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aesopsharpmybeloved · 1 year

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No More Hiding

Things get a little uncertain for Father Paul and you, after you are caught red handed by no one other than Beverly Keane.

Requested by anonymous

I'm back and I am healthy (almost). I got a bit out of practice, so this may be a little wonky, but I hope you'll forgive me :) Also, please check out this post, I am open to some nsft Father Paul content, teehee.

No More Hiding - 3.7K

tw: suggestive themes (mention), humanising Beverly Keane, cheesy as heck, a lot of triple dots

What is it with priests on Crockett Island? Beverly thought, gravel crunching underneath her feet as she walked away from Saint Patrick’s church hastily. Bev Keane was a lot of things, but stupid wasn’t one of them - she was aware there was some funny business going on with the young priest who arrived on Crockett almost a year ago and that writer lady, but she could never be entirely sure. Until today, that is. Bev felt a fresh wave of anger as she remembered the scene she witnessed no more than ten minutes ago.

—

How could she have forgotten her bag? Bev shook her head at herself. She went home after wrapping up the daily mass on Saturday, and when she tried to reach into her handbag to pull out the keys to her home, she froze. There was nothing hanging on her shoulder. How did she not notice? In her head she suddenly saw the image of her bag, sitting on a table in the back of the church, entirely forgotten. With a sigh and an eye roll, Bev turned around and began walking towards Saint Patrick’s again.

She entered through the back door, and immediately saw her canvas bag, exactly where she’d left it. After grabbing it, Beverly was just about to go home again, but then:

A giggle.

A soft, feminine giggle sounded from the main room of Saint Patrick’s. Curious as to what’s going on there, The teacher crept towards the door leading to the front and put her hand against the handle. Very, very slowly, she pushed it and pulled the door open, just a little. She peeked out. The sight before her shook her to the core and Bev felt fury immediately settling in.

Sitting in a pew closest to the altar was Father Paul, still in his green chasuble, and next to him was (F/N)(L/N). Which, Beverly supposed, would be fine, if the priest (the PRIEST for goodness sake!) wasn’t currently pushing his tongue into her mouth and her hands weren’t messing up his raven hair. The teacher was frozen to the spot as she watched the two people exchanging passionate kisses, sometimes producing soft pleasured hums. What finally snapped Bev out of her shock was the sight of Father Paul’s hand settling on (F/N)’s knee, before pushing her skirt up as it moved forward onto her thigh.

Beverly pushed the door open all the way and coughed loudly. With malicious satisfaction she watched the couple practically jump away from each other and turn their heads in her direction, their eyes widening in horror. “B-Bev?!” yelped the priest, his face turning red, as did the young woman’s. “T-this- this isn’t what it looks like!” his hand, which left the girl’s thigh was now outstretched towards Beverly in a surrendering manner. Despite the furious storm within her, the teacher felt strangely calm as she took calculated steps towards the couple.

“Father, if you insist on indulging yourself in breaking your holy vows, it’d be nice if you had at least enough respect not to do so in God’s house,” she said, her voice cold as ice, her expression stony. The priest coughed: “Bev I-...W-we were just-” “ Don’t! Don’t… ” the teacher hissed and began walking off through the front of the church,clutching her bag in a vice grip. She shut the door with a bang.

Father Paul watched Beverly leave and winced as the old wooden doors banged shut. You then saw him wilt before your eyes. He put his elbows on his knees and placed his face in his hands. Your own hand found his shoulder and began stroking it, trying to comfort him, despite knowing that not even your touch would be able to comfort him now. Still, the priest leaned into your hand and soon raised his head to hide his face in your neck instead. You slowly stroked the hair at the nape of his neck.

“We’re screwed,” said Paul against your skin, his voice soft and tired. “Yeah,” you whispered back.

—

Bev’s idea of going home was long forgotten as she stalked across Crockett Island, glaring daggers at everyone who dared as much as acknowledge her, the teacher was seething with rage. What was it with priests on Crockett Island? She knew the old Monsignor Pruitt hadn’t exactly been celibate either, and that the island’s doctor Sarah Gunning had been the result. She found out during one of Monsignor’s episodes, when he’d weep softly and call for Mildred, apologising for not having been there for her. For their daughter.

Back then, she acknowledged this, not knowing how she felt about it. On one hand, the Monsignor went against his vows, sired a child who was then raised by a different man, and obviously never stopped lusting for said man’s wife. On the other hand, what was there to be done now? The Monsignor was old and frail, dementia claiming his mind little by little, and Mildred Gunning? Well, she was in no better state. George Gunning was long gone and Sarah was a grown woman, who grew up in a happy family with a loving mother and father, blissfully oblivious she was the illegitimate child of their local priest.

However, it was different now. God, Bev wished she hadn’t forgotten her bag in the morning. Suspecting something fishy is going on is better than actually knowing it - makes it easier to ignore. But now she knew. She knew Father Paul, a priest who was supposed to be Crockett Island’s spiritual leader, image of morality and virtue, was fornicating with a heathen, a faithless woman, who like a succubus seduced the holy man to sin.

Bev was already forming a plan in her head, a plan to inform the dioceses about the blasphemy happening right there in God’s house, if not to outright get the priest excommunicated, to at least stop this illicit affair. But then she heard a sound behind her, a girl’s high-pitched laughter. She turned around.

What she saw made her stop. It was Leeza Scarborough, laughing and squealing as she drove circles around Warren Flynn on his own bicycle. The youngest Flynn was looking at her fondly, his gaze filled with pride: “I told you you could do it!” Oh… Leeza regained the feeling in her legs during one of Father Paul’s sermons. Since then, she came out of her shell so much, yet she still remained a good, devoted Christian, never missing a single daily mass. She was smiling and laughing more, but still she prayed harder than anyone else. She even found it in her heart to forgive Joe Collie, the man who crippled her in the first place! Beverly would never!

Speaking of Joe Collie, Bev only now realised she was standing a short distance away from the general store, where said man was currently chatting up their Muslim sheriff. After Leeza forgave the town drunk, he… he actually stopped drinking. He began attending the AA sessions Father Paul started, along with Riley Flynn, and while Bev was sure he was bound to relapse, to her utmost surprise he actually stayed sober since then. He looked a little different, his clothes were cleaner, his hair and beard neater. He even started working again, on one of the fishing boats. He looked like he dropped a few pounds too. The biggest change was his face. He too was smiling more.

Bev bit her lip, deep in thought, reminiscing of the past year. Since Father Paul came to the Island, there was a change in atmosphere. After Leeza’s recovery, it was like a religious renaissance had happened. The church was usually nearly full on Sundays and more people started attending daily mass as well, Bev had to start ordering more than double the usual amount of communion wine and hosts, and even had to get some low-gluten wafers after several inquiries. Some of the people who moved away after the spill actually came back to their old homes, because the fishermen began returning from the sea with full nets of fish and crabs, just like they used to many years ago. The community was blooming.

The teacher looked around. In the gazebo of Crockett Island’s little park sat Riley Flynn with Erin Greene and her daughter… Their daughter, essentially. The child wasn’t Riley’s, yet he treated her as his own, loved her as his own blood. He moved into the Greene home and Annie even mentioned once that Erin was in the middle of divorcing her ‘nasty work of a husband’ so she could marry Riley instead, so they could become a proper family once and for all. The little girl, whom Riley Flynn was currently bouncing on his knee, had two godparents, and since only one of them had to be a practising catholic, it was Ed Flynn and the other was nobody else than (F/N)(L/N).

(F/N) had also started to help out in the school, taking upon herself some of Erin’s classes so the woman could focus on her little girl. The children actually really liked her. Bev would often hear laughter from the other classroom and most of the kids left it with a smile on their faces. When she wasn’t helping Erin, she was usually helping someone else, assisting Sturge in some maintenance work, helping Annie with inventory in the general store, even joining the Flynn men for a few fishing trips! Bev saw her once at the docks, and had to admit the young woman looked quite the natural in her work clothes.

Her previously malevolent intentions turned into conflicting thoughts. Beverly had to sit down. In a much slower pace, she finally walked home. Bev’s home wasn’t exactly filled with many decorations or personal effects. There were a few photos here and there, of her parents and her, when she was a little girl. There was a photo with Monsignor Pruitt, where she was bracing him by the arm, smiling into the camera. The older priest had his hand gently placed against hers, a kind smile on his own face. Bev rather missed the old man.

Despite the fact that the Monsignor too succumbed to the temptation of flesh, he never stopped being a good priest. And a good man. He never once refused to offer a helping hand, he was always ready to be of support. He was a rock for Beverly when she lost her parents, much too early. She could rely on him when she was all alone, when she had nobody else. Maybe that’s what really drove her to church so much… Most things in her house were of religious theme, verses were framed on her walls, there were crucifixes placed throughout the entire home, Bev only had records of gospel music laid by the old record player which belonged to her mother.

Beverly sat down in her armchair, the room so quiet one could hear a pin drop. The truth was that Father Paul, despite his immoral indulgence in carnal desires, was still a good priest. He took care of his parish, took care of his flock. Always ready to help and provide support… just like the Monsignor.

And (F/N)? Beverly scoffed unhappily. As much as she wasn’t fond of the girl and the fact she seduced a holy man, she had to admit that (F/N) was… a part of Crockett Island now. She came when everyone else left, this was her home, and the people accepted her as their own. She was popular. Beverly was not, she was aware of that. She knew that most people only tolerated her because she played such a big part in the church, and because she taught their children. She didn’t have friends, or a family, but she had this. And that was good enough for her.

However, if she were to… if she were to report Father Paul Hill to the dioceses, if she managed to actually get him out of Crockett Island… She probably wouldn’t be tolerated anymore… No, Beverly would be hated . There was a big possibility the people would be more willing to accept an uncelibate priest whom they adored, rather than have this beloved priest taken away. And God knows who’d take his place then? If it came down to taking sides, Bev had no qualms that people would actually take hers and not Father Paul’s. She’d then drop lower than Joe Collie, who was slowly but surely gaining more sympathy ever since he became sober. She’d be the town pariah. Not Joe, not Riley, but Beverly .

She put her face into her hands. Was she going to actually ignore this? Was she really just going to let them continue committing sins? Then again… everyone sinned, didn’t they? To sin was human after all, and the heavenly father forgives all those who try to make amends. And Father Paul and (F/N)(L/N)... they made amends constantly by all the work they put into this small community… The teacher sighed deeply. She supposed she could try to just … ignore it. She didn’t agree with what they were doing, but she could ignore it, for the sake of everyone else… Speaking of everyone else, Beverly wondered who else knew of this little affair. Erin Greene? Possibly, her and (F/N) were joined at the hip. And if Erin knew, then Riley Flynn maybe knew as well. Who else?

It was decided then. Bev looked up and released another deep sigh. In a way, she felt… lighter? Calmer? What was with this feeling of acceptance? She should still be angry, she should be hating every moment she allows this to continue, but she just wasn’t. In a way, she was… content. It was better for Crockett Island if Father Paul stayed, and, well, Bev reluctantly supposed it was better if (F/N) stayed too. She didn’t even realise the corners of her lips were turning up slightly. Sighing for the last time, she got up from her chair and walked to the record player. Maybe there were still some of her mother's old records somewhere, Bev thought, maybe she could use some non-gospel music for a little change.

—

Any day now, you and Paul expected some nasty letter from the dioceses, or maybe a surprise visit from the bishop. Or a phone call, inquiring whether it was true that the priest was in a forbidden affair with a woman.. But nothing happened. You haven’t really discussed what would happen to your relationship, because the thought was too terrifying, but you became so much more careful about it. You didn’t dare to touch one another unless you were in the rectory or your house, doors locked and curtains closed. You wouldn’t hold each other’s hand during walks, you didn’t feel safe expressing any physical affection even in front of the friends who knew of your relationship.

It sucked, not being able to snuggle up to the priest when you were outside in the woods, definitely alone, but unwilling to take any risks. You missed his warmth, the smell of him when he held you close, you missed the stolen kisses. You wouldn't even go to the Uppards, even though you’d never be caught there, especially by Beverly. It sucked.

On the other hand, you learned how to show affection in public through other ways. Like a deep look into each other’s eyes and a single slow blink - like a quick peck on the lips. A smile and head slightly cocked to the side - an ‘I love you’. It wasn’t the real thing, but it was lovely nonetheless. A week passed, then two and… nothing. No letters, no phone calls, no visits. In fact, it was very quiet. The priest served his homilies as usual, Bev helped him as she always did. She talked to him and treated him the same as ever, as if she never caught the two of you, as if it had all been a bad dream.

Yet, the two of you remained cautious, always checking over your shoulder. By the third week, you were going mad. As you lay in your bed, mind for once calm and quiet after a tender lovemaking, with Paul drawing little patterns on your bare back with his fingertips, you suddenly spoke: “We should talk to her.” “Hm?” asked Paul, and turned his head a little to look at you. “To Bev,” you clarified. Paul sighed and closed his arms around you. “Why?” he asked finally. You adjusted yourself in his hold and rested your chin on his collarbone to look into his eyes: “Well, it’s been a while. If she told someone, the dioceses… they would’ve been here by now, wouldn’t they? Or call, at least? She’d be smug about it, I think. But she’s, you know… normal. Well Bev-normal anyway.”

Paul nodded and closed his eyes. “Hm… That’s going to be very uncomfortable,” he said at last. You pulled yourself up to press a kiss against his perfect mouth, making him smile softly. “Yeah… but we’ll face it together.”

—

It was… very very awkward. You were sitting on the uncomfortable metal chairs in the recreation centre, you and Paul next to each other, Beverly Keane opposite of you. You were so nervous. The priest grabbed your hand, which was gripping your knee painfully, in silent support. Bev frowned for a bit, but didn’t say anything. You took a deep breath, it was now or never. “Miss Keane, we wanted to talk to you about what you saw in Saint Patrick’s some time ago. There’s no point in lying. What you saw was exactly what it looked like, Father Paul and I, we… we’re lovers. And have for a long time.” Paul nodded next to you and squeezed your hand tighter.

Beverly nodded as well: “I’ve gathered as much. Why are we here?” You swallowed in nervousness and took a breath to answer, but Paul beat you to it: “You are a very devout woman, Beverly. I am breaking my vows. Yet, you still… help me in church, you treat the two of us the same… You didn’t tell anyone?” Bev’s eyes were piercing, you felt quite tiny under her scrutinising gaze. Finally, she looked down at her hands which were neatly folded in her lap: “No, I didn’t… Not really for your sake, though. I don’t approve of this. I didn’t tell anyone because… Crockett Island relies on you, Father. And, to a certain amount, on you as well (F/N)(L/N). I will keep quiet about this… However, you must know that if I… caught you, someone else will too, eventually. So you may, at the very least, attempt to be… decent.”

You bit your lip. Bev was right, it was only a matter of time before the relationship would be found out. But then again, you didn’t think there were that many people left to find out. Over the months, you received more and more knowing looks, from both friends and acquaintances. One time a woman named Betty, who ran the island’s teeny-tiny beauty salon and attended Sunday masses pulled you aside to tell you what a lucky woman you were, having a good looking man like that. In fact, the only person you were seriously hiding your love from was currently promising she’ll keep her mouth shut about it. It was nearly surreal.

After some more awkward and uncomfortable talking, during which you revealed to Beverly that your relationship began after the Easter vigil (by which she was surprised, since she suspected something was going on much earlier), you parted ways in a rather civil manner. As you left the rec centre, Paul took your hand in his right away, leading you to the woods for a stroll. You smiled and leaned into him, thankful to feel his warmth again.

Over the following weeks, you settled back into your routine, except you were way more relaxed. Someone saw you holding hands, or sharing an embrace and a kiss from time to time, but they never once commented on it. Well, most of the time. One time you pressed a kiss to Paul’s cheek when you thought you were alone, in front of the general store, just to hear a wolf-whistle behind you. “Knew it,” came Joe Collie’s voice, as he left the shop and walked away jovially, Pike following behind him with a wagging tail. “He didn’t know shit,” said sheriff Hassan, leaning against the doorframe, “I knew, though.” You stuck your tongue out at him, making Paul chuckle.

—

Hard to believe it had been a year already, you thought as you stood by the gazebo, a sooty cross drawn on your forehead. There were more people attending the Crock Pot Luck this year, as the town’s population grew slightly. You observed them fondly, feeling at peace. Feeling utterly home. One year ago exactly, you were sitting at one of the tables, sipping wine and chatting with Father Paul. Back then, you only ever allowed yourself to think of him in secret, today he lived in your mind rent-free and you were far from being mad about it.

Speaking of Father Paul, a pair of long arms wrapped themselves around your waist from behind and soft lips brushed against the back of your neck. You smiled and put your hands over his. He came around, keeping one arm around you and pulled you close for a real kiss. And what a kiss it was, sweet and passionate at the same time, and it filled your heart with utmost joy. When you pulled back, you noticed a number of people looking at the two of you. Some of them had a knowing expression and a smile on their faces, some were wide eyed, but said nothing. Others simply returned to minding their own business. Bev Keane was one of the latter. You smiled at your lover and he mirrored you.

“No more hiding, huh? You asked quietly. His smile grew: “No more hiding.” You stroked his smooth cheek. “The secrecy was kind of thrilling though,” you teased. The priest chuckled, “we can do a little bit of hiding, as a treat,” he promised. You giggled airily and pressed one more kiss to his lips before grabbing his hand and leading him to one of the tables.

No more hiding.

Hello again! Hope it wasn’t that horrible lol. You can check out this story and the entire series on AO3. Thank you for being patient with me <3

Tagged: @i-was-ok-then-i-saw-hamish

I will feed you a sugarcube and scratch your head for feedback ;-;

Also, please, if you're on insta, go and report account named 32181045, who hacked Hamish's account, got Hamish deleted and gloats about it in their stories.

#fanfiction #midnight mass #father paul #father paul hill #father paul x reader #father paul hill x reader #fluff #human!beverly keane #beverly keane #erin greene #riley flynn #sheriff hassan #joe collie #leeza scarborough #beverly keane has a heart #beverly keane is human #debitchization of beverly keane #humanization of beverly keane

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romancemedia · 8 months

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SAFT Recap - A New Form

Today the last episode of Sugar Apple Fairy Tale aired and it really got to me and now I feel really, Really, REALLY SAD!!! Anyway here's a recap of everything that went down...

Picking up where last week ended, Anne ran away and managed to seek help from the fairies to save Shall from Lafall by pretending they had taken her prisoner long enough to distract him so Lusul could retrieve Shall's wing.

