jeonsg1rl

“Y/N? You seem quite disoriented.”

Disoriented?

No. Everything was exactly as it should be. Perfectly normal, really. There was absolutely nothing unsettling about the sight before you. Certainly not the tall, dark haired man standing across from your father with his hands clasped behind his back, gaze fixed dutifully on the floor like he hadn’t spent the last hour turning your entire evening upside down.

​“I’m fine, dad.” you lied, shifting from one bare foot to the other on the cold marble, acutely aware that your louboutins were currently sitting on a curb three blocks away. “Just… the event stretched on for long.”

“I see.” your father murmured. He didn’t look at your feet. Hyun was a man of macro management; he didn’t focus on the missing shoes when there was a six-foot variable standing in his entryway wearing a wrinkled suit jacket.

Jungkook hadn’t looked at you since he stepped out of the elevator. The terrifying boy from the corridor, the one who had wrapped his hand around Dae’s throat with enough guttural venom to stop your breath had vanished. In his place was the Jungkook the rest of the world thought they knew: quiet and content to linger at the edge of the room until someone gave him permission to speak.

“Jungkook, was it?” Hyun asked, moving behind the long quartz island. “My daughter tells me you’re a friend.” He didn’t offer a hand — Hyun wasn’t a hand-shaker with boys who dropped his daughter off after midnight, a stroke of cold elitism that offered you a sudden wave of relief. Had he extended his hand, he would have clasped Jungkook’s bloodied knuckles, shattering the fragile illusion of a “safe ride home” instantly.

​“Yes, sir,” Jungkook said, his voice rough around the edges from the cigarettes and the shouting.

Hyun’s analytical gaze, inevitable as a ticking clock, began to dip lower, tracing the line of Jungkook’s sleeve down toward his hands.​ Before his gaze could land on the dark, angry streaks of dried blood, your internal filter disintegrated.

​You lunged across the short distance between you and Jungkook, your fingers wrapping tightly around his right hand. Your grip was desperate, entirely burying his split knuckles against your palm. Jungkook stiffened at the sudden, burning contact, his fingers twitching in shock, but he didn’t pull away.

​“Dad!” you nearly yelped, the sheer desperation in your tone successfully dragging your father’s attention back up to your face, though his brows knitted together in instant confusion. He peered down at your tightly clasped hands, the sudden display of raw intimacy completely uncharacteristic of the daughter he thought he had raised.

​“Everything okay, pipsqueak?” Hyun asked slowly, slipping into the name he’d given you years ago. It had never really been about your size, but more of how you usually shrank into yourself when he was trying to figure out what kind of trouble you were hiding.

​“Jungkook is… he’s never been up here before,” you rushed out as you tried to find a way to disappear from the kitchen lights. “And since he’s here anyway, I want to give him a house tour. Before it gets too late, of course.”

“A tour. At midnight,” your father noted, a dry tone cutting through his fatigue. “Very well. I suppose I’ll finish preparing the brisket while you show your friend around. Don’t keep him long, pipsqueak. It’s rude to starve a guest.”

​He turned back toward the stove. You didn’t wait for him to change his mind.

​With your hand still clamping Jungkook’s bloodied knuckles against your side, you practically dragged him down the long, dimly lit eastern corridor of the penthouse. Your instincts steered you toward the closest door available, a door that remained perpetually closed.

​It was your mother’s old bedroom.

​The space was a preserved museum of everything bitter. She hadn’t actually slept here much even before the divorce was finalized; she spent most of those final months staying at her partner’s house — the very man she was currently married to.

​Jungkook stumbled slightly as you yanked him inside, the heavy door closing behind you. Before he could even open his mouth to speak, you spotted a stray basket of forgotten cosmetic supplies on the vanity. Remembering she used to keep heavy-duty makeup remover and concealer there, you snatched it up.

​Without giving him a single second to process, you dragged him straight into the attached marble bathroom, shutting that door too, trapping the two of you in the small, brightly lit space before a single word about tonight could escape.

​“Give me your hand,” you whispered, your voice running on pure adrenaline.

​Jungkook let you take his right hand without a shred of resistance, his large, warm palm resting heavily over yours. Up close, his knuckles were a complete, split-open mess, swollen with dark streaks of dried blood cracking across the skin. Your stomach did a sickening flip.

​Reaching into the dusty cosmetic basket on the counter, you grabbed a tube of liquid concealer. You didn’t want your dad asking a single question about tonight, the corridor, or why your dress was ruined. If you could just cover it up — just paint over the bruises, you could pretend none of it happened.

​You unscrewed the cap and went to dab the heavy cream directly onto the open tear in his skin. ​Jungkook sharply hissed through his teeth. His hand flinched, fingers twitching against your grip.

​You froze. The damp beige cream looked horrible smeared against the raw, split flesh. A wave of profound shame hit you so fast it made you dizzy. What are you doing? This wasn’t a smudge on a collar. He was actually hurt. The makeup was old, full of bacteria, and you were about to cram it into an open wound just to save yourself from a difficult conversation with your father.

​“Sorry,” you whispered immediately. “I’m sorry. I… I wasn’t thinking.”

​You quickly turned on the faucet, guiding his hand under the stream of lukewarm water to wash the makeup away. You watched the water swirl pink down the drain, your fingers smoothing over the edges of his bruised skin.

​If you put a bandage on this, Hyun would notice the white gauze on Jungkook’s right hand. He would ask questions, and you would be forced to face the reality of tonight; the reality that you had been cornered, that you were deeply, thoroughly humiliated by what Dae had tried to do to you.

​But looking down at Jungkook’s hand, at the raw damage he had taken entirely for your sake, you realized you couldn’t do it. You couldn’t poison his skin just to keep your own secrets.

​You set the concealer down, letting it roll across the marble, and reached for the clean roll of gauze instead.

​Your fingers were still trembling as you began to wrap the white fabric around his knuckles, but your grip lingered on his skin for long. The trauma of the corridor was still clawing at the back of your throat. You needed to deflect; needed to make this about him, not about what had almost happened to you.

​“Aren’t you going to say anything?” you asked, your voice cracking slightly as you tucked the edge of the gauze in. You looked up from his hand, finally forcing yourself to meet his eyes. “Aren’t you going to apologize to me?”

​Jungkook was leaning the back of his head against the large vanity mirror, his eyes completely closed. His jaw was set, dark hair falling messy over his forehead. He looked utterly exhausted, but there wasn’t a single hint of regret on his face.

​“For what?” he murmured, deeply uninterested in the premise of the conversation.

​“For breaking his phone. For nearly choking him to death and almost making a scene,” you rushed out, trying to build a wall between yourself and the memory. “You shouldn’t have done that, Jungkook. You didn’t have to go that far. People are going to talk. My dad is going to see this bandage and he’s going to start digging, and I don’t want—”

​Jungkook’s eyes snapped open. ​The unhinged look in his dark gaze silenced you instantly. He looked completely detached from the high-society rules you were so terrified of breaking.

​He lifted his uninjured left hand and cupped the side of your face. His palm was warm and entirely too big against your cheek. You let out a soft, panicked breath, your heart hammering against your ribs as you looked up at him, trapped between his chest and the sink.

​Slowly, his thumb swiped across your bottom lip. It wasn’t an excuse to clean away smudged lipstick; his thumb just lingered there, pressing gently against the soft skin, grounding your spiraling thoughts until you were forced to look at nothing but him. He was making sure you were still here, making sure you were safe.

​“I’m not apologizing, y/n.” he stated softly, though it sounded more like a terrifying promise. “You can be mad at me all you want. You can tell your dad I’m no good. But I’m not apologizing for putting that moron on the floor.”

​He leaned down slightly, his thumb pressing just a fraction deeper against your lip, his breath warm against your face. ​“I would fucking do it again. If he comes near you, I’ll do worse next time.”

​Your breath hitched, a vulnerable heat blooming in your chest. The unbothered certainty in his voice left your mind entirely blank, cutting through all your defenses and leaving you to contemplate the terrifying reality that while the rest of your world cared about the fallout, Jungkook only cared that you were breathing.

“You can’t solve everything with your fists,” you whispered.

​“I know.” He murmured. It was so quick you almost convinced yourself you’d imagined it, but his eyes seemed to flick down to your lips.

​You frowned, your fingers tightening slightly around his wrist. “Do you?”

​Jungkook looked down at his hand, staring at the neat, white layers of gauze you had just wound over his split knuckles. ​“No,” he admitted, his voice dropping. “Probably not.”

​The honesty knocked the wind out of you. It was a complete surrender of the bravado he had carried in the corridor, that stripped away the distance between you.

​“You scared me,” you admitted, entirely undone by the quiet safety of the room.

​His head snapped up, dark eyes instantly locking onto yours. ​“When I hit him?” he asked softly.

​You shook your head, the smudged mascara burning the corners of your eyes. “When you looked at him like you didn’t care what happened to you after.”

​A soft shift took place in his expression, making the dangerous boy from the hallway vanish entirely. He leaned down just a fraction, the heat of his breath brushing your cheek. ​“y/n…”

​“You don’t need to throw yourself into a fight because somebody upset me. I can handle myself.” you said, desperately scrambling to find your footing again.

​“I know you can.” He countered immediately.

You crossed your arms over your chest. ​“Do you?”

​“I know you can,” he repeated softly, carrying a heavy weight this time, making your heart give a violent thud against your chest. He reached up again, his cool fingers brushing against your neck before his broad palm settled against your cheek, thumb pressing gently into the corner of your lip to anchor you. “I just don’t think you should have to.”

​The certainty in his tone left your mind blank, cutting straight through the last of your defenses. “What does that mean?” you somehow managed to ask, your voice barely a whisper against the quiet thrum of the house.

​Jungkook straightened his spine slowly. He let his hands drop to his sides—reluctantly, you hoped, as the uncharacteristic softness in his voice completely vanished, replaced by a coldness you knew all too well.

​“It means,” he said, his dark eyes locking onto yours, pinning you to the spot, “I don’t think you should have to waste a single ounce of your energy dealing with a pathetic, spineless bastard like Dae. Okay?”

A breathless, nervous sort of second passed between you. The protective weight of his words made your heart give a flutter, and in a desperate bid to lighten the suffocating gravity pulling you both under, you forced a faint, teasing smile to your lips.

​“Right,” you said with a tiny laugh. “Is that also the philosophy behind sabotaging my relationship with Minho?”

You were joking. It was supposed to be a dry quip to break the tension.​But Jungkook didn’t smile. He just stared down at you with a completely blank poker face, his dark eyes entirely hollow of any denial.

​Your stomach twisted. Before a single syllable of demand or panic could leave your mouth, Jungkook took a step backward, completely breaking the orbit between you. The fortress walls were instantly back up. He drifted miles away already.

​“​We should go back out,” Jungkook muttered, his voice devoid of the heat it had held just seconds ago. He turned his gaze toward the door. ​“We shouldn’t keep your dad waiting.​”

You’d never liked riding in Minho’s car.

It had nothing to do with the car itself. What you hated was the placement of it all. The back seat; being tucked away behind the front row and forced to stare at the backs of two heads that occupied the entire windshield. You’d grown used to it over the months, ever since the inevitable yes had slipped from your mouth when Minho first asked you out. Somehow, without either of you discussing it, the passenger seat had always belonged to Jungkook.

Minho gripped the steering wheel tightly enough for his knuckles to pale, his shoulders drawn up to his ears with the kind of nervous spike that only surfaced when his parents were involved.

Jungkook, meanwhile, looked entirely unaffected. Slouched low in the passenger seat, his long legs crowded the footwell as he idly scrolled through his phone. Whatever Minho was saying barely seemed appealing to him. Every now and then, he’d hum in vague acknowledgement, thumb never pausing in its path across the display.

“—I’m serious, Kook,” Minho said, cutting through the quiet for what had to be the fifth time. His eyes darted to the rear-view mirror, catching yours for the briefest second before flicking back to the road. His words, however, weren’t meant for you. “If my mum sees one stray box lying around, she’s going to lose her mind.”

Jungkook didn’t look up from his phone, his thumb lazily scrolling. He cracked his neck, the sound loud in the quiet car. “When was the last time something like that happened?”

​“That’s not the point,” Minho muttered. His voice adopted an eager, slightly elevated pitch he used whenever he was seeking a nod of agreement from the passenger seat. “You remember what she was like with the last apartment. God, that place was a disaster.”

​From the back seat, you looked out the side window into the passing streetlights, letting out a quiet sigh.

​This performance wasn’t new to you. You had been the one to stay up until three in the morning just two nights ago, the phone pressed to your ear until it grew hot, listening to Minho ramble in a miserable, hyperventilating spiral about his old roommates. He had gone into exhaustive, agonizing detail about their irresponsibility — all the clutter, the used condoms left carelessly on the bathroom floor, and how absolutely degrading it was for him to live like that. That phone call was the entire reason for today’s rushed move-in plan.

​Yet, looking at the back of Minho’s head now, you couldn’t help but notice how carefully he left all those embarrassing details out of what he was feeding Jungkook.

​With Jungkook, Minho didn’t want to sound miserable or overwhelmed. He wanted to sound like a man under pressure, a high-achieving son dealing with demanding expectations. He wanted an ego boost, a simple 'Yeah man, I get it' from the guy sitting next to him.

​And then there was Jungkook. His presence on a frantic move-in day like this was, according to you, completely unnecessary. But of course, he was the best friend, the permanent shadow and nuisance, so there he sat. You watched him through the gap between the seats, highly doubting if he even cared about a single word coming out of Minho’s mouth. He looked bored out of his mind, completely checked out, giving Minho just enough crumbs of attention to keep him talking.

​It would have been funny if it wasn’t so irritating. Minho was practically performing a monologue for an audience of one who wasn’t even buying a ticket, all while completely ignoring the person in the back seat who had actually helped him pack the boxes.

​“The old place was fine, Minho,” you said, your voice breaking through the front-row dynamic. “We cleaned the whole kitchen before she—”

​“It’s not just about it being clean,” Minho snapped. The softer, rather eager tone he used to entice Jungkook vanished instantly, replaced by a dismissive scoff he reserved entirely for you whenever you didn’t perfectly align with his version of reality. He didn’t look at you in the mirror this time. He kept his eyes fixed firmly on the traffic ahead, flattening your words cold, making your chest tighten with a hot spike of resentment.

​“They’re coming all the way from the district,” Minho continued, looking back toward the passenger side. “I need everything to look settled. Presentable. Kook, you get what I mean, right? If the entryway is a mess, the whole evening is ruined.”

​Jungkook slowly turned his phone over in his palm, the pale light of the screen dying out.

He leaned his head back against the headrest. ​“Do you need me to talk to your mother?” Jungkook asked. “You know, when she starts getting on your case about the kitchen layout again.”

​You instantly rolled your eyes to the back of your head, irritation catching in your throat. He was ridiculous. He didn’t care in the slightest about your boyfriend’s domestic crisis, and more importantly, he clearly had no idea that the ground had already been broken. You frankly didn’t know if Minho just had rocks in his head, entirely unable to decipher the sheer, underlying disinterest dripping from Jungkook’s tone.

​“Ah, man,” Minho breathed, his shoulders visibly dropping as a relieved smile broke across his face. He reached out, tapping Jungkook’s shoulder brightly. “Seriously? That’d be a massive help. I can always rely on you, Kook. Honestly, if you can just distract her for ten minutes while we bring up the last of the kitchen crates, it won’t be a complete disaster.”

​He didn’t mention you once. Not a single word about the fact that you had already spent forty minutes on the phone with his mother the previous day, soothing her anxiety about the move and coordinating the dinner timeline.

​You wanted to cut Minho’s performative little alliance down to size, but more than that, you wanted to wipe that lazy, unbothered look right off the passenger seat. It had been driving you mad lately — the frustrating realization that you hadn’t caught Jungkook staring at you in the mirrors nearly as often as he used to. You wanted his eyes on you, even if you had to drag them over yourself.

“I already dealt with his mother, Jungkook,” you said dryly. “Yesterday. The logistics are handled. No thanks to your sudden burst of charity.”

​Minho’s eyes remained fixed on the ramp as he steered the car into the concrete underground garage. “Yeah, but that’s different, babe. C’mon, you know what I mean. My mum actually listens to Kook. It’s just easier if he handles her when she’s in one of her moods.”

​Babe. The patronizing label Minho threw at you whenever he wanted you to sit still and stop complicating his life. You went completely rigid against the leather, the casual dismissal turning the blood in your veins instantly hot.

​In the front seat, the sudden friction in the car seemed to wake Jungkook up entirely. Of course. He slowly shifted in his seat, turning his torso just enough to glance over his shoulder toward the back. The stillness was back in his eyes, but this time, he was thoroughly amused. He had open ground now, and he wasn’t about to waste it.

​“Yeah, Babe,” Jungkook mocked you, the pet name rolling off his tongue in a way that completely stripped it of whatever innocent meaning Minho intended. It sounded entirely unhinged as his eyes locked onto yours in the dim light of the garage. “Listen to your boyfriend. Leave the heavy lifting to the professionals.”

​The sheer arrogance in his voice made your fingers curl into the fabric of your skirt, your patience hanging by a single, fraying thread. ​“Go to hell, Jungkook,” you hissed.

​Minho slammed the car into park, the engine dying with a heavy thud that instantly dissolved the tension. He grabbed his keys, completely oblivious to the silent fire raging across the console. “Alright, we’re here. Let’s get the rest of these crates upstairs before they pull up.”

​“You’ve gone somewhere else, pipsqueak.” Hyun observed quietly. ​“Want to come back for a second?”

​Snap.

​Your father’s voice broke through the silence, dragging you back into the suffocating reality of the kitchen island.

​You blinked, your fork hovering a mere inch over your plate. The food was entirely cold now. You hadn’t taken a single bite, your mind too occupied with the phantom heat of a garage from nearly a year ago and the very real, terrifying weight of what had happened just an hour ago in the corridor.

​“Yes,” you lied quickly, pulling the sleeves of your oversized black hoodie further over your hands. “Sorry. I’m listening.”

​Hyun set his knife down against the porcelain, his eyes narrowing as he evaluated your pale face and the untouched brisket. “You’ve barely touched your food. If you’re unwell, you should say so.”

For all of Hyun’s faults — the months spent on planes, the missed birthdays; he had been an exceptional cook. A skill born out of necessity from his own bachelor years. Whenever your mother had late nights at the firm, your father would loosen his tie, roll up his sleeves, and take over the kitchen. You used to pull up a heavy wooden stool just to watch him chop vegetables, occasionally letting you stir the pan or taste-test the sauce.

Whenever he wasn’t looking, you would lean down and take a huge, dramatic whiff of the food directly from the pan; a habit he had spent years trying to gently smack out of you, constantly lecturing you that it was entirely indecent to sniff food like an animal before eating it. You loved his cooking. It was the one version of him that felt entirely present.

Across the wide marble of the kitchen island, the comfort felt entirely out of reach. Your eyes flicked over to Jungkook, who sat three stools down.

​He was already looking back at you. His eyes were fixed on your face, tracking the slight tremor in your frame. But the moment your father’s gaze shifted toward him, Jungkook’s expression instantly locked back.

​“My apologies, sir,” Jungkook cut in, drawing your father’s attention away from your empty plate. He casually shifted his arms on the counter, and that was when the pendant lights caught the thick white layers of gauze you had just wound around his split knuckles.

​You looked at his hand, an instant wave of alarm washing over you.

​Hyun’s sharp eyes tracked the white fabric. His brows knitted in a hard line.

​You froze, your breath catching in your throat. Your mind scrambled, a cold panic spiking in your veins because you knew exactly what those raw knuckles meant. If your father started digging into how that happened, the entire fragile reality you were trying to maintain tonight would shatter.

​“He caught it on the way back from the car,” you blurted out, an excuse tearing from your mouth before Jungkook could even part his lips. You forced your voice to sound dismissive as you looked directly at your father. “We went down to get something I left in the passenger seat, and he was being careless with the heavy iron gate in the lower courtyard. It slipped and caught his knuckles against the brick.”

​Jungkook kept his eyes on your father, giving a single nod that perfectly validated your lie. “A clumsy mistake, sir. I should have been paying closer attention to the weight of it.”

​Hyun evaluated the two of you for a long, quiet moment. He was a man who prided himself on reading the hairline cracks in people’s stories, but the unbothered confidence in Jungkook’s posture didn’t give him any room to press.

​“A hand injury is a tedious liability, regardless of what business you’re in,” Hyun noted as he picked up his glass. “You’re lucky it didn’t fracture the bone. See that you’re more careful.”

​“Of course, sir,” Jungkook replied smoothly.

​As the two of them resumed the conversation, drifting effortlessly back into a discussion, you could only sit there and stare at the side of Jungkook’s face.

​It was entirely jarring. You had never seen him speak to an authoritative figure before, let alone your own father. There was no way this was the same man who possessed a natural knack for saying the most infuriatingly blunt words to you in the dead of night.

​Maybe snapping at Jungkook from a place of pure frustration had really manifested this nightmare for you. When did everything go from yelling at each other and ending up in bed the same breathless momentum, to screaming at him about how ridiculous it would be to ever meet each other’s families, to accidentally speaking it into existence?

​The utter absurdity of it all made the edges of your vision swim again. The deep, masculine drone of their voices began to blur into a static hum, the counter gleaming too brightly against your eyes. The kitchen slowly began to recede.

For the first half hour in Minho’s freshly furnished apartment, you hadn’t said a word.

You simply got to work; the thick cardboard edges of the packing crates scraping against your fingers as you sliced through tape and hauled books across the hardwood floor. Your shoulders already ached, a damp layer of sweat making your clothes cling to your skin in the humid summer night.

​Minho, meanwhile, was a whirlwind. He wasn’t lifting the heavy things. Instead, he was floating around the living room, adjusting the alignment of the curtains, and checking his watch every ninety seconds. Every small noise from the hallway made him jump with the suffocating anxiety that came from awaiting the arrival of his parents.

​You knelt by a massive box of kitchenware, carefully unwrapping bubble wrapped glasses and setting them on the lower shelf of the island.

​“Not there, y/n,” Minho walked over, his sneakers squeaking against the polished floor, and immediately picked up the glasses you had just set down. “My mother hates low shelving for glassware. Put them in the upper pantry. And make sure the labels are facing the back.”

​You swallowed the dry lump in your throat, fingers tightening around a piece of plastic wrap. “The upper pantry is full of the serving dishes you wanted out, Minho.”

​“Then move the dishes,” he snapped, shaking his head. He didn’t look at you, his fingers frantically rearranging the glasses on a higher shelf. “I told you, she checks these things. She’s going to open the cabinets the second she walks in to see if I’m keeping the place presentable.”

From the corner of the room, near the entryway, Jungkook was slouched against the doorframe. “Let the professionals handle the heavy lifting,” the man had quoted with a lazy smirk back in the garage, and had lived up to the arrogance — carrying every last box up from the car himself without breaking a sweat. Cocky, you thought, shifting your weight. He just wanted to show off in front of your boyfriend, to prove he could.

​“Relax, man,” Jungkook murmured, his voice bouncing off the empty walls. He flicked the blade of the box cutter out, then retracted it. “Your mother isn’t a health inspector.”

​Minho’s entire posture softened instantly. He turned toward Jungkook, a self-deprecating smile replacing the harsh frown of his mouth. “I just need everything to look… seamless. Like I’ve got it all under control.” He let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his hair. “It’s exhausting keeping up with the family standards, honestly.”

​You let out an internal sigh, silently arranging the tupperware exactly as he pleased. Minho was clearly stressed, and you were his girlfriend, which meant you had to play the comforting, understanding partner whenever he was unraveling. You knew how much this day meant to him — the frantic midnight phone call he’d kept you on for hours was proof enough.

​Dusting your hands off on your skirt, you walked over to the stack of crates Jungkook had hauled up, reaching down to grab another stack of books. As you lifted the top heavy volume, your eyes caught an odd, dusty texture tucked between a set of thick journals.

​Grabbing the spine, you pulled it free and immediately felt your eyes roll to the back of your skull.

​“Really, Minho?” you flipped through a few of the print spreads, the loud thwap of the paper filling the empty kitchen before you looked up in pure disbelief. “A porn magazine? Are you kidding me?”

Minho’s head whipped around so fast his neck practically cracked, the color instantly draining from his face only to be replaced by a violent red that flooded his ears. He dropped the microfiber cloth he’d been using to polish the counter.

​“Y/n, put that down,” he hissed, his eyes immediately darting toward the entryway as if checking the perimeter.

​You didn’t lower your hands, a cynical spark of amusement rising in your chest. “Oh, this is yours?”

​“I forgot it was in there,” he stammered, his hands coming up in a defensive, half baked gesture as his sneakers squeaked against the floor.

​“Convenient.”

​“I’m serious,” Minho rushed out. He took a step toward the island, his jaw tight. “It got packed with everything from the old apartment. I didn’t even check that box.”

​A quiet, rough snort fell through the defensive explanation from the direction of the doorway.

​Jungkook had finally looked up from his phone, the screen dying out as he let his arms drop lazily against his sides. ​“I was wondering when that was going to happen.” Jungkook snickered. One corner of his mouth was twitched upward, amusement lighting up his features as he took in the sudden breakdown of Minho’s pristine domestic theater.

​Minho looked utterly horrified, his shoulders drawing up to his ears as he looked between the two of you. “You knew.”

“Yeah.” Jungkook shrugged nonchalantly. “You didn’t think to tell me?” Minho countered immediately.

Jungkook only smirked. “Didn’t think you’d invite your girlfriend to unpack it.”

“You’re not helping at all, by the way.” Minho huffed, the flush taking over his entire frame with every excruciating second of the back-and-forth.

​“I’m trying to,” Jungkook replied smoothly, his thumbs looping into the front pockets of his trousers as he took a proper step into the kitchen.

​“How?” Minho asked, frustrated.

​Jungkook nodded toward the messy pages still held open in your hands, his dark eyes skipping past Minho entirely to lock onto yours. There lingered an almost private sort of provocation.

​“I’m hoping if we all stand here long enough, y/n’ll stop finding the rest of your secrets,” he said.

​You bit back a laugh, finding the back-and-forth oddly amusing. It cut right through the lingering irritation in your veins. You shifted your grip on the magazine, tilting it toward the light. “Rest?”

​“Kook,” Minho warned, his voice cracking slightly as his hands balled into tight fists at his sides.

​“What?” Jungkook shrugged, entirely unbothered by the warning, a cocky smirk fully spreading across his lips now as he watched Minho fidget. “You’re the one sweating.”

​“Because you two are insufferable,” Minho muttered, turning away to hide the deep flush still burning along his jawline.

​“He’s got a point,” you admitted, intentionally turning another heavy page just to hear the paper crinkle in the quiet room. It felt good to hold a shred of leverage, even something as ridiculous as this. “This is tragic.”

​Minho didn’t answer; he lunged forward with a clumsy burst of speed, his fingers catching the edge of the publication and snatching it cleanly from your hand. His jaw was set into a rigid line as he spun on his heel, shoving the print deep into the bottom of a black garbage bag resting by the counter, burying it beneath a mountain of discarded packing tape.

​Minho stood over the counter, his chest heaving with short, agitated breaths as he stared down at the marble. The embarrassment had fully soured. His ego had just taken a massive, public hit in front of the one person he desperately wanted to appear cool for, and because he couldn’t push back against Jungkook’s weight, his eyes snapped directly back to you.

​He didn’t look at your face. Instead, his gaze moved down your body, scanning your frame from head to toe with calculation critical enough to pull the floor right out from under you.

​“Y/n,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Are you seriously planning on keeping that on for dinner?”

The sudden shift in his tone turned you entirely frozen by the counter, your hands still half raised from where the magazine had just been wrenched from your fingers.

​“What do you mean by that?” you asked, your voice dropping into a defensive pitch as you looked down at yourself. ​It was a simple jersey dress; practical enough for a day spent carrying heavy boxes. It didn’t look entirely unkempt.

​Minho’s eyes flicked over your shoulder, catching the silhouette of Jungkook still leaning against the doorframe. You could see the exact micro second the realization that he was still trapped in the spotlight hit him. His ears burned from the magazine embarrassment, and he desperately did not want to look like an overbearing prick in front of his best friend.

​The rigidity vanished from his face, replaced instantly by softness. He let out a weary sigh and stepped into your space, his hands coming up to gently rest on your waist. Minho was a masterclass in gentle persuasion.

​“Hey, look at me. Babe, come on,” he murmured, his voice dropping into an earnest whisper that always made you feel like you were the one being unreasonable. He leaned down slightly, searching your eyes with a look of intense, doting concern. “I don’t mean it like that. You look beautiful. You always do.”

​The sudden shift in his tone turned the remaining amusement in the kitchen to instant ice.

​“You know what my mother is like,” he continued, “She’s traditional. She’s going to spend the whole night making passive aggressive comments about anything she can find, and I just… I don’t want her looking at your collarbone or judging you before we even sit down. I’m just trying to protect you from her. I want tonight to go perfectly for us. Can you do that for me?”

​Minho’s gentle words wrapped around you into a seemingly odd cage, entirely designed to make any anger you felt look childish. If you fought him now, you were the one ruining the perfect evening he was trying to build for the two of you.

​Before you could even parse through the suffocating weight of the trap, Minho leaned in. ​He pressed his lips to yours. A lingering kiss; ending the discussion before you could speak. His mouth tasted faintly of the stale coffee from earlier, pressing against yours until you felt completely managed.

​He pulled back with a soft, reassuring smile, patting your hip lightly as he stepped past you. “Go inside and change into that high-neck blouse I bought you last month, okay? They’ll be here soon.”

​He grabbed a stack of clean placemats from the counter and walked briskly out toward the dining room, completely satisfied with himself.

​You stood entirely rigid by the counter, the place where his hands had just touched your waist feeling invasive. Your skin was crawling with a pure, spiteful resentment. He had just boxed you in, stripped away your choice, and smiled while he did it.

