head. “Please, I want you so badly… there’s nothing wrong with this,” you insisted, trying to kiss him again, but he turned away. His eyes were heavy-lidded, weakened, the air in the office suddenly suffocating.

“You make me happy, Fr. Jeon… please,” you pleaded.

He shook his head firmly. “I am a priest, Y/N. This is forbidden,” he said weakly, his voice low and rough—like every word cost him something, like it was painful to say.

“But...why did you kiss me?” you pleaded.

Fr. Jeon groaned under his breath, his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard.

“Do you like me too, Fr. Jeon?” you pushed further, stepping closer, watching how much it seemed to strain him.

“Y/N, this is wrong—”

Your lips parted. “You...you like me,” you concluded when he didn’t deny it.

A small smile formed on your lips at the confirmation. Suddenly, the past few weeks made sense—the distance, the avoidance, the restraint. Everything clicked into place.

When he weakly let go of your wrists, you immediately wrapped your arms around his neck, as if he had finally surrendered to you. His lips parted, his eyes clouded and hazy.

“Since when, Father?” you whispered, your fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.

He shut his eyes tightly. The feeling of your hands on him was already enough to send him spiraling. His lack of physical affection was becoming obvious in the way his body reacted—his restraint slipping under something as simple as your soft, shallow touch.

“The first time I saw you at the church,” he whispered so low you almost didn’t catch it, as though even admitting it was a sin.

You gasped, your eyes widening at the revelation that he had noticed you from the very beginning.

“I-I thought… you didn’t recognize me. Y-You were always so busy and—”

“I did,” he cut in softly, his voice rough. “But it’s impure of me to stare at such beauty. I cannot do that.”

His gaze dropped to your lips again, weak and conflicted.

You gasped, a fond grin forming on your beautiful face. “Indeed, that’s very impure of you…Father,” you giggled.

Fr. Jeon groaned, attempting to step back again, but this time you pulled him closer and kissed him without hesitation. When you tried to part his lips with yours, you felt him shake his head, his hands gripping your waist to hold you back.

“N-No… we can’t—”

“Shh... it’s okay, Father… we’ll keep this a secret,” you whispered like a little devil in disguise, your pouty lips brushing against his again. “No one will know…”

Fr. Jeon groaned, your words sending shivers down his spine. The tension between restraint and desire tightened further.

“No, sweetheart, this is wrong… we should—”

“Please, Father…I’m already so wet.” you mumbled softly, looking at him with pleading eyes.

His eyes widened. It had been a long time since he had heard such crude words—especially coming from a pretty mouth like yours.

“T-That’s—” he stammered, his composure slipping further under the weight of you.

“Unholy?” you giggled, taking his right hand and guiding it beneath your long skirt.

His lips parted when his fingers brushed against the wet fabric of your underwear. His cheeks and ears burned red at the realization of how aroused you were.

You bit your lip, rising onto your tiptoes to whisper against his ear.

“No one will know.” you dragged your tongue along the shell of it, smiling when you heard him let out a soft, broken sound.

Blasphemous.

His lips grazed your inner thighs as his once devout, God-bound gaze now fixed on your bare, wet pussy. He knelt before you like you were some immaculate saint.

“Y-You’re so beautiful,” he said breathlessly, his fingers parting your folds and gently pulling back your hood to expose your sensitive clit.

You gasped loudly when he spat onto your center, his soft lips immediately wrapping around your clit, sucking in both his saliva and your wetness.

“Oh, God,” you moaned.

Fr. Jeon looked almost sacred between your thighs. Your skirt was bunched at your waist just enough for him to fully indulge in your pussy, while his black clerical shirt began to stain from how much you were dripping onto him. His glasses had grown slightly fogged from the heat of his breath against your body and the warmth between your legs.

He ate your pussy like a starving man, unable to get enough. His tongue pushed inside your tight cunt in search of more, drawing more juices from you, while the obscene sounds of his mouth filled the room. His throat worked with every swallow, adam’s apple bobbing as he greedily took in every drop you gave him.

“You taste so good,” he mumbled between your thighs, the vibration of his voice sending pleasure straight to your core.

You bit your lip, giggling softly while trying to keep your balance—you were leaning against his desk.

“Do you like how wet it is?” you asked, looking down at him as if amused by how much he was enjoying himself.

Fr. Jeon nodded against your cunt. “So wet and pretty,” he mumbled, sucking your clit until his cheeks hollowed, his dimples showing each time he latched on harder.

The way he ate you out was wet and messy, continuously spitting as his lips stayed locked around your clit. You gasped when he pinched your folds together, trying to eat your entire pussy into his warm mouth.

Every time you squirmed, he tightened his grip on your thighs, groaning under his breath as if he wanted to drown himself in you completely.

Whenever he pulled back to breathe, he took a moment to stare at your swollen, messy cunt—admiring it like something sacred, something almost holy in its beauty. He whispered how ethereal it was before spitting on it again and diving back in hungrily.

“H-How come you’re so good at that?” you moaned, looking down at his mouth as he remained relentless, your juices dripping down his chin.

Fr. Jeon looked up at you, adjusting the glasses resting on the bridge of his nose. “I’ve fantasized about this,” he said with a smile. “I imagine devouring your cunt while I jerk off my cock.”

He pressed a light kiss to the top of your clit before burying his face against you again.

Your eyes rolled back at the confession, a small smirk playing on your lips. “Hmm... really? That’s ungodly, Father.”

Fr. Jeon only groaned, pressing his face deeper until you were certain he could barely breathe. “I’m only willing to surrender myself to you.”

You gasped. The way he said it felt so wrong, so forbidden, and your pussy throbbed at the thought of him willingly committing such sinful acts, of him literally being on his knees for you.

When he felt your wetness growing, he lifted his head slightly to look at your cunt. Using his index and middle finger, he spread you open, watching as more of your milky-white juices gathered.

Fr. Jeon groaned, swallowing hard at the sight of how wet and horny you had become.

“You like that, sweetheart?”

He gathered your juices, the pads of his fingers sliding down your slit and making you flinch. Your breath caught when you watched him scoop your cum onto his fingers and bring them to his mouth, tasting your sweetness. "You got so much wetter."

“Fr. Jeon, oh my—”

He continued gathering the excess wetness, scooping up your cum until he was satisfied that you were no longer dripping. His brows furrowed as he sucked the collected juices from his fingers, unwilling to let any of it go to waste.

When he finally gathered the last drop, you frowned as he rose to his feet.

For a moment, you thought he was done. Then he brought his fingers, coated with your cum, up to your mouth.

“Open up, sweetheart.” he whispered, his gaze lowering to your lips, swollen from how hard you had been biting them.

You slowly opened your mouth, moaning when he slid his fingers inside so you could taste your own juices mixed with traces of his saliva.

“You taste like sin, don’t you?” he said softly, his fingers twirling inside your mouth, nearly making you gag.

You sucked on his fingers, your cheeks hollowing eagerly as you looked up at him with expectant eyes. “Mhm. I want to taste how pure you are, then,” you said softly, sucking his fingers the way you imagined sucking his cock.

His cock twitched inside his slacks, precum already gathering at the swollen tip.

He immediately shook his head. “Want to make you cum first, sweetheart.”

Before you could protest, he was already kneeling again, his tongue out as he buried his face between your thighs as though his life depended on it. His nose brushed against your swollen clit while his tongue alternated between slow, deliberate licks and eager suction, determined to draw every reaction from you.

The moment he sensed you were getting close, he pushed his tongue deeper, determined to suck every drop. You were about to push him away from the sudden wave of oversensitivity, but his grip on you tightened.

"I wanna swallow it, please."

You bit down hard on your lip, whispering curses beneath your breath as your body tensed. Your pussy pulsed uncontrollably, heat rushing through you as release overtook your senses.

He groaned at the way your body responded to him, your pussy throbbing vigorously against his tongue.

“I-I want to pleasure you too,” you almost cried.

He didn't stop eating you, even after you came he was sucking your pussy again. He had already made you cum several times just by eating you out. Even after your fifth orgasm, he still hadn’t stopped—still devouring you, drawing out every last drop before spitting it back down onto your slit, pulling your folds apart just to watch it drip, then catching it again with his tongue as if he couldn’t get enough.

You were already overstimulated, your thighs burning from his tight grip, but every time you looked down at him, another wave of arousal surged through you. His brows were furrowed, his eyes closed, almost as if he were praying.

“Please, I want to eat your pussy more.” he mumbled, looking up at you through his glasses, his tongue teasing slow circles around your very swollen clit.

It had been hours. His knees were already red from kneeling, and your back ached from leaning against his desk, yet he still had the stamina to continue, again and again. His cheeks and chin were slick from your cum.

You could see his slacks straining…his arousal obvious beneath the fabric—but he remained focused, almost pleading when you tried to push him away, his mouth still following your spent pussy as if he couldn’t let go.

“Please… one more, sweetheart,” he begged, his thumb soothing along your inner thighs.

When you shyly nodded, he parted your legs further, scooping up what remained of your release as it dripped down. His face pressed in close, his nose brushing against you as he worked, the carpet below you already damp with a mixture of saliva and your arousal.

Unholy.

The once-simple afternoon bible sessions had turned into something far more profane.

The moment you arrived at his office and locked the door behind you, his hands were immediately around you. He would drop to his knees, pushing your panties aside so he could press his face against your wet slit, sniffing your cunt before his tongue slipped out to taste your wetness.

“Hmm… do you like my pussy, Fr. Jeon?” you whispered, fingers tangling in his hair as he indulged you.

He groaned against you, burying his face deeper. “Like it so much.”

He was always so desperate—needy, almost whiny. It was obvious how deeply his years of abstinence had affected him, how long he had denied himself even the thought of such intimacy.

Every touch carried the weight of that restraint, as though all those years of self-denial had finally found an outlet. The way he ate your pussy for hours without stopping, the way he would suck your breasts until they turned swollen and red.

Every time you tried to touch him, he would pin your hands down instead. You had never really touched him yet—he always insisted on giving first, on worshipping you instead. He would say that pleasing you was enough,that eating your cum was enough for him, that devoting himself to your body was what satisfied him most.

“Shh, sweetheart… please be quiet.” he pleaded, his middle and index finger pushing inside your cunt, knuckles deep while massaging your spongy spot.

You were certain his fingers were already wrinkled from how long he had been fingering you, your nipples swollen and sensitive from how harshly he had been sucking them while rubbing your clit.

You bit your lip, tears almost forming in your eyes from how good it felt. “S-sorry, it’s just so good,” you mumbled incoherently.

Fr. Jeon groaned. “Yeah?” He spat down where his fingers met your pussy. “Hear that, sweetheart? You’re so wet for me.” he muttered, biting your nipple harshly while his fingers continued going in and out of your wet cunt, the sounds echoing inside the church office.

You were always a whining mess. Even if he hadn’t fucked you yet, your body was constantly left exhausted from how intensely he made you cum repeatedly. Your legs were always wobbly and shaking after each round, and you would always come home with new hickeys and bruises left by his harsh mouth.

He had the stamina to go on for hours and hours, until the entire afternoon was filled with nothing but wet sounds and your filthy moans echoing through his office.

You wanted to return the pleasure so badly, but every time he begged you to eat your pussy, your knees would go weak. You always gave him what he wanted, opening your legs and spreading your cunt for him.

It was one afternoon when you decided that you wanted to please him.

He was busy sucking on your nipples when you noticed how hard he was beneath his slacks. Your eyes rolling back when you saw him almost humping the air.

With a determined groan, you gently pushed him away from you. Your nipples were already pink and swollen.

“Let me taste you,” you pleaded, pressing a kiss to his cheek before trailing down his jaw.

He protested again, trying to guide you back against the couch.

“Sweetheart—”

“Please, Father.” you begged. “You always make me cum so good. I think I’d cum even harder if I got to taste your cock.”

You couldn’t deny that he always left you more than satisfied, constantly pushing you to the edge of overstimulation. Every time it happened, you could see just how hard his cock was. Sometimes, you would even catch the subtle movements of his hips while he was buried between your thighs, completely consumed by pleasuring you.

Fr. Jeon licked his lower lip, as though contemplating whether he could truly accept the idea of you being on your knees for him. It felt like too much to bear, as if he wasn’t ready for it yet. Shamefully, he was certain he would cum the moment your lips touched his tip.

But seeing you like this—begging, your lips drawn into a sweet pout—made his resolve weaken. His eyes fluttered shut helplessly as you eagerly knelt in front of him.

“Sweetheart,” he rasped, swallowing hard.

You looked up at him before slowly leaning forward and pressing a soft kiss against the bulge beneath his slacks.

A harsh groan escaped him. His cock throbbed beneath the fabric, and that simple, innocent kiss was almost enough to make him stumble.

When you pulled down his zipper, you gasped audibly at the sight of his black boxers, already soaked with a large patch of wetness from his precum.

“You’re leaking, Father,” you said with a pout, looking up at him with sparkling eyes.

He sucked in a breath, his hands curling into fists as he struggled to compose himself. You looked beautiful and completely undignified at the same time, and it was becoming harder and harder for him to resist.

Slowly, you tugged down his boxers...just enough to tuck his balls and free his hard cock.

Your eyes widened.

He was huge and pretty, twitching on his own and curving upward. Thick veins ran along his shaft, and his swollen pink tip glistened with precum.

You licked your lower lip, unable to hide your anticipation at the sight of him. Leaning forward, you pressed a soft kiss to the wet tip.

A strained whimper escaped him.

His hands immediately grabbed the sides of his clerical shirt, as though physically restraining himself from losing control over something as simple as your lips touching him.

“Look at me when I suck you, Fr. Jeon.” you said, raising a brow when you noticed him avoiding eye contact.

He bit his lower lip, trying to look down at you.

You gasped when his cock twitched the moment you made eye contact.

With a teasing look, you slowly sucked his mushroom tip while keeping your eyes on him, fluttering your lashes as you took him into your warm mouth.

He groaned harshly. He was about to close his eyes, but you shook your head immediately.

“Eyes on me, please.”

“Oh, God,” he whimpered, looking down at you through heavy-lidded eyes as you eagerly sucked his leaking tip.

You swirled your tongue along the underside of his cock, his eyes rolling back every time you repeated the motion. When you finally pulled away, you spat on the tip, your fingers immediately spreading your saliva and his precum along the shaft, leaving him even wetter and messier.

“Do you like how I kneel for you?” you asked before taking his tip into your mouth again, trying to take him deeper until his mushroom head brushed the back of your throat. The upward curve of his cock dragged against the roof of your mouth, drawing another whimper from him.

“Y-You look like a slut,” he blurted out through a moan, his jaw repeatedly tensing, his knuckles turning white from how tightly he was fisting his shirt.

You looked up at him and nodded obediently...like a good girl seeking praise.

He bit his lower lip. “My pretty slut.”

Fr. Jeon was trying so hard not to come. He wanted to savor the feeling of your tight mouth around him for as long as possible, wanted to hold on to it, to prolong it, but you were simply too much..too pretty, too warm. Every time you took him deeper, his resolve weakened a little more.

Your eyes were already beginning to redden, your throat struggling to accommodate his thickness. Drool slipped messily down your chin, and the wet, obscene sounds coming from your mouth only pushed him closer to the edge. Each swallow, each desperate attempt to take more of him, made his chest tighten with pleasure, his restraint slipping further and further away.

Whenever you pulled back to catch your breath, you would stroke his cock quickly with your hands and spit messily onto his tip.

Before the saliva could slide down his length, you would take him back into your mouth, licking along his shaft and tracing the prominent veins with your tongue before returning to the swollen underside of his head with soft, teasing kitten licks.

Using your free hand, you reached up to cup his balls gently, applying just enough pressure to make him whimper. The movement only made it harder for him to hold himself together, especially as you continued gagging on his cock like a good little slut.

The moment you noticed him clutching his shirt again, you immediately grabbed his hand.

“Use my mouth, Father,” you whispered, guiding his hand to your hair, silently urging him to take control.

Fr. Jeon groaned and shook his head, but your eagerness never wavered. You paused, waiting patiently for him, your eyes fixed on his face.

The moment you placed your hands obediently behind your back, he nearly cursed the Lord himself.

He weakly dragged a hand through your hair, gathering it away from your face before pulling you a little closer. His jaw tightened as he looked down at you, every ounce of restraint tested by the sight of your quiet obedience.

Grabbing your hair with both hands, he guided your face toward him before finally rolling his hips, slowly thrusting into your waiting mouth.

“God, you really are a slut,” he moaned, his composure unraveling a little more with every passing second.

Whenever he pulled back, you would twirl your tongue around the underside of his crown, earning a shaky whimper from him. Then, he would push you down forcefully onto his cock, your nose hitting his pubic hair as he lost whatever restraint he had left.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum, sweetheart,” he whimpered.

Your mouth was already growing tired, but you remained determined, refusing to pull away. Tears gathered in your eyes and slipped down your cheeks as you struggled to keep up with him, yet you stayed exactly where he wanted you.

When he saw the tears in your eyes, he almost stopped. 

But you eagerly took him deeper, deliberately pushing forward until your face was pressed flush against his pubic hair. Your mouth struggled to accommodate his thickness, soft gargling sounds escaping despite your efforts to suppress them, yet you took everything he gave you.

“God, fuck.” his eyes rolled back as he released hot, thick cum into your mouth.

He was about to push you away when your hands tightened around the backs of his thighs, holding him firmly in place...determined not to let a single drop of his cum go to waste.

“Sweetheart,” he said weakly.

When you finally pulled away- his cock slipping from your lips, you stuck out your tongue to show him his thick, milky cum. Your lashes fluttered as you held his gaze for a moment, letting him take in the sight before you swallowed.

Delirious.

“The spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak.”

Fr. Jeon stood before the congregation, one hand resting lightly against the pulpit as he prepared to proclaim the gospel.

“A reading from the Holy Gospel according to Matthew.”

“Glory to You, O Lord,” you whispered under your breath, your sparkling eyes lifted up toward him.

You were in your usual favorite spot—in the front row, like his favorite little church girl—your hair tied with a white ribbon, a long modest dress hiding the sinful image beneath.

Every time he spoke, his eyes never lingered on you. He looked over the crowd like a devoted priest, delivering his words slowly, with quiet passion. And whenever he did happen to find you in the congregation, he would only glance past you, as if you were anyone else.

You smirked inwardly. Who would’ve known that this same priest was literally begging on his knees to eat your pussy inside the church office?

When Holy Communion came, you made sure to open the first few buttons of your dress, revealing the rosary necklace you were wearing—the small cross resting between the plush curve of your cleavage.

“The Body of… Christ,” Fr. Jeon said slowly, his eyes drifting down to the rosary wrapped around your neck, the cross sitting dangerously above your breasts.

“Amen,” you said softly, parting your lips for him.

You almost smiled in quiet victory when you saw his jaw tighten—his composure slowly, subtly fracturing beneath the weight of your sacrilegious act.

When he placed the host on your tongue, you leaned in just slightly too far, letting your tongue brush against his thumb in a fleeting, deliberate touch. So small it could be denied. So intentional it could not be mistaken.

A soft hum escaped you as you pulled back, watching the shift in him—the way his body stilled, the way his breath caught. You were already turning away when his voice followed you, low and controlled.

“Meet me after this.”

You looked up at him, briefly thrown, but his gaze had already returned to the ritual at hand, as if nothing had happened.

Delight curled through you at the sight of him unraveling so carefully in public, holding himself together by force alone while you watched the cracks form in real time.

And when you returned to your seat, you could still feel it—the difference. His voice had deepened into something sharper, more distant. His posture stiffened as he finished the mass, each word now measured, restrained, as though he were forcing himself back into place one line at a time.

Wicked.

Sitting properly on the couch in his office, you waited patiently for Fr. Jeon. It was the first time you would see each other up close after mass, and the thought alone made a soft, bubbling excitement bloom in your chest.

You even brought a small box of cookies for him, carefully balanced in your lap, as if sweetness alone could disguise the anticipation curling beneath your ribs.

When the office door finally opened, you looked up at once and smiled.

He stood there still in his liturgical vestments. Over his white alb, he wore a flowing chasuble that draped heavily over his shoulders, embroidered gold catching the afternoon light that spilled through the glass windows like something almost sacred in itself. A white stole rested beneath it all, marking him clearly as the celebrant of the mass, a figure meant to be untouchable.

He looked absolutely breathtaking—so holy, so distant, so unreachable.

And yet, you already had him like a servant—willing, obedient, on his knees for you.

When he walked toward you, his expression was serious and unyielding. You stood up quickly, excitement lifting you, holding out your small gift for him.

“Good afternoon, Fr. Jeon. I got you cooki—”

The cookies slipped from your hands as he suddenly closed the distance, his hand wrapping around your throat. The rosary beads pressed sharply into your skin.

“I told you...that rosaries are not meant to be worn around your neck, didn’t I?” he said in a mocking tone, his voice low and controlled. His eyes looked darker behind his glasses.

His liturgical vestments suddenly felt overwhelming in this close space, no longer distant or ceremonial, but imposing, almost suffocating, as if you were only now realizing the weight of him in this proximity.

You gasped as his fingers tightened slightly around your throat, not enough to hurt—just enough to demand an answer.

“Y-You did, Father.”

“Mhm. I did,” he murmured, tilting his head slightly. “Didn’t I?”

A shiver ran down your spine as you felt the shift in him—how his composure had snapped so suddenly, as if the thin thread of his restraint, stretched in the presence of the Lord, had finally given way.

Dominance.

You gasped when he kissed you hard, cutting off your breath in an instant. His other hand bunched up the long skirts of your dress, hot palms slipping beneath the fabric to cup your warm pussy.

“You’re so impure,” he chuckled darkly, his fingers tracing over your clothed clit.

A soft moan escaped you as you tried to wriggle in his hold, but his grip at your throat kept you firmly in place.

“Sit on my desk and spread your legs,” he commanded, releasing you all at once—both your throat and your pussy.

With shaky legs, you moved toward his desk, climbing onto it and bunching your long skirt up around your waist before slowly spreading your legs wide for him.

