#<- i did my time in the catholic church i EARNED MY RIGHT TO MAKE THIS JOKE

[glycerineclown]

BEFORE DINNER: HOW DID SIMON GET SO FUCKED UP?

Great art takes risks, and 2020’s cult hit Dinner In America took a huge one by making its male lead incredibly off-putting. Kyle Gallner’s Simon has off-the-charts anger issues, commits arson, sells drugs at an arcade, lies easily, curses loudly in public, has little to no respect for other people (“my dad’s allergic” “fuck your dad”), makes creepy sexual remarks and then acts like it was a joke, goes through cigarettes like he needs them to live—but by the end, you root for him. He defends Patty when no one else will, stands by his convictions, and is without a doubt an incredible musician.

He's a punk with just one patch on his jacket: an Eagle Scout badge over his heart. It’s the highest honor that a Boy Scout can earn, requiring demonstration of leadership, good citizenship, 21 merit badges, and the final piece: an extensive individual service project benefiting the scout’s local community.

Eagle Scouts are overrepresented in politics, clergy, the military, and NASA’s career astronauts. Even if it's technically secular, the Boy Scouts of America is an intensely Christian organization—very often troops are organized by churches, not schools.

Scout Law dictates that scouts be trustworthy, loyal, helpful, friendly, courteous, kind, obedient, cheerful, thrifty, brave, clean, and reverent (to God). All things that, you know, totally sound like Simon, the guy with a grown-out mohawk and an upside-down American flag hanging in his bedroom. He’s so clearly against conformity that it’s hard to imagine him ever being interested in wearing a uniform and building rope bridges. PSYOPS lyrics are blatantly anti-Christian, too (“fanatical religious right, pray with you because you’re white” based on the subtitles on Hulu).

The hypothesis I am proposing is that Simon earned the rank of Eagle Scout because doing so would allow him to receive his parents’ permission to do something else he really wanted to do—start a band. Maybe for his Eagle Project, he turned a storage closet into a recording studio for the high school music department. Simon goes big. Fuck building benches.

I was in Brownies through my elementary school for three years in the late 90s. We went camping, sold Trefoils, milked goats, and made gak. Our troop leader was the mom of one of the other girls, and when needed, additional chaperones were always more moms. I had a great time. Across the United States, most Boy Scouts are similarly unharmed as they get out of the house and learn basic survival skills.

Youth organizations have a problem, though—they attract people who want access to kids. I watched a documentary on Netflix last year, Scout’s Honor: The Secret Files of the Boy Scouts of America, illustrating how for decades the BSA protected child molesters on a level that rivals even the Catholic Church. Simple background checks for scoutmasters were considered inconvenient and too expensive for an organization largely run by volunteers, and the BSA refused to risk their Norman Rockwell reputation by acknowledging the issue. Men who were red-flagged as abusers could easily pop up again with another troop, since no database of “ineligible volunteers” was available to the public, and the BSA did not report crimes to the police. Deep shame and rampant homophobia meant survivors very often did not reveal the abuse they suffered until well into adulthood.

I have been thinking about this a lot with regard to Simon—maybe you saw my other, much more informal text post—but I am not qualified to (and really, really don’t want to) write fic exploring what the fuck could have happened to make him the way he is. Instead, I’m writing this essay about it. Proceed if you like to be sad!

[content warnings, obviously: discussion of CSA by an authority figure, post-traumatic stress disorder, substance abuse]

HYPOTHESIS: Becoming an Eagle Scout was the only way that Simon’s parents would let him pursue music.

Abuse in adolescence can affect how people learn to control their emotions later in life. Anger problems are especially prevalent with PTSD when the victim has been betrayed by others or exploited.

In the film, Simon has a pretty acrimonious relationship with everyone in his family apart from Danny. I don’t really buy that he was abused at home, though. It’s more likely that his family loves him but he’s out of control, and he is. Simon’s basement bedroom is full of instruments—it’s even more “fuckin’ tits” than Kevin’s bunk bed and guinea pigs. He used to be someone they trusted with a key.

So let’s assume that Simon was being molested by his scoutmaster as a teenager. If quitting the BSA meant he wouldn’t get to start a band, he’d be completely trapped.

Telling his parents would result in one of two options: they’d either assume he was making it up to get out of doing the work (do nothing but start a fight), or believe him and pull him out entirely, get the police involved, risk everyone at school finding out. And telling wouldn’t guarantee that he’d get to focus on music—surely Simon’s parents would rather he go off to college and get a degree in something reliable, as his siblings did. Becoming an Eagle Scout was the compromise because his parents figured it was an impossible task.

There’s no question that if that scoutmaster knew about the deal with his parents, it would have been used against him. If you don’t let me do this, you won’t get that merit badge you need, and if you don’t get that merit badge you need, you can kiss your dreams goodbye...

In the beginning, back in Cub Scouts, Simon could very well have bought what the organization was selling. Maybe he wasn’t jaded yet, wasn’t disillusioned, wasn’t quite old enough to think for himself. But if the man teaching Simon to respect the flag, do what he’s told, help others, set a good example, believe in God, and be a responsible, contributing member of society was also the one pulling his pants down, convincing him he had no power or worth, Simon might well have ended up doing a complete 180 against those ideals.

Maybe that piece of shit eyed him all the time, made him feel unsafe even from the other side of a room, and now he blows up at people staring at him in restaurants.

This experience could also, perhaps, motivate Simon to use his newfound power as an adult to protect other vulnerable people from bullying, like Patty.

The church angle works too. Simon knew immediately how to manipulate Patty’s dad. He fabricated the story about Tanzania and the prayer like it was nothing, and it would have been easy for him to do if he was steeped in that environment for years.

And then, of course, there’s the drugs—classic self-medication. A way to stop constantly thinking about stuff he doesn’t want to think about. Research has shown that traumatic experiences in childhood often lead to substance use disorders. Even if Simon’s not doing dope while he’s hanging out with Patty, he certainly has been addicted in the past. His parents have likely paid for him to go to rehab, maybe more than once. Substance abuse does make people lie to and steal from their families. Simon’s sister is an asshole at dinner, but her suspicion is probably not unfounded.

That wouldn’t have been where the lying started, though. He’d have been holding back the secret of his abuse since it began, giving poor excuses for injuries, and lashing out. Traumatic experiences, especially at a young age, can rewire your brain and change your personality. Addictive drugs can, too. He’s not the same person anymore.

Simon needed help, and he never got it.

More than 82,000 former boy scouts have come forward about sexual abuse that they experienced as children in the BSA. Criminal background checks only became mandatory for all scoutmasters and volunteers in 2008.

Maybe for Simon, wearing the badge is his way of saying, “You didn’t beat me. I deserve to be here. I earned the right to start a band.”

-

SOURCES: Boy Scouts of America (Wikipedia) Eagle Scouts (Wikipedia) Scout’s Honor: The Secret Files of the Boy Scouts of America (Netflix) Anger and Trauma (National Center for PTSD) Trauma and Stress (National Institute on Drug Abuse)

Support for survivors of abuse in the BSA is available here.

[tauforged]

too overtly christmas-y. i like my movies to have just a hint of christmas. the suggestion of christmas, perhaps. as soon as it becomes anything more prominent than set dressing i tap out

in my mind and my heart and soul the only christmas movies in the world are die hard, lethal weapon, the thing and prometheus. fuck everything else those are the only ones i’ll willingly sit down and watch. i spent the last 20 years of my life having elf be mandatory viewing i am TIRED of WILL FERRELL i don’t CARE about santa i want explosions and violence and maybe aliens

[ernestofoulworth]

OMG... MUTUALS... IM BLUSHING....

But honestly you're God's strongest soldier you've gone through so much and are still doing your best I think that's incredibly strong!!!

And honestly I had no clue, i always thought Belgians were more socially progressive I has no clue abt the cute in a medieval way thing!

And YES the saints are sooo good. I think it honestly makes sense to have a designated guy for separate things (coughs like old polytheistic gods did cough) and alot of their stories (mostly the women's.) Are very inspiring. In Portugal the most popular saints were 3 children that were visited by Mary, well I thought they were all saints but turns out only the 2 siblings that died young got sainthood, the one that made it to old age was only sainted after her death, I couldve sworn they were all saints but whatever.

Anyways Stan Mary forever thank you for rosaries bc omfg. Theyre gorgeous. I have such a pretty one but I feel weird wearing it outside bc I don't wanna seem like a Catholic poser bc it's pretty... alas...

NO OKAY WE ARE SOCIALLY PROGRESSIVE!! our protections for women and trans people are some of the best in europe iirc. it's just like a familial/cultural thing. like the king stepped down for a day when abortion was legalized because he couldn't condone it as a catholic. the separation of church and state is just that good. that's the example I use

could also just be my weird family though. I couldn't tell you WHAT it is, religious or not, but my parents have that "you have to EARN the right to eat and stay here" mentality which also influenced the whole "submissive and docile pushover at all times" thing

the saints are SO good (they do arguably have polytheistic influence, i.e. the irish goddess brigid and saint brigid are often conflated as the same person). it was rly important for me to have powerful female role models growing up the way I diiid. I think lots of other girls felt the same way. I should read more about saints... I don't do it enough. I like the one that levitates and is the patron of stupid people but I can't remember his name. rosaries are so pretty also, I've seen people make them out of bones and rocks and all kindsa weird stuff, they're so beautiful. I don't think anyone would care/ask if you were wearing a rosary around, at least in my experience people won't ask! and if they do you can lie LMAO

[hexarcana]

( doubt )

Childhood Memories

( doubt )  for my muse to discuss a time they weren’t believed as a child, due to their age

---

"This is kind of a long story- It's got a lot of backstory. It'll come together, I promise. So-"

"When I was fourteen, I started going to this private school my father arranged for me to go to. We'd been living in Oregon for a few months, I'd already started public school but got kicked out after slugging some rich kid. I was out of school for a couple days to hash out details with the kids family- They'd wanted me arrested, which is insane. It was the sixties and I'd knocked a kids teeth out, hardly an arrestable offense. But they settled with my father and he got me enrolled at this school. Its real name was St. Millicent's Academy, but everyone called it "St. Mill's Academy for Troubled Ladies" since that's basically what it was. It was a school that rich people sent their daughters to when they did bad things." Pause. "Ya know, there is no St. Millicent in Catholicism. Or in any other faith as far as I can tell. There's a hymn called St. Millicent, but I'm almost certain the school was named after some regular woman named Millicent. Anyway-"

"So I start up at this school. It was a very strict, very Catholic school. Despite not being named after a real saint. This was right on the tail end of Vatican two, which if you're a catholic kid who was a student in the 60s means everything was changing very quickly and exactly zero people were happy about it. The higher ups at my school were extremely unhappy about it. There were a lot of changes that seemed pretty mundane, like Mass not having to be strictly in Latin anymore. We didn't have to cover our hair anymore, and the priest got to actually face the congregation. But one thing Vatican 2 did was in equal parts screw over and uplift nuns. Unfortunately, nearly every nun at St. Mills was part of the 'screwed over' camp. They'd all devoted their lives to the church, and in their eyes, the church moving in a more progressive and modern direction was an insult. This made them very very angry. A lot of them just kinda vanished from the cloth or whatever, but the ones that stayed behind were on another level of nasty."

"Which brings me to what happened. I'm fourteen, I've just started at this school, and I'm brought to this nun who's going to be like... I dunno, the den mother to me and the other girls on my floor. I was a late arrival which already made me a nuisance in her eyes. Her name was Sister Illuninata which is insane and I remember making note of it that I had to write to Stanford about it- Spoiler alert, never got to do that- Anyway, Sister Illuminata was perhaps one of the bitterest, angriest women I have ever had the displeasure of meeting. I'm convinced that if she tried hard enough, he looks could indeed kill."

"I was pretty scared being there, I'd been dropped off by another couple nuns who'd collected me from our house in Gravity Falls, I hadn't slept, I'm pretty sure my hand was maybe broken from the fight- I was not doing so hot. And the first thing I'm treated to is a grill session from the poster child of post Vatican 2 pissed off nuns. She had me in that chair for hours, going over my history as a ~child of god~ which was just me lying nonstop because I had given up on the idea of God years ago but this woman kept TWO canes hanging over her door as well as a damn paddle with holes drilled in it hanging behind her desk so I was trying my damndest to be a complete angel. She saw through me I think, but that's not what really got me. Me lying about how much i cared about church or how many psalms i knew, that was whatever. I was fully lying, I earned the ruler smacks there. But she asked me something that I thought was extremely personal, and not at all relevant to the God-Talk we were having."

"She asked me if I had a boyfriend. I was so surprised she asked I didn't answer right away and she started shaking her head. I told her I didn't. It was the first honest thing I'd said all day. She informed me that most of the girls who got sent to 'her school' (gimme a break? you were basically a resident assistant in the worlds worst dorm) because they had trouble staying away from boys on the outside. This was absurd to me. I almost didn't believe her, but she went on, talking about how young modern girls were all inherently inclined to such sins, she even used the word Tart, which is NUTS- and I was just sitting there dumbfounded. This woman who was old enough to be my grandmother really had me sat in her office lecturing me about the inherent wickedness of girls."

"I was incredibly uncomfortable. Again, I'm fourteen. I have next to no idea what I'd even DO with a boy besides like, I dunno, play tag or something- I was a child! A child, for Pete's sake, and I explained to her as politely as I could, that the reason I was sent to 'her' school was because I had been fighting with kids at my old school. And she gave me this look, and I'll never forget it because it made me feel sick to my stomach. She said:"

"Oh, is that what you girls are calling it now? Fighting?"

"I was speechless. Here I am, 14 years old, sitting across from this woman with a four day old black eye, split lip and probably a broken hand. And she was insinuating that instead of wailing on some kid for teasing me, I'd-"

A moment of disgusted silence.

"It was worse than her just saying 'oh, you're lying.' She simply refused to look past her own weird hatred for teenage girls (you know, the people she's supposed to take care of?) and assumed the worst of every girl that stumbled in after being forced from her home by 'concerned' parents. It didn't matter how damaged we were by our lives before St. Mills. It was always our fault, it was always our inherent wickedness that pushed us from God's light, or whatever. I told her the truth, and she basically did all she could to call me a whore without using the word whore. I know I sound like a broken record but I was fourteen. Thanks to a terrible education system, I didn't even really know what she was even TALKING about, but I knew it was bad."

"Most of the girls in my dorm had similar experiences with her. Most of them brushed it off. But It never sat right with me. It still doesn't sit right with me and this was like, fifty years ago. This woman is very much dead and probably in hell and what she said to me still bothers me. The idea that she could have said the same thing to Olive makes me want to dig her up and give her coffin a good shake. What a deranged way to view literal children. Children you're supposed to be taking care of!"

A pause.

"A new girl came in late my senior year and she got the same treatment except it was in front of the rest of us girls in the dorm. I got so mad when she was berating this girl- I think she was fifteen- for apparently sleeping around in her home town (If she was that's none of any of our business!) that I got up and accused her of being jealous that no one would ever wanna touch a dirty old hang like her."

She sighs.

"I could barely hold a pencil for the next two weeks when she and her cane were through with me, but it was worth it to see her head turn redder than a tomato."

[aimless-imagines-for-fun]

Catching The Devil’s Attention

Part ONE of The Devil’s Angel :: Part Two

Pairing :: soft dark!Matthew Murdock x latine fem!Reader  (it’s not made obvious now that the reader is latine, but in later parts it will(probably the next part tbh))

Warnings :: SOFT DARK/MATURE THEMES. 18+ Content/SMUT, Slightly possessive behavior(not much rn since it’s the beginning), Religious talk, Religious Imagery, NSFW activities in a CHURCH, Slight depression(reader is sad)

Word Count :: 1,138

Summary :: Matt sits next to a stranger in church

A/N :: This will be a series. How long? Idk, but I do know if I continue the reader will be a LATINE(specifically Mexican) fem!Reader even though I did not make that clear in this chapter.

ALSO(!and this is very important!) it may change from a Reader Insert to a Original Female Character. I typically try to make reader inserts and make the reader as vague as possible so any one can enjoy them, however, with the story I have in mind it would just be easier for me to change it from Reader to OFC.

Matt heard the frantic whispers from the front of the church’s stands. He was surprised to see another in the typically empty church but was more concerned by the pleads the young woman was making. 

“Why have you forsaken me? What have I done to be punished with this gift? What has my family done for you to plague us all these generations?” The voice was shaky, yet soft.

By her faint heartbeat, he could tell she was in pain. Quietly, Matt drew closer, the taste of her salty tears growing stronger as he did.

The woman’s whispers stopped, hearing the footsteps grow louder. She gulped, making one request before she wiped her tears away.

“Lord, I wish to rest.”

Matt sat in the same stand as her only a foot away. After getting this close to her, he realized his instinct was right. He felt an oddly powerful presence from her, one he couldn’t quite describe. Her scent was heavenly, yet poisonous. The heat radiating off of her was almost burning. Despite how focused he was on the beat of her heart, he could barely hear it. Her voice was hypnotizing. 

“I hope you don’t mind me sitting next to you,” He spoke, head tilting towards her while remaining to look forward. “It’s just… I heard what you were saying and I thought you could use some company.”

Her folded prayer hands lowered from her chest to her lap. She let out a sad chuckle. “You heard me?” Her voice was ashamed rather than surprised.

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Why? I’m the one that intruded on you, if anything, I should be apologizing.”

“Huh, I suppose you're right.”

There was silence for a few moments until Matt decided to speak again. “Do you mind me asking why you’re here?”

She shook her head, despite knowing he could see past his deep red shades. “I came here because it’s one of the few places I can escape to and be alone.”

“I see.”

“What about you?”

“I’m just being a good catholic boy and coming to confess after sinning once again.”

His sarcastic comment earned another chuckle from her, this time one of amusement.

“So you’re religious?”

Now, it was Matt’s turn to laugh. “Are you asking me if I’m religious in a church?”

She smiled. “As ridiculous as it sounds, yes.”

“Yes, I believe there is a God and a Devil. Do you?”

“You cannot have faith in a divine being of light without having a divine being of darkness to counter it.”

“Well, that’s one way to put it.”

“If I’m being honest though, if I wasn’t born into the family I was and cursed with the gift I have…” She swallowed, silencing herself.

“Cursed with a gift? I thought gifts were supposed to be blessings.”

“To others, perhaps, but to me they’re curses.”

“And what is your gift?”

“The sight of angelic and demonic beings.”

Her heartbeat was steady, she was telling the truth. Matt turned his head to her, mouth slightly ajar and brows scrunched together.

“You can see angels and demons?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know if they’re angels and demons. I can only presume.”

“What do they look like?”

“Monstrous.”

Matt stayed silent, processing what he had been told. Angels and demons being real and walking amongst them, despite being catholic, was still a shock to find out.

“My family forced me here because of them.” Her eyes started to well up once again. “I just want to go home. I want to be left alone in peace and silence. I’m tired of hearing all of the voices.”

Matt reached his hand out to grab her’s in hopes of soothing her. The second their skin touched he felt a wave of electricity shoot through him. He almost let go, but instead tightened his grip on her hand.

“Things will get better.”

She thanked him, even though she didn’t believe him.

“I need to get going now. My family will send their dogs after me if I don’t return soon.” She slowly pulled her hand out of his, standing from her seat. 

She took a step closer to him, her aura seeming to change. She gazed down at him, unconsciously raising a hand to his face, fingers grazing across his cheek. Despite her skin feeling as soft as silk, her touch burned like fire.

“For your sake and mine’s, I pray we do not meet again for if we do,” Her voice was no longer timid, now threatening, “one of our devils shall consume the other’s angel.”

With her hand falling from his face, without saying another word, she left. Matt sat there in silence, trying to understand what had happened. 

His heart was racing like never before. She was warning him to stay away, yet a part of him felt as if she was daring him to approach her again. The most twisted part was he was excited. He wanted to find her again, feel her tingling touch again, be consumed in it.

He reached his hand up to the spot she had touched, a small smirk creeping its way on his face. 

She had caught the devil’s attention.

-

Several nights after his encounter with the mysterious woman in the church, he dreamt of her and each time it was the same dream.

The two sat in one of Clinton Church’s confessional booths with the woman trapped in Matt’s lap due to the small confined space. With her back arching against him, he had a hand between her spread open legs, playing with dripping slick between her folds.

Both of her hands were wrapped around the wrist of his other hand, which was carefully wrapped around her neck, forcing her to look up at him. She was biting her lip, trying her hardest not to make a noise. Every time he rocked his hips upward, pressing his erection against her, she couldn’t help but let out a whimper.

“Ple-please,” She begged, feeling him press two digits into her cunt. Her voice was sweet as honey. “I need you.” She wiggled her hips, needy for any sort of friction.

He nibbled on the back of her ear. “Don’t worry, I’ll corrupt you soon enough angel.”

Matt’s eyes shot open, his body drenched in sweat. He reached over for the glass of water on his bed stand, gulping down every last drop. He was more than confused as to why he kept dreaming about a woman he had one short meeting with. Especially with how realistic they felt.

His obsession with her was growing, but no matter how hard he searched, he couldn’t find her. After a few weeks, the dreams grew less vivid, almost completely fading. He was ready to give up his search for her until one fateful night he finally found her.

[searenbound]

In my defense, I���m horny and have a load of religious trauma because I was raised catholic so enjoy this quick thirst post about priest Bakugou giving reader his load. Based on this post

Warnings: sacrilegious and dub-con material brought on by my religious trauma, manipulation, afab female reader, the term father used for Bakugou as a show of respect, gross abuse of power, corruption kink, reader is a very naive young woman who’ll believe anything the church tells her to, swearing

Pairing: Katsuki Bakugou x reader

This wasn’t the first or the last, hell not even the worst lie he’s told and held no shame about it.

He knew it was fucked, calling himself a holy man when he’s as tainted as they devil himself, but the power was maddening. He was drunk off his pride, how his precious congregation were so blind to who he was. How he fed off the way the held him in such high regard. As if he was the second coming of their savior.

And the pretty little thing sat on top his desk, shifting nervously with her panties in a bunch on the floor was no acceptation. She was so sweet when she entered his personal office, stating she felt it necessary to confess her sins face to face rather than anonymously in the confessionals.

So anxious that her loser ex had damned her by convincing her he’d propose if she fucked him. What a waste of time he was, stealing her virginity so selfishly and tossing her to the side like he didn’t defile something so divine.