​And from the entryway, the mocking amusement was entirely gone from Jungkook’s features. His eyes tracked the furious, volatile rise and fall of your chest. He had seen the whole thing. He had watched you submit to the collar Minho just put on you.

​Without giving him a single glance, you spun on your heel and stormed out of the kitchen, your shoulder nearly clipping his chest as you tore down the narrow corridor toward the guest bathroom, your hands shaking with a reckless, untamable rage.

​“—she’s always been stubborn about it.”

​Your father’s voice, far more relaxed than you were used to, pulled you cleanly back into the present. You blinked, the bright pendant lights hitting your eyes. Dinner was over. The plates had been cleared, and a bottle of vintage Scotch now sat between your father and Jungkook, two heavy crystal glasses resting on the dark marble.

​You hadn’t even realized time had passed. You were still buried in the heavy black hoodie, your fingers tightly laced together under the counter.

​Hyun wasn’t just tolerating Jungkook anymore. He was actively talking.

​“She inherited that from her grandfather,” Hyun continued, gesturing vaguely with his glass toward the far wall of the open living space. “Once her mind is set on a particular grievance, there’s no negotiating. It’s an expensive trait to maintain.”

​Jungkook let out a genuine chuckle, his shoulders fully relaxed against the barstool. He swirled the amber liquid in his glass, his dark eyes catching the light. “I’ve noticed, sir. She doesn’t exactly make concessions easy.”

​“Concessions?” Hyun huffed, a rare, dryly humorous tilt to his mouth. “She doesn’t make them at all.”

​You stared at the two of them in absolute, tight-lipped disbelief. You had spent years watching your father treat every single person who entered his orbit into a mere sub contractor who hadn’t met their deadline. Yet here he was, actually bonding with Jungkook over your apparent flaws.

​Hyun stood up, setting his glass down, gesturing for Jungkook to follow him toward the long hallway leading to his private study. “Come here. I’ll show you what I mean. I have the archive from her early tournament years.”

​Your heart did a horrified plunge against your ribs. “Dad, no. Don’t do that.”

​Your father didn’t even look back at you, completely dismissing your protest with a brief wave of his hand. “Don’t be dramatic, my dear. It’s just the standard prints.”

​Hung along the wood paneled wall of the wide corridor were the framed photographs from your pageant days; the perfectly rigid past — and arguably present your mother had constructed for you before she walked out. In the photos, you looked entirely unlike yourself: hair sculpted into blindingly perfect curls, a frozen smile plastered across your face, and a heavy, beaded gown that nearly swallowed you whole. You absolutely despised those photos. They were a monument to a time when you had zero say in your own skin.

​Jungkook stepped up to the wall, hands casually tucked into his pockets. He leaned in slightly as his eyes scanned the row of frames.

​You watched him from the edge of the kitchen, pulse hammering in your ears, daring him to drop a devastatingly cocky comment about how ridiculous you looked in a tiara. But he didn’t.

At first, a passing thought crossed your mind that maybe, just maybe, Jungkook was actually intimidated by your father. It would have been a reasonable assumption for any normal guy, except Jungkook wasn’t normal, and he had already spent the last twenty minutes completely, effortlessly engaging in conversation with Hyun before you had drifted off into your own head. He wasn’t afraid at all. He was playing the game.

​In fact, your father had even gone as far as subtly dropping Minho’s name directly into the conversation. It was a clear attempt to fish for information, considering you hadn’t spoken a single word about Minho since the disastrous day you first introduced him to your family.

“A handsome face, sure.” Hyun had remarked, swiveling his wine glass. “But it’s a shame the boy possessed the backbone of a jellyfish. A man who folds the second the wind changes direction isn’t much of a man at all.”

​Hearing your father subtly insult Minho right at the dinner table had sent a spike of adrenaline through you. But when you glanced over at Jungkook, your heart nearly skipped a beat. ​The absolute, infuriating bastard had been trying not to laugh. So much for them being best friends.

“She won the district title three years in a row,” Hyun said, adjusting the alignment of one of the photo frames by a fraction of an inch. “An expensive undertaking. But the moment her mother’s... influence was removed from the household, y/n refused to participate further. The trophies are still in the shipping crates downstairs. A massive waste of development.”

Jungkook’s hands stayed buried in his pockets, eyes drifting across the prints on the wall. But he wasn’t really looking at them. Every few seconds his gaze flicked back to you, catching the way you were staring straight through the floor like the marble might swallow you whole.

He needed to pull you back.

“Her posture’s a little crooked in this one,” Jungkook noted suddenly, his voice cornering your father’s formality. “Leaning back on her heels like she’s trying to spite the dress, or the camera. Probably both.”

Your head snapped up, the numb fog in your mind cracking instantly. “Seriously?” you glared at the side of his face, heat rushing into your cheeks.

Jungkook gave a small, lazy shrug, eyes sliding to meet yours. Hyun paused, turning to look at Jungkook with a flicker of genuine surprise. “You noticed that?”

“My sister did the junior circuit for a while,” Jungkook said, completely brushing past the detail as if it were a minor annoyance from a past life. He didn’t expand on it, his eyes already cutting back to yours, holding your glare with a knowing look. “You learn to spot when someone’s actively trying to ruin the shot.”

Hyun let out a dry scoff, the closest thing to a laugh you’d heard from him in months. The distraction worked. Your father latched onto the new thread, launching back into his monologue about that particular competition.

You stood there with your arms crossed tight over your hoodie, listening to them talk about you like you weren’t in the room. Jungkook had done it on purpose. You knew that. He didn’t give a shit about your posture in some old photo; he just hadn’t wanted you drowning in your own head.

“Exactly,” your father said, completely caught up in the memory. “The instructor spent an hour trying to correct her spine before the judges arrived. She intentionally threw off the balance because she didn’t want to stand there. A petty, stubborn rebellion. She has always handled opposition that way... by turning inward and refusing to cooperate.”

You stood rigid the entire time, listening to your father go on and on about your teenage defiance.

“Stubborn, perhaps. But it makes her rigid,” Hyun continued, even as he stepped away from the frames. “In all the years we’ve lived in this district, through her entire schooling, she has never once brought anyone from her circle over to this house. Not one.”

Hyun turned his full attention back to Jungkook, his sharp eyes evaluating the younger man’s unyielding frame with a look bordering on respect. “You’re the first person to make it through that front door, Jungkook,” your father said, his tone dropping. “I was beginning to think she’d built a fortress around herself.”

He paused, the silver face of his watch catching the light as he dropped his arm. “Though it may be unfair on my behalf to say so, considering I spent months away. But distance doesn’t change the diagnosis. I know how my daughter operates.”

Hyun turned, stepping away from the frames and closing the small distance between you. He reached out, his hand coming down to briefly ruffle the top of your hair; a habitual gesture left over from years that felt entirely out of place against the heavy weight in your chest.

You ducked your head away from his touch, rolling your eyes as you stepped back. “Are you two done? Because Jungkook has a curfew, I’m sure.”

You shot a hard, pointed glare at Jungkook, silently warning him to play along and get out. But when had he ever actually listened to you?

Of course, he only shifted his weight, his eyes tracking your expression with a lazy stillness that told you exactly how little he cared about your warning.

Hyun looked between the two of you, his brow twitching slightly. “Is that right, Jungkook? Well, it doesn’t seem particularly wise to let your friend drive home in a downpour like this. Especially with that hand.”

“What downpour, dad?” you nearly exclaimed, your voice honed with irritation.

Had it rained? You hadn’t heard a thing.

You turned your head toward the end of the corridor, your eyes fixing on the heavy slate blinds covering the windows. It was only then that you noticed the dull smacking against the glass, sheets of water blurring the city lights outside. You had been so thoroughly zoned out, so deeply buried in the dark hallway of your own head, that you’d completely missed a thunderstorm rolling in.

Jungkook glanced toward the glass, then down at his bruised knuckles. “I’ll take my leave once the roads clear a bit.”

“Sensible,” Hyun nodded, already turning back toward the kitchen to set his crystal glass down. “Stay until the storm settles. y/n, make sure he has what he needs.”

Your father’s footsteps faded into the kitchen, the clink of glass against the stone countertop echoing down the hall. You stayed frozen by the blinds. The suffocating drum of the rain against the glass grew louder and louder until it wasn’t hitting the windowpane anymore; it was echoing off the bare, unpainted drywall of a guest room.

You stepped into the narrow utility closet off the hall to grab the extra roll of packing tape Minho had begged for, your chest heaving, only to freeze in place.

“Did you need something?”

Jungkook didn’t have to look up from the floor. He was dropped down on one knee in the cramped space, his large frame completely occupying the gap between the hot water tank and the wall.

The utility closet smelled of the wind he’d brought in from outside. The space was so tight that if you took one more step, your knees would brush the denim fabric of his jacket.

“I need the tape,” you muttered, reaching toward the metal shelf above his head, intentionally keeping your eyes fixed on the cardboard boxes to avoid looking at him.

As you stretched, the stiff lace collar dug sharply into your throat, the high neckline pinching across your shoulders and cutting your reach short. You choked back a frustrated sigh, fingers falling just short of the plastic ring.

Before you could try again, Jungkook stood up; reaching past you, his chest nearly brushing your shoulder, and grabbed the tape with ease. His arm lingered there, forcing you to take it directly from his hand.

“Here,” he said, voice lazy, eyes doing a slow sweep over you. “Didn’t think you’d be back out here so fast.”

You snatched the tape from his fingers. “We’re all on Minho’s schedule.”

“Sure,” Jungkook murmured casually. He leaned his shoulder against the metal shelving, arms crossing over his chest as he looked at you. His gaze lingered pointedly on the rigid, high lace collar biting into your neck. An incredibly annoying trace of amusement touched his lips. “You actually did it.”

“What?” you snapped, scrunching your brows in confusion.

“Change,” Jungkook murmured, his lazy drawl bouncing off the narrow walls. He tossed the tape lightly toward his hand. “Into whatever the hell this is.”

You felt heat crawl up your neck. “It’s a high-neck blouse, Jungkook. People wear them.”

He tilted his head slightly, a sort of smirk tugging at his mouth. “Right. Minho pick that out for you?”

“...Yeah, actually. My boyfriend did.” You added, just in case he’d forgotten.

Jungkook pursed his lips, his dark eyes dropping right back to the tight lace digging into your skin.

“Does your boyfriend usually pick clothes you can’t breathe in?” he leaned his shoulder against the metal shelf, his head tilting just enough to force you to look at him. His smirk was faint but impossibly cocky, entirely unbothered by the boundary he was crossing.

“Do you mind?” You sighed, your chest rising against the restrictive fabric.

“It’s just a question.” He shrugged.

“And it’s a stupid question, Jungkook. I’m not suffocating.”

“Yeah, sure you aren’t,” he teased, his voice an entirely unconvinced murmur.

You rolled your eyes, adjusting the tape against your hip. “What is your problem—”

Something brushed the back of your neck. You barely registered his hand before you felt the tiny zipper at your collar shift. A soft zzip; the lace loosening just enough.

The relief was instantaneous and completely involuntary. Your lungs expanded on their own, a heavy gasp of air rushing down your throat as the suffocating pressure against your trachea vanished. But the physical relief lasted for less than a second before the horror of what he’d just done caught up to you.

Your entire body went rigid. You had literally heaved a sigh of relief right in front of him, proving his point and losing the argument in the most embarrassing way possible.

You shoved his hand away, clutching the loosened fabric at your throat as your face burned with a mix of fury and pure humiliation. “What the fuck, Jungkook?”

“Hm?” One side of his mouth lifted.

“You unzipped me.” You hissed, attempting to hold the fabric closed. You were practically vibrating with rage, your chest heaving with the very air he’d just forced you to take. “Do you make a habit of unzipping all your best friend’s girlfriend’s in a utility closet, or am I just special?”

Jungkook’s dark eyes took in the furious flush on your cheeks with a terrifying amount of calm. “Don’t know,” he murmured, lazy. “Do you usually lie through your teeth for a guy who treats you like a mannequin?”

Your jaw clicked. “No.” You shook your head once, the loosened lace of your collar shifting against your neck. “And you don’t get to do that.”

“Do what?” He countered.

“Pretend you know my relationship better than I do. Pretend you’re some kind of saint standing here judging him.” You drew in a breath. “Minho’s just looking out for me. He’s stressed. His parents are coming over, he wants everything to go smoothly, and he’s trying to make a good impression.” You folded your arms tighter across yourself. “He’s being protective.”

Jungkook let out a quiet scoff; a tiny, quite abrasive sound that cut right through your patience. “This isn’t your cue to play hero and twist everything into something it’s not.” You jabbed a finger directly into the hard center of his chest, the denim of his jacket rough against your skin. “Minho trails after you, he looks up to you, and you stand here trashing him the second his back is turned? He’s your fucking best friend, Jungkook.”

Jungkook stood a tall, unyielding wall of denim muscle. “He is.”

“So why did you just unzip your best friend’s girlfriend?” Your bold accusation cut through his arrogant tone.

“So my best friend’s lovely girlfriend can actually breathe,” Jungkook murmured, his voice dropping. He didn’t even lean away from your finger. Instead, he reached up, his large hand moving as his fingers brushed the edge of your jaw, intending to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear.

You slapped his hand away with a sharp smack, your heart hammering against your ribs. “Don’t touch me.”

Jungkook didn’t even flinch at the rejection. He just let his hand drop back to his side, his mouth twisting into an incredibly annoying smirk. “You’re real quick to fight me on it. Wonder why you didn’t have that same energy when he was telling you what to wear.”

“Because it’s none of your business!” you hissed, the walls of the closet feeling smaller by the second. “Your little crush on me is cute and everything, Jungkook. Truly. It’s flattering. But it’s getting pathetic.”

A flicker of something crossed Jungkook’s face. He looked faintly puzzled by where your mind had gone. “You really think this is about my crush?”

His eyes dropped to the handful of lace you still had balled tightly in your fist before drifting back to your face. “I’ve been standing here listening to you defend a blouse.” He tilted his head. “You hate the damn thing.”

Your mouth opened slightly, any sound you had ready dying right in your throat. You looked up at him, your fingers still white-knuckled around the unzipped fabric at your neck, and found absolutely nothing to say.

“I...” You swallowed hard, your voice cracking slightly. “I don’t hate it. It’s fine. It’s what his parents expect, and I’m just trying to be—”

“Rigid?” Jungkook supplied smoothly, his dark eyes tracking the frantic movement of your gaze.

You frowned. “Respectful.”

Jungkook looked at you for a second. “Then zip it back up.”

“What?”

“If you don’t hate it, and you’re just being respectful, pull the zipper back up. Put the collar back on.” There was nothing amusing in Jungkook’s tone.

Your fingers froze around the loosened fabric of your collar. The narrow closet felt entirely devoid of air. Jungkook’s gaze dropped to your trembling hand before lifting back to your face. “...That’s what I thought.”

A fierce defense climbed your neck. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t I?” He challenged.

“No.” You stared at him, your breath hitching.

“You know what I can’t seem to figure out?” Jungkook murmured, leaning his weight back against the shelving, his eyes never leaving yours. You said nothing, but your chest heaved under his scrutiny. “You were uncomfortable.” There was a heavy trace of confusion shimmering in his eyes. “So why were you trying so hard to convince me you weren’t?”

“Because not everything revolves around what you think.” You laughed, brittle. “Forget it. I’m done having this conversation.”

“Right.” Jungkook stepped aside just enough to let you past. “Wouldn’t want your boyfriend getting the wrong idea.”

You brushed past him without looking up. “You really can’t stand seeing me with him, can you?”

You expected him to scoff. Instead, there was only the low hum of the air conditioning.

“No,” Jungkook said flatly.

The utter lack of hesitation made your fingers freeze on the knob. You slowly turned your head, looking back over your shoulder. His expression was deadpan, and terrifyingly honest.

“I can’t.” he admitted, his eyes locking onto yours with a selfish clarity. “It annoys the hell out of me, if i’m being honest. Watching you shrink yourself down to fit into his pocket.”

A wave of pure disgust rushed through you; disgust at him, but mostly disgust at the suffocating web of your own guilt. Minho was out there in the living room, stressing over his parents, completely oblivious that the guy he called a brother was standing in a closet tearing his relationship apart.

“You are a truly shitty friend, Jungkook,” you hissed, your voice trembling with rage. “He trusts you. He thinks you have his back.”

Jungkook didn’t look ashamed, and he didn’t look remorseful. “I never claimed to be a good friend. And i’m not the one wearing a uniform to please a man I secretly despise.” he murmured.

You stared at him, a profound heaviness settling into your chest. You weren’t going to leave Minho. You couldn’t. You owed him too much, and the crushing weight of what you and Jungkook had done a month ago meant you were trapped in this penance forever. You had to stay, you had to be the perfect girlfriend, because it was the only way to balance the ledger.

“It doesn’t matter what you think anyway,” you said softly, turning back to the door. “I’m staying with him. You’re just going to have to get used to looking at me like this.”

You yanked the closet door open, ready to step back into the bright light of the hallway.

“We’ll see,” Jungkook’s entirely calm voice almost startled you.

You paused, half turned in the doorway. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Jungkook finally straightened up from the shelf, his tall frame stepping into the shadows of the closet.

“Just means people get tired of suffocating eventually, y/n,” he murmured, his eyes lingering on the loosened white lace at your throat one last time. “And relationships are fragile. Things break all the time. Sometimes sooner than you think.”

You didn’t answer him, wrenching the door open, fleeing the cramped utility closet and the terrifying, prophetic weight of his words, desperate to find Minho and force yourself back into the safety of your cage.

But things had broken. Exactly like he said they would.

A violent crack of thunder shattered the memory, tearing you out of the damp heat of Minho’s old apartment and dropping you right back.

You blinked against the white tile of your bathroom. Your fingers were wrapped around Jungkook’s thick wrist, your thumb resting right against his pulse point as you carefully smoothed down the edge of the medical tape over his bruised knuckles. You had completely frozen, your mind miles away.

“You’ve disappeared into your head again.”

Jungkook’s deep voice replaced the static of your head, entirely devoid of the sharpness it used to carry back then. He didn’t pull his hand away from your grip.

You dropped your gaze, deliberately focusing on his hand to avoid his stare, and forced a brittle chuckle. “Doesn’t look like it’s going to stop raining anytime soon.”

“Yeah,” Jungkook murmured. He looked over his shoulder toward the small bathroom window, the dark glass sheeted in water. “Probably should get moving soon before the roads flood.”

You clipped the edge of the bandage into place. “Why? Need to get home to your girlfriend?”

Jungkook let out a low scoff. He leaned his head back against the mirror, his mouth twisting into a faint, lazy trace of his old smirk. “Don’t have one of those, sweetheart. But nice try.”

“Shame,” you teased, desperate to keep the safe, familiar boundaries of your usual banter up like a shield. “I guess you’ll just have to brave the storm then. Unless you want to stay the night?” You threw it out as a total joke, a ridiculous hypothetical just to prove you weren’t affected by him leaning against your sink.

“I’m sure your dad would love it if I stayed the night.” Jungkook teased back.

You instantly stiffened. The teasing air in the room evaporated, your fingers freezing against his wrist. You looked up, your eyes narrowing slightly as you studied his face. “Look, I know tonight’s dinner was very unexpected,” you said, shielding the vulnerability he’d just poked at. “And my dad must have intimidated you a lot, but he’s not as rough as he may seem.”

Jungkook gave you a shrug. “Guess not. Considering he didn’t resort to beating the guy who kept his precious daughter out past midnight, I’d say he’s a real saint.”

You rolled your eyes, a small, exasperated sort of laugh escaping you at his sarcasm. “I never thought he’d get along with you. Of all people. He looked like he actually tolerated you. Shocker of the night, honestly.” You shook your head, moving to clean up the stray pieces of medical tape, but the mention of family made another piece of information slide into place. “By the way... I didn’t know your sister did the junior circuit? Do I know her?”

Jungkook’s posture went just a fraction more guarded. He kept it completely vague, shrugging again. “Doubt it. It was years ago. She stopped playing a long time ago.”

He didn’t offer a name. He didn’t offer a single detail, shutting the door on the topic before you could even peer inside.

Your fingers lingered on the edge of the counter, your eyes drifting up his arm, over the broad expanse of his shoulders, and finally settling on his face.

Looking at him right now, a thought hit you with a terrifying amount of clarity: there truly were a lot of things you didn’t know about him. He had spent months breaking open your walls, reading you like an open book, knowing exactly when you were suffocating and when you were lying, yet he remained a complete black box. Oh, how many questions you had for him. Questions about his family, about the hidden corners of his life, and about every single piece of himself that he meticulously kept away from you.

But there was one question that was currently eating you alive, burning through your veins until you couldn’t breathe.

“Jungkook,” you called softly.

He paused, the lazy look instantly melting off his face when he heard the raw tremble in your tone. “Yeah?”

“Do you remember that day?” You stepped back just an inch, though your eyes never left his. “Almost a year ago. When Minho moved into his new apartment, and we were in that utility closet because he wanted the packing tape?”

Jungkook’s brow furrowed slightly, his eyes narrowing as he searched your face. “Y/n, what are you—”

“You told me relationships are fragile,” you pressed on, your heart hammering frantically. “You told me things break all the time. Sometimes sooner than I think.” You drew in a painful breath. “Did you really have intent behind those words? Did you mean them?”

The silence in the bathroom became absolute, sealing the pounding of the rain against the glass.

“Are you the real reason why Minho broke up with me?”

You finally said it. You asked the question that had lived in the dark spaces of your mind for ages. In your gut, the answer was already a vague, haunting yes. Part of you had spent months believing he had been the shadow behind the collapse of your relationship. But you didn’t know why. Why did he dislike Minho so intensely? Why did he hate seeing you with him so much that he would destroy his own best friend’s happiness just to tear you out of his arms? Was it purely selfish? Was it resentment? You needed him to give you the truth.

A quiet, humorless laugh slipped from him instead. “You’ll hate whatever answer I give you.”

“I already do.” You tried to level with him, even though neither of you moved.

You could hear the shallow pattern of your own breathing as you waited for him to deny it, to mock you, to do anything other than look at you with unblinking clarity.

“I wasn’t going to let him keep you,” Jungkook murmured eventually.

A confused breath caught in your throat. “Is that your answer?” you whispered.

“It’s the only part you’re ready to hear.” he concluded.

You stared at him, your hands tightening against the edge of the counter. It was a confession that he had consciously chosen to let your relationship burn to the ground. But before you could press him for the rest of the truth, before you could demand to know what else you weren’t “ready to hear,” the shifting energy in the room caught up to him.

Jungkook’s eyes dropped to your hands, tracking the slight, involuntary tremor in your fingers. There formed a frustrated line between his brows.

He wasn’t thinking about Minho anymore. He was looking at your wide, haunted eyes, and his mind dragged the conversation right back to the present. He thought the trauma of tonight was finally catching up to you, making you spiral back into the past because you felt unsafe.

“Hey,” Jungkook murmured cautiously, though a firm knock on the bedroom door cut him off entirely.

The sound made both of you snap your heads toward the door.

“Y/n?” your father’s deep, muffled voice carried through the space. “Everything alright in there? Storm’s picking up. I’m putting a pot of coffee on.”

The spell was instantly broken. The suffocating secrets of the past were jammed right back into the quiet as the reality of the present reasserted itself.

You let out a quiet, shaky sigh, your eyes locking onto Jungkook’s face one last time. His large hands slowly dropped back to his sides as he gave you space.

You looked away, unable to hold his gaze, and focused on gathering up the leftover medical supplies on the counter.

“You can wait in my bedroom,” you whispered to him, gesturing toward the adjoining door that led out of the bathroom. “I’m going to go see what he needs.”

Jungkook gave you a silent nod, stepping back to let you pass. You turned the handle and stepped out into the hallway, pulling the bathroom door shut behind you and cutting off the heavy tension that had been keeping you warm.

You walked down the silent corridor toward your father’s room, the hardwood floors cold beneath your bare feet. The door was cracked open, a sliver of light ambering the floorboards.

Pushing it open a little further, you found him. He was sitting in his armchair by the window, a steaming ceramic mug cradled in his hands as he looked out at the sheets of rain lashing against the glass. He looked calm, entirely removed from the storm raging both outside and inside your head, just a quiet man with his coffee, waiting to see if his daughter was finally safe.

Hyun turned his head as you stepped inside, his eyes immediately sweeping over you. “Are you alright? Cold?”

“I’m okay, Dad,” you murmured, stepping closer to the edge of his desk. “Just tired.”

“Lina’s mother called the house line about twenty minutes ago,” Hyun said, his gaze fixed on you as he took a slow sip. “She wanted to confirm whether you’d actually made it home safely. Apparently, Lina left the venue early and was panicking because she knew you’d had too much to drink, and you weren’t picking up your cell.” He paused, studying your face. “She said the two of you didn’t leave things on good terms tonight.”

A humorless scoff escaped your lips, your chest tightening with a sudden spike of residual anger. Just the mention of Lina’s name made the bitter taste of the earlier argument flash in the back of your throat. You were thoroughly mad, still entirely unwilling to unpack all the mess.

“Yeah,” you muttered, rolling your eyes toward the dark window as you crossed your arms. “I’ll deal with Lina later.”

Hyun set his mug down. “How’s Jungkook?”

“He’s okay. I was just checking his bandages, making sure the wrap on his wrist was decent.”

Hyun nodded slowly, his gaze drifting back to the window, watching the water sheet across the glass. “It’s really coming down out there. Roads are going to be a mess.” He paused. “You should tell him to really watch that hand. A young man like him can’t afford to get an injury like that infected. The bones and tendons are fragile. They don’t always heal back right if you neglect them.”

You nodded vaguely, mind thoroughly exhausted by the emotional whiplash of the night that you were barely processing the conversation. You just wanted to agree and escape back to the safety of your room.

Hyun watched you for a second, his casual tone nearly testing the waters. “Do you remember when I broke my wrist years ago? Back during that work mishap at the construction site?”

“Yeah,” you murmured blankly, your eyes staring at the floorboards.

Hyun’s gaze sharpened, pinning you to the spot. He noticed the total lack of a reaction. Usually, whenever he so much as breathed a word about his fractured wrist or that supposed “accident,” you would visibly stiffen. You would shake, and you would completely shut down. Because it hadn’t been a work mishap at all. You had unfortunately been there. You had witnessed the raw violence firsthand — watching your father entirely lose his composure, tracking down the man your mother had been sleeping with and brutally punching him into the pavement.

The fact that you had just blindly agreed to his lie without flinching told the wise man everything he needed to know. You were completely zoned out. Your mind was miles away, entirely consumed by something else.

“It wasn’t a work mishap, y/n,” Hyun said firmly, finally snapping you out of your haze. “You saw what happened back then. You know exactly how I broke my hand.”

Your stomach dropped. Your eyes flew up to meet his, a cold sweat breaking out down your spine. Hyun leaned back in his chair, incredibly observant. “I know it wasn’t a mistake with Jungkook tonight, either.”

You swallowed hard, your tongue feeling like sandpaper.

Hyun had talked to Jungkook at dinner. He had found the boy polite and entirely composed. but Hyun knew exactly what a hand looked like when it was used as a weapon. He had recognized those specific, jagged bruises on Jungkook’s knuckles the second he walked into the house. He knew it wasn’t a clumsy mishap. He was leaving the floor open for you to explain what was really going on.

He waited, but you said nothing. You stood there, your lips pressed into a defensive pout, staring down at the floorboards as the quiet stretched out between you. Knowing his daughter, knowing she wouldn’t explain a word of anything, Hyun sighed.

“It’s never an accident with boys like that,” Hyun stated firmly. He set his coffee mug down on the side table with a hollow thud. “Men who use their fists to solve their problems, they’re volatile, y/n. They’re dangerous to be around, and they’re even more dangerous to care about. I know. Because I used to be one.”

You wrapped your arms tightly across your chest, a wave of irritation storming inside. You couldn’t stand the implication. Hyun spoke with conviction, but it clashed with every version of Jungkook your mind could summon. He had plenty of flaws, but being carelessly violent had never been one of them.

“He isn’t like that. He isn’t like you.” you snapped, your voice trembling with barely controlled annoyance. You took a step forward. “You don’t know him at all. He didn’t do it because he wanted to fight. He was just trying to protect me!”

Hyun stared at you for a long moment.

It wasn’t your defense of Jungkook that caught him off guard. It was the sheer speed of it. You hadn’t stopped to think, only reacting out of an absolute certainty of your mind. And Hyun realized, with an ache in his chest, that while he had been halfway across the world, someone else had been entirely present in the corners of your life he knew nothing about.

But he didn’t back down. He leaned forward slightly, his large hands flat against his desk. “Protecting you from what, y/n? What requires a boy to use his knuckles until they look like that just to keep you safe?”

“It doesn’t matter,” you snapped, your jaw aching.

“It matters to me,” Hyun pressed, his sharp eyes refusing to let you look away. “Fists don’t just fly out of nowhere. If he’s handling your battles with violence, then he’s bringing that environment into your life. Is that the kind of baggage you want to carry? Because I can tell you from experience, it doesn’t stay outside the house. It follows you in.”

“He isn’t bringing anything into my life!” Your voice cracked, a bitter laugh escaping you as the exhaustion finally boiled over, the years of quiet compliance snapping completely. “You don’t have the right to do this,” you whispered, your chest heaving as the tears of frustration threatened to burn the backs of your eyes.

Hyun opened his mouth to reply, his brow furrowing, but you cut him off, catching him entirely by surprise.

“You haven’t even been here. You’ve been thousands of miles away across an ocean while I was trying to figure out how to breathe in this house. Jungkook was the one who stayed. He’s the only one who actually stayed. So don’t you dare act like you have a say in who I trust.”

