teenage Dream

You haven't talked about it. Not once.

It turned out that being cowards was the one thing you and Taehyung were perfectly aligned on. The Monday following the party, he had shown up at your office door with an iced Americano and a joke about Jimin’s hangover. He acted like the sudden, furious exit had never happened. And you, terrified of breaking the fragile, comfortable dynamic you’d built, made the active choice not to ask. 

You wanted to. Many times. Had a ton of opportunities to ask, too. But you never did. Something about it just... Didn’t sit right with you. 

Anyway, the end of the year is a brutal, sleep-deprived marathon of pushing critical tech updates and finalizing the roadmap. It was easy to hide behind work and exhaustion. You kept things to brief smoke breaks, safe banter in the hallways, and glances across the table during next year’s executive strategy meetings. 

You kept it safe. Like you always do.

"…and if we look at the advertising costs versus the projected conversion rates," David continues, oblivious to your glazed-over expression.

You scan the impeccably styled event space, desperately looking for an out.

It comes out as an unwanted one. 

Ben.

Ugh.

Exactly how many times do you have to politely reject this man before he finally takes the hint?

He whistles. “Y/n, nice dress.” Cutting David mid-sentence about lead downpour or something.

You’re going to barf.

David blinks, startled by the intrusion, and immediately scuttles off toward the buffet with some murmured excuse, leaving you completely defenseless.

Ben steps directly into your personal space, a smug, overly confident grin plastered on his face. "Too good to be talking about marketing costs, anyway. You look gorgeous tonight." Unapologetic as always. 

"Ben," you say, taking a deliberate half-step back.

He laughs, entirely missing, or straight up ignoring, the frost in your tone. "Right, right. Listen, the food is terrible this year. They really cut the budget down, uh? Let me take you to this spot I know downtown. It has some bellinies to die for–”

"She has plans."

The deep, smooth voice cuts through the ambient house music perfectly.

You look over to see Taehyung stepping up beside you.

Ben’s smug smile drops instantly into a sneer. 

"Taehyung," Ben says, puffing out his chest a little. "Didn't see you there. Shouldn't you be off arranging centerpieces or whatever it is you guys do for the holiday campaign?"

Taehyung doesn't even blink. He just gives Ben a slow, pitying smile. "Shouldn't you be figuring out how to explain the massive Q3 deficit to the board?”

Ben flushes a dark, angry red, his jaw tightening. "Excuse me?"

"You're excused," Taehyung says flatly.

He doesn't wait for a response. He smoothly drops a hand to the small of your back, the heat of his palm seeping right through the silk of your dress.

Ben’s eyes drop immediately to where Taehyung’s hand rests. He opens his mouth, clearly ready to say something nasty, but before he can, the music abruptly cuts out. A microphone whines, signaling the CEO is about to give his annual holiday speech, and a hush immediately falls over the room.

Ben snaps his mouth shut, forced into polite silence.

Taehyung doesn't miss a beat. Under the cover of the host introducing the CEO and the applause welcoming him to the stage, his hand gently pressed on your lower back, steering you away from Ben and toward the back exits.

You slip through the crowd as the speech begins, letting his hand guide you out of the venue. By the time you reach the hallway, the CEO's booming voice fades into a muffled echo. Taehyung drops his hand from your back, stepping over to the private stairwell.

He stops next to the floor's kitchen. “Wait here,” he pushes the door and comes back a minute later, casually holding an unopened bottle of Dom Pérignon by the neck.

"You stole that from the CEO's reserve stash," you point out, crossing your arms as you blink at him.

"I repurposed it," he corrects smoothly, giving you a wink as he continues to walk down the dim hallway. He pushes the heavy stairwell door open with his shoulder, gesturing for you to go out first.

"Shit, it's cold," you shiver, wrapping your arms tightly around yourself as you walk over to the edge, taking your usual spot against the concrete railing.

Taehyung steps up next to you. Without a word, he shrugs off his suit jacket and drapes it over your shoulders. It’s still warm from his body, smelling faintly of his cologne.

"I’m fine, you’re going to freeze," you protest weakly, though you immediately pull the jacket closer.

"I'm wearing a sweater, you're wearing silk," he dismisses, working the foil off the top of the champagne bottle. "Plus, if you get hypothermia, I’ll have to fill out an HR report, think of all the paperwork. I don't have the time for that."

“Oh god, that sounds like a nightmare.”

The cork pops with a loud thwack that echoes over the empty roof. Taehyung quickly catches the bubbling foam with his mouth, some of it still drips down his chin, taking a long, unbothered drink before wiping his lip with the back of his hand. 

He offers the heavy bottle to you, you take it, your fingers brushing his, and take a long swallow. The champagne burns good going down. 

You lean against the railing, your back to the city and your face to Taehyung. He’s a nicer view anyway. You pass the bottle back, and he takes it with a smile, going for another quick sip. 

“So," Taehyung says, his voice sharp in the quiet of the night as he leans against the wall, facing you. “Where are you doing the holiday?” 

“My parents' place. And then the morning after, we’re going to my aunt's. We have this tradition that we open presents in the evening, just the four of us.” You let out a small giggle at the memories, “It’s nice. What about you?”

"I’m going to my mom's place this Saturday. To spend some time with her before the actual holiday," he answers. A soft, genuine smile stretches at the mention of his mother. “Our flight is right on the morning after the holiday.” 

"Amsterdam?” You question, remembering him talking about it a while ago. He answers with a nod. “With Jimin and Jungkook? You’ll be lucky if you come back alive." 

"I've already updated my will," he jokes, his chest moves with a quiet laugh. He takes a sip before he locks back on you, his dark eyes studying you for a moment. “Where are you and the girls going?” He hands you the bottle. 

“Paris,” and you lean forward to take it. 

"Paris," he echoes. 

You take a drink, then put the bottle on the wall beside you. "You used to travel there a lot, right?” 

“Yep. Like every other month, we had an office there. I love this city.” He smiles, but there is something sad and dark passing in his eyes. He moves on quickly, “You’ve been there before?” 

“Yeah,” you answer quietly. You think of the last time you were there, with who you were. The thought aches a bit in your chest. 

You’re ready to make new experiences of the city, to reset the memories in your mind with new, fresh ones. 

You look over at Taehyung. He's staring out at the city over your shoulder, the wind ruffling his dark hair. It hits you, suddenly, how strange this is. How constant he has been in your life for the past months. How you went from almost strangers, to being this close, that you follow him outside in the middle of a party without questioning it.

And how, despite all that, still, a lot is missing. All the conversations and definitions and questions you avoid. 

You grab the bottle and take a long sip, head tilted back as the bottle is starting to empty out. Letting the alcohol warm your blood and blur your hesitation. When you open your eyes, Taehyung is looking straight at you with an intensity you’re not expecting. 

Taehyung shifts slightly, leaning his shoulder back. "You booked this Paris trip a while ago, didn't you? I remember you mentioning the flights months ago."

"Yeah," you nod, staring out at the distant city lights. "I like to have it locked down before the actual madness of December starts. Give myself a solid escape plan."

He hums, his gaze never leaving your face. "So it's an annual thing, then? Escaping the city?"

You let out a small, humorless laugh. "Kind of."

The playful energy between you dims just a fraction, settling into something quieter. You look sideways over the glittering city skyline, the biting wind tugging at your hair. You take a breath, the freezing air filling your lungs. 

You don’t know if it’s the reminder of the past, if it’s the alcohol starting to take effect. Or if it’s Taehyung looking at you like that. Or the combination of it all, but it makes you vulnerable, it makes you bare out a layer you’re not expecting to. 

“I usually prefer to travel around the holidays,” you murmur. You extend your hand, handing Taehyung the bottle. “In recent years, at least.”

He takes it from you. “Why?’ 

"Because it's exhausting.The expectations, from everything, from everyone. All the events. Being present for everything and everyone. Yet you have a shit ton of work to do.” You sigh, like the exhaustion of it all is real in this moment. 

“Like you have to be happy and jolly and in the holiday spirit. Even if you actually feel miles away from it. It can be so draining to force yourself to fit into all of that.” 

Taehyung listens, his attention fully on you, bottle hanging from his hand, like forgotten. When you stop rumbling, he nods slowly at first, then he asks tentatively, “And running away from it helps?” 

“It’s not running away,” you shoot almost defensively. This might be a lie. “It’s giving myself some healthy distance from the madness.” 

Taehyung brings the bottle to his lips, swallowing as he keeps his eyes on you, like he’s reading through your bullshit. Maybe it’s this, or the lack of verbal response, but you continue to try explaining, try to give him your reasoning. 

“My ex used to love it. We broke up right around Christmas. A few years ago." 

At this, Taehyung goes completely still, you can feel his sudden, absolute focus. Like he’s scared to make any sudden motion, to talk too loudly, to somehow have the wrong reaction. He takes another slow drink from the bottle. "What happened?" 

"I was the problem," you say simply, the truth slipping out. "He said I was too invested in my work. That he always felt like a second priority. He got sick of this and broke things off." You let out a bitter laugh, not that anything about what you said is really funny. “I don’t blame him.” 

You pull the jacket tighter around your shoulders, refusing to meet Taehyung’s eyes. "Honestly, he wasn't even the first to say it. It’s like I have this fundamental defect where I don't know how to just be a normal partner in a relationship. I don't know how to turn it off when I get home."

You stare down at your pointy heels on the rough floor, the weight of the words settling like lead in your stomach, but they keep just coming out. "I always manage to fuck it up. Every single time. I got so hyper-focused on proving myself, on making sure my career is bulletproof, that I ended up neglecting the people right in front of me. I make them feel like an afterthought."

Your throat tightens, the freezing air suddenly biting a little harder, your hair whipping around your face dramatically with the wind bursts. "When he left, he told me that loving me was lonely. And the worst part is, I knew exactly what he meant. I'm just incapable of not ruining every good thing I have."

You blink away the moisture, taking a stabilizing breath, doing your best to hold it together. You hold yourself not ot look up at Taehyung until the wave of emotions is over, you’re afraid of what the look of him in your vulnerable moment will do to you, like it’s easier to manage this crash alone. The quitness that follows, though… It’s harsh. It breaks you just a tiny bit more. And you just can’t help it. You look back up at him– 

Taehyung looks at you with scrunched brows, deeply disturbed. 

Well, you guess he finally gets it now, how fucked up you are. How inherently broken you truly are. Guess there’s no going back. The secret is out in the world. The cat is out of the bag. Like always, you just messed up another thing in your life.

You both remain quiet for a long time. The silence stretches between you, heavy, punctuated only by the distant hum of traffic below and the whistle of the wind.

"You're not the problem," he says finally, his voice a low, rough rasp in the crisp air.

He steps up closer, sets the champagne bottle down on the concrete railing with a heavy thud, and turns his body toward you.

"He was," Taehyung says, his tone suddenly sharp, laced with a quiet, fierce anger. "He wasn't man enough to handle you. That's the truth."

You look up at him. "Taehyung–"

"No, listen to me," he interrupts, stepping into your space. The heat radiating off him cuts through the almost winter cold. "Any guy who makes you feel like your ambition is a burden is just insecure. He was intimidated by you. He couldn't handle how smart, how incredibly driven, and amazing you are. So he tried to make you feel small to feed his own ego."

He reaches out, hesitating for only a fraction of a second before his warm fingers gently wrap around your wrist.

"Your drive isn't a flaw, y/n," he says, his dark eyes locked onto yours, desperately trying to convey how sincere he is. "You are brilliant. And if he couldn't see that, if he made you feel like you had to shrink yourself down to be loved by him, then he was an idiot who didn't deserve you in the first place."

His words hit you straight in the chest, unraveling a tight knot you didn't even realize you were carrying. Your throat feels tight. A single tear travels down your cheek. His fingers twitch around your wrist. You look down at his hand, the warmth of his skin anchoring you. You want to believe him, want to take his words and make them your truth. 

But it’s hard. 

When the same thing happens over and over. It feels impossible to think the problem isn’t you. 

"It... it goes deeper than just him, though," you whisper, if you’ll talk louder you voice will break. You feel your eyes sting and your throat closing with all the buried emotion and fears finally surfacing. The final wall is crumbling under the weight of his steady, unwavering gaze. "I am like that because I'm terrified."

Taehyung’s thumb brushes softly against your pulse point. "Terrified of what?"

"That I'm easy to leave," you admit, the confession leaving you feeling completely bare. "When I was in elementary school, a bunch of kids completely boycotted me. Just... shut me out, averted like I didn’t exist. It wasn’t for a long time. When I got to middle school and met Gabby and found my place, I thought it was forgotten, but I think it permanently broke my brain."

You let out a shaky breath, staring out at the dark sky instead of his eyes, blinking back tears. "I always have this underlying panic that if I'm not the one fixing everything, if I'm not working the hardest and proving my worth constantly, if I won’t be perfect all the time, everyone will see me for who I really am. People will just leave. I thought I resolved this, but when another relationship ended because of me, when my ex left me because what I was giving wasn’t enough... it just felt like confirmation. That I really am the problem, and I'll always end up pushing people away."

The thought that if Taehyung sees you for the actual loser, coward that you are, hits you like a wall of bricks. It terrifies you. Now he’ll come to his senses and will pull away. 

You don’t know what got into you, made you spill it all out like that. Maybe it was burdening you all along. You thought it was easier to stay in this in-between safe place with him, not get too deep, not reveal these parts of you. Keeping it safe. Keeping him in a way. 

It was easier. Until it wasn’t. 

Yet for all how terrified you are, you’re equal parts relieved. It’s out now - the dark truth you’ve been holding in, the act you’ve been putting on, finally let go. 

You wait for his grip to loosen. You wait for him to take that inevitable step back.

He doesn't.

Instead, Taehyung’s hand slides down from your wrist, his long, warm fingers slotting perfectly between yours. He grips your hand tight, pulling you a fraction closer until the toes of your boots almost bump against his shoes.

"I'm not leaving, Y/N," he says, his voice soft, as if he heard your exact thoughts.

He looks down at your intertwined hands, his thumb smoothing over your knuckles. His usual impassive mask is now replaced by a heavy, quiet kind of sorrow.

“I understand what you feel more than I want to.” He sighs, then looks up, but not at you, he looks out at the distance behind you. It’s like the piece of you you shared affected him. Like he’s organizing his mind, preparing a piece of his own to share in return. 

You blink, your eyes move over his face, trying to read what is going on after a long minute of silence, his grip tightening between your fingers. "Taehyung?"

He finally looks at you, his dark eyes shining with a vulnerability you have never, ever seen from him. The confident, untouchable Taehyung is completely gone.

"My dad left when I was twelve," he says, his voice barely above a whisper in the wind. "He had... a problem.” His voice drops impossibly low, quiet, quivering with hurt. “With drinking. He was never good to my mom. Or to me."

You suck in a breath, your heart breaking instantly. You squeeze his hand back instinctively. You never heard about it. You had no clue. You don’t know what to say, so you say nothing. 

"And one day he just packed up and left us," Taehyung continues, his jaw ticking as he stares out over the dark horizon. "In some ways, it was better than when he was around. But my mom had to pick up the pieces. She started working double shifts, sometimes three. She’d leave before I woke up and come back long after I went to sleep.”

He shakes his head let out a frustrated sigh. “I was so angry at her. Like she was abandoning me as well. But she just did her best to keep a roof over our heads and pay off the debts he left behind.” 

He rubs his thumb over your knuckles, his gaze distant as if he's seeing a ghost. "I wish I had helped her more at the time. Give her some ease of mind. But I didn’t. I could barely take care of myself.”

He gulps, swallowing the emotions so he can continue. You don’t interrupt, partly because you don’t know what to say, but you also want to let him let it all out. Like he’s let you. 

“I spent almost every night alone in this dead, quiet apartment. Waiting for someone who wasn't coming back. So I just went out, started hanging with the wrong people. Went to the wrong places. I’ve gotten into a lot of trouble at the time. Until I met Jungkook."

A sad, fond smile ghosts over his lips before vanishing. "We met in middle school that same year. Somehow, he just knew. He started dragging me to his house after school every day. I practically lived there. His mom cooked for me, and his parents put a mattress on his bedroom floor so I could sleep there. If it wasn't for Jungkook…” he pauses for a moment, letting this thought pass, “I don’t know where I would have been today."

The chill in the air seems to freeze this moment in time. To settle directly into your bones. 

"But even with Jungkook," Taehyung’s voice drops, rough and hollow as he continues. "Even with my mom killing herself at work for me... for years... God, my whole life, really... I convinced myself it was my fault. That something was just fundamentally fucked up with me. I always thought, if I were just a better son, if I were quieter, or smarter, or less of a burden, maybe he would stop drinking. Maybe he would have stayed.” 

His voice drops even lower. “Maybe he would have chosen me."

He turns his head, catching your gaze again. The raw, open pain in his expression makes the air punch out of your chest.

"I still feel like that," he admits quietly, shyly. "Like I'm not enough. Like I don't deserve the good things that happen to me, so I just... let them get ruined. I expect people to leave, so I don't even try to stop them."

You can feel his hand tremble in yours. And you realize that he’s holding you more for himself than for you.

"Taehyung, look at me," you say immediately, softly, but with absolute conviction.

He hesitates, but finally turns his gaze back to yours.

"You were a child," you whisper fiercely, leaning even closer so you have to tilt your head up to maintain eye contact. "His failure to be a father has absolutely nothing to do with your worth. He was broken. You weren't."

He exhales, and he sounds so tired. Of letting it all out, or from years of holding these feelings. "Logically, I know that," he murmurs, his voice a low, heavy rasp. His eyes drop briefly to your mouth before flickering back up to your eyes. “But I feel so broken all. the fucking. time.”

The confessions hang in the freezing air. Neither of you tries to fill the silence with empty platitudes, because you both know they won't help. Instead, you just hold on to this moment. To each other. Trying to find comfort in each other's ugliest parts.  

Despite the wind whipping across the roof, the space between your tightly laced fingers is burning. You can feel his palms getting clammy, mirroring your own. A heat that contrasts with the chill inside and out. 

Looking up at him, at his unguarded eyes and the tension in his jaw, the monumental weight of this moment settles over you. You realize exactly what this is: just two terrified people who expect everyone to leave, currently holding onto each other. It finally makes sense. The two of you played it safe so you wouldn’t be shattered when this inevitably ends, but standing here now, debating if you should ask the other– Please don’t leave me. 

He looks down at your hands, still tightly tangled together between you, a wry, sad smile touching the corners of his mouth. "So we’re both fucked up." 

You let out a wet, breathless laugh of your own, wiping a stray tear from your cheek with your free hand. "We're a mess."

"A disaster," he agrees softly.

But he doesn't pull away. Instead, his thumb strokes over your knuckles again.

"But for what it's worth," Taehyung murmurs, his dark eyes rising from your hands to meet yours again. "I don't look at you and see a mess, y/n. I just see someone who cares too much.”

You swallow hard, your heart doing a complicated, painful stutter in your chest. 

“I’m glad you chose to share that part with me. Thank you,” he confesses, his voice incredibly soft.

“Me too,” you add, the words barely a whisper.

The air between you completely shifts, turning heavy and thick. The conversation is over, leaving nothing but the overwhelming reality of how close he is standing.

He steps fully into your space, the heat radiating off his body shielding you entirely from the biting cold. His free hand comes up, stopping for a second before his knuckles gently brush against your cold cheek. You let out a shaky breath at the contact, the smell of his cologne and the champagne in his breath wrapping around you.

Taehyung’s gaze darkens, dropping from your eyes to your mouth. The shared conversation, the quiet of the roof, of your spot, the bittersweet realization that you are the same kind of broken, it all acts like gravity. He tilts his head, his thumb slowly tracing your cheekbone, the space between you practically non-existent now.

Your heart hammers violently against your ribs. You close your eyes, your lips parting slightly, waiting for the warmth of his mouth.

But it never comes.

Taehyung suddenly goes rigid. His hand drops from your cheek like he’s been burned. His breath hitches, sharply, and he pulls away.

The cold wind rushes instantly into the space he leaves behind.

He takes a full step back, running a frustrated, trembling hand through his hair. A dark, complicated shadow passes over his face – something loaded settling right back behind his eyes. Instead of explaining, he just clears his throat, his voice suddenly strained, miles away. He reaches for the bottle and downs the remains of it.

"We should," he starts, looking anywhere but at you. "We should probably get back inside."

Next Chapter

You haven't talked about it. Not once.

It turned out that being cowards was the one thing you and Taehyung were perfectly aligned on. The Monday following the party, he had shown up at your office door with an iced Americano and a joke about Jimin’s hangover. He acted like the sudden, furious exit had never happened. And you, terrified of breaking the fragile, comfortable dynamic you’d built, made the active choice not to ask. 

You wanted to. Many times. Had a ton of opportunities to ask, too. But you never did. Something about it just... Didn’t sit right with you. 

Anyway, the end of the year is a brutal, sleep-deprived marathon of pushing critical tech updates and finalizing the roadmap. It was easy to hide behind work and exhaustion. You kept things to brief smoke breaks, safe banter in the hallways, and glances across the table during next year’s executive strategy meetings. 

You kept it safe. Like you always do.

"…and if we look at the advertising costs versus the projected conversion rates," David continues, oblivious to your glazed-over expression.

You scan the impeccably styled event space, desperately looking for an out.

It comes out as an unwanted one. 

Ben.

Ugh.

Exactly how many times do you have to politely reject this man before he finally takes the hint?

He whistles. “Y/n, nice dress.” Cutting David mid-sentence about lead downpour or something.

You’re going to barf.

David blinks, startled by the intrusion, and immediately scuttles off toward the buffet with some murmured excuse, leaving you completely defenseless.

Ben steps directly into your personal space, a smug, overly confident grin plastered on his face. "Too good to be talking about marketing costs, anyway. You look gorgeous tonight." Unapologetic as always. 

"Ben," you say, taking a deliberate half-step back.

He laughs, entirely missing, or straight up ignoring, the frost in your tone. "Right, right. Listen, the food is terrible this year. They really cut the budget down, uh? Let me take you to this spot I know downtown. It has some bellinies to die for–”

"She has plans."

The deep, smooth voice cuts through the ambient house music perfectly.

You look over to see Taehyung stepping up beside you.

Ben’s smug smile drops instantly into a sneer. 

"Taehyung," Ben says, puffing out his chest a little. "Didn't see you there. Shouldn't you be off arranging centerpieces or whatever it is you guys do for the holiday campaign?"

Taehyung doesn't even blink. He just gives Ben a slow, pitying smile. "Shouldn't you be figuring out how to explain the massive Q3 deficit to the board?”

Ben flushes a dark, angry red, his jaw tightening. "Excuse me?"

"You're excused," Taehyung says flatly.

He doesn't wait for a response. He smoothly drops a hand to the small of your back, the heat of his palm seeping right through the silk of your dress.

Ben’s eyes drop immediately to where Taehyung’s hand rests. He opens his mouth, clearly ready to say something nasty, but before he can, the music abruptly cuts out. A microphone whines, signaling the CEO is about to give his annual holiday speech, and a hush immediately falls over the room.

Ben snaps his mouth shut, forced into polite silence.

Taehyung doesn't miss a beat. Under the cover of the host introducing the CEO and the applause welcoming him to the stage, his hand gently pressed on your lower back, steering you away from Ben and toward the back exits.

You slip through the crowd as the speech begins, letting his hand guide you out of the venue. By the time you reach the hallway, the CEO's booming voice fades into a muffled echo. Taehyung drops his hand from your back, stepping over to the private stairwell.

He stops next to the floor's kitchen. “Wait here,” he pushes the door and comes back a minute later, casually holding an unopened bottle of Dom Pérignon by the neck.

"You stole that from the CEO's reserve stash," you point out, crossing your arms as you blink at him.

"I repurposed it," he corrects smoothly, giving you a wink as he continues to walk down the dim hallway. He pushes the heavy stairwell door open with his shoulder, gesturing for you to go out first.

"Shit, it's cold," you shiver, wrapping your arms tightly around yourself as you walk over to the edge, taking your usual spot against the concrete railing.

Taehyung steps up next to you. Without a word, he shrugs off his suit jacket and drapes it over your shoulders. It’s still warm from his body, smelling faintly of his cologne.

"I’m fine, you’re going to freeze," you protest weakly, though you immediately pull the jacket closer.

"I'm wearing a sweater, you're wearing silk," he dismisses, working the foil off the top of the champagne bottle. "Plus, if you get hypothermia, I’ll have to fill out an HR report, think of all the paperwork. I don't have the time for that."

“Oh god, that sounds like a nightmare.”

The cork pops with a loud thwack that echoes over the empty roof. Taehyung quickly catches the bubbling foam with his mouth, some of it still drips down his chin, taking a long, unbothered drink before wiping his lip with the back of his hand. 

He offers the heavy bottle to you, you take it, your fingers brushing his, and take a long swallow. The champagne burns good going down. 

You lean against the railing, your back to the city and your face to Taehyung. He’s a nicer view anyway. You pass the bottle back, and he takes it with a smile, going for another quick sip. 

“So," Taehyung says, his voice sharp in the quiet of the night as he leans against the wall, facing you. “Where are you doing the holiday?” 

“My parents' place. And then the morning after, we’re going to my aunt's. We have this tradition that we open presents in the evening, just the four of us.” You let out a small giggle at the memories, “It’s nice. What about you?”

"I’m going to my mom's place this Saturday. To spend some time with her before the actual holiday," he answers. A soft, genuine smile stretches at the mention of his mother. “Our flight is right on the morning after the holiday.” 

"Amsterdam?” You question, remembering him talking about it a while ago. He answers with a nod. “With Jimin and Jungkook? You’ll be lucky if you come back alive." 

"I've already updated my will," he jokes, his chest moves with a quiet laugh. He takes a sip before he locks back on you, his dark eyes studying you for a moment. “Where are you and the girls going?” He hands you the bottle. 

“Paris,” and you lean forward to take it. 

"Paris," he echoes. 

You take a drink, then put the bottle on the wall beside you. "You used to travel there a lot, right?” 

“Yep. Like every other month, we had an office there. I love this city.” He smiles, but there is something sad and dark passing in his eyes. He moves on quickly, “You’ve been there before?” 

“Yeah,” you answer quietly. You think of the last time you were there, with who you were. The thought aches a bit in your chest. 

You’re ready to make new experiences of the city, to reset the memories in your mind with new, fresh ones. 

You look over at Taehyung. He's staring out at the city over your shoulder, the wind ruffling his dark hair. It hits you, suddenly, how strange this is. How constant he has been in your life for the past months. How you went from almost strangers, to being this close, that you follow him outside in the middle of a party without questioning it.

And how, despite all that, still, a lot is missing. All the conversations and definitions and questions you avoid. 

You grab the bottle and take a long sip, head tilted back as the bottle is starting to empty out. Letting the alcohol warm your blood and blur your hesitation. When you open your eyes, Taehyung is looking straight at you with an intensity you’re not expecting. 