Fr. Jeon walked toward you, his gaze fixed on the sight of you—so openly willing for him. The rosary cross rested between your breasts like a sin made visible, the white ribbons in your hair now looking almost tainted, your dress bunched up enough to expose your wet cunt to him.

His fingers closed around the rosary you were wearing. Your breath hitched as he slowly pulled it, forcing your neck to tilt forward with the motion.

“You’re such a whore, wearing this around me,” he said in a condescending tone, drawing you closer until he pressed a shallow kiss to your lips.

“I-Isn’t it pretty?” you asked weakly, still trying to tease him.

He let out a humorless chuckle. Without another word, he reached for the scripture on his desk. “I’ll show you what’s pretty.”

You gasped as he pulled the rosary again, forcing you forward while his other hand held the bible. “Open your mouth.”

Confused, you slowly obeyed, your eyes widening when he suddenly placed the book between your teeth.

“Hold still and bite the scripture,” he commanded sharply before spreading your legs wider.

You bit down hard on the book as he suddenly slapped your cunt.

“Mhmp!” you whimpered, eyes watering from the intensity of it.

Fr. Jeon raised a brow. He lifted his hand, bringing his fingers to his mouth and sucking them clean, his gaze locked on you as he slowly dragged his tongue over them. You bit down harder on the book when he used his saliva-coated fingers to slap your cunt again.

“Shh, quiet, sweetheart… there are other people outside- praying,” he said mockingly, tugging lightly on the rosary around your neck.

You bit down harder when he slapped your cunt again, pulling harshly on the rosary around your neck whenever your whimpers escaped.

“Poor baby… you want me to finger you?” he cooed, slapping your cunt once more. Your panties were already soaked, your arousal building from the relentless stimulation.

You eagerly nodded, drool spilling past your lips and onto the scripture beneath you. Your neck was beginning to ache and swell each time he tugged on the beads.

“Do you deserve it?” he asked, twirling the rosary between his fingers, playing with it slowly.

A tear slipped down your cheek when he slapped your cunt again. Your thighs tried to wriggle on the table, but he only pulled harder on the rosary in response.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. I’m finally going to give you what you want,” he said, letting go of you.

Your eyes almost rolled back when you saw him kneel.

You drooled messily against the book when he flipped your panties aside, three of his fingers immediately slipping inside you to stretch your cunt.

“So tight, sweetheart,” he chuckled, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your clit while his fingers continued to thrust inside you.

Each time his fingers pulled back, a fresh gush of wetness spilled out, revealing just how needy and aroused you were.

Looking down, you saw how godly he looked—kneeling so close to your pussy, lips parted as he watched his fingers disappear in and out of your tight hole.

“Mhmph,” you whimpered, his fingers knuckles deep inside you, brushing against your spongy spot and leaving you wriggly and tingly.

“You’re so soaked, sweetheart. It’s so hard to rub you properly like this… so, so wet.”

When he saw how restless you were getting, he suddenly removed his fingers. You were about to frown when he stood up, your eyes widening as he began removing his chasuble and slacks.

“This is what you wanted, right?” he taunted, finally revealing his hard cock.

It was already thick and hard, twitching on its own before he even touched it. Prominent veins pulsed along the girth, and his mushroom tip looked swollen and flushed. Using his fingers, he squeezed the plump head, drawing out more precum before spreading it along the shaft. He slowly rolled the foreskin down, his gaze fixed on your helpless body.

“Do you want this cock inside your tight little pussy?” he said breathily, jerking his hard cock in his hand…his eyes were heavy-lidded, lips slightly parted.

You nodded eagerly, tears spilling down your cheeks from anticipation. Your pussy pulsed hard, leaking more of your arousal down onto the table beneath you.

He chuckled, gripping both of your thighs and spreading them wider for him. “Hold your skirt up, sweetheart,” he murmured, as your long skirt kept drifting down while he positioned you.

With weak hands, you slowly bunched your skirt up. Your jaw was already aching from biting down on the book, but you were determined to be a good girl for him, biting down harder as your eyes turned red and your cheeks flushed, warm and swollen.

When he positioned his mushroom tip against your slit, you almost dropped the book. The feeling of his wet cock against your folds sent a sharp jolt through you.

“Gonna fuck you now, sweetheart,” he whispered, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your forehead.

Your teeth nearly ached from how hard you bit down when he suddenly pushed inside you. Your tight walls immediately sucked him in. You watched his lips part in shock, his eyes rolling back for a moment—before he could even thrust, you felt him spilling inside you.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he cursed under his breath, trembling as he suddenly came so hard inside you, his lips parting at how good your pussy felt.

You were so warm and tight that he was already convulsing. His grip on your waist tightened so hard it was almost painful. You were shocked—you hadn’t expected him to cum that quickly, but then again, it had been so long since he’d done anything like this. The pent-up frustration was overwhelming, and the moment he felt you, he was already shaking.

When you saw him trembling, you slowly removed the book from your lips. Your jaw ached, but you still managed to give him a small, weak smile.

“Mhm, am I tight, Fr. Jeon?” you whispered weakly, feeling him twitch inside you, filling you with so much cum that it had you feeling completely full.

"T-Too tight." he groaned.

His arms were growing weaker, still trying to push his cum deeper and deeper into your cunt. His cock was already overstimulated and softening, but he still wanted his cum buried deep inside you, some of it already dripping down your thighs.

He groaned, pushing his cock deeper until he was finally hard again. You could feel his mushroom tip swell once more, your pussy stretching around his thickening girth.

“You feel so good,” he whispered, eyes heavy-lidded as he looked down at you. He had come so hard he had nearly forgotten about the book he made you bite down on, his rational thoughts slipping away completely, leaving only the heat and the feeling of you.

You bit your lip, opening your legs wider. “Yeah? Do you miss having such a warm pussy around your cock?”

His lips parted...his right hand returned to your neck, fingers wrapping around your throat.

“What a dirty mouth you have,” he whispered breathily, like he was only just remembering why he was fucking you so hard in the first place.

He squeezed your throat, earning a loud whimper from you.

Before you could coo at him, he was already flipping you over, bending you against his desk. He immediately grabbed the book, shoving it forcefully into your mouth.

“You think I’m done, huh?” he taunted, kneeling down behind you.

You groaned, biting down on the scripture again, whimpering loudly when you felt him spreading your wet pussy from behind.

“Push my cum out for me,” he said, opening your folds and waiting for you to push it out.

You contracted your pussy, and a gush of his milky white cum spilled from your used hole. Before it could even drip onto the floor, his tongue was already there, scooping it up and swallowing everything until no trace was left.

When he stood up, you were left a trembling mess. Your eyes widened as he pulled on the rosary necklace, the beads wrapping around your throat like a collar. He used it as leverage before pushing his cock back inside you.

“Shh… bite down on the scripture. Let it silence your impurity,” he murmured behind you, thrusting deeper and harder until your body was nearly bouncing against the table from the force of it.

You wanted to moan so badly. The way his mushroom tip kept brushing against your g-spot felt so overwhelming. When he angled his hips in slow circular motions, your weak lips finally dropped the book, and you gasped as it hit the floor with a dull thud.

The moment he felt you slipping out of control, he stopped—only for you to immediately reach for the book. Before you could even grab it, he flipped you onto your back again.

“Fucking whore, can’t follow simple instructions while my cock’s deep inside you, huh?” he taunted, ripping the buttons of your dress just enough to expose your breasts.

“I-I’m sorry, I—”

You shrieked loudly when he suddenly slapped your nipples, the area turning immediately pink.

“Stay there,” he commanded.

You went still at once, your weak eyes following his movements as he reached into the bottom cabinet of his desk.

When he stood up again, he was holding a candle and a box of matches. “Hold this, sweetheart.”

He usually used those candles during scripture readings, letting the flame illuminate the pages.

You held it for him as instructed, watching as he struck a match and lit it, the small flame flickering to life before he set the match aside.

You turned slightly, glancing toward the window. There was still daylight outside—enough to see clearly. Before you could ask what he needed it for, he took the candle from your hand.

“Fr. Jeon, w-what are you—”

Your eyes widened when he tilted the candle downward, the wax threatening to drip onto your breasts. You gasped sharply when it finally landed on your nipple.

“Does it feel good?” he whispered, lowering the candle toward the other bud.

When the hot wax fell onto your other nipple, you moaned loudly, your hands gripping the edge of the desk as pain and pleasure collided.

It was hot and shocking—yet, for some reason, the sting felt addictive, almost intoxicating.

“Y-Yes, Father.” you bit your lower lip hard, watching as the candle was now directed toward your inner thighs.

He raised a brow, your nipples already covered in white wax. “Yeah? Does this get you wet?”

Before you could answer, he was already pouring hot wax onto your left inner thigh. The pain there was sharper, more intense—like the skin was far more delicate and sensitive. When you instinctively tried to close your legs, he held them open, spreading you wider as he moved the candle to drip more wax onto your right inner thigh.

“Oh, God,” you moaned loudly, the hot wax dripping dangerously close to your wet pussy.

You were already trembling. The mix of heat and pain felt overwhelming yet addictive, tears falling uncontrollably down your cheeks.

Fr. Jeon chuckled at you. “What a pretty little pain slut… I’m supposed to punish you with this, but you’re dripping like a whore.”

He grabbed your cheeks, raising the candle up toward your face. “Make a wish,” he whispered.

You looked up at him with weak eyes, your nipples and inner thighs still burning and oversensitive from the wax. With a faint, shaky smile, you told him your wish.

“Fuck me like a slut, Fr. Jeon." you said breathily.

He growled harshly, stepping back a little to admire his work on your body, how the wax was covering your skin like a sin, how your pussy was so swollen and red, yet your hole was still eagerly twitching to be used.

He tilted his head. “You want that, sweetheart?” he said sweetly, his tone contradicting what he had just done to you.

You nodded eagerly. "Please, use my body like a whore, cum inside me until I’m dripping full of your cum, abuse my tight little pussy until I’m all loose and gaping, release all your forbidden frustrations and destroy my dignity.” 

Fallen.

You couldn’t count the number of times you came around his cock that night—his cock thrusting so hard and deep inside you that you could feel how stretched your pussy was.

Every time you tried to fight him, he would push your body down onto the desk, threatening to silence you with scripture whenever you tried to break free from his hold.

When you thought he was done, he would maneuver your body again, spreading your legs wide so he could fuck you hard. His cross necklace would dangle in your face with every thrust. Whenever you moaned too loudly, he would punish you by dripping hot wax onto your inner thighs.

He would always condescendingly praise you, telling you what a poor little girl you were, letting him use you for his own sick pleasure.

"God, you'd let me use you whenever I want wouldn't you? Letting me fuck this tight pussy inside the church, like a good little christian." he would whisper.

It was so lewd when he asked you to touch yourself using the hand that wore his birthstone bracelet, urging you to part your lips for him, watching how the beads would brush over your clit every time you fucked your fingers inside your used, swollen hole.

"That's right...stretch your pussy, sweetheart. I want you nice and gaping when I fuck you again."

Then he would pull your body up, forcing you to bounce on his cock while pressing the beads deeper into your throat. He held both of your cheeks with his free hand so he could continually spit into your parted mouth, watching it drip messily down your chin like a cheap filthy whore. "I love how sinful and dirty you are...so perfect for me."

Capitulated.

You never forgot him, after that night he vanished like a wind.

When you heard that he had suddenly been appointed to another city, it felt as though the ground had been pulled from beneath your feet. Overnight, he was simply gone. The weekly sunday mass was no longer presided over by him, and no matter how many people you asked, nobody seemed to have a clear answer as to why.

All you heard were rumors.

Some said he wanted to experience ministry in a different city. Others claimed he had become so busy that he was constantly traveling between churches, handling responsibilities in several places at once. Every explanation sounded vague, rehearsed, and unsatisfying.

You wanted to believe them. But you couldn't.

For months, you carried that bitterness inside you. A part of you convinced yourself that he had simply left. That perhaps everything you shared had meant far less to him than it had to you. The thought hurt more than you cared to admit, especially because, between the two of you, you had been the dishonest one. You had been the one who approached him with hidden intentions, who slowly seduced him, who carefully led him into your snare while pretending to be an innocent church girl.

Yet somewhere along the way, things had changed.

For all your lies, for all your schemes and carefully crafted devotion, you couldn't deny what had happened to your own heart. You had fallen in love with his kindness. Not because he was a priest. Not because he was forbidden. Not because winning his attention felt like a challenge.

But because it was him.

It was the way he remembered small details about you. The way he listened whenever you spoke. The way he always treated people with patience and warmth. Somewhere between the scripture lessons, the afternoon conversations, and the countless boxes of cookies, your feelings had become real.

Then, one afternoon, a letter arrived.

Your hands trembled as you opened it, your heart pounding with a mixture of hope and dread. As your eyes moved across the page, tears immediately gathered in them.

All this time, you had believed he left because he wanted to.

The truth was far worse.

Someone had noticed. Someone had seen the way he treated you differently from everyone else—the way his gaze lingered a little too long, the way his voice softened whenever he spoke to you, the way he always seemed to make time for you no matter how busy he was. And eventually, they had discovered what happened behind the closed doors of the church office.

Tears slipped down your cheeks as you continued reading, your vision blurring with every line. For the first time since he disappeared, you finally understood why he had left.

The moment the parish discovered what had happened, he immediately apologized—to the church, to his superiors, and most of all, to the Lord. He had even offered his resignation, believing he was no longer worthy of his position.

But they refused. The parish forgave him.

They told him he was too kind, too devoted, too valuable to lose over a mistake. Instead of removing him from the priesthood, they gave him a chance to start over in a different city, far away from the rumors and whispers. They told him that what happened was a test of faith. A temptation. That God would always be stronger in his heart than any earthly attachment.

You were the temptation they spoke about.

You never wrote back, you never tried contacting him again. Because if he had truly wanted you, he would have resigned. He would have walked away from the collar, from the church, from the life he had chosen long before you entered it. 

He would have chosen you.

Instead, when forced to decide between you and God, he surrendered himself to God. And that answer was enough.

With a deep breath, you entered the confession booth. You wanted to confess your sins, you wanted to move on.

It had been two years, and somehow you were still holding on to him. 

Whenever Sana mentioned his name, your eyes would sting with unshed tears. Whenever you heard stories about him…how successful he had become, how respected he was as a priest now…an ache would settle deep inside your chest.

You could no longer step inside a church without thinking about him.

The stained-glass windows, the scent of incense, the quiet hum of prayer before mass. Every sacred thing had become tangled with the memory of him, until devotion and desire were no longer things you could separate.

So, with a heavy heart, you finally decided to let him go.

Sitting inside the confessional that afternoon, your fingers twisted nervously in your lap as you gathered the courage to speak.

A thin wooden partition stood between you, a barrier meant to separate priest from sinner, confession from judgment, devotion from temptation.

“Bless me, Father…. for I have sinned.” you said softly, behind the confession grille.

Your voice…soft and unforgettable, echoed through the small confessional booth. 

The familiar scent of vanilla wrapped around him like a memory he had spent years trying to forget. 

“Sweetheart.” 

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂˚₊┈┈୨୧┈┈‧₊˚⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂

© 2026 ggukiebar, all rights reserved

But the next morning, he was nowhere to be seen.

When you finally opened your eyes, blinking against the harsh, bright sunlight piercing through the cracks of the heavy blackout curtains, the couch beside you was completely empty. You checked your phone—it was god knows what hour of the late morning—and the realization that you were alone in the vast, quiet space hit you like a cold splash of water. The heavy dark duvet was pulled back, the plush pillow still holding the indentation of his head, but Jeongguk was gone.

So naturally, you grew a bit anxious.

A tight, familiar knot formed in the pit of your stomach as you sat up, the silence of the multi-million dollar apartment suddenly feeling incredibly heavy. Your mind instantly began to scramble, racing back through the events of the previous night. You hoped with everything you had that he would just forget what he said last night. You prayed the tequila had completely wiped his memory, that the slurred confessions about true love and people coming up short in comparison to you would just evaporate into the morning air. If he forgot, everything could go back to normal. You could go back to being the constant, unshakeable variable in his life.

But then the darker, terrifying thoughts started to bleed in, turning your anxiety into full-blown panic.

What if he remembered? What if he woke up with a pounding headache and a crystal-clear recollection of every single word that had left his mouth? What if he was so thoroughly mortified, so repulsed by the fact that he had crossed that sacred platonic line and laid his soul bare, that he had physically chosen to flee his own home just to avoid looking you in the eye?

You stood up, your knees slightly shaky, your eyes darting toward the hallway. His bedroom door was still closed, but the heavy silence in the apartment made it feel like he had abandoned the entire place just to escape the mess he’d created in the dark.

That’s when you heard the faucet running.

The sharp, metallic hiss of rushing water cut through the suffocating silence of the apartment, drawing your attention toward the kitchen. Your heart skipped a beat, the knot of anxiety in your stomach loosening just a fraction, only to tighten again with a completely different kind of tension.

With small steps, your feet padding quietly against the cold hardwood floor, you made your way down the hall. Every single breath you took felt like lead, heavy and burning in your chest. You braced yourself for a tense, awkward confrontation, preparing to play off his drunken rambling as a massive joke.

Instead, you rounded the corner and saw him in all his glory, completely naked from the belt up.

The bright morning sunlight poured through the kitchen window, hitting the sharp, fiercely toned lines of his back and shoulders as he stood in front of the sink. He had a clean pair of grey sweatpants hanging low on his hips, exposing that dark, dangerous happy trail you’d been obsessing over the day before. His skin practically glistened, completely washed clean of the previous night's sweat and alcohol, and his dark, damp hair strands curled slightly around his nape. He was rinsing out a couple of mugs, hands moving with effortless, domestic grace.

As if sensing your presence, Jeongguk turned around.

There was no repulsion on his face. No awkwardness, no frantic desire to flee. Instead, his sweet, round eyes instantly crinkled at the corners, and a warm, lazy grin spread across his face, his silver lip piercing catching the morning light.

He greeted you in a sweet, entirely normal manner.

"Morning, sleepypants," he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly morning rumble that vibrated pleasantly in the quiet air. He set the mug down and gestured toward the espresso machine on the counter. "Coffee?"

You sit down awkwardly on one of the high barstools at the marble kitchen island, your hands folded in your lap as you nod your head. "Yes, please. Black is fine."

The silence stretches between you for a bit, heavy and thick on your end, though Jeongguk seems entirely unbothered as he presses a button on the espresso machine. The low whirring of the grinder fills the space, and the rich, dark scent of coffee begins to bloom in the air. Your mind is still a frantic mess of questions, the sheer weight of his shirtless torso in the bright morning light not helping your ability to think straight.

Unable to take the suspense any longer, you clear your throat. "Koo?"

He hums in response, not turning around just yet as he watches the dark liquid drip into the mugs, patiently waiting for you to continue.

You swallow hard, tracing a invisible line on the marble counter. "Do you... do you remember last night?"

Jeongguk freezes for a split second, his shoulders tensing just a fraction before he slowly turns around to face you. He leans back against the counter, crossing his tattooed arm over his bare chest, a totally blank, deadpan expression washing over his features.

"Last night?" he repeats, blinking his eyes with exaggerated confusion. He tilts his head, looking down at his own bare torso and then back up at you. "Wait... what year is it?"

You instantly catch onto the stupid joke, a rush of exasperated relief flooding your chest. You reach out, grabbing a random crumpled tissue you found sitting on the edge of the counter, and throw it straight at his face.

He ducks, but it clips his shoulder anyway. Jeongguk bursts into a loud, boxing-glove laugh, his eyes crinkling into those familiar, endearing crescents as the heavy tension in the room instantly evaporates.

"Yes," he says, his laughter dying down into a soft, knowing smile as he holds your gaze, his voice dropping back into that low morning cadence. "I remember last night, Y/N."

Your stomach drops straight through the floor. The relief you felt a second ago evaporates, replaced by a sudden, choking wave of heat that rises all the way to your face. You fumble with your words, your tongue feeling thick and clumsy as you try to form a coherent sentence.

"You—you remember?" you stammer, your hands nervously gripping the edge of the marble counter. "Then... what you said on the couch. Before you fell asleep. Did you... I mean, did you actually mean it?"

Jeongguk stays quiet for a while. The playful morning light suddenly feels too bright, too exposing. He doesn't move from where he’s leaning against the counter, but the easy grin vanishes from his face. He looks down at his feet, his throat bobbing as he swallows hard, his chest expanding with a deep, deliberate breath.

When he finally lifts his head, his eyes are dead serious, devoid of any tequila-induced haze.

"Yes," he says, his voice a low, steady vibration. "I meant it."

You blink, your chest tightening so fast it hurts. "What... what did you mean, Jeongguk? Exactly?"

"I meant what I meant," he mutters, his jaw clenching as he shifts his weight. He crosses his arms tighter over his bare chest, a defensive instinct kicking in as he tries to maintain his footing. He’s trying to stay casual, trying to play the enigmatic card, but the slight twitch in his silver lip piercing gives him away.

"Yes, but what does it mean?" you push, your voice cracking slightly out of frustration. You lean forward on the barstool, completely done with the riddles. "You don't get to drop a bomb like that, tell me everyone else comes short in comparison to me, and then just say 'I meant what I meant.' What does that mean for us, Jeongguk? What are you actually saying?"

Jeongguk stares at you, the silence stretching out between you like a taut wire. You can practically hear the furious looping in his head, the terrifying friction between the decade of friendship holding him back and the raw, suffocating desire to just stop hiding.

"It means exactly what you think it means, Y/N," he says defensively, his voice rising a fraction. "Why do I have to spell it out?"

"Because you were drunk!" you snap back, your own walls going up because you're terrified of getting your hopes destroyed. "Because people say crazy things when they've had six shots of tequila! You told me I'm the standard for your love life. Do you have any idea how insane that is to hear from your best friend?"

That's the breaking point.

Jeongguk cracks. The stubborn, defensive posture completely shatters, his arms dropping to his sides as he takes a sudden, aggressive step forward, closing the distance between the counter and your stool. He looms over you, his bare chest heaving, his eyes wide and burning with a desperate, chaotic intensity.