Hyun sat quietly, his gaze lingering on you for a long moment before dropping to the coffee in his hands. There was nothing to argue with.

Whatever had happened, you weren’t ready to tell him. He could see that much. Every answer he wanted sat somewhere behind the rigid set of your shoulders and the way your fingers curled so tightly into themselves.

You weren’t going to tell him what happened tonight, and pressing you any further was only going to drive you completely out of his reach. He’d already missed too much. If he pushed now, he’d only miss you too.

Slowly, the tension left Hyun’s shoulders. He leaned back in his chair, going quiet, letting your anger exist without fighting it.

You stood there, the adrenaline slowly beginning to drain and leaving you feeling hollowed out and freezing. Your eyes scanned his unreadable face before you dropped your gaze.

“You’re... you’re not going to talk to him about this, are you?” you asked softly.

Hyun waited a long second, staring at his hands before he looked up at you. “I’m not.”

“Why?” you demanded quietly, needing to hear the reason.

“Because he’s your friend,” Hyun murmured, his voice dropping into a tired acceptance. “You live out here. I don’t. You know him, and you trust him. If that’s where you’re placing your safety, then I trust your judgment.”

You blinked, the sudden shift in his energy catching you off guard.

Hyun sighed, looking out the window one last time at the blackness of the night before looking back at you. He reached out and pushed the small desk lamp, dimming the light in the room until the shadows softened.

“Get some sleep, pipsqueak.” he said softly, “The rain isn’t going to stop tonight, and neither are the things in your head. We don’t have to solve any of this right now. We’ll talk about the rest when the sun’s up.”

You looked at him for a long moment before lowering your eyes. Nothing had changed. Jungkook’s words continued to linger in the back of your mind, unanswered and impossible to make sense of, but the desperate need to chase them had eased. They could wait until morning. They would have to.

Hyun paused, his gaze drifting toward the closed door of his room before settling back on you. “Tell Jungkook to be careful if he’s driving home in this. Or... tell him he can occupy the guest room until morning. There’s no point in him risking the flooded roads tonight.”

You swallowed down the sudden lump in your throat. After everything you had just hurled at him, his compromise felt incredibly meaningful. “Okay,” you whispered, your fingers tightening around the edge of your sweater. “I’ll let him know. Goodnight, dad.”

“Goodnight, kiddo.”

You turned on your heel and walked out into the dark hallway, pulling his door shut.

You made your way back to your bedroom door, the light from your own room spilling out from beneath the crack, waiting for you.

Turning the handle to your bedroom door, you pushed it open as quietly as possible, the light from your bedside lamp spilling into the hallway.

“Jungkook?” Calling his name out with a near breathy whisper, you were greeted with no response.

Stepping fully into the room, you pulled the door shut behind you. Jungkook hadn’t climbed into the mattress; he was sitting flat on the hardwood floor, back flush against the side of your bed frame. His legs were stretched out straight, head tilted back, resting heavily against the edge of your mattress. The white bandage around his wrist caught the dim light, a painstaking reminder of the violence that had brought you both here.

A quiet sigh escaped you. Jungkook was asleep; the sheer exhaustion of the night had finally caught up to him. You felt too hollowed out to wake him, too emotionally drained to deliver your father’s message or face another pointed glance from those dark eyes.

Moving like a ghost, you crawled onto the opposite side of the bed, pulling the heavy duvet over the trembling line of your shoulders. You didnt turn off the lamp, shifting to your side, facing the edge where he slept, your eyes tracing the sharp line of his profile just inches below you.

From up here, you could see his long, dark eyelashes cast faint shadows over his sharp cheekbones, his chest rising and falling in slowly. Your fingers twitched from where they were clenching the duvet, aching to run them through his soft, dark hair.

“My dad said you could stay in the guest room,” you whispered into the quiet space between you, knowing he couldn’t hear. You knew the heavy pull of his sleep had taken over. “He said the roads are flooded.”

Jungkook didn’t stir. A stray lock of dark hair fell across his forehead.

“I don’t understand you,” whispering, your fingers tightened against the duvet. “I don’t understand why you do any of this. Why you treat me like a nuisance one day, and then break your own hands to protect me the next.”

You swallowed hard, your eyes tracing the slope of his nose, the soft curve of his mouth.

“You ruin everything,” you murmured, eyes burning as you stared down at his peaceful face. “You’re supposed to be the guy I resent, Jungkook. You were supposed to be the one thing that made sense to hate.”

It was a desperate attempt to make sense of the boy who had spent months acting like a prick, pushing your buttons and tearing at your patience.

“And the worst part is...” You laughed quietly, nothing amusing in it. “I don’t even know if I’m angry because you ruined everything... or because I’m terrified you actually cared enough to.”

The room felt silent again. Your voice cracked, all the unvarnished frustration spilling out.

“I’m going to be so fucking mad at you,” you whispered, a hot, angry tear finally escaping and slipping down your temple. “If all of this... if you’ve...”

You stopped, the sentence dying on your tongue because you literally could not finish it. Instead, you squeezed your eyes shut. “This is so unfair.”

If only there were somewhere in the middle. Somewhere you could stay angry enough to keep him at arm’s length and protect yourself. You wanted to resent the way he’d turned your life upside down, but your skin burned with the ghost of his calloused hands, and your mind kept wandering dangerously close to the memory of the softest lips.

But those things couldn’t possibly belong to the same person. They just couldn’t.

You opened your eyes again, studying his sleeping face as though it might finally give you an answer it had stubbornly refused to while he was awake. “I don’t want to stop hating you.” you whispered into the dark.

The heavy patter of the rain against the windowpane began to blur, the entirety of the night finally dragging your eyelids down. Your gaze lingered on the white wrap around his knuckles one last time before the darkness of sleep pulled you under eventually.

It took Jungkook exactly fifteen minutes to awaken from his unexpected nap. He didn’t register the persistent patter of rain against the windowpane at first — what his mind sought comfort in, amidst the unfamiliar shapes of your bedroom, were sounds of the softest snores. He turned his head to look, though the fear of disrupting your peaceful sleep forced him to remain alert.

This isn’t where he’s supposed to be; Jungkook reminds himself. But can’t help the subtle, involuntary twitch of his fingers against his lap after glancing upon your face. He can’t help but recall the nights he had you all to himself, even if it was only for a few hours. That was all he needed. It’s unfair and selfish of him to want that much. He doesn’t deserve any of it — are things he’s aware of deep down. For all that he’s done.

Careful not to make a single sound, Jungkook shifted his weight, pulling his legs beneath him before standing up straight. He hadn’t been entirely under. He had heard the small, broken edge of your voice through the fog of his exhaustion, and it had clawed at his chest. Nevertheless, knowing it wouldn’t be polite to linger in a ghost house at odd hours, he decides to leave, not before moving his fingers to fix the slightly askew duvet over your shoulders. His thumb aches to trace the soft curve of your bottom lip, before he thinks the better of it. He deserves the resentment you fought so hard to maintain.

Pulling the door shut behind him, he slips into the dark hallway. He’s thankful for the gauze and the white wrap over his knuckles, solely for the comfort of your touch and all the breathless scolding that had come with it. He didn’t regret a single thing he’d done tonight, neither did he disregard your frustration over the violence. Or maybe he did. And maybe that was the problem, because he knew he wouldn’t hesitate to drive his knuckles into Dae’s face over and over again for disrespecting you, even if he knew the bloody aftermath would only drive you further apart from him. It’s a dark side of himself that he had managed to keep at bay over years of tolerance and patience. But lately, Jungkook feels like he might just be running out of time to stay true to himself.

He rounded the corner into the expanse of the living room, his boots making no sound on the hardwood as he headed to the front door. But he stopped dead in his tracks.

Hyun sat across from him with a glass of wine, looking every bit as startled as Jungkook was.

“I didn’t expect you to be slipping out in the middle of a deluge, Jungkook.” Hyun spoke, gesturing vaguely to the armchair across from him, then to the half empty bottle on the table. “Take a seat. Oh, and don’t mind my ill manners. It isn’t exactly proper to drink so late, but tonight calls for an exception, I suppose.”

Jungkook kept his arms straight at his sides. His uninjured hand subtly slid into the pocket of his suit jacket, his fingers brushing against the metal of his apartment keys to make sure they had made it this far. “Thank you, sir, but i’ll have to decline.” He spoke. “I intend to drive.”

Hyun turned the stem of his wine glass between his fingers. He didn’t press the offer. His eyes drifted toward the dark expanse of the hallway where the bedrooms lay. Jungkook noticed the way the old man swallowed before he finally broke the silence.

“Is she alright?”

The vulnerability Hyun carried with his tone didn’t go unnoticed by Jungkook, who immediately adjusted his stance slightly out of respect for the man’s anxiety. “She’s quite exhausted from the night.” He said quietly. “But she’s alright. Held the whole formal up by herself tonight.”

“Ah. Of course.” Hyun murmured. He straightened his shoulders slightly, a small smile touching his lips though it faded as quickly as it appeared, his eyes drifting back down to the dark liquid in his glass. “My daughter practically bared her teeth at me earlier, you know? She was so adamant on trying to get me to not talk to you.”

The older man let out a faint chuckle, leaning back against the sofa. “Well, you may not know, but I used to be a notorious father when she was a teenager. Embarrassed her quite a lot back then. I used to scare off every single boy — though, I didn’t get the chance to chase the last boy away… Minho. If i’m right. Doesn’t seem like i have to anymore, since he appears to be long gone.”

A whirlwind of scattered thoughts clouded Jungkook’s mind with every carefully chosen word that left Hyun’s mouth. The younger man started to think Hyun didn’t quite like him; or simply, that he was trying to make sense of the degree of the relationship the boy seemed to hold with his only daughter before deciding whether to chase him off or let him stay. For all his thoughts, Jungkook couldn’t help but feel a subtle pang in his chest at the words of your father chasing boys away from your past. He started to wonder how many others had been a part of your life before him. Before Minho. How many others had held your attention enough to be considered a threat by your overprotective father.

“I know what you’re probably thinking right now.” The slight slurry in Hyun’s tone signaled that the alcohol had finally loosened his tight grip on his composure. “Old man had too much to drink, sitting in the dark, talking nonsense. And… she wouldn’t be pleased with me talking to you either. Trusted me not to, i think. She’s keeping your secrets, as it seems. Jungkook.”

Hyun’s sharp eyes moved over Jungkook’s white-wrapped hand before he lifted his gaze back to his face. There only remained a father who realized he was on the outside looking in. “It may not be my place anymore,” Hyun said softly. “But I need to know if my daughter is slipping away into something I can’t reach her from.”

He didn’t demand an answer, nor did he ask about what had happened tonight. Jungkook could feel the suffocating pull of the older man’s worry, but he remained grounded. He knew that your story, and the choices you made tonight, belonged entirely to you.

“You’re right, sir.” Jungkook replied eventually. “It isn’t my story to tell, either. I respect her privacy too much to give you pieces that don’t belong to me. When she’s ready, she’ll tell you herself. I hope you can understand why it has to come from her.”

Hyun stared at him, completely out of words. He had been met with a brick wall, but it was a wall built entirely out of a fierce loyalty towards his daughter’s boundaries.

“Well, then.” Hyun clicked his tongue softly against the roof of his mouth before standing up. He pointed a finger toward the dark hallway. “The guest room is the first door on the left. The sheets are clean. You don’t need to be driving out in this storm.”

“Thank you for the offer.” Jungkook gave a respectful inclination of his head as his hand settled back onto the cold metal of the front door handle. “But i’ll take my leave.”

Hyun watched as Jungkook turned the handle and stepped out onto the porch. The storm had quietened. The rain had started to slow down.

Standing alone in the dark house, the old man figured the answers he had been looking for tonight were impossible to get. Well, atleast his daughter was under the same roof as him, asleep in her own bed for what felt like the first time in forever. That alone brought relief to his chest, easing the persistent ache of his own absences ever since he’d come home. Hyun let out a tired sigh, shaking his head before he reached over to turn the lamp light off.

His daughter had always been impossible. It was a strange thing, meeting someone who didn’t seem particularly bothered by that.

You didn’t do jealousy −why would you? 

Jealousy was for insecure and desperate people who had no sense of self-worth −not confident, successful people like you. The kind who didn’t believe in fawning over men like Jungkook, who as par for the course for an idol of his calibre, had women throwing themselves at his feet left, right and centre. 

Except…

You would be lying if you said you hadn’t been bothered. You had noticed the woman who had been stuck to his side a few days ago like a bad case of superglue, giving him the eye, dressed up as though she were vying for Oscar-level fashion. Too much for a simple, informal meeting −no matter the clients in question were a top five American producer and Jungkook himself. 

Not one to be outdone, you had finally pulled out that dress. The one you had bought about a year ago, telling yourself you would save it for a really special occasion. Tonight’s party was that occasion, and if you had to show your appreciation on behalf of the company for getting an exclusive signature he had given them, that dress ought to do the job. 

It was gorgeous −a real statement piece with a price tag that made you wince when you remembered it to match, in a deep, rich shade of crushed roses under evening light. It draped over your body, skimming every curve flatteringly, the neckline dipping just enough to be intriguing as it framed your collarbones to hint at more without giving it all away. Thin straps trace your shoulders, the back mostly bare in an unexpected daring but elegant reveal. 

As you move, the material shifts like liquid, the high slit that runs along one leg effortlessly flashing a glimpse of skin with each step in an undeniable alure that turns heads without trying too hard, making you the one who commanded all the attention in the room. From lustful stares to piercing envy, it was all about you −the vision in the scarlet dress that everyone wanted a piece of. 

But all you could focus on was him. Not because it was part of the job description to ensure he was your priority as a senior member of the A&R legal team, but because he was by far the best-looking man in the room. In any room.

From your central position, your eyes find him over and over again as he makes his way around, stopping intermittently to mingle politely. He fidgets a lot you notice, hands constantly fiddling with something, fingers interlocking, touching at his hair, eyes darting around −sometimes shyly, sometimes curiously. He’s not bored, but whatever was happening so far at this party wasn’t quite his idea of a good time. 

You swallow back a smile, watching as he looks like a rabbit in headlights when he’s descended upon by a group of giggling women who give you second-hand embarrassment as they coo and ogle so openly it was mortifying to see. He probably got that everywhere he went, poor lamb. 

You sigh. You should probably go and save him −for the good of the company of course −right? 

His eyes find yours immediately the moment you come into his line of sight, something flickering in them that lodges in the back of your mind, something that you would later come back and revisit.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, ladies,” you say, putting on your most formal but firm tone. “I just need Jungkook for something urgent.” 

You force a smile as three pairs of irritated eyes look you over as if you’d just eaten the last popsicle on a hot summer’s day. Nobody says anything, because when their eyes see the discreet red band around your wrist to indicate your position, they realise it would be entirely futile. 

But the daggers aren’t sheathed yet, and their expressions make no secret of the fact that to them you’re basically stealing their man. They also make no attempt to disperse. Despite the fact you would love nothing more than to tell them that you were pretty tight with the department who had organised this event and they could sling their hooks if they had any objection to your talking to the artist whose latest collaboration had been closely overseen by you, but you gracefully rise above it and turn your attention to Jungkook. 

Jungkook looks back at you with a hint of amusement playing about his lips, the tip of his tongue flicking out to run over the silver piercing he had. Momentarily you lose your bearings, distracted by the gesture in a way you weren’t prepared to acknowledge. 

“Uh, Jungkook−” you begin. “We need to…” 

You stall, unsure what you should say next. You hadn’t exactly thought this through with much planning. You’d met him a few times now, but you’d never had a one-on-one conversation with him before, and certainly never had any conversation with him that wasn’t purely work related. In fact, you had never even been alone with the man before. Maybe this wasn’t your best idea−

“Yeah, sure,” Jungkook says suddenly, astutely catching on. “−Let’s do it.”

“Right,” you say, exchanging looks and playing along. He’s seeming less rabbit in headlights and more dominant panther right now. It’s pretty attractive. 

“If you wouldn’t mind coming with me,” you tell him, avoiding the still annoyed gazes that bore into you with all the power of a drill on max power as Jungkook bids them goodbye. 

Bitches. 

Jungkook tails you until you are both out of earshot, somewhere near the bar where you come to a stop and face him. He looks as giddy as a kid in a candystore now, it’s quite cute. 

“Thanks,” he says. 

You flash him a quick professional smile. “Anytime.”

He nods and shrugs. “So, what now−?” He leans forward to get a better look at the nametag pinned to your dress, and you realise with a pang of disappointment that despite all the meetings that had taken place over the past few months, he probably didn’t even remember your name. “Y/N.”

Your disappointment is quickly swallowed down at the sound of your name on his lips, and you look back at him in surprise. He smiles back at you, and a stupid blush starts to creep up the back of your neck that you can’t seem to control. 

“What now?” you say, sounding a little short and impatient, this conversation you’ve ushered yourself into and the way you’re reacting to him leaving you feeling a little rattled. 

“Yeah,” Jungkook says, unperturbed. “I’m sure they’re still watching me, right?”

Casually you make a quick, non-obvious, sweep in the general direction you had come from, and sure enough they’re gathered like the witches of Macbeth, probably plotting your downfall or putting a curse on you or something. 

“Yep, they sure are.”

He laughs, and you decide you like the sound more than you should. It’s rich and deep, but it’s also playful and… sexy.

Oh God. What was the matter with you? Jeon Jungkook had a sexy laugh? Seriously. You roll your eyes at yourself and straighten up as if you meant business. 

“Why don’t we give them something to look at?” Jungkook suggests, his dark doe eyes widening in mischievous excitement. “Come on, join me for a drink. That’ll get their tongues wagging.”

“Are you trying to get them to give me death glares or something?” you ask with mock surprise. “Haven’t you seen the evils they’re giving me already?”

Jungkook waves a hand. “Just ignore it, I do.”

“Easy for you to do, they aren’t wishing for your imminent death.”

He raises an eyebrow. “That’s a bit drastic, isn’t it?” he says, but after he mulls it over for a moment. “You’re probably right though, that’s the scary part.” He smiles but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, his expression a little sad. “Perks of the job.”

You feel a pang in your heart for him. He wasn’t the first idol you had seen suffer the trappings of fame and fortune, and he wouldn’t be the last either. Who was responsible for inviting whoever they were to the party anyway, you make a mental note to track them down later. But a few bitchy looks and sneaky comments weren’t enough to drag you down, and there was the small matter of keeping Jungkook happy. 

“Let’s get that drink,” you say. “I am thirsty anyway.”

After about ten minutes had passed, you realise that having any kind of actual conversation with someone like Jungkook in an environment like this one was near impossible. 

The witches had by now regressed somewhere no doubt to drum up some potion or other, but in their place had now come the stream of endless people who all seemingly wanted a piece of Jungkook. Time and again you had had to stand in the background while Jungkook out of sheer politeness had to go through what sounded like the same exchanges over and over again with various figures from the industry. 

Unfortunately you had been called away for something else, so you had needed to leave him with the circling sharks, but it was all part of your job so what choice did you have. You couldn’t devote all your time to one man. 

Despite your extensive experience at events like this one, you had never had to deal with someone quite as famous as Jeon Jungkook before, it was an entirely new experience. Things like this probably happened to him daily. You weren’t even the one at the centre and you were already tired of watching it go on, so you couldn’t even begin to imagine how he felt. 

He catches your eye from across the room, and you shoot him back a sympathetic look. The instinct to save him bubbles up inside you again, but there’s little you can do as you are also acutely aware that if he’s seen with anyone anyone alone for longer than 2.0 seconds, it might be damaging not just to them but to him too. 

He’s smiling but in between the smiles, you can see his discomfort beneath the idol mask the world was used to. You bite your lip, steely determination filling you suddenly. You don’t even know why you care so much but somehow you desperately wanted to give him a few minutes of breathing space because God knows he looked like he needed it. 

You exchange greetings with a few other people as the mingling goes on, but somehow those big, bright doe eyes of his seem to find you constantly, as if he were calling you. There’s another woman with him now, tall and blonde, dressed in a fitted blue gown, sparkling head to toe as she flashes him a matching glittery smile. 

Irritation rises within you as you survey Jungkook’s reaction, watching as he nods and grins back. Midway through whatever she’s talking to him about, she stretches out a hand to brush away something on the lapel of his jacket and something inside you snaps. It’s not like you’re jealous or anything, but surely he doesn’t want to be touched. 

You sigh and swill back the remains of your champagne and wince as the fizz races down your throat. Alright, you tell yourself, you would make just one more timely intervention, and then you would leave it alone. It wasn’t exactly your place to bodyguard Jeon Jungkook. 

You gesture for Jungkook to enter the unused office you had remembered from earlier. You close the door behind you, turning the light on and setting it onto a dim glow. 

“You should be left alone here for a bit,” you tell him from the doorway with a gentle smile. “Take as long as you need.” 

He looks up at you from the office chair he’s sunk into. “Hold on −you’re leaving?”

Inside the small room, at such close proximity to you, Jungkook looks even better than he did outside. He eases off his black jacket and lets it rest over the back of his seat, and then he sets about loosening his tie, eyes riveted to you. You imagine the headlines if anyone found you both in here, and the scandal that would follow in the aftermath, and quickly force yourself to resume focus. 

“I have to,” you say. “Someone will notice if we’re both not around.”

He scoffs. “So let them,” he says bluntly. “Other people will be missing too, won’t they? Does nobody ever go to the restroom, or take a minute to make a call, or I don’t know, actually leave? Or is all of that monitored too?” He sighs, remembering himself. “I’m sorry− I didn’t mean to take it out on you.”

“No need to apologise, I get it,” you tell him. “But you know you’re not just any person though, right? When you’re missing, it’s going to be noticed. You know that.”

He closes his eyes briefly, letting out a sigh. “But I am, Y/N,” he says. “I am just another person.” He sits up, eyes on you. “Stay for a little while please. I’ll make sure nothing bad happens to you.”

“Jungkook, it’s not really me I’m worried about, it’s you,” you reply. “Do you really need bad press just before a big release?”

“There won’t be any,” he replies confidently. “All I need is a few minutes, and as strange as it sounds given everything out there, I just don’t want to be completely alone.” 

He’s making it difficult to leave, how can you ignore such a sweet, heartfelt request from such a handsome man? 

“Alright,” you relent. “Just for a few minutes.”

His face breaks out into a smile that teases at your heart with its sincerity. It’s a real smile, not the polished ones you had seen him give all evening outside. He looks so devastatingly good when he smiles, it’s no wonder so many fell for him. “You truly are my saviour tonight,” he beams. 

You chuckle, even though you’re blushing, his compliment warming you inside. “I don’t know about saviour, but I’m always happy to help if I can.”

“Hm, always huh?” Jungkook echoes thoughtfully. Then he shakes his head as if to jolt himself out of whatever train of thought he had been in. He tilts his head to one side and surveys you. “Come on, admit it. You wanted to be out of that room too, didn’t you?” 

You give a soft laugh. “That’s my job, I kind of have to be there.”

“Oh, really?” he says sceptically. “Is it in your job description to be leered at by guys old enough to be your grandfather?” 

Your face burns and you shift a little uncomfortably on the spot. “Uh− I don’t really pay that stuff any mind,” you tell him. “That’s not where my attention is. I barely notice.”

Jungkook rises and begins walking towards you, and your heart jumps at the sight of him. The crisp white of his shirt stretches across the taut muscles of his biceps and chest, and the tailored cut of his pants that skim over long, lean, muscular thighs. From the end of his shirtsleeve and loosened collar, inked patterns come into view that are marked over his skin, leaving your eyes thirsting to see more. 

You force yourself to look at his face, but that is even more alluring than the rest of him. He comes to a stop before you, pinning you with the most intense gaze you had ever been on the receiving end of. “It was noticeable,” Jungkook tells you with conviction. “Every time I looked over, someone had their eyes on you in that way −like you were a meal to be devoured.”

A soft gasp escapes you, your mouth opening to say something, but your brain can’t seem to engage with words in front of him after that. You struggle to regulate your runaway heartbeat as you try to focus on something that isn’t his really dangerously close lips, settling for the cute mole on the tip of his nose. It doesn’t help much because all you can think of is what it would be like to kiss it. 

“To be perfectly honest−” Jungkook continues, snapping your attention back to his eyes. “I can’t really blame them.” 

His eyes drop to your mouth and then down, over your dress, all the way down and then back up slowly. The way he does it is like nothing you’ve ever felt before, as if his gaze were a physical touch that had just caressed you head to toe. 

“So tell me,” he probes softly and dark all at once, “This dress,” his eyes run over your body slowly, bringing your breath out in shallow gasps that you struggle to keep contained, “−Did you wear it for me?” 

You’re pretty sure your face matches the dress as your mind scrambles to formulate a denial, or something to steady your nerves. Nothing comes and he gives you a look that should be illegal. “That dress is made for you,” he says simply. 

You somehow manage to utter a bashful thanks that’s barely audible and Jungkook smiles knowingly at you. He must know the effect he’s having on you. He’s loving it. 

“I knew from the moment I saw you that there was more to you than meets the eye,” he reveals, taking a small step closer to you. “You weren’t like everyone else.”

You back up a little, only to be met with the door behind you, and Jungkook smirks. “Are you trying to escape?” he says. “Do you really want to be out there instead of in here with me?” 

“No, it’s not that,” you stutter. “It’s just− if somebody finds us in here, it might cause problems for you.”

“Didn’t I tell you I’d make sure nothing bad happened?”

“Yes, but−”

“Then trust me,” he says firmly. “I won’t let anything bad happen to you. I promise.”

Jungkook looks at you like he hasn’t the ability to see anything else in the room, so intent is his focus. Heat starts its way at the base of your stomach, rising to spread through your veins and finds every single corner of your body in a burning need. This sort of proximity with him had not been even in your boldest fantasies. Jungkook has you pressed back by the wall as he closes in. 

The moment carries a feeling with it that leaves you breathless with excitement, and your nerves flutter like feathers in the breeze. It feels like you’re standing on the verge of something lifechanging, something that makes your anticipation rise and your heart thunder like the galloping hooves of carefree wild horses. 

Every word you try and conjure up seems to freeze on the tip of your tongue, and helplessly you stare up at him, your eyes desperately trying to gage whether this is serious for him, or if he’s just messing about. His gaze is unflinching, eyes like coals that burn into you with an intensity that makes you feel like you might go insane. 

Surely this couldn’t be happening, and you find yourself wondering whether the alcohol is making him bolder. You don’t want to be a drunken mistake −not even for the sought-after Jeon Jungkook. But he doesn’t look remotely inebriated as he looks into your eyes as if he’s trying to read your mind. He looks like a man who knows what he wants and is going to get it, and in Jungkook’s case, right now his target is you.

You can’t find a single shred of logic as you lose yourself in the intensity of his eyes, and the proximity of his hard, hot body that eases ever nearer to yours, the fabric of his shirt brushing you softly. He lifts a hand and places it against the door, leaning against it, his face looking down at yours as his other hand snakes its way around you to find the lock. You hear him turn it and your eyes widen, half frightened and half excited. 

“Don’t be scared,” Jungkook says, his voice deep and low, like a seductive caress that reaches deep into you, commanding your body to listen. “I won’t hurt you.”

“I know,” you whisper. 

His hand moves from the lock behind you, finding its way up to your face where it hovers just a fraction of an inch away from your skin. Your blood rushes, heart thumping as your mind wills him to touch you. Just once. Just so you could know how delicious it would feel before this fantasy ended. 

Jungkook’s eyes are dark, like onyx nights that swallow you in. You feel like you haven’t got any control over yourself as he watches you. You bite at your lip nervously, which distracts his attention from your eyes to your mouth briefly. He flicks the tip of his tongue out over the piercing on his lip, and you know you’re in serious trouble now. 

In an instant, his hand wraps around the back of your neck, a strong thumb stroking against your cheek as he eases your head back a little, his head dipping lower until his breath ghosts over your now parted mouth. 

“You promised−,” you warn weakly, your words fading into a broken breath as his lips graze lightly over yours unexpectedly. “Fuck!”

You clasp a hand over your mouth and apologise instantly for the slip, but Jungkook’s face only breaks into a grin as he pulls your hand away from your face and lowers it back to your side. “I’ve never heard you swear before,” he says, amused. 

“I’m sorry,” you say. 

“Don’t be,” he tells you gently, his thumb running over your jaw. “−It’s just a word.” 

You look up at him, feeling like the ground under your feet was slipping away. Suddenly you feel your own vulnerability, knowing you are completely under his mercy, your professional reputation hanging by a very precarious thread as you continue to unravel in his presence. “Jungkook−,” you whisper. “I’m scared.”

His expression softens and you feel his hand tighten around your waist. “I promised I wouldn’t let anything bad happen to you,” he reiterates with conviction, his eyes never leaving yours. “And I meant it. Nothing bad will happen to you, okay?” 

You nod, unable to speak, but you do start to believe him. You’re also dizzy from the wanting, the anticipation and the intoxicating sight of Jeon Jungkook this damn close to you. “I’ll take care of you, Y/N,” he tells you, as this time, he uses both hands to cup your face, lifting it with care upwards, his face serious. “I want you to trust me, can you do that?”

“Yes,” you say quietly. 

“Alright,” he says. “Then there’s nothing to worry about.” 

“Okay,” you manage, exhaling shakily. 

You do trust him, strangely enough. You know he isn’t going to hurt you or do anything you don’t want him to, but it isn’t him you’re worried about. At this point it isn’t even your reputation. It’s the huge issue of anyone finding out what was going on back here, although you yourself aren’t sure what is happening. 

The other problem was your runaway feelings. Jungkook seems to have a way of drawing out emotion from you that you can’t prevent from taking over you, leaving you exposed and falling. Catching feelings for him wasn’t the best idea, because no matter how much you believed his words, he simply wasn’t realistically viable for you. 

