fuck u (won't do what u tell me)

Your dad always said pretty girls brought trouble. Face down beneath three police officers, you had to admit he might've had a point. 

“It’s just a little march, baby. I’d really like it if you came and met the rest of my group, see how I spend my weekends when I’m not with you.”

You’ve been dating Jimin for a couple of months now, and she’s always talking about her church group and how they get involved in projects to help people. But honestly? You aren’t really a religious kind of guy, so the whole thought of it all doesn’t really appeal to you. Until right now, that is. 

You tell yourself that you’re agreeing because it’s just a one off, one afternoon to make your girlfriend happy, to feign some interest in her friends and things she likes. That’s what good boyfriends do, isn't it? Support each other's hobbies, spend time together, and show an interest. The fact that she’s sitting in your lap with her hand wrapped around your cock is unrelated to your decision. Completely. You’re simply being a supportive boyfriend. 

One look at your face makes Jimin’s smile grow bigger, in the way it always seems to when she knows she’s about to get exactly what she wants. "You don't have to," she says softly, though the confidence with which she says it suggests she already knows what your answer will be. 

You look from her eyes to the small cross hanging around her neck before letting out a long sigh. “One march…”

She leans forward and kisses you. Not a soft kind of kiss, but the hungry kind that lets you know exactly what’s about to happen right now. The hand that’s wrapped around your cock begins to move with a more purposeful motion. Jimin breaks the kiss, and as the pleasure builds quickly in your abdomen, you're not sure how long you’ll last when she’s looking at you like that. 

Her other hand slides up your chest and settles around your neck, gently at first, just enough for you to know it’s there. As the hand around your cock picks up the pace, the fingers around your neck begin to squeeze tighter, to the point where it’s getting harder and harder to breathe. Between the tight grip on your neck and the relentless pace of her hand, the rush hits you all at once, and you come all over her hand.

She releases the grip on your neck first, the rush of oxygen relieving the light-headedness that’d tipped you over the edge. She kisses your forehead softly before climbing off your lap slowly and wandering to get a tissue to clean your cum off her hand. 

When she returns, the pure and innocent expression she always seems to wear outside of sex has returned to her face. “I'll text you the address for Saturday,” she says light-heartedly. “Remember to wear comfy shoes, there will be a lot of standing.”

As you step off the train on Saturday morning, you can't help wondering how many times you're about to accidentally commit blasphemy. You’d tried to make a mental list of things not to say, but you know yourself well enough to know this was probably going to be disastrous.

Oh well. 

Outside the station, you spot Jimin waiting for you. She's wearing jeans, battered trainers and a shirt you're almost certain she stole from your wardrobe. She looks unusually serious, eyebrows drawn together as she aggressively types something into her phone. Then she looks up and sees you, and the smile she gives you tells you everything you need to know. You're royally fucked.

Jimin doesn't wait for you to cross the last few metres. Instead, she stuffs her phone into her back pocket and closes the distance herself. Before you can greet her, she’s pulling you down into a long, deep kiss. When she eventually pulls back, she’s smiling. “Hey, baby.”

“I’ve spent the past thirty minutes trying to channel my inner choir boy and you’ve just ruined it.”

Jimin tilts her head innocently. “I was just greeting my boyfriend.”

“With tongue?”

“What can I say, I missed you.”

“You’re lucky you’re pretty.”

She rolls her eyes fondly before taking your hand without asking, her fingers threading naturally through yours as she starts leading you away from the station. “Maybe you’re just easy.”

“Ouch.”

As Jimin pulls you through the busy Saturday crowds, your mind can’t help but wander again to who exactly you’re about to meet. You definitely should’ve spent more time trying to learn those hymns, or even listening when Jimin was talking about these people and their interests. What if they asked you whether you'd considered coming on Sundays? Fuck, you’re going to make an absolute fool out of yourself. But maybe even worse, of Jimin too.

“Babe, how much do your friends actually know about me?”

“They know you’re not religious, stop worrying.”

“And they’re cool with that?”

“They’ve been praying for you.”

“They've what?”

Jimin laughs, leaning her head briefly against your shoulder. “It’ll be fine, baby. They’ll like you.”

“What if they don't?”

“I guess they’ll just have to pray a little harder.”

A few streets later, you begin noticing people walking in the same direction as you. A young couple are handing out leaflets, community outreach, maybe? A group of girls were carrying rolled up banners underneath their arms. Maybe more like a fundraiser? You don't think much of it until you spot someone wrestling a bundle of high-vis vests out of the boot of a car. The closer you got to the meeting point, the less any of it made sense. Since when did church groups gather outside the city's civic centre?

Whatever this was, it clearly wasn't going to involve singing hymns. 

“Jimin…”

“Mhm?”

You slow to a stop. “This doesn’t look like a church thing, it looks like a protest.”

Jimin squeezes your hand once as her eyes follow your gaze towards the crowd. A familiar smile slowly spreads across her face. “Our church organised it.”

You couldn't help laughing. “...your church organises protests?”

“For housing rights, refugee support, workers' rights…” She shrugs, already wandering over to help an older woman struggling to lift a box of placards. “Whatever people need.”

Jimin disappears into the crowd before you can ask another question. Within seconds she's lifting the box of placards, and chatting away as if she’s done this hundreds of times before. Maybe she has.

“Jimin, I’m so happy you’re here, lovely.”

“What have I told you about lifting heavy things, Joan?”

“I'm seventy-three, dear, not dead.”

“Yes,” Jimin replies, “and I'd quite like to keep it that way.”

Joan chuckles before her eyes drift towards you. “You must be the boyfriend.”

“Ha, yeah, that’s me.”

“Lovely to finally meet you.” She presses a rolled banner into your hands. “Could you hold this for us, dear?”

As you hold onto the banner, you can’t help but watch Jimin. She’s already talking to another volunteer, you can’t quite make out what conversation they're having, but it seems important. After a few minutes, Jimin marches towards the van, clearly on a mission. As she weaves through the crowd, you can’t help but notice how everyone seems to know her, how they all greet her. 

After a few minutes she seems to have completely taken control. She directed the late arrivals, found the megaphone that’d gone AWOL, and stopped an elderly man from carrying a heavy crate despite his protests that he was completely fit and capable to do so.

Her eyes meet yours and she smiles softly, before redirecting her attention back to the group. She brings the megaphone up to her mouth and speaks, almost like she’s rallying the troops. And maybe she is. “Firstly, thank you all for coming. We've got churches from across the city here today, local unions, housing charities, refugee organisations, and student groups…”

“Quiet guys, Jimin's speaking.”