Shall and Lafall finally had their battle, but it was very short, especially when they saw Hugh, the Earl of Downing and LOTS of soldiers make their way to the fortress.

Lafall jumped off the building after realizing that Shall had lead the humans to his hideout, but there was no trace of him afterwards. He disappeared.

The fairies all regain the wings Lafall had taken from them and Shall instructs them to runaway while they still have the chance and be free before the humans arrive.

Anne and Shall finally return to Chamber Castle, reunite with their friends and find they have successfully completed all the snow tower confections... 10 days before the Holy Beginnings Festival! However as a special final center piece, everyone decides to create one final large tower at the very top of the church.

Bridget has finally changed her ways, becomes friends with Anne and announces she and Elliot have broken off their engagement. Instead Elliot will be adopted into the Page family, allowing him to become the next Head of the Workshop. (Plus it turns out she has kept Anne's blanket this whole time and it's obvious that Bridget is beginning to fall for Orland! I KNEW IT!)

Anne and Shall discuss the revelation about Shall's royal lineage and relation to the fairy king. Shall won't do anything know, but he admits one day he'll have to figure out what to do when the time comes. Shall also reaffirms his promise that he will stay with Anne and both express how they each want the other to find love and happiness in their lives.

Everyone finally celebrates the Holy Beginnings Festival. Since Anne has successfully restored the Page Workshop, both Hugh and Elliot encourage her to seek out new opportunities as a Silver Sugar Master. Anne begins to consider what the rest of her future has in store and what her next step will be, but no matter what, Shall and Mythril will continue to be by her side.

That was a heck of a finale and I'm sad there's been no announcement for a season 2. Hopefully someday they will return to complete the rest of the story (Plus I'm still gonna collect the rest of the Light Novels once they're out in English)

#Sugar Apple Fairy Tale #My Thoughts #Anime #Anne Halford #Shall Fen Shall #Lafall Fen Lafall #Bridget Page #Elliot Collins #Hugh Mercury #OMG MY HEART!!!!

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lennjamin-o7 · 11 months

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To Be Truly Free

Chapter 18

Previous | Next

Technoblade didn’t have a response for Tommy. It’s not like he’d had any idea what was happening for a while now, let alone when something as impossible as people defying the laws of life and death. That was certainly not something he had read in a library book. A little bit out of his well of knowledge. But who knows? It might have been in a volume that the Church didn’t have. Or maybe it was shelved on the wrong shelf in the library, they really did need to update their sorting system. So, hopefully Tommy- Prince Theseus didn’t expect a real answer.

Still, he would also very much like to know what the heck was happening.

And Chat wasn’t being very helpful with providing information.

He saved the Tommy!

Bedrock Bros awww

Yes Yes

Zombies?

Saved the Tommy!

Sunshine boy!

No decapitation today!

Yes!

Technoblade grimaced, glancing down at the vampire that was still pinned under him. He had acted on impulse, pulling Prince Theseus to the ground. He really shouldn’t have done that. He should have let the disk fly straight and true and…One less vampire would have made it so much easier to escape. He knew that. He could rationalize that.

And yet.

He lifted his arm, spots of blood sticking to his sleeve as he pulled away and leaving a tacky feeling on his wrist. Cautiously, Technoblade pushed himself into sitting up, inching away from the stunned Prince Theseus.

At his movement, Prince Theseus blinked, shook his head, and quickly shot to his feet. In a blink he stood over the disk embedded in the blankets. The glow had completely disappeared, removing the otherworldly quality from it. Yet, there was still something about it. An oddity. A mystery. A curiosity with no explanation, as far as he could tell. But Technoblade only gave the curious object a glance before turning to something far more pressing.

At least, more pressing in his mind.

Technoblade stiffly got to his feet, feeling slightly numb from the sudden and emotionally charged change in events. Years of his life had passed in painful monotony, where the only variation laid in what creative punishment he would earn. Yet lately everything seemed to be constantly changing and he had no control over it, nor could he predict what would happen next. Truths that he had assumed would be universal and eternal were erased like the very laws of gravity had been revoked. He felt wrong-footed, like the ground was disintegrating under him, spilling like sand through an hourglass and into the void of the unknown. And Technoblade was futilely trying not to fall as well. Desperate to find a firm foundation to stand on and realign his perspective of reality. So he did the only thing he could do. He took a step forward. And then another. And one more. Until he was staring down at a sight he had desired for years, but never quite hoped for. Something that seemed impossible and only achievable vicariously through beating up Hallowlance.

Jerry was a wreck.

When a priest died, they were usually surrounded by their loved ones and those that admired them, comforting the dying elder with words of admiration and remembrance and reverence. And then, the priest's body would be treated with the highest respect and care before being set alight on a pyre in pompous ceremony. The other priests would sing blessings for their memory, praise their accomplishments, while the Blessed would be forced to stand in silent vigil and pretend to be upset that one so holy had passed.

There was nothing regal about Jerry, face twisted in agony with blood oozing from his nose and lips. Face burnt and bruised. Limbs splayed in an undignified heap across sodden blankets. Both arms gone and the legs completely missing, fat and sinew and tissue on full display from where Prince Theseus’s blade slashed through the priest’s abdomen. The stink of mutilated bowels mixed with the unpleasant stench of blood. By all the canons of the Church, it was an unfitting end for such a high ranking priest, who should have lived a blessed life, a prestigious life. This was a blasphemy, a tragedy by all of their laws.

Technoblade raised one foot and stomped hard on Jerry’s dead face.

Technoblade didn’t really mind the disgusting gush of blood on the sole of his bare foot as he crushed Jerry’s nose, a satisfying crack as the nose crunched to the side. He had grown far too used to the sensation of blood for it to bother him now.

Instead, a rippling tide of satisfaction filled his heart, only partially his own.

He’s dead!

Dead!

Finally

Retire the knives, Chat, he’s dead!

Blood for the Blood God

Eat shit, Jereth

I hope Kristin makes you suffer,

Couldn’t happen to a better man

Technoblade smiled, a weight melting from his heart-

-before nearly jumping out of his skin when the flap of the tent was violently rent apart, the canvas tearing in a loud rip. Technoblade spun at the noise, tensed and ready for the next attack.

Which didn’t come.

“Techno! Tommy!” Philza shouted, rushing into the tent. He was completely unharmed, not even a speck of dirt on his clothes as he stalked into the tent. Yet, even though Phil was clearly unruffled by the sudden attack, he wasn’t composed. The Emperor’s expression was like a thundercloud as his eyes swept across the tent and scanned over the pieces of viscera scattered around before his eyes locked on Technoblade. Technoblade stiffened at the fiery expression, but within a blink Phil was standing right in front of him. Unsheathed sword in one hand, Phil reached out and grabbed Technoblade’s wrist, eyes widening at the sight of blood. “Where are you hurt?”

“I’m not. It’s not mine,” Technoblade shook his head. Phil relaxed slightly, though the anger remained constant. Phil let go of Technoblade’s wrist but his hand trailed up Technoblade’s arm as if testing the veracity of his statement. Technoblade tugged his arm away. “If you want to check on anyone, you should check on Prince Theseus. He’s the one that nearly got decapitated.”

“He what?” Phil nearly shouted, head whipping to where Prince Theseus was standing and-oh. Prince Theseus was no longer alone. Wilbur stood right beside him, also staring at the strange disk. At Phil’s outburst, Prince Theseus flinched and raised his hand in a placating manner.

“Hey, wait, no! I wasn’t-there’s no way that a big man like me would get decapitated. I am simply too great for that. I-” Prince Theseus was cut off by suddenly being poked and prodded by Phil. Technoblade hadn’t even noticed him move. “I’m fine! I’m fine, Dadza, lay off!”

“How the fuck did someone get close enough to-which bastard was it? I’ll make sure their souls suffer for all eternity, just give me a-”

“It wasn’t any of these fuckers! It was this weird disk…thing,” Prince Theseus pointed downward, drawing Phil’s attention to it. “It came flying through the air and fucking ripped through the tent and shit. Broke right through one of the tent stick things. But it didn’t touch me. Techno knocked me down and-hang on.”

Technoblade grimaced as Prince Theseus looked over at him, a sly calculating expression on his face.

“How the fuck did you know to duck, Blade?” Prince Theseus asked, eyes narrowed.

“Uh-”

Uh-oh

He is having a thought

No way

We are getting sussed out

Theseus is rubbing those two brain cells together.

“I…heard it?” Technoblade said hesitantly. But Prince Theseus glared harder.

“Bullshit. If you could hear it with your shitty human ears, then I should have been able to-”

“Later, Tommy. We can address that later. Right now, we need to get to a safer place before-”

“Uh, Dad, you should really look at this,” Wilbur said. He was bent down, looking closely at the disk and reaching out with one hand. With his other hand, he adjusted his glasses on his face. “I’m not sure, but I think this might be-”

Wilbur yelped, immediately pulling back his hand and cradling it against his chest with a hiss. Phil was already at his side, tugging on Wilbur’s wrist to get a better look.

“Let me see! Let me see! Why the fuck did you touch it?” Phil hissed. Wilbur finally let Phil have control of the hand, face scrunched in discomfort. Phil looked at it a moment before cursing.

“What? What is it?” Wilbur’s voice trembled.

“Wild Rose Ash,” Phil spat, looking at the disk with distaste and suspicion. “It’s coated in the shit. Someone knows what they’re doing.”

Phil reached down and grabbed the least bloody blanket within reach and immediately started wiping off the ash from Wilbur’s fingertips.

“Um, Dad. That’s interesting and all, but that’s not what I was pointing out,” Wilbur said, nodding toward the disk. “I think the disk hit deep enough to…break into the foundation, if you know what I mean.”

Phil paused his ministrations, a dark expression on his face as he bared his teeth and hissed.

Technoblade took a step back. He had not really heard the royals make a sound so…inhuman. The sound lit some instinctual part of his brain to get away, run, danger .

The movement drew three sets of eyes to him, causing Technoblade’s stomach to flip at the sudden attention.

Dadza Madza

Very Mad

Redza?

Just very madza

People are gonna die

Neat

“Alright,” Phil took a deep breath, before he let go of Wilbur’s hand. Wilbur sniffed his fingers, licking one before nodding in satisfaction. “We need to move to somewhere safer. I can’t handle another one of you getting so much as a paper cut tonight. My nerves have had about all they can take, at this point.”

Phil quickly stepped over the bodies until he was back at Technoblade’s side. Though maybe quickly wasn’t the right word. Phil moved at a very human pace, not the unnatural speed from before. Still, Technoblade flinched when Phil gently laid one hand on his shoulder.

“C’mon, mate,” Phil said. “Let’s get you out of here.”

Technoblade didn’t resist being pulled along by Phil, but he did spare a moment to look once more at the body of Priest Jereth.

And quietly reveled in the realization that he was alive, and Jerry was not.

If inside the tent was a gorey mess, outside was…something else entirely. A battlefield-no, a slaughter- strewn with the bodies of armored Empire soldiers and a smattering of dismembered corpses. On closer inspection, Technoblade could see the gold embroidered crimson cloth or once fine silk robes on many of the dismembered.

But even though there were two types of people laying dead upon the ground, only Empire soldiers dragged corpses away. Only the colors of the Empire drew breath. A heavy reminder of who, exactly, won.

Even if it didn’t explain how such a thing could happen in the first place.

Technoblade was very careful where he placed his feet, dirt sticking to his bloody bare sole, but Phil seemed frustrated by their pace. Phil’s arm pressed against Technoblade’s back ushered him faster through the crowd as soldiers immediately closed in to create a protective wall around all of the royals. Well, the royals and Technoblade.

Each soldier seemed determined, eyes focused on their surroundings with resolution, searching for any threat. On high alert. Technoblade only had a moment to contemplate that before he was back to focusing on not stepping on a sharp piece of metal as Phil pushed them to go faster through the camp.

“Dad.” Wilbur asked, slightly hesitantly. Technoblade nearly tripped as he turned his head to see Wilbur walking just behind him. “What do we do it the Wild Rose Ash mixed in with the-”

“It will be fine,” Phil said quickly, increasing their pace. “There is a reason we split it up into multiple boxes. If one gets contaminated, it won’t be a problem.”

“Still, it just feels a little-” Wilbur paused, silence accompanying whatever the wordsmith was trying to say.

“I understand how you feel, Wil. But right now,” Technoblade stumbled again as Phil pushed him to walk faster. “We need to get to safety. And then I need to find what bastard thought it was smart to attack my sons.”

“Fuck yeah! Find the asshole who thought it was a good idea to throw weird fucking circles at me,” Prince Theseus said, a vindictive glee in his voice. “You're not supposed to use disks to kill people, you use them for music. Stupid fucker deserves to get his skull caved in.”

Wilbur snorted, but Technoblade couldn’t turn around to get a better view of his expression. He was too focused on keeping his footing to notice where they were going until they were there. Technoblade blinked in confusion.

“Bruh, I don’t think a carriage is going to be all that safe,” Technoblade drawled as Phil pushed him forward. The impressive black carriage loomed before him. A soldier reached forward to grab the door, the entrance like the maw of a beast he kept unwillingly walking into.

“Not a normal carriage, mate,” Phil said, pushing Technoblade even faster so he was nearly jogging. “It’s covered in enchantments of protection. Honestly, it’s more protected than most fortresses.”

“That seems,” Technoblade was nearly lifted onto the carriage step by Phil. “Excessive-?”

Technoblade tripped as Phil pushed him inside, catching himself on the seat instead of falling onto the floor.

“Seriously?” Technoblade turned, raising an eyebrow at Phil. But Phil wasn’t looking at him.

“Tommy, you next,” Phil said as he grabbed Prince Theseus’s shoulder, not seeming to care about the blood still dripping from the Prince’s shirt.

“What? The fuck? No, I’m going with you to hunt this bastard down-”

“No you are not. In,” Phil said, pushing on Prince Theseus’s shoulder. But Prince Theseus dug his heels in.

“Fuck that! Make Wilbur stay with Techno. I’m going-”

“Neither of you are going with me. Both of you are going to stay here where it’s safe.”

“What?!” Prince Theseus shouted. “The hell we are!”

“Tommy, this is not the time for-”

“No! I’m not just going to sit around and let the guy get away!”

“Yeah, Dad, you can’t just do this by yourself,” Wilbur interrupted, hands on his hips. “Tommy can stay with Techno and then I can-”

“No! I’m going, bitch! You’re staying here!”

“Neither of you are going,” Phil growled, as both Wilbur and Prince Theseus shouted over each other to make their words known. But Technoblade’s attention had drifted away from the royals' words.

The night breeze was blowing against the carriage window’s curtain.

Technoblade kept an eye on the arguing royals as he slowly walked backwards toward the wall. He paused when he felt the carriage wall brush against his heel, glancing to the side and seeing the curtain billow against his wrist. He stared back at the royals as he gathered the fabric in his hand.

Oh?

OH!

Window escape!

Yes! Window!

Window Escape Two: Electric Boogaloo

Escape attempt again let's go!!

Guys, it's not going to work. We don’t even really want it to work

Hush, you.

Oh, he’s going to run!

Technoblade carefully, pulled the fabric aside, looking out the window from the corner of his eye. There were guards patrolling, each looking harried as they searched for any more assailants, or a few stationary ones stood with their backs to the carriage. But none were turned toward the carriage itself. Technoblade searched the darkness, focusing for a moment on the distant trees, probably only one hundred yards away. A flicker of light inside the foliage, before it disappeared.

Technoblade glanced back at the bickering royals, Prince Theseus now trying to wrestle out of Phil’s grasp. He seemed to be doing a much better job than Technoblade had done. Wilbur watched with his arms crossed, still trying to argue with Phil over going with him.

Technoblade turned back to the window, pushing the curtain completely out of the way. He put one leg through and ducked down so he wouldn’t whack his head against the window sill. He straddled the window and lifted his other leg to push it through the window before jumping-

Arms wrapped around his middle and Technoblade yelped in surprise as he was yanked backwards, his head making contact with the window frame with a dull thunk. Technoblade didn’t have a moment to struggle as he was thrown onto a carriage seat. The thick cushions absorbed the momentum, not even causing his shoulder to twinge as he sprawled on the seat. Before he could try and sit up, a hand pressed into the center of his chest.

“What-” Phil stared down blankly at Technoblade, his words clipped. Technoblade stared up at him with apprehension, blue eyes boring into him. “-do you think you are doing?”

Technoblade laid quietly for a moment, not looking away from Phil as something dark floated behind the vampire’s eyes. Technoblade licked his lip, thinking quickly for a believable excuse.

“I was going to the bathroom,” Technoblade deadpanned before raising an eyebrow. “Duh.”

Phil looked down at Technoblade, unamused. Technoblade started to inwardly panic, his heart rate rising as the Emperor remained silent. He had crossed some kind of line and he was about to pay for it.

Phil’s lip twitched, and Technoblade relaxed minutely. He immediately tensed up again as Phil leaned in closer, his face inches away from Technoblade’s nose.

“There is a dangerous person prowling around,” Phil’s voice was barely a whisper. He pressed harder against Technoblade’s chest, the pressure just shy of hurting. “Going out that window will do nothing but endanger you, and I will not allow that. Am I clear?”

Technoblade glared, irritation and fear mixing together to make him bold.

“I’ve been trapped by three very dangerous people,” Technoblade glared. “One dangerous person versus three dangerous people. Seems like I’m safer if I leave.”

Phil snorted, amused despite himself.

“The difference is that the three dangerous people in here will never hurt you,” Phil said.

Technoblade scoffed and rolled his eyes, shifting under the hand that still pinned him. Phil frowned, a calculating expression crossing his face.

“You still think we would hurt you,” It wasn’t a question. Phil leaned away, no longer so close to Technoblade’s face. Technoblade continued to glare when Phil still pinned him in place.

The royals had been nice to him. Nicer than most. They had given him food, comfort, and kind words. They had healed his wounds and given him gifts. Not once had they made a move to intentionally harm him. He could recognize these facts… But they had given nice things to other people, only to destroy them when their purpose was done. They had given Hallowlance status, only to completely destroy the man as soon as he had outlived his usefulness. They had flattered and complimented Dante, only to rip his kingdom from his hands. They had given hope to a country that they had doomed for their own gain.

“When you get bored of me, you will,” Technoblade’s voice was far more steady than he felt himself. The words, though true, were painful, a desperate ache in his chest. It was an uncomfortable truth. Part of him wished-

Well, wishes were useless anyway.

“Techno-” Technoblade glanced over at the sound of Wilbur’s voice. Both he and Prince Theseus were now standing in the carriage, both wearing matching expressions of disbelief. “We would never- we wouldn’t-”

“Sure,” Technoblade drawled. “Whatever you say.”