Once more you try to back up, only to be stopped by the door which you keep forgetting about. “I should get back,” you say quietly. Your voice doesn’t even sound like your own, and your tone lacks even the slightest shade of conviction. You realise that you don’t mean a single word a fraction later than Jungkook does, because he’s already moving in. Before you can find the words to attempt another half-baked protest, you feel his mouth cover yours. 

For a second you are taken by surprise but that doesn’t last. In a matter of moments, you find yourself reacting to him, kissing him back, your mouth opening under his searching one, tasting his tongue against yours. It’s exquisite, sensual and urgent. You clasp at the hem of your dress tightly as you feel the hardness of his body start to press onto yours, solid and heated. 

You let out a soft, desperate moan against his mouth, and he pulls back, his thumb lingering on the swell of your lips as he swipes across before inserting the digit into your mouth, resting it on the tip of your teeth. Your tongue instinctively swirls around it and it’s his turn to groan. 

“I want to be the one who gets you out of this dress, Y/N,” he says hotly. “It’s taking every ounce of self-control I have to hold back from you right now.”

Your legs feel like they might give out and your arms instinctively reach out to brace yourself, pressing against the firm broadness of his chest. Your fingers curl against the material of his shirt, feeling the expanse of muscle under the fabric beneath your touch. You have never wanted anyone as much as you want Jungkook in this moment. This forbidden Adonis of a specimen was telling you that he wanted you, and you haven’t a clue how to react. 

You don’t know what to say, what to tell him, how to behave or how to get out of this −not that you actually wanted to. But you were meant to be at work, you did have a professional reputation at stake which would be blown to pieces if you were caught like this −how much could Jungkook protect you then? How could anything happen without someone finding out? You were probably already being sought after right now for something or the other. And even if you weren’t, Jungkook’s absence would definitely garner attention.

But he had kissed you though, hadn’t he? It was the briefest of moments, a mere brush of lips, that you were starting to think you had imagined it. You feel like you might actually go crazy as your head begins to spin with too many thoughts all at once, and your body continues to burn with longing for Jungkook that you couldn’t quench. 

You can feel yourself quiver from the inside out, right from the base of your feet to each root of your hair, your every nerve alive and responsive to him. The whole thing feels surreal enough that you just want to let go, forget your own reality just for a moment, and give in to your rising desire for the beautiful man who stood before you with the scent of heightened arousal. 

You feel Jungkook’s hands find your shoulders, the warmth of his palms over your skin, radiating the heat of seven suns as he dips his head lower, his mouth grazing the area where your neck meets your collarbone. He trails the gentlest of kisses up and along your throat as you arch your head back, moaning softly as he reaches your ear. 

“See how you’re responding to me,” he whispers, his voice reaching places inside you that you didn’t even know existed and bringing them to life, brimming with excited impatience. Your breath comes in shallow gasps, throat dry as your legs weaken at the knees further. “Like you want me to know what’s underneath,” he continues, lips grazing your earlobe and making you shudder uncontrollably, “−you’re inviting me in, aren’t you, hm?”

“Jungkook!” you exclaim in a whisper, knowing your resistance was next to nothing now. “−Please.”

He lets out a soft groan right by your ear that steals your breath away. “Fuck!” he breathes. “I’ve imagined you saying my name like that a million times over, do you know that?” 

One hand curls around your waist suddenly and he pulls you towards him until your body is flush against his. “Will you let me take this dress off?” he asks, need flowering his voice as he nuzzles the tip of his nose at the crook of your neck. 

Your entire body has never felt weaker. You can barely summon up the energy for a coherent thought or anything above a whispered moan to respond with. Jungkook’s teeth have located your left dress strap, and he begins tugging it down over your shoulder. You make no attempt to stop him, too lost in the overwhelming feelings of want and excitement that are welling up inside you, now on the verge of spilling over. 

He eases you back until your back is against the door, his other hand sliding down the right strap of your dress now until both hang over your upper arm, leaving your dress held up solely by the curve of your breasts. 

“We shouldn’t−,” you sigh, attempting to mount another feeble protest. “Jungkook, we can’t do this. It’s−.”

“It’s what?” he interjects, his head snapping back so he can look right into your eyes. “Forbidden?”

The word sends a thrill down your spine. 

“Doesn’t that make this so much hotter?” Jungkook says, looking down at you with a predatory gaze that sends your pulse through the roof. “Doing something we shouldn’t.”

He’s not wrong, it does add an extra dimension to an already steaming hot situation. Maybe the fact you shouldn’t be doing it was what was making this so difficult to turn down, but you doubt it. More like one of the world’s hottest men practically gagging to see what was under your dress was closer. 

“Didn’t you ever think about it?” Jungkook probes, closing his hands over your fallen straps and slowly easing them downwards, his eyes still fixed on you. “What it would be like with me? Like this?”

For a dizzying moment, you contemplate telling him just how many times you had laid in bed on sleepless nights with your hands under the waistband of your panties, feeling how soaked you were thinking about Jungkook’s muscles under your fingers, bringing yourself to the edge at the thought of how he would stretch you out so satisfyingly, before finally letting go imagining just how much he would fill you up when he came inside you. The thought makes you blush crimson, and you bite at your lip so hard you almost draw blood. You hiss, the pain seeming to add to your pleasure. 

Jungkook surveys you, his eyes lingering on the corner of your mouth where you had just bitten. You still as the dress straps go low enough that they can’t go further down without revealing your braless breasts. He looks at you so intently you feel as if you are naked already. Your skin flushes, your heart feeling like it is in freefall behind your ribs. 

“The way you’re looking at me tells me you’ve thought about us before,” Jungkook declares confidently. “I can tell.”

This build up is agony. Jungkook’s teasing has you in a limbo between agony and ecstasy. You almost want him to either let you go or tear the damn dress of you right this moment and ravage you in the way you had dreamt of so many times before. This waiting was killing you, and his words were unravelling you like thread on a fallen bobbin. 

A realisation dawns on you. There were only two real outcomes available to you. The first was you summon every ounce of willpower and logic that you possessed and get the hell out of here and back to the party upstairs, or the second. You let Jeon Jungkook fuck you right here against the wall and have what promised to be the best few minutes of your life. 

The choice was yours −just about. 

“That tells me what I wanted to know,” Jungkook says, his voice rough and strained. “Now let’s not waste any more time.” 

He traps one of your wrists in his strong grip and pulls you to him, close. His other hand finds your throat, fingers curling possessively around your neck. You make a strange sound as you find yourself leaning into his touch. You feel his palm press onto your collarbone, pushing against your skin firmly. 

“Jungkook!” you breathe raggedly, one of your hands flying up to cover his. 

“Relax,” he coos. “I won’t hurt you. Didn’t I already tell you that?”

You manage a small nod as you swallow nervously, breath catching as your heartbeat races as fast as startled wild horses. 

“Just relax,” he says again, softer, like a soothing hush as he tilts your head to an angle, your neck exposed, mouth parted in anticipation of whatever he was going to do next. Nothing else mattered, just him, and his touch. 

Your next breath is cut off by his lips as they claim yours in a deep kiss. The hand at your throat squeezes a little, causing a rigorous shudder to course its way through your body. A moan lodges itself at the base of your throat that spills into his mouth on its way out. Jungkook responds with one of his own as he swallows up your sound. 

You continue the kiss, his body crushing you against the door, hips grinding into yours enough that you can already feel the hardness of his cock inside his pants. Your cunt clenches needily around nothing and your mouth opens wider under his, your hands reaching up to curl around his broad shoulders, digging into the expanse of his muscular back, wishing it was his skin beneath your fingers and not the expensive fabric of his shirt. 

Jungkook’s mouth leaves yours and he eases himself apart an inch, looking down at you. He’s breathing heavier, his eyes darker still, arousal evident in his expression. “We’re doing this, right?” he asks, panting slightly as his hands leave your throat to rest on your shoulders again as he takes in your reaction. “Tell me now, because I don’t think I can hold myself any longer.”

The gravity of your choice hits but doesn’t seem to leave any negative impact. It’s as if you had already made that choice the moment you had agreed to stay behind with him. It was far too late to back away now, and you knew it. 

The sleeves of your dress are being slid down again, and you offer zero resistance. “Say it, Y/N,” Jungkook breathes. “Tell me you want this.”

You gasp shakily, watching as his eyes travel down your body, then back up to meet yours. You couldn’t hide the truth even if you wanted to, it was written all over your face. “I do,” you confess. “I want this, I want you.”

Jungkook tugs the dress down with one quick motion, letting the material slide down to your waist to reveal your bare breasts. The cool air from the building’s aircon hits your skin, causing your nipples to jut out under his hungry, your chest rising and falling in quick succession. 

“Oh, fuck,” he says under his breath, exhaling jaggedly as he takes you in. 

He moves in, his hands moving around your waist and then behind your thighs. Suddenly you feel your feet leave the floor as Jungkook lifts you up as if you weighed no more than a sheet of paper in his arms. Your hands wrap around his neck, your hair cascading down over his face as he carries you over to the large glossy Italian desk that sits at the corner of the room. 

With one hand, he pushes away a few bits and pieces to clear a space on it and sets you down gently, teasing your legs apart and positioning himself between them, his mouth finding yours in a heated kiss. He starts to tease the hem of your dress upwards and over your thighs, until it’s high enough to expose your panties. 

Jungkook eases you back slowly until you are propped up yourself up by your elbows as his kisses blaze a trail down your neck and onto your decolletage. His erection presses onto you more like this and you hear yourself moan quietly as his mouth reaches the tops of your breasts. You glance down to watch as his head dips between the valley of your chest and then to the dark circle of your nipple. His pierced lip brushes over it, the cool metal making your breath hitch, before his tongue flicks out to lick at the jutting peak. 

Your eyes close, cunt filling with restless need as his mouth closes around your breast, his other hand finding the other, caressing the soft flesh between his fingers, pinching the nipple with a little force. 

“Jungkook!” you cry out.

He climbs back up, kissing at your mouth. “Shh,” he whispers against your lips. “Not too loud, baby −I got you.”

Jungkook kisses you again, licking into you with soft, teasing presses of his mouth, swallowing up your uncontrollable moans. Your hands bury themselves into his hair, your legs parting involuntarily under his weight, the hardness of his cock prominent at your stomach even through the layers of the pooled fabric of your dress. 

“This is going to be quick,” he tells you between kisses. “I’m sorry, baby. I usually like a bit more time, but−.”

The way you’re feeling now, even a second feels like too long. You need this man like air, and you need him now. 

“−As you know, we might be a little pressed for time,” Jungkook concludes. “So why don’t you tell me how you want it, hm?” He nuzzles his face into your neck, biting at your earlobe, hand over your breast, still tweaking at your nipple. He sucks a kiss into your skin, teeth nipping. “You want me to be rough with you?” he whispers hotly, “Fuck you hard?” 

You shiver in ecstasy, barely able to breathe. How was he so good at this? You had gotten it so wrong thinking he was a rabbit in headlights. No, he wasn’t. You wonder how many others had heard him like this, spread themselves open for him, and felt the dangerous press of his arousal on them as they waited to be ravaged. Your mind wanders to the woman who had effectively sort of started this. Had Jungkook fucked her like this, dress around her waist, long legs wrapped around his head as he pounded her into the furniture...  

The thought spurs you irritably to movement, and you have a moment of clarity. You suddenly turn your face away from Jungkook’s heated kisses and shove hard at his chest. It takes monumental resolve and the second you do it, you can barely believe you have. You don’t want to be his latest conquest, the latest in a line of women he fucked and discarded. How would you ever resume working here again? Facing Jungkook every day, knowing how easily he had made you relent to him, desperate enough you put everything on the line for a quickie. Your career here would almost certainly be over. 

But although you are trying desperately to convince yourself this was about work, you know the truth. This was pure and simple jealousy that was overcoming you. There was the thought that you might have to see him with someone else at some point or stand by and watch as he followed someone else into a back office for some action. 

You realise you’re being irrational, but the wheels are already in motion, you can’t pull out. So much for not doing jealousy. 

“What the−?” Jungkook begins, clearly taken by surprise by your shift in gear, but you aren’t listening. 

“Did you fuck her?” you interject, spurred into a moment of bravery, uncaring what he would think or how envious you would seem. 

Shock registers on his face as he pulls back, allowing you to sit up. “Who?” he replies, looking utterly bewildered by this sudden change and your unexpected question. 

You place an arm across your chest to shield your modesty, the other reaching down to wrench your sleeve up. But it’s far too difficult to do, the dress won’t come up enough properly without the other side. You grunt in frustration, feeling humiliated at your body’s betrayal and furious at the stupid dress. You never should have worn it.

“What’s wrong?” Jungkook says, attempting to touch you but you bat away his hand, embarrassed tears burning at your eyes. “Who are you talking about? Fuck who?”

“Her!” you snap. “The one with the forever legs. You were stuck to her side. Everyone could tell she had the hots for you.”

Jungkook looks perplexed, but then recognition slowly filters into his expression. “Amanda?” he offers. 

So he remembered her name too. He hadn’t remembered yours, and you had been around for longer. Your fury rises, wounded at the revelation. You try again with your sleeve without success. “Yeah, her,” you say sharply. “It’s so good of you to remember her name, she must have been special. I’m sure she remembers more than just your name too.”

You knew you weren’t sounding classy or dignified, but you couldn’t stop yourself. You weren’t even sure you wanted to. 

And then, just when you think your moment of utter despair and humiliation couldn’t get worse, Jungkook smirks. He fucking smirks. Clear as day, right in front of you, as if you were a source of amusement. It’s too much, and in one go you’re off the desk, dress straps forgotten, eyes blazing as you head towards him. 

“You asshole!” you rage, fists coming up to pound at chest. 

But this was Jeon Jungkook −he is simply too fast for you, and you don’t even manage to land one solid hit. He catches your wrists with strong hands and pins them together, transferring both to one hand as his eyes meet yours, stormy and dark. Even in your anger, he’s breathtakingly hot. 

“Fuck you!” you hiss defiantly. “I wouldn’t let you fuck me even if hell froze over and you were the last man on earth.”

He lets his gaze travel over you agonisingly slowly, saying nothing. His eyes linger on your mouth, then down your collarbone and further, taking in the swell of your breasts−

Fuck. 

That’s when you remember the damn dress hadn’t even been pulled up, and you are standing topless before him, exposed and inviting. Amusement still plays about his mouth, and you watch as his tongue flicks past his lips to lick at the corner of his mouth. He tuts quietly, then lets out a short whistle. 

“That’s some temper, baby,” he tells you, his voice seductively deep, his eyes boring into yours with burning desire. “You’re fire.”

He’s turned on, and it’s turning you on too. You can’t deny it. 

His fingers tighten around your wrists to tug you close to him again, your breasts pushing onto the hard heat of his chest as his other hand finds its way beneath the hem of your dress. His fingers splay against the bare skin of your thigh, travelling up, the dress rising with his touch. 

“I didn’t fuck her,” he tells you, the dress being moved up higher. “She’s not my type.”

His eyes hold you in place like hypnosis, and you make no effort to stop him, the sensations that his touch is invoking too strong to resist. 

“I’ve known your name since the first day we met,” he continues. 

“Liar,” you retort. “You read it from my nametag. You did it right in front of me.”

He snorts. “Your nametag is back to front, your name isn’t even showing −you can check it if you like.”

You can’t even check it now because it had been buried somewhere between the folds of your dress, but it was hard to imagine Jungkook would lie about that. Your anger begins to dissipate, clouded by his assurance, and the ferocity of your pure want. 

He gives a short laugh, “I had no idea you were so into me.”

“I’m not!” you say instantly. 

He raises that pierced eyebrow, looking fine as hell. “Now who’s lying?”

Your face flames, but there’s no escape. He still has you prisoner and isn’t showing any signs he wants to let you go. “This dress definitely suits you,” Jungkook says, head dipping low beside your ear where he whispers, “−And I am going to fuck you in it. Right here, right now.”

“You arrogant…” You sound strained and unrecognisable, and so very far from anything resembling convincing.

“And when I do−,” he goes on, his voice rougher, deeper. “You are going to love it.” 

You shudder at his words, your body quivering as his hand goes higher, coming to rest at the edge of your panties. His mouth moves closer to yours, the heat of his breath ghosting over you. Your breathing is ragged with the remnants of anger and anticipation, and you can feel yourself willing him to kiss you. You want him to kiss you so bad. 

He smiles. “You don’t seem like someone who wouldn’t let me fuck them,” he says. “Last man on earth or not.”

“Asshole,” you repeat, but there is no conviction in your tone.  

“You should see yourself,” Jungkook says, fingers sliding under the waistband. 

You hear yourself gasp, and your hands struggle in his grasp weakly. He only holds tighter, you’re no match for his strength. 

“So fucking beautiful when you’re jealous and angry,” he hums, brushing the tip of his nose against yours. “You’re making me crazy hard, do you know that?”

The combination of Jungkook’s proximity, his teasing, his words, his touch, his breath, his restriction on you, and the anticipation of what he was going to do next has your mind reeling. Weakened by his seduction, and with nothing left in you to turn him down. 

“You want me to touch you?” he asks huskily. “You want to feel my fingers in your pussy?”

“Jungkook, please−“ you breathe, your voice catching. 

He smirks again, knowing he’s won, fingers edging closer to your soaking cunt. “Please, what?” 

“Touch me,” you plead, hearing the urgency in your voice. “I want you to touch me.”

He licks across your lips before kissing you open mouthed. “That’s my good girl.”

Unexpectedly, Jungkook lets go of your hands and lifts up the other side of your dress. He looks down, hooking his thumbs into the hem of your panties and sliding it down. The garment slides to your ankles and he bends down to retrieve them. He rises, lifting your underwear to his nose and inhaling deeply, eyes on you. 

“I’m keeping these,” he tells you, shoving them into his pocket. 

You have no time to say anything because he’s already in the process of lifting your dress further up for better access. He steers you backwards until you feel the edge of the desk behind you, cold to the touch. 

The whole situation feels dangerously erotic, and you’re hopelessly drowning in it. In him. 

He cradles your head in one hand, kissing you with feeling, with need. You return the kiss with equal passion, your mouth accommodating to the invasion of his probing tongue, wanting more as your hands bury into his hair. He’s still hard, harder than before it seems, his clothed erection a permanent reminder of what he wants against you. 

He reaches down, fingers trailing over your inner thigh and up. He moans softly as finally, he makes contact with your glistening, wet folds. “Fuck−,” he whispers against your mouth as his hand slide over the slickness, parting your folds with two fingers. “You’re so wet, baby. So good, so ready for me.” 

He strokes at the sensitive bud of your clit with his thumb slowly, and you can’t even form any coherent words as his kisses swallow your helpless sounds, your body completely at his mercy. His finger lingers at your opening, and your legs part, your breaths coming in stuttered, jolting gasps as you feel his fingertip push into you. 

“You want to feel me?” Jungkook growls, looking down into your face, eating up your reaction as his finger goes deeper. 

“Yes!” you whine, grinding yourself against his hand. You look down, hips bucking under his touch. There was something so sensual about seeing his veined, tattooed hand moving between your legs. 

He inserts another finger, both sliding between your slick walls, curling upwards to find your sweet spot. “So tight, baby,” he hisses, biting at his own lip. “−So fucking tight and wet.”

He begins to stroke you so slowly, teasingly massaging your clit and scissoring into your dripping cunt until you are almost in tears with the excruciating pleasure he’s giving you. It’s overload, and you can’t hold on much more. You can already feel how your wall begin to quiver, contracting around his fingers, squeezing around him. 

When he adds in a third finger, you can’t keep back the cry that breaks from your throat, so you bury your face into Jungkook’s neck, your fingernails digging into his back so hard you know they’ll leave marks on him, even through his shirt. “God, it feels so… so good.”

“Come for me,” he encourages you hotly, increasing the pace, going deeper yet until he’s right against your cervix, moving in just the right way at the very spot which is your most intimate place. “Show me how much you want me.”

You moan breathlessly. “Jungkook… oh fuck, I’m close…. so close!” 

“I can feel you, baby,” he coos. “Let it go for me. I want to feel you come for me.”

You keen against his hand, knowing you were going to shatter any second now. “Mm, Jungkook−“ you mewl. “Harder. Fuck me harder!”

He duly obliges, fingers pumping your cunt quicker and harder, thumb toying with your swollen clit, hitting it right at your cervix. You can feel how soaked you are, the scent of your arousal heavy in the air as your juices run messily down his fingers. “That’s it, baby,” he whispers, stealing a greedy, wet kiss from your parted mouth. “Look at you now, hm,” he says hotly, biting at your lower lip, grazing right at your sweet spot, “Such a dirty slut for me, aren’t you?” 

It sends you over the edge and you come undone spectacularly. Your body convulses, legs shaking as your walls contract violently around his fingers, slick coating the length as your orgasm hits. You don’t know what words are coming out of your mouth or his, all you can feel is how fucking good it feels. Like pure, unadulterated pleasure you never want to end. 

Jungkook fucks you through it, offering soft, hushed words and kisses, his fingers continuing to work at you until the shuddering calms and he slips out his fingers. You let him take you into his arms, weak and dazed. You had never had a climax quite like that one before, and right now, you can’t even talk. 

You feel him lift you onto the desk wordlessly, spreading your legs. Your body is compliant and eager, wanting to feel him inside you again. He reaches for his belt, his movements hurried now, an indication of how far gone he was. 

You gasp when he unzips and pulls out his cock. It’s huge and hard, like a weapon waiting to devour you with. The thought excites you and you feel yourself stirring again. Jungkook wraps a hand around it, pumping himself a few times as he looks at you. 

He slots himself between your legs and you lean back, legs spreading out as he bends over you, positioning his cock at your wet, ready opening. “I told you I was going to fuck you in this dress,” he says. 

“You did.”

He kisses you again, his cock pushing at your cunt. Within seconds, he’s inside you, and he thrusts into you without warning, his entire length entering you in one go. It’s rough and raw, but you love it. You hear him groan as you cry out his name, his cock filling every inch of you beautifully. 

“Fuck me,” you whisper. “Fuck me hard, Jungkook.”

“I always imagined you would want it rough,” he tells you. “You ready?”

You look back up at him, reaching up to touch his mouth, fingers running over the metal at the corner. “Do it.”

Jungkook begins to pound into you like an animal, the tip of his cock hitting your pelvis, his width stretching your walls to their sorest point, his hips grinding at you as your back slides up the desk. 

Your legs grip him, fingers tugging at his hair as he bites into your neck as he fucks you relentlessly. He’s groaning, panting, his cock hardening further inside you as he chases his end like a man possessed. He’s so strong and sexy, you feel almost like a doll beneath him, the ease in which he can move you however he wants, take what he needed from you at his own pace, kiss your lips swollen and make your cunt sore with his perfect cock. 

As he hits it over and over, you can feel a second climax nearing. You clench around him, eyes closed as the sensations intensify. You’ve always wanted to have sex like this at least once. Raw and unplanned, forbidden. But you had never had the right person there for that. 

Until Jeon Jungkook. 

“You want to come on my cock?” he asks raggedly as he thrusts into you, reading the signs your body was giving him. “You want to come again for me?”

“Yes!” you whimper, your body gearing up, hips snapping up to meet his rhythm. “You’re so big… it hurts so good.”

“Take it, baby!” Jungkook grunts, your praise turning him on more as he drives into you. “You can take it.”

He smells so damn good, and feels even better, one inked hand pinning you down on one side, one at your hip, holding you in place as he slams into you. It doesn’t take long before he’s claiming your second climax from you, and with a whine your cunt flutters around him, this orgasm feeling more intense than the first. 

“Oh fuck, baby−,” Jungkook pants. “You feel so tight coming like that for me. I can feel you.”

You groan, the last trembles of your climax still fading as he pulls out and leaves you empty. He eases back a little, taking his cock into his hand to jerk himself off with quick, hurried movements. 

He grunts, eyes half-lidded, teeth biting at his lip ring every so often, tongue peeking out of his parted mouth as he moans cuss words alongside your name in a mantra. It’s quite the sight and you watch mesmerised, waiting for him to explode all over you. 

“I’m coming−,” he hisses through gritted teeth. “Fuck, Y/N, I’m−!”

Spurts of hot cum splutter from his cock as he comes hard with a series of rough groans that should come with a warning. Warm seed goes all over you, landing in various places from your neck and over your breasts, right down to your stomach and even on your bunched up dress that still sits around your waist. 

Jungkook looks utterly wrecked, sweat slicked and breathless as he drags his thumb over his cockhead to squeeze out the last drops of milky liquid. It just might be the hottest you had ever seen him look and he’s not even naked. Not even close.

Your mouth open instinctively as he brings his thumb to your mouth and smears it over your bottom lip, looking at you the whole time as your tongue slides out to taste him. You swallow the salty tang down, licking your lips as you look back up at him with a playful smile. He looks impressed. “Next time, I’ll be sure to give you the lot,” he tells you as he puts away his softening cock. 

“Next time?” you say tentatively as he helps you up and off the desk. 

Jungkook shoots you a look as he tucks his shirt in and belts up. “Yes, next time. Why? Don’t you want−?” Then something seems to click into place in his mind. “Oh that’s right, I remember,” he says. “You have me down as some kind of player, don’t you?”

You shake your head, looking guilty as charged. “No− it’s not that,” you say quickly as you pull your straps back up. “It’s just−.” You trail off, not even sure you had any excuse to offer for the assumptions you had been making. 

Jungkook catches you before you can try again, bringing you to him. “You didn’t think you were just going to use me for a quick one-off, did you?” he asks mischievously, his dark eyes settling on you. 

“No, of course not!” 

“Relax, I’m joking,” he tells you with a grin. “But I just want you to know that I’m no player.” 

He smooths back your hair before his fingers settle on the nametag you had affixed to your dress. He gestures with his head for you to look down. You do, seeing that indeed there was no name visible on it, just like he had told you. 

“When I’m serious about somebody I like and they feel the same, I don’t play,” Jungkook confirms. “I go all out.” He draws you closer, placing a kiss at your brow. “Besides, I don’t want you thinking this is all I’ve got,” he adds, his voice deepening. “There’s so much more I want to do to you…”.

thanks for reading |

Now, you were older, 21 going on 22, and claimed to yourself that those feelings were long gone, especially after you two grew closer as friends and nothing more…but Jungkook was so pretty…So hot.

Who wouldn’t have a crush on him? Sexy body. Jet black hair in wolf cut. Well-structured and pierced face. He was manly, almost bulky, very sexy but had that cute bunny-like innocence that could drive a girl crazy. The tattoos and piercings only added to the fun. It's almost like the older he got, the more attractive of a man he became.

He couldn’t even hug you normally without you being pressed against his warm abs. It wasn't his fault that he was so well built and kissed by the heavens and sun. You liked the feeling of his large, rough tatted hands displayed on your back…And you liked the breeze of his breath on your neck…

Despite finding him hot as fuck, you knew there was some kind of imaginary boundary line that shouldnt be crossed as you and Jungkook were just friends, he was your brother’s bestfriend and Jungkook was 28, nearing his thirties while you were in your early twenties. 

After the night of the clubbing though, things were changed and lines were crossed.

Though your brother initially joined you both on the clubbing, he left early to visit his girlfriend. Since he did know Jungkook for a long time, he trusted him to behave around you and protect you throughout the party. Little did your brother know, Jungkook was rebellious as hell and was going to start something he knew he couldn't finish.

“Jungkook~,”

Slurred a drunk Taehyung with an evil smile. Taehyung was one of Jungkook’s longterm friends, and though he didn’t realize it, he was about to redirect the friendship you and Jungkook had built.

 A simple dare or drink game was being played between you, Jungkook, Taehyung, and a couple of randoms. Jungkook was deliberately trying not to drink on this night because he was more concerned about an important work related project he had the next day. Jungkook knew he needed to be prepared for that, and drinking would be the worse choice.

“I dare you to kiss Y/n. Dare or drink.”

Most of the people in the drinking circle ‘ooh-ed’. They loved to see people kiss for whatever reason. Some people, likely drunk and unable to contain their reaction, ‘ugh-ed’ in jealousy. If your older brother was here, he would have made you leave. But now, he wasn't currently there to play the role of mother.

Jungkook slowly turned his head to stare at you, assessing you up and down. He was so lustfully hot in his black tanktop and those thick biceps, but his eyes were so soft and pure. Damn boba eyes.

His gaze made you squirm in your high seat. Though you came in a fitting red dress that showed skin in a sexy yet comfortable way for the temperature, Jungkook made your body feel so much more heated than it needed to be.

You were worried that he could sense it all; the way your fingers shook, the way your thighs clenched, the way your panties soaked.  You two were still just friends after all, so why did you feel this way?

Luckily, you were also trying your best to stay sober since you also had a similar important project as Jungkook. If you were already drunk, you probably would have said a few things out loud you shouldn't have. 

Jungkook casually shrugged and bit at his lip per-icing out of habit. 

“I mean, I’m down if she’s down.” He said in his deep velvety voice.

You gasped. Did he really just agree? But-

Jungkook raised a thick pierced eyebrow at you in question, giving you room to reject him if you wanted. 

…

After you only nodded, Jungkook’s dark boba eyes widened before schooling back to his handsome poker face. He twirled at his black hoop ear-ring to think about something. Clearly, he didn't think long and hard about the "kissing as friends" thing.

Your breath hitched, and your pulse quickened as he slowly approached you. Like a tattooed snake surrounding their prey, Jungkook pushed himself up from his seat, circled around to be behind you and whispered low in your ear so that the others watching couldn’t hear. His tattooed arm gripped your shoulder, but it wasn’t control, it was grounding. 

“We could fake a kiss if you’re uncomfortable.”

….

“I want to kiss you.”

"Very well then."

Then with the blink of an eye, he grabbed your arms, spun you around on your high chair to face him, and he devoured you like he was starving for centuries. The people around watched in curiosity and confusion, but nothing else mattered except for you and him, Jungkook. 