Taehyung shifts slightly, leaning his shoulder back. "You booked this Paris trip a while ago, didn't you? I remember you mentioning the flights months ago."

"Yeah," you nod, staring out at the distant city lights. "I like to have it locked down before the actual madness of December starts. Give myself a solid escape plan."

He hums, his gaze never leaving your face. "So it's an annual thing, then? Escaping the city?"

You let out a small, humorless laugh. "Kind of."

The playful energy between you dims just a fraction, settling into something quieter. You look sideways over the glittering city skyline, the biting wind tugging at your hair. You take a breath, the freezing air filling your lungs. 

You don’t know if it’s the reminder of the past, if it’s the alcohol starting to take effect. Or if it’s Taehyung looking at you like that. Or the combination of it all, but it makes you vulnerable, it makes you bare out a layer you’re not expecting to. 

“I usually prefer to travel around the holidays,” you murmur. You extend your hand, handing Taehyung the bottle. “In recent years, at least.”

He takes it from you. “Why?’ 

"Because it's exhausting.The expectations, from everything, from everyone. All the events. Being present for everything and everyone. Yet you have a shit ton of work to do.” You sigh, like the exhaustion of it all is real in this moment. 

“Like you have to be happy and jolly and in the holiday spirit. Even if you actually feel miles away from it. It can be so draining to force yourself to fit into all of that.” 

Taehyung listens, his attention fully on you, bottle hanging from his hand, like forgotten. When you stop rumbling, he nods slowly at first, then he asks tentatively, “And running away from it helps?” 

“It’s not running away,” you shoot almost defensively. This might be a lie. “It’s giving myself some healthy distance from the madness.” 

Taehyung brings the bottle to his lips, swallowing as he keeps his eyes on you, like he’s reading through your bullshit. Maybe it’s this, or the lack of verbal response, but you continue to try explaining, try to give him your reasoning. 

“My ex used to love it. We broke up right around Christmas. A few years ago." 

At this, Taehyung goes completely still, you can feel his sudden, absolute focus. Like he’s scared to make any sudden motion, to talk too loudly, to somehow have the wrong reaction. He takes another slow drink from the bottle. "What happened?" 

"I was the problem," you say simply, the truth slipping out. "He said I was too invested in my work. That he always felt like a second priority. He got sick of this and broke things off." You let out a bitter laugh, not that anything about what you said is really funny. “I don’t blame him.” 

You pull the jacket tighter around your shoulders, refusing to meet Taehyung’s eyes. "Honestly, he wasn't even the first to say it. It’s like I have this fundamental defect where I don't know how to just be a normal partner in a relationship. I don't know how to turn it off when I get home."

You stare down at your pointy heels on the rough floor, the weight of the words settling like lead in your stomach, but they keep just coming out. "I always manage to fuck it up. Every single time. I got so hyper-focused on proving myself, on making sure my career is bulletproof, that I ended up neglecting the people right in front of me. I make them feel like an afterthought."

Your throat tightens, the freezing air suddenly biting a little harder, your hair whipping around your face dramatically with the wind bursts. "When he left, he told me that loving me was lonely. And the worst part is, I knew exactly what he meant. I'm just incapable of not ruining every good thing I have."

You blink away the moisture, taking a stabilizing breath, doing your best to hold it together. You hold yourself not ot look up at Taehyung until the wave of emotions is over, you’re afraid of what the look of him in your vulnerable moment will do to you, like it’s easier to manage this crash alone. The quitness that follows, though… It’s harsh. It breaks you just a tiny bit more. And you just can’t help it. You look back up at him– 

Taehyung looks at you with scrunched brows, deeply disturbed. 

Well, you guess he finally gets it now, how fucked up you are. How inherently broken you truly are. Guess there’s no going back. The secret is out in the world. The cat is out of the bag. Like always, you just messed up another thing in your life.

You both remain quiet for a long time. The silence stretches between you, heavy, punctuated only by the distant hum of traffic below and the whistle of the wind.

"You're not the problem," he says finally, his voice a low, rough rasp in the crisp air.

He steps up closer, sets the champagne bottle down on the concrete railing with a heavy thud, and turns his body toward you.

"He was," Taehyung says, his tone suddenly sharp, laced with a quiet, fierce anger. "He wasn't man enough to handle you. That's the truth."

You look up at him. "Taehyung–"

"No, listen to me," he interrupts, stepping into your space. The heat radiating off him cuts through the almost winter cold. "Any guy who makes you feel like your ambition is a burden is just insecure. He was intimidated by you. He couldn't handle how smart, how incredibly driven, and amazing you are. So he tried to make you feel small to feed his own ego."

He reaches out, hesitating for only a fraction of a second before his warm fingers gently wrap around your wrist.

"Your drive isn't a flaw, y/n," he says, his dark eyes locked onto yours, desperately trying to convey how sincere he is. "You are brilliant. And if he couldn't see that, if he made you feel like you had to shrink yourself down to be loved by him, then he was an idiot who didn't deserve you in the first place."

His words hit you straight in the chest, unraveling a tight knot you didn't even realize you were carrying. Your throat feels tight. A single tear travels down your cheek. His fingers twitch around your wrist. You look down at his hand, the warmth of his skin anchoring you. You want to believe him, want to take his words and make them your truth. 

But it’s hard. 

When the same thing happens over and over. It feels impossible to think the problem isn’t you. 

"It... it goes deeper than just him, though," you whisper, if you’ll talk louder you voice will break. You feel your eyes sting and your throat closing with all the buried emotion and fears finally surfacing. The final wall is crumbling under the weight of his steady, unwavering gaze. "I am like that because I'm terrified."

Taehyung’s thumb brushes softly against your pulse point. "Terrified of what?"

"That I'm easy to leave," you admit, the confession leaving you feeling completely bare. "When I was in elementary school, a bunch of kids completely boycotted me. Just... shut me out, averted like I didn’t exist. It wasn’t for a long time. When I got to middle school and met Gabby and found my place, I thought it was forgotten, but I think it permanently broke my brain."

You let out a shaky breath, staring out at the dark sky instead of his eyes, blinking back tears. "I always have this underlying panic that if I'm not the one fixing everything, if I'm not working the hardest and proving my worth constantly, if I won’t be perfect all the time, everyone will see me for who I really am. People will just leave. I thought I resolved this, but when another relationship ended because of me, when my ex left me because what I was giving wasn’t enough... it just felt like confirmation. That I really am the problem, and I'll always end up pushing people away."

The thought that if Taehyung sees you for the actual loser, coward that you are, hits you like a wall of bricks. It terrifies you. Now he’ll come to his senses and will pull away. 

You don’t know what got into you, made you spill it all out like that. Maybe it was burdening you all along. You thought it was easier to stay in this in-between safe place with him, not get too deep, not reveal these parts of you. Keeping it safe. Keeping him in a way. 

It was easier. Until it wasn’t. 

Yet for all how terrified you are, you’re equal parts relieved. It’s out now - the dark truth you’ve been holding in, the act you’ve been putting on, finally let go. 

You wait for his grip to loosen. You wait for him to take that inevitable step back.

He doesn't.

Instead, Taehyung’s hand slides down from your wrist, his long, warm fingers slotting perfectly between yours. He grips your hand tight, pulling you a fraction closer until the toes of your boots almost bump against his shoes.

"I'm not leaving, Y/N," he says, his voice soft, as if he heard your exact thoughts.

He looks down at your intertwined hands, his thumb smoothing over your knuckles. His usual impassive mask is now replaced by a heavy, quiet kind of sorrow.

“I understand what you feel more than I want to.” He sighs, then looks up, but not at you, he looks out at the distance behind you. It’s like the piece of you you shared affected him. Like he’s organizing his mind, preparing a piece of his own to share in return. 

You blink, your eyes move over his face, trying to read what is going on after a long minute of silence, his grip tightening between your fingers. "Taehyung?"

He finally looks at you, his dark eyes shining with a vulnerability you have never, ever seen from him. The confident, untouchable Taehyung is completely gone.

"My dad left when I was twelve," he says, his voice barely above a whisper in the wind. "He had... a problem.” His voice drops impossibly low, quiet, quivering with hurt. “With drinking. He was never good to my mom. Or to me."

You suck in a breath, your heart breaking instantly. You squeeze his hand back instinctively. You never heard about it. You had no clue. You don’t know what to say, so you say nothing. 

"And one day he just packed up and left us," Taehyung continues, his jaw ticking as he stares out over the dark horizon. "In some ways, it was better than when he was around. But my mom had to pick up the pieces. She started working double shifts, sometimes three. She’d leave before I woke up and come back long after I went to sleep.”

He shakes his head let out a frustrated sigh. “I was so angry at her. Like she was abandoning me as well. But she just did her best to keep a roof over our heads and pay off the debts he left behind.” 

He rubs his thumb over your knuckles, his gaze distant as if he's seeing a ghost. "I wish I had helped her more at the time. Give her some ease of mind. But I didn’t. I could barely take care of myself.”

He gulps, swallowing the emotions so he can continue. You don’t interrupt, partly because you don’t know what to say, but you also want to let him let it all out. Like he’s let you. 

“I spent almost every night alone in this dead, quiet apartment. Waiting for someone who wasn't coming back. So I just went out, started hanging with the wrong people. Went to the wrong places. I’ve gotten into a lot of trouble at the time. Until I met Jungkook."

A sad, fond smile ghosts over his lips before vanishing. "We met in middle school that same year. Somehow, he just knew. He started dragging me to his house after school every day. I practically lived there. His mom cooked for me, and his parents put a mattress on his bedroom floor so I could sleep there. If it wasn't for Jungkook…” he pauses for a moment, letting this thought pass, “I don’t know where I would have been today."

The chill in the air seems to freeze this moment in time. To settle directly into your bones. 

"But even with Jungkook," Taehyung’s voice drops, rough and hollow as he continues. "Even with my mom killing herself at work for me... for years... God, my whole life, really... I convinced myself it was my fault. That something was just fundamentally fucked up with me. I always thought, if I were just a better son, if I were quieter, or smarter, or less of a burden, maybe he would stop drinking. Maybe he would have stayed.” 

His voice drops even lower. “Maybe he would have chosen me."

He turns his head, catching your gaze again. The raw, open pain in his expression makes the air punch out of your chest.

"I still feel like that," he admits quietly, shyly. "Like I'm not enough. Like I don't deserve the good things that happen to me, so I just... let them get ruined. I expect people to leave, so I don't even try to stop them."

You can feel his hand tremble in yours. And you realize that he’s holding you more for himself than for you.

"Taehyung, look at me," you say immediately, softly, but with absolute conviction.

He hesitates, but finally turns his gaze back to yours.

"You were a child," you whisper fiercely, leaning even closer so you have to tilt your head up to maintain eye contact. "His failure to be a father has absolutely nothing to do with your worth. He was broken. You weren't."

He exhales, and he sounds so tired. Of letting it all out, or from years of holding these feelings. "Logically, I know that," he murmurs, his voice a low, heavy rasp. His eyes drop briefly to your mouth before flickering back up to your eyes. “But I feel so broken all. the fucking. time.”

The confessions hang in the freezing air. Neither of you tries to fill the silence with empty platitudes, because you both know they won't help. Instead, you just hold on to this moment. To each other. Trying to find comfort in each other's ugliest parts.  

Despite the wind whipping across the roof, the space between your tightly laced fingers is burning. You can feel his palms getting clammy, mirroring your own. A heat that contrasts with the chill inside and out. 

Looking up at him, at his unguarded eyes and the tension in his jaw, the monumental weight of this moment settles over you. You realize exactly what this is: just two terrified people who expect everyone to leave, currently holding onto each other. It finally makes sense. The two of you played it safe so you wouldn’t be shattered when this inevitably ends, but standing here now, debating if you should ask the other– Please don’t leave me. 

He looks down at your hands, still tightly tangled together between you, a wry, sad smile touching the corners of his mouth. "So we’re both fucked up." 

You let out a wet, breathless laugh of your own, wiping a stray tear from your cheek with your free hand. "We're a mess."

"A disaster," he agrees softly.

But he doesn't pull away. Instead, his thumb strokes over your knuckles again.

"But for what it's worth," Taehyung murmurs, his dark eyes rising from your hands to meet yours again. "I don't look at you and see a mess, y/n. I just see someone who cares too much.”

You swallow hard, your heart doing a complicated, painful stutter in your chest. 

“I’m glad you chose to share that part with me. Thank you,” he confesses, his voice incredibly soft.

“Me too,” you add, the words barely a whisper.

The air between you completely shifts, turning heavy and thick. The conversation is over, leaving nothing but the overwhelming reality of how close he is standing.

He steps fully into your space, the heat radiating off his body shielding you entirely from the biting cold. His free hand comes up, stopping for a second before his knuckles gently brush against your cold cheek. You let out a shaky breath at the contact, the smell of his cologne and the champagne in his breath wrapping around you.

Taehyung’s gaze darkens, dropping from your eyes to your mouth. The shared conversation, the quiet of the roof, of your spot, the bittersweet realization that you are the same kind of broken, it all acts like gravity. He tilts his head, his thumb slowly tracing your cheekbone, the space between you practically non-existent now.

Your heart hammers violently against your ribs. You close your eyes, your lips parting slightly, waiting for the warmth of his mouth.

But it never comes.

Taehyung suddenly goes rigid. His hand drops from your cheek like he’s been burned. His breath hitches, sharply, and he pulls away.

The cold wind rushes instantly into the space he leaves behind.

He takes a full step back, running a frustrated, trembling hand through his hair. A dark, complicated shadow passes over his face – something loaded settling right back behind his eyes. Instead of explaining, he just clears his throat, his voice suddenly strained, miles away. He reaches for the bottle and downs the remains of it.

"We should," he starts, looking anywhere but at you. "We should probably get back inside."

Next Chapter

Everything Jeongguk does has some sort of musicality to it. Even the way he kisses feels melodic. He’s the only person who can play you like a fiddle, or the only one you allow to. 

“It’s open,” you holler from the kitchen. 

It isn’t the norm for you to keep your door unlocked, but you already knew he was coming. Not because you two talked about it beforehand or because he texted you on his way over. This is just what you two do, and have done, for two years shy of a decade now. 

Light shines in from the street lamps outside when Jeongguk enters your house, drops his bag, and kicks off his shoes. The sounds are understandably familiar given how many times this exact scenario’s played out. And just like clockwork, a couple seconds after the door clicks shut, you feel two warm, strong arms wrapping around your middle. 

“This all for little ole me, huh?” Jeongguk whispers where his lips are grazing your neck. 

You hear him inhale your scent and contentedly hum between his soft kisses along your throat, leaving you to fight off the urge to totally melt into him. 

“Why would it be? Is today a special occasion or something?” 

He chuckles into your skin. It’s low and deep, making it obvious how tired he is, but still as bright as ever. 

“Oh, not really. Just Bangtan’s golden anniversary.” 

“Ah, I see.” While he continues to paint your neck in affection, you add the finishing touches to the seaweed soup you made. “Well, I’ll have you know you guys don’t own the date June thirteenth.” 

“No?” 

His cheerful giggles tickle your ear and cause your head to tilt, unintentionally giving his mouth more space to work. 

“Nuh uh. It also happens to be my, um, my grandma’s cat’s birthday,” you retort.

It’s such a stupid joke, but hearing Jeongguk’s loud laugh is enough to tell it again and again. 

“My apologies,” he drawls with a final peck. “To the cat.” 

By the time he turns you around in his arms, you’re giggling, too. It’s par for the course whenever you’re together, just like his hands caressing the bare skin of your waist below your top. 

He looks so unbelievably handsome, even with evidence of fatigue written all over his face. His black hair’s gotten longer since you last saw him, but it’s parted on one side to show off his forehead and pretty, doe eyes. 

On instinct, you reach up to comb through the front pieces and Jeongguk instantly wilts. His eyes close, shoulders drop, and muscles relax, bringing his body an inch closer to you.

“You didn’t have to come, you know.” As if to directly counter your statement, one of his arms loops around your back. “It’s been a long two days, no?” 

“Missed you.” 

His response is so quick it’s almost like muscle memory and you have to fend off the butterflies in your stomach as a result. 

“I’m not going anywhere. You could’ve stopped by tomorrow or something.” When Jeongguk shakes his head with a slight pout, it triggers your memories of him doing the exact same thing as a kid. He hasn’t changed at all since you two grew up together here in Busan, even though it feels like a lifetime ago. “Ggukie.”

“I…” His eyes open again and a smile slowly breaks out across his face as he surveys you. “I didn’t wanna wait. I needed to be with you tonight.” You can’t resist mirroring his expression. “Is that alright?” 

After a long inhale, you nod. 

“It’s always alright.” 

That’s apparently all he needs to hear because he kisses you without missing a beat. It’s mundane and regular to feel his lips against your own. Of course, it is. He was your first kiss as a teenager and you’ve lost count of how many you’ve shared since then. 

Jeongguk’s lips are consistently soft, pleasant, and gentle. He kisses you like it’s the first time even in the middle of your raunchiest affairs. Sometimes he’s so delicate you forget the type of relationship this really is. 

To be fair, Jeongguk doesn't treat you like just some friend with benefits or a random situationship. The years of familiarity between you garner a much deeper respect than that. But that also allows your heart to occasionally get the wrong idea. 

He isn’t yours, and you’re not sure if he ever will be. Which is okay. All you ever want is to have him in your life and whether that’s platonically or romantically, you don’t care. The only thing you could never withstand is losing him altogether. 

Although, it’s a lie to say you won’t miss the feeling of his hands on your spine and your chests pressed together if your relationship suddenly becomes friendly. His long fingers occupy the majority of your back whenever he holds you like this, encompassing you in his presence until it’s all you can think about. Not to mention how his mouth guides your own open so he can slip his tongue inside. 

This is how he gets you every time without fail. You can be completely focused on something, but as soon as his lips are on you, it’s game over. 

For instance, the meticulously planned meal on the counter behind you.

“Jeo — Jeongguk,” you murmur between kisses. “The food’s getting cold.” 

He just laughs at your feeble attempt to stop him. 

“You have a microwave for a reason, no?”

His head tilts to the opposite side so he can kiss you with more fervor, but you push on his chest to force him back. He looks cartoonishly offended by your actions and you have to lace your fingers together just to wipe the frown off his face. 

“You’re really choosing pussy over food? That’s a little out of character.” 

“Nah, not when it’s you,” he argues. “You gotta know by now you’re my favorite meal.” 

An embarrassingly bright blush creeps in which you try to hide by glancing to your left, but Jeongguk knows you too well. He uses your chin to turn your head before smiling like a devil because of how pink your cheeks are. Leading you to swat his hand away and pivot in the opposite direction. 

“Hey! Where do you think you’re going?” 

You barely make it two feet before he catches you with a single arm, tugging you into his chest while you squeal and pretend to fight back. Jeongguk triumphantly cackles in return as he carries you to the couch and flops onto his back, bringing you down with him. 

The position leaves all your most sensitive areas wide open and he takes full advantage by tickling you wherever he can reach. It’s no different from when you were kids on the playground, although back then the behavior wasn’t inundated with sexual tension. Because despite him making you screech and flail, a tender heat follows his fingers where they dance across your skin. His lips are also right beside your ear and the puffs of air from his laughter spreads goosebumps all down your arms.

“Ggukie,” you whine, but he ignores the protest.

Well, partially. He stops tickling you, but only so his hands can slide beneath your shirt to feel your bare skin. One arm fully wraps around your stomach to keep you close while the other sneaks upwards until he finds your bra. His fingers push the material up so he can grope you unimpeached, eliciting a quiet moan when he begins massaging your breast.

In the meantime, he starts kissing your neck again. And like a true musician, he marries the tempo of his hand and mouth so every peck coincides with a firm squeeze. It turns your brain to putty and all you can do is let him keep touching you like his own personal piano. 

“God, you’re so warm.” His lips are dangerously close to your weak spot, the skin right before your shoulder that always makes you squirm. “This is always what I miss the most.”

“Oh, so you don’t miss my company? Just my body?” 

Jeongguk giggles and it’s so damn cute you almost forget your tit’s engulfed in his palm. 

“Of course, I do,” he assures you. “I miss everything about you. All the time.”

You hate when he says shit that makes your heart race. It isn’t fair because you can’t respond in kind or else you risk scaring him away. 

He’s the one who asked for this arrangement; to be able to stroll through your door whenever he’s in town and have you all to himself until he has to leave again. It’s not like you mind. You’ll give yourself to him any day of the week if he asks, but it means there are boundaries he’s allowed to push and you aren’t.

Still, you find ways to skirt around your limitations.

“I missed you, too. It’s been so long.”

“Mm. When was the last time I was here? March?”

“Yeah.” Before you can finish your sentence, he switches to your neglected breast and repeats his ministrations. “Right before the album dropped.” 

“I’m sorry, sunshine. I didn’t mean to neglect you.” 

His lips move to your earlobe and it sends a familiar chill down your spine. 

“S’okay. I’ll forgive you as long as you actually touch me,” you tease. 

When he laughs again, you swear it’s like everything in the world just feels right. 

Rather than responding, Jeongguk trails his other hand down your torso until he reaches the waistband of your jeans. He doesn’t dip his fingers beneath the fabric, though, instead choosing to fiddle with the buttons while you grow increasingly more impatient.

“Gguk.” 

“Hmm?”

Along with a dry chuckle, you twist your upper body so you can see him.

“You think you’re so cute, don’t you?” 

You could drown in his responding smile. 

“No.” His hands move to your hips as he sits you both upright. “But I do know you.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

Even though you’re in a less compromising position, you’re still between his legs with your back half against his chest.

“For starters, you made me seaweed soup to celebrate the special occasion,” he answers. “And you know I just got done with back-to-back concerts. So I’ll be two seconds into fingering you when you hit me with, ‘no, Ggukie, you deserve to come before I do.’”

Unfortunately, his impression of you is spot on, but you can’t let him have a complete win.

“Eh, five seconds.” 

Perhaps you deserve the reprise of his tickle attack, but you still try evading it by standing to create more distance between you. The only problem is Jeongguk’s arms are long enough to catch you, allowing him to force you onto his lap so his hands can torture you for however long he pleases. 

Which is thankfully not long at all, because once you’re straddling his thighs, his fingers creep underneath your shirt to yank it over your head. Your bra’s his next victim, joining your top on the floor before he leans in to suck your nipple into his mouth. 

“Oh,” you gasp as one hand sinks into his hair. “Fuck.”

He hums around your nub while pinching the other between his thumb and forefinger. 

You would let him play with your tits all night if only you had the time. He’s an expert at bringing you pleasure with his fingers, teeth, and tongue. Alas, he’s right about you wanting him to come first. It’s only fair after how hard he’s been working lately. 

As much as you’d love to let him keep going, you use your grip on his scalp to pull his head away from your chest so you can kiss him. His mouth’s warm and swollen from his efforts, making it all too easy to nibble on his bottom lip until you hear a low groan. 

Jeongguk’s hands are already on a different quest now, too, moving up and down your bare back and leaving goosebumps in their wake. Eventually, one of them glides up into your hair where he turns your soft strands into a mess of knots. 

It’s not like you mind, by the time you two are done your hair’s usually unrecognizable. 

“You should be proud, Ggukie.” You leave his mouth alone to pepper his sharp jaw with kisses. “Thirteen years is a long time.” 

He breathes out a laugh.

“Are you proud of me?” 

The question halts you. Not because of the words themselves, but their sincerity. You lift your head so you can see his eyes and just like you expected, there’s a glimmer of expectation in them.

“I’m always proud of you.” Your fingers in his hair begin to brush some locks away from his face before trailing down his cheek. “And I always have been. Since the day you left for Seoul.” 

A nostalgic smile graces his lips.

“You mean when I kissed you goodbye at the train station?” 

It was your first kiss, his as well, and although it was nothing more than a millisecond-long peck, it stopped your heart. 

“Oh, I’ve never been prouder of you than in that moment.”

His grin grows before he cranes his neck for another kiss, albeit much more chaste than its predecessors. 

“I can’t thank you enough for always being here,” he remarks. “And I’m not just talking about the sex. I know you know that, but I wanna make sure you understand how much you mean to me.” 

It’s so hard getting sentimental without your shirt on because then he can see your whole chest and neck flushing with affection. 

“I know,” you tell him.

Jeongguk sighs and lets his head fall forward into your sternum where he places a couple gentle kisses. 

“You smell nice.” 

The unexpected compliment causes you to snicker. 

“Yeah?” He nods. “Well, surprisingly, you do, too.”

“Because I showered, you brat!”

He’s forced to glance up again when your laughter makes his resting place shake too much, but he doesn’t seem to mind. There’s a wistful smile on his lips as his eyes flit around your face. 

“It’s because you’re expecting to get your dick sucked, isn’t it?” As much as he tries to hide it, the lopsided smirk that forms immediately gives him away. “You greedy bastard.” 

“Oh, please, like I’ve ever stepped through your doors and not gotten my dick sucked.” 

Alright, you suppose that’s fair. 

“Whatever. It still shouldn’t be expected.” 

His tongue hits the roof of his mouth. 

“So it’s not happening?” 

“I never said tha —” 

“Then why aren’t you on your knees yet?” You gawk at him before smacking his chest, leaving him melodramatically clutching his left pec. “I was kidding!” 

“No, you weren’t,” you challenge. 

After another moment, he drops the act and lets his hands roam your hips. 

“I mean, don’t you think I deserve it? Thirteen years of working day in and day out. The least my best friend can do is let me fuck her pretty little mouth.”

It’s genuinely diabolical how wet you become from his words alone. 

“You have a sick interpretation of what best friends are for.” 

Jeongguk doesn’t respond, just tilts his head to one side while waiting for you to give in, because he knows you will. You always do because you want him just as badly as he wants you. That’s why this arrangement works so well and has lasted this long. 

Like clockwork, you roll your eyes and drop to your knees in front of him. It produces an overconfident grin as Jeongguk sinks into the couch and spreads his legs apart to make room for you. 

“And yet, here we are,” he comments. 

You gaze up at him with a fiery glare, but it’s contrary to how your hands are already undoing his belt buckle. He pitches his hips up to help you pull his jeans and boxers down, revealing just how hard he is after everything you two have gotten up to so far. 

His dick’s so pretty; long and thick with big veins running down his shaft. You haven’t even touched him yet, but he’s twitching and leaking precum all over his cockhead. 

“No wonder you’re so demanding tonight, you look like you’re about to bust.” 

He groans when you place your hands on his thighs instead of touching him where he clearly needs you. 

“Please, sunshine, I’ve been thinking about you all fucking day.” 

“Oh?” Your fingers inch higher, but not nearly close enough. “How so?”

“Y/N.”

“If you tell me, I’ll give you what you want,” you sing-song.

Jeongguk’s head falls back onto the cushions as another sound of protest passes through his lips. He must realize you won’t give in, though, because he eventually looks down to hold your eye contact. 