Wilbur grimaced, running a hand through his hair as Prince Theseus scowled. At least, Technoblade assumed it was a scowl. The blood that covered Prince Theseus head to toe made reading his expression difficult. He couldn’t study it for long as he was suddenly distracted by Phil.

Phil’s hand shifted, sliding up from Technoblade’s chest before stopping on his collarbone. Phil’s thumb rested against his throat and Technoblade’s heart sped up. Technoblade was sure that Phil noticed, too, the man’s finger just over where his jugular vein rested. Technoblade stared up at Phil with a forced blank expression, but Phil didn’t acknowledge it. Phil was too focused on staring at Technoblade’s throat. Something dark. Something vicious. Something avaricious in his eyes.

“Dad,” Prince Theseus said. Technoblade didn’t look to see what kind of expression Prince Theseus made, but Phil did. He glanced at Prince Theseus before staring back down at Technoblade with pursed lips. Finally, Phil removed his hand and backed away.

“I don’t have enough time to explain to you why you are wrong-” Phil started.

“Of course not, there aren’t enough hours in a day,” Technoblade snarked, even though he felt shaken to his bones. Technoblade carefully sat up, not looking away from Phil. “You’d have to talk longer than my lifespan to even have a chance.”

Phil paused tilted his head at the words, before smirking. His smile was sharp and Technoblade felt a very heavy sense of foreboding.

“Even so,” Phil said, straightening completely and turning to Prince Theseus and Wilbur. “You two. Stay here.”

“But-”

“No,” Phil said firmly. Both Tommy and Wilbur opened their mouths to argue and Phil stepped in closer. Both Prince Theseus and Wilbur leaned in as Phil whispered something to them. Technoblade listened carefully, but couldn’t make out a word. Whatever was said made both Wilbur and Prince Theseus look unhappy. But soon enough, Phil took a step toward the door and Wilbur and Prince Theseus didn’t argue. “Now, I’ve wasted enough time. Stay here.”

Phil looked over at Technoblade.

“And behave,” Phil said with a wry smile. Technoblade looked away. “Rest, if you can. You’re still healing.”

Technoblade didn’t respond, but Phil didn’t seem bothered, merely stepping out of the carriage, the door closing with a loud click.

Prince Theseus and Wilbur stood, not moving to sit. Technoblade turned away from them, sprawling on the carriage seat and leaving no room for one of them to sit next to him. He turned on his side, facing the wall so he didn’t have to look at the two princes.

“Techno-” Prince Theseus sounded so very sad. Technoblade closed his eyes against it. “You can’t-you don’t think we would actually hurt you, do you?”

Technoblade didn’t bother to respond to such a ridiculous question. He shifted to settle more comfortably and ignored the pulling at his heart.

“How could you ever think that we’d-?” Technoblade flinched at the brief touch on his shoulder. The hand immediately pulled away at his reaction. “We wouldn’t-”

“Don’t touch him, Toms,” Wilbur said.

“Ay? Why the fuck not-”

“You’re covered in blood,” Wilbur interrupted. Prince Theseus stopped speaking. “You’re just going to get it on him.”

The carriage was silent for a long minute. Technoblade closed his eyes as he listened in anticipation of…something.

“...there are some extra blankets in here,” Wilbur said, and Technoblade heard the sliding of a drawer. “You can use them to wipe off the worst of it. And we can set it down so you don’t stain the-”

“Dad was right, wasn’t he?” Prince Theseus’s voice was soft. Technoblade frowned at the statement.

“...yeah, I think he was,” Wilbur responded. “C’mon. Let's get some of the blood off. Unless you’ve decided to become your true feral self and lick yourself clean.”

“Fuck you, bitch,” Prince Theseus responded, but it sounded weak. A desperate attempt to maneuver back to familiar ground.

Technoblade listened to the brothers bicker weakly, each half-heartedly arguing over where they would sit. Who would be near the window? Who would be near the door? But even as Technoblade felt sleep tugging at him, he could recognize the stilted attempts as false. They weren’t exactly hiding it.

Technoblade’s breathing evened out and he was just on the cusp of complete sleep when the conversation changed.

“...he really thinks we would hurt him,” Prince Theseus whispered.

“...Yeah. He does,” Wilbur sighed.

Technoblade fell asleep.

—

He was beyond the pain, at this point.

Technoblade stared up at the clear blue sky and listened to the swaying not-poppies brush against each other. He could just make out whispered words in the rustling, but he was too exhausted to listen. Every shallow breath had thorns digging deeper into his flesh, creating a new spurt of blood to drip onto the ground. His blood watered the grasping roots around him, his tears having run dry and leaving itchy stains on his cheeks.

Technoblade was beyond thought, merely focusing on the expanse of blue above him. He couldn’t move, but if he tried he would just be digging more pain into his flesh. He couldn’t speak, because the roots around his throat would squeeze until he couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t hope, because there was no way out of this.

None.

He had tried.

He had tried so hard.

But no matter how much he struggled, no matter all his effort, he was still trapped.

And that knowledge was more agony than the thorns embedded in his skin.

Don’t you think you might be holding too tightly? Technoblade heard a feminine voice ask. He didn’t react, not a twitch. Not even when a flash of black briefly obscured the sky. Not even when a light thud landed right beside his ear. You know what they say. The tighter you squeeze, the more sand escapes between your fingers.

Technoblade choked as the not-poppies squeezed tighter, not fighting as their grip dug deeper and deeper. He could hear the steady drip of his blood onto the ground and he gasped for breath.

Unless you don’t intend to hold to your side of the bargain. The feminine voice sounded amused. Technoblade blinked to see a large crow looking down at him, sharp beak mere centimeters from his eye. He couldn’t summon the energy to try and struggle away. Imagine. A god of Justice breaking their word. You haven’t even received your end of the deal yet.

The poppies constricted with such force that all of Technoblade's air was forced out with a wheeze. The steady drip of blood changed to a trickle. Technoblade’s muscles convulsed involuntarily, causing the thorns to tear raggedly.

Someone’s insecure. You’re going to break him, if you keep this up, The feminine voice cautioned. The crow tilted its head curiously, still looking down at Technoblade as his face twisted in agony.

He is not so fragile to break under pressure , A different voice responded, reverberating inside Technoblade’s head. He’s made of stronger stuff than that.

He’s well made, true. But even the finest iron is only so durable , The crow fluttered its wings. Are you really willing to risk it with this one?

Slowly, the thorns’ grip loosened and Technoblade desperately sucked in air, his whole body trembling. The crow clacked its beak a few times, whistling approval.

There, now. Was that so hard? The crow cackled loudly as the voice spoke. You know that if our deal is to play out, you are going to have to let me in? It is the only way this will work. If you keep clinging to him like a child refusing to share its favorite toy, then the plan is doomed from the start.

The ground shook below Technoblade and the crow flapped its wings to stay steady, but it cackled loudly even so.

You seem quite insecure for a being that is so certain that it will win our bet, The feminine voice said, causing the ground to shake even more.

I know what he will choose. He is mine. I made him with my own hands , The voice in Technoblade’s head boomed.

Then there should be no problem letting me in , The feminine voice crowed. The ground shook for a moment more, before the earthquake calmed. The bird cackled as it hopped even closer to Technoblade, looking down at him. It’s the only way for this to play out, unless you want to go back on your word.

No voice replied, but Technoblade felt the roots around his throat slowly slither away, dragging their thorns with them. Technoblade swallowed reflexively as his wounds were exposed to the open air. The crow tilted its head, before hopping slightly to the side and looking at Technoblade’s throat.

See? Was that so hard? The crow lowered its head, Technoblade mentally braced for it to dig its beak and talons into his neck. Instead, it gently laid its beak against the side of his neck.

As soft as the touch was, there was nothing enjoyable about the contact.

Nothingness. Pure nothing radiated from where the crow rested its beak. Slowly, so slowly engulfing Technoblade in the unnatural void.

Technoblade didn’t know what was worse, the pain or the emptiness.

If he had a choice, he would wish for neither.

—

“...where the guy could even be hiding?” A whispered conversation woke Technoblade. “We have thousands of soldiers and not one saw anything strange?”

“Not that any are admitting to,” Technoblade recognized the voice as Phil’s.

“...you think some of our soldiers would be working with him?” Wilbur asked quietly.

“I do,” Phil responded. “I already dealt with the morons that let themselves be bribed to leave their stations at the palace the night that Techno snuck out. I have my suspicions that Technoblade wasn’t the only one who took advantage of their absence.”

“...that would explain how so many escaped the cages and manacles. There’s no way so many could get out without being seen, even if they somehow couldn't die.”

“How dare they betray us,” Prince Theseus hissed, the sound distinctly inhuman. His voice rose louder. “If we find anyone else helping that bastard then I’ll-”

“Shhhhh, Tommy. You’ll wake-”

“Too late on that,” Phil said and Technoblade felt a hand gently touch his shoulder. “You’re already awake, aren’t you, Techno?”

Technoblade sighed, blinking his eyes open to stare at the back of the seat.

“I am now,” Technoblade’s voice cracked, with exhaustion. He shifted to lever himself up, before hissing at the sudden pain in his shoulder.

“Techno! Are you-” Prince Theseus started.

“He missed his last dose of medication,” Phil interrupted. Technoblade glanced upward to see Phil standing over him. “In all the excitement, it wasn’t the top priority.”

“It should have been top priority,” Prince Theseus said heatedly. Phil leaned forward and carefully helped Technoblade sit up. Technoblade grumbled under his breath about it, but didn’t fight it. He didn’t want to be stuck laying down, even if every little movement caused him pain. “Technoblade is our top priority! He’s our-”

“Tommy,” Phil interrupted, looking over at Prince Theseus.

Prince Theseus frowned, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back into the seat. Technoblade studied him and was surprised to see that he was no longer covered in blood. Instead, water dripped from the Prince’s hair, and the Prince was wearing different clothes.

“How long was I asleep?” Technoblade asked with a wince, leaning his good shoulder against the wall.

“Not too long. You slept through the night, but that’s all,” Wilbur explained from where he sat beside Prince Theseus. Wilbur frowned. “Dad was off trying to hunt down whoever threw that disk and Tommy and I were stuck here, so none of us were available to grab your medication.”

“It’s fine. I don’t need it anyway,” Technoblade said dismissively. Wilbur’s frown grew.

“Yes. You do. Dad-”

“I already sent someone to grab it, Wilbur, don’t worry. As well as something for Techno to eat,” Phil waved off. Technoblade huffed as Phil sat beside him, a mere inch away from Technoblade.

“It should have already been here,” Prince Theseus grumbled, slumping further into his seat. Wilbur wrapped one arm over his shoulder. “Technoblade deserves to have food whenever he wants-”

“Okay, can we not talk about food right now?” Technoblade interrupted. He glanced over at Phil, careful not to jostle his shoulder. “What the heck happened last night? What was-why didn’t those priests die? ”

Phil pursed his lips.

“We had a bit of a prison break situation-” Phil started, but Technoblade cut him off.

“Prison breaks don’t usually have people defying the laws of life and death, do they?” Technoblade said, raising an eyebrow. “I think I would have heard about that before now, if it were.”

“We…aren’t sure why those people didn’t die,” Phil continued. “I have some suspicions, but nothing like that has happened before so that's all they are. Suspicions.”

“Well, that’s reassuring,” Technoblade huffed. The image of Jerry, eyes glowing green with the scalpel in his throat popped into his head.

“None of the important prisoners escaped. Dante, Jericho, the higher nobility,” Phil stated. “And we can already confirm that none that escaped were able to get away.”

Technoblade shivered at the thought. He had seen all of the bodies scattered on the ground. Even protection from death couldn’t help you escape from the Empire’s clutches.

What did that mean for him?

“We’ll have to make some changes to security,” Phil continued with a frown, a dark muted anger flashing in his eyes. “It is completely unacceptable for anyone to be able to get that close to the nest, especially with-”

Phil cut himself off, pursing his lips.

“-especially since we have you, now, and you are so much more breakable,” Phil finished. Technoblade rolled his eyes.

“Bruh, then how about you give me a sword or something to defend myself, if you are so worried-”

“No,” Phil said instantly. Technoblade sighed in disappointment. “I know you well enough to know that you would try to use it to escape-”

“-I’d never dream of it-”

“-and then you would most likely end up more hurt than you already are,” Phil finished. “So, absolutely not.”

Technoblade huffed and looked away, leaning his head against the wall. Bitterness settled in his heart, the feeling of being trapped weighing heavily on him.

“That’s a lot of concern coming from the person who caused my injuries in the first place,” Technoblade drawled. Technoblade opened one eye to peer at Phil, feeling satisfied with the suddenly blank expression that crossed the Emperor’s face.

“You can’t blame Dad for that!” Prince Theseus said suddenly, sitting up straight and glaring at Technoblade. Technoblade scoffed.

“Really, then who should I blame, in your opinion?” Technoblade said, deceptively calm. Chat whispered in his ears, but he paid them no mind.

“The High Priest, obviously.”

“Wow. Now, wouldn’t that be convenient for you?” Technoblade drawled, each word dripping in sarcasm. “Instead of blaming the man who injured me, shifting the blame to someone else entirely. I wonder why my captors would want me to do that?”

“Techno, stop being a bitch! You were never supposed to get hurt in all of this,” Prince Theseus gritted his teeth as he glared at Technoblade.

“Oh, of course. How silly of me. How could I blame the person who injured me just because it was ‘not supposed to happen’? My bad, Your Highness,” Technoblade scoffed. Prince Theseus’s expression darkened.

“You weren’t supposed to be there!” Prince Theseus shouted, jumping to his feet. Wilbur flinched, watching his brother with concern. “You were supposed to be in the palace! You were supposed to be safe! You were supposed to be with me , when Lord Hypixel let Dad in the wall. You were supposed to be with me when I met up with Dad. Had that bastard High Priest not interfered with his shitty coup attempt, Dad would have gotten that fucking bracelet off and we would have kept you safe and not a single hair on your head would be harmed.”

Technoblade mulled over the words in silence for a moment, considering them. They had planned out all of that? But then, that begged the question of-

“Why?” Technoblade asked. Chat buzzed in his ears with anticipation.

“Why what?” Tommy spat back, glaring at Technoblade.

“Why go to that effort? Is this game y’all are playing with me that entertaining? Gods, eternity must be boring if that’s the case,” Technoblade muttered. Prince Theseus stared back at Technoblade with confusion, anger fizzling out.

“What game?” Prince Theseus asked, brow furrowed.

“You know,” Technoblade gestured to the Royal Family, wincing slightly at the movement. “Whatever game…this is.”

Prince Theseus stared at Technoblade with a baffled expression. Technoblade almost wanted to laugh.

“Mate,” Phil said, placing his hand gently on Technoblade’s shoulder, careful to not so much as jostle it. “We aren’t playing a game with you.”

“Sure,” Technoblade said with bitterness. “Whatever.”

“Techno-”

“Technoblade, you really need to understand that you are ours . We have no intention of throwing you away, or hurting you,” Wilbur interjected, tugging on Prince Theseus’s sleeve and pulling the blond to sit down. “You are ours forever.”

“Forever? That’s a bit of a stretch,” Technoblade snarked. “Even if you weren’t lying, it would be more like seventy years, Your Highness. It’s not like humans live all that long, compared to vampires-”

“Techno-”

“It’s more like the equivalent of having a cat’s lifespan. Some kind of pet,” Technoblade said thoughtfully. “I don’t know if that's better than being treated as a weapon or not.”

“You’re not a pet, Technoblade,” Prince Theseus hissed.

“Then what am I?” Technoblade asked, Chat’s buzz growing with anticipation.

“You’re-” Prince Theseus bit his lip, eyes flicking to Phil. “You’re-”

“Toms,” Phil’s voice was low, a warning. Technoblade looked between them with interest. Something was…shifting.

“Phiiil,” Prince Theseus whined. “Please.”

“Tommy, I told you-”

“Dad, I agree with Tommy on this one,” Wilbur spoke up. Prince Theseus turned to his brother with a grin. “He isn’t going to trust us if he thinks we’re toying with him. He's stubborn, and he is dead set on viewing us like those Priests. Tommy and I fucked up and unless we give him a good reason to listen to us, he won't. No matter how hands off we are.”

Phil sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose in irritation. He looked away from Prince Theseus and Wilbur, before studying Technoblade. Technoblade froze under the stare, feeling suddenly apprehensive about the conversation. Phil didn’t blink as he looked at Technoblade, glancing from his face, to the sling on his arm, to the spot of blood on his wrist.

“Fine,” Phil said, with a sigh. Wilbur and Prince Theseus grinned.

“What’s fine?” Technoblade said nervously. Phil studied Technoblade for a moment longer before he answered.

“I told you that there is only one thing I wouldn’t give my sons, remember?” Phil asked, something shrewd in his expression.

“Yes? And then we-”

“I never said what I wouldn’t give them, did I?” Phil continued, ignoring Technoblade’s interruption.

“No, you didn’t,” Technoblade answered, his heart rate picking up as dread settled in his stomach. Technoblade didn’t move as Phil reached out his hand, carefully tucking a strand of hair behind Technoblade’s ear.

“The one thing I will not give them is my permission to leave me,” Phil said, with a smile. “My sons are never allowed to leave. Not for long, anyways. I love them too much to ever let them go.”

Technoblade didn’t respond for a moment, staring at Phil with confusion. Why was Phil telling him this? Unless- a terrifying suspicion formed in his head. But that couldn’t be-no there wasn’t-

“When we return to the Empire,” Phil continued carefully watching Technoblade’s face. Technoblade stared back in dawning horror. “You will become my son. Forever.”

Emperor Philza grinned wide.

“And no power on earth will take you away from me.”

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#Lenn Writes #To Be Truly Free #Chapter 18

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lunarsilkscreen · 3 months

Text

Comedy, Prophets, and the Bible

Humor is an important facet of life. Why does it seem like biblical study is devoid of it?

Some of the subject matter in the Bible is not very funny. Slavery, Crucifixion, Being eaten by a whale and surviving.

I don't know if service has changed; but service was always a somber thing to do. You sit and listen to a preacher; and sit quietly in contemplation, instead of anything else you could be doing.

Quietly relearning the same three passages; and zoning out until the community notes.

That's not quite true, because some services have excitement, performance, and sometimes dancing. But those are the "wrong kind of services" to the more snooty religious people.

What point does religious mass serve?

The point of religious mass is serveral-fold. To teach people is one.

"Follow along with me as *we* read our Bibles."