When his lips crashed into yours, for a moment you could only feel his long, slimy tongue exploring every inch of your mouth. His cold lip per-icing pressing against your lips, so you impulsively licked the metal and closed your eyes in pleasure once he slurped your tongue back into his mouth, demanding more.

He let out a soft moan and resisted the urge to grind against your chair like a bunny in heat. The sound he made was rough and deep, but you loved the manly vibrations that came with it. 

This passionate makeout went on for a long 10 seconds before you both decided to catch your breaths, hearts racing n all, saliva connected from both mouths. 

You could still taste the aftertaste of his tongue. Something sweet and lip ring metal still on the tip of your tongue.

What you and Jungkook did was not how friends kissed each other, in fact, friends aren't even supposed to kiss. So why in the hell did Jungkook kiss you like that? He kissed you like he was starving, deprived of women's mouths, when in reality, almost everybody wanted him.

Post the tongue sucking Jungkook gave you, you couldn’t help but keep thinking about the way he kissed you. You thought about it so much that your head was spinning, and your body was aching for more of him.

You were basically drunk off of his warm saliva now, constantly thinking back to the way he slid his nasty tongue into your mouth like he owned you, like he wanted to lick more of you, when in reality, you guys were just friends. 

 15 minutes after the Dare or Drink game, it was getting late, so you and Jungkook walked back from the party to the car that night.  He closely followed behind you until you were safely in the car. 

Suddenly, things in the cramped car felt a lot more heated than before. There was not enough room to breathe. You could sense every movement of Jungkook’s large, tatted body like an expensive motion detector. Except a motion detector would alert, you would just grow more wet and your breath would just hitch with every deep breath he took. 

Lord, why did he wear a black tank top and chains today? It was your weakness. You could see every curve of his thick pale biceps and read every tattoo like scripted. You had this urge to kiss all over his flesh and mark his soft skin as yours and- 

Jungkook used his large rough hands to suddenly grab you from your seat and move you on his lap. Now you were straddling him and gazing directly into his boba eyes in this small car. You could feel his hard bulge through his jeans already. From his hardness, flush pierced face and sweaty grip around your waist, Jungkook was feeling the same way you were. The worst part was, you were both sober. 

“Why don’t you tell me what’s on your mind, princess?” He asked with a soft smirk. 

“I- Uh…” You were suddenly nervous under his dazed gaze. Jungkook and you were still at the status of friends, and it would complicate everything if these feelings you both were having were expressed out loud. 

You squirmed frantically to move off him but he raised a pierced eyebrow at your action and slid you harder against him, rough hands now gripping your hips as he used his hand to adjust the seat and lean back in his car seat.

This motion caused a bit of your tight dress to rise and the tips of Jungkook’s ears turned red at the sight. He licked his lips in a needy hunger. 

“I need you, princess.”  He deeply whined, his eyes no longer innocent but more dilated and needy. He looked very drunk despite not consuming any alcohol. 

“B-but Jungkook.” You stuttered nervously. There were so many reasons you two shouldn't hookup. He was not just your much older friend, but he was your older brother’s friend. And Jungkook was your fellow worker. Why hookup with him of all the guys? Why not choose a man closer to your age?

“I dont give a fuck. Just let me fuck you. Now. P-please.”

______________________

You should not have let those big innocent boba eyes fooled you, because the way he fucked you was the complete opposite of gentle and pleading. In fact, he pounded into you like he was eternally pissed at how long your brother kept you guys apart for, making you get fucked cowgirl style.

“Mmm…So warm and wet around me, fuck!-” He gritted through his teeth while thrusting into you with sharper hits. Your thighs were starting to shake around his wide hips in the best way.

Jungkook couldn't hold himself back anymore. He tried to slow down and let you control the pace back during it, but he needed you so bad he couldn't take it.

He hated how much your brother annoyingly cock-blocked him from having you. He hated seeing you during work or during simple hangouts and not be able to fuck you infront of everyone like the world was ending.

You didn't know what to grip on to during this car sex you were having. No matter how quick your breaths were, Jungkook’s thrusts were quicker. And they hit heavy, hard and punishing in the best way, He was so large, girthy and wet, so every pound banged into that spot you so desperately needed him to. Every stretch he gave you felt like a reward. 

If your older brother knew about this whole affair, he'd probably have a stroke, ghost you and kill Jungkook. But maybe Jungkook was growing on you, because you liked the thrill, and you liked the thought of your older brother losing his mind. You were a 21 year old woman now, and you could choose whoever you wanted now.   

You indistinctively gripped onto Jungkook’s wavy thick black hair with both hands and a moan erupted from deep in his chest, sending those same vibrations throughout all of your body just like the kiss. He was quite vocal, it was hard to even think with all the sounds he was making. 

“Fuck, fuck, right there yes. You can take more.” He whimpered, trying to stay quiet in the cramped car but was failing miserably. Both of his hands gripped your waist like you were his life line.

The windows were quickly starting to fog up from the heat you and Jungkook were creating in the cramped car. 

He knew that you were close before you did and demanded that you looked into his eyes during it. You struggled to meet his gaze as you knew what you and him were doing was very scandalous.

Jungkook lowly growled in annoyance and suddenly, his large tattooed hand gripped angrily your chin so you couldn't look away from his dark eyes as he remained deep in you, harshly thrusting up from under.

His pounds were more intentional as he knew exactly how your body worked, and he would feel how your pussy was tightly gripping him, on the verge of release. 

You gasped, almost not being able to feel your legs when the orgasm hit you like a tsunami. You disgustingly squirted all over his tanktop and he only smirked in content. 

He continued to fuck you through it, making you ride him slowly while guiding you with one of his large rough hands. 

You could feel how unbelievably hard he was in you and his eyes kept rolling back like he was going to pathetically pass out. His balls were throbbing as if he was some kind of bomb, ready to explode. 

“P-please, please, fucking please can i cum in?”

You didn’t know why, but maybe to be even more scandalous, you said yes. 

Like a volcano, you felt ropes of hot sticky thick cum fill deep into your insides as his thighs violently shook under you. You almost had a second orgasm at the sight and feeling your brother's best friend just gave you. 

“Thank you. Thank you so much.” He cried out loud before yanking you in for an immediate, wet and sloppy kiss.

You kissed him back and bounced on him seeking more of that friction while he was tongue deep.

“Mmm! So greedy…” He grumbled against your lips with a smile. 

DING. DING. DING- DI- DING

“Shit.” Jungkook suddenly hissed as he pulled away to check the cause of sound. It was no other than your brother freaking out and blowing up Jungkook’s phone. 

“Where are you guys??”

“It's like 2am wtf??”

“Coming rn.” 

“Why are you guys still just in the parking lot???”

“You better not have fucked my sister. Ill kill you.”

Jungkook just chuckled and gave that hungry gaze over to you. You played with his earring because why not. 

 “When he comes, you can show him that you're not drunk.”

Chapter 1: The Date

The word “date,” nor the concept of keeping your Saturday night free of all studies for said “date,” was ever in your vocabulary. In fact, the only time “date” ever showed up was the date to your next final or project. So getting ready for something that didn’t involve having your tote bag filled with textbooks hanging off your shoulder was so incredibly foreign, that you had no other choice but to turn to Teddy for outfit inspo.

She went on a damn spiral, tossing clothes out of your closet until she finally found the one that looked perfect.

“I’m telling you right now, Jungkook will go insane over this outfit,” she said proudly with a grin so wide she might as well have turned into the Cheshire Cat. And you prayed to God that she was wrong in every way possible, because you didn’t need Jungkook thinking you looked good. Or worse, asking for another date. This was strictly professional; a hangout, if you must, to raise money for whatever showcase the art students had.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡

When you first made plans with Jungkook for your “date,” he didn’t say much at all, and you wondered if you remembered wrong, considering it was 7:10 PM and there was no sign of him.

“Meet me at the front of the art building. 7 pm, don’t be late or I’ll find you myself.” Jungkook said with a devastating grin.

He’s late, and you started to think that maybe he even forgot. Or ditched.

This was a terrible idea.

You contemplate texting Teddy something dramatic (like “I’ve been stood up, hope you’re happy”) but your thoughts were cut off as the door to the building swings open.

Out came Jungkook, dressed casually in jeans and a white shirt, sleeves straining against his biceps. Tattoos on full display too and, unfortunately, you struggled to not stare.

He grins, his eyes lighting up, and leans his forearm against the doorframe. “You came,” he said, voice easy.

“Mm,” you nod and rock back and forth on your heels in a nervous manner. “I thought we’d just be going for coffee or something?”

“Coffee?” He repeated, almost seeming offended. “I actually want my girl to enjoy her date,” he scoffed and held the door open wider for you.

You ignored the way your heart skipped a beat at the way he said my girl so casually, and stick your head inside in a cautious manner.

You hesitated, but eventually stepped inside. The studio smelled like turpentine, old wood, and something fairly metallic—paint drying, canvases breathing.

It wasn’t polished or neat. Supplies were scattered everywhere: brushes, half-finished sculptures, canvases leaning at strange angles. A battered stereo played low music in the background, something steady and old.

You stood awkwardly while Jungkook moved about the studio freely, as if he lived here.

“Hope you don’t mind getting dirty,” he said, eyeing you over his shoulder as he set up some sort of wheel mechanism.

You stared at him, heart pounding. “What…kind of dirty are we talking?”

Jungkook laughed, low and warm. “Relax. It’s just clay.”

He handed you an oversized apron, his fingers brushing yours for half a second too long…not that you were counting.

“Rule number one for tonight,” he began, putting his own apron around his waist. “Don’t think, just do.”

“That’s a terrible rule.” You muttered and followed suit, clumsily tying on the apron.

Jungkook chuckled and his shoulders shook with amusement while he watched you struggle to put on the apron. He casually stepped up behind you and took the strings from your hands, tying it for you instead.

You mentally berated yourself for the way your breath stuttered in your chest, and then you swear that the next time your heart is gonna skip a beat like that is because of nervousness for a test. Not for him; never for him.

“There is nothing terrible about being in the art studio,” he said while his large palms glided over the expanse of your waist, smoothing out the material of the apron. “Here, you just let go.”

You didn’t realize he moved away from you because you were still caught up in the way he so casually touched you, almost in a reverent manner. So much for not letting your heart skip for him.

You cleared your throat and turned to face him once more, watching as he continued to set up, what you assumed, the pottery machine. “Um, so, what exactly are we doing?”

“We’re doing pottery, obviously,” he paused and glanced at you, big eyes catching yours from under the fringes of his hair. “Have you ever?”

You carefully approached him next to the machine, watching as he pulled up a single stool in front of the wheel. “Um, no. Never.” Pottery, or anything art related, was never really your thing. The last time you ever did something remotely close to arts was probably in elementary.

He stood up with a huff, hands on his hips, and nudged his head towards the stool. “Sit,” he said, “I’ll teach you.”

“Wait so, we’re just getting right into it? We’re not…talking?” You asked before hesitantly taking a seat on the stool, staring at the wheel like it was completely foreign and would eat you alive within seconds.

“I don’t mean to be rude but judging by your body language, I think it’s best to skip the small talk.” He chuckled softly and before you could retaliate, you felt his chest brush right up against your back. You might as well have gotten whiplash from how fast your head turned to look at him.

Cheeks flushed and eyes widened, you glanced up at him, sitting so close you could basically smell his cologne. Something woodsy and citrusy, but also clean like detergent. Your eyes met his and from this close, you noticed things you probably would never have paid attention to.

The tiny mole under his bottom lip; the slight crinkle around his eyes when he smiled. The glint of his lip ring, twitching every time he brushed his tongue against it.

What the hell? Stop staring!

“What do you think you’re doing?” You asked, voice stuttering despite how desperately you tried to keep it steady.

He blinked down at you before breaking into a dimpled grin. “Relax. Just gonna help you get your flow then I’ll move to my own spot.” He reassured, before giving your arms a gentle pat.

Okay. There's two things you’ve learned about Jungkook so far. He smells awfully too good, and is insanely unaware of how naturally charming he is. Well, isn’t that great for you?

He slapped a heap of clay on the wheel before dipping his hands in a nearby bowl with water, then gestured for you to do the same.

“Pottery is easy,” he started. “You just need to have steady hands and the rest comes naturally.”

Easy was solving limits and linear equations. Easy was learning and memorizing civil wrongs and harmful acts. Easy was not molding a piece of clay into some mug or pot.

But regardless, because you literally had no other choice, you dipped your hands in the water and hovered them over the clay awkwardly.

“So…” you shifted to get comfortable and positioned your hands awkwardly over the clay. “How does this work?”

“Basically,” he hesitated for a second before gently resting his hands over yours. Big and warm, the contact had goosebumps rising on your skin. You prayed he wouldn't point it out because your best excuse would be because of air conditioning…but the room felt awfully hot. “You press down on this pedal,” he nudged your foot with his, letting you press down as a quick demonstration. “There you go,” he mumbled quietly, tone holding a hint of praise and encouragement behind it. “And your hands just kinda…move over the clay. It’s easier said than done.” He chuckled and you hated the way his breath brushed against your ear, because it sent that awful fluttery sensation down your spine again.

“Right,” you mumbled before clearing your throat. “Why are we doing pottery again?” You couldn’t help but ask. There were literally a hundred other things to do, and this guy had to choose the most messy, nuisance of an activity? Is he setting you up for failure or what?

“Because it’s fun,” he shrugged. “Don’t knock it till you try it.”

He encouraged you to press on the pedal again and when the wheel hummed to life, he gently guided your fingers to the clay. “It’s mostly about feeling where the clay wants to go.”

“That sounds strangely philosophical,” you frowned, earning another soft laugh from him.

Soft and breathy and oh so ridiculously heartstopping.

God, stop. stopstopstop–

At first, Jungkook let you feel around with the clay by yourself.

Your hands glided carefully over the spinning clay, slow and deliberate, approaching it the same way you approached everything else in life—with caution, precision, and the quiet confidence that if you followed the instructions, you'd get it right.

You'd always gotten it right.

So naturally, you assumed this wouldn't be any different.

The clay promptly collapsed in on itself with a pathetic thud.

You stared at it.

"...Seriously?"

A quiet laugh sounded behind you.

"No stress," Jungkook said, his voice low and reassuring by your ear. "It's a little finicky at first."

Your brows pinched together.

"I can—"

Before you could finish insisting you were fine, his fingers slipped gently between yours.

"I've got you."

His hands guided yours back to the clay with practiced ease, steadying the uneven pressure until the wheel began to cooperate again.

You should've been focused on what he was showing you.

Instead, all you could think about was how warm his hands were despite the cool slip of water and clay coating both of your fingers. How his broad chest brushed up against your back every time he leaned an inch too close.

It should've felt strange.

Messy and uncomfortable. Instead, it felt…oddly natural.

And that realization alone was enough to send an embarrassing rush of butterflies tumbling through your stomach.

For God's sake...

It was just pottery.

So why did your heart insist on making it feel like something more?

“There you go,” he praised softly, head right next to yours, voice deep and honey-like in your ear. You had half a heart to shove him away but somehow, you kept still.

“Okay…this is weird.” You mumbled, watching as the clay molded perfectly with the help of his hands guiding yours. Fingers slipped across the slippery, slick material, gliding up and down while the wheel spun in a slow, easy manner and the clay rose gradually.

Calling it weird was the only way you could deflect how you were really feeling.

“Weird?” He repeated, glancing at the side of your face with slightly furrowed brows. “It’s just clay.”

Well, this boy was clueless. How could you explain that the clay wasn’t the thing that was weird; the immediate dynamic; the way both your hands moved so perfectly in sync, was the thing that was weird. Because nobody had actually fallen into such an easygoing rhythm with you before so quickly.

You were difficult, demanding, but he just…made everything so easy. You realized you weren’t even thinking about your classes or exams, just the boy who was oh so gentle with you, and the clay that changed in whatever way you wanted, giving you full control.

“Um,” you eventually cleared your throat, realizing you had been zoning out. “I dunno…just feels slimy.” You deflected because what else were you supposed to say? The truth? Never.

“Slimy,” he repeated with a small snort. “That’s a new one.”

Christ, being with this guy was going to be nothing short of a nightmare.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡

“There, all done.” Jungkook finally eased back with a proud smile, and you wondered why the hell you felt disappointed from the lack of warmth.

Between casual chatter and frustrated sighs, you ended up making a mug. Crooked, but a mug nevertheless. Its handle was slightly askew as well, but Jungkook picked it up as if it was a masterpiece.

You, on the other hand, couldn't help but frown. It looked ridiculous.

“Not bad for a newbie,” Jungkook teased, poking you on the rib to which he earned a startled noise from you.

“It looks like a two year old made it.” You grumbled, a slight pout in your tone.

“No,” he stands from his seat and places the mug carefully on the drying rack. “It’s got character.”

You rolled your eyes because obviously he was trying to make you feel better…and oddly enough, it was working.

“Whatever,” untying your apron, you tossed it in the dirty cloth rack before turning to Jungkook, watching as he cleaned up the wheel. He was unfairly attractive, you had to admit. Veins popping along his strong forearms every time he scrubbed a little too hard, brows furrowed in concentration, tongue tucked under his lip ring.

“Are we done now?” You asked after clearing your throat, looking everywhere but at him now. Way to be discreet.

“Done?” He repeated around a snort, standing up and dusting his hands off on his apron. “We’re just getting started.”

𓍯𓂃𓏧

You told yourself you’d stay for just an hour, because you had a civil procedures textbook waiting for you back at your apartment. You told yourself you wouldnt do anything too artsy or too messy–wanted to keep your hands clean.

So how, on God’s green earth, did you end up sitting next to this damn art major, shoulders brushing occasionally, and painting mugs?

Not even the heavens could answer that.

"You know..." Jungkook glanced over at your mug before looking at his own. "I don't think I've ever seen someone paint with such serious concentration."

You didn't bother looking up.

"I'm trying not to ruin it."

"You look like you're taking an exam."

"I practically am."

He laughed, dipping his brush into a bright orange paint.

"See? That's your problem."

"My problem?"

"You think too much."

"And you don't think enough."

"...Fair."

You blinked.

"...You agreed with me?"

"I'm an artist, not delusional."

Before you could question further, he spoke up.

“Would you look at that,” Jungkook started, holding up his mug next to yours. His was coloured in bright oranges and yellows; intricate flower designs that only artists could perfect the details of. Yours?

Neutral browns and greys, because you didn’t know how to be creative. Even painting was like a perfectly curated task; it had to look perfect, be perfect.

“You’re a natural.” He said with a dimpled grin, nudging your side with his elbow. That simple comment had you snapping out of your mind, blinking up at him like some lost deer. You never knew how to take compliments.

“It’s all right,” you mumbled as you placed the mug on the drying rack, right next to Jungkook’s, The contrast was almost comical.

“Well, this was…nice. But I really should get going now.” You immediately deflected, grabbing your tote bag from the floor, paint smudging over the fabric. You had already overstayed your welcome, and if you stayed any damn longer, you didn’t know what you would end up doing.

“Oh,” Jungkook nodded, brushing his hands off on his jeans, caught off guard by the sudden shift in your demeanor. Had you two not just been getting along? He almost sounded disappointed but you told yourself it was your mind playing tricks. “Yeah, no, of course.”

A beat passed.

"I guess it did get kinda late."

It was only ten.

The sun had barely started to set.

But neither of you pointed that out.

“Thanks for helping with the fundraiser,” he said as he followed you to the door like some lost puppy; doe eyes staring into the back of your head. “I can tell this isn’t your thing but I appreciate it.” He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly with a smile that had your stomach flipping.

Why? You refused to acknowledge that.

“Yeah, no problem. Hope the art gala goes well.”

“Thanks! Maybe I–”

You didn’t even let Jungkook finish before you were scurrying off, desperate to get out of this situation. To get your damn bearings together and eliminate all of these stupid, fuzzy feelings in your chest.

Meanwhile, Jungkook?

Oh, that boy was a mess.

Not only did he never even plan on getting as far as painting the mugs with you, he also didn’t realize how effortless it was to be around you. Sure, you were a little dense about things, a little stuck up. But conversations came naturally–he learned you were a law major, lived by yourself, and had a cat–and the more he learned, the more he wanted to be around you.

Oh, this was bad. So, so bad.

Because this was supposed to be a one time thing, but as Jungkook watched your retreating figure like a fool–hand clutching that tote bag he recognized from the auction, soft pink babydoll top complementing your skin, and white maxiskirt flowing gently in the breeze–he realized that this wasn’t enough.

He had to see you again, one way or another.

a/n: omg guys much anticipated chapter 1!! finally omg. i love these two sm like i was a giggling fool writing this entire chapter. sorry it was so late! i've been so so busy with work and stuff but i tried super hard to get it done for you guys! hope it's up to ur expectations and i hope u guys love it as much as i do. they're literally my babies :> (also i didn't think ppl would actually like this so lmk if u wanna be tagged for the next part!) and sorry for any typos!

You sit on top of your comforter on your bed with your legs stretched out, your left ankle crossed over your right. Your arms are folded across your chest as you have your head turned to your left and stare at your phone next to you. It lays flat on the nightstand, completely silent. Unfolding your arms, you twist your body and reach over with your right arm to tilt your phone toward you to check the time. 

It's about time he called. Why isn't it ringing?

Every time your best friend leaves to go on tour, he'd call you on Face Time. It doesn't matter if he had just done six encores or stayed up all night after a show. No matter how tired he is, it is a routine that he always sticks to. Not once is there a day that he doesn't call you. 

So now, you expect him to call you. 

Your hand tilts the phone back down so that it lays flat again. As you move your body back into the position it was in just seconds ago, you exhale softly. That's when your phone rings and a Face Time call from him comes through. You inhale sharply and reach for your phone again, adjusting your position so that you're sitting up with your legs crossed. Suspending the phone in the air in front of your face, you clear your throat before answering the Face Time call. 

"Miss me?" He has a smirk on his face as he's staring at you through the screen. The same smirk he always wears whenever he calls you on Face Time and asks that question. 

"No." You scoff while shaking your head.

"How many more times do I have to ask that for you to admit that you do miss me every time I go on tour?" He chuckles, raising his eyebrows. 

"You can stop asking that because I will never admit it." You see the video shaking as he seems to be walking somewhere and the background looks awfully familiar. 

"Hold on, I'll call you back." He says before abruptly ending the Face Time call. 

You stare at your phone home screen and softly blink twice before hearing the doorbell ring. Your head jerks to the left upon hearing the sound and it rings again. "Who is it?" You mumble to yourself while tossing your phone onto the comforter in front of you and inching off of your bed to go answer the door. 

You take a few more steps toward the front door of your apartment. "Who is it?" You call but there's no answer. Tilting your head to the side, your left hand reaches for the lock on the door and turns it to unlock the door before pulling it open. 

"You still won't admit it even if I show up like this?" He stands in your doorway with both his thumbs stuck inside his jeans pockets . He's wearing that stupid smirk again. 

"Jungkook." You stand on the other side of the doorframe and call his name. "What are you doing here?" 

"I came back a bit early from tour so I came to see you." His eyebrows move up and down. "So, did you miss me?" 

You don't answer and just stare at him. He's wearing a black CK t-shirt and skinny jeans. Seeing him standing in front of you like this felt like a dream. A dream that you didn't ever want to wake up from. Because you did miss him. You miss him every time he leaves to go on tour. 

"Damn it." You mutter under your breath as you exhale. You blink softly again before your right hand grabs the collar of his t-shirt and pulls his body closer to yours. His face is inches away from yours and his eyes are wide while they look down at you. "This is all your fault." You whisper while maintaining eye contact with him just before you stand on your toes to press your lips against his. 

Jungkook immediately responds to your intimate touch by closing his eyes and kissing you back. His right hand holds the back of your head as you take two steps back and he takes two forward so that he's now kissing you against the wall next to the door. While his lips stay connected to yours, he uses his left foot to push the door closed. His lips move gently against yours as his other hand wraps around your waist. You and he stay joined at the lips for a few more seconds before he pulls away. 

His eyes open as do yours and Jungkook looks down at you, his right hand now caressing your left cheek and his left still on your waist. "I'll take that as you did miss me? So are we now-?" 

You roll your eyes and chuckle softly, "Shut up." 

Jungkook smirks again with his eyes gazing at you seductively. He then pulls you closer to him by your waist and your chest is now touching his. You let out a soft gasp at the sudden pull and keep your eyes on his as he leans down to connect his lips with yours again. 

© kookied 2026. all rights reserved. all content shared on this page is my own, original work. the above characters (including original), characterizations, dialogue, plot and settings are all fictitious. they are not to be associated with any real people mentioned, whom are solely used for visual purposes.

Hurriedly browsing through the ads, you almost lost hope of finding something decent, but then you stumbled upon this apartment. Good price, decent size, quiet and fairly decent area of Seoul. It seemed that luck had finally smiled on you.

The residential complex you moved into was modern: several high-rise buildings with panoramic windows, surrounded by greenery, with a 24-hour store and parking nearby.

Your new apartment was on the third floor, overlooking the courtyard and the neighboring building of the complex, which stood opposite, forming the letter "U." The windows of the apartments in these buildings faced each other, allowing you to see the silhouettes or details of your neighbors' lives if you didn't close the curtains.

You first met Jungkook near the mailboxes in the lobby of the building. He was standing there, scrolling through his phone, wearing a black T-shirt that didn't hide his muscular body and showed off his tattooed arm, and jeans with several rips. His double lip piercing glinted in the light of the lamps as he looked up and gave you an appraising glance.

You knew guys like him: charming, confident, with a smile that made girls lose their heads. Your seductive appearance and self-confidence attracted them like a magnet. Your past was full of fleeting romances, but now you weren't looking for a relationship or a one-night stand. Although, somewhere deep inside, you felt a slight impulse: you might have slept with him.

So you started seeing him everywhere you went. You often saw him standing on the balcony, which was one floor below yours and directly opposite your windows. You remember how he waved at you, and you just smiled and quickly disappeared, closing the curtains so he couldn't see you as if through a magnifying glass.

He noticed that you didn't have a boyfriend and began to actively try to seduce you. But you clearly showed him that you weren't interested in his advances, yet Jungkook proved to be persistent in his intentions.

Your encounters became more frequent: in the store, in the parking lot, near the elevator. A strange mixture of friendly conversation and constant sexual tension arose between you. He made hints, you skillfully deflected them, but that only fueled him. You liked how he tried, how his eyes lit up when you rebuffed him with another witty remark. You knew he was a player, but he had a charisma that made him not just another womanizer, but someone who intrigued you.

Sometimes, over dinner at the 24-hour store, you talked about sex. He might say something like:

"You know that one day I'm going to drag you to bed,"

And you replied with a laugh:

"It's okay to dream, Jungkook."

It was so much fun to brush him off, and you secretly enjoyed your little game.

Jungkook loved to provoke you by asking rather explicit questions like "how do you like it," "when did you first do it," "how long can you last," "how many times have you cum the most." You answered some questions, but left others unanswered to add fuel to the fire you saw ignite in Jungkook when you discussed this topic.

From your conversations, you also learned that Jungkook was a tattoo artist, and he even offered to give you a tattoo. You laughed when he said he could tattoo your bikini area, chest, or under your breasts for free. You said you would think about his offer.

One evening, on your way home from work, you ran into Jungkook near the entrance to your building. With a cigarette in his hand, he paid you a bold compliment:

"Doll, your skirt is driving me crazy, it's shorter than my patience, and you can't even imagine how much it's limping today."

You rolled your eyes with demonstrative, but you couldn't hide the corners of your lips twitching into a smile. This cheeky, confident tone had already become his trademark. Jungkook was just like that — he said what he thought and wasn't ashamed that he had as much passion in his head as he had tattoos on his body.

"It seems your imagination works better than your self-control," you replied with a hint of flirtation that you didn't allow yourself with anyone else.

He laughed — quietly, hoarsely — and took another drag.

"You know," he said, exhaling smoke, "I like that you pretend to be aloof. It only fuels my interest."

"Actually, sir, I'm not pretending to be aloof. I just don't fall for cheap tricks."

After that, he disappeared for a few days. Even the lights in his apartment were off. During those two days, you couldn't shake the feeling that something was missing. And you were afraid to admit to yourself that what you were missing was Jungkook, his bold compliments, and his undressing gaze.

After his brief disappearance, Jungkook reappeared, and you began to notice that he brought a new girl home every week. Sometimes you saw him kissing someone on the balcony or going out for a smoke, and silhouettes flashed in his apartment. Somewhere deep down, you felt a twinge — not jealousy, but something like curiosity. You imagined yourself in those girls' shoes, but quickly dismissed those thoughts.

The fact that he stopped chasing you and you almost stopped seeing each other affected your state of mind. That's why the urge to get drunk was almost obsessive.

You went to a restaurant with your colleagues after work and drank more than two bottles of soju so as not to feel the terrible disappointment that Jungkook had given up his attempts to win you over. It seemed that he was tired of your aloof behavior and started doing what he did before he met you, having a new girlfriend whenever he wanted.

You came home well after midnight. The taxi took you there quickly, and you staggered up to your apartment. You went inside and turned on the light in the hallway, which flowed smoothly into a spacious living room with a soft sofa and a TV. The large panoramic window was open, and you didn't even notice that it wasn't closed.

You took off your shoes, which were hurting your toes, and breathed a sigh of relief. You walked over to the sofa, feeling the stuffiness caused by the daytime temperature on your skin. It was so hot that it seemed that it was probably cooler in hell.

You stopped by the sofa and took off your shirt and skirt. The skirt slid down your thighs, and you bent over to pick it up, but you only managed to do so on your second attempt.

You had no idea that on the balcony opposite, a pair of eyes was watching your every move. Jungkook was standing there smoking after his second time with the girl he had tattooed a few days ago. He was wearing only boxer shorts and was in the absolute darkness of the night. Only the faint glow of his cigarette illuminated his face from time to time.