Not that he was any better really, but at least he had intent to be a better lover. “Undoing all his toxic harm” with his own touch, bringing her closer to god then a prayer ever could.

“F-father are you sure this is what we’re supposed to do? I was always—” (Yn) attempted to question him. It felt so much better having his fingers in her, working to get her properly ready for what he was about to do to her, unlike her ex who was far too eager to care about her personal needs. But it felt wrong to do. Wasn’t this a sin? Wasn’t it lustful?

“You were taught wrongly” he chastised gently, to busy with making her experience her first orgasm at his hands to truly care about her moral dilemma.

“B-but father I—” she attempted to push further, certain this had to be wrong somehow.

“I’m a servant of God, are you really so important that you can question my method of healing?!”.

“N-no but—” “I’m doing this for you, you know” he cut her with a growl. Hyper focused on how her hips shook and how that perfect little cunt of her clamped down greedily on his fingers. So close to cumming, he just knew it.

“I go out my fuckin’ way to save your honor in the most blessed way and you ungratefully tell me I’m the sinner?” he didn’t have to look at her to know she looked shocked and possibly excited. She’s definitely never had a priest curse at her, probably never even heard one leave their mouth.

She knew she must’ve messed up, he did say the only way to save her from her ex’s touch was to reset and correct what he did. Who was she to question how he corrected her body’s trauma?

“I-I was ignorant father! Please heal me! Teach what we need to do please!” she babbled just before tumbling over the edge of ecstasy. Clinging to the red eyed man who promised her salvation.

“You want forgiveness? To be absolved of your sin?”.

“Yes!” She gasped, being yanked to her feet and told strip everything off or else it might get dirty with their next step.

“Treat my like I’m your lover understand? If we do this then act like you would if you loved me like a wife loves her husband”

She agreed immediately, doing as told and even bending herself over his desk in anticipation. Buzzing with pride at the groan of approval she got from him as he stripped himself. “Like this, right fa—” “It’s Katsuki, you need to treat me like I’m your man, not your priest and definitely not that shitty ass fuckin’ ex you got understand?”

“Katsuki” she repeated, earning a kiss against her neck while he lined himself with her entrance. “Aha! F-fuck!” she yelled out when he pushed into her “Big, you’re so b-big” she babble, mind blanking on anything else outside of the fact she was being fucked into salvation.

All Bakugou could do was laugh at her dazed response, amused by her sudden eager desperation to be fucked by him. So damn trusting she didn’t even bother asking for protection, letting him fuck her raw while she was supposedly being saved.

He could laugh at how adorably slutty she was being thinking that somehow this was salvation. That the thrill of getting fucked by a priest wasn’t anything but down right sinful

“Katsuki, please gonna cum, wanna, want… want…” he heard her calling out before she trailed off, too embarrassed by her words to continue.

“Come on babe, gotta tell me what you want” he growled kneading at her plush hips “can’t fix it if you can’t tell me about it”.

She whimpered, shifting all her weight onto her forearms while he moved a hand down between her thighs to play with her clit, his other hand sliding up her body before settling on her breasts, pinching and rolling her perked buds.

“Need t-to cum! Please your so much better than my ex” she moaned, feeling his cock slid in out of her with nearly inhuman accuracy as he battered her little pussy and all her secret spots. “Won’t let him touch you again yeah?” he questioned, pressing a few kisses on her shoulder and neck “Gonna accept all the blessings and grace I can give you?”. “Yes! Please! I promise!”

He hummed as if thinking about it rubbing his hands over her soft stomach “Even if it’s a baby?”.

His voice was dripping with lust as he spoke “If I accidentally knocked you up?”.

“If it’s God’s will I’ll happily accept it!”.

He groaned in response, his pace picking up and jostling her forwards as she took the full force his thrust. “Gonna take my cum, fuck, gonna take every last cleansing drop got it?” He grunted, burying himself deep inside, feeling her fall over the edge with him.

[hansolmates]

shiver | 01 (m)

banner done by the wonderful @dnrequests​

summary; jungkook changed since he moved out of his small town church community and attended college. when he returns for a christmas mass, you suddenly crave a taste of his fun and carefree life. in exchange, jungkook craves a taste of you pairing; bad boy!jungkook x church girl!reader genre/warnings; childhood friends to lovers, brief childhood friends to enemies, fwb!au, catholic guilt, jungkook is a meanie who eventually turns into a soft tsundere, bicuriosity, sexual exploration, virgin!oc, eventual smut—in this installment: touching over the clothes, mc is hornee, *pulls out cards against humanity* “a gentle caress of the inner thigh”, panty kissin, mc is a big ol’ pushover and hopeful for jkk:(( w/c; 1.9k a/n; it’s here! aaaaaa!!! i’ve been really eally realllyyyyyy nervous to post this. even though this is just a drabble series  let me know how you feel about it! enjoy [shiver masterpost]

“Oh, you’re so dead.” 

Jeon Jungkook isn’t thaaaat buff, he's more of a skinny kind of muscular. You don’t understand the hype, why everyone croons over Jungkook’s strength and physique. However, how else could you explain Jungkook being able to climb the currently dilapidated fire escape to the top floor of the chapel. The ladder is rusted beyond repair and is definitely a fire hazard rather than a fire escape. Yet he barely breaks a sweat doing it, and he wipes the minor sheen off his brow with the back of his hand. There’s some soot and whatever nasty residue from the fire escape that gets on his face, a black streak marring his already annoying face. He’s currently wiggling his fingers in a sarcastic “hello.” It makes you sneer, your two consciousness (inappropriate and appropriate) warring against each other to determine whether you still find this man attractive or not. 

Convincing yourself that Jungkook is ugly is the worst quick-fix idea you’ve ever had. 

The words of your Aunties, the family friends in the church, echo in your ears. Jungkook’s bad. They’d say over and over. It would cause you to snort and giggle, unable to imagine what sort of things he’s done to warrant such a cliché label. Yet some of the girls your age, girls that have gone off to college agree with sultry looks and longing eyes that yes, Jungkook’s bad. So bad, it’s good. 

You haven’t a clue what he’s actually done to earn such a hushed title, his parents are lip-tight about his doings, unless it’s his achievements in the architecture graduate program. You hear things, though. Things that make you shamefully green with envy, envious of sin. 

As soon as he finds proper footing in the storage room, he goes to the closet, immediately finding his backup clothes. They’re plain white button-downs, awkward long shirts with no shape or definition to them. They belong to the church, and no one ever uses them because they’re stiff and itchy. Yet Jungkook wears them like it’s tailored, and you have to look away when he quickly knots the bottom half of the shirt, fashioning it into a tasteful double knot in order to cinch his lean waist.

“Pretty sure it was just you that saw me,” Jungkook says dismissively, “so it’s fine.” 

This bristles you the wrong way, and you put down the catering covers you were supposed to return to the storage room. You smooth out your Sunday dress, this shade of Boring Beige looking particularly pale in the morning sun. “How do you know I won’t tell?” you turn your nose up. 

“Because I know,” he doesn’t even look at you, focusing on rolling the sleeves of his shirt. You weaken when you see the black shadowing across his forearm. That’s new, then again you haven’t seen him since last Christmas.   

“Know what?” 

“That you have a crush on me,” Jungkook says into the air like it’s common knowledge, adjusting the leather jacket on top of his outfit so the white-startched collar pops on top, “I mean, it’s hard for anyone not to know. You’ve been into me since youth group, Bunny.”  

You hold your breath, counting to ten as you close the door behind you. A vision of you playing “Duck Duck Goose” as a five year old plays in your head, where you’d pick a bushy, big-eyed Jeon Jungkook each time, hopping over to him to pat his fluffy head so he’d chase you around. 

It’s old news, your puppy love for Jungkook. How could you not like him? He's clever and sweet with his mother and always told the best stories in youth group meetings.  Everyone thought your affections were so sweet, and while that attention weaned over time, your feelings have only increased the more self-aware you’ve become. 

With a mind as open and honest is yours, it’s hard to ignore how well Jungkook has grown. What has also grown is your curiosities since the two of you have moved onto university. Jungkook goes to the university uptown, a far drive which only forces him attend masses during the holidays. You attended the local community college, wrapping up a bachelors in some vague major that you’re not attached to. You’re currently looking around for some graduate schools, but unfortunately you’ve been so wrapped up doing duties for Pastor Nina that you haven’t been able to look around properly. 

Jungkook’s probably living a fun life, with the way he’s grown rough and loose, you resent him. 

When you turn back around, Jungkook’s right in front of you, trapping you between his body and the door.  

“Don’t be embarrassed, Bunny,” you furrow your brows, nearly growing cross-eyed when he leans in. “I think your crush is cute.” 

You’re not sure what he thinks of you. Sure, he considered everyone a friend when you two were in youth group, but that was youth group. Premeditated, parents forcing other children to do the same things with each other for years upon years in the hope they’ll practice together forever and ever. Jungkook did not want that, evident from the way he dipped his duties as soon as he got into university. 

You hate how easy he dips back into it though, calling you Bunny and making you feel like a little girl all over again. Bunny, because you’d hop around to him whenever he was in sight. Bunny, because Jungkook had been fondly compared to the wide-eyed, diamond-toothed creature. It was cute when you were five. Now, it’s just discomfiting. 

“Don’t call me that,” you bite, “and I don’t like you anymore.” 

“Sure you don’t,” he rolls his eyes, and you flinch when Jungkook’s hand rests on the curve of your waist, fingers slotting themselves between the pleats of your skirt. “That’s why you’re not moving away when I’m about to put my hand under your skirt. Because you don’t like me.” 

You press yourself further into the door, your skin hot and vibrating. So warm, you feel like you could melt through the door and escape from Jungkook’s gaze. Sure, the young ladies in the congregation talk. Maybe you’ve heard a story or two about Jungkook being seedy, a result of being repressed after years and years of stiff routines and expectations thrust upon him. You could care less about Jungkook’s sexual appetite, until this appetite has reached you. 

“Mm, you’re pretty,” Jungkook’s eyes roam your form, the daisy white blouse doing nothing to barricade Jungkook’s sudden interest in you, “you’ve never been touched like this, have you?” 

“I’ve touched myself like this,” you hiss in defense, and it’s more out of anger than in pleasure. You don’t need a man to comfort you, but Jungkook’s eyes sparkle in mirth at the new information. 

“That’s really sexy,” Jungkook slips down, roams his fingers down to your ankles and plays with the silver buckles of your Mary Janes. You shiver when his hands trail up up up to your knees, the swell of your thighs, and catch right under the elastic seam that holds your secrets together, “but I’ll have you know, it’s different when you have someone hold your pleasure in their hands.” 

You’re in the storage room of your church, fifteen minutes before the Christmas mass, with Jeon Jungkook’s head between your legs. Your skirt is long, and Jungkook doesn’t bother to ride it up your waist. 

It feels more forbidden that way, Jungkook hiding under the fabric of your skirt to get to your honeyed center, sneaking his way in with rough hands and soft touches.

“J-Jungkook,” you whimper, pressing your full spine against the wooden door, “we shouldn’t. N-not like this.”

What is wrong with you? Is it sheer curiosity? Do you just want to know what it finally, finally feels like? You should be pushing him away. There’s red lights flashing back and forth in your brain like sirens. Yet, do you really want to turn away the attention you’ve been aching for years? 

You imagined your first time to be relatively special. The bare minimum, a bed, a talk, and a partner you’re mutually committed to. None of those things are met. Now you understand why all the young women in church whisper about sex like this. It’s a spur of the moment, it’s an unbridled pleasure you don’t want to stop, no matter how forbidden and sinful the act is.  

“How else then?” you feel his deep voice straight through your panties, his lips whispering between the pink cotton like he’s sinking liquid heat into your skin. “I can’t sink my fingers into your sweet cunt during the candle lighting. Or when we open presents with the family after. That would be inappropriate.” 

Your replies come out in breaths, puffs of air that conceal the moans you so badly want to let out as Jungkook pokes and rubs at you. He does nothing beyond the cotton fabric, only slides two fingers up and down your slit as he gathers the arousal between his digits. 

“So wet already, that’s so sexy,” he’s kissing your core, and you sigh fretfully at the pleasure that feels so close yet so far away. 

“P-please, Jungkook…” 

“Please what?” Jungkook teases, fingers slipping back and forth between the elastic of your underwear, “please stop? Please touch me? Please fuck me?” 

The church bell answers that, and Jungkook’s nose knocks right into your bud at the sudden intrusion. You yelp at the jarring stimulation, pulling him from under your skirts as the loud noise echoes in the room. Both of you wince at the pain, the moment interjected. 

“You first,” Jungkook casually opens the door for you, as if he didn’t have you ten seconds away from begging him to make you come. 

You don’t even look at him as you dash away, not bothering to take the elevator in favor of running off the heat. Two minutes before the procession. The church is packed to the brim, only the back seats left. Your family probably gave up on waiting for you up in the front. As you sit down in the corner, you’re momentarily distracted by the beauty of a decorated church on Christmas. Even though you’re part of the decorating committee and commanded most of the design, seeing the stained glass lit up with fairy lights and the poinsettia plants blooming burgundy on the altar, you’re impressed. 

“There’s a draft here, you must be cold.” Jungkook talks to you so politely, a perfect picture of a gentleman as he drapes his leather jacket over your lap. He speaks as if it’s a pleasant surprise, a childhood friend he hasn’t seen in nearly a year. 

You can’t tell him to move when people are watching and Jungkook is seconds from interrupting the procession, so you reluctantly scoot over so he can sit next to you. His scent overwhelms you even more now that you’ll have to sit next to him for a whole hour, lavender and vanilla overtaking your pew. 

The jacket is heavy and heady on your lap, and you force yourself to stare straight ahead. Jungkook cannot weaken you like this, not anymore. 

Thirty minutes later, his fingers are hovering at the start of the homily, caressing your thighs under the jacket with his big hands. A draft? Please. You clamp your thighs together, knocking your knees and hoping they’d lock together for the rest of the mass. Jungkook’s a master key, easily parting his way as if your muscles are pure jelly. You turn your head sharply, glaring at him with all the fire in the world. 

“Careful,” Jungkook mouths, eyes flickering to the symbol atop the podium, “he’s watching.” 

His fingers finally brush the damp blush cotton of your panties, and you shudder. 

[apilgrimpassingby]

Going through Orthodox (and Catholic) items in the Apostolic Fathers, in the order they appear in my Maxwell-Staniforth-translated Early Christian Writings. All emphases are mine.

I've added the keep reading barrier for the sake of unwitting Evangelicals browsing this blog.

Keep in mind going through this that these authors were disciples of the Apostles - St. Clement of Ss. Peter and Paul, Ss. Ignatius and Polycarp of St. John - who fought heresy and schism, led the Church as the Apostles were passing away and in the end were martyred for Christ. Do you understand the Faith better then they do?

Justification by Faith and Works: Let us clothe ourselves in a mutual tolerance of one another's views, cultivating humility and self-restraint, avoiding all gossiping and backbiting, and earning our justification by deeds and not by words. (1 Clement chapter 30)

Liturgy: It follows, then that there ought to be strict order in the performance of such acts as the Master has prescribed for certain times and seasons. Now, it was His command that the offering of gifts and the conduct of public services should not be haphazard or irregular, but should take place at fixed times and hours. Moreover, in the exercise of His supreme will He has Himself declared in what place and by what persons He desires this to be done, if it is all to be devoutly performed in accordance with His wishes and acceptably to His will. (1 Clement chapter 40)

Canonicity of the Deuterocanon: The blessed Judith, when her city was in a state of siege, begged permission from the elders to visit the enemy's camp; and then, for the love of her country and her beleaguered people, she took her life in her hands and went forth, and the Lord delivered Holofernes into the hands of weak woman. Esther, too, in the fullness of her faith, took a similar risk to save the children of Israel from the destruction that was threatening them. In fasting and humiliation she made her supplication to the all-seeing Lord of eternity, and when He saw the humbleness of her spirit, He delivered the people for whom she had put herself in jeopardy. (1 Clement chapter 55)

Necessity of Bishop: What it comes to is that we ought not just to have the name of Christians, but be so in reality; not like some persons who will address a man as bishop, but in practice take no notice of him. I do not see how people of that kind can be acting in good conscience, seeing as the meetings they hold can have no sort of valid authority. (Ignatius to the Magnesians chapter 4)

Three Orders: Equally, it is for the rest of you to hold the deacons in as great respect as Jesus Christ, just as you should also look on the bishop as a type of the Father, and the clergy as the Apostolic circle forming His council; for without these three orders no church has any right to the name. (Ignatius to the Trallians chapter 3)

Sacrifice of the Eucharist: Make certain, therefore, that you all observe one common Eucharist, for there is but one Body of our Lord Jesus Christ, and but one cup of union with His Blood, and one single altar of sacrifice -even as there is but one bishop, with his clergy and my own fellow-servitors the deacons. (Ignatius to the Philadelphians chapter 4)

Real Presence: [Gnostics] even absent themselves from the Eucharist and the public prayers, because they will not admit that the Eucharist is the selfsame body of our Saviour Jesus Christ which suffered for our sins, and which the Father in His goodness afterwards raised up again. Consequently, because they reject God's good gifts, they are doomed in their disputatiousness. (Epistle to the Smyrnaeans chapter 7)

Relics and Feast Days: So, after all, we did gather up his bones - more precious to us than jewels, and finer than pure gold - and we laid them to rest in a spot suitable for the purpose. There we shall assemble, as the occasion allows, with glad rejoicings; and with the Lord's permission we shall celebrate the birthday of his martyrdom. (Martyrdom of Polycarp chapter 18)

Baptismal Regeneration: Here He is saying that after we have stepped down into the water burdened with sin and defilement, we come up out of it in full fruitage, with reverence in our hearts and the hope of Jesus in our souls.. (Epistle of Barnabas chapter 11)

Confession: In church, make confession of your faults, and do not come to your prayers with a bad conscience ... On Sunday, break bread and offer the Eucharist, but first make confession of your faults, so that your sacrifice may be a pure one. (Didache chapters 4 and 14)

Regular Fasting: Do not keep the same fast days as the hypocrites. Mondays and Thursdays are their days for fasting, so yours should be Wednesdays and Fridays. (Didache chapter 8)

(And then there's recurrent stuff - canonicity of the Apocrypha is also in the Epistle of Polycarp and liturgy and the Eucharist as a sacrifice are also in the Didache).

Catholics will tell you that "to be deep in history is to cease to be protestant".... but when you cite an actual historian they'll get really mad that you didn't just read the catechism and take it at face value instead.

[misseffie]

Is Gendry illiterate?

Short answer: Probably not. 

Long answer: 

I’ve noticed a lot of fanfiction trying to address Gendry’s illiteracy once he becomes a noble. Most fics depict him as being completely illiterate. Some depict him as having some level of literacy, but not enough for his new position. So let’s try to figure it out, shall we?

Part 1: Literacy

We have this assumption that in medieval times no one could read or write unless they were part of the nobility. That is not quite true. Firstly, we have to understand what it meant to be literate by medieval standards: 

“In Medieval times, “Literate” actually meant able to read and write in Latin, which was considered to be the language of learning. Being able to read and write in the vernacular wasn’t considered real learning at all. Most peasants prior to the Black Death (which really shook up society) had little chance to learn - hard labouring work all of the hours of daylight does’t leave a lot of energy for reading or writing.

It’s worth noting, however the panic amongst the ruling classes when translations of The Bible started to appear written in English. This really started in the late 14th Century (about 30 years after the Black Death). The level of panic suggests that the Ruling Classes knew that the numbers of people who could read and write English was far greater than the numbers who could read Latin.”

However, there is no language quite like Latin in Westeros. The closest we come to something similar is High Valyrian. Which noble children seem to have a basic understanding of. We can safely assume that Gendry doesn’t have extensive knowledge of High Valyrian - so he is illiterate in that regard. But I don’t think High Valyrian is as widely used as Latin was in the Middle Ages. It’s also not a language with religious significance. As the Faith of the Seven doesn’t use High Valyrian the way that the Catholic Church used Latin.

So… taking that into account. What I assume that is meant by “literate” in Westeros is being able to read and write in the Common Tongue. 

I will say that even by those parameters I don’t think most of the commoners would have been literate. However, Gendry was not in the same situation as most of the commoners.

Which leads me to... 

Part 2: Socio-economic class in Medieval Times

The level of literacy among the commonfolk has to be examined on a case by case basis.

Literacy among “peasants” varied a lot depending on circumstance. So, for example, it’s not strange that Davos, who was a smuggler prior to meeting Stannis, was illiterate. Or Gilly, who was completely isolated from the world and in terrible conditions.

But Gendry is in a different situation.

As @arsenicandfinelace pointed out in this cool meta:

Gendry was definitely born low-class, as an unrecognised bastard whose mother was a tavern girl (read: one step away from prostitute). But the whole point of apprenticing with Tobho Mott is that that was a major leap forward for him, socially.

As Davos put it in 3x10, “The Street of Steel? You lived in the fancy part of town.” Yes, a tradesman of any kind is leagues below the nobility, and could never ever be worthy of marrying a highborn girl like Arya. But Tobho Mott is a master craftsman, the best armourer in the capital city of a heavily martial country. As far as tradesman go, he’s the best of the best, and charges accordingly.

There’s a reason Varys had to pay out the ass to get Gendry apprenticed there. If he had stayed, completed his apprenticeship, and eventually taken over the workshop, he would have been very wealthy (by commoner standards) and respectable (again, by commomner standards), despite his low birth.

Tobho Mott is a tradesman and a craftsman. He is part of the merchant class. * Merchants are often referred to as a different class from the rest of the population. The merchant class in Medieval Times was closer to the middle class of contemporary times.

“By the 15th century, merchants were the elite class of many towns and their guilds controlled the town government. Guilds were all-powerful and if a merchant was kicked out of one, he would likely not be able to earn a living again.”

Mott would be considered to be part of the merchant class - and not even a common kind of merchant either. He was the best Blacksmith in all of King's Landing, the capital of the Seven Kingdoms. So we can assume that Tobho Mott was a very wealthy and powerful craftsman and merchant.  

“That many 'middle class' people (tradesmen, merchants and the like) could read and write in the late middle ages cannot be disputed.”

I’m not saying that all tradesmen/merchants/craftsmen were literate back then. It was still a smaller percentage than the nobility. Only the richer and more influential of tradesmen would learn Latin. But I think most of them would be literate enough in the vernacular to run a business. Considering Mott’s reputation and his clientele I’m certain that Mott is part of that literate percentage.