“Since the moment I woke up this morning I’ve been picturing all the different positions I wanna put you in. Could barely focus during soundcheck because of how badly I need you.” 

Well, that was a bad idea because now you’re freaking drenched. But you still gotta maintain a little dignity.

“Is this one of them?”

Before replying, he slowly nods.

“Of many.” 

You sure like the sound of that. It also seems particularly mean to continue torturing him. Not to mention how terribly you want him after months apart. It isn’t the longest you’ve gone without seeing each other, but any amount of time is tough when he’s the only person who knows how to make you feel good. 

So, you move your hands up to give yourself enough leverage before leaning in to kiss his tip. His whole body lurches from your touch, but once your tongue darts out to collect his precum, he relaxes against the couch cushions.

At the same time you moan over his familiar taste, he groans and tosses his head back again. His fingers find your scalp and latch onto your hair, simultaneously pulling it away from your face and giving him an anchor. 

You don’t waste time, not like how you normally do by dragging your tongue up and down his shaft. Tonight you immediately take his head into your mouth while letting spit drip out to lubricate him. 

Jeongguk’s clearly happy with the decision because you feel a harsh tug on your hair as well as his thighs clenching beneath your hands. 

“Fuck, baby, just like that,” he mindlessly encourages you. 

Except it actually almost stops you in your tracks. He’s never called you baby before, or any pet name, at least not during a sexual encounter. Maybe while trying to tease you or in a general manner, but never like this. 

He doesn’t seem to notice, though, so you chalk it up to him being deep in the throes of pleasure. 

After pushing the comment from your mind, you inhale through your nose and sink lower, swallowing another inch of length as Jeongguk loudly moans above you.

“God.” While you focus on not gagging, his free hand combs more of your hair back so he can see your lips stretched around his thick cock. “You have no idea how good this feels, sunshine. No one does it like you.” 

You hum in acknowledgment, eliciting another deep moan. 

Before his praises can distract you any longer, you take in one last gulp of air and force your head all the way down to his pelvis. Both you and Jeongguk choke, but surprisingly, his own lasts longer than yours. You’re used to having his dick deep inside your throat, so although it’s been a while, you only need a moment to adjust. 

On the contrary, Jeongguk’s practically losing his mind. Both of his hands land on your head as he endlessly groans and pants your name. 

“Oh, fuck. Jesus… fuck.” It’s hard not to laugh at how seemingly mesmerized he is. “Y/N, baby, please move. Need you so bad.” 

Another one? How does he expect you to give him the blowjob of his dreams when he keeps calling you that? 

Luckily for him, you’ve been doing this long enough to overcome his abnormal behavior. 

You already know exactly how he likes it; slow, sloppy, and wet. Jeongguk’s an attention whore and loves knowing all of your focus is solely on pleasuring him. Hence why you begin leisurely bobbing up and down while using the tip of your tongue to trace the underside of his cock. 

He sighs in relief and you can feel all his muscles unwinding, giving you quite the confidence boost. Jeongguk’s always responsive in these situations, but he seems particularly drunk on you tonight. 

Besides the actions of your tongue and lips, you alternate between moaning and humming whenever his tip sinks deeper into your mouth. You also repeatedly let more spit roll down his shaft, which creates a sinful cacophony of sound when mixed with Jeongguk’s whines and groans. 

“Shit. Oh… my god.” 

When you glance up, all you see is a sharp jawline and pretty neck. But it isn’t long before a pair of shiny, doe eyes meet your gaze. 

Jeongguk’s pupils blow wide when he realizes you're watching him and you even feel his dick twitch inside your esophagus. Soon enough a proud smirk appears and one of his hands traces your profile until he’s caressing your cheek.

“You look so beautiful, sunshine.” He pulls on your hair to bring your mouth back up around his head and you instantly understand the silent memo. Rather than swallowing his length again, you circle and tease the sensitive ridge of his tip with your tongue. “That’s it. Always s’good for me, aren’t you?”

After humming and batting your eyelashes at him, you feel another sharp jolt from his cock. You take it as your cue to keep going and even start massaging his balls that are covered in your drool. In response, Jeongguk shouts a string of curses and his fingers scratch your scalp as he struggles to stay sane. 

You’ve done this enough to know he’s close, but you need a break before you can finish him off. Following one last lap of your mouth, you let your hand take over so you can replenish your oxygen.

“Goddamn,” he huffs as his eyes follow your finger’s movements along his shaft.

“Where do you wanna come?”

His focus shifts to your face again, so you send him a mischievous grin.

“C’mon, sunshine, you already know where.”

“You never know,” you counter. “My tits look pretty good tonight.”

Jeongguk snickers. 

“They always look good.” The next thing you know, he’s leaning down and using his grip on your face to guide you closer. “But I wanna fill you up right here.” 

There’s no need for clarification because he kisses you to explain himself. It’s messy and amorous, not only because of how swollen your lips are, but because Jeongguk shoves his tongue inside your mouth. 

You both moan and more precum leaks from his tip as your wet muscles tangle together. If you aren’t careful, he might come before you even wrap your lips around him again. 

When you finally pull back, a string of saliva stretches between your mouths that Jeongguk swipes away. He leaves his thumb there for a moment, pressing down on your bottom lip before slipping his finger between your teeth. 

Even though you know what he wants, you playfully bite down on his knuckle instead. Following his shocked yelp, you both burst into laughter.

“You’re such a fucking brat,” he scolds you. 

“Well, this brat’s still got her hand around your cock.” 

You squeeze his head to make a point, causing Jeongguk to hiss and yank on your hair in retaliation. 

“Can we change that?” As if you two weren’t just teasing each other a second ago, he gently cradles your face again. “Will you let me paint your pretty throat white?” 

If only you could muster a witty response, but all you can manage is an aimless nod that leaves him smirking as he sits back against the couch once more. 

There isn’t any reason to wait, so you let your hand drop back down to his balls before encasing his head between your lips. You immediately bring his entire length inside your mouth again, picking up where you left off without any hesitation. 

Similarly, it doesn’t take long for Jeongguk to teeter on the brink of ecstasy. After only a few strokes, you feel his balls tighten and then his hot cum floods your mouth. His release makes him groan so loud you actually worry your neighbors will hear, but you also don’t care when you’re busy swallowing his seed. 

Jeongguk always tastes good and you can’t resist moaning while moving up and down his shaft to collect all his cum. 

“Holy shit, baby,” he gasps as you continue lick and suck throughout his climax. “Fuck, don’t stop.” 

Not like you need to be told twice. You love breaking him off just as much as he does. 

Once he’s practically devoid of semen and you’re out of oxygen, you release his cock and sit back on your heels. Jeongguk melts into the couch afterwards, including his eyes rolling back as his whole body relaxes. 

“Good?” 

He humorlessly laughs.

“The best fucking head of my life.” 

In the middle of you pridefully giggling, Jeongguk hooks his arms under your shoulders to hoist you back up. But you have other plans, and before he can manhandle you into his lap, you grab the bottom hem of his shirt to pull it off. 

He’s so fucking sexy it makes your head spin, especially after how much he’s been working out on tour. You could spend hours just running your tongue along his abs if he’d only let you. 

“Oh, is this what you want?” 

Instead of waiting for a response, Jeongguk tugs your jeans and panties to the floor in one smooth motion before guiding you to straddle him again. 

As if he wasn’t wet enough from your blowjob, your cunt lands right on his dick and all the essence you’ve been leaking since the moment he stepped inside your house lubricates him even more. 

“Oh, my god,” you whine, causing him to smile over his effect on you.

“You get this wet just from sucking me off, sunshine?” Despite how embarrassing it is, you nod. “Good. Want you to be nice and soaked when I fuck you.” 

“Ggukie, please.”

“Yeah, is that what you want? For me to fuck you just right? Like I always do?”

“Mmhm.”

Based on past patterns, you expect him to drive his cock into you without another word, but his hands just trace your curves while his eyes map your features. 

You’re about to question his hesitation when he delicately cups your jaw, causing your eyebrows to pinch together.

“What if I want more?” He asks sincerely, in complete contrast to a moment ago.

“What?”

Jeongguk inhales and licks his lips.

“What if I don’t want to just see you whenever I’m in Busan? What if I want to see you in my bedroom and my kitchen and lying on my couch?”

“In… in Seoul?” 

He smiles.

“Itaewon.”

If your heart wasn’t about to beat out of your body, your eyes would roll back so far they’d get stuck. 

“Jeongguk, my whole life’s here. My job, my family —”

“I know, sunshine. I do.” His fingertips brush against your cheek and it takes all your willpower not to rest your head in his palm. “I’m not saying it’ll be easy or can happen right away, but eventually…” He looks uncharacteristically nervous and it makes you hold your breath in anticipation. “Eventually, I want your face to be the first thing I see when I come home at the end of the day.” 

The air you were keeping captive disappears in an instant as you digest his words. You desperately want them to mean exactly what they sound like, but you’re terrified of misinterpreting the situation. 

Except when you focus on how Jeongguk’s looking at you, with starry eyes full of wonder and hope, you don’t believe you are. Which elicits quite possibly the biggest smile you’ve ever worn before you lean in to kiss him. 

Jeongguk catches on quickly, his fingers on your face sliding into your hair so he can keep you close. Your own hands move from his shoulders to his neck while his opposite arm circles your waist. It doesn’t even matter that you’re naked, all your attention’s on the fluid movement of your mouths and how undeniably happy you are. 

“I’m crazy about you, Y/N,” he whispers to your lips. 

Although you delightfully giggle at first, you soon pull away to smack his chest. 

“What took you so damn long, huh?” 

He momentarily gawks before parroting your laughter.

“I’m sorry, baby. I just didn’t think I’d be able to handle it all.” 

“I wouldn’t have cared,” you protest. 

“But I would’ve. I needed to make sure I could be an idol and the boyfriend you deserve before asking you to be anything more than this.” 

As much as you want to fight him on it, there’s no going back now, and all you truly care about is having a future with him. 

“And you feel like you can do that?” 

You trust him to be everything you deserve and more, but you want to ensure he won’t be spreading himself too thin for your sake. 

“I do. More importantly, I want to,” he clarifies. “I want you so fucking bad, and I don’t mean sexually. I wanna cook you dinner, take you out for ice cream, and go on walks near the Han river.” 

“Oh, I’ve never been there.”

“I know! I’ve been dying to take you for years.” 

It’s been a long time since you’ve seen Jeongguk this excited about something, and your possible life together being the reason is more than you could ever wish for. 

“I want that, too,” you declare. “I’ve always wanted you, Ggukie.”

When he smiles in response to your confession, it feels like the entire world around you falls away. In fact, you barely register him closing in for another kiss. And you certainly don’t realize he’s flipping you over until you feel the cushions on your back. 

Nothing else really matters after that, anyway. You two have had sex so many times over the years it’s the last thing on your mind in comparison to the future. 

Not to say you don’t thoroughly enjoy yourself when he puts you in all those positions he mentioned earlier, but all you can think about is what sex will be like in a shared bed. One you’ll get to wake up and fall asleep in together, for many years to come. 

“What are you doing here?” you ask, though you can’t fight the smile that immediately takes over your face. You lean back in your chair, crossing your arms.

“Delivering a life-saving substance.” He pushes off the frame and strolls into your office, pulling out a muffin from the bag and setting it right next to your keyboard. “Peckan maple muffin. From the new bakery down the street. Because you look like you’re contemplating murder.”

“I was, actually. But you brought carbs, so you get to live.” You grab the muffin cup, taking a small bite from the top.

Taehyung chuckles, dropping into the chair opposite your desk. He doesn't sit back, though. He leans forward, resting his elbows on your desk. “So generous. Should I drop to my knees and thank you?”

You pause mid-bite, shooting him a warning look. “Don't start.”

“I didn’t say anything!” he defends, raising his hands in mock surrender, though his eyes are dancing with pure mischief. He reaches out, idly picking up a pen from your desk and twirling it between his long fingers.

He looks like he’s thinking, you can see the thought brewing in his mind. Then, the pen twirling stops.

Taehyung clears his throat, suddenly looking incredibly interested in the crumbs on the muffin. 

“So, uh,” he starts, his voice dropping a little. He rubs the back of his neck. “Saturday night. Hoseok’s Halloween thing. You’re… you’re coming, right?” He straightened up a bit, adding quickly, ”I heard that Gabby invited all of you.”

You try not to giggle at him. “Yeah. Sohee would physically drag me if I tried to back out.”

“Right.” He nods, finally looking back up at you. His gaze is softer now, heavier. “Good. I mean – I was hoping you’d be there.”

The air in the office shifts, suddenly feeling very thick. You swallow hard, your pulse picking up under his intense stare. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, his voice low in the quiet room. He leans in just a millimeter closer. “I wanted to see–”

“Y/n, did you see the photo Gabby– oh.”

You both jump. Taehyung nearly drops your pen.

Sohee is standing in the doorway, her phone in her hand and a deeply amused, knowing smirk spreading across her face. Her eyes dart from Taehyung, to you, and back to Taehyung.

“Am I interrupting something?” she asks, sounding like she absolutely hopes she is.

“No,” you say quickly, maybe too quickly. You grab your mouse and aggressively click on a random cell in your spreadsheet.

Taehyung clears his throat again, standing up and smoothing down the front of his shirt. The cool guy mask is back on, though the tips of his ears are flushed a light, betraying pink.

“Just dropping off the sweet treat supply,” Taehyung says, backing toward the door. He slides past Sohee, giving her a quick nod. “I’ve gotta get back. See you Saturday, Y/n.”

“Bye, Tae,” you mumble to your screen.

The second his footsteps fade down the hall, Sohee slowly closes your office door, leaning against it with her arms crossed.

“Just dropping off a sweet treat, huh?” she asks, her eyebrows practically reaching her hairline.

“Shut up,” you groan, burying your face in your hands.

Saturday November 2nd 

“Fucking cold.”

You laugh as Sohee grumbles beside you, cursing under her breath as you both hurry out of the Uber and toward the building. You slip an arm around her shoulders, pulling her into your side.

“Why does Halloween have to be when it’s cold? Why did they plan it this way?” Sohee whines as you wait for the lobby’s door to open, you add another hand as you hold her in a hug.

You rub warmth into her arm. “It’ll be better inside.” 

Right on cue, the door buzzes, and you push it open. 

It’s obviously elevating her mood, because she finds it in her to tease you, “Easy for you to say. You’ll have Tae inside to keep you warm.” 

“Don't start,” you hit her arm.

She doesn’t take the bait. “Come on, don’t play it down. I saw how he’s with you.” 

She’s not lying. 

You saw it yourself. Something has shifted between you two. 

After you got over the awkwardness from your fight, you became closer.

But you roll your eyes, ignoring the comment as you step into the elevator.

The party is at the penthouse in some fancy building complex, belonging to one of the guy’s friends you haven’t met before.

They told you he’s throwing a Halloween party every year.

And that costumes are mandatory.

When you enter the party, it’s already packed. The space is bigger than you anticipated for a house party, all the furniture has been removed or pushed to the side, and you can see an actual bar placed near the kitchen. 

You give away your coats at the entrance and look around to find your friends. You spot Gabby, dressed like a sexy little devil, and by her side, you see Namjoon in an angel costume. They are so cute it’s to die for. 

Sohee is a cat woman, and it goes without saying that she looks insanely hot. 

Namjoon introduces the two of you when you reach them. “This is Hoseok, this is his party. And his apartment, he sacrifices each year.” He pats the man's back. 

Hoseok laughs loudly. “You can call me Hobi,” and he enthusiastically shakes your hands. 

You thank him, but are interrupted when someone slides an arm around your waist. You snap your head to see Taehyung standing next to you, smiling. 

“Hello, you,” he says as he squeezes you against him. 

Following along, of course, Jungkook, who greats you with a smack on the head and a- “Hey, loser.” 

Right after him, Jimin pats your head with a giggle.

Jungkook is in a Batman costume, no surprise here. 

Jimin is… you’re not sure what he is, but he is dressed in cool disco-prints-colourful-type clothes, with glitter and shit.

You look at Taehyung’s outfit by your side, he’s wearing a loose white blouse with a string and silk black pants. He has a black cape, an eye mask, and a black flat-brimmed hat with a rose tucked in it. 

So he is… what? 

Taehyung catches you looking and winks. You roll your eyes, but you smile anyway. 

“Let’s go get drinks!” Sohee shouts to no one in particular, but everyone follows. 

After a round of shots and half of a drink, she drags you to what probably used to be a living room, and now it’s a makeshift dance floor. 

The song changes as you get to the dancing mess of people, and Sohee turns to you with wide eyes, “That’s my song!” 

She sprints with you in tow, into the crowd, starting to jump and dance, even before letting go of your hand.

It has been a while since you went to a party. It’s usually too much. Too many unknown faces, heat, and sweat. But it seems like tonight you don’t care. You just let yourself loose, you dance and laugh with Sohee. Acting like a fool without all the usual worries. 

Before the song change, the whole group joins you.

You all dance and goof around, going to get more shots and returning right away to dance. Hobi also joins you, as he turns out to be a really funny guy. You laugh so much that your face hurts. 

At some point, when you’re already a little buzzed from the alcohol and the atmosphere, you find yourself dancing next to Taehyung. 

“So I see you have more Koreans in your gang,” you say into his ear, so he could hear you over the music. 

He chuckles, and you can feel the movement with your hand that rests on his shoulder. When did it get there?

He leans down to talk in your ear as well, while he sneaks a hand around your waist. “I guess that’s my type.” 

“Hot Korean guys? Yeah, I can totally see that for you.” You tease him.

He leans again, and you think he’s closer this time because you wonder if you feel his lips graze the shell of your ear. Hard to tell when your whole body feels like it's on fire. 

“I thought that it’s your type.” He murmurs so close to your cheek. 

And you think you feel it in your soul. 

Goosebumps travel up your neck, and heat crawls down from your face. 

He leans back and looks at you with a winning smile.

You try to school your face into nonchalance, frowning a little. 

“Are you flirting with me?” 

“I’m not flirting,” he says like he’s innocent. 

“I’m just hot and making conversation.”

Smiling, pleased with himself, he boops your nose. “Very confusing, I get that.” 

You narrow your eyes. “Don’t you think you’re too full of yourself?” 

“How can I not be when I’m dancing with the prettiest girl here?” Like he’s proving his point, his hand flexes on your waist, pulling you a tad closer.

Suddenly, you are very aware of the lack of space between you. You can feel the heavy, thumping music not just in your own chest, but vibrating through his. You fall into his rhythm without meaning to, swaying together in the middle of the chaotic dancing bodies.

He looks down into your eyes, and you see the challenge sparkling in them under the flashing lights.

You try to hold his gaze. You really do. 

You want this. Want his undivided attention, want whatever heavy, unspoken thing is currently brewing between you two. 

For a few long seconds, you just stare at each other, letting the loud, sweaty party fade into background static. Your heart is hammering so hard against your ribs, stronger than the bass, you're terrified he can feel it where his chest brushes yours.

It’s too much. The intensity of it burns.

Unable to take the heat of his stare for a second longer, you avert your gaze, looking down at his chest and officially losing this silent battle of chicken.

Taehyung giggles, takes your hand, and spins you once before settling both his hands on your waist again, swaying with you to the beat. 

You try to brush the awkwardness off. “So what are you?” you ask him.

“I'm Zorro! The lover warrior,” he grabs the rose from his hat and holds it with his teeth, giving you an exaggerated seductive look with a wiggle of his brows. 

He takes the rose and offers it to you with a small bow. 

“And what are you exactly, my lady?” 

You laugh and take the rose, “I’m Ash Katcum. Duh.” 

You grab the Pikachu bag charm, dangling from your jeans, and push it into Taehyung's face. “Gotta catch them all!” 

Taehyung looks at you, flabbergasted for a moment.

“Nerd,” he snorts and starts laughing.

You act fake-offended and hit his chest, “Shut up.” 

His chest rumbles with laughter under your hand, and before you manage to pull it back, he catches your wrist, pulling you closer. 

You look at each other for a moment.

You could almost feel both of you inching closer. 

But something snaps Taehyung out of it.

You decide it's for the best. You can practically feel Sohee's - and probably Jimin’s - eyes burning into your side.

He leans back, slides his hand from your wrist to hold your hand lightly, and twirls you once.

You laugh and tuck the rose back in his hat, resting your hand on his shoulder as you dance together. 

“You’re actually a decent dancer,” you say simply, but it drips with teasing.

He looks actually offended, which is hilarious. 

“Decent?! I’m a great dancer.”

"Oh, so you think you're a great dancer?" you push further.

“I don’t think,” he scoffs. “I know.” 

You hum like you're considering what he said. “Bold claim.” 

“And still, you let me take the lead,” he shoots back.

Oh, you’re definitely not going to give him that easily. “What lead exactly are you taking?” You just have to keep the defiance in you. 

Instead of answering, Taehyung moves. He tilts your body with a sudden movement. Your balance slips - you think you’re about to fall – 

But Taehyung catches you. His arm wraps firmly around your waist like a vise, and before you can even gasp, he dips you lower.

The sudden shift makes your stomach do a flip, your hands instinctively flying up to grip his shoulders for dear life. He holds you there, suspended, his face aligned perfectly right above yours. You can feel his warm breath ghosting over your lips.

“This,” he murmurs, his voice low, raspy, sends a fresh wave of goosebumps down your arms.

Then, with a swift, effortless motion, he pulls you right back up, steadying you with his hands on your waist. You feel out of breath, and you’re pretty sure your face went through 50 shades of red. Which you hope the somewhat dim lighting is concealing.

“You're always this bossy?” you ask. 

You regret it immediately, as you sound too breathless. 

But Taehyung looks delighted with it. “Only when someone lets me.” “Don’t get used to it,” you grumble back.

“I think it’s already too late for that,” he smiles wider. 

You puff out air, annoyed that you don't have something to retort and erase the smile off his face. 

He huffs a quiet laugh. “You’re terrible at this.”

“At what?!” You bark at him. Because – you swear to God – if he has something to say about your dancing skills, you’re going to stomp on his foot. 

He grins. “Pretending you’re not enjoying it.”

“Alright, enough of whatever this is.” 

Gabby storms in, grabbing your wrist.

“Hey–” you protest, stumbling a step as you’re pulled back. Taehyung’s hand is still on your waist, lingering a moment longer, like he’s debating whether he should let you go, before releasing. 

“You,” Gabby scrunches her brows, pointing at Taehyung. 

He raises a brow. “Me?”

“Yes, you. Stop monopolising her.”

You snort. “Monopolise?”

“Way to ruin the moment,” Taehyung mutters under his breath, and you hope only you heard him. The rise of Sohee’s brow tells you otherwise. 

“Time for some girls' time,” Sohee adds, already dragging you toward the bar.

You glance over your shoulder. Taehyung hasn’t followed, but he hasn’t moved on either. He’s watching you, that same annoying, amused look still on his face.

“Don’t go too far,” he calls, loud enough for you to hear over the music.

You scoff, turning away. “You wish.” 

But you can’t help the big smile on your face, and you hope you turn your head fast enough that he doesn’t catch it. 

“What got you smiling like that?” Gabby chirps, wrapping her hand around your shoulders. 

“Can we not?” You push her away, and both of them burst out laughing. 

“Why are you acting all shy?” she asks. “Why are you so weird?” she adds as you reach the bar. 

“Don’t know,” you mumble, why indeed? Why are you so weird about it? What is going on, or starting to, isn’t a secret. Taehyung definitely isn’t very subtle or secretive about it either. 

Wasn’t he kinda.. Performative tonight? Like, he was very out there in your space, hand constantly somewhere on the lower of your back, your waist, your hip–

Anyway, it’s not like you are trying to hide it. Why would you? There is nothing to be ashamed of.

Sohee orders you all some drinks before tuning back into the conversation. “You have to stop acting like you’re not crazy over each other.” 

“We’re not crazy over each other,” you bark, way too quickly. 

She doesn’t take it seriously, she just blinks a couple of times and chuckles lightly. 

“Okay, you’re so cool, nonchalant, nothing can touch you. But he... he’s definitely crazy.” And then she laughs like a maniac. Is she drunk already? 

“Leave her,” Gabby shakes her head, like she’s already tired from her antics. What were they doing till now? 

“But seriously, something happened between you two?” 

“What? No?” you answer quickly. “Like, nothing that you don’t know of.” 

She doesn’t seem very convinced. “I’m asking because you looked very… snuggly.” 

“Maybe tonight something will happen,” Sohee chimes in, sounding delighted. “Finally,” she cracks, laughing.

“Oh.. umm… ah.. I..” you stutter. And you feel your face getting hot, and your pulse picking up. 

That sounds kinda… plausible. If you think about it. 

Weren’t you just a breath away from kissing him a moment ago?

What are you getting so nervous about? You don’t know. 

Sohee laughs at your expense. 

“Why are you getting so worked up? Are you a virgin?” She laughs even louder. 

Seriously, how drunk is she already?

You quirck your brow at her, slightly annoyed, for no good reason, actually. 

She tries to relax her laugh, waving her hand at you. “Kidding, kidding. I know that you’re not.” 

“And so does he.” 

And she bursts into a laughing mess once again. Gabby is trying to hide her giggles as well.

You are going to kill her. Right now, preferably. 

Lucky for her, your drinks arrive, and you slide to the bar and grab your glass. 

You all raise your glasses, and Sohee, obviously, makes a toast - “To love, money, and fucking a lot!” 

“Cheers!” You all clink your glasses before going for a long sip. 

“There you are!” Jimin storms in, one arm over your shoulder and another over Gabby’s. Almost spilling the liquor out of your glass. 

“Who wants some shots?!” and he’s already pushing through to get to the bar. 

“Hell no,” you and Gabby say in unison. But Sohee answers with a whoop. 

“Boooo, losers,” he shouts over his shoulder as he intertwines his hand with Sohee as they skip towards the bar. 

The rhinestones on his face have already shifted location, and his hair extensions look like they’ve been through a lot. This can’t end well for either of them.

“What are you doing huddled over here?” he asks, leaning against the bar after ordering the shots. “Just some girls' time,” Gabby answers. 

“Where did you vanish to suddenly?” Sohee asks him this time.

“I just–” he pauses, choosing his next words. “Let’s just say I saw an old friend. Had to check the current… status.”

“And what is the current status?” you encourage him to continue.

“There’s potential.”

“Potential?”

He smirks. “Potential.” 

You don’t push further, you know a lost cause when you see one. Jimin is not one to spare words when he has something he wants to tell.

He looks around, like he’s scanning the room. “Do you have someone you’ve got your eyes on?” 

“I’m mainly asking Sohee,” he adds quickly. “Gabby has Joon, and you have Tae.” “I don’t have Taehyung.” You protest.

“So how do you explain you two stuck to each other all night?”

“There’s nothing to explain.”