"It's not insane!" he bursts out, his voice cracking with a raw, emotional force that echoes through the quiet kitchen. He grips the edge of the marble island right next to your thighs, leaning down until his face is just inches from yours, entirely undone. "It's not the tequila, Y/N! I've been sober for months on tour and I thought about it every single day. Every girl I look at, every person I talk to, I'm just looking for you in them. I'm tired of pretending I don't. I'm tired of the mystery. I meant that I’m in love with you, okay? I’ve been in love with you for years!"

"You're crazy!" you snap back, the pure panic in your chest bubbling over into anger as you push yourself back against the barstool. "You are completely crazy, Jeongguk! You can’t just wake up one day and decide to ruin a ten-year friendship because you had a breakthrough on tour! You don't just get to tear down everything we built because you feel like it!"

He flinches as if you physically struck him. The fierce, looming intensity drains from his posture in an instant, leaving him looking raw and incredibly small despite his broad frame. His eyes turn visibly sad, a thick, glossy sheen coating them under the bright kitchen lights. His jaw tightens, his silver lip piercing trembling just a fraction before a bitter, hurt laugh leaves his throat.

"Well, excuse the fuck out of me if I have feelings," he spits out, his voice cracking with a dangerous mix of anger and absolute rejection. He pulls his hands off the marble counter and takes a step back, wrapping his arms tightly around his torso again, as if trying to shield his chest from you. "Excuse me for actually trusting my best friend enough to be honest. I didn't decide to feel this way, Y/N."

"It’s not even about that!" you yell back, your hands flying into the air out of sheer frustration. You slide off the barstool, finally standing on your own two feet so you don't have to look up at him. "Jeongguk, think for one second! Could you actually afford to lose me if a relationship goes south? If we do this, if we cross that line and it blows up in our faces, we don't get to go back to being friends. I'm gone. You're gone. Everything is ruined. Can you honestly afford that?"

At your words, his entire demeanor shifts from heartbroken to super pissy and defensive, the vulnerability of his ego being bruised making him lash out.

"It wouldn't go south!" he barks, his chest heaving as he glares down at you, his face flushing a furious, hurt red. "Why are you already deciding we're going to fail? And you know what? It doesn't even matter because you’re standing here acting like you have the high moral ground! Like you're the only one who cares about our friendship and I'm just some reckless idiot trying to break it!"

"I don’t have a moral ground!" you shout, stepping right into his space, your voice matching his volume. "I’m just trying to be smart about this! Someone has to be, because you're clearly letting your emotions run completely wild right now!"

"Why should you be smart?!" Jeongguk erupts, his frustration completely breaking through the ceiling. He throws his hands up, the silver rings on his fingers flashing aggressively in the morning sun. He steps so close you can feel the radiating, shirtless heat of his skin, his breath hitting your face in short, ragged gasps. He looks down at you, his eyes searching your face with a suffocating anger. "Why do you always have to be the logical one? Tell me the truth, Y/N—have you ever even thought about me that way? Even once? Or am I just the only idiot who’s been suffocating in this for years?"

"Of course I’ve thought about you that way!" you burst out, the truth ripping through your throat before you could even try to stop it. "Every single day for the last ten years, Jeongguk! I have been suffocating right next to you, watching you date other people, watching you become a global superstar, completely terrified that if I said a word, I’d lose you forever!"

Jeongguk completely freezes. The furious, pissy retort dies right on his tongue, his mouth hanging open slightly as his chest heaves. His round eyes widen, the glossy unshed tears making them look impossibly huge as he processes your words.

"You..." he stammers, his voice becoming a breathless, vulnerable whisper. "You have?"

"Yes! But you’re sitting here acting like it’s so simple," you say, your voice trembling with an overwhelming mix of anger, frustration, and a decade's worth of built-up tension. You take a step closer, your eyes locking onto his parted lips, then tracing up to the raw, completely undone expression on his face. He looks so helpless, so utterly desperate for your touch, standing there shirtless in the bright morning light.

You need him to understand. You need to prove to him that this isn't just some casual, easy dynamic he can play with. You want to prove a point—to show him exactly what he's playing with, exactly how dangerous this boundary truly is.

Before he can utter another word, you reach out, your fingers gripping the soft fabric of his sweatpants at his hip to pull him in, and you slam your lips against his.

Jeongguk lets out a sharp, muffled gasp into your mouth, his entire body jolting at the sudden impact. But the hesitation lasts for less than a second. The moment he realizes you are actually kissing him, he completely shatters. A low, desperate groan rumbles deep in his chest, and his tattooed hands flies to your waist, his fingers digging into your skin with a terrifying, suffocating hunger.

The kiss is chaotic, fierce, and overflowing with ten years of unspoken agony. You pour everything into it—all the logic, all the smart choices, all the fear of losing him—crushing your lips against his until your teeth click. He tastes like the rich espresso he just brewed and the sharp, lingering heat of his own desperation. He follows your lead completely, surrendering to the dominance you admitted to just hours before, letting you call every single shot as he whimpers against your mouth, his frame trembling beneath your hands.

When you finally pull back, your chest heaving, your lips swollen and tingling, you try to step away to establish the boundary again. "See?" you breathe out, your voice shaky as you stare at his dark, completely blown-out pupils. "That is what we lose if—"

"No," Jeongguk whines instantly, the sudden loss of your lips making him sound incredibly small and pathetic. His hands tighten on your waist, physically yanking you right back against his bare, warm chest. His nose brushes against yours, his breath hot and ragged. "No, Y/N. Please. Just one more. One more."

"Jeongguk, I'm trying to make a point—"

"I don't care about the point," he groans, his voice turning super whiny, his bottom lip pushing out in a desperate, pouty expression that completely contrasts his heavily tattooed, muscular frame. He leans his forehead against yours, his eyes fluttering shut as he practically begs. "Just one more kiss. Please. Y/N. One more, and then I’ll listen to the logical stuff. Just one more."

You melt away entirely under the pathetic, desperate drag of his voice. Every ounce of your hard-earned logic completely liquefies, dripping away into the space between your pounding hearts as you slide your hands up his radiating chest to cup the back of his neck, pulling him right back down to you.

The moment your lips meet again, Jeongguk kisses you like it’s the only thing he was ever put on this earth to do.

It is an agonizingly deep, consuming kiss that destroys any remaining illusion of your platonic past. He devours you, his plush lips parting with a fierce, wet desperation that immediately slicks your skin. He uses his tongue with a heavy, deliberate stroke, sweeping into your mouth to claim you entirely, tasting intensely of the bitter espresso and the sweet, clean mint from earlier. Every tilt of his head is a calculated shift to press deeper, his silver lip piercing sliding hot and sharp against your bottom lip, an intoxicating friction that sends a jolt of pure electricity straight to your core.

You let out a helpless, broken moan right into his mouth, the sound vibrating against his teeth.

The small noise completely undoes him. Jeongguk’s hands abandon your waist to roam frantically all over you, his palms hot and heavy as they map out your body. He slides his hands down the curve of your back, his blunt fingernails digging into your clothes, before lifting up to cup your jaw, his tattooed thumb firmly pressing against your pulse point to hold you perfectly still for his assault. His chest presses flush against you, the hard, sculpted lines of his abdomen crushing into your frame until you can feel the frantic, booming rhythm of his heart matching your own.

He is entirely consumed, a slave to the sudden shift in your dynamic.

He briefly breaks the kiss, his lips only parting a fraction of an inch from yours, leaving a string of wet, heavy breaths between you. His glossy eyes flutter open, looking at you with a gaze so completely wrecked and swimming with desire that it makes your knees buckle. He whines against your skin, a high, desperate sound cutting through his deep morning rasp as his forehead drops heavily against yours.

"I'm gonna make you feel good," he pleads, his breath hot and ragged against your swollen mouth as his hands slide back down to desperately grip your hips. "Please, Y/N... please let me make you feel good. Just let me. Please."

You don’t reply right away, your mind completely fracturing into a thousand pieces as you stand frozen in his kitchen. Your thoughts pull you in every direction, desperately trying to analyze the wreckage of the last five minutes.

The damage is done. You already kissed him—not just a gentle slip of the lips, but a fierce, devastating confession of a kiss that blew every single one of your carefully constructed boundaries right out the door. The sacred line of the friendship hasn't just been crossed; it’s been entirely incinerated.

As you stare down at his flushed face, a dark, heavy thought slips into your mind, taking root before your logic can tear it down: Would it really be so bad to just go through with it?

If everything is already broken, if the mystery is gone, why keep fighting the very thing that’s been suffocating you both for a decade? You look at his chest rising and falling in sharp, ragged gasps, his skin radiating a maddening heat that pulls you in like gravity.

Before a single word can tumble past your swollen lips, Jeongguk completely unravels. His knees give out, hitting the hardwood floor with a soft thud as he drops down right in front of you.

The global superstar, the man who fills stadiums worldwide, is entirely brought to his knees, looking up at you with huge, glassy, pleading eyes. He looks so sweet, so raw, and completely submissive to whatever you decide next.

"Please," he whimpers, the word spilling out of him like a broken prayer. "Please, Y/N."

He doesn't wait for your permission. His hands slide up the back of your legs, his palms scalding hot through the fabric of your clothes as he pulls your hips closer to his face. He buries his face against you, his warm forehead pressing firmly against your lower stomach as a ragged breath hitches in his throat.

"Let me make you feel good," he begs into your clothes, his voice dropping into a desperate, deep vibration that resonates straight through your skin. "Just let me do this for you. Please."

Then, his plush lips press against your clothed thighs.

He kisses you right through the fabric, his mouth hot and damp, leaving heavy, branding presses of his lips along the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. He nuzzles his face deeper against your legs, whining softly when you don't immediately push him away. The absolute friction of his silver lip piercing catching against the material, combined with the desperate, worshipful way his hands tighten on the back of your thighs, makes your breath hitch sharply in your throat. Your hands fly to his bare shoulders just to keep yourself steady, your fingers digging into his smooth, firm skin as the room tilts on its axis.

Your fingers sink deeper into the smooth muscle of his bare shoulders as the sheer weight of his worship pulls you under. The internal debate, the frantic logic, the fear of what happens when the dust settles—it all completely evaporates.

"Okay," you finally whisper, the single word cutting through his desperate, ragged breaths. "Okay, Jeongguk. Do it."

The permission hits him like an electric shock. He doesn't waste a single second, his hands moving with an frantic, desperate urgency. He grips the waistband of your pants and underwear together, his knuckles brushing against your skin as he tugs them down your legs in a breathless hurry. You kick out of them, your feet hitting the cool hardwood floor, leaving you completely exposed to him in the middle of the bright kitchen.

When he leans his head back in, you let out a sharp, involuntary hiss as the hot, concentrated burst of his breath hits your sensitive pubic area.

But he doesn't touch you yet. Jeongguk just stays frozen on his knees, his hands still tightly gripping the back of your thighs to anchor you in place. He’s just looking. His sweet eyes are wide and completely dark with a devastating mixture of awe and pure hunger. His chest heaves, his silver lip piercing glinting as his lips part slightly, his gaze completely tracing every inch of you as if he’s memorizing a holy text.

The intense, unblinking weight of his stare makes you shift your weight, a sudden spike of heat rushing to your face. "Jeongguk," you breathe out, your voice trembling. "What... what are you doing?"

"I need more room," he rasps, his voice dropping into a thick, desperate growl.

Before you can even process the words, his large hands slide under your thighs and around your back. In one swift, effortless motion, he lifts you completely off the ground. You let out a small gasp, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck as he carries you out of the kitchen. He moves with a singular, fierce focus, and in a matter of seconds, you’re in his bedroom.

He lays you down onto the mattress, and you find yourself completely sprawled across the dark, silk sheets of his bed, the heavy clean cotton scent of him enveloping you entirely.

Jeongguk doesn't even let you catch your breath. He crawls up onto the mattress immediately, his large, heavy body looming over yours for a fraction of a second before he slides right back down between your thighs. He hooks your knees over his shoulders, pinning you open, and buries his face directly between your legs.

The first touch of his tongue is a wet, heavy stroke that makes your entire body arches off the bed. He eats you out like it’s a form of salvation, his mouth hot, wide, and utterly ravenous against your wet skin. He uses his tongue with a frantic, consuming rhythm, lapping at you with deep, deliberate strokes that pull a loud, undone moan right from your throat. The slick, wet sounds of his mouth against you echo in the quiet room, completely destroying any lingering sanity.

Even as he devours you, the desperate, pleading energy from the kitchen doesn't leave him. Every time you twist your fingers into his damp, dark hair to pull him closer, a muffled, high whine breaks from his throat, vibrating directly against your clit. He nuzzles his face deeper into your heat, his silver lip piercing sliding sharp and intoxicating against your most sensitive spots, making you sob his name into the empty air.

"Please," he whimpers against your wet flesh, breaking his rhythm for only a split second to breathe your name, his voice cracked and completely wrecked. His hands grip your hips so tightly his knuckles turn white, silently begging you to hold him there, to let him keep drowning in you. "Please tell me it's good. Tell me you like it, Y/N. Just let me stay right here."

You can only cry out in response, your hips instinctively rolling into his mouth as his tongue darts back inside, deeper and more desperate than before, completely surrendering his entire existence to the rhythm of your pleasure.

The sound of his name ripping from your throat sends a visible shiver straight through his broad, shirtless frame. Hearing how undone you are only makes him more desperate, his tongue working with a frantic, wet rhythm that has your hips rolling blindly into his face.

"You're so good, Koo," you gasp out, your knuckles turning white as you fist your fingers into his damp, dark hair, pressing him closer. "Ah—yes, right there. You're making me feel so good. So good..."

Jeongguk lets out a muffled, high whine directly against your core, the high-pitched, needy sound vibrating straight through you. The praise completely undoes him. He sucks a hard, bruising path up your inner lip, his silver piercing scraping perfectly against your most sensitive flesh, pulling a loud, broken sob from your lungs. He is utterly buried in you, his hands gripping the undersides of your thighs so tightly that his bicep muscles bulge under his smooth, tattooed skin. He nuzzles deeper, lapping at your slick heat with a ravenous, worshipful speed, swallowing your whimpers like they are the only thing keeping him alive.

The friction is too much. The intense, deep heat building in your lower stomach is expanding so fast it feels dangerous, blinding you to everything else in the room. You are getting so entirely into it, the overwhelming pleasure clouding your logic until you can't breathe, can't think, can't handle the agonizingly slow burn of just his mouth anymore.

You want him. You want all of him.

With a breathless cry, you pull your hands out of his hair and adjust the position you're in, your palms sliding down his broad chest, past his tensed abs, to the low waistband of his grey sweatpants. Jeongguk senses the shift immediately, his head lifting, his lips glistening, dark hair falling wildly over his wide, blown-out eyes as he looks up at you with a breathless, questioning whimper.

You don't say a word. You simply hook your fingers into the cotton of his sweats and underwear, tugging them down past his hips in one swift, demanding motion.

His cock springs free, thick, heavy, and leaking a bead of pre-cum that glints in the bedroom light. It twitches against his lower stomach, fully erect and radiating a maddening heat. Jeongguk lets out a raw, hitched breath, his hands trembling on your mattress as he hovers over you, completely exposed, his chest heaving as he waits in agonizing suspense for what you're going to do to him next.

You wrap your fingers firmly around the thick, pulsing base of his shaft, the skin scalding hot against your palm. Jeongguk lets out a shaky, pathetic gasp the moment your hand closes around him, his hips twitching forward instinctively. Without giving him a second to recover, you lean forward, parting your lips, and slide the plush, leaking head of his cock straight into your mouth.

He completely loses his mind.

A loud, ragged moan rips from his throat, echoing sharply in the quiet bedroom. You swirl your tongue around the sensitive ridge, catching the slick pre-cum, before sinking your mouth lower, drawing him deeper down your throat. The rich, clean scent of him mixes with the musk of his arousal, entirely consuming your senses. You use your tongue to stroke the sensitive underside of his shaft, your lips wrapping tight around him to create a fierce, suffocating vacuum as you bob your head in a steady, demanding rhythm.

He throws his head back, hair spilling over his forehead as a continuous string of broken groans and breathless whimpers spills from his parted lips. He doesn't try to hold back, his chest heaving as he watches you through hooded, blown-out eyes, his silver piercing catching the light every time his jaw slacks.

"Ah, God, Y/N," he pants, his voice cracking with pure, unadulterated worship. His large, tattooed hand flies to your hair, but he doesn't push you down—he just cradles your head with a trembling, gentle grip, completely submissive to your pace. "You're so perfect. Look at you... fucking hell, you're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. Please, you're destroying me."

The praises are heavy, thick with a devotion that makes your chest ache. He’s praising you in a way you've never been praised before, treating your mouth like a sanctuary, completely unbothered by his own ego. You take him deeper, your thumb rubbing over his balls, and the combination makes his hips roll blindly against your lips, a low, desperate whine vibrating in his chest.

The edge is getting too sharp for him. The friction of your wet mouth and the agonizingly sweet torture of the rhythm has him shaking from head to toe. His fingers tighten in your hair, his breath coming in short, panicked gasps as he feels himself reaching a dangerous point of no return.

He suddenly pulls back just enough to slip his cock from your lips, a heavy string of saliva connecting you for a fraction of a second. Jeongguk hovers over you on his knees, his entire body trembling, his face flushed a dark, beautiful red as he looks down at your wet, swollen lips.

"I can't—I can't just take," he begs, his voice breaking completely as he drops his forehead against your chest, his chest heaving against your skin. He is entirely undone, crying out as his hands slide down to grip your hips, physically pulling you back down onto the mattress. He positions himself right between your soaked, aching thighs, the heavy head of his cock rubbing torturously against your wet core. "Please, Y/N. I need to be inside you. Please let me come home. Please let me inside."

A dark, heady rush of power floods your veins as you look down at him. Seeing the man who fills stadiums worldwide reduced to a trembling, pleading mess right under you is intoxicating. You smirk against the flushed skin, your fingers sliding up his damp neck to tilt his face up.

"Put it on then, Koo," you murmur.

You say your consent, and the word acts like a green light. Jeongguk scrambles, blindly fishing a condom from the nightstand drawer—you aren't even paying attention to where he gets it from, your eyes locked onto the sharp, beautiful lines of his tensed muscles as he tears the foil open with his teeth.

His hands are shaking so violently it takes him two tries to roll the latex down his thick, pulsing length.

The moment he’s protected, he doesn't wait. He lines the wet, heavy head of his cock against your slick opening and sinks into you in one deep, agonizingly slow push.

A loud, broken sob rips from your throat as he fills you completely, stretching you out until you're entirely consumed by the sheer size of him. Jeongguk lets out a guttural, trembling groan into the crook of your neck, his large frame collapsing over yours, his full, shirtless weight pinning you into the dark silk sheets.

"Ah, God, Y/N... you're so tight, you're so warm," he whimpers, his voice completely wrecked as he begins to move.

The friction is instant and overwhelming. Jeongguk doesn't fuck you with the practiced, cocky rhythm of a man in control; he fucks you with a desperate, frantic hunger, his hips snapping forward in deep, heavy thrusts that rock the entire bed. He is completely starved for you, his tattooed hand sliding under your lower back to lift your hips higher, taking every single inch you have to offer. The wet, slapping sound of his skin hitting yours echoes in the quiet bedroom, mixed with his continuous, vocal praises.

He’s riding the absolute edge from the very first stroke, the decade of built-up desire making him impossibly sensitive. His breath comes in short, panicked gasps against your ear, his silver lip piercing grazing your pulse point as his pace turns frantic, unhinged.

"I'm gonna—Y/N, I'm close, I can't hold it," he cries out, his voice cracking. He gives three more deep, blind thrusts, his entire body locking up as a low, ragged scream tears from his lungs. He spasms against you, his cock twitching violently inside your walls as he finishes first, spilling himself entirely into the condom.

But he doesn't stop.

Even as his climax ripples through him, leaving him completely overstimulated and trembling, he refuses to pull out. He knows you haven't crossed the line yet. With his jaw clenched and his eyes swimming with tears from the sheer, burning sensitivity of his post-nut state, Jeongguk forces his hips to keep moving.

He whimpers miserably with every single stroke, the friction against his overstimulated skin clearly driving him crazy, but he keeps pushing inside you anyway.

"I've got you," he pants, a high, needy whine breaking from his lips as he drags his body up and down yours, his movements slower now, heavier, grinding his pelvis right against your clit with agonizing precision. "I'm not stopping... please, baby, come for me. Let me feel you clamp down on me. Please."

The sight of him pushing through his own overstimulation just to please you completely shatters whatever restraint you have left. Your internal walls collapse. Your hips begin to roll frantically against his, your toes curling into the silk sheets as the tight coil in your lower stomach snaps.

You scream his name as a violent, crushing orgasm ripples through your body. Your internal muscles clamp down tightly around his thick shaft, milking him through the latex. Jeongguk lets out a loud, pathetic whimper at the tight squeeze, his forehead dropping heavily onto your shoulder as he rides out the wave of your climax with you, completely spent, completely yours.

He collapses right besides you, his massive, shirtless frame molding perfectly against you as he pulls you into his chest. Both of your chests are heaving in the quiet room, the only sound the ragged asymmetry of your breathing slowing down. Jeongguk nuzzles his face into your hair, tracing his plush, swollen lips along your jawline before kissing you tenderly on the cheek—a soft, lingering pressure that feels entirely detached from the frantic, consuming chaos of just moments ago.

You lie there, the cool air of the bedroom hitting your bare skin where his body isn't pinning you down. The reality of what just happened begins to settle into your bones, the heavy fog of pleasure lifting to reveal the massive, uncharted territory you’ve both just stepped into.

"Jeongguk," you breathe out, your voice still a little raspy. You turn your head slightly, trying to look at him. "We should talk about it. About... us. What this means."

He lets out a soft, tired groan, burying his face deeper into your neck. His large, tattooed arm wraps securely around your waist, pulling you so close there isn't a single millimeter of space left between you.

"We will," he promises, his low rumble vibrating right against your skin. "I promise we’ll talk about everything you want. Just... please let me enjoy this moment for a second. Let me just hold you."

