#bts fic

19:52 - jungkook: come over?

of course, you were already on your way. jungkook loved to text you that randomly throughout the day whenever he felt like seeing you, no matter the hour or whether he knew you were busy. and every time, you’d show up. because jungkook was irresistible, intoxicating - and he had no doubt about it.

you didn’t really know what pin to put on your relationship with jungkook, you weren’t exactly dating. he called, you came. you called, he came. it was easier like that, less complicated.

trying to be serious with jungkook was practically impossible anyways. he was spoiled, incredibly wealthy (thanks to his parents), impatient, and overly bratty.

he lived in a massive penthouse, spent his days gaming or working out in his home gym with his equally wealthy friends, and went out to clubs or parties at night.

here you were, walking into his penthouse wearing leggings and an oversized hoodie - your post work outfit. you suspected he’d be in his gym, but you soon realised he wasn’t alone. nope, you heard laughing and talking - taehyung.

kim taehyung was one of jungkook’s other rich friends, he was around often enough for you to know he was three things: idiotic, childish, but also ridiculously good looking.

you rolled your eyes, what was he doing here? you always hated encountering his friends, it just made everything more awkward.

walking into the gym, you spot jungkook mid workout - shirtless, his shorts hanging low, sweat dripping down his abs, black calvin klein boxers peaking out. his arms are pumped, the veins bulging out. you then see taehyung, sprawled on a bench nearby, scrolling his phone.

jungkook instantly spots you in the mirror, his eyes darkening. "you came." the sweat sheening over his skin makes the ink of his tattoos pop - you drag your eyes down his sleeve, across his shoulder blades, over his ribs. every muscle is flexed, defined, hard. he catches you staring at him in the mirror, a knowing smirk touches his lips. he curls the dumbbell one last time, veins exploding in his forearm, before dropping it.

taehyung gets up from the bench and walks past you. "hey, sunshine." he smiles, tapping your shoulder on his way out. "i'm gonna hit the shower, see you."

as soon as the door clicks shut, the entire vibe shifts. the gym falls silent, echoing with the sound of your breathing. jungkook drops the weight, spinning around to face you. "c'mere."

you go over to him, he immediately pulls you onto his lap - already hard. “hey. i thought it was only you? taehyung is here.”

jungkook grinds up against you as soon as you’re sat, his hardness presses insistently between your thighs. his arms lock around your waist, pulling you flush against his sweaty chest. his lips begin to trail your neck. "he's in the shower." he murmurs. “won't hear a thing." he nips at your ear. “you said you were coming over."

you sigh, leaning into it. “yeah, but i thought you were alone.”

he pulls back slightly, eyes searching yours, jaw clenching. "i was alone. tae showed up unannounced thirty minutes ago to work out." his hands squeeze your hips. "i told him to leave, he wouldn't." he rocks you forward again - it’s subtle, desperate. his cock twitches against you through your thin leggings. "i can't wait anymore, i need you." his forehead drops to yours. “please.”

uncertainty fills your tone. “he’s still here, though.”

jungkook rolls his eyes, pulling you closer until your nose presses against his. his chest is hot, the muscles trembling slightly - the afterburn of his workout mixing with arousal. “he's in the bathroom, the shower’s running." his thumb gently rubs your hip bone. “we have time, y/n. quick." his lips brush yours, barely a kiss.

you pull away slightly. you don’t really want to have sex whilst taehyung is here, able to come in at any moment. it’d be so embarrassing, you might die on the spot. “but what if he comes back?”

“then he'll see." jungkook counters, his hand sliding up your thigh, under your hoodie. his touch is possessive. "he already knows i like you, thinks we're fucking anyway." the admission hangs heavy. you frown at that, but jungkook doesn’t care, his fingers find the waistband of your leggings. he doesn't wait, he slips two inside to find you wet. "see?"

“oh.” you moan softly, trying to focus on his touch instead of the thought of taehyung. it echoes slightly in the empty, mirror-lined room, the weights clink in the silence. jungkook's eyes lock onto yours in the reflection. he watches your face - lips parted, eyes fluttering as he starts to rub slow circles against your clit.

"look at us." he commands, his voice low and rough. “in every mirror. you’re so fucking pretty like this."

you look up, meeting the reflection of yourself - flushed, mouth open, breathing heavily - you can’t help but feel a little shy projected on the mirror like this. jungkook obviously notices. "don't hide." he murmurs, feeling you bury your face in his neck. he hooks his chin on your shoulder, forcing you to look at the reflection.

"watch." his fingers press deeper, faster. you see your legs spread over his massive thighs, his tattoos flexing as he works you. "see how pretty you look?" he whispers, biting your earlobe.

jungkook doubles his pace, circles becoming rapid, flicking across your clit with punishing precision. your body arches, your reflection shows your head falling back, eyes rolling. “that's it." he watches you crumble in the mirror. your thighs gripping his waist, your orgasm hitting hard. “look at yourself."

your thighs already start to shake, you whimper. “oh, fuck—“ jungkook covers your mouth with his free hand, still working you through the aftershocks, his lips curl against your ear.

"shhh." he breathes, amusement thick in his voice. "moaning like that...tae's gonna walk in and see you falling apart on my lap." his fingers slow, now lazily stroking, overstimulating. "what would he think?"

you’re too consumed with pleasure to reply, jungkook smiles. "you're supposed to be the quiet one, aren't you?" he teases lowly, feeling your pussy flutter around his fingers. "he'd never guess you make noises like that, like a little sex addict." he chuckles. "should i tell him?"

you roll your eyes. “fuck off.” but it’s muffled by his hand over your mouth.

jungkook laughs, his chest vibrating. "fuck off?" he removes his hand from your mouth. "you just came on my fingers and that's what you say? i think someone’s a little ungrateful." he pulls his hand out of your leggings and brings his fingers to his mouth to taste you, then hums “sweet.”

you keep looking around at the mirrors, they almost intrigue you a little. jungkook watches you in the reflection. your swollen lips, the flush creeping down your neck. your eyes - half lidded, dazed, yet locked on the sight of you. him now behind you, fingers slick with you. “it's hot, isn't it?" he murmurs. "seeing yourself like this. knowing anyone could walk in and see what i do to you. anyone able to see how good you are for me."

you bite your lip and nod, it is. jungkook suddenly pulls your leggings and panties down to your knees in one swift motion, the air hits your wet core. you gasp, thighs trying to close, but he spreads them wider. "you're so exposed." he breathes, admiring you from behind. "legs shaking, cunt glistening. all that pretty pink swollen from my fingers."

you whimper as he pushes you against the cold mirror. your hands slam flat, fingers splaying. he lifts your top half up, pushing your hoodie and bra up to expose your back. jungkook’s large hands grip your hips roughly, positioning you exactly how he wants you.

the sound of tearing foil blesses your ears next. your reflection watches him pull out a black wrapper - always black and expensive, never boring. he rolls it on with one hand, not breaking eye contact with you in the mirror as his veiny cock slicks into the latex. thick, heavy, already leaking pre-cum. "stay still." he commands, positioning himself behind you.

jungkook grips your hips, fingers digging deep into your soft skin, and lines himself up. “look in the mirror, pretty." he demands roughly. "watch me take you the way you fucking deserve." without warning, he pushes inside. one deep, thrust that buries him to the hilt. you gasp loud, palms slipping against the glass.

"quiet." he grits out. jungkook knows you like it rough, he doesn’t hesitate to give you that. when another loud moan escapes you, his hand clamps over your mouth again, silencing you. he starts to fuck you slow and deep - dragging out, then slamming back in until your thighs shake. he watches your reflection, your eyes rolling back, your mouth forming silent O's against his palm. he leans close, lips brushing your ear. “feel how deep I am?"

you nod, still moaning against his mouth. your eyes are half lidded, not watching the mirror anymore, too blinded by pleasure. you look so fucking pornographic, jungkook thinks he might cum in 2 seconds. his pace quickens slightly, hips snapping against your ass. the sound echoes through the gym - skin on skin - obscene.

"you know how many times i've jerked off in here?" he grunts between thrusts. “staring at this mirror. imagining you bent over just like this." he grips your hair, forcing you to look at your reflection again. "pictured you every time." you look down, jungkook’s body is a fucking masterpiece in motion. ripped back muscles flexing with every thrust, tattoo of a snake coiling around his bicep, sweat dripping from his jaw onto your shoulder, the way his abs contract when he leans forward to bite your neck.

“look at us." he commands again, watching the reflection. "see how good you take my cock?" he muffles his own grunts against your shoulder, trying to stay quiet. but you can feel his breath hot and ragged against your skin. He's failing - soft, choked groans escape his lips every time he buries himself inside you. he moves his hand from your mouth to your throat. he’s not squeezing, it’s just there, possessive. "keep looking."

the reflection before you makes you want to collapse. jungkook behind you, one tattooed hand on your throat whilst the other presses against the mirror to keep you still as he pounds into you. your eyes flick up to his face - he’s breathing heavily, mouth wide open as he tries to be quiet, his messy hair sticks to his forehead slightly from sweat.

he spins you around suddenly, bending you over the weight bench nearby. your ass is pushed back, your thighs parted. the angle in the mirror is devastating - your arched back, your breasts pressing down, his cock sliding back in. jungkook looks huge behind you. the contrast between your softness and his hard, tattooed body is obscene. "fuck." he exhales, watching the reflection.

your bodies are slick with sweat, the bench creaks under your weight. his hips snap into yours with relentless force - deep, grinding thrusts that hit your sweet spot over and over. your breath hitches as you try to stay quiet, but little whimpers keep escaping. jungkook grits his teeth, jaw clenching.

he leans over your back, chest pressed against you. his lips brush your ear while he keeps thrusting - slow, deliberate, devastating. "you think tae can hear us?" he whispers, his breath hot. "think he's standing outside that door right now? cock hard, listening to you getting fucked like a little slut?" jungkook’s thrusts deepen, making your knees buckle. "maybe he wishes it was him."

“oh, fuck.” your swear makes him grin against your neck. he loves how his dirty talk makes you unravel.

"he probably has his hand on his dick right now." he groans, picturing it. “it’s tiny, not like mine.” he chuckles, pressing another kiss to your neck. "i bet he’s listening to you moan, knowing I'm balls deep in this tight, dripping pussy." jungkook starts to thrust even harder, using the bench for leverage, your tits bouncing on the leather. the mirror shows everything - the way his cock stretches you, the wet sounds, the way your legs tremble.

"gonna make you cum again." he pants. "right on my cock, so fucking loud, so fucking good."

he hits that spot, the one that makes your vision white, your eyes roll back instantly. that sweet spot gets abused - hard, rhythmic strokes that wreck your spine, make your knees buckle. “fuck!” it’s impossible to continue keeping quiet, you clamp your hands around the bench.

"shhh..." jungkook covers your mouth immediately. "fucking keep it down, you slut." you see yourself in the mirror - a wrecked mess. mouth covered, eyes rolling, ass bouncing. "that's it." he knows exactly how to wreck you. angles changing, hitting that spot deeper. faster, more relentless. his hand slides around to rub your clit in tight circles while he pounds into you. it’s overstimulating, cruel.

your orgasm hits harder than the first, your whole body convulses. your muffled scream dies against his palm. the feeling of your orgasm triggers his own. no warning, just a guttural groan vibrating through your spine as he blows hot and hard, your name dying on his lips. jungkook buries deep, holding there, pumping load after load inside the condom. his chest heaves against your back, sweat drips onto the bench. your thighs are shaking violently now, you’re completely wrecked.

jungkook collapses over you, pressing his forehead into your sweaty shoulder, both of you panting heavily. your legs are trembling violently, the bench beneath you starts to creak. "holy fuck." he breathes out. a rough, ragged sound. he pulls out slowly, making you whimper at the loss, then ties off the condom. he kisses the back of your neck, your shoulder - lazy, satisfied.

both of you then hear the bathroom door open.

oh shit.

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thank you for reading, baby mwah

main m.list • navi

Desperation has a way of rewriting your morals. It convinces good people to cross lines they once swore they would never touch, somehow making it feel like the only choice left.

"Let's check out the beer house tonight." Hanni said, wiggling her eyebrows as she leaned against the kitchen counter. "I heard it's packed with rich people on Fridays."

Your brows knitted together. "A beer house?"

A knowing smirk tugged at Hanni's lips. She swept her dark hair into a messy bun before pulling out the chair beside the table, giving the seat a light tap as she gestured for you to sit.

The moment you settled across from her, she propped her elbows on the table and leaned in…There was a familiar gleam in her eyes—the kind that only appeared whenever she had a new scheme brewing. 

"It's one of the most popular beer houses in the city," she explained. "The drinks alone cost more than what we spend on groceries in a week. People who go there don't think twice before throwing money around, which means they're exactly the kind of people we're looking for."

You couldn't help but picture it.

Crowded tables, loud music and half-empty bottles scattered across polished wooden counters. Men laughing far too loudly, their faces flushed from alcohol, expensive watches gleaming beneath the dim lights while thick leather wallets bulged inside the pockets of tailored trousers.

You frowned, unease settling in your chest.

"I'm pretty sure it'll be full of drunk old men, Hanni." you rested your chin against your palm. “Doesn't that sound a little... dangerous?”

Hanni dismissed the concern with a careless wave of her hand.

"They'll be too wasted to notice us," she said with a shrug. "Besides, those are the guys with money. A few missing bills won't even cross their minds."

She leaned even closer, lowering her voice as though she were about to reveal the greatest secret in the world.

"Just give them a sweet smile," she said, the corners of her lips curling into something dangerously playful. "Make them think you've taken an interest in them. Laugh at their terrible jokes, let them believe they're charming..." 

She snapped her fingers between the two of you. "And before they even realize what's happening, you've already walked away with their wallet—or better yet, their credit cards."

A life built on stolen fortunes, calculated manipulation, and carefully crafted deception.

The words no longer sting the way they used to. They've become as familiar as your own name, each one another thread woven into the person you've become. What once filled you with guilt now slips through your fingers as though it was never yours to carry.

Perhaps that's what desperation does.

It doesn't ask you to become someone else. It simply teaches you how to live with the stranger you've become.

Earlier that evening, you and Hanni gathered everything you had stolen throughout the month, laying each piece across the small wooden table between you.

"We only gathered six hundred dollars this month, Y/N... This won't be enough."

A phone, a handful of jewelry, two wallets, and a watch clattered against the worn wood before settling into a messy pile.

"This won't cover this month's rent..." she let out a weary sigh, her manicured nails tapping absentmindedly against the tabletop as she stared at the stolen valuables and the few crumpled bills scattered between them. "And we still have enrollment next month."

Your lips fell into a pout. "But the jewelry I stole is real gold."

You reached for the bracelet, turning it beneath the light. The polished links gleamed against your fingers.

Hanni only sighed again, the exhaustion in her expression deepening.

"It's low-karat gold, Y/N. And there's barely enough of it to be worth anything." she rubbed her temple before glancing at the rest of the pile. "If you manage to steal more next time, maybe we'll actually get something decent for it."

You looked back down at the bracelet, the weight of her words settling heavier than the gold resting in your palm.

You weren't born into wealth…from kindergarten until the day you graduated high school, scholarships carried you through your education. Without them, you doubted you would've made it that far. 

College was different.

Moving out had seemed like the responsible decision at the time. Renting a small apartment near the university was cheaper than spending money on transportation every day between your hometown and campus, and you couldn't bring yourself to ask your parents for more than they were already giving. 

So you packed your clothes into two worn-out bags, hugged your mother goodbye, listened to your father's endless reminders to eat properly, and promised them you would be fine.

Your father spent his days baking homemade bread before the sun had fully risen, while your mother worked quietly as a bookkeeper, carefully balancing numbers that never seemed to balance in your own household. Together, they earned just enough to keep food on the table and a roof over your heads.

Needs always came first.

Wants became something you learned to admire from a distance.

Yet, strangely enough, you never felt deprived.

Your home was small, tucked away in a quiet neighborhood where everybody knew everybody, but it was always filled with warmth. 

While your classmates spoke about family vacations abroad, arrived at school carrying luxury handbags, and replaced perfectly good shoes simply because a newer pair had been released, you found comfort in simpler things. 

The smell of freshly baked bread lingering in the kitchen before sunrise. The sound of your father humming while kneading dough. Your mother's gentle voice reminding you not to skip breakfast, even when she knew you were running late.

You loved that life.

More importantly, you loved the people who gave it to you.

Which was why, when college came, you couldn't bear the thought of asking them for more. Every dollar they handed you felt heavier than the last, weighted by sacrifices they never spoke about but could never hide. 

You watched your father work longer hours. You noticed your mother's tired eyes after another day spent staring at ledgers and receipts. They never complained…not once—but love has a way of revealing exhaustion long before words ever do.

So you promised yourself that you would become lighter.

You moved out. You searched for part-time jobs. You told yourself that no matter how difficult life became, you would survive without asking your parents to carry you any farther.

You really believed honest work would be enough.

Finding a cheap apartment hadn't been easy, and if there was one stroke of luck you could still thank the universe for, it was meeting Hanni.

You found her through a post looking for a roommate. She needed someone to split the rent, and you needed somewhere you could actually afford. 

The apartment sat only a few minutes away from the university, saving you the transportation costs you had spent countless nights calculating over and over again.

Hanni turned out to be easier to live with than you expected. She wasn't the type to spend recklessly or chase after things she didn't need. Like you, she stretched every dollar until there was nothing left to stretch. 

For the first few months, you lived off your savings.

Each rent payment made the envelope thinner. Each grocery trip reminded you that numbers disappeared far quicker than they were earned. You searched for work every chance you got, walking into cafés, convenience stores, restaurants—any place with a "Now Hiring" sign taped to the window.

When a fast-food restaurant finally hired you as a server, you thought things were finally looking up.

You couldn't remember the last time you had been so relieved. The excitement, however, didn't last very long.

The paycheck barely reached your hands before it already belonged somewhere else. Half disappeared into rent. Another portion went to groceries, transportation, and the endless expenses college quietly demanded. 

Scholarships covered your tuition, but not everything else. There were laboratory fees, books that professors insisted were mandatory, printed materials, projects, uniforms, and countless little payments that no one ever warned you about.

The money came in. It left even faster.

And no matter how carefully you budgeted every cent, by the end of each month, you always found yourself staring at the same conclusion.

It still wasn't enough.

Hanni, however, never seemed to struggle the way you did.

For reasons she never fully explained, she always had money tucked away somewhere. Not enough to live lavishly, but enough to ease the constant pressure that settled on your shoulders every time rent was due. 

Naturally, you asked where all that money came from. Hanni would only shrug, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips as though the answer amused her.

"I have a lot of sidelines," she'd say, never bothering to explain any further. 

It was vague enough to end the conversation, yet suspicious enough to keep your curiosity alive.

Eventually, you stopped asking…but you never stopped noticing. 

One afternoon she'd come home carrying the newest phone model, casually placing it on the kitchen counter while she searched the refrigerator for something to eat. 

The following day, it would already be gone. 

Sometimes it was a watch. Other times it was a gold necklace or a designer wallet. The items constantly changed, disappearing almost as quickly as they appeared, but you never questioned her. 

It wasn't until the two of you had grown close enough that she finally trusted you with the truth. 

You remembered expecting disgust to settle in your stomach the moment she confessed. Instead, all you felt was curiosity. 

Hanni told her story so casually, as though she were recalling an ordinary childhood memory instead of admitting to a crime.

She learned how to steal when she was still a little girl. Whenever she picked up a toy at a store or tore open a packet of snacks while trailing beside her mother, no one questioned her. People rarely suspected children, and Hanni learned that long before she understood the weight of what she was doing.

What started as childish curiosity slowly became instinct. Instinct became skill, skill became confidence, and confidence eventually became survival. 

By the time she reached adulthood, stealing was no longer something she occasionally did—it was simply how she made a living. 

She wasn't born into comfort either. Her family had struggled just as much as yours, if not more, and perhaps that was why you found it difficult to judge her. 

You knew what it felt like to lie awake at night wondering how another month would pass. 

You knew what desperation looked like because you had seen it reflected in your parents' exhausted smiles, hidden behind reassuring words they never truly meant. Maybe that was why her confession never horrified you.

Desperation has a peculiar way of changing people.

Because somewhere deep inside, in a place you refused to acknowledge, you understood exactly why she had chosen this path.

"You should blend in. Don't wear those ridiculous jackets or black caps." Hanni chuckled, uncapping the marker in her hand before turning to the small whiteboard hanging beside the refrigerator. 

She drew little stick figures and arrows as if she were giving a university lecture instead of teaching you how to commit crimes. There were circles around the words confidence, timing, and exit, each one underlined twice before she tapped the marker against the board. 

It sounded embarrassingly simple…but it wasn’t.

Your first theft had been nothing more than a granola bar from a convenience store, yet your hands had trembled so violently you almost dropped it before reaching the exit. Your heart pounded against your ribs with enough force to convince you everyone around could hear it.

Every customer who glanced in your direction felt like security in disguise, every beep from the cashier sounded like an alarm, and by the time the automatic doors slid open behind you, your palms were slick with sweat around the tiny snack bar you had risked so much to steal.

Hanni, meanwhile…walked out carrying a bottle of wine, two bags of cheetos, and three packs of mini m&m's tucked somewhere beneath her oversized cardigan. She looked utterly unbothered, stopping only to ask whether you wanted to eat at the nearby park before either of you went home. 

You remembered staring at her with your mouth slightly open, unable to understand how someone could steal so much and still have the composure to worry about dinner.

She only laughed. "It gets easier."

You hated how right she was.

Over the following weeks, your trembling hands gradually learned to stay still. You learned that people rarely questioned someone who acted like they belonged. 

Confidence, Hanni often said, was the greatest disguise anyone could wear, and manipulation was nothing more than convincing people to believe the version of you that benefited them most. 

You practiced smiling at strangers. You practiced maintaining eye contact. You practiced walking away without looking back.

Little by little, it became easier to silence the guilt.

Two months later, you could finally say you were improving. Your movements were steadier, your excuses more believable, your lies smoother than they had ever been before. 

Even so, whenever you compared yourself to Hanni, you still felt like an amateur watching a professional at work. She stole with an ease you doubted you would ever possess.

"Hanni, I'm not good at seducing people... you know that." you let out a groan, dropping your forehead onto the table with a dull thud. 

For all the confidence you had slowly learned to fake while stealing, anything involving men was an entirely different story. 

You have no experience.

Your thefts still involved people, but you always kept your distance…especially from men. You waited for moments of carelessness, slipping valuables from unattended bags, distracted shoppers, or pockets left carelessly exposed before disappearing into the crowd.

It was safer that way. The rewards were smaller, perhaps, but it meant you never had to charm, distract, or make someone lower their guard just to steal from them.

After all, you were still an amateur.

Romance had always seemed like a luxury you couldn't afford. 

While your classmates spent their weekends going on dates or gossiping about their newest crushes, you spent yours calculating expenses and wondering whether instant noodles could count as dinner for the fourth night in a row.

Hanni had pointed it out countless times before.

According to her, manipulating people wasn't always about lying. 

With men, it was about making them believe they had a chance with you. 

The problem was…you had no idea how to do that. 

You didn't know how to flirt, how to bat your eyelashes, or how to laugh at someone's terrible jokes without making it painfully obvious you were pretending. The thought alone made your stomach twist into nervous knots.

Hanni rolled her eyes, dismissing every excuse before you even had the chance to finish making one.

"Oh, stop it." she waved a hand dramatically. "You're very pretty, Y/N. Don't give me that bullshit! Just smile at them…one cute little smile and I guarantee they'll be tripping over themselves to impress you."

You buried your face deeper into your arms."But, Hanni—"

"No buts." she sprang to her feet before you could protest again, practically skipping toward her bedroom. A moment later, she returned with two shopping bags swinging from her hands, the grin on her face growing impossibly wider.

"Besides, I already bought us dresses for tonight." she giggled.

Oh, you were doomed.

"This is so short," you complained, tugging at the hem of the black spaghetti-strap dress for what had to be the tenth time. Every time you managed to pull it down another inch, it simply rode back up the moment you took another step, as though the fabric itself was determined to embarrass you.

Hanni had insisted on doing everything herself. Your hair fell in loose, natural waves over your shoulders, soft enough to hide the nervous rise and fall of your breathing. She had done your makeup too, dusting the slightest touch of glitter across your eyelids that shimmered every time the streetlights caught your face. 

Even before you reached your destination, your feet were already protesting against the thin, strappy heels wrapped around your ankles, each step reminding you that beauty demanded sacrifices you had never volunteered to make.

Hanni glanced at you before letting out an amused laugh. "I can't see your panties from here, so you're fine."

You shot her an unamused look, earning another laugh from her.

Unlike you, Hanni looked completely at ease. 

Her dark green off-the-shoulder dress hugged her figure effortlessly, paired with matching heels that clicked confidently against the pavement. Her hair was swept into a messy updo that somehow looked intentionally elegant rather than rushed, and with the confidence she carried herself, no one would ever guess that the two of you struggled to pay rent every month.

Together, you looked exactly like the kind of girls who had never worried about money a day in their lives.

Which was almost funny.

Because hidden beneath expensive-looking dresses and carefully applied makeup were two women desperately hoping to walk away with someone else's wallet, watch, jewelry—or anything valuable enough to buy another month of survival.

"Okay, let's order a drink first and look around," Hanni said, her voice barely audible beneath the chatter spilling out from inside the beer house as she pushed the heavy wooden door open.

You followed closely behind, your heartbeat already beginning to pick up.

You had spent the entire walk convincing yourself that the place would be filled with loud, drunken old men slumped over tables, too intoxicated to notice a missing wallet or an expensive watch. Instead, your expectations dissolved the moment your eyes adjusted to the dim amber lights.

The place was crowded…not just with old men, but with all kinds of people. Groups of friends occupied long wooden tables, raising glasses every time the football match playing on the massive television reached an exciting moment. Couples sat tucked away in quieter corners, talking over bottles of beer, while businessmen who looked as though they had come straight from the office loosened their ties and laughed with colleagues over overflowing pitchers.

Your gaze drifted toward the long wooden bar stretching across one side of the room, shelves behind it neatly lined with bottles you had only ever seen locked behind glass displays. The smell of grilled meat and fried food lingered in the air, mixing with the bitter scent of beer, while a small band adjusted their instruments on the stage, preparing for the night ahead.

You quietly took a deep breath, trying to calm the nervous flutter building inside your chest. 

You had been stealing for two months now, yet every new place made you feel like it was your first all over again. The fear of getting caught never truly disappeared—it only learned how to hide beneath your smile.

Hanni walked through the crowd without a hint of hesitation, weaving between tables before claiming two empty seats near the stage. When the server approached, she greeted him with an easy smile, the kind that belonged to someone who had come for nothing more than a quiet drink after a long week.

"Two draft beers, please."

The server nodded before disappearing toward the counter.

Hanni waited until he was out of earshot before her eyes swept across the room once more, lingering only for a second before the corner of her lips slowly lifted.

"I found your table." Hanni raised a brow, the corner of her lips curling into a knowing smile.

You pouted, instinctively following her gaze as your eyes wandered across the crowded beer house. Round wooden tables filled nearly every corner, occupied by groups of men laughing over clinking bottles, scattered glasses, and the remnants of another round.

Of course she'd choose men. You had long grown used to Hanni's reasoning.

Men were easier to distract…and according to her, far easier to manipulate than women.

"Which one?" you asked, squinting as you searched through the sea of unfamiliar faces.

Hanni let out a quiet laugh before leaning closer, her perfume briefly overpowering the scent of beer lingering in the air. "The third table near the bar," she whispered, careful not to draw attention. "They look a little older than us. Not too old, though." 

She grinned mischievously. "I'd say they're giving daddy vibes."

You frowned at her. “Ugh, Hanni!”

Slowly, your gaze followed the direction she had subtly pointed, finally landing on the group she had been watching.

There were seven of them gathered around one of the larger tables, completely absorbed in their own conversation. They couldn't have been much older than Hanni had guessed, perhaps somewhere in their late twenties or early thirties. 

Dressed in simple shirts, rugged jeans, and jackets carelessly draped over the backs of their chairs, they looked more like friends unwinding after a long week than the wealthy businessmen you had imagined on your walk there.

At first glance, there was nothing remarkable about them. Yet the longer you watched, the easier it became to notice the details.

A watch that caught the light every time one of them lifted his beer. A phone left face-up beside an overflowing ashtray without a second thought. Car keys, wallets, and cigarette packs lay scattered across the wooden table between bottles of beer and half-finished baskets of bar snacks, abandoned in the comfort of good company.

They laughed loudly, occasionally teasing one another, while wisps of cigarette smoke curled lazily into the air above them. They were so engrossed in their own little world that they never once looked your way.

"What do you think?" Hanni asked, her eyes never leaving the group near the bar."I say you target that table while I take the one near the door."

Your gaze lingered on the men for another moment before dropping to the table between you. Almost as if on cue, the server returned with your drinks, carefully placing two glasses of draft beer in front of you. Tiny bubbles rushed to the surface beneath a thick layer of foam, the chilled glass immediately collecting beads of condensation.

Hanni thanked him with a smile before wrapping her fingers around her glass. She looked... excited. There was always a certain spark in her eyes before a job, one you had grown familiar with over the past two months. 

While your stomach twisted itself into knots, hers seemed to settle. The closer she came to danger, the calmer she became.

Your fingers traced the condensation gathering around your own glass as you quietly stared into the golden beer. The thought of walking up to a table full of strangers, pretending to be interested in one of them, was enough to make your stomach tighten. 

You had spent the last two months learning how to steal, how to lie without stumbling over your words, how to smile convincingly enough for people to lower their guard. 

But flirting? That was something entirely different.

Still...

You glanced down at the dress hugging your figure before absentmindedly smoothing the fabric over your thighs. Hanni had spent her own money buying it for you. She had curled your hair, done your makeup, and patiently convinced you that you looked like you belonged in a place like this. She had done everything she could to make tonight successful.

The least you could do was try.

The numbers flashed through your mind before you could stop them, reminding you how little time you had left before another payment was due. 

You drew in a slow breath before finally looking back at Hanni, offering her a small smile that carried far more determination than confidence.

"Alright," you said with determination. "I promise I'll do my best."

Her face immediately brightened. "That's my girl!"

She lifted her glass toward yours with a grin so wide it was almost contagious.

"Cheers to that, baby."

The soft clink echoed between you, disappearing almost instantly beneath the laughter, music, and the constant hum of conversations filling the beer house.

Easy…smile, flirt and steal.

After a couple of minutes spent nursing your drinks and quietly familiarizing yourselves with the beer house, Hanni caught your eye from across the table. She gave the slightest nod—a silent signal the two of you had long grown accustomed to. 

It was time.

You rose from your seat, smoothing the wrinkles from your dress before letting your fingers comb through your hair, tucking a few loose strands behind your ear. Hanni disappeared into the crowd without another word, already making her way toward her own target, while you headed in the opposite direction, forcing yourself to wear the kind of smile she had spent weeks teaching you. Soft enough to seem approachable…confident enough to belong.

The barstool closest to their table sat empty.

You slipped onto it, offering the bartender a polite smile as he passed by before pretending to study the rows of bottles displayed behind the counter. From the corner of your eye, your attention never truly left the table behind you.

Your heartbeat steadied, not because you were any less nervous…but because your mind had finally begun doing what Hanni had trained it to do.

Observe.

A few wallets lay carelessly on the wooden table, abandoned without a second thought by men too engrossed in conversation to notice their surroundings. Your fingers twitched ever so slightly.

Tonight, maybe two wallets would be enough. Any more than that would only invite unnecessary attention.

Your gaze lingered for another second before drifting higher, carefully studying each of the men one by one. 

If you were going to approach someone tonight, it couldn't be just anyone. You needed the one who looked the wealthiest, the one whose watch alone could cover next month's rent, whose jewelry might be worth more than everything you and Hanni had managed to steal over the past few months combined.

You couldn't flirt with all of them. So if you were going to take the risk, you might as well choose the wealthiest one.

Your eyes drifted from one man to another, careful not to linger for too long. 

One wore a pair of silver earrings that matched the chain resting against his chest. Another—the one with dimples that appeared every time he laughed—had an elegant silver watch wrapped around his wrist, the polished metal glimmering beneath the warm lights whenever he reached for his beer. The man beside him looked much simpler, dressed in an ordinary black shirt without a single piece of jewelry to catch your attention, and you dismissed him almost immediately.

You kept looking.

Until your gaze landed on a tattooed hand lazily wrapped around the neck of a beer bottle.

Silver rings adorned nearly every finger, each one different from the next, and just above them rested a watch that looked far too expensive to belong in your world. Your eyes followed the slow movement of his hand as he lifted the bottle to his lips, only to notice the gold chain disappearing beneath the collar of his dark shirt. 

His ear was adorned with several silver earrings, each one catching the amber light whenever he turned toward one of his friends. When he tilted his head back for another sip, the small silver ring through his lower lip glinted just as brightly.

Then your gaze wandered lower…a pair of Porsche keys hung carelessly from the belt loop of his black jeans, swinging gently whenever he shifted in his seat as though they were nothing more than an ordinary keychain.

You quietly looked away before he could catch you staring, your heartbeat quickening as your fingers curled around the wooden counter.

Target locked.

You immediately order a shot of tequila, not to get drunk, but to act drunk.

Hanni had told you that people lowered their guard around someone who seemed tipsy. A little laugh that lingered too long, a gaze that wandered a little too often, movements just clumsy enough to look believable. It made approaching strangers easier.

You thanked the bartender with a polite smile before resting your elbow against the counter. From the corner of your eye, your attention drifted back to the table.

His back was mostly facing you, making it difficult to study him without being obvious. Every now and then he'd turn toward one of his friends, giving you a brief glimpse of his side profile before looking away again, and somehow those fleeting seconds were enough for you to notice far more than you intended.

His jaw was clean and sharply defined, catching the amber glow whenever he tipped his head back to drink. A straight nose balanced his features effortlessly, while soft strands of dark hair fell across his forehead, shifting every time he ran a hand through them. Every so often, you caught sight of his dark round eyes, softened by the alcohol he'd been drinking, their usual alertness replaced by a lazy heaviness that made them unexpectedly... pretty.

Your brows knitted together. 

You were supposed to be memorizing his belongings Y/N! Not his face!

The bartender slid your tequila across the counter. You murmured a quiet thank you before lifting the glass to your lips, taking only a small sip. The burn barely had time to settle in your throat before your eyes sneakily wandered back toward the table.

"Huh?"  

His seat was empty!

Your brows furrowed as your eyes searched the group, confusion replacing the confidence you had spent the last several minutes trying so hard to build.

"Looking for me?” a deep chuckle sounded from behind you.

Your eyes widened, you turned so quickly you nearly knocked your drink over.

Even with you sitting down, he towered over you with ease, one side of his body leaning casually against the polished wooden counter. Up close, the details you had only managed to steal glances of moments ago became impossible to ignore—the silver rings decorating his fingers, the tattoos stretching over his right arm, the small hoop piercing his lower lip, and those heavy-lidded eyes now looking directly into yours.

The corner of his mouth curled upward…amused.

As though he'd caught you doing something you weren't supposed to.

"H-Hi!" you greeted, your voice coming out much smaller than you intended as you struggled to hide how badly he had startled you.

What the fuck.

For a split second, every lesson Hanni had drilled into your head disappeared. Your carefully rehearsed smile, your excuses, the confident persona you had spent two months trying to build—they all vanished the moment he caught you off guard.

He raised a brow, the corner of his mouth lifting ever so slightly.

"May I help you?"

Your own brows drew together before you could stop them, your smile faltering for the briefest moment.

"Hm?"

"You kept looking at me." he chuckled, low and amused.

There wasn't even a hint of uncertainty in his voice, as though he'd caught you staring several times already and had simply decided to humor you instead of calling you out for it. 

Heat rushed to your cheeks almost instantly, your mind scrambling for something—anything…that would keep your act from falling apart before it had even begun.

Trying to save yourself, you immediately gave him a flirty smile.

"Oh..." a soft giggle escaped your lips, "Was I that obvious?"

You tilted your head ever so slightly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear before looking back up at him through your lashes exactly the way Hanni had told you to. 

When he took a step closer, your breath hitched. 

His thick black boots brushed against the legs of your stool, and with the way he positioned himself, his broad frame nearly shielded you from the rest of the room. It wasn't intentional…or maybe it was—but suddenly the chatter of the beer house seemed much farther away than it had a second ago.

"Uh-huh," he murmured, the single sound barely above a whisper.

The faint scent of mint lingered beneath the beer on his breath, close enough to make your thoughts blur for a moment. Up close, the gold chain resting against his collarbone shimmered softly, layered alongside several silver necklaces that framed the base of his neck. 

Before your courage had the chance to abandon you…you slowly lifted a hand and rested it around the back of his neck, your fingertips grazing the cool metal chains lying against his skin.

"You're cute," you whispered, biting lightly on your lower lip as your fingers idly toyed with one of the necklaces. Every movement had been rehearsed in your head a dozen times before tonight, yet none of them felt natural now that they were happening. You only hoped he couldn't tell.

Fuck, he’s so handsome up close!

His head tilted slightly, curiosity flickering across his face before his gaze slowly drifted downward. It lingered far longer than you were prepared for, tracing the exposed skin above your dress before continuing lower. Instinctively, you fought the urge to tug at the hem that had ridden higher on your thighs.

Don't. Fake it until you make it.

"I am?" he asked, the corner of his mouth lifting into the faintest smirk. His tongue swept across the silver ring piercing his lower lip before he leaned even closer, his lips hovering just beneath your ear.

"Yeah," you breathed, forcing confidence into your voice despite the frantic beating of your heart. "Want you."

The words felt foreign leaving your mouth. Still, they had the desired effect.

As his attention remained fixed on the spot where your pulse fluttered, your fingers subtly found the clasp hidden beneath the chains around his neck. 

One careful movement...that was all it would take.

You had barely begun to unhook it when his hand closed firmly around your wrist.

Your heart stopped. For one horrifying second, you were certain he'd caught you.

"Let's go to my car."

What?

"H-Huh? I..."

He lifted his head just enough for your eyes to meet his. The lazy amusement from earlier had disappeared, replaced by something darker. 

"I can't fuck you here."

Your eyes widen, fucking was your limit!

Your gaze drifted to the thick gold necklace resting against his chest... the leather wallet tucked carelessly into his pocket... and the sleek black car waiting only a few steps away.

Fuck it.

You followed him in silence, the cool night breeze brushing against your exposed skin and reminding you just how short your dress was. 

Your gaze remained fixed on his broad back as he unlocked the car, your throat tightening around a nervous swallow.

Earlier, when you had walked past Hanni, you had nearly burst into tears at the sight of her giving you an approving nod, silently cheering you on while she remained at her table, busy charming the men around her.

You couldn't back out now. Not after she'd placed this much faith in you.

The parking lot was quiet, a little farther from the beer house…the music fading into the distance. When he turned around, you gathered every ounce of courage you had left and greeted him with the sweetest smile you could muster.