“Mm-hmm,” Jimin hums. “Then why is he looking over here?”

You hadn’t noticed.

Now you do.

And of course, he’s still there, where you left him. Just that now, he’s with Jungkook and Namjoon. They talk animatedly about something, but he doesn’t look very focused. 

He’s.. Watching. You.

Like he felt you look first.

You quickly turn back.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

Jimin snorts. “Sure.”

“Shots!” Sohee suddenly announces, already reaching for the array of glasses Jimin ordered.

Glasses dangerously full are being passed around. Though you didn’t ask for one, you hesitate for half a second before grabbing yours too.

“To what?” Sohee asks, lifting her shot.

Jimin doesn’t even need to think. 

“Bad decisions.”

“The worst ones,” Sohee adds and raises her hand a tad higher. 

You huff a laugh. “Great.”

“Cheers,” Jimin says, already tipping his head back to down the shot.

The burn hits fast. You took barely half of it. That’s enough for now. 

Sohee exhales dramatically. “Okay. Back to dancing!”

Jimins grabs her hand, pulling her back toward the crowd.

Gabby rolls her eyes but follows, shaking her head. “Come on,” she says over her shoulder.

“Yeah,” you say, more to yourself than anyone else. You leave your mostly full drink on the bar and follow them back.

The crowd is louder now, denser. The bass feels heavier against your ribs as you’re pulled back into movement.

Jimin is already half-dancing, half-performing again, and Sohee is laughing as she tries to keep up with him.

You let yourself move. Mixing in with the rest of the group. 

You feel him before you see.

And when you turn slightly, there he is again. Smiling at you.

Taehyung leans closer, but he still needs to shout to be heard over the music. 

“Can I have you back now?”

There is something heavy under those words, something that can make you overthink, stay up at night, and analyse what it means and if you want this. If you can handle this. 

Maybe it’s the music, or the alcohol, or the holiday spirit– 

You refuse to let it slip in.

You push it all away. All the possibilities and thinking and what-ifs. You just let yourself be here and now.

Because right now, you want this. 

You want to ‘have’ him. You want him to ‘have’ you. 

You’re not sure you can handle this. You don’t have all the answers. Or know that you’ll still feel the same tomorrow. But right now, with the loud music, and your friends’ laughter around, and the light feeling in your chest, you do. 

So you just let yourself move a tiny bit closer.

You lose track of time somewhere after the third song.

Somehow, without either of you really trying, Taehyung is by your side, always. Closer than the others. Close enough that you don’t have to look for him. Close enough that it starts feeling natural.

His hand on your lower back, guiding you through the bass. Your hand on him, feeling the heat and light sweat. His laughter vibrates on your chest. His voice in your ear.

Cheers to bad decisions, right? 

And just like that, it’s already late at night. Gabby and Namjoon are nowhere to be seen. You’re definitely not going to go looking for them.

Jungkook is off talking to some girl. 

And Jimin and Sohee are dancing - no, you can't call that dancing - menacing, terrorising the dance floor.

You laugh as they do something weird, maybe a robot dance…? It’s hard to tell at this point.

Taehyung grins beside you. Then his hand settles lightly on your shoulder. “Want to go chill outside for a bit? I can’t keep up with them.”

You turn to him and nod.

“I’ll go grab us new drinks. Wait outside?”

You nod again. 

The roof is more spacious, less crowded. It feels darker than the party with the night sky above, but somehow better lit with the string lights hung around. It's supposed to be cold, but you’re not cold. It actually helps you to clear your mind. To get grounded in the whirlwind of everything this night is. 

You lean against the railing, facing the roof entrance so Taehyung can find you easily.

Not even a minute passes by, and someone is blocking your view.

He hasn’t talked yet, and you’re already over it.

“So what are you?” he asks with a slimy smile, like he just delivered the most witty one-liner ever. 

You can barely hold your eyes from rolling.

After a few excruciating minutes of you trying to explain what your costume is, and he’s not getting the message you're not interested, you spot a familiar figure standing behind him. Waiting with two glasses and a too-amused, too-enjoying-this smile.

The dude continues to ask, “So your costume is a little boy?” 

“Yep, a little boy,” you deadpan, over it. Ready to finish this stupid back and forth. 

For some reason, the drunk guy thinks the right thing to say– 

“You’re a sexy little boy.”

You almost choke, struggling to hold back a laugh.

“That’s what you like? Little boys?”

The guy looks like a fish, opening and closing his mouth, trying to find words. 

But before he can, you walk past him. “Well, good luck with that.” 

You go towards Taehyung, who is on the verge of crying from laughter, drinks clutched hard in his hands as he tries not to spill them over.  

He hands you your cup as he tries to calm himself enough to speak. “Why did you leave him? He seems like he likes you.” 

You hit him as his whole body shakes. “Shut up.”

“And then people ask me how I’m still single,”  you add as you roll your eyes.

Taehyung lifts his glass. “Cheers to that.” 

You find a high table in a quiet corner near the edge of the roof.

Taehyung offers you a cigarette and pops one into his mouth. 

“Well, it’s nice to see you’re mean to others, but nice to me,” he says happily as he pushes his hands into his pocket, trying to fish out his lighter. 

“I was nice. He’s just stupid. Not my fault,” you say with a shrug. 

“Oh, yeah. Really nice of you,” he says, amused. He lights his cigarette and offers you the lighter. 

“Continue, and I won’t be nice at all,” you say with a finger directed at his face, and you snap the lighter out of his hand with too much force. 

“I’d love to see that,” he mumbles under his breath. And you give him a pointed look. 

Taehyung chuckles, raising his hands in surrender. 

You continue to smoke your cigarettes in silence. 

“I’m usually not really into parties, but this is nice,” Taehyung says as he puts down his cigarette. 

“Not into parties?” You cock your brow at him. “I’m not buying it.” 

“Not buying it? The fuck that means?” he returns, scandalised, but mostly amused as he laughs at you.  

You hum. “You look more like the type to… how do I say it…? the type to.. go out and fuck around.” 

“Fuck around?!” He tries to sound shocked, but he sounds more like he finds you funny. “You think I’m a slut?” 

“Maybe,” you say simply, shrugging. You know you’re being a little shit. But it’s fun.  

“What do you mean ‘maybe’? I’ll have you know I don’t fuck around.” A small pause. “Usually.” He smiles shyly, like he’s been caught. 

You chuckle. “Oh, so you do fuck around,” you say with a smile. 

His fingers flex around the glass as he stays silent for a moment.

This might be somewhat vicious on your end, but can you blame a girl for trying to snoop around? You blame the alcohol for making you more daring. 

“Are you trying to ask for my body count?” he raises a brow. He takes a sip, and a scheming smirk stretches on his face. 

“Will you answer?” you challenge back. 

“Depends.” He responds suspiciously plainly, and you can see something glimmer in his eyes. 

“Depends..? On what?”

“If you’ll answer the same question,” he grins. 

“Touché.” You add with a little bow of your head and a lift of your drink. 

“Nice try, though,” he giggles. 

“Try?” you scoff. “You’re the one who backed out.”

“I didn’t back out,” he says, stepping just a little closer. “I just… evened the playing field.”

You snort. “That’s a very generous way to describe it.”

“You don’t like fair?”

“Not when it works against me.”

He studies you for a second, amused. “You sound disappointed.”

“I gave you an opening. You didn’t take it.”

“You didn’t take it as well,” he doesn’t back out.

“You like keeping score?” you ask.

He tilts his head, “I have to when the other person pretends they’re not playing.”

“And what game do you think I’m playing?” You take a slow sip, trying to hide your rising nervousness. This can escalate into dangerous territory. 

“The safe one,” he says, taking a slow sip, like he mimics you. “Say just enough. Never too much.”

You watch him over the rim of your glass. “That sounds like projection.”

“That sounds like deflection,” he retorts. 

Then he smiles, smaller now, less performative. “You like control,” he says simply. “You just don’t like calling it that.”

You glance at him. “I like knowing what I’m getting into.”

His smile tugs wider. "That's the same thing."

You hate how quickly the answer comes. 

You let out a breath through your nose, almost a laugh. “And you don’t?” 

“Never said I don’t.”

No, he didn't.

But he did say you don't let him in.

Say just enough. Never too much.

The annoying thing is that he isn't wrong.

For all the time you've spent together these past months, does he know anything real about you?

The adult version of you?

And what do you know about him?

The most vulnerable conversation you've had was an argument.

That's probably not a great sign.

Maybe a Halloween party isn't the place to unpack that.

“You always overthink like this?” 

“Only when I’m awake,” you aim for a lighter mood. You light a second cigarette. Just so you’ll have something to do.

He looks at you for a second, really looks this time. You can see the question running in his mind. 

“There you are!” 

You both turn to see Jungkook coming to your table. 

He rests his head against Taehyung's shoulder as he takes a cigarette from his packet and lights it. 

He takes a deep drag, exhaling it slowly. “Where are the others?” 

“I’m assuming Sohee and Jimin are still traumatising people inside. And I haven’t seen Gabby or Namjoon in a while, not planning to go look for them.” 

You update him, and Jungkook winces. 

He then turns to Taehyung, eyes bright and wide like he just remembered something. “Dude, do you remember the Halloween party at Max’s house?”

Taehyung chuckles, “Ohh, I remember. I’m surprised you remember. You ended up hugging the toilet. ” 

Jungkook laughs, “Yeah, I think I almost died that night.”

You join in, clapping your hands, “I remember this party! God, it was chaos. Poor Max.”

“I don’t think he threw any more parties after this one,” Jungkook giggles. 

“I’m surprised you went to the party. You were such a nerd,” Taehyung says teasingly. Jungkook snorts-laughs.

You narrow your eyes at them. 

“If I’m such a nerd, why are you even talking to me? What does it say about you? Ah, cool kids?” you say mockingly and take a drag, blowing the smoke into their faces. 

“Rude.” Jungkook waves his hands dramatically, clearing the smoke from his face, like he isn’t holding a lit cigarette between his lips. 

Taehuyng looks at you as he says, “Every group needs a nerd. We need you to raise the average IQ in the room.” 

Jungkook laughs, moves his hand to tap the ash off the cigarette, and somehow manages to topple your drink, spilling it everywhere.

Taehyung bursts out laughing, Jungkook joins him, and you follow as well.

Taehyung wraps his hand around your shoulder and pulls you in. “You see? We idiots, we need you.” 

You look up at him, about to retort some smart ass answer, when the chaos agents arrive.

Sohee and Jimin stumble toward you, hands linked, and each has a full drink in hand – one they clearly don’t need.

“Helloooooo,” Jimin announces their arrival. He and Sohee are tangled, snickering, like he said something hilarious. 

“So this is where you all have been,” Sohee giggles. What’s funny? You don’t know.

The rest of you look at them the same way you’d look at a puppy who tries to catch its own tail.

“I see everyone is here-” Jimin pauses to hiccup “-so all of us losers go home alone.”

Sohee looks at you, Taehyung's hand still on you as you stand close to him, and you see in her eyes that she has something on her mind. You hope she won’t say it out loud–

“Well, except y/n and Tae,” she says and wiggles her brows. 

– a false hope when you take into account drunk Sohee. 

Taehyung, next to you, is giggling. He raises his almost empty glass and clinks it with hers, finishing it with a wink.

You’re startled, not so amused, you get out from Taehuyng's embrace and reach to grab Sohee’s glass. “You definitely don’t need any more of this.” 

You take a sip of your new drink and wince at how strong it is. “Is this pure vodka?!”

The group laughs, except Sohee, who pouts and tries to get her drink – now yours – back from you. 

You stretch your arm out of her reach. “No! You had had enough! Drink some water.” You slap her grabby hand away. 

She gives up and crosses her hands over her chest. “Ugh, fine. Mom,” she says with a pout. 

Taehyung leans to speak in your ear. “The idiots need you,” he whispers with a chuckle. 

“Can you please not?” Jimin makes gagging noises at you and Taehyung. “This is bad enough that I’m not getting anything tonight, don’t shove it in my face.”

“What happened to the ‘potential’?” you ask him.

“Ugh, I don’t want to talk about it.” 

Sohee interrupts, “But there was this guy...” 

“I don’t want to talk about him either,” Jimin grumbles. 

“But I do,” Sohee cuts in immediately, sobering up just enough to be annoying.

Jimin turns to her, offended, disgusted. “Why do you?”

“Because,” she says, pointing a finger at him like she’s presenting evidence in court, “that guy was into me.”

“You?” Jimin lets out a disbelieving sound. “That man wanted me.”

“Oh, please. He was literally talking to me.”

“He was being polite. He didn't want to make you feel bad.”

“He laughed at my joke.”

“It wasn’t funny.”

“He thought it was.”

“He was drunk.”

“So are you!”

“That’s irrelevant!”

Taehyung, beside you, is fully entertained.

Jungkook snorts into his glass.

“You don’t even like guys like that,” Sohee continues, crossing her arms like she’s personally offended.

“Excuse me? I only like guys like that.”

“No, you like unemployed DJs.”

“And you like guys who use 3-in-1 body wash.”

“Those are very specific accusations,” Taheyung says very seriously, like he’s adding some important input. 

“Very similar too,” Jungkook adds with the same serious tone.

"Okay," you cut in, pinching the bridge of your nose. "What was this guy like that makes him worth this stupid argument?" 

“Tall,” Sohee says.

“Tall,” Jimin echoes.

“Dark hair.” “Dark curls.”

“Kind of quiet.” “I’d say mysterious.”

“Good shoulders.”

Jimin pauses. “…yeah. Good shoulders.”

You blink.

Taehyung lets out a quiet laugh next to you.

Jungkook straightens, eyes lighting up. “So you have the same type.”

“We do not!” they both snap at the same time.

Jungkook grins, leaning back like he’s about to enjoy this way too much. “So which one of you do you think he’s into?”

“Jungkook, please,” you beg. “They just stopped arguing for 5 seconds.” 

He ignores you, looking like some sinister idea is brewing in his mind.

“Maybe… you should tag team him.” Jungkook snickers, barely holding it together.

There’s a beat.

They both freeze.

Like the idea actually registers.

Are they fucking serious?!

They can’t be. 

Slowly, they turn to look at each other.

The exact same expression spreads across both their faces.

Absolute horror.

You swear you can physically see them shudder.

“I would rather die,” Sohee says.

“I would rather cut off my dick,” Jimin agrees.

Jungkook bursts out laughing.

“Wow,” Taehyung mutters beside you, shaking his head. “Friendship really has limits.”

Sohee physically shakes off the idea, still visibly disturbed. 

“You’re all insane,” you mumble into your drink.

Taehyung leans closer to you again, voice low and amused, “What does it say about you?”

You scoff. “That I have poor decision-making skills.” 

“Clearly,” Sohee mutters, eyeing you and Taehyung like she’s implying something. 

“Was that a dig at me?” Taehyung doesn’t miss a beat. Sharper than you expect him to be.

“If the shoe fits,” Sohee shrugs, clearly entertained. 

“Don’t be rude, Sohee,” Jungkook chimes in, swirling the ice in his glass. “They’re clearly on a date. We’re just third-wheeling.” 

“We’re not–” you start.

“We’re not–” Taehyung cuts in at the same time.

Sohee points at the two of you, delighted. “You just answered together! That’s literally couple behavior.”

You both just stare at her, suddenly tense.

“Ugh, relax. Why are you so weird?” Sohee giggles.

"Like y'all haven’t seen each other naked before!” Jimin roars, rolling, laughing at his own joke. 

Sohee tries, really tries, not to laugh. But fails. 

Jungkook snickers into his drink. 

You don’t know what Taehyung looks like. You can't look at him right now. 

Because yes. You did see him naked. He saw you naked. You two act like you haven't, but you did. Once. Twelve years ago. And apparently, everyone knows. Even Jimin – who didn’t even go to high school with you! 

You feel a heavy, warm arm wrap casually around your shoulders.

“Oh, grow up, Jimin.” Taehyung sounds perfectly calm. Too calm. Scary calm. 

But Jimin just rolls his eyes, completely unfazed by Taehyung’s tone. “Hey, I’m just presenting the facts.” He takes a very loud, very unapologetic sip of his drink. 

Sohee snorts. “He’s very dedicated to the facts.”

“Facts..” Taehyung pretends to consider, a lazy, and a little mean, smirk pulling at his mouth. “Unless you want me to present the facts about your tragic frosted-tips phase in the late year of  2014, I’d drop it.”

“It was done self-aware and ironically!” Jimin gasps.

“It was not.” Jungkook interrupts, snickers along with Taehyung. 

Jimin grumbles. "That was an era of self-discovery.”

"It was a hate crime against my eyes." Taehyung counters smoothly, drawing a loud snort from Jungkook. "So let's leave ancient history in the past, yeah?" 

He sounds completely in control. The perfect picture of unaffected, casual banter.

But Taehyung’s fingers tap lightly against your arm. He’s putting on a great show of being unbothered for them, but you can feel the slight rigidity in his posture against your side.

You glance up at him. Because he’s looking down at you, you catch the mask slipping. Just for a fraction of a second.

There’s a quiet, searching hesitation in his eyes. He slowly starts to let his arm drop from your shoulders, like he’s waiting for you to pull away. Like he’s silently apologizing for Jimin dragging out that one night.

But you don't pull away.

Instead, you subtly shift your weight, leaning into his side just a fraction more.

Taehyung completely freezes. You feel the exact moment his breath hitches. He looks at you, his eyes dropping briefly to your lips, the air between you suddenly thick, heavy, and electric with all the things neither of you will ever say out loud. Slowly, the rigidness in his arm melts away, his hand pulling you back in, his thumb resting warm and heavy against your bare skin.

A loud, dramatic gasp absolutely shatters the bubble.

"Jimin!" Sohee shrieks.

You and Taehyung flinch, immediately snapping your attention away from each other.

Jimin is standing beside her, holding a dripping glass at a tilted angle, looking completely unapologetic. "It’s barely a splash, don't be so dramatic."

"You just baptized my Margiela boots with vodka cranberry!" Sohee yells, pointing wildly at her foot.

"It's so out of style, and we both know it!" Jimin fires back.

"I will literally fight you right now."

"Do it! I have nothing to lose!"

Underneath the noise of their bickering, you hear a faint buzzing. 

Taehyung pulls his phone from his back pocket.

He looks at the screen, and you see something dark go over his eyes for a second. He immediately hides the storm that took over him, but doesn’t look the same as before. The easy, relaxed facade vanishes. He looks almost completely sober now.

He pushes the phone back away quickly.

You have no idea what was there. But Jungkook does. He was leaning right in Taehyung's space, and his reaction is even worse. And he doesn’t bother to hide it with a mask of impassiveness. A deep frown instantly takes over his face. He looks absolutely furious. It's nothing like the playful vibe from just a moment before.

“We’re going to get a drink,” Jungkook says harshly, grabbing Taehyung's hand and pulling him away. 

Jimin and Sohee don't seem to have noticed anything about this little drama. Invested in another silly argument between themselves. 

You just stand there, taken aback, rooted in place, looking at the empty space by your side. 

You try to jump into Sohee and Jimin’s conversation until they return.

But that’s the last time you saw Taehyung this night.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, though you can’t fight the smile that immediately takes over your face. You lean back in your chair, crossing your arms.

“Delivering a life-saving substance.” He pushes off the frame and strolls into your office, pulling out a muffin from the bag and setting it right next to your keyboard. “Peckan maple muffin. From the new bakery down the street. Because you look like you’re contemplating murder.”

“I was, actually. But you brought carbs, so you get to live.” You grab the muffin cup, taking a small bite from the top.

Taehyung chuckles, dropping into the chair opposite your desk. He doesn't sit back, though. He leans forward, resting his elbows on your desk. “So generous. Should I drop to my knees and thank you?”

You pause mid-bite, shooting him a warning look. “Don't start.”

“I didn’t say anything!” he defends, raising his hands in mock surrender, though his eyes are dancing with pure mischief. He reaches out, idly picking up a pen from your desk and twirling it between his long fingers.

He looks like he’s thinking, you can see the thought brewing in his mind. Then, the pen twirling stops.

Taehyung clears his throat, suddenly looking incredibly interested in the crumbs on the muffin. 

“So, uh,” he starts, his voice dropping a little. He rubs the back of his neck. “Saturday night. Hoseok’s Halloween thing. You’re… you’re coming, right?” He straightened up a bit, adding quickly, ”I heard that Gabby invited all of you.”

You try not to giggle at him. “Yeah. Sohee would physically drag me if I tried to back out.”

“Right.” He nods, finally looking back up at you. His gaze is softer now, heavier. “Good. I mean – I was hoping you’d be there.”

The air in the office shifts, suddenly feeling very thick. You swallow hard, your pulse picking up under his intense stare. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, his voice low in the quiet room. He leans in just a millimeter closer. “I wanted to see–”

“Y/n, did you see the photo Gabby– oh.”

You both jump. Taehyung nearly drops your pen.

Sohee is standing in the doorway, her phone in her hand and a deeply amused, knowing smirk spreading across her face. Her eyes dart from Taehyung, to you, and back to Taehyung.

“Am I interrupting something?” she asks, sounding like she absolutely hopes she is.

“No,” you say quickly, maybe too quickly. You grab your mouse and aggressively click on a random cell in your spreadsheet.

Taehyung clears his throat again, standing up and smoothing down the front of his shirt. The cool guy mask is back on, though the tips of his ears are flushed a light, betraying pink.

“Just dropping off the sweet treat supply,” Taehyung says, backing toward the door. He slides past Sohee, giving her a quick nod. “I’ve gotta get back. See you Saturday, Y/n.”

“Bye, Tae,” you mumble to your screen.

The second his footsteps fade down the hall, Sohee slowly closes your office door, leaning against it with her arms crossed.

“Just dropping off a sweet treat, huh?” she asks, her eyebrows practically reaching her hairline.

“Shut up,” you groan, burying your face in your hands.

Saturday November 2nd 

“Fucking cold.”

You laugh as Sohee grumbles beside you, cursing under her breath as you both hurry out of the Uber and toward the building. You slip an arm around her shoulders, pulling her into your side.

“Why does Halloween have to be when it’s cold? Why did they plan it this way?” Sohee whines as you wait for the lobby’s door to open, you add another hand as you hold her in a hug.

You rub warmth into her arm. “It’ll be better inside.” 

Right on cue, the door buzzes, and you push it open. 

It’s obviously elevating her mood, because she finds it in her to tease you, “Easy for you to say. You’ll have Tae inside to keep you warm.” 

“Don't start,” you hit her arm.

She doesn’t take the bait. “Come on, don’t play it down. I saw how he’s with you.” 

She’s not lying. 

You saw it yourself. Something has shifted between you two. 

After you got over the awkwardness from your fight, you became closer.

But you roll your eyes, ignoring the comment as you step into the elevator.

The party is at the penthouse in some fancy building complex, belonging to one of the guy’s friends you haven’t met before.

They told you he’s throwing a Halloween party every year.

And that costumes are mandatory.

When you enter the party, it’s already packed. The space is bigger than you anticipated for a house party, all the furniture has been removed or pushed to the side, and you can see an actual bar placed near the kitchen. 

You give away your coats at the entrance and look around to find your friends. You spot Gabby, dressed like a sexy little devil, and by her side, you see Namjoon in an angel costume. They are so cute it’s to die for. 

Sohee is a cat woman, and it goes without saying that she looks insanely hot. 

Namjoon introduces the two of you when you reach them. “This is Hoseok, this is his party. And his apartment, he sacrifices each year.” He pats the man's back. 

Hoseok laughs loudly. “You can call me Hobi,” and he enthusiastically shakes your hands. 

You thank him, but are interrupted when someone slides an arm around your waist. You snap your head to see Taehyung standing next to you, smiling. 

“Hello, you,” he says as he squeezes you against him. 

Following along, of course, Jungkook, who greats you with a smack on the head and a- “Hey, loser.” 

Right after him, Jimin pats your head with a giggle.

Jungkook is in a Batman costume, no surprise here. 

Jimin is… you’re not sure what he is, but he is dressed in cool disco-prints-colourful-type clothes, with glitter and shit.

You look at Taehyung’s outfit by your side, he’s wearing a loose white blouse with a string and silk black pants. He has a black cape, an eye mask, and a black flat-brimmed hat with a rose tucked in it. 

So he is… what? 

Taehyung catches you looking and winks. You roll your eyes, but you smile anyway. 

“Let’s go get drinks!” Sohee shouts to no one in particular, but everyone follows. 

After a round of shots and half of a drink, she drags you to what probably used to be a living room, and now it’s a makeshift dance floor. 

The song changes as you get to the dancing mess of people, and Sohee turns to you with wide eyes, “That’s my song!” 

She sprints with you in tow, into the crowd, starting to jump and dance, even before letting go of your hand.

It has been a while since you went to a party. It’s usually too much. Too many unknown faces, heat, and sweat. But it seems like tonight you don’t care. You just let yourself loose, you dance and laugh with Sohee. Acting like a fool without all the usual worries. 

Before the song change, the whole group joins you.

You all dance and goof around, going to get more shots and returning right away to dance. Hobi also joins you, as he turns out to be a really funny guy. You laugh so much that your face hurts. 

At some point, when you’re already a little buzzed from the alcohol and the atmosphere, you find yourself dancing next to Taehyung. 

“So I see you have more Koreans in your gang,” you say into his ear, so he could hear you over the music. 

He chuckles, and you can feel the movement with your hand that rests on his shoulder. When did it get there?

He leans down to talk in your ear as well, while he sneaks a hand around your waist. “I guess that’s my type.” 

“Hot Korean guys? Yeah, I can totally see that for you.” You tease him.

He leans again, and you think he’s closer this time because you wonder if you feel his lips graze the shell of your ear. Hard to tell when your whole body feels like it's on fire. 

“I thought that it’s your type.” He murmurs so close to your cheek. 

And you think you feel it in your soul. 

Goosebumps travel up your neck, and heat crawls down from your face. 

He leans back and looks at you with a winning smile.

You try to school your face into nonchalance, frowning a little. 

“Are you flirting with me?” 

“I’m not flirting,” he says like he’s innocent. 

“I’m just hot and making conversation.”

Smiling, pleased with himself, he boops your nose. “Very confusing, I get that.” 

You narrow your eyes. “Don’t you think you’re too full of yourself?” 

“How can I not be when I’m dancing with the prettiest girl here?” Like he’s proving his point, his hand flexes on your waist, pulling you a tad closer.

Suddenly, you are very aware of the lack of space between you. You can feel the heavy, thumping music not just in your own chest, but vibrating through his. You fall into his rhythm without meaning to, swaying together in the middle of the chaotic dancing bodies.

He looks down into your eyes, and you see the challenge sparkling in them under the flashing lights.

You try to hold his gaze. You really do. 

You want this. Want his undivided attention, want whatever heavy, unspoken thing is currently brewing between you two. 