In season 2, Arya accidentally reveals to Tywin that she can read. Realizing her mistake she covers up by saying that her father, a ’stonemason', taught her. Of course, I don’t think that completely fooled Tywin but why did Arya say her father was Stonemason. Why did his profession matter at all? Surely it wouldn’t have mattered if he was a fisherman or a farmer... a peasant is a peasant, right?

Wrong.

“The Medieval Stonemason asserts that they were not monks but highly skilled craftsmen who combined the roles of architect, builder, craftsman, designer, and engineer. Many, if not all masons of the Middle Ages learnt their craft through an informal apprentice system”

“Children from merchants and craftsmen were able to study longer and continuous, so they were able to learn Latin at a later age. This way, everyone learned to read and write (some better than others) sufficiently for their trade.”

Stonemasons were the architects of the time and no doubt the top tier was literate.

Many trades (by the 15th C) required reading and writing, so it was taught to apprentices by the masters. We know from apprenticeship agreements that many masters were expected to continue the apprentice's literacy or start it, which makes sense for the wider viability of the trade.

The War of the Roses took place in the late 15th Century. So I’m guessing that that’s the time period that ASOIAF is mostly based on.

Part 3: Level of literacy

I think it’s safe to say that Gendry has some level of literacy. However, his “level” is pretty much up for debate. If he’d finished his apprenticeship it’s likely he’d have a decent level of reading/writing comprehension. However, near the end of his apprenticeship he was kicked out.

I’m not sure how much Gendry could read/write by the time that he was kicked out by Tobho Mott. But he’d already been his apprentice for 10 years (in show canon). More than enough time to get some basic reading/writing/basic math lessons. 

It seems that show!Gendry is more likely to have a higher level of literacy than book!Gendry. In the show, he leaves Tobho Mott at 16, while in the book he is 14. This is just my own impression, but I think his education would be more complete by age 16 than age 14.

Not to mention that book!Gendry is still in the Riverlands and working for outlaws. But in the show we can assume that Gendry has been smithing in King’s Landing for years and it is insinuated that he owns a shop. Meaning he might have reached “Master” status and can take on apprentices of his own. It might seem like Gendry is too young for that. But it’s actually not that strange. 

“Apprentices stayed with their masters for seven to nine years before they were able to claim journeyman status. Journeyman blacksmiths possessed the basic skills necessary to work alongside their master, seek work with other shops, or even open their own businesses.”

Considering that Gendry has been with Mott for 10 years in show!canon, it’s possible that Gendry was a “journeyman” and not an “apprentice” by the time that Ned meets him in season 1. But he might be nearing the end of his apprenticeship in the books.

Guilds also required journeymen to submit work for examination each year in each area of expertise. So, a journeyman who perhaps crafted swords, locks, and keys would need to submit each item to his guild annually for inspection. If the guild approved the craftsmanship of the products, the journeyman could eventually move up to master status.

The process of becoming a master could take from 2 to 5 years. Considering that Gendry is regarded as talented, it’s likely that he achieved this in a shorter period of time. As a journeyman he also needed to work alongside a master for 3 to 4 years before he could obtain master status. Which would still explain why he was so upset at being kicked out by Mott - it’s like someone getting kicked out while they’re trying to obtain a PHD. 

By the time we meet him in season 7 it’s very possible that Gendry is now considered a master of his trade.

He also seems to be making armour and weapons for “Lannisters” which means he has a mostly noble clientele. He probably has plenty of fancy clients asking for custom-made products. With sketches and measurements and all that shit. Which is not surprising since he probably has a de facto reputation simply by merit of being Tobho Mott’s apprentice (lets ignore how dumb it is that no one discovered that Gendry was in King’s Landing since he made no effort to hide who he was or try to hide from the nobility lol).

Conclusion: 

It’s safe to say that Gendry had some access to higher education. He can probably read and write enough for his line of work. It’s likely that his level would still leave much to be desired once he became a noble though. For comparison, imagine if someone left school at age 11 and was then required to write a college-level thesis. So he’d definitely need some “lordly” writing lessons and further education.

Gendry is still wildly uneducated for what he needs to do. So...

This meme is still gold 10/10

* Correction: Though Mott would be considered part of the same socio-economic class as merchants he is primarily a tradesman/craftsman, and would be referred to as such. Since merchants didn’t produce the goods they sold. However they could belong to the same guild, along with artisans and craftsmen. 

[geodaddy-fanfics]

"Way Down We Go" Nanami Kento X Fem!Reader

Author's Note: I was asked to write a Priest Nanami AU fic by a friend and decided to make it part of her birthday present. Happy Birthday! Hope you like it! (I've never written smut before so... I tried. Also this is smut, so be warned).

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Churches, generally conceived as places of peace and worship, are also active locations for the creation of curses. The amount of loathing that accompanies the concept of “sin” plagues the congregations and buildings of God. As such, it was expected within the career of all jujutsu sorcerers for them to “serve” in at least one church and exterminate the various curses clinging to their hosts.

Said expectation (tied together with the conniving mind of one blindfolded loudmouth) meant that Nanami Kento, renowned sorcerer and loather of overtime, was currently masquerading as a priest and presiding over the evening congregations at a large Catholic church. Needless to say, Nanami was displeased with this assignment. Not only was he required to work beginning in the evening, he could not leave the church until he was the last one there. He had no set schedule and that irked him immensely, as well as the fact that he could not wear his usual attire, having to sacrifice his suit and tie for the black garb of modern priests.

It was a Sunday, the busiest day for churches of course, approximately a week into his service, and Nanami was once again seated inside of the confessional booth. It was exactly what he expected it to be, listening to the mundane problems of the masses while trying to match voices to faces of those unintentionally harboring curses. He’d been preaching and listening for hours, the time bordering on ten in the evening, and the small crowd was thankfully thinning. The final person stepped into the booth beside him, hidden from view, but the nervous breathing echoing through the box indicated that the individual was probably new to the faith, or at least hadn’t practiced in a while.

“Tell me, father,” the voice asked the awaiting silence. “Do we get what we deserve?”

The question piqued Nanami’s interest and he leaned towards the wall unintentionally. Usually people plopped down into the booth and listed out their various sins: liars, adulterers, thieves, and the like concerned not with change or forgiveness, but with societal standing. This woman with the quiet question had made this evening at least somewhat bearable.

“Explain to me what you mean,” Nanami questioned, racking his brain to see if he could place the face to the voice beside him.

There was a quiet sigh, as if the speaker had hoped for a simple answer. “Do you think that our actions matter? Like, if I live a sin free life or a sinful one, so long as I repent, does it matter?” The woman was clearly frustrated.

Perhaps this one question had been her only reason to turn to the church today, Nanami mused. “What, then, do you think you deserve?” He couldn’t help but ask, regardless of whether it prolonged his stay on sacred ground.

There was a moment of silence as the woman hesitated. “I’m… not sure. I work so hard every single day and I need to know if it matters.” Exhaustion poured through her last few words, the weariness of maintaining a life under society’s conditions. Nanami could relate, especially within the confines of the confessional booth many miles away from the comforts of his home and normal schedule.

“Well then, I can only recommend you one thing,” he stated. “I do not know whether our work pays off in whatever afterlife awaits us, if any. So, I suggest you take a break.”

“A break…” the woman replied, mildly confused. “I don’t understand, Father.”

Nanami didn’t understand it much himself, but as he pushed open the door to the confessional and stood surrounded by the altar's candles, he decided he could use a break as well.

Having heard the priest leave the booth, so too did the confessor. She wore an expression of wariness and confusion, but Nanami was distracted by the deep exhaustion present on her face. He was right in matching the voice to its owner, having noticed the woman in the congregation the last few nights. She had sparked his interest as one of few genuine people in the audience, even if she was skeptical about the religion, and hearing her in the booth only made it abundantly clear why he found himself mildly distracted by her during the sermons. They could both use one hell of a break.

The woman folded her arms in front of her, eyeing him with a mix of interest and doubt. “Are you planning to explain yourself, Father?”

Nanami held out his hand. As she placed her fingers gently in his palm, he tugged her forward and wrapped an arm around her waist. “A little divine intervention seems in order, my child.” She settled into his arms, seemingly comforted by his embrace. The blonde man tightened his hold on her noticeably and stared into her enticingly wide eyes.

“You better make this worth it,” she said, tilting her head slightly. “I’ve had a long day, you know.” It was clear she wanted what he was offering. Whether through attraction to him, a need for a distraction, or a mixture of both, the woman was leaning heavily upon his chest. Her arms slowly snaked up around his neck, her fingers playing with the ends of his hair invitingly.

Rather than waste more time on words, he brushed his lips up gently against hers, a silent vow to make this a godly experience. The woman seized the moment and eagerly kissed him back, turning the saintly, chaste promise into what they were both truly wanting. Nanami tightened his arms around her waist, digging his fingers into the soft fabric of her dark dress. It looked barely appropriate to wear to church in Nanami’s brain. The way it accentuated her body, the confidence with which she held herself, was too hard to resist and he was glad he stopped trying.

A light nip to her bottom lip was all the woman needed to let him into her mouth, his tongue slipping inside and providing the guidance needed to deepen their kiss. Nanami was all but drowning in the delicious sighs and moans gifted to him and diligently worked to achieve more. All the while, he gracefully guided their bodies towards the altar and thoughtlessly pushed aside the tools from his earlier sermon to sit his current subject of worship upon the chilled wood. It wasn’t the most comfortable, but it did the job just fine.

Nanami situated himself between the woman’s thighs, grinding every so often against her and earning tugs on his hair in return. “Tell me, little lamb,” he said, pulling back enough to meet the lust darkened eyes of his partner. “Will you sing for me?” His hands were on her thighs, pushing up the fabric of her dress and relishing in the soft feel of her exposed skin. He wanted nothing more than to lay her back and wreck her on this holy ground, but he waited as patiently as he possibly could to prolong this much deserved night.

“God, yes,” the woman sighed in response. Her hands wandered over his clothed skin, wondering what he felt like beneath, but rather turned on by the perfection of his priestly garb. His eyes gazed into hers, dark and wide, and color dusted sculpted cheeks. She wanted to comment how fitting it was for him to be a man of the lord when his calloused fingers hooked into her panties and gave a firm tug. All thoughts fled her brain and she moaned as a knuckle rubbed gently through the gathered wetness about her core.

“Just like that, darling,” Nanami praised, barely containing a groan as her fingernails dug delightfully into his shoulders. Swiftly, he fully removed her underwear and let it drop to the floor beside the altar. The man planted another kiss onto his partner’s blushing cheek before fluidly getting to his knees. Nanami braced his hands onto her thighs and parted them from where they had begun to close in around his face. He paused for only a moment to take in the glistening sight before him before descending his lips and tongue into the warmth before him.

He licked a broad stripe from her center to her already tender bud, huffing a breath of pure arousal at the breathy moan that sounded above him. The sound echoed off of the stone walls of the cathedral, accompanied by the wet noise that followed his tongue’s assault on her clit. Nanami relished the feeling of her fingers on his scalp and the soft spew of encouragement from above him. Already, he felt uncomfortably hard, but focused himself on pleasing the woman before him. As one hand left her thigh and traveled up under the fabric of her dress to caress the flesh beneath, Nanami slipped his tongue inside her pleading hole. He caressed the delicate walls, licking in an out to taste her fully. Her nails gripped onto his once neat blonde locks and he groaned at the feeling, the vibrations doing everything to bring her closer and closer to the edge.

Nanami continued his ministrations, burying his face into her sweet core and letting her legs close around him so his other hand could entertain her nub while he worked. With each circle of his rough thumb, he felt the woman coming undone around him. Her legs shook gently over his shoulders, but he relentlessly continued to thrust his tongue in and out of her, caressing as deep as he could in her tightening walls.

“Oh god, Father, I-” the woman attempted to say between moans of pleasure. “I’m going to-” She cut herself off with a silent scream, her face turned toward the chapel ceiling as Nanami worked her through the waves of her orgasm. He lapped up the fluids gathering around his tongue and soothingly rubbed circles onto the inner skin of her thigh, waiting until the iron grip she had on his hair relaxed and her legs no longer clamped around his head.

Nanami returned to his feet, the results of the woman’s first release glistening on his lips. There was no hesitation from either party as their mouths’ met, the taste of her on both their tongues as she greedily hugged him closer for more despite the light shaking of her body. “Please tell me that wasn’t all,” she breathed against his mouth with a coy grin.

Nanami huffed a laugh and pulled back slightly. “I’m delivering what you deserve, am I not?” He teased, grinding again against the wetness between them, not caring what it did to his black pants. The woman squirmed from the stimulation, her face a fight between a wince and the ‘oh’ of another moan.

Her fingers scrambled for purchase against the smooth fabric separating them. “I want to feel you…” She pleaded, the apprehension from earlier entirely gone. Nanami held back a groan by pressing his lips back against hers, loving how eager she was for what he wanted as well. He took the time to slip her dress entirely off of her, exposing her to the cool air of the church and the wandering of his hands. Nanami was in no rush, despite how he ached within the confines of his pants. He wanted nothing more than to continue to defile such a faithful child of god, to feel all of her skin against his fingers, to hear every little sound that left her beautiful mouth because of him.

Sadly for him, his partner was in no mood to delay. She tugged at the front of his pants, undoing the hidden button and zipper to free his lengthy and leaking member from its prison. Nanami watched her swallow from between partially lidded eyes as a small wave of relief spread through him at being exposed to the open air. “It’s not nice to lie, Father,” the woman chuckled, wrapping her hand around his cock and giving it a fair few strokes. “Those pants barely show a thing.”

Lord, was he worked up. Taking it slower would have to wait for another day. Regardless, Nanami gently placed his hand over hers, using them both to guide the head of his member to her entrance. “Then forgive me, for I have sinned.” He placed his other hand on her shoulder, guiding her to lay down against the altar and running his fingers tantalizingly down her body. Carefully, Nanami plunged into her, the stretch of her walls around him causing them both to release heavy groans towards the heavens. “God help me..” He whispered into the air with a chuckle while he waited for her to adjust to the intrusion. The sweet tightness swallowing him whole begged for him to start moving, to see how delicious it would feel for her body to milk every last drop from him, yet he waited until she impatiently twitched around him.

Looking down at her, Nanami couldn’t help but snort. “Patience is a virtue, darling.” His voice was strained from the effort it took to resist from pounding into her.

The shock of the intrusion gone, the playful smile returned to her face. “Does that mean I’ll be punished, Father?”

A genuine laugh broke from Nanami’s throat and he positioned his hands on her waist. “I suppose it is necessary. Virtues must be learned somehow.” He then began a sudden and harsh pace, pulling nearly all the way out before slamming back. The drag of his cock along her walls was pure bliss, the stretch barely painful beyond the pleasure being literally pounded into her body. Perhaps it was the euphoria, but the woman could swear his unrelenting pace hit places she never knew could feel so good, each slap of skin on skin eliciting gasps and pleas from her.

Even better was the look plastered on the ever stoic and serious Nanami, the priest she had only ever seen scowling from behind the altar he was currently railing her on. His brows were drawn and his jaw set tight around every groan and grunt rung from him. The sternness was different from usual, no longer the reproachful hand of god, but a man hellbent on finding and giving release. His fingers held on with bruising strength, moving her body for her as he struck again and again at her most sensitive spot. Her fingers clawed for purchase on the thin red fabric covering the wooden slab of the altar as stars shot in and out, throwing everything out of focus except for where Nanami’s body and hers connected.

With the echoes of their voices and skin bouncing around them, Nanami was getting progressively closer to climax. The time spent pleasuring his partner had sufficiently worked him up and the pressure wrapped around his cock was godly. Seeing the edge approaching, he released one hand from its forceful grip and moved it to toy with her clit once again and bring her along with him towards release.

The woman clung to the altar with one hand above her head, her eyes scrunched shut as the coil in her core threatened to snap for the second time that evening. It didn’t take much longer for orgasm to hit, her walls clenching tight around Nanami’s cock and her barely opened eyes staring fuzzily at the church ceiling as every nerve in her body tensed and released in waves. Nanami was short to follow, the pressure around him too wonderful and the expression of the woman before him enough to tip him over the edge. He pulled out with a wet pop before painting the woman and the altar in long spurts of cum. He braced his hands on the wood on either side of her body, their heavy breathing filling the space as they both reeled back into themselves.

Before a silence could settle, Nanami began to put himself back together, cleaning himself off with a handkerchief and tucking himself back into his pants. “I will be just a moment,” he informed the still shaking woman and went to retrieve a hand towel from the closet near the church’s restroom. He began gently and diligently cleaning her, then helped her back into her clothes. Aside from the red swollenness of their lips and the disheveled state of their hair, the two looked nearly normal. Nanami had been careful not to leave any visible marks on her, had kept his lips to hers or to places unseen, simply because they had not had the time to discuss what exactly was okay and what wasn’t beforehand. Despite having fucked a churchgoer on an altar just moments before, Nanami was a gentleman and respected any boundaries his partner may have had.

With the evidence of their “worship” cleaned up, the two adults walked towards the doors of the church. The woman paused at the door and looked up to Nanami with a broad, relaxed smile. “Thank you, Father. For the break.” An amused laugh bubbled past her lips and Nanami found himself grinning slightly in return.

“Any time, my child. I am here to serve,” he said, extending a hand with a simple business card in it. “Even when I am no longer part of this congregation.” While generally saved for curse work, Nanami always carried cards with his name and number on it. And this definitely seemed like a worthwhile time to give on.

The woman took it and tucked it into her purse securely. “I hope to see you again soon,” she said in farewell, leaving Father Nanami behind to finish attending to church duties. Perhaps the mandatory service as a priest wasn’t so bad. It certainly had its perks.

[ladyreapermc]

Fic: Yes, Father (August Walker x Reader)

A/N: Hey folks. It has been a while. This piece has been sitting on my drive for over a month and I finally decided to post it. I hope you enjoy it. I based all the mass rites on my own experiences, even if it has been a while since I last went to church. 

Summary: AU! After much insisting, your fiancé convinces you to go to church with him and you find yourself strangely captivated by the priest celebrating the mass, which so happens to be your fiancé childhood friend.

Pairing: August x Reader

Genre: Smut; AU   

Wordcount: 2,9k

Warnings: smut (dirty talk and fingering); It’s worth noting that this is a seriously sacrilegious fic, so if you’re religious and think it might bother you or conflict with your faith, maybe it would be best not to read it.

You were never one to particularly care for going to church or anything like that. You weren’t raised in any faith and if it was up to you, your future children would be educated the same, but it was so important to your fiancé James.

He came from a feverous catholic family and he grew up going to church, Sunday morning mass, and being part of every possible event his church was involved in. He was ever an altar boy growing up and he hoped that he could continue the tradition with his own children.

And after a lot of cajoling on his part, you agreed to start attending mass on Sunday morning with him. He promised that the current priest presiding his church wasn’t one of those misogynist and full of prejudice old farts but actually a good old friend of his.

“I promise you’ll enjoy August’s sermon,” James assured as you combed the inexistent wrinkles on your plain, knee-length grey dress.

James insisted you were being too conservative with your attire choice. That it looked more like you were going to a job interview than mass, but you rather be safe than sorry. His parents would be there as well and for some reason, that made you even more nervous with this whole attending to church thing. As ridiculous as it might sound, a part of you was slightly afraid of busting into flames the second you stepped through the threshold of the building.  

“Honestly, it still surprises me that out of the two of us, August was the one that ended up with the collar and not me,” your fiancé declared with a chuckle as he parked the car and you two stepped out to see a considerable group of people, mostly women from the looks of it, quietly making their way inside. “He was such a ladies’ man.”

“Doesn’t seem like much have changed,” you commented as the two of you walked up the steps, making him chuckle and nod.

James’ parents were already waiting and after a quick greeting, you were all made the way inside, miraculously finding seats in the front pews, right in front of the altar. The ample ship of the church seemed to amplify the buzzing of conversation all around, but it all came to a halt at the first chord of the piano.

The silence was heavy and it seemed to you that if someone dropped a pin, it would be heard by the very heavens. Finally, the eerie melody started and you felt your heart beating to the tempo of the music as everyone rose and the procession started.

Front and center, leading the group was a young boy, no older than 12, carrying the processional cross. The dark, shaggy hair and green eyes reminded you of James and you could picture your fiancé in your mind’s eye performing the same task as a child and it brought a smile to your lips.

You watched as the group advanced in time the melody playing, some members of the congregation carrying images of saints and other holy objects and finally, closing the group, Him.

Father August was a tall man, broad shoulders and built like a bull, the white and green clerical robes barely disguising his bulky form. His dark hair was neatly combed, one stubborn curl falling over his left eye but he seemed unaware as he walked and murmured the words of the hymn under his breath, his ocean blue gaze never wavering from the altar. He would look like the picture of a Godsent angel if it wasn’t for the dark stubble covering his face and the abominable mustache that in anyone else would look ridiculous but on him was actually attractive.

Heat rose to your cheeks as you realized your treacherous thought and your gaze fell to your polished shoes. You were really thinking of a priest as attractive? How much of a sinner could you be? Ashamed by the betrayal of your mind, you didn’t dare to look up again, not until the velvet smooth voice of Father August asked all to be seated and the ceremony started.

You let his voice washed over you as mass progressed as expected, taking your cues of when to rise or sit from James, that remained next to you oblivious to your suffering. You barely listened to the gospel reading or the adoration too focused on tracking Father August’s every move despite your best attempts of ignoring the handsome man presiding the celebration.

Finally, the congregation was seated once more to listen to his sermon. You kept your eyes on your clasped hands as August took his place at the pulpit and started speaking. You didn’t hear a word said, only the calm, husky tone of his voice that seemed to set your very soul on fire if the wet warmth between your legs was any indication.

Despite your brave attempts to keep your mind clean, you couldn’t help but daydream of that very same voice whispering all sorts of sinful pleasures in your ear. Clearing your throat, you dared to look up, finding his blue gaze fixed on you as he spoke and that was enough to set your heart racing and lock the breath inside your lungs. It felt as if Father August could see deep inside you, all the unholy thoughts you had been entertaining during his sermon.

Finally, he ended his speech and another hymn began. The congregation started rising, taking their place in line for Eucharist.

“You’re coming?” James whispered, startling you.

“I shouldn’t,” you replied quietly, your eyes darting to the priest feeding the congregation the wafer.