Your mind raced, thoughts crashing into one another until only three remained.

First, find a way to slip the gold chain from around his neck. The wallet would come next, once he finally let his guard down.

Second, you were not going to fuck him. 

It didn't matter how broad his shoulders were, how unfairly handsome he looked, or how pretty his eyes became whenever he smiled.

Your hormones could cry about it later.

Third, whatever happened tonight... for the love of God, do not get caught.

He looked down at you, one brow lifting ever so slightly when he noticed the faint tremble in your legs.

"Get in."

He pulled the backseat door open for you, and you offered him a small, flirty smile before carefully slipping inside. 

The leather seat gave beneath your weight with a quiet creak, and for the briefest moment, you convinced yourself you'd have a second to steady your breathing, to gather the scattered pieces of your thoughts before facing him again.

The hope didn't last.

The car shifted as he climbed in after you, the door clicking shut behind him with a soft, final sound that seemed to swallow the last bit of space inside the cabin. 

Your pulse faltered, the hem of your dress had ridden higher than you'd intended, exposing far more of your thighs than you were comfortable with, the fabric inching dangerously close to revealing the lace of your panties. Every instinct urged you to smooth it back into place, but you stopped yourself.

Focus, Y/N! You need to seduce him!

You had barely opened your mouth, ready to deliver one of the corniest pickup lines Hanni had relentlessly drilled into your head, when his hand suddenly pulled your hair. 

Your lips parted in surprise as he tugged you toward him, leaving no room for hesitation before his lips crashed against yours.

A breathless whimper escaped you, your eyes widening for only a second before they fluttered shut. His fingers tightened around the hair above your nape, angling your head exactly how he wanted it, his kisses deep, hungry, and impatient.

The bitter trace of beer lingered on his tongue, flooding your senses until your thoughts blurred at the edges. Your body yielded without resistance, melting effortlessly against his as he drew you closer, the strength behind the movement making you feel almost weightless in his hold.

For a fleeting moment, you forgot your mission.

His tongue slipped against yours with practiced ease, stealing every coherent thought from your mind before instinct finally caught up. 

You slowly lifted your arms around his neck, your fingers threading through the softness of his hair as though simply indulging in the kiss. Then, careful not to rush…they drifted lower, brushing over the warm skin of his nape before gliding toward the necklace resting against his neck.

“Open your mouth wider,” he rasped, pulling away just enough to speak. A string of saliva stretched between your mouths as his other hand slid around your neck…his long, tattooed fingers wrapping firmly around your throat in a possessive grip.

Your eyes widened…one of your hands remained tangled behind his nape, your fingers still toying with the chain around his neck, desperately searching for the tiny clasp hidden beneath his hair. 

Too distracted to obey his request… he suddenly tugged your hair harder.

A startled gasp escaped your lips, and he seized the opportunity—his tongue slipping hot and messy into your parted mouth, kissing you with a hunger that left you no chance to catch your breath.

You barely kissed him back, surrendering to the pace he set as your mind gradually emptied. Somehow, through the dizziness clouding your head, your fingertips continued their quiet search along the cool metal resting against his skin, praying to find the clasp before he noticed.

“Mmph!”

A soft whimper caught in your throat when he bit down harshly on your lower lip. The hand around your neck tightened, his fingers pressing deeper into your throat until your breath hitched, the pressure almost choking you.

“What are you doing?” he groaned, pulling you away from his lips before effortlessly lifting your entire body onto his lap. 

Large hands settled on your hips, guiding your legs to either side of him until you were straddling him completely, your dress riding embarrassingly higher over your thighs in the process.

“Hmm?” you murmured, blinking up at him through hazy eyes, your lips swollen and glistening from his relentless kisses.

He tilted his head, studying you in silence. 

The intensity of his gaze made something tighten inside your chest. Your confidence, already hanging by a thread, began to unravel beneath his eyes alone, and without thinking, your hands abandoned the necklace altogether, drifting back into his hair as though that had been your intention from the very beginning.

“Kiss me back,” he rasped.

A quiet breath of relief nearly escaped your lips. He hadn't noticed.

You offered him the sweetest smile you could manage before leaning in again, your heart pounding so violently you were certain he could feel it through your chest. You kissed him as carefully as you could, trying to mimic the way he'd kissed you only moments ago, parting his lips with hesitant eagerness, hoping it looked natural enough to fool him.

To your surprise, he let you…he didn't take control or deepen the kiss. Instead, he simply let you explore him at your own pace.

Heat crept up your neck and settled across your cheeks, embarrassment blooming beneath your skin as the realization slowly dawned on you. 

He wasn't following your lead. 

“Baby...” he chuckled between kisses, his tattooed hand sliding up to cradle your jaw, holding your face steady with a firm grip. “You're not kissing me properly.”

Embarrassment rushed through your body so quickly it almost made you dizzy, your inexperience laid bare after only a few clumsy kisses. 

Determination quickly swallowed the humiliation. 

Before you could think twice, you leaned in again, kissing him with far more urgency than before, desperate to prove that you knew exactly what you were doing.

The moment he finally kissed you back, a breathless whimper nearly escaped you. 

He kissed you effortlessly, guiding the rhythm while you struggled to keep up, your breaths already turning shallow enough that you were certain you looked seconds away from hyperventilating.

Determined not to lose yourself completely, you bit down on his lower lip, earning a low, gravelly groan that vibrated against your mouth. The sound alone made your stomach flutter. Taking advantage of the distraction, your trembling hands drifted back to the chain around his neck, fingertips carefully searching beneath his hair for the tiny clasp.

Your eyes fluttered shut when he sucked on your tongue, warmth rushing across your ears and down your neck so quickly it almost burned. It was your first time being kissed like this—his kisses were shamelessly lewd, all heat and desperation. Saliva glistened between your mouths whenever he pulled away, only to capture your lower lip again with another lingering suck that stole the air from your lungs. 

Before long, the only sounds filling the car were the quiet, wet presses of your mouths and the uneven rhythm of your breathing.

You couldn't tell whether he was simply that good at kissing or if your lack of experience made every touch feel overwhelming. Either way, the way his hand remained wrapped around your jaw, firmly angling your head exactly where he wanted it, sent a shiver running down your spine.

A soft, helpless moan escaped your lips when you felt him spit into your mouth without breaking the kiss. The sensation sent heat unfurling through every inch of your body, your knees threatening to weaken even from where you sat on his lap. 

Your thoughts dissolved into a haze, and before you realized it, the fingers that had been so carefully searching for the clasp of his necklace had gone slack, your mission slipping further out of reach with every slow, lingering pull of his mouth.

“Grind on me.” he groaned.

Your eyes widened, before you could even process his words, both of his hands settled around the curve of your hips, guiding your body into a slow, deliberate roll against his lap.

“W-Wait—” 

His mouth found your neck, scattering soft, lingering kisses along the sensitive skin. Goosebumps rippled across your body as his lips traveled lower, his grip never once leaving your hips as he slowly rocked them back and forth, drawing helpless whimpers from your lips.

Heat rushed to your cheeks the moment you felt the firm outline of his hard cock pressing against the thin fabric of your panties.

“Roll your hips, baby.” he grunted.

His teeth grazed your neck before his tongue soothed the sting, the cool metal of his lip piercing dragging lightly over your throat.

Your eyes squeezed shut…losing yourself completely as you followed the guidance of his hands, the subtle throbs of his cock impossible to ignore through the layers separating your bodies.

“That’s it,” he praised, looking down at your rolling hips.

“Oh, gosh…” you moaned.

You couldn't comprehend how dirty and lewd this was, grinding against a stranger's cock while convincing yourself that you wouldn't fuck him.

His clothed mushroom tip grazed the apex between your thighs as he guided your hips through another slow rub, drawing a startled gasp from your lips. A wave of warmth unfurled low in your stomach, spreading until it settled heavily between your legs.

Fuck, you were getting so wet.

Your body burned with a growing tension you didn't know how to quiet. The fabric of your panties clung uncomfortably against your cunt. When his hands finally cupped your breasts over the thin fabric of your dress, a shaky breath caught in your throat. 

Your fingers instinctively clutched at his shoulders for balance as he continued to maneuver your body with effortless ease.

“Oh my-”

His lips trailed lower…you sucked in a sharp breath when they reached the swell of your cleavage, your heart stumbling the moment you caught sight of his tongue slipping between the soft curve of your breasts, tasting the narrow valley created by the tight fabric hugging your chest.

“Hmm... so soft,” he murmured.

Before you could even process the praise, he leaned back just enough to gather saliva in his mouth, his cheeks hollowing before he leaned down and let a warm bead of spit fall between your breasts. It slowly trailed down the center of your cleavage, disappearing beneath the neckline of your dress.

A startled gasp escaped you, the shamelessness of it sent another rush of heat coursing through your body.

“Spread my spit, baby.” his voice dropped into a teasing murmur as he brushed a lingering kiss against your cheek. “I want you messy.”

He never stopped guiding your hips, slow, patient rubs against his lap while he watched you expectantly.

You swallowed thickly. It felt as though your body had slipped into a trance, your thoughts muffled beneath the haze he'd wrapped around you. 

Almost absentmindedly, your fingers found the warmth between your breasts, gathering the wetness before slowly spreading his spit across the soft skin of your cleavage, his dark, heavy-lidded eyes following every hesitant movement.

Your gaze drifted downward, landing on the gold chain resting against his collarbone.

The necklace!

For a split second, you wanted to slap yourself. 

You'd become so hopelessly lost in him that you'd nearly forgotten why you were here in the first place.

Trying to keep up the act, you smiled and gathered the warm trace of his spit onto your fingertips before slowly bringing them to your lips. A flicker of nervousness stirred in your chest as you parted your lips, letting your tongue glide languidly over your damp fingers, never once breaking eye contact with him.

His lips parted. “You like it?”

You nodded. “Hmm…”

“Want more?” he cooed, his voice rough with satisfaction. 

Your cheeks heated, a little self-conscious under the way he stared at you before leaning in to kiss you again. You whimpered when he spat into your mouth while kissing you, trying to focus as your hands finally found the chain around his neck. Your fingers worked quickly beneath the curtain of his hair, your heart pounding so violently you feared he would hear it.

Then—the clasp gave. 

Relief crashed over you.

You carefully eased the necklace free, letting the chain slip from your fingers onto the leather seat beside you with a faint clink before your hands returned to brace against his chest. 

Your pulse hammered in your throat, so distracted by stealing the jewelry that you didn't feel his fingers hooking beneath the thin straps of your black dress until they were already sliding down. Cool air kissed your skin a second before you realized the straps had fallen from your shoulders, the dress bunched at your waist, your bra laid bare beneath his dark, hungry stare.

"Ohh—" a moan ripped from your lips when his hands grabbed your tits through the bra, his palms kneading the soft flesh as his fingers pinched and rolled your stiff nipples through the thin lace. 

"So pretty," he praised, his eyes never leaving the swell of your breasts spilling over the cups.

His hand slid behind your back, his fingers flicking the clasp open. Your bra sprang loose, your tits bouncing free, your nipples peaked and aching.

“Keep grinding, baby.” he rasped.

Your hips moved before your brain could catch up, rolling against his lap. His hard cock formed a thick ridge beneath his pants, pressing right against your soaked panties. 

The delicious friction made your cunt leak, slick pooling in the gusset as each slow roll of your hips rubbed your clit across his length until your panties clung to your wet, chubby slit.

“Mhm,” you whined as his mouth locked onto one nipple, his tongue lapping at the bud before sucking hard, his teeth scraping lightly while his other hand squeezed your breast, his fingers twisting the neglected nipple until it throbbed.

Wet sounds filled the car—the slurp of his mouth around your nipple and the squelch of your dripping cunt rubbing against his cock through the fabric. 

You forced yourself to look down, your heavy-lidded eyes searching for anything that might help you finish what you had come here to do. Then your thigh brushed against the square outline beneath the fabric of his pants.

His wallet.

You drew in a shaky breath before rolling your hips against him with a little more desperation. A low groan vibrated against your nipple the moment he felt the change in your rhythm, the sound sending another wave of heat through your body. 

A helpless whine slipped from your lips as your own hands wandered over him, trying to appear just as consumed by the moment. Your palms skimmed over his shoulders, down the firm planes of his chest, and lower still, making you swallow hard at the realization of just how toned he felt beneath your touch.

“Ouch,” you whimpered when his teeth suddenly bit into your nipple.

He only chuckled against your skin.

The sting disappeared beneath a lingering kiss before he lifted his head just enough to murmur.

“Slow down, baby. You're gonna make me cum.” 

The teasing words had barely left his lips before his attention shifted back to your breast, his mouth closing around the swollen nipple with harsh, eager suction that made your thighs instinctively tense around him.

Even through the layers of his pants, you could feel how big and hard he was beneath you, the firm outline of his thick cock pressing insistently against your soaked panties with every shallow movement. 

Fuck, focus Y/N.

His wallet had shifted dangerously close to the edge of his pocket, almost slipping free from the constant movement of your bodies.

You rolled your hips against him again…another soft moan escaping your lips as the friction sent a dizzying pulse of pleasure through you. 

“Oh my…” 

For a fleeting second, you almost forgot the wallet, your body threatening to lose the battle your mind was still desperately trying to win.

“Baby…” he groaned harshly.

His hands tightened around your waist, pinning your hips firmly in place before you could move against him again.

Confused, you instinctively tried to move again, but his hand beat you to it. It slipped between your thighs before firmly cupping your pussy over your soaked panties, his palm pressing against your wet cunt as his fingers slowly dragged against the damp fabric. A soft, unmistakable squelch filled the quiet cabin, and your breath caught in your throat.

“I said stay still, fuck.” he whispered, mercilessly squeezing your pussy through the thin fabric until another helpless moan spilled from your lips. 

Your eyes fluttered shut on instinct, your mouth falling open as his slow, deliberate touch only made you wetter, the soaked fabric sticking embarrassingly to your folds with every movement of his hand.

A startled gasp escaped you when his free hand suddenly rose to your face, firmly squeezing your cheeks together. 

“Keep your eyes open. Look at what I'm doing to you,” he commanded, his thumb finding your clit through the damp fabric and rubbing slow, lazy circles that sent a violent shiver through your body.

“Oh... gosh,” you whimpered, your voice barely above a breath. 

Your thoughts were beginning to dissolve all over again until something caught your eye.

His wallet had finally slipped free from his pocket, landing quietly on the leather seat beside him. Relief surged through you, and you almost smiled in triumph, the sight nearly distracting you from your mission's success.

Before you could dwell on it, he hooked a finger beneath the damp gusset of your panties, flipping the fabric aside just enough to expose your slick pussy. His fingertips returned, meeting your bare cunt directly, and the sudden skin-to-skin contact tore another breathless gasp from your lips.

Your eyes rolled back as his long fingers slowly rubbed against your sensitive cunt. The cool metal of his rings grazed your slit with every stroke, sending a sharp shiver through your body and drawing another helpless whimper from your throat.

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest. "Enjoying yourself?"

You could only nod, slow and breathless, your chest rising and falling beneath uneven breaths. Heat bloomed across your cheeks, your face burning from every filthy thing you had let him do to you.

"Yeah?" he murmured, his voice dropping into a whisper. "You like my fingers, baby?"

Before you could answer, his middle finger slowly pressed into your tight, untouched hole.

A broken whimper escaped you, your teeth sinking into your lower lip as your body instinctively tensed around the unfamiliar stretch. For a fleeting second, your hand nearly came up to push him away, your inexperience heightening every overwhelming sensation. But he caught your face first, his fingers tightening around your cheeks, forcing your gaze back to him.

He inhaled softly before hollowing his cheeks, gathering saliva in his mouth, then leaned closer and messily spat between your parted lips.

"Swallow."

You obeyed without hesitation, your throat bobbing as you swallowed, your walls fluttering tightly around his finger at the command.

His hand slipped lower, lifting the hem of your skirt before his gaze settled between your thighs. He watched with quiet fascination as his finger slowly disappeared inside your virgin hole before drawing back out again, only to repeat the motion at an unhurried pace.

"You're so tight, baby." he tilted his head, his eyes never leaving your pussy. "When was the last time you fucked?"

The question alone nearly brought tears to your eyes, embarrassment burning through you just as intensely as the confusing mixture of pain and pleasure his touch continued to pull from your body.

“L-Long time ago.” 

As if Y/N! 

He licked his lower lip, a quiet whimper slipping past your lips as the pad of his middle finger reached deeper inside your warm tight hole. His movements remained slow until his fingertip brushed against your spongy spot, the sharp ache of the stretch gradually melting into a pleasure so warm it made your body soften around him.

"Aww, is that why you're so tight, baby?” he whispered.

God, this was so wrong.

“Maybe you need me to stretch your hole again, hmm?" he cooed, lowering his head until his lips wrapped around your swollen nipple, sucking gently while his finger continued to work deeper into your tight cunt.

"Y-Yes," you mumbled incoherently, your rational thoughts dissolving as your hips instinctively rolled forward, chasing the slow rhythm of his finger.

The moment he felt you move, his free hand settled firmly around your waist, stilling you with ease. He released your nipple with a soft pop before a quiet chuckle escaped him, his dark eyes lifting to meet yours with unmistakable amusement.

"Patience, baby. I'm still having fun."

A pout tugged at your lips, ready to answer back, but the words never came. His left hand slipped between your thighs instead, slowly parting your folds before drawing back the hood revealing your glistening clit, exposing it completely beneath his dark gaze.

"Wanna suck this clit so bad," he whispered, his gaze fixed between your thighs as your clit pulsed beneath the weight of his stare.

He leaned down and spat over it, a slow trail of saliva slipping down your slit until it met the middle finger buried inside your hole. A helpless whimper caught in your throat, your eyes squeezing shut as he spread the saliva over your exposed clit with slow, pressured strokes, every messy rub sending another wave of pleasure through your body.

Both of his hands were devoted to you now. His tattooed fingers continued to work your tight hole with an unhurried rhythm while his other hand circled your swollen clit, spreading your growing wetness together with his saliva. His eyes never left your cunt, watching every tiny twitch, every shiver that rippled through you as though he wanted to memorize your pulsating pussy.

"You wanna cum?" he asked, lifting a brow as he watched your chest rise and fall with uneven breaths. His middle finger emerged coated in a thick ring of your white milky juices before disappearing back inside you, while your legs trembled uncontrollably beneath every slow sweep of his thumb across your swollen clit.

You nodded desperately, “Y-Yes…”

He pursed his lips, studying you for a long moment.

"You sure?"

"P-Please," you pleaded, your hips instinctively rolling in search of more.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" a small smile tugged at his lips, though there wasn't a trace of humor behind it.

Confusion barely had the chance to settle before he slowly inserted a second finger into your cunt.

A loud moan tore from your throat as the sudden stretch stole the air from your lungs. His fingers paused only briefly, allowing your body to adjust before they began to move together, scissoring you open with slow, rhythmic strokes while his other hand never stopped rubbing your clit.

The lingering ache of the stretch gradually melted beneath the mounting pleasure, your body surrendering to it completely. Your thighs quivered uncontrollably around his hand, your back arching as your orgasm crashed through you. Your eyes rolled back, your walls fluttering helplessly around his fingers while wave after wave of pleasure left your entire body trembling.

“Well done, baby.” he praised.

Even after the intensity began to ebb, your cunt continued to pulse around him, your legs still shaking from the aftershocks.

Only when your breathing had become nothing more than uneven gasps did he slowly withdraw his fingers from your hole, drawing another helpless whimper from your lips as the sudden emptiness met your lingering sensitivity.

Then he leaned in, his teeth grazed the shell of your ear in a soft bite before his lips brushed against it.

"I’m so proud." he whispered.

As your gaze drifted downward, it caught on the slight opening of his wallet, the sight striking you like a quiet reminder of why you had approached him in the first place.

Your fucking mission.

You bit down hard on your lower lip, gathering what little composure remained before forcing the words past your throat.

"C-Can I drink some water? I'm kinda thirsty," you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper. Your thighs were still trembling from your release, your heart pounding so loudly against your chest that you were certain he could hear it.

You expected him to refuse…Instead, he simply nodded.

"Hmm sure, baby. Let me get it for you."

His tongue swept across his lower lip before he gently tucked a few loose strands of hair away from your flushed cheeks, his touch unexpectedly tender as his eyes lingered on yours.

You swallowed hard, relief flooding through your body so quickly it almost made you dizzy.

"I'll wait for you here," you said with a small smile, leaning forward just enough to steal a quick kiss from his lips before he stood.

His eyes narrowed, smiling a little, but there was something in them that you couldn't quite pinpoint.

The moment he climbed out of the car, shutting the door behind him before disappearing into the noisy beer house in search of a bottle of water, you sprang into action. 

You quickly fixed your dress before reaching for the thick gold necklace that had slipped onto the leather seat during everything that had happened between the two of you. Your fingers wrapped around it before darting toward his wallet, still resting exactly where you had dropped it after deliberately sitting on it when you asked for water. 

Your pulse thundered in your ears as your gaze frantically swept across the interior of the car, searching for anything else of value. It didn't take long before your eyes landed on a small, heavy bag tucked beneath the passenger seat. 

Without wasting another second—or even bothering to look more....you snatched it as well, clutching the necklace, the wallet, and the bag tightly against your chest before quietly pushing the car door open.

With shaky, trembling hands, you slipped out of the vehicle and hurried toward the nearest sprawling tree beside the parking lot, its thick trunk shielding you from anyone who might glance in your direction. Only then did you allow yourself to stop, your chest rising and falling with uneven breaths as you hugged your stolen belongings close, desperately trying to calm the frantic pounding of your heart. 

The necklace alone felt expensive in your hands, its weight unmistakable, and you couldn't help but admire the rich gleam of the gold beneath the parking lot lights. 

This has to be high-karat. 

Your eyes practically sparkled at the thought, relief and triumph swelling inside your chest as you silently congratulated yourself. You had actually managed to steal from him without getting fucked... and without getting caught.

Almost.

A small smile tugged at your lips as you slipped the thick gold necklace into your pocket, the reassuring weight of it pressing against your thigh. 

Your attention soon drifted to the heavy bag you had grabbed from beneath the seat, curiosity getting the better of you. You crouched beneath the tree and slowly pulled the zipper open, your brows knitting together at the sight of something black and metallic nestled inside. 

Frowning, you reached to get a better look, only for your breath to catch in your throat.

It was a gun. 

What the fuck?

Your hands instantly began to shake. The bag slipped from your grasp, hitting the ground with a heavy thud that echoed far louder than it should have in the quiet of the parking lot. 

You stared at it in horror before your gaze darted to the wallet still clutched tightly against your chest, your pulse pounding so violently it made your fingers numb.

"Oh God... this is a bad idea," you whispered to yourself, panic clawing its way up your throat.

For one reckless moment, you considered running back, returning the necklace, the wallet, the bag….everything—and pretending none of this had ever happened. 

Maybe you could leave them inside his car before he noticed. Maybe you could still walk away.

But it was already too late.

If there was one thing Hanni had drilled into your head from the very beginning, it was this: once you stole something, you never gave it back. Going back wasn't bravery—it was stupidity. 

And stupidity was exactly how thieves got caught.

With trembling hands, you slowly opened his wallet, your brows immediately knitting together when an identification card tucked behind a gleaming gold badge came into view. 

Your stomach dropped. This wasn't a wallet at all—it was a badge holder. 

A cold chill crept down your spine as your fingers shakily flipped the leather, your eyes scanning every detail printed across the identification. The words blurred together at first, your racing heart making it impossible to focus, until your gaze landed on the line that mattered most.

CITY POLICE DEPARTMENT

Rank: Captain  | Name: Jeon Jungkook

For a long, terrifying second, your mind went completely blank, your pulse pounding so violently it drowned out every sound around you. 

"F-Fuck! Oh God—fuck!"

The words tumbled out in a frantic whisper as your hands shook so violently you could barely keep hold of the badge holder. 

Your breathing grew shallow, your mind racing through every possible escape, each one ending worse than the last. 

You stared at the polished badge in horror, your heart threatening to beat straight out of your chest, when the sound of approaching footsteps suddenly reached your ears.

Panic surged through your body, and you instinctively turned, ready to run for your life, but a firm hand wrapped around your wrist before you could take a single step.

"Where are you going?" he asked with a quiet chuckle from behind you, amusement lacing his voice.

You froze.

Your gaze remained fixed straight ahead, too terrified to look back at him. Cold sweat trickled down your spine as your heartbeat thundered in your ears. 

The heavy bag still lay on the ground at your feet. The gold necklace weighed against your pocket. And clutched tightly between your trembling fingers was his badge holder, still opened to the identification that had shattered every ounce of confidence you had only moments ago.

You had been fucking caught.

Not just by any random stranger. 

But by a goddamn police captain.

"I got your water, baby," he said, his voice coated in quiet amusement. You flinched the moment the cold bottle brushed against the back of your thighs, the chill a cruel contrast to the heat of your panic.

"O-Officer, I—"

"You forgot something, didn't you?" he whispered against your ear, his grip never loosening around your wrist. 

The bottle of water lazily traced the length of your trembling thigh, as though he had all the time in the world.

Your eyes squeezed shut, your legs threatened to give out beneath you, hot tears gathering until they spilled freely down your cheeks. Every frantic thought crashed into the next, leaving you unable to form a single coherent sentence.

He leaned in even closer, his warm breath ghosting just below your ear.

"You forgot my wallet, baby." his voice dropped into a slow drawl. "That's my badge holder."

A broken sob caught in your throat. Your future flashed before your eyes in vivid, terrifying fragments. 

You could already see the cold metal of handcuffs locking around your wrists, the flashing red and blue lights, the backseat of a patrol car, a holding cell, your family finding out, your future slipping through your fingers before you had even been given the chance to fight for it. Everything you had worked so hard for, every dream you had stubbornly clung to despite your circumstances, all of it seemed to crumble into pieces in the span of a few unbearable seconds.

You had just thrown your entire life away.

“P-Please, I-’’

"Is my poor baby too dumb, or does that pretty little head of yours just want to get fucked?"

You shook your head frantically, tears spilling faster down your cheeks. "N-No, no, Officer, please... I'm sorry. It was a mistake—"

A startled gasp escaped you when he suddenly spun you around, your back pressing against the rough bark of the tree. Your tear-clouded eyes instantly met his dark ones, the amusement lingering in them only making the panic clawing at your chest grow worse.

He raised a brow, studying your face for a long, agonizing moment.

"Aww, look at you…so scared, baby." he cooed.

“I-I’m sorry-”

“Want me to give you a chance?’’ he tilted his head.

Hope bloomed inside your chest so suddenly it almost hurt.

Jungkook took another step forward, his broad frame caging you against the tree until there was nowhere left to run. Your entire body trembled beneath his gaze, your heart pounding so violently you could barely hear yourself think, and you looked up at him with desperate, pleading eyes, clinging to the smallest possibility that he might actually let you go.

"P-Please, Officer… I-I'm sorry..." you stammered, the words tumbling over one another in your haste. "I-I know it was wrong, a-and that—"

‘’Run.” 

Your lips parted in disbelief.

"W-What?"

He slowly licked his lower lip, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth that carried no warmth whatsoever. Stepping closer until there wasn't even a breath of space left between you, he brushed the pad of his thumb across your trembling lips, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Run, baby. Run as fast as you can.” his voice dropped into a low murmur, his tone as though he were talking to a child. "And when I catch you, I'm gonna take you to prison. I'll fuck you every day behind those rusty metal bars. I'll use your tight little pussy until your hole is gaping and leaking. Maybe I'll even let my comrades fuck you too. We'll take turns fucking that slutty, manipulative pussy of yours."

Desperation made people do reckless things. 

It silenced reason, drowned out fear, and left nothing behind but the instinct to survive.

You spun around and bolted before your mind had the chance to catch up, your legs carrying you as fast as they could through the dimly lit streets. Instead of following the brighter roads, you veered into the narrow, shadowed alleyways, your panicked thoughts convincing you that the light was far more dangerous than the dark. 

People could help you—but the moment they learned why you were running, they wouldn't see a terrified woman. 

They would see a thief.

A criminal…and they would hand you right back to him.

Your lungs burned, each desperate breath sharper than the last, your feet throbbing against the unforgiving pavement as you forced yourself to keep going. When a tall chain-link fence came into view, fear surged through your exhausted body. You stumbled toward it, your shaking hands already reaching for the metal, frantically searching for a way to climb over it.

You never got the chance.

A powerful hand suddenly seized both of your wrists from behind, wrenching them backward before you could react. A startled cry tore from your throat as your body was dragged away from the fence, only to be slammed against it a heartbeat later.

 “L-Let me go!” you cried.

The rough metal dug painfully into your cheek, your breath knocked from your lungs as he forced your arms higher behind your back. Then you heard it—

A sharp metallic click…cold steel closed around your wrist.

You were handcuffed.

He secured the other cuff around the metal fence, leaving your wrists restrained above your head. The cold steel bit into your skin as you instinctively struggled against it, your cheek pressed harshly against the chain-link, the rough metal scraping your flushed skin every time you tried to pull away. The handcuffs refused to budge, each desperate tug only making them dig in deeper.

"N-No... no, please," you cried, your voice breaking into helpless sobs.

Instead of hurting you, he reached up and gently combed a few loose strands of hair away from your face, the unexpected tenderness making your entire body flinch. His fingers lingered for a moment, idly twirling a lock of your hair around them before giving it a soft tug.

"Shh, it’s okay…" he said in a mocking tone.

"I-I’m sorry, please…I’ll do anything—"

The plea died on your lips when you felt him lower himself behind you.

“Anything, baby?” he whispered.

He settled onto one knee before slowly gathering the hem of your dress, inch by inch, until your damp panties were fully exposed beneath the cool night air. His large hands slid down to your thighs, spreading your legs apart with an effortless firmness that left your body trembling against the restraint. 

Your eyes widened as you pulled uselessly at the handcuffs, your legs instinctively trying to close, but there was nowhere to go. A warm tongue suddenly pressed against the fabric between your thighs, dragging slowly over your sticky panties.

His nose remained buried in your tight hole, drawing in a slow, deep breath as though savoring every scent of you. His tongue dragged languidly along your slit from behind, the damp fabric of your panties doing little to dull the sensation.

"O-Oh gosh-" you cried, fresh tears spilling down your flushed cheeks as you felt him inhale against your clothed cunt again. His tongue swept over you once more, leaving your panties even wetter than before.

“Let me play with you.” he murmured before diving in.

You bit down hard on your lip, another wave of warmth pooling between your thighs despite yourself. More tears slipped from your eyes, the overwhelming pleasure tangling with the fear coursing through your body.

I am not enjoying this, I am not-

A low groan rumbled behind you as he spread your legs farther apart. His pointed nose brushed against your puckered hole, inhaling deeply. 

You craned your neck to look around, but there was no one in sight. Only the lonely yellow glow of a streetlamp stretched across the empty street, casting long shadows around the two of you.

When he flipped your panties aside, you instinctively tried to close your legs, but a startled gasp escaped your lips as his palm suddenly came down against your inner thigh with a sharp smack, the sting urging your legs back open for him.

“Open up for me, baby. Let me taste your little pussy,” he murmured, giving your thigh another light tap as he silently coaxed you to spread yourself wider.

You were getting wetter, but the thought of someone's tongue directly against your pussy was beyond your virgin imagination.

When you still didn't move, a quiet chuckle rumbled in his chest.

You felt him rise behind you, the warmth of his body disappearing for only a brief moment before the unmistakable click of metal made your breath hitch. Before you even had the chance to turn your head, the cold barrel of the gun was pressed against your temple.

A broken cry caught in your throat, your entire body trembling. 

“W-What-”

"Spread your legs."

His voice was firm, leaving no room for hesitation. The barrel pressed more insistently against your temple, and with another shaky sob, your knees slowly fell farther apart.

A satisfied hum vibrated from his chest. Only then did he pull the gun away, tucking it back into the holster at the back of his belt before lowering himself between your thighs once more. His hands wrapped around them, holding you open exactly how he wanted, and the moment he buried his face between your legs, a deep groan escaped him.

“Oh, gosh!” you moaned.

You were already leaking, his broad tongue dragged slowly up and down your chubby, swollen folds before slipping between them, teasing your slit as it delved deeper, massaging your inner walls with slow, deliberate strokes that only left you wetter.

“Pretty.” he leaned back and spat onto your cunt, watching the thick strand of saliva mingle with your slick wetness. “Do you regret what you did, baby?”

His fingers hooked beneath your outer lips, spreading them apart just enough to watch his saliva disappear deeper into your cunt. He spat again, his gaze fixed on the way it slipped between your folds, leaving your sensitive inner walls glistening.

“Y-Yes,” you moaned shamelessly, the torture only making you wetter.

“Would you let me do anything I want?” he asked, staring at your fluttering cunt.

You bit your lip, feeling your milky juices drip from every degrading thing he'd been saying to you.

“Yes.” you said in a tiny voice.

He chuckled, “You wanted to be used like this, didn't you?” 

He leaned in, his tongue flattening as he licked from your perineum to your clit in one slow, vulgar stroke, spreading his spit until his own drool began to trail down his chin. 

“You wanted this…you sat on my lap, ground your filthy cunt against my cock, acted like a good little decoy so you could rob me. But your hole's been thanking me the whole time, hasn't it?”

You shut your eyes tightly when you felt him continuously spitting on your cunt, your pussy was getting so wet that you felt it dripping on your inner thighs down to your ankles.

He held your folds apart, leaving you completely exposed for his hungry gaze. Leaning back, he watched the way they trembled and pulsed beneath his eyes before leaning down again, his tongue already darting out to lap up every drop of your juices. Each time he swallowed, he would only spit over you again, coating you until you were slick enough for him to start all over.

Your eyes widened as the muzzle of the gun pressed against your inner thigh, cool, unforgiving steel sending a shiver through your body. It slowly slid higher until it settled against your entrance, the tip quickly growing slick with your wetness.

"O-Officer—"

“Shh, you wanted me to catch you, didn’t you? To rape your thief little pussy.” he mocked, his eyes fixed on the way the tip of the gun glistened with your milky juices as he slowly dragged it up and down your chubby slit.

Desperation was a frightening thing. 

It stripped away reason piece by piece until all that remained was the helpless anticipation of whatever came next.

When you didn't answer, too absorbed in the feeling of the foreign gun against your pussy, he pressed it harder against you, drawing a pained whimper from your lips as tears stung your eyes.

"Answer me when I'm talking to you," he said firmly, applying just a little more pressure.

"Y-Yes," you whimpered.

He tilted his head. "Yes, what?"

You bit your lip. "Y-Yes, O-Officer."

He hummed in approval before pulling the gun away. His tongue darted out to taste the tip, sucking your wetness from the cold metal before releasing it with a soft pop.

A low groan rumbled from his chest as he buried himself between your thighs once more, diving back into your exposed pussy with relentless hunger. The obscene sounds of slurping, sucking, and the occasional spit echoed through the place, each one making you feel weaker, more helpless beneath him.

You bit down hard on your lip as you felt your orgasm creeping closer. You tried to hold it back, to keep control, but your body betrayed you. 

Every flick of his tongue, every slow suck, every warm trail of spit sent another wave of pleasure crashing through you, making your pussy convulse beneath his tongue. 

“F-Fuck-” you whimpered.

Your thighs trembled uncontrollably, your arms ached against the restraints, and your eyes rolled back as the pulsing sensation deep within you grew stronger with every passing second. You wanted to pull away from his mouth, to escape the overwhelming pleasure, but his grip remained firm, holding you exactly where he wanted as he sucked out every last tremor, refusing to let you move even as the overstimulation left your body trembling.

“Mhm, you taste so good, baby,” he whispered, leaning back just enough to pinch your folds together, as though squeezing every last drop of your milky white juices from your pussy before leaning in again to catch it on his tongue.

A helpless whimper escaped your lips. Your legs were on the verge of giving out beneath you, your arms still held captive by the restraints while your pussy throbbed with overwhelming sensitivity. As he rose to his feet, his palm landed against your cunt in a careless slap, making you flinch before he lazily wiped the sheen of your juices from the corner of his mouth.

His hand found your hair again, fingers threading through the strands before tightening into a firm fist. He tugged until your head tipped back, exposing the line of your throat, and his lips brushed against your tear-dampened cheek.

“Wanna steal more, baby?”

His grip twisted tighter, pulling your head back until your neck arched painfully. 

He slowly dragged his tongue along the salty trail of your tears, licking your cheek with slow strokes, savoring the taste of your cries as another quiet hum of approval rumbled in his chest.

You whimpered, your body trembling as you felt the hard outline of his clothed bulge press against the plush of your ass. He slowly ground his erection against you, a low grunt vibrating beneath your ear while his hand kept a firm hold on your hair, tugging your head back just enough for him to suck and leave harsh bites along your neck.

“What do you want, baby?” he whispered, grinding his cock more firmly against your bare ass. “My money? My jewelry?”

“O-Officer-”

His fist tightened in your hair, forcing another helpless whimper from your lips as he dragged his tongue along your throat, feeling the way you swallowed hard beneath him. “You wanted all of it, didn't you?”

His teeth sank into your neck once more as his clothed bulge rutted harder against the cleft of your ass, the seam of his pants catching against your skin with every slow roll of his hips. At the same time, his free hand slipped beneath your dress, yanking the fabric higher before grabbing a full handful of your bare ass, his fingers digging into the soft flesh hard enough to leave bruises.

"My pretty, pretty thief," he praised, pressing a kiss to your cheek as his hips rolled against you with even more force.

He wrenched his pants open just enough for his hard cock to spring free, the heated length slapping against one ass cheek before the other. Pre-cum glistened over the swollen tip as he slowly ground the shaft along the plush curve of your ass, coating your skin with every deliberate roll of his hips.

"Feel that? I'm so hard for you, baby."

A helpless mewl slipped past your lips as you weakly shook your head, your entire body trembling while he continued rubbing against your ass.

“Fuck, you make me so fucking horny.” he grunted.

Your cheeks burned crimson, the same flush spreading across your neck, and another whimper escaped you when he suddenly jerked your head back by the hair. 

"Grind back, baby, or I'll fuck this tight little ass of yours."

You cried harder, your body trembling as you reluctantly began to move your ass against his cock. A deep groan escaped him, his right hand settling firmly on your hip as he looked down, watching the way his hard length slid slowly through the cleft of your ass with every hesitant grind.

He spat over the curve of your ass for added lubrication, and a helpless cry caught in your throat when you felt the warm saliva land against your puckered rim. Despite the humiliation, your pussy only grew wetter.

His tattooed hand suddenly snaked around your waist, trailing lower until it reached your cunt. You gasped as his fingers cupped your pussy before hooking between your folds, spreading your lips apart into a lewd V-shape for him to admire.

“Look down and watch your clit, baby.” he rasped, tilting your head down so your gaze fell between your legs.

“P-Please...” you croaked, your body growing weaker by the second, your pussy aching for more even as the rest of you threatened to give out.

“Wanna be fucked so bad, huh?”