For a few long seconds, you just stare at each other, letting the loud, sweaty party fade into background static. Your heart is hammering so hard against your ribs, stronger than the bass, you're terrified he can feel it where his chest brushes yours.

It’s too much. The intensity of it burns.

Unable to take the heat of his stare for a second longer, you avert your gaze, looking down at his chest and officially losing this silent battle of chicken.

Taehyung giggles, takes your hand, and spins you once before settling both his hands on your waist again, swaying with you to the beat. 

You try to brush the awkwardness off. “So what are you?” you ask him.

“I'm Zorro! The lover warrior,” he grabs the rose from his hat and holds it with his teeth, giving you an exaggerated seductive look with a wiggle of his brows. 

He takes the rose and offers it to you with a small bow. 

“And what are you exactly, my lady?” 

You laugh and take the rose, “I’m Ash Katcum. Duh.” 

You grab the Pikachu bag charm, dangling from your jeans, and push it into Taehyung's face. “Gotta catch them all!” 

Taehyung looks at you, flabbergasted for a moment.

“Nerd,” he snorts and starts laughing.

You act fake-offended and hit his chest, “Shut up.” 

His chest rumbles with laughter under your hand, and before you manage to pull it back, he catches your wrist, pulling you closer. 

You look at each other for a moment.

You could almost feel both of you inching closer. 

But something snaps Taehyung out of it.

You decide it's for the best. You can practically feel Sohee's - and probably Jimin’s - eyes burning into your side.

He leans back, slides his hand from your wrist to hold your hand lightly, and twirls you once.

You laugh and tuck the rose back in his hat, resting your hand on his shoulder as you dance together. 

“You’re actually a decent dancer,” you say simply, but it drips with teasing.

He looks actually offended, which is hilarious. 

“Decent?! I’m a great dancer.”

"Oh, so you think you're a great dancer?" you push further.

“I don’t think,” he scoffs. “I know.” 

You hum like you're considering what he said. “Bold claim.” 

“And still, you let me take the lead,” he shoots back.

Oh, you’re definitely not going to give him that easily. “What lead exactly are you taking?” You just have to keep the defiance in you. 

Instead of answering, Taehyung moves. He tilts your body with a sudden movement. Your balance slips - you think you’re about to fall – 

But Taehyung catches you. His arm wraps firmly around your waist like a vise, and before you can even gasp, he dips you lower.

The sudden shift makes your stomach do a flip, your hands instinctively flying up to grip his shoulders for dear life. He holds you there, suspended, his face aligned perfectly right above yours. You can feel his warm breath ghosting over your lips.

“This,” he murmurs, his voice low, raspy, sends a fresh wave of goosebumps down your arms.

Then, with a swift, effortless motion, he pulls you right back up, steadying you with his hands on your waist. You feel out of breath, and you’re pretty sure your face went through 50 shades of red. Which you hope the somewhat dim lighting is concealing.

“You're always this bossy?” you ask. 

You regret it immediately, as you sound too breathless. 

But Taehyung looks delighted with it. “Only when someone lets me.” “Don’t get used to it,” you grumble back.

“I think it’s already too late for that,” he smiles wider. 

You puff out air, annoyed that you don't have something to retort and erase the smile off his face. 

He huffs a quiet laugh. “You’re terrible at this.”

“At what?!” You bark at him. Because – you swear to God – if he has something to say about your dancing skills, you’re going to stomp on his foot. 

He grins. “Pretending you’re not enjoying it.”

“Alright, enough of whatever this is.” 

Gabby storms in, grabbing your wrist.

“Hey–” you protest, stumbling a step as you’re pulled back. Taehyung’s hand is still on your waist, lingering a moment longer, like he’s debating whether he should let you go, before releasing. 

“You,” Gabby scrunches her brows, pointing at Taehyung. 

He raises a brow. “Me?”

“Yes, you. Stop monopolising her.”

You snort. “Monopolise?”

“Way to ruin the moment,” Taehyung mutters under his breath, and you hope only you heard him. The rise of Sohee’s brow tells you otherwise. 

“Time for some girls' time,” Sohee adds, already dragging you toward the bar.

You glance over your shoulder. Taehyung hasn’t followed, but he hasn’t moved on either. He’s watching you, that same annoying, amused look still on his face.

“Don’t go too far,” he calls, loud enough for you to hear over the music.

You scoff, turning away. “You wish.” 

But you can’t help the big smile on your face, and you hope you turn your head fast enough that he doesn’t catch it. 

“What got you smiling like that?” Gabby chirps, wrapping her hand around your shoulders. 

“Can we not?” You push her away, and both of them burst out laughing. 

“Why are you acting all shy?” she asks. “Why are you so weird?” she adds as you reach the bar. 

“Don’t know,” you mumble, why indeed? Why are you so weird about it? What is going on, or starting to, isn’t a secret. Taehyung definitely isn’t very subtle or secretive about it either. 

Wasn’t he kinda.. Performative tonight? Like, he was very out there in your space, hand constantly somewhere on the lower of your back, your waist, your hip–

Anyway, it’s not like you are trying to hide it. Why would you? There is nothing to be ashamed of.

Sohee orders you all some drinks before tuning back into the conversation. “You have to stop acting like you’re not crazy over each other.” 

“We’re not crazy over each other,” you bark, way too quickly. 

She doesn’t take it seriously, she just blinks a couple of times and chuckles lightly. 

“Okay, you’re so cool, nonchalant, nothing can touch you. But he... he’s definitely crazy.” And then she laughs like a maniac. Is she drunk already? 

“Leave her,” Gabby shakes her head, like she’s already tired from her antics. What were they doing till now? 

“But seriously, something happened between you two?” 

“What? No?” you answer quickly. “Like, nothing that you don’t know of.” 

She doesn’t seem very convinced. “I’m asking because you looked very… snuggly.” 

“Maybe tonight something will happen,” Sohee chimes in, sounding delighted. “Finally,” she cracks, laughing.

“Oh.. umm… ah.. I..” you stutter. And you feel your face getting hot, and your pulse picking up. 

That sounds kinda… plausible. If you think about it. 

Weren’t you just a breath away from kissing him a moment ago?

What are you getting so nervous about? You don’t know. 

Sohee laughs at your expense. 

“Why are you getting so worked up? Are you a virgin?” She laughs even louder. 

Seriously, how drunk is she already?

You quirck your brow at her, slightly annoyed, for no good reason, actually. 

She tries to relax her laugh, waving her hand at you. “Kidding, kidding. I know that you’re not.” 

“And so does he.” 

And she bursts into a laughing mess once again. Gabby is trying to hide her giggles as well.

You are going to kill her. Right now, preferably. 

Lucky for her, your drinks arrive, and you slide to the bar and grab your glass. 

You all raise your glasses, and Sohee, obviously, makes a toast - “To love, money, and fucking a lot!” 

“Cheers!” You all clink your glasses before going for a long sip. 

“There you are!” Jimin storms in, one arm over your shoulder and another over Gabby’s. Almost spilling the liquor out of your glass. 

“Who wants some shots?!” and he’s already pushing through to get to the bar. 

“Hell no,” you and Gabby say in unison. But Sohee answers with a whoop. 

“Boooo, losers,” he shouts over his shoulder as he intertwines his hand with Sohee as they skip towards the bar. 

The rhinestones on his face have already shifted location, and his hair extensions look like they’ve been through a lot. This can’t end well for either of them.

“What are you doing huddled over here?” he asks, leaning against the bar after ordering the shots. “Just some girls' time,” Gabby answers. 

“Where did you vanish to suddenly?” Sohee asks him this time.

“I just–” he pauses, choosing his next words. “Let’s just say I saw an old friend. Had to check the current… status.”

“And what is the current status?” you encourage him to continue.

“There’s potential.”

“Potential?”

He smirks. “Potential.” 

You don’t push further, you know a lost cause when you see one. Jimin is not one to spare words when he has something he wants to tell.

He looks around, like he’s scanning the room. “Do you have someone you’ve got your eyes on?” 

“I’m mainly asking Sohee,” he adds quickly. “Gabby has Joon, and you have Tae.” “I don’t have Taehyung.” You protest.

“So how do you explain you two stuck to each other all night?”

“There’s nothing to explain.”

“Mm-hmm,” Jimin hums. “Then why is he looking over here?”

You hadn’t noticed.

Now you do.

And of course, he’s still there, where you left him. Just that now, he’s with Jungkook and Namjoon. They talk animatedly about something, but he doesn’t look very focused. 

He’s.. Watching. You.

Like he felt you look first.

You quickly turn back.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

Jimin snorts. “Sure.”

“Shots!” Sohee suddenly announces, already reaching for the array of glasses Jimin ordered.

Glasses dangerously full are being passed around. Though you didn’t ask for one, you hesitate for half a second before grabbing yours too.

“To what?” Sohee asks, lifting her shot.

Jimin doesn’t even need to think. 

“Bad decisions.”

“The worst ones,” Sohee adds and raises her hand a tad higher. 

You huff a laugh. “Great.”

“Cheers,” Jimin says, already tipping his head back to down the shot.

The burn hits fast. You took barely half of it. That’s enough for now. 

Sohee exhales dramatically. “Okay. Back to dancing!”

Jimins grabs her hand, pulling her back toward the crowd.

Gabby rolls her eyes but follows, shaking her head. “Come on,” she says over her shoulder.

“Yeah,” you say, more to yourself than anyone else. You leave your mostly full drink on the bar and follow them back.

The crowd is louder now, denser. The bass feels heavier against your ribs as you’re pulled back into movement.

Jimin is already half-dancing, half-performing again, and Sohee is laughing as she tries to keep up with him.

You let yourself move. Mixing in with the rest of the group. 

You feel him before you see.

And when you turn slightly, there he is again. Smiling at you.

Taehyung leans closer, but he still needs to shout to be heard over the music. 

“Can I have you back now?”

There is something heavy under those words, something that can make you overthink, stay up at night, and analyse what it means and if you want this. If you can handle this. 

Maybe it’s the music, or the alcohol, or the holiday spirit– 

You refuse to let it slip in.

You push it all away. All the possibilities and thinking and what-ifs. You just let yourself be here and now.

Because right now, you want this. 

You want to ‘have’ him. You want him to ‘have’ you. 

You’re not sure you can handle this. You don’t have all the answers. Or know that you’ll still feel the same tomorrow. But right now, with the loud music, and your friends’ laughter around, and the light feeling in your chest, you do. 

So you just let yourself move a tiny bit closer.

You lose track of time somewhere after the third song.

Somehow, without either of you really trying, Taehyung is by your side, always. Closer than the others. Close enough that you don’t have to look for him. Close enough that it starts feeling natural.

His hand on your lower back, guiding you through the bass. Your hand on him, feeling the heat and light sweat. His laughter vibrates on your chest. His voice in your ear.

Cheers to bad decisions, right? 

And just like that, it’s already late at night. Gabby and Namjoon are nowhere to be seen. You’re definitely not going to go looking for them.

Jungkook is off talking to some girl. 

And Jimin and Sohee are dancing - no, you can't call that dancing - menacing, terrorising the dance floor.

You laugh as they do something weird, maybe a robot dance…? It’s hard to tell at this point.

Taehyung grins beside you. Then his hand settles lightly on your shoulder. “Want to go chill outside for a bit? I can’t keep up with them.”

You turn to him and nod.

“I’ll go grab us new drinks. Wait outside?”

You nod again. 

The roof is more spacious, less crowded. It feels darker than the party with the night sky above, but somehow better lit with the string lights hung around. It's supposed to be cold, but you’re not cold. It actually helps you to clear your mind. To get grounded in the whirlwind of everything this night is. 

You lean against the railing, facing the roof entrance so Taehyung can find you easily.

Not even a minute passes by, and someone is blocking your view.

He hasn’t talked yet, and you’re already over it.

“So what are you?” he asks with a slimy smile, like he just delivered the most witty one-liner ever. 

You can barely hold your eyes from rolling.

After a few excruciating minutes of you trying to explain what your costume is, and he’s not getting the message you're not interested, you spot a familiar figure standing behind him. Waiting with two glasses and a too-amused, too-enjoying-this smile.

The dude continues to ask, “So your costume is a little boy?” 

“Yep, a little boy,” you deadpan, over it. Ready to finish this stupid back and forth. 

For some reason, the drunk guy thinks the right thing to say– 

“You’re a sexy little boy.”

You almost choke, struggling to hold back a laugh.

“That’s what you like? Little boys?”

The guy looks like a fish, opening and closing his mouth, trying to find words. 

But before he can, you walk past him. “Well, good luck with that.” 

You go towards Taehyung, who is on the verge of crying from laughter, drinks clutched hard in his hands as he tries not to spill them over.  

He hands you your cup as he tries to calm himself enough to speak. “Why did you leave him? He seems like he likes you.” 

You hit him as his whole body shakes. “Shut up.”

“And then people ask me how I’m still single,”  you add as you roll your eyes.

Taehyung lifts his glass. “Cheers to that.” 

You find a high table in a quiet corner near the edge of the roof.

Taehyung offers you a cigarette and pops one into his mouth. 

“Well, it’s nice to see you’re mean to others, but nice to me,” he says happily as he pushes his hands into his pocket, trying to fish out his lighter. 

“I was nice. He’s just stupid. Not my fault,” you say with a shrug. 

“Oh, yeah. Really nice of you,” he says, amused. He lights his cigarette and offers you the lighter. 

“Continue, and I won’t be nice at all,” you say with a finger directed at his face, and you snap the lighter out of his hand with too much force. 

“I’d love to see that,” he mumbles under his breath. And you give him a pointed look. 

Taehyung chuckles, raising his hands in surrender. 

You continue to smoke your cigarettes in silence. 

“I’m usually not really into parties, but this is nice,” Taehyung says as he puts down his cigarette. 

“Not into parties?” You cock your brow at him. “I’m not buying it.” 

“Not buying it? The fuck that means?” he returns, scandalised, but mostly amused as he laughs at you.  

You hum. “You look more like the type to… how do I say it…? the type to.. go out and fuck around.” 

“Fuck around?!” He tries to sound shocked, but he sounds more like he finds you funny. “You think I’m a slut?” 

“Maybe,” you say simply, shrugging. You know you’re being a little shit. But it’s fun.  

“What do you mean ‘maybe’? I’ll have you know I don’t fuck around.” A small pause. “Usually.” He smiles shyly, like he’s been caught. 

You chuckle. “Oh, so you do fuck around,” you say with a smile. 

His fingers flex around the glass as he stays silent for a moment.

This might be somewhat vicious on your end, but can you blame a girl for trying to snoop around? You blame the alcohol for making you more daring. 

“Are you trying to ask for my body count?” he raises a brow. He takes a sip, and a scheming smirk stretches on his face. 

“Will you answer?” you challenge back. 

“Depends.” He responds suspiciously plainly, and you can see something glimmer in his eyes. 

“Depends..? On what?”

“If you’ll answer the same question,” he grins. 

“Touché.” You add with a little bow of your head and a lift of your drink. 

“Nice try, though,” he giggles. 

“Try?” you scoff. “You’re the one who backed out.”

“I didn’t back out,” he says, stepping just a little closer. “I just… evened the playing field.”

You snort. “That’s a very generous way to describe it.”

“You don’t like fair?”

“Not when it works against me.”

He studies you for a second, amused. “You sound disappointed.”

“I gave you an opening. You didn’t take it.”

“You didn’t take it as well,” he doesn’t back out.

“You like keeping score?” you ask.

He tilts his head, “I have to when the other person pretends they’re not playing.”

“And what game do you think I’m playing?” You take a slow sip, trying to hide your rising nervousness. This can escalate into dangerous territory. 

“The safe one,” he says, taking a slow sip, like he mimics you. “Say just enough. Never too much.”

You watch him over the rim of your glass. “That sounds like projection.”

“That sounds like deflection,” he retorts. 

Then he smiles, smaller now, less performative. “You like control,” he says simply. “You just don’t like calling it that.”

You glance at him. “I like knowing what I’m getting into.”

His smile tugs wider. "That's the same thing."

You hate how quickly the answer comes. 

You let out a breath through your nose, almost a laugh. “And you don’t?” 

“Never said I don’t.”

No, he didn't.

But he did say you don't let him in.

Say just enough. Never too much.

The annoying thing is that he isn't wrong.

For all the time you've spent together these past months, does he know anything real about you?

The adult version of you?

And what do you know about him?

The most vulnerable conversation you've had was an argument.

That's probably not a great sign.

Maybe a Halloween party isn't the place to unpack that.

“You always overthink like this?” 

“Only when I’m awake,” you aim for a lighter mood. You light a second cigarette. Just so you’ll have something to do.

He looks at you for a second, really looks this time. You can see the question running in his mind. 

“There you are!” 

You both turn to see Jungkook coming to your table. 

He rests his head against Taehyung's shoulder as he takes a cigarette from his packet and lights it. 

He takes a deep drag, exhaling it slowly. “Where are the others?” 

“I’m assuming Sohee and Jimin are still traumatising people inside. And I haven’t seen Gabby or Namjoon in a while, not planning to go look for them.” 

You update him, and Jungkook winces. 

He then turns to Taehyung, eyes bright and wide like he just remembered something. “Dude, do you remember the Halloween party at Max’s house?”

Taehyung chuckles, “Ohh, I remember. I’m surprised you remember. You ended up hugging the toilet. ” 

Jungkook laughs, “Yeah, I think I almost died that night.”

You join in, clapping your hands, “I remember this party! God, it was chaos. Poor Max.”

“I don’t think he threw any more parties after this one,” Jungkook giggles. 

“I’m surprised you went to the party. You were such a nerd,” Taehyung says teasingly. Jungkook snorts-laughs.

You narrow your eyes at them. 

“If I’m such a nerd, why are you even talking to me? What does it say about you? Ah, cool kids?” you say mockingly and take a drag, blowing the smoke into their faces. 

“Rude.” Jungkook waves his hands dramatically, clearing the smoke from his face, like he isn’t holding a lit cigarette between his lips. 

Taehuyng looks at you as he says, “Every group needs a nerd. We need you to raise the average IQ in the room.” 

Jungkook laughs, moves his hand to tap the ash off the cigarette, and somehow manages to topple your drink, spilling it everywhere.

Taehyung bursts out laughing, Jungkook joins him, and you follow as well.

Taehyung wraps his hand around your shoulder and pulls you in. “You see? We idiots, we need you.” 

You look up at him, about to retort some smart ass answer, when the chaos agents arrive.

Sohee and Jimin stumble toward you, hands linked, and each has a full drink in hand – one they clearly don’t need.

“Helloooooo,” Jimin announces their arrival. He and Sohee are tangled, snickering, like he said something hilarious. 

“So this is where you all have been,” Sohee giggles. What’s funny? You don’t know.

The rest of you look at them the same way you’d look at a puppy who tries to catch its own tail.

“I see everyone is here-” Jimin pauses to hiccup “-so all of us losers go home alone.”

Sohee looks at you, Taehyung's hand still on you as you stand close to him, and you see in her eyes that she has something on her mind. You hope she won’t say it out loud–

“Well, except y/n and Tae,” she says and wiggles her brows. 

– a false hope when you take into account drunk Sohee. 

Taehyung, next to you, is giggling. He raises his almost empty glass and clinks it with hers, finishing it with a wink.

You’re startled, not so amused, you get out from Taehuyng's embrace and reach to grab Sohee’s glass. “You definitely don’t need any more of this.” 

You take a sip of your new drink and wince at how strong it is. “Is this pure vodka?!”

The group laughs, except Sohee, who pouts and tries to get her drink – now yours – back from you. 

You stretch your arm out of her reach. “No! You had had enough! Drink some water.” You slap her grabby hand away. 

She gives up and crosses her hands over her chest. “Ugh, fine. Mom,” she says with a pout. 

Taehyung leans to speak in your ear. “The idiots need you,” he whispers with a chuckle. 

“Can you please not?” Jimin makes gagging noises at you and Taehyung. “This is bad enough that I’m not getting anything tonight, don’t shove it in my face.”

“What happened to the ‘potential’?” you ask him.

“Ugh, I don’t want to talk about it.” 

Sohee interrupts, “But there was this guy...” 

“I don’t want to talk about him either,” Jimin grumbles. 

“But I do,” Sohee cuts in immediately, sobering up just enough to be annoying.

Jimin turns to her, offended, disgusted. “Why do you?”

“Because,” she says, pointing a finger at him like she’s presenting evidence in court, “that guy was into me.”

“You?” Jimin lets out a disbelieving sound. “That man wanted me.”

“Oh, please. He was literally talking to me.”

“He was being polite. He didn't want to make you feel bad.”

“He laughed at my joke.”

“It wasn’t funny.”

“He thought it was.”

“He was drunk.”

“So are you!”

“That’s irrelevant!”

Taehyung, beside you, is fully entertained.

Jungkook snorts into his glass.

“You don’t even like guys like that,” Sohee continues, crossing her arms like she’s personally offended.

“Excuse me? I only like guys like that.”

“No, you like unemployed DJs.”

“And you like guys who use 3-in-1 body wash.”

“Those are very specific accusations,” Taheyung says very seriously, like he’s adding some important input. 

“Very similar too,” Jungkook adds with the same serious tone.

"Okay," you cut in, pinching the bridge of your nose. "What was this guy like that makes him worth this stupid argument?" 

“Tall,” Sohee says.

“Tall,” Jimin echoes.

“Dark hair.” “Dark curls.”

“Kind of quiet.” “I’d say mysterious.”

“Good shoulders.”

Jimin pauses. “…yeah. Good shoulders.”

You blink.

Taehyung lets out a quiet laugh next to you.

Jungkook straightens, eyes lighting up. “So you have the same type.”

“We do not!” they both snap at the same time.

Jungkook grins, leaning back like he’s about to enjoy this way too much. “So which one of you do you think he’s into?”

“Jungkook, please,” you beg. “They just stopped arguing for 5 seconds.” 

He ignores you, looking like some sinister idea is brewing in his mind.

“Maybe… you should tag team him.” Jungkook snickers, barely holding it together.

There’s a beat.

They both freeze.

Like the idea actually registers.

Are they fucking serious?!

They can’t be. 

Slowly, they turn to look at each other.

The exact same expression spreads across both their faces.

Absolute horror.

You swear you can physically see them shudder.

“I would rather die,” Sohee says.

“I would rather cut off my dick,” Jimin agrees.

Jungkook bursts out laughing.

“Wow,” Taehyung mutters beside you, shaking his head. “Friendship really has limits.”

Sohee physically shakes off the idea, still visibly disturbed. 

“You’re all insane,” you mumble into your drink.

Taehyung leans closer to you again, voice low and amused, “What does it say about you?”

You scoff. “That I have poor decision-making skills.” 

“Clearly,” Sohee mutters, eyeing you and Taehyung like she’s implying something. 

“Was that a dig at me?” Taehyung doesn’t miss a beat. Sharper than you expect him to be.

“If the shoe fits,” Sohee shrugs, clearly entertained. 

“Don’t be rude, Sohee,” Jungkook chimes in, swirling the ice in his glass. “They’re clearly on a date. We’re just third-wheeling.” 

“We’re not–” you start.

“We’re not–” Taehyung cuts in at the same time.

Sohee points at the two of you, delighted. “You just answered together! That’s literally couple behavior.”

You both just stare at her, suddenly tense.

“Ugh, relax. Why are you so weird?” Sohee giggles.

"Like y'all haven’t seen each other naked before!” Jimin roars, rolling, laughing at his own joke. 

Sohee tries, really tries, not to laugh. But fails. 

Jungkook snickers into his drink. 

You don’t know what Taehyung looks like. You can't look at him right now. 

Because yes. You did see him naked. He saw you naked. You two act like you haven't, but you did. Once. Twelve years ago. And apparently, everyone knows. Even Jimin – who didn’t even go to high school with you! 

You feel a heavy, warm arm wrap casually around your shoulders.

“Oh, grow up, Jimin.” Taehyung sounds perfectly calm. Too calm. Scary calm. 

But Jimin just rolls his eyes, completely unfazed by Taehyung’s tone. “Hey, I’m just presenting the facts.” He takes a very loud, very unapologetic sip of his drink. 

Sohee snorts. “He’s very dedicated to the facts.”

“Facts..” Taehyung pretends to consider, a lazy, and a little mean, smirk pulling at his mouth. “Unless you want me to present the facts about your tragic frosted-tips phase in the late year of  2014, I’d drop it.”

“It was done self-aware and ironically!” Jimin gasps.

“It was not.” Jungkook interrupts, snickers along with Taehyung. 

Jimin grumbles. "That was an era of self-discovery.”

"It was a hate crime against my eyes." Taehyung counters smoothly, drawing a loud snort from Jungkook. "So let's leave ancient history in the past, yeah?" 

He sounds completely in control. The perfect picture of unaffected, casual banter.

But Taehyung’s fingers tap lightly against your arm. He’s putting on a great show of being unbothered for them, but you can feel the slight rigidity in his posture against your side.

You glance up at him. Because he’s looking down at you, you catch the mask slipping. Just for a fraction of a second.

There’s a quiet, searching hesitation in his eyes. He slowly starts to let his arm drop from your shoulders, like he’s waiting for you to pull away. Like he’s silently apologizing for Jimin dragging out that one night.

But you don't pull away.

Instead, you subtly shift your weight, leaning into his side just a fraction more.

Taehyung completely freezes. You feel the exact moment his breath hitches. He looks at you, his eyes dropping briefly to your lips, the air between you suddenly thick, heavy, and electric with all the things neither of you will ever say out loud. Slowly, the rigidness in his arm melts away, his hand pulling you back in, his thumb resting warm and heavy against your bare skin.

A loud, dramatic gasp absolutely shatters the bubble.

"Jimin!" Sohee shrieks.

You and Taehyung flinch, immediately snapping your attention away from each other.

Jimin is standing beside her, holding a dripping glass at a tilted angle, looking completely unapologetic. "It’s barely a splash, don't be so dramatic."

"You just baptized my Margiela boots with vodka cranberry!" Sohee yells, pointing wildly at her foot.

"It's so out of style, and we both know it!" Jimin fires back.

"I will literally fight you right now."

"Do it! I have nothing to lose!"

Underneath the noise of their bickering, you hear a faint buzzing. 

Taehyung pulls his phone from his back pocket.

He looks at the screen, and you see something dark go over his eyes for a second. He immediately hides the storm that took over him, but doesn’t look the same as before. The easy, relaxed facade vanishes. He looks almost completely sober now.

He pushes the phone back away quickly.

You have no idea what was there. But Jungkook does. He was leaning right in Taehyung's space, and his reaction is even worse. And he doesn’t bother to hide it with a mask of impassiveness. A deep frown instantly takes over his face. He looks absolutely furious. It's nothing like the playful vibe from just a moment before.

“We’re going to get a drink,” Jungkook says harshly, grabbing Taehyung's hand and pulling him away. 

Jimin and Sohee don't seem to have noticed anything about this little drama. Invested in another silly argument between themselves. 