You agree, nodding your head slightly against his chest, but you are visibly lost in your thoughts. Your eyes trace the unfamiliar contours of his bedroom, the dark silk sheets, the heavy shadows on the wall. The anxiety hasn't completely vanished, it's just waiting on the periphery, whispering questions about tomorrow, about his career, about the fragile ten-year foundation you just risked.

As if sensing the sudden shift in your energy, Jeongguk shifts. He props himself up on one elbow, hovering over you just enough to look down into your face. His eyes are incredibly soft, completely clear of the tequila from last night and the blinding lust from minutes ago. He reaches up, his gentle thumb tracing your cheekbone, wiping away a stray bead of sweat.

"Hey," he murmurs, his piercing catching the soft light. He looks at you with an unwavering certainty that makes your heart skip a beat. "I’m going to make sure nothing goes south. I promise you. I love you, Y/N."

Hearing the words spoken so clearly, without a drop of alcohol or adrenaline to hide behind, makes the last of your defenses crumble.

"I love you too," you whisper back.

He smiles—a genuine, boyish grin that reminds you exactly of the teenager you met a decade ago—and pulls you back down against him. As you nuzzle your nose deep into the warm, clean-scented crook of his neck, listening to the steady, unshakeable beat of his heart beneath your cheek, the frantic thoughts in your mind finally begin to quiet down.

When you graduated top of your class with a marketing degree and a job already lined up, you weren’t big-headed to assume you would be given a lot in the beginning. No, you knew that you were the new kid on the block and needed to prove yourself first, needed to work your way up from the bottom. But what you definitely didn’t anticipate was working up from thefigurative trenches, almost exclusively doing busywork—constantly making coffee runs, catering business lunches, printing out endless spreadsheets.

Eighty-thousand dollars in debt, and you are a glorified intern.

While you’re positively itching to hit the ground running and get your hands dirty, your job isn’t too bad. The people there are all nice and welcoming, the complimentary coffee in the break room is decent enough for your dwindling bank account, and every quarter the company sponsors an employee barbecue where everyone can fraternize and enjoy free food.

“Apparently it fosters unity and teamwork,” your coworker Joy informs you as you both stand in the food line. “Seokjin—that’s our CEO—is really big on unity and teamwork.”

Joy is also a member of your marketing team. Though friendly, she has zero filter and thus always has a lot to say about everything—which has helped you when it comes to learning the ropes about the company, but has also had you clutching your imaginary pearls in certain situations where you found her topic of choice inappropriate. 

Despite only being a year older than you, her title of Marketing Associate instead of your measly Assistant means that she technically outranks you, though she doesn’t usually enforce that fact (unless there was something that needed to be copied or filed, of course). Still, she immediately took you under her wing when you first started and is the closest person to a friend you have at work (even though her daily coffee order is always so ridiculous, you are convinced that she has to be fucking with you—or at least engaging in some form of mild hazing).

“I think it’s nice,” you reply truthfully. “I’ll never say no to free food, and they let us out early and everything.”

“I mean, pretty sure you can get the hotdogs twelve in a pack at the dollar store,” Joy quips, raising her eyebrows at you pointedly. “But sometimes the boys from Sales take their shirts off and play soccer, so there’s that.”

Your eyes dart to said Sales Boys against your will, gaze drawn to Jung Hoseok as he chats animatedly with his teammates by the tables. You’ve only spoken to him once or twice, but his fiery red hair and even brighter smile caught your attention immediately, your heart rate accelerating at the sight of him in hallways mere days into starting your new position. Who better to have a mild work crush on than a sweet-talking salesman who winks at you sometimes in passing?

An appreciative noise has you turning back around, embarrassed at being caught ogling how shapely Hoseok’s butt looks in his dress pants today, but it’s just Wendy from Accounting, Joy’s best friend and thus a harmless, familiar face. Wendy has cut in front of a few editors to join you and Joy, and the way that she smiles at you lets you know she’s up to no good. “He’s cute, huh?” she asks, leaning towards you conspiratorially. “I would definitely give him the good ol’ suck behind the dumpsters over there, if you catch my drift.”

“Err…yeah, I do,” you reply awkwardly. She had been explicitly clear—keyword explicit—so there definitely isn’t any room for misunderstandings. Is this truly appropriate work function conversation? From the way the editors behind you are politely clearing their throats, you think not.

“Behind the dumpster?” Joy asks curiously. “That sounds unnecessarily smelly. He’s standing right next to some sturdy tables that I, for one, would take great advantage of—”

“I’m gonna go get us some drinks,” you announce loudly, your neck heating up. “Can you grab me a hot dog, Joy?”

“Sure,” she says dismissively, already distracted by her sudden debate with Wendy about the most convenient place to suck off salesman Jung.

The whole conversation is making you uncomfortable. You are not a prude—far from it—but there is a time and place for everything, and your coworkers’ blasé attitude towards inappropriate topics at company functions on company time rattles you a bit. So instead of engaging in the risqué discussion further, you make your way to the cluster of brightly-colored coolers that presumably hold beverages, sidling up to the only other person lingering the area.

“Anything good?” you ask cordially, making your coworker, who had apparently been deep in thought while considering his beverage options, startle a bit.

He’s tall, his large frame covered in the appropriate business casual attire of nice jeans and a powder-blue button-up. When he turns his head to look at you, you’re met with large, dark eyes blinking in surprise from behind wire-rimmed glasses. Said eyes dart around for a moment before determining that you were, in fact, speaking to him.

The man clears his throat. “Just the usual,” he says, voice soft. Timid.

“The usual?” you repeat. There are little hoops dangling from his earlobes, and you brush off your surprise at seeing them, returning your gaze to the coolers. Water, a clear soda, a cola. “The basics, you mean. Well, can’t really complain, right? Seeing as it’s all free. I think it’s really nice of them.”

Your companion seems surprised at your words. “It is,” he agrees softly, eyes meeting yours for a second before dropping back down to the cooler. “Um, are you...are you new?”

“Damn, I guess my cover’s blown.” You shoot him a wry smile. “Yeah, I just started a couple of weeks ago. What gave it away?”

“It’s just—no one else here really cares about these barbecues anymore,” he admits, looking at you, but not quite. More like, in your direction. “Everyone has forgotten to appreciate the little things.”

“Nothing is a given,” you shrug. “So you need to appreciate things when you can. And besides, those lots of little things can really add up without you realizing it.”

He finally seems to look at you properly, and the weight of his large, gentle brown eyes throws you off for a second. “They can,” he agrees, lips slowly drifting up. 

“What do we have over here?” a loud voice interrupts, a hand falling to your shoulder. You look up, and are met with the brightness of salesman Jung.

“Ah,” Hoseok says with a wink, reaching into the cooler. “I love Sprite.”

“Me too,” you reply automatically, and then immediately want to smack yourself. Because you don’t—carbonated beverages make you break out. But your mouth had formed the lie without your permission.

Embarrassed, you reach into the cooler, grabbing three water bottles. “See you later,” you squeak, avoiding eye contact as you make your escape.

Joy and Wendy are already watching you when you return to where they have procured a table, and when you hand them their waters, Joy raises an eyebrow. “I was wondering how long you were going to talk to that IT guy.”

“Yeah, and why did you leave when Hoseok showed up?” Wendy pouted. “_____, the universe is only going to give you so many opportunities. If you don’t want the ball, then pass it to me! Goddamn.”

“IT guy?” you prompt, hoping to slide past that last remark.

“Yeah. His name is Jungkook, I think? Mostly works with the printers, started a couple months ago.” Joy shrugs, obviously disinterested by the topic. She reaches for the ketchup bottle in the center of the table and squirts some on her hot dog. “This is the first time I’ve seen him at a barbecue, though. Honestly, I’m surprised he even came out, because the IT dudes generally keep to themselves. They rarely leave their little tower,” she adds with a dismissive wave.

Wendy scoffs in disinterest. “Who cares about Jeremy! Hurry up and eat, I’m sure Sales is gonna start their soccer game soon.”

“Soccer game?” you ask distractedly. A glance back to the coolers shows Jungkook is gone, and you don’t see him in the immediate vicinity.

“The sales department likes to play soccer during these things,” Joy reminds you. Her expression brightens. “Hey, maybe Hoseok will take his shirt off again! Let us pray.”

To your coworkers’ disappointment, Hoseok did not take his shirt off. But they certainly had a good time watching his athletic display across the grass anyway.

Monday morning—the start of the workweek, but also, rather depressingly, the end of the weekend. Everyone tends to be more tired and grumpy on Mondays (yourself included), and this is why your team considers it essential that you always stop by their preferred coffeeshop and bring in their drinks for a morning pick-me-up. You’re the lowest on the ladder, so you weren’t exactly sure how to refuse when you were asked one day if you would mind picking up some drinks for everyone, and then, after that, people kept sending you their orders like it was expected of you. The café is technically on your way to work and everyone always pays you back, but it’s still pretty irritating to have to forgo those extra precious minutes of sleep just so you can beat the long lines and get to work on time.

Today, you’re lucky enough to get ahead of the morning rush, but that means that you end up trudging into the building much earlier than you anticipated. You hope the coffee’s insulated cups do their job properly, because you really don’t have the energy to listen to Joy huff and puff about having to reheat hers.

Your trek to your cubicle slows when you realize that someone is already there, sitting in your chair and typing away on your keyboard. Their back is to you, swathed in an olive button-up, and it’s not until you get close enough to curiously crane your head to see their face that you recognize him. The guy from the barbecue last week—the one by the coolers.

He startles a bit when he sees you approach in his peripheral vision, eyes darting up at you in surprise.

“Hi.” You raise the tray you’re holding in an awkward greeting. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to creep up on you.”

“That’s okay, _____,” he replies softly, wide eyes blinking a little from behind his round glasses. “I can get kind of spacey when I’m focused on something. I was just doing some updates on your machine and didn’t see you.”

“You…” Your head tilts curiously. “You know my name?” 

A small smile touches his lips as he points to your computer. “I’m updating your machine,” he reminds you.

Not to mention the fact that he’s literally sitting in your cubicle, you name tag clearly posted on the frosted glass that separates your space from Joy’s. An embarrassed chuckle leaves you when you realize your dumbass mistake. “Oh. Duh. Wow, that was a stupid question. Let me just get out of your way.”

“No, no, I’m clearly the one in the way!” His head shakes apologetically. “I couldn’t do this update remotely and I thought you didn’t clock in for another half hour—sorry about that.”

“I don’t,” you confirm. “But I tend to get here a little early so I can sort out everyone’s coffee order.”

A brow raises in surprise. “Do they really have you making coffee runs?” he asks incredulously.

You hmm in confirmation, moving to set the coffee on everyone’s desks. “Rite of passage, I guess,” you call over the divider as you work. Joy’s order today isn’t as over the top as you know she can be, but you were still rather embarrassed to order it (vanilla latte with oatmilk—one and a half pumps cinnamon, one pump hazelnut, an extra espresso shot and extra foam with honey drizzle). The barista had looked at you tiredly but hadn’t voiced her obvious judgement when she rung you up. 

“I guess,” you hear him say, but he doesn’t sound too convinced. 

Coffee distributed and hands finally free, you return to lean against your cubicle, hovering as he continues to quickly type and click. You look at him pointedly, a small smile creeping across your face. “Speaking of grunt work, I hear you’re the printer guy.”

His lips quirk. “I’m also the expert at updating Microsoft Word, just so you know.”

You laugh, and his eyes crinkle in amused response. “Oh, well excuse me, sir.”

“I’ll let it slide this once. Since you’re new.”

“And so are you. That’s why you’re the printer guy.”

He just lets out a puff of air that sounds suspiciously like a laugh. This close, you can now see the tiny holes that are trailing up his earlobe—he clearly has multiple ear piercings, not just the ones you saw at the barbecue. There is no jewelry in them now, though. 

“Jungkook, right?”

It’s his turn to look surprised, and you find yourself satisfied by the flush creeping up the back of his neck when he ducks his head in confirmation. 

“Us newbies gotta stick together,” you stage whisper behind a conspiratorial hand before leaning decidedly away. “Anyway, let me stop bothering you and go make some coffee.”

His eyebrows scrunch in clear confusion. “Didn’t you just bring some?”

“…Yeah, I am only just now recognizing just how bizarre this must seem,” you say sheepishly. “But none of those were for me—fancy specialty drinks aren’t really in my budget, so I tend to just brew a cup here.” 

“Did you say drinks?” a voice croaks, and when you turn your head, there’s Joy, walking towards the two of you. If her body’s sluggish movements weren’t enough to clue you in to the fact that she’s exhausted and possibly hungover, the designer sunglasses she’s wearing to tactfully hide half her face certainly do.

“On your desk,” you chirp as she walks past you without another glance. “Good morning!”

There is no response from the other side of the cubicle wall, and Jungkook frowns a bit, but you just give him a small shrug that translates to what can you do? before pushing off the wall to continue your trek to the kitchen. “You want one?” you offer. “I make a mean cafeteria coffee. Trial and error has taught me the exact temperature of tap water to use to make it taste less like sludge.”

His mouth smoothes back out at your joke, and though you wait for him to call you out on your ridiculous declaration, his gaze is already back on your computer. “No thank you,” comes his soft reply.

With a nod to yourself, you move to complete your task and leave Jungkook to work on his. When you return minutes later, newly-filled mug in hand, he’s already gone.

Today starts out pretty typically. After bringing everyone’s coffee, you settle into monitoring the company’s social media accounts. (When Joy first delegated this task to you, you were a bit confused, as social media is so vital to brands nowadays that handling it is technically a whole other full-time job. But it turns out you don’t have to do much above the intern level anyway—just answer customer questions and escalate issues if need be.)

Your manager has been out traveling for a week, but today she finally comes back to the office, and it makes for a nice change of pace when she hands you all of her scattered, hurriedly-scribbled notes and asks you to please transcribe them into something more cohesive and legible. Well, not nice, exactly (because at the end of the day, this is still busywork), but if you have to reply to one more Facebook comment with instructions that are clearly already on the product packaging, there is a pretty likely possibility you will scream. 

This is at least slightly less mind-numbing. Instead of copy-pasting things from a prewritten script, you get to try to make sense of what your boss had been trying to say when she wrote turkey club in the corner of a page filled with random numbers and dates. Was this important? Was it simply her plans for lunch that day? You and your fancy college degree have the pleasure of trying to figure that out while Joy and Alan, the web manager, get to actually do important things that are in their job descriptions.

Still, like every day, you try to dampen your frustration, try to keep a positive attitude. Because ultimately, this is an opportunity to grow your boss’s confidence in you, and that’s exactly what you want. Though you’re a little disheartened by all the busywork, you remind yourself it will all be worth it in the end. Your hope is that if you put in the time, you’ll eventually be trusted with more of the nitty gritty stuff. 

(You know…the stuff you actually got your degree for.)

But no matter how positive you are, things of course don’t go as smoothly as they should. After you’ve done a pretty fantastic job (if you say so yourself) of organizing and typing everything up, you send your manager the digital version. And, because you know the email may accidentally get buried in her inbox, you decide to print a physical copy for good measure.

You give the printer pretty simple, straightforward directions. One copy, double-sided (to do your part to save Mother Earth), the whole document typed in plain old black and white. But when you walk over, there’s nothing waiting for you in the printing tray. No humming to clue you in to the fact that the printer was working on your job. Nope. Instead, the admittedly ancient machine is quiet and still, and it stays that way for long enough for you to walk back to your computer to press the print button again, just in case you forgot to do so the first time. Still no dice. You frown, opening the paper tray to make sure it was full, then opening every other compartment that can possibly be opened to make sure there isn’t a paper jam somewhere.

Nothing.

Irritated, you stalk back to your desk, your first inclination to check with Joy and see if she has been having any of the same issues, but you find her chair empty. Probably got pulled into a meeting that they don’t find it necessary to loop you in on, even though it will ultimately be you who does all the grunt work for any action items the meeting produces.

Positive, you remind yourself, falling back into your chair and drumming your fingertips against your desk in thought. Maybe it’s not the printer at all. Maybe it’s your computer. You search your desk drawer for the introductory employee contact sheet HR had given you when you first started, and there he is—Jeon, Jungkook.

For a second, you consider sending him an email, but the green dot that displays he’s online has you shooting him a message instead. Much less formal, but likely quicker for the both of you.

You Hey Jungkook! Sorry to bother you, but I can’t print for some reason You The printer over here is ignoring me, and I don’t think I’m set up to print by the art directors

Despite what you originally assumed, he doesn’t answer immediately, obviously focused on something else. Still, you only have to wait a few minutes before you hear the soft ding you were waiting for. 

Jungkook Jeon Hi, _____. You mean the large printer by the marketing department, correct?   You Yes! I tried a couple times, but I don’t think the job even went through You Thought it best to just ask the printer guy 🙂

There’s a pause, one long enough that you worry that he’s forgotten about your lighthearted exchange from this morning. Shit. That was stupid of you. You’ve probably offended him. Fuck.

But if Jungkook is upset with you, he’s professional enough that it doesn’t come across at all in his next message. If anything, he just seems a little preoccupied. 

Jungkook Jeon Hmmm, let me check it out for you. Mabel can be a little uncooperative. You Mabel? 

Silence again, this time for a good five minutes. You answer some emails so you’re not just sitting there twiddling your thumbs. 

Jungkook Jeon Sorry, was running some diagnostics in the background to see if I could find the problem  IT kinda calls that printer Mabel because we’re pretty sure she’s worked for the company for longer than all of us combined. Seems fitting

You can’t help but snort at that. Cute, and likely not inaccurate. Mabel, it is.   

Jungkook Jeon One of these days Mabel’ll finally retire, but it won’t be today—looks like she’s running fine. Do you mind checking for me and seeing if you can access the marketing server? 

A few clicks, and when double clicking on the server icon doesn’t bring up the same list of folders it usually does, it confirms the conclusion the both of you have already come to—your computer is the problem, not Mabel.

You No dice 😕 Jungkook Jeon Got it. I think something went weird with your network connection after I updated your machine this morning. I can fix that for you! You Awesome! I appreciate it! Jungkook Jeon Of course! Can’t have my sparkling reputation as the Printer Guy tarnished so easily 😉 You LOL

You allow him remote access to your computer when a pop-up prompts you to, and he gets you up and running before your manager’s meeting is even over.

Lunch has always been an interesting—albeit potentially exhausting—part of your day. You learned early on that attempting to take the break you were legally entitled to at your desk did not stop anyone from continuing to ask you for things. Unfortunately, there weren’t many solutions to this problem—you didn’t get paid enough to be able to consistently eat your lunches out, and you lived too far away from the office to go home for lunch instead. So, you started taking your lunch break a little earlier than most of your other coworkers did, ensuring that the cafeteria was pretty empty and allowing you the space to decompress and eat your bagged lunch in peace. 

And as things usually went with this company, it didn’t take long for that peace to be interrupted. Once she noticed you disappearing from your desk, curiosity had Joy tagging along one day, and after that, it only took a couple weeks before both she and Wendy joined you. 

(Later, you would have the great idea to simply enjoy your bagged lunch in the park a few blocks away, but the weather wasn’t always great and at that point, the other two started to expect you to eat with them.)

So that’s exactly how you’re spending your lunch now—scarfing down the soup you made a few days ago that you’ll eat until it’s completely gone, while Joy and Wendy giggle and gossip to each other. As much as they apparently want to eat lunch with you, they tend to be pretty nonplussed by how you never contribute much to their inane conversations. 

And you’re fine with that. In the time it’s taken them to get comfortable invading your zen time, you’ve learned how to properly tune their tittering out. You’re good at nodding at the right times, at throwing in perfectly placed hums that indicate you’re listening, even when you’re not.

Today, it’s a sudden, uncharacteristic pause in their chatter that prickles against your diverted attention.   “That’s weird,” you hear Wendy mutter, and that officially throws you out of you mentally making your grocery list. The intrigued way she’s looking behind you makes you reflexively turn, and that’s when your eyes set on Jungkook.

He hadn’t been there when you first sat down for lunch, but he is now, sitting alone a couple tables away. He’s the only other person in the cafeteria, but from the AirPods in his ears and the way his eyes are focused on his phone screen, you doubt he’s even noticed this fact.  

Joy’s lips downturn slightly into a puzzled frown. “Hmm. IT guys never come down voluntarily from their tower.” 

Your head tilts as you mull over that. That isn’t exactly true. You have only seen Jungkook in passing a few times over the last couple weeks, but those few times prove IT aren’t exactly the antisocial specters the two women in front of you keep painting them as. You have even exchanged the short pleasantries with him that are socially expected when crossing paths at the coffeepot.  

“Wonder what he’s doing here?” Wendy says, not nearly quietly enough in your opinion. Embarrassment  flashes hot through you, inwardly chastising yourself for continuing to associate with such casually judgmental people. You’re already mentally preparing to apologize for your lunch mates when a covert glance out of the corner of your eye shows that Jungkook’s still paying your group no attention, taking distracted bites from his sandwich as his head bobs slightly to whatever is playing through his headphones.

“Whatever,” Joy says with a dismissive shrug, and then just that easily, the two are back gossiping about Cindy in HR.

From then on, you notice that Jungkook continues to eat lunch in the cafeteria at the same time as you. Sometimes, he beats you there, already at his designated table and munching on whatever he brought that day. If your eyes meet, he’ll send you a small smile in greeting before immediately dropping his focus back to his phone. If you’re there first and throw him a wave of acknowledgment, he always returns it, as is polite and expected of two coworkers who don’t know each other beyond their forced proximity.

And you think nothing of it, too busy being your department’s errand girl, the person who gets assigned all the tasks no one else wants to do. The amount of interaction you and Jungkook have is only marginally higher than what you have with Namjoon in Finance, who periodically reaches out to you for any missing receipts for charges on the Marketing department’s credit card.

This slowly starts changing as you begin to have more and more technical problems. You being assigned to put together multiple PowerPoints and research whatever market trends tickles your boss’s fancy means you constantly have an ungodly amount of tabs and applications open. This means you’re not really surprised when your computer—an older model that is definitely on its last leg—starts freezing and giving you pop up errors. A force restart seems to fix the problem, but a new one emerges—now, no matter how many times you hit the print button and walk over to your designated printer, nothing awaits for you to pick up. Even scrolling through the printer’s print history shows no record of your jobs being in the queue. It’s bizarre—you even make sure to confirm you’re connected to the servers, and that doesn’t seem to be the issue this time.