You gasped as his middle finger suddenly pushed between the V-shaped hold of his fingers, slipping inside your tight cunt. Your walls fluttered helplessly around the thick digit as he slowly worked it deeper.

“Oh! Mhmp!” you screamed.

His cock left your ass, the slick tip dragging slowly down until it notched against your entrance, smearing pre-cum and his spit over your swollen folds.

“Gonna fuck you good, baby…you’ve been a very bad girl.” he yanked your hair, tilting your head back as his tongue traced a slow path from your neck to the shell of your ear. “Need to fuck some sense into you, hmm?’’

“Mhmp!” you whimpered.

“Shh... moan for me, baby. It'll feel good.” his finger pressed deeper one last time, stretching your walls before he slowly withdrew it. The emptiness lasted only a heartbeat before he replaced it with the thick, leaking head of his cock, nudging its way against your entrance.

“Ahhh!” you screamed at the sudden stretch, his thick cock forcing its way into your tight pussy until you could feel every pulsing vein dragging against your walls as he pushed deeper.

He thrust halfway, then stopped, watching your cunt spasm around him, a thin ribbon of milky white release clinging to his shaft like a ring. 

“Fuck, you’re so tight.” he slowly pulled back before driving into you harder, bottoming out in one deep thrust, his pelvis slamming against your ass hard enough to make the fence rattle.

“Need to use this cunt every day. Maybe I’ll let my comrades fuck this tight little cunt so they can loosen you up for me, yeah?” he grunted, pushing even deeper until his balls rested snug against your cunt, the coarse hair at the base of his cock brushing against the curve of your ass with every shallow grind.

“U-Ugh, p-please...” you screamed, trying to wriggle, but he only answered with a low grunt against your ear. Then, without warning, he withdrew his cock completely.

For one fleeting moment, you thought he was finally going to let you go.

But your eyes widened the instant you heard the unmistakable clink of his leather belt being unclasped.

Your eyes widened as you felt him wrap the leather around your neck, fastening it just snug enough for him to tug whenever your cries grew too loud, cutting off your words with every sharp pull.

“Behave, baby.” he chuckled, easing himself inside you once more while keeping a firm grip on the belt for leverage. Every now and then, he gave it another deliberate tug, silencing your screams as his hips continued to drive into you.

The moment his hips began to roll against yours, your eyes fluttered back, pleasure blooming beneath the sting until you couldn't tell where one ended and the other began. 

“O-Oh, O-Officer!” a shaky sob escaped your lips, born as much from the humiliation as the sensation itself. Your pussy ached for more, clenching helplessly around his thick girth, betraying you with every pulse.

A quiet chuckle rumbled from behind you. His arm slid around your waist, holding you firmly against him as he circled his hips into yours, each relentless thrust threatening to lift your body off your feet.

“Is my baby enjoying this?” he whispered, giving the leather another measured yank, just enough to cut your sob short. The strap bit into the flushed skin of your throat as his hips snapped forward again, his balls slapping wetly against your cunt with every forceful thrust.

“This is turning you on, huh?”

You shook your head, but your pussy only grew wetter, your cries slowly dissolving into helpless moans as he continued to fuck you from behind.

“Want me to stop?” he whispered.

“N-No, Officer.” you whimpered, tears slipping down your cheeks as you gave a slow, trembling shake of your head.

“Yeah? You like getting used?”

He gave the belt another sharp tug, cutting off your whimpers before loosening it just enough to let a broken moan spill from your lips. Then he drove into you even deeper, his mushroom tip grinding against your spongy walls until you could feel your own milky juices coating his shaft.

"Gonna lock you up in a cell, baby… you'll be the precinct's little fucktoy."

The moment his thick head brushed against your g-spot, your entire body spasmed around his cock. A harsh groan tore from his throat as your walls clamped down on him, forcing him to pull out almost immediately. His movements turned urgent, one hand fumbling for the keys clipped to his belt while the other steadied you. Your hazy eyes fluttered shut as you felt the handcuffs finally come undone from your wrists.

You thought he was done.

A weak gasp escaped your lips when he suddenly flipped you over to face him, your exhausted arms falling limply to your sides as he stripped away the rest of your dress. Without a word, he lifted you with effortless strength and pinned you against the cold metal fence before guiding his hard cock back inside you. A broken whimper slipped from your throat at the oversensitivity left behind by your previous orgasm, your body instinctively tensing around him as his mouth found your exposed nipples, sucking them greedily while he chased his own release.

Your body bounced helplessly with every powerful thrust, like a toy being used exactly as he pleased. Your tongue nearly lolled from your parted lips, your mind reduced to nothing but scattered pleasure as his larger frame manhandled yours with ease. Low grunts and strained moans vibrated against your swollen nipples, each sound muffled by the way his mouth refused to leave them.

A rough growl tore from his throat as his climax finally overtook him. You felt the thick warmth of his release spilling deep inside your already used hole, his hips continuing to roll against yours in slow, deep motions, as though determined to push every last drop of his cum even deeper. 

“Fuck, baby,” his teeth sank into the soft flesh of your breast, the sharp sting blending seamlessly with the lingering waves of pleasure coursing through your body.

Some of it trickled down the insides of your thighs, warm against your skin. Your eyes fluttered, barely able to stay open…your body hanging limply in his grasp.

When he finally set you back on your feet, your legs nearly gave out beneath you. Before you could steady yourself, he was already kneeling between your thighs again, firmly spreading them apart as though he hadn't just reduced them to trembling. 

“W-Wait-” you panicked.

A helpless cry escaped your lips when his mouth found your swollen pussy once more, lapping up the mixture of his release and your milky wetness, slurping every drop with relentless hunger. The overstimulation sent your body reeling, your clit already so unbearably sensitive that the moment his tongue slid upward to wrap around it, your pussy pulsed against his mouth, another orgasm crashing through you before you could stop it.

He looked up at you with heavy lidded eyes, watching every twitch and shudder that overtook your body as you came around his mouth. 

You could see the way his cheeks hollowed with every slow suck on your clit, and somehow the sight of his discarded gun and badge lying carelessly on the floor beside him made the moment feel even dirtier—

A police officer on his knees, devotedly eating out the very thief he had caught.

Only when he was satisfied did he rise to his feet. His hand slipped into your hair, gently tugging you toward him until his lips claimed yours, letting you taste yourself on his tongue as he kissed you with greedy desperation. Your eyelids grew heavy, your knees threatening to buckle again, your body barely able to remain upright.

You flinched when you felt his hardened cock brush against your inner thighs even as he continued kissing you, a wave of panic surging through your exhausted body. Your pussy already felt swollen and unbearably sensitive, every nerve still humming from the relentless orgasms he had pulled from you.

As though sensing the fear creeping into your expression, he let out a low chuckle, slowly pulling away from your lips to study your face.

"Aww, is my baby tired?" he cooed, the words dripping with mock honey as he nudged your chin upward. 

You shook your head, your body instinctively yielding to whatever he was going to do next.

The corner of his mouth twitched before he bit down on his lower lip, your quiet submission enough to make his cock throb.

"Kneel for me."

Your knees trembled beneath you as you slowly lowered yourself, a startled gasp escaping your lips the moment the swollen tip dragged a lazy streak of pre-cum across your cheek.

"Open up, baby…daddy's not done." he gathered your hair into one hand with a gentleness that belonged to a lover rather than the man standing before you, tilting your face toward his groin, a smile tugging at his lips that never quite reached the darkness in his eyes.

"Clean up the mess you made, hmm? Open wide for Officer."

The swollen head nudged past your lips, and a mock-pitying sigh slipped from him as your mouth slowly yielded around his cock, your tongue flattening instinctively beneath the weight before a helpless gag caught in your throat.

"There, there," he murmured, his fingers absentmindedly stroking your hair. "Suck nice and slow, pretty girl."

He began to rock his hips into your mouth in slow, shallow thrusts, while his free hand continued to pet your hair with a tenderness so painfully at odds with the degradation spilling from his lips.

"That's it, baby," he praised softly. "Tongue flat, like the dumb, cute slut you are."

He pushed his cock deeper until the swollen mushroom tip nudged the back of your throat, the prominent veins along his shaft dragging against the roof of your mouth with every slow thrust, the upward curve making each movement reach even deeper.

"I can give you everything you want, baby," he whispered, a groan slipping past his lips as his thrusts gradually became sloppier, his grip on your hair tightening with every push. Saliva gathered at the corners of your mouth as you fought the urge to choke, wet, muffled gargles escaping your throat each time he buried himself deeper. Your eyes burned, quickly turning red as tears pooled along your lash line.

He cradled your hair once more, the tenderness of the gesture clashing with the relentless pace of his hips.

"I can provide for you... spoil you with all of my money," he murmured, easing himself forward until your nose brushed against the coarse hair at his pelvis. 

He held your face snugly in place for a brief moment before slowly rolling his hips, then gently pulled you back just enough to let you catch your breath, his saliva-slick cock dragging across your flushed cheeks.

"Do you want that?" he asked, tilting his head as he lazily ground his cock against your swollen cheek.

You nodded eagerly, your tear-filled eyes never leaving his.

He chuckled, giving your cheek a light tap with the head of his cock. "Do you understand me, baby?"

You pouted…your cheeks burning red, your eyes swollen, your lips wet with his precum. 

“Mhm..” 

“Mhm?” he chuckled.

He bit his lower lip as he stared down at you, quietly admiring the mess he'd made. “Cute.” 

Without warning, he yanked your head forward until he was fully seated inside your mouth, your nose pressed into his pubic hair as his balls slapped against your chin with each shallow roll of his hips.

"Gurk—gurk—"

You choked around him, tears immediately spilling down your cheeks, but the only response he gave was a deep groan as he slowly began to fuck your face, each thrust forcing another muffled gargle from your throat.

"Fuck, baby...I'm gonna cum."

He pulled out just enough to lean down and spit onto your tongue before pushing his cock back into your mouth in one smooth thrust, the loose belt still hanging around your neck, its end dragging through the dirt every time your head was forced forward.

You gagged helplessly around him, your cheeks hollowing as your eyes rolled back, your head rocking back and forth with every relentless thrust while he used your mouth however he pleased. And when you felt his rhythm begin to falter, his thrusts growing rougher and increasingly sloppy, he suddenly pulled free with a low groan. Before you could even catch your breath, he hauled you to your feet, one arm wrapped firmly around your body as he guided his cock against your cunt, his other hand positioning himself before pushing his hard cock back into your tight hole.

“I’m gonna cum inside baby, a reward for being a good little toy for daddy.”

A broken cry escaped your lips as he buried himself to the hilt, his body shuddering the moment he came. Thick, warm spurts filled you one after another while your body trembled from the lingering overstimulation, his hips continuing to jerk and roll against yours as he emptied every last drop inside you.

"These are worth thousands, Y/N! Oh my God."

Hanni's eyes widened in utter disbelief, her gaze sweeping across the worn wooden table as though she couldn't decide which stolen treasure to look at first.

A thick leather wallet, its compartments stuffed with crisp bills. Heavy gold necklaces lay tangled together beside matching rings, each piece gleaming with the unmistakable richness of high-karat gold. A limited-edition watch rested nearby, its polished face catching the kitchen light with every slight movement. And a duffel bag overflowed with expensive perfumes, bottle after bottle worth more than most people's monthly salary.

A slow smile tugged at your lips as your gaze wandered over Jungkook's belongings scattered across the table.

You never told Hanni that you'd gotten caught. 

Instead, you let her believe everything had gone according to plan.

Desperation has a way of rewriting your morals. It convinces good people to cross lines they once swore they would never touch, somehow making it feel like the only choice left.

He had given you far more than you had ever planned on stealing.

Tucked beneath your bed, hidden inside an old shoebox, were stacks of cash and signed checks worth enough to keep you comfortable for a long while—buying you the time to find a better path for yourself.

You hadn't even told Hanni about them.

Not because you didn't trust her, but because you knew the moment she saw that kind of money, questions would follow. Questions you couldn't answer without admitting where it had come from. So you kept the cash hidden, the checks tucked safely beneath it, and carried the secret alone.

He still hadn't turned you over to the authorities, even though it was painfully obvious he'd known exactly what kind of person you were from the very beginning.

From the moment he'd let you reach for the clasp of his necklace, he'd already known.

No high-ranking police officer—especially not a captain…would've failed to notice what you were trying to do. He had seen through you from the very beginning, long before you'd ever managed to slip a single thing into your hands.

Why did he let you?

You smiled seductively, slipping the watch and wallet beneath your dress before taking another sip of your now-warm beer, your gaze lingering on your target, who was far too drunk to notice the way your attention had never truly been on him.

Perhaps you hadn't changed.

Because here you were, stealing again…chasing the same thrill, the same rush, while somewhere beneath every excuse you made for yourself, another reason quietly waited.

Maybe you wanted to see him again.

You left the crowded club with the stolen watch and wallet hidden beneath your dress, weaving through the lingering crowd until the music faded behind you. The cool night air greeted your flushed skin as you made your way toward the smoking area, where you and Hanni had agreed to meet.

You had been stealing for six months now. 

You managed to steal from a shopping mall, a restaurant, a boutique, and even a high-end store—your usual targets where men were rarely involved.

Tonight, you decided to try flirting again…attempting to seduce someone despite the fact that your only experience had been with him.

Before you could even pull out your phone to text Hanni, someone pushed you against the cold brick wall.

Familiar dark, round eyes stared back at you, the same pierced lips curled around a cigarette as smoke drifted lazily into the night. Tattooed arms caged you in on either side, leaving nowhere for you to go.

Your eyes widened.

Seeing him dressed in the crisp navy uniform of a police captain stole the air from your lungs. 

Gold captain's bars gleamed from the epaulets on his shoulders, while a polished metal badge rested proudly over his chest. His duty belt sat low around his waist, crowded with the familiar weight of handcuffs, a radio, holster, and the rest of the equipment that came with his authority. The neatly pressed fabric, the black tie tucked beneath the collar, the nameplate pinned above his pocket—it all transformed the man you remembered into someone far more intimidating.

Power looked infuriatingly good on him.

Before you could utter a single word, his left hand slipped under your dress. Your breath caught as his fingers found the watch and wallet strapped against your thigh with effortless precision.

“Looks like my baby didn't learn her lesson, hmm?”

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂˚₊┈┈୨୧┈┈‧₊˚⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂

© 2026 ggukiebar, all rights reserved

jungkook gripped your hand softly and stood, bringing you up with him. “that would be me, she’s just here for support,” he gave your hand a tender squeeze, not bothered by the pda he was showing you in the slightest.

that was one of the things you loved about jungkook.

he was never afraid to show his affection for you no matter who happened to be in the room. friends, colleagues, strangers—it didn’t matter who it was. jungkook was still gonna kiss, touch, and hold you to his hearts content. and who were you to even complain about such a thing?

so he held your hand the entire time.

he held your hand while the piercer perfected the placement, while he rinsed his mouth out with a minty mouthwash, and once the needle finally went through his tongue, he held on even tighter.

he preened at your praise, his heart rate increasing tenfold when you whispered a sweet, ‘you’re doing so good, babe!’

jungkook winced as the piercer screwed in the tiny, silver balls on the bar, but you just squeezed his hand in reassurance. before he knew it, he was finished.

“how do you like it? placement okay and everything?” the man had asked, and with three slow blinks, jungkook nodded. the feeling of it in his mouth was foreign, but that was to be expected, and as for the way it looked? he loved it.

“s’great. thank you, thank you so much!”

you watched in complete adoration as your boyfriend admired his fresh piercing in the handheld mirror he was given. those big, brown boba eyes of his were so wide in awe you were sure they’d pop out if his skull. he was too cute.

“here, rinse your mouth with this again,” the piercer instructed jungkook, handing him another small cup of mouthwash. as jungkook swished the liquid in his mouth the man went over a few, simple instructions on how to properly care for the piercing.

“i would recommend soft foods the next couple of days, nothing too spicy or else it’ll get irritated, and this’ll probably be the hardest rule to follow but absolutely no kissing. swapping spit with someone, even your girlfriend, is the quickest way for it to get infected and reject, but other than that you should be good, man.”

jungkooks lips parted then shut. fuck.

the thought of not being able to kiss you whenever and wherever he wanted hadn’t crossed his mind. not even once. fuck. fuck. fuck.

“how—um, h-how long am i gonna have to do all that for?” and as soon as the words ‘ten to fifteen days’ left the piercers mouth, you could see jungkooks shoulders visibly deflate.

how will he ever go over a week without kissing your soft, pretty lips? your cherry gloss was like heroine to him. he loved swiping it off with his tongue, and letting the subtle cherry taste coat his tastebuds. and not to boast, but jungkook was the biggest munch he knew! how on gods green earth is supposed to go a whole fifteen days without tasting your cu—!

“hey, you alright? feeling lightheaded?”

jungkook blinked rapidly, and with a low hum he shook his head no.

“don’t know how i’m gonna go so long without kissing her . . . or eating spicy foods,” he chuckled, throwing his his back so dramatically you didn’t know whether to laugh or scoff.

“please excuse him. now pay this poor man so we can go get you some ice chips for your tongue,” you smirked, linking your arm around his muscular one. he glanced down at you, and fuck. he already wanted to give you a smooch.

you looked so cute in your pink, oversized sweater and miniskirt. not to mention you were trying out a new blush and lip combo that just made you look so sweet, he could’ve ruined you right then and there.

“why don’t you go hangout over there while i pay him, hm? maybe one of those pieces you see will inspire your next tattoo” he spoke lowly in your ear, giving your side a soft squeeze before sending you on your way.

as jungkook talked to the man about his form of payment, you stood to the side, wrapped up in your own little world. you nibbled on your bottom lip, manicured fingers playing with the hem of your skirt as you thought about how much of a pain in the ass jungkook will be for the next two weeks.

your sweet bunny of a boyfriend required physical touch on a daily basis, so to take out such a key part of it left both of you feeling less than thrilled. at least you had a tad of self control, jungkook on the other hand . . . need i say more?

he was the most impulsive person you’ve ever met, not to mention the neediest boy in the fucking world. underneath the leather jackets, tattoos, and piercings—jungkook was as soft as the strawberry crème cakes you made him on a daily when it came to you.

a hand squeezing your hip broke you out of your thoughts, “you ready to go, sugar?”

when you nodded, jungkook laced his tatted fingers with yours, bidding everyone in the shop a farewell before leading you out the exit and to his car.

it was a beautiful day out; a cool seventy eight degrees and the sun shone brightly above you. a perfect day for running errands and a late lunch!!

a little squeal slipped past your lips when jungkook lightly pushed you against the side of his car, his front pushing ever so softly against yours. “so what’s on the agenda for the rest of the day, hm?” he spoke softly, encasing your hips in his large hands.

you placed your hands on his hard stomach, blindly tracing the ridges of his abs over his shirt. he was so manly . . so masculine . . . and so all yours.

“well . . .” your voice trailed off, head innocently cocking to the side, “i wanna go to t.j. maxx, and get that hello kitty vanity chair. i also wanna head to that herb store and get more raspberry leaf—if i run out before my period comes i’m a goner!”

jungkook’s smile only faltered slightly at the mention of your awful period cramps. sometimes during that time of the month for you, he’d find you in your shared bathroom, head tucked between your knees as your body racked with sobs. he never minds it truly, but it shatters his heart every time he kisses those little tears streaming down your puffy cheeks away.

he tenderly rubbed your lower belly, forehead knocking against your gently as he nodded. “mm, don’t worry. we’ll get your herbs n’ your chair. maybe something to eat too?”

he was absolutely speaking your language.

“yes, that sounds perfect,” you grinned, scratching lightly at the hairs on the nape of his neck. jungkook practically purred at the contact, damn near forgetting you were out in the open. not that he really cared.

he wanted to swoop in for a kiss. just a tiny, little kiss. but the moment his head ducked down, his lips were met with the smooth skin of your palm.

he frowned, a noise of disapproval rumbling in his chest that was soon hushed by little kisses on his jaw. the feeling of your lips running over his hot skin had him shivering, brain nearly short circuiting.

you looked up at him through your freshly done lashes, “m’sorry for doin’ that, but you heard that man in there! no kisses for kookie for at least ten days.”

jungkook wanted to just collapse to his knees, and cry, and be as dramatic as possible—but chairs nodded to be bought, and herbs needed to be collected so he’d have to save the dramatics for another time.

he let out a small puff of air from his cheeks, his tongue already starting to sting from swelling, “you’re right. you’re always right, my smart girl.” he squeezed your sides gently, and nudged his nose against yours, “let’s go get that chair.”

after a short trip, and lots of lingering touches later, your chair and raspberry leaf were secured, and so was your hunger. on the way back home jungkook had made a surprise stop at your favorite taco spot—a small truck ran by two older women who absolutely adored the two of you.

the way home was pretty quiet. while you bashed on your three carne asada tacos with extra lime and salsa, jungkook casually sipped on a small horchata, the cool liquid bringing some relief to his sore tongue.

“it’ll always shock me how you make no mess,” he chuckled, putting his car in park. you dabbed the corners of your lips with a napkin, and did a quick check in the mirror to make sure no cilantro was in your teeth before giving him a small smile. “only because i know i’ll get an earful from you if i do.”

and right you were!! jungkooks mercedes amg was his pride and joy (right after you).

“need me to carry anything, honey?” you hummed, watching as jungkook balanced your bags and the small box containing the parts to your new vanity chair in his arms. he, of course, shook his head no, and instead gave you the job of unlocking the door.

before you even set your purse down, jungkook was already kicking his shoes off and ripping at the box, an obnoxious tearing sound echoing throughout your apartment. building furniture was a random favorite hobby of his, and he always looked damn good doing it.

“lemme get these outside clothes off,” you muttered, using your socks as little skates to slide into your shared room, little giggles slipping past your lips as you did so.

“you’re going to bust your behind one of these days if you keep doing that. hardwood floors hurt y’know!” jungkook called out to you, his boyfriend voice turned all the way on.

“yeah, yeah, whatever. are you gonna need your tools?” you called back, slipping off your skirt and sweater. your bra was the next thing to go, and after little to no thought, you settled on wearing one of jungkooks t-shirts.

the fabric smelt just like him. a citrusy, vanilla scent that made you sleepy every time you smelt it for too long. it also made your cunt feel tingly, but due to certain circumstances, you decided to keep your horniness at bay for jungkooks sake.

you’d be lying if the urge to kiss him hasn’t hit you once or twice, but who could blame you? your boyfriend had the most kissable lips ever, and the two lip rings that adorned the left side made you want them against yours even more!

but unfortunately it’d have to wait.

you brought the collar of his shirt to your nose one last time, inhaling deeply before getting on your knees and shimmying over to jungkooks side of the bed. now he did say which tools he needed, but you weren’t exactly a handy woman, so you just decided to bring his entire tool box.

when he heard the obnoxious sound of metal clanking together his eyes darted to the direction of the sound. his lips broke into a smirk when he saw you carrying his entire toolbox. you were so precious without even having to try.

you wearing little to nothing around your place wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. in fact, you did it so much that jungkook almost found it odd whenever he would come home from work and see you still fully clothed.

yes, you prancing around in just your panties and a top all the time was pretty distracting, but it was the best distraction a man could ever ask for. you have the prettiest, phattest pussy he’s ever seen, and she looks even more enticing hidden behind the soft cotton of your panties.

with a small grunt you set the metal box down, “here ya go.”

when your hands found purchase on your hips, your his shirt rose up, giving him a nice, close up view of your panty clad cunt. the pair you had on today were hot pink, with ‘juicy’ written in black cursive right on the part where your mound was.

‘i’ll fuckin’ say’ he thought to himself, teeth tugging on his lip ring to surpress the urge to pull you closer to him. it didn’t help. like at all, because three seconds later jungkook was pulling you two steps closer by the backs of your thighs.

your nose scrunched up, a giggling bubbling in your chest. “you know . . . you could at least try to be a little more discreet with your staring.”

jungkook groaned at your words, nosing at the inside of your petal soft thigh. “nothing fun about being discreet, babe,” he sighed giving your thigh a light peck.

you were out of his grasp a millisecond later, your head cocking back and forth. “watch those lips mister!”

“it was just a peck, it won’t do any harm, babe!” he pleaded, pulling you closer. his ring clad fingers held rather tightly onto your flesh, preventing you from moving an inch.

“mm, sure, but a peck with you always leads to something more,” you spoke softly, ruffling his jet black locs.

a drag of air got caught in your throat when his nose nudged against your cunt. “h-hey, that’s enough, mister! get back to work before i thump you.”

and with that, jungkook released his hold on your body. his fingers lingered for a second or two before letting go completely, his lips jutting into his signature pout.

“mean . . . very mean,” he muttered, turning his back to you to give your unbuilt chair his undivided attention. he knew he was being unfair, but shit, this entire thing this was unfair!!

it was dumb to say aloud, but truly, the thought of not being able to kiss you or any part of you didn’t cross his mind in the thought process for getting his tongue pierced—not even once! it was a cruel, sick, joke that was one hundred percent preventable, and now you both had to deal with it :(

you let out a little puff of air from your cheeks, and knelt behind your pouting boyfriend. “you say mean . . . i say responsible,” you whispered in his ear, kissing the shell of it before placing another soft kiss on his neck.

“don’t be sad, ‘kay? it’ll go by before you know it.” you knew your man, and you knew him well. you knew if he was challenged to do something, he’d do it and he’d do it well.

he whined at your words, thick brows scrunching together, “it can’t go by fast enoughhhh.”

seven hours later . . . .

jungkook felt as if he was going to combust into a million pieces. the urge to have his lips on yours didn’t curve in the slightest, and to make things even more difficult, he was now sporting a painful boner.

you were sound asleep on his chest, little snores leaving your slightly parted lips every so often. you were still wearing what you had on earlier, the only difference being a lavender colored, silk scarf wrapped securely around your head.

‘hells paradise’ played quietly on the tv, and the ac was on full blast giving jungkook the perfect background noise to fall asleep to. but he couldn’t. his mind was racing.

his legs felt stiff, begging to be stretched, but he knew if he moved even a muscle, you’d stir in your sleep and switch positions. when he held you like this he could feel the heat from your pussy right against his thigh, and as sick it sounded it made him feel so at ease.

with the way his tongue throbbed in pain, jungkook could use all the comfort he could get.

he slowly craned his neck to look down at your sleeping form, and fuck. you were the most beautiful woman he’s ever laid eyes on. even when you were deep in sleep.

the semi-bright glow from the tv gave him just enough light to see that your eyes were moving every so often. he wondered to himself what you could possibly be dreaming about. selfishly enough, he hoped it was him.

“aish . . .” he muttered, shifting his leg the tiniest bit. you made a small noise in your sleep, and this had jungkook freezing in his spot. his heart pounded against his ribcage as you nuzzled closer into his side. and then you moved again . . . and again . . . and again, until jungkook was questioning if you were really asleep or not.

the dull throb against his thigh had his pierced brow twitching.

should he wake you? should he leave you be? should he just cut his losses and jerk off in the bathroom?

a gentle squeeze pulled jungkook out of his thoughts, and when he looked down, he was met with the sight of his sleepy girlfriends’ scrunched up face.

“mm, kook . .”

your voice was whiny, and laced with sleep. if only he was able to kiss away that tiny furrow between your brows.

“what’s up, baby?” he spoke softly, pulling your body impossibly closer to his. you breathed out a small hum when he cupped your ass, gentle fingers gripping the soft flesh.

goosebumps rose on the dark haired mans skin when you nuzzled your face in his neck. your lips brushed against the sensitive spot below his ear, “can’t fall back asleep . . . need your help, please.”

and there it was.

jungkooks hands shook as they ran up and down your body, squeezing and fondling any part of you that he could. “y-yeah? what do you need me to do for you, baby—i know you’re sleepy, but try to use your words for me.”

he heard a small sniffle and then, “fuck me back t’sleep, kook. pleaseee.” your hand lazily rubbed along the length of his covered cock, saliva pooling on your tongue at the thought of having him inside you.

without a second thought, jungkook maneuvered your body on top of his with ease. his dick was pressed snugly against your pussy—hot, hard, and ready to put you tf back to sleep!

jungkook’s breath fanned over your face, still minty from when he brushed his teeth. “really wish i could kiss you right now,” he grunted, lifting your body up just enough to pull his briefs down.

“i-i wish you could kiss me too,” you whined, back arching when he rubbed his leaking tip over your panties.

he didn’t take your panties off, instead he just pulled them to the side with two fingers, and slipped his cock right between your soaked folds. wet was an understatement—you were drenched. small pearls of your essence began to drip down his cock, already creating a mess between your bodies.

“ngh—put it in please,” you sniffled, bottom half slowly moving up and down the length of his dick. jungkook didn’t need to be told twice. he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, tatted hand gripping the base of his cock before slowly pushing the tip through that tight ring of muscle that greeted him so sweetly every time.

his free hand cupped the back of your neck, smushing your forehead against his. “so wet, princess. slipped right in like you were made for me,” he groaned, planting his feet in the bed to push more of his cock into your tight heat.

with a sloppy kiss to the corner of his lips you whispered, “because i was.” this nearly killed jungkook of course, his hips stuttering the tiniest bit.

he throbbed all around you. every protruding vein caressed your sensitive walls, and it didn’t make things better when his spongy tip started knocking obnoxiously against that spot deep inside you that had your toes curling.

you mewled at the stretch, grabbing onto his shoulders as you found your place in his neck once again. every moan, whine, every hitch of your breath—he heard it all, and it was driving him fucking nuts.

he wanted to talk you through it, whisper dirty praises and promises in your ear, but alas his tongue was just too fucking sore. he knew you liked him to be vocal, so he settled with matching your volume in moans.

jungkook’s hands roamed all along the expanse of your back. your skin was hot to the touch, his cold hands bringing you some sweet relief.

you wanted to melt into him. let your minds and bodies become one forever, but for now this would have to do.

“lemme take this off,” you muttered, sitting up to remove his shirt from your trembling from. the new angle had his cock hitting deeper, and this had you tightening up, forcing a hiss from the man below you.

he wasted no time fondling your breasts, a whine bubbling in his throat from lack of them in his mouth. you always made the prettiest noises when he sucked on your nipples. they were always so sensitive—even as he softly ran his thumbs over them.

“k-kook—”

“i know—shit, i know.” his voice was raspy from lack of speaking. his throat felt so dry, like someone had stuffed cotton down it. jungkook had a thirst, but not for a beverage of any kind.

as you began a steady rhythm moving back and forth, jungkook thumbed at your swollen clit. his jaw clenched, a groan rumbling in his chest at how wet you actually were.

sucking your clit into his mouth would definitely fix him right now—why, oh why did he have to get this stupid fucking piercing.

your hips stuttered slightly when he pulled his thumb away, and without a second thought he brought the digit to your lips. it wasn’t hard to find his eyes in the darkness of the room, and once you did you sucked the digit between your lips, humming at the sweet, yet tart taste that coated your tongue.

all your nerve endings felt as if they have been set ablaze. you could feel everything. you didn’t know what it was, but these intimate moments with jungkook always made you so beside yourself.

“what’s it taste like, hm? describe it for me,” he rasped out, pressing down lightly on your tongue before removing his thumb entirely.

your movements halted, but not for long, because jungkook’s hands were on your hips seconds later, resuming your slow paced grinding. “don’t make me say it, babe,” you whimpered, feeling your cheeks get hotter than they already were.

he couldn’t help but chuckle. you were still so bashful—even when getting split open by his thick cock.

it was silent for a few beats, and then without warning, jungkook cupped the back of your neck and pulled you back down to his level. his feet planted into the bed, and with that he began a slow, steady rhythm of thrusts.

“was is it sweet? i bet it was, you’re always so fuckin’—ngh, sweet,” he panted against your lips, making you whine veryyyy loudly.

your cunt started to became rather noisy, an obscene squelching sound becoming louder and louder as the minutes went by. but it wasn’t quite loud enough for your boyfriend.

your once warm body was suddenly met with a chill, goosebumps rising over the entire expense of your back. jungkook had also taken this as an opportunity to go faster—harder. the sound of his balls slapping against your ass echoed noisily throughout the room.

“love that sound,” he grunted, tucking your face in the warmth of his neck to shush your whines. between being overly drowsy, and jungkook fucking you like his own personal toy, your brain had turned into a complete pile of mush.

not a sentence, nor thought could be formed in your head. the only thing you could even think to do was kiss him—well kiss his neck specifically since his lips were off limits.

your lips latched onto the spot below his ear, sucking feverishly until he was squeezing the back of your neck in sensitivity.

“y-yeah, mhmm. keep kissing me. i need it,” he whispered the last part directly in your ear while also delivering a particularly harsh thrust. you made a noise between a sob and a gasp, and for a second you could’ve sworn you saw white.

both of his hands gripped your ass cheeks, spreading them only slightly so he was able to fuck you deeper.

a never ending chorus of ‘ah ah ah’s left your drooly lips, and soon, it wasn’t long before you were whining in jungkook’s ear about how you were about to cum.

you lifted your head slightly, “i’m *pant* i-i’m—!”

jungkook shoved your face back in his neck, the pace of his thrusts increasing to a speed so fast it had you seeing spots.

“i know, baby. i know. fucking do it.”

your ears started to ring, and your back arched, a beautiful symphony of moans following seconds later. jungkook fucked you through it all with one hand still securely on the back of your neck, and the other now grabbing onto your hip so roughly you were sure to feel it in the morning.

his toes curled when he felt you gush around him. your pussy was practically suffocating his cock, convulsing around him so harshly it was almost difficult to continue moving.

you heard a few curses in korean, follow by one more hard thrust before a sudden warmth flooded your lower belly. jungkook ground into you from below, milking his orgasm for all it was worth—which was a lot.

without even thinking he pressed a quick peck to your shoulder, his lips lingering for a few seconds before pulling away.

“ . . . you okay? was i good?” he whispered into your ear, but the only response he was met with was a small snore. your body was completely limp, occasionally twitching in his arms.

jungkook hummed contently, nosing at your cheek. his hands ran slowly up and down your back, tracing random hearts and shapes as he did so.

he was gonna have to wake you up soon so you could pee, but for now that would wait. he just wanted to bask in this moment for as long as he could.

it’s been nine days since then, and you two have been fucking like rabbits everrrr since.

morning, afternoon, midday, the middle of the night—it didn’t matter what time it was. if jungkook was in the mood, he had to have you.

the urge to kiss you hasn’t lessened. in fact it only grew stronger and more unbearable as the days went by. his cock leaked pathetically with pre every time he thought about your lips against his. he craved the feeling of biting into the plushness of your bottom lip, and tugging just enough to have you whimpering.

when his tongue became less swole the first thing he tried to do was kiss you, only to be met with the petal soft skin of your cheek. ‘it’s only been three days, kook!’ you had scolded him, breaking his heart for what felt like the hundredth time that week.

you being the sweet, amazing girlfriend you were, fucked the sadness out of him every single time though hehe.

the situation always ended up the same way. jungkook would be underneath you, brown eyes the size of saucers while you rode him into a blissful oblivion. you rewarded his restraint to kiss you with sloppy pecks across his neck and throat, your tongue tracing random shapes and lines into the sweaty skin.

he felt like a fucking teenager with the way he was so quick to jump your bones.

it was now day ten, and jungkook has surely lost his mind by now.

he was currently home alone, scrolling mindlessly on his phone as he waited to hear the familiar click! of the door unlocking.

you weren’t home, obviously. you had picked up an extra shift at the bakery you worked at, leaving jungkook all by his lonesome.

you’d been gone for seven whole hours, and to make things worse, you only texted kookie a handful of times before it was silence on your end.

he thought about going up there to visit you—maybe even partake in a sweet treat, but that would only end up doing him more harm than good. so here he sat, scrolling through your social medias for the umpteenth time.

fuck, you were so pretty. how did he end up with such a gorgeous girlfriend, hm? how did he manage to have the literal embodiment of perfection land in his lap?

he usually asked himself these questions when he was missing you really bad, or while he watched you sleep. is that creepy? eh, maybe, but who even really cares?

his eyes flicked up to the corner of the screen reading the time. it was fifteen minutes till five, and he still hadn’t heard from you since you last texted at noon.

“hope she isn’t working herself too hard . . .” he sighed, slumping back against the plush, gray couch cushions.

you were a bit of a perfectionist, and although he admired how much time and effort you put into your craft, he didn’t particularly care for how hard you were on yourself if the outcome wasn’t exactly what you wanted.

when you told jungkook baking was a ‘fun hobby’ of yours, he expected you to laugh off your minuscule mistakes, and enjoy the sweet treat. boy was he fucking wrong.

* cue super cute flashback *

“one more, one more!” jungkook chuckled, his tatted fingers gripping onto your chin to bring you in for another slow, nasty kiss. before you could even protest, his lips were against yours—soft and swollen from your previous kisses.

you giggled against his lips, a small gasp getting caught in your throat when he grabbed a handful of your ass over your pajama shorts. “mm, babe. i gotta get the cookies out before they burn,” you hummed, cunt clenching around nothing when he tugged on your bottom lip with his teeth.

the sweet smell of brown sugar and chocolate wafted into your nose, and you knew soon enough the enticing smell would soon turn burnt and bitter if you didn’t act quickly.

jungkook gave you one last peck before releasing his grip on you, a lazy smirk lifting at the corner of his lips. “alright, alright. i’ll leave you alone . . . for now. now lets go check on those cookies,” he grinned, showcasing those oh so cute dimples that made you swoon every time you saw them.

he let you lead the way to the kitchen— why you ask? so he could fondle and smack your ass to his hearts content. you didn’t bother to say anything, allowing the giggling man behind you to continue his antics.

when you opened the oven your lips pulled into a thin line, already dissatisfied with the slightly burnt smell that greeted you.

while you were screaming in your mind twenty seven different ways, jungkook was behind you, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he waited for you to pull the tray out. he was so blissfully unaware of how homicidal you were over these damn brown butter cookies.

he leant over the pan, taking a deep inhale of the sweet treat. “shit, these look incredible, baby,” he muttered, mouth now beginning to water.

all you could do was sigh, your brows pulling together in a deep frown. jungkook noticed this and it had the cogs in his brain turning. what could possibly be so wrong? these were the most perfectly baked cookies he’s ever seen!

without saying a word you slowly lifted up a cookie with a thin spatula. just as you thought—they were burnt. the bottom was entirely too dark for your liking. once they cooled they were going to be hard instead of soft. this just broke your heart.

jungkook noticed the cloudy look in your eyes and stood up straight. he turned your body towards his quickly, but gently. “hey, hey, what’s wrong? why do you look like you’re about to cr—i mean, um—”

it was too late. two fat tears were already rolling down cheeks, waiting to be wiped away by jungkook.

“ugh, why would you ask me thatttt? you know i always cry when you ask me that,” you sniffled, blinking away more tears. jungkook puffed air through his cheeks, and cupped your face with both hands. this made you want to cry even more, but you managed to pull it together with a slow, but shaky breath.

you tried to look everywhere besides in front of you, but it was painfully hard to avoid your boyfriends’ intense gaze.