Some chapters teach maths, important concepts such as "Why must we farm/work? Why must we learn new things? What's the dangers of the world? What is our history?"

These days mass religion has been forced into a role that only caters to the spirit.

Depending on how you interpret "Spirit", this includes "Comedy" and the spectacle that some churches are known for these days, despite forcing it into the singular lens of exactly how you should keep your spirits up.

To Stave off depression, as with the case with Covid shutting down the churches and the churches reasonably refusing.

Prophets and ministers also *used to* do a lot more than to cater to the spirit. There are chapters of the Bible dedicated to physical health and wellness of the people, of the farmland. One section is even dedicated to keeping your home free of mold.

These are not directly related to "spirit" but they improve a person's well-being so that they may be better able to interact with their community and be in "good spirits".

Heck, they even serve wine.

Joke; this is probably closer to an early dental hygiene thing--As alcohol could be known to Stave off halitosis, same way we use mouthwash today. (Yes a form of hippie-"new age" health trend.)

But these days?

Like we know of "Eastern medicine"; it works but does it work as well as what we have now?

And so Organized Religion is stuck in-between remembering the "old-ways" and being a conduit for "Spirit". And depending on how zealous your religion is; God and Morality before even that.

And in some cases; God is the *only* thing that matters. Despite these Minister's actual connection to, or lack of connection to their personal Deity, who they claim is the one true "Jehova" or "Yahweh".

"Ask not what God can do for you, ask what you can do for your God."

And so we see these drives to make our Nations an [insert religion here] Nation, that serves no purpose; not even God's.

Religion has a purpose; but religion has lost its way. And it's in the Bible, especially the good Christian Holy Bible; that we often see that Religion has lost its way.

We can read of the prophets and the "Son of God" as they fight against the mainstream religions of their days; why they needed to do so. We can see them fight against their governments, and why they needed to do so.

We can see the separation between church and state represented in the U.S. constitution and the groundwork laid by these texts and reasoning it was necessary.

So what is Religion?

Religion used to be something to make accessible to humanity the tools kept away from them by Industry and Government. Education, Mental and physical health care, services in which to aid the common man, and their communities, a voice of morality, and the teachings of something outside the physical world that we live in. Something we cannot reach while in the flesh.

But it has since been reduced to only the latter thing. Teachings of a God, only in such a way that the teachers believe; instead of as a being that helps all. The one true God, who knows and loves all. That thing that is unknown to humans as they live and breathe, but claimed to be known by those who teach it, and only them, as long as you pay a fee and are loyal.

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moonknightismyhero · 2 years

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Omg…. Omg… Omg forgive me father for my actions. I have to write my prompt. The nun Reader and priest Steven one. He may be a little ooc but it’s good that way I think. And it’ll be pure sin.

Enjoy! ❤️

May I have your attention please!

Prompt: Reader is a nun helping out the local priest! But her mind wanders to somewhere unholy, that even the Father himself cannot forgive.

Pairing: Steven Grant x Reader (You)

Warnings: none, kissing is a warning?, I dunno, some touching, but not too much, sexual thoughts, blowjob (not reader giving, male receiving),dirty talk

Forgive me Father…

Part 1

You became a nun many years ago. No evil could touch your innocent soul, well you just though.

“Sister (y/n)?” Grabbed into your hand another one of nun and you smiled at her.

“Sister. Something tells me that you’re not here only to chat, am I right?” You said and she just nodded and said to you that follow her to the garden of the chapel. There were four benches there and you and your companion sat down on one of them. Sister just sighed and gave you an envelope with your full name written on it. You knew that it’s something important.

“Mother said that I have to give it to you. We have a new priest in town. And I think it’s something about helping him fitting in until he’s comfortable in here.” She said and you simply nodded and opened the envelope.

Dear, Sister (y/n),

I inform you that you’ll be helping the new priest to fit in, helping him in whatever he needs. I choose you because I know that you’re perfect for the “job”. His name’s Father Steven Grant. I hope you’ll get along with him working together in the home of God and Jesus Christ.

You’ll meet him Sunday morning at the church. You perform the holy mass with him, and after you tell him everything he has to know.

Farewell,

Mother Miranda.

You just sighed and corrects your headscarf and folded the letter back into the envelope.

“You were right Sister. You always are.”

“I know. Good luck with the new priest.” She said and excused herself and left you sitting on the bench all by yourself. You groaned in disappointment.

“I guess I have another one to train. May Jesus be at my side. Amen.” You prayed and went back to the dorm of yours but when you wanted to step you collided with someone. You lost your balance but the other person grabbed you by your waist and prevented the fall.

“I’m so sorry. I’m so clumsy today. Forgive me.” You said and when you looked up a pair of beautiful chocolate brown eyes.

“I’m must be the one who say sorry Sister.” He said and a blush creeped up on his beautiful face. ‘Beautiful?! What the heck! You’re a nun (y/n).’ You stood up and he let you go. It was so awkward.

“It’s okay. You must be Father Steven.”

“Y…yes. I’m the new priest here. I got a letter from Mother Miranda that I have to come here to discuss important matters with her.” He said and scratched the back of his neck.

“She’ll be in her office Father. If you want I can show you where’s the office.”

“Only if you really want to. I don’t wanna rob your precious time Sister.” He said

“You can call me (y/n), Father.”

“I mustn’t call you that. It’s not appropriate.”

“Well….. between us is it. Call me (y/n).”

“Okay….. (y/n). The you shall call me Steven. My lady.” He said and bowed a little. It made you blush a little. He moved something within you that you though that disappeared a long ago. It was desire maybe.

“Hmm…. Steven.”

“Yes… that’s me.” He smiled and moved his arm up.

“After you (y/n).” He smiled down at you.

“Thank you Steven.” You said and began the journey to Mother Miranda’s office. Once you reached it you knocked on the door.

“Come in.” Heard Mother Miranda’s voice from the other side you opened the door and stood before the desk where she was seated.

“Sister (y/n). I’m glad you came. You’re always welcome here. Did you get my letter? About the new priest?” She asked and smiled when he noticed Steven was standing in the doorway. He looked at you and you looked at him.

“Ah… Father Steven. What a pleasure to have you here in the home of our Saviour. Please do come in.” She smiled and he closed the door behind him as he stepped closer to you. “You may take a seat. Both of you.” She gestured to the two chairs that were located in front of her desk. You and Steven took a seat and listened to what Mother Miranda wants to say to the both of you.

“Father Steven. As you know, you’ll need a helping hand since you’re just only started your job as a priest. That’s why our lovely Sister’s here. She’ll accompany you this time as long as you master your skills as a proper priest. You’ll start at Sunday morning. She’ll help you with the holy mass and the communion and she’ll be there all along the ceremony.” She stated and you felt that Steven looked at you from time to time. It made you nervous. No man managed to feel you this way. Maybe he’s a bad influence.

“I’m glad that I don’t have to do this alone. Mother. And I want to thank you for your hospitality. I’m sure Sister (y/n)ll teach me everything I need to know.” He looked at you and slightly licked his lower lip. You almost choked on your own saliva.

“Are you all right? Please drink some water.” Mother said and you wanted to pour yourself some water but Steven were faster and he poured you. Handed it to you, you were sure he touched your hand a little on purpose. It had an affect on you. Possibly. He looked so good damn father.

“Thank you Father.” You said and take a big gulp of the fresh water. It was mid august and the weather was rather hot, just like Father Steven.

“You’re welcome.”

“Anyway. You’re more than welcome to join our feast today. You can stay with us. And even sleep in one of the dorms as Sister Lupita’s currently away. Sister (y/n)’ll show you the way. I’m sure you already have questions Father. She’ll help you all figure it out.”

“I’m honoured Mother.” He said and smiled a little bit. It made your heart melt.

You’re mouth went agape as you caught Steven and one of the nuns in the dorm where he’s currently staying. You only saw a glimpse of what happened there, she was in front of him, kneeled and moved her head on and off of his cock. Steven’s lips spread and tiny moans filled the dorm room. And you watched them. He was close, so close and you didn’t even go away. No…. You wanted to see what’ll happen.

“Fuck….yeah. C’mon you whore. Suck me like you mean it.” He commanded and she bobbed hear head up and down harder. His breathing was rapid and he was close to coming. He laid his head down on the wall and moaned. His Adam’s apple moved as he swallowed. You felt yourself get wet. You knew that feeling to well. At the moment you laid eyes on him you knew that you’re a sinner. And what was your sin? Desire? Lust? You cannot tell. And you watched your hand slowly slipped into your robe and into your panties.

“Oh… Steven.” You felt how wet you were. And only for him. You circled your clit and your legs wobbled a little. Closing your eyes you bit your bottom lip and imagined that it was him who made you feel good. You knew about the sexual pleasures, and the ones that can make you feel good. You were sure a virgin but not so innocent. You knew you have to repent your sins after. Your thoughts were cut short when you heard his rather loud moan. You peered into the room and say that the nun was laying on the floor, exhausted. You saw his cock, glistened in cum. His dress shirt unbuttoned, leaving nothing to the imagination. He looked at the direction of the door and you quickly hide from his peering eyes. He let out a little laugh and you knew that you have to disappear. You slowly started to back away from the room and went straight into your room. You were alone, finally.

“If I did not see it, I cannot believe it. The nuns here aren’t the innocent types. God bless their souls. Amen.” You prayed and changed yourself into your pyjamas and went to sleep. On the other hand Steven knew that you’re watching him. He put up quite the show there. He sure did not enjoyed it cause it wasn’t you who blew him off. He was mesmerised by you when you two bumped into each other. You didn’t even know what’s await you in the future. He knows and he’ll sure enjoy it.

That’s it darlings! Part 1. I hope you liked it. Tell me if I should continue it.

Lators Gators XOXO

#steven grant one shot #steven grant #priest Steven Grant #x reader #smut #nuns #moon knight #oscar issac hernandez estrada #oscar isaac #steven grant x reader #steven grant x y/n #Spotify

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clansocreations · 2 years

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Alright so I had a lot of time to kill yesterday and for some reason I ended up on a bench reading the novel "The three musketeers" and I'm about 150 pages in. Holy shit that book is amazing.

Here's my observations and thoughts about the book so far:

1. De Treville is exactly what Sam Vimes would be like if he weren't so perpetually annoyed by having to engage in politics. Other than that I see little differences there (apart from that one is in charge of a bunch of soldiers and the other of a bunch of police people)

2. Whoever designed this cover must've been on something at the time if you catch my drift. Like, respectfully, what the heck is up with the colors and the horses in particular.

3. I'm still not sure if I understand who's intriguing against whom in this book like, dang. The french against the Spanish and the English, the state against the church and therefore the musketeers against the... Church guard? Is that what they're called in English? Idk those guys. (Yet another thing that reminds me of Ankh-Morpork)

4. I'm still shocked that the guy who, on HIS FIRST DAY IN THE BIG CITY was like "ah well I'm probably going to die in the first battle to the death I provoked today anyways so why worry about the second and the third one?" and then proceeded to so absolutely kick ass alongside the three gentlemen he pissed off that even de Treville and the king were impressed...

That guy is pretty much my age?! Like I know that this is a work of fiction but like damn, what have I done with my life so far? 😂 I wanna leave home on an ancient horse and pick fights with anyone who looks at me wrong too!

Tbf before he kicked ass in Paris he was knocked on the head so hard that he was unconscious for the rest of the day and had his most valuable possession stolen by a bad guy whomst was not a bad guy then but only a guy who was significantly better at fighting than our young hotheaded friend.

And I like that the narration uses "we", it implies that there's a whole bunch of narrators around. That's pretty cool.

I also like the scene where it's like

"So you're not d'Artagnan?"

"No."

"Then who are you?"

"Athos"

"Athos? That's the name of a mountain!"

"It's still my name"

That was p cool too

5. Aramis being like "I am actually a bookworm and I want to be a clergy man, my friends *points at Athos and Porthos* peer pressured me into this uniform but I'm going to make the best of being an interim musketeer!"

Also the narration being like "Athos had not once expressed any interest in women at all and Aramis preferred to read his books but Porthos made up for that by being twice as horny as both of them combined" was hilarious. (That's not actually what they said, but that was the conveyed meaning 😂)

More will be coming tomorrow when I have even more time to kill and can finish the rest of the book.

#the three musketeers #die drei musketiere #discworld #too I suppose?#idk

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dailyaudiobiblechronological · 7 months

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10/15/2023 DAB Chronological Transcription

Matthew 8:14-34 and Mark 4-5 and Matthew 8:14

Welcome to Daily Audio Bible Chronological. I'm Jill. Today's the 15th day of October. We're reading Matthew, Chapter 8 verses 14 through 34. And then we will jump over to Mark and read Mark chapters 4 and 5. Matthew chapter 8, verse 14.

Prayer:

Father, we thank you for your word today. We thank you for this past week and how you have spoken to our hearts. How the words of your have...they've disrupted our minds and our lives in one way or the other, and I pray God that we would even use this time where we do get disrupted because we thought we knew the heart of Jesus, we thought we knew who he was, and we anticipated maybe one response and we got another one. And we would stop and pause and consider the things that we have learned about you, where we have learned them, where we have obtained them, where we have picked them up from and are they true of your character, of your heart, of who the heart of Jesus is. And I pray that we would hear these gospels in the New Testament and where we're at and be open. We would have ears to hear in a way that we've never heard before, that we would come to know you in a new, in a real, in an authentic relationship with you. And I thank you that you are there to meet us. You are willing to be in this relationship with us. It goes beyond willing- you long to be with us you came, Jesus, Emmanuel, God with us. And we are so grateful for your presence in our lives. And I pray that we feel it every day, far beyond an hour or two in a church building. But we would experience your presence in our lives every day of our lives. We thank you, love you, praise you. And pray this now in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Announcements:

I have thoroughly enjoyed this time and this week here with you and thank you for allowing me to be here with you as a part of your journey and hopefully transformation through the word of God. And I love each and every one of you. I love this community. Have a great week. Love one another.

Community Prayer Line:

Hey, my precious DABC fam, this is Kingdom Seeker Daniel. Family, let's pray. Father, I come on behalf of good life in Texas and her two sons, Tyler and Victor. You see what Tyler is dealing with with struggling to not fit in, having some identity issues adapting to American life and he loves you, Lord, but he is having a hard time. And we ask that you will come alongside of him, that he will make the right relationships, the right connections. God, I pray that you would more importantly build an internal understanding of who he is and whose he is. Will you ratchet up his faith to know that? In you Tyler lives, moves and has his being nodding. Anyone else? Not in a school program, not in a friend, but in you. And for Victor who has special needs and is high functioning, but can't seem to find workload. Would you open the doors, open the avenues for Victor to be able to access the right place, the right company? And I pray that you would comfort this moms heart to know you've got her boys. You know exactly where they are and what they stand in need of. And I pray that she would rest in you. In Jesus name. And for Kindergarten Katie, I'm asking God that you would strengthen her Lord and allow her to know that it's OK to not be OK. But as long as she continues to look to you, she will be OK. So God encourage your heart and all of those that feel inadequate. In Jesus name. Amen.

Hello, my DABC Family. This is His Light from Tennessee. Yay. Amen, Jill. Amen. We are not not not to judge one another. You are absolutely correct, lady. You sure as heck are. Yeah, I was having a discussion with a friend the other day and I said, look, I am not your Holy Spirit. She started getting on to herself and saying out loud, I know I'm not supposed to be doing this. You're probably feeling, you're probably thinking this, this and that. And I said no, I'm not. I'm gonna pray for you. Please don't misunderstand. I'm not saying I'm perfect. It was just a conversation that I had with a friend. And I said I am not your Holy Spirit, you have the Holy Spirit in you, I said. But just make sure you're listening to the Holy Spirit and not the enemy that is trying to give condemnation to you and make you feel bad, as opposed to making convicting you to where you want to make a change for yourself. There's a difference. I hope that makes sense how I just brought all that up about I'm just letting people know everybody has their own Holy Spirit. There is conviction from the Holy Spirit, but then the enemy comes as condemnation to try and make you feel bad, and he will use other people to do it in judgment. And that's not what each other's here for, where to lift one another up and love one another. And speak the truth in love, but you're not to be somebody else's Holy Spirit. I love you all. I hope you have a wonderful, wonderful day. Bye bye.

Hello my dear DABC Family. This is his Light from Tennessee. I'm calling about Green Thumb from Nebraska. Umm, I was thinking about you after I heard what you had said about a significant pay raise and how God had just really answered your prayers, I just wanted to say, wow, praise the Lord, praise the Lord that is so wonderful and God is so good because I wanted to call you out, and I'm sure you would have known who I was talking to, but I didn't know for lack of a better phrase, what your handle is here on DABC. But anyway, Green Thumb from Nebraska, thank you Jesus. Woo, I'm so happy for you. My heart went out to you when I heard you calling the first time. And I just know that you did- you reached out, you asked for prayer, and you just keep on trying. You just keep on trying to pray out loud. Umm I'm just kind of going all over the place because I'm looking at my time running out. But anyway, just want to let you all know God hears you, God hears you. What I like to do sometimes is, Lord, I know there's many people that are that are relating to this story or that story or they're just not calling in and they have needs. Lord, you know what they are. Please answer those needs to the ones that are not calling in. I love you so much DABC Family. I just love this channel. It's this platform. Thank you, Jill. Thank you, Brian. Love you all.

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lowryinbohemia · 7 months

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Brasov

Hey guys! I know I’ve been a little radio silent for the past couple days and super sorry about that, but things have been busy and then we had a minor emergency and then I wasn’t feeling well so I didn’t feel up for writing my blog. However, my plan is to remedy that today! I’m gonna break this post up into two posts because a lot happened in the past three days and it’ll be a lot easier if I just did it in two posts.

So we started our full day in Brasov with a city walking tour, where we got to go up to this beautiful vista of one of the old towers, which gave us a huge panoramic view of the entire city. Mom, Pat and I of course, had to get a picture together with the beautiful view since the weather was so perfect. We then went to visit a very old synagogue in the city, where the orthodox Jewish population still attend services. There was also memorial outside the synagogue, dedicated to Jewish members from Brasov who were killed during the Holocaust. The inside of the synagogue was very, very beautiful and we got to see how the building has remained in really excellent condition due to the dedication of the small, vibrant Jewish community and Brasov. After touring the synagogue, we went to tour the Black Church, which is the second largest active place of worship in Europe, outside the Hagia Sophia in Istanbul. Inside the church, there were numerous fresco‘s, as well as tapestries that came from Istanbul, that are hung all around the church. It was hard not to get a sense of peace, as well as a sense of holiness as you walked around the entire location. For lunch we went to this adorable little café that actually used to be a brothel before it was certain restaurant; hence the name of the restaurant means “sweet hole”.