“Come on,” James encouraged with a smile and a wink. “No one will know.”

You rose from your seat against your better judgment. Your brain was unable to reign in the dark desire that pushed you toward the priest. As you took your place in line right behind James, your heart was pounding and your nerves wrecked as each step brought you closer to Father August, until finally, you stood in front of him, under his piercing all-knowing blue gaze.

“The body of Christ,” he spoke, voice haunting as he presented the wafer and your whole body shook as you let your lips part in welcome, eyes focused on his as he set the wafer on your tongue.

There was something so intimate and arousing at been this close to Father August, to let his thick fingers brushing against your lips as he fed you, his eyes darkening and his nostrils flaring as if he could see and smell your sin. Time seemed to stand still for a few seconds as you two stared at each other.

It took the small cough from someone behind you to break you from your spell and you scurried away, shame bitter and acidic in your stomach, drying your mouth and throat as you forced yourself to swallow the wafer and move back to your seat, feeling the weight of your guilt as you waited for the mass to be finally over.

You had hoped to be free from the priest as soon as the proceedings were over but instead Father August remained at the door, exchanging polite words with the members of the congregation, and of course, James and his parents got in line to speak to the holy man.

“Amazing work as always, my dear,” you heard James’ mom, Magda, said as she kissed Father August’s cheek. “But when will you remove that awful thing from your face?”

“I don’t know, mom,” James interjected with a smirk, hugging his old friend. “I think it suits him, gives him a star quality. Of the porn variety.” James’ mom gasped in horror, while August just chuckled.

“You’re jealous because you never managed to grow a single hair in that baby face,” the priest joked back, completely unfazed by the teasing as his gaze set on you. “And who is this?”

“Oh! You haven’t met my fiancé, yet…”

You barely heard the rest of James’ words as he ushered you forward, presenting you to Father August and as his large hand enveloped yours in a warm touch, you could feel the flitting throb between your legs once again.

No man had such an effect on you before, and you wished you could run away, put as much distance between yourself and the temptation in the form of a man.

“So, what did you think?” James asked once the two of you were in the safety of the car, on the way to his parents’ house for Sunday lunch.

“I know it might not seem like it, but it wasn’t my first time in church, James.” Your words earned you a chuckle from him.

“I know, sweetheart. I meant of August.”

“Oh!” You could feel the heat returning to your face as you shifted on your seat, looking away from him. “He seemed nice and you’re right, his sermon was ok.”

“Is ok enough for you to consider coming along every Sunday from now on?”

The look in James’ eyes was pleading, like a little puppy dog that was kicked out of the moving truck. The look of a man that was used to get his way and he knew you wouldn’t be able to resist.

“I’ll think about it,” you conceded it as he pulled the car in the driveway, right behind his parents’.

It wasn’t like you could say no point-blank. Not without a good reason for it and saying you were lusting over his ordained childhood friend wasn’t exactly an option.

“That’s all I ask.”

James smiled brightly at you, pressing a kiss to your cheek before you two stepped out of the car just as a third vehicle pulled in the driveway, and the last person you wished to see got out.

August was donning a pair of black slacks and a black, long-sleeved dress shirt, the clerical collar being the only evidence of this man’s chosen career.

“I’m glad you could make it!” James greeted his friend cheerfully and August smirked.

“I wouldn’t miss this delicious…” he paused for just a second, his eyes flickering towards you, making you gulp and look away. “Meal for anything. Sister Agnes has many talents, bless her soul, but cooking isn’t one of them.”

James snorted, leading the way inside as August walked right beside you so close his arm brushed against yours, raising goosebumps on your skin as it tingled with the brief contact.

“Why don’t I help your mother?” you announced as soon as you crossed the threshold, trying to put as much distance between yourself and the priest as you could.

James didn’t protest. Instead, he led his friend into the sitting room and as you disappeared behind the kitchen door, you could almost feel the cold blue gaze of August on your ass, if that was even possible.

You managed to relax some as you helped Magda with the meal, chopping vegetables and stirring pots as the two of you talked about the upcoming wedding, only months away. You never thought you would be this excited about it, but you loved James with all your heart, and you couldn’t wait to become his wife.

The sound of the phone cut through your chatting and Magda’s face opened into a wide smile as she reached for her phone. It could only mean one thing: Her daughter Mary, who had been in a charity mission in Angola, was on the line.

“Go on,” you encouraged with a smile as you surveyed the kitchen. “I can manage everything.” She flashed you a grateful smile before scurrying off, phone already pressed to her ear.

You hummed to yourself as you worked, tasting the potato salad and adding a little more seasoning before your attention turned to the roast on the oven. You bent over to get a better look, smirking to yourself when you sensed someone standing right behind you, close enough you could feel the heat of his body,

Of course, you thought it was James. Who else would you expect? Instead, As you straightened up and glanced behind yourself, you were startled to find August there, browsing the pots over your shoulder. Too close for comfort.

“Father,” you croaked awkwardly, unable to really move without risking touching the man and that was the last thing you wanted. Your body was already heating up just by his mere presence. Anything else would be too dangerous.  

“Sorry for the intrusion, I wanted to give them some privacy to speak to Mary and I thought you could use some help.” His words were innocent enough but there was this edge in his voice… a sort of dark tone that made you doubt his intentions.

“That’s really thoughtful of you,” you managed, shimmying out of the way so you could move to the sink to start on the dishes. “But I got it covered.” The priest hummed in response and for a moment, a tense silence reigned between you two.

You were very aware of every sound, every motion of your body and his. You wished he would leave already or, against your better judgment, press closer, blanket your body with his, let those long, elegant fingers trace the skin of your thigh, inch under your skirt, and towards your throbbing cunt which was soaking your panties.

You let out a gasp, cutlery clattering loudly into the sink as your mind registered the filthy thoughts circling your brain. How could you? This was a man of God, for Christ’s sake, and a good friend of the man you loved.

“You know, James and I were always very close,” Father August spoke suddenly, making you start because once again he was standing right behind you, his hands resting on the marble of the sink in front of you. “We shared everything.” He whispered those words right in your ear.

One of his hands came to your stomach, not yet touching but close enough that you could almost feel it, the ghost of his fingers brushing the fabric of your dress, making your breath hitch and your body shake as it paused right at the edge of your skirt, hovering there so, so close…

“Please,” you whimpered, not sure if you were asking him to move away or touch you, even if your body was obviously aching for him.

Father August decided for you, dipping his fingers below the hem of your dress, tracing your thigh up until he found your center, the brush of his fingers featherlight against your drenched center.

“Dirty little slut,” he mocked, massaging your cunt and making you moan and rest against him. “I could tell all your filthy thoughts when you stood in front of me at the altar. Did you want to get on your knees and suck my cock in front of the entire church?”

“Yes, Father,” you whimpered, rocking against his light touch, desperate for more.

“In front of James?” he asked, pushing your panties aside and dipping one finger inside your hungry little slit that seemed to almost pull his digit in.

“Yes, Father.”

“Whore,” he clicked his tongue, fingering you roughly now, his middle finger buried almost to the third knuckle as the heel of his hand rubbed against your throbbing clit. The pad of his finger rubbing that sweet little spot, and all you could do was squeeze the sink and press your legs together around his wrist, keeping his hand trapped there.

“You better cum soon or James will find out exactly what kind of slut his fiancée is,” August taunted, his voice like smooth honey dripping against your ear as he rubbed his hard cock against your ass.

“Yes, Father,” you gasped, rocking between his hand and his erection, lost in the ecstasy of such filthy action. “I’m so, so close…”

“Do you want my cock, slut?” he asked, his other hand coming to your throat, squeezing just slightly and you nodded desperately as his motions sped up. “Want me to fuck that tight little pussy?”

“Yes, Father,” you gasped.

“You’re gonna come to the church on Wednesday. I don’t care what you tell James. Just be there.”

Even if you wanted, you couldn’t find in yourself to answer, your whole body going taut with pleasure as your orgasm washed over you. The sort of white-out ecstasy that blinded and deafened you to anything and everything around you with the exception of your body quivering and quaking and the gush of warmth soaking his hand, your thighs and dripping to the floor below.

“Good girl,” he murmured, pressing a soft, almost chaste kiss to your cheek.

Father August stepped away from you, hands in his pockets as you tried to recompose yourself just moments before the kitchen door opened and Magda walked in.

“Wednesday. Don’t forget,” he said, his smile, to anyone looking from the outside, was completely innocent but you caught the malice in his ice-cold eyes before he left.

“What’s on Wednesday?” Magda asked, checking the roast.

“Father August is just gonna help me with something,” you managed, brain still hazy with the aftershocks of your orgasm. “For James.”

“Oh, that’s nice,” Magda grinned. “He’s such a good man, isn’t he? Our August. A true man of God.”

You could only nod, your voice caught in your throat. If only she knew…

---

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[lookingforhappy]

The Hargreeves' Names

ik this has been done over and over again but i like to organise things where i can see them properly etc.

i'm basing this off of the above statement by Steve Blackman. however i can't reliably show the popularity in certain countires as most sites only show "general" and/or USA ratings - which I assume to be one and the same tbh so i'm just going off of name origins rather than popularity.

anyway, going into this one i expected diego to be from a spanish speaking country - namely spain/mexico/portugal/cuba. mostly rooting for cuba due to s2.

Diego -

Wikipedia:

The name has long been interpreted as reanalysis of Santiago, from older Sant Yago "Saint Jacob," in English known as Saint James, as San-Tiago.

One of the Twelve Apostles of Jesus according to the New Testament. Saint James is the patron saint of Spain and, according to tradition, his remains are held in Santiago de Compostela in Galicia.

James is described as one of the first disciples to join Jesus. The Synoptic Gospels state that James and John were with their father by the seashore when Jesus called them to follow him. James was one of only three apostles whom Jesus selected to bear witness to his Transfiguration. James and John (or, in another tradition, their mother) asked Jesus to grant them seats on his right and left in his glory. Jesus rebuked them, asking if they were ready to drink from the cup he was going to drink from and saying the honor was not even for him to grant. The other apostles were annoyed with them. James and his brother wanted to call down fire on a Samaritan town, but were rebuked by Jesus.

The Acts of the Apostles records that "Herod the king" (usually identified with Herod Agrippa I) had James executed by the sword. Nixon suggests that this may have been caused by James's fiery temper, in which he and his brother earned the nickname Boanerges or "Sons of Thunder". F. F. Bruce contrasts this story to that of the Liberation of Saint Peter, and notes that "James should die while Peter should escape" is a "mystery of divine providence".

Didacus is recorded in the forms Diaco, Diago in the 10th century. The form Diego is first recorded in the late 11th century. Its original derivation from Didacus is uncertain, among other things because the shift from -ía- to -ié- is unexplained.

familyeducation.com:

The name Diego is of Spanish origin and means "supplanter." It is believed to be derived from the name Santiago, and in medieval times, Diego was Latinized as Didacus. It is believed Didacus derives from the Greek word didache, meaning "teaching."

dictionary.com:

Supplanter:

noun. someone or something taking the place of another, as through force, scheming, strategy, or the like.

my best guess for him is Spain. mostly because his name is linked to Saint James who is the patron saint of Spain.

i also think that (after spending 30 min on wikipedia) st. james has a couple of parallels/prophetic links to diego:

Diego was the second child to be adopted by reginald making him one of the first children reginald secured (the intro to s1e1 heavily suggests they were numbered via order of adoption unlike the comics) and was one of the four out of seven children to actually be invested in the umbrella academy/training to the point of independantly continuing their 'missions' once he left.

diego was constantly fighting to be "number one", or reginald's favourite but reginald never paid him any attention, or when he did it wasn't good attention. yes i am once again comparing reginald to jesus/the catholic church...

reginald stabbed/attempted to kill diego however diego is halfway responsible for that as he stalked and was actively antagonistic towards reginald (who didn't know who he was). his consistant hot headedness and determination to be hyper masculine certainly don't help his cause.

the meaning of diego's name seems to be "supplanter" or/and "teaching".

supplanter means someone taking another's place, possibly refering to diego's wish to be number one, the leader, the favourite etc. i'd also wager that it's a hint that diego is replacing ben as the glue holding the hargreeve's together. ben's death caused the hargreeves' to split up, and while it was reginald/five who brought them back together, it was arguably diego who kept them together. he was constantly convincing klaus or luther, eventually vanya in s2, to stick together. hell, he even tried to make team zero a thing. it could also be a sneaky reference to diego's powers being switched from the comics. teaching is an interesting meaning for diego. he seems to have become a bit of a mentor/advisor figure to both five and lila, and is even putting himself in charge of luther and klaus on a regular basis.

--

i know the fan favourite is that he's from mexico, however i'm not interested in that bc frankly... i'm bored of the america/mexcio dynamic. i've seen enough. let's do literally any other hispanic country for like 5 mins. can we do cuba? maybe Havanna?? s2 hinted at cuba for a hot min and i'm down for it. (apologies to mexicans you're awesome)

I would have loved if he was from cuba, especially havanna, but given that his name is related to st. james patron saint of spain, i kinda have to go with spain on this one. if we're looking for a specific place in spain then galicia in the north-western corner of spain is a fair guess as that's where st. james is supposedly buried?? as with luther this feels very specific so best to just go with spain overall.

nameberry.com has a more comprehensive popularity chart for diego than it did for luther so i can go into more detail here!

diego is 125/1000 for popularity in the USA for 2020

in 1989 diego ranked 319/1000 in USA

in 2002 (the year five disappeared, presumably the year the umbrella academy debuted and the latest date diego would have been given his name as ben & vanya 100% had theirs already + the figurines/comics in harold's apartment had everyone's names except for five) diego was ranked 98/1000 in USA

in 1963 diego ranked at 988/1000 in USA (so not a lot of diego's wandering around dallas, texas then)

in 2020 diego ranked 14/100 for spain & 30/100 for portugal, mexico was not an option offered on nameberry tho i'm p. confused by this website tbh

luther/diego/allison/klaus/five/ben/vanya

[alecmagnuslwb]

The Maze

Read on AO3

“We’re never getting out of here,” Zatanna huffs kicking at a nearby bush. A little scaly grey hand reaches out at the action swiping for her ankle. She yelps hopping back a bit just for another hand to pop out of the bush behind her and tap her shoulder earning another slightly embarrassing yelp from her.

John grabs her hand and pulls her further down away from where more and more hands continue popping out. He kicks at the bushes surrounding them at the end of the stretch of green and nods seemingly pleased when nothing pops out instantly.

“That’s defeatist behavior there Zee,” he says patting around at his pockets looking for something. A cigarette she assumes. “That’s supposed to be more my style than yours.”

Zatanna sighs, yes maybe it’s a little defeatist to assume they’re never getting out of this damned maze, but it’s starting to feel like a very viable option that they grow old and wither away in here.

She’s not sure how long they’ve been stuck in here, time’s starting to lose meaning as they get deeper and deeper into the green finding an occasional door that hides some brand-new shock behind it. There’s been the room that was just a glorified hall of mirrors, one filled to the brim with definitely not normal spider monkey’s and a room full of mimes just sitting there in an incredibly unnerving manner. Circe has put them through the ringer before, but this, this is just annoying.

All they needed was one hint, one hint to where they could find one thing that might just save the world. No big deal. Of course Circe made it complicated, of course instead of just asking John and Zatanna to leave the room while she had a little discussion with Boston for whatever means she banished them here. So annoying.

John makes a successful little aha noise producing a small flask from his interior jacket pocket and unscrews the cap taking a sip.

Zatanna scrunches up her face in judgement. “Are you drinking holy water?” she asks incredulously.

“I’m thirsty,” he says with a shrug taking another sip. “It’s all just water.”

He holds the flask out to her with a raised eyebrow offering her a drink as well.

She shakes her head making a slightly disgusted face. “It’s just water that a bunch of people dip their dirty fingers into every day.”

John just shrugs again happily tossing back some more local catholic church holy water. Even if they get out of here alive, John’s guaranteed to get some sort of water borne illness from his drink of choice.

Zatanna surveys their options, there’s right or left neither of which will get them out of there, but both of which will drive them absolutely crazy.

“I say we go right and then I try and set the whole maze on fire,” she says tugging John to the right by his sleeve. “We haven’t tried fire yet.”

Portals, conjuring a machete, picking each other up and literally launching over the bushes have all failed to yield results, so why not fire next.

“That’s not very environmentally friendly. Swampy would never forgive you,” John says with a smirk pulling open a new bright red door they almost pass by. At first it’s all darkness then hundreds of glowing eyes turn and greet him. “Shit,” he says and slams it shut quickly one errant little glowing eyeball slipping out and knocking the holy water flask from his hand.

The liquid spills to the ground as the glowing little eyeball happily bounces away turning at the end of another long stretch of nothing but green.

“Think we should follow the eyeball?” John questions picking up his spilled flask. He turns it upside down sporting a disappointed frown when only one single drop falls out.

“No I don’t think we should follow the eyeball,” Zatanna says and how many people have had to say that sentence to their boyfriend? Not many she’d bet; her life is so fucking weird. “I think we should try and burn it down, because this isn’t an environment, it’s a fabricated trap intent on driving us mad. Swampy will never even have to know I did it.”

She raises her hands and closes her eyes focusing on her magic that settles deep in her core.

“Erif,” she says a simple spell she’s done a thousand times before controlling the flame in her hands for any scenario whether it was growing it into a large combustible ball to throw an enemy’s way or to just keep it small and inviting at her fingertip to light John’s cigarette.

She feels the familiar lick of warmth in her hand and open her eyes smiling wide.

“Ha!” she says looking at John with glee as she controls the flame building it in her hands. John steps back giving her the space she needs to hopefully create a hole for them to escape through.

The flame gets to the size of her palm and she lifts it about to start her inferno when one of the long left behind spider monkeys swings past her and blows the damn thing out.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” she sighs throwing her head up to the sky, or the vast white nothingness that’s above them not really a sky. The monkey cackles, actually humanly cackles and has the audacity to wave at her as it swings away.

John laughs and Zatanna gives him a sharp look that stops his laughter dead in its tracks.

“Let’s follow the stupid eyeball,” she huffs taking purposefully heavy steps her chunky boots echoing on the ground.

John follows her dutifully, quietly. The eyeball she begrudgingly must admit is actually kind of helpful guiding them into a rotunda, the first of its kind they’ve stumbled upon.

“What if we just wait?” John says sitting on the ornate stone fountain that sits in the center of the rotunda. There’s no water running through it just an overgrown sea of ivy spilling out onto the hard concrete ground.

“Wait?” Zatanna says in surprise. John is not nearly as selfish as people think he is and he’s not one to give up even if he acts like he has. “Circe is out there doing who knows what and using Boston as a tool most likely for her own schemes and you want to wait?”

“Look, luv, she wants us in here. When she wants us out she’ll let us out,” John says now patting around for his pack of cigarettes. “She doesn’t plan on killing us, not today at least, so we wait it out.”

Zatanna sighs pacing back and forth for a minute as another spider monkey makes its way towards her and blows her a kiss. She huffs out a little laugh and stops her pacing settling down next to John on the fountain just as he lights his cigarette.

She tilts her head resting it on his shoulder with another sigh. He’s right, Circe is cruel and exhausting and absolutely wants to kill them, but when she does it won’t be from afar and she definitely won’t let spider monkeys and bouncing eyeballs take the credit.

“Fine, but I’m gonna complain the whole time we wait, okay?” she says wrapping her arm around his bicep with a pout.

John chuckles taking a long drag of his cigarette and blowing it out at one of the spider monkey’s that gets too close. The monkey is unbothered it just jumps on his other shoulder and plucks the cigarette from his mouth taking a puff of its own and scampering away.

“Well I’m gonna complain the whole time too, that was my last one!” John shouts after the monkey as it tosses a condescending wave back their way.

Zatanna giggles, feeling lighthearted for the first time since they got stuck in here. John gives her a sharp look and she just shrugs. Consider it payback for his laughter when the monkey made her his target.

They sit there complaining the whole time batting off bouncing eyeballs and spider monkey’s as they make their way back over to them and in due time a portal opens up, their escape provided by a no longer entertained Circe.

[tinamaetales]

Fine, not fine

When the pandemic broke out in 2020, I was left with nothing to do. Our WFH arrangement during those times is not something I consider as a heavy workload so most of the time I just find myself alone with my own thoughts – which is one of the scariest scenarios for me. To kill time and distract myself from my own self-destructive thoughts, I decided to watch documentaries on Youtube but there really isn’t enough for me so despite not having a huge salary, I decided to subscribe to Netflix and from then on, I was able to watch a lot of movies, series and documentaries. I really wanna write a reflection on each of the stuff I’ve watched but I’m too lazy these days (and yet, here I am writing one).

As I mentioned, I watched a lot of stuff on Netflix but the last three that I’ve watched lately (before I start being invested with American Horror Story series), Angel’s Last Mission: Love, The Good Place, and Mystic Pop-up Bar tend to have a common theme – life, death, afterlife. I didn’t even do it on purpose; I was just really interested in the plot of their stories. What these 3 shows have in common is that they discuss about the morality and consequences and these days, I’m really interested in those topics. Lately, I’ve been questioning myself about what kind of person I am – am I good or bad? I also keep on having an internal debate with myself as to whether or not there is an afterlife and if there is, then where will I end up? Heaven or hell? Those questions are kinda giving me some headache these days but at least it’s a good distraction from my own self-destructive thoughts. Somehow, Philosophy seems interesting to me now (during my College years, I dreaded that subject but still managed to get a 1.25 final grade lol). Anyway, here are my thoughts about the shows:

Angel’s Last Mission: Love

Major lesson: Keep the faith

This kdrama has such a beautiful way of presenting its story that you will fall in love with it in just the first episode! (Also because Kim Myung Soo’s dimples are to die for, omg I’m so in love) Anyway, this drama’s plot is interesting: an angel who disobeyed the law (he’s not allowed to meddle with the lives of humans especially since he’s a guardian angel for animals) on his last day was given the most difficult mission – to make the fallen ballerina know what love is. As I am writing this, I can’t help but feel emotional because the show knows how to attack one’s heart. I will not be telling more of its plot for I might end up spoiling it so I’ll just provide my major take away from this kdrama. (This is one of those kdramas that I can watch again and again coz it’s beautiful)

I was raised in Catholic faith, which is really not a surprise for a Filipino like me since this country is heavily influenced by the Catholic Church, but ever since I’ve become an adult and finally opened my eyes and allow myself to stop living under the notorious gaslighting of people around me, I struggled with my faith in God. It’s really difficult living a traumatized life. In 2018, I seek for professional help and was diagnosed with Dysthymia and Social Anxiety Disorder. And despite therapy and medication, I have not yet healed and sometimes feel like my situation is getting worse. As such, I felt so alone in my struggles which became the reason why I relate to Yeon Seo’s character. People labeled her as a cold bitch and most of them are expecting her to just move on and heal without fully understanding where she is coming from. When Yeon Seo said “Do you know what it feels like to be left behind? It feels like I’m abandoned alone in an endless desert” it hit close to home. I know that one’s pain should not be an excuse for acting up and being mean but people should also understand that healing is different for all of us – we heal at our own pace at our own time. Pain can change a person – I know it fully well for I’ve become a completely different person because of all the pain I’ve been through. But what this show taught me is that God is a merciful God and He will not let us be drown into the abyss of darkness…..somehow, He will make a way to get us back on track and sometimes it’s in ways we never imagined it to be. Like how they sent angel Kim Dan into Yeon Seo’s life, God will also be sending us the answer to our prayers for He loves us and He is the only one who will never give up on us – even though we gave up on ourselves.