“why are you crying? your cookies look perfect . . . i’m sorry, but i don’t—i don’t understand,” he spoke softly, sliding his hands from your jaw to your shoulders.

your eyes flicked to the tray beside you, and then to the floor. “i’ve . . . made these cookies so many times . . but the one time i wanna make them for you, i fucking burn them. what kinda sick joke is that?”

“but baby they look perfectly fine to—”

“uhn uhn!” you grabbed one of the now cooled cookies, and showed him the dark brown bottom. “they’re not moist! they’ll be hard—inedible soon enough,” you sighed, pulling apart the cookie to reveal the steaming inside.

jungkook was completely stumped. burnt cookies were a very dark brown, blackish color, and they usually left a foul stench in the air . . . yet these were a perfect golden brown, and smelt so sweet he could’ve gotten a tooth ache. was he missing something?

“hmph, i don’t know what went wrong. maybe i cooked the butter too long? maybe they weren’t cold enough? i don’t know . . . will you try, please?” you pouted, holding one half of the cookie in front of him. without a second thought, jungkook scarfed down the entire thing, along with the other half.

the still warm chocolate chips melted on his tongue, making him hum in content. you watched with an intense glint in your eyes, waiting for any sign that he disliked the cookie.

his tongue slowly ran over his bottom lip, and without saying a word he grabbed another cookie, devouring it in only two bites. your eyes softened, tear stained cheeks now feeling extra hot from embarrassment.

“shut up . . there’s no way they’re that good,” you muttered, hiding your face in his obscenely large pecs. jungkook only chuckled, his hand coming up to pet at your hair softly.

“i think you’re being entirely too hard on yourself, no? they may not be as soft as you want them, but they’re certainly edible, babe.” his words were so sweet, and so gentle, it made you want to start crying all over again.

when you didn’t say anything he continued, “you could serve me flour on a paper plate, and i’d still eat it because it was made by you, and i’m so serious.”

when he heard you giggling into his chest it made his heart clench, but in a good way! your laugh sounded like the finest of symphonies to him, a sound he could hear on repeat for all his days to come.

“there she is, there’s my girl. no more crying, ‘kay? makes my heart hurt to see you so sad,” he spoke lowly, giving the crown of your head three gentle kisses.

your eyes slowly shut, the sound of his heartbeat making you drowsier by the minute. you could’ve fallen asleep right there, standing and all, but the sudden smell warm brown sugar had your eyes fluttering back open.

“try it,” you heard him ask, although it sounded more like a demand. your lips parted, and with a little hesitation, you took a bite of the cookie. the taste of brown butter and vanilla had you humming in delight, and this brought a smirk to jungkook’s lips.

“good, right?”

you hummed a small ‘mhm’ in response, and took another bite. “still kinda dry. they’re decent at best, and i’ll never get hired at ‘the sweet spot’ with decent cookies.”

your body went stiff when you heard jungkook let out a particularly loud sigh.

he wasn’t bothered that you were talking about working at your dream job again, no, never that. what bothered him so damn much was that you really didn’t believe your baking was good enough to get the job.

jungkook cupped your jaw firmly, forcing you to look up at him. he muttered ‘stop that’ in korean. two words that you were very familiar with (due to you being a massive brat), and like every other time it made your cunt feel tingly.

“stop what . . .” you murmured, clearly acting clueless to what he was talking about.

he breathed out a small laugh, and tongued at the inside of his cheek, already caught on to your little game. “i believe my girl is smart enough to know what i’m talking about—”

with little to no strength he lifted you by the backs of your thighs, and set you on the counter. the cold marble had goosebumps rising all over your skin, and you’d be squealing right now if his lips weren’t smushed against yours to keep you quiet.

he kissed the corner of your mouth, and then your jaw, and then the shell of your ear before whispering, “but if you need me to help spell it out for you, i really don’t mind.”

jungkook could’ve popped a boner right then and there at the way your pupils blew out at his words.

that’s how you ended up on the couch, knees pushed allll the way to your shoulders while jungkook edged you with his mouth. his tongue caressed your clit for what felt like hours, and you weren’t allowed to cum, let alone even move out of his grip, until you were screaming out affirmations about how you were going to get that job at the bakery.

two days later you woke up bright and early to prepare some sample pastries for your interview, and to no ones surprise (not even your own) you got the job! that same night you rewarded jungkook with his favorite apple and brown sugar strudels, and some mean head to thank him for encouraging you so much. <3

* end of cute flashback *

when jungkook had zoned back in from reminiscing, his jeans felt five times tighter than they did before, and his hands felt clammy. he needed you. all of you.

he needed to feel the soft bud of your nipple graze his tongue as he sucked on it. he needed to feel the pressure of your thighs squeezing against his head as he devoured you like you were his last meal. and most importantly; he needed a fucking kiss god dammit!!

he could barely even remember what it felt like to suck your tongue into his mouth. shit, he could hardly even remember the taste of your cherry gloss!

damn, that lip gloss you wore always looked so pretty—especially when you would suck him off and leave remnants of it all along the base of his cock.

“aish . . .” the frustrated man huffed out, giving his cock a quick palm over his sweats. his nose twitched, much like a bunny, when a shot of pleasure rushed down his spine at the contact.

his dick throbbed, almost painfully, and he knew it was only a matter of time before he would cave and help himself. he was only human after all!

before he could even process what he was doing, jungkook clicked the phone icon right above your name, and pressed the phone against his ear. as the line rung he was internally pleading for you to answer the phone. all he wanted to do was hear your voice.

suddenly he heard a click on the other line—

“hello?”

“o-oh!” jungkook sat up straight, his lips breaking into a dopey half-smile at the sound of your voice. “i didn’t expect you to answer . . . you never answered my texts—not that that’s a problem. i know you’re busy being the best pastry chef in the world.”

he could hear the smile on your face as you talked about the ups and downs of your day, and shamefully enough, it was making him harder.

god, he hated himself right now. why has this temporary ban on kisses made him to beside himself?

“an’ now i’m just hanging out in the office to take a break. i think i’m gonna head out soon, though. i’ve been so spaced out today.”

“mm, what have you been thinking about?”

jungkook didn’t mean to have that oh so familiar seductive tone in his voice, but unfortunately for him, he practically purred out the question.

there was silence, and then—

“honestly? . . . you giving me head.”

jungkook almost moaned aloud at that, but instead let out a sound that was a mix of a whine and a gasp.

this is why you were made for him, why you were his girl. you both craved each other so much. its always been an ongoing match of who’s the biggest yearner between the two of you.

“you there, babe? too crude for the workplace?”

your sweet laugh only fueled the fire in his lower belly. jungkook was so horny it was almost difficult for him to speak.

“n-no . . no, not at all. i’ve been thinking about the same thing actually. remember that day when you baked those cookies?”

he heard a small, barely audible noise that sounded a lot like a whimper. “mhm.”

with a shaky hand, jungkook pushed himself up using the armrest of the couch. everything was entirely too hot, he needed to feel some kind of relief.

“i remember how you couldn’t stop shaking when i was done. you came for, like, a whole minute. i couldn’t believe it.” as jungkook dumbly babbled about eating you out, he was also making his way to the bedroom.

the first thing that caught his attention when he walked in the room was your discarded panties from that morning. it felt like the peach colored garment was calling out to him. begging to be fucked n’ soiled by his sticky cum.

he was broken out of his thoughts when he heard the airy sound of your voice. “c’monnnn. don’t say stuff like that, or else i’ll look like a total mess in front of everyone.”

“mm, and what if i want that to happen?” he breathily chuckled, swiping your panties off the floor in one swift movement. he tucked the phone between his cheek and shoulder, and pulled his sweats down mid thigh before taking a seat at the edge of your shared bed.

“i think you look pretty cute all flustered and shy. i’m sure everyone else will think so, no?” jungkooks tone was very teasing, which was funny because he was honestly one stroke away from combusting into bits.

“mmcht. it might be cute to you, but i doubt my bosses will think it is.”

“hah—yeah . . . yeah, maybe you’re right,” jungkooks head tilted back when he finally wrapped the soft fabric of your panties over his swollen cock. it wasn’t nearly enough to satisfy him like you ever could, but it would have to do for now.

an attempt to stay neutral, and quiet was never even made because your man knew just how much you liked to hear him.

“k-kook, c’mon—”

“just fucking come home already, y/n. i don’t mean to rush you at all, baby, but—fuck. just—just listen,” his slurred sentenced trailed off with a moan, and suddenly your ears were met blessed with a wet shlicking sound.

“please—”

“i’m using your panties. the ones you left on the floor this morning to be—ngh, specific.”

jungkook knew he was being sooo mean, and sooo unfair, but unfortunately my mans was fresh out of self control.

“hurry up, and come home so we can ruin each other,” he rasped, letting out one last moan to break you even more.

the dark haired mans eyes fluttered shut, and the first image that popped in his head was you; stark naked, and spread out for him, ready to have your pussy eaten until you cried.

he brought your panties to his nose, and took a deep inhale, while his other hand steadily pumped the thick base of his dick. they sorta smelled of him now, but the scent of you was still overwhelmingly there.

“mm, fuck,” he panted out, poking his tongue out to take an experimental lick at the crotch part. what he was going was disgusting, humiliating, and beyond perverted, but—

“shittt. it tastes just like her.”

his ring clad fingers squeezed harshly at the tip, and when he ran his thumb over the leaky slit, he tried his absolute best to imagine it was you.

time had seemed to go by rather fast, because just as jungkook was about to edge himself for the third time, he heard the door, followed by quick footsteps. there was no point in trying to hide what he was doing because; 1. he was too horny to give a shit and 2. he actually wanted you to see him like that.

your reaction was just as he pictured in his head only moments ago—flustered and intrigued. “oh . . . you’re here. i missed you, baby. so much.”

the evidence of his confession was leaking obscenely in front of you, and all you could do was stand there with parted lips, and clenched thighs.

with a low grunt, jungkook released his firm grip on his cock. “c’mere. ‘wanna touch you.”

your bag was the first to go, the designer accessory hitting the carpet with a soft thud. it was like your feet had a mind of their own, one taking a step after the other until you were nearly in your boyfriends’ grasp.

the moment you were in reach, he was tugging you closer by your flour stained shirt, and burying his face between your covered breasts. “h-hey!” you gasped, hands finding purchase on his broad shoulders. “this shirt is all dirty, honey, c’mon.”

“then take it off,” jungkook grunted below you, lifting up your shirt to finally kiss at your skin. he just didn’t give a shit anymore about the piercing rejecting, and if he kept this up, you were going to soon stop caring as well.

he kissed around the curves of your hips, making sure to give each side a cheeky little nibble, before tracing his tongue around your tummy.

“i’ll never get over how cute this is . . . suits you so well, sugar,” he spoke lowly, referring to the baby pink hello kitty jewelry that was pierced through your naval.

a purr rumbled in jungkooks chest when you scratched lightly at his scalp, murmuring a small, but sweet ‘thank you.’

“just—just lemme get these yucky clothes off, and take a shower before we get down to . . um, to business.” words that you were barely able to get out in the first place were quickly washed away, and long forgotten as jungkook suckled at your hip bone.

“you took a shower this morning, i’m sure you’re fine.”

this earned him a scoff, followed by a weak push to his shoulders. “i just worked for almost ten hours. not so sure i’m at my freshest.”

suddenly jungkooks nose was pressed against your lower tummy, “and yet you smell like sugar and . . . mm, strawberries?”

“close,” you whispered, taking his chin between your fingers. jungkook preened at the physical contact, leaning into your touch even further. his eyes widened slightly, patiently waiting for you to finish what you were saying.

“that’s cherries you’re actually smelling. i made a batch of cherry strudels before i left,” you finally spoke, scratching at his chin.

his lips parted, but you were quick to interrupt him, “i already know what you’re going to ask, and yes, there’s some in the kitchen waiting for you. ‘could never make some strudels without bringing one home for my kookie.”

fuck. you were just so sweet, and considerate, it made jungkook feel feral. his neglected cock twitched, begging for some kind of attention.

his fingers fiddled with the button to your jeans, and with those wide doe of his, he silently asked for permission to undo it. you bit your lip, hesitant at first, but after a little thought you slowly nodded.

his eyes stayed on yours, never once breaking contact as he undid the button of your jeans, the zipper soon following. “love you so much,” he whispered into your skin, slowly pulling them down.

you didn’t know what to expect during this very intense moment with your man, but what you certainly didn’t expect was for him to just start eating it through your panties!

his nose nudged against your clit as his tongue caressed the crotch area of your strawberry patterned panties. he could taste you. barely, but just enough. he could’ve passed away right then and there, and would’ve died happy, and content.

you were still standing, knees knocking together as you tried to keep yourself up. “babe, i really should freshen up f-first. h-hah, what about your piercing?”

suddenly a rush of pleasure shot down your back, making your body jolt forward. the sensation felt . . . foreign. this was odd, because jungkook has eaten you out through your panties plenty of times before.

“did you like the way that felt?” you heard the man below you speak, a cheeky smile spreading across his features. “want me to do it again? here—”

that same feeling returned, except it was more sloppy, more wet. it had your head tilting back, and if it weren’t for jungkook holding you up by the backs of your thighs, you surely would’ve collapsed.

you were absolutely speechless. your cunt was doing more of the talking than you were at this point, dripping into your panties, and creating an even bigger mess.

when you didn’t say anything, too wrapped in your own head, he spoke once more. “you like that, huh? like the way it feels on your pussy?”

your eyes fluttered rapidly, and when you peeked down, jungkook’s tongue was shallowly sticking out, giving you a nice view of the silver ball in the center. his tongue cupped your clit over your panties, slowly moving side to side.

jungkook was genuinely surprised he was keeping it together so well, and taking his time with you. before you arrived, the only thing he could think about was tearing these same panties he was kissing and licking on into two.

all you could do was watch in awe, the inside of your mind sounding like nothing but static. jungkook nipped at the inside of your thigh, regaining your attention.

“just a little taste, cutie. i can rinse with mouthwash after *kiss kiss* to make sure it doesn’t get infected.” you could practically feel your heartbeat in your clit as jungkook kissed over your clothed mound.

his fingers looped in the lacy waistband of your panties, and with a gentle tug, he pulled them down low enough just to get a peek at the fat of your pussy. he could see your clit peeking out from between your slicked folds, swollen and looking as tempting as ever.

“before you do that,” you whispered, carefully stepping out of your jeans, “i want a kiss.”

your man wasted no time pulling you into his lap, and it felt heavenly to be able to feel his dick press against your clothed pussy.

his tatted hand cupped the side of your face, “i just might die, and i’m not even kidding.”

this made you laugh, and although he was pleased to have made you smile, he was deadly serious. being denied your kisses had him nearly climbing up the walls!

“mm, you’re so dramatic—”

and that was the last thing that was said before jungkook’s lips were smushed against yours.

soft. that was the first word that popped in his mind. your lips, your skin, the little noises you made as he deepened the kiss—it was all just so soft.

you could tell he was trying to be gentle, and take his time, but it wasn’t long before his thumb was pushing down on your chin to part your lips wider.

the kiss was slow, deep, everything that he had imagined for the past ten days. feverishly, he sucked your tongue into his mouth, and the faint taste of cherry compote had him moaning into the kiss.

you could feel his piercing slide against your tongue. it had you shaking, like it was your first time kissing him all over again.

“hah—shit,” jungkook moaned, greedily kissing his way down to your neck. your skin was a bit sweaty from working so hard, but he didn’t mind in the slightest. “need to taste you now.”

you squeaked, eyes squeezing shut as he flipped you on your back with ease. his face burrowed into your neck, and while he whined apologies into your ear about the sudden roughness, his bottom half was also rutting pitifully into yours.

“oh my . . .” your lips parted in a dreamy sigh, lashes fluttering when you felt his swollen tip rub directly onto your clit. “p-please do something, kook.”

your shirt was pushed up, along with your bra, and seconds later you felt a pair of lips wrap around your left nipple. jungkook wasn’t pretty with it—he slobbered and licked all around your breast, making sure to swirl his piercing around your nipple in between licks.

“i am, baby. i am,” he gave your neglected nipple a wet kiss, “i got you, don’t worry.”

while you made quick work to rid your shirt and bra, jungkook kissed his way down your body, leaving a glistening trail behind him. when he reached your pussy, your thighs twitched making him smirk.

“you may be crying by the time i’m done with you,” he spoke softly, giving you clit one last kiss over your panties. “so i wanna apologize beforehand.”

he took his time removing your panties, his eyes zeroing in at the way your essence clung to the soaked cotton.

the second his tongue swiped between your sopping folds, he was greeted with a taste sweeter than anything you have ever baked for him. there was a slight tang that had him salivating for more, but the sweetness overpowered everything.

you knew jungkook was bound to have his dramatics turnt all the way up given the circumstances, but you definitely didn’t expect him to let out the loudest, most whiniest pornographic moan you’ve ever heard!

“babe,” you breathily giggled, combing your fingers through his hair. you tugged lightly on the strands when he sucked your swollen button into his mouth, the tip of his tongue caressing the pearl ever so gently. “p-pace yourself now, we have all the time in the world.”

jungkook hummed, but you honestly couldn’t even tell if he had heard a word you just said.

with a low grunt he pushed the backs of your knees up, and used his entire mouth to cup your pussy. his tongue slithered all between your folds before the infamous piercing finally swiped against your clit.

your stomach clenched when he did it again, and when he did it a third time, his ears were rewarded with you moaning out his name oh so sweetly.

“mm, you like that, baby? how does it feel? describe it for me,” he purred, circling his tongue around your clit. a shudder ran down your spine, and your cheeks felt as if someone placed hot coals on them.

“babe p-please—”

“do it.”

your lower half thrusted into nothing as jungkook spit directly on your clit. you could feel the saliva trickle between your folds, creating a wetter, even bigger mess between your thighs.

the center of of his tongue circled figure eights onto your clit, and you could feel the silver ball with every movement. your boyfriend was slowly, but surely, pushing you to your limit.

“it feels . . . u-um, like, different?”

“different in what way, baby? c’mon, i know that pretty head can come up with some smart words. you got the smartest mouth i know.” you could feel his smirk in your skin when he finished his sentence.

jungkook cupped your clit with his lips, and dragged his tongue all around the nub. his eyes fluttered shut at the symphony of moans that spilled past your kiss bitten lips.

the more he licked, the more your mind became a muddled mess. “kook—please slow down. i can’t thinkkk!” you whined, weakly pushing at his forehead.

your pleas only made him more feral for you, unfortunately.

the back of your head flew into the mattress when he hiked your thighs over his shoulders, bringing his face impossibly closer to your cunt. the grip he had on your thighs was kinda fucking ridiculous. you couldn’t move an inch!!

he has been hitting the gym a little harder to deal with all his pent up frustration, but jesus, you didn’t think he’d bulk up so quickly. if you were to compare your head to his biceps, you were sure they’d be bigger.

after ogling his physique from above, a pinch to your thigh brought you back to reality.

“i believe i asked you a question some time ago, and you still haven’t answered it.” his words were muffled into your thigh, and once he was done speaking he nipped at the skin just to hear you whine again.

“u-um, it feels hard . . weird, n’ makes her feel extra—ngh,” you tried to shut your thighs around his head from sensitivity, the word you were trying to say before you were interrupted, but jungkook was not letting up.

the sudden intrusion of his tongue in your clenching hole had tears springing to your eyes, but as soon as the feeling was there, it was gone just as quick.

“oh . . did you like that? maybe you should finish what you were saying, and i’ll reward you for it.” his tone was teasing, and just when you were gonna snap back at him, he was slurping obscenely at your cunt.

“i—”

with one final lick to your throbbing clit, you were cumming all over jungkooks tongue with a weak cry.

you couldn’t form a word, nor thought. all you could do was go limp, and let him have his way with you. he didn’t even mind that you came without permission—frankly, you could do anything you wanted, as long as he got to remain between your soaked thighs.

your essence coated his tongue like dribbles of honey, and he drank up every drop until your thighs were twitching against his reddened ears.

with a deep groan, jungkook pushed your knees alllll the way back, and when you wrapped your hands around your ankles to keep them in place, his chest swelled with pride.

jungkook latched on your clit, and hollowed his cheeks, earning a squeak from you. when his head shook back and forth, that’s when the tears in your eyes started free falling.

“o-ohh my,” you cried out, thighs now beginning to shake.

jungkook stopped, and only stopped, when he felt your finger tips tap repeatedly at his shoulders. something you only did when you were way past your limits.

he nosed at your clit, and gave her one more sloppy kiss before pulling away, but only by an inch. he didn’t want to stray too far from he wanted to be most.

it was silent for a few minutes; the only thing being heard were your shaky breaths, and the occasional whimper.

his lips brushed against your thigh, and when he started covering the dewy skin in kisses, you were mewling in protest. “i can’t, kook,” he heard you sniffle from above him.

“ngh—you’re lucky i’m so hard. otherwise i’d make you do it again,” he growled, slapping your pussy with his palm. your body jolted, and when you attempted to push yourself away from him, you were surprised to see you were out of his iron grip.

there you laid at the top of bed; chest heaving and legs shaking, meanwhile jungkook stayed knelt at the edge, eyeing you very intensely.

you felt your heart begin to hammer against your ribcage when he stood at his full height. the new addition to his sleeve tattoo that he had gotten a few weeks prior had him looking intimidating as ever.

he was silent as he removed his shirt, and he was still quiet as he shed his sweats and briefs. his cock was now an angry red shade, and leaking like a damn faucet. it had saliva pooling on your tongue.

“you gonna come down here, and take it? gonna come take what’s yours?” he spoke lowly, brown eyes never once leaving yours as he spit in his hand. he used that same hand to pump his twitching cock, slowly and teasingly.

your lips pushed into a pout, but you nodded, completely disregarding the throbbing between your legs. you needed him in your mouth immediately. even if it was just a taste.

his nostrils flared when you crawled over to him on all fours, and once you were finally in reach, his thumb hooked into your mouth, forcing you to look up at him.

“mm, you want some don’t you?”

his thumb was pushing down on your tongue, preventing you from speaking, so you just nodded. to drive him even crazier, you started sucking on the digit, even going as far as to moan around it.

“baby please,” your boyfriend panted above you, his cock twitching wildly at the action. he was so close to busting a nut, but he had to keep it together so you could have your fun with him.

he truly had you so spoiled.

he took the throbbing muscle in his hand once more, and slapped it against your cheek. “can’t do this for long. i’m already close enough as it is,” he warned, tracing the dribbling tip over your lips.

your eyes flicked from his cock to those big, brown boba eyes, and with a slow lick to your lips, you nodded.

when your lips wrapped around his cock, jungkooks jaw went completely slack. you gave him the same treatment he gave you; wet and messy.

thanks to copious amounts of throat training, you were able to take more than half of his cock in your mouth with ease. when the tip brushed against the back of your throat, his hips stuttered. “shitttt.”

you tried not to get carried away, but the nosies he was making were so pretty :(( you never wanted them to end.

your hand cupped his balls, and this earned you a nice, strained groan from him.

“geumanhae,” he muttered, yanking you back by your hair until only the tip remained between your lips. a shiver ran down his spine when he felt you exhale through your nose, and with one last trace around the head, you were pulling back completely.

you looked at him through your lashes, batting them softly. “stop what?”

jungkook chuckled softly, running a tatted hand through his slightly damp hair. “stop trying to make me cum. you’re not that slick.”

you fake pouted, and leant forward, messily kissing all across his thighs and lower abdomen. “what gave me away?” you spoke softly, trailing your kisses higher up his body.

when you reached his lips, jungkook gave in and gave you a single, slow kiss. “was too wrapped in it to realize anything . . . until you started moaning too. you know that shit makes me cum quick,” he chuckled, bumping his nose against yours.

“pfft, whatever. now gimme another kiss.”

jungkook didn’t need to be told twice. he squished your cheeks together, and slithered his tongue into your mouth. when you started sucking on his tongue, his chest deflated in a deep breath he didn’t even know he was holding.

you both were as physically close as two people could be, but it just wasn’t enough for him. god, he just wanted to live in your skin all day, everyday.

“how do you want it?” he hummed, kissing his way down to your neck. your chest arched into his, and with a dreamy sigh you said, “on my stomach.”

you heard a small ‘mhm’ and then you were turnt around, and pushed to your tummy. your lashes fluttered weakly, trying to process jungkook’s quickness. you shimmied further up the bed to rest your head on the mountain of pillows at the top.

“oh, baby. you don’t need those,” you heard your man chuckle behind you. you felt the bed dip, and then a sudden warmth against your back. jungkook lifted your head up gently, and slid him arm underneath with ease, allowing your head to rest prettily on his bicep. “not when you can lay right here.”

his bicep was nice n’ strong, but soft enough to rest against. the perfect pillow.

you used whatever strength you had left to spread your thighs apart, you didn’t stop until your knees knocked against his muscly thighs. “please put it in.”

jungkook rubbed the fat tip of his dick between your swollen folds, his nose twitching at the intense warmth that greeted him.

“hah—i’ll try to go slow . . can’t guarantee anything after that.”

he circled his tip around your clit, relishing in the wet noises that he heard, and with a shallow inhale, he finally pushed the first couple of inches inside your pussy.

he heard you let out a tiny gasp, and your body tensed slightly at the intrusion. “d-don’t clench so hard, baby,” he panted in your ear, “s’just me. ease up.”

the warmth that you felt on your back suddenly spread all along your body. jungkook covered you like a blanket, not letting a single sliver of your skin go untouched by him.

that sweet, citrusy smell of his wafted into your nose, and that’s when you finally eased up, allowing him to push more of his cock inside your tight heat. jungkook was careful with it at first; slowly sliding in and out until he was pumping into you with ease.

your brows scrunched together in pleasure, “oh fuck.”

jungkook made a noise in his chest so low at you cursing, it sent shivers down your spine. his free hand snaked underneath your bodies, and pinched at your clit. “w-watch that fuckin’—ngh, mouth.”

“s-sorry, sorry! can you go faster, please?”

you could feel jungkooks cock twitch inside you at your request, and without saying a word, he pulled alllll the way out before slamming back inside you. he moaned into your shoulder when your ass shimmied against his front. “what’re you doing, baby?” his voice was raspy, and strained as if he’d been hurt.

“need—need all of it in me,” you slurred out, too cockdrunk to even care about how stupid his dick has made you already. all you knew in this moment was that you needed every. single. inch of him.

“don’t worry, you got it all. just focus on feeling good for me,” jungkook whispered in your ear, now starting a steady rhythm of deep thrusts. you didn’t need to be told twice, and just completely went limp, allowing him to have his way with you once more.

his rough fingers grabbed at the fat of your hips, pulling you more into him, so he could fuck you harder.

“you like that? like when i fuck you like this?” he growled, wrapping his tatted bicep around your neck. your chin was resting on his forearm, and soon enough drool was dribbling from between your plush lips and onto his skin.

the loud moan you let out was more than enough of a response for him.

being trapped in his arms like this always made you excited, and a little scared. he was just sooo much bigger compared to you, and the fact that he was able to keep you in place or manhandle into any position he wanted didn’t make the obsession any better.

“ah ah ah! o-oh my goddd,” your baby pink, sock covered feet kicked wildly against the bed when his cock hit a spongy spot particularly deep inside of you. “gon—gonna cum soon,” you wept into his skin, the coil in your tummy getting tighter and tighter as the seconds passed.

“i-i know. i can feel it.”

and he wasn’t lying. your walls pulsed around him like crazy, warning him of your nearing orgasm. the loud squelching that happened each time he pushed into you was also a dead giveaway.

jungkooks hand snaked beneath your bodies once more, stopping at your lower tummy. he used three fingers to push down, hard.

this had your eyes crossing, your back arching into his scorching hot chest.

“j-jeonnn—!” you squealed out, limbs having a mind of their own as they twitched and shook violently underneath him.

jungkook tightened his grip around your neck, and fucked into you even harder, milking your orgasm for all it was worth.

“uhn, shit. squeezin’ me so tight, baby. who’s fucking you so good like this, huh?” he grit out, lowering his head to smush the side of his against your own. his tongue darted out to lick at a stray tear falling down your temple.

you couldn’t speak. your entire mind sounded like static, completely useless. that definitely wasn’t sitting right with your man.

“a-ah! jung—jungkook!” you sobbed out, the nerve endings on you shoulder going crazy from being bitten by him. it hurt, like a lot, but it also felt fucking amazing.

jungkooks tongue lolled out to soothe the bite, and each time his piercing swiped across the sensitive flesh you shivered. “there you go, baby. that’s all i wanted to hear.”

his heavy, brutal thrusts were no more, instead he settled for shallow grinding. god, he was so close to cumming, but he couldn’t. not now at least.

“c’mon. wanna— *huff* wanna fuck in front of the mirror.”

you whined at this, shaking your head weakly in protest. jungkook chuckled, sitting back on his knees, cock still nestled snugly inside of you. he spread your ass cheeks, teeth clamping onto his bottom lip at the sight of your cunt hugging his length so nicely.

“ugh, babe. m’so sensitive, please,” you sniffled, brows scrunching together in pleasure once more. this fucker had the audacity to flex his cock inside you, not even bothering to hide the grin on his face.

“pleaseee? i’ll be extra gentle i promise.”

you let out a small sigh when his rough hands began to massage at your lower back, careful not to press too hard.

“you’re such a liar. as soon as you have me bent over, you’ll be rough again,” you giggled, arousal starting slowly to pool in your belly once again.

you could feel the way his cock twitched, the way the thick veins wrapped around the base thrummed against your walls. fuck, you really wanted to feel the warmth of him nutting inside you.

jungkook mumbled a small apology as he slowly pulled his cock out, and wow. you had his shit glistening. streaks of your cream coated the base, and if you weren’t feeling so tired, he’d make you clean up your mess.

“turn around for me, pretty girl. wanna see your face.”

it took a minute, or three, but you finally managed to turn over with a loud huff. jungkook was still sitting back on his knees, eyes now glued to your swollen cunt.

you were so wet.

dribbles of your cum trailed down your ass cheeks and onto the bed, soaking the black cotton sheets even further. he chuckled, “guess i’m gonna have to do laundry . . . again. what a sloppy pussy you got, princess.”

he slapped your pussy once, twice, and when he did it a third time your thighs were closing in sensitivity.

“what’s wrong? thought you liked when i slapped her like that?” he tongued at the inside of his cheek, admiring how phat your pussy looked with your thighs closed the way they were.

“mm, i do. just extra sensitive right now,” you giggled hugging your knees to your chest.

jungkook slowly got off the bed, and with little to no strength, he pulled you down to the edge by your thighs. your arms reached out for him, and he was happy to lean down to let you wrap your arms around his thick neck.

“gonna let me have my way with you again, cutie?” he smirked, lifting your body off the bed. his rough hands cupped your ass, keeping you flush against his chest. the tip of his cock bumped against your cunt, and if he wasn’t so bent on taking you in front of the long mirror against the bedroom wall, you knew he’d fuck you right here, standing and all.

“you may . . . but you better be gentle. i have work tomorrow, n’ don’t wanna be sore,” your nails scratched at the nape of his neck, making him sigh contently. “you’re the best, baby.”

your legs slowly unwinded from around his waist, allowing him to set you down. you heard a giggle, and whipped your head around. “you laughin’ at me?” you smirked, getting on your knee in front of the mirror.

jungkook joined you on the floor, his lips breaking into an even bigger smile. “yes, yes, a little. your legs are shaking so much, i can’t help it.” and there he went showcasing those two, front bunny teeth that had you falling in love with him all over again every time you saw them.

you shifted towards him, your eyes sparkling like the finest of diamonds. “you’re so handsome,” you whispered, resting your hands on his thick thighs. “gimme a kiss.”

it was so nice to kiss your man again, it really was. his lips were always so soft, and plush. he did things with his tongue during kisses that you didn’t even know were possible!

“s-so obsessed with you,” jungkook moaned into your mouth, his hands gripping onto the fat of your hips so harshly, you were sure to feel it for the next couple hours.

your hand wrapped around his leaky, neglected dick, giving it a few slow pumps. jungkooks abs clenched, and his mouth parted, allowing you to suck his tongue into your mouth.

you let out a small squeak when he smacked your ass, tatted hand grabbing onto the soft, jiggly flesh afterwards. “you’re—heh, y-you’re distracting me,” he moaned softly, giving your ass another quick slap.

“m’sorry, baby. just can’t help myself, i missed your kisses so much.”

jungkook could’ve fucking cried. he was so turned on, and in love right now, the shit nearly brought him to tears.

“no, no, don’t be sorry. never be sorry, especially when it comes to men, remember?” he whined into the kiss, sloppily making his way down your jaw, and into the crook of your neck. “you’re everything—a fucking goddess. everyone should be kissing the ground you walk on.”

jungkook wasn’t even sure what he was saying at this point, too drunk on you and your body to even care what was coming out of his mouth.

your head tilted back in a moan, giving jungkook more access to your neck. “don’ say stuff like that. gonna make me an even bigger brat than i already am.”

jungkook didn’t mind that honestly. yes, you can be the biggest, poutiest brat he’s ever met, but you were his brat.

his brat to punish and reward as he see fit. his to fuck, and then take care of afterwards. his to spoil.

and spoiled you were!

after many failed relationships/situationships, jungkook became your first real boyfriend when you reached your early twenties. he took care of you financially, and loved you in ways you didn’t even know were possible, ruining you for any man or woman that could potentially come after him. (there will be no one that comes after him.)

“i don’t give a fuck about that. gotta keep you bratty so you need me all the time. all i wanna do is be needed by you, y/n.”

with one final kiss to your sweaty skin, jungkook removed his face from that oh so comfortable crook in your neck. “now turn around, and arch for me.”

you didn’t say anything. you just peered at him through your lashes, and gave him that look. the look that silently told him you wanted him to fuck you sooo good, and fill you up with his kids.

you turned around, now facing the mirror. you looked completely spent; the light eye makeup you wore to work was now streaky and smudged. the cherry gloss you were once wearing was now nothing but a memory—jungkook made sure of that.

your eyes found his in the mirror, and never left them as you got on all fours. your back arched, and that’s when jungkook was the first to break eye contact, his eyes immediately falling on your pussy.

you looked very enticing from this angle to say the least.

“remember,” you spoke softly, regaining his attention, “go slow.”

he didn’t want to go slow, like at all. his balls felt so heavy, ready to fill up your soft walls. going slow was the last thing jungkook wanted to do.

but you were his princess, his special girl, his reason for still having hope in this crazy world—so instead of fucking you into you floor like he hated you, jungkook took his time. well sorta.

he used no hands to push himself back inside your warmth, something you both very much enjoyed to watch, and slammed all the way in without warning.

you made a noise between a sob and a moan, completely taken aback by the action. your face fell into the plush carpet, your arch deepened, and jungkook could tell you were going to lay into him by the pout on your lips, but he was quick to shush your whines with a few soft kisses on the small of your back.

“so deep like this . .” your voice was light and airy, brain totally convinced that jungkook was almost in your tummy. a whine bubbled in your chest when he pulled your head up by your hair, forcing you to look at him once more.

“keep your head up. ‘wanna see your face while i fuck you.”

sigh, he had such a way with words.

a small, dopey smile formed on your lips, and he could see the hearts forming in your eyes at the demand. “i’ll keep my head up. promise.”

jungkook offered you a small smile in the mirror, and then his eyes slowly trailed to the sight of your cunt swallowing up his dick. your ass was pressed nice n’ tight against his pelvis, and if he concentrated hard enough, he could feel the heat from your pussy against his balls.

he tongued at his lip piercing, nostrils flaring as he slowly pulled out an inch, and then pushed himself back in. he just kept repeating to himself ‘need to go slow. need to go slow. need to go slow for her.’

while jungkook was having an internal battle to keep his composure, you were having your own challenges trying to keep your head up. each time he pushed back in, he went all the way in to the hilt, letting his fat tip knock against sensitive, spongy spot deep inside you.

a pearl colored ring of cream was now forming on the base of his cock, and that just made it all the more harder to keep his slow, steady rhythm going.

“love taking you like this,” he groaned, grabbing a handful of your peachy ass. when he glanced your reflection in the mirror; your head was still surprisingly up, but your eyes were low lidded, and your teeth were clamped onto your bottom lip so hard it looked like you were on the verge of drawing blood.

thankfully you released the plump flesh to respond to him, “y-yeah, me too.”

although you couldn’t see what he did, you could certainly hear it. the sound of his thick cock splitting open your creamy folds was deafening. you were so wet that at some points, jungkook was afraid his dick would slip right out of you.

“stop clenching s-so much,” he huffed, pulling you back by the fat of your ass to fuck into you not faster, but harder.

each time he was a little more than halfway out, you would clench your cunt around his tip, like you were afraid he’d pull out, and leave you high and dry.

“sorry i just—hah! n-need you to go a little faster? please?” you tried to make it sound like a demand, but under your boyfriends’ hungry stare, it was hard to give him any kind of orders. he made you feel so helpless when he got like this.

“yeah? like this?” the pace of his hips increased slightly, but not enough to satiate you. your eyes met his in the mirror again, “um, more like this—”

you pulled your hips forward, and slammed them back. you repeated this action until jungkook began to match your pace while also maintaining how hard his cock was pumping into you.

you thought he was deep before, but this was entirely new—you could feel him in your chest! it hurt a little, but it hurt so good.

“y-yeah—mm, just like that.” your head was starting to droop, obstructing his view of your pretty, fucked out face. this simply wouldn’t do—not when you’ve reached being peak cockdrunk.

your head was yanked up by your hair, and kept in place by jungkooks hand, his grip not loosening in the slightest. “do you even know what your name is right now?” he chuckled, swatting at your ass before gripping the jiggling flesh.

you whined, lips pushing into a pout as you shook your head ‘no’. this made his smile grow wider, and his balls tighten—he needed you cum inside you now.

his hand moved from your hair to your throat, and with a gentle tug, he finally relieved you of holding yourself up by keeping you pressed tightly against his sweaty chest.

“i’m so fucking cl-ose, god. please tell me you’re close, baby,” his words came out slurred from him mouthing at your shoulder.

you wanted to answer him, please him, but you simply couldn’t find the worlds—let alone move your lips to say them. that was until jungkook threatened to pull out if you didn’t.

you knew he wasn’t bluffing by the way his hips started to slow, and you’d be damned if they came to a complete stop.

you turned your head towards him, and jungkooks lips caught yours in a nasty kiss. tongues were sucked, teeth clashed together, and while he sucked on your bottom lip, you muttered out a breathy, ‘i’m close, kook.’

“i love you so much.”

“i love you m-more.”

several bruising thrusts later, and jungkook was cumming inside you with a loud whine, his hand closing around the sides of your throat a bit tighter to keep you in place. he shoved his free hand between your dripping thighs, and with three thick fingers, he rubbed fast circles on your clit.

“o-oh shittt!” your hand wrapped around his tatted wrist tightly, fingernails digging into his heated skin in a weak attempt to stop him.