Frowning, you make your way back to your desk and scroll down your chat messages until a familiar face appears.

You  Hey Jungkook! I can’t seem to print—think something weird is going on with my computer today

A soft sigh of frustration escapes your lips, fingers drumming irritably against your desk. It isn’t even noon, but the day is already looking to be a long one.

Resigned, you settle in to wait for him to answer you in the chat, but the little bubbles that indicate he’s typing never pop up. Instead, you’re surprised when movement in your peripheral produces Jungkook himself, slowing in approach of your desk, though his focus is still on his phone screen. He must have gotten your message in the midst of doing something else. 

“Oh! Hi,” you greet him eagerly. “Just the person I was looking to see.”

He looks up at you from beneath the curtain of his bangs, a small smile touching his lips as he stuffs his phone back into the pocket of his slacks. “Just the person I was looking for,” he returns. “What seems to be the problem?” 

“Mabel is being a bitch again,” you say with an irritated sigh. “Every time I try to print, nothing is happening.” 

Jungkook snorts, amused, and it’s only then that your brain registers exactly what you just said. Swearing at work is unprofessional so you make it a point not do it, but that one slipped out so casually. “Oh—sorry.”

But if Jungkook is offended, it certainly doesn’t show in the responding chuckle he lets out. “That’s definitely on brand. I can fix that—let me take a look.”

You move to relinquish your seat, but he’s already leaning over you before you can do more than shift your weight. So you just let go of your mouse so he can control it instead, scooting to the side a bit and trying your best not to think too hard about how he’s close enough for your clothes to brush. Christ does he smell good.

Jungkook clicks around a bit, no doubt checking to make sure your computer is up to date and connected to everything it’s supposed to. “Is this what you’ve been trying to print?” he finally asks, brows furrowed in concentration.

You blink at the question, realizing with dawning horror that you were accidentally distracted by his proximity. You clear your throat, shaking your head a little at yourself in an attempt to clear it of all thoughts that aren’t solidly on the task at hand. “Yeah.” 

He clicks the print button, just as you have done for the past ten minutes, then straightens with a shrug. “Let’s give our old girl a visit and see what her deal is.”

You stand, following him around the corner to the copy room, where Mabel has proudly taken residence for who knows how many years. The fact that you can already see she’s humming with activity as the two of you approach has your eyebrows knitting in confusion.

Jungkook seems equally confused, reaching in the tray for the stack of paper that was just spit out and turning it over to confirm both of your suspicions. The report you’ve been trying to print for the last twenty minutes sits in his hand, likely still warm from how quickly and easily Mabel completed Jungkook’s request. He holds it up for you to see, his big doe eyes peering at you quizzically through his glasses. “This printer was the one that wouldn’t work for you?” he asks.

“Yeah, I definitely sent it to this one. Repeatedly,” you insist. Embarrassment prickles across your skin. “I swear it wasn’t working two seconds ago!”

Jungkook smiles when he hands you the papers, and it somehow softens his naturally cherubic face even more. “You just wanted to say hi to me, huh?” 

“Clearly Mabel likes you more than me,” you sniff at his teasing. “Sorry for wasting your time.”

“You didn’t,” he says simply. He hovers for a few more moments as you check to make sure all the pages are there. “Let me know if you have any more issues, okay?”

“Will do,” you agree, mind already back on your work as you both turn to part ways. “Thank you so much for your help!”

“Anytime.”

“Didn’t you have a date last night?” Joy asks. 

It’s lunchtime again, early enough that the three of you are still the only ones in the cafeteria. While both Joy and Wendy are munching on some overpriced salads they had delivered from a restaurant a couple blocks away, you’re eating a boring ham and cheese sandwich that you haphazardly slapped together in your rush to get out the door this morning. Vaguely, you do remember Wendy mentioning something about an upcoming hot date, but she was always rambling about a hot date, and frankly, you don’t care enough to keep up with any details. Everything you know about her love life—and her, in all honesty—has been dumped onto you without you having any say in the matter. 

“I did,” Wendy squeals, excited as always to have the opportunity to talk about herself. “His name was Miles. We’ve been talking on Tinder for the past week—he was really sweet and seemed to want to get to know me. Last night he took me to a nice restaurant, really wined and dined me.”

“Wow,” Joy says, eyebrows raised. “That sounds promising. When are you gonna see him again?”

“I’m not,” Wendy scoffed. “He was nice and all, but he’s only 5’7. It’ll never work out.”

“True.”

You’ve been trying your hardest to zone them out, but the longer Wendy prattles on, each sentence more baffling than the last, you can’t help but interject, “Doesn’t the app let you filter out height preferences?”

Wendy pauses, a raise of an eyebrow betraying her surprise at you finally participating in her lunchtime shenanigans. “Not on the free version.”

“So why did you even entertain him if you knew you would never consider him seriously?” 

“..because I wanted to go to dinner?” Wendy replies flatly, the look on her face doing nothing to hide how stupid she thinks your question is. “Besides, he got what he wanted out of the deal. After dinner I took him home and let him fuck.” 

The flippantly casual way she throws out the vulgar word feels like a record scratch, especially since the three of you are, in fact, still very much on company premises. Wendy doesn’t seem to notice just how much she’s scandalized you, continuing to prattle on at full volume about how the sex was pretty good for a Tinder date, even though he refused to eat her out. 

At this point, you’ve long slowed in your chewing, now entirely too incredulous by the absurdity of the situation you’ve found yourself in to eat. 

“You didn’t suck him, did you?” Joy asks.

Wendy scoffs. “Of course not! I’m not giving head to some random anyway, especially if he’s not gonna give me mine first.”

“Can we not talk about this?” you mumble.

They both turn to stare at you, judgement plain on their faces. Wendy snorts. “Wow, _____. I never took you to be a prude.”

“I did,” Joy slides in under her breath.

You let out an agitated huff. This is ridiculous. “I’m not a prude.”

The two of them share a look. After a pause, Wendy finally asks in a way that indicates that it doesn’t really matter what you say because her mind is already made up, “Then what’s the problem?”  

Aside from this conversation being a massive HR violation?

Wendy continues smugly, as if she’s figured you out, “Talking about oral hit a nerve…interesting.”

Yes, Wendy! you think sarcastically, fighting the intense urge to roll your eyes. The whole rest of the convo was good and dandy—oral was definitely the line, though! 

Joy just looks at you, her eyes narrowing the longer she does. Her scrutiny makes your skin prickle in irritation. “You have gotten head before, right?”

“Okay!” you say sharply, stuffing the uneaten half of your sandwich back into the bag. “One, that’s neither of your business, and two, this conversation is completely inappropriate. Let’s change the subject, please.” 

It’s quiet for a moment, both of them visibly surprised by your response. Joy actually looks a tiny bit proud that you stood up for yourself, but Wendy just sniffs and mutters, “That obviously means no.” Ultimately, they both back off, choosing instead to chatter about the newest design of Joy’s nails.

You exhale a tiny sigh of relief. Wendy was hitting the nail too close to the head and you truly didn’t feel like explaining your life story to a nosy coworker who was nothing more than your acquaintance, at best. Now that they’ve finally let you out of the hot seat, you’re fully planning to spend the rest of your lunch hour zoning out in relative peace. 

But before you can properly dissociate, you hear someone cough behind you. 

Your blood runs cold. You already know who it is—no one else tends to eat lunch this early.

“How long has he been sitting there?” you whisper, already dreading the answer.

Joy waves an unbothered hand. “I don’t know, like five minutes?”

Five minutes. Long enough to have heard… 

You’re immediately mortified, and it must show on your face, because Wendy just snorts and says way too loudly for your comfort, “Oh, relax, this is probably the most action he’s gotten in months. I’m doing him a favor.”

What the fuck. WHAT THE FUCK. “Are you serious right now?”

“Calm down,” Joy says, rolling her eyes. “Look, he’s not even listening to us.”

And a slow, discrete turn of your head confirms what she says—Jungkook, in an ugly salmon button-up today, has his earbuds in, eyes downcast to his phone screen, lips soundlessly forming the words to whatever song he’s listening to. You feel a tiny bit of relief, but embarrassment still roils deep in your belly, suddenly making your half-eaten sandwich completely unappetizing.

You stand, grabbing the brown paper bag that contains the remnants of your lunch and hoping against hope that you’ll be able to bolt without him noticing.

“Oh come on, don’t be like that,” Wendy sighs, annoyance bleeding into her tone. “I told you I didn’t realize you were a prude. We can talk about something else.”

You bristle, but tamp down the urge to defend yourself and point out again that you aren’t a prude, you just don’t want to be the office harlot either. “It’s not that,” you lie. The judgmental look in Joy’s eye only softens when you say, “I just remembered I forgot to print the printouts for the meeting this afternoon. I’ll see you guys later?”

“Sure,” Joy says dismissively, and Wendy says nothing at all. They’ve already moved on, no longer interested in your swift escape, attention eagerly back on the details of Wendy’s weekend. That’s works perfectly fine for you—you’ve had enough of being the center of attention for the day.

Blessedly, Jungkook doesn’t even look up when slink past him and out the door.

 It’s hot.

Third quarter is well underway, which means that it’s time again for the quarterly company barbecue. That also means it’s hot as balls. 

You suffer quietly, trying not to add to the stank atmosphere Joy and Wendy are already creating due to the heat. It’s an ambitious goal, especially since you’re already sweltering beneath your blouse—which was reasonable to wear within the chilled walls of the office, but feels rather ridiculous now, under the relentless beat of the sun. Despite being grateful for the free food and break from your maddeningly boring work, you can’t help but mentally yearn for the indoors, where there’s proper shade and air conditioning and decidedly less bitching. 

“I don’t know why they don’t just cater something for us to eat inside,” Joy mopes, dabbing at her brow with what you already know from experience to be a cheap, scratchy napkin. “How is anyone supposed to enjoy themselves if we’re melting?”

“It’s probably a ploy,” Wendy quips. “The more uncomfortable we are, the more likely we are to get back to work.”

“The date’s been on the calendar for months,” you point out wearily. “They had no way of knowing there’d be a heat wave today. Besides, the company’s already paid for the food. I doubt they intended to purposely waste that money.”

Joy scoffs in retort. “The company also knows throwing an outdoor event in July is the same as throwing one in Satan’s asshole.”

Wendy sniggers, but you don’t answer, biting back your response that outdoor barbecues are common during summer, and at least they don’t have you out here in the snow. Because honestly? This is only your second quarter with the company, and who knows what the fourth quarter barbecue looks like. 

All you can do is free some of the buttons on your blouse, undoing as many as you can while still being office-appropriate. As it is, you now have a little cleavage peeking out, but with how hot it is, you figure no one will say anything.

“Look,” Wendy says with an unsubtle tip of her head. “Looks like the soccer game is still on, at least.”

Fluttering the hem of your blouse in an attempt to get some circulation, you reflexively respond to her prompting, eyes following her line of sight. A few tables down, the Sales team has finished their meal and appears to be actively gauging coworker interest in joining their game. From the decently-sized group that’s starting to form by the open field, you think they’re pretty successful, despite the heat. 

Joy groans, lifting her long hair with a hand in an effort to cool off the back of her neck. “I don’t know how they’re doing all that when it feels too hot to breathe.”

Inwardly, you agree with her, but Wendy just gives a lazy shrug and says, “Hey, if we’re gonna roast to death, at least we’ll be properly entertained.”

“True,” Joy muses. “And they’re gonna be sweatier than usual.”

Wendy’s eyes glaze over a bit at the thought. You grimace, amazed that these two always seem to have their heads in the gutter. That’s my cue. “I’ll be right back,” you say, brushing off the back of your slacks as you stand, but they pay you no mind when you walk away.

You’ve already finished your meal, but it can’t hurt to take another look at the coolers. It’s so hot that you’ve already downed your first beverage, so a new one is in order. When you arrive to the area, two people from Customer Service pass, nodding at you in acknowledgment as they make their way back to their table. You’ve only just started to reach for a cooler lid when you hear someone address you again. 

“Hey,” a familiar voice says timidly behind you. “How’s it going?”

You reflexively turn your head, simultaneously surprised and not at all to find Jungkook standing there. He’s got on a long-sleeved button-up despite the heat—grey, checkered with a red and navy plaid—and you can’t help but wonder how he’s not sweltering. Though, the noticeable sheen on his face and the way his damp bangs are starting clump together tells you he just might be. 

“I’ve had better days,” you answer honestly, swiping the back of your hand across your forehead. Before you can catch yourself, that same hand is vaguely gesturing at him, head to toe. “How are you not melting?”

His lips twitch, amused. “I definitely am,” he admits. “I actually hoped no one was over here so I could stuff some of the ice from these coolers down my shirt without being judged.”

You snort. “Hey, who’s judging? Certainly not me. Knock yourself out; just make sure you leave me some.” 

He taps his chin, jokingly in thought, but to be honest, he does mildly look as if he’s actually considering it. “Well, we wouldn’t want the beverages to get cold…”

“Eh, there’s probably not that many in here anyway. They could probably consolidate coolers.” To prove your point, you bend over, cracking open one of the red ones next to you and peering inside. The expected assortment of generic sodas greets you, looking admittedly very refreshing floating in their ice bath. “See, this one isn’t even full.”

You angle your torso a bit so you can meet his eye properly over your shoulder, but as soon as you look up at him, his gaze hurriedly skirts away, color crawling up the back of his neck. You stand with a frown, confused by this, but ultimately brush off his weird behavior when you notice Namjoon from Accounting sidling up to the two of you. 

"Hey guys,"  he greets you, a friendly smile dimpling his cheeks. "We're getting some people together for a soccer game. I know it's really hot, but would either of you want to join?"

You’ve often seen Namjoon chatting with Hoseok in passing, and twice have even seen them leave the building for lunch together, so it doesn’t surprise you that the accountant is helping recruit for the Sales team's traditional barbecue pastime. What does surprise you, however, is that when he casually claps a hand on Jungkook’s shoulder, the younger man first responds by blinking owlishly at him behind his glasses, and then, a few seconds later, giving him a nod of assent. 

Obviously you don't know Jungkook very well—not at all, really, outside of your ongoing feud with Mabel. But you didn't take him to be the type to be into playing outdoor sports, particularly in this weather, and you certainly didn't expect him to agree so easily. A smile from Namjoon and suddenly all thoughts of stealing cooler ice are gone. 

Namjoon turns back to you, but you're already shaking your head. "Nope, no thank you! Y'all have fun. I'll just supervise from over there in the shade."

"Fair enough," he chuckles, and then he's leading Jungkook across the open field to meet up with the others.

Mildly more interested in the game now, you take this as your cue to grab the beverage you came for—a can of a Lipton knockoff and a bottle of water for good measure—and return to your table.

Joy and Wendy are still yapping when you approach, though in your absence, Joy has apparently decided to move to Wendy’s side of the table. It only takes you following their line of sight to quickly recognize why—that side of the table has an unobstructed view of the upcoming soccer game. Well, unobstructed, so long as you change your seat too. Awkward about intentionally getting in the way, you pause for only a moment before ultimately reaching for the end seat perpendicular to them instead. 

When you lean over a little to pull your chair out from under the table, Joy finally deigns to acknowledge you, ticking an eyebrow. “I can see down your shirt,” she tells you offhandedly. 

Your head snaps down, and you realize she’s right—undoing those few extra buttons has made the billowy fabric more susceptible to gravity, particularly when you leaned over. You yourself could see your whole chest and the basic bra that supported it, and at this angle, you doubt your blouse covered much of that from Joy’s gaze. A hand immediately snaps up to press the material back in place, but before you can even get properly embarrassed, her attention is ripped from you, eyes wide at something behind you.

“Holy—”

Wendy's jaw drops. Your head reflexively turns in the direction they're gawking at.

And before you can stop it, your jaw drops too.

Your tablemates have been known to be dramatic, and are certainly the type to stretch a fact or two. But it’s only now that you fully understand their fixation on these Sales soccer games, because yes, sometimes they do indeed take their shirts off. Like now.

Other than one girl from Compliance, all of the game’s recruits appear to be men, and as such, the group has chosen to distinguish teams by shirts vs. skins. And while the sudden appearance of skin naturally draws most people’s attention, your attention only gravitates towards one person. Cause what the fuck.

You almost don't recognize him, your brain rapidly shuffling through the information it's collected about him over the past few months and struggling to reconcile with what your eyes are actually seeing. Because the Jungkook you know wears glasses and long sleeves and has an unassuming hairstyle that looks suspiciously like a bowl may have been involved at some point. 

But the person you're looking at now? Glasses have been discarded, apparently no longer needing optical assistance, and he’s ditched the button-up, sweat making the white sleeveless tank he has on underneath spottily transparent and divulging the dusk of his nipples. Now that you can properly see the taper of his slim waist, his shoulders are proportionally more broad than you realized. And, since he clearly has no regard for your rapidly rising blood pressure, Jungkook decides now is the perfect time to reach over said shoulders, grab fistfuls of damp fabric, and pull. The sight of him slipping the shirt over his head—the ink of his hair sinfully mussed, the muscles of his back rippling with the movement—has you reflexively swallowing, mouth dry.

He's absolutely ripped. 

There's no other way to say it. A superior specimen, built and honed in a way that's only possible through years of hard work and discipline. He's still lean enough that you can rationalize how you’ve never picked up on that amount of muscle hiding beneath his unassuming dress shirts, but you're still gobsmacked. 

Your mind spins, struggling to come to terms with the near impossible fact Jungkook actually pulled a Clark Kent on you. Well, pulled a Clark Kent if Clark Kent was also covered in gorgeous ink, pigment swirling up his right arm from wrist to shoulder. From this distance you can’t see the exact designs that make up his intricate sleeve, but you can tell it was composed with a purposeful eye. 

Jungkook is absolutely ripped and tattooed. Jungkook. Printer guy Jungkook.

Flustered and trying not to be, you quickly look away, clanking your jaw shut and trying to focus on the plastic tabletop instead. Dear god, this is embarrassing. You really just gawked at your coworker! He was minding his own business and your jaw just reflexively unhinged like a degenerate. God, you hoped he didn't see that.

But any mortification you have is apparently not shared by the other two at your table.

“Is that Justin?!” Wendy demands rather shrilly, eyes wide, and the volume of her question would embarrass you even more if your brain could process any other reaction right now other than straight static. “Justin from IT?!”

You swallow thickly, your responding correction weak and delayed. “Jungkook.” 

“Finally,” Joy groans, pushing her plate away dramatically. “Some good fucking food!”           

You can’t help it then—your eyes drift back up, lured to the soccer players once more and zeroing in on him immediately. Seemingly unable to stray from his form, the heat already producing a sheen over his golden skin even though the game hasn’t started yet.

Surrounded by a few surprised male coworkers, Jungkook’s slightly hunched into himself, shy at the sudden attention. Even with the distance, you can see how Hoseok claps Jungkook on the back, just as animated over his newly revealed physique as the members of your table. But while everyone else is excited by this revelation…

Across the field, Jungkook innocuously turns his head in your direction. Like magnets, his eyes hone in on yours, your gaze locked for a few seconds until another loud What the fuck?! from Wendy frees you from the spell and you hurriedly look away again, a completely different kind of heat washing over you.

Jesus, you need to get ahold of yourself. There’s no way he was actually looking at you—it’s too sunny, and he’s not even wearing his glasses! He probably can’t even see that far.

But when you brave another peek in that direction and realize you can literally count his abs from here—

What the fuck, indeed.

Mutely, you watch the game unfold, not as self-conscious when it becomes clear that the whole office is doing the same. Though Joy and Wendy have been very salacious in their excitement for it, the soccer game is evidently a company barbecue highlight for others as well. And you’re sure Jungkook joining the fray has only added to the interest, as he’s a completely new addition to the equation.

And to your continued astonishment, Jungkook is good. He’s fast and lithe and brazen. He proves to you, again and again, that he can kick the ball with such ferocious accuracy that the other team’s goalie eventually stops trying to get in his way and simply resorts to trying to protect their vulnerable body parts instead. His intensity only entices reciprocal energy from everyone else, and what has traditionally been a lighthearted game between coworkers has now transformed into a group of competitive men who feel they now have something to prove. 

Joy and Wendy are delighted by this development, squealing and cheering and tittering amongst themselves. You sit quietly, still trying to mentally process this new development, but when you start to feel embarrassed by just how much you’re staring, you decide to call it a day. No one really notices when you stand and gather your trash, and luckily the distraction of the game means you’re able to slip out without any fanfare.

This quarter’s barbecue being on a Friday means you’re blessed with a weekend to decompress and regroup. Unfortunately for you, the office doesn’t just…move on from the event like it has in the past. Instead, this particular barbecue was apparently such a success that you continue to hear chatter about it for the next week, mostly in passing. But while everyone else makes small talk about how much fun they had, Joy and Wendy choose to hone in on the only thing they truly consider worthy of discussion—Jungkook. 

Today, just as they have every day for the past few months, they join your table when you take your early lunch. However, to their increasing irritation, the object of their current fixation isn’t here. In fact, Jungkook hasn’t showed up to the cafeteria during your lunch time since before the barbecue, and you inwardly have to admit it’s a little strange without him. You sat at different tables and the two of you never really said much to each other beyond the expected niceties, but you’ve gotten used to his presence all the same. 

You actually have barely seen him at all, with Mabel on her best behavior this week and Jungkook seemingly busy with something that has kept him mostly out of common areas. Still, with your embarrassingly strong reaction to him at the barbecue, it’s probably for the best. You’re a little wary of what your first proper interaction is going to be like, and you’ve been mentally preparing yourself to be as normal as possible. 

Your female lunchmates don’t seem to have that same mindset.

“Does he just not eat anymore?” Joy huffs. “I literally haven’t seen him all week!”

Wendy picks at her salad, lips twisted in a displeased grimace. “I actually saw him yesterday.”

Joy’s head snaps to her. “What?! You didn’t tell me that. What happened?”