The Good Place

Major lesson: There is hope for humanity

I’ve been obsessed with sitcoms since 2019 (if I remember the year correctly) for they’re easy to watch and just fun but I never expected that a sitcom will make me become philosophical and somehow question my own morality: am I a good person?

For a show with only four seasons and fifty-three episodes, The Good Place sets the bar high for a sitcom.  It did not drag its plotline but is able to tell the entire story in a way that leaves the viewers satisfied with it. The Good Place is a story *SPOILER ALERT* that revolves around the afterlife lives of the four main characters: Eleanor, Chidi, Tahani, and Jason who all end up in the “good place” because they earned enough points on Earth but there’s a catch, two of them are not actually meant to be in the good place. Eleanor and Jason both mistakenly went to the good place because they died at almost the same time as someone with the same name as them but the other two actually deserved to be in the good place. The dilemma started when Eleanor admitted the truth to Chidi, a Philosophy professor who specialized in Ethics for he is torn between helping them or snitching on them. But perhaps the biggest plot twist of all, *SERIOUSLY STOP READING IF YOU DON’T WANT ANY MORE SPOILERS* they are not really in the good place. All four of them are in the Bad Place disguised as the good place and they were specifically chosen to torture each other, just like what Jean Paul Sartre said, “Hell is other people” Now this gets interesting because while none of these four people have committed heinous crimes which can then make them deserving of a spot in the bad place, the actions they’ve done during their lifetime on earth has bearing. At first I find it surprising how Chidi and Tahani end up in the bad place considering that Chidi spent his life in the pursuit of goodness and Tahani is a philanthropist who raised millions of dollars for charities. But then, as the show progressed, I understood. Chidi’s vast knowledge of morality made him become an indecisive person which led towards the suffering of others. Chidi made other people suffer because he finds it difficult to make a choice. On Tahani’s part, she raised millions of dollars to help improve the lives of others but such is a self-serving interest – she did not do those things because she wanted to help but because she wants to make herself look good. On Eleanor’s part, while she did not commit serious crimes, she was a big ass jerk towards others during her time on earth. With Jason, although he is kind, his actions often lead to disasters and although unintentional, harm towards others. With these in mind, I guess it’s safe to say that humans are doomed for the things we do are most of the time self-serving. It’s hard to make it to the Good Place because in one way or another, we do some things that affect others in a negative way. But what this show also taught me is that while it’s true that hell is other people……humans have a chance to improve and be better when given the proper environment as well as when they help each other out. Just like what Michael said “The point is, people improve when they get external love and support. How can we hold it against them when they don’t?”

At first, this show kind of made me realized that I’ve been a bad person….that most of the decisions I’ve made in life are self-serving….I only do things that benefit me and I could not care less about other people but my biggest realization here is that, I acted this way because my unhealed pain and trauma is manifesting itself. I have been hurt way too much that it made me become a bad person and end up with the mantra that life is shitty anyway so why try to be good? And because of that, I felt bad. Now, I try my best to do good things, not because I want to feel good for myself but because it’s the right thing to do. I have come to the realization that just because I was hurt does not mean I have the right to inflict pain on others. I know that morality is not something that can easily be answered since it’s such a complex thing and humans are flawed but as what Michael said (he has a lot of great lines from the show, I can’t help but to keep on quoting him) “What matters isn’t if people are good or bad. What matters is, if they’re trying to be better today than they were yesterday. You asked me where my hope comes from? That’s my answer.” Please, please, please watch The Good Place! I guess it’s one of the best, if not the best, sitcoms ever.

Mystic Pop-up Bar

Major lesson: Grudges are the heaviest to carry/ the art of letting go

One word to describe this k-drama? HEARTWARMING. With only 12 episodes, this k-drama was able to provide me comfort and healing. I did not actually expect much from this as I only watched it because of Yook Sungjae but what I failed to realize is that this kdrama’s approach to storytelling will be heartwarming. The plot is pretty simple for a fantasy drama: a woman, Weol-ju, runs a pop-up bar in order to fulfill her mission of settling the grudges of 100,000 people but as the years went by, it became difficult for her to have people to open up. When people fail to open up about the grudges they are holding, then it will be difficult for her to help them in solving their problems. And since it is taking her way too long to finish her mission, she was given an ultimatum of having to finish her mission within a month – good thing is she found two people to help her with the case: the afterlife police agent Gwi and the human with special ability of making people open up to him just by having a slight physical contact with them, Kang Bae. I love the way these three main characters complemented each other and I sometimes wish that I was given the chance to be a customer at the Mystic Pop-up Bar not just to have them help me solve my grudges but because sometimes, all we need is people who will listen to us.

As mentioned, Weol-ju’s mission is to help people settle the grudges they are carrying and she makes it happen by having people go inside her pop-up bar, let them tell their stories to her and then she will eventually offer them a special drink (which she disguises as an alcohol) that will make them fall asleep so she can enter the dream world and do her work in settling the grudge. While watching this drama, I can’t help but wonder: why do people drink when they have problems? For someone who never drinks and is not interested in drinking, I’ve always been curious of it. They said that alcohol tastes bitter, so I don’t understand why it seems to be helping people in dealing with their problems? Some say that by drinking, it helps them escape their reality for a while. I did some research about this topic and according to Origins Recovery, alcohol contains anxiolytic properties which means that it helps in inhibiting stress or anxiety. As for the bitterness, I heard from someone that as time passes by, the bitterness become sweet unlike life itself in which as time passes by, it becomes more overwhelming. I guess drinking really helps people to take a pause from the absurdity of life despite its bitterness as well as the headache that follows after drinking. Moreover, who am I to judge people who rely on drinking when their life becomes a mess when I also have my own ways, sometimes self-destructive, of finding an escape from this horrible world that we live in? After all, when life gets too tough, we all just want an escape – even though it’s temporary.

With every episode, Weol-ju and her squad helped people settle their grudges and each time they do, it makes me feel emotional. This show makes me realized that all of us are carrying grudges we don’t talk about and when we do not have the avenue to vent it out, then it eats us up alive. All of us are no stranger to struggles, but it is important to be strong and courageous. We can choose to struggle alone but asking for help does not mean you are weak.

Let me end this blogpost by putting my favorite line from Weol-ju: “No matter what’s making you suffer right now, things will settle and pass eventually. Hang in there until then, and you’ll find yourself stronger”

x,

TinaMae

[xenetala]

Piofiore: Fated Memories Review

I’ll keep this as spoiler free as possible, but with this game that may be a bit difficult. This is just my thoughts on the game and its quality. This game overall is really well done and if you are familiar with Amnesia Memories, you’ll really enjoy this one.

There are a few things I’d like to give people a heads up on in this one. First, this is a game about the Mafia. While it should be obvious, many people who play otome games may not realize this isn’t like the sweet games such as Kissed by the Baddest Bidder. Please do not play this game if you are sensitive to blood, gore, death, rape, drug abuse, psychological abuse, torture, violence, general crime, and other such themes. While you can play the best routes and avoid too much of this, you will be exposed to some pretty gruesome and brutal things in this game.

The second thing I’d like to give a heads up on is you have to play the routes in a semi set order to unlock things. By this I mean you don’t get to completely choose who you play at first. While this by no means makes the game bad, it’s something to think about before playing. You may not get to choose your favorite boy right off.

If you do play this, I have a recommended play route. I recommend this based on the lore of the world. That’s not to say you have to play this order, but I think it’ll give a better feel for the world.

While you can start with either Dante or Nicola, I’d recommend playing through Dante’s route first and follow his route with Orlock. While Yang is my absolute favorite boy by far, I recommend playing Nicola before Yang. Gilbert’s route you can’t play until you’ve played the other 4 so Dante > Orlock > Nicola > Yang is my recommended order, but Dante > Nicola > Orlock > Yang isn’t a bad order either.

Overall Story

This is a really good story. There’s a lot of absolutely lovable characters in it and I wish there were more routes. I also wish the stories were longer just because of how good the characters are. Even the supporting characters are great. The setting is in Italy during the 1920′s. There are a few references to world events around that time such as World War I, the depression, American prohibition, and several other things that happened around the world.

The game takes a lot of the terms and historical things and puts them in a nice handy dictionary in case the audience isn’t familiar with them. Personally I find all of the references common knowledge, but then I’m also a history buff so that may not be the case.

As far as the plot goes, the basis is you play an MC who grew up in a church in a small mafia run city. Depending on the route, the MC gets captured or rescued by one of the three mafia groups and ends up in their care as a guest. The three groups are the Italian based Falzone, the mixed heritage Visconti, and the Chinese based Lao-Shu.

Each route has a different part of the story and history of the world and the town as well as a different perspective. Some of the routes are more peaceful while others not so much. In all of them, the MC is one I consistently like. Despite being brought up in a quasi Roman Catholic based belief system, she’s quite down to Earth and many times stands up to the mafia so that earns her many points in my book.

The one thing in this game that I feel is a big missed opportunity is the character Roberto De Feo. I would have loved to see him as an option in this game. Especially after playing all of the routes including the hidden one, I feel like he would have made a nice addition to the story.

Characters

This game has a really good set of characters and even the supporting characters are good so I’m going to go over quite a few people in this. I’ll break these down by factions to help keep things orderly. Each character does have a best, good, and tragic ending. Some of them are really good, but the tragic ones to be pretty brutal to play.

Also, a fun note in the CGs you can press a button to hear the character’s comments on the scene.

Falzone Family

Dante Falzone - This is the first route I recommend playing. He’s kind of the ‘canon’ route in this and goes over a lot of the lore of the world. It can get a bit overwhelming to keep up with all of the mythology of the game, but you will need that information for later routes.

He’s introduced as the cold and cruel boss of the Falzone, but in reality he’s more of the slightly cold gentleman. While he can be cruel as evidenced in a torture scene, he’s really very sweet and you see much more of his caring side as the story progresses. I’m not a fan of his route as it is way sweeter than I’d like for a mafia boss, but it is the most romantic one.

In this route the MC spends most of her time confined with Dante and is more of a prisoner than a guest in my opinion. She’s not allowed to roam free much and is quite dependent on Dante. There is a lot of violence in this route and is one of the more gruesome ones in a few places. I actually like his good ending better than the best ending. His tragic end is really sad so beware. It’s not as brutal as others, but it’ll tug your heartstrings. Death can bring more peace than life. 

Leo Cavagnis - While not a love interest, Leo is an adorable character. He’s assigned as the MC’s body guard in anything related to the Falzone family. I would like to have seen him as a romance option just because it’d be nice to have a choice other than only higher ranking mafia members, but even without him being an option he’s a fun character in all of the routes.

Nicola Francesca - He is the underboss for the Falzone family and is Dante’s cousin. I liked his route much more than I thought I would and he is more what you’d expect for a mafia themed game. It is mentioned in all routes a few times that Nicola is more suited to being the boss than the underboss, and I agree with this.

Nicola is presented as a playboy, but though he’s flirty he’s not really a playboy. He has a lot of charisma and appears nice, but there is a cruel side to him. This is showcased in how he treats his men and in a torture scene. His route has almost none of the lore and is refreshing in that fact.

The MC is still more of prisoner in this one, but she’s not as dependent on Nicola. Even though I’d say Nicola is more ruthless than Dante, this route is actually one of the less violent ones. I will warn that his route is predictable and not quite as exciting to play as far as plot twists and such. Despite that, this is a fun route and the MC gets to showcase a bit more strength than in some of the others.

He is really tied to his idea of trying to free Dante from the curse of his blood and duties so Nicola often acts brashly and without really trying to understand others. This makes him quite focused on his own goals. His best ending is a great ending and for sure deserves to be called the best ending. I don’t really care for his good ending as much. While not sad, he’s too much of a mafia boss for the good ending to really fit him. His tragic ending is a work of art.

Giulia Ceste - She is the motherly housekeeper of the Falzone and takes care of the MC a lot when in the company of the Falzone family. While not a big character, she does help create some humor in the routes and is always a welcome addition when things get really serious.

The Church

Just a few notes on this ‘faction’. This group plays different roles in each route and doesn’t really follow a branch of the Christian religions. Even though the set up is implied to be the Roman Catholic branch, the lore behind this church isn’t really clear on things. There’s a relic mentioned and that relic is given all sorts of explanations as to what it is, but in reality very little of this game really follows any specific branch. So, if you find yourself confused on this group that’s normal.

Josef von Rosburg - Josef is a bishop for the church and has varying roles depending on the route you play. For the most part he’s reasonably pious and does things on behalf of what he believes to be the best for the church. Although, as the saying goes the road to hell is paved with the best of intentions.

Orlock - This boy is all cinnamon roll and I did not like his route until I played all endings. Part of the problem I have with his route is he’s so naïve and innocent that he comes off as childlike. After seeing him in some of the other routes I’d had the expectation that he’d be more of a cold hearted assassin than he is.

That I think colored my perceptions too much to fully enjoy this route and is partly why I recommend him as the second one you play. He is a disciple which basically just means he’s an assassin for the church.

He is absolutely devoted to the MC to the point of basically worshiping her and can see no fault in anything she does. This route is one of the more violent ones and uncovers more of the lore of the world. Orlock feels much younger than the MC because of his innocence despite being able to kill just about anyone.

The good route I liked a lot more than the best route in this one and that’s partly because he didn’t feel as much like a child in that end. The tragic route though changed my mind about his story a bit though. I love his tragic route. It is brutal and merciless, but you see him as an adult and not like a child. Plus, I’m a sucker for a good gut wrenching tragedy that just makes you question why you’d put yourself through the torture of reading it.

Elena Croce - This girl is the MCs best friend and someone she grew up with in the church. Her role varies depending on the route, but she’s generally a quite girl and is good at cooking.

Sister Sofia - She is one of the sisters in the church and is the mother figure of the story. She knows MC’s history and why she’s so important, but keeps things secret from her to prevent her from carrying a heavy burden.

Oliver Haas - Sadly this is another one that doesn’t have a romance option. Oliver is the Visconti family lawyer and helps smooth things over when members of the family get arrested. He is very strict and is often reprimanding Gilbert for things. It would be interesting to see the story from his perspective for sure.

Visconti Family

Gilbert Redford - He is the leader of the Visconti family and was born in Chicago. Gilbert has ties to the US and the mafia in Chicago. Unlike the Falzone family, he had to earn his way to the boss of the faction and wasn’t passed to him through blood ties.

This route is the most peaceful route. Though Gilbert is mafia, he is a businessman first and foremost. In his story the MC has a lot more freedom as she leaves the manor and tours sections of the city with Gilbert. Much of the MC’s time with him is more like being on dates.

Even though this route is far less violent than the others and softer in many respects, this one has more intrigue. Gilbert is the type that fights with strategy more than with violence so there’s a lot of intelligence gathering and plotting.

Basically the premise is that Gilbert is being framed for a crime and everyone is trying to clear his name. Due to the nature of the crime, it affects all of the families and even Yang is willing to help out Gilbert through this ordeal. The whole story is really a build up to the big finale of the case and you get to see aspects of all the characters in a very different light.

I really like his endings. All of them fit the story and are beautifully done. One of the things I like most about Gilbert’s story is everyone sticks together and helps out.

Lan - She is one of the twins that is assigned as the MC’s guard when in company with the Laou-Shu. This girl is absolutely adorable and creates a lot of fun moments. As cute and sweet as she is, she is also very strong and will kill someone without a second thought.

Laou-Shu

Yang - He is by far my favorite of all the characters. Yang is highly intelligent and very skilled in combat. This is show cased by the fact that he is bored without intrigue or other shenanigans to provide him amusement. The MC in this route is one of the more interesting ones in my opinion. Her intelligence really shines through in this one because in order to survive Yang she has to think on her feet a lot.

One of the things I really liked about this route is there were more fun scenes in it. While Yang’s route is by far the most brutal and violent, there are points that are just good fun and provide some of that cute romantic mishap stuff we all kind of want in these games.

The Laou-Shu is a different type of mafia group from the others and this story is in opposition to the lore of the world. Pretty much everyone gets killed and there’s a lot of misfortune in Yang’s route. He is a violent person who grew up under less than ideal circumstances. The MC is gets involved in the goings on with the Laou-Shu and is brought to some pretty grisly things.

I’ve seen quite a few people compare Yang’s personality to that of Hisoka from the anime Hunter x Hunter and I agree that they have similarities. Both live for the moment and share the bloodlust from a good battle with a strong opponent. He is also a master manipulator and very good at twisting words to get exactly what he wants. His best and tragic endings are simply gorgeous, but his good ending isn’t as fun. It’s not a badly done ending, but I would have liked them both to die in it.

Fei - He is the other of the twins that guard the MC when in the company of the Laou-Shu. He’s very protective of his sister and is the calming force for her. Just like Lan, as adorable as he is he can and will kill someone without a second thought.

Marco Caldroni - He is the other detective that comes into the game and is more often than not trying to keep Roberto in check. Marco is more okay with letting the mafia deal with things than his partner is and tends to either stay out of the way or help in cases where civilians are in danger.

Police

Roberto De Feo - This guy grows on you as you play the game. At first I really didn’t like him and especially so after playing Nicola’s route, but they really should have given him an option. I’d rather have been able to play Roberto than Orlock. Roberto is a newer detective with the police force and has a very strong idea of what justice is. He does not like that the town is overrun with mafia and that the mafia controls everything. This guy tends to pop up and pick fights with some of the mafia members.

Others

??? - This is a hidden route that is only unlocked after you’ve played through all of the others. You learn a lot more about the lore of the world and the MC is pretty much on her own in this route. I found this route very boring and the person you romance in this is too haunted by the past for me to really enjoy them.

As much as I love a good redemption story or even a good tragedy, this route is so boring. I would much rather have this be a totally different character’s route. While I get this person’s story helps fill in the gaps from Gilbert’s route, this gentleman is one of those revenge is everything types and I’m just not onboard with him. The endings are a peaceful kind of harem ending for the best ending and I don’t mind that one too much. There is a romance ending and I just don’t care for this character enough.

I get wanting revenge, but I find the all consuming revenge to the point of self-destruction and destruction of everything you hold dear just stupid. That’s how this romance goes. Reminds me a lot of the Sasuke and Sakura stuff from the anime Naruto.

[smoochkooks]

—the (un)holy cock-up (m.)

⟶ pairing: park jimin/reader

⟶ genre: smut, angst 

⟶ word count: 14.5k

⟶ warnings: explicit sexual content, oral sex (m receiving), dirty talk, profanity, unnecessary amount of biblical puns, some critic on catholic church, this is a heavy read be aware

⟶ summary: there is a quite long list of circumstances, with student loan and rent on the very top of it, that led you to work in the sunday’s spirit editorial department, a newspaper overally known among fellow catholic community of busan, with park jimin as your boss.

when your small cock-up goes unnoticeably out of your hand, you find yourself in a situation painted in all shades of wrong.

or, alternatively: when it’s forbidden, it tastes bittersweet.

a/n: please, before you read this: take the warnings seriously. this is not a light read, it touches some heavy and quite controversial topics. tit also involves a scene where a person in charge exhibits inappropriate behavior towards their subordinate which I do not condone, however it’s all done with consent.

ps. im really proud of this work so give me some love please:(

Fingertips typing furiously on the keyboards, sights focused on the computers’ screens, brows furrowed, minds utterly concentrated and all of this accompanied by angelic voices of various religious songs playing in the background.

This is how a typical day at Sunday’s Spirit editorial department goes by.

The newspaper is a local source of information for the catholic community not only in the city of Busan, but in the whole country. Its history starts in 70s, when Park Min-Sung with his wife started publishing the very first version of the Sunday’s Spirit, selling copies in front of churches. Young activists definitely hadn’t anticipated such a big success, especially due to hard times of the military dictatorship in Korea, but two decades later they have become one of the most affluent families in Busan. The newspaper remains the Park’s legacy till these days, being owned by Min-Sung’s son, with the original founder’s grandson Jimin as an editor-in-chief.

Sometimes you ponder how did you end up in this kind of situation. Sitting at your desk with eyes glued to the screen, working for the catholic newspaper with Mary did you know and other holy songs playing from the Spotify’s Blessed Hits playlist.

First of all, you aren’t quite a Jesus stan yourself. Not a regular churchgoer, Bible reader or a person who lives according to God’s will with Ten Commandments written on your heart and soul.

Someone may wonder, what a young, aspiring journalist like you is doing here? Yes, that’s right.

Money is the reason.

The perspectives of wealthy life as a presenter in the national television or a host in the radio were just a mirage, because after receiving your master degree in journalism you realised that, unfortunately, a bright future was bright only in your unreal dreams.

The case was simple. You needed money. Your bank account was literally screaming at you to get your shit together and figure something out before you end up under the bridge. So you started searching for a job, looking over various offers on the Internet for two weeks straight. A waitress? Nah, too clumsy for that. Jewelry seller? Definitely not, since you are a happy owner of a few pairs of earrings from etsy-like online shop that certainly have nothing to do with real gold. You were almost convinced you’re destined to be a sexworker but then you stumbled upon an offer from the Sunday’s Spirit.

It was your chance. A God himself decided to take pity on you.

In that exact moment the genre of the newspaper wasn’t important. The vision of bankruptcy was enough for you to wear knee-length black skirt, white button-up shirt and a pair of high heels you’ve never worn before and go on a job interview with plastered smile on your face, looking delightful like you have just given birth to Jesus Christ in Bethlehem.