“i told you to watch your fucking mouth,” he moaned out, pushing your head into the carpet, hard. you barely noticed though, too wrapped up in your quickly approaching orgasm.

he propped one knee up, and began delivering mean strokes. “you’re kinda struggling to listen today *huff* guess i can’t blame you though,” he chuckled, briefly slowing his thrusts so he could let a glob of spit fall into the already excessively wet mess between your bodies.

his cock as completely covered in your essence and his cum, and fuck, he felt so sensitive and raw, but he just couldn’t stop. in this moment, he truly believed that fucking your creamed pussy like this was the closest he’d get to feeling nirvana.

you were completely taken aback by how rough he was being with you. you loved it. you wanted more.

just as you were about to cum you moaned out ‘oh fuck!’ so loud, you were sure your neighbors heard. this only made jungkook smush your face harder into the carpet, his body hunching almost completely over yours as he fucked you at a speed so quick it had you seeing white.

you could suddenly feel puffs of air against your ear.

“if you wanted to get fucked harder all you had to do was ask—don’t gotta disobey me to get me to do it,” you heard him growl into your ear, and that’s what had you cumming with a squeal, your back arching completely into the floor.

jungkook fucked you through the entire thing, and then some more.

“y-yeah, that’s right. get it out for me—f-fuck, you sound so hot,” he whined into your hair, his pace never once faltering. he pressed a kiss to your sweaty shoulder, and straightened up his back. he bit down roughly on his bottom lip as he admired the erotic sight before him.

“p-pull out!” you moaned out, and when your cunt clenched tightly around his cock, he knew what was coming.

jungkook pulled out completely, and a clear stream of your cum followed, soaking the carpet beneath you. your body went limp, slowly slumping into a pile of mush.

you whimpered, tears free falling down your cheeks as jungkook massaged your ass and lower back. you could hear him mumbling praises, but you were entirely too spent to respond.

“c’mon, lets get you off the floor, and into the shower,” he spoke softly, earning a whine of disapproval from you. “you’re all messy, baby. plus, you need to pee,” he said matter of factly. he never failed to wake you up out a blissful post-fuck catnap to pee.

“fine, but you’re gonna have to carry me.”

“don’t i always, pretty girl?”

fifteen minutes later, you found yourself in the shower with jungkook, steaming water cascading down your sore bodies. jungkook had wrapped your hair up for you before you got in, allowing you to enjoy this quiet time with no worries.

he held you tightly against his chest, and hummed lowly, rocking your bodies side to side. after a few moments he whispered, “you think you can stand by yourself while i wash you?”

he was always such an intimate, sweet man.

you pressed a gentle kiss to his pec and nodded. “wanna wash you too when you’re done,” you mumbled, immediately missing his warmth as you detached your arms from around his slim waist.

jungkook was quick to squirt your favorite hemp rose soap into a loofa, and with careful hands, he scrubbed your body. first was your shoulders, and then your breasts where he took his sweet time, and as he scrubbed over your tummy and lower abdomen, a certain feeling had your lower half tingling.

“turn around, baby,” he hummed, adding more soap onto the loofa. he washed over your back carefully, afraid that if he added too much pressure, you’d shatter right in front of him.

he had you turn towards him once again, and got on his knees so he could wash your legs. he was very thorough. not a an inch of skin gone untouched by him.

he was eye level with your still messy pussy, and he’d be lying if he said taking a lick or two didn’t cross his perverted mind.

he looked up at you through his dripping lashes, “could you hand me your washcloth, please? gotta, um, clean up between your thighs.”

you brushed dark, wet strands of hair out of his face, allowing you to see those oh so tempting big, brown eyes of his.

“how about . . you use your tongue?” your voice came out tiny at the end, embarrassment flooding your system. you weren’t the best at dirty talk like this freak was.

he smirked at you, “yeah? want me to clean you up?”

he kissed at the insides of your thighs, nipping at the petal soft skin every now again to hear you gasp. your back fell against the cool tiles of the shower wall when you felt his tongue ghost over your slit.

he swiftly, yet calmly lifted your leg up by the back of your knee, and set it carefully over his shoulder. his tongue flattened, and slowly licked between your folds. the taste that greeted him was nothing less than sweet.

because of his great diet, jungkooks cum was on the sweeter side, so he never minded eating it out your pussy, especially when yours was mixed with it.

“keep going s-slow like that,” you huffed out, bucking your hips up. jungkook hummed and continued slowly stroking your clit, with his tongue. when his piercing brushed over it you mewled like a kitten, brows scrunching in pleasure.

his hand caressed the thigh that was on his shoulder, leaving a trail of goosebumps with each touch.

“good pussy,” he mumbled into your cunt, circling your hole with his tongue before slowly pushing it inside. your stomach caved in in sensitivity, a broken moan slipping past your kiss bitten lips.

his tongue massaged your sensitive walls, curling up just enough to have your thighs twitching. his nose nudged against your clit with each movement, bringing you closer and closer to your umpteenth orgasm of the night. you’d lost count long ago.

you nearly collapsed when you felt a finger prod at your entrance, and jungkook was quick to kiss your whines away with small pecks to your clit. “just one, baby. just wanna get you to where you need to be,” he groaned into your cunt, sucking your clit between his plump lips.

your thighs started to shake, and it wasn’t love before you were creaming all over jungkooks tongue with a high whimper. he laved his tongue sloppily over your swollen button, making you ride out your orgasm for as long as possible.

he licked your pussy clean, not leaving a drop behind to be wasted. “always so sweet for me,” he grinned, kissing the mound of your pussy before standing.

“now let me actually clean you up, needy girl,” he smirked, reaching for your lilac colored washcloth. he was gentle as ever as he slide the cloth over your gooey folds. he would mumble sweet apologies anytime he brushed over your raw clit, and each apology was followed by a kiss.

he was next to be washed down, and trust you took your sweet time running the navy blue loofa over his slicked skin. when you reached his lower half, he just smirked at you the entire time.

“my eyes are up here, pretty,” he chortled, regaining your attention that was previously on his soft cock. even when he wasn’t aroused his cock still looked so enticing.

once out of the shower, jungkook did all the work; meaning he dried you off, covered your body in shea butter, and ‘dressed you’ which was just him putting one of his shirts on you with nothing underneath.

all that fucking made him work up quite the appetite, so you weren’t entirely surprised when he started complaining of a rumbling stomach.

you settled on whipping him up his favorite spicy instant ramen with a fried egg. his body was glued to yours the entire time you cooked, lips occasionally pressing a kiss to your clothed shoulder.

“mm, kook,” you giggled, craning your neck away from his eager lips, “go sit, i’m almost finished. i’ll heat up the strudels while you eat.”

“but you’re so warmmm.”

“well, you should’ve put on a shirt. not my fault you wanna walk around and flaunt your muscles,” you grinned, pouring the steaming noodles into his favorite bowl to eat ramen out of.

it was a red, ceramic bowl that you had made during a pottery class you took with your friend. you were insistent on throwing it away because, lets face it, it could’ve been prettier, but jungkook refused to toss it. he insisted it was one of the most beautiful ceramic dishes he’s ever seen. a lie, but a sweet one.

with a huff, jungkook released his hold on you, and slowly made his way to the small table in the corner of the kitchen. he sat in one of the two chairs, and propped his chin on his elbow, admiring the view of you bustling around the small kitchen.

“there, all finished,” you said to yourself, carefully placing the fried egg on top of the noodles. “here you go, baby. careful, its super hot.”

jungkook didn’t head your words, of course, and took a big bite after blowing on the steaming bowl a handful of times. “s’hot . . . but s’good,” he said with a mouthful of food, brows furrowing together almost angrily.

“i’m glad you like them. i tried to eat some, but they were entirely too spicy for me,” you snickered, placing the strudels on a baking sheet.

“oh come onnn, they can’t be that spicy to you. c’mere give them another tryyyy.” even though you knew you were gonna regret your decision to indulge in the spicy food, you didn’t mind in the slightest knowing it would make jungkook happy.

begrudgingly, you stalked over to where he was sitting, your hands glued to your sides. “come here, pretty girl. got a small bite right here for you,” he smirked, holding up his chopsticks.

you made a small noise that sounded like a whine, and bent down, taking his chopsticks between your lips. sure enough, they were too hot for your tastebuds, leaving behind a painful sting as you swallowed them.

“ack! see, kook! too spicyyyy,” you panted out, shuffling your way over to the fridge.

as you downed a glass of ice cold cranberry juice to soothe the ache in your mouth, jungkook just watched with hearts in his eyes.

man, was he in love with you.

The watch on Jeongguk’s wrist read half past five as he exited his workplace. He reached for the black umbrella in his bag as soon as the cold drizzle touched his skin. It was typical for him to stay an hour or two past his work hours, making the following day easier on himself; today, however, was the exception.

Being summoned by his higher-up had never felt as nerve-wracking as it did today. There were rumors and whispers of an alleged promotion — the kind that, under normal circumstances, wouldn’t have disrupted his strict and already impeccable routine. He wanted to believe this time wasn’t any different. Nonetheless, whoever got this promotion would be stationed in Barcelona, Spain. That single fact turned an otherwise unappealing opportunity into something he wanted badly.

Born and raised in Seoul, where he’d studied international business and spent the past six years working as an assistant director of international partnerships at a well-known global trading firm, Jeongguk had built a life that looked, on paper, exactly like what he was supposed to want. He was bored of it. Bored of the mundane, the repetitive, the predictable. Applying for the promotion had been impulsive, almost out of character, and he was certain it was a long shot. Still, he found himself working harder than ever, as if devotion now could make up for the doubt underneath it.

“Congratulations, Jeon.” Said the older man sitting across from Jeongguk, separated by a black marble desk. The highest in the food chain, as far as regional bosses go. “The position is yours. Six weeks until your flight to Barcelona departs.”

Flat and emotionless. His delivery strangely helped Jeongguk’s anxiety, which skyrocketed once he sat down before his boss. Somehow, he could not believe he was chosen, even though he was the best out of the bunch. He wasn’t particularly driven by passion or love for his craft, but he was disciplined, and most of his coworkers lacked this indispensable virtue. 

“Fuck.” Jeongguk whispered to himself, staring at his wet shoes. “I can’t speak Spanish.”

The same wet shoes were quickly dropped by the entrance as Jeongguk practically ran to his home office. “Spanish… tutors… near me.” He muttered while simultaneously typing on his computer.

Jeongguk’s decision to apply for this promotion wasn’t reckless solely because it would require moving halfway across the globe, but also because he barely spoke the language his new home would require him to speak. This concern never crossed his mind before because he was naturally skilled at communicating with others and rarely needed to step outside his comfort zone when it came to foreign languages. A talented business major through and through, Jeongguk already knew three languages — Japanese, Mandarin, and English — in addition to his mother tongue. He mediated countless meetings for company branches across East Asia, to the point that he assumed the unofficial position of spokesperson whenever any of these languages were expected. He never needed to learn Spanish; now it seems as if his life depends on it.

As Jeongguk scrolled through the first tutoring website he found, he felt a level of anxiety that practically blinded him. He didn’t realize until that exact instant… He was moving to Barcelona. Away from comfort, from his predictable routine, and from everything that was familiar. As he reached the seventh page of tutor profiles, his eyes landed on one that made him pause.

It was the only profile without a profile picture or a tutor description. You only wrote your name and the languages you spoke, one of which was Spanish. You thought adding a professional headshot and highlighting your experience and skills seemed too pretentious, considering you saw tutoring as a hobby, a hobby that provided you with a few extra coins. That may be why you've only had four students in the eight months your profile has been up on the website. Jeongguk could see that those four students were satisfied with their experiences, judging by the remarkable five-star rating next to your nonexistent profile picture.

Jeongguk laughed at himself, acknowledging that it would be a terrible idea not to go with the tutor with the most experience and reviews. Again, it seemed as if his life depended on learning Spanish in six weeks. However… There was something exhilarating about taking risks— the last one had gotten him a promotion and a life in one of the most beautiful cities in the world. After a life filled with monotony, he was ready to be reckless.

You were startled by the sudden notification on your phone, more so after seeing it was a request for your tutoring services. “Okay, Jeongguk wants to learn Spanish,” you mentioned out loud while reading his message. “Fun!”

You were different from other tutors. Specifically, you preferred doing your tutoring sessions in person. In a coffee shop, at a library, or sometimes in a park. You believed that face-to-face learning triumphed over online lessons because understanding the nuances behind certain words and phrases was easier if your students could clearly perceive your gestures, something that may be complicated if you were relying on your choppy wi-fi. However, you couldn’t deny that this preference may be strange to some of your potential students due to the lack of identifiable information in your profile.

Jeongguk was one of those students. He saw your request as if the universe was giving him one last chance to change his mind, return to the first page, and book a lesson with the highest-rated tutor. He, once again, decided to ignore his logical inner voice and quickly accepted your wish to meet in a local coffee shop. Who knows? He might find the best coffee he’s ever tasted there if things keep going how they are.

Sitting down in the nearest booth with his caramel macchiato, Jeongguk was fidgeting to calm his nerves. His mind drifted into a spiral of doubt. All he knew about you was your name and that you knew Spanish. That was all he needed to know; still, he kept his expectations low, focusing his mind on the tough task of learning a new language instead. His mind continued drifting until his thoughts were interrupted by a harmonious voice.

“You’re Jeongguk, right?” You approached him, recognizing his face from his profile picture. “It is so nice to meet you.” You introduced yourself and immediately sat down in the open seat across from him once he nodded to your question.

He repeated your name to himself, taking in your looks and thanking every higher power that you were not some weird scammer. “I look forward to learning from you.” 

Indeed, you were rather beautiful. It took him some time to adjust to actually focusing on your melodious voice instead of your drawing eyes. Your smile was blinding, and you seemed so carefree and pleasant, which was the opposite of what he had frequently observed while working in such a ruthless environment. Similarly, you had never seen someone like Jeongguk before. He wasn’t just handsome; he looked like a fallen angel lost on Earth, with the kind of face and body that would inspire artists from the Renaissance. It sounds hyperbolic, but you genuinely started trembling when he confirmed he was the person you were looking for. His profile picture must have been outdated, you thought, because he now had a lip ring that flawlessly accentuated his rosy lips. By the looks of his attire — clean, monochromatic, and professional —, he seemed important. You wondered why he chose you out of so many potential tutors. You were so used to teaching college students and youngsters looking for helpful phrases to use during overseas trips. This was sure to be a teaching experience unlike any you had before.

“So,” You began, digging your thoughts deeper into your subconscious. “Tell me a bit about yourself. Why do you want to learn Spanish?”

“Well, I recently got a promotion.” You briefly clapped at his news. “Thank you. The only thing is that I’ll need to relocate to Spain. In six weeks.” His expression suddenly shifted. “And, as you can probably gather from my request for your services, I don’t know how to speak Spanish.”

“That’s not too bad, six weeks is plenty of time.” You scoffed, noticing that Jeongguk seemed stressed. Six weeks was definitely not enough time, but admitting this wouldn’t make it easier on either of you.

Your reassuring words made Jeongguk feel at ease.

“Let’s start with the basics, then.” You took a few items out of the backpack you were carrying. “Tell me what you’ve done today so far. In Spanish, of course.”

Jeongguk laughed until he saw you kept a serious expression. “Oh… I guess we have different definitions of basics.” 

"Basics for me just means figuring out where you're actually starting from," you said, softening it when you saw the color drain from his face. "Everyone's basics look different. So humor me." You slid a vocabulary book across the table. "Tell me about your morning. In Spanish."

He blinked. "All of it?"

"However much you can manage. Doesn't have to be pretty."

He opened his mouth, and nothing came out. Not even a stumble— just silence, and the particular stillness of a man realizing he had absolutely nothing to draw from. You watched the composure that had gotten him through a promotion interview start to slip, replaced by something closer to genuine alarm, and it caught you off guard how quickly you wanted to walk it back for him.

"Okay," you said, gentler. "Let's try something smaller. Just tell me what you're drinking." You nodded at his cup.

"Café," he said, cautious, like it might be a trap.

"Good. Now put a sentence around it. 'Estoy tomando café.'" I’m drinking coffee.

"Estoy… tomando café." He repeated the phrase slowly, testing its shape in his mouth, and something in his shoulders eased when it came out right. "That's it?"

"That's it. You just said your first sentence."

He looked, for a second, genuinely pleased with himself. The kind of small, unguarded pride that didn't match the composed man you sat down across from ten minutes ago. It made you smile, watching that shift. "Okay. What else can I say?"

"Depends. What do you actually want to be able to say?"

"Anything. Everything. I have six weeks and apparently zero foundation to work with." He said it lightly, but there were real nerves beneath the surface, and you found yourself softening your approach without realizing it.

"Six weeks is tight, but it's workable if we're smart about it," you said. Then, because it felt wrong to let the reassurance sit there unchallenged, you added, "Honestly, tight is generous. It's going to be a lot of repetition and probably some frustration. I'd rather tell you that now than have you find out in week three."

He considered that, turning his cup slowly on the table. "I appreciate the honesty."

"I figured you'd prefer brutal honesty rather than a nicer version."

"I do." A small, surprised smile. "Most people give me the nice version."

"I'm not most people."

"Clearly." He said it like an observation, not a line, and something about the plainness of it sat warmer than a joke would have. His eyes lingered on yours longer than your heart could handle. "Alright. Teach me something else. Something I'll actually use."

You started him on simple present tense—estoy, tengo, quiero—building sentence by sentence off things actually in front of him: his coffee, the rain outside, the fact that he was nervous, which he refused to say out loud in his native language, let alone Spanish, until you needled him into it. He was quick, quicker than most students you'd had, picking up patterns after hearing them once and testing the edges of what he could say instead of just repeating what you gave him. It made sense when you learned that he was already proficient in a few languages. Holding this fact, you intentionally tried to increase the difficulty level. By the time you'd worked through a dozen sentences, he'd stopped bracing before he spoke.

"You're better at this than you think," you told him, and meant it.

"I had a good teacher rip the training wheels off in the first five minutes. Bit unconventional, but it worked."

"Don't get used to gentle. That was a warm-up."

"That was gentle?" He asked with genuine concern.

"Compared to what's coming? Extremely." You closed the notebook halfway, marking your place.

By the time the coffee shop's lights dimmed for closing, you'd gone through two rounds of conjugations, one increasingly ridiculous argument about whether "tú" or "usted" was the correct way to address your own boss, and a solid ten minutes where Jeongguk insisted he'd already mastered "estoy" and kept trying to bolt it onto everything, including things that didn't need a verb at all.

"Estoy Jeongguk," he tried, testing it.

"That's not how it works."

"Estoy... very confident that it does."

"It does not. You don't 'estoy' a name, you just say the name."

"You're telling me I can't improvise."

"I'm telling you that you tried to conjugate your own identity, and I need you to sit with that for a second."

"See, when you put it like that, it sounds insane."

"It was insane in real time, too." You laughed louder than you meant to. "Same time in two days?"

“Can’t wait to learn more from you.” Your heart skipped a beat seeing his smile as he waved goodbye to you.

On your next lesson, something was different. Same booth, similar monochromatic outfit, but he had a notebook of his own this time— not the one you'd given him, a different one, small and battered, already half full of handwriting.

"What's that?" You pointed to the notebook.

"Homework." He said it like a confession. "I looked up some things after our lesson. I wanted to see if I could get further on my own before you decided I was a lost cause."

"I don't decide people are lost causes."

"You did call me insane after I butchered the conjugation of ‘estoy.’"

"That was a joke, not a professional assessment." You reached for the notebook before he could stop you, flipping through it, and found — of course you did — that it was organized by category, verb tenses on one page, useful phrases on another, a small section labeled simply MISTAKES with three entries under it, each one crossed out with a correction written beside it in tidier handwriting than the original.

"You made yourself a mistake log." You were impressed, and your face showed it when you turned to look at a seemingly embarrassed Jeongguk.

"I like tracking things I've gotten wrong so I don't get them wrong twice."

"That's either extremely disciplined or deeply unwell."

"I like to think of it as a diversified skill set." He took the notebook back before you could read further, a little more self-conscious than his tone let on, and you found the sudden shyness almost more interesting than the notebook itself, because up until now, he hadn't shown you a single thing he wasn't fully in control of.

"Show me the mistakes," you said.

"Absolutely not."

"Jeongguk." This time, you finally sat down, your face inching closer to his.

"They're embarrassing."

"That's exactly why I want to see them."

He caved, eventually, sliding the notebook back across with the reluctance of a man handing over evidence at trial. You went through his mistakes: a gender agreement error, a mixed-up preterite, and a phrase he'd apparently misheard from a YouTube video and written down completely wrong. You corrected each one without laughing, though it cost you some effort, especially on the third, which you couldn’t even pretend you understood.

"This isn't even a real sentence," you said. "This means 'the elephant regrets nothing.'"

"I thought it meant 'no worries.'"

"It does not mean 'no worries.'" You both laughed at how ridiculous this mistranslation was.

"Well, now I know that. That's what the log is for."

You couldn't help it. You laughed again, and he looked so pleased with himself for causing it that you had to look back down at the notebook just to stop him from seeing exactly how pleased that made you in return. The rest of the lesson went quickly after that, buoyed by whatever he'd built on his own, and by the time you packed up, he'd added a fourth mistake to the log, this one made in real time, in front of you, without flinching.

"Progress," you said, nodding at it.

"Diversified skill set," he said again, and this time you both laughed.

He pulled out his phone to add your next session to his calendar, and you found yourself glancing over without quite meaning to—color-coded blocks stacked neatly across the week, each one labeled with a precision that bordered on excessive. Although you were the teacher, you thought there were many things you could learn from Jeongguk. So calculated, so thorough. So coordinated, so organized. It made you curious.

You gathered your things a few minutes later, the usual routine — notebook zipped away, pen capped, mental checklist for next time — except tonight you caught yourself lingering over it, in no particular hurry to leave the booth. It wasn't something you let yourself examine too closely on the walk to your car. However, you noticed, distantly, that you'd already started looking forward to the mistakes he'd bring you next time, and that this was not, strictly speaking, a normal thing to look forward to about a client.

For your third meeting, he was late for the first time, which felt so out of character that you almost texted to check on him before he came jogging in, tie slightly crooked, apologizing before he'd even sat down.

"Sorry. The meeting with the Barcelona branch ran long. They've started wanting updates every other day now.” He plopped himself down on the seat next to you. “I can't tell if that means they're excited or if they think I'm going to back out."

"Breathe. No need to apologize." The sudden proximity took you aback. He didn’t seem to mind how close he sat.

"I am breathing."

"You're breathing like you just ran here."

"I did just run here." He said as he let out a deep sigh, dragging a hand through his hair, and for the first time since you'd met him, the composure actually cracked all the way. "Sorry. I know I'm paying you to teach me, not to see me having a small breakdown in a coffee shop."

"You're allowed a small breakdown.” You reassured him. “This is a lot, what you're doing."

"Is it? Everyone at work keeps calling it exciting."

"It can be exciting and a lot. Those aren't mutually exclusive." You slid your own coffee toward him, only half-joking. "Drink that. You look like you need it more than I do."

He took it, and something in his shoulders came down half an inch. "Thank you."

"For the coffee or the pep talk?"

"Both. Neither. I don't know." He exhaled, finally looking like himself again, if a slightly more unguarded version of himself. "Can we just do something easy today? I don't think I have the bandwidth for you tearing apart my subjunctive."

"We can do easy." You considered him for a second, something softening in you that you didn't examine too closely. "Tell me about Barcelona. Not the job. Just— what do you actually know about the city? What are you looking forward to, if anything?"

It was meant as a distraction, a simple way of easing him back into speaking without the pressure of being right. He answered slowly, actually thinking about it, and what came out surprised you both. Something about wanting to walk somewhere without a schedule attached to it, about not remembering the last time he'd done something just because he wanted to and not because it was useful. He’s searched online for places to visit once he arrives. He looked excited, for once. You listened and didn't correct a single verb the whole time he talked, even when he got things wrong, because it didn't feel like it was your place to interrupt.

"That's the first real thing you've told me about yourself," you said, once he'd trailed off, a little embarrassed at how much he'd said.

"Is it terrible?" He looked self-conscious.

"Not at all, it's just very you. Apparently, even the stuff you want is efficient. You want to do unstructured activities, but you're already planning how you'll do them."

He laughed and didn't put any distance back between you, the way you half expected him to once the moment passed. If anything, he'd settled in closer over the course of the conversation, close enough that you could feel the warmth of him against your arm, and something eased between you that hadn't been there minutes before. The particular ease of two people who'd stopped performing for each other and stopped minding how little space was left between them.

In your next session, the coffee shop was particularly loud. A birthday party three tables over, someone's badly-timed acoustic guitar rendition of a song you both silently agreed was better left unplayed, and halfway through trying to explain the subjunctive over the noise, Jeongguk finally set his pen down.

"I can't hear myself think, let alone conjugate."

"Welcome to public spaces." You smiled. It was becoming hard for you, too.

"I'm serious. Is this shop usually this lively?" Jeongguk felt a headache coming on, so used to his completely silent office.

"Lately, yeah. New owner started doing live music nights, I think."

He considered something for a second, turning his cup, the same slightly-too-careful expression he got right before he said something he'd clearly been sitting on. "Would it be easier somewhere quieter? My place isn't far. I don't mind hosting, if that's okay with you."

You studied him for a beat too long, long enough that he visibly wondered if he'd overstepped, opening his mouth like he might take it back —before you shrugged, keeping your voice light even though something in your chest had gone very still. "Quieter's better for listening comprehension anyway. Send me the address."

Your mind started racing as you parked in front of his apartment. There was no power imbalance besides the clear teacher-student dynamic you were desperately trying to maintain. Regardless, it felt strange crossing this boundary with a client, as if you were doing something you knew was wrong. You were unsure why you felt this way… It wasn’t as if you were about to do something you weren’t supposed to. Right? 

You shook the thought off before it could finish forming, grabbed your bag, walked up to his door, and knocked. Whatever this feeling was, it could wait until after the lesson, or so you told yourself, right up until he opened the door.

His apartment was exactly what you expected from someone who color-coded his calendar: clean lines, nothing out of place, a bookshelf organized by height instead of subject. You almost laughed when you saw it.

"What?" he asked, catching your expression.

"Nothing. It's very... you."

"Is that an insult?"

"Depends on how the rest of the lesson goes."

"Ominous." He toed off his shoes at the door with the practiced neatness of a man who'd never once left them scattered. "Coffee?"

"Only if it's better than the shop's."

"It's way better than the shop's." He quickly scoffed.

"That's exactly what someone with worse coffee would say." A chuckle escaped your lips. You enjoyed teasing him this way.

He made it anyway and set the cup in front of you with the particular smugness of someone certain he'd win the argument once you tasted it. You didn't give him the satisfaction of admitting he was right, though the small, betraying sound you made after the first sip probably gave you away.

"I heard that," he said.

"You heard nothing."

"I heard a sound of defeat. I’ll claim the victory this time.” Still so smug, it was nice to see him being silly after your previous lesson.

You settled at his dining table, Jeongguk quickly sitting in the chair next to yours. The lesson went the way previous lessons had gone: efficient at first, then slower, then punctuated by tangents that had nothing to do with grammar. He asked about your other students, clearly fishing to find out if any of them got the same treatment he did.

"So," he said, entirely too casual for someone trying to be subtle about it, spinning his pen between two fingers instead of using it. "Your other students. Do they get this, too?"

"Get what?" Your face and voice conveyed confusion, but you knew exactly what he meant.

"This." He gestured between you, slow, deliberate, like he already knew the answer and just wanted to hear you say it. "The banter. The constant teasing. How observant you are of every little detail about me."

"That's a very specific thing to accuse me of." You maintained eye contact, believing it was exactly what he wanted from you. 

"Is it wrong?"

"Why does it matter to you?"

"It doesn't. I'm just curious." He wasn't backing down, still watching you with that same deliberate patience, like he had all the time in the world for you to answer. "So. Do they?"

"No." You held his eyes when you said it, refusing to give him the satisfaction of looking away first. "Everyone else just writes down what I say and follows my directions. You're the only one who argues back."

"So I'm special." His smile couldn’t get any wider.

"You're a pain in my ass, is what you are."

"That wasn't a no."

You scoffed at that, and he knew it, watching you with the particular arrogance of a man who'd gotten exactly the answer he wanted the entire time. "It also wasn't a yes."

"You're smiling."

"I'm not."

"You are. Very small. Very poorly hidden." He leaned back, pleased with himself in a way that should’ve been unbearable and somehow wasn't. "For the record, I like being the only one."

You went back to the lesson after that, or tried to. Still, you kept catching it, the thing you'd apparently been noticing without quite naming it until now: how he squared his shoulders every time you corrected him, like the mistake itself was a personal failure rather than just a wrong verb ending, how he'd repeat a corrected phrase three or four times under his breath until it was flawless, not satisfied until it was. How rattled he'd looked, days ago, defeated over not being able to form a complete sentence in a language he did not know— not embarrassed exactly, more like a man encountering a gap in himself he hadn't accounted for.

That was something worth asking about. "Can I ask you something?"

"Depends what it is." He kept writing things down in his notebook. You assumed he was correcting another of his mistakes.

"Why are you so bad at accepting help?" You said it lightly, half a joke, expecting a joke back, but he actually seemed to consider it, setting his pen down instead of deflecting.

"I don't know. I'm good at things I've already decided to be good at. I don't really do the part where I'm bad at something in front of someone." He reached for his cup, not quite meeting your eyes. "This is a lot of being bad at something. In front of someone."

"You're not bad at it." And you truly meant it. He was one hundred percent more invested than any other student you’ve taught.

"I was barely able to say a simple sentence two weeks ago." Jeongguk raised his eyebrows, perceiving your words as ironic.

"And now you're arguing with me about verb tenses like it's a personal insult. That's basically fluent."

"Very generous benchmark." He shrugged.

"I'm a generous person." You weren't, particularly, not with anyone else, and you both seemed to spot that fact at the same time. He didn't have a good answer for that, covering the silence by pretending to be very focused on his verb chart, jaw doing something complicated that wasn't actually about grammar at all. You decided to interrupt whatever he was doing. "You're stalling."

"I'm concentrating."

"You've been staring at 'poder' for two minutes. It's not that deep."

"It's a philosophically rich verb."

"It means 'can,’ Jeongguk."

"Exactly. Can I, can I not— very existential." He was grinning when he looked up, clearly pleased with himself, and you threw your pen cap at him for it. He caught it with a look of pride in his eyes.

"Teach me something useful," he said, halfway through his second cup, spinning the pen cap between his fingers like a trophy. "Not textbook stuff. Something people actually say."

"Like what?"

"I don't know. Flirting.” Your eyes slightly widened at his request. “Isn't that useful? I'm moving to a city full of people I don't know how to talk to."

"And this is a professional request, right?"

"Extremely professional."

"Uh huh." You raised an eyebrow, but there was something under his tone — half joke, half something else entirely — that made you set your pen down instead of picking up the textbook again. Two could play at this game. "Fine. Repeat after me.” You looked him dead in the eye and said, with perfect, theatrical seriousness: “¿Tienes un mapa? Porque me perdí en tus ojos."

He repeated it, slow and careful, actually trying to get the pronunciation right before he asked, "What does that even mean?"

"'Do you have a map? Because I got lost in your eyes.'"

There was a beat of silence, and then he put his face in his hands. "That's the worst thing I've ever said in any language."

"It's a classic."

"It's criminal. Have you used it before?"

"Nope, it's objectively one of the worst pickup lines in existence, which is exactly why I'm teaching it to you."

"So you're setting me up to fail."

"I'm setting you up to make someone laugh so hard they fall for you. There's a strategy here." As the words came out of your mouth, you knew they sounded insincere. For some reason, the thought of Jeongguk flirting with a random girl annoyed you.

"A strategy," he repeated, deadpan, and then broke, laughing for real, dragging a hand down his face like he couldn't believe he'd actually said it out loud. You were laughing too, at the sheer commitment he'd put into something so deeply stupid, and for a second, neither of you managed to stop. "Okay," he said, once he'd recovered, still grinning. "Give me a real one. Something I could actually use."

You considered him for a second. Flushed from laughing, pen cap in his hand, looking at you like you were the only thing worth paying attention to in the room, and the next phrase came out quieter than you meant it to.

"Me encantas."

"What's that one?"

"It means I’m into you. I’m crazy about you, actually." You said it lightly, like it was still part of the lesson, but something in your voice gave you away, and you watched him catch it.

"Say it again." Something in him shifted; his eyes became even darker as he moved closer to you.

"Jeongguk—"

"Say it again."

You did, slower this time, without the joke to hide behind.

“Me encantas.” He repeated it back to you like he meant it, because he did, you both did. 

The words were the same, but the delivery was different—quieter, more deliberate, aimed at you rather than at a hypothetical stranger at a bar in Barcelona. Jeongguk felt the difference in his spine, a warm pressure spreading downward. The pen cap he'd been spinning clattered to the table, forgotten, as your faces came closer.

Jeongguk closed the gap between you by kissing your lips like a starved man. One of his hands held the back of your neck, attempting to bring you even closer, as if that was possible. His tongue explored yours relentlessly, bringing out breathless moans from you. Jeongguk felt blessed to hear you fall apart thanks to him. You felt his lip ring against your bottom lip when he bit it. It made you lose your composure. Your hands approached him, tugging his hair and pulling him away from you to take a breath. Although you were both breathing heavily, Jeongguk was far from done. He pecked your face, trailing kisses along your cheek and down your neck, where he stayed and left a few wet kisses.

“That feels so fucking good, Jeongguk.” You pushed your legs together and began grinding the seat, the sensation in your core intensified by Jeongguk’s neck kisses and grunts near your ear.

“Cursing, teach? That’s unacceptable.” He teased you, but you could only worry about how empty you felt without his lips on your skin. You were blinded by the pleasure you felt; you could barely discern what was appropriate from what wasn’t.

You sat on his lap, your legs straddling his, and he instinctively held onto your hips, smiling at how desperate you looked already. “What can I say? I think you bring out a different side in me that no other student sees.” He smiled, lips redder and lip ring shinier than before, and the increasing pulse in your crotch became painful. This time, you kissed him. Your hands found his hair again, and you loved how soft it was. 

Jeongguk didn’t think having you on top of him was enough. His fingers explored every inch of you they could reach. He rubbed your back, your exposed thighs, until he reached your ass and lingered there, holding onto both cheeks and taking control of you, forcing you to grind against him. You could feel how hard he was getting, and the pleasure created by the friction between your bodies was overwhelming. 

“Eres hermosa,” Jeongguk whispered as your lips abandoned his. You are beautiful.

You stared at him, impressed. You hadn’t taught him that; he’d done his homework. Those words reached a deep point inside you. Your head fell back, and your hips moved faster, the feeling of his hardened cock even more intense against your clothed clit. Jeongguk felt on top of the world, knowing that he had this effect on you. His lips found your neck once more, bridging the distance between you while his hips matched the rhythm of yours.

Before you could completely surrender yourself to the wave of pleasure that washed over you, the grating sound of a phone notification disrupted your rhythm, bringing you back to reality when you almost felt as if you were floating. You and Jeongguk shared a look, welcoming an awkward tension that was not there before. Behind you and towards the dining table, you realized it was your phone that cockblocked you. Reaching for it, your best friend’s name flashed on the screen. 

“Fuck, I completely forgot about it.” Still straddling Jeongguk, you covered your face in embarrassment. You made plans with her a while ago, way before Jeongguk was a regular part of your schedule. If only you were as organized as he was, you would have realized that you double-booked yourself. 

"Everything okay?" His hands were still resting at your waist, not pulling away, not pushing either, just steady, like he was giving you room to think without making you feel like you had to move yet. He didn’t want you to move away. His voice had dropped back into something calmer than it had been minutes ago, though his chest was still rising at the same speed it had been the past few minutes.

"I have to go. My friend, she’s waiting for me. I lost track of time, no— I forgot that I was supposed to meet her today." You sounded anxious.

"Don't." He interrupted you before you'd even finished getting up, quiet, almost surprised at himself for saying it at all. He didn't let go of your waist right away, thumb still resting against your hip like he wasn't ready to stop touching you yet. "Not yet. Just— give me a second before you go."

You stilled, half off his lap, caught by the shift in his voice. "Jeongguk—"

"I keep a color-coded calendar because if I don't plan something, it doesn't happen. That's not a joke, that's just how I've lived for the past few years. I decide what I want, I build a system for getting it, I execute." He wasn't looking at you now, focused instead on some point over your shoulder, as if it was easier to speak if he wasn't looking directly at you. "I didn't plan for this. These feelings. I don't know what to do with something I didn't see coming."

Now he did look at you, and whatever composure he'd been holding onto slipped the rest of the way. "I've had a mistake log for our lessons because I hate not knowing how to do something in front of you. That's how much I dislike disappointing you. And now you're about to walk out that door, and I have no idea what I'm supposed to do with how much I don't want you to."

You hadn't expected that. The specificity of it, no metaphor to hide behind, just him handing you the actual, unflattering shape of what he'd been carrying around this whole time. Something in your chest gave way at the honesty of it, some last piece of the distance you'd been keeping without quite admitting you were keeping it.

"I rescheduled a client for you last week." You said it like a confession, too. Quiet, meeting his gaze. You hadn’t noticed he was clenching his jaw until now.  "Someone whom I’ve been teaching every single week for a year. I told him I had a conflict… I just wanted to see you sooner."

"You didn't tell me that."

"I wasn't going to. It's not exactly professional." A short, unsteady laugh, nothing like your usual sharpness. "I just didn't want to go a whole week without seeing you, and I didn't know what to do with that, so I lied to a client instead of admitting it."

He didn't say anything right away. Just reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, slow, like he wanted an excuse to keep touching you a second longer.

"Good," he said finally, quietly. "I'm glad it wasn't just me."

Neither of you said anything after that; nothing was left that felt safe to say out loud. So you did the only thing that felt true instead: you kissed him again, slow, nothing like the urgency from an hour ago, just the quiet certainty that you weren't done with this, with him. Not even close, even if you weren't ready to admit how not close yet. When you finally pulled back, his forehead stayed pressed to yours for a second longer, like neither of you wanted to be the one to end it.

"Go," he murmured, though he didn't let go of your hand until the very last second. "Before I actually get on my knees and start begging you to stay."

You didn't remember the walk to your car. You remembered the door closing behind you, and the cold air hitting your face, and standing there for a full minute before your legs remembered how to move. Something in you needed a second to catch up with what had just happened before it would let you drive.

Two days passed before your next lesson, and they passed strangely. The kind of strange where every hour felt both too long and somehow already over before you'd noticed it happening. You went out with your best friend that night as you'd promised, sat across from her at the same bar you always went to, and heard maybe half of what she said. She was mid-story about a coworker's disastrous drama, and you were nodding at what you hoped were the right moments while your phone sat face-up on the table between you, screen dark, willfully unread.

"You're doing the thing," she said, snapping her fingers in front of your face.

"What thing?"

"The thing where you're here, but you're not here." She narrowed her eyes at you over her drink. "You've checked that phone four times in the last ten minutes, and it hasn't even buzzed."

"I have not."