“Since casually running into him doesn’t seem to be working, I figured I’d try getting him to come to me. So I unplugged my keyboard and messaged him, but he didn’t show up for like 40 minutes,” Wendy sighs irritably. “And when he did, he looked at me like I was a moron.”

Your lips twitch in amusement before you can stop them. Joy immediately says exactly what you’re thinking. “Well, you are a moron. You sat there for 40 minutes with your keyboard unplugged!”

Wendy soldiers on like she didn't hear her, undeterred from her gossiping. “So he came over in his ugly button-up and judged me! Plugged the keyboard back in and walked away without even saying anything.”

Despite not properly running into him all week, you actually did see Jungkook’s shirt in passing yesterday as he was turning down a hallway at the far end of the office. Wendy’s right—it had been an ugly puce. You found it endearing.

“He didn’t even roll up his sleeves,” Wendy mourned. “The least Jamal could have done was give me that.”

You pause in the chewing of the tuna sandwich you brought from home, exasperated. “Jamal,” you repeat flatly. “Really?”

Wendy waves her hand at you dismissively. “You know who I mean!”

“I mean, he’ll probably be more willing to talk to you if you treat him like an actual person.” Your quip is reflexive and indignant, and it kind of throws all three of you off guard. Joy raises an eyebrow at you and your sudden vexation, but you still add, though more subdued, “You know. Making an effort to remember his name is a good start.”

“Damn, who pissed in your Cheerios?” Wendy sniffs, though she doesn’t seem very offended by your callout. Over the months you’ve superficially gotten to know her, you’ve come to notice that she doesn’t really take much seriously—a simultaneously admirable and frustrating trait. “If you wanted dibs, you could have just said that.”

You feel heat flush up your neck, denial attempting to sputter from your lips, but true to form, Wendy has already moved on, tittering about how it’s about time the office had some proper excitement that wasn’t just meetings and spreadsheets.

“And speaking of meetings,” Joy pipes up, passing you a nonchalant look, “don’t forget to order those sandwiches for the client meeting tomorrow.”

“Sandwiches?” Your mind blanks. You knew your boss was hosting some clients in the office—had even been working on a lot of grunt work to prepare for it—but no one had mentioned anything to you about any sandwiches. “I thought she was wining and dining them?”

Joy let out a mildly irritated huff. “No, they have to catch an early flight home, so the plan has changed to a working lunch. Weren’t you listening in Monday’s meeting?”

No, you hadn’t been listening, because you weren’t invited to the Monday’s meeting. So it looks like a plan had been made and tasks assigned to you…without anyone bothering to communicate that. Typical.

You close your eyes for a second, jaw working as you attempt to tamp down your ever-brewing frustration. If they intend on you ordering from the usual place, it may be too late to cater for delivery, which means you’ll probably be stuck figuring out how to transport multiple giant platters from a restaurant five blocks away. 

“Do you mind forwarding me the request you sent? I must have missed it,” you respond neutrally, knowing full well the original email had never been sent to you. You stand to leave, the rest of your lunch break instantly soured by the revelation that you apparently have time-sensitive action items that are encroaching dangerous territory. “Just want to make sure I get the order correct.”

Joy nods, attention already back on Wendy and only half-listening. In the meantime, you’ll have to research alternatives, just in case.

While you’re lucky enough to find an acceptable last-minute catering option that will also, blessedly, deliver, that doesn’t mean you’re free to take a breather. 

It’s now the end of the day, and one by one, you see everyone around you log out and head for the elevator. Even Joy, who leaves right on time, despite knowing just how many tasks your small team still needs to complete for the big meeting tomorrow. What’s left is mostly grunt work, and while you are undoubtedly a grunt, it’s been clear for a while now that Joy no longer sees herself to be included in that category. So even though having more hands on deck would speed things along considerably, she still gathers her purse and gives you a cheeky finger wave on her way out.

At some point, the cleaning lady makes her rounds, scooting past you with a murmured apology to empty your trash can, but eventually even she disappears. Hell, even the sun abandons you, the soft glow fading from all the windows and stranding you with the cold fluorescent lighting that only remains on in your part of the office, because the lights have motion detectors. 

And so it’s just you, kneeling on the carpet and surrounded by a gazillion binders. Ensuring relevant reports and Powerpoint presentations are accurate and sending digital copies to your boss for her to have on-hand. Attempting to print physical copies and assemble them into binder portfolios your clients will be able to follow along with during the meeting. 

Attempting, because Mabel is, of course, choosing now to live up to her bitchy reputation. She won’t print on the right-sized paper. She won’t collate. She won’t be cooperative at all, and you’re too exhausted for this shit. Physically and mentally exhausted, trying your hardest to rein in the frustration that’s slowly expanding in your chest, crawling up your throat and triggering a familiar burning behind your eyes. It’s not fair. 

An exasperated noise escapes you without thinking, a loud, guttural thing. None of this is fair.

“_____?”

Your head snaps over your shoulder in surprise, not at all expecting anyone else to still be in the building. It’s Jungkook, because of course it is. Brows knitted in confusion, a black leather jacket thrown over his marigold button-up for some reason. He’s standing near the doors that exit into the lobby, evidently about to begin his trek home before you unwittingly paused his endeavor.

“What are you still doing here?” he asks, but before you can even deign to answer, he’s already taken a few steps towards you and followed up with a clearly concerned, “Are you okay?”

You take a breath, struggling to calm the storm within you. None of this is his fault, nor his problem, and you should just force a smile on your face so he can be on his way and leave you to your self-pity. But you’re tired, so tired, and simply don’t have the capacity to pretend anymore. You swallow around the lump in your throat, and when you do speak, the thickness of your voice betrays the tears that you’re fighting to keep at bay. “No.”

This only seems to alarm him more. He’s standing next to you now, as close as he can get with the array of binders and papers you have scattered on the floor around you like a fortress not meant to keep anyone out, but rather, to keep you inside.

“What’s the matter?” he asks gently.

“Oh, nothing,” you snort derisively, blinking rapidly at the ceiling in an effort to try to stop the inevitable. “Nothing. It’s just well past 7pm and I’m still here in this godforsaken building attempting to print out and hole punch and assemble twenty copies of this presentation. I can’t even get the printer to do what I’m asking it to! And there’s no fucking reason I should still be here because the could have been done last week if my boss didn’t keep making nonsensical changes based solely on vibes. And tell me why there are six people on my team but no one thought to help me or take any sort of ownership of this at all—as per usual—or even buy me a fucking coffee for once! I haven’t eaten a proper meal all day but everybody just assumes they can go home because things will magically get done like they always do because they will! I will always make sure that they will! Every day it becomes increasingly clear that nobody in this fucking company gives a flying FUCK about me or my free time or my sanity—”

If he’s put off by your potty mouth, Jungkook certainly doesn’t show it. He just manages to catch your gaze from behind his glasses and simply replies, “I do.” 

Your never-ending rant rapidly dissipates on your tongue, brain struggling to comprehend what he just said. “…What?”

“I care,” he repeats softly. “How can I help?”

The sincerity in his tone renders you mute, too stunned to do anything more than watch as Jungkook drops the backpack he’s had slung over a shoulder onto the floor, tossing his newly removed jacket on top of it without much thought. He’s unbuttoning his cuffs and rolling up his sleeves, the reemergence of an ink-covered forearm making your brain stutter even more. Now that there’s much less distance between you, you can more accurately make out the shape of a delicate tiger lily, the languid form of a snake.

Jungkook clears his throat, the noise snapping you out of your stupor and making you realize you were just staring at him in silence, for who knows how long. Dammit. “What do you need?” he tries again. 

“Um, first we can start with Mabel,” you croak, mouth now embarrassingly dry. “No matter what I do, she refuses to collate.”

Jungkook shoots you a smile that softens his whole face. “Lucky for you, I’m the printer expert, remember? Don’t worry. We’ll get this fixed and be out of here in no time.”

He holds out a hand and you reflexively grab it, allowing him to guide you to your feet. Together, you make your way to the copy room, where Mabel has stubbornly been giving you hell all night. Jungkook gets right to work pushing buttons while you stand to the side, awkwardly shifting your weight a little from foot to foot.

“So why are you still here?” you ask, curiosity finally forcing you to voice the question that’s been looping in your mind since he first appeared. “It’s late.”

“It is,” he agrees, focus still on the printer. He kneels down, opening the paper tray. “There’s this huge system update that’s set to roll out next week. My whole team has been hunkering down and pulling late nights.”

Oh. That explains why you haven’t seen him around much since the barbecue. “That’s tough.”

“We’re finally almost done,” he shrugs. “And I’m clearly not the only one working overtime.”

You don’t say anything when he looks up at you pointedly, so he turns back to the printer, pulling a stack of paper out of one of the trays.

“I think this may be part of the problem. Someone put the wrong-sized paper in here. Or, at least, Mabel thinks it’s wrong. She’s confused.”

“Well, she can join the club,” you mutter, and he puffs out a laugh, shutting the drawer and pressing some more buttons.

“Come on, let’s try again.”

Something touches your elbow, and though it shocks through you like he electrocuted you, you have the good sense suppress any embarrassing reaction to what you quickly realize is just his hand. Instead, you let him guide you back to your desk, trying not to focus too intently on the heat of his skin on yours. 

Jungkook waits for you to login to your computer, clicking around and changing some settings once you step back and allow him free rein. Then, you can hear a distant hum coming from the copier room, and you know immediately that he’s succeeded. Dutifully, he goes to check anyway, returning to you with a stack of perfectly collated paper.

“Thank god,” you groan. “Now let me just print fifty more of those so I can start organizing these binders.”

With the crisis averted and his job done, you fully expect him to gather his pile of stuff and hustle to the elevator before you can trap him into doing anything else. Instead, Jungkook goes to pick up the additional copies from the printer for you, and he actually gets down on the floor next to you to start putting everything together. He watches you assemble one binder for reference, but then he’s easily doing the same and doubling your completion speed. 

And slowly, gradually, your nervous system calms. The two of you work like a well-oiled machine in what would be comfortable silence, if your brain wasn’t so loud. Now that you’re not actively panicking, a completely different feeling starts to seep into you—embarrassment.  You can’t believe that Jungkook actually caught you on the cusp of a breakdown, during which you looked so pitiful, he felt morally obligated to stop what he was doing and help you.

“I’m sure you have somewhere to be,” you say after a while with a grimace. He’s way too nice and you’re way too pathetic. “I didn’t mean to ruin your night—I promise you don’t have to stay with me. Now that everything’s printed and organized, most of the work’s done. I should be out of here in no time.”

“Well, I promise you didn’t ruin anything. And with two of us, you can be out of here in less time than that.” He looks up with a soft smile from where he’s hole punching a stack of paper, the muffled ka-chunk of the device punctuating his point. “I don’t mind, _____. Really.”

“But I do,” you murmur, looking away. Unable to meet his eyes. “I really appreciate your help, but I feel bad taking up so much of your time.”

“Well, don’t. I didn’t really have plans tonight anyway, and I’ve been working so much that it’s probably better that I get in some socializing time.”

“Not that I’m very good company,” you snort derisively.

There’s a pause, one long enough that you wonder if he heard you. But then he’s moving a little closer to you, tipping slightly sideways to tap his shoulder against yours. Reflexively, you turn back to him, finding his eyes kind.  

“We all have our off days, and that’s okay. But they’ll dull your shine if you let them. Don’t.” He bumps your shoulder again. “Besides, you and I have to stick together, remember? Or did you not really mean it when you told me that?”

You did tell him that, didn’t you? Months and months ago. You're surprised that he even remembers that.

There's an amused quirk to his lip, one that you can't help but feel yourself soften to, even as his focus turns back to the task at hand. And all at once, you feel yourself flooded with gratitude. You've been thankful for his help this whole time, of course, but now you almost sag with it, the relief at knowing someone is finally in your corner, the sudden sense of security and support visceral and a little overwhelming.

Before you fully realize what you're doing, it's you who leans closer, aiming to give a him a grateful kiss on the cheek. But your lips don't quite land on their intended target, because just before you succeed, Jungkook unconsciously senses your increasing proximity and reflexively turns his head back to you.

It's his lips yours coincidentally brush against, the accidental kiss timid due to his surprise and your chaste intentions. But the kiss is also soft, his lips plush and rather easily yielding to yours. 

Quickly realizing your mistake, you pull back, eyes as big as saucers. You stare at him in stunned silence and he stares back, eyes all pupil.

A horrified apology is immediately crowding the back of your throat, but right before you set it free, Jungkook's Adam's apple bobs, an errant tongue absently swiping across his lips. 

Huh. This isn’t exactly the reaction of someone repulsed by an unwanted kiss. He still hasn't said anything, but he hasn't moved away from you either. He's just watching you. Waiting. 

...Waiting?

With caution but with clear intent, you lean back in, and to your surprise, he meets you halfway, noses bumping a little before he tilts his head and your lips slot perfectly together. 

This kiss is immediately different from the last. Jungkook mindlessly drops he binder he's holding, body angling more solidly towards you so he can properly meet the rapidly rising intensity. Well, meet may be the wrong word, because he's the one whose hand quickly reaches up to cradle your chin, gentle pressure a silent request to  for you to tilt your head a bit more. And when you comply with the change in angle, it's him who deepens the kiss, the slow lave of his tongue coaxing your lips to part, open and wet.

You pant hot into his mouth and he breathes you in, offering no resistance when you push even closer, hands wandering across his shoulders, fingers ghosting up the back of his neck before drifting to idly toy with the hair at his nape. He hums contentedly, not unlike a purring cat, and does it again when your tongue joins his in a slow glide. 

You lose yourself in the sensation of it all, unable to notice anything beyond the heat that is rapidly building between you like fireworks ready to explode. Your head spins, swimming with endorphins and high off the smell of him. The taste.

A playful nibble of your lip unexpectedly has a rather desperate keen escaping your throat. You pause, making to pull back in your embarrassment, but the sound only seems to activate Jungkook, who follows you in your attempted retreat, mouth chasing yours in its reluctance to part. It's only when your back finally touches the floor that you realize he's slowly guided you there. You've been in a haze, too swept into the plot of the movie you've somehow found yourself in to do anything but be pulled along.  

As naturally as breathing, your find your knees have parted, and Jungkook easily slips into the space you've created for him, almost trancelike. As if he doesn't even realize he's doing it, too focused on exploring the fever of your mouth. He's leaning most of his weight on the hands he has posted on either side of your head; even still, every single millimeter of you that does touch him is sparking like live wires, euphoric goosebumps rippling across your skin. You let out a shaky breath that fogs his glasses, but even that doesn't stop him, just makes him pull back from you just enough to be able to whip them off and toss them somewhere, wholly unconcerned.

Emboldened by this, you sling a leg over his hip, and he eagerly accepts your invitation, settling on you properly. You're covered in him now, pelvises properly flush, and now that he's caged you in, Jungkook takes the opportunity to glide his lips away from yours and trail across your jawline instead. You shiver, every atom of you buzzing at his touch, and his mouth continues its trek, sucking hot down the column of your throat with just enough pressure that you know color will bloom there later. 

Your hips reflexively jump at his ministrations, your skirt riding further up your thighs, and the hard press of him against your panties has you swallowing down a moan. He freezes for a fraction of a second, but then his hips respond to the lure of yours with a more intentional roll. A contented sound rumbles in the back of his throat, tongue dipping to meander across your collarbone.

This is crazy. This is crazy. But you can't quite find it in yourself to care much as the two of you rut against each other on the office floor, your hand gliding up his back to root in the hair at his nape. 

Your hips undulate restlessly, eager to meet the crest of his wave, and Jungkook matches your intensity, catching your earlobe between his teeth. Your shared grind is measured but deliberate, and even through his pants you can feel the hard shape of him pressing right against your aching core. A particularly pointed roll has Jungkook shuddering hot into the shell of your ear, and that is what finally tamps down the last of your restraint and triggers something much more primal.

Dizzy with want, your hands scrabble between you and aim for the button of his slacks, eager to be properly introduced to what’s underneath. But to your slow horror, Jungkook freezes at the touch, motionless for a few breathless seconds before he actually starts lifting off of you and pulling back. It’s only when he’s completely sat up and is staring at you that the full weight of what you’ve just done hits you like a freight train.

Holy shit. Holy shit. 

You really were just dry humping. A coworker. And you were doing it on the premises of the place that pays your fucking bills! Making out, dry humping, and you were actively aiming to do much more if he hadn't stopped you. 

What the fuck has gotten into you? 

You scrabble upright, dizzy with the mortification rapidly seeping deep into your bones. Stupidly, you blink at him, paralyzed with embarrassment but unable to look away. A deer in headlights.

Jungkook stares right back, eyes dark and all pupil. Dazedly, you wonder if you look as fucked out as he does—there’s a smattering of red across his cheeks, and his hair has been thoroughly mussed by your own hands. A tongue dips out to swipe over kiss-swollen lips, stealing your attention away from the rapid rise and fall of his chest.

And suddenly, you’re able to kickstart into gear.

“I am so sorry,” you burst out, panic nearly choking you. “That was highly inappropriate and I seriously don’t know what came over me—”

It takes you a few moments to register that he’s moved back in, and that it’s the returned press of his lips that interrupts your babbling apology before it can properly catch its stride. You’re almost too afraid to respond in kind, as if you’ll somehow scare him away again, but the insistence in his kiss practically knocks the breath from your lungs. Patiently, he coaxes your rigid lips back pliant. And only when it’s clear you won’t try to run away does he lean back a second time, but only enough to see your eyes properly.

“No,” he murmurs, breath fanning hot over you. “That was very much appropriate.” 

You’re not quite sure how to respond to that, too shell-shocked by this turn of events and actively battling your triggered fight or flight response. “Um. Then…then why did you…”

Jungkook’s eyes flutter closed, as if he’s gathering himself. “I want to,” he mumbles, seemingly to himself, but then he’s looking right at you again, gaze heavy with resolve. “It’s just…do you mind if I try something first?”

That throws you for a loop. Your jaw opens then shuts again while you contemplate his question, as well as your answer. “I mean, I guess? It depends on what it is.”

That you don't instantly reject him visibly unwinds a tension in his body that you only now realize was there. A rather feral look crosses his face, immediately inciting goosebumps to ripple across your skin in anticipation. But then the intensity of his expression dims, edged with something more contemplative. Jungkook gives you a pensive nod then stands, looking around curiously. “Hey, where does that viper sit?”

You blink, bewildered. “…The who?”

“The one who’s always with you at lunch.” He locks eyes with you, tongue poking through his cheek. “You know. The one who’s on your team but still had no second thoughts about leaving you here tonight by yourself.”

Joy. He’s talking about Joy. 

The question makes you pause in suspicion, but you still hook a thumb towards the cubicle next to yours, on the other side of your shared wall. “There. Why?”

“No reason,” he says with a sly grin, holding out a hand to you. You take it without question and he easily helps you to your feet. But then before you can process it, he’s slid both hands around your waist and easily lifted you off the ground, already in route to the exact cubicle you called out. You yelp in surprise, your arms reflexively circling his neck—your legs, his middle—in your body’s scramble for balance. But Jungkook’s hold on you is secure, grip moving down to the back of your thighs instead, and now that your chests are once again flush, you can actually feel his chuckle. His amusement provokes yours, and you can’t help but giggle as he carries you over to Joy’s cube as easily as if you weigh nothing.

Clearly, his exercise routine is working out for him.

After using a hand to sweep some objects out of the way, Jungkook carefully sets you down on Joy’s desk, right next to her monitor. Your mirth only grows at the feeling of whatever printouts she left for later review crinkling under your weight, at the sight of displaced pens rolling off the edge and disappearing to the ether that is the floor.

Jungkook has set you down, but he doesn’t pull away, just leans down and recaptures your eager lips. He’s tall enough that he’s kind of hunching over to kiss you, neck really craned, but he doesn’t seem to care much about that, kissing you with the same ferocity as moments before, when the two of you were entangled on the carpet. And you can’t help but match his fervor, hands reaching to guide his slim hips even closer, into the widening gap you naturally create for him between your legs. 

Time constricts and expands, an endless and meaningless concept. Because all that matters now is the tongue he slips past your lips to slide against yours, slowly, like he’s savoring the taste of you. All that matters is how fucking great he smells—like clean laundry and smoke and warm skin speckled with sweat—something you’ve always caught whiffs of, but now completely surrounds you, invading all your senses and sending your lust into overdrive. 

“Is this what you wanted to try?” you pant hotly when your lips finally separate for a moment in your quest for air. “Defiling Joy’s desk?”

He’s leaning his forehead against yours while he also attempts to catch his breath, and he’s so close that it would be hard for you to miss his amused flash of teeth. “Sort of. I’d like to defile it more thoroughly, though. Starting with this.” 

Jungkook leans in for one last kiss, one that starts at your mouth, moves to your neck, and to your surprise, continues down the line of your body. Over your collarbone, careful hands popping open a few buttons of your blouse so he can nestle more surely into the curve of your breasts, warm lips skating across eager skin. For a few moments, he actually nuzzles his face into your middle, a gesture you find rather sweet before he incites a shiver through your body by licking against your clothed navel. And before you can fully realize what’s happening, he’s slipped to his knees.

You look down at him in surprise, body still slotted between your legs, but this time more eye-level with the secret, needy part of you that has been thrumming excitedly with every beat of your heart. “What are you…”

“You’re always doing everything for everyone else,” comes his murmured reply. “Will you allow me to do something for you?”

Your brain is still so hazy from the spell of his mouth that it takes you a moment to recognize what’s happening. What he’s asking for. But when his large palms are hot against the naked skin of your thighs, gentle pressure urging them to part even more, it all hits you like a truck. Your eyes dart around, paranoid. “Jungkook,” you hiss. “…Here?”

“They’re too cheap to put cameras anywhere other than the lobby.” He turns his head, lips pressing reassurance into the side of your knee. “And no one’s here.” His reminder as gentle as the kisses he continues to adorn you with. “Just you.” Kiss. “And me.”

He’s right, you know. No one else is here to witness the series of bad decisions you’ve just made—to witness the ones you’re still seriously considering. 

Still, you hesitate.