In the afternoon, Pat, Mom and I all went and did our own thing just hanging out and walking around the city. I went and spent some time, just looking in the shops, and I even went into one little candy stores and got myself a big bag of gummy candies so I could have a little sugar for our adventures coming up.

The next day we packed up our stuff and made an early morning start from Brasov towards Sighișoara. Along the way, we stopped and saw a whole bunch of different citadel in old ruins from the Saxon Empire, and learned about the different ways that the Germanic influences as well as Italian and French influences have played depart in development of Romanian culture. It was a heck of a lot of walking, and Lord knows my legs were tired, but it was a beautiful places to visit.

For lunch, we stopped at the little town of Viscri, which is actually a UNESCO heritage site. We went to this little café, where we had a home-cooked meal, which included some of the most delicious chicken noodle soup. I’ve ever eaten in my life, as well as Romanian goulash, which I’m going to admit I really enjoyed more than Hungarian goulash. But I think the highlight of the whole lunch was definitely the adorable Siamese cat that proceeded to walk around and love on all of us during our lunch. Believe me if I could’ve taken this kitten home with me I 100% would’ve.

We toured the church in Viscri and I made the intrepid trek to the top of the clock tower, which Mom did not make because she is terrified of heights, and I don’t blame her, but boy was my legs tired when I was done with that walk. We learned about how the community was very very close and had its own traditions regarding making decisions on changes to policy, laws, as well as getting together for community and religious events. We also learned how the young people grew up and became members of the community through a series of rituals where they were officially entered as members of the community. The church, though in rough condition, still held some of the original pews used by the parishioners of the small village. On the outside of the church were two memorials, dedicated to those who lost their lives in World War I and World War II that originally came from the village, with their house number to the side.

I will talk about getting to Sighișoara and all the mess that happened in the next post :-)

#eastern europe #travel blog #romania #Brasov

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jashim6356 · 7 months

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15 Things Forbidden by The Bible That You Probably Do:

15 Things Forbidden by The Bible That You Probably Do: The Bible is a holy book that guides millions of people worldwide in their daily lives. However, did you know that there are some ridiculous things that are forbidden by the Bible, which you probably do every day? From wearing mixed fabrics to eating certain foods, the Bible’s rules can seem arbitrary and outdated to modern readers. Let’s explore some of these “forbidden” activities and see if you’re all sinful. Buckle up, and get ready to uncover some surprising revelations about the Bible’s strange prohibitions. 1.Wearing clothing made of mixed fabrics. According to Leviticus 19:19, people were forbidden to wear clothing made of two different materials, which in today’s world would be pretty much impossible if you want to have a fashion sense. 2.Eating pork or shellfish. Leviticus (11:7-12) strikes again, listing various animals that were considered unclean and therefore prohibited from being eaten, including pigs and 3. Shaving beards. Can you take a wild guess who said no to men shaving the edges of their beards? Leviticus 19:27. Just so you know, you’ll see his name pop up a lot here. 4.Tattoos or body piercings. Who would have thought that the same guy who was against trimming beards would also dislike tattoos and piercings, among many other things? It’s crazy how much clout Leviticus (19:28) had back in the day that people actually list 5.Charging interest on loans. The Bible forbids charging interest on loans to fellow Israelites, as noted in Deuteronomy 23:19-20. For everybody else, however, it’s all godsend to him.

6.Women speaking in the church. In 1 Corinthians 14:34-35, women are instructed to remain silent in church and are not allowed to speak. Ladies, you need to speak up! 7.Divorce. While divorce is now widely accepted, it was frowned upon in biblical times and seen as a sin, as stated in Mark 10:9-12.in silent in church and are not allowed to speak. Ladies, you need to speak up! 8.Banning women from the church after they gave birth. According to Leviticus 12:2, a woman that gave birth was not allowed to visit the church for a whole week. 9.No Tarot readings. Leviticus 19:31 forbids people to turn to mediums or spiritists. 10.No jewelry. According to Timothy 2:9, women had to wear proper clothing and look modest. Braiding hair, adorning gold or pear

11.Working on Saturday. Exodus 20:8-10 commands people to keep the Sabbath day holy and refrain from any work 12.Leave the fallen grapes for the bums. Leviticus 19:10 says not to pick up the grapes from the ground and instead leave them for the poor and the foreigner. This guy, wow. 13.Drinking too much wine. While drinking alcohol is not forbidden, Proverbs 23:20-21 cautions against getting sloshed. 14.No honey. According to Leviticus 2:11, the Lord hates honey and yeast in his offerings. Surely, that’s got nothing to do with the guy’s allergies. 15.Eating meat with blood. In Leviticus 17:10-14, it is forbidden to consume meat that still has blood in it. So all you rare steak aficionados are sinful as heck.

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fae-of-the-rose · 1 year

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I posted 1,247 times in 2022

That's 602 more posts than 2021!

12 posts created (1%)

1,235 posts reblogged (99%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@silvermuffins

@bealoideas

@glitteringnebulae

@nyctoheart

@perkynurples

I tagged 1,247 of my posts in 2022

#yes good - 315 posts

#inspiration - 176 posts

#reference - 173 posts

#oh my gods - 115 posts

#jojo's bizarre adventure - 100 posts

#twisted wonderland - 86 posts

#kingdom hearts - 67 posts

#mdzs - 58 posts

#grandmaster of demonic cultivation - 56 posts

#ensemble stars - 36 posts

Longest Tag: 75 characters

#how in the fuck are you not going batshit with your lab in that apartment??

My Top Posts in 2022:

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Final Fantasy XIV Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Urianger Augurelt/Thancred Waters, Minor or Background Relationship(s), minor Gaia/Ryne | Minfillia Characters: Urianger Augurelt, Thancred Waters, Gaia (Final Fantasy XIV), Ryne | Minfilia Additional Tags: others are mentioned - Freeform, Named Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), for like two lines, Implied/Referenced Abuse, thanks Vauthry, goes into absolutely no detail but it is mentioned, disgustingly in love dads

Summary: Urianger and Thancred's home is always open to those who need a place to stay.

6 notes - Posted March 19, 2022

So when I’m bored and unwinding for sleep apparently I make characters. Anyway @khttrpg posted a character sheet thingie to make characters with and I figured why the heck not I can always use more OCs.

Assuming I did my math right, Riley here has 5 Major Levels, is the Replica of a scientist’s son who’s father was very, very keen to see how far the human body could be pushed before being forced into Heartless/Nobody.....and look I based him on Prompto Argentum, taking characters from a video game or other media and building them in a TTRPG system is a really good way for me to figure out how the system works. Also he was the easiest to justify as a Cosmic Mage and I really like Cosmic Mage’s flavor.

All of his stats should be right if I did my math right this late at night (I added +3 to HP and +2 to MP) and there were a couple of things I noticed missing from the doc but otherwise extremely fun to build out! His whole deal would, obviously, be about finding where he belongs and figuring out where the scientist is now and maybe getting revenge for the bullshit that guy did to Riley’s “brothers”.

EDIT TO ADD since tumblr’s ask limit means this is easier: The things I noticed missing were: several Jobs give you free spells that don’t count against the number of spells you can learn but at no point in the doc does it say just how many spells you can learn aside from those; and some clarification on if a Talent can exceed a Stat if boosted by Reflex Improvement or other Class abilities.

7 notes - Posted August 5, 2022

>playing Stardew Valley for the first time in a while >”btw Ginger Island is a thing” >unlock Ginger Island >oh...oh no

anyway I do not think I am likely to ever use anything on the island except that forge ever that is just TOO MUCH I am not a min-max/must make all the money type of player I am just a simple Fae who wants to marry cute boys and have a cute farm

11 notes - Posted July 18, 2022

I’m gonna need an internet historian to compile this wild Nier Automata Church Saga once it’s all said and done this is just bonkers like. whatever it ends up being it needs to be preserved as both a wild time and also a prime example of the DrakeNier fandom and how willing we are to like. accept this shit

41 notes - Posted July 29, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

youtube

D23′s going on today and new Tron game holy shit yes

119 notes - Posted September 9, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #long post #yes good #Youtube

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gozzabear26 · 1 year

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Day 15

How the heck has it already been a week since my last post? 😮 Time honestly feels fast as you get older!

It's been a big week that's for sure! Have done 5 days at work and I'm starting to get the hang of things. My colleague is fairly confident in leaving me to do the work without needing to hover which feels good. I'm also getting into a good rhythm with my mornings, although this morning I slept in till 6 and didn't get out of bed until 6.10 so was a bit of a rush getting out the door. Really want to get that down but it's definitely getting easier waking up at 5 the more I do it.

Food and fast wise... Well... Yeah. I was at a friends place this weekend and it was snack central! (That reminds me I need to transfer her money lol) but I haven't had a weekend stay at anyone but my friends place since 2014 so that was cool getting to know her a little more. Other than that I'm mostly sticking to having my first meal at 12 but still struggling to finish at 8... I just love snacks and if it's in front of me I'm likely to eat it! I can definitely feel the Holy Spirit's conviction each time I do but I can also hear the enemy's voice coming at me with condemnation so the positive in that is being able to discern.

Hmm, what else has happened this week?

Oh! I got my first paycheck on Thursday, which is wasn't expecting to get at all. I was expecting for this week to be my first one so that was great! Sent that straight to church for my first fruits offering, did that as soon as I saw it so that I couldn't tempt myself out lol. I'm reading The Blessed Life by Robert Morris and really enjoying it. I recommend it if you want to know more about tithing and financial generosity.

Once this weeks paycheck comes in I'll do a proper breakdown of the money. Because I'm in a position where there's overlap of my student allowance and work pay I actually think I'm going to hold off touching my paycheck money to Sunday night and have that be my weekly financial review day. I might even upload a YouTube video. Haven't uploaded in a while.. I'm just not in the habit of filming yet.

Yea that's the catch up. Monday and today just had work. Was in bed by 9 last night which was great. Still on the bus home from eGroup tonight (it's 9.25) so probably going to go straight to bed as soon as I get home and sort my lunch in the morning.

Thanks for reading!

Hope your week is off to a great start!

#health #spiritual discipline #christian #christianity #daniel fast #fitnessjourney #health journey #new job #new season #finance #money #paycheck

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the-single-element · 2 years

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Good morning.

In our weekly excerpts from Luke's good news, Jesus is approaching Jerusalem. He's thinking - and we're thinking - more about where this story will end. He has not yet transitioned to talking about the end times, but they're on his mind.

A few decades later, they're on the mind of the early Christian community, too. They were expecting the Second Coming to happen within their lifetimes; they were confused that twenty or sixty years had passed without the Kingdom coming in glory.

But standing where we're standing... twenty or sixty years seems like nothing. In 2022, we're almost two millennia out from Jesus's death and resurrection, and the hour still has not yet come. Aside from the few of us feverishly attempting to predict the day and the hour (or using such predictions to sell doctrinal snake oil, as the epistle for today dryly points out), most Christians live under the assumption that we'll die and be buried - that the eschaton is in some sense part of a future so distant that it might as well not be real.

And yet... just like the early Church, who looked around at the tribulations they were facing, and wondered what was taking so long... in our day, many of us experience the same confusion, made only more confusing by how long it's been for us. The world is a mess. Heck, Christianity is a mess - all these institutions that were supposed to be about Jesus's good news and ended up, somehow, about something else. When's God going to come and sort all this out? "Return, o Lord! How long?" What is he waiting for?

Today, assisted by Paul and by the Wisdom anthologist, Jesus answers that question. Not with a parable, but by how he lived, here, in the real world.

The incident we're about to discuss takes place in Jericho. This is interesting for two reasons. For one thing, it confirms this moment's placement late in Luke's account of Jesus's life. Jericho is only a couple days away from Jerusalem on foot.

More interestingly is the parallel to the most famous story of Jericho: the beginning of the Israelite conquest of the holy land, where they miraculously destroyed the fortified walls of the city in order to enter and conquer it. This story is likely to be ahistorical; Jericho was at most a small, unwalled settlement in Joshua's era, with the earlier walled city having fallen to Egyptian invaders 200 years earlier.

But perhaps that only makes it a more appropriate parallel. When Jesus entered Jerusalem in triumph a few days later, it wasn't on a warhorse, but on a donkey colt. And so, if his Passover was to overthrow the logic of this world once and for all - if he, like his namesake Joshua, began his revolution in Jericho - then he began it in the heart of the main character of today's good news: a man named Zaccheus.

What do we know about Zaccheus? Well, he's short. He's audacious enough to be the sort of person who'd climb a tree for a better view of the famous preacher who's come to town.

We know he's a rich tax collector, and as a result, he's seen by the town as a sinner and a traitor - the kind of person who'd line his own pockets by collaborating with the Roman occupation of the Holy Land. He might even be an extortionist; many tax collectors added a "commission" to the taxes they charged, by claiming a higher price than what Rome was actually demanding, and then pocketing the difference.

Was he guilty of all that? We'll never know. It's not relevant. Perhaps he was exactly as wicked as everyone assumed. Perhaps his only sin was to have taken the job at all... and then to have kept the rewards for himself instead of sharing his good fortune with his community.

So it was Jesus who disrupted all that. Who forced Zaccheus back into engaging with the community, but did it by giving him an endorsement ("I'll be staying in your house tonight"). Whose gentle pressure led that man to a change of heart.

The kingdom comes into our hearts first, and from there, into the world.

If we want to know why the second coming is so long delayed, it's because that work - "to seek and to save what was lost" - is not yet done. It's because - as the Wisdom anthologist argues - he's preparing his way once again, little by little, wanting that day to save as many people as possible. And it's because - as Paul (or a successor of his) reminds Thessaloniki - it's up to us to bring to fruition that part of the remaining work which we have been put here to do.

The conquest is still in progress. Jesus's victory parade is awaiting the defeat of his enemy. He won't be satisfied with a partial victory.

If we long for the Kingdom to come, we can give it a beachhead in our everyday lives. Not by condoning evil nor by condeming sinners, but by lovingly bringing them back. If we say "return, o Lord, how long", then God, too, says "return to me". Even if we don't know how long it will take for the work to be finished... even if - as we suspected - it doesn't happen in our lifetime... we can make one small corner of the Second Coming visible even now, by the efforts of our lives.

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pastorjen · 2 years

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Should

This morning we celebrate the resurrection of Christ. We gather together here in this sanctuary wo be revitalized, to be changed, to be infected by the Holy Spirit. To check off a box that says I attended church this year! To please our grandmothers or our mothers. There’s all kinds of reasons why you’re here and truth be told I don’t care what brought you here whether it is blackmail or love I am just glad you are here. Heck, I’m glad if you’re watching from home!

The general pastoral belief is that if I can give a good enough sermon, one that touches, you moves your soul, inspires you, enlightens you, motivates you, then maybe just maybe you’ll come back next Sunday! That’s way too much pressure. I can’t write a sermon that good. I can’t deliver a sermon that good. I can’t move your soul. I am not that special. My job today is to deliver a message to you from someone who is.

Someone who’s death was powerful enough to rip open the curtain of. Destroying, shredding, ripping apart like Hulk Hogan’s shirt the curtain that created a barrier between you and God. No longer is the pathway to Him available to only a select few. With the tearing of that curtain, you became a priesthood of believers. No longer do need someone else to pray for you. No longer do you need someone else to grant you forgiveness. No longer must you go through a priest, pastor, or other clergy member to speak to God. Every single one of you has become a priest, in that sense. Every single one of you can pray on behalf of another, directly to God. No middleman. Straight from your mouth to his ears.

And I hope that scares the hell right out of you because Jesus might not have done you a favor that you wanted. You may prefer to live in a world where the words that cross your tongue and pass through your lips are not heard by God but my friends, that is not the world we live in. We live in a world where we are heard. God hears your voice calling out to be saved. God hears your cries for mercy. God hears your heart.

I don’t know about you, but I am confident some of the words I have spoken will not get me into heaven let alone all those that have passed through my heart or across my mind. Some choice phrases that flittered through when that little old lady cut me off on the interstate and then hit her brakes in front of me come to mind. Didn’t say them, but I thought them, which means, God heard them.

One word in particular comes to mind though. What could quite possibly be the most destructive, damaging, hurtful, arrogant, self-serving, in-sufferable, condemning, damning, relationship ending, evil words mankind has ever uttered that he has no business ever using. Wanna guess what it is? I will give you a couple clues: It does not start with the letter F and I have heard it many many times even within the walls of this sacred space.

The word is “should.” That little old lady should not have cut me off. She should have been paying more attention. If she can’t see she shouldn’t be driving. You should have known better, I should have known better, they should know better. Should is the epitome of judgment.

Every should that crosses our minds, escapes our lips is a judgment placed.

When we read this passage, a lot of ‘Shoulds” arise. His body should have been in the tomb. They should have known he wasn’t going to be there! He told them so. The angels even questioned this should. “Remember how he told you?” Then the women went on and passed the same information along to the disciples being a little bit embarrassed themselves over their inability to understand what they should have already know. And what did our disciples do? The exact same thing, they should have known!

We like to think to ourselves but wait Peter ran to the tomb! Of course he did, but not because he believed them because he needed proof! He had to see for himself, their words weren’t good enough. He should have listened to the women! But no, he goes to the tomb, no body, no angels and then goes away wondering to himself what happened.

To recap, Jesus told the disciples he would die and be resurrected 3 days later, the women relay a message from presumably an angel but at the very least a messenger from God, Peter sees no body and still they do not recognize Him when he comes to them. They should have recognized him! They should have known by now! How much evidence do you need! So what do they do? More of them go to the tomb and scratch their heads, huh he’s not there.

Have you ever been in a situation where say you walk into a room, flip the switch, and the lights don’t come on, so you say to someone, the lights aren’t working and then they go and flip the switch and say “Huh, you’re right, the lights aren’t working.” And you stare at them in disbelief that they apparently think you’re so stupid that you didn’t try the switch? Now, granted yes, I have encountered rare situations where there are ten people standing outside a door waiting to go because they think it’s locked and no one has tried the handle but more often than not, someone did and so did every other person thereafter because they deemed the other person incapable of mastering such a complicated technical device as a doorknob so they had to try it themselves.

This same line of thinking is what goes into every should. Shoulds are judgments made by the unqualified who have deemed you less qualified than they are. They will deny it but that is exactly what shoulds convey. I know better than you do therefore I am placing myself in the authority to tell you what you should do.

Shoulds are not love. Shoulds are not faith. Shoulds are saying I won’t believe you without proof. And not the evidence you give me, that will not suffice, but the proof I gather myself.