"You have. Who is he?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

She didn't push it, which was somehow worse, because it meant she already knew there was someone, and was simply choosing to let you sit in the discomfort of being caught. You picked up your phone under the pretense of checking the time and found nothing waiting for you. No message, no missed call, nothing. You put it back down, feeling unreasonably disappointed by the absence of something you hadn't even told him to send.

You weren't usually like this. You'd always been the easy-breezy one, the friend who didn't lose sleep over a guy, who could go months without thinking twice about someone she'd kissed once and moved on from without much ceremony. Whatever this was, this counting down the two days until your next lesson like it was a deadline instead of a Tuesday, was new and a little embarrassing. You weren't sure yet whether you minded.

You mostly failed at that. You caught yourself rereading his one text from that night things got heated — made it home safe? sent a couple of hours after you'd left, casual on the surface, nothing underneath it you could point to and call proof of anything. You caught yourself, twice, standing in front of your closet trying to decide what to wear to your next lesson, before catching your own reflection in the mirror and feeling genuinely ridiculous about it. You'd worn the same three sweaters to previous lessons without a second thought, and now, apparently, that no longer applied. 

By the time the second day rolled into evening, you'd stopped pretending to yourself that the anticipation was about anything other than him.

He opened the door differently this time. No pressed shirt, no perfectly squared-off notebook waiting on the table, none of the rehearsed composure he usually greeted you with, the kind that made him look like he was walking into a client meeting rather than a Spanish lesson. Just him, in a soft gray t-shirt instead of his usual monochromatic uniform, hair slightly less deliberate than usual, lip ring catching the hallway light when he tilted his head. He looked, unmistakably, like he'd spent the last two days thinking about the same thing you had and hadn't landed on what to do with it either.

"Hi," he said.

"Hi."

Neither of you moved for a second. The air between you was thick with everything that hadn't been finished, everything that had been sitting, unresolved, for two days that had felt considerably longer than two days. Two days of half-read texts and half-worn outfits and half-listened-to best friends, and you suspected, watching the careful way he was holding himself in the doorway, that his version of the last two days hadn't looked all that different from yours.

"I didn't set anything up," he said finally, glancing back over his shoulder at the bare kitchen table. No cards, no notebook. "Didn't see the point in it."

"No flashcards? No mistake log?"

"I've been distracted." His voice had dropped, quieter than the joke deserved, and there was nothing careful about the way he was looking at you now. None of the calculated thoroughness he brought to everything else in his life, the thoroughness you'd watched him wear like armor since the day you met him. "You have that effect on me, apparently. Turns out it's hard to plan a grammar lesson when you can't stop thinking about the last one."

"That's very unlike you. Being unprepared."

"I know." He didn't sound bothered by it. If anything, he sounded almost relieved, as if being unprepared for once, in front of you specifically, was closer to a relief than a failure. "I figured we both already know where we left off."

"Do we?"

"I think so." He stepped back to let you in, close enough as you passed him that you felt the warmth of him even without touching, and something about the restraint of it made the two days of waiting feel almost unbearable. Both of you very deliberately did not close that last inch, not yet. 

The door clicked shut behind you, and the sound of it—that small, final latch—sent something electric down your spine. Neither of you moved for a breath. The air in his apartment felt different tonight, charged with everything that had been simmering since you walked out two days ago with his taste still on your lips.

"Two days is a long time," he said, voice low, not quite steady.

"You have no idea."

"I think I do." Jeongguk reached for you, fingers sliding along your jaw, tipping your face up toward his. The pad of his thumb traced your bottom lip, slow, almost reverent, like he was memorizing the shape of it. "I kept thinking about how you sound when I kiss your neck. Couldn't focus on a single fucking thing at work."

His voice dropped lower, rougher, as his thumb slid down to your chin, tilting your head just enough to expose the column of your throat. "I kept replaying that little noise you made, the one right before you pulled me back in. The one that told me you didn't actually want to leave." You felt the heat of his breath against your skin before his lips followed, pressing a soft, open-mouthed kiss to the spot just below your ear. "I sat through a three-hour meeting with the Barcelona team, and all I could think about was this." His teeth grazed your pulse point, featherlight, deliberate. "The way you feel in my hands. How you said my name like it meant something."

His hand slid from your jaw to the nape of your neck, fingers threading through your hair, tugging just enough to make your breath hitch. "I don't get distracted. I don't let myself get distracted. But you—" He exhaled against your skin, a sound that was half laugh, half surrender. "You're in my head. All the time.” His lips brushed your earlobe, his voice a low rasp.

"Show me what you were thinking about."

The words left your mouth before you'd fully decided to say them, and you watched the effect they had on him in real time—the way his pupils blew wide, the way his breath caught and held for half a beat too long. His thumb, still resting on your hip, pressed harder, a reflexive response he probably didn't even notice.

"I was thinking about this," he said, voice rough, and his hand slid from your hip down to the inside of your thigh, fingers tracing the seam of your jeans with deliberate slowness. "About how you felt in my lap. About the way your hips moved when I kissed your neck." His fingers curled, pressing against you through the denim, not quite touching where you wanted him most. "I was thinking about how you taste. I kept wondering if it would be as good as I remembered, or if I'd built it up in my head." His hand moved higher, cupping you through your jeans, palm applying just enough pressure to make your breath stutter. "And then I spent the rest of the night wondering if I'd ever get to find out."

"You're finding out now."

"Barely." He pressed harder, and you felt it everywhere, a dull, aching pulse that made you rock into his hand. "I want more. I want to memorize every sound you make, every way your body moves when I touch you."

His fingers found the button of your jeans, flicking it open with practiced ease, the zipper lowering with a sound that seemed too loud in the quiet of the room. "I thought about this part too." He slid his hand inside, palm flat against your underwear, the heat of him searing through the thin cotton. "About getting you out of these clothes and taking my time." His fingers traced the edge of your panties, teasing, never quite slipping beneath. "About how you'd look spread out on my bed, telling me exactly where to touch you."

"I can show you instead."

"No." His voice was firm, but there was a tremor underneath it. "Quiero oírte." I want to hear you. He shifted his weight, pressing his hips harder against yours as he closed the space between your body and the nearest wall, so you could feel exactly how much control this was costing him. "I don’t want you to hold back when I make you cum." He brought his mouth to your ear, breath hot and uneven. His teeth grazed your earlobe before he pulled back just enough to look at you, dark eyes searching yours. "That’ll be today’s lesson. I want to practice my Spanish while I make you feel good. I've been repeating phrases in my head all day, trying to figure out how to say the things I want to do to you. Now I want to see how you fall apart when I say them to you.”

The challenge in his voice sent a fresh wave of heat through you. He was trembling with the effort of holding back, but he was waiting, giving you space to meet him there, to play his game. His thumb traced your hip bone in slow, patient circles, and the corner of his mouth lifted when he saw the answer forming on your lips.

His mouth found yours before the words came out, hungry and impatient in a way that made your knees weaken. You could taste the lingering notes of the coffee he'd been drinking while he waited for you, bitter and warm and so distinctly him that your fingers curled into the soft cotton of his t-shirt, pulling him closer, needing more.

"Bedroom," you managed against his lips. "Ahora." Now.

He carried you through the apartment with a confidence that hadn't been there two weeks ago, each step deliberate, like he'd memorized the distance between the door and his bedroom and knew exactly how many seconds he had left to savor the weight of you in his arms. His grip tightened as he shouldered the bedroom door open, and the look he gave you—dark, hungry, certain—made your breath catch in your throat.

Jeongguk carefully laid you in his bed, and you pulled him down with you. He caught himself on his forearms, caging you beneath him, and for a moment he just looked at you—really looked, the way he'd been doing since the first lesson, like you were a problem he was determined to solve.

"Say something else," you said, reaching up to trace the line of his jaw. His skin was warm, slightly rough with the shadow of stubble he'd missed shaving. "En español." In Spanish.

"Eres lo más bonito que he visto." His voice had gone rough, the words deliberate and careful. You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.

"Good pronunciation." You deflected, pretending that his words didn’t form knots in your stomach.

"I have a good teacher." His hips pressed into yours, and you felt exactly how much he meant it. "Now you. Tell me something. Anything."

"Quiero sentirte dentro de mí." I want to feel you inside me. Your eyes never left his.

The sound of pure ecstasy he made vibrated against your throat as his mouth found your neck again. His hips rolled against yours, slow and deliberate, and the friction of denim against denim was nowhere near enough.

"Otra vez," he breathed against your skin. Again.

"Quiero sentirte dentro de mí."

“Fuck.” His hands slipped under your sweater, palms sliding up your stomach, your ribs, stopping just below your breasts. "I've thought about this. About you. About the sounds you'd make when I finally got my hands on you."

"Show me."

He sat back on his heels, pulling you up with him just enough to work your sweater over your head. His fingers traced the edge of your bra, following the line of lace with the same careful attention he'd given his verb charts. "You're shaking. Good." He unhooked your bra with one hand, practiced, confident, and let it fall away. You made a mental note to ask about that particular skill later. "I want you to remember this. Every second of it. I want you to think about it the next time you're supposed to be teaching me and can't focus because all you can remember is how my mouth felt on your skin."

He lowered his head, lips closing around one nipple, and your back arched off the mattress. His tongue worked in slow circles, the metal of his lip ring cool against the sensitive skin, and when his teeth grazed the peak, a sound escaped your throat that you didn't recognize.

"Like that. Make that sound again." He murmured against your breast.

He moved to the other nipple, giving it the same attention, and this time, when you moaned, his hips bucked against the mattress. His free hand slid down your stomach, fingers dipping below the waistband of your open jeans, and when they found the wetness already soaking through your panties, he swore under his breath in a language you hadn't taught him.

"You’re this wet from just my mouth on your neck?" His fingers traced the outline of you through the damp cotton, teasing, never quite pressing where you needed him. "Or did you think about this last night, too? Did you touch yourself thinking about what I'd do to you?"

"No." You reached for him, fingers hooking into his belt loops, pulling his hips back down against yours. "I wanted to wait for you."

"Fuck." The word came out almost pained. Capturing your mouth again, he kissed you deep and desperately while his fingers finally pushed your panties aside and found you bare and slick and ready. "All this for me?"

"Solo para ti." Only for you.

One finger slid inside you, then two, and your hips rose to meet him without conscious thought. He moved them slowly, deliberately, watching your face with the focus he usually reserved for his mistake log.

"Look at me," he said, and when your eyes met his, he curled his fingers forward, finding the spot that made your vision blur. 

"There. Don't stop."

"Wasn't planning to." His thumb found your clit, drawing tight circles that matched the rhythm of his fingers, and the dual sensation sent you hurtling toward the edge faster than you'd ever gotten there with anyone else. Your hands fisted in his sheets, your hips moving against his hand in a rhythm you couldn't control.

"Jeongguk—"

"I know." His voice was raw. "I can feel it."

When the trembling finally subsided, he withdrew his fingers slowly, bringing them to his mouth without breaking eye contact. He licked them clean, one by one, and the sight of it sent another pulse of heat through your already oversensitive body.

"Sabes mejor de lo que imaginaba." You taste better than I imagined.

"Your Spanish is getting better."

"I had motivation to practice." He lowered himself over you again, and this time, you felt the full length of him pressed against your thigh, still trapped behind his jeans. "But I'm not done yet. There's a phrase I need to try."

"What phrase?"

He didn't answer with words. His mouth found the hollow of your throat instead, then lower—collarbone, sternum, the soft curve of your belly. Each kiss came slower than the last, deliberate and unhurried, as he'd already calculated exactly how long he wanted to spend on every inch of skin between your neck and where he was headed.

"Jeongguk." Your voice came out thinner than you meant it to. "You said there was a phrase."

"There is." His breath fanned hot against your navel. "But I want to earn it first."

His fingers hooked into the waistband of your jeans, tugging them down past your hips, your thighs, your ankles. Your panties followed. The cool air hit your bare skin, and you shivered. Not from cold, but from the way he was looking at you. That same careful, cataloging attention he'd given his vocabulary lists. Only now the subject was you, spread out beneath him, still trembling from what his fingers had done minutes ago.

"You're staring."

"I'm learning." He settled between your thighs, his shoulders pushing them apart, his stubble grazing the sensitive skin on the inside of your knee. "Every part of you. Every reaction. I want to know what gets you to make that sound again."

His lips brushed the crease where thigh met hip. Not a kiss—barely a suggestion of one. Your hips jerked toward his mouth without permission.

"Just like that." His words hummed against your skin, sending shivers throughout your body.

"What are you learning exactly?"

"How you taste." His tongue traced a line along your inner thigh, stopping just short of where you needed him. "How you respond to pressure. How long I can tease you before you start begging me."

“I won’t beg.”

"Not yet." He said it with absolute certainty, the same tone he'd used when he'd insisted he'd master the subjunctive before his flight to Barcelona. Then his mouth moved higher, and higher still, until his breath was right there—warm and wet and maddeningly close—and then he stopped. "The phrase," his lips brushing against you as he spoke. "I looked this one up. Wanted to get it right."

"Tell me."

"Quiero saborear cada parte de ti." I want to taste every part of you.

"That's—"

His tongue flattened against your clit before you could finish the sentence.

The sound that came out of you wasn't a word. It wasn't even close. Your hand flew to his hair, fingers tangling in the dark strands, and he groaned against you like he'd been waiting for exactly that reaction. The vibration traveled straight through you, sparking along nerves still raw from your first orgasm.

"Where did you learn that one?"

"I've been doing my homework." His tongue dipped lower, tracing your opening, and your grip on his hair tightened. "Dulce." Sweet. He licked again, slower. "Suave." Soft. A third time, deeper, his lip ring cold against your heat. "Mojada." Wet. "Dime cómo se dice." Tell me how to say it. He lifted his head, chin glistening, dark eyes finding yours across the plane of your stomach. "I want to describe you. Every taste. But I need the vocabulary."

Your breath caught. He was serious. Beneath the hunger, beneath the way his hands gripped your thighs hard enough to bruise, he was still your student—still that same meticulous man who learned languages by memorizing patterns until they became instinct.

"Dulce," you managed. "You said dulce already. Sweet."

"Dulce." He lowered his mouth again, tongue working in slow circles. "What else?"

“Salado. Salty.” Talking became harder, your words coming out between gasps.

"Salado." He tasted you again, lapping at the slick gathering between your thighs. "Both. Dulce y salado. Like caramel with sea salt."

"Poetic."

"I've been reading Spanish poetry." His tongue circled your clit, slow and precise, and the deliberate pressure made your back arch off the mattress. "The Romantics. Bécquer. Neruda. I wanted to know how to talk about you without sounding like a textbook."

"Most students just learn how to order coffee."

"I thought you knew I’m not like most students."

His mouth sealed around your clit and sucked, hard, and coherent thought dissolved. The room narrowed to the hot slide of his tongue, the wet sounds he was making, the steady pressure of his hands holding your thighs open. He worked you with the same relentless focus he'd brought to verb conjugations. Patient, methodical, adjusting his approach based on your reactions.

"Amargo," you gasped, when he slowed down to kitten licks. “Bitter.”

"Where?" He sounded genuinely curious, pausing mid-lick.

"The edge. When I'm close, it tastes different. Sharper."

"Enséñame." Show me. His voice had gone rough. "Let me taste the difference."

Two fingers slid inside you, curling forward against that spot he'd found minutes ago, and his mouth returned to your clit with renewed intensity. The dual rhythm—fingers pressing, tongue circling—built something seismic in your lower belly, a pressure that made your thighs shake against his shoulders.

"More," you heard yourself say. "Ahí, justo ahí." There, right there.

He repeated the motion exactly, the same pressure, the same angle, his tongue working you in tight spirals. His eyes were glued to yours, seeking your approval.

"Sí. No pares." Don't stop.

"No voy a parar." His words vibrated against you. I'm not going to stop. "I need you to cum in my mouth." 

The command undid you. That, or the way his fingers pressed deeper, or the way his lip ring caught against your clit with every stroke of his tongue. It didn't matter. The orgasm crashed through you in pulses, each one wrenched out by the steady rhythm of his mouth, and he didn't stop—didn't slow down, didn't pull back—just kept licking and sucking and groaning against you like he was the one falling apart.

"Amargo," he breathed, pulling back only when your hips stopped bucking. His lips were swollen, his chin wet, his eyes nearly black with want. "You were right. Sharper. More intense." He licked his lips. "I like it."

"Come here." Your arms reached for him, shaking as you still felt your heartbeat in your throat.

He crawled up your body, and you tasted yourself on his tongue when he kissed you. Dulce, salado, amargo, all of it mixed. His length pressed against your thigh, still trapped behind denim, and you felt the damp spot where he'd been leaking through the fabric.

"Your turn," you said, reaching for his belt. "Quiero enseñarte otra cosa." I want to teach you something else.

His breath hitched. "What?"

"How you sound when you let go. En cualquier idioma." In any language. Your fingers worked his belt open. "Whatever comes out."

"Prometo que voy a estudiar," I promise I'll study. His hips jerked into your hand as you freed him, hot and thick and already slick at the tip. "Every word. Every sound. I'll write it all down in my mistake log."

"Don't." You guided him between your thighs, lining him up where you were still wet and open from his mouth. "Some things you don't correct."

His breath caught when you guided him against you, the head of his cock pressing into wet heat. For a moment, he just stayed there, forehead dropping to yours, lips parted around a word that wouldn't come.

“Wait.” He pulled back, and the loss of contact made you whimper before you could stop yourself. "Condom. I need—"

"No."

His jaw tightened. The lip ring caught the lamplight as he processed the word, turned it over, and examined it from every angle like one of his vocabulary lists.

"No?" Confusion flickered across his face, then something hungrier. "But—"

"Quiero sentirte." I want to feel you. Your fingers curled around the back of his neck, pulling him down until his mouth hovered inches from yours. "All of you. Nothing between us."

He swallowed hard. "Are you sure?"

"I've never been more sure of anything." Your thumb traced the sharp edge of his jaw. "I'm on birth control. And I haven't been with anyone in months. You?"

"Not since before the promotion." His voice had gone hoarse. "Not since I started wanting you." He said it plainly, like a fact he'd stopped trying to argue with, and the simplicity of it hit harder than any elaborate confession could have.

"Then what are you waiting for?"

He searched your face for any change in your expression, that careful scanning look, like he was checking for any sign of hesitation. Whatever he found must have satisfied him because he exhaled and something in him shifted. Surrender. Relief. The particular recklessness of a man who'd spent his life planning everything and was finally letting himself want something unplanned.

"You're going to ruin me." He said it like a fact, as if he'd already accepted the outcome. "I'm going to feel you, and I'm never going to be able to think about anything else."

"Good."

He pushed inside you in one slow stroke.

The stretch stole your breath. No barrier, just him, hot and bare and somehow more than you'd imagined despite spending weeks imagining exactly this. Your nails bit into his shoulders through his t-shirt, and he groaned, a sound dragged from somewhere deep in his chest.

"Fuck." He stilled, buried to the hilt, every muscle in his body trembling with the effort of holding back. He pressed his forehead to yours, breathing ragged, voice frayed at the edges. "Tell me what you want me to do to you now that I'm inside you. I want to hear you say the dirty things you're thinking while you can feel exactly how much I want you."

You felt him pulse inside you, a reminder that he was still holding on by a thread, and the power of that, the control you had over a man who controlled everything, sent a fresh wave of heat through your already oversensitized body. Your hips rolled experimentally, just a fraction of an inch, and the sound he made in response was worth more than any confession.

"You want to hear me talk?" Your voice came out lower than you intended, rougher. "Fine. I want you to move. Slow at first. I want to feel every inch of you dragging against me while I watch your face. I want to see the exact moment you stop thinking about Barcelona and start thinking about nothing except how good I feel."

His breath stuttered. His hips twitched, a reflexive forward press that made you both gasp, and you smiled against his mouth.

"I want you to learn a new word tonight. Despacio. Slow. Because I'm going to make you take your time. I'm going to make you feel every second of this, every heartbeat, every breath, until you can't remember what it felt like to want me from a distance."

Jeongguk's hands found your hips, grip tightening like he needed something to anchor himself. "That's—" He swallowed hard. "That's a lot of instructions."

"You asked for them." Your fingers slid into his hair, tugging gently at the roots. "Do you want me to stop?"

"No." The word came out desperate, immediate, and he seemed to realize how much he'd given away because he pressed his forehead to yours again, hiding. "No. Keep going. Please."

"Then here's your next lesson." You shifted beneath him, adjusting the angle just slightly, and the way his eyes rolled back was its own reward. "When I tell you así,” Like this, “you don't change a thing. You keep the same rhythm, the same depth, the same pressure. You let me feel exactly what you're giving me until I tell you otherwise."

His nod was jerky, barely controlled.

You tightened around him deliberately, watching his pupils blow wide. "Now show me how well you follow instructions."

He shuddered at the command, his hips stuttering as if your words alone could break his rhythm. But Jeongguk was nothing if not disciplined. Even now, even with his cock buried bare inside you and his mind swimming in the haze of desire, he found the control to slow down. His next thrust was measured, deliberate, the kind of precise movement that spoke of a man who had spent his life learning to obey instructions perfectly.

The slow drag of him against your walls was almost unbearable. Somehow too much and not enough all at once. Every nerve ending was alight, hyperaware of every inch of him, every ridge and pulse. He was watching you with an intensity that bordered on reverence, memorizing every micro-expression that crossed your face, learning what made you gasp versus what made you moan.

"Sí," you managed, the word coming out as a breathless sigh. "Just like that. No faster. No deeper. Just—" Your voice caught as he hit a particularly sensitive spot. "—así."

He repeated the same stroke, same angle, same depth, and the precision of it, the way he'd already learned what you liked, sent a shiver through you that had nothing to do with temperature. His thumb, still resting against your clit, began to move in matching circles, slow and steady, synced to the rhythm of his hips.

"You're so wet," he observed, his voice carrying a note of wonder. "I can feel it. Every time I push in, there's more. Is that because of me? Because of what I'm doing?"

"Don't fish for compliments while you're inside me."

A smug smile crossed his face, but he didn't stop. Didn't speed up. Didn't change a thing. Just kept that maddening, perfect rhythm, dragging moans from your throat with every slow, deliberate stroke. His free hand found yours, fingers intertwining, pinning your palm to the mattress beside your head.

"Tell me if I'm doing it right." The vulnerability in his voice cut through the stillness of pleasure. "I need to know. I need to hear you say it."

"You're—fuck, Jeongguk—you're doing it right." The words came out broken, punctuated by a gasp as he hit that spot again. "Don’t change anything. Así."

He groaned at the Spanish, at the confirmation that he was following your instructions correctly. His hips maintained their rhythm, but his thumb pressed harder, circles growing tighter, and you could feel the trembling in his thighs. The effort it took for him to hold back, to stay controlled, to give you exactly what you'd asked for, even as every fiber of his being wanted to take more.

"You’re so obedient. I love it," you whispered, and the sound he made in response—a desperate, wrecked noise that seemed to come from somewhere primal—told you everything you needed to know about how much those words affected him. Being under your spell, completely surrendered inside you.

His hips jerked involuntarily, a short, sharp thrust that made you both gasp. "Don't." Another slow thrust, deeper this time, his lip ring glinting as he smiled. "Don't tease me right now. I'm barely holding on."

He maintained that pace: long, deep strokes that filled you, the drag of him bare against your walls sending sparks up your spine with every movement. No rush. No urgency. Just the steady rhythm of his hips and the weight of his body pressing you into the mattress.

"Eres perfecta." The words fell from his lips like he'd been holding them in for weeks. You're perfect. "Perfecta. Tan apretada. Tan caliente." So tight. So hot.

"Harder." Your legs wrapped around his waist, heels digging into his lower back, pulling him deeper. But instead of speaking, you arched into him, a wordless demand. His answer was a low growl against your throat as his hips snapped forward, harder this time, stealing the breath from your lungs. The slightly slow, measured pace shattered; he drove into you with a desperation that rattled the headboard against the wall, each thrust a conversation you no longer needed words for. His mouth found yours, swallowing every broken sound you made as he took what you'd offered, and gave back twice as much.

His thrusts faltered, rhythm slipping as he lost himself in the sensation. You watched it happen, watched the careful composure crack further with every stroke, watched his eyes go dark and unfocused, watched his mouth shape words he couldn't quite voice. His teeth grazed your pulse point, and the sharpness of it, pleasure edged with just enough pain, made your inner walls clench around him. He shuddered, a full-body tremor that you felt everywhere.

He lifted his head, eyes finding yours. "Do that again."

"What?"

"Squeeze me like that again." His thrusts were harder, deeper, hitting a spot that made your vision blur. His rhythm didn't break. If anything, it grew more deliberate, each stroke aimed with the precision of a man who'd spent weeks learning exactly where to find what he was looking for. "Again. Otra vez. I need to feel it again."

The demand in his voice, rough and frayed, sent a fresh pulse of heat through you. You tightened around him deliberately, a slow clench that started at the base and rolled upward, and watched his composure fracture in real time. His jaw went slack. His hips stuttered. A sound escaped him, low and wrecked, that didn't sound like it belonged to the businessman who organized his bookshelf by height.

He let out a sound that was half laugh, half groan, and pulled back just enough to look at you. His pupils had swallowed most of his irises, leaving only a thin ring of dark brown around the black. "You're going to kill me. You know that, right? I'm going to die inside you, and I'm going to thank you for it."

His hips began to move again, slower this time, each thrust a deliberate drag against every sensitive nerve you had. The sensitivity from your previous orgasm made every stroke feel sharper, more electric, like he was relearning your body all over again. His hand slid from your hip to your thigh, hooking your leg higher over his waist, opening you further. The new angle made him hit deeper, and you felt it everywhere. A sharp, maddening hit of pleasure that made your toes curl and your back arch off the mattress.

His voice was low, almost reverent. "Your cunt is still so tight. You’re clenching around me, taking me so well." His thrusts got deeper, letting you feel the fullness of him. "Is that normal? Or is that just—me? Just what I do to you?"

“It’s you. Just with you.” You felt your face getting hotter, feeling exposed not only because you were naked.

A shudder ran through him at your admission, and he pulled out almost entirely before sliding back in with excruciating slowness. The drag of him against your oversensitive walls made you gasp, your hands flying to his shoulders, nails digging into his skin. He watched your face with that same intense focus, taking all of you in.

"Good." He repeated the motion—slow withdrawal, slower reentry—and the deliberate pace was almost more overwhelming than the frantic rhythm from before. "Because I want to remember this. Every detail. The way you look right now. The sounds you make. The way your body welcomes me every time I push back in." His voice dropped to a whisper. "I'm going to think about this non-stop. When I'm alone. When I'm supposed to be focusing on meetings. I'm going to close my eyes and remember exactly how you feel around me, and I'm not going to be able to think about anything else."

His rhythm shifted, growing slightly faster, the shallow strokes targeting a spot that made your vision blur at the edges. His thumb found your clit again, pressing in tight circles that matched his thrusts, and you could feel another orgasm building; slower this time, deeper, gathering in your core like a wave about to break.

"Así," you moaned, the word barely making it past your lips. "Así. Please don't change a thing."

He didn't. He kept that same rhythm, that same depth, that same relentless pace, his thumb finding your clit in matching circles. And when you clenched around him again—involuntary this time, pulled from you by the sheer overwhelming pleasure of his cock inside you—he groaned your name like a prayer, like he'd been saying it in his head for weeks and was only now allowed to let it out loud.

His pace quickened, the slow, deliberate strokes giving way to something more urgent. The wet sound of him moving inside you, no barrier between your bodies, filled the room alongside your broken moans.

"I’m close." You said, barely a whisper.

He felt it. Of course he did. His cock could feel every shift deep inside you.

His hips snapped forward, a sharper thrust that made you cry out. "Every word. Every sound. Every lesson. I've been taking notes on you since the day we met."

"You’re obsessed."

“Yes." No denial. No deflection. Just the word, hot against your throat, as his rhythm faltered and rebuilt itself. "Estoy obsesionado contigo. Con esto." I’m obsessed with you. With this. "Con la manera en que dices mi nombre." With the way you say my name.

"Jeongguk."

"Así." Like that. His voice had gone ragged. "Otra vez." Again.

"Jeongguk—"

The orgasm hit without warning, ripped out of you by his name on your tongue and his cock buried bare inside you and the relentless pressure of his thumb. Your vision whited out. Your body clenched around him in waves, each pulse drawing a broken sound from his throat. The pleasure crested, ebbed, crested again. When you finally surfaced, he was still buried inside you, still hard, still trembling.

"You didn't—"

"I wanted to feel it." He said it like a confession. "All of it. Every second. The way you—" His voice broke. "I've never felt anything like that. Someone cumming around me. Bare. Like this."

"Cum inside me." You said it for him, watching his eyes go wide and dark. "Déjate ir dentro de mí." Let yourself go inside me.

"Fuck." His composure was completely shattered. No more careful student, no more meticulous planner. Just him, raw and desperate, hips snapping forward in a rhythm that had nothing to do with patience and everything to do with need.

The permission in your voice, quiet, steady, utterly certain, was the final thread holding him together, and it snapped. His hips drove forward once, twice, a third time, each thrust shorter and more desperate than the last, chasing a release he'd been holding at bay since the moment he first touched you.

Your name tore out of him, ragged and broken, as his rhythm shattered entirely. His forehead dropped to your shoulder, his breath hot and uneven against your skin, and you felt the exact moment he lost control. The way his whole body tensed, the way his fingers dug into your hips hard enough to bruise, the way a drowned whimper came out of him.

He came undone inside you. You felt it in pulses, hot and deep and endless, each wave drawing a shudder from his frame, each pulse pulling a broken sound from his throat. His hips kept moving through it, involuntary now, grinding against you like he couldn't bear to stop, like he needed to feel every last second of this before it ended.

You tightened around him, and he gasped, his whole body jerking as a sharp sting of pleasure rolled through him. His teeth grazed your shoulder, not quite biting, grounding himself against the overwhelming sensation of being so completely undone.

When he finally stilled, he was trembling. Not the fine tremor of exertion, but something deeper. A full-body shake that spoke of a man who had given everything he had and was still trying to find his way back to himself. His breathing was uneven, his face still pressed into the curve of your neck like he couldn't bear to lift his head and face what had just happened.

He stayed there for a long moment, buried inside you, his lips pressed against your pulse point like he was memorizing the rhythm of your heartbeat. When he finally spoke, his voice was wrecked. Hoarse and raw and honest in a way he'd never let himself be before.

"Me encantas." The words came out broken, barely a whisper, pressed into your skin like a secret he'd been carrying too long. "Me encantas tanto que no sé qué hacer." I'm so crazy about you that I don't know what to do.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, and there was no armor left. Just him, flushed and spent and vulnerable, his lip ring glinting in the low light as he searched your face for something—reassurance, maybe, or permission to keep feeling what he was feeling.

You opened your mouth to answer him, and nothing came out.

It struck you as almost funny, in some distant part of your brain that was still capable of finding things funny in such a serious moment. You, who'd spent weeks handing him the exact right words for every occasion, who'd built entire lessons out of teaching him how to say the things he couldn't say on his own, and now here you were, wordless, in every language you knew. Nothing in your vocabulary felt big enough. Nothing felt like it wouldn't shrink the second it left your mouth.

So you didn't try. You reached up instead and pressed your palm flat against his chest, right over the place where his heart was still going too fast to be anything but honest, and held it there like you could say it that way instead. Like touch might succeed where every word you knew had just failed you. He went still under your hand, watching you with something that looked almost like relief, like he understood exactly what you were doing and didn't need the words either, not really, not when this was so much louder.

You leaned in and kissed him instead and felt him exhale against your mouth like he'd been holding his breath since the words left him. When you finally pulled back, your forehead resting against his, you found your voice again, small and unsteady and entirely true.

"I don't know what to do with it either," you whispered. Not a lesson. Just the truth, handed back to him in the only language you had left.

His arms tightened around you, and for a long moment neither of you said anything else. Because for the first time since that coffee shop, there was nothing left that needed saying out loud.

With each step closer, the music’s beat grows heavier and lower, like your own heartbeat. There’s no reason to be scared – just cautious – as you sneak a glance at a bald, muscular man who looks intoxicated and ready to chew someone’s head off.

This is no fancy club. There are no velvet ropes, no long lines, no excitement lingering in the air. At least, not for you.

If it weren’t for a twist of events, you would never come here voluntarily. Your outfit says otherwise, though.

You stand close to your friends, practically glued to their sides, as the man who looks like a straight-up junkie moves toward the club’s door. Oh, he’s the bouncer.

As he eyes all of you with empty orbs, part of you wishes he would turn you away and not let you enter this place. Your wish isn’t fulfilled. The bouncer gives Mario a curt nod, and that’s all it takes for your friend to lead the way.

As soon as the door opens, the music becomes sharper and clearer. There’s only a small space before it leads downstairs to the basement. This place is everything a mother would tell you to avoid.

Good thing you don’t have one.

Neon lights grow more visible with each step, covering the floor in flickering electric pink, acid green, and colors you don’t even get to notice as they shift too quickly. As you make it down to the main room, your mouth drops and so does your heart.

The place is packed, so much so that it makes you question if it’s really that good. The exterior alone – the entire neighborhood – is just not it. How does Mario even know a place like this? How does he even know this part of town?

You make a mental note to question him later, because he sure as hell didn’t mention any of it. All he said was that the booze is cheap and the place is fine. If leaving means paying more for the few shots you’re about to have, so be it.

From the looks of it, everyone else is on board and follows him.

The air is thick with a mixture of scents you can’t even name. There’s a distinct smell of cigarettes, weed, and perfume – the rest, you’d rather not identify. By the time you’re out of here, you’ll reek of this place and probably have to burn the nice dress you’re wearing.

Mario promised he was only dropping something off, so this should be quick – in and out. It should be quick enough for you to grab a drink and hopefully head somewhere else.

El leans closer, her shoulder bumping into yours as she tries to be heard over the pounding music. Her voice still barely cuts through it.

“What is this place?”

You follow her gaze and that’s when you see it.

Ahead of you, past the blur of bodies and neon light, there’s a ring. Not the kind you’d expect. Not clean, not professional. A fence cages it in completely, metal bars rising high enough to make it feel less like a sport and more like containment. Like whatever goes in there isn’t supposed to get out.

It looks barbaric. Like it was built for animals.

And the people gathered around it – too many, too eager – aren’t just passing by. They’re waiting.

You swallow, leaning in so El can hear you.

“It looks like a nightmare.”

El lets out a short breath that might be a laugh, might be something else. She tilts her head, eyes scanning the ring with something closer to curiosity than concern.

“I’ve been to worse.”

For once, you don’t question her.

El’s always been the one to drift into places like this without hesitation, coming back with stories she tells like they’re nothing – like they didn’t happen. You used to think she exaggerated.

Now, standing here, you’re not so sure.

The crowd shifts, tightening around the fence as if pulled by the same invisible string. Someone shoves past you, the smell of sweat and smoke clinging to them. Another voice shouts something you can’t make out, swallowed whole by the bass.

You glance around for Mario, but he’s already a few steps ahead, carving a path like he belongs here.

That doesn’t sit right.

Your fingers curl slightly at your sides, the fabric of your dress suddenly feeling too thin, too out of place in a room like this. The air presses in, thick and suffocating, buzzing with anticipation.

Whatever is about to happen in that ring–

You’re not sure you want to see it.

But the crowd isn’t leaving.

And neither are you.

Mario weaves through the crowd like he’s done it a hundred times, barely checking if you and El are still behind him. You push through shoulders and elbows, the press of bodies tightening the closer you get to the fenced ring.

He finally stops, gesturing toward a narrow stretch of space wedged between a rusted railing and a couple already arguing over something you can’t hear.

“Here.”

Seats is a generous word. It’s more like a claimed patch of ground – third row, if you had to guess. Not close enough to touch the fence, but close enough that whatever happens in there won’t be easy to ignore.

You glance toward the ring again.

Up close, it’s worse.

The ground inside looks… wrong. Like it’s been scraped clean over and over again. The surface is uneven, rough in places but there are faint traces that didn’t quite disappear. Darker patches. Stains that the dim, flickering lights can’t fully hide.

Your stomach tightens.

Mario claps his hands once, like he’s wrapping something up. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

Your head snaps toward him. “What do you mean stay here? What the hell is this place?”

He sighs, but it’s not sharp or annoyed – more like he just doesn’t have the energy for this right now. His eyes flick briefly toward the ring, then back to you.

“I’ll get you your drinks,” he says, already half-turning away. “What d’you want?”

You hesitate, glancing around again – the crowd, the fence, the floor inside the ring.

“I’m not sure I want to drink anything from this place.”

El snorts beside you, loud enough to earn a glance from someone nearby.

Mario rolls his eyes. “God, you’re such a snob.”

You scoff immediately. “I’m not–”

“We’ll have vodka,” El cuts in, waving a hand like she’s sealing the deal.

Mario nods once, like that settles everything, and disappears back into the crowd before you can argue further.

For a second, it’s just you and El, the noise, the heat–

And then the music cuts.

Just like that.

A sharp hum of feedback cuts through the silence, and a man’s voice follows, loud and grating through the speakers.

“Alright, alright–eyes up!”

You look toward the ring.

The man holding the microphone steps into the light, and for a moment, you’re not sure if you should take him seriously. He looks like he’s somewhere in his forties, head completely shaved, his clothes hanging off him like they don’t belong to him—too big, too worn, sleeves slipping past his wrists. The kind of outfit that looks like it was pulled from one of those street donation bins, the ones meant for charity but always picked through before anything gets there.

He has that same look, too.

Like the kind of guy you’d cross the street to avoid.

But here – here, he owns the room.

“Welcome, you animals!” he shouts, grinning wide enough to show crooked teeth. “You came hungry tonight, yeah?”

A laugh almost slips out of you.

It’s not even that funny – but something about the way he says it, like he means it, like he’s not talking to the crowd but about them, hits in a strange way. Humor, sharp and dry, cuts through the unease curling in your stomach.

Because you already have a feeling what that ring is for.

And somehow, that makes it worse.

The reaction is instant.

The crowd erupts – loud, aggressive, overwhelming. It slams into you from all sides, so intense it makes you flinch. It’s not just cheering. It’s something rougher. Hungrier.

You hadn’t realized how many men were packed into this place until now. Your stomach twists.

The man laughs into the mic, feeding off it. “That’s what I like to hear!”

He paces along the edge of the fenced ring, dragging the moment out before throwing one arm toward the entrance on the opposite side.

“Let’s not waste time. Get ready for your first fighter of the night – give it up for…” he pauses, milking it, “…Blue Viper!”

The name hits, and the crowd roars again.

A man steps into the ring.

He’s lean, all sharp lines and defined muscle, abs catching the harsh lights as he moves. Royal blue shorts hang low on his hips, matching gloves already strapped tight around his hands. He lifts his arms the second he steps inside, like he’s already won, soaking in the noise like it belongs to him.

It probably does.

“What the fuck,” you mumble under your breath.

Beside you, El swallows, eyes fixed on the ring.

“How does Mario even know about this place?” you add, quieter now, like saying it too loud might make it worse.