You just stand there, taken aback, rooted in place, looking at the empty space by your side. 

You try to jump into Sohee and Jimin’s conversation until they return.

But that’s the last time you saw Taehyung this night.

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.

“Does it feel good?” 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.” 

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© 2026 ggukiebar, all rights reserved

That was why you were sweating through your dress in a sushi restaurant parking lot on a Friday night.

Your phone buzzed in your lap, startling you, and you grinned when you saw Mira’s message flash on your screen.

She was going to a tasting with Hoseok tonight for her wedding cake, but she was more than happy to be on call in case the date went south, and you needed her to swoop in and come rescue you.

The clock showed it was five minutes to six thirty, and you figured being five minutes early wasn’t a crime, so you opened your dating app to see who you were meeting with one more time, but the weirdest thing happened.

No matter how many times you tried to refresh his profile, your conversation would not load.

You tried exiting out of the app and going back in, but it just wouldn’t load.

Which was weird.

Oh well, you had a good enough memory of his face to know who he was, so you decided not to stress about it too much as you took a deep breath, gathered your things, and headed inside for your date.

“Come on, Jiminie, you don’t need me tagging along as your third wheel. I promise I’m okay not going.” Taehyung whined as he closed down his office for the day and gathered his things.

He balanced the phone against his shoulder and his ear as he struggled to get his coat on and tried to ignore the piles of work that were left over.

Oh well, that was next week's problem.

Taehyung waved to his coworkers and headed to the elevator, where he pressed the lower level button and listened to Jimin ramble on.

Jimin and Jungkook were going out to The Heat, which was the local club for people over twenty-five years old. It was Taehyung’s favourite spot to pick up chicks, as usually, they were around his age and over the phase of getting sloppy drunk and throwing up everywhere.

“Jimin, I know it’s my favourite, but you and Jungkook deserve a night out by yourselves. Believe me, I have the night planned!” He said as the elevator dinged, and he made his way across the almost empty parking garage to get to his car.

The sun was still shining, and after being in an office all day, Taehyung took the opportunity to tilt his face to the warm rays that shone through.

He found his car and unlocked it, throwing his briefcase in the passenger seat before climbing in himself and connecting his phone to the Bluetooth.

“Come on, Taehyung! It might be nice to get out on a Friday night. I know you had a hard week. Might be nice to relax.” Jimin whined as he put his car into drive and made his way home.

“Jiminie, I have plans. I’m going to order food, relax, and catch up on some shows. Believe me, that sounds more fun than pushing through sweaty bodies on the dance floor.” He tries to explain.

“If I ask you a question, will you answer it honestly?” Jimin asks, his voice growing serious as Taehyung stops at a red light and lets out a weary sigh.

“I already know what you are going to ask me, and yes, Jimin, I am fine. I promise you.” He responds as the light turns green, and Taehyung takes the familiar path home.

“I know it’s just… Since when do you turn down a club night? You have been a hermit for weeks now, Tae. I’m just concerned; that’s all.” Jimin says, and Taehyung can’t really blame him.

He never turns down club nights.

He is always the life of the party.

Drinking, hitting on women, and having fun.

Taehyung did wonder if something was wrong with him. After his last fling, he wasn’t in a hurry to jump into a new one and ended up becoming more of a homebody.

Sure, he still talked to his friends, painted, and worked out, but jumping into another friends-with-benefits situation seemed like too much work for him, and he even went as far as to delete all the dating apps off his phone.

Taehyung also noticed other changes that were making him raise an eyebrow.

His sex drive had diminished quite significantly since.

He was still jerking off, of course, but he didn’t feel the need to have someone else do it; he didn’t even really miss the sex, as he was more than satisfied to get himself off with his hand whenever he felt the need to.

Taehyung gave himself another month.

If he was still in this funk after a month, he would go to a doctor.

Or maybe talk to someone.

“I know Jimin, but please believe me, I’m okay,” Taehyung said as he drummed his fingers against the steering wheel.

“Are you sure? Like totally sure. You can tell me anything you know.” Jimin pushed as Taehyung let out a weary sigh.

“Yes, Jiminie, I promise I am okay. I’ll also go as far as to promise that I will come out next time you go to the club, okay?” He said as he pulled into his driveway and put the car in park.

The sun was fading fast, and clouds were rolling in. Taehyung remembered hearing something about an all-night rainstorm, which was another reason he wasn’t keen on going out tonight.

After a few more promises that he was okay and an eventual goodbye, Taehyung pocketed his phone and headed inside his house.

He put his stuff where it belonged, ordered takeout, and made his way to the shower, where he stood under the spray for far too long, contemplating what Jimin had said.

He knew Jimin just cared about him.

That’s all.

But was it really that concerning that he wanted to stay home for one night?

Standing in the shower, wasting water didn’t give him the answers he needed, so he quickly got out and dried his body, slipping on some comfy clothes as he checked on his food to see that it was now only two minutes out.

Taehyung made his way downstairs just as it arrived and saw that the sky was a dull grey and storm clouds were rolling through.

He got everything set up in the living room and grabbed a comfy blanket to snuggle in while he ate.

The food was delicious, and Taehyung hummed happily to himself as he turned on the TV to get caught up on one of his shows.

After two episodes, rain began to smack against his window in heavy drops as it seemed the storm had finally arrived.

Taehyung felt full and sleepy, and the sounds of the rain were making his eyes droop. It was only six at night, but he felt like he could curl up and sleep until morning.

Maybe a nap would do him some good, so he shifted so he was now lying sideways on the couch with his feet hanging off the edge.

He pulled the blankets up to his chin and let the soft sounds of the rain lull him to sleep.

How long did Taehyung nap for?

He wasn’t sure.

All he knew was that someone was ringing the doorbell, and it was obnoxiously loud and woke him from his peaceful slumber.

Taehyung fluttered his eyes open and blearily looked around.

His house was dark except for the one night light in the hallway, and the storm must have picked up speed since he dozed off because the rain was now lashing at the windows angrily, and lightning was dancing across the sky.

The doorbell rang again, and Taehyung shot up off the couch, still a little disoriented from sleep, and made his way to the door.

A rumble of thunder shook his house, and Taehyung felt the hairs on his arms stand as he flung the door open and was met with the surprising sight of a woman standing on his front step.

But not just any woman.

It was you.

His eyebrows shot up, and he gripped the door to stop it from being taken by the wind.

You of all people, were standing on his front step.

What the hell was going on?

Taehyung took in your appearance, your hair matted, your tan trench coat was soaked through, and the way trails of mascara ran down your cheeks told him everything he needed to know.

You’d been crying.

“Uh, hey?” He said slowly as a crack of thunder made you both jump.

“Hi, Taehyung.” You said roughly, clutching your coat around your soaked body.

“Uh. What’s going on?” He said, feeling stupid and slow, as he still didn’t make a move to let you in.

He should probably let you in.

But he was still in shock that you were here in the first place.

“Uh, can we talk? Maybe inside?” You asked timidly as his brain finally seemed to work, as he moved to the side to let you out of the cold and rain.

Taehyung left you standing by the door as he raced around, turning on lamps so you both could see. His heart was in his throat, and he felt his hands shaking slightly as he turned to face you again.

You were taking off your heels and shrugging off your coat, and Taehyung’s eyes widened when he saw what was under it.

“Holy shit, you look hot.” He blurted out before he could think, and a light blush coated your cheeks as you smiled shyly at him.

The dress was unreal.

A little black dress that hugged your curves perfectly and cupped your breasts in a way that made his cock stir under his pants.

Fuck.

You must have come from a date.

How bad did it go for you to show up at his place?

What happened?

You wrapped your arms around yourself, and he could see the goosebumps on your arms as you shivered in his doorway.

“Did you walk here? You’re drenched.” He asks, moving towards you as you brush your wet hair from your face.

“Uh, I parked down the street. I didn’t know if anyone was coming over tonight, and I didn’t want to take a spot in your driveway. I didn’t realize how far down I’d have to park.” You say, eyeing his place with a childlike curiosity as you shiver.

“Come on, let’s get you warmed up first.” He says as he leads you through his house to the upstairs, where the bedrooms and the bathrooms are.

Taehyung rifles through his things before pulling out a T-shirt, sweatpants, and socks, and hands them to you.

You graciously take them as you stand in the doorway like a deer in the headlights.

“The bathroom is right through there. Take a shower. Use as much hot water as you like. We can talk when you're done.” He says as you bite your lip and nod at him.

You hold the clothes to your chest like they are your lifeline, keeping you afloat.

Taehyung briefly nods before heading downstairs to give you some privacy, and his mind swims with possibilities.

Clearly, by the way you were dressed, you went out on a date.

As far as he knew, you had not dated anyone since your jerk ex-boyfriend.

Not that he kept track of those things.

So what happened tonight? Did the guy…hurt you?

Taehyung knew you had a solid group of friends, and he would never in a million years guess you would come running to him if something happened.

You just weren’t like that.

Taehyung grabbed his phone from the coffee table and quickly texted Hoseok, asking if he could call him ASAP.

The phone rang two minutes later.

“Hey, Tae! It’s Mira. Hoseok is driving right now. Everything okay?” She asked as Taehyung ran a hand through his hair and began to pace the floor.

He could hear the shower running, but he knew he had to be quick.

“Uh, hey Mira, you are actually who I wanted to speak to.” He said as Hoseok grumbled audibly in the background.

“Oh! Uh, okay, what’s up?” She asked.

“Do you know where your maid of honour went tonight?” He asked, still pacing the living room as the storm raged outside and the lights flickered.

“Uh, yeah, she had a date. Actually, she was supposed to text me an update, but I haven’t heard anything.” Mira said as he ran his free hand through his fluffy hair.

So it was a date.

“Taehyung, what did you do?” Hoseok asked.

Taehyung ignored him.

“And the guy she went with. Was he…decent? Good?” He asked as the lights flickered again.

“I mean, I guess? I saw his picture; he seemed okay. Why, what’s going on?”

Taehyung frowned. Not much to work with there.

“Didn’t I tell you to leave that poor girl alone Taehyung?” Hoseok scolded.

Taehyung ground his teeth as he spoke.

“I did leave her alone Hyung. She was the one to show up here, soaking wet from the rain and telling me she wanted to talk. I’m calling because I want to know what the hell is going on.” He snapped as the other end went silent.

“She… What?” Hoseok exclaimed as Taehyung repeated himself a lot slower this time.

“Mira, do you have any idea what’s going on or what this is about?”

“I…uh. I didn’t think she? I mean, I suggested… But I didn’t think she would actually… Oh my god.” Mira babbled as he heard the shower stop, and his heart began to race in his chest.

“Shower turned off, I don’t have much time. Help me here, Mira.” He asked.

“Shower? What is she doing in your shower?” Hoseok asked.

“She was wet and shivering, so I made her take a shower so she would warm up.” He explained.

“Okay, listen, Taehyung.” Mira started.

“I can’t tell you why she’s there. It’s not my story to tell, and I don’t even know if I’m right. But if I am…promise me you will go easy on her. No joking, no making fun of her. Hear her out, okay?” She asked as Taehyung grumbled.

He wasn’t getting answers and was becoming even more frustrated.

“That’s all you got for me? Come on, Mira! Help a guy out.” He pleaded, now feeling panicked.

He could hear Hoseok muttering in the background, asking what was going on, and Taehyung realized this must be some weird girl thing if Hoseok was also in the dark about it.

“Just go easy on her. That’s all I can tell you. Sorry.” Mira said as his ears picked up the telltale sound of the bathroom door opening.

Time's up.

“Okay, fine. Got to go.”

He hung up the phone and stopped pacing to sit on the very edge of the couch. His mind and his nerves were racing, and Taehyung sucked in a breath.

He didn’t know what you were here for, but he had a feeling it would change everything.

You had only been in Taehyung’s space once before.

It was at university when he hosted weekly movie nights.

Mira didn’t want to go alone, so she dragged you along for the first one, even though you pleaded with her to leave you at the dorm.

His place back then was just as you’d imagine it to be.

Soccer cleats in the doorway, stinky socks everywhere, and the smell of way too much cologne that was doing its job of hiding whatever other unpleasant scents were lingering around.

This time, Taehyung’s place was not what you expected.

No soccer cleats or dirty socks in sight; instead, it was a two-story house with modern furniture and giant windows. His bedroom was tidy and clean, with only one shirt thrown on the bed, and his bathroom was almost as clean as yours.

You stepped out of the shower and dried yourself off, grateful he let you shower at all as the cold rain chilled you to the bone.

You reach for the clothes he loaned you, and you decide on the shirt and socks; there was no way the pants would fit, and the shirt was long enough to cover everything anyway.

You looked in the mirror and took a deep breath, wiping the leftover flakes of mascara that still lingered under your eyes.

It was now or never.

The date was a disaster. You had a good cry in your car, and without second-guessing, you drove here.

Taehyung was the only one who could help you now.

You made your way down the stairs to see him sitting up straight on the couch, picking anxiously at his nail beds, and his dark eyes snapped to yours as you approached him.

You didn’t miss the way his gaze was fixed on your bare legs and how his tongue darted at his lips as he stared at you.

That was a start.

At least it seemed he was attracted to you.

You sat on the couch next to him and grabbed the blanket, throwing it over your legs as another crack of thunder made you jump.

“Feel better?” he asked softly as you nodded and let out a long exhale.

It was now or never.

“Sorry to show up unannounced and soaking wet. I just. Have to talk to you about…something.” You started playing with the fringe of the blanket so you had something to do with your hands.

Anxiety was rolling off of you in waves, and you didn’t dare look at him; instead, you focused on his knee as you spoke.

“So I, uh. I wrote a book. As you know. And it did well. Like, really well. The editors, publishers, and fans want another part.”

You briefly stare up at him as he nods; any trace of cockiness is gone from his face, and instead, he looks genuinely concerned.

“Well, I’m writing the second book about the side characters from the first book, Ryder and Sabrina. The fans want it…to be written differently.” You say, feeling hot under the shirt you borrowed from him, as your eyes flick to him once again.

“Oh, I liked those two. They were hilarious.” He says softly as you smile.

So he did read the book.

That was…surprising.

“Thank you. I had a lot of fun writing them. But now my team wants me to write them in a way I don’t know how to. And I wanted to come to you for help because, well. I don’t know who else to go to.” You explain.

Taehyung cocks an eyebrow.

“You came to me for writing help? Me? The one who always tried to cheat off you? Why?” He asks honestly.

“Because Taehyung, I need your…skills.”

You stare at his face to see his eyes wide and confused. You knew you had to tell him the truth; you just wished it wasn’t so damn embarrassing.

“Taehyung, they want me to write spice. Smut. Porn. And I don’t know how to do that. I don’t have experience with that, and I need your help. My last four drafts have been rejected, and I’m at the end of my rope here.” You blurt out, staring at his knee the entire time as your face heats up in shame.

Silence wraps around you like an itchy blanket, and it seems even the storm paused in shock at what you said.

Lovely.

“Are you ever going to look at me?” He asks with a teasing tilt to his voice as you close your eyes tightly.

“Nope. I’m embarrassed enough, and if I look at you, I’ll combust into a million little pieces, and you will have to clean it all up.”

Taehyung giggles.

“Please just look at me. Sex isn’t something to be ashamed of. We can talk about it like adults.” He responds as slowly as you open your eyes and stare up at him.

He has a small grin on his face, and you fight the urge to cast your eyes downwards again.

“Now explain it to me. Slowly.” He asks.

“They want me to make the next book a little more mature. A lot of the fans complained about how I glossed over a lot of the sex in the first book. Smut is very popular now, and they want it in the second book. It makes sense; the characters have that will-they, won't-they energy. I just don’t know how to write hot sex because I’ve never….” You let your voice trail off, letting him come to his own conclusions as the lights flickered again.

“You aren’t a virgin, are you? I mean, you dated Simon?” He points out

“Not a virgin, but just because I have had sex doesn’t mean it was good sex.” You say softly as you refuse to look at him again; instead, you stare at the raindrops clinging to his windows as you pull the blanket higher up your body.

“Should we kill Simon now, or should we wait until you are a super-famous author and we can hire someone to do it for us?” He asks, and you crack a smile.

“Listen, I’m going to be honest: I can’t go through the whole Simon story with you tonight. Asking you for this is embarrassing enough.” You plead, closing your eyes and trying to chase the bad memories of your ex away.

You don’t need that right now.

“So you want to...have sex with me so you can write a book?” Taehyung asks thoughtfully as you nod.

“I mean kind of? I want you to show me what good sex is like. And not just sex. All of it. Handjobs…blowjobs…sex.”

His eyebrows are somewhere in his hairline when you continue to speak.

“That’s what I tried tonight. I tried to find someone random online to help me, but he never showed up for the date and ghosted me. It’s for the best because I didn’t like the idea of someone I didn’t know seeing me so vulnerable. And I know I’m basically a virgin with sex, so I would need someone to take it slow and show me…Teach me, I guess.”

Taehyung scootches closer to you on the couch and studies your face.

You hold your breath and wait for him to say something, to say anything, as the silence is making your heart pound and anxiety creep up.

“So, should we make it like a course? One day we make out, then hand jobs, blow jobs, fingering, and eating pussy because yes, this is about you too, then sex?” He asks as his voice dips low, and it makes you shiver.

“You don’t have to—I mean I—I think I can figure that stuff out.” You stammer as he grins wickedly at you.

“Baby Blue. Do you think I’m going to make this whole thing about me? I want you to feel good too. And you bet that involves getting my hands between your legs. I think your readers would want that…right?” He coaxes, and you don’t even mind that he calls you that ridiculous nickname as you swallow hard and nod.

“Did Simon ever—did he make it all about him?” He asks darkly, and you bite your lip.

“Not all the time. It just seemed sometimes he wanted to…get it over with so there wouldn’t be much…prep.” You say lamely.

“I hate that guy. Such a douche,” he comments as he slides closer to you on the couch so his knee presses into yours.

“So you’ll help me?” You ask timidly as you stare at his dark eyes, the tiny freckle on his nose, and the fact that you don’t think you have ever been this close to him in your life, and you don’t hate being this close to him.

“Baby Blue, you’re going to be my new friends-with-benefits, huh?” He purrs with an exaggerated wink that makes you roll your eyes but smile.

“Sure, if that’s what you want to call it.” You say, eyes flicking down to his lips for a moment.

Taehyung grins.

Shit, he caught you staring.

“I think I’ve grown on you. If we are friends with benefits, it means we are friends. You trusted me enough to come to me with this. And all this time, you had this hard exterior of hating me.” He teases with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

“You were my last option, you know. And it’s all Mira’s fault. She suggested you.” You fight back, hating how affected you were feeling just by being close to him.

“Last option, but the best option. Come on, admit it, you wanted to know if the rumours about me back then were true.”

Your eyes widened as the tension in the room intensified when he pushed his leg into yours.

“Not at all. This is strictly business, and you have... experience.” You say, licking your lips, as this time his eyes flick down to your mouth.

“Mhmm. I think it’s also ironic how you wrote Ryder and Sabrina.”

You swallowed hard.

“Ryder is the ladies’ man, always flirting and teasing a very uptight Sabrina. Then they have to come together to reach the common goal of getting their friends together. The whole time, Sabrina pretends that she hates him…” Taehyung lets his velvety smooth voice trail off, and you blush.

“I don’t know what you are talking about.” You say, voice soft and light, as he cracks a smile.

“I don’t think you should have named him Ryder. I think Taehyung would have been a more fitting name.” He jests.

Okay, so maybe…. MAYBE you took inspiration from you and Taehyung’s…whatever it was. But you never in a million years thought he would actually read your book. And you never ever were going to admit that to him.

“Are you going to help me or keep blabbing?” You ask harshly as he chuckles low in the back of his throat.

“As long as you mention my name in print that I helped you…sure, why not?” He says with a cheeky grin.

You sighed.

“I knew I should have gone with someone else.”

“Nah, baby, there is no one as good as me out there.”

You cock an eyebrow as once again the tension in the room seems to ramp up, making goosebumps appear on your skin.

“Then prove it.” You shoot back, tired of wasting time, tired of awkward conversations.

“Oo, she’s feisty. Okay, Baby Blue, show me how you kiss.” He insisted as he grabbed your hips and settled you on his lap in an easy movement, like he had been doing this his entire life.

“Make sure you think about how it feels. This is for research after all, and nothing else. Right?” He says, his voice low and husky, making you nod slowly as your eyes lock on his lips.

Taehyung wastes no time in tangling his fingers in the damp strands of your hair before pulling you close and attaching his soft lips to yours.

Your eyes widen in surprise because holy shit, Kim Taehyung is kissing you, and it wasn’t supposed to feel this good, but your eyes soon flutter closed as you lean into the kiss.

Taehyung had kissed many girls in his lifetime; hell, he couldn’t even name them all at this point, though in his defence, most of them he kissed when he was a few drinks in.

This kiss with you, though…

Taehyung knew that as long as he lived, he would never forget this.

The way your lips moulded to his almost perfectly, as if they were meant to be there, the way his hands tangled in your hair and pulled you even closer so he could deepen it even more.

The way your body seemed to melt and soften into his, your legs spreading wider so your crotch was flushed against his upper thighs, and how badly he wanted you to move a couple of inches upward to feel how this kiss was messing him up.

A couple of hours ago, he was worried about his sex drive, and now it seemed his body was making up for lost time as his cock rose so quickly it made him dizzy as all the blood left his brain.

You began to find your rhythm as your lips moved against his, and when you let out a small moan against his mouth, Taehyung felt his cock twitch in his pants, desperate for any kind of friction.

He expertly moved his hands from your hair and began to run them down your arms; he chuckled darkly against your warm mouth when you shivered as he made his way slowly up and down, making the hairs on your arms stand.

You gasped when his hands trailed down your sides, which let him easily slip his tongue into your mouth and touch yours in a way that made you both moan.

Taehyung knew this kiss was for research purposes, but he was growing impatient with the lack of friction against his aching shaft, so with one hand wrapped around you, he lifted you to shove the blanket off before settling you back down on his lap right over the hard ridge in his pants.

You gasped when you felt all of him between your legs, and Taehyung chuckled against your lips as he began to leave the warmth of your mouth to discover what other noises you could make as he kissed along your cheeks and down your jawline.

His cock leaked as you began to slowly roll your hips against him, and dear god, he could feel…everything.

You chose not to take his sweatpants, and holy shit did the guy you were supposed to go on the date with miss out, because the only thing separating your bare pussy from his clothed cock was a thin piece of material that Taehyung could already feel you soaking through.

If this was how worked up you were over a kiss, Taehyung couldn’t wait to explore more.

This was going to be fun.

He nibbled at your jawline, and his name escaped your lips in a breathy moan as you continued to roll your hips against him, seeking friction for you both.

The rain was still lashing at the windows, and thunder nearly shook the house, but Taehyung hardly heard any of it over the blood pounding in his ears and the way your skin felt under his fingers.

So warm.

So perfect.

You continued delicious rolls of your hips as his lips found yours again, and you kissed him with such passion and fire, he had no idea how you couldn’t write a spicy scene.

You were a natural.

Taehyung could feel himself getting a little too excited as his boxers were now soaked with precum, and his cock was twitching painfully under the ministrations of your hips.

You were rubbing against him like a needy animal in heat, and as sexy as that was, Taehyung had to slow things down before he blew his load and embarrassed himself.

He was supposed to have more control than this, goddammit!

His hands make their way to your hips to stop you, but it only makes you grind against him harder and the sexiest, neediest moan to fall from your lips.

Taehyung’s spine is tingling, his hands are tightening on your hips, his cock is rock hard, and his balls are drawing up.

Fuck, he is going to cum from just kissing you.

This has to stop.

He slowly pulls away and lets out a shaky breath as your grinding stops, and Taehyung thanks his lucky stars he didn’t cum in his pants like a horny teenager.

You open your eyes slowly, which are glazed over, and your hand comes up to your face as your thumb runs over your bottom lip, which is red and swollen from all the kissing.

His cock twitches against you, and you giggle.

“And that’s how you kiss.” He says, his voice rough and deep, as he clears his throat and tries to hide how aroused the kiss made him.

Which was pretty difficult with his cock still painfully throbbing between his legs and the smear of precum he could feel coating the sensitive head of his cock.

“Thank you for showing me that. That was. Good.” You reply slowly as you card a hand through your messy hair, pushing it away from your face.

Now that everything had come down, Taehyung’s other senses were starting to come back, and, fucking hell, he could feel how wet you were and how it soaked into his pants. He was sure that if he looked down, his crotch would be stained with both of your arousals.

“Just good? Come on, Baby Blue, work with me here.” He teased as his mouth connected with your shoulder, and he peppered light kisses against the material of his shirt.

It smelled like you already, and Taehyung liked that.

“Well, Captain Taehyung, it was an acceptable kiss. I definitely have enough material to write a kissing scene.” You tease him right back, which makes his cock once again twitch against you.

In all the times you teased him about how he used to call himself “Captain Taehyung,” it never made his cock throb like that.

Shit, it seemed cumming in his pants wasn’t off the table yet.

It was just because he had not been with anyone in a while.

That’s all.

“You sure know how to make a guy feel special. Don’t worry. You don’t have to lie. I can feel you soaking through my pants.” He admitted as he continued to lightly kiss your shoulder.

You arch up into his touch and card your hands through his hair.

Yeah, he needs to stop, as his cock is still impossibly hard, and he swears one roll of your hips might make him lose it. But he can’t stop. He doesn’t want to stop. It feels so damn good.

“You’re one to talk. You got hard the second I kissed you. Don’t think I can’t feel that monster between your legs poking into me.” You tease back as you roll your hips, and Taehyung squeezes your sides.

Fuck, he is teetering on the edge again.

He’s had girls drive him crazy before.

But never like this.

And never from just kissing and a little dry humping.

“Ah, you do know how to make a guy feel special. Thank you for admitting I have a huge cock. I knew it.” He says as he finally pulls away and shoots you a cheeky smile.

You roll your eyes at him, but he sees the smile tugging at your lips.

God, he likes it when you do that.

That was one of the reasons he teased you so much in the past.

For that look alone.

Before Taehyung can open his mouth, your stomach growls, and you duck your head in embarrassment.

“You didn’t eat dinner?” He asks as you finally push yourself up and off his cock to sit beside him.

He misses your warmth right away.

“I got stood up, remember. Then I cried in the car and came right here.” You admit as Taehyung stands up and helps you off the couch.

“I ordered food tonight and have too many leftovers. Come on, I’ll make you a plate.” He adjusts his cock in his pants so it doesn’t stick straight out in an obscene way, and you nod slowly as you lean forward and kiss him again.

It’s much different than the first one, as it’s slow and sweet. Just a peck.

“Thanks for helping me with this. I really appreciate it.” You say softly as you pull away, and Taehyung slowly opens his eyes.

“No problem. It’s just a friend helping out another friend, right?” He says as he makes his way to the kitchen.