We often think to ourselves, the apostles should have recognized Jesus. They walked with him, talked with him, learned from him and with him. When Jesus came to the disciples, he tried to tell them but they refused to listen, they had to flip the switch themselves. Until Jesus physically did something in a way only Jesus would do, they did not recognize. Until he provided the proof they wanted to see, he was a stranger.

Luke is my favorite of the gospels because he is storyteller, he weaves together small little bits of information that provide the necessary proof of Jesus’ humanity, divinity, and God’s careful orchestration of events. John uses the concreteness of Thomas touching the holes in Jesus’ hands and feet but Luke tells a story to me that feels more godlike. It is not his wounds that give his identity away but something much more subtle, something much more distinct, something that only the disciples would have witnessed, known and recognized. Something he had said the night before he was handed over to the authorities. “Do this in remembrance of me…”

It's never the obvious. We think it should be the big things that stir up memories but it’s not, it’s the little things. It’s the way a child fidgets with their hair, twiddles their fingers, or curls their toes when they think that reminds us of their ancestors. It’s the smell of a particular cologne, baked good, flower, or kind of sawdust that awakens memories long lost of our grandparents. Often, the things we think should be reminders, aren’t.

Shoulds are not ours to give. Aside from being judgments, they are commands which none of us are in a position to be making upon one another. In our minds, perhaps the disciples should have recognized Jesus, all of them should have known he was going to rise from the dead, all of them should have known and should not have been surprised he died, but the thing about should is there is only One who can issue them. There is only one who determines what “should” be and what “should not be.” And I’m sorry to say, but it’s not you.

It is He who gave us the 10 commandments. It is He who laid down the Law, the only Law of what we should and should not do. It is He who has the power to make all of the other things in this world that we think should happen immediately stop. It is He who has the power to make things which should not happen happen. There is only One God who can make the blind see and those who can see blind. There is only one god who can resurrect the dead.

There is only one God who can forgive all of your sins. One God who would do something so subtle, so personal, so significant as to come to earth as a human being to demonstrate his power. A God who could make the earth cease to exist with the power of his voice, made us believe in Him, not through a demonstration of brutal force or military prowess but as a tiny baby whose life was cut short through a betrayal by those who said they loved him. Now that’s power. That God can tell me what I should and should not do and He can tell you but as for the rest of us, maybe we should keep our opinions to ourselves and stop trying to be Gods.

Maybe we should learn to have a little faith. Maybe we should learn that being right isn’t nearly as important as believing in someone. Because you know what the funny part is about being locked out of a room that isn’t even locked? It makes a whole crowd of people who would have otherwise gone into a room, sat in their chairs and played on their phones, talk to one another.

The woman who went to the tomb who should have believed and known he wouldn’t be there? They talked to each other about it. The disciples who didn’t believe the women even though they should have? They talked to each instead of sitting around moping and grieving. The disciples walking down the street, instead of walking in silence, were talking to each other about it. Who cares what “should be”? If you were meant to have known better, you would have. If someone “should” have done or not done something that you think they “should” have or hadn’t, they would have.

God is our should. He is the only one with the power to decide what should and should not be. If we would stop having to question one another, require proof, do things for ourselves instead of trusting one another, and instead did what we “should” do, love one another this world would be a much better place. The next time someone tells you the light won’t come on, the car won’t start, or the door is locked, instead of trying to prove them wrong or that you’re better than them, try demonstrating some love and having a conversation with them before you try the switch.

#easter #should #love #christ #judge #judgment #anger #god #mental health #faith

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snackhobi · 4 years

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pairing: taehyung x reader / word count: 13.3k / genre: fluff, friends to lovers, smut (NSFW, 18+)

summary: you’re used to being in love with taehyung. you’ve had a lot of time to get good at it, after all—by this point you’re the world’s expert at keeping your less-than-platonic feelings hidden from him, what with the amount of practice you’ve had.

but then he signs up for a massage therapy course, because apparently you can never catch a break.

or: the one where taehyung gives you a full body massage and then some.

warnings: sexually explicit content, massage with a happy ending (literally 🤧), cursing, edible massage oil/lube, fingering (f), unprotected sex (be safe when you have sex please), multiple orgasms (f), oral sex (m), cum swallowing, pet names, body worship?, brief mention of shower sex

a/n: I swear this was meant to be pwp. this was literally meant to just be pwp with some massage shenanigans. and then I blinked and it had become a soft 13k fic which honestly… kicked my ass quite a bit. but I hope you enjoy it!! thank you as always to @hobi-gif for beta reading this and encouraging me and putting up with me changing this multiple times, what would I do without your support miss hope?

Taehyung goes through a lot of different phases.

He just finds so many things interesting. Photography, art, art history, music, fashion, thrift shopping; heck, there was even the time he got weirdly into making tea and became some sort of connoisseur, going through the whole rigmarole of buying the loose leaves and weighing them out, checking the temperature of the water, brewing for a precisely measured amount of time.

You still remember the look on his face when you said it all tasted like hot leaf water to you.

Because, of course, as one of Taehyung’s best friends and his roommate, you’re inevitably swept up in everything he does. You’re used to the weirdly acrid smell of photo development fluid and how cold dark rooms can get. You use phrases like chiaroscuro and sfumato to describe the simplest things after listening to Taehyung do the same for so long. You’ve lost count of the amount of times you’ve tripped over his saxophone case when he leaves it lying around the apartment. You regularly wear the baggy t-shirt with the face that Taehyung had painted on it—even if you still refer to it as the Squidward-House-Shirt despite the fact you know he was inspired by Basquiet and Schiele and not the Easter Island themed stone head that Squidward lives in.

You don’t mind getting dragged along with whatever he does, honestly; you don’t have time to attend every class, but go with him when you can. It’s always good to expand your horizons. You also love watching Tae’s face whenever he learns something new, the various expressions that flit across his features—from wide eyed excitement and eyebrow raising astonishment to the more solemn side that appears whenever he’s taking something in and thinking deeply about it, turning it over in his mind, mulling on it.

(You love watching Tae’s face all the time, actually, but that’s a whole other can of worms you’d rather keep shut.)

However, the latest course he’s signed up for is not one you’d been expecting.

“Massage therapy?” Your face twists in equal parts confusion and surprise.

Taehyung’s dropped this latest nugget of information while you’re cooking, trying to fry some rice while also peering at the phone screen that’s been thrust into your face. You’re not bad at multitasking, per se, but Taehyung’s iPhone is drifting so close that you’re almost cross-eyed and it’s blocking you from seeing what’s going on in the pan.

“I had a coupon,” he says, as if that explains everything. (It doesn’t.)

“Scooch,” you say, and he immediately moves so you can turn the gas off.

“Jiminie and Jungkookie say that my massages help with dance, and that's just from Youtube tutorials.” Taehyung continues to talk as you bustle around the tiny kitchen. He’s already set the table so now he’s free to watch you finish doing the rest of the work. “And Joon-hyung says I have the perfect hands for it.”

You fumble with the pan as you’re scooping the steaming rice into a large bowl, only just managing to save food from scattering everywhere. You’ve thought about Taehyung’s hands a lot, about how large and long fingered and beautiful they are, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“Really? Huh. That’s nice.” You stare at the pan, fixated on getting every grain of rice so you can avoid looking at Taehyung’s face. And hands. Which are still cupped around his phone. Which looks so small in his big, pretty grip.

Jesus Christ.

“It means I can give you massages if you ever start to get tense.” Taehyung sounds pleased, lovely grin on his face at the prospect of being able to rub his hands over you. As if that isn’t going to make every single one of your muscles lock up and turn you into some sort of coiled rope of a human being, which is the complete opposite of what a massage is supposed to achieve.

“Great.” Despite your inner turmoil, your voice is level and steady as you meticulously scrape the last grain of rice into the bowl, chasing the tiny fleck of white around the huge pan. Scrape, scrape, scrape. “Sounds fabulous. Can’t wait.”

Of course Taehyung would sign up to learn something that he could use to help his friends. He’s so big-hearted and loving. Big-hearted and loving and kind and funny and affectionate and beautiful and deep-voiced and so entirely overwhelming in every single way imaginable.

You do what you always do when confronted yet again with your all-consuming crush—you bottle that shit the fuck up until he’s not in the room.

And then you have a miniature breakdown at Pickles.

“I am going to die,” you whisper-scream. “He’s going to offer to massage me and he’s going to get a bottle of massage oil out and he’s going drizzle it onto his massive hands and I am going to fucking die.”

The bearded dragon cocks his head as he stares at you. Taehyung had come home with the reptile one day, tank and all, saying that someone on Facebook had been giving him away because they were moving house and could they just look after him for a little while, please, pretty please? Until they found a good home for him? Please?

That was over a year ago. (You’ve always been bad at saying no to Taehyung.)

“I hate my life,” you lament to the lizard, but then you hear the noisy flush of the toilet and know that Taehyung is going to emerge from the bathroom soon, so you have to wrap this miniature meltdown up pronto. “I wish I was a bearded dragon too, you know. All you do is get fed and sit under the heat bulb. Your life is so easy. You don’t even know what capitalism is.”

The silence you get from Pickles is far more support than you get from your human friends once you tell them. Yoongi just raises his eyebrows while Seokjin and Hoseok laugh outright in your face, just like they always do when you cry to them about Taehyung.

You need new friends. These ones are defective. (If only you’d kept the receipt so you could return them.)

“We learned how to do neck and shoulder massages today!” Taehyung says brightly after the first session.

You hum in response. You’re rewatching Pacific Rim together, cuddled up against Taehyung’s side, and you don’t have to turn your head to know what expression is on his face. There’ll be that little upturn to his lips, happiness at learning something new. That warmth in his eyes at being able to share it with you, even if you couldn't be there with him. Those little freckles on his face, under his eye, his nose, his lip; the one you’ve imagined kissing more times than you can count.

“My teacher says I have a natural talent with my hands,” he adds, and you’re so grateful that you can blame your sudden intake of breath on the scene that’s playing on the screen, as high stakes as it is.

“That’s nice,” you say, and mentally pat yourself on the back at keeping the strain out of your voice. You've had a lot of practice at this. “I’m not surprised, though. You’ve always been good at doing things with them.”

That’s not a euphemism. Taehyung’s always so careful when he makes things; you’d learned how to fold different origami patterns together, matching crane for crane, lotus for lotus, and he’d always been so delicate with his fingers. He’s always so careful and considerate with you, too, fingers splayed wide across your shoulder as he squeezes you closer to his side, leaving you breathless.

“I wish you could come too.” Taehyung sounds disappointed. “We always have so much fun together.”

For the first time in your life you’re grateful that your manager at Olive Chicken is such a hardass and won’t let you swap shifts, so you’d had to miss signing up for the massage course with Taehyung—because you know there’s no way you’d be able to keep it together if there was some sort of tandem practice in class or whatever. Your crush on him is filled with equal parts of tenderness and lust and you’re well aware of that. You’d rest your hands on the soft skin of Taehyung’s shoulders and back, the lust would overwhelm you, and you’d immediately burst into flames like some sort of demon stepping over the threshold of a church.

Why oh why did God have to make Kim Taehyung so hot?

Why oh why did God have to make you so… not?

You know Taehyung doesn’t see you in a romantic light at all. You’re grateful for this deep, platonic relationship you have, and you love him to pieces, but holy hell is it hard to walk around with Kim Taehyung looking the way he does and wanting to jump his bones while simultaneously being aware that it’s never going to happen. Whenever he smiles at you, or touches you, or holds you, it’s in exactly the same way as he treats any of his friends—and as happy as you are to be one of those friends, it also kind of kills you inside.

(Because you know you don’t have a chance, have never had a chance, and will never have a chance.)

The idea of offering to massage Taehyung is one that makes you want to melt into a puddle of horny goo. But when he offers to massage you, it’s because you’re a convenient practice partner who he’s comfortable with. It’s no big deal. You could strip naked and slather yourself up in oil and stand in front of him with your bosoms heaving and say ‘Have at me, big boy’ and Taehyung would say: ‘Sweet! A chance to practice deep tissue massage! Gee, thanks for being such a great pal!’

The kind of deep tissue you want Taehyung to massage is very different to whatever he’s talking about.

… Anyway.

You manage to avoid Taehyung using his apparently magic fingers on you for a surprising amount of time, though you’re kept up to date with his progress, because he shares everything with you and tells you about everything and you always, always listen. Because, more than being your crush, he’s one of your best friends and you love him.

Which is why you try your best to be gentle, graciously refusing his offer of a shoulder massage after he sees you wincing, even if with anyone else you’d just tell them to back off with zero hesitation.

“It’s fine,” you say, flapping a hand at him. “I just slept on it funny.”

“A massage would help! It won’t take long, I promise. Five minutes? Please?”

Taehyung’s looking at you with those big puppy eyes of his, pleading. You waver. You’re torn between being steadfast and avoiding a situation you’ve literally had nightmares about (Taehyung had offered to massage you, and you’d said yes, but then you’d fallen over as you were walking to him and suddenly a lasagne had appeared in your hands and you’d spilled it all down your shirt and he’d pointed and laughed and laughed and you’d felt so embarrassed that you’d woken up, cheeks burning), but then he pouts and you give in like the spineless and lovesick fool that you are.

“Five minutes,” you say, and Taehyung nods emphatically, looking pleased.

(You have the backbone of a chocolate éclair.)

You send quiet thanks to whatever God is listening when he doesn’t ask you to take your top off and doesn’t break out a bottle of scented oil. Instead he just asks for you to straddle a chair, clutching a plushie against your chest to cushion where it leans against the backrest, and tells you to get comfy.

“Just relax,” he says, as you desperately try to remember how your body works and coax it to relax like Taehyung wants you to. You fail miserably. You feel like a ball of rubber bands, each muscle a layer of tighter and tighter elastic that’s circled around you. “Lean forwards a little?”

At least Taehyung can’t see your face from this angle. You have no idea what sort of expression is twisting your features; consternation and horrified anticipation, probably. You're basically throttling your plushie, taking out your tension and frustration on the poor thing, Rilakkuma's placid face morphing into a twisted expression of sympathy under your grasping fingers.

“Perfect,” Taehyung says. The sound of praise in his deep voice has your insides turning into overheated syrup, hot and thick, dripping down and pooling between your legs. You hate yourself. Getting turned on by the most innocuous words from your best friend, really? Get it together.

The second you feel Taehyung's warm hands touch the back of your neck, your shoulders hunch up faster than a whiplash, a turtle sucking its head into its shell. Your friend laughs.

“This is the opposite of relaxing,” he says, voice warm with amusement.

“You surprised me.” You dig your nails into Rilakkuma's soft brown fur. Taehyung just thinks you're not used to being massaged, not that you're being weird because it's him that's touching you. Because he touches you a lot. He’s just never done it like this. “Sorry.”

“It's fine,” he replies, unruffled and oblivious. “Let me try again?”

You bite your lip, desperately trying to quell the mix of arousal and tension that’s churning in your stomach, begging your muscles to unwind. You’ve kept your crush a secret from him for this long, you can keep that energy up. (You have to keep that energy up.) “Um. Okay.”

You’re still tense when Taehyung puts his hands on you again. The touch is warm through your clothes, firm but careful, digging into the sharp line of tension laid across your shoulders; despite the way your heart is threatening to launch itself out of your chest, you start to loosen up, because holy shit that feels nice, actually.

You melt against Rilakkuma and smother the bear's face in your chest. “Your teacher wasn’t kidding when they said that you’re good with your hands,” you mumble.

You’ve never gotten a proper massage before but it feels so damn good that you can’t help but unwind, turning to jelly at the confident presses of Taehyung’s fingers and palms into the soft skin between your neck and shoulder. A little sigh spills past your lips when Taehyung starts to work at the part that’s been twinging after you lay crookedly on it, limbs akimbo in your sleep after a long night at work. “Oh, right there, Tae.”

Taehyung goes still for just a second before continuing, trailing his fingers over your shirt. “Here?”

Your eyes have drifted shut so you can focus on the sensation of that tension being pulled out of your body. “Yeah, right there,” you repeat, massaged into a state of lazy euphoria. The breath you let out is long and deep, catching in the back of your throat at a particularly firm rub of Taehyung’s hands; if you weren’t so blissed out you might be embarrassed at how much the noise you make is like a moan, but as it is, you don’t even notice. You just let out a little sound of discontent when Taehyung’s fingers stutter in their motions, displeased that he’s stopped even for a second.

By the time the massage is over, you’re so relaxed that you feel like you could melt into the floor, a wobbly puddle of unwound muscles and loose limbs. It’s official. You’re a massage convert.

“Holy shit.” Your eyes flutter open as you lean away from Rilakkuma so you can turn around. They’re the first coherent words you’ve spoken for a while; small sighs and sounds have been dripping from your lips and it’s only now that you’re able to regain your breath. “Tae, that was amazin—”

You’re met with the sight of Taehyung’s back as he power walks away, steps rapid, a little shaky, awkward. Before you can ask what’s wrong, he’s stepping into the bathroom.

“I need to wash my hands,” he says without looking at you, before the door slams shut.

You don’t remember Tae telling you about how quickly you have to wash your hands after finishing a massage. But, thinking about it, you suppose it makes sense—you know, with massaging multiple clients or whatever—even if it’s surprising exactly how fast he’d hoofed it away from you. It sounds like he’s switched both taps on full blast as well, noisy even through the wooden door, and judging from how long he’s in there, he’s being very thorough. Hand washing must be a lot more important than you’d realised.

Once Taehyung emerges, his face is a little flushed, cheeks a soft red. You wonder if the hot water tap is playing up again and filling your dinky bathroom with hot steam, and make a mental note to look into it. You smile at Taehyung from your perch on the sofa, Rilakkuma plopped on your lap, smile spread across your features; one that Taehyung returns, as pink-faced as he is.

“How’s your shoulder feeling?”

“So much better, honestly,” you admit. It’s incredible. He hasn’t even finished the course yet and he's already this good. He really does have magic hands.

“I’ll have to give you massages more often,” Taehyung says, though the end of the sentence trembles a little. He must be light-headed after all the steam in the bathroom.

The thought of more massages doesn’t fill you with as much mind-numbing trepidation as it might have earlier, utterly languid as you flop across the sofa, muscles uncoiled after the lovely touch of Taehyung’s even lovelier hands. No wonder people rave about spa days if they leave you feeling like this. Maybe if you’d been staring at Taehyung in the eye when he’d been touching you, then you’d feel a lot more awkward—as it is, it’s no worse than usual. Your crush is still all-encompassing but you also got a massage out of it, so.