But there’s no time to think. The man with the mic raises his hand again, the crowd slowly settling – not quiet, never quiet, just waiting.

“And his opponent…” he continues, voice dropping just enough to build it back up, “–ah, this one doesn’t need much of an introduction.”

A ripple moves through the crowd. You feel it before you understand it.

“He’s your favorite,” the man grins. “Your undefeated–your JK!”

For a split second, your brain doesn’t catch up.

And then–

The crowd explodes. Louder than before. Wilder. People shouting, pushing forward, fists hitting the fence.

The fence door screeches as it’s pulled open.

And then he steps in.

JK.

The noise swells instantly, people pressing closer, shouting his name like it means something–like he means something. But he doesn’t even acknowledge it. Not a glance, not a flicker. His focus is locked straight ahead.

On his opponent.

He moves like he already knows how this ends.

Every step is controlled, deliberate. His body shifts under the harsh lights, all muscle and definition–abs tight, arms flexing with even the smallest movement. There’s no wasted motion in him. No nerves. Just quiet, coiled readiness.

His opponent tries to hold his ground, but you catch it – the slight tension in his stance, the way his shoulders tighten under JK’s stare.

Like he already feels it.

Up close, you catch more of him. A sharp jawline, clean and defined, his expression unreadable. When he turns slightly, the line of his back comes into view – lean, strong, every muscle moving under his skin like it’s carved there.

You hate to admit it.

But yeah. He’s hot.

And apparently, you’re not the only one who noticed.

You glance at El, and–

Right. Of course.

She’s staring at him like she just found religion, eyes practically sparkling.

“Holy fuck,” she breathes. “Suddenly I like being here.”

You snort, shaking your head, even though your own attention has definitely sharpened.

Still…

Your gaze drifts back to the ring, to the fence, to the crowd pressing in like this is the only thing that matters. You’re not sure you like this.

Because it’s obvious now. This isn’t just some weird club attraction. This is underground fighting – illegal, brutal, the kind of thing people don’t talk about in daylight.

And somehow, Mario brought you here.

Of all places.

Your brows pull together slightly as you scan the crowd again, unease settling back in.

Mario has always had… questionable connections. The kind you and El never really asked about, choosing instead to ignore whatever didn’t fit into your version of him.

Mario slips back beside you like he never left, pressing a cold glass into your hand. “What’d I miss?” he asks, far too casually.

You turn to him immediately, irritation rising. “What the hell is this, Mario? What are we doing here – and how did you think this was a good idea?”

He exhales, already looking like he doesn’t want to deal with this conversation, but you don’t let up.

“Seriously. This place—this isn’t normal.”

El doesn’t even glance at him. Her attention is locked on the ring, eyes sharp with interest, like she’s already decided this is worth watching. You, on the other hand, can’t stop thinking about the cage, the crowd, the way everyone seemed to be waiting for something violent to happen.

“What is this place?” you ask again, quieter now, but no less firm.

Before he can answer, a sharp bell rings out, cutting through the noise and pulling every ounce of attention back to the ring.

The fight starts instantly. The other guy lunges first, throwing a punch that should land – but JK shifts just enough for it to miss, his movement so subtle it almost looks lazy. Another swing follows, then another, each one missing by inches as JK slips past them with controlled precision, like he’s already mapped out every move before it happens.

You don’t even realize your grip on the glass has tightened until your fingers start to ache. There’s something hypnotic about the way he moves—smooth, efficient, completely unbothered. He doesn’t rush or panic, doesn’t even try to overpower. He just watches, waits, and lets the other guy wear himself down.

For a moment, it almost feels intentional, like he’s letting him try.

Taunting him.

The thought settles just as the other man commits to another strike, stepping in harder this time, putting everything behind it—and that’s when JK finally moves forward. His fist connects cleanly, the impact sharp enough to echo even through the roar of the crowd, sending the man stumbling back until his body slams into the fence with a harsh metallic rattle.

The reaction around you is immediate and overwhelming, the crowd exploding with noise that makes your brows pull together as it crashes into you from all sides. But your focus stays on the ring, on the thin line of blood already slipping from the man’s nose, stark against his skin.

Your stomach twists, but not enough to make you look away.

Without thinking, you lift the drink Mario handed you and down it in one go, ignoring the burn, the taste, the suffocating thickness of the air. Your eyes stay locked on the fight, tracking every movement, every shift.

And somewhere in the middle of it, you realize your attention isn’t just caught–

it’s hooked.

The fight doesn’t slow down – it shifts entirely in JK’s favor.

Once the other man hits the ground, something in JK changes. Whatever restraint he had disappears as he follows him down without hesitation, delivering punch after punch with the same controlled force. Each hit lands with a dull, sickening impact, the sound carrying even through the roar of the crowd.

The man barely manages to get his arms up, but it doesn’t do much. Blood spreads quickly – across his face, down his chest, soaking into the already worn surface beneath him. Those faint stains you noticed earlier are no longer subtle. They’re fresh now, darker, undeniable.

JK’s gloves are black, thick. The color hides most of the blood, swallowing it instead of putting it on display, but not entirely. A darker sheen clings to them, catching under the harsh lights every time his fists rise and fall.

Your stomach tightens as the noise around you grows louder, more aggressive, feeding into every hit instead of pulling back from it. It starts to feel like too much – too close, too real, too far past the point where someone should have stepped in already.

“Mario,” you say, leaning toward him, your voice strained as you try to be heard over the chaos. “Is there–do they have a restroom or something?”

He doesn’t answer right away, his attention still fixed on the ring, jaw set like he’s invested in how this ends. For a second, you think he didn’t even hear you, but then he glances over, quick and distracted. “Yeah. Down the hall, to the left.”

You nod, already shifting your weight as you turn to El. “Come with me.”

She doesn’t move. She doesn’t even look at you. Her eyes stay locked on the ring, her expression sharper than before, completely absorbed in what’s happening. It catches you off guard, enough that you pause for a second, staring at her like you don’t quite recognize this version of her.

“Seriously?” you mutter under your breath, but she doesn’t react, and it leaves you standing there alone with the noise pressing back in.

Because the fight wasn’t bad at first–it was controlled, almost impressive in a way you didn’t expect–but this is different. This is something else entirely.

Your gaze drifts back to the ring despite yourself, catching the way the man on the ground jerks under another hit, a broken grunt slipping from him as he tries to move, to shield himself, to do anything at all. No one steps in. No one even looks like they’re thinking about it.

A cold thought settles in as you watch.

You hope this isn’t one of those fights – the kind that doesn’t end until someone doesn’t get back up – because the way that man looks right now, barely moving, barely holding on, makes it hard not to think he’s already getting close.

Before you can see anything else, you’ve had enough.

You don’t care how dodgy this place looks anymore – only that you need a second to breathe. The thought crosses your mind, sharp and unwelcome, that walking out alone probably isn’t the smartest idea. A single woman slipping away from a crowd like this doesn’t exactly scream safe. Still, you push it aside, stand up, and follow the direction Mario gave you.

The further you move from the ring, the more the place reveals itself –and none of it is reassuring. The air is thick with alcohol and weed, clinging to the walls, to your skin, to the back of your throat. The dim lighting doesn’t help, casting everything in a dull, grimy glow that makes even the hallway feel like somewhere you shouldn’t be.

You tug your dress down instinctively, suddenly too aware of how short it is, how out of place you feel. The red lipstick you put on earlier now seems like a mistake. If only you had known where you were coming.

The restroom is worse.

One look inside is enough. The smell hits first, then the stained tiles, the flickering light, the general state of neglect that makes your stomach turn. You don’t even consider using it. Instead, you step up to the sink, eyes lifting to the mirror.

You look… composed.

More than you expected, at least. Even with the frown that’s probably been stuck on your face since you walked in, you don’t look shaken. Not on the outside.

You turn on the tap, rinsing your hands out of habit more than anything, the faint taste of vodka still lingering on your tongue. Somewhere in the distance, even from down the hall, you can still hear it – the cheers, muffled but persistent, like a reminder that whatever is happening in that ring hasn’t slowed down.

You don’t want to be here.

But you also don’t want to be left out.

The thought pushes you into motion again. You dry your hands quickly and head back out, picking up your pace as you move down the hallway, unease settling deeper with every step. The walls are lined with old posters, most of them ripped or peeling, leaving behind only fragments – faces without names, events long gone, nothing fully readable.

It only adds to the feeling that you shouldn’t be here.

You’re halfway down when it happens.

You nearly stop in your tracks.

He’s there.

The man from the ring – the one who was just getting beaten – walking toward you like nothing happened. Up close, it’s worse. Blood still clings to him, smeared across his face and chest, his steps uneven, his body barely holding itself together.

And behind him–

The man with the microphone follows, saying something you can’t quite catch.

Your attention snaps forward again.

Because coming straight toward you–

JK.

He’s already out of the ring, moving fast, like the fight meant nothing. The gloves are gone, replaced by white wraps around his hands, slightly darkened in places. His hair sticks to his forehead, damp with sweat, his skin glistening under the dim lights as he closes the distance without slowing down.

For a second, you freeze.

Then instinct kicks in and you step aside quickly, pressing yourself against the wall just as he passes. He doesn’t even look at you. Doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t acknowledge you at all.

It’s like you’re not even there.

Like if you hadn’t moved–

He would’ve walked straight through you.

Your thoughts barely have time to settle before they’re cut off.

“El–?”

She rushes into view, nearly colliding with you, her expression completely different from the one she had just minutes ago. Whatever excitement she had is gone, replaced with something far more overwhelmed, almost frantic.

“I need the bathroom,” she blurts out, slightly breathless. “Like, right now. I had–shit–I had like three shots in five minutes.”

You blink at her, still catching up. “Where’s Mario?”

El glances back over her shoulder, like she expects him to magically appear behind her. “He said he needed to go too. Just disappeared into the crowd.”

You frown immediately.

Of course he did.

You bite back the first thing that comes to mind, irritation flaring as you glance past her, half-expecting to spot him somewhere down the hall. Nothing. Just the muffled noise from the main room and people moving around like nothing just happened.

Great.

You’ll definitely have to curse him out later–for leaving you alone earlier, even if the whole crowd had still been focused on the fight. At least then, everyone’s attention had been locked on the ring. Now? The fight is over, the tension is shifting, and you don’t even know how to guess who won.

Worse, El could’ve gotten lost in that mess.

Or someone could’ve–

You cut the thought off as your attention sharpens.

Because you can feel it now.

The looks.

They weren’t as obvious before, not when everyone had been too distracted, but now that the focus has broken, it’s different. There aren’t many women here – you’ve noticed that much – and the way some of the men look at you now makes your stomach twist. Lingering stares. Slow, knowing grins that feel far too comfortable.

You scoff under your breath, disgust curling in your chest as you turn back to El.

“The bathroom’s a nightmare,” you warn her. “Like, seriously not usable.”

El groans, clutching her stomach slightly. “I don’t care. My bladder is about to explode.”

Yeah. No arguing with that.

You nod, stepping aside to let her move past you. “Fine. Go. I’ll stay right outside.”

She doesn’t hesitate, already pushing the door open.

You stay put in the hallway, crossing your arms loosely as you position yourself near the wall, trying to look like you belong there more than you feel like you do. The noise from the main room is still there, dulled now, but enough to remind you you’re not completely alone.

Still—

You really hope no one tries to talk to you.

You don’t have to wait long before something shifts again.

Footsteps echo down the hall, heavier this time, more purposeful. A guy comes into view—blonde, maybe mid-twenties, wearing an oversized shirt that hangs loose over a pair of worn jeans. There’s nothing particularly threatening about him at first glance, but the way he carries himself makes people move.

“Get lost,” he says, voice flat, like he’s said it a hundred times before.

The men lingering too close – too interested – pause. You hadn’t even fully clocked how near they were getting until now. One of them mutters something under his breath, low and irritated, but before anything can escalate, a woman slips up beside them. She leans in, whispers something quick into one of their ears.

The reaction is immediate.

Their expressions shift, something greedy lighting up in their eyes, and just like that, they back off, leaving without another glance.

You feel your stomach turn.

Disgust settles in deep as you press your lips together, forcing yourself not to react more visibly. Whatever she said – it worked too easily.

You take a few steps further down the hall, needing the distance, the space. Behind you, the noise from the main room is starting to die down, the chaos thinning out into something more controlled. It sounds like they’re clearing people out, or at least resetting the space for whatever comes next.

That thought alone makes your skin crawl.

Ahead of you, the blonde guy reaches a door – one you hadn’t paid much attention to before – and pushes it open without hesitation.

And for a split second, you see inside.

It’s a medium-sized room, dim but cleaner than the rest of this place, like it serves a different purpose. Your brain barely has time to process the layout before something – someone – snags your attention completely.

Mario.

Standing there like he belongs.

Your breath catches, surprise hitting first, sharp and immediate. So much for the bathroom. He didn’t even come this way – the toilets are further down, you know that now.

But the shock doesn’t stop there.

Because sitting in one of the chairs–

JK.

Up close, under better light, he looks just as composed as he did in the ring, even now. Someone – a young guy, too young if you’re being honest – is crouched in front of him, carefully unwrapping the white tape from his hands. The fabric is stained in places, and as it comes loose, you catch glimpses of reddened skin underneath.

The kid works quickly, like he knows what he’s doing, like this is routine.

Of course it is.

Nothing about this place is legal. Nothing about it is normal.

Your eyes flick back to Mario, disbelief settling in heavier now. He lied. Not even well – just enough to get away from you and El without questions.

Before you can take in anything else, the door swings shut.

You’re left staring at it, mouth slightly open, like your brain hasn’t caught up to what you just saw.

Mario. In there. With him.

“El?”

She comes back a second later, pushing the bathroom door open with a relieved sigh. “Ready?”

You turn to her, still half-stunned. “I–there’s a room down here. Mario’s in it. And… the guy who was in the ring is in there too.”

El freezes. “What?”

“And some kid–like, actually a kid–is cleaning him up. I don’t even–” You shake your head, trying to piece it together. “This is weird.”

El blinks a few times, processing, then shrugs slightly. “Maybe Mario just knows people here?”

You stare at her. “That doesn’t make it less weird.”

She hesitates, glancing between you and the closed door. “So… what are we doing? Waiting?”

You frown, something in you snapping into place. You’re done waiting. Done being brushed off, lied to, dragged somewhere without knowing why.

Without another word, you step forward and push the door open.

The reaction is immediate.

Conversation cuts off mid-sentence. Every head in the room turns toward you, like you just walked into something you weren’t supposed to see.

Mario looks the worst out of all of them – caught, completely unprepared. His mouth opens like he’s about to say something, but nothing comes out.

Your gaze shifts past him.

JK is still sitting, his hands half-unwrapped, the young guy working on them pausing mid-motion. For a second, he doesn’t even acknowledge you. His eyes stay lowered, focused on his hands–

Then he looks up.

Your eyes meet, just briefly. Long enough for something to register–sharp, assessing. His gaze drags over you, slow and deliberate, before his expression tightens slightly, like he’s already decided you don’t belong here.

“And what are you doing here?” the blonde man asks, voice flat, almost tired, like this is an inconvenience.

El hovers just behind your shoulder, peeking in, her eyes going wide the second they land on JK. “Fuck,” she whispers, not nearly as quiet as she probably thinks.

You don’t react to her.

Your attention is locked on Mario now. “I should be asking you that.”

He winces slightly, like he expected that, but still doesn’t have a good answer.

The men in the room don’t miss the tension, the way your eyes narrow, the way Mario shifts under it. Something clicks between them, unspoken.

The blonde man exhales sharply, already over it. “Listen, you have no place being here.” His gaze flicks to Mario. “Take your bitches out of here.”

“Excuse me?” you scoff immediately, offense flaring hot and fast. The word hits wrong – too casual, too familiar, like it’s something he says often.

He doesn’t even react. If anything, he looks bored, like he’s seen this exact reaction a hundred times before.

Maybe he has.

“Look, just–give us a minute,” Mario cuts in quickly, stepping forward like he’s trying to manage damage control. “I’ll come out and explain, okay?”

“And wait out there? With all the junkies?” you shoot back, anger creeping in sharper now. “Do you even hear yourself right now?”

Your patience is gone.

Before Mario can respond, movement pulls your attention again.

JK stands.

The shift in the room is subtle, but it’s there. He rolls his shoulders once, flexing his hands slightly as the young guy quickly gathers the bloodied wraps and cotton, tossing them aside.

“Take this outside,” JK says, voice low and steady, carrying easily through the room.

It’s not loud, but it doesn’t need to be. It lands heavy anyway.

He doesn’t look at anyone again.

Just walks past, disappearing through another door without a second thought.

Silence lingers for a second after he’s gone.

Then the blonde man steps forward slightly, already done with this entire situation. “I’ll be in touch,” he says curtly, though it’s clearly meant for Mario. His gaze flicks back to you and El, sharp, unimpressed. “Out.”

He gestures toward the door, not even pretending to be polite about it.

It’s not an offer.

It’s an order.

You let out a sharp scoff, already drawing breath to snap back at the blonde man – because who the hell does he think he is – but El is faster. Her hand wraps around your wrist, fingers tightening in warning, and at the same time Mario steps in, grabbing your shoulders and steering you back.

“Hey–” you start, but he’s already pushing you out.

The door shuts behind you with a dull thud.

You turn on him immediately.

“What the actual fuck, Mario?”

He exhales, dragging a hand over his face. “Not here.”

“Oh, not–” you scoff, ready to go off, but he’s already moving, heading down the hall like he expects you to follow.

You do. Of course you do.

El stays close, unusually quiet now, her earlier excitement completely gone. The hallway feels different on the way back – emptier, colder somehow. By the time you reach the main area, it’s almost unrecognizable. The crowd is gone, replaced by only a few people cleaning up like nothing ever happened. Trash is being swept, bottles collected, and in one corner, you catch a glimpse of a stack of cash being counted and shoved into a duffle bag.

That’s enough.

You don’t say anything as you follow Mario out, but the second the cold air hits your skin, it’s like everything snaps back into focus. You step forward quickly, grabbing his forearm and forcing him to stop.

“Speak,” you demand.

He looks at you – not angry, not defensive. Just… tired. Defeated, almost.

“Not here, please,” he says quietly. “Let’s just go back to my place.”

Your eyes narrow immediately. The way he glances around, quick and subtle, doesn’t help.

Alarms go off in your head.

You don’t agree, not really – but you don’t argue either. Not yet.

The car ride is silent. Tense. The kind of silence that presses in on you, heavy with everything that hasn’t been said. El sits beside you, staring out the window, unusually still, like she’s replaying everything in her head. You don’t interrupt. You’re doing the same.

By the time you reach Mario’s building, the quiet hasn’t lifted.

It follows you all the way into his apartment.

The door closes behind you, and just like that, the outside world is gone – but the tension stays, thick in the air, waiting.

Mario moves first, like he needs something to do with his hands. “Tea? Or–something?” he offers, already heading toward the kitchen.

Anything to stall.

You don’t answer right away. You just watch him, arms crossed, expression unmoving. Eventually, you nod once, more out of impatience than acceptance, and take a seat on the couch beside El. She sinks into it quietly, still not saying much, her usual energy replaced with something more withdrawn.

Mario brings the cups over a few minutes later, setting them down carefully in front of you both. You don’t thank him. You don’t even look at the tea.

You just look at him.

He takes the chair opposite you, exhaling slowly before running a hand through his hair. “I didn’t think it would escalate like that.”

You cut him off immediately. “What did you think, Mario? That we’d just be okay watching that?” Your voice sharpens. “Did you genuinely think we’d enjoy an illegal fight?”

He blinks, caught off guard for a second. “How do you even know it’s illegal?”

You stare at him, almost incredulous. “Are you serious? Nothing about that place screams legal.”

He doesn’t argue.

So you keep going.

“I thought we were going to a club,” you say, your frustration spilling over now. “And then you change plans last minute, and suddenly we’re standing next to a cage, watching a guy get nearly beaten to death?”

The words hang heavy between you.

Mario exhales again, slower this time, and there’s something in his expression that finally cracks – guilt, maybe. Regret.

“I’m sorry,” he says, quieter now. “I really am. I just… I had to deal with something, and one of my friends was there. I thought it’d just be a fight. I thought you two might–” he hesitates, then shrugs weakly, “–I don’t know. Enjoy it. You like boxing, right?”

That lands badly.

Because whatever that was—wasn’t just boxing.

You lean back slightly, exhaling through your nose, but the tension doesn’t leave your body. If anything, it settles deeper.

“Why do you even hang around people like that?” you ask, your tone quieter now but no less pointed.

Mario winces a little at that, like he expected it. “I’m sorry,” he says again, rubbing the back of his neck. “I really am. I won’t bring you there again. Hell, I probably won’t even go back myself. It was a stupid idea.”

You study him for a second, trying to decide if you believe that.

Then you sigh, some of the edge in you softening, just a little. “I didn’t feel safe there,” you admit. “And it’s a good thing nothing happened to us.”

Your fingers curl slightly around the warm cup, grounding yourself before you add, “What even is that place?”

Mario hesitates, like he’s choosing how honest to be. “It’s… yeah, it’s illegal,” he finally says. “But it’s one of the fastest ways to make money. People go there to bet. Not just that–they go because they like the fights. They want to see something real.”

You let out a quiet scoff. “We clearly have very different ideas of what a good fight is.”

He nods, accepting that. “Listen–it’s usually not like that. It gets stopped before it goes too far. Yeah, some guys don’t look great after, but tonight… tonight was intense. I didn’t know JK was gonna be the one fighting. Usually it’s more… controlled.”

You blink at him, stunned. “Oh my god. How many times have you been there?”

“Not that many,” he says quickly, holding up a hand. “Seriously. But I know it’s not usually like this. There had to be a change of plans when JK showed up. That’s why it was so packed. I should’ve known. I should’ve just left with you the second I realized.”

You shake your head slightly, still trying to process. “Who even is he?”

Mario shrugs. “Just a guy that got popular there. He fights well–really well–and people like watching him. That’s why it gets so crowded when he’s around.”

Your stomach turns at that. “People enjoy watching him beat someone nearly to death?”

“There’s a lot of money involved,” Mario replies, his tone quieter now. “And for some of those guys… it’s easier to earn money that way. One good fight can get you more than a regular job.”

You frown, not convinced. “I don’t get it. I mean, boxing isn’t a bad thing–but when it’s legal. What we saw? There’s a reason that’s not allowed.”

Mario exhales, leaning back in his chair. “The world’s a lot rougher than you think. That place–it’s just one of those corners where people make money however they can.”

You don’t respond to that. Not really.

Instead, you shift your focus, needing something else. “Did you at least deal with your friend? The one you said you had to meet?”

“Yeah,” he nods quickly. “Yeah, that’s done.” He pauses, then adds again, “And I’m sorry. Really. I won’t drag you into something like that again.”

You study him for a moment, then let out a small breath, deciding not to push it further. “Let’s just… hope we’ll laugh about this in twenty years.”

El makes a small sound beside you – half a scoff, half a sip of her tea – and you glance at her.

“Why are you so quiet?” you ask.

She shrugs, staring into her cup for a second before looking up. “I mean… yeah, it was weird. And I definitely wouldn’t go there alone.” She pauses, then adds, almost reluctantly, “But it was kind of interesting to see.”

You drop your head back slightly. “Oh my god.”

El rolls her eyes, but there’s a faint smile there now. “I’m not saying I want to go back. I don’t. I’d rather we stay far away from that place.” She nudges your arm lightly. “Next time, though? We’re going to an actual club. A good one. We finally convince you to go out, and this is where we end up?”

You huff out a laugh despite yourself, some of the tension finally easing. “Fine. You pick the next place, and I’ll consider going.”

“That’s a yes,” she says immediately.

“It’s a maybe,” you correct, but you’re smiling now.

The night winds down after that, the heaviness of it lingering but not as sharp. You stay over at Mario’s place like usual – nothing new there. You and El take the bed, while he crashes on the couch without complaint.

It should feel normal.

Familiar.

But as you lie there in the dark, staring at the ceiling, sleep doesn’t come easily.

Because every time you close your eyes, you see it again.

The ring. The blood. The crowd.

And him.

Those dark, steady eyes that barely looked at you – yet somehow linger anyway, slipping into your dreams as the night stretches on, replaying everything like a broken movie you can’t quite turn off.

Life moves on.

Or at least, it pretends to.

In the days after that night, everything slowly slips back into place. You fall into your usual routine – meeting El for junk food runs, sitting in dimly lit bars, catching up on the kind of small, meaningless things that make life feel normal again. Work, gossip, random complaints. The kind of conversations that don’t carry weight.

And for a while, neither does that night.

It starts to feel distant. Unreal, even. Like something you watched in a movie rather than something you actually stood in the middle of. You avoid that part of town completely, not even entertaining the idea of going near it. The building, the people, the noise – it all becomes something you push to the back of your mind.

Still, sometimes it creeps in.

A thought here and there. A question you don’t really want answered. How many people got hurt that night? How often does that happen?

You learn not to follow those thoughts too far.

The first week is the worst. Your dreams are restless, filled with flashes of the ring, the sound of fists hitting skin, the roar of the crowd. It’s like your brain is trying to process something it only ever expected to see on a screen, not up close, not real.

But after a couple of weeks, even that fades.

It becomes just a faint memory. Something that happened. Something you don’t talk about. Life moves on. Or at least, it tries to.

In the days after that night, everything slowly slips back into place. You fall into your usual routine – meeting El for junk food runs, sitting in dimly lit bars, catching up on the kind of small, meaningless things that make life feel normal again. Work, gossip, random complaints. The kind of conversations that don’t carry weight.

And for a while, neither does that night.

It starts to feel distant. Unreal, even. Like something you watched in a movie rather than something you actually stood in the middle of. You avoid that part of town completely, not even entertaining the idea of going near it. The building, the people, the noise – it all becomes something you push to the back of your mind.

Still, sometimes it creeps in. A thought here and there. A question you don’t really want answered. How many people got hurt that night? How often does that happen?

You learn not to follow those thoughts too far.

The first week is the worst. Your dreams are restless, filled with flashes of the ring, the sound of fists hitting skin, the roar of the crowd. It’s like your brain is trying to process something it only ever expected to see on a screen, not up close, not real.

But after a couple of weeks, even that fades.

It becomes just a faint memory. Something that happened. Something you don’t talk about.

Lately, you’ve been seeing El more often. Mario’s been busy, which isn’t unusual. He’s always had something going on, mostly revolving around cars. Buying them, fixing them, flipping them. Old ones, newer ones—it doesn’t really matter. He calls it an investment, says the money always comes back if you know what you’re doing.

And apparently, he does.

Between the cars and whatever connections he’s built over time, he’s become the guy people call when something breaks. You’ve done it yourself. The last time your car had an issue, he fixed it in a day and saved you from dealing with overpriced repair shops and all their nonsense. He’s reliable like that.

Just not always honest.

Tonight, it’s just you and El at one of your usual bars, tucked into a booth that’s a little too worn but familiar enough to feel comfortable. You didn’t feel like drinking, so you’ve been sticking to soda while she’s had a couple of shots.

It reminds you of a phase you’ve already gone through – back when you were younger, figuring out your limits. These days, you don’t really care for it.

El, though, seems off.

At first, you assume it’s her ex. She spent way too long getting over him, and for a moment you wonder if she slipped back into that. But then she checks her phone again. And again. And again.

You watch her for a while before finally speaking up. “Okay, something’s up.”

She barely looks at you. “Nothing’s up.”

“You’ve checked your phone like ten times in five minutes.”

“I’m just waiting for a message.”

“From who?”

She shrugs too quickly. “No one important.”

You don’t buy it, but you don’t push right away. The feeling lingers, though, settling in your chest.

Something’s not right.

By the time the waitress tells you they’re closing, it’s already close to ten. You both gather your things and step outside, the cooler air a relief after the stuffy bar. You start telling her something about work – some pointless drama – but she barely reacts, her attention drifting back to her phone.

Then she checks it again.

You stop mid-sentence and look at her. “Okay, you have one minute. Tell me what’s going on, or I’m dropping you off and going home.”

She laughs nervously, scratching her cheek. “Don’t be mad.”

You roll your eyes. “Just say it.”

“I know where Mario is.”

You blink. “Okay? He’s probably working.”

She exhales, muttering, “He’s gonna kill me for this.”

“El.”

“Okay–he went back there.”

You frown. “Back where?”

Her voice lowers. “The ring.”

You stare at her, still trying to process it, the memory of that place snapping back into focus like it never really left.

“What do you mean, the ring?”

“He’s there. Right now.”

You let out a slow breath, disbelief settling in. Of course he is. After everything he said. After promising he wouldn’t go back.

“Unbelievable.”

El shifts slightly, her grip tightening around her phone. “The thing is… he was supposed to text me. And he hasn’t. It’s been, like, four hours.” She glances at the screen again, like it might suddenly light up. “He promised he would.”

You frown. “Wait–did you know he was going there?”

She hesitates, then nods, a little ashamed. “Yeah. He told me.” She quickly adds, “And he made me promise not to tell you.”

You scoff. “Of course he did. He didn’t want to hear my ‘smart remarks’ again. He probably thinks I’m his mom at this point, pestering him.”

“That’s not it,” El says, shaking her head. “He knows you worry about him. We both do. And honestly? You have a reason to.” She exhales, then continues, “I only agreed because he said he’d text me the whole time. Just so I’d know he’s okay.”

You cross your arms. “And?”

“The last message I got was around seven,” she says, her voice tightening. “He said he was going in.”

You glance at the time. It’s way past that now.

“What was he even doing there?” you ask.

El shrugs helplessly. “I don’t know. He just said he had some business to take care of. That it’d be quick.” She lets out a quiet, uneasy breath. “Clearly it’s not.”

Silence settles between you for a moment, heavier this time.

“I don’t want to panic,” she adds, her voice quieter now, “but after what we saw there… the kind of people that were around…” She swallows. “I’m scared something happened to him.”

That lands.

Because yeah, Mario’s not small. He’s got height, some lean muscle, enough to handle himself in most situations.

But that place?

That’s not most situations. He’s still your friend. And something about all of this doesn’t sit right.

El looks at you, worry written all over her face. “What are we gonna do?”

You sigh, already knowing the answer.

“What else?” you mutter. “We have to go back and find him.”

Her expression tightens. “What if he’s not there?”

“Then we hope he made it there and someone saw him,” you reply, already turning and heading toward your car. “And we figure it out from there.”

You don’t give yourself time to second-guess it.

El hurries after you, sliding into the passenger seat as you start the engine. For a brief second, you just sit there, hands gripping the wheel a little tighter than usual.

You had hoped you’d never go back.

But just like that – that hope is gone.

You park a little further down the street, not wanting to pull up right in front like last time. The engine dies, and for a moment neither of you moves. The place hasn’t changed at all. The street still feels wrong –too quiet, too empty, like it’s been deliberately erased from everything around it. You glance at El, and she looks just as uneasy as you feel.

“Let’s go,” you mutter, pushing the door open.

You both walk toward the entrance, slower this time, more cautious. When you reach the door, El tries to push it open, but it doesn’t budge. Locked. She turns to you, brows knitting together. “What now?”

Before you can answer, the door creaks open from the inside. The same bouncer steps into view, and for a second you don’t recognize him. Then it clicks – the same sharp, heavy-lidded eyes, the same detached, almost stoned expression. It feels like no time has passed. His gaze drags over both of you, slow and deliberate, lingering a little too long on your bare legs, and you instantly regret dressing up for the bar tonight.

“You’re late,” he says, voice rough. “Let people in an hour ago.”

You don’t bother arguing. You reach into your purse, pull out a bill, and press it against his chest. He catches it easily, glancing down before tucking it away. A smirk pulls at his mouth. “Would’ve preferred you in my arms,” he mutters. You grimace, not even hiding your disgust this time, while El’s grip tightens around your hand as the door opens wider and you both slip inside.

The moment you step down the stairs, the noise hits – loud, heavy, suffocating. The smell follows right after. Sweat, weed, alcohol. It’s exactly how you remember it, maybe worse. The main area is completely packed, even more than last time, bodies pressed together so tightly it feels impossible to move. You barely even glance toward the ring. That’s not why you’re here.

“Room,” you remind El, leaning closer so she can hear you.

She nods quickly, already following your lead as you both start pushing through the crowd, weaving between people with purpose. You keep your focus forward, mentally retracing the path from last time. The stairs. The hallway. That door. That’s where you last saw Mario, and right now, that’s the only place that matters.

“El–this way,” you say, tugging her slightly as you manage to break away from the tightest part of the crowd and angle toward the stairs. There are still people gathered there, but it’s easier to move, easier to breathe. “We check the room first. If he’s not there, we’ll figure something else out.”

The microphone cuts in, sharp and loud, but you don’t stop. The announcer’s voice blends into the background as you keep moving, slipping past another group, already stepping toward the hallway. You’re close now, close enough that you can almost see the door in your mind.

“…and tonight,” the voice drawls.

You ignore it.

“First time in the ring–”

Still moving.

“–and bold enough to throw down a challenge–”

You’re already turning, already heading for the hallway.

“–challenging JK himself–”

The crowd reacts loudly, but it barely registers. You’re focused on getting there, on finding him before anything else can go wrong.

“And let’s hear it for–”

You don’t slow down.

“Maaaario.”

El stops so abruptly it almost throws you into her back, your steps catching at the last second as the name echoes through the space. For a moment it doesn’t register – not fully. It stretches out in the air, swallowed and amplified by the crowd’s reaction, like your brain refuses to connect it to anything real.

Then it hits.

Your body goes still as your mind catches up, the realization crashing in all at once. Around you, the crowd erupts, louder than before, excitement surging like this is exactly what they came for. El doesn’t move in front of you, her posture rigid, and your hand tightens slightly where you’re still holding onto her.

Neither of you says anything.

Because you both heard it.

And suddenly, finding Mario doesn’t feel like a question anymore.

It feels like a problem.

The countdown starts somewhere above the noise, the announcer stretching each number out like he’s feeding the crowd. It barely registers at first, your mind still stuck on the name you just heard, but then the final number hits and everything erupts at once. Before you can even think, the fight begins.

You and El move at the same time without saying a word. There’s no hesitation now, just urgency as you push into the crowd, forcing your way through bodies that don’t want to move. Shoulders slam into you, someone curses, another shoves you aside, but no one really stops you. They’re too focused on the ring, too caught up in the fight to care about anything else. The noise is overwhelming – yells, cheers, fists hitting metal – and it makes your chest tighten because you can’t see anything. Not knowing what’s happening somehow feels worse than seeing it.

El takes the lead, using her strength to pry a path open, her grip tight around your wrist as she drags you forward. You stumble after her, trying to keep up as she forces space where there isn’t any. It feels endless, like you’re stuck in a wall of bodies that won’t break, but eventually it does. You reach the ring, not close enough to touch it comfortably, but close enough to see.

And what you see makes your breath catch.

Mario is on the ground, one hand pressed to his face as blood spills from his nose. He looks disoriented, struggling to steady himself, and for a second it doesn’t even register as a fight. It looks like damage, like something that’s already gone too far. Your fingers slip through the fence without you thinking, gripping the cold metal as your eyes dart to his opponent.

JK is circling him.

Not rushing, not pressing – just waiting. There’s something unsettling about the way he moves, controlled and calm, like he already knows exactly how this ends. He lets Mario struggle, lets him try to get up, almost like he’s giving him space on purpose. Like he’s drawing it out.

Your stomach twists as you try to make sense of it. Can’t he just stop it? Can Mario tap out? Are there even rules here?

You don’t know.

“Oh my god,” El whispers beside you, her voice tight with fear.

“Come on,” you say under your breath, gripping the fence harder. “Get up. Get up.”

There’s no way he can hear you through the chaos, and yet somehow he moves. Mario pushes himself up, unsteady, barely holding his balance as he spits blood onto the ground. The sight makes your stomach churn, but he lifts his hands again, trying to reset, trying to fight.

He throws the first punch, driven more by instinct than skill. It’s messy, desperate, lacking control, but it’s something. JK avoids it easily, shifting just enough for it to miss. Another swing follows, then another, each one missing by inches as JK moves around him like it’s nothing. There’s no panic in him, no rush. Just patience.

Then he strikes. It’s quick. Sharp. Clean.

The first hit snaps Mario’s head to the side, the second lands before he can recover, and the third sends him stumbling backward. JK doesn’t overextend, doesn’t waste movement – every punch is calculated, landing exactly where it needs to. Mario tries to hold his ground, but it’s obvious now. He’s outmatched.

One more hit lands, harder than the rest, and it drops him.

You gasp, the sound tearing out of you before you can stop it as Mario hits the ground again. His face is already swelling, one eye starting to close, blood spreading across his skin in a way that makes your chest tighten painfully.

“Mario!” you shout, panic rising fast. “Get up!”

El is yelling too now, her voice breaking as she calls his name, the two of you pressed against the fence, desperate, urging him to move, to stay conscious, to do anything. The fear settles deep in your chest because what if he doesn’t get up this time? What if this doesn’t stop?

Mario shifts slightly, barely lifting his head, and then his gaze turns. Not toward JK, not toward the crowd – but toward you.

People cheer.

The sight of his face makes something in you twist. Swollen, bloodied, barely recognizable, and still he finds you in the chaos. Your breath hitches as you realize he sees you here.

JK notices.

It’s subtle at first, just a shift in his focus, the way his eyes narrow as he follows Mario’s line of sight. And then he looks at you. Really looks, his gaze locking onto yours in a way that feels too direct, too aware.

For a second, everything feels still.

Then he moves.

He crouches beside Mario, and your stomach drops as his hand shoots out, fingers tangling into Mario’s hair. The grip is tight, controlling, forcing his head up despite the lack of resistance. Mario barely reacts, his body too weak to fight back, and panic spikes in your chest.

JK doesn’t look away from you. His dark hair sticks to his forehead, damp with sweat, his skin barely marked compared to Mario’s. Like this fight hasn’t cost him anything.

And then he smirks.

Your chest tightens as his grip tightens with it, lifting Mario’s head just enough–

Before slamming it back down against the ground. The sound is sickening. It cuts through everything.

Mario goes limp.

And for a second, you don’t breathe, don’t move, don’t think. You just stare, because something in you knows that whatever line there was before, it’s gone now.

The sound crashes back all at once, loud and overwhelming, like nothing just happened. Like what you just saw is entertainment, nothing more. JK steps back, the win clearly his, and the fence is already being opened for him as if it was expected. Of course it was. He walks out without a glance back, already moving on while the crowd feeds off the aftermath.

You don’t.

You can’t.

Two men enter the ring almost immediately, grabbing Mario under his arms and hauling him up. His body hangs between them, limp, unresponsive, his head lolling slightly with the movement. The sight knocks the air out of your lungs.

You force yourself to move.

Your throat tightens as you swallow hard, shaking yourself out of the daze as you grab El’s arm. “Come on,” you manage, your voice barely steady, your eyes locked on Mario as they carry him away.

You follow them.