“Right.” You echo back.

Beauty had always been your burden as much as your blessing. Tales of it traveled farther than merchants and faster than ravens, crossing borders until even distant courts spoke your name with a mixture of admiration and longing. Princes penned verses in your honor without ever meeting you. Even seasoned knights, men hardened by war and duty, often found themselves disarmed by nothing more than a smile.

With your coronation fast approaching, the kingdom stood on the brink of celebration. It would be the grandest event seen in decades, drawing princes, dignitaries from every corner of the continent. Some would arrive seeking alliances. Most would arrive seeking you.

The prospect amused you more than it excited you.

“Protecting my daughter is not merely a matter of strength,” your father’s voice boomed through the hall. “It demands unyielding discipline and absolute loyalty. You will each face three trials. The princess herself will accompany you, so that you may prove your worth in her presence.”

Your eyes swept slowly across the line of knights standing before the throne, a faint mask of boredom kissing your beautiful face, certain that none of them would truly be able to handle you.

For years, entertaining yourself at the expense of knights had become something of a pastime. A lingering touch against a gauntleted hand, a mere whispered compliment that left disciplined warriors suddenly forgetting their own names. Watching them struggle to maintain their composure was endlessly amusing.

You had notoriously toyed with men like this, living wildly beneath the weight of your royal title, and your father knew this better than anyone. That was precisely why he had designed these trials.

He wasn’t simply looking for the strongest sword arm. He wanted a knight with sharp intellect and the rare ability to withstand your constant attempts to live life on your terms rather than as a perfectly mannered princess.

A small, intrigued smile played on your lips when the first few knights stepped forward. They were impressive in brute force, but you could already tell they would crumble the moment you decided to play.

Then he stepped forward.

Sir Jeon Jungkook.

Even fully armored, with only his dark, piercing eyes visible through the narrow slit of his helmet, once his unflinching gaze met yours for a brief second, a strange spark ignited low in your belly. You tilted your head, studying those dark eyes with growing interest.

The first trial took place that very evening in the smaller banquet hall. Only a select few courtiers were present. You sat at the high table beside your father, sipping from a jeweled goblet.

Unknown to the competing knights, the King had arranged for one of the wine pitchers to be laced with a powerful sleeping draught. Harmless, but potent enough to leave the princess disoriented and vulnerable. Only the King, a few trusted advisors, and the princess herself knew of the plan.

The knights had been given only one instruction: protect the princess. No further details.

As the evening progressed, the effects of the draught began to take hold. Your thoughts grew pleasantly hazy, movements slower. The jeweled goblet nearly slipped from your grasp once before you caught it. A second time, you laughed at something that had not been particularly funny.

Several knights noticed. Some were too busy trying to appear vigilant, eyes constantly scanning the room for imaginary assassins.

A few noticed your condition and drew dangerously close. One insisted on helping you stand despite the fact that you had not asked for assistance. Another rested a hand against your lower back almost inappropriately while guiding you through the room. One knight even smiled when he realized how heavily you leaned upon him after stumbling.

The courtiers watched everything. So did the King.

You were beginning to feel genuinely annoyed when a tall figure stepped silently between you and yet another overeager knight.

Sir Jeon Jungkook.

Unlike the others, he had not hovered around you all evening. He had remained where a royal protector belonged, close enough to intervene, distant enough to respect your space.

Dark eyes studied your face through the narrow opening of his helmet. “The princess has had enough wine,” he declared.

The knight beside you scoffed. “She seems perfectly fin—”

“She does not.”

You watched surprise flicker across the other knight’s face.

Sir Jungkook’s hand briefly closed around your forearm as you swayed, steadying you before immediately letting go the moment your balance returned.

Within moments he had summoned two ladies-in-waiting to accompany you back to your chambers. When another knight offered to carry you himself, Sir Jungkook declined on your behalf before you could even answer.

“Her reputation is as important as her safety.”

For the first time all evening, genuine curiosity stirred within you.

Most men saw opportunity when they looked at you. Some saw beauty, a few saw a future crown. Yet somehow, Sir Jeon Jungkook seemed to see only his duty.

As the ladies guided you toward the doorway, you glanced back over your shoulder.

“How noble of you, Sir Jungkook,” you teased, voice softened by the draught. “Are you always so resistant to temptation?”

His gaze never wavered. “My duty is to protect Your Highness.”

For reasons you could not quite explain, that response lingered in your thoughts far longer than any flirtatious remark ever had.

The final trial was, by all appearances, the simplest.

After weeks of staged attacks, hidden tests, the remaining candidates expected one final demonstration of skill. Some anticipated a duel. Others believed they would be sent to defend the princess from another fabricated threat. Instead, the King announced that the last trial would consist of a single week of personal duty beside the princess. No further explanation was offered.

The knights were disappointed.

You, however, knew exactly what your father was doing.

The trial was not designed to test strength or intelligence. It was designed to test restraint.

Most of the candidates failed within days. Some became overly eager whenever you requested their company.

Others ignored palace protocol the moment you suggested bending the rules. One knight allowed you to wander through the city market without informing the royal guard because he was too eager to please you. Another accepted an invitation to share wine in one of the palace balconies despite knowing perfectly well how improper it appeared. Every failure was carefully observed and quietly recorded.

Only one knight remained infuriatingly impossible.

Sir Jeon Jungkook.

The more you watched him, the more determined you became to discover his weakness. Surely he had one. Everyone did.

At first, your attempts were harmless. During walks through the palace gardens, you lingered beside him instead of remaining ahead as protocol dictated. During meals, you directed most of your conversation toward him. More than once, you deliberately brushed your fingers against the steel of his gauntlet while speaking. Other knights would have turned crimson. Some would have stumbled over their own words.

Sir Jungkook merely stepped aside and continued his duties as though nothing had happened.

Perhaps it was the way every other knight had spent the past weeks attempting to impress you, the King, or the court.

Where others sought favor, he sought only to fulfill his duty. And thus, when the day of the final judgment arrived, the outcome surprised absolutely no one.

Your father rose slowly from his seat.

“Sir Jeon Jungkook,” he declared, voice echoing through the hall. “You have successfully completed all trials. You have shown not only strength and intellect, but the rare ability to anticipate danger and resist… temptation.” His gaze flicked briefly to you. “From this day forward, you are hereby appointed as the princess’s personal royal knight and protector. Guard her with your life. And may the gods help you.”

A murmur rippled through the court.

You turned toward Sir Jeon Jungkook, stepping just close enough that your crimson gown brushed his armor.

“Welcome to my service, Sir Jungkook,” you whispered so only he could hear. “I do hope you’re prepared. Resisting me may prove to be your greatest trial yet.”

His dark eyes held yours with unshakable strength. “I was under the impression I had already passed that one, Your Highness.”

—

Having Sir Jeon Jungkook follow you around all day wasn’t ideal.

It had not even been three months since his appointment as your royal knight, yet his constant, silent presence had already begun to grate on your nerves. He was always a towering shadow in dark armor, never more than a few steps behind. What annoyed you most was his utter lack of reaction.

No matter how boldly you flirted, no matter how you tightened your corset in front of him until your breasts nearly spilled over, no matter how many times you “accidentally” brushed against him, he remained perfectly composed.

What bothered you most of all was that you still had no idea what he looked like. Only those dark, intense eyes visible through the narrow slit of his helmet. The rest of him remained hidden behind steel, a constant, frustrating mystery.

The journey to the neighboring kingdom for the grand alliance celebration had been long and stifling. You rode in the royal ornate covered carriage borne by four strong horses and guarded on all sides. The extravagant gown you wore was beautiful but suffocating, the tight corset pressing against your ribs and making every breath feel like a struggle. Boredom weighed on you like lead.

Your dearest friend, Lady Isolde rode beside you in her own litter. She was to be wed in a month, and the two of you had spent the journey giggling like girls again, whispering behind silk curtains.

“He’s so tall,” Isolde teased, peeking through the gap toward where Sir Jeon Jungkook rode steadily beside your litter. “And those eyes… I wonder what the rest of him looks like under all that steel. Do you think he’s handsome, or just another brute?”

You laughed softly, though your gaze lingered on the narrow slit of Jungkook’s helmet, where those dark, intense eyes remained fixed forward.

“As if,” you replied, laced with mock boredom. “He’s far too proper. I could tighten my corset until my breasts nearly spill, and he wouldn’t even glance.”

Isolde giggled. “You should try. For science.”

Sir Jungkook’s eyes flicked toward the litter for the briefest second before returning forward. You smirked. Annoyed as you were by his constant, unflinching presence… you were also undeniably intrigued.

That night, after the feasting and music had died down and the royal party made camp near the forest’s edge, you slipped away, desperate for even a moment of peace, and determined to test just how far his restraint could stretch.

The air had grown chilly, carrying the faint bite of early autumn as you made your way to the forbidden stretch of the deep bend where the river water ran swift and dangerously deep. No one was permitted here after dark, especially not the princess.

You knew he would follow.

The heavy footsteps of armor soon echoed behind you on the rocky bank.

“Your Highness,” Sir Jungkook’s deep voice rang out, firm. “This area is strictly prohibited at night. The currents are treacherous and the water is far too cold. We must return to the palace at once.”

You barely looked at him. Your eyes were fastened upon the vast expanse of the river, moonlight dancing across its dark surface like scattered diamonds. You wanted nothing more than to feel the cool waves kissing your bare skin, to swim freely under the moon with no eyes judging you in, except his.

A small, unusually kind smile touched your lips as you turned toward him.

“Why don’t you join me, Sir Jungkook?” you asked softly, your voice carrying on the gentle night breeze. “Just for a little while. The water looks so peaceful tonight.”

Sir Jungkook stood like a statue in his dark armor. “Your Highness… that would be highly improper,” he replied, voice low. “I am here to protect you, not to… bathe with you.”

You let out a soft, melodic laugh and began walking toward the river’s edge, the hem of your gown brushing the grass.

“Well, I suppose then…” you bit your lip, your fingers moving to the laces of your gown with aching slowness. “I shall swim, and you will stand guard like the loyal knight you are.”

You could feel his intense eyes watching through the narrow slit of his helmet as you loosened the ties. The rich fabric slid from your shoulders like liquid silk, pooling at your feet.

Completely bare under the moonlight, you wore nothing beneath. Your skin glowed luminous and your full breasts rose and fell with each breath, nipples already stiff from the cold night air. The curve of your waist flared into soft hips, and the smooth, delicate skin between your thighs was on full display.

Sir Jungkook immediately turned his head sharply away, staring fixedly into the dark trees.

“Your Highness!” His voice was strained. “This is highly inappropriate. I cannot allow—”

“You don’t have to allow anything,” you cut him off, dripping with defiance. “You’re not permitted to touch me while I’m bare. So you’ll just have to stand there.”

You waded into the river with a soft gasp. The icy water bit into your skin, but the thrill of rebellion pushed you forward. You swam out deeper, the cold making your body hypersensitive.

You glanced back at the bank. Sir Jungkook stood like a statue, head turned away, refusing to look at your naked form even once. His armored fists were clenched tightly at his sides.

A thrill of satisfaction ran through you.

You felt exhilarated. Free. And wickedly aware that the most disciplined man in the kingdom was standing on the bank, fighting not to look at you.

“Are you really going to stand there all night, Sir Jungkook? The water feels wonderful… and I’m all alone out here.” You swam further out, the cold water caressing every inch of your bare skin. A soft, content sigh escaped your lips.

It would be a plain lie if you said you weren’t at least a little relieved that he had followed you. The deep bend was no joke. its treacherous currents and deadly depth were feared even by The King. Yet here you were, aching to tear down the walls of the knight who refused to bend to your charms.

You floated lazily on your back, letting the moonlight kiss your bare skin. Then, with a mischievous glint in your eyes, you took your chance.

Once a subtle current tugged at your legs, you gasped dramatically, flailing your arms and letting out a soft, helpless cry. “Oh—!”

You fought back a giggle, pretending to be a damsel in distress, knowing the current wasn’t strong enough to truly endanger you. You wanted to see if you could finally crack his composure.

But the gods had other plans.

Without warning, a far more treacherous undercurrent slammed into you like a living beast. It dragged you under violently, twisting your body, filling your mouth and nose with icy water. Real panic surged through you as you lost your breath and sight in the black depths.

“Jungkook!” you screamed, the sound barely coherent as water rushed into your lungs. This time, it was no act.

Sir Jeon Jungkook did not hesitate for even a fraction of a second. He plunged into the river fully armored, cutting through the violent current with powerful strokes. His strong arms wrapped around your waist, yanking your naked body against his steel chest as he fought the river with raw, expert strength. You clung to him desperately, coughing and gasping as he dragged you back to the rocky bank.

The moment he pulled you ashore, his helmet caught on a low hanging branch and was ripped clean off.

You lay on the grass, gasping for air, when your eyes finally focused on the man hovering above you.

And you forgot how to breathe.

Sir Jeon Jungkook was devastatingly, unfairly handsome.

Wet raven black hair clung to his forehead and sharp, sculpted cheekbones. Water droplets traced the strong line of his jaw and dripped from sensual lips. His dark eyes, now fully exposed, were intense and beautiful, framed by long lashes and thick brows. A faint scar graced his left eyebrow, adding a rugged edge to his otherwise perfect masculine beauty.

Before you could speak, he swiftly grabbed his crimson cloak and draped it over your naked body, covering you completely with careful reverence. His gaze remained locked strictly on your face, never once drifting to your exposed skin.

“Are you okay, Your Highness?” he asked, voice rough with concern. A faint blush colored his cheeks as he noticed the way you were staring at his now-bare face.

You opened your mouth to speak, but no words came. The combination of the dangerous current, the shock of nearly drowning, and the overwhelming sight of your knight’s true face left you dizzy and speechless.

Your vision blurred. You passed out in his arms.

Sir Jungkook pulled you closer against his armored chest, one large hand gently brushed your wet hair away from your face, his touch surprisingly tender. He lifted you effortlessly, cradling you like a warrior carrying his lady, your head resting against his broad shoulder, body wrapped securely in his cloak, legs draped over his arm as he carried you back to his mare.

He mounted carefully, keeping you nestled safely against him as the horse began the journey back to the palace through secret paths.

You woke briefly as he laid you down on the thick rug before the hearth in your royal chambers. The fire was already roaring. You were still wrapped in his cloak, beneath it only a thin silk bandeau now clung to your body, the delicate material barely containing your breasts, pressing them together in a deep, soft cleavage that rose and fell with each shaky breath.

You trembled from the cold and the lingering shock of the river.

Sir Jeon Jungkook remained kneeling by the fire, his movements precise as he stoked the flames. Water dripped from his raven hair onto his armoured shoulders. Then he rose to his full, imposing height, towering, broad shouldered.

Without a word, he reached for his helmet, which rested upon a nearby oak chest, clearly intending to conceal his face once more.

“No,” you whispered, your voice soft yet commanding as you pushed yourself up on one elbow. “Do not put it back on.”

The knight paused, gloved hand hovering above the helm. His dark eyes met yours, intense and conflicted.

“Your Highness… it is not fitting for me to stand before you unveiled,” he said, his voice carrying the formal cadence of a sworn knight. “I must maintain the dignity of my position.”

You sat up fully, the cloak slipping slightly from one shoulder, revealing the smooth curve of your skin and the edge of the silk bandeau. Despite the cold still clinging to your bones, warmth bloomed low in your belly as you gazed upon his face, truly beheld it for the first time.

“Come closer,” You rose to your knees on the rug, the cloak parting further as you reached for him. “Let me see you properly.”

He hesitated, every line of his powerful frame taut with restraint. Yet he obeyed, lowering himself once more to kneel before you. Even on his knees, he remained nearly at your eye level, so tall and broad was he.

You lifted a delicate hand and brushed your fingers through his damp raven locks, pushing them back from his forehead. A contented sigh escaped your lips.

“You are far too pleasing to look upon, Sir Jungkook,” you whispered, almost in awe. “I had wondered what lay beneath that steel. Never did I imagine such a face.”

Sir Jungkook remained perfectly still on his knees before you. His hands rested tensely on his armoured thighs as he fought to keep his gaze fixed on your face and not the way your breasts strained against the thin silk bandeau.

“You flatter me, Your Highness,” he replied, voice low. “But I am your knight. Nothing more. Please allow me to restore my helmet.”

You shook your head slowly, refusing to let him hide again. Instead, you leaned closer, your fingers still buried in his damp raven hair.

A new, overwhelming wave of admiration and obsession washed over you. This man... this mature, hardened, breathtakingly handsome knight was kneeling before you like a devotee. The realization sent a fresh rush of heat between your thighs.

“You’re older than me, aren’t you?” you murmured softly, continuing to caress his hair with gentle strokes. “Hardened by battles and years I haven’t yet seen.”

You wondered how many more scars he carried beneath that heavy armor hidden across his broad chest, his strong back.

“I am twenty eight, Your Highness,” he answered quietly, his deep voice carrying that disciplined tone you were growing addicted to.

“Tell me something personal,” you said, your voice turning playful yet curious. Your fingers trailed from his hair down to trace his cheekbone once more. “Have you ever been with a woman, Sir Jeon? Truly been with one?”

His jaw tightened visibly. The question crossed every boundary a knight was sworn to respect.

“Your Highness… such questions are not appropriate for me to answer,” he replied. You leaned in even closer, still stroking his hair tenderly, your breath brushing against his skin.

“But I want to know,” you whispered. “Have you ever touched a woman the way a man touches a lover? Ever kissed one?”

Jungkook’s breathing grew slightly heavier. His dark eyes stayed locked on yours with iron discipline, though you could clearly see the storm brewing behind them.

“I have not, Your Highness,” he finally answered, voice low and honest. “My duty has always come first.”

A thrill ran through you at his confession. You let your fingers drift lower, brushing along his sharp jawline. “And if a woman wanted you… desperately?” your voice dropped to a near whisper. “If she wanted your mouth between her thighs… your tongue tasting her, would you deny her?”

The impure question hung heavy in the air between you. You shocked even yourself with how boldly it slipped out, but the vivid image, his devastatingly handsome face trapped between your legs, mouth glistening with your arousal made the heat bloom even more slick between your thighs.

Sir Jungkook’s hands clenched tighter on his armored thighs. A faint flush colored the tips of his ears and neck, but he remained on his knees.

“Your Highness,” he said, reverently, “I am sworn to protect you. Not to… indulge in such thoughts.”

You smiled softly. Then you leaned back on the bed, letting the crimson cloak fall open completely. The thin silk bandeau was the only thing left covering you, and even that felt too much now.

“Then I command you,” You looked down at him, this powerful knight on his knees before you, and felt a rush of pure need. “I want your mouth on me, Jungkook. Right now.”

“Your Highness, I—”

“Touch me,” you breathed, cutting him off. “Please, Jungkook…”

You reached down and grabbed his gloved hand, bringing it to your chest. Slowly, you pressed his large palm over the thin silk bandeau, letting him feel the soft, heavy weight of your breast. Your nipple was already painfully hard beneath the fabric.

Sir Jungkook’s breath hitched sharply. His entire body tensed, the muscles in his arm flexing under the armor as he fought against every instinct.

You didn’t stop there, dragging his hand lower, sliding it down your stomach until his fingers rested between your thighs. You were soaked. your petals slick and hot against his gloved fingers.

“Feel how damp you make me,” you whispered, voice shaking with need.

Sir Jungkook let out a low, strained groan. His dark eyes were fixed on your face, but you could see the violent war happening behind them.

The most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on — the princess, the future queen, was laid out before him in nothing but a flimsy silk bandeau, legs spread, pressing his hand against her dripping cunt.

“Your Highness…” he rasped, albeit desperate. “This is beyond forbidden. You are royalty. I am sworn—”

“I don’t care,” you whimpered, grinding slowly against his gloved fingers. “I need you. I’ve never felt this way before. Touch me now, my knight. Please.”

His hand trembled. For a long moment, he simply rested there, feeling your wetness soak through the leather of his glove. Then, with a broken exhale that sounded like surrender, his fingers moved.

He stroked along your soaked folds, parting the delicate petals of your most secret flower. And what a flower it was... a lush, glistening rosebud blooming only for him. Your outer lips were soft and swollen with need, flushed deep, delicate like the first blush of dawn.

As he gently spread you open, the inner petals revealed themselves: silky, and impossibly tender, layered like the finest rose in full bloom after a summer rain. At the center lay your sweetest nectar, dripping and honeyed, flowing abundantly from your aching entrance.

The knight didn’t know what came over him, but your pulsing heat and slick, puckering folds had him utterly entranced. His breathing grew ragged. You could see the way his throat worked, the way his tongue unconsciously darted out to wet his lips. He was drooling.

“May I lick you, Your Highness?” he asked hoarsely, voice thick with barely contained hunger. “Please… allow me to taste you.”

The desperate plea from such a disciplined man sent a fresh wave of arousal flooding through you.

“Yes,” you breathed, spreading your thighs wider for him, your voice trembling with raw need. “Use your mouth on me, Jungkook. Lick your princess until she cannot think.”

The moment the words left your lips, something in him broke. Sir Jungkook leaned in and dragged his hot, wet tongue slowly up your soaked slit. The first full taste of you pulled a deep, guttural groan from his chest. You were intoxicatingly sweet and dripping with arousal. He licked you again, slower this time, savoring every slick fold as if he were drinking the finest wine in the kingdom.

You cried out sharply, back arching off the bed as overwhelming pleasure flooded your body. The sensation was brand new, so intense it made your legs twitch violently.

“Oh... Jungkook!” you moaned, fingers digging into his raven hair.

The knight’s tongue circled your swollen clit before sucking it gently into his mouth, then plunged inside your tight heat, ravishing you with slow, deep strokes. The wet, filthy sounds of his mouth eagerly eating you echoed through the chamber, obscene, and shameless.

The most beautiful woman he had ever known, the future queen, was thrashing beneath him, legs shaking uncontrollably around his head, soft whimpers and loud moans spilling from her pretty lips.

Your hips rolled desperately against his face, coating his tongue, lips, and chin with your sweet release. Sir Jungkook drank every drop you gave him, groaning against your cunt as his own cock strained painfully against his armor.

He had never tasted anything so addictive.

You were already twitching, gasping, legs trembling so hard they threatened to close around his head. The pleasure was too much, too new, too overwhelming for your body.

Suddenly, Sir Jungkook pulled back slightly, his lips glistening with your juices. His dark eyes looked up at you, breathing ragged.

“Should I continue, Your Highness?” he asked hoarsely, voice thick with lust and devotion. “Tell me… do you want more?”

You could barely form words. Your body was shaking, pussy throbbing, dripping onto the mattress beneath you.

“Please don’t stop,” you whimpered desperately. “Keep licking me... please...”

The knight obeyed instantly. He buried his face back between your thighs and attacked your clit with relentless strokes of his tongue. Two thick fingers pushed inside you, curling perfectly against that sensitive spot while he sucked hard on your swollen pearl.

The pleasure hit you like a storm.

Your entire body seized up. A loud, broken scream tore from your throat as your orgasm crashed over you violently. Your thighs clamped around his head, hips bucking wildly against his mouth as you gushed on his tongue. Wave after wave of intense pleasure ripped through you, leaving you shaking uncontrollably, vision blurring at the edges.

You nearly passed out from the sheer intensity of it. body twitching, chest heaving, soft cries still falling from your lips as the pleasure refused to let go.

Sir Jungkook stayed between your thighs through every tremor, drinking down every last drop of your release like a man who had finally found salvation.

When your body finally went limp, trembling and oversensitive, he gently kissed your inner thigh before pulling back, his handsome face flushed and glistening with your arousal.

You could barely speak, still catching your breath as you stared at the sight of your proud, disciplined knight with your release shining on his lips.

—

“The Princess requires her knight’s escort to the eastern tower for stargazing.”

The message was innocent enough on paper. But the court had begun to notice how often you summoned Sir Jeon Jungkook for these private “duties.” Some whispered that the Princess trusted no one else. Others envied the knight who had earned such unwavering favor from the realm’s greatest beauty.

They had no idea what really happened once the tower door was bolted.

In the eastern tower under the stars, you would push Sir Jungkook against the cold stone wall and demand his mouth on you again. He always hesitated at first, “Your Highness, we mustn’t…” but the moment you looked at him with those wide, needy eyes and whispered “Please, Jungkook… I ache for you,” his resolve crumbled.

He would drop to his knees in full armor, push your skirts up to your waist, and bury his face between your thighs. The sounds he made while devouring you were filthy and desperately loud. wet slurps and deep groans as he drank every drop of your arousal. You quickly learned to muffle your loud moans against your own arm or his shoulder, thighs shaking violently around his head as he brought you to shattering orgasm after orgasm.

He never asked for anything in return at first. But one night, after he had made you come so hard you saw stars, you dropped to your knees in front of him, hands trembling as you freed his thick, aching cock from his breeches.

You had never seen the knight fully bare, but you had tasted him.

You took him into your mouth with clumsy but eager hunger, sucking and licking until he was groaning your name like a prayer, his gloved hand gently cradling the back of your head. When he spilled down your throat, you swallowed every drop, looking up at him with wide, adoring eyes.

The tension between you only grew hotter, more forbidden.

You began creating excuses just to be close to him.

You “accidentally” wandered into dangerous parts of the forest during hunts. You “lost” your way in the palace corridors at night. You deliberately teased foreign dignitaries until they grew too bold, all so Sir Jungkook would have to step in, pull you protectively against his armored chest, and hold you there while scolding you with his low voice.

Each time, you nestled your head against his chest plate, breathing in his scent, feeling safe in a way you had never felt with anyone else.

One quiet afternoon in the royal rose gardens, while the other knights kept their distance. The summer blooms were at their peak, rows upon rows of crimson roses spilling over marble trellises in a riot of color and fragrance. Courtiers often compared them to you. You had heard the comparison so many times throughout your life that it had long since lost all meaning.

Your attention was elsewhere when Sir Jungkook paused beside a rose bush heavy with crimson blooms. Reaching out, he selected a single flower and turned it thoughtfully between his fingers before approaching.

“A gift?” you asked.

“If Your Highness would accept it.”

The answer surprised a smile from you.

He stepped forward and tucked the rose behind your ear. His gloved fingers lingered only for a second before withdrawing, but even that brief touch seemed to affect him more than he wished to admit.

When you looked up, his gaze was fixed upon the flower. “Beautiful things are dangerous,” he said quietly.

You laughed. “I believe roses are dangerous for everyone except gardeners.”

His expression didn’t change.

“I wasn’t speaking about the rose.”

Your heart fluttered so violently you had to look away. it was becoming impossible to deny how deeply you were falling for him.

The kisses grew sloppier, more desperate with every stolen moment.

In the abandoned library, your knight would press you against the bookshelves, helmet removed, and kiss you like he was drowning, tongue sliding against yours, hands gripping your waist as if afraid you might vanish. You kissed him back just as hungrily, tugging at his hair, moaning softly into his mouth while your hand palmed the hard bulge in his breeches.