“Sounds great.” This time you don’t even have to fake your excitement. “Now come sit your butt down so we can order some takeout and decide what to watch.”

When you bend down to speak to Pickles later, the bearded dragon is lolling on his favourite branch. “There’s still a high chance that I’m going to die,” you say in a low voice, before you flick the lights off so the lizard can sleep. “But he hasn’t broken out the oils yet, so I think I’ll be okay for now.”

Your luck doesn’t last.

“Strawberry and champagne, lychee martini, mint mojito, white chocolate, or tropical coconut?”

You look up from where you’re painting your toenails. “Huh?”

Taehyung bundles into the room and throws himself onto your bed, flopping on his belly and ignoring the way the mattress is jostled. You, of course, are used to his antics, which is why you’d swept your open bottle of nail polish up before he could spill it everywhere.

“What do you think sounds best?”

“Well, that depends,” you say, squinting at your toes and carefully sweeping the polish over the freshly buffed nails. “For candles, I think they sound pretty nice. For sauces to pour over a steak, I’d say I’d give them all a hard pass. What’s it for?”

“Massage oils,” Taehyung says blithely, too busy staring at his phone to see you muffle a curse when your hand slips and you paint your entire little toe blue. “I was wondering which you think sounds best.”

“Oh. Uh.” You fumble to clean your toe and salvage the now-terrible pedicure you’re trying to give yourself. It was only a matter of time before massage oils were going to become part of your life. Taehyung never goes into things half-hearted, so of course he’s going to invest in oils, too. God’s sake. You can never catch a break, can you? “Why these ones in particular?”

Taehyung pauses for a suspiciously long time, but it gives you the chance to furiously rub at your toe while he’s distracted. “We get a free bottle from the course,” he says eventually.

Huh. Okay. “That’s pretty neat. What was the last one? Coconut? Stick with the basics, can’t go wrong with that, right?”

“Coconut is always tasty,” Taehyung comments absently, and you glance up from your Smurf toe.

“Agreed, but it’s not like you’re about to eat massage oil, are you?”

Taehyung pauses, and then buries his face into his phone screen—suddenly very intent on rereading the list of ingredients in each bottle, it seems. “No, of course not, you’re right,” he mumbles.

He’s almost finished the course. He’s not going to be an accredited masseuse or anything, but you definitely think he could be, if he wanted to—you’ve never had less tension in your shoulders and neck in your life. Taehyung always eases his way into your personal space anyway, casual and effortless after years of friendship, but now you’re used to his fingers sliding over the back of your neck, a gliding touch, sending tense little goosebumps over your skin while simultaneously making you melt.

“It’s pretty cool that you get free stuff, though.” Your toe is clean, thankfully, no longer blue. “And not just, like, a generic bottle of oil or something. They all sound really fancy. I didn’t realise that you could get massage oils that were scented like that?”

Taehyung makes a non-committal noise, which is uncharacteristic of him, but you’re too focused on repainting your final nail to pay it too much mind, letting out a loud huff of triumph when you’re done.

“Get me a bag of shrimp crackers, please?” You have a sudden craving but you don’t want to penguin waddle to the kitchen and risk getting anything on your wet nails. “Ya girl is hungry.”

“Got it.” Taehyung rolls off the bed without protest. You’re used to his antics, and he’s used to yours, indulging you whenever you feel lazy or want him to do something for you. “You need me to feed you?”

“I wasn’t going to use my toes to feed myself,” you laugh, but Taehyung ends up feeding them to you anyway.

When you recount the list to Seokjin later, his face crumples in a way that’s equal parts offended and disgusted. “They all sound terrible,” he says. “White chocolate should stay in chocolate form and not be turned into an oil. Why does massage oil even have to smell like anything?”

You’re both holed up in the tiny smoking nook behind Olive Chicken; neither of you smoke, but it’s a good excuse to go outside and get fresh air during longer shifts.

“Hey, don’t ask me, I’m not the one who’s taking the course. I think lychee martini sounds interesting, though.”

“Agree to disagree.” Seokjin unwraps one of the complimentary chocolates the restaurant gives to diners with their bill, swallowing it whole. “Besides, we all know Taehyung could approach you with dirty, used fryer oil and you’d let him dip you in it.”

You slap the next chocolate out of his hand before it reaches his mouth. He’s unmoved and simply plucks another from his pocket, which is apparently bulging with them.

“Yoongichi,” Jin says, calling to the delivery boy, who’s just appeared from the dark like some tired-eyed spectre of fried chicken. “Tell me this. If I were to ask you what smell of massage oil you’d prefer, what—”

“I would say that I really could not care less.” Yoongi flops down on one of the rickety fold-out chairs before silently accepting a chocolate from Seokjin’s stash. “And then I’d ask why you’re asking me in the first place, seeing as you’re the one using it, not me. If Taehyung’s asking what massage oil you’d prefer, Y/n, it’s because he wants to rub it all over you specifically.” Yoongi munches on the chocolate, already filling in the blanks without needing to be told the context. You really are that transparent, huh. “Please, we’ve been over this.”

Jin pouts. “You ruined my set up. I had a whole speech prepared.”

“Oh no.” Yoongi remains blank-faced. “How terrible.”

“I hate both of you,” you say. “I’m going to tell Pickles how mean you are.”

“I bet if that lizard could talk, he’d tell you how tired he was of you two dancing around each other, just like the rest of us,” Yoongi says.

There’s no dancing around, though, no matter what your friends say. Well. Not on Taehyung’s end anyway. You’re out here doing the fandango, castanets and all, while Taehyung just stands stock still, oblivious.

You let out an incredibly long sigh. Seokjin hands you a sympathetic chocolate.

The massage oil doesn’t make an appearance in your life for a little while, though. The end of the course comes and goes, Taehyung proudly flapping the laminated certificate at you, wobble-wobble-wobble, filling the apartment with the sound of rippling plastic. But no coconut oil.

The scent of ‘tropical coconut’ has started to haunt your dreams, in a way that’s both good and bad; when you wake up in a sweat, heart pounding, it’s not because you’re having nightmares, let’s just put it like that. It’s like there’s an invisible countdown that you can’t trace and it’s only a matter of time before it ticks over and the shoulder massages (that you’ve gotten very comfortable with) edge into something different. Taehyung’s going to innocently offer to give you a backrub and uncap that bottle of scented oil and you’re going to explode into a mess of putty under his hands.

Well… then again… you had been worried about that with all the shoulder rubs. Now look at you. You weather those like a champ. Sure, your skin tingles and you run hot and you think about the sensation of Taehyung’s hands gliding over you whenever you’re alone, but you’re basically fine. Your friend who just so happens to also be the great love of your life remains none the wiser.

You bet a full back rub would feel great after a long week.

Which is why when Taehyung steps into the apartment with a look on his face that you immediately recognise as tiredness, you sort of wish you knew how to massage people, too.

He falls into your arms with little fanfare. It’s been one of those days, one of those ones that everyone gets, even Taehyung—he’s usually so Switched On and Exuberant and Alive, and people don’t seem to realise that even he feels exhausted, sometimes.

“You alright, bubs?” You can’t massage him but you can rub his back soothingly, let him snuffle against your neck. Sometimes you think about that little space between your chin and collarbones as Taehyung’s, a hollow that’s perfect for him to press his face into, hair tickling your chin as he curls up into you. His and his alone. “Did something happen?”

He just shakes his head.

“Okay,” you say.

(Close proximity and skin on skin with Taehyung doesn’t always have your pulse rising and your heart racing. Sometimes it’s just this: quiet and soft, your heart bright with fierce affection for this boy, the only thought in your mind that you want him to be happy, forever.)

The long silence is broken by the sound of Taehyung heaving in a breath before letting out a long, exhausted sigh.

“Thank you.” His voice is quiet and low, far less energetic than his usual self.

“Nothing to thank me for, Tae,” you reply. “Always here for you. You know that, right?”

He doesn’t respond straight away. He just burrows closer, draped over you, until he murmurs, barely audible. “Why?”

Your face twists. “Why, what? Why am I always here for you?”

“Yeah.” Taehyung squeezes himself impossibly closer, skin warm against yours, forehead pressed to the skin of your neck. You can’t see his expression from this angle.

“Because you’re one of my best friends and I love you,” you answer, immediately. You don’t even have to think about it. “Because you’re important to me and if there’s anything I can do for you, I will. I’ll celebrate the good things in your life with you, and I’ll be at your side during the bad times, just like you are with me. Please don’t ever forget how much I love you, okay?”

There’s a pause, and then it feels like all the tension leaves Taehyung’s body, slumping his whole body weight against you. “Okay,” he murmurs. “I love you too. Thank you,” he says again. You just reply by squeezing his shoulders.

He’s a little quieter for a few days after that. You’re not sure why, because he’d perked up after a lazy evening of lying around and eating too many snacks, flopped against you like an oversized, clinging starfish—but you’re gentle with him nonetheless.

(Well. You’re always gentle with him. It just takes you half a second to fold in the face of his whims, rather than a whole, full second.)

So when the dreaded bottle of oil finally appears, you’re far less ready to fight off Taehyung’s insistence on a full body massage, caught off guard after days of indulging him. Fuck.

“You’ve had a long week!” Taehyung insists as you scrabble your way over the sofa’s backrest so you can hide behind it, clutching a cushion to your chest. “You need to relax!”

Without looking you fling the cushion over the sofa. Judging from the fact that Taehyung doesn’t make a sound, you’ve missed. “I was feeling perfectly relaxed until you started yelling at me about it! Why are you so obsessed with the idea of me being relaxed?”

Taehyung doesn’t respond. Oh, crap. Maybe you did hit him with the cushion?

You pop up from behind the sofa. Nope. It's an embarrassing distance away from Taehyung, who’s got that surprisingly large bottle of oil held loosely in his hands. There’s an expression on his face that you can’t decipher; a little crestfallen, a little unsure, but there’s something else there, too, something you can’t put a name to.

“Taehyung?”

“I just… wanted to help,” he says. “You’re always there for me when I’m not feeling great, and you calm me down, and I wanted to do the same for you.”

You immediately feel like the worst human being alive. Take the feeling you get whenever you accidentally step on an animal’s tail, multiply it by infinity, and that’s only just a drop in the ocean of awful, awful guilt that you’re drowning in.

“Oh, Tae,” you say. Your voice comes out so much softer and sweeter than you mean it to, but you can't help it. “I’m sorry. I was just joking. It’s really nice of you to be so concerned. You just surprised me. You do help me relax and your massages are great.” (You tell him that often enough that he should know it, but it never hurts to repeat a compliment.)

His face lifts. It’s like the sun bursting forth from the clouds after heavy rain, and you have to resist the urge to shield your eyes, blinded by the brightness and beauty. Kim Taehyung is so unfairly gorgeous (but what else is new?). “So I can give you a massage?”

Despite the fact the prospect makes you want to fling yourself into space, when you’re faced with Taehyung’s dark eyes and wide smile and large, warm hands, you cave, because of course you do. If, way back when you’d first been frying up that kimchi rice and letting Taehyung thrust his phone into your face, you’d been told you’d end up in this position, you would have laughed outright. Haha, yeah, sure, like you’d be stupid enough to let yourself be wrangled into such a vulnerable state in front of Taehyung, nowhere to run, helpless under his fingers. Not.

But here you are. Whipped for Kim Taehyung, forever and always.

The pastel blue towels under your stomach and chest are soft as they shield you from the cold, hard floor. You’re incredibly aware of how chilly the apartment feels, air prickling against your bare skin; you shift to try and get comfortable, glancing over your shoulder to fiddle with the towel that’s draped over your hips and ass, making sure it’s covering everything. Taehyung insists on authenticity (as if you’re not lying on the floor of your apartment rather than on a massage table) and he says that it’s normal to be completely naked for a full-body massage, even underneath any towels that are covering you up.

Authenticity is also why he’s in the other room, warming up the massage oil, because that’s apparently a thing?

(You’re going to die.)

It doesn’t matter that Taehyung will only be able to see the back of your head, your shoulder blades, the small of your back, a slip of your thighs, your calves. None of these things are especially scandalous; all the parts of your body that someone might find more interesting are out of sight, pressed against the floor or hidden under a layer of Egyptian cotton microfibres.

And yet you can’t help but be hyperaware of how you’re entirely unclothed. Even if it doesn’t bother Taehyung—what with, you know, the fact he’s not interested in you like that and doesn’t find you attractive at all (sigh)—embarrassment creeps hot and uncomfortable under your skin.

It just feels so crazy intimate to be laid out like this, even if people do this all the time, happily strip down to let professionals rub the tension out of their body.

(Then again, most people aren’t best friends with their masseuses and haven’t harboured long, one-sided crushes on them, either.)

Just breathe. You can do this. You love the shoulder massages that Taehyung’s been giving you; just think of this as a shoulder massage.

… A shoulder massage that involves warm oil, near-nakedness, and Taehyung’s hands sliding all over you.

… You are going to have a very long venting session with Pickles after all this.

You’re so distracted by your own self pity and distress that you don’t register the sound of Taehyung entering the room; the little pause when he steps over the threshold, feet stuttering, just for a moment. It’s only when he’s kneeling down that you notice his presence, body jolting from surprise before you let out a slip of high laughter.

“Jesus, Tae,” you say. In any other circumstance, you’d be clutching your chest. “You scared me.”

“Sorry.” He sounds genuinely apologetic.

Your cheek is pillowed on your arms. When you turn to look at your best friend you immediately regret it; he’s settled back on his ankles, knees spread wide, and you come eye-to-eye with his crotch.

In an effort to look away from his clothed dick, your gaze flies up to his face, which might be even worse. He has this intense look in his eyes, and wow, alright, you’ve never been able to see Taehyung’s face as he’s been massaging you, but you never realised exactly how seriously he seems to take it, judging from his expression.

(Do all massage therapists look like that when they work?)

“That’s alright.” You’re a little breathless, but you’re going to blame that on how your boobs are smooshed into the floor, and not on anything else, nuh uh. Shoulder massage. It’s a shoulder massage. It’s just like a full bodied shoulder massage. (Maybe if you repeat it to yourself often enough then you’ll actually start to believe it.) “Uh. Do you need me to… do anything? Or do I just lie here?”

Taehyung’s expression lightens a little at the uncertainty in your tone, smile curling up the corners of his mouth. “You’re perfect right where you are,” he says, and then he reaches for the bottle of oil.

You turn your head away again, cheeks burning. There’s no way you’ll be able to handle the visual of him slicking his fingers and palms up. “Cool,” you say, voice only a little strained. “Coolcoolcoolcool.”

(It’s not cool.)

You don’t have a visual, but you do get the auditory experience thanks to the relative silence in the apartment. Goosebumps ripple down the back of your neck and trail down your spine at the sound of Tae’s hands sliding against each other, thoroughly coated in the warmed oil, and you’re so glad that you can blame it on the chill in the air.

At first, it’s okay. Taehyung starts at the parts of your body that are used to receiving his attention, though it’s different without the barrier of clothing in the way, not to mention how easily his palms glide over you, the air full of the light scent of coconut. It’s different, but manageable, and you think you just might be okay; as always, his touches are firm but careful, and your body is used to this by now, relaxing.

But. The second you feel Taehyung’s touch between your shoulder blades, you stiffen with a shiver. The oil is the perfect temperature against your skin, but you’ve always had a sensitive back; you can’t help but clench your fists, digging your fingers into your palms. Relax. Just breathe.

“You’ve got a lot of tension here.” Taehyung’s voice is low as he digs the heel of his palm into the dip of your spine.

It’s because you’re touching me there, you think to yourself, but just let out a non-committal hum of agreement instead.

You feel Taehyung's hands, a repeated sliding motion between your shoulder blades; the tension starts to leak out of you again, but your breath hitches in your throat at how you're pressed downwards and into the cotton towels beneath you, nipples hardening against them.

Thank God you're on your front so Tae can't see what effect he's having on you.

“Better?”

Taehyung's voice is always deep, but you'd swear it was even deeper in this moment, pitched low. Maybe that’s because the sound of blood pumping is filling your ears so it’s hard to discern. At this point, who even knows? Not you, that’s for sure.

“Yep.” Why are you so breathless? You haven’t moved at all, but you sound like you’ve just run the 100m sprint, winded and weak. “So much better.”

You regret agreeing to this. You are so out of your depth and there’s no way you’re going to be able to hide exactly how much this is affecting you and you want to collapse in on yourself and shrivel up like a sundried tomato, tiny and wrinkly and underwhelming.

Taehyung shifts to reach more of you and you squeeze your eyes shut so you don’t come face first with his crotch again, shielding yourself from the view of his loose linen trousers stretched almost taut with how wide his knees are. It’s both a blessing and a curse—a blessing because you’re saved from aforementioned view, but a curse because your sensation of touch is heightened, and all you’re aware of is his hands sliding down your sides. You’d swear those fingers were so long he could circle your waist with ease.

(Massages are meant to relax you and yet you’ve never felt so tense in your life.)

Taehyung clicks his tongue against the back of his teeth. “I can’t get a good angle like this,” he mutters.

Before you can think anything or say anything, you become aware of the sound of moving and shifting and—

Your eyes fly open. Taehyung’s straddling your thighs, heavy and warm, and you suck in a breath so sharp and fast you can feel your chest expand, brain full of the screaming clang of warning bells. There’s no way this is a normal masseuse thing. There’s no way. It’s intimate and entirely too physical and there’s absolutely no way that this is something Taehyung learned in class.

(What is he doing?)

But then any coherent thought in your brain slips when his hands settle on you again.

They so, so lightly brush the hem of the towel that preserves your modesty, and you can’t help the full-body shiver that wracks through you. You suck your lips into your mouth, swallowing down the noise that threatens to bubble up in your throat. There’s the sensation of fingers trailing up the line of your spine, feather light, smoothed by the slide of oil, and you feel like molten lava, burning hot and bright.

“Taehyung.” Your voice is high and faint.

His fingers splay down your ribcage and run down your sides, confident and smooth, warm with that coconut-scented oil, and you’re dying, you’re living; you want to disappear, you never want this to end.

“Taehyung,” you repeat. Your voice shakes.

He hums, low and indulgent. “Yes?”

“M-my thighs,” you stammer, unable to articulate yourself. Why are you on my thighs, oh God, you’re so warm and heavy on top of me, oh God oh God oh God.

Taehyung completely misunderstands you. “Oh? Of course.” He sounds nonchalant. “I’ll massage those next.”