The light in your apartment turned on just as he lit his cigarette. Jungkook saw you approach the window and sway slightly. Your perfect figure was visible almost in full height. He saw you start to undress right in front of him, clearly forgetting about the curtain that you had never forgotten to close before.

Jungkook almost dropped the cigarette he was holding between his fingers when you took off your skirt and bent over toward him, showing off your luscious buttocks. Although your windows were at a certain distance, he could clearly see your seductive curves.

Your ass was perfectly shaped, and he felt his cock throbbing. Jungkook looked at his crotch and laughed to himself. The way he reacted to your naked body surprised even him.

Jungkook took another long drag, inhaling the smoke to calm himself down while you were still bent over and he could see the outline of your pussy, and fuck, he wanted to fuck you even harder than before.

You finally straightened up and turned around. Jungkook put out his cigarette so that the faint flame would not reveal his presence and watched as you approached the window, giving him a better view of your underwear: it was a leopard-print bra and thong set. You didn't check to see if anyone was watching you, you just closed the curtains. But not completely, leaving a gap.

Jungkook could still see you walking around the apartment in your underwear. He secretly hoped that you would feel free and take off your bra too, but you didn't. In the end, he watched you until you turned off the light and disappeared into another room.

Jungkook returned to his room and the girl he had just fucked twice. She didn't make him want to touch her to relieve the tension you had aroused in him with your half-naked appearance. He lay down in bed and couldn't stop thinking about your curves and shapes. He imagined taking off that damn leopard-print outfit. Jungkook realized that he wanted you — badly, and if he wanted something badly, he would always get it.

The next morning, your head hurt badly, so you put on some sweatpants, hoodies and went to the 24-hour store to buy something for your hangover. Luckily, it was Saturday, and you were happy that you didn't have to go to work with such a headache.

The door of the 24-hour store opened with a short "ding dong," and immediately a pleasant female voice came from the speaker:

"Welcome."

You sluggishly stepped inside, pulling a black cap over your face so your neighbors wouldn't see how swollen your face was. You greeted the woman from the second floor, who lived right below your apartment, and the man who was your father's age, who always woke up early and walked his cute poodle.

For your hangover, you needed a whole survival kit: a bottle of cold mineral water, banana milk, a pack of ramen, and an ice pack.

Standing in line, you dreamed of only one thing — getting back to bed. But suddenly, someone leaned close enough behind you that you could smell his tobacco and perfume.

"Hmm... judging by your kit, you're either throwing a banana milk party tonight or trying to resurrect yourself after the apocalypse," a familiar voice whispered almost in your ear.

You turned around to meet his sly smile.

"More like the second version," you muttered, turning away. You felt Jungkook lean close to your ear again and lower his voice so that no one could hear you.

"By the way... is your leopard print outfit a trend, or do you just like to be unconventional?"

You froze. Leopard print outfit? The underwear you wore yesterday? You instantly realized that he had seen you when you returned home after dinner with colleagues, but you weren't embarrassed. Slowly turning around, you replied with a sly smile:

"It’s an unconventional move. I never chase fashion."

His gaze darkened for a moment.

"I liked it," he said, not hiding his thoughts.

"Were you watching me?" you asked.

"I just happened to be on the balcony when you came home after midnight. Thanks for the nice view before bed,"

You raised an eyebrow, feeling your cheeks flush, but you weren't going to look away.

"Well, next time you can bring some popcorn," you replied with feigned indifference.

"It's nice to know that there will be a next time, and if there is," he leaned a little closer, "I'd like to see the show without any unnecessary details... like that damn bra, for example."

Fortunately for you, the line in front of you cleared, and you approached the counter. You placed your order on the table. You waited for the clerk to ring up your items when you felt Jungkook's chest touch your back for a moment. A pack of condoms fell near the ramen, and you heard his voice above your head:

"A pack of blueberry-flavored sticks for IQOS."

The salesman froze with the ice pack, the last item you had purchased.

"Will that be one receipt?" he asked. You glanced briefly at Jungkook with dissatisfaction and quickly replied.

"No, no. Count them separately..."

"Count all as one receipt, I'll pay for the girl," he said.

"Why are you doing this?" you asked dissatisfied.

The salesperson shrugged and began to scan everything together.

"Consider it my 'thank you' for the nice view from the balcony," he said, taking the bag and, without asking, taking it in his hand.

"I didn't ask for it, I have money to buy my own groceries," you replied dryly as you left the store.

"I know," he walked alongside you, his steps perfectly in sync with yours, "but I like doing things you don't ask for."

The door closed behind you, and the voice of the woman who greets those who enter rang out again. The cool morning air washed over your cheeks.

"By the way, you were supposed to think about my tattoo offer," said Jungkook, lighting a cigarette.

"I thought about it," you shrugged, "but I'm not sure if I should trust my body to a man who likes to peep."

Jungkook snorted, blowing a thin cloud of smoke to the side so it wouldn't touch you.

"Peeping? You voluntarily put on a show, and I'm not sure I was the only one who could see it."

You stopped, and Jungkook, having taken a few steps, also stopped. You looked at him silently. He shrugged.

"What?"

"Nothing, I don't want to do tattoo," you said indifferently. You approached Jungkook to take your bag. You grabbed the handles and pulled it toward you, but Jungkook didn't let go. You pulled again, but instead of letting go, he took a step forward, coming dangerously close.

"Don't be mad at me, maybe I was the only one who saw you. I wish I was the only one who could see your body," he said seriously. Your expression was indifferent, but your racing heart threatened to betray your true emotions. "Don't jump to conclusions, and think carefully about my offer. I'm ready to give you a tattoo at any moment,"

"Okay," was all you said. Jungkook carefully snatched the bag from your hands and took out the condoms package and sticks for IQOS.

"This is mine," he said with a smile. Jungkook handed you the bag and took a step back, "See you later... kitty," and winked as he walked away.

Another week passed. You began to behave cautiously, and now your curtains were almost always closed, and you no longer changed clothes wherever you wanted; it was either in the bedroom or the bathroom.

During the whole week, you only ran into Jungkook a few times in the elevator, which was crowded with people, and you couldn't even talk.

One day, you noticed that he began to come to home alone for the first time in a long time, without some random girl like usual. You thought maybe you were just imagining things, that maybe you just hadn't run into his entertainment.

Friday evening after work, you went to a 24-hour store to eat ramen. When you got home and saw that the refrigerator was completely empty, you got dressed and went downstairs.

You bought yourself some jajangmyeon, corn dogs, and a chocolate bar. You decided to eat at the store so you wouldn't have to sit at home. You were just stirring the noodles with the sauce when you heard someone enter the store. You turned around and saw Jungkook. He noticed you right away too. He waved at you, and you waved back and turned away to eat.

A few minutes later, a package of the same jajangmyeon, two triangular kimbap, and a Coca-Cola appeared on the table next to you. You looked up at Jungkook, who was standing nearby and looked tired.

"Hi," he said as he came closer, opening a packet of noodles.

"Hi," you replied with your mouth full. Jungkook made himself some noodles and sat down next to you, opened one of the kimbabs, and waited for the noodles to cook.

"What's up, Kook? Things are bad?" you asked. He took a bite of the kimbab without rushing to answer. You watched him examine the filling, and then he finally spoke.

"Things are really bad," he replied irritably. You smiled, seeing him in such a bad mood and without his usual arrogance for the first time.

"What? You did someone’s a bad tattoo, or some girl give you a bad blowjob?" you asked ironically. Jungkook looked at you and his lips twitched into a smile.

"Even if I had the worst blowjob ever, I would still be happy," he replied sadly. You took a bite of your corn dog, and when you turned back, you saw Jungkook staring at your lips. You covered your mouth with your hand so he would look away.

"Ha, seriously? What happened — lost your touch and can't pick anyone up?" you laughed. "Is that why you haven't had a visitor in a week?"

Jongkook smiled slyly, glancing at you.

"Have you been spying on me and noticed that I haven't had a girl for a week?"

You froze with noodles in your mouth. Then you quickly pulled yourself together and replied.

"I wasn't following you, I just noticed,"

Jungkook chuckled and finished his first kimbap.

"You noticed correctly," he emphasized the word "noticed" as he opened a can of Coca-Cola, "I haven't had sex in a week because I made a bet with my friends."

You leaned forward and raised your eyebrows in interest, looking at Jungkook.

"Really? How did you survive a week without sex?" you asked mockingly, feigning surprise. Jungkook didn't appreciate your joke, and you smiled slyly.

"I have to admit, it's really hard," he smiled.

"What was the bet?" you asked. Jungkook took a few big gulps of Coke and replied.

"My friends said I don't think about anything but sex," he began, and you couldn't help but interrupt.

"They're right, so what?"

Jungkook gave you a dissatisfied look, then continued.

"I started arguing with them that I don't only think about sex. It's just my beauty that attracts girls like a magnet, and who am I to refuse a pretty girl who dreams of my dick?" he said. You shut up, turned away, and continued eating. "But they insisted that I couldn't live without sex, so we bet that I could go 30 days without sex,"

Hearing what he had bet with his friends, you almost choked on your noodles. You laughed so loudly that you attracted the attention of everyone in the store. Jungkook gave you an annoyed look, but you covered your mouth and muttered:

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. But are you serious? You're going to lose that bet."

"Why?" he asked, narrowing his eyes.

Finishing your ramen, you replied:

"Sex is like oxygen to you. You won't be able to hold out."

Jungkook laughed, admitting that he had been holding out for a week, and you yourself noticed that he didn't have a girlfriend.

"Well, maybe you can hold out for another week. That's the maximum," you said confidently.

"I always keep my word," he snapped. You smiled even more slyly.

"What did you bet on?" you asked. Jungkook finally picked up his chajangmyeon and began to season it.

"Money, what else?" he said as if it were obvious.

"It must be a large sum if you agreed to it, because I will never believe that you want to prove that you don't think with your dick," you suggested and saw Jungkook smile broadly, not hiding the fact that you were right.

"Yes, it's a large sum, 2 million won,"

Your eyebrows shot up and you involuntarily opened your mouth,"

"Wow, that's a lot of money," you said. Jungkook turned to you and, catching your gaze, smiled slyly.

"You know, I can forget about this bet if you let me fuck you."

"No way," you snorted and turned away.

"Then I’ll win," he declared.

"No, you won't," you assured him, "You can't keep your buddy in your pants even for that kind of money."

Jungkook laughed, then made an unexpected offer.

"If you don't believe me, then be my supervisor. Make sure I behave myself."

You laughed, saying that it was unrealistic and that you couldn't be with him 24/7 and didn't know what he was up to in clubs or at the tattoo parlor where he worked.

Jungkook assured you that he would text you, send you photos, and that you could come over and check if there were any traces of girls. You joked that taking his word for it was a bad idea, but finally agreed:

"Okay, I'm in. But if I win, you have to grant me any wish I want."

"What if I win?" he asked with interest.

"If you win, I grant any wish for you."

Jungkook's mood immediately improved, and you noticed it. You were determined and knew for sure that this guy would lose, unable to hold out even half the time without sex.

Two weeks passed, and you took on the role of a strict supervisor. Now you closely monitored his every move, which made your communication even more frequent.

You talked a lot on the phone, video chatted in the evening when he was walking home from the gym until he got home, or texted each other while you were at work. But still, doubts arose as to whether he was really keeping his promise.

So you started coming to his house, or when you had lunch at work, you would visit him at his tattoo parlor. You spent a lot of time together, which caused even more sexual tension between you, which you both felt.

Jungkook joked openly with you, and you scolded him, saying that he should keep his dirty mouth shut, to which Jungkook replied that the sperm he hadn't released for so long was hitting him in the head, which is why he was joking like that.

There are four days left until the end of the dispute. In evening, when you were leaving work, you stopped by Jungkook's tattoo parlor and he showed you a sketch of a tattoo he was going to do for a client. He stood very close to you, touching your buttocks, as if by accident. He explaining the meaning of the drawing, and you felt a slight tingling sensation that ran through your whole body.

You turned to him, looking at his lips, but he didn't seem to notice your gaze and continued talking. When Jungkook finally noticed that you were looking at him intently, he smiled.

"What are you looking at?" he asked, looking at your lips, then slowly raising his eyes to yours.

"What do you think you're doing, Jungkook?" you asked reproachfully.

"What am I doing?" Jungkook didn't understand, not backing down an inch. His voice lowered.

"You're touching my butt with your dick, and I can feel you getting aroused," you said bluntly and smiled. Jungkook seemed to hold his breath, then laughed softly.

"Really?"

"Really," you confirmed. Jungkook glanced at your lips again.

"Your ass is sweet, my dick can't help but react to it," he said without looking away. You laughed ironically.

"Then maybe you'd better step away so you don't lose the bet?" you suggested.

"What, could I lose it?" He touched your waist with his palm, pulling you closer. "I'll gladly do it if you let me fuck you," he whispered, leaning closer. You didn't pull away, feeling the throbbing between your legs. Jungkook's cock began to press harder against your buttocks, his erection growing.

"You'll lose two million won and owe me the wish. Are you sure you've thought this through?" you asked, almost whispering into his lips. Jungkook took the sketch from your hands and threw it on the chair where the person getting the tattoo usually sat. He turned you toward him, pressing you against the chair.

"That's nothing compared to what I'll feel when I finally fuck you," Jungkook confessed openly. You could already feel his bulge pressing against your pussy. You felt wet between your legs and realized that you wanted him. The thought that if you refused and he won, he would go fuck some other girl the next day made you feel a pang of jealousy.

Over the past month, you had grown so close to him that you needed his attention more than you cared to admit. And now, standing here, pressed against his body, inches from his lips, you felt yourself burning up in front of him.

You wanted him to fuck you.

"You will lose to me," you repeated, breathing heavily, feeling his body and warmth with every cell in your body.

"To hell all it," said Jungkook as he kissed you. His kiss was hungry, almost desperate, as if he had been holding it all in for those three weeks of restraint. You responded to the kiss, feeling his arms tighten around your waist, pulling you even closer to him.

Your body reacted faster than your mind — the throbbing between your legs intensified, and the wetness that appeared only confirmed how much you wanted him.

You felt his hands slide lower, cupping your buttocks, and you involuntarily pressed yourself against him, feeling his hard erection through his jeans. Your heart was pounding and your thoughts were confused. You knew this was the moment when you could stop everything, tell him to back off, remind him of the bet. But instead, you threw your head back, allowing him to kiss your neck, where his lips left hot marks and his teeth gently bit your skin.

His hand slowly slid down your thigh, lifting the hem of your dress. You felt his fingers barely touch your underwear and sighed involuntarily.

"You're dummy, you're losing the bet, although there are only 4 days left," you repeated, but it sounded weak, almost like a plea. Jungkook laughed, his laughter dark and seductive.

"Fuck the bet," he said, looking you straight in the eye. "I want you. I want to fuck you so hard you can't sit up." His fingers tightened around your thigh, and you felt your whole body surrender to this desire. You knew he could feel your wetness even through the thin fabric of your underwear, and it only fueled him more.

You grabbed his T-shirt, pulling him toward you, and kissed him, putting everything you had accumulated over weeks of playing games into that kiss. His hands feverishly explored your body, and you felt his erection pressing against you, promising what you had been trying to reject for so long.

His fingers finally slipped under your underwear. He touched your clitoris, feeling how wet you were. Jungkook swears he was in nirvana. He massaged your clitoris, enjoying your moans right into his mouth, and when he slid his middle finger into your passage, he felt himself harden even more, because you were so tight.

Jungkook broke away from your lips, his breathing heavy and his eyes burning with desire. He looked at you, wanting to enjoy and remember what your beautiful face looked like when he gave you pleasure.

His finger, moving slowly inside you, sent waves of pleasure through you, and you involuntarily arched your back, your hips barely moving to meet him. Your body trembled at his touch, and your every moan raised his ego higher.

You grabbed his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin through the thin fabric of his T-shirt, and he just smiled, feeling how you reacted to him.

"You like it, don't you?" he asked quietly, his voice low and vibrating against your skin.

"I like it," you whispered, answering honestly.

"I told you, you're missing out," he said slyly. You half-opened your eyes for a moment, looking at him from under your lashes.

"Shut up and do what you're doing," you said, a little dissatisfied. Jungkook quickened his movements inside you, his fingers, now two in your passage, going as deep as they could.

"You played with me instead of getting the best dick in your life, but now I'll show you what real pleasure is," Jungkook assured you, stimulating your clitoris deadly slowly. You smiled at his self-confidence.

"Who gave you the status of 'the best cock in life'? The hundreds of girls you've fucked?"

Jungkook pulled his fingers out of you too abruptly, and you almost whimpered at the loss of his warmth. He knelt down, lifting your skirt and removing your lace thong in one motion.

His hands gripped your buttocks tightly, pulling you to him, and you felt his hot breath touch your skin. Jungkook was in no hurry, his gaze fixed on you, as if he were enjoying every second of this tension. You felt his lips barely touch the inside of your thigh, and your body involuntarily shuddered with anticipation. He slowly ran his tongue over your skin, leaving a wet trail, and you gripped the edge of the chair, trying to maintain control.

He kissed you around your pussy without touching it, teasing you. You had already opened your mouth to yell at him to finally do what he was supposed to do, but your voice broke when his lips finally reached your clit.

His tongue made a slow, teasing movement, and you arched involuntarily, feeling a wave of pleasure wash over your entire body. He moved slowly, savoring you as if you were his favorite dish, and his every movement was designed to drive you crazy.

You ran your fingers through his long hair, pulling gently, and he moaned softly, the vibration of his voice echoing in you with a new surge of sensation.

"You're as sweet as I expected," he murmured, without taking his eyes off you, and his words only intensified the heat spreading through your body. His tongue moved faster, alternating between light touches and more insistent ones, and his fingers returned to your passage, plunging into you again, this time with more confidence.

Your breathing became ragged, and you felt your hips moving involuntarily in time with his movements.

"Kook... I can't..." you exhaled, feeling yourself approaching the edge. He looked up, his gaze dark and hungry, and he smiled softly without stopping his actions.

"You can," he replied, his voice low and hoarse. "And you're going to come for me." His words, spoken with such confidence, pushed you even closer to the edge. His tongue made another slow, deep movement, and his fingers inside you found the perfect rhythm, and you felt your whole body tense before exploding in orgasm.

You arched your back, moaning his name, and your fingers tightened around his hair. Jungkook didn't stop, continuing to caress you until your body stopped trembling with pleasure. Only then did he slowly rise, his lips glistening with your wetness, a smug smile playing on his face.

"So, do you still think I'm not the best?" he asked, wiping his lips with the back of his hand, but his eyes never left you. You were still trying to catch your breath, your cheeks burning, but you couldn't hold back a smile.

"You said something about your cock, not your tongue," you replied with a faint, defiant smile. Your voice was weak, and your body was still buzzing from what he had done to you. Jungkook laughed, his hand sliding back around your waist, pulling you closer.

"You’re right," he said, and his lips found yours again. This kiss was slower but no less passionate, and you could feel his erection still pressing against you through your jeans. You reached out, touching him through the fabric, and he moaned softly, pressing against your palm.

"I swear… fuck. I'll ruin you," he said with deeper voice. And from his tone, you felt your walls contract.

"Then do it slowly," you asked. Jungkook smiled, his piercing glinting in the light of the tattoo parlor.

"You don't know what you just signed up for, doll," he assured you.

"Less talk, more action," you said. You unzipped his jeans, freeing his hard cock. You couldn't help but glance at it, and your heart raced again. It was just as you imagined — and even bigger. Jungkook took off all his clothes, and you could fully see and admire his tattoos, which made him so sexy and attractive.

His arm was covered with colorful drawings, which you were sure had a special meaning for him. A flower covering his shoulder flowed smoothly onto his chest in chaotic lines. His perfect muscles played with his every movement.

Jungkook decided that you should be completely naked too. He took off your business dress. His eyes greedily studied your curves. Finally, he could see this beauty again, but now closer, just a few inches away. And damn, you were so seductive, so desirable. He leaned closer, his lips barely touching your ear as he whispered:

"Tell me you want me. I want to hear it."

You bit your lip, feeling him enter you again with his fingers. He stretched you to his size, even though you were sure it would hurt either way. You tried to maintain some semblance of pride, but his fingers, moving so skillfully inside you, made it impossible.

"I... want you," you finally exhaled, and his smile widened, almost triumphant.

"Good girl," he murmured, and his lips covered yours again, but this time the kiss was slower, deeper, to enjoy you fully.

His free hand slid down your back, unhooking your bra, the only thing still covering you. The lace, like the thong that aroused him, fell to the floor, and Jungkook stepped back for a moment to admire you. His gaze slid over your bare breasts, and you saw his pupils dilate with excitement.

"You're perfect," he said, his voice sounding sincere, almost reverent. He leaned down, his lips touching your neck, then your collarbone, and slowly moving down to your breasts. His tongue traced one of your nipples, making you sigh, and then he took it into his mouth, biting it gently, which sent a new wave of sensation through you.

You found his erect cock and began to stroke it, feeling how he tensed up and could no longer kiss your nipples properly. Jungkook leaned back slightly. He closed his eyes, feeling absolute satisfaction from your handiwork. You leaned down to his chest and ran your tongue around his nipples.

Jungkook opened his eyes, watching you taste him now. You felt the hardness of his nipples as you kissed them both in turn, your hands keeping rhythm, sometimes touching the head of his cock with your thumb, from which pre-cum was dripping. You kissed him along his sculpted abs, moving lower, but he stopped you just as you reached the bottom of his V-shaped muscle.

"No, not now," he said. "I want to fuck your pussy too much. You can give me a blowjob another time," he said and pulled back.

You smiled, hiding your slight disappointment.

"Are you sure there will be another time?" you asked, watching him walk over to the table next to the chair and take out a condom. He tore the foil with his teeth and, walking over to you, put condom on his erect cock.

"Of course there will be," he said confidently. You snorted. Jungkook came up and kissed you briefly to wipe the mocking smile off your lips. He pulled you by the arms, put you on the floor, and then turned you around so your back was to him. "Time to enjoy you to the fullest," he muttered from behind.

He bent you over so that you rested your hands on the chair. His hands gripped your hips tightly, and you felt his hard cock touch your entrance, sending a new wave of heat between your legs. You arched your back, involuntarily inviting him in.

"You look so hot in that position," he murmured, and you felt his cock press against your entrance. It hurt when he began to sink into you. Jungkook, hearing your moan of pain, stopped, pulled out, and then entered you again, slowly, stretching you with every inch. You sighed with pain, but the way he filled you brought you pleasure, and your fingers clenched the edge of the chair.

Finally, he stopped, and you heard him breathe shakily behind you. His cock twitched inside you, and you couldn't imagine how he was holding back from cumming because your pussy was so tight.

"Fuck, I knew it would be perfect here," he said, referring to your pussy. He leaned closer, his lips touching your shoulder, and then he bit you lightly, causing a surge of pleasure.

"I wonder how many partners you've had that you're still so tight, doll?" Jungkook asked. You turned your head slightly to look at him.

"Enough to not give you the title of 'best member in my life,'" you replied defiantly. Although now, feeling him inside you, you knew he was the biggest you'd ever had, and you had no doubt he would give you the best orgasm of your life.

Jungkook laughed softly, his laughter low and hoarse, full of challenge.

"You'll regret your words when get best orgasm ‘cause my cock," he said, and his hands tightened around your thighs. He began to move, slowly and deeply, his thrusts controlled, as if he wanted you to feel every inch of him. The pain gradually receded, replaced by a wave of pleasure that spread through your body. You involuntarily arched your back even more, allowing him to penetrate deeper, and your quiet moans only fueled him. His hips slammed against yours with a dull thud that filled the silence of the tattoo parlor.

"That's it, doll," he muttered, his voice full of satisfaction as he felt your walls tighten around him. His movements became more rhythmic, but he still held himself back, as if enjoying your reaction. You gripped the chair so tightly that your fingers turned white, and your hips began to move toward him, matching his pace.

After a few minutes, Jungkook stopped, still inside you, and his hand slid down your back, sending shivers down your spine.

"I want to see your face when you come," he said, his voice low, almost commanding. He carefully withdrew from you, and you felt a slight emptiness, but he quickly turned you toward him, lifting you up and sitting you on the chair. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, and his eyes, dark with desire, locked with yours.

He entered you again, this time faster, and you threw your head back, feeling him fill you. His hands held your hips, and his lips found your neck, biting your skin and leaving wet marks.

"You're so sensitive," he whispered as his thumb slid to your clitoris, slowly massaging it in time with his movements. You moaned, your hands wrapped around his neck, your nails digging into his tattooed shoulders, leaving light marks.

"Jungkook... faster," you exhaled, and he smiled, his piercing glinting in the light of the lamps.

"You asked me to ruin you slowly," he reminded you, admiring your face, which radiated pleasure.

"Fuck..." you cursed as he slowly and deeply thrust a series of strokes, finding your G-spot. You lowered your hands to his buttocks, sliding own under his. You squeezed his firm buttocks with your hands, begging him to speed up the rhythm, "Fuck... Kook, please... faster."

He didn't seem to hear you, thrusting his cock into you deadly slowly. In fact, he was getting high off your begging.

"Please..." you begged, your voice breaking into moans.

"You ask so nicely... how can I refuse," he replied, and his pace quickened, each thrust becoming more insistent, causing you to lose control. You felt yourself approaching the edge, and your moans grew louder, mingling with his ragged breathing.

But Jungkook didn't to be stopping there. He lifted you out of the chair, holding your hips, and carried you to the wall of the tattoo parlor, pressing you against the cold surface.

"Hold on to me," he ordered, and you wrapped your legs around him even tighter. The wall behind you added contrast to the heat of his body, and each thrust made you feel him even deeper. His hands held your buttocks, and his lips found yours again, silencing your moans with a passionate kiss.

"You'll say I'm the best," he murmured between kisses, and you felt his movements become uneven, as if he himself was approaching the edge. You tired smiled, looking into his eyes, and said,

"At least… you're trying hard so far, to get me to say that."

It made him laugh, but the laughter quickly turned into a moan when you deliberately squeezed him inside you.

Jungkook began to fuck you mercilessly, really giving you so much that you could barely withstand the thrusts. Without putting you down on the floor, he headed for the waiting sofa by the window. He laid you on your back and turned you on your side, lifting your leg to enter at a new angle. This position allowed him to penetrate even deeper, and you felt your body shudder with a new wave of pleasure.

His hand slid down to your breasts, gently squeezing your nipple, while his lips kissed your shoulder. You felt the orgasm approaching, and your moans turned into almost screams as he brought you to the brink. Your body trembled, squeezing him, and that was the final push he needed. Jungkook came with a low moan, his hands squeezing your thighs tighter as he spilled into the condom.

You both froze, breathing heavily, his body still pressed against yours. He slowly rolled you onto your back to look into your eyes, and his hand gently slid down your cheek.

"You're incredible," he said, and there was something like admiration in his voice.

You smiled, feeling your heart still pounding.

"You lost the bet, Jungkook. And now you owe me a wish," you said, trying to sound confident, even though your body was still buzzing from the orgasm.

He laughed, his piercing flashing as he leaned down to kiss you briefly on the lips.

"Luckily for me, I have two million won, and I can easily fulfill your wish,"

"Why do you think you can easily fulfill my wish?" you asked, arching an eyebrow.

"I'll do anything you say, even if you ask me to run naked around the neighborhood," he joked, and you smiled. Jungkook pulled out of you, and you suddenly felt very tired, your pussy aching from the intense sex.

Jungkook sat down on the sofa next to you and took off the condom, twisting it into a knot. He threw it on the floor, then turned back to you. His eyes devoured your naked body, lingering on your breasts, then on your lips. You wanted to get up to get dressed, but he wouldn't let you, pressing himself against you and blocking you with his arms.

"Jungkook!" you protested.

"So, did I ruin you?" he murmured, touching his chin to yours, rubbing against you.

"Yes, you did. I don't think I'll be able to sit up straight for a few days," you admitted honestly. Jungkook smiled triumphantly. He stopped rubbing against you and leaned in to kiss you.

"So, if I ruined you, are you ready to admit that my dick is the best you've ever had?" he asked slyly.

You bit your lip, looking at his smug smile, and decided not to give him complete victory so easily.

"You're not bad, Jungkook, but 'the best'?" You paused, arching your eyebrow. "I still need to think about it." Your voice was playful, but deep down you knew that he had indeed brought you to an orgasm you had never experienced before. Your body was still buzzing from his touch, and there was a pleasant but painful throbbing between your legs.

Jungkook smiled, his hand slowly sliding down your waist, as if he couldn't tear himself away from your skin.

"Why do you love teasing me so much?" he asked, his voice filled with the same cocky confidence that annoyed and aroused you at the same time. He leaned closer, his lips barely touching yours, but instead of kissing you, he just gently bit your lower lip, making you sigh.

You felt his fingers slowly drawing circles on your skin, moving down to your thigh. Despite your fatigue, your body responded to his every touch, and you felt the warmth return between your legs.

"Okay, if you don't want to admit it after I fucked you in almost every corner of my salon, then I have to prove it to you again?" he asked. And you were afraid that he really wanted to have sex again.

"Are you crazy? I don't have the strength," you protested. Jungkook threw his gaze on somewhere above of you, then leaned down again.

"You know, you look like you were made for that table..." He already had his hands under your waist when you started to resist.

"Oh my Gosh, no... okay, okay. I admit you're the best I've ever had," you said quickly.

"No, I have to prove it to you," said Jungkook, trying to pick you up. You continued to resist, but he was stronger.

"No, you really are the best man I've ever had. No one has ever made me come so hard," you said desperately. Jungkook sat down on the sofa, and you ended up on his lap. He smiled slyly, and when you saw the look on his face, you were outraged. You hit him in the chest, "You're insatiable."