All the Hollywood actresses could be put into shame after your Oscar-winning performance you acted out on the interview in front of middle-aged woman in checked jacket that no one wears since 90s. Your enthusiasm and assurance you live good, catholic woman’s life, along with your master degree and motivational letter (you added a quote from The Letter to Philipians at the end of it to spice it up) was enough to be accepted for the position of Ask and you shall find column creator.

The job itself wasn’t complex or tough. The newspaper on its online site has a page where people can create an account and send asks to the author of the column who responds to them. You did something wrong and you aren’t sure it should be considered a sin? Having problems with regular praying on mornings and evenings? Write to us and we will solemnly help you with the God’s blessing, it says.

This is basically how it works. Each week, the said journalist chooses the most interesting questions and answers to make an article to the Sunday’s Spirit’s next publication. Of course, you can’t answer those questions the way you would like. You must do it according to the catholic laws and God’s plan (the True God’s plan, not Drake’s). A woman who interviewed you even gave you a notebook full of already made-up responses and a list of things you definetely mustn’t write if you still want to be employed.

To be completely frank, you don’t hate your job that much. You actually feel kind of nice, helping other people with their problems. You’ve been doing this for six months now and during this period of time you got used to some things.

A ‘Jesus, I trust you’ framed picture you swore your mother gave you on your 16th birthday standing on your desk. Holy beats blasting through the speakers until you leave the office at 5pm. A big-ass cross hanging right in front of the entrance to the editorial. Lee Chin-sun, the Weekly News column author, rushing to Park Jimin’s bureau every day at different hours in her pencil skirts and high heels knocking on the floor.

There’s only the Pentecost in the middle of the office that could actually surprise you.

“Looks like our Mary Magdalene is going to Jesus cave again,” mutters Kim Taehyung, the newspaper’s main photographer, friend from your desk and, actually, the only friend you have here. Very much gay and just like you, in desperate need for money. “It’s her third visit today. I wonder what it is this time. New prayer to Pope Francis she found?” he whispers and you chuckle at that quietly, looking around if anyone pays attention to your conversation, but everyone seems busy doing their own stuff. “Maybe she’s sucking his dick right now and we all think they are playing Who said it? Bible edition,” he adds in a hushed tone.

You start thinking about it for a while. Is that really possible for someone like Park Jimin, the editor-in-chief of the Sunday’s Spirit to have a sexual relationship with his coworker? The man who has a smaller version of Pietà in his office?

“I mean look at him. I would smash that ass too.”

You roll your eyes at Taehyung words, going back to your previous task but every time you try to concentrate, the face of your boss appears in front of your eyes uncontrollably.

Truth to be told, Park Jimin was a sight.

Blond hair, always perfectly styled and simply parted in the middle, revealing his forehead. Dark, sharp eyes that seem to pierce right through your soul and full, plump lips which could only be described as kissable.

He wears only high fashion brands, wandering through the office in Prada and Tom Ford suits that hugs his sculpted body just right. You think that as for a person who never misses Sunday’s mass, Park Jimin has also nice thighs. And a fine piece of ass, as Taehyung would describe it.

Newest Rolex that costs probably more than you will ever earn in your entire life on his wrist, Mercedes who just got brought out to the international market standing on his parking spot in front of the building, an apartment in the most luxurious area in Busan.

Park Jimin inhales God’s mercy and exhales money.

You spoke to him more explicitly only once, on your first day at work. He greeted you and wished good luck, saying that everything will be fine because you know, God’s good. Since that day, Park Jimin seems out of your reach. You contact him only through email, sending articles for him to check and approve, occasionally receiving some short message from him to improve this and that. He rarely leaves his office during working hours but when he does, it’s either for business meetings outside the editorial or for a lunch at nearby restaurant.

There’s also one, special occasion, every Friday, that’s a sacred time for all the employees. The clock hits 12am and so it begins. The angelic voices stop singing and everybody shifts on their sits.

“Oh, Holy Judas. I almost forgot about my favourite part of the week,” Taehyung sighs, standing up from his desk. And by that, he means-

“Friday’s Bible contemplation lunch break, everyone please gather up at the cafeteria.” Park Jimin’s sweet as honey voice says through the speakers.

You stand up from your chair with reluctance. Taking food with you, you go to the cafeteria, following Taehyung.

That’s actually the next thing you got used to while working at Sunday’s Spirit. Bible contemplation meetings are, as you found out from Taehyung, Jimin’s idea after he became an editor-in-chief almost one year ago. Every Friday all the workers sit together, eat their lunches and listen to Jimin as he reads a certain chapter from the book with true admiration written on their faces. After that, he usually asks some questions holding a discussion among the participants who, unlike you, happily takes part in.

The cafeteria looks rather normal, like any other lunchrooms you see in offices. Painted in bright yellow colors, with a few tables and a typical kitchen set in the back. Except for one thing.

A replica of Leonardo da Vinci’s The Last Supper hanging on the wall.

You decided a long time ago that you don’t want to know how much money it cost Jimin to have something like that here.

The newspaper’s workers, almost like the twelve Apostles, sit together by the tables. Lee Chin-sun at the very front, looking completely mesmerized by today’s Park Jimin’s appearance. He’s wearing navy blue suit that Taehyung swears it’s from Hugo Boss. The place next to Chin-sun is always occupied by tall, black-haired guy named Choi Eunwoo, main graphic designer, hopelessly in love with her since his first days at work. Behind them there’s a group from emendation department, with their leader Min Yoongi and other journalists. You always sit with Taehyung at the back, near the kitchen, not necessarily paying attention to what’s happening in the front.

Jimin, as on every Friday, walks to the small podium, designed to look like a pulpit in the church and opens the Bible. But one thing is odd: Jimin ain’t no priest or altar boy himself and he certainly dosen’t look like one, flipping through the pages of what you think it’s New Testament this time.

From your point of view, you could practically see how Chin-sun sighs with content expression on her face, lacing her fingers together on the lap and straightening her back. Eunwoo, on the other hand, shifts uncomfortably on his seat, sending Chin-sun quick glances full of unspoken longing she never acknowledges, to his dismay.

Then, Park Jimin clears his throat and the whole cafeteria goes quiet.

Truth to be told, you never really listen to what he’s reading. This time is no different. You just chew on your avocado sandwich, occasionally taking a sip of coffee. Your boss’ smooth voice reaches your ears faintly but you don’t pay attention to it, focusing on eating and Taehyung’s hushed rumbling instead.

“Look at our Mary Magdalene, she looks like she might burst a nut just by listening to CEO Jesus,” he says, making you peek at the girl.

Mary Magdalene is a nickname that Taehyung made up for Chin-sun when he started working at Sunday’s Spirit, mainly because of her attitude and relationship with Jimin. It’s rather platonic, at least for now. She looks at him with pure admiration on her face and she literally melts everytime he smiles at her. But Chin-sun’s ‘stalking’ isn’t unreasonable. Her father is a well-known philanthropist in Busan. He donates catholic charities, churches and, what’s the most interesting – he has some connections with Jimin’s father, the owner of Sunday’s Spirit.

And here’s the thing: Chin-sun’s hare and hounds definitely have some hidden reason. Maybe the whole marriage thing that has become a gossip in the office is true. Which makes poor Eunwoo’s situation even worse.

“Sometimes I wonder why has he fallen in love with her in first place,” you whisper, pointing at the graphic designer. “He knows he stands no chance against Jimin.”

“What can I say, you can’t help who you fall in love with.” Taehyung muses almost poetically, shrugging his shoulders.

You hum at that, placing your coffee cup on the table and looking around the cafeteria. It seems like Jimin has ended his reading session for today and now he invites everyone to join the discussion about the topic. He flashes Chin-sun a gentle smile and you could swear the girl is biting her lip.

On the corner of your eye you see Taehyung smirking.

“What?” you ask.

Taehyung takes a sip of his coffee lazily (it’s always caramel macchiato), peering at Jimin. “Oh, nothing. I was just wondering if our boss really wants to settle not only with Chin-sun, but anyone in general,” he says languidly.

You furrow your brows. “What makes you think that? I mean, look at him. He probably waits with sex till marriage.” you snort.

Taehyung chuckles at your words. “Ah, sweetheart, you really know nothing about Park Jimin.”

“What do you mean?”

He moves closer to you, leaning towards your ear. “What I mean,�� he whispers, “is that Park Jimin isn’t such a prude everyone thinks he is. At least he didn’t use to be.”

You raise your eyebrows at him with disbelief. “What? He’s secretly gay?” you mock.

Taehyung rolls his eyes. “I wish, but no, he isn’t,” he answers with a sigh. “Do you know Min Yoongi from emendation team?” he then asks, pointing at grey-haired man with feline eyes sitting behind Chin-sun.

You nodd your head. Min Yoongi is a hard to read guy. Always suspiciously silent, practically never leaves his office. Something makes you wonder how did Taehyung end up befriending him enough to casually gossip about the boss. You will ask him about this on another occasion.

“So here’s the thing,” Taehyung begins, lowering the volume of his voice. “He used to study at the same university in Seoul with Jimin. They even had been together in the fraternity. Yoongi-hyung told me some juicy details about our boss’ life back then.”

You frown at his words. “And you are telling me this now?!” you hiss.

“I found out literally two days ago!” Taehyung exclaims, maybe a little too loud, so you quickly place your index finger on your lips, shushing him.

“Fine. Continue.” you whisper, looking around to see if anyone pays attention to you.

“Well, Park Jimin used to be a trouble back then. A golden boy of his family in Busan, but a campus fuckboy and obnoxious heartbreaker in Seoul. He smoked cigarettes, drank enormous amounts of alcohol, got wasted on every weekend, missed classes and changed hair colors as often as his girlfriends. By the way, don’t you think he would slay pink hair?”

“Taehyung can you please–”

“Okay, okay. Enough thirsting over Jimesus. So, as you can see, there was no place for Sunday’s mass and Bible contemplation meetings in his life. And here’s the awaited plotwist. His parents somehow found out his son wasn’t living good catholic life on his studies and got extremely pissed off. They simply gave him an ultimatum: if he doesn’t stop his shenanigans, they will cut him off their money and they won’t make him Sunday’s Spirit heir.” Taehyung stops his rumbling for a while, letting you proceed all the bewildering informations about your dear boss he has just revealed.

Your eyes simply widen at the revelations.

Park Jimin, the man who organises Bible contemplation lunch breaks, a regular churchgoer, someone who you always thought has a cross tattooed on his back, was a playboy who slept with a half of the female community in the university?

Interesting.

“Rest of the story is simple. He changed his behavior, got a master degree in journalism and came back to Busan to work here. What is funny, his first position was the same as yours now,” Taehyung ends his story with a light chuckle. “Now you understand why it’s hard for me to believe he really thinks about getting married and having at least three kids.”

You look up at Park Jimin, who’s standing now in the centre of the cafeteria, with his arms crossed over his chest, nodding at one of the journalists words. His gaze is so intense and filled with such an authority that makes you understand why Chin-sun literally squirms when he looks at her that way.

It’s not hard for you to imagine him in much different surroundings.

Him, standing with a cup of beer in his hand in the middle of the crowd of drunken people at some frat party. There’s a leather jacket on his shoulders and he’s wearing tight-fitting pants that hugs his gorgeous thighs much better than his usual slacks he puts on every day before he sets off to work. He scans the room with a mishevious smirk dancing on his features, biting and licking his lips as he looks for his prey for tonight.

He then spots her, his pick for the night. He runs his fingers through his silky locks and approaches the girl, whispering dirty promises to her ear as he sways their bodies to the rhythm of loud music blasting through the speakers. Later that night he has her underneath him, begging him to touch her. He fucks her hard, leaving bruises all over her limp, exhausted body. There will be soreness between her thighs in the morning and a few violet love bites on her neck, a gentle reminder that all of this wasn’t just a dream.

But there’s no warm body next to her she could wake up to, no ‘good morning, baby’ or a second round of love making between the sheets. Because Park Jimin isn’t like that. He waited until her breath slowed down and eyelids fluttered shut, drifting her off to sleep. He left in the middle of the night, a cigarette caught between his swollen from kisses lips. He fumed the poison and smiled to himself, wondering what his parents would think when they found out. A golden boy of his family, future heir of the Park’s legacy, coming back from one of his sexcapeds with girl which name he didn’t even remember.

The Lord himself must have already cursed him and he’s currently planning the punishments for him in depths of Hell. But does Park Jimin look like he really care?

You stare blankly ahead, imagining those scenes in your head. You can’t help but squeeze your thighs because God, yes, Park Jimin is hot, even if he reads Breviary before he goes to sleep. What a shame he has changed. 

A smooth like honey voice pulls you out from your airy-fairy slumber.

“Miss Y/N?”

You jolt in panic after hearing your name, glancing around and praying that wasn’t the person you think it was. But this silky, melodious voice you would recognize everywhere.

God hates you though, he knows what kind of scandalous things you were daydreaming about and now it’s his time to punish you.

Looking up, your gaze settles on no one other than Park Jimin, who stares at you with his left eyebrow raised, pursing his lips. He extinguishes the aura of pure dominance around him and you involuntarily blush, squirming under his intense glare. You’re royally screwed.

You clear your throat, trying to calm down rapidly beating heart. Without success.

“Yes, sir?” you manage to answer innocently. Certainly not like you weren’t thinking about being fucked by him minutes ago. You don’t even have time to be surprised he remembers your name.

Park Jimin looks unamazed by your sweet tone; he almost seems bored, but definitely irritated. “I asked you a question and I’m waiting for your response.” he says lowly.

Fuckfuckfuck. God have mercy on you. What was the question? Shit, you don’t even know what fragment he had read before.

In act of complete desperation you elbow Taehyung for help but this little shit pretends he has no idea what’s going on, looking at The Last Supper with sudden interest.

You are purely, loyally, utterly fucked.

You adopt the most charming smile you could muster, knowing that it will have zero affect on Park Jimin and ask, “Could you repeat the question one more time, sir? I’m afraid I didn’t hear you correctly.” Jesus, when has your voice become so high-pitched?

A cruel smirks forms on Park Jimin’s lips. He shakes his head, tsking. Taehyung mutters something under his breath that sounds dangerously close to “It was nice meeting you, sweetheart.” You gulp, waiting for your sentence and hoping Pontius Pilate will be gracious to you.

“My, my,” Jimin muses. It makes you feel like a little girl being scolded by the teacher due to her outrageous behavior. You bite your lip so hard you might draw blood, waiting for your boss’ next words. “Of course you didn’t hear my question, because you weren’t paying attention to our discussion.”

In the corner of your eye you see Chin-sun shaking her head with detestation. What a bitch, you think to yourself.

You take a deep breath then, nails digging crescent moons on the skin of your palms. You don’t like being in the spotlight, you never did, but now you have no choice but face the consequences. “My deepest apologies, sir. The behavior I exhibited was highly inappropriate,” you say, bowing your head. Jimin eyes your figure from head to toe and you might actually feel his burning gaze on your skin. Your cheeks flush in crimson even more.

The editor-in-chief seems to deliberate with himself for a while, turning his head slightly to the side, not breaking the eye contact with you. Finally, after a moment that seems to last an hour, he speaks.

“I think you need a lesson that will teach you to pay attention to our weekly discussions, miss Y/N. That’s why I want you to write a 4000 words long paper about the role of Mary Magdalene in Jesus Christ’s life which we had discussed today but you, unfortunately, didn’t acknowledge it.”

You freeze. Like a scene in the movie, everything stops. The embarassement you felt earlier is quickly replaced by pure anger and irritation. He wants you to write a fucking paper? What is this? University lectures?

Never before in your entire life have you felt so humiliated. All eyes are on you; you could practically sense how they are trying not to laugh out loud. Eunwoo and Taehyung look at you with apologetic faces while Chin-sun smirks, whispering something to Jimin’s ear.

“I apologize once again, sir,” you grit through your teeth with a forced smile. Jimin nods then, not even bothering to look at you again. You’re dismissed, that’s what his behavior is saying.

“Our meeting is over, you can go back to your work.” Jimin announces and walks away from the cafeteria with Chin-sun by his side.

You wait for everyone to leave and the you let out a groan of annoyance, burring your head in your hands.

“Hey, it could have been worse. He didn’t fire you after all.” Taehyung laughs but he quickly shuts up as soon as he sees your glare. You stand up from your chair with a scowl written all over your face, and storm out of the lunchroom.

And may the God help you.

Later that unfortunate day, you sit by your desk again, scrolling through the Ask and you shall find page absentmindedly and waiting for the new asks to come. Everyone has returned to their work like nothing has happened but it doesn’t stop you from feeling all those eyes constantly on your back. Maybe you weren’t fired but the humiliation and embarrassment of being told off by your boss publicly makes you want to disappear and never show up at the editorial again.

“Y/N,” Taehyung’s deep voice pulls you out of your thoughts. You look up at him and find the man smiling at you lightly. He’s wearing a long, camel coat and a big scarf around his neck with ridiculous patterns that reminds you of Persian diwans. He places his black camera bag on the desk, which means he’s leaving the office. “I’m free of office work for today so I just wanted to say goodbye.” he explains and you just nod.

“Bye, Taehyung. See you on Monday.” you say maybe a little bit to wryly and he feels that, letting out a long sigh.

Taehyung seems to deliberate with himself for a moment before he decides to speak again. He clears his throat audibly. “And I, uhm, I’m sorry. It’s my fault that you are in this situation. I started this conversation and I should be the one writing this stupid paper for Mister Prude.”

You can’t help but chuckle at the new nickname Taehyung gave Jimin. The anger you felt before drifts away from you slowly, and you smile at your friend apologetically. “Oh, God, Tae. I’m such a bitch sometimes, sorry,” you blurt out.”I’m not mad at you, I’m mad at him. Besides, maybe that’s good I’ve got homework. I don’t remember when was the last time I wrote some-”

Your words are interrupted by a loud laugh that resonates through the office. You look in the direction of the voice just to see Chin-sun with her manicured hand on Jimin’s chest, throwing her head back from the laughter, too dramatically for your taste. She seems to have changed her clothes, a black pencil skirt long forgotten and replaced by a red, bodycon dress. Her dark hair is also styled differently, curled and loose. She looks beautiful, matching Jimin’s appearance perfectly.

“Where are they going?” Taehyung whispers to you, furrowing his brows. You shrug your shoulders, tearing your eyes of Chin-sun and Jimin. “Maybe our Mary Magdalene’s plan to win Jesus’ heart is working. Poor Eunwoo,” he sighs, looking at his watch to check the time. “Anyway, I gotta go. I have to drive all the way to some shithole near the city to take photos of an old lady who swears she saw saint Francis or other dude with halo speaking to her,” he grumbles and you giggle at his words. “Good luck with your paper, sweetheart.” he leans and places a small peck on your cheek.

“Bye, Tae.” you say, watching him leave the office right after Jimin and Chin-sun.

You let out a long, tired sigh, counting the time to leave the office and finally be back home, with a bottle of red wine and new season of Game of Thrones that are waiting for you to watch the whole week. Then, when you’re about to stand up and make yourself another coffee, a new ask pops up in your inbox with the title ‘Sex S.O.S’.

You raise your eyebrows because honestly, what kind of title is this? Curiosity wins the battle with a hot cup of an americano and you click the show more button. You put on your prescription glasses and start reading.

Dear Sunday’s Spirit editorial,

My name is Kang Seoyeon. I study medicine at the University of Seoul, I’ve got an amazing group of friends and a loving boyfriend. And here’s where the actual problem begins. I’m from the catholic family with long traditions, and as you can guess, he isn’t.

We’ve been together for almost 2 years now and since my parents don’t want me to live with him before the marriage, there’s also no sexual life between us. I was actually surprised they agreed I can date a non-religious person in first place, so the rules weren’t that horrible at the beginning.

My boyfriend always seemed to be understanding about the fact that I’m catholic and he has never had issues against it because I stated this on the start of our relationship, but lately… he’s been distant. We meet up less often and I feel like simple kissing after 2 years isn’t enough for him. I even thought about initiating something that wouldn’t necessarily involve the real intercourse but I’m too inexperienced and shy for that. We are slowly drifting apart.

I don’t know what to do. I love him so much and I don’t want to lose him just because of some stupid rules I need to follow. I’m scared he will leave me for some other beautiful girl who wouldn’t have anything against sleeping with him, especially after considering the fact that he isn’t virgin unlike me and he experienced this kind of pleasure before.

I hope you will help me.

Yours faithfully,

Kang Seoyeon.

You blink once, twice. Read the message again and then, something snaps in you.

To Hell with these stupid, old-fashioned rules straight from the Middle Ages. To Hell with celibacy till marriage, masturbation prohibition and living according to God’s will. To Hell with Park Jimin and his ridiculous moral code (and his Bible contemplation lunchbreaks).

Unofficial eleventh commandment: If a girl wants a dick, she deserves to have it.

And that’s exactly what your response to the girl is in a nutshell.

Your blood boils in your veins with anger as you’re typing furiously on the keyboard, not even bothering to check if your sudden outburst makes any sense.

Dear Seoyeon,

It’s Y/N here, the journalist who you wrote this message to.

I don’t know what kind of response are you expecting from me but honestly? If you think I’m going to recommend you some praying to Saint Rita then you’re wrong. I’m done with this shit.

Let me make this straight: if you want to fuck your boyfriend, do it. Maybe God wouldn’t approve that but don’t worry, he won’t send you to hell because of some dick in your pussy.

They are plenty of worse things in this world than having sex with the person you love. Look at me. I’m literally writing to catholic newspaper while using words like ‘God’ and ‘Fuck’ in the same sentence. And that’s not even a small piece of what I’ve done in my life.

So you go girl, suck your boyfriend off. Make him beg. He will never leave you after this. You have my blessings and Jesus is giving you metaphysical thumbs up from above. Sex is amazing thing and you don’t have to wait for it until you say ‘yes’ in front of some guy in black cassock. Just go with the flow.

 May the God help you!

Love, Y/N.

P.S. Watch out that guy. He seems suspicious. If he’s been really sex deprived for two years he will die after you give him a head.

Sent.

You exhale loudly, staring at the screen. You did that. Six months into working in Sunday’s Spirit and the time when you lost your temper has finally come. You should probably feel ashamed or have some type of conscience pangs but actually you aren’t even near this state.