They move fast, cutting through a path that clears easier for them than it ever did for you. When you and El catch up, one of the men glances back, clearly annoyed, his eyes narrowing slightly as he takes you in. El’s panicked whispers don’t help.

“Oh my god… Mario, we’re here. You’re gonna be okay–”

“Hey,” one of the men snaps. “You can’t–”

“He’s our friend,” you cut in quickly, your voice sharper than you expect. “We’re staying. Where are you taking him?”

They don’t look like they want to deal with you. Not now. Not with this. The two of them exchange a look, something silent passing between them before one sighs, clearly deciding it’s not worth the argument.

“He’s getting treated,” he says shortly, already turning away.

You don’t ask by whom. You just follow.

The hallway feels tighter this time, the noise from the main area fading behind you as they lead you into one of the rooms. It’s smaller than you expected, cramped and worn, with dented lockers lining one wall and a narrow bed in the center that looks like it once belonged in a hospital.

They set Mario down without much care. His body barely reacts, his head rolling slightly to the side, and something in your chest twists painfully at how still he is.

You and El move immediately, stopping just short of touching him, both of you hovering, afraid of making it worse.

The door opens again.

A young man steps in, probably in his early twenties, maybe a bit older, his build lean but steady. He’s dressed simply – dark shirt, sleeves pushed up to his elbows – and there’s a certain efficiency in the way he moves, like he’s done this too many times to think about it. His hair is slightly messy, falling into his eyes as he pulls on a pair of gloves, his expression focused rather than concerned.

“What do we have this time?” he asks, glancing over Mario with quick, practiced eyes.

“Probably a broken nose. Maybe more,” one of the men replies.

The young man exhales quietly, stepping closer to the bed as he tilts Mario’s head slightly, inspecting the damage without hesitation. “Yeah,” he mutters, almost to himself. “Another one who thought he could last longer than he actually could.”

Mario gets treated like you and El aren’t even there.

The young man moves around him with quiet efficiency, cleaning the blood, checking his nose, pressing gauze where it’s needed. The two men who carried him in linger for a moment before stepping aside, talking in low voices, completely unfazed. It’s like this is routine. Like people getting carried in half-conscious isn’t anything out of the ordinary.

You can’t stand still.

You start pacing the small room, your steps short and sharp, your arms crossed tight over your chest as your thoughts spiral. No matter how hard you try to focus on Mario, your mind keeps dragging you back to the ring – to that moment. The way JK looked at you. The way he made sure you saw it. That last hit.

The way Mario just… stopped.

Your jaw tightens.

Even when Mario lets out a low groan, shifting slightly on the bed, it doesn’t pull you out of it. El is at his side immediately, her voice soft but urgent as she leans closer. “Mario? Hey–can you hear me?” He mumbles something incoherent, his words slurred, barely forming, and El glances up, worry etched all over her face. “Doesn’t he need a hospital?”

The young man doesn’t even look up from what he’s doing. “If he goes to a hospital, questions get asked,” he says flatly. “Police get involved.”

“Maybe they should,” you cut in sharply, stopping your pacing to look at him. “Maybe that would finally shut this place down.”

That gets his attention.

He shoots you a look, sharp and unimpressed. “Hate to break it to you,” he says, tone edged with something colder now, “but your friend would be the one in trouble. This is illegal. He signed up for it.”

You don’t care.

You don’t care what he says, what excuses they have, what twisted logic they follow in this place.

Your anger is already too far gone.

“Where is he?” you ask suddenly.

The room stills for a second.

“Who?” one of the men asks.

You look at him like it should be obvious. “JK.”

They exchange a glance, something unreadable passing between them. “Why?” the other one mutters.

You don’t answer that.

You just look at El. “Stay here. Keep an eye on him.”

She blinks at you, clearly trying to figure out what you’re about to do. “Wait–”

But you’re already moving.

You leave before she can stop you, before anyone can question you further, your steps quick and determined as you head back down the hall. You don’t even know if he’s still there, if he went back to that room or somewhere else entirely, but you don’t stop to think about it.

You’re too angry to think.

You reach the door and push it open hard.

Empty.

The room looks exactly the same as before – the couch, the chair, the faint trace of something cleaner in the air compared to the rest of the place – but he’s not there. You step further in, scanning it anyway, like he might suddenly appear.

“Where the hell—”

The door opens behind you and you turn immediately.

JK stands there.

He doesn’t look surprised to see someone in the room. If anything, he looks mildly annoyed, like you’re an inconvenience he didn’t feel like dealing with tonight. His hair is wet, strands sticking to his forehead, steam still curling faintly from the doorway behind him – bathroom, you realize. He’s changed, now wearing a pair of dark cotton shorts, a towel in his hands that he uses once before tossing it aside onto the couch like it doesn’t matter.

Like nothing matters.

He doesn’t even acknowledge you.

That’s what sets you off.

Before you can think, you’re already moving toward him, anger taking over completely as you shove both hands against his chest. The contact is solid – his skin still warm from the shower, heat lingering under your palms, his muscles hard and unyielding beneath your push. It’s like trying to move a wall.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” you snap, your voice sharp with fury. “You could’ve killed him!”

He barely moves.

Just stands there, looking down at you as if you’re something mildly irritating, one brow lifting slightly as your hair falls out of place from the force of your movement.

“You done?” he asks.

The words hit harder than they should.

You freeze for half a second, caught off guard – not just by how close he is, not just by hearing his voice directed at you for the first time, but by how little he seems to care.

“Not entirely,” you snap back, your anger flaring again as you move to shove him once more.

This time, he catches your wrist.

Effortlessly.

His grip is firm, stopping you mid-motion like it’s nothing, like you weren’t even a challenge to begin with.

“You’re a piece of shit,” you tell him, your voice tight.

A smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, slow and unimpressed. “And yet,” he replies coolly, tilting his head slightly as his grip doesn’t loosen, “your friend stepped into the ring with me anyway.”

“Let me go,” you snap, yanking against him.

For a second, he just watches you, completely unimpressed, like this is nothing new to him.

Then he lets go.

Abruptly.

You stumble back a step as he pushes you away, not rough enough to hurt, but enough to put distance between you, like he’s brushing something off.

“Careful,” he says, voice low, almost amused, “you’re gonna hurt yourself before you even get close to hurting me.”

The arrogance in his tone only makes your blood boil more.

“You’re an arrogant prick,” you snap without hesitation, your voice sharp enough to cut through whatever calm he’s pretending to have. “Do you feel good about it? Almost killing people for a bunch of money?”

Something shifts.

It’s subtle, but it’s there. The smirk fades just enough, his eyes darkening as he looks at you, really looks this time.

“Out,” he says.

You don’t move. You don’t even consider it.

“You’re in no position to tell me what to do,” you fire back immediately. “I’m not going anywhere.”

His jaw tightens slightly, but he doesn’t argue. Doesn’t explain. Doesn’t justify himself.

That only makes it worse.

You step closer again, closing the distance, your finger lifting as you point it toward his chest. “You don’t get to act like this is normal. Like you’re not the problem here.”

His hand moves before you can react.

Fast.

Your wrist is caught again, but this time there’s no patience behind it. No casual ease. Just control.

“You’re pushing it,” he says, voice low, edged with warning.

“Good,” you snap, trying to yank your hand free. “Maybe someone should–”

He doesn’t let you finish.

In one swift movement, he turns you, your back hitting the wall with a dull thud before you can process what just happened. Your breath catches as he pins your arms behind you, one hand locking both of your wrists in place, the other braced near your shoulder, keeping you exactly where he wants you.

The shift is instant.

You’re not in control anymore.

Your heart jumps, adrenaline spiking as you struggle against his hold, but it’s useless. He’s stronger, faster, and far too used to this kind of contact.

He leans in slightly, just enough for you to feel the heat still radiating off his skin.

“You talk a lot,” he mutters, his grip tightening just enough to keep you from trying anything else, “for someone who has no idea what she just walked into.”

His hand still holds your wrists behind your back, and now his other arm shifts slightly, boxing you in. The heat from his body hasn’t faded yet, his skin still warm under the dim light, his breath just brushing near your ear without quite touching.

Your pulse spikes despite yourself.

“Yeah?” you manage, your voice tighter than you’d like. “What did I walk into?”

There’s a beat.

Short.

“A place you don’t belong,” he says quietly, voice low and steady, right by your ear.

No hesitation. No explanation.

Just fact.

His grip tightens slightly, not enough to hurt – just enough to remind you he’s still in control.

“And a fight you can’t win.”

He lets go of you.

The shift is sudden enough that you almost stumble forward before catching yourself. You turn on him immediately, your chest rising and falling too fast, your pulse still racing from the proximity, from the grip, from everything. For a second, you just stare at him, trying to steady yourself, trying to hold onto the anger that brought you here in the first place.

“Leave,” he says.

Just like that. Flat. Dismissive.

You blink at him, still catching your breath. You don’t even know what you expected coming here – an apology, a reaction, something – but all you got was this. Him. Unbothered. Untouched. Like what happened in that ring meant nothing.

You open your mouth, but before you can say anything–

The door swings open.

A blonde woman steps in, her energy shifting the moment she notices you. The grin she walked in with disappears almost instantly, her eyes flicking between you and him, lingering a second too long on the fact that he’s still shirtless.

The air changes.

“Who’s this?” she asks, her tone edged, curious but already leaning toward annoyed.

Jungkook doesn’t rush to answer. He doesn’t even look at her right away. Instead, he grabs an oversized shirt, pulling it over his head like this conversation doesn’t concern him in the slightest.

“She’s leaving,” he says, like that’s enough.

You let out a sharp scoff. “The hell I am.”

That gets a reaction. Not from her.

From him.

It’s subtle – just the corner of his mouth pulling into something that almost resembles a grin, like he finds you more entertaining than anything else. It’s not warm. Not kind.

Provocative.

The blonde woman shifts her weight, clearly irritated now, her gaze narrowing slightly as she looks at you again. “I think you heard him.”

You don’t move. Not an inch.

“I heard him,” you reply coolly. “I just don’t care.”

Her annoyance sharpens, visible now, but Jungkook doesn’t step in. Doesn’t correct you. Doesn’t repeat himself. If anything, he looks more interested now, watching the tension build like it’s something worth his time.

The woman steps further into the room, and now that you actually look at her, it’s obvious. The red dress clings to her body, cut far too short to be anything but intentional, the fabric hugging her curves like she walked in here knowing exactly what she came for.

Not the fight. Him.

You almost snort at the realization.

She barely spares you another glance before her attention shifts fully to Jungkook, like you’ve already been dismissed. “You were incredible tonight,” she says, her tone smoothing out into something softer, almost impressed. “I was here. Watched the whole thing.”

Jungkook doesn’t react the way she expects.

He doesn’t even look at her.

“Good,” he says simply, already reaching for a bag that looks like his, slinging it over his shoulder like the conversation means nothing.

The woman doesn’t seem discouraged.

If anything, she leans into it.

She steps closer, her movements slow, deliberate, like she’s used to getting attention this way. And maybe she is. But this time, there’s something else in it too – something sharper. When she shifts closer to him, her gaze flicks to you for just a second.

Oh. There it is.

She sees you as a problem. A threat perhaps.

The realization makes something in you click – and instead of being bothered, you grin.

Actually grin.

You shake your head lightly, almost amused now as you look between them. 

Her hand brushes lightly against his arm, her voice dropping as she says something under her breath, something meant just for him.

JK finally looks at her.

Not interested. Not even tempted.

“Not tonight,” he says flatly, pulling his arm away without hesitation. There’s no softness in it, no apology. Just a quiet finality that lands harder than anything else.

It’s enough.

Her expression tightens, the confidence slipping just slightly as she straightens, clearly not satisfied with the answer. For a second, it looks like she might push it, but she doesn’t. Instead, she exhales sharply, shooting you one last look before turning on her heel and walking out.

The door closes behind her.

Silence settles for a beat.

Then his attention shifts.

Back to you.

And this time, there’s no amusement left in it.

Just irritation.

“You’re still here,” he says, like it’s a problem that hasn’t fixed itself yet.

You let out a sharp breath, disbelief mixing with the anger that never really left.

“I can’t believe you,” you say, your voice tight, almost shaking. “You just walk out of there like it’s nothing. Like it didn’t even happen.”

He doesn’t respond.

That only makes it worse.

“Mario is in there,” you continue, stepping closer again, your frustration building all over again. “Barely conscious, coming in and out of it–and you’re just… here. Moving on. Like this is normal.”

Your eyes flick briefly to the door, then back to him.

“And what, now it’s back to this?” you add, your tone sharper. “Girls lining up because you won? Like that’s all this is to you?”

His expression barely shifts.

If anything, it hardens.

He doesn’t react the way you expect.

No apology. No defense.

Instead, he reaches into his bag, pulls out a thick fold of cash, and before you can even register it, he grabs your hand and forces it open, pressing the money into your palm.

“Enough?” he asks, tone flat. “Or you gonna keep talking?”

You stare down at it for half a second, disbelief hitting first, then anger flooding right after.

You’re about to throw it straight back at him.

But he speaks again.

“Give it to him,” he adds, nodding slightly toward the door. “Call it… a consolation prize.”

There’s a pause, just enough for it to land.

Then, quieter, with that same careless edge, “For getting dropped that fast.”

Your fingers tighten around the money without you meaning to, your jaw clenching as the insult settles heavy in the air.

Before you can react, he moves.

It’s quick. Too quick.

His hand comes up, and his thumb brushes over the corner of your lips, slow enough to feel deliberate, wiping at something you didn’t even realize was there. The touch is brief, but it lands heavier than it should, heat lingering where his skin just was.

You freeze.

Not because you want to. Because you didn’t expect it.

He pulls his hand back, glancing at his thumb like he’s checking the faint smear of red before letting out a quiet, almost amused breath.

“Fix yourself,” he says, voice low, edged with something mocking. “Wouldn’t want you going back to your guy looking like that.”

His eyes flick back up to yours, that same faint smirk tugging at his mouth.

“Lipstick’s smudged, Red.”

And just like that, he’s done. He grabs his bag, throws it over his shoulder, and walks past you without another glance, like the conversation never mattered to him in the first place, like you never mattered enough to leave an impression. The bag shifts as he moves, heavy, the faint rustle unmistakable – you don’t even need to look twice to know it’s stuffed with cash. Easy money. Hard-earned in all the wrong ways. He carries it like it’s nothing.

The door shuts behind him with a quiet click, and the shift is immediate – the room falling into a stillness that feels almost unnatural after everything that just happened.

The silence presses in, heavy and unfamiliar. The faint trace of his cologne lingers in the air – something sharp, clean, expensive – cutting through the stale mix of sweat and smoke that clings to everything else in this place. It doesn’t belong here. It doesn’t fit the cracked walls, the worn furniture, the quiet evidence of violence that lingers in every corner. And somehow, neither does he, even though he clearly owns it.

You don’t move right away. Your hand is still loosely curled around the cash he forced into your palm, your other lifting without you realizing it, fingers hovering near your lips where his thumb had brushed just moments ago. The sensation is gone, but not really. It lingers in your head, in the way your body reacts before your mind can catch up, and that alone is enough to make your jaw tighten.

Your heartbeat hasn’t slowed. If anything, it’s worse now – faster than it was before you even walked in here, louder in your ears, harder to ignore. You swallow, forcing your hand to drop, grounding yourself, dragging your focus back to something real. Back to why you came here in the first place.

Because whatever that was, whatever just passed between you and him, it doesn’t matter.

Mario is still down the hall, hurt, barely conscious, and this place hasn’t changed just because you stepped into one room and out of another. It’s still exactly what you thought it was – a place where violence is entertainment, where people walk in and don’t always walk out the same, and where no one stops to care what happens once the fight is over.

it had been 4 days since you last met up with jungkook. his apartment after a mutual friend’s party, both of you slightly tipsy and stumbling everywhere, and his hot mouth working on your skin like it was his final meal - your favourite combo.

you two had been hooking up for a while now, it was a mutual agreement that benefited you both perfectly. you were too preoccupied with your university studies to even think about bearing the weight of a committed relationship. and jungkook, well, jungkook was just gaming his way through university, not concerned with getting a successful degree as a position in his uncle’s company was promised to him as soon as he graduated. the idea of casual sex whenever you felt like it made him more than happy - no emotional thoughts or feelings to over complicate things.

he’d proposed the idea at a party one night after you’d stupidly drank too much and randomly blurted out to him how sexually frustrated you had been. he didn’t laugh or make fun, just shrugged and said he was up for it if you were. you weren’t strangers, jungkook always saw you around campus with your head in a book or at events where his friends frequently hung out with yours. you were cute, determined, and just seemed in need of some relief - which jungkook could definitely help with.

you always noticed him too, it was almost impossible not to. he was definitely your type - hot, confident, built with tattoos. jungkook gave major fuckboy vibes though, and you weren’t sure whether you’d be walking headfirst into an std nest. however, he quickly assured you he got tested regularly and would send you his results, which was weirdly responsible of him.

you were still hesitant to agree at first, it almost sounded too good to be true. but jungkook offered you one night with him to decide if you wanted to continue - no strings, just both of you harmlessly indulging in each other - and thank god you agreed.

because jungkook was ridiculously good in bed. you’d assumed he was experienced, as were you, but not on this level. he knew exactly where to touch, tease, and focus on to satisfy you. he was just the right level of caring and attentive, which at least showed you weren’t being completely used. he knew and gave you exactly what you needed, what you had been craving for months - you’d be a fool not to go through with it, anyone could see that.

throughout the past few months, you and jungkook met up countless times whenever either of you texted or called. you’d mostly meet at each other’s apartments, but on busier days, jungkook was perfectly happy taking you quickly in his back seats before letting you resume your daily routine or sneaking out of parties with friends just to meet you.

ground rules and boundaries between you were obviously established (mostly on your part): you two were free to hook up with anyone else as long as you got regularly tested, arrangement could be stopped at anytime, no distracting you from your studies, protection was to be used at all times, no feelings or personal life involved, etc.

it seemed both of you were actually good at the whole no feelings to complicate anything thing. jungkook liked that about you - you didn’t beg for more attention from him or expect him to act like a doting boyfriend like some other women did. sleeping over at each other’s places was frequent, but that was only because you’d both be too tired out to move and jungkook didn’t want you collapsing in the elevator on your way back. it was easy, private, and honestly exhilarating.

so, here you were, hunched over your desk on a friday night studying, no - trying to, when you should’ve been at a house party with all your friends instead. they’d begged you to come, but you kept refusing, insisting that your grades were more important (which they were). though it was impossible to study now, it felt like your brain had stopped functioning properly and the words on the textbook were just as jumbled up as your mind.

you would’ve already texted jungkook if only there weren’t two problems. 1. you weren’t sure if he was at said house party, drinking and preoccupied by other things 2. you were at the peak of your period, with a dangerously heavy flow cramps obliterating your lower half. sex was obviously a no-go right now, no matter how much you wanted it or how much better it would make you feel.

you finally huffed and closed the textbook, there was no amount of information right now that could enter your brain and stay there, it was just pointless. your phone remained on the desk as you got up to get another glass of water, the ice cold liquid soothing your dry lips.

your phone suddenly buzzed - you expected it to be another reminder from a study app or a discount for a subscription, but no. jungkook’s name popped up on your screen: 1 new message you were confused, so he wasn’t at the party then? nonetheless, you quickly opened the chat.

jungkook: are u busy tonight?

three dots, then:

jungkook: i can see u read it

another message pops up, it’s a photo of his empty bed - dark, your favourite sheets, the blanket tossed off.

jungkook: come over? ;)

you groaned mentally, why tonight? your thumb hovers over the keyboard, but another message comes before you can even type a reply.

jungkook: i've been thinking about u all day

jungkook: can't focus

jungkook: this is your fault

another photo, this time it’s lower. sweatpants sitting dangerously low on his hips, tattooed hand resting on his lower stomach, the waistband of his boxers visible.

fuck. you can tell he’s probably extra horny from the amount of messages he sends at once, it’s hard to tell him no - but you finally reply.

you: i can’t do anything right now, i’m on my period :(

his reply comes fast, almost annoyed, but then:

jungkook: does that mean you don't wanna come over?

the tone of his messages changes slightly - not angry, but wanting. almost whining.

jungkook: cuz i really need u

jungkook: not gonna lie i’ve been doing it myself all day

oh lord.

you: doing what?

his reply is instant. blunt, a little embarrassed - jungkook backspaces once before sending. your breath hitches as soon as it comes through. why is he doing this to you now?

jungkook: touching myself thinking about you

he sends another photo. the angle shows the bulge straining at the front of his sweats, fingertips just barely grazing the fabric. heat already pulses low in your stomach.

jungkook: it's not enough though

jungkook: waiting for you to say you’ll come over.

you send an eye rolling emoji then type out another message.

you: i just told you I’m on my period.

he reads it immediately. you watch the three dots pop up, disappear, pop up again.

jungkook: i know

his reply comes instantly, shameless.

jungkook: i am aware you’re on your period

jungkook: i literally do not care

another photo follows - his hand is pushed fully down his sweatpants. fucking hell. you know jungkook is completely serious right now, and you can’t help but be a little nervous. the thought of him fucking you whilst you’re on your period does excite you a little, but you’re not sure whether he’ll end up being uncomfortable or weirded out.

you: it’s blood haven right now

three dots, a long pause, then:

jungkook: y/n

jungkook: i will put a towel down

jungkook: we will shower after

jungkook: i really do not care if you don’t.

you bite your lip, then another message.

jungkook: or i can come there

jungkook: i just need u

you think about it for a moment - fuck it. there’s a first time for everything, right?

you: you come here then.

he reads it but doesn't reply. eight minutes later, there's a knock at your door. it’s impatient, two quick raps. when you open it, jungkook's breathless, like he just ran up the stairs instead of waiting for the elevator. he murmurs a ‘hey’ then shoves a plastic bag into your hands.

inside the bag is a dark towel, your favorite chocolate, painkillers, and a heating pad. you blink and realise he’s genuinely prepared and serious about this, and you don’t know whether to laugh or cry.

but jungkook doesn't waste any more time, he shoves you back against the door the second it's closed - lips crushing yours, hands already hiking up your shirt. you pull back breathless, your hands pressing against his chest to steady yourself. “jungkook, I feel a little disgusting, honestly, and I’ve never done anything sexual on my period..” your words are quiet, maybe even a little embarrassed.

he frowns, hands freezing on your hips instantly. the aggressive energy drops away, replaced by something soft. he leans his forehead against yours. "it's not disgusting." he dips his head down to kiss your jaw then pulls back to look you in the eye, dead serious. “it's literally biology. everyone bleeds." his thumbs rub your waist. "and if you've never done it, then tonight we will.."

you nod. “it’ll be messy, though.”

he nods back seriously. "i brought a towel, remember? i don't care about messy if you don’t.”

his lips quickly find yours again, his warm tongue enveloping yours as he leads you to your bedroom. he kicks the door shut behind you, walking you backward until your knees hit the mattress. the bag with the supplies hits your nightstand. he pulls your shirt off effortlessly, and doesn't hesitate to reach for your sweatpants, tugging them down along with your underwear.

he spreads the dark towel over the sheets with practiced efficiency, then pauses and looks at you. "we can stop." his voice is quieter now, thumb stroking your hip as he looks at you. "but I want you to know i don't care about any of it." he kisses your stomach. slow, deliberate, moving lower.

"just tell me if it's too much." jungkook murmurs against your skin. he pulls his hoodie off, then the shirt underneath. his body is already warm as he shifts, settling comfortably between your legs. his thumbs press gently into your inner thighs, coaxing them open.

you subconsciously resist a little, but he leans down, pressing a kiss right above your pelvic bone. "relax." he whispers. "trust me." jungkook gently hooks your legs over his shoulders, lowering his face with no hesitation. his mouth is on you instantly. soft, wet, and unbothered by anything other than making you feel good. “you’re so fucking beautiful, y/n.”

you tense automatically, instinctively trying to close your legs. his hands immediately clamp down on your thighs, holding them open, keeping you pinned. "stop moving, it’s alright." he mumbles against you, then licks a slow stripe up your center, the cold press of his lip piercing making you shiver.

“ah” you moan, hand flying to his hair - gripping, pulling. he groans against you, the vibration makes your back arch off the mattress. jungkook works you slowly and patiently. his tongue circling, his lips pulling. he reads every twitch, every gasp, adjusting for your comfort.

his eyes flick up to meet yours. dark, hungry, chin wet - he doesn't care. your eyes are already rolling back, mouth wide open as a string of breathy moans escape you. you're absolutely soaked. the blood mixes with your arousal, dripping onto the dark towel beneath you. jungkook doesn't slow. his tongue flicks harder, faster. one hand slips up your body to pinch your nipple through your lacy bra.

your back arches again, a choked sob escaping. "jungkook-" the pleasure he’s giving you is becoming unbearable. he just hums, appreciative as feels you already getting close. “so good….” your thighs shake against his ears, he tightens his grip on them, pulling you closer to his mouth. two fingers suddenly slide inside you - easy, wet. he curls them upward - hitting that spot that makes your vision blur.

jungkook pulls back just enough to breathe, thumbs rubbing the inside of your thigh. "cum on my face, beautiful.” he tells you, but his mouth is back on you before you can respond. sucking as your orgasm hits hard, violent. your thighs clench around his face, your hips bucking hard into his mouth. a loud, undignified sound escapes you, one you've never made before.

he doesn't stop, doesn't even slow. jungkook swallows every drop of your release - blood and arousal mixing on his chin, dripping down his throat. once youve come down from your high, he presses a kiss to your glistening core then comes back up. when he comes back up, his mouth and chin are all bloody. you open your eyes and gasp, mortified by the vision. “oh my god, I’m so sorry.”

he sits back on his heels, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. he’s breathless and hard, pupils blown wide. he looks down at the mess between your legs - blood and cum and saliva mixed together on the dark towel.

jungkook lunges forward again, covering your body with his. his mouth meets yours - bloody, salty, still tasting of you. “don’t be. you’re the best thing i’ve ever tasted.” he whispers against your lips, breath hot. he grinds against you, hard and desperate. his cock is straining in his sweats, pressing against your wet thighs. you taste yourself on his tongue, you taste the iron of your blood - he doesn't care.

his tongue swipes over your bottom lip once more, then he pushes you back down and settles between your thighs once again - hot mouth finding your centre. “be so good again for me, beautiful.”

jungkook doesn't stop eating you out, he doesn't even pause apart from checking you’re okay every few minutes. each time you peak again, each time his mouth and chin are covered more thoroughly in the mixture of your blood and your climax. the towel is soaking.

by the third time, your thighs are trembling uncontrollably. overstimulated, tears streaming down your cheeks. your fingers tangled in his hair so tight it must hurt. jungkook’s relentless, he could eat you out like this all night if you wanted him to. he finally pulls back. face a mess, chest heaving, his lips swollen and red. he wipes his mouth with his forearm then stares down at you - wrecked, ruined, gorgeous.

"you're so fucking hot."

you whimper at his words, your fingers reaching out to tug at the waistband of his sweatpants - you need him, now. jungkook doesn't hesitate, he shoves them down along with his boxers in one rough motion, kicking them off the end of the bed. his cock springs free. thick, heavy, angry red and leaking pre-cum against his stomach. he's agonizingly hard. he strokes himself once, his thumb spreading the bead of moisture over the head. "still okay?"

you just watch him, eyes fixed on his thick length. then your eyes move back up, you nod once and bite your lip. jungkook watches you bite your lip, his eyes darkening. "don't do that." he reaches up, thumb pressing against your lower lip, freeing it from your teeth. "i want to hear you."

you know you’re already soaking again , you can feel your core pulsing for him. jungkook reaches over to your nightstand drawer where you keep the condoms, but you grab his forearm to stop him. “wait..”

jungkook raises his eyebrows, one hand still rubbing your thigh as he waits for you to continue. you take a deep breath then speak again. “we don’t have to use one this time, i want to feel you properly.”

his brain stops working properly for a second. you want him to fuck you raw? it’s not like it wouldn’t be fucking amazing, but jungkook doesn’t want to overwhelm you or make you feel pressured after always having used protection.

you study his face then continue. “it’s fine if you don’t want to. you know I’m on the pill. i know you’re clean, you know I’m clean. i just - think it would be nice.”

jungkook shakes his head so fast you think he might have whiplash, his tongue plays with his lip ring before he replies. “no - fuck, y/n. i really want to, too. i just don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable or anything.” after studying your face and realising you’re serious, he moves closer and reaches out to brush a strand of hair away from your face, his voice low and sultry. “you want to, then?”

he leans down to pepper kisses all down your throat, then he sucks the sweet spot on your collarbone. “are you sure you can handle it?”

your pulse starts going erratic again, it feels like you’ve somehow forgotten to breathe. you whimper quietly at the thought. “Yes, please, jungkook, i can take it.”

the sound of your voice makes jungkook groan and just press his forehead against your neck. you sound so sweet, so needy and ready for him - he doesn’t waste anymore time.

he positions himself between your legs, hovering over you. his cock brushes against your thigh - hot and heavy. "it shouldn’t, but, tell me if it hurts." he whispers.

jungkook lines himself up. slow, careful, pushing forward. the burn is immediate. you're soaked, but the blood makes the friction different - slicker, warmer. he watches your face intently, freezing when you gasp, waiting for you to adjust. he pushes all the way in, bottoming out. you whine at the stretch. “jungkook…”

he groans. "fuck, princess. fuck, baby.." he stills above you for a moment, his forehead dropping against yours, his breathing ragged. his arms are shaking, holding himself back. "you feel so fucking good." his voice cracks as he pulls back slowly then slides back in - deep, deliberate, setting a rhythm that makes your toes curl.

the wet sounds between you are obscene, slick, messy. “Yes! oh. oh god, jungkook…” every thrust drags a sound out of you - high, broken, shameless - you can't control it. the wet slide of him inside you is amplified, the sensation sharper, deeper.

jungkook loves it. "there we go, babe, let me hear you." he groans into your neck, picking up the pace, the slap of skin against skin is deafening. he wants to make you feel even more - he grips your thighs, pushing them higher toward your chest. the angle changes, he hits deeper, harder. “you like that, princess? fuck.”

you're so loud - no filter, too full of him to even register his words. the coil tightening in your stomach almost violently. jungkook looks down between your bodies where you're connected. it's messy, red, slick. "look at it." he pants. "look how pretty you are."

you both come apart at the same time - him thrusting deep, you clamping down. he's growling your name into your shoulder, you're almost sobbing into his hair. jungkook’s release is violent, hot ropes hitting your cervix over and over. your walls clench around him like a vice, milking every drop out of him. the towel underneath is ruined, completely soaked through. he falls forward, chest heaving, your names both stuck in each other’s throat.

jungkook stays buried inside you for a moment, both of you recovering from what just happened. he presses soft kisses to your shoulder and neck then looks back up at you. “that was beyond fucking amazing.” he watches your face - you’re completely fucked out, cheeks flushed and chest heaving as you try to catch your breath again.

he waits another moment before sitting up suddenly, grabbing your hips and pulling you onto his face without warning. his tongue immediately finds your clit, licking through the mess of both your releases. you yelp and gasp, hands flying to his hair as he begins to eat you out aggressively. "ride my face, beautiful, come on."

“oh my god, jungkook-“ you’ve never been in this position before. you’d fantasised about it a lot but never actually imagined you’d ever be sitting on his face - your face reddens again.

but jungkook doesn't let up. one hand tightens in your hair, gently pulling your head back. the other grips your ass, lifting you higher. "grind on it, baby." he commands against your wetness, and you do. you're overstimulated, you're shaking, but you move your hips anyway - rubbing against his mouth. "that's it, babe. fuck, i could die in this pussy.”

a sudden rush of boldness runs through your body. you lean forward, bracing one hand on the headboard while you grind on his mouth. the other hand slips down his stomach, wrapping around his still-hard cock. you start to stroke him fast - tight, rough, desperate. "let me taste you." you whisper.

jungkook’s back arches. he moans loud against your core, vibrations shaking through you. you lean down now, wrapping your lips around the swollen head of his cock. he chokes out a groan against your cunt, the vibration making your hips jerk. you take him deep. hollowing your cheeks, stroking the base. his hips buck up off the mattress, fucking into your mouth automatically. meanwhile his tongue works you harder, faster.

you stroke him faster. the contrast makes you both delirious - him eating you out while you take him in your mouth. your mouth is so full, you can only make muffled sounds of pleasure. jungkook groans loudly, pushing his hips up into your face, forcing himself deeper. “fuck, y/n. take all of it."

you choke on his dick, your jaw stretching uncomfortably as he pushes. his hands grip the sheets, his voice drops to something like a growl. "take all of it." His tongue is also relentless, slapping across your clit with the same aggression. the vibrations make your walls clench, your cheeks hollow deeply.

something snaps, it breaks simultaneously. your orgasm hits you violently - your hips grinding down onto his tongue, screaming around his cock. you shake uncontrollably. jungkook snaps a second later, thick ropes shooting down your throat. you swallow immediately, humming through your nose, milking him perfectly.

you are both an absolute wreck. the only sound is your ragged breathing, the wet slap of sweat and slick hitting the mattress, the ticking clock across the room. jungkook stays there, your mouth still wrapped around him, your body still twitching. your thighs continue to shake uncontrollably against his shoulders.

finally, he shifts. slowly, gently slipping out. he pulls away, his cock leaving your lips with a wet pop. thick strings connect your lips to the tip before breaking. his face is coated, your centre is coated, it looks almost like a warzone.

jungkook looks at you. eyes dark, lips swollen, panting like he just ran a marathon. "jesus christ." you both look down - the sheets, the towel, his face, your thighs, his cock, his stomach. everything is smeared a little red.

he looks at you, you look at him. you both start laughing. exhausted, maybe slightly delirious. he pulls you closer into another kiss, whilst his hand travels up to the back of your neck - it feels so good, so rewarding. “do you feel okay?” jungkook asks, hoping that wasn’t too much for you.

and it wasn’t. that was most definitely the best sex of your life. you dwell on it for a moment, how could anything else compare to this? No, y/n, you think - don’t even go there.

jungkook - sexy, attentive, strictly casual-hookup-only jungkook who just respectfully broke you in half - pulls you in for another kiss, then chuckles against your lips. "i think we need a shower." he murmurs.

and, well, the cold water from the shower was definitely not the only awakening you’d be having that night.

──────────────────────

I’m ovulating if you couldn’t tell

thank you for reading I <3 you

main m.list • navi

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

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

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

Pathetic.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You chuckled, already accustomed to her holy little remarks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A new priest?

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

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

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

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

A handsome fucking priest.

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

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

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

Sinful.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is Fr. Jeon a real priest?”

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

“Huh?”

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

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

Was there even such a thing as a priest internship?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Absolutely not. That was...unholy!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was becoming a little concerning.

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

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

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

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

The problem was that it would be… strange.

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

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

Especially when the answer involved a certain priest.

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

False piety.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You happily agreed.

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

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

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

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

Your eyes widened.

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

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

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

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

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

He patted my head!

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

Goodness gracious.

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

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

Was that a tattoo?

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

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

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

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

A simple religious question, maybe?

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

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

You wanted to sound natural and virginal.

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

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

Pity.

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

Importunate.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Transgression.

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

But Fr. Jeon was frustratingly...polite.

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

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

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

None of them exactly sounded appropriate for church conversation.

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

Shameful.

A shame that you had never actually talked to him. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Closer to Fr. Jeon, rather.

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

Oh, you were devoted. 

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

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

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

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

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

Your future boyfriend.

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

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

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

Disingenuous.

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

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

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

You were fucking crazy.

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

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

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

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

He’s gonna feed me the host!

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

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

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

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

Your lips parted. “Amen…”

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

To you, it felt intimate. 

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

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

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

Your priorities were clearly a work in progress.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Please. Please. Please agree with me.

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

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

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

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

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

But it still wasn’t the same.

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

Preposterous.

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

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

Thank God and all the saints.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your eyelashes fluttered.

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

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

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

Jesus– God in heaven.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck. You didn’t know that! 

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

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

Deception.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Of course he has a bible in his office!

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

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

You dropped the boxes. “Oh, my-”

Your plan actually worked!

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

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

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

And now he was even taking you to his office!

The Lord had truly answered your prayers.

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

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

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

Heavenly? For Christ’s sake, Y/N.

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

Pious.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Seduction.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Providence.

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

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

It was absurd.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Disingenuous.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Despite that, his eyes never lingered. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your lips parted. Oh! still religious.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Good girl. Oh to be called his good girl.

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

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

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

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

“Amen,” you replied softly.

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

Enthralled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A small rosary bracelet rested inside.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A long time.

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

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

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

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

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

The hug had been innocent, sweet and harmless.

Which only made it worse.

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

Temptation.

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

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

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

His attention lifted from the page.

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

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

Pretty.

The thought came so naturally that he frowned at himself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Until you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Test of faith.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Craving.

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

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

Yours hadn't.

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

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

Closing his eyes, he lowered his head.

"Lord, forgive me," he murmured quietly.

A threat to his devotion.

-

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

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

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

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

Luckily, you had been wearing long skirts these days.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That got his attention immediately.

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

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

You had to fight the smile threatening to appear.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His lips parted at the sight, momentarily stunned.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You bit your lip. “Okay…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Forbidden.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lust.

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

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

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

It was sinful. Dirty.

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

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

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

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

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

His thoughts drifted to you.

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

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

A sacred desire.

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

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

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

Your forbidden thighs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He wanted to fuck you.

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

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

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

It was understandable.

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

Yearning.

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

Hours passed unnoticed.

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

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

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

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

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

Yet he never came.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Avoidance.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Still, the information left you disappointed and strangely hurt.

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

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

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

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

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

Restraint.

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

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

Desperate.

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

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

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

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

There he was.

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

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

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

“Fr. Jeon,” you said softly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Patience.

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

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

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

But this morning, he had come in anyway.

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

Desire.

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

“No, sweetheart… I’m just—”

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

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

“Sweetheart—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Succumbed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh God. What had he done?

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

Surrendered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N, this is wrong—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“N-No… we can’t—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Blasphemous.

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

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

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

“Oh, God,” you moaned.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You like that, sweetheart?”

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

“Fr. Jeon, oh my—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I wanna swallow it, please."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Unholy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sweetheart—”

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

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

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

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

“Sweetheart,” he rasped, swallowing hard.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your eyes widened.

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

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

A strained whimper escaped him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Eyes on me, please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sweetheart,” he said weakly.

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

Delirious.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Meet me after this.”

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

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

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

Wicked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y-You did, Father.”

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

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

Dominance.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your eyes almost rolled back when you saw him kneel.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"T-Too tight." he groaned.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I-I’m sorry, I—”

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

“Stay there,” he commanded.

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

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

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

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

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

“Fr. Jeon, w-what are you—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fallen.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Capitulated.

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

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

All you heard were rumors.

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

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

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

Yet somewhere along the way, things had changed.

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

But because it was him.

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

Then, one afternoon, a letter arrived.

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

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

The truth was far worse.

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

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

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

But they refused. The parish forgave him.

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

You were the temptation they spoke about.

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

He would have chosen you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sweetheart.” 

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