"I knew you thought that, but I had to hear it from you," Jungkook leaned down and kissed you, you touched his jaw, kissing him back and not thinking about what would happen next. After all, Jungkook is a player and he's not cut out for serious relationships. But you don't need them either. Not yet.

You laugh, letting yourself melt into him.

He settles down with you in his lap, not bothering to let go just yet. You’re still catching your breath when he leans in, peppering kisses to your cheek, your jaw, the corner of your lips.

You squirm, squeaking as he plants one right beneath your ear. “Kook, that tickles!”

“Good,” he murmurs smiling, brushing his nose against your skin.

There's still the faint scent of vanilla lingering from the candle he'd lit earlier. You’d gone for a walk together, fingers intertwined as you strolled lazily along the park, with your husband stealing glances at you, tugging your hand closer each time, pressing fleeting kisses to your temple.

It’s been over a month since your anniversary.

A month since he’d stood in your kitchen, drenched in guilt and apologies.

A month since your heart had cracked with doubt, and Jungkook had promised- desperately, that he’d make things right.

Which he had.

After the night of your anniversary, he had taken a full week off, despite your gentle protests, despite his assistant’s horrified texts. He switched off his work phone, told the world to wait.

Because he wanted to be just Jungkook, your husband. Not the Ceo. Not the exhausted workaholic he'd turned himself into. But only truly entirely yours.

On the days Jungkook took off, and even now when he's back from work, he’s like a puppy glued to your side, trailing behind you from room to room, arms always ready to wrap around you.

Whether you're doing the laundry, reaching for a snack, or just walking to the other side of the house, he's right there, chin on your shoulder or fingers laced with yours. He didn’t need to speak much- simply held you, making his presence a silent reassurance.

You try to act unbothered, but inside, you're nothing but soft giggles and all butterflies.

In the weeks that followed, it became clear that your husband was trying, truly trying. Through his soft form of everyday love.

You went out to dine together, held hands across tables, slow danced in the living room.

It had felt like falling in love with him all over again.

Jungkook comes home early now. He’s been doing that- choosing you, over and over, every day for the past month. No late-night meetings. No missed dinners. Just soft promises that is always kept.

Even when he's at the office, he texts you often now. Your phone usually buzzes with his call around lunchtime, asking if you’ve eaten yet, before proudly informing you he has too. Sometimes sending in a photo of his lunch or a silly selfie with his coffee.

He began showing up not just physically but emotionally as well, being with you in ways he hadn’t in a long time.

He joined you in grocery shopping on lazy afternoons, pushing the cart down aisles while slipping your favorite snacks in.

You’d find fresh flowers on the table more often now. A handful of soft blooms, the ones you liked.

The warmth deepened at your home. Simple chores turned into shared moments, just like it was before.

Jungkook surprised you in small ways, with silly notes tucked into places you wouldn’t expect, cute little reminders of how much he saw you, how often you were on his mind.

The shared meals, the walks and quiet nights, everything carried the unmistakable feeling of love being rebuilt.

It wasn’t about fixing everything all at once. It was about being there, with his heart open & all for his wife.

You saw glimpses of the man he’d always been beneath the weight of stress and responsibilities.

It wasn’t perfect. It didn’t need to be. But it was real. His love was real.

And in that, there was healing.

He’d become softer in a way that made your heart full. The kind of softness that felt earned.

When you’d fallen sick a few days back. Your husband immediately took a day off, didn’t give you the chance to say “I can manage”. He ran warm baths, tucked you in with care, made you soup, sat by your side with a book in hand just to keep you company while you rested.

There were quiet mornings too, when he’d wake up before you, only to stay in bed longer, just watching you with a gaze so full of love it was almost overwhelming.

Running his fingers slowly through your hair, kissing your forehead, and whispering things he used to forget to say; whispering how beautiful you looked even in your sleep, how lucky he was to call you his wife, how much he loved you- always had, always will.

You noticed the change. He kept his phone away during meals. Work was the last priority at home.

You’d find him watching you from the couch, eyes so fond..until you'd go over and let him pull you into his arms. His embrace being your favorite place all over again.

One evening, you'd just finished drying the last dish when Jungkook appeared behind you, hands wrapping gently around your waist.

The speaker on the counter was still playing a soft melody. And then he was spinning you around, his eyes gleaming with that boyish mischief he reserved only for you.

“Dance with me,” he murmured.

You laughed, but your hands found their way to his shoulders anyway. He swayed with you under the kitchen lights, bare feet against the tiles, holding you like you were his whole universe.

Your face tucked into his chest, arms wrapped loosely around his torso, his chin rested atop your head.

He swayed you both, heartbeats syncing.

When the song changed, he twirled you around clumsy, and you squeaked as he caught you back into his arms, laughter spilling from both of you. Hearts overfilled with love.. and only love.

It's a sunday morning and you wake up feeling exhausted, the kind that comes after a night of tangled love so intense it left you trembling. You blink your heavy eyes open, trying to sit up.

You hear the bedroom door open and there he is, your husband- hair tousled and a lovesick smile on his face. He crosses the room leaning down, brushing your hair back before pressing a tender kiss to your forehead.

"Still sore?" he murmurs, voice husky from sleep, gaze searching your face.

You nod just slightly, cheeks heating. “A little,” you whisper.

He gives a gentle smile, thumb caressing your cheek. “I made breakfast,” he says. “Come on, baby.”

He’s already pulling the covers off, slipping his arms carrying you to the shower. “Let’s shower first,” he murmurs, holding you against his chest, “I’ll take care of you.”

Later in the evening, you were halfway through dusting the bookshelf when you feel warm hands wrap around your waist. A small squeak leaves you before Jungkook lifts you off the ground, spinning you around playfully.

"Jungkook!" you laugh, smacking his arm lightly as he carries you toward the couch.

He just grins, dropping down and pulling you with him until you're lying back, and his body hovering above yours. His eyes twinkle with mischief, lips brushing against your cheek. “Much better.”

Just then his phone rings. He groans as he glances at the screen. “Taehyung,” he mutters, already trying to silence it.

You frown a little. “Jungkook, it could be something important.”

He pouts. “It’s always work with him.”

Still he reluctantly taps the speaker, putting the phone on the coffee table. Taehyung’s voice fills the room.

“Can you stop ignoring my emails Jeon Jungkook.”

Jungkook throws you a look- mouthing, “Told you.”

You giggle softly, brushing your fingers across his chest.

You hear Taehyung speak again, "Is Y/n with you? You should’ve divorced him when he forgot your anniversary Y/n—you know just for the plot.”

Jungkook shoots a warning tone at the phone. “Kim Taehyung.”

But you only laugh, cupping Jungkook’s cheeks gently. “Drop it, Oppa,” you say, voice soft.

"I'm blocking your number."

Jungkook hangs up on Taehyung who was in mid laughter.

“Fucker,” he mumbles under his breath, that small pout not leaving his face.

You can’t help but giggle, pulling his face toward yours. “He was just joking, Kook,” you nuzzle your nose against his before planting a soft kiss on it.

Jungkook buries his face into your neck like a sulking pup. “I know.. but still.”

You smile, wrapped in this silly moment, fingers combing gently through his hair as your other hand rubs soothing circles on his back.

The balcony is dimly lit, the stars are bright tonight.

You're curled in Jungkook’s lap on the couch outside, after having dinner together. Your body snug against his chest, legs tucked beside his. One of his hands rests over your arm, fingers grazing softly back and forth while the other wraps around your waist.

His cheek is pressed to yours, the faint scent of his cologne feeling around you like home. The soft notes of a romantic song fills from the speaker inside.

There's calm. His thumb traces little circles on your skin.

You tilt your head slightly, cheek brushing against his, and he exhales nuzzling closer. He’s always been quiet in his affection, but lately, it’s louder in the way he clings, the way he stays.

"I love you,"

you whisper it so softly, it almost dissolves in the night air.

Jungkook stills for a moment, to let those words settle in his chest.

You feel him smile against your cheek.

“I love you more, my love."

His lips find yours in a kiss that's so gentle, pouring in everything his heart holds for the only love of his life.

The twinkling stars above feel like they’re smiling down at the two of you- reflecting the glowing love which doesn’t need to be spoken to be felt.

..after all, you’ll always hold on to each other.

Always.

Your second anniversary is just around the corner, and for the first time in weeks, you have something to look forward to. Something that, surely, he wouldn’t forget.

You let out a slow breath, staring at the untouched dinner on the table. It’s the third time this week you’ve set two plates, only to eat alone. The food has long gone cold, but you still can’t bring yourself to clear it away. Some foolish, desperate part of you still hopes Jungkook will walk through the door, pulling you into his arms, murmuring apologies against your skin.

But the door stays closed. Your phone stays silent.

You check the time—almost midnight.

He used to call. Even when he was busy, he always found a way to let you know he was thinking about you. A quick text. A voice note. Something. Now, hours pass without a word, and you’re left wondering when exactly you started feeling like a ghost in your own marriage.

You clench your fists, blinking back the sting in your eyes. This isn’t you. You don’t doubt him. You don’t overthink things. But these days, love feels a lot like waiting, and waiting feels a lot like breaking.

And you’re so damn tired of breaking.

You close your eyes, trying to remember the Jungkook from before, before work took over, before the distance set in. The man who, despite his quiet nature, always found a way to make you feel cherished. He wasn’t one for grand speeches, but his words had always carried weight. Small, simple confessions once meant everything. Now, silence is all you get.

It wasn’t always easy with Jungkook. Back in college, he was cold, reserved, a storm you could never quite predict. But little by little, he let you in. His love had been careful, deliberate, whispered promises in the dark, stolen glances across crowded rooms, fingertips brushing against yours like a secret only the two of you understood.

And now, it feels like you’re losing him.

The thought sends a sharp ache through your chest. You tell yourself it’s just work, that the weight of being CEO is heavier than either of you expected. That he still loves you, even if he doesn’t say it as often.

But love isn’t supposed to feel like this.

The clock hits midnight.

You don’t know what you were expecting. A text? A call? Maybe the sound of the front door unlocking, Jungkook stepping in, exhausted but still managing to hold you close?

But there’s nothing.

Your throat tightens as you stare at the small cake sitting on the dining table, the frosting slightly uneven, the decorations a little clumsy. You were never a good cook. Jungkook knew that better than anyone. But in the early days of your marriage, you had tried. Because back then, cooking together had been something special. Flour-dusted fingertips, shared laughter over burnt pancakes, stolen kisses between stirring batter.

So tonight, with him too busy and too stressed, you thought a quiet, cozy celebration would be enough. Something small, something just for the two of you.

But now, looking at the untouched dinner, the unlit candle, and the cake that no longer seems worth eating, you realize how foolish that hope was.

You glance at your phone—no messages, no missed calls.

You put away the plates. You put the cake in the fridge, even though you know it’ll probably stay there, forgotten.

And then you crawl into bed alone, wrapping your arms around yourself because if Jungkook won’t hold you, who else will?

----

You stir, feeling the warmth of an arm lazily draped around your stomach. The weight is familiar, and for a moment it feels like everything is okay.

Jungkook is still asleep. Shirtless, his toned chest rises and falls in steady breaths, his face soft in the morning light. His lips parted just slightly, making him look so much younger, so much more at peace.

You take your time looking at him, memorizing the exhaustion on his face, the faint crease between his brows even in sleep. He must’ve come home late—so late that you hadn’t even heard him.

Still, he’s here. Beside you. And that alone is enough to make something flicker in your chest.

Maybe he’s planned to stay home today.

Of course he remembers.

You can’t help but lean in, pressing a soft, loving kiss against his cheek. His skin is warm beneath your lips, and for a fleeting moment, everything feels like it used to.

Jungkook mumbles something incoherent, his brows knitting slightly before relaxing again. A small, sleepy noise escapes him, and the sound makes you giggle softly.

He stirs, his grip on your waist tightening just a little before his lashes flutter open. His dark eyes, still hazy with sleep, land on you, and for a second, there’s nothing but quiet warmth in them.

"You're up early," he murmurs, his voice thick with drowsiness. His thumb absentmindedly brushes over your waist, a touch so familiar yet so foreign all at once.

You smile, brushing a few strands of hair from his forehead. "Couldn't sleep much," you admit softly.

Jungkook hums in response, his eyes falling shut again for a moment. He nuzzles into the pillow, his grip on you still firm like he has no intention of letting you go. And for a brief, fragile second, the weight of last night, of the distance, of everything, seems to disappear.

Maybe he really did plan to stay home today. Maybe this morning means something.

Your heart clenches with the smallest trace of hope.

Jungkook lets out a long breath and shifts onto his back, stretching his arms above his head before blindly reaching for his phone on the nightstand. His warmth leaves your side, the air turning cold almost instantly.

You watch as his expression shifts, sleep slipping away as his screen lights up. His brows furrow, jaw tightening ever so slightly.

He mutters without a glance in your direction. "Shit, I need to get to the office."

The hope you held onto so desperately.. is gone.

Your mind scrambles to catch up.

Maybe he's kidding. This is definitely just one of his teasing games where he acts all nonchalant just to catch you off guard later. That’s how it used to be. Him pretending to forget something important, only to turn around and surprise you in a way that left you breathless.

You wait.

You wait for the smirk to tug at his lips, for him to toss his phone aside and pull you into his arms. You wait for him to kiss you insane, to murmur a husky "Happy anniversary, baby," against your skin.

You wait for him to prove you wrong.

But he doesn't.

Jungkook swings his legs over the bed, rubbing a hand down his face before standing up—grabs a fresh shirt from the dresser, checks his notifications again, already half-immersed in whatever work emergency is pulling him away.

The realization settles in too suffocating for you. He’s not playing or pretending. He really forgot.

And with that, the last flicker of hope inside you dies.

----

The sound of the bathroom door clicking shut barely registers in your mind. The faint rush of water follows soon after, but you’re still frozen in place, staring at the empty space where Jungkook was just moments ago.

Your fingers grip the sheets as you try to process it, try to make sense of the ache settling deep in your chest.

He forgot.

The thought circles endlessly, refusing to fade. It should be simple, just a mistake, something easily fixed with an apology. But it doesn’t feel simple. It feels like another crack in something that’s already been fragile for weeks.

Your gaze drifts to your phone, the screen lighting up with messages from friends and family. Warm wishes, sweet texts. All reminders of the day that Jungkook should have been the first to acknowledge. And of course, they must have messaged him too.

But you know the answer before you even have to question it. Jungkook has two phones—one for work, one for personal use. And these days, his personal phone sits untouched, collecting dust somewhere in the house while his work phone never leaves his side.

Your throat tightens.

Even if someone did remind him, would he have even seen it? Would it have even mattered?

You swallow hard, blinking against the sudden sting in your eyes.

Maybe you should say something. maybe try reminding him.

But a part of you, one that you don’t want to acknowledge—wonders if it even matters anymore.

You push yourself up from the bed, the weight in your chest making it harder than it should be. You don’t want to sit here, waiting for him to remember, waiting for an apology that might never come.

Just as you step toward the bathroom, the shower turns off. The door opens a moment later, as Jungkook steps out, towel slung low around his waist, droplets of water trailing down his toned chest.

For a brief second, your eyes meet. He looks at you, blinking away the last remnants of sleep, his expression unreadable. There’s no sign of realization, no flicker of guilt or hesitation. Just the same tired, distracted gaze you’ve been seeing for weeks.

You say nothing. Instead, you walk past him, entering the washroom to go about your usual routine. brushing your teeth, washing your face, anything to avoid the tightness in your throat.

The sound of the sink running is the only thing filling the silence between you.

By the time you step out of the washroom, Jungkook is already dressed for work. His tie is slightly loosened, one hand adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves while the other holds his ever-present work phone. He looks like he’s in a hurry, but that isn’t surprising. He’s been having breakfast at the office for weeks now—always rushing out, always too busy.

Still, you can’t grasp that he’s actually forgotten.

Some part of you still expects him to pause, to turn around and say something. But he doesn’t. He’s focused on his screen, scanning through emails like today is just another ordinary morning.

Your chest tightens. You need to look away before the emotions creeping up inside you spill over.

You settle at the table, opening your laptop like it’s just another workday. Since you’ve been working from home for the past couple of months, this isn’t unusual—but today, it’s not about work. It’s about avoiding him. About keeping your head down so he doesn’t see the way your hands tremble slightly.

If you act normal, maybe it’ll hurt less.

Maybe you won’t break in front of him.

And maybe, just maybe, if you pretend hard enough, you can fool yourself into believing it doesn’t hurt at all.

“Baby, can you help me with the tie?”

His voice is smooth- like every other morning before this one. Like today isn’t supposed to mean more.

You hesitate for half a second before standing up, walking towards him. Your fingers move automatically, looping the fabric, tightening the knot, straightening it against his crisp shirt. You should pull away the moment you’re done, return to your seat, to your laptop, to pretending like everything is fine.

But just as you step back, Jungkook’s hand catches your wrist.

Before you can react, he tugs you closer, his warmth enveloping you as his large hand cups the side of your face, fingers splayed against your skin. His touch is tender, his thumb tracing slow circles against your cheek, his dark eyes holding yours for a beat too long.

His mouth find yours.

Warm & lingering. He kisses you like he actually means it.

“Need it for good luck,” he mumbles lovingly against your lips.

You blink up at him.

Jungkook pulls back slightly, offering a small smile. “Big deal with the Kims today.”

And just like that, reality crashes back in.

Your mind struggles to process, to understand how he can be like this. How can he kiss you like this and still not remember.

His mind is somewhere else. His thoughts, his focus—none of it is here. None of it is with you.

You force a smile, nodding wordlessly. Because what else is there to say?

----

You stay where you are, settled on the couch with your laptop open, pretending that your heart isn’t sitting heavy in your chest, while Jungkook moves around gathering his wallet and keys.

Just as he’s about to leave, he steps toward you, bending down to press a quick kiss to your forehead.

“Love you,” he murmurs.

He’s already halfway through the living room before you even get a word out.

A bitter chuckle escapes your lips before you can stop it.

You remember a time when things were different. When he used to whine, pout, and nudge you relentlessly if you didn’t say it back right away, just to tease him.

Flashback

The movie playing in the background had long been forgotten, the dialogue drowned out by the soft moans slipping from your lips. The purple neon glow cast dreamy hues across the living room, painting Jungkook’s skin in shades of violet as he moved above you.

His fingers laced tightly with yours, grip tightening slightly as his thrusts grew more desperate.

“J-Jungkook…” you moaned softly, nails digging into his hand.

He groaned against your neck, his breath hot, voice wrecked. “Fuck, baby…”

Your body arched beneath him, pleasure building to something uncontrollable. “I—I’m gonna—”

“Come for me, baby,” he urged, sending you tumbling over the edge.

You both unraveled together, gasping, shaking, holding onto each other like the world outside didn’t exist.

Jungkook pressed lazy, loving kisses all over your face, his lips brushing over your cheeks, your eyelids, the tip of your nose. “You alright?” he whispered.

You nodded, a sleepy, satisfied smile tugging at your lips. But then he just stared at you. A little too long.

"I love you.” The words came out barely above a whisper.

Your eyes widened slightly, a playful grin tugging at the corner of your lips as you bit down on them, trying to contain your smile. He’d been saying it more often lately, slowly getting used to voicing what he felt.

But when you took a second too long to respond, he groaned dramatically, dropping his head into the crook of your neck like a kicked puppy.

“Say it back,” he grumbled.

“What?” you teased, laughing.

Jungkook huffed, then playfully bit down on your shoulder, just enough to make you squeal.

“Say it,” he demanded, his voice muffled against your skin.

Still giggling, you cupped his face and pressed a soft kiss to his nose. “I love you, you big baby.”

His grin was instant, arms wrapping around you as he pulled you even closer, like he could never get enough.

End of Flashback

Now, he just says it in passing. quick, thoughtless, already moving on.

The front door clicks shut, and just like that, Jungkook is gone.

You sit there, fingers motionless on your laptop’s keyboard as the weight of what just happened settles deep in your chest. He forgot. He kissed you, held you, told you he loved you, but none of it was because he remembered.

Is this what your relationship has become?

Work, work, work. Always work.

It’s not that you expect Jungkook to run behind you all the time, to ditch his responsibilities just to shower you with affection. Hell, you supported him through everything- through college, through late nights chasing his dreams, through every stressful moment leading up to him becoming CEO. You believed in him.

But what about your love? Your marriage? Communication?

You’ve been patient. Too patient. more understanding than any normal wife would be. And you know Jungkook. You know he loves you, would bring you the whole damn world if you asked. But then why—why are you beginning to question it all?

Jungkook stepped into the CEO position a few months ago. At first, things were fine. He handled it well, still made time for you. But then… everything became about work. Slowly, then all at once.

You can’t even remember the last time you had truly loving sex. Not that Jungkook doesn’t love you but it doesn’t feel the same anymore. There’s tension in his touch, frustration in the way he moves against you. It’s not the warmth, the desperation to be close to you like it used to be.

Is this how life is going to be from now on?

Sure, you could talk to Jungkook about your feelings. Tell him that the distance is starting to feel unbearable.

But when?

When he’s always checking his phone? When he barely even looks at you in the mornings? When you feel like you’re living with the CEO rather than your husband?

Well, happy anniversary to you.

----

Your gaze drops to your hand, to the delicate band wrapped around your finger.

Your wedding ring.

For the first time in a long time, you really look at it- tracing the intricate details, the subtle shimmer in the morning light. And suddenly, it feels… heavier. Like you’re only noticing the weight of it now, as if it’s trying to remind you of everything it once meant.

Before you even realize what you’re doing, your fingers slip beneath the band, sliding it off. It’s only when the cool air brushes against your bare skin that it hits you.

Your breath catches, eyes widening at the sight of the ring resting in your palm. You hadn’t even thought about it—you just did it. And now, staring at the small, beautiful piece of jewelry, something inside you cracks. Tears gather before you can stop them.

Jungkook had spent weeks searching for this ring. Dragged you to countless jewelry stores, analyzing every cut, every design, obsessed with finding the perfect one. And no matter how many times you had told him that anything would make you happy, he had refused to settle for less.

"It has to be special," he had murmured against your temple the day he finally found it, slipping it onto your finger with the softest smile. "Because you’re special."

A broken sob escapes your throat as you clutch the ring tightly in your palm.

How did you end up here?

----

Jungkook leans back in his chair, exhaling slowly as he watches the final contract details appear on his screen. The deal with the Kims had gone smoothly, better than expected, actually. It should’ve been a moment of satisfaction, of relief.

Instead, he just drowns himself in more work.

The hours blur together, his coffee going cold beside him as he moves from one task to another. Another meeting. Another report. Another email. The same routine, the same cycle.

It’s later than evening when a familiar voice interrupts his space.

“So you’re really here.”

Jungkook glances up, his fingers still typing as Taehyung steps into his cabin, arms crossed and a deep frown on his face.

“Hey, hyung,” Jungkook greets, barely looking away from his screen.

Taehyung scoffs, shaking his head playfully. “I really didn’t believe it when Yuna said you were still in your cabin.”

“Why?”

Taehyung gives him a look like he’s the biggest idiot in the world. “Y/N must really love you to let you work even today. My wife—dude, she would’ve killed me.”

Jungkook hums absentmindedly. “Mmm.”

Taehyung clicks his tongue, watching him for a second before letting out a chuckle. “Anyways, you’re still an asshole for working on your anniversary.”

Jungkook’s fingers freeze over the keyboard. The realization crashes into him all at once, like ice spreading through his veins.

Fuck.

Jungkook’s fingers hover motionless over the keyboard.

His mind races to catch up with Taehyung’s words, but they don’t make sense. Not right away.

Anniversary?

No, that can’t be right. His brows furrow slightly as he glances at the date on his laptop screen.

November 22.

His wedding anniversary.

For a second, he just stares, as if the numbers might shift into something else, something that doesn’t prove what an absolute idiot he’s been. His heartbeat picks up, but his body doesn’t move. It’s like his brain refuses to register it fully, like if he doesn’t react, it won’t be real.

He’d forgotten.

Completely.

Just an entire day of emails, meetings, and a deal he had been so damn focused on that he hadn’t even spared a single thought for you.

His wife.

But—no, that can’t be right. He would’ve remembered. He should’ve remembered.

His jaw tightens, his mind scrambling for some excuse, some reason. anything to justify how this happened. But no matter how many ways he tries to twist it, the truth doesn’t change.

You had expected something. Of course you had. And Jungkook had given you nothing.

Taehyung’s voice barely registers now, his casual teasing just background noise to the way Jungkook’s pulse is starting to hammer against his ribs.

His wife. His love. His anniversary.

And he had let it pass him by like it was just another day.

How the fuck is he supposed to fix this?

Taehyung squints at Jungkook, waiting for some kind of reaction. When Jungkook stays quiet, his fingers frozen over the keyboard, Taehyung lets out a sharp laugh.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.” He leans forward, palms flat on Jungkook’s desk. “You just realized, didn’t you?”

Jungkook inhales deeply through his nose, his jaw tightening. “Hyung, not now.”

“Oh, no. Especially now,” Taehyung shoots back, shaking his head. “Damn, man. Y/N must really love you to put up with this shit.”

Jungkook doesn’t reply, his mind already spiraling. He checks the time—late. The entire day is gone. He’s spent hours sitting here, drowning himself in work while you—

Fuck.

He pushes his chair back abruptly, grabbing his phone and shoving it into his pocket. His coat is next, yanked from the back of his chair as he moves on instinct.

“Whoa, whoa.” Taehyung raises an eyebrow. “So now you care?”

Jungkook levels him with a glare. “Hyung.”

Taehyung lifts his hands in surrender, though his smirk lingers. “Go. Try not to get divorced on your second anniversary.”

Jungkook doesn’t wait for another word. He’s already out the door, moving faster than he has all day.

And for the first time today, work is the last thing on his mind.

----

Jungkook’s mind races as he grips the steering wheel, his fingers tightening with every passing second. The city lights blur past, but all he can focus on is the suffocating weight in his chest.

How the fuck did he forget?

His phone vibrates in the passenger seat- probably another work email but for the first time in months, he ignores it. Instead, he swipes through his contacts, pressing the first name that comes to mind.

“Pick up, pick up,” he mutters, jaw clenched as the dial tone rings.

“Yes, Mr.Jeon?”

“Yuna.” His voice is rushed, urgent. “I need you to get me something. Flowers. A gift. Something big—just—fuck, anything.”

A pause. “Sir?”

“Now,” he snaps.

There’s a shuffle on the other end before his assistant hesitantly speaks again. “I…Mr.Jeon, it’s almost 10 p.m. Most places are closed.”

Jungkook exhales sharply, raking a hand through his hair. Of course they are. Because he’s too fucking late.

His grip tightens around the wheel. “Just—check. Call whoever. I’ll pay whatever.”

“Understood,” Yuna replies before hanging up.

What the fuck is he even doing?

No expensive gift, no overpriced bouquet, no last-minute grand gesture can erase the fact that he forgot. That he spent an entire day drowning in work while you—his wife, his love, the woman who has stood by him through everything—sat at home, waiting for him to remember.

His hands clench the wheel.

How much had he missed? How much had he ignored?

And the worst part—the part that makes his pulse spike, that has panic clawing at his ribs is the question he doesn’t have an answer to.

What if you’re done waiting?

Jungkook slams his foot down on the gas.

He’s not losing you. He won’t.

----

Jungkook steps into the house, and immediately, something feels off. The air is still. The silence stretches, suffocating, pressing against his chest. Almost all the lights are off, the space eerily empty, like no one has been here for hours.

His throat dries. “Baby?”

No answer.

He frowns, dropping his keys onto the counter with a sharp clink. His feet move quickly, checking the kitchen, the living room, even the hallway leading to the bedroom. nothing.

A weird feeling starts creeping up his spine. His heart beats faster as he strides toward the bedroom door, only to find the bed untouched, the sheets exactly the way he had left them this morning.

You’re not here.

His pulse spikes, a cold sweat forming at the base of his neck. His hands tremble as he yanks his phone out, immediately dialing your number.

One ring.

Two rings.

Three.

Straight to voicemail.

His stomach drops. A shaky breath escapes him as he stares at his screen, the call log mocking him with the lack of response. His fingers tighten around the device, his mind spiraling.

Where are you? At this time of night, alone- where could you have gone?

The walls feel like they’re closing in on him. His lungs strain for air.

Then, another thought claws its way in, violent and unwelcome.

Did you leave?

No. No. His chest tightens, his breath coming faster now. That’s not—that’s not possible. You wouldn’t just leave him. You wouldn’t—

He swallows hard, shaking his head. Don’t go there, Jungkook. Don’t even fucking go there.

But the panic is already curling around his ribs, suffocating, unrelenting.

You’re not here. And right now, that is the worst fucking thing in the world.

Jungkook’s fingers tremble as he redials your number.

Voicemail. Again.

“Fuck.” His breath comes out uneven, panic clawing at his throat. His hands are clammy, his chest tightening with every passing second. Where are you?

His mind is spiraling now, every worst-case scenario flashing through his head. His jaw clenches as he swipes to his contact list calling your friends.

Each time, the same response.

No, I haven’t seen her.

Did you check with—

Wait, what’s going on?

Jungkook grits his teeth, his hand tightening into a fist. His breathing is shallow, his pulse out of control. You weren’t with your friends. You weren’t picking up. You weren’t home.

And he still had no idea where you were.

Jungkook grabs his car keys with shaky hands, his mind racing. He doesn’t know where to go, doesn’t have a plan. All he knows is that he has to find you.

His feet move on instinct, carrying him toward the door. But just as he reaches for the handle, something catches his eye.

A small glint.

His breath stills. His gaze shifts toward the couch, and that’s when he sees it.

Your wedding ring.

Sitting there. Abandoned.