Grinning to yourself, you delete the message you had sent to the girl from your inbox and check the time. It’s almost 5pm and it looks like you haven’t even realised you’re the only person at the office right now. Since it’s Friday and Jimin has already left, seems like everyone has decided to set off earlier too.

You turn off your computer, packing your things to the bag. Wrapping a scarf around your neck tightly, you leave the building, welcoming the coolness of the early Spring evening in Busan.

When you’re about to cross the street, your phone buzzes in the pocket of your coat. You stop for a moment, smiling to yourself when you read the message.

[04:23pm] from Tae: hey

[04:23pm] from Tae: i know you are probably planning an evening with mary magdalene n jesus but

[04:23pm] from Tae: wouldnt u want to go for drinks with me tonight?

[04:23pm] from Tae: same place as usual

[04:24pm] from Tae: as a wise man once said: nothing helps better for the writer’s block than vodka

[04:24pm] from Tae: so what do u say?

You don’t need to think twice when you quickly type a response. Game of Thrones and wine can wait till another time.

[04:26pm] from me: how could i say no to kim taehyung and vodka?

[04:26pm] from me: see u there

Kim’s is a place like no one other in Busan.

You wouldn’t even know about its existence if it wasn’t Taehyung who took you there first when you started working at Sunday’s Spirit, solemnly promising free drinks. Who would you be if you didn’t agree to that?

When you arrived at the bar, it eventually turned out the alcohol was costless hence it’s his family business since over thirty years and his brother Namjoon is a bartender, not because Taehyung willingly decided to pay for you.

Kim’s is located in rather industrial part of the city, sandwiched between factories and huge housing estates, not looking really inviting at first glance, but the place has its own, unique charm. There are some stories, shrouding the building’s history in mystery. Some people say it used to be headquarters of the most dangerous mafia in Busan, some even believe it served as the secret arsenal during the Korean War.

But what’s definitely true, it’s the fact that Taehyung’s parents bought this place in swinging times of 80s for a small amount of money and turned the place into disco bar which had become a must-go spot for young people in Busan.

Kim’s on the outside, with its large red neon sign hanging above the entrance, looks more like a night club than a bar, but on the inside the magic of kitschy 80s still remains the same (Taehyung swears retro is in fashion these days and that’s why he didn’t let his parents redecorate when they wanted to).

You always feel like you’re traveling back in time when you visist Kim’s.

The place is quite big, with a large dancefloor in the middle and red leather sofas strewn around the place along with the tables. Walls are made of brick and colorful, vibrant neon lights are shimmering on them. Oh, not to mention the huge disco ball on the ceiling. Everything accompanied with the quality music provided by Namjoon.

There are few billiard and foosball tables in the corner of the bar, always occupied by the same group of middle-aged men on weekdays and university students on weekends. But the thing that attract attention of the customers the most, is the bar with Namjoon behind it.

When you enter the place, you spot Taehyung and his blond mop of hair immediately. He sits on one of the bar stools, talking to his older brother. He’s wearing beige pants and floral button-up shirt that seems to match colors with his pinkish-looking drink he holds. You notice a new pair of sapphire earrings and a huge ring from the same collection on his forefinger. Classy, as always.

Taehyung grins broadly when he sees you. He puts his drink on the counter and stands up to greet you. His breath smells like strawberries and vodka when he leans to place his usual, small peck on your cheek. “Hi, sweetheart,” he says with his signature smirk plastered on his face, scanning your figure. “You look gorgeous. Last time you did this kind of make-up you wanted to get laid.”

You rolls your eyes at his words, sitting on a stool next to him. “Hi, Taehyung. Thank you for appreciating my efforts to look like a decent human being but no, I’m not planning on getting laid tonight.” you answer, waving to Namjoon who makes drinks for a group of girls a few meters from you. He smiles bashfully at you, showing his dimples.

“I’m not saying you want a fuck, calm down. I just assumed since it’s not everyday that you put eyeliner on,” Taehyung explains himself. “So let me do that again,” He takes a deep breath, placing a hand on his chest in a dramatic manner. “Y/N, you look absolutely breathtaking. I could stare at you for hours and I wouldn’t mind that even a bit. My homosexuality is at risk right now.”

You ignore his exeggarated outburst, rolling your eyes. “I’m not using eyeliner everyday because there’s something called dresscode in our work, you know?” you say. “Besides, my mum says you should look good on every occasion because you don’t know when you will meet the love of your life.”

Taehyung puts a hand on his heart and sighs with relief. “Thank God I always look good.”

You chuckle and then your eyes wander for a moment to Namjoon, who seems busy listening to whatever the pink-haired girl is telling him with polite smile on his face.

“Here,” Taehyung nudges your side, bringing your attention back to him. He hands you the same pinkish drink as he was drinking when you arrived. “Hyung told me it’s their new specialty or something. It’s called Flamingo’s Beach,” he says and you take the glass in your hand. “I have no idea what Namjoonie-hyung put here but as long as it looks good, it’s good. Cheers!” Taehyung sips his one and watches you with raised eyebrows as you’re taking a generous gulp of the drink. “And…?” he asks.

You lick your lips, humming to yourself. “Not bad. Tastes like strawberries.”

Taehyung opens his mouth to say something but he gets interrupted by his brother. “Y/N, hi. How are you?” Namjoon approaches you with two beer mugs in his hands.

His hair is back to his natural brown color now, purple strands long forgotten since the last time you saw him. It looks like he’s been working out lately, his posture more bulky and it makes his black shirt stick to his body tightly. Namjoon’s good-looking, you always knew that, but he seems to be even more handsome now.

“Hey, I’ve been good, thank you,” you greet him with maybe too much enthusiasm for your liking. You always had a weak spot for him. “How’s the bar going?” you ask.

“Busy, as you can see,” he replies, chuckling to himself. “I would love to talk to you more but I have some work to do in back room, so…” Namjoon trails off sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head with his hand.

“Oh, it’s okay. We can catch up another time.” You smile at him and you could swear his cheeks flushed.

“I’ll be going. See you.” Namjoon stammers out, not even waiting for your response before he disappears from your sight.

The pregnant silence sets in between you and Taehyung, something heavy hangs in the air and you feel it, tapping your fingers on the counter to the rhythm of one of the ABBA songs, waiting impatiently.

Taehyung looks like he’s debating with himself in his head. You narrow your eyes. He’s adopted a face you know pretty well, too well even. He looks everywhere but keep avoiding your gaze. He wants to ask you something, you’re sure of it, but he doesn’t know how.

Finally, after a moment of awkward quietness, Taehyung finally opens his mouth. “So, here’s the thing,” he starts and you wait for the bomb to drop.

Last time when he approached you like that, he asked you if you would be down for a threesome with him and some guy he met on Tinder. Your eyes almost popped out of your head when you heard his blunt proposition. You were eating lunch at cafeteria and the words casually slipped from between his lips as he chewed on his egg sandwich, like he didn’t just propose you having sex with him and instead asked for a lift to home after work.

Taehyung begged you for a whole week, pleading and convincing it’ll be fun. When you eventually agreed (sex draught make people do stupid things), the other guy didn’t show up. You ended up drinking tequila shots with Taehyung that night in his apartment, and you can’t quite recall how it happened, but somehow you found yourself unzipping your friend’s pants and the rest is history. He passed out right after he came. Now when you think about it, you feel a sudden urge to ask him if he remembers that.

You will do it next time, you promise yourself.

Taehyung though doesn’t ask you about having a threesome or robbing Park Jimin’s house this time. His intentions are pretty much different.

“See, Namjoon split up with his girlfriend few weeks ago,” he says and you prick your ears. “He’s not in good condition right now, as you can see. It was a nasty break up, he found out she’s been cheating on him,” He lets out a long sigh. You bite your lip, imagining Namjoon’s disappointed face when he discovered the truth. What a bitch cheats on someone like him? “So, I thought maybe you could… cheer him up a little bit?” Taehyung ends hesitantly, with a glint of hope in his eyes.

You frown. Cheer him up? Did he just imply what you think about?

“Look, I get it, he’s sad and angry, but what the fuck, Taehyung? What do you want me to do? Do you want me to be his rebound? Make him forget?” you exclaim. Taehyung quickly shakes his head but you don’t let him say anything. “I feel sorry for Namjoon but I’m not going to take advantage of him when he’s literally still hurt.”

“No, it’s not like that!” Taehyung rushes to explain. “Well, maybe it sounded like that but I swear, I didn’t mean that!”

“Then what should I do? Wipe his tears? Tell him a joke? Or maybe-”

“Of course he wants you to suck his brother’s heartbroken dick, doll.”

A sudden, low voice interrupts your conversation. Your eyes follow the direction when it comes from, looking to Taehyung’s left where not even a meter away a very familiar grey-haired man with feline eyes sits.

“Min Yoongi,” you say matter-of-factly.

The leader of emendation team from Sunday’s Spirit editorial raises his hand in which he holds whiskey, greeting you and Taehyung. “Hello, doll. Hello, Taehyung,” he says, not even bothering to look at you.

You elbow Taehyung searching for explanation but he shrugs his shoulders, turning to face the man as well.

“First of all, since when do you call me ‘doll’? We have never spoken a word to each other. Secondly, how long have you been sitting here and listening?” you ask Yoongi.

He snorts, smirking. “Long enough to know how Taehyung comforts his brother after break up.” he simply answers and Taehyung’s cheeks blush in crimson at his words.

“You come here often? I’ve never seen you here before,” you continue, crossing your arms over chest.

Next to you Taehyung lets out a sigh. “Yes, he does. Albeit I haven’t seen him for a while here,” You look at him in confusion. “Yoongi-hyung is Namjoonie-hyung close friend from university days.” he clarifies.

You raise your eyebrows at that. “So Namjoon went to the same school as Park Jimin?”

“Not the same. We met under different circumstances.” Yoongi cuts in.

“They’ve been together in underground rap group, or some shit. Didn’t like each other at first but eventually stuck together till the end of studies.” Taehyung ends and grey-haired man nods.

You can’t help but chuckle at that.

“What’s funny in that?” Yoongi scowls.

“Nothing. I just imagined you and Namjoon in snapbacks, rapping about the unfairness of social hierarchy,” you say, grinning at him.

“Well, you may believe me or not, but we even made a mixtape.” Yoongi reveals proudly, taking a sip of his whiskey.

Your eyes widen in curiosity. “Then what happened? Why aren’t you in Seoul now, still producing music? Why do you work in this stupid newspaper and Namjoon’s a bartender?” you ask interrogatively.

“Life happened, doll. We didn’t have enough money to publish our works so we decided to quit it.”

“Oh,” you breathe out.

You could see the nostalgia written across Yoongi’s face. You feel sorry for him, for Namjoon. Everything is always about the money. That’s why you’re working in Sunday’s Spirit even though it was never your dream in first place. Even though you have much higher ambitions than being Ask and you shall find column author.

Ever since you were little, you loved writing. You never complained, not even once, when your teachers in school assigned you to write something. They kept saying you have an extraordinary talent and it would be a shame if you didn’t do anything with that.

During your high school years, you were the leader of school newspaper’s team, still writing your own works every time you didn’t have something different to do. After that, you got to the university in Seoul, your another dream came true. You got a master degree, an apprenticeship in the Korean version of highly popular, world-widely known magazine. And then, nothing. No job applications available. No newspapers or publishing companies wanting you, dismissing you right away because they didn’t have any vacant places.

This is how Sunday’s Spirit, even if that’s not your dream job, happened. And quite literally saved your ass.

“I’m sorry.” you say after a while.

Yoongi smiles but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Don’t be. What’s in past, stays in past.” he ends the conversation, drinking the rest of his whiskey.

You find this as a perfect possibility to do what you’ve come here for: get wasted, forget about this prick Park Jimin and his stupid assignment. You turn around on your stool to face the bar again, calling for the red-haired bartender named Hoseok who’s substituting Namjoon right now. You order a round of tequilla shots and quickly pours two of them in one go.

“Easy, tiger,” Taehyung teases, still sipping his pink drink as you wipe your chin with the back of your hand. Taehyung has stated a long time ago that he enjoys only casual drinking, which makes you and you lightweightness snort at him.

“Loser,” you mumble under your breath, deep down knowing you’re oh so much going to regret this after.

You focus your attention on the dancefloor now; technicolor lights glittering as the crowd of sweaty people bounce to old Madonna hits. You feel like your spirit might actually experience new kind of awakening during the chorus in Like a Virgin. You mouth the lyrics, the vodka already half-way to your bopping head. Your drunken self almost asks Taehyung and Yoongi if they would agree to be your backup dancers.

You eyes scan the room carefully and then, you spot him. He’s sitting in the corner, his arms splayed over the backrest of the red couch. A devil himself. A black horseman of the Apocalypse. A man who looks like every girl’s next mistake. Taylor Swift’s ‘we are never ever getting back together’.

A true sin.

Jet-black hair parted in the middle, onyx eyes and lucious smirk written across his lips as he bites them purposefully. He’s wearing a leather jacket and you wonder for a while if you would find inked tattoos on his body. He cocks his head to the side, his eyes glued to the same spot as he waits for something, or rather someone.

“Who’s that?” you ask, not even hiding your curiosity at this point.

Taehyung turns around as well, his eyes glancing to the dark-haired man briefly. “Ah, this, sweetheart, is Jeon Jungkook, Park Jimin’s best friend.” he says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

You raise your eyebrows, watching as Jungkook’s face expression immediately changes when waitress approaches him. He says something to her that makes her roll her eyes. She tightens her grip around the tray she’s holding, asking him for his order.

“Don’t worry. You are not the only one thirsting over him. I would let him top me too,” Taehyung whispers to your ear and you flinch.

“I’m not thirsting over him! I came her for drinks, not to get laid, I told you.”

“Okay, okay, loosen up a little. Tequilla makes you aggressive. Besides, it looks like he’s got his pick for tonight.”

Jungkook stretches out his hand and fixes the waitress’ glasses that seem to rode down her nose a little. The girl frozes in place because of his action and he grins, calling her cute.

“He’s trying to ask her out for two months,” Yoongi interrupts suddenly, again. It looks like he has nothing better to do tonight. “I’m serious. He’s here every Friday. Normally, he would have given up after the second time she had rejected him but there’s might be something in this girl that makes his dick hard and his heart soft.”

Jungkook’s eyes girl’s body as she bends to pick up the glasses from other tables and maybe that’s the alcohol swimming in your veins but you could swear his face lights up when she sends him another irritated glare when he calls her name.

“Does Park Jimin comes here often as well?” you ask before you could stop yourself.

Both Taehyung and Yoongi shake their heads.

“I don’t think so. Jeon comes here because he lives nearby in this huge ass apartment complex. His father runs a chemical factory and he works there.” Taehyung explains.

Jeon? Chemical factory? Something clicks in your brain. Right, you know who his father is. The King of Washing Powder. Another rich as fuck Busan’s snob.

“God, I hate him. I fucking hate him. What a prick. Douchebag. Asshole of the century,” The string of profanities leaves poor waitress’ mouth as she walks to the counter with tray in her hands. “How’s your day, love? You look beautiful today, love. Fucking leave me alone, love!” she mutters to herself, taking the beer mugs from Hoseok abruptly which makes the bartender raise his eyebrows in confusion.

“How’s your assignment about Mary Magdalene going on, doll?” Yoongi asks then, startling you.

You roll your eyes at him. “I literally got it today, Yoongi. I haven’t started yet.” you answer, gulping another shot.

On the corner of your eye you see Yoongi’s smirking. “I’m surprised, to be honest. You aren’t the only one who doesn’t pay attention to shit Jimin’s says,” he trails off. “I work for him from the moment he started this ridiculous Bible lunch breaks and I swear, he’s never called out someone like that before.”

“What do you mean he’s never called out someone before?” Taehyung joins in curiously.

“Look, I slept through the majority of these sessions and Jimin knows it, but he has never lecture me about it,” Yoongi remarks. “Maybe you’re an exception. Or he’s become more strict because of this bitch Chin-sun.”

You furrow your eyebrows, confused. You know Chin-sun has been making heart eyes for Jimin for a long time but what why it might have an influence on his behavior?

“Lee Chin-sun? What the office’s Mary Magdalene has to do with that? Besides the fact that she’s drooling for his dick every time she sees him,” Taehyung snorts.

Yoongi chuckles lowly. “Oh, so you two really know nothing about what’s going on between them right now,”

“What’s going on right now? Spill.” Taehyung says abruptly. You sigh when you see the way his eyes flicker with mischeviousness. One thing Taehyung loves more than photography and fashion is gossiping (and dicks).

“First of all, Chin-sun is a fucking bigot. And well… she might be closer to being miss Park than we thought.” Yoongi muses.

Taehyung eyebrows practically disappear in his hairline. You’re sure you mirror his expression right now.

Yoongi asks Hoseok for another glass of whiskey and continues. “My friend Seokjin’s wife is Jimin’s personal assistant and secretary. She heard this and that, quite juicy things I must say,” he says in a lower tone, like he’s revealing government secrets to them. You lean closer into his direction along with Taehyung. “Chin-sun’s father recently bought the claims to the most popular, conservative TV station in whole South Korea. But, what is more interesting, it looks like Park senior has some shares in it as well.”

You’re astonished. You knew there’s something looming in the air but you didn’t expect this. A TV station? Even your slightly drunken brain can calculate it’s very interesting.

“So the marriage between Chin-sun and Jimin would be pretty convenient for their families, especially after considering the fact that Jimin is the heir.” Yoongi adds, gulping the first sip of his new whiskey.

“Poor Eunwoo,” you whisper to yourself.

“But why so soon? Why do they want to legalize their relationship so suddenly?” Taehyung asks.

Yoongi lets out a heavy sigh. “There’s a rumour going around that Jimin’s father isn’t in good condition right now. Seokjin-hyung mentioned something about the heart disease. So, if that’s really true, you have the answer why he wants his eldest son to settle down already. Everything’s about the money, I told you.”

Taehyung whistles. “Woah, so Mary Magdalene is really about to be CEO Jesus’ wife soon!” he exclaims, clapping his hands. “Brilliant. Finally something spicy is happening in this boring editorial.”

“I wouldn’t be so enthusiastic if I were you, Taehyung. This kind of business never ends well,” Yoongi says coldly, placing his glass on the counter and standing up from the stool. He glances at his watch and throws a few bills next to his empty glass. “I’ll get going. It was nice talking to you, doll.”

“What about me?”

“Shut up, Taehyung, you’re not pretty lady.”

“I feel offended.”

“And I don’t care,” Yoongi mutters. Maybe that was alcohol swimming in her veins but you saw Taehyung lifting the corners of his lips in amusement. Weird. “Good luck on your assignment, doll. See you all on Monday.” Yoongi glances to your way one last time, adjusting his jacket.

“Bye, Yoongi.” you wave to him and a small, even sincere smile appears on his face when he as well raises his hand lazily and leaves. “Why didn’t you tell me he’s actually nice, Tae? I was always too scared to start a conversation with him because I felt intimidated.” you say after a while.

“I’m sorry, should have I set you up for a date with him?” Taehyung mocks.

A groan escapes your lips. “Could you please stop insinuating things?”

“You need to get laid, seriously. Like soon-soon. You get easily irritated recently. You need a d i c k,”

“I don’t need a dick!”

“A cock, Y/N,” Taehyung emphasizes. “A penis in your precious vagina.”

“Shut up!”

Several shots and a few drunken dances to Cindi Lauper and Bon Jovi, you’re pretty much wasted. And maybe, just maybe, you need a dick. And Taehyung, like a dipshit he always is, thinks that’s actually funny.

“Don’t wanna homff,” you slur, supporting your weight on Taehyung’s arm that shakes with laughter at your drunken antics, as well as his whole body. “I wanna danfce witfh somebodyyy,”

“Holy Mother of Jesus, you must be really drunk if you started referring to Whitney Houston’s songs. And you smell like booze,” Taehyung mutters under his breath and you whine, tugging on his arm.

“TaeTae, Taehyungie, pffleasee, can we go back?”

Taehyung ignores your grumbling completely. He exists the bar, walking (or rather dragging) you to the cab. As he tries to push your body to the car, he sees in the corner of his eye Jeon Jungkook, standing in front of his black SUV. The waitress from earlier accompanies him as well. It looks like he’s trying to convince her to let him give her a lift to home. The girl shakes her head at first but eventually gives up, stepping into the car. Jungkook grins to himself then, clenching his fists in gesture of pure triumph.

“I fuckin’ hate Park Jimin and his stfupid newspaper,” you mutter incoherently as you bury your head in the crook of Taehyung’s neck in the back of the cab. Old, korean songs are playing in the radio when you’re driving back home. Taehyung smiles to himself, hearing your light snores. But then, he falters.

Ah, yes, he almost forgot. It is going to be a long way to the third floor of your apartment building.

Next day, you wake up in the middle of noon with raging headache and an abrupt need to throw everything up. Frankly speaking, you had worse hangovers during you university days but it doesn’t change the fact that the state you’re currently in still sucks.

“Oh, good God, what have I thought?” you mutter to yourself while standing in the shower, letting the water cool you down.

Truth to be told, a drinking escapade when you have a whole ass paper to write in two days wasn’t the smartest idea you could come up with. You know that for sure, when you’re sitting down in front of your laptop with prescription glasses on your face and a cup of tea in your hand.

There’s a blank document opened on the screen, with only your name written in the corner and the title in the middle. You feel pathetic and useless, staring at it for 30 minutes straight. If you keep sitting like this, you might actually call Park Jimin right now and beg him not to fire you due to your incompetence.

“Get your shit together, Y/N.” you say to yourself, clenching your fists.

At first you fought about making some mind-map, outlining the most important parts of your essay, as you always used to do when you were studying. But there’s a huge difference between what you’re working on right now and what you usually did during academic days. Above all, at that time you were writing about things you had more knowledge about, not about Mary Magdalene and her role in Jesus Christ’s life.

“Ah, fuck it.”

You open an online Bible page and quickly type ‘Mary Magdalene’ in browser. All fragments when she’s mentioned shows up in front of your eyes. You fix your glasses and before you could stop yourself, you whisper, “Let’s get it.”

You don’t know how much time has passed since you started reading, but when you glance a the clock it’s nearly 7pm.

You went through every single page in the Bible when Mary Magdalene appears or when for some reason her name comes up in conversations. You read two thesis in which you found quite interesting facts about the heroine of your work. Also, you watched some conspiracy theories on YouTube about her, in which people claim that she was actually Jesus’ wife. You were bewildered, even in your post-hangover state.