Jungkook’s staring intently at you, doe-eyed and cherry-lipped and deceptively innocent despite what he’s requesting of you. “Please?” he asks again, oh-so-sweetly. Reverently prostrating before your altar, praying for the blessing of an ambivalent goddess. You. “I just…I really want to. Ever since that day, I can’t stop thinking about it and I—please?”

Your brows furrow as you try to make sense of what he’s saying, still scrambling to keep up with this current turn of events. What day? Your mind whirrs, jumping around before finally settling on an embarrassing memory you’ve willed yourself to forget. 

Lunch, where Wendy somehow got you to admit you’ve never gotten head, and Jungkook, purportedly oblivious, too busy on his phone to ever pay your table any attention. 

…Except from what he’s saying right now, he had heard every word. Heard, and filed it away for safekeeping, only revealing to you now, when he can possibly do something about it.

Absently, your tongue dips out to swipe across your lips, and Jungkook’s attention visibly strays towards the action, thumbs rubbing slow circles into your thighs and sending electricity straight to your core. God, do you want to say yes. Even though you’ve never done this before, your inexperience is not at all the reason for your reluctance. It’s the optics. You’re at work.

Your head tilts as you try to accurately take stock of the situation. You’re at work. But technically, you should have clocked out hours ago. Technically, this job has been stealing a lot of time that should have been yours to choose what to do with. Case in point—you’re the only person on your team still within a five-mile radius of this godforsaken building. Because everyone else deserted you without a second thought, designating you to be the one who struggles to print presentations for a meeting that has been on the calendar for literal months.

But. 

While it’s easy to assume they forced this fate upon you, Fate is not one easily compelled to do another’s bidding. And, trapped in the gaze of the sweet man still patiently awaiting permission to ruin you, you can’t help but wonder if this has been Her plan all along. 

For months you’ve been doing everything for everyone else, so unhappy and stressed that each day in this place only wound you tighter and tighter. So…what if you finally just let yourself snap? Did what you wanted for once? Stopped following the rules that nobody else ever seemed to and just let go? 

You exhale. Fuck it.

“Okay.”

Jungkook grins, boyishly innocuous at first, but rapidly morphing into something much more devilish as you watch. He turns to kiss your knee again, and you startle a little at the action, newly on edge. “Don’t be nervous,” he says, still holding your gaze. Making sure you can see his resolve. “I got you.” 

“Okay,” you say again, but that’s easier said than done, especially when he takes the opportunity to gently push your knees even further apart. Naturally, your skirt rides further up, and you can’t help the apprehension that washes over you at your increasing lack of modesty. Still, you hold true to your word, aggressively tamping down the urge to scramble off the desk and pretend this all never happened. But though you brace yourself for what comes next…

Jungkook doesn’t move.

Long moments pass before you can’t help but say something. “Are you just gonna look?” Because that’s all he seems to be doing, laser-focused on the juncture of your thighs.

He visibly stirs at the sound of your voice, but still doesn’t do much more than tsk at you. “Don’t rush me,” comes his light reprimand, eyes still locked on what you’re sure at this point is a growing dark spot on your panties. “I don’t half-ass things and I definitely won’t rush this. No one’s here, so just relax and enjoy the ride.”

Your jittery nerves have you reflexively mouthy, but your retort swiftly dies on your tongue when his hand finally moves further up your skirt—further inward—and two fingers pointedly press right against that dark spot and glide over your clothed lips. You gasp, fighting against the urge to snap your legs shut when he slowly circles your clit and sends sparks dancing down your legs. 

“Better?” he murmurs.

“Much,” you squeak.

“Good,” he says, eyebrows knitted in thought as he circles and circles. Your thighs twitch, and he leans forward like he can’t help himself, nose pressing solidly against you with a long, audible inhale.

A fascinated oh falls from your lips, heartbeat accelerating excitedly in your ears, but Jungkook only responds by nestling further against your pussy, tracing the length of your lips with a slow, wet swipe of his tongue through the fabric. He breathes hot against your clit and you inadvertently buck at the stimulation, only inciting the wicked curl of his lips. He looks up at you darkly through the curtain of his bangs, and something unexpected and primal simmers beneath your skin.

“Can I have these?” he asks huskily, lightly snapping the elastic of your panties against your skin. 

You clear your throat, suddenly wishing you had the foresight to put on something more interesting today than your unassuming cotton undies. “Have as in you won’t give them back?”

He lets out an amused puff of air, tilts his head. “I haven’t decided yet.”

You nod your assent. You’re now impossibly invested in where he plans to take this, and it’s not like you don’t have more pairs at home. “Knock yourself out.”

Immediately, his hands are up your skirt. They’re big, but they’re also gentle, caressing your thighs and even taking a slight detour to the meat of your ass before continuing their mission to the band of your underwear. When he starts to pull, you help him, shifting your weight so he can slip the fabric over your hips and down your legs.

Jungkook’s Adam’s apple dips when his eyes are finally able to feast on you without a barrier. “So fucking hot,” he mutters, almost to himself, and then without further warning, his mouth seals around your sex.

You whimper in surprise, not at all used to the sensation of someone kissing you there. And kiss you he does, carefully at first, judging your reaction. But when you do nothing but grip the edge of the desk, biting your lip in an attempt to stifle the rather desperate sounds crawling up your throat, he swiftly devolves into kissing you with the same passion as he had the lips on your face. His tongue laps at you with sure, even strokes, dragging across the seam of you and then through it, making sure to slide along your clit on every upstroke. 

Your breath quickens, jaw falling slack. You weren’t sure what you imagined oral sex to be like before this, but you never expected how easily your body submits to his ministrations. Almost without you realizing it, your thighs part even more, hips automatically canting down to meet his eager mouth. A hand reaches for him, fingers winding through his hair and rooting there, and Jungkook hums in approval, his own hands wrapping securely around your thighs, your ass. His fingers sinking into the yielding softness of you, gently holding you steady against his face while you start to gyrate and moan.

God, does he look good down there. He’s always looked good, even before you knew what he was hiding behind those shy smiles and nerdy glasses, but something about the sight of him, jaw working as he sucks on you, lashes fluttering in pleasure in his quest to please you—

Without warning, he detaches with an audible pop, and a disgruntled sound reflexively leaves you. Breathless, you start to ask him why he stopped, but the words die on your tongue when you realize he’s staring at you again. That he pulled back for a moment just so he can get a good look at the mess he’s making of you. So he can properly see how your pussy aches and drools for him.

“Good?” he asks, voice deep and thick.

“So fucking good,” you sigh. What you know he wants to hear, but also 1000% the truth. You’re starting to understand what Wendy has been blathering about, but is it always like this? Or is it Jungkook in particular who is making you so unbelievably aroused? Is your rapidly snowballing crush on him that strong, or does pussy eating simply rank high on his skillset?

As if he can hear your thoughts, Jungkook moves to slip a finger into you, and you can’t help but moan when he breaches you, the digit sliding in so easily that he quickly adds another, thumb pressing surely into your clit as he starts a slow drag in and out. 

“Shit,” you shudder, eyes rolling back into your head. Hips sliding further off the desk, reflexively seeking the delicious stimulation. One of your hands scrabbles across the desk, unconsciously trying to root you, and you’re much too preoccupied with how good he’s making you feel to notice when you accidentally knock over a mug full of pens. A stapler clanks to the ground. “Fuck.” 

“Look, baby,” he breathes, moaning along with you when the pet name immediately makes your pussy flutter. “Look.”

At his encouragement, you do. You watch the flex of his tattooed arm as his fingers continue to disappear within you, a lewd squelch coinciding with his movements. You watch as he adds another finger, the additional stretch immediately noticeable but even more delicious. You watch him watch you, eyes all pupil, lips swollen and slick with your desire.

“More,” you whine, frenzied and greedy. And Jungkook immediately heeds your call, leaning back in. He sucks on your clit with three fingers sunk in you, expertly crooked towards your pelvic bone, and you jolt, accidentally knocking something else off the desk. Neither of you pays the resulting clattering any attention, too wrapped up in the way you writhe at his ministrations. He hums in approval, the vibrations only intensifying your ecstasy. He flattens his tongue as your hips desperately circle, letting you control the stimulation. And when it’s clear you still need more, he changes tactics and rapidly laps at you instead, as if you’re a melting ice cream cone, while he beckons, beckons. 

Your blood is volcanic, hot pressure bubbling beneath the prison of your skin, building and building within your core. The higher he takes you, the more the grip you have on his hair unintentionally tightens, but that only seems to urge him on, locking eyes with you as the thrust of his fingers turns harder and more calculated. Giving you no other choice but to finally erupt.    

You cum with a loud groan, gasping through it while your cunt rhythmically clamps down on his digits, hard. Jungkook talks you through it, murmuring encouraging words your buzzing brain has trouble deciphering because his hand still doesn’t stop, pounding right into your g-spot and making your eyes cross and toes curl with the force of it. And when you finally can’t take anymore, jerking with oversensitivity, you grab him by the wrist in a wordless plea for mercy.

And Jungkook grants it. You can tell that he wants to play with you more—wants to guide you over and over to the precipice just see the look on your face when he shoves you off—but ever the gentleman, he reins in his enthusiasm and obediently slips his fingers out of you. He takes a few seconds to admire his handiwork, eyes shining with in reverence as he marvels in the dripping, throbbing, panting aftermath that is you.

“Wow,” you say, still dizzy with endorphins. Never in a million years did you think it would feel like that.

“Yeah,” he agrees, voice thick. “Wow.” He lifts his hand, remnants of you visibly slicking his fingers and webbing between the digits, and without a second thought, sticks them in his mouth and sucks. The resulting slurping of his errant tongue is nothing short of obscene, but your cunt flutters again anyway, interest clear despite being thoroughly satisfied only moments before. And when line of your essence starts to drip down your thigh, Jungkook makes sure to lean in and catch it with his tongue.

You shiver with the feeling of him on you again, mouth hot and wet, thighs still trembling. He’s taking his time, tongue dragging a slow path back up to the source, determined to feast upon the rewards of his efforts. But you can’t take it anymore. God, he’s so hot. He’s so fucking hot and you want him so fucking bad.

You need him. Biblically. 

Near delirious, you reach for him, hands scrabbling across his shoulders, fingers trailing the back of his neck and guiding him to stand. Arms circling his waist and pulling him closer to you—close, close—Jungkook easily slotting into spread of your thighs.

He follows your unspoken commands easily and without question, looking down at you with a rather pleased smile that crinkles his eyes in the corners. Determined to steal the breath from his lungs, just as he just did to you, you lean in to lick that smile pliant and open. There’s a curious taste on his tongue that it doesn’t take long to deduce is you, and that’s only even more of an aphrodisiac, revving you up further. 

Your hands continue to roam, sliding down a little to grope his backside, startling a laugh out of him. But when your fingers tease the waistband of his slacks, his delight visibly shutters away into something else entirely.

“You don’t have to do that,” he breathes, even as he reflexively bucks into the hand you’re using to palm him over his pants. “This was about you.”

“Then let it be about me,” you counter, a mischievous smile curling your lips. Even through his pants you can tell he's hard. That he wants this just as badly as you do.  Still, when he gasps out a wait, you obediently stop your ministrations and move to take your hand back. 

He doesn't let you get far, lacing his fingers through yours and visibly considering his next words for a few moments before settling on, “What do you need?” 

It’s a simple enough question, but you can't help but be immediately reminded of him saying these exact words to you, a little over an hour ago. Now, however, they sit heavy on his tongue, heady and syrupy in hushed invitations. 

The revelation hits you all at once, heart pounding excitedly in your ears.

You need only ask. You’ve only ever needed to ask.

And since all caution was thrown to the wind the moment you agreed to let him suck your soul out through your pussy...

“You said you’ve been thinking about me? Well, I’ve been thinking about you too. For a while, even though I’ve been trying not to.” 

You’ve had his attention this whole time, but the way Jungkook's regarding you now, now that you’ve said that? He's hanging onto every word, so hyper-focused that it would unnerve you if this wasn’t exactly what you were looking for. 

“So…” Adrenaline has your fingers restless against his, but you still dive headfirst. “What I need is for you to fuck me and finish what you started.”

A beat. One where he holds your gaze, the space between you so electrified that you’re surprised you don’t see sparks. But then he’s on you again, mouth meeting yours in a frenzied clash of lips and teeth, and this time he doesn’t stop you when your hands scrabble for his fly.

Jungkook wastes no time, smoothing his hands up your legs and pushing your skirt out of the way. He lets out a shuddered breath when you stroke him through his underwear, when you reach down the waistband and grip him properly.

He’s warm and thick in your hand, and the thought of him finally in your guts damn near has you vibrating. Just like you thought before, he’s already nice and hard, but you still pump him a few times just to revel in the proof of what you’ve done to him. Velvet over stone.

And despite having all the time in the world when the foreplay is for you, Jungkook doesn’t seem to have any patience for himself. You’re only able to enjoy the weight of him in your grip for a few passes before he’s surging into action. Strategically, he grabs you by the knees and lifts, maneuvering your legs into the crooks of his elbows. The move opens you up to him further and forces you more horizontal, leaning back on your forearms, nearly pressed against the cubicle wall.  

The way he ate you out moments before ensured you’d be primed for him, your pussy soft and slick and just begging to be filled. When he finally lines himself up and begins the slow press in, your jaw immediately falls open, tongue going lax at the intense pleasure. “Oh my god,” you manage to whine, eyes threatening to roll shut.

The unhurried way he’s sinking into you is likely in effort not to unintentionally hurt you. Because after everything else, why not add another thing to the ever growing list of surprises you’re learning about your unassuming coworker—not only has he been tatted and muscular this whole time, but his dick is also fucking huge. Without even realizing it, you’ve stopped breathing, the pressure of him nudging your walls apart too much stimulation for your body to continue even subconscious functioning. 

As if he can tell your brain is actively short-circuiting, Jungkook’s hands circle your thighs, thumbs kneading the flesh in mild distraction for when he finally bottoms out. It’s only now that you can properly notice the effect you’re having on him—hair starting to stick to his forehead from perspiration, teeth grit as he struggles to stay still for you.  But you don’t want him to be still.

“Fuck me,” you whimper, wiggling in your impatience and making him suck in a breath. “Please. Give it to me.”

The resulting roll of his hips has him swearing and you seeing stars. “Fuck. You can have whatever you want,” he says, already making good on his promise with a slow grid. “Don’t worry, baby. I’ll give you whatever you want.”

It’s good, so good, especially because Jungkook uses his grip on your thighs as leverage to ramp up his thrusts, easily maneuvering you over his cock in a way that has your toes curling. By the time he’s really fucking you—jaw set, brows furrowed in concentration—you’re crosseyed and mewling incoherently. You should be embarrassed by the sounds he’s pounding out of you, but you’re so focused on the overwhelming pleasure that you can’t find it in yourself to care very much. 

Chasing the high you already feel him leading you towards, you lift one of your legs to change the angle, and he catches on immediately, helping guide your ankle to hook over his shoulder with a distracted kiss against the bone. And it’s deeper this way, the angle ensuring he brushes against your spongy nerves with every stroke, only making you spiral faster. 

He notices, of course. Notices how quickly he’s taking you to your end and revels in it, sliding a hand inward and he thumbing your clit, fast and hard.

You jolt at the extra stimulation, gasping and overwhelmed. “Oh my goddd…”  

“Come on,” he croons, his dulcet tone at odds with the wickedness of his hand. His dick. “Don’t you want to cum for me?”

“I…” you choke out, struggling to form any sort of coherent thought as you feel everything get tighter. “I…”

You see his lips moving as he presumably says something else. But you can’t understand anything other than your own moaning when your pussy finally locks down. This orgasm is somehow more intense than the last one, your thighs rippling with the force of it, your hands desperately scrabbling over the desk in an effort to find something to ground you. 

And Jungkook fucks you through it, still talking, and it’s only when the whooshing in your ears starts to subside that you can finally decipher what he’s saying in between his own moaning. “There you go. Being so good for me. So good.”

Your only reply is your gasping breath as your orgasm slowly fades, replaced with oversensitivity. But you don’t want him to stop. You don’t want this to stop, reveling in the feel of him on you, in you. And Jungkook doesn’t, instead sliding your leg off his shoulder so he can grab you by the waist with both hands and properly yank you forward, moving you over his cock to his liking. 

The desk creaks with your effort, a rhythmic cacophony with the harsh smacking of his balls against your ass. You mewl, needing him closer still, and curl your legs around his hips, locking your ankles. He’s now trapped against you, but he groans like that’s exactly what he wanted, both hands gliding up the length of your body to grasp the back of your neck instead, giving him even better leverage to plunge into you, deep, deep. He leans down and rests his forehead against yours, licks into your panting mouth. 

At this point, his thrusts are turning manic, but you’re meeting every one of them, deliriously following him in his descent into madness. But when he catches your lower lip with his teeth, your breath hollows, and then, quicker than you can register it’s happening, you cum again, spasming around him with a long, high-pitched whine.

Jungkook lets you ride it out, but this time, his thrusts slow while you thrash. And it’s not until your soul finally floats back into your body that you realize he’s already pulled out of you and is bucking into his own fist instead.  

You almost took him over the edge with you, you realize. Though he clearly has incredible stamina, you have finally brought him to his limit, and everything inside you glows at the knowledge that he’s here, roughly pumping himself, moans falling freely from his lips because of you. 

Entranced, you reach for him, delighting in the whimper he lets out when your fingers wrap around his base. His own hand immediately falls to grip the edge of the desk instead, and you glide your fist up, finding his cock sticky with your juices. Jungkook just rests his head in the crook of your neck and lets you jack him off, whining through it when you match his previously punishing pace. And it doesn’t take long before he finally, finally splashes hot over your hand. Against your thigh. 

Your hand slows, twisting your wrist and milking him for every drop. Intent on extending his pleasure, just like he made sure to do for you. And you only stop when he flinches away from your touch, twitchy and shivering as he leans against you. 

Reluctantly, you let go. The two of you share the same balmy breath, struggling to calm your racing hearts. And when Jungkook finally backs away from you, unhurried in the way he gathers himself back into his slacks, there is a wildly satisfied grin on his face.

You’re satisfied too, though you try to have some sense of propriety and use a tissue from the box next to Joy’s monitor to wipe off the sticky evidence of his pleasure. Throwing away the evidence, you hop off the desk, locating your long-discarded panties and slipping them back on, smoothing down your skirt.

“So,” you tease lightly. Your head swims a little with the knowledge of what you just did, but you’re surprised to realize you feel zero guilt about it. “Is your plan to stick it to everyone who’s wronged me? If so, we should do it on Mabel next. That’ll show her.”

Jungkook laughs, a giddy, giggly thing. He’s now doing his best to pick up and replace everything that fell from Joy’s desk during your romp. “Nah, I could never disrespect her like that. That ol’ girl’s been such a great wingman these past few months.”

That’s a rather curious statement to make. You frown a little, shoot him an inquisitive sound.

“You always call me when Mabel’s not working,” he shrugs. “So when I wanted to see you, she was nice enough help.” 

You can’t help it—a smile creeps across your face, equally bashful and flattered. He wanted to see you! For months, by his open admission. “And the printer knew exactly when you wanted to see me?" you joke. “Sounds like dark magic to me.”

Jungkook’s valiantly trying to straighten and smooth out some of the papers the two of you disturbed. “Deleted some print jobs,” he replies offhandedly, clearly distracted by the task at hand. 

Record scratch. 

There’s an extended silence as your brain shuffles through different iterations of his sentence, trying to decipher exactly he meant by that. Because there's no way he just admitted to what you think he just did. “Did…did you just say you've been deleting my print jobs?” you ask incredulously. Because there’s no way.

There’s no way, yet at your words, Jungkook immediately stiffens. His lips part, but he doesn't defend himself. Doesn't say anything at all—just drops the pen he’s holding and stares at you with wide eyes.

Holy shit. Holy shit. He really has been doing it! He obviously hadn't meant to tell you that, but the relaxation of afterglow has clearly removed the filter between his brain and his mouth. 

The weight of his revelation hits you, seemingly happenstance events connecting in your mind and starting to fall into place. All the hassle and irritation that stupid printer has been giving you, and it turns out Mabel has been working just fine?! 

“Please don't be mad,” he pleads, finally finding his voice.  

“Are you seriously saying that all this time—”   

“No! No, I only did it a few times,” he sheepishly rushes to correct you. “And I promise, I haven’t done it in weeks.”

“Seriously?” 

“I just...wanted an excuse to talk to you!”

“Jungkook, you literally talk to me all the time!”

“About work! Not—” he averts his eyes, lets out an irritated breath. “It’s just. I’ve been trying to work up the nerve to ask you out.”

You blink, gaping slightly as your whirring mind tries to process what he’s just told you. “Ask me…out?” 

“I didn’t mean to do…all this.” He waves a hand over the mess the two of you are still cleaning up, clearly embarrassed. “I mean, at least not before buying you dinner first.”

Moments pass as you stare at him in stunned, disbelieving silence. Then, like a volcano erupting, laughter bursts from you, loud and sudden. Because what the fuck? You can’t believe all of this is actually happening to you. In real life. “You jackass,” you cackle. “Do you have any idea how much grief that printer has been giving me? I’m over here stressed and you’ve been gaslighting me and doing it on purpose?”

“Just a few times,” he repeats, visibly confused by the juxtaposition of the mirth in your voice and the actual words you’re saying. 

“And that doesn’t change the fact that you’re still a jackass,” you laugh. “But…” You clear your throat, suddenly somehow shy, despite everything that has occurred and been said. “…I suppose you can still take me out to dinner.”  

“Yeah?” His lips stretch into a slow, hopeful smile.

“Yeah. Now, if you want. I think we’re pretty much done here.” You smile back, quickly taking stock of the binders still scattered across the floor. Most of them are completed, but whatever else you need to do can be done tomorrow morning. “Besides, I seem to have worked up an appetite.” 

Jungkook looks nothing short of smug, but you suppose you can’t fault him that. “Well then,” he practically purrs, “Let’s hurry up and feed you.” 