For a moment, everything stops. The pounding in his chest, the rush of his movements. Everything.

The air in the room feels so heavy he might collapse. His fingers twitch at his sides as he stares at the delicate band, his stomach twisting into something painful.

You never took it off. Never.

Jungkook swallows, his throat suddenly dry. He steps forward almost cautiously, like touching it will somehow make this nightmare real.

His hand trembles as he picks it up, the cool metal pressing into his palm..

Jungkook stares at the ring in his palm, his vision blurring as a lump lodges itself in his throat. Tears burn at the corners of his eyes, his chest tightening painfully.

You wouldn’t just leave him like that… would you?

The thought alone knocks the air from his lungs. His grip on the ring tightens as his mind spirals, drowning in questions that only make the ache worse.

Were you thinking about this before today?

How long have you been feeling like this, so alone, so unloved that taking off your ring even crossed your mind?

A sharp breath escapes him, shaky and uneven. His knees buckle, and before he can stop himself, he’s sinking onto the floor, the weight of everything crashing down at once.

The ring feels heavier than it should, pressing into his palm like a cruel reminder of everything he’s neglected, everything he’s taken for granted. He squeezes his eyes shut, exhaling a slow, trembling breath.

He needs to find you. He needs to fix this.

Before it’s too late.

Jungkook exhales shakily, forcing himself to move. His legs feel unsteady, but he pushes through, gripping the wedding ring so tightly it bites into his skin.

Somehow, he manages to stand, his entire body tense with desperation. He stumbles toward the door, his heart pounding, his mind racing with every possibility of where you could be.

But just as his fingers reach for the handle—

The door swings open.

And there you are.

Jungkook freezes, his breath catching in his throat. His entire world narrows to the sight of you standing in front of him.

He crashes into you, arms wrapping around you so tightly it nearly knocks the air from your lungs. His grip is desperate, his hands fisting into your clothes, his entire body pressing against yours like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

You stand there, stunned, your own arms hovering slightly, unsure of what just happened.

"…Jungkook?” your voice comes out confused.

But he just clings to you, burying his face into your neck, his breath warm and uneven against your skin.

You don’t know what’s going on.

But Jungkook?

He feels like he just got his heart beating again. You feel the way his body trembles against yours, his grip impossibly tight, like he’s holding onto you for dear life.

Then, the sound reaches you. A broken, uneven breath, followed by the unmistakable hitch of a sob.

Your heart clenches. “Kook…” Your voice is soft, laced with worry as you try to pull back, just enough to see his face. But he doesn’t let you. His arms only tighten, his body curling into yours, as if letting go would physically hurt him.

Panic bubbles in your chest, your hands instinctively reaching up to cradle his face, your fingers threading into his hair. “Hey… what happened?” Your voice wavers slightly. “Are you okay? You’re scaring me.”

But Jungkook just shakes his head against your shoulder, another shaky breath leaving him.

You don’t understand.

But whatever this is, whatever’s breaking him like this—your own heart aches just watching him fall apart. Your concern deepens with every shaky breath that leaves Jungkook. He’s still clinging to you, his body trembling slightly, his face buried against your shoulder like he’s afraid to let go.

You don’t know what’s wrong, but seeing him like this—Jungkook, your Jungkook—completely unraveling, is enough to make panic rise in your chest.

Gently, you pull back, your hands cupping his face. His skin is warm, slightly damp from his tears, and when his glassy eyes finally meet yours, your stomach twists painfully.

“Come inside,” you whisper, your voice softer now, coaxing. “Please.”

He swallows thickly, nodding ever so slightly, but his grip on you doesn’t fully loosen. You guide him inside anyway, one hand wrapped around his wrist as you lead him toward the couch.

He sits down heavily, elbows resting on his knees, fingers threading through his hair as he exhales shakily. His shoulders are still tense, his whole body radiating something raw and unspoken.

You kneel in front of him, reaching for his hands, but he doesn’t lift his head.

Your worry deepens. “Jungkook… please tell me what’s wrong.” suffocating silence stretches between you. His fingers twitch against his temples, his breath uneven.

“I—” His speaks as his voice cracks slightly. He swallows hard, gripping his knees. “I thought you left me.”

It takes you a moment to fully process the words he let out.

He thought you left him?

Your brows furrow slightly as you shake your head. “Jungkook, I was babysitting Hanuel.”

His eyes flick up to meet yours, searching.

“Hana and Seokjin had a date night,” you explain gently. “They asked me to watch him for a few hours.”

Hanuel, your neighbour's son. Jungkook stares at you as his mind hasn’t caught up yet. You watch as his lips part slightly, his gaze flickering between you and the ring still clutched in his hand.

His fingers tighten around it, his knuckles paling. A beat of silence passes before he swallows thickly, his voice barely above a whisper.

“…then why was this on the couch?”

The question hangs heavy in the air, fragile and uncertain, as if he’s afraid of the answer. And for the first time tonight, you don’t know what to say.

“I..” The word barely escapes your lips before you stand up, turning away from him. You can’t meet his eyes, not when your emotions are still raw, not when the weight of everything is pressing so heavily on your chest.

Jungkook notices immediately. Panic flickers across his face, and in an instant, he’s scrambling up after you. “Wait—baby, please.” His voice is desperate now, thick with emotion, his hands reaching out like he’s afraid you’ll slip through his fingers.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes, stepping closer, his tone cracking under the weight of his own guilt. “I—fuck, I forgot—I don’t know how, I don’t even have an excuse, but—” He exhales sharply, shaking his head, his eyes glassy as they plead with yours.

“I never meant to make you feel like this,” he whispers. “I swear, I didn’t.” But you still don’t look at him. And that alone is enough to make his heart sink.

You swallow hard, your arms wrapping around yourself as you stare at the floor. His words, his desperation, his guilt—they all swirl around you, but they don’t erase the ache in your chest.

“Do you even realize how much this hurt?” Your voice is quiet, but the weight of it makes Jungkook flinch. “I spent the entire day thinking—hoping—that maybe you had something planned. That maybe you were just pretending to forget.”

Jungkook’s throat bobs as he steps closer, hesitating before reaching for your hand. You don’t pull away, but you don’t hold onto him either.

“I know,” he whispers. “I know I fucked up, baby. I—I was so caught up in work, I just…” He trails off, running a frustrated hand through his hair. “That’s not an excuse. Nothing is. I should’ve remembered. I should’ve been there.”

You let out a hollow laugh, finally lifting your gaze to meet his. “Jungkook… this isn’t just about today.”

His brows furrow, but he doesn’t interrupt.

You take a shaky breath. “It’s been weeks..maybe even longer—since I felt like your wife instead of just… someone waiting for you to come home.” Your voice wavers, but you push through. “And it’s not that I don’t understand. I do. I’ve always understood. But at what point do I stop being understanding and start being invisible to you?”

Jungkook’s breath catches, his grip on your hand tightening like he’s afraid to let go. “You’re not invisible,” he says, voice thick with emotion. “You never could be.”

“Then why do I feel like I am?”

Silence.

Jungkook shakes his head, his jaw clenching as he exhales unsteadily. “I never wanted to make you feel this way,” he murmurs. “You are everything to me, baby. Everything. I don’t even know who I am without you.”

Your eyes sting, but you force yourself to hold his gaze. “Then show me, Jungkook. Because I can’t keep being the only one fighting for us.” The vulnerability in your voice nearly breaks him.

He’s been losing you, piece by piece, for a while now. And he hadn’t even noticed.

Jungkook feels his stomach drop, the weight of your words hitting harder than any argument, any fight you could have thrown at him. His grip on your hand tightens, but you don’t squeeze back.

He’s losing you.

And it’s not because of one forgotten anniversary—it’s because he hasn’t been here.

He swallows hard. “Baby…” His voice cracks, his free hand reaching up to cup your cheek, but you step back before he can touch you.

The distance, however small, is enough to make his chest ache.

“Tell me, Jungkook,” you whisper, your voice barely holding together. “When was the last time we sat down and had breakfast together? When was the last time you really looked at me—not just kissed me on the forehead before rushing out of the door?” You shake your head, a bitter chuckle escaping. “When was the last time we made love without it feeling like you were trying to release your stress instead of loving me?”

Jungkook’s breath hitches.

You let out a slow exhale, your voice calmer now but even heavier with hurt. “I don’t need grand gestures. I don’t need fancy gifts or a picture-perfect romance. I just… needed you to see me.”

His entire body feels cold. Because the truth is—he doesn’t have an answer.

He’s been so caught up in his responsibilities, his work, his stress, that he’s let the one person who has always been there for him slip through his fingers.

“Fuck.” His voice is raw, his hands running through his hair as he looks at you, really looks at you. At the exhaustion in your eyes, the way your lips tremble slightly like you’re holding back everything.

His heart clenches painfully. “I fucked up, didn’t I?”

You hold his gaze for a long moment before whispering, “I don’t know, Jungkook. Did you?”

Jungkook's heart hammers too quickly as he stares at you, at the distance between you, the weight of your words suffocating him.

His hands reach out- cupping your face, his touch desperate, almost shaky. His forehead presses against yours as he exhales a trembling breath, like he’s trying to hold himself together.

“I see you,” he whispers, his voice raw, strained. “I swear to god, I see you, baby. I just..I lost myself somewhere along the way, and I didn’t even realize I was dragging us down with me.”

His thumbs brush over your cheekbones, a silent plea laced in his touch. “I don’t want to lose you. I can’t lose you.”

Your heart clenches, but you don’t push him away. You should- you should make him sit with this, make him feel what it’s been like for you all this time. But then his grip tightens, his voice breaking.

“Please, baby.” His lips hover just above yours, not quite touching, his breath warm against your skin. “Tell me it’s not too late.”

His vulnerability shakes you to your core.

You close your eyes, inhaling deeply, trying to steady yourself. “I don’t want to lose us either, Jungkook,” you whisper. “But I can’t keep being the only one holding on.”

Jungkook shakes his head instantly. “You’re not. You won’t be.” His lips ghost over your forehead before he pulls back just enough to meet your eyes. “Let me prove it to you. Please.”

His desperation is tangible, seeping into every word, every touch. And for the first time tonight, you wonder if maybe, just maybe—he really does see you now.

Jungkook watches you, searching for something—anything in your eyes that tells him he hasn’t completely lost you.

Before doubt can settle in, he takes your hand, pressing it over his chest, right where his heart is hammering wildly. “Feel that?” he whispers. “That’s what you do to me, baby. Always.”

Your fingers twitch against his shirt, but you don’t pull away. You don’t move at all, just staring up at him, your expression unreadable.

He swallows hard. “I know I don’t say it enough. I know I don’t show it enough, but fuck, Y/n—” His hands tighten around yours, his voice barely above a breath. “There is nothing in this world that matters more to me than you.”

You let out a slow exhale, your gaze flickering, like you want to believe him. like a part of you does, but the hurt is still too fresh. So he gives you more.

“I’ll fix this,” he promises, his thumb brushing soft circles over your wrist. “Not with some last-minute bullshit—but with me. With us.”

His voice drops lower, thick with emotion. “Just tell me it’s not too late.” Your lips part slightly, but you don’t speak. Instead, you finally—finally press your palm flat against his chest, feeling the way his heart beats erratically beneath your touch.

It’s enough to break something inside Jungkook. His grip tightens as he leans in, his lips brushing against your temple, hesitantly then to your cheek—as if he’s still afraid you’ll slip away.

And when you don’t, when you let him, he exhales a shaky breath, his forehead resting against yours once more.

“I love you,” he whispers. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

Like if he says it enough, he can make up for all the times he didn’t. And maybe, just maybe—you’ll believe him again.

Jungkook’s breath is warm against your skin, his forehead still pressed against yours, his grip on you unwavering. His words linger in the air between you. raw, desperate, filled with a love that had always been there, even when he’d failed to show it.

You swallow hard, blinking against the tears clouding your vision. He’s waiting—watching you so intently, so hopelessly, as if your next words will either put him back together or completely shatter him.

You take a shaky breath. “Jungkook…” Your voice wavers, and his grip tightens instinctively. “I love you too.”

A sharp exhale leaves him, his entire body sinking slightly in relief. But before he can say anything, you continue. “But this hurt,” you whisper. “More than you realize.”

Jungkook stiffens, nodding quickly, his hands cupping your face again, his thumbs brushing away the tears that slip down your cheeks. “I know, baby. I know. And I hate myself for it.” His voice cracks, his jaw clenching before he presses a lingering kiss to your forehead.

You let your eyes flutter shut for a second, exhaling slowly. “I don’t want promises, Jungkook,” you murmur. “I just… I need to feel like I matter to you again.”

His hands tremble slightly as they slide down, wrapping around yours. He lifts them to his lips, pressing gentle, reverent kisses to each of your knuckles, his dark eyes never leaving yours.

“You do,” he whispers. “More than anything. And I’m going to spend every damn day proving that to you.” His voice comes out steady with a determined love.

and this time you don’t just hear him but believe him too. even if a little.

Jungkook presses another loving kiss against your knuckles. But before he can lose himself completely, you gently murmur, “Have you eaten?”

The thought hadn’t even crossed his mind. He shakes his head, gaze still searching yours. “No… I—"

“Go freshen up,” you say softly, stepping back just a little. “We’ll eat together.”

His fingers twitch against yours, hesitating to let go, but eventually, he nods. With one last glance—like he’s making sure you’re really here, he pulls away and heads toward the shower.

While he’s gone, you move to the kitchen, setting out dinner in quiet contemplation. The ache in your chest hasn’t completely faded, but there’s something else now-

a warmth that wasn’t there before.

----

By the time Jungkook emerges, hair damp, dressed in a fresh t-shirt and sweatpants, you’ve already placed the food on the table.

He hesitates for only a second before joining you, sliding into his chair. “Thank you,” he murmurs, voice softer now.

You nod, offering a small smile as you take a seat. The conversation is light, effortless. Jungkook fills the silence, stealing glances at you like he’s still memorizing you all over again. And through it all, his hand never leaves yours, his thumb rubbing slow, soothing circles against your skin.

After dinner, he helps with the dishes, working beside you in quiet understanding. The air between you feels lighter, yet still fragile, like something delicate being pieced back together.

Jungkook sets the last dish onto the drying rack, wiping his hands on the towel before turning to you. There’s a soft, almost hopeful look in his eyes, like he’s clinging to this moment.

You step away, hesitating for just a second before opening the refrigerator. Jungkook watches in silence as you carefully pull out the cake, placing on the counter, your fingers grazing the edges of the plate, before finally speaking.

“I…I’d made this.”

The words are quiet, but they hit harder than any raised voice ever could. Jungkook’s entire body stiffening as guilt crashes into him all over again. His eyes flicker to the cake- to the careful details, the effort, the thought you had put into it, for him. And suddenly, it feels like the walls are caving in.

His throat tightens. His fingers curl at his sides. He can’t look at you. He doesn’t deserve to. Tears gather in his eyes, blurring his vision, his heart breaking all over again, not just because he forgot today, but because he had broken you in so many ways without even realizing it.

And that? That’s something he doesn’t know how to forgive himself for.

“Jungkook..”, your voice barely above a whisper, but it cuts through the heavy silence like a knife.

He wants to look at you, wants to say something—anything, but he can’t. His head remains bowed, his hands gripping the edge of the counter, as if holding himself together takes everything in him.

You take a small step forward, the space between you feeling larger than it actually is. His silence is deafening.

“Jungkook,” you say again, a little firmer this time.

His lips part, a shaky breath slipping through, but no words come out. He wants to speak, to apologize again, to tell you how much he loves you, to somehow fix this- but his throat feels tight, his chest heavy.

He doesn’t know if words are enough.

“I… I’m so fucking sorry, baby,” Jungkook chokes out, his voice trembling as he finally speaks. His hands shake at his sides, his eyes still glassy with unshed tears. “I’ve been an asshole—a terrible husband. I don’t even know how to make this right.” His breath stutters, his words spilling out faster now, raw and desperate.

“I wouldn’t even be surprised if you left me,” he continues, shaking his head. “You should’ve. You deserve better. I—I can’t believe I—”

“Jungkook.”

You don’t let him finish.

Instead, you reach up, cupping his face with both hands, your thumbs brushing away the tears that have already begun to fall. His rambling is cut off as you rise onto your toes.

A gentle kiss on his lips.

Soft. Loving.

Tear-streaked and real.

Jungkook exhales shakily against your lips, his whole body melting into yours. His hands find your waist, holding onto you like you’re the only thing keeping him upright.

The kiss is slow, there's no urgency. Just you and him, emotions bare. Tears continue to slip down your cheeks, mixing with his, salty and warm, but neither of you pull away. Because in this moment, there’s no need for words.

When you finally pull away, your forehead rests against his, both of you breathing heavily, your tears still wet against each other’s skin. Jungkook’s grip on your waist is firm as if afraid to let go. His lips part to speak, but before he can, you whisper,

“You’re not a terrible husband, Jungkook.”

Jungkook’s eyes glisten with more unshed tears, his lips pressing into a thin line, unable to speak. You wipe his tears away with your thumbs, offering him the smallest smile. “Just… love me better, okay?”

His throat bobs as he swallows hard, nodding again, more determined this time. “I will.” His voice is barely above a whisper, but you believe him.

You press one last gentle kiss to his cheek before stepping back, glancing at the cake still sitting on the counter. “Come on,” you say, nudging him lightly. “Let’s cut this before it melts.”

Jungkook lets out a breathy chuckle, wiping at his face as he nods. He steps beside you, his hand instinctively finding yours again as you both move toward the small cake. The two of you cut into it together, Jungkook’s fingers lacing through yours around the knife handle. He doesn’t let go, even as you both take small bites in comfortable silence.

Once the plates are cleared, you tug at his wrist, nodding toward the bedroom. “Come to bed?”

Jungkook exhales, relief washing over his features as he nods. “Yeah.”

A few minutes later, you’re both under the covers, warmth surrounding you as Jungkook pulls you against his chest. His arms wrap tightly around you, his breath fanning against the top of your head as he whispers,

“I love you.”

This time, you don’t hesitate to say it back.

“I love you too, Jungkook.”

And for the first time in weeks, you fall asleep in his arms, where you’ve always belonged.

Jungkook’s fingers still tremble against your skin. Even as he holds you, his grip is laced with hesitance, a silent fear lingering beneath the warmth of his touch. It’s in the way his hands press into your back yet remain careful, as if he’s afraid of holding on too tightly.

You can feel the erratic thud of his heart beneath your palm, his breaths uneven, his chest rising and falling as if he’s struggling to keep himself steady.

And something about that, about him—makes your own heart ache.

Slowly, you lift your head from his chest, your eyes locking onto his in the dim glow of the room. His lips part slightly, his gaze unreadable, but the moment you lean in, his breath catches.

You kiss him.

It starts soft, so gentle, full of longing. Filled with everything you can’t put into words.

Jungkook melts into it instantly, his grip on you tightening, pulling you impossibly closer. The warmth of his lips, the slight hitch in his breath when you press harder. It sends a familiar heat curling through you.

The kiss deepens, your fingers gripping his t-shirt with urgency, needing to feel more. It’s desperate, heady, the space between you charged with something deeper than just want—something raw, something that had been missing for too long.

Jungkook pulls back gently. His forehead stays pressed against yours, both of you panting softly, but his hands shake slightly as they hold you in place.

His lips part, his breath uneven. “I… we shouldn’t…” He swallows hard, voice thick with hesitation. “I mean… I don’t want you to think I’m gonna fix this with sex.”

His words cut through the haze of warmth between you, pulling you both back in reality. You understand. Because even now—even now, he’s afraid. Afraid that this isn’t enough, that he isn’t enough.

Your eyes soften as you take in his hesitance, the uncertainty in his gaze, the way his breath trembles against your skin.

You reach up, your fingers threading gently through his hair. “I’m never gonna think like that, Kook,” you murmur, your voice quiet but sure.

His lips part slightly, his brows still knitted in concern, but before he can say anything, you lean in again. This time, the kiss is softer, filled with nothing but love.

You linger for a moment, your lips brushing against his as you whisper, “I just… I need you.” Another soft kiss. “Please.”

Jungkook exhales sharply, his entire body shuddering under the weight of your words.

And just like that, whatever hesitation he had left—it’s gone.

Your breaths grow uneven as your lips move against his, the heat between you intensifying with every passing second.

Jungkook shifts, his body hovering over yours, his weight pressing down just enough to make you feel him. His hands slip beneath the oversized t-shirt you’re wearing, his touch still hesitant, fingertips ghosting over your waist like you're nothing less than fragile.

You tug at his shirt, a silent plea, and Jungkook obeys without question, pulling it over his head and tossing it aside. Before he can think, you pull him back in, capturing his lips in another deep, hungry kiss.

A quiet groan escapes him, his hands finally exploring freely, pressing against your skin, feeling the warmth beneath his palms. His lips leave yours only to trail down your neck, his breath warm as he presses soft, lingering kisses there.

You shiver when he reaches the collar of your shirt, your own hands moving to help him remove it. Dark, love-filled eyes roam over every inch of your skin, his lips parting slightly, as if he’s trying to find the words but nothing he could say would ever be enough. Still, he tries.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, voice thick with awe. “So fucking perfect.”

Your breath catches when he lowers himself again, his lips planting soft, reverent kisses along your collarbone, trailing lower over your shoulder, your chest. Your husband's mouth mapping you like you’re something sacred.

His lips slowly wrap around one breast, his tongue flicking teasingly before sucking softly. A moan escapes you, your fingers tangling into his hair, tugging lightly as he hums against your skin. His other hand moves to your neglected breast, his thumb brushing over the sensitive peak as he keeps mouthing sweet nothings against you.

“You’re everything,” he whispers between kisses, his voice muffled against your skin. “I love you so much, baby.”

And as the heat between you builds, his touch grows bolder. A desperate whimper escapes your lips as your fingers tangle deeper into Jungkook’s hair, your body arching toward him, silently pleading for more.

He groans against your skin, the sound low and warm, vibrating through you. “Patience, baby,” he murmurs, pressing another lingering kiss to your chest before trailing lower, his lips tracing the curves of your body. “Let me take my time… let me make love to you.”

The way he says it, love—makes your stomach tighten, your heart aching as much as your body craves him. His hands glide down your waist, slow and purposeful, before slipping between your legs. His fingers find the damp fabric of your panties, pressing just lightly enough to make you gasp. Your hips lift instinctively, chasing his touch, and Jungkook groans at the feeling.

His dark eyes meet yours, silently asking for permission. You nod, unable to form words, and that’s all he needs.

Hooking his fingers into the waistband, he tugs your panties down, dragging them slowly along your legs before discarding them somewhere behind him. His gaze never leaves you as he lowers himself further, trailing kisses down your stomach, over the sensitive skin of your hips.

He settles between your legs. You feel completely bare under his intense gaze, the way his lips part slightly, his eyes darkening as he drinks you in.

“So fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice filled with something reverent, something devoted. His hands spread your thighs wider, his thumbs brushing along your skin in slow, soothing circles.

“My wife.”

The words send a shiver down your spine, making your core clench in anticipation.

Finally, he closes his mouth around you. One long, slow stroke of his tongue, and you fall apart instantly, a breathless moan slipping from your lips as your head tilts back against the pillows.

Jungkook hums against you, pleased, his hands gripping your thighs as he licks another slow, teasing stripe through your folds. “So fucking sweet,” he groans, the heat of his breath against your slick skin making your body tremble. “Gonna make you feel so good, baby.”

He isn't just making love, he's devouring you.

Jungkook hums against you, the vibration sending a shockwave of pleasure up your spine. His hands grip your thighs, holding you open as his tongue moves with slow, deliberate strokes. learning you all over again, savoring every little gasp and shudder that escapes you.

“Jungkook—” Your voice is breathless, almost pleading, your fingers tightening in his hair, tugging him closer.

He groans at that, the sound reverberating through your core as he laps at you with more purpose. His tongue flicks over your clit, teasing, testing, before he sucks gently, making your back arch off the bed.

“Fuck—” You whimper, your thighs threatening to close around his head, but his strong hands keep you spread wide, completely at his mercy.

His lips brushing your sensitive skin as he pulls back just enough to look up at you. His lips are slick, his dark eyes burning with desire.

Your cheeks burn, he dives back in, this time with more urgency. His tongue moves in tight circles, alternating between slow, teasing strokes and deeper, firmer licks that have your breath hitching.

One hand slides up your stomach, fingers splaying across your skin before reaching your breast, rolling a nipple between his fingers. The combined sensation makes your thighs tremble, a moan tearing from your lips as your hips buck against his mouth.

Jungkook groans, clearly enjoying how responsive you are, his grip on you tightening as he eats you out like it’s his last meal. He flicks his tongue over your clit again, then sucks, harder this time, sending sparks shooting through your body.

“-fuck, Jungkook—” Your head tilts back, eyes squeezing shut as the pleasure builds, coiling tight in your stomach.

He pulls back just enough to murmur against you, “You gonna cum for me, baby?”

The heat inside you is unbearable now, hot and consuming. You nod desperately, your moans spilling freely as you grip his hair, your body teetering on the edge. Jungkook doesn’t stop. He pushes you closer, his mouth working you over with expert precision, his hands holding you steady as your body starts to tremble.

“Come for me, baby,” he whispers against your heat. “Let me taste you.”

And with one final flick of his tongue, you shatter. Pleasure crashes over you, your back arching, thighs trembling as you moan his name like a prayer. Jungkook groans, drinking in everything you give him, his hands stroking your body as he helps you ride it out.

Only when your body goes slack does he finally pull away, pressing soft kisses against your inner thighs, his voice thick with pride and adoration. “You’re so perfect,” he breathes between kisses, his voice thick with adoration. “My love. My wife.”

Jungkook moves up, trailing kisses along your body, over your stomach, your ribs, your collarbone. When he reaches your lips, he captures them in a deep, languid kiss, his hands cradling your face like you’re something fragile, something cherished.

Your fingers roam over his chest, tracing the lines of his muscles before moving lower, brushing over his abdomen until you reach the hardness straining against his sweats.

A groan rumbles from his chest at your touch, his hips twitching into your palm as you cup him, feeling just how ready he is.

“Baby…” he breathes against your lips, voice thick with want. You tug at the waistband of his pants, wordlessly asking for more. Jungkook obliges, sitting back just enough to push them down, kicking them off entirely.

He’s fully hard, the sight of him making your stomach tighten, heat pooling between your legs again. But before you can even reach for him Jungkook takes your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. The intimacy of it overwhelming.

His other hand moves between your bodies, guiding himself to your entrance, his eyes locked on yours, searching, making sure-

With a final nod from you, he pushes in, slow and careful, stretching you inch by inch.

A soft moan escapes your lips, but Jungkook kisses you instantly, swallowing the sound, his own groan muffled against your mouth as he sinks deeper. The moment he’s fully inside, he stills, pressing his forehead to yours, breathing you in. And as he holds you close, as your bodies mold together so seamlessly, you realize- this isn't just sex.

This is home.

Jungkook moves slowly, each roll of his hips deep and deliberate, as if he’s trying to make up for every moment he let slip away. His body is pressed flush against yours, warmth seeping into every inch of your skin, his breath shaky against your lips as he kisses you between each movement.

Your fingers dig softly into his back, nails pressing just enough to ground yourself in the overwhelming sensation of him. One hand moves to his hair, your fingers threading through the strands, tugging gently as his lips travel from your mouth to your jaw, down your neck, planting soft, lingering kisses that make your heart ache.

It’s slow, it’s deep, it’s love.

A feel a faint tremble against your body.

Something warm and wet against your neck where Jungkook has buried his face.

Your breath catches as realization dawns- he’s crying. Tears gather in your own eyes without warning, the sheer weight of the moment crashing over you all at once.

You tighten your hold on him, your arms wrapping around his shoulders as you press a soft kiss into his hair. “Kook…” you whisper, your voice barely holding steady.

He shudders at your touch, at the way you hold him, like you’re not just letting him fall apart but falling apart with him.

“I—” His voice cracks as he exhales shakily, his thrusts faltering for a moment. “I’m so sorry, baby.” His lips find your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin as he presses kisses there—apology after apology, praise after praise.

“You’re everything to me,” he murmurs between kisses, his words thick with emotion. “You always have been.” A tear slips down your cheek as you cup his face, guiding him up until his forehead rests against yours.

“I know,” you whisper, voice trembling. “I know, Jungkook.”

His lips crash against yours again, the kiss slow and deep, his movements resuming, gentle but full of something raw, something unspoken. His hands grip your waist tighter, his body moving in perfect sync with yours, as if this moment is rewriting everything.

“I’ve got you,” you whisper, voice laced with love. “I’ll always have you.”

Jungkook shudders, gripping you tighter, his lips pressing against your shoulder, his movements slowing but never stopping. You can feel the love in every touch, every kiss, every whispered breath against your skin.

And when the pleasure builds to its peak, you come undone together, your bodies melting into one as waves of warmth crash over you. His name spills from your lips, his deep groan following right after, his arms holding you so tight you swear he never plans on letting go.

Silence lingers, only the sound of heavy breathing filling the space. Then, Jungkook shifts, lifting his head just enough to press the softest kiss to your lips.

“I love you,” he murmurs, voice hoarse but full of devotion. “I don’t deserve you… but I swear, I’ll spend my life proving that I do.”

You cup his face, your thumb brushing away the remnants of dried tears. “Just love me like this, Jungkook,” you whisper, voice steady. “That’s all I need.”

His hands tightening around you as his forehead presses against yours. “I’ll love you more,” he vows, his voice breaking slightly. “More than this, more than anything. Always.” His words settle deep in your chest, warm and real, and when he pulls you impossibly closer, tucking you into his arms, you believe him.

His heartbeat is steady now, no longer frantic with fear. Just warm, solid, home.

As sleep begins to pull you under, you hear him whisper one last thing against your hair.

“Happy anniversary, baby.”

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