And after all of this researching, you have settled a plan. You’re a journalist for God’s sake, you’ve been writing your entire life and none assignment will break you. So you start typing on the keyboard, filling the blank document pages with words, hoping that Park Jimin will approve your efforts.

On Sunday, you look like a ghost.

You’re a mess, cured from hangover but still in bad shape, especially after spending the whole night writing in front of your laptop. There are bangs under your eyes and you hair looks like you could cosplay a scarecrow. Your eyes are sore from staring to the screen for so long and you feel like you might collapse anytime if you won’t drink coffee in five minutes.

In between writing next paragraphs, you answer a call from Taehyung.

“How’s your assignment going, sweetheart?”

You let out a long, exhausted sigh. “It’s fine, I guess.” you respond to him.

“That’s lovely! I knew you would slay this, babe,” you hear him saying.

“I’m not done yet, Tae. I still have like a half to write,” you mumble and then let out a yawn, closing your eyes for a brief second before you speak again. “I would love to talk to you more but I really need to get this shit done as soon as I can, so I could have some decent sleep before Monday. I don’t want to look like an old witch when I hand in the paper to Park Jimin.”

“I know, I know. You got this, sweetheart. I’m sure you will make Mister Prude’s dick hard because of this.” Taehyung assures you.

You crack a tired smile even though you know he doesn’t see you. “Thank you, Tae.”

“Anything for you, sweetheart.” he says and hangs up.

You take another gulp of your coffee and start writing again.

It’s a little past midnight when you’re, with your last amounts of force you posses, typing the last words of the paper. As you look at your laptop screen, eyelids half-closed, you dream about nothing but going to sleep.

You did that. You really did. You wrote this stupid paper for Park Jimin and you’re actually proud of it. You carefully save the document three times (to be hundred percent sure) and as soon as you close your laptop, you pass out.

Little did you know what is waiting for you in editorial in a few hours.

You stare at your reflection in small mirror you hold, thanking God that he has enlightened the person who discovered make-up. You won’t say you look stunning but, after five hours of sleep you had in last two days, you would risk it all and say you appear much more than decent looking. You’re wearing your new black jumpsuit that makes your legs look longer and you even used a different shade of lipstick, painting your lips in crimson red.

And all of this for nothing, because when you stormed into the Sunday’s Spirit editorial to give the paper straight to Park Jimin’s hands, his secretary with polite smile said he’s coming to work later today.

You pursued your lips and handed the woman your blood, sweat and tears (you’re actually sure a few tears rolled down from your face on the keyboard while you were writing it), wishing you saw your boss’ face when you place the printed pages on his expensive desk.

“I changed a little bit the topic of my work while I was outlining it,” you tell Taehyung as you both sit together by your desks later that day. “I focused more on a role of Mary Magdalene character in world ruled only by men. I showed how a powerful woman she was, standing at Jesus’s side even though the church for the centuries referred her to whore,” you explain.

“Wow,” Taehyung muses. “You turned Mary Magdalene into feminism icon fighting against patriarchy.”

“It’s not like that!” You hit him in the arm. “You may laugh as much as you want but I actually got into her story.”

Taehyung smirks. “Looks like being scolded by Park Jimin wasn’t that bad.”

You roll your eyes. “Shut up. I got humiliated in the middle of fucking cafeteria. I still hate him. And also, I don’t know what he thinks about my essay.” you say with a sigh.

“Don’t worry. He’s probably having an epiphany right now while-”

A voice from the speakers that certainly doesn’t sound like gospel choir interrupts him.

“Miss Y/N, please report to the Park Jimin’s office immadietly.”

“-or he isn’t.” Taehyung ends.

Once again, you’re frozen in place. It’s okay, you tell yourself, maybe he just wants to talk about my essay. But what if he didn’t like it? What if your sudden feminism outburst about Mary Magdalene was too much?

“Holy fuck.” you blurt out quietly.

Taehyung gives you an encouraging smile but he doesn’t look much convinced in positive intentions of summoning you to their boss’ office, he just doesn’t say it aloud. “Well, maybe it won’t be that bad! Maybe he wants to congratulate you,” he tries to comfort you, without success. You look horribly pale and scared to death.

“I repeat: miss Y/N, please report to the Park Jimin’s office immadietly.” Jimin’s stone cold voice pierce through the silence again. You shiver. The journalists in the editorial send you impatient glares.

“Whatever happens, remember that I love you.” Taehyung whispers, squizzing your hand, which makes you even more nervous. He gives you thumbs-up and you take a deep breath, trying to calm your trembling body. A whole Sunday’s Spirit team follow your movements with their eyes.

You stands from your desk on wobbly legs and walk to the door with golden sign hanging on its surface.

 Park Jimin

 Editor-in-chief

You take the knob in your shaking palm and twist, stepping into the lion’s den.

The atmosphere seems to shift when you walk into the room. You could hear your heart rapidly beating through the dead silence that lingers in Park Jimin’s office. “You wanted to see me, sir?” you ask after closing the door, subconsciously cursing yourself for sounding so weak already.

“Yes, have a seat,” Jimin says. “Give me a second. I need to finish something.” he adds when you sit down, not even bothering to spare you a look.

Jimin sits behind his desk, eyes glued to the computer screen. His hair is pushed back from his forehead, his jaw clenched. Oh, great, he looks pissed, you think to yourself.

He isn’t wearing his suit jacket like usually, which surprises you. His white shirt’s sleeves are rolled up, revealing a glimpse of veiny hands and his Rolex. This is the first time you see him like this. He looks so… unlike him.

Strange.

You use the time you have to take in your surroundings. Jimin’s office is painted in fair tone of grey. The rumors were actually right, there’s a smaller version of Michelangelo’s Pietà standing proudly on of the drawers. Behind the desk, on the wall, hangs a wooden cross with gold-plated figurine of Jesus Christ, and just underneath it there’s a framed picture of Lady of Fatima, which he once proudly showed to the whole editorial team on one of the lunchbreaks, saying his grandmother brought him this from her pilgrimage.

You focus your attention now on the wall filled with numerous diplomas and certificates, all of them signed with Park Jimin’s name.

You had read some of his works before you started your job in Sunday’s Spirit and you must admit: Park Jimin is a talented, smart journalist you aspire to be one day. It’s actually sad, you think, that he can’t pursue his career, wasting his abilities by working in catholic newspaper owned by his father. And as you know from Yoongi, his situation isn’t going to change soon. Maybe he was right after all. Money really does rule this world.

After a few minutes that seems to last forever, Jimin breaks the silence. “Do you know why are you here?” he asks, finally averting his attention to you. He stares so deeply into your eyes that you feel you might faint from the intensity of his aura.

You clear your throat, and then respond. “I do believe it’s about my paper I handed in to you this morning.”

Jimin raises his eyebrow at that. “Your paper? No, everything’s fine about it. I read it and I must say, you did a great job,” he says and you furrow your eyebrows. So if nothing’s is wrong with your essay then what does he want?

“Then… why did you call me in, sir?” you hesitantly ponder.

Jimin laces his fingers together and leans closer over the desk. “Well,” he begins, “Maybe you forgot or you really didn’t know about it, but I used to run the same column as you do now,” You nod your head, recalling what Taehyung told you recently. Jimin continues, “I was actually the one who created it. That means I am still, for this day, its administrator. Which leads to another conclusion: every single ask that is send to our editorial and your responses to them can be monitored by me.” he explains, gauging your reaction. You still don’t have an idea why is he telling you that, so you just sit still and wait.

Then, Jimin reaches for the paper that lays on the left side of his desk and hands it to you. “Could you please tell me what is this?” he asks, pointing at the paper.

You glance at it briefly. “These are the questions I got last week and my responses to them.” you reply straightaway.

Park Jimin doesn’t seem much satisfied after hearing your words. He then takes another paper and gives it to you as well. “And this particular one, Y/N? Could you please read it and tell me what is this?”

Ignoring his forego of ‘miss’, you take it to your hands and start reading.

Dear Sunday’s Spirit editorial,

My name is Kang Seoyeon. I study medicine at the University of Seoul, I’ve got an amazing group of friends and a loving boyf-

You gasp and immadietly put a palm over your mouth. Under Seoyeon’s ask there’s also, clear as day, your much inappropriate response to her. In which you persuade the girl to suck her boyfriend off.

Holy fuck. Jesus Christ. Shitshitshit!

Jimin said he monitors everything that people send to the editorial along with the responds. Of course he had to read it. Why have you been so dumb? How could you believe that simple deleting from your inbox would be enough? Why can’t you do something properly for once?

You gulp, trying not to cry because good God, he’s going to fire you. He will kick you out and write a bunch of negative letters to your future employees, in which he will explain in details how disobiedent, reckless of a worker you are.

“Did you also forget how to speak?” Jimin asks. You almost cry out right away from the coldness of his voice.

You muster up a courage and look at him, and that’s a huge mistake because as soon as your eyes meet his, you’re lost for words.”I-I don’t know what to say, sir,” you stammer out. “I have nothing for my defence. I can only apologize for my irresponsible and inappropriate behavior I exhibited.” you say, bowing your head down.

Jimin pursues his lips. He stands from his chair and walks to you, leaning his body on the desk. He takes the paper from you to his hands and starts reading. “If you want to fuck your boyfriend, do it. Maybe God wouldn’t approve that but don’t worry, he won’t send you to hell because of some dick in your pussy,“ he quotes your response to the girl and your cheeks flush in red; you wish nothing more than to disappear and never see your boss again. But he’s relentless and continues reading, spilling the crude words, humiliating you even more. “So you go girl, suck your boyfriend off. Make him beg. He will never leave you after this.“ Jimin chuckles to himself darkly and you shut your eyes. “Look at me when you are spoken to,” he demands. You quickly oblige, lifting your chin a little to meet his intense gaze. “Is that really how a good, catholic girl should act?” he asks in a mocking tone.

You shake your head. “No, it isn’t.”

Jimin clicks his tongue. “Do you think he really won’t leave her after this?” he asks out of the blue.

You furrow your eyebrows. What kind of twisted game is he playing now? “I don’t know, sir.” you answer honestly.

Jimin smirks. Devilishly, sultry and completely illegal. He then licks his lips and leans closer to you. You could swear his eyes are darken than before. Something has shifted in his demeanor; he looks daring. “Why don’t you show me then, how this poor girl should suck her boyfriend off, Y/N?” he whispers lowly.

Your eyes widen. Did he just-?

He didn’t. He can’t. Maybe you misheard him, maybe you started imagining things that aren’t real. Oh, sweet Lord, the look of absolute seriousness written on his face tells you very much different.

Park Jimin, your boss, the man who goes regularly on masses and reads Bible, wants you to give him a head. In his office.

May the God help you.

You should probably slap him in the face for his immoral proposition. You should save your dignity, leave and never come back again. But then, you clear your mind from all those twisted thoughts running through it and you realise that you’re walking on a very thin line. Line which is called unemployment and bankruptcy.

You think about your landlord who praised you recently for keeping up with rent every month regularly. You think about your student loans that you still need to pay.

And fuck, you hate Yoongi because he was damn right. Money wouldn’t buy you happiness, but it can provide you that.

That’s why you put away the humiliation, the what ifs. You shut your mind screaming at you and listing the future consequences. Maybe Jimin just tests you, but the way he looks at you denies it. He wants to see you on your knees in front of him. Perhaps he only wants to play before he fires you but you put that thought aside.

You at least need to try.

Jimin searches for any kind of protest in your eyes and when he doesn’t find it, he’s back to his domineering self. “What are you waiting for?” he asks, his voice an octave lower. “Get on your knees.”

He has a calm expression on his face and you wonder for a moment how many times has he been in similar situation before. Having a woman on his mercy and using her the way he likes. And now you know. All those stories you heard about, are actually true. Park Jimin isn’t a prude. He’s dirty.

You fall to the floor with a light whimper. Maybe it’s the last chance for you to leave, but the confidence that emanates from Jimin doesn’t falter your movements. You hate yourself for that but God, you want to see this man being a mess for your touch. Even if that’s fucked up.

And it’s wrong, so, so wrong, when there’s a cross hanging behind you, when he’s your boss who claims to be a good catholic, when you do that because you’re too afraid to lose your job. But in that moment, the morality doesn’t exist.

Jimin stands up to take his belt off, looking at you from the above as he slowly, purposefully pulls it from the belt loops. He doesn’t encourage you or say anything, he just waits. You gulp when he yanks his black slacks down, along with his underwear.

For a few, solid seconds, you just stare.

You aren’t a connoisseur of dicks. Dick is a dick, but Park Jimin’s length is just as perfect as the rest of him, semi-hard against his lower stomach. Your hands move to his sculpted thighs, running up and down, tracing the prominent lines of his toned abdomen. The muscles tense underneath your touch.

You don’t remember when was the last time you’ve gone down on someone. Maybe it was Taehyung few months ago when you were both too drunk to care? You can’t quite recall. Every move of yours is uncertain, but Jimin doesn’t mind. Maybe your uncertainty turns him on even more.

He watches as you take him in your palm hesitantly, hot and already stiff, stroking him several times until he hardens in your hand. The sight is purely erotic, filthy, and you lick your lips before placing a light kiss on his tip. Jimin hisses. That’s a warning. No teasing.

You pump him, trailing a thumb over his slit, spreading precum all over his cock. Jimin doesn’t say anything but from the shuddering breath he lets out you assume he likes it. You take a deep breath, wrapping your lips around his dick and swirling your tongue around the head.

Jimin groans, a guttural sound resonating through his whole body and you take it as a sign to continue. You ease more of him into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks and bobbing your head up and down around his length obediently. Some twisted and fucked-up part of you wants him to praise you, call you good girl with your lips around his dick and throbbing core. He does none of that. His hands tangle in your hair as he withdraws, and you know exactly what’s coming next.

It’s an unspoken question on his lips and your jaw falls slacks on command.

A forceful push of his hips and he’s burried deep inside your mouth till he hits the back of your throat. Tears brim in your eyes and you gag, breathing heavily through your nose. It hurts a little, a dull ache but the content sigh and fucked-out expression on Jimin’s face is worth it. So you let him fuck your mouth the way he wants, let him pull your hair harder, wreck you a little more. It’s so easy to submit to him, to let him overwhelm you in every sense possible.

Your eyes fall shut and Jimin stops his movements, pulling from your mouth. Drool dribbles down your chin and you wipe it with the back of your hand. Jimin lets out a shaky breath, staring down at you so intensely it makes your insides tighten, even if you don’t see him yet.

“Look at me,” he rasps and you do, how could you not. The sight of your boss’ flushed cheeks and sweat forming on his forehead will be imprinted in your mind forever.

You curse yourself for wanting him to fuck you senseless right against his deck, with a hand around your throat muffling your screams, fuck you so hard you won’t remember your name anymore, no matter how wrong it is.

“Good girl. You’re so pretty like this, letting me fuck your mouth,” Jimin nothing but purrs, filling you to the brim again, until there are tears forming in your eyes and running down your cheeks, until he hits the base of your throat again and again and you fight back choked gags every time. “Just like that, fuck-” he moans, lowly and beautifully, head thrown back and mouth parted.

He’s close, you could feel that, so you take him deep once again and when your throat tightens around him one last time, he lets out a gutural groan and comes. You swallow every drop of his bitter release and when he pulls out from your mouth, you nearly fall forward.

Jimin catches you, placing his hands on your shoulders, balancing your exhausted body. You look at him through your half-lidded eyes. He looks so young now, so innocent, his cold demeanor’s gone and replaced by pure bliss written on his face. For Park Jimin, cheeks rosy, disheveled hair and loosen tie, you would do it all over again.

He then does something unexpected. He reaches for your face, brushing your tangled hair away and placing the strands behind your ears. This is a loving gesture, something exclusive he definitely shouldn’t be doing. You’re frozen, you can’t move a muscle while he wipes your cheeks from the reminiscences of your tears. He trails his thumb over your swollen lips absentmindedly, faltering there. For a moment he looks like he might say something, but he quickly shuts his mouth, regaining his previous posture.

You take this as a sign to leave. You get up from the floor, your knees sore from the uncomfortable position you’ve been in. You walk to the mirror that hangs on the wall of Jimin’s office. You sigh, seeing your current state. There’s no way someone would believe you that you haven’t just sucked a dick.

Your cheeks are flushed in pink, there are smudges of mascara under your eyes and your lipstick is smeared in the corners of your mouth. Not to mention your hair is still a mess.

You are painted in all shades of wrong.

In the reflection of the mirror you see Jimin buckling up his belt and straightening his tie. He runs a hand through his blond locks and looks up, catching you staring at him. You quickly look away.

“Don’t worry. No one will notice anything. Everyone should be off for their lunchbreaks by now.” he says. He sounds so pathetically normal, yet there’s still a slight rasp in his voice.

You glance at the watch on your hand and check the time. It’s a little past 12. You brush your hair with your fingers quickly and proceed to leave, but you stop, remembering you have to ask about one last thing. You turn around to face him.

“Are you going to write a bad opinion about me to my future employees?” you ask, flinching at the hoarseness of your voice.

Jimin raises his eyebrows. “Bad opinion? No, absolutely not,” he answers, shaking his head. “I was never going to fire you in first place.”

You fight back the shocked expression that threatens to appear on your face. You quickly rush to leave this damn office and never look in his eyes ever again. What were you even thinking?

“And Y/N,” Jimin’s voice makes you stop with your hand hovering over the door knob. Single tear rolls down your cheek and you gulp. “I’m sorry.” it’s all he says.

You don’t ask him what he meant by that. You don’t deliberate if he was sincere or not. You leave the office as soon as you can, running to the nearest bathroom, closing the door behind you and leaning on it.

He wasn’t going to fire you. He just wanted to use you, demand to get down on your knees and please him the way he wants. It was all a game for him, and you became his plaything.

“I’m so stupid,” you mutter to yourself, burying your head in your hands. “God, I’m so stupid.”

You feel sick, used, but at the same time you can’t get away with creeping feeling that you enjoyed it, wishing he wanted you just as much as you wanted him in that moment.

You sigh, closing your eyes. You’re probably foolish for thinking it won’t have any consequences. You’re just about to face them.

The coldness of early Spring hits you when you exit Sunday’s Spirit editorial. You hug your body tighter with your coat, standing in front of the building awkwardly. You take a few deep breaths, trying to clear your mind, but nothing really works. There’s a vacant space inside your body, like your soul has drifted away and left nothing but emptiness.

You feel hollow.

You don’t know how long have you been standing there, inhaling fresh air and waiting for your blood to start circulating properly in your veins again. When you’re about to head to the underground station, on the corner of your eye you see Jimin’s black Mercedes. You probably shouldn’t stare but you helplessly do.

Probably if you didn’t, it would hurt less.

He approaches the car, looking perfectly fine as always, which you couldn’t say about yourself. And he isn’t alone.

You recognize dark curls of Chins-sun’s hair, contrasting her beige coat beautifully. The corners of Jimin’s lips lift when he sees her. You don’t know if it’s a honest smile or a forced one. You wonder for a while how does he look like when he’s truly happy. Maybe he’s happy now, when Chin-sun is by his side.

What you are really sure about Park Jimin, is that he’s a man of many maybes.

Something which definitely doesn’t look forced are his palms, cupping the cheeks of Chin-sun’s flushed face. He starts tracing circles on her skin in intimate gesture and murmurs something. Maybe he asks her how was her day. Your lips still tingle where he trailed his thumb over it bitten, swollen surface. Maybe he still remembers how they felt around his cock when he was relentlessly bringing tears to your eyes and stabs to your heart.

The way he leans and kisses Chin-sun’s cherry colored lips is purposeful, perfectly measured. Maybe he sighs into her mouth with content, a beautiful sound you have witnessed with your own ears, as you were working him to his climax. Jimin’s hands grip Chin-sun’s dark locks but it isn’t the similar manner he did to you earlier, as he laced his fingers through the strands, when you wished him to do nothing more than pull harder and harder, until the pain in you scalp was replaced by dull ache, until a whimper fell from your lips and eyes squeezed shut. He kisses Chin-sun lovingly and there’s no roughness in that. It’s gentle caresses and soft murmurs.

After a moment he breaks off, soothing his palms over Chin-sun’s shoulders. She sends him a smile and opens the passenger’s door, getting into the car. And then, when you swallow a lump in your throat, when you decide to turn around and go, run as fast as you possibly can, when you dream about nothing more but never seeing him again, you catch eyes with him.

Jimin looks pathetically apologetic. There’s something in his dark brown orbs you can’t read. Maybe it’s guilt, maybe regret. Park Jimin is a man of many maybes, yet he stares at you with expression you could only mistaken for sadness.

You wonder if he sees the way your eyes stare at him blankly. You wonder if he knows how he nearly wrecked your body and made you feel things you shouldn’t. If he hurts the same way as you do now. However, Jimin quickly diverts his head away from you, closing the door to his car behind him as well. You laugh quietly at the ridiculousness of this situation. A bitter laugh that escapes your mouth and deepen the hollowness inside you.

A hand touches your arm and you don’t even flinch, knowing already who it is.

“So you know the news,” Taehyung says, looking at Jimin’s car leaving the parking lot. How long has he been standing behind you?

“What news?” you ask, turning your head to look at him.

“Chin-sun is really going to be miss Park officially,” he replies. “Jimin proposed to her this weekend. The wedding is in may. But that’s not important right now. How’s your conversation with him, sweetheart?”

You feel sick. You excuse yourself, mentioning something about needing to catch earlier train and texting him later. Taehyung calls after you but you don’t listen. You start running.

You run until you couldn’t breathe, until there’s a soreness in your throat from the coldness of air. You run until you reach your apartment, stumbling into it on wobbly legs. Your back touches the wall and you slide off, sitting on the floor.

You don’t cry. The tears don’t strain your eyes. It’s only this damned, dull hollowness.

There’s written in the Bible that a guilty person is the one who broke God’s law, who committed a sin. The said person will be judged by their actions after their death. Because every human being has a conscience, the thing that sets the line between good and bad, so when we did something wrong, we should feel remorse.

When you sit on the floor and stare blankly in front of yourself, you know you have sinned.You both did. You wonder if he, trailing patterns of tender touches on his fiancee’s skin, feels the same as you. You wonder if guilt eats him up as much as devours you. Maybe there’s hollow ache in his chest, just like in yours. Maybe he doesn’t feel anything.

And may the God help you both find your redemption.