Moving in comfortable silence, the two of you finish putting everything you’ve disturbed back in their original spots, gathering the last of the binders and stacking them neatly on your desk. You reach for your purse while Jungkook goes to collect his hastily discarded belongings.

“So,” you start. “Where are you taking me? It’s kind of late.” This late on a weeknight, kitchens would be shutting down soon.

He pauses in sliding his leather jacket back on, frowning a little as he realizes you’re right. “Shit,” he mutters. “I wanted to take you somewhere nice.”

“You can,” you say with an unbothered wave of your hand. “That can be next time. Let’s just find something quick now.”

“So you’re saying I get a second date?” he grins.

Oh. That is what you just implied, isn’t it? You would be embarrassed by how forward you were being if Jungkook wasn’t visibly delighted by it. Wow, he really does like you. And since the feeling is mutual, you just look away coyly and say, “If you play your cards right.”

Jungkook hoists his backpack over a shoulder, and it’s only then that you see what else he happened to be carrying in his hands when he dropped everything for you. A helmet.

You gesture towards the object with a curious incline of your head. “What’s that for?”

“My bike,” comes his easy answer, but that’s not the kind of helmet that one wears for bicycle rides. No, this one is made for something much faster. 

Now that you think about it, you’ve seen the motorcycle in the parking lot before—you’ve just never really given it a second thought. And now you can’t stop thinking about it, because the unassuming vehicle you’ve often passed on your way into the building has been Jungkook’s the whole time. Your mind is blown. How many more times is he going to surprise you tonight?  

“…Do you always drive a motorcycle?” you ask incredulously.

“Depends on the day,” he shrugs with grin. “Sometimes I take the bus, but I like to ride my bike when the weather’s nice.” His eyes are bright with pride, visibly happy to have impressed you. 

Your mouth opens and closes, thoughts racing so fast your tongue struggles to hold onto any of them. Before you realize you’re doing it, you blurt, “Alright. Are you even real?”

Jungkook blinks owlishly at you, clearly not expecting that question. “What?” 

“I thought I’ve known you for months. But was any of that real?” you repeat. “Hell, do you even need glasses?”

“Of course,” he rushes to say. “It’s all me. I can just be a little shy, is all.” Wow, he actually said shy with a straight face, as if he didn’t just finish ravaging you over multiple surfaces. “And I like to be professional, so this place doesn’t get to have all facets of me. I know you can relate.”

You can. Your constant struggle to not complain? To be professional and work hard and hope you’ll be rewarded for your efforts? Obviously that’s a reason why the two of you ended up in this situation in the first place.

He ducks his head a little, tapping the glasses he picked up off the floor in petition for their validity. “And these really are prescription. I mean, I can mostly see without them, but since I stare at computer screens all day, it’s less strain on my eyes.”

“Oh,” you say quietly, feeling silly to have even asked. But who knew the quiet IT guy who kept mostly to himself was also this? Buff and tatted with a wicked tongue that you’re now intimately acquainted with. 

Shyly, he holds his helmet out to you. He hesitates before speaking again, almost like he’s afraid of spooking you. “Wanna go for a ride?” And from the way color lightly blooms across his cheeks, you get the sense that he’s offering you more than just protective gear.

You take it without second thought.

The next day you and Jungkook get off the elevator together, a respectable distance between you, but arms still brushing too often to be casual. When you come to the hallway that will force you in separate directions, you pause.

“Have a good day,” you say. Jungkook grins, the delighted brightness of it baring too much teeth and crinkling his eyes in the corners.

“You too,” he winks. “Let me know if Mabel gives you any more issues.”

You snort at his brazenness, biting down a smile as you head to your cubicle. Your whole body buzzes, glowing from inside out.

You’re technically right on time, but you’ve definitely arrived later than usual, and that’s obvious when you head over to your department and find Joy already there waiting for you. She frowns as you approach, no doubt clocking your empty hands and wondering how she’s going to make it through the morning without her expected syrupy caffeine fix. 

To her credit, she doesn’t call you out on it, but you don’t really care if she does. You’re done playing errand boy. From now on, everyone else will have to stop before work and get their own shit, if they want it so bad.

Because it’s all so clear to you now. You’re here, and you’re going to do your best, but you’re not going to let this place wear you down to jaded slivers. You’re going to work hard and learn all that you can, but you refuse to be anyone’s lapdog. 

They will respect you. And your value will be recognized and rewarded—or you’ll simply find somewhere else where it will. 

Joy must sense your new resolve, because she simply hovers by your desk and chirps, “Good morning.”

“Morning.” 

“Did you have a good night?”

Your lips quirk. “You could say that. What about you?”

“Eh, it was okay,” she sighs. “Met a guy for dinner, but I don’t think that’s going anywhere.” 

So while you were stuck here last night, having a grade-A meltdown, she was on a date. That tracks.

Joy chatters on while you put your things away, not seeming to notice or care that you’re not particularly interested in what she’s saying. And while this would normally irritate the living shit out of you, today, it doesn’t. 

Today, your eyes can’t help but glaze over as your mind drifts back to how your night went. Today, you just hum agreeably until she gets bored with you and decides to go back to her own cubicle.

And when you hear her ask over the wall if you’ve seen her stapler, you just smile and smile.   

everyone on the Gryffindor Quidditch team feared the day that Quidditch practice officially started for all houses, because they knew how crazy Oliver got.

the two weeks leading up to that fateful Saturday, Oliver been picking and chatting it up with all of his teammates. he’ll ask them how their summer went then immediately go into his plan on how they can win their first game against Slytherin.

his first target was obviously his star seeker; Harry Potter. coincidentally, his star beater — Y/N L/N — was also with Harry.

two birds with one stone!

“ah, the people i miss the most during the summer!”

you snapped your head to the voice, recognizing that it belonged to nobody other than Oliver Wood, your Quidditch captain.

Harry physically shrieked at the sight of Oliver, causing Hermonie to roll her eyes and Ron to snicker. ever since Harry joined Quidditch his first year, he’s been working nonstop because of Oliver’s strict schedule.

you — on the other hand — somehow enjoyed the early practices and the strictness Oliver had on you and your teammates. the early practices allowed you to chat with your friends, and you also got to see Oliver, your crush.

ever since you joined Quidditch, you always fancied Oliver. you honestly think it was because of his scottish accent that drew you in, and the way he was so passionated about the sport, something about it made you weak in the knees.

“uhm, it was okay? how was yours?” Harry answered frightfully. it was silly knowing that one of Harry’s fear was Oliver Wood during Quidditch season.

but lord does that man get scary.

before you could even respond with your own experience, Oliver moved aside some plates — earning a ‘hey!’ from Seamus and a side eye from Dean — placing a piece of parchment onto the table.

“since our first game is against Slytherin, i’ve devised more and better strategies for us to defeat them. we need to work harder and stronger —“

you couldn’t even register his words, cause the way his scottish accent just scratched your brain in the right way. Hermonie had to nudge you in the ribs to get you out of your lovesick phase.

your eyes gaze around the clearly messy parchment, seeing Oliver’s messy handwriting all over it. you weren’t surprised to learn that all Oliver did over the summer was focus on Quidditch.

meanwhile, you spent time with your friends and went to visit different countries like France, Italy, Germany, Japan, Norway —

“— Y/N! this is where you come in,”

you were quickly taken out of your thoughts when you heard Oliver say your name. your eyes once again gaze over the parchment and realize Oliver was holding a miniature picture of you.

it was one from your first year of Quidditch during your 2nd year, you still had baby fat in your cheeks and your hair was much more shorter.

you cringed slightly at the thought of your 2nd year self — then paused.

“why do you have a miniature photo of me from my 2nd year?” you asked, curiously. Harry looked to see the photo, then quickly realized there were other miniature photos.

the only difference — was the other ones were hand drawn. only yours was an actual photo, the one of Harry’s was poorly drawn and Oliver didn’t even had his scar, the one of Fred and George didn’t even look like twins, and poor Angelina, Oliver didn’t even bother adding the correct colors for her Quidditch uniform.

“oi! how come hers is the only one as an actual photo!?”

you failed to realize that during your thoughts, Fred and George had came up behind you and Harry, also being integrated by Oliver as well. Angelina also joined, frowning at her poorly drawn self.

Oliver rolled his eyes impatiently, “that’s none of your concern. back to my plans —“ he went on a whole rant how the 3 beaters — you, Fred, and George — needed to pick up your weight and basically body slam the Slytherin’s beaters.

yeah, this was going to be a long year.

────୨ৎ────

Oliver was actually insane. ever since Quidditch season started, Oliver has not let the Gryffindor Quidditch team rest for a single moment.

the September breeze fluttered by your robes, causing you to shiver lightly as you held onto your Sky Scythe, the newest addition to your broom collection. you were wearing your usual practice attire — a simple white long sleeve covered by your Gryffindor jumper, and some black jeans.

the rest of your teammates — Harry looked more tired than usual, Fred and George practically fell off their brooms, and Angelina looked like she wanted more of her beauty sleep.

Oliver looked lively per usual, hand perched on his hip as the other held onto his Nimbus 2000, smirking. “good morning team!” it was 4 in the morning, “how are we doing on this lovely morning?” the sun wasn’t even up.

Harry groaned, fixing his glasses that slightly tilted. “when are we going to ever going to practice at a reasonable time?” Fred snickered, George glared at Oliver, Angelina sighed, and you just yawned.

Oliver just laughed, shaking his head. “never, Potter! now come on, Slytherin supposedly going to take the pitch by 9 in the morning. we got 5 hours, up in the sky we go!”

you sighed as the rest of the time flew by. you almost got dropped by Fred since he accidentally bumped into you when he was yawning, Harry almost ate the golden snitch, Angelina almost ran into the goal post, and Oliver was fuming.

everything wasn’t going according to plan. he envisioned everything perfectly in his head and the fact it wasn’t coming out as he envisioned has him tweaking.

when it was finally for break time, he was about to snap.

“come on, Wood,” you groaned, leaning against your Sky Scythe, your hair messy from the air and your forehead had bits of sweat coming down from it. “can we please end early today? it’s the first day of practice — and plus we got practice tomorrow.” you whined.

it felt like the Gods above had blessed you, cause as soon as you said that — “fine. everybody been whining, practice is dismissed.” he sighed, crossing his arms across his chest, shaking his head disappointedly.

Angelina fisted the air, Harry sighed in happiness, and Fred and George thanked every God they knew. you sighed in relief, smiling.

you and your teammates immediately ran back to Gryffindor tower, with Oliver following after y’all. he had to admit — he was also feeling a bit tired, and they been at it for around 3 hours. he didn’t want his team risking detention because they fell asleep in class.

as soon as all of y’all had entered, Fred and George slumped onto the couches, Harry immediately ran up to his dorm, and Angelina just full blown fell onto the carpeted ground. you laid down next to Angelina, stretching as you rested your head racing the fire, the warmness immediately taking you to sleep.

Oliver walked in a bit after, taking in the sight of most of his teammates currently out of it.

Fred was sprawled out on the couch, one leg draped over the top, and the other laid on the seat, he had his arms behind his head to support it.

George cradled up on the second, stealing a blanket, covering his lanky body over it. his ginger curls draped over his face like a cape, giving him some sort of privacy.

Angelina was on the carpeted floor in front of the couches. she had taken a blanket from Fred and draped it over her body, using your legs as head support.

you were laid on your stomach, laying your head on her crossed arms, face facing the fireplace to generate warmth onto your face and body.

Oliver sighed, slumping onto the unoccupied couch, his fingers running through his brunette hair. crap. now he’s feeling tired.

before he could even slip into dreamland, he heard footsteps come down from the stairway. he looks up to see a familiar face — Percy Weasley.

“what in Merlin’s name are you doing awake so early?” Percy grumbled. clearly, he wasn’t a morning person, despite being Prefect and Head boy. Oliver snickered, playfully rolling his eyes.

“Quidditch season started, gotta make sure these lots are ready for Slytherin.” Percy takes a glance at the bodies, seeing his two younger twin brothers snoring rather loudly than he would like.

Percy sighed, “you and Quidditch ..” he murmured. Oliver rose an eyebrow. “hey! i heard that,” he whispered, “you and your Prefect duties ..or whatever,” Percy gave him a look.

“you’re also a Prefect.”

“oh, right.”

────୨ৎ────

you were convinced that the Prefects were plotting something against you.

ever since the fist Qudditch game — Gryffindor won, by the way — the Prefects have been circling you like you were guilty of something. you were worried that you might’ve accidently opened the Chamber of Secrets or dissed them without realizing they were there.

so far, you had interacted with all of the Prefects.

first was Percy Weasley.

Percy Weasley was the older brother of Ron, Fred, and George. if rules were a person, Percy would be that. he somehow always had a straight posture, his glasses never slid down his nose, and his curly ginger hair was always kept fresh.

you had accidentally ran into him after breakfast.

“oh! i’m sorry!” you apologized quickly, realizing you bumped into somebody. looking up, you see the familiar red curly hair that all the Weasley siblings shared. you soon realized — this is Percy Weasley.

“ah, Miss L/N,” he said with a smile. you never really saw him with a smile, so it freaked you out a bit, but you smiled back. “your skill in Quidditch are remarkable, i must say,” he murmurs, causing you to grown flustered. you weren’t used to getting compliments.

“he certainly enjoyed working with you today, Miss L/N.”

“ah! thank you Percy! that’s nice coming from you.” it lowkey sounded backhanded, but Percy didn’t seem to mind it. he gave you a tight smile, a squeeze on your shoulder, before going on his merry way. you failed to see the way he took a quick glance at you as you walked off.

then it was Penelope Clearwater.

Penelope was the Prefect of Ravenclaw. she had long straight blonde hair, pale skin, and a beautiful smile that you sort of envy. there were rumors of her and Percy dating but they both denied it profusely.

you had ran into her in class.

it was Potions class. you didn’t know why Penelope was in there — maybe to look over the lesson? she was a Prefect after all, but what do Prefects even do? — and she was standing in the back of the class, an open book in hand. you had unfortunately forgotten your book for that class that day, so Snape ordered you to go grab one from the back.

as you did, Penelope looked up at you. wanting to be polite, you gave her a small smile and went next to her to grab the book needed for that class.

“you’re Y/N, right? one of the beaters on the Gryffindor team?”

your eyes meet hers as she spoke. you were kind of shocked she knew you — you weren’t quite known alongside the other houses, so the fact she knew you had you quite spooked.

“yeah, that’s me. you’re Penelope Clearwater, right? Ravenclaw Prefect?”

she smiled warmly, nodding. “i heard all about you, Oliver says you’re a great addition to the team.” before you could even respond, Snape’s ruler scared the crap out of you.

“chatting it up with a Prefect, are we?” Snape asked, causing you to shriek and quickly shake your head. he ushered you to go back to your seat and shot Penelope a glare as he walked back to the front of the class.

then it was Cedric Diggory.

Cedric Diggory was the heartthrob of Hogwarts. he was the Hufflepuff Prefect. you lowkey had a crush on him back in your third year. you can’t even blame yourself, Cedric is an attractive guy.

you had ran into him during lunch.

you had just stepped into the dining hall, eyes gazing at the rows of students at each table. you had accidentally slept a bit over your clock during your afternoon nap, resulting you in coming in late.

when you finally catch eyesight of your friends, you happily smile and began walking — before you collided into somebody’s chest.

you were almost knocked out of your shoes when somebody grabbed your wrist. you open your eyes to see beautiful brown eyes — Cedric’s eyes.

“oh my Merlin — i’m sorry! i should’ve seen where i was going!”

you blabbered, resulting in Cedric laughing. his laughter calmed you down a bit since it gave you the sense that he wasn’t mad.

“oh, no worries! the name is Cedric Diggory, you must be the infamous Y/N L/N i’be heard about?”

you were confused for a hot second, before you heard your name being called by Hermonie. Cedric must’ve heard it too, since he straighten you up.

“i’ll see you later, Y/N.”

he smiled, laughing calmly as he walked passed you. you just stood there in shock. infamous Y/N L/N? who in the world has been talking about you?

then, it was Cho Chang.

Cho Chang was a very pretty girl. you adored her sleek black hair that never had frizz. you wondered what her hair are routine was. she had such a cute smile. she was also the Ravenclaw Prefect.

you ran into her in the bathroom.

it was one of those days. mother nature decided to grace you with her presence, and you woke up that morning with bloody sheets.

unfortunately for you, your cramps were absolutely hell the first couple of days. you were thankful you didn’t have Quidditch practices or matches in the next couple of days, because you can’t fathom getting on a broom right now.

currently, you were in one of the girls bathroom, using the loo as you felt all the blood pour out of you. it felt disgusting, but it was apart of being a girl.

when you exited out the stall, you look up to see Cho, who was fixing her lashes in the mirror. she saw you rather quickly, since her face seemed to brighten up.

“you’re Y/N L/N! oh my, you’re much more prettier in person! he was right!”

you grew confused as you clutched onto your stomach. the way she worded her sentence was like somebody been telling her about you.

“uh, yeah. that’s me. you must be Cho Chang, right? Harry told me a lot about you.”

at the mention of Harry, her cheeks slightly lit up, making her giggle lightly.

“ah, Harry James Potter! he’s a handsome one, for sure.”

you laugh at her words, Harry was handsome, but it was funny how she said his full name. Cho smiled at your giggles, now she realized it all.

after, it was Marcus Flint.

Marcus Flint was the Prefect of Slytherin. he and Oliver had an ongoing fuel on the Quidditch pitch, but off? they were best buds. he was sometimes snarky, he reminded you of Oliver in some way.

you ran into him after a Quidditch match.

it was another Gryffindor vs Slytherin match. Malfoy was seriously getting on your nerves the whole match, and you were about to give him a piece of your mind after the match — and obviously, Gryffindor won — that was until somebody stop you mid step.

“you’re just as stubborn as he mentioned,”

you heard somebody snark. you look up to see Marcus Flint, in his green Slytherin Quidditch robes. his hair looked a bit ruffled up, maybe because he took quite a beating from the goal post after he rammed into it earlier.

“who?”

you asked curiously. every interaction you had with these damn Prefects they always talk like somebody had been constantly talking about you.

before Marcus could even answer, you felt a hand on your shoulder. you glanced over your shoulder to see Oliver, who was giving Marcus a look that said ‘don’t say anything’ to which Marcus shrugged his shoulders.

Oliver quickly whisked you away, saying that the team was already celebrating in the common room and he wouldn’t want you to miss out on all the fun.

────୨ৎ────

“he likes you.”

Hermonie said like it was a fact. your eyes just widen.

you and Hermonie often had study dates on Thursday in the Library. these study states include studying for Potions, Charms, and DADA. then usually it went to gossip.

you decided to tell her about how weird the Prefects been acting. how you randomly ran into all of them — beside Oliver — and they spoke to you like somebody was clearly talking about you to them.

“come on, Y/N. you can’t be this clueless.”

you frowned. Hermonie sighed.

“the reason they all been acting weird is because Oliver Wood clearly likes you. they’re all Prefects, right?” you nodded, “he probably told them that he fancied you, and they wanted to see you face-to-face.” she explained.

then, as if a switch was tuned on, everything finally made sense.

“he certainly enjoyed working with you today, Miss L/N.”

“i heard all about you, Oliver says you’re a great addition to the team.”

“oh, no worries! the name is Cedric Diggory, you must be the infamous Y/N L/N i’be heard about?”

“you’re Y/N L/N! oh my, you’re much more prettier in person! he was right!”

“you’re just as stubborn as he mentioned,”

oh my God. you might be the most clueless person you ever met.

Hermonie snickered as she sees the realization finally dawned into you. meanwhile, you’re recalling every moment and very interaction with the Prefects.

oh my God. Oliver probably does like you.

before Hermonie even realized, you ran out of the Library, Madam Pince didn’t look too happy with you causing all that noise. you don’t even register where you were going, but one thing was one your mind.

find Oliver Wood.

and surely enough, you did. unfortunately, he was in the Prefect lounge. you knocked profusely on the door, trying to catch your breath.

as soon as Percy opened it, you zipped past in and entered the lounge. all of them were in there, and they were all currently staring at you.

but your eyes only darted to one person — Oliver Wood.

“you,” you pointed towards him, and he raised in hands up in defense. you took a step towards him, taking a deep breath, you didn’t want to look foolish, so you hoped what Hermonie said was right.

“..do you ..do you fancy me?”

everybody went quiet for a few seconds. you immediately started to regret running here in the first place and started taking a few steps back before Oliver stood up.

he was still in his Quidditch robes, a bit dirty from practice earlier that morning. his hair hadn’t been combed from the morning, and his lip looked chapped as if he was continuously biting them.

“i..” he started, darting his eyes everywhere but you. you didn’t even care the fact that the other Prefects were there, you just wanted to know if what Hermone theorized was true.

and gosh, you hoped she was right.

Oliver needed to speak faster, cause a few seconds has passed and he hasn’t said anything else yet. you were about to give up before he began talking again.

“i do fancy you, Y/N. i been since you joined the team — ah, crap, i don’t know how to express these feelings though.”

once again, you didn’t care about the other Prefects being in the room as in two steps, you grabbed Oliver’s face and smashed your lips into his.

realization slowly sunk in as you heard the other Prefects cheering and as you pulled away, your cheeks were burning and Oliver was chuckling.

“didn’t know Captain had a favorite!”

Cedric teased, throwing an airball causing Oliver to glare at him. the realization hit you like a truck.

“oh my ggggoooossshhhh, this is why i was the only one with an actual photograph! and all the Prefects talking about me like somebody was talking about me to them! i’m so slow.” you whined, causing Oliver to laugh more as his arms snake their way around your shoulders.

────୨ৎ────

“WHAT!?”

the team’s all yelled in unison, clearly shocked at the news they’ve just been told by their Captain. Oliver nodded, arms crossed.

“yeah, me and Y/N are dating.”

Fred’s eyes widen, George’s jaw dropped, Harry’s glasses almost fell off his face, and Angelina looked like she was told her whole family had been kidnapped.

“oh my, is this why you were acting so weird around her during matches and why you got mad at that Ravenclaw bloke for almost hitting her with a bludger?”

Oliver’s cheeks turned red and you laughed playfully.

captain’s favorite, huh?