Your hunger for him was insatiable. You ached for his presence constantly. The court noticed how you lit up when he entered a room, how you instinctively moved closer to him during gatherings. They saw devotion, they saw trust.

They never saw the way you both held each other’s eyes like lovers who knew their time was stolen.

The relationship was utterly forbidden. Your father would banish him, or worse, if he ever discovered the truth. But neither of you could stop. Something real was blossoming between you.

The knight admired your wild, rebellious spirit. You admired his quiet strength and unwavering honor. In the darkness, you were no longer just princess and knight. You were becoming each other’s secret salvation. And it was only a matter of time before the tension finally snapped.

—

The Coronation.

The kingdom was in full celebration. Banners of the finest gold flew from every tower. The greatest event in decades had arrived, your coronation as Queen.

Princes from across the realms had come in droves, each more eager than the last to win your hand and the throne beside you. They brought lavish gifts, performed in grand tournaments, and showered you with compliments. The entire court watched with bated breath, waiting for you to choose.

You sat upon the raised dais in a breathtaking gown of white, looking every bit the ethereal queen-to-be. But your eyes kept drifting to the tall, armored figure standing silently behind your throne, Sir Jeon Jungkook.

He had become even more composed in public, yet you could feel the storm raging beneath his helmet. Especially when you decided to play your cruel little game.

Prince Min of Veina leaned close during the feast, whispering sweet nothings about your beauty. You laughed brightly, placing a hand on his arm, letting your fingers linger, leaning in just enough for your neckline to offer him a generous view of your breasts.

From the corner of your eye, you saw Sir Jungkook’s gloved hand tighten around the hilt of his sword until his knuckles turned white.

Another prince, a golden haired lord from the eastern isles, offered you a rose during the garden promenade. You accepted it with a coy smile, twirling it between your fingers while glancing toward your knight.

Sir Jungkook’s dark eyes burned behind the helmet. You could feel his jealousy like a living thing, hot and barely contained.

That night, after the feasting and dancing, you summoned him to the eastern tower under the usual pretense.

The moment the door closed, he was on you.

The knight pinned you against the cold stone wall. The single rose you’d been idly twirling between your fingers, a gift from one of the many princes, fell forgotten to the floor.

Sir Jungkook’s dark eyes burned with something almost feral.

“You will be wed off soon?” he growled dangerously, breath hot against your ear.

You looked up at him, heart racing. Your long, wavy hair had finally been let down after the long day, cascading over your shoulders and hips like dark silk. The tight corset of your white coronation gown was already loosened, the fabric slipping slightly off one shoulder, revealing the smooth curve of your skin.

“What do you think about Prince Min?” you asked sweetly, tilting your head. “I think he’s quite lovely. So charming. He even said he would worship me every night once we’re wed.”

Sir Jungkook’s jaw clenched so hard you heard it crack. The jealousy that had been simmering all day threatening to explode.

“Doesn’t it drive you mad, Sir Jeon?” You leaned in closer, letting your breasts brush against his armored chest. “Knowing your princess, the one you’ve been secretly devouring every night, is wanted by so many powerful men? That they all dream of putting a ring on my finger and taking me to their beds?”

“It is exquisite torture, Your Highness,” he growled, eyes burning. “Watching them look at you like they have any right to you. Knowing I’m the only one who’s ever tasted you, the only one who’s ever made you scream.”

His raw honesty sent a sharp thrill through you. You bit your lip, loving the way jealousy sharpened his features, making his dark eyes appear even more intense. He was possessive and barely holding himself back. And you wanted to push him further.

You stepped away from the wall with a teasing smile, walking over to the tall, gilded mirror that stood near the fireplace. The white gown still clung to your body, hair cascading in long, wild waves down your back. You picked up a silver brush and began slowly running it through it, watching him in the reflection.

Sir Jungkook followed you like a shadow, stopping just behind you. His tall, powerful frame loomed in the mirror, twice your size, radiating heat and restrained fury.

“Does that bother you, my knight?” A teasing smile played on your lips. “Knowing that soon I might have to let another man—”

You didn’t get to finish. Sir Jungkook’s large hand closed around your wrist, stopping the brush mid stroke. He plucked it from your fingers and set it down with a deliberate clack. His other hand gripped your hip, pulling your back flush against his armored chest.

Your breath hitched. The playful boldness you’d been wielding all night vanished in an instant.

“Enough,” he growled low against your ear, “You’ve teased me enough tonight, Your Highness.”

His dark eyes burned into yours through the mirror. The intensity there made your knees weak. This wasn’t the restrained, obedient knight anymore. This was a man who had finally reached his limit.

He reached around you and slowly began unlacing the rest of your corset. The white gown loosened further, slipping down your shoulders. You watched in the mirror as he tugged it lower, exposing your full breasts to the cool air and the warm firelight. Your nipples were hard, flushed, and sensitive.

Sir Jungkook’s hand cupped one breast possessively, squeezing it as his thumb brushed over the stiff peak. You gasped, arching into his touch.

“Look at yourself,” he ordered quietly, voice rough. “Look how beautiful you are. How perfect. And yet you let them think they could ever have this.”

He pinched your nipple, rolling it between his fingers until you whimpered. His other hand slid down, gathering the fabric of your gown and pulling it up to your waist, fully exposing your bare cunt in the mirror.

Your face bloomed bright red as you instinctively tried to close your legs, suddenly overwhelmed with shyness at the sight of yourself so lewdly displayed, flushed and completely bare in the golden firelight.

But Sir Jungkook wouldn’t allow it. His large hand gripped your thigh firmly, spreading you open again as he pressed his body harder against your back.

“Don’t hide,” His dark eyes met yours in the mirror, intense and commanding. “Look how filthy and wet you are for me.”

You shivered, unable to tear your eyes away from the reflection. The contrast was obscene, your ethereal white gown bunched around your waist, breasts exposed and heaving, legs spread wide while his armored body loomed behind you like a dark, possessive shadow.

Sir Jungkook’s hand returned between your thighs. Two thick fingers slid through your slick folds, parting them slowly so you could see everything in the mirror. You whimpered at the sight, embarrassed yet unbearably aroused.

“So beautiful,” he breathed as he circled your swollen clit with his fingertip. “This is what belongs to me. Not to any prince. Not to anyone else.”

He pushed two fingers inside you without warning, curling them deep. Your mouth fell open in a silent cry as he began ravishing you with slow, deliberate strokes that made wet, obscene sounds echo in the quiet tower.

You tried to close your legs again, overwhelmed, but he held them open with ease, his grip firm and unyielding.

“Watch,” he ordered softly, voice dark with lust. “Watch how easily I can make my princess fall apart.”

Your eyes stayed glued to the mirror as his fingers plunged in and out of your soaked cunt, his thumb rubbing tight circles on your clit. Your cheeks were flushed deep crimson, lips parted in shameless moans, breasts bouncing slightly with every thrust of his hand.

The pleasure built fast and merciless. Your legs started shaking, thighs trembling violently as you fought to stay upright.

Sir Jungkook’s fingers curled deeper, stroking that perfect spot inside you while his thumb pressed firm circles on your swollen clit.

You came hard with a broken cry, arousal gushing down his wrist and dripping onto the stone floor beneath you. Your head fell back against his armored shoulder, body convulsing as wave after wave of intense pleasure tore through right after.

The knight dragged his arousal coated fingers from your pulsing heat and brought them to his mouth, sucking them clean while his dark eyes stayed locked on yours in the mirror. The obscene sight made you whimper, legs pressing together instinctively. This time, he allowed it.

You pulled away from him shyly, legs unsteady as you walked toward the wide couch near the fireplace. You crossed your arms over your chest, trying to cover your bare breasts, suddenly overwhelmed with embarrassment.

Sir Jungkook approached you ever so slowly. His heart was pounding. you could see it in the rise and fall of his broad chest. The way your flushed cheeks and shy posture made you look so adorable only made his desire burn hotter.

He stopped in front of you, towering over your smaller frame. Without a word, he gently uncrossed your arms, exposing your breasts again. You tried to cover them once more, but he caught your wrists softly.

“You’re too beautiful to hide, my love.” he murmured, voice low.

He leaned down and took one sensitive nipple into his hot mouth, sucking gently at first, then harder. You gasped sharply, hands flying to his shoulders as overwhelming sensitivity shot through you.

“Jungkook... it’s too much...” you whimpered, lightly pushing at his shoulders, cheeks burning with shyness.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes dark with lust and affection. “You’re so sensitive here,” he whispered, almost in awe. He flicked his tongue over your nipple again, watching your reaction closely. “So angelic when you tremble like this.”

He sucked harder, alternating between your breasts, licking and biting softly until you were a whimpering mess, pushing at him weakly while your body arched into his mouth.

You grew frustrated at the unfairness, nearly naked while he was still fully armored. With a small, determined huff, you pushed him back slightly and began tugging at the straps of his armor.

“It is not fair,” you muttered, cheeks still flushed. “You get to see all of me, but I still haven’t seen you.”

The knight let you undress him, helping you remove piece after piece until he stood completely bare before you for the first time.

Your breath caught.

He was magnificent. Broad shoulders, powerfully sculpted chest marked with old scars, some long and faded, others newer. A few dark tattoos adorned his left pectoral and ribs. His abdomen was ridged with muscle, leading down to narrow hips. His cock hung heavy between his legs, thick and already hard.

You stepped closer, running your hands over his bare chest, tracing every scar with reverent fingers, exploring the strong lines of his back, more scars mapping his battles. He stood perfectly still, letting you admire him, though his breathing had grown heavier.

“You are… so manly, my knight,” you breathed, barely coherent, as your hands returned to his chest, sliding down the hard ridges of his abdomen. “So big… so perfect.”

The room had grown hotter, heavier. The air between you felt charged with months of suppressed longing. Your breaths mingled as you stared into each other’s eyes... yours wide with awe and desire, his dark with barely restrained hunger.

Sir Jungkook’s control finally snapped. He lifted you and laid you down on the wide couch near the fireplace, pinning your exploring hands above your head with one large hand, holding them there firmly before his body hovered over yours, powerful and imposing, thick cock resting heavy against your inner thigh.

“Look at me,” he commanded, voice low and rough.

You did, heart hammering.

“Tell me what you want,” he demanded, eyes burning into yours.

You squirmed beneath him, aching and desperate. “Take me,” you pleaded, trembling. “Please, Jungkook… give it to me. I need you inside me.”

Sir Jungkook let out a low groan at your words. He positioned himself at your entrance, the thick head of his cock pressing against your soaked folds. He was big, almost intimidatingly so. You felt the stretch even before he pushed in.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Your Highness,” he whispered, voice strained with worry and barely contained lust. His dark eyes searched yours, torn between desire and restraint. “You’re so tight...”

You trembled beneath him, legs parted wide around his hips. “Please,” you begged softly, cupping his face. “Don’t hold back. I need you. All of you.”

The knight exhaled shakily and began to push inside.

The stretch was intense. You gasped sharply as the thick head of his cock breached you, slowly forcing your walls open. Inch by thick inch, he sank deeper, filling you in a way you had never experienced before. It burned sweetly, bordering on too much, making your nails dig into his shoulders.

“Ah... Jungkook…” you whimpered, tears pricking your eyes at the overwhelming fullness.

He paused halfway, breathing hard, jaw clenched tight. “Tell me if it’s too much,” he rasped, rough. “I’ll stop. I swear it.”

But you shook your head, wrapping your legs around his waist.

“Don’t stop,” you pleaded, voice breaking. “I need you deeper… please.”

With a low groan, he pushed the rest of the way in, burying himself to the hilt. The fullness was devastating. You felt so stretched, so completely claimed, that for a moment you could barely breathe.

Sir Jungkook stayed still, letting you adjust, pressing soft kisses to your tear stained cheeks.

“You’re taking me so well,” he murmured, voice filled with awe and lust. “Such a good girl for me.”

When the burn finally melted into aching pleasure, you rolled your hips experimentally.

“Move,” you whispered. “Please… ruin me.”

That was all it took.

Sir Jungkook’s control snapped completely. He pulled back and thrust into you hard, setting a deep, punishing rhythm. Jealousy and months of pent up desire fueled every powerful stroke. The wet, filthy sound of his thick cock slamming into your soaked cunt filled the tower, mixing with your loud, broken moans.

He was a knight sworn to protect the crown, now utterly ruining the very sovereign he had pledged his life to shield.

“Mine,” Sir Jungkook growled, biting down on your neck hard enough to leave a dark mark. “Not theirs. Never theirs.”

He ravished you relentlessly, claiming you, marking you. His mouth was everywhere: sucking bruises into your breasts, biting your collarbone, licking the tears from your cheeks. He pinned your wrists above your head again, hips snapping against yours with raw need.

You came hard the first time, screaming his name as your walls clenched violently around his thick length. But he didn’t stop. He took you through it, then flipped you onto your hands and knees, on the wide couch.

First, he worshipped.

The knight dropped to his knees behind you, his large hands spreading your cheeks reverently. He leaned in and pressed slow, open mouthed kisses along the curve of your royal backside, lingering presses of his lips that made your breath hitch. He kissed lower, then lower still, until his tongue dragged hot and wet over your soaked folds from behind.

“So beautiful,” he murmured against your skin, breath hot and heavy. “So divine. And yet I am going to ruin every sacred inch of you.”

Then the worship turned into ruin.

He rose, gripping your hips with white knuckled force, and thrust into you from behind in one deep, devastating stroke. You cried out sharply at the stretch, the thick length of his cock forcing your walls open, filling you so completely it stole your breath.

You sobbed in pleasure, fingers clawing at the cushions as he drove into you relentlessly. The power he exerted over you was intoxicating. this hardened warrior, dominating you utterly while still worshipping every tremble of your body.

“You belong to me,” he rasped, ruining you with slow, devastating strokes now. “Say it.”

“I’m yours,” you whimpered, voice breaking. “Only yours, Jungkook... ahh!”

By the third round, you were a sobbing, whimpering mess, tears streaming down your face from overwhelming pleasure, body covered in his marks, cunt swollen and dripping with your combined release.

He took you in every way he could: against the wall, bent over the couch, riding him as he sat on the edge of the seat, then finally on your back again with your legs over his shoulders as he drove impossibly deep.

All night long, the tower echoed with your moans, his deep groans, the obscene wet sounds of your bodies joining. He claimed you utterly and completely devoted.

When he finally came for the last time, buried deep inside you, he held you tight, spilling pulse after pulse of hot seed into your womb, filling you until you felt impossibly full, claimed from the inside out.

Sir Jeon Jungkook pressed his forehead to yours, his lips brushing against yours with every word.

“You command the entire kingdom, my lady,” he whispered reverently, “but here in this hidden place… you are mine to ruin.”

You could only tremble in his arms, utterly spent, legs wrapped around his waist, heart pounding wildly as the fire crackled beside you.

The weight of what you had just done, and what it meant for both of you settled uncomfortably in the air. But in that moment, wrapped in his powerful arms, marked and filled by your knight, nothing else in the kingdom mattered.

The days that followed were a delicate illusion of peace.

It was late morning when you found yourself in the secluded royal bathing pool fed by a gentle river, surrounded by floating lily pads and white blossoms that drifted lazily on the current. The water was warm, scented with rose and lavender oils poured in by your maids. Sunlight filtered through the overhanging willow branches, casting soft, dappled light across the surface.

You leaned back against the smooth stone edge, your long dark hair floating around you like ink in water. Your body still carried the secret marks of the previous night, faint bruises on your hips, love bites hidden beneath the waterline, and a persistent, delicious ache between your thighs that reminded you with every shift who had claimed you so thoroughly.

Your maids, Elara, Verra, and old, wise Selyse moved around you carefully. They had raised you since you were a babe, more mothers than servants. They knew you better than anyone.

Elara poured another stream of warm water over your shoulders, her sharp eyes catching the faint flush that still lingered on your cheeks.

“You are glowing again this morning, my lady,” she said lightly, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. “One might think the moon itself had kissed your skin.”

Verra, younger and bolder, laughed softly as she massaged oil into your scalp. “Or perhaps a certain tall, dark eyed knight has been keeping you… well attended.”

You felt your face heat, but you couldn’t stop the small, secret smile that curved your lips.

Selyse, the eldest, clicked her tongue but her eyes were soft with affection. “Hush, you two. Our princess has always been radiant. Though…” she tilted her head, studying you, “there is a new light in her eyes these days. And a certain weariness in her step that speaks of long nights.”

You bit your lip, sinking a little lower into the water as lily pads brushed against your skin.

“It is nothing,” you murmured, though the flush in your cheeks betrayed you.

“Nothing?” Vera teased, wading closer, her voice dropping conspiratorially.

“We have seen you grow from a wild little girl into this breathtaking woman. We know your heart. And we know it does not belong to any of those puffed up princes parading through the halls.”

You reached out, squeezing Elara’s hand, then Verra’s, your voice dropping to a shy, trembling whisper.

“It is true,” you confessed, cheeks burning hotter than the midday sun. “I have given myself to Sir Jeon. Body and heart. He is the only man I have ever wanted. The only one who has ever touched me.”

For a heartbeat, silence fell over the bathing pool. Then came the gasps.

Elara’s eyes widened, her hand flying to her mouth. Verra let out a delighted little squeak, nearly dropping the oil vial. Even old Selyse, usually so composed, looked momentarily stunned before her face broke into a warm, knowing smile.

“Oh, my sweet girl,” Elara breathed, scandalized, thrilled. “You wicked little thing! With your own knight? Right under the King’s nose?”

Verra giggled uncontrollably, splashing water playfully in your direction. “And here we thought you were simply fond of him! All those late night ‘stargazing’ trips… you minx! Was he gentle? Was he… big?”

“Verra!” Selyse scolded, though her eyes sparkled with amusement. She turned to you with motherly affection. “Though I must admit, we have suspected for some time. The way he looks at you when he thinks no one is watching… that man is utterly gone for you, my lady.”

You buried your face in your hands, mortified but unable to stop the shy, giddy smile spreading across your lips. Your gaze drifted across the river to where Sir Jeon Jungkook stood guard a respectful distance away, half hidden among the willow trees.

Even from here, you could feel the weight of his stare. He stood tall and imposing in his armor, but his dark eyes were fixed on you with a quiet, burning intensity that always made your stomach flutter.

You bit your lip, still flushed from both the warm water and the memory of his mouth, his hands, his body claiming you so thoroughly the night before.

“He is… everything,” you whispered dreamily, more to yourself than the maids. “Strong. Honorable. And when we are alone… he worships me like I am his entire world.”

Verra let out another delighted laugh. “As he should! Our princess deserves nothing less. Though if the King ever finds out…”

Selyse gently squeezed your shoulder, her voice softening with both love and concern.

“Then we will protect your secret as fiercely as we have protected you all these years,” she said. “You deserve to love who you love, my dear. Crown or no crown.”

You looked back at Sir Jungkook again. He hadn’t moved from his post among the willow trees, tall and steadfast in his armor, but your heart ached with a sharp mix of fear and wonder.

If The King ever discovered the truth, he would not spare your knight. Sir Jungkook would be banished, or worse. And you… you would be married off immediately to seal the wound.

The thought disturbed you deeply.

You turned back to the water, forcing a smile for your maids, but the warmth of the bath could no longer chase away the chill settling in your chest.

—

The rumors had begun to spread like fire through the palace corridors.

A lesser knight claimed he had seen “suspicious movement” near the eastern tower. One of the visiting princes mentioned, with a sly smile, that the Princess seemed unusually attached to her personal guard. Nothing concrete, nor proven. But the whispers were growing louder.

Your maids noticed your distraction immediately. During your morning dressing, Verra fastened the laces of your gown with unusually tight pulls, her voice urgent.

“My lady… you must be more careful,” she whispered. “Some of the king’s men have been asking questions about Sir Jeon. They say he spends too many nights away from the barracks. And one of Prince Min’s retainers swears he saw a tall figure slipping into your wing after midnight.”

Elara’s hands paused on your hair. “The knight is being cautious now. He avoids being seen with you as much. But you… you still look at him like he hung the moon. It is only a matter of time before the King hears something he cannot ignore.”

Selyse placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, her eyes full of love and worry. “You are playing with fire, sweet girl. And fire does not care how much you love it.”

Your heart clenched with fear. You hadn’t seen your knight alone in a week. He had been deliberately distant, protecting you both by keeping his distance. The absence gnawed at you like hunger.

That night, you sent for him under the pretense of needing extra security for a private walk in the inner courtyard.

The moment the hidden door to your chambers closed behind him, you were on him.

You pushed Sir Jungkook against the wall, frustration and fear pouring out of you in a desperate kiss. Your hands fisted in his tunic, tugging him closer.

“Where have you been?” you demanded between kisses, voice shaking. “I was scared. I thought something had happened to you. I thought my father had already—”

“I’m here,” he whispered against your lips, rough with emotion. He pulled you closer, arms wrapping around you. “I’m right here, my love.”

But then he pulled back slightly, forehead pressed to yours. His dark eyes were filled with pain.

“I cannot stay,” he said quietly. The words hit you like a blow. “Your father has ordered me to lead a company to the western borders. There have been reports of raiders. He says it is to prove my devotion to protecting the realm… and you. He also made it clear I can no longer linger so closely around you. The rumors are growing too loud.”

You stared at him, heart shattering.

“No,” you whispered, then louder, “No. You cannot leave me. Not now. Not after everything.”

Tears stung your eyes as the hurt poured out.

“After our first night, you pulled away. You kept your distance like I was poison. And now you’re leaving entirely? What if something happens to you out there? What if I lose you forever? I can’t take it, Jungkook. I won’t survive it.”

Your hands moved frantically, tugging at the straps of his armor with desperate, angry fingers.

“I don’t care about the king. I don’t care about the borders. I only care about you.”

Piece by piece, you stripped him. The armor fell to the floor with heavy clangs until he stood completely bare before you, broad chest, scarred skin, powerful frame looking every bit of the warrior he was. You shoved him back onto the bed and climbed on top of him, straddling his hips.

Sir Jungkook’s hands moved instinctively to the laces of your corset, trying to free you fully, but you slapped his hand away, tears already glistening in your eyes.

But the knight was patient. He sat up slowly, your legs still wrapped tightly around his waist, and gently cupped your face with both hands. His thumbs brushed away the tears on your cheeks with heartbreaking tenderness.

“My love,” he whispered, voice soothing, “Let me worship you. Let me take care of you tonight. Please.”

He leaned in and captured one of your sensitive breasts in his mouth, sucking slowly. His tongue swirled around your stiff nipple, drawing a shaky moan from you. He moved to the other, giving it the same devoted attention, sucking and licking until your back arched and fresh tears slipped down your cheeks, this time from overwhelming sensation and emotion.

Holding you close, then gently but firmly, Sir Jungkook leaned back, gripping your hips and guiding you upward. In one rapid motion, he pulled you over his face, settling you directly onto his waiting mouth. Your soaked folds pressed flush against his lips and tongue, your thighs framing his head as he looked up at you with pure hunger.

“Use me,” he growled against your dripping folds, the vibration sending sparks through your core. “Pleasure yourself on my tongue love. I want to drown in you.”

You hesitated for half a second, still shy and nervous, cheeks burning hot even as your body screamed for more. But the frantic ache between your legs won out. You lowered yourself more fully, your slick cunt sliding over his mouth, his nose buried against your clit. He groaned loudly, the sound muffled and obscene as he immediately speared his tongue deep inside you, licking and sucking at your juices like a man starved.

You started moving almost desperately, grinding down with frantic little rocks of your hips. Shyness still flickered in your chest, making you whimper and bite your lip, but the pleasure overrode everything. Your hands braced on the headboard as wet, filthy sounds filled the room, the slick slide of your cunt over his tongue, his eager slurping and moaning, the way he sucked your swollen clit between his lips and flicked it mercilessly.

“Oh gods...” you gasped. Your thighs trembled around his head as you grew bolder, grinding harder, smearing your arousal all over his face. He gripped your cheeks, spreading them, holding you down so you could use him exactly how you needed. His tongue ravished in and out of your dripping hole, then flattened to lap broad strokes from your entrance to your clit, devouring every drop.

But it wasn’t enough.

You lifted off his face with a wet pop, strings of your arousal connecting you to his glistening mouth. His eyes were dark, lips swollen and shiny with your juices. Before he could speak, you slid down his body impatiently.

You straddled his hips, wrapped your hand around his thick, throbbing cock, and sank down onto him in one frantic motion.

The stretch made you cry out, but you didn’t stop. You rode him hard, bouncing on his length with frantic, emotional need, your breasts bouncing heavily with every harsh drop of your hips.

“Don’t leave me,” you sobbed, riding him faster, tears falling onto his chest. “Please, Jungkook… I can’t lose you. Not after this. Not after you’ve ruined me for anyone else.”

He thrust up to meet you, matching your desperate rhythm, his strong hands gripping your hips to guide you deeper.

“I don’t want to go,” he rasped, voice breaking with the same pain. “But I must. Your father commands it. I have to prove my loyalty… so I can stay by your side.”

You leaned down, kissing him messily through your tears, riding him like you could keep him here forever if you just moved fast enough.

“Then stay inside me,” you begged, voice cracking. “Fill me up. So deep that a part of you stays with me even when you’re gone. I want to carry you with me when they try to take you away.”

Sir Jungkook groaned deeply. His hands tightened on your hips as he suddenly flipped you onto your back, pinning you beneath his powerful body.

He made love to you then, with deep, devastating strokes that reached the very core of you. His mouth never left your skin, sucking marks into your neck, whispering promises between every thrust.

“You are mine,” he breathed against your lips, hips rolling deeply. “I will come back to you. I will fill you again and again until you swell with our future.”

You wrapped your arms and legs around him, clinging desperately as another orgasm built inside you. When it finally crashed over you, you sobbed his name, walls pulsing tightly around his thick cock.

Sir Jungkook followed right after, burying himself as deep as possible with a low, guttural groan. He came hard, flooding your womb with thick, pulsing ropes of his seed, holding you so tightly it felt like he was trying to merge your souls together.

Even after, he stayed buried inside you, pressing soft kisses to your damp forehead, your cheeks, your trembling lips.

“I don’t want you to go,” you whispered, small and broken. “I love you too much.”

Sir Jungkook pressed a soft kiss to your temple, his arms never loosening. “I know, my love,” he murmured. “And that is why I must return to you. No matter what.”

The weeks following Sir Jungkook’s departure had stretched into an endless gray fog.

You moved through your royal duties like a ghost wearing a crown. You sat through council meetings with a straight spine and a hollow smile, listening to nobles bicker about alliances, trade routes while your mind wandered back to your knight’s strong arms. Every night since, your bed felt too large, too cold. You would press your face into the pillow he had once used and fight the ache in your chest.

You missed him with a desperation that bordered on madness.