You can feel the drag of his linen trousers against your skin as he moves down to rest on your calves, and hear the bottle open as Taehyung drizzles more oil over his hands, far more than he could possibly need. His palms feel so broad and warm against the smoothness of your thighs, touches firm and confident as he digs his fingers into the muscle, and, oh, fuck, this is, this is too much—

Your legs jump when Taehyung hitches the towel up, just a little, baring more of your body.

“Fuck.” You can't keep quiet any longer. “Tae, I’m fine, I’m feeling way less tense now.”

He’s still, for a moment, before his hands slide up the back of your thighs. “Are you sure? You want me to stop?”

It’s only then that you realise how deeply Taehyung is breathing, fast and low, voice rough and gravelled. His fingers rest in wait, warm and slick with oil; you’re so close to losing any modicum of modesty, only one motion away from that towel being rucked high enough that there’s nothing protecting you from Taehyung’s touch and eyes.

“I haven’t finished yet, though,” he continues, digging his thumbs into your skin as he pulls his hands down your thighs, mindlessly following the motions he’s been taught. “There’s still more to go.”

You could twist around to look at him but you’re almost afraid to look at his face, afraid of what you’d find there. He sounds as affected as you are, but there’s absolutely no way. There’s no way.

“You don’t need to do the whole massage if I’m feeling relaxed, right?”

(Because you’re feeling so relaxed right now, of course, and not like you’re about to go supernova and burst into heat and light. Absolutely.)

(But.)

(But. Taehyung’s hands settle at the back of your knees, swiping the sensitive skin with his thumbs. You can’t see his face, but you can feel something in that touch, something more than skin deep, like it’s sinking into you, through skin and muscle and bone, in in in, settling inside you, a flicker of—of—)

“Want to do this perfectly for you,” he murmurs. You clench your hands at the husky note in his voice, nails digging so hard into your palms it hurts. “You deserve the best. I want you to feel good.”

He must be able to see your back rise and fall as you breathe in sharply.

“Taehyung.” Almost pleading.

“Yes, love?”

You suck in another sharp breath. The pet name sounds so soft and sweet in his mouth, somehow, even with the heated edge to his voice. One that’s definitely there. You’re not imagining it.

(You’re not.)

“Do you want me to make you feel good?” he continues.

Before you can think, you nod.

“Yes,” you whisper. “Please.”

You’re trembling. Taehyung’s still heavy and warm across the back of your calves, sliding one hand to the inside of a knee and up the soft skin of your inner thighs. You instinctively shift them apart, as far as you can with Taehyung trapping your legs, and, oh, his hand is going higher, oh—

His hand is so big, cupping your overheated sex. It’s hard to tell where the oil ends and your own arousal begins, flushed wet and hot; when he dips his middle finger between your lower lips, long and gentle and firm, you let out a noise you didn’t realise you were capable of. The angle is off, a little awkward, the motions of Taehyung’s fingers stifled by how you’re lying flush to the ground, but God, you’re so turned on it barely matters.

You’re hyperaware of everything. The soft touch of air on the cooling oil across your skin. The fall of the towel, bunched around your waist, slowly slipping to one side. Taehyung’s hand, his fingertips easing through the heat of you, sliding over your clit, over your entrance, slow and soft and amazing.

“Again,” you plead. “Again, Tae, please.”

“Feels good?” He asks, and you squeeze your eyes shut as you nod, cheek still pillowed against your arm.

“So good,” you say. “But I want more, please, Tae.”

“Anything you want,” he murmurs.

Taehyung’s hand shifts between your legs again, so hot, so big, so reverent. The slide is smooth as his fingers press into your folds, practically gliding. You twist beneath him, letting out a noise of displeasure when he draws his hand away, but then he lifts off your calves. You let him thrust your legs apart before he resettles between them.

Just as you’re distracted with the towel being tugged away from your hips, baring you entirely, Taehyung slides a finger into your weeping cunt.

You whine. It's so long. Now that your calves aren’t trapped, there’s nothing to stop you from rutting back against his fingers. He splays his other hand over the soft flesh of your ass, encouraging the rolling motion of your hips, and you’re gasping, wanton in your noises of desire and pleasure. One finger becomes two, and then three, Taehyung’s voice a low undercurrent to your stuttered moans as he presses them as deep as he can.

“Just like that, angel,” he breathes. “Want you to feel good, keep making those pretty noises, let me know how good it is—”

“Taehyung,” you whine, dragging the syllables of his name out when he curls his fingers inside you, so amazing, hitting you in all the right places.

“Baby.” He sounds wrecked, words sliding together, and you haven’t even touched him yet. “You’re so hot n’ wet, fuck. So perfect. Just like that, keep moving like that.”

You can hear the slick sounds of his thrusts into you. He’s already learned what you like, twisting his fingers in a way that leaves you breathless; they’re so fucking long, sliding into your greedy cunt with ease, reaching so much deeper than your own can. His pretty lovely hands are on you, inside you, and you’re heady at the thought.

“There, Tae, don’t stop, please, p-please.” The coil twists tighter in between your legs, a taut thread that’s ready to snap. He listens, repeating the motion that’s pulling you closer to the edge, eyes wide, staring at the way you’re writhing underneath him; the way the oil on your back and legs shimmers in the light, the evidence of his touch all over you, shining. “Tae, oh, God, right there, yes, yes, yes—”

Your entire body goes tense and then you’re cumming around Taehyung’s fingers, clenching your thighs together, trapping him inside as you buck your hips. You grind back against his hand, a loud moan falling from your lips, drowning out the noise of awe that Taehyung makes when he feels your walls pulsate around him. You're warm and tight and wet, arousal flooding thick against his skin, and he lets out a stuttered groan, fingers buried knuckle deep inside you, feeling every wave of pleasure that rocks through your core.

You’re panting by the time you settle back down and barely make a sound when Taehyung drags his fingers out of you. When he leans down the oil on your skin feels tacky against his clothes, material sticking to you, chest to back, hips to ass. You can feel the hot curve of him through his trousers, his cock heavy, getting harder—and it feels sososo good.

Taehyung’s face is so close, now, chin hooked over your shoulder. Even though you can feel the hardness of his cock pressed against you, the smile on his face is so gentle. Your heart thrums in your chest.

“So cute n' pretty,” he says, and presses his nose to the soft curve of your cheek. Rather than coconut, all you can smell is his shampoo, familiar and homely and heady. “All over. God, I can’t believe you’d let me touch you like this. I’m so lucky. Was that good, baby?”

“Yes,” you say, and then, because you’re still floating in a light haze of disbelief: “I’m the lucky one.”

Taehyung laughs, low and quiet. It’s a honeyed moment, dripping slow and sweet, even sweeter when he tilts his head forward. His lips are soft against your cheekbone, your jaw, and when you turn towards him, they’re even softer against your mouth. You can feel the shape of his smile, and it tastes so bright, small kisses that turn open mouthed, so perfect. Because you’re kissing Kim Taehyung, your Taehyung, something you’ve been dreaming about for so long, now—even if this entire situation is pretty unbelievable, honestly.

When you pull back, his eyes spark with unadulterated joy. He’s warm and heavy, pinning you down against the towels that are soft against your front; arching your spine, you lean back against the weight of Taehyung’s body, his cock fattening up through the layers of clothes that separate you. He lets out a breath of surprise before he grinds down, pressing that hard heat against you, and your cunt clenches.

“Can I finish the massage?” He asks, sounding almost eager, even with the rasp of lust in his voice. You can’t help but laugh, an affectionate giggle that has you knocking your foreheads together.

“Of course,” you say, and he catches your lips again, swallowing the last of your laughter, sweeping his tongue over your lips, inside your mouth, wet and hot and a little messy, but good.

“You need to be on your back,” Taehyung continues, slow after the kiss is broken, and, oh, okay, that has you shivering. “If you want to?”

Of course you want to.

“Okay,” you whisper. “Let me move.”

He shifts to give you room, but not before pressing a kiss to the back of your neck, the bump of the top of your spine, lips sliding against the oil that he’d rubbed there earlier, goosebumps erupting over your skin.

“So good to me,” he whispers. You don’t think he even means for you to hear it.

(It’s said without thought; not thoughtless, no, but a soft little thing that says so much. A thought that’s slipped across his mind and fallen from his lips, warm and tender. Like you’re always good to him, and he sees it, he knows it, he feels it, he thinks it, and he’s almost in disbelief about it, because you’re so good to him.)

You feel warm and languid after cumming, loose-limbed as you flop onto your back. There’s no going back now. There’s no going back from this moment, naked and vulnerable under Taehyung, nothing hidden away any more—the soft fall of your breasts, your stomach, the lines of your hips, your fingers tightening in the towels spread beneath you as Taehyung’s eyes drink you in, wide and overawed at the sight of your flushed cunt, ripe and slick and ready for him.

(There's no more hiding how much you want Taehyung to have you, body and heart alike.)

You can see the shape of your body silhouetted on his clothes, where the oil has seeped into the material from how close he’d been pressed against you. You can see just how affected he is, cock straining against the loose linen of his white trousers, and you bite your lip to try and stifle the sound you make.

“Look at you,” Taehyung breathes, kneeling between your legs. “You’re so perfect.”

Your cheeks burn. “Taehyung, please,” you say, embarrassed. You really aren’t, especially in comparison to model-gorgeous Kim Taehyung, eyes dark and full of heated lust, hair falling in his eyes, effortlessly beautiful, always.

“You are,” he insists. “You have no idea how perfect you are.”

Before he reaches for the massage oil, he sucks the taste of you off his fingers, sloppy and messy. Your pussy throbs at the sight. And—you were also right about the visual being too much to handle, breath catching in your throat as you watch it drip into his broad hands. His palms shine as he rubs them together, interlacing his fingers, so graceful in their motions. You’re so wet from your orgasm, only getting wetter as you stare back at Taehyung, whose gaze has been heavy on you the whole time.

He starts at your collarbones. It’s even slower than before, and you ease underneath him, revelling in the softness of his touch. He sweeps his hands over your shoulders, down your arms, circling his long fingers around your wrists before lifting one of your hands. Your eyelashes flutter as he presses a kiss to your palm, a motion so full of adoration and tenderness it steals your breath away, and you squirm, shy.

“Tae,” you whine. “You can’t just do that.”

Of course he doubles down, lifting your other hand and repeating the motion, letting his lips linger between your head line and your heart line. “I can,” he says, words warm in your cupped palm.

“I hope you didn’t do this in class.” Your voice is too weak for it to come out as the joke you mean it to be.

Taehyung just shakes his head, mouth brushing over the tips of your fingers. “Only for you,” he says. “Did the whole class for you. I wanted—wanted an excuse to touch you more,” he admits, and your heart feels like it’s going to launch itself out of your throat.

“Then touch me,” you say, trying to sound confident even if your cheeks burn.

And he does. He lets your hands drop, gliding his touch back up your arms, down your body, over your legs; he massages your thighs and calves, digs his thumbs into the arches of your feet, circling his fingers around your ankles, shackles you don’t want to escape from. You feel so relaxed and lax, somehow, even if every touch has you biting your lip, anticipation roiling in your stomach for what’s to come, Taehyung laying your legs down softly before he shifts back up, hands held out towards you—

—then he cups your breasts in his big, big hands and your back arches, fingers sliding over your nipples, glistening with coconut oil, circling them with the pads of his thumbs. You let out an embarrassing whine.

“Oh, Tae,” you beg. “More, please.”

“Whatever you want, sweetheart.”

You smile at another soft, unexpected pet name, flustered, but then your eyes slide shut when Taehyung bends down to kiss your neck as he continues to run his hands over the swell of your breasts. He trails his lips over your oiled skin, shifts down, drawing a line from your neck to the valley of your chest, the hard line at the center of your ribcage.

“Tae,” you murmur, and then, feeling bold under the heat of Taehyung’s dark eyes— “Baby.”

He hums before laying another sloppy kiss against your sensitive skin. You can feel the curve of his smile in the kiss. “Yes, love?”

“Is it really okay for you to… you know… get that oil in your mouth? I don’t want you to get sick,” you say, concerned, even through the haze of your arousal. His lips shine with it, at how he’s been trailing his mouth over all the parts of your body that he’s touched.

There’s a short beat, and then Taehyung buries his head against your neck—in that little hollow that’s his, in a motion he’s done dozens of times. Except this time you’re naked and he still has fingers splayed across the soft skin of your chest, nipples dragging underneath his palms.

“You’re always so considerate.” His words are muffled against your skin. “It’s fine. It’s edible.”

“You got edible massage oil from your course?”

Taehyung hesitates. “No,” he admits. “I bought it. It’s edible and, uh. Safe for intimate use.”

You’re silent, just for a moment, and then you can’t help it. You start to laugh.

“Kim Taehyung,” you say, body shaking with amusement. “Did you buy edible massage oil that you can also use as lube?”

Taehyung pulls his face away from your neck and glances up. You’re giggling at him, and he feels so full of love and affection; he can’t help but join in, both laughing at him, loud and carefree.

“It’s why I asked which one you liked,” he confesses, once he can catch his breath.

“I can’t believe you lied to me,” you say, but you don’t mind, really, and he knows it. You lift a hand to push hair out of his face, running your fingers down his scalp. He leans into your touch with a smile, bright and lovely, before he abruptly shifts one of his hands down so he can lick a hot, wet stripe across the skin of your breast.

That stops your laughter pretty fast, surprised hiccup shifting into a broken moan when he engulfs your nipple in the heat of his mouth. “O-oh,” you gasp. “Oh, Taehyung—”

“Been thinking about this for so long.” Taehyung’s eyes are lidded and dark as he leans back, watching the way you react to his touch, arching up towards him. “Wanted to touch you like this so much.”

“Wanted it too,” you breathe. “Wanted—oh, God, Tae, fuck—”

It’s overwhelming. Not just the way Taehyung is flicking his tongue over each of your nipples, pressing his lips against your skin, no—but the idea that he’s been hoping for this, too. Each wet motion of his tongue over your pebbled skin drags pulls out of you; Taehyung’s cock twitches at a loud keen that’s drawn from your lips, a wet patch of precum seeping through his boxers and trousers, darkening the fabric, even though you haven’t touched him yet.

When you reach out to grasp him through his clothes, his hips jolt forward and he bites off a surprised gasp, cutting through the sound with his teeth. He feels long and heavy as you stroke him, thumbing over the wet patch at his tip, hot, even through all those layers between your skin and his.

“I want to feel you, Tae,” you say, staring at him. “Inside me. Please.”

His breath hitches when you tighten your fingers around his shaft and drag your hand upwards, slow and intent.

“The oil isn’t condom friendly,” he admits, abashed.

“Then you can cum in my mouth,” you reply. No hesitation.

Taehyung’s eyes are so wide, but then he smiles, eyes squeezing into crescents, mouth turning up into that lovely, broad grin of his. He looks so sweet and sincere, and you feel like you could explode, stuffed overfull with love for him.

“You really are perfect,” he says.

“Only for you,” you reply, your smile just as bright.

He lays one final kiss to your chest, above your beating heart, before he starts to strip. The oil has obviously soaked through his shirt and onto his skin because it sticks when he peels it off and carelessly throws it aside.

Just like his heart, Taehyung’s body is soft and lovely. You sit up so you can touch him properly, catching him off guard when you pull him in for a kiss—one he eagerly leans into, and without the shirt in the way you can feel the way your skin slides against his, softened with oil.

There really is no one as beautiful as Kim Taehyung. You drag your hands over him, so warm and wonderful under your palms; his chest, his cute tummy, his waist, his hips, the soft skin above his red, neglected cock. He’s radiant in his nakedness, every easing line of his body so perfect as he kneels in front of you, the flush of his skin, the heavy weight of his arousal, head shining with precum, so wet it’s practically dripping.

You lean in to kiss his neck and nip at his Adam's apple as his hands slide over your shoulder blades and down your back, the parts that make you shudder.

“Want you, Tae.” You whisper into his mouth, a soft secret that isn’t really a secret at all, not any more. “All of you.”

“Going to give you everything you want.” The words flow out of him with ease. “Everything you want.”

His chest and stomach shine with the massage oil that’s rubbed off from your own skin. You run your hands across him, and when you finally grasp his cock without the barrier of cloth in the way, he’s almost burning under your grasp, thick, his entire body shuddering when you pump his length. So sensitive to your touch.

“I’m goin’ to make you cum again,” he promises, and you love it, the way he talks when he’s losing himself. “Bet you’ll feel so good around my cock, so perfect.”

A shiver skates through your body. Taehyung’s fingers dig into your skin when he feels you trembling under his hands, and all you can think about is how you want him in you.

“Please,” you say. “Please, wanna make you feel good too—”

“Hands and knees, angel,” he rasps, and, God, yes, those words cut straight through you, sharp and electric.

Maybe you should feel embarrassed at how quickly you obey. The towels underneath you, so carefully placed at the start, perfectly flat, become rumpled as you shift into position; you arch your back, wanting to look as good as possible, and glance over your shoulder to see if it works.

Judging from the look on Taehyung’s face, it does. He looks like he’s never seen anything more awe-inspiring, eyes wide and mouth a little slack, dumbstruck. But then his jaw snaps shut and he splays his hands over the soft skin of your hips, your waist, your ass, shuffling closer to you; you feel the curve of his cock slide against your skin and you bite back a noise of need.

“Fuck, so beautiful.” He ruts forward, and you can feel the wetness of his precum slicking against you, a beaded line drawn across the sheen of massage oil. “My beautiful, perfect girl.”

“Tae,” you plead, already overwhelmed with need, heart squeezing at his words.

“Just one more thing, angel, I promise.”

It’s a good thing that the bottle of massage oil is so big, considering how liberal Taehyung is with it. You gasp when he uses one hand to spread your ass and before you can react there’s a drizzle of oil falling onto your skin, down-down-down, over your cunt, dripping over your inner thighs; Taehyung catches the excess with his palms before he slicks himself up, spreading that sweet coconut over his throbbing cock.

(You wonder what it’ll taste like when you lick it off him.)

When you feel the blunt head of his cock nudging at your pussy, your entire body lights up in anticipation, nerve endings on fire, every inch of your body singing under Taehyung’s touch—and when he finally sinks in, it’s almost effortless. He’s thick and long but everything slides so easy; you gasp and he moans, both lost in how your body opens up for him, hot and wet. By the time he’s bottomed out you're a quivering mess, collapsed onto your elbows. You’re so full. You feel split open in all the best ways, wanting to draw him in impossibly deeper even so.

Taehyung is gripping your sides, hands unmoving even with the slick oil underneath them, fingers digging into your skin. He’s breathing so loud, and when you experimentally shift your hips, he bites back a noise that cuts through that breath.

“How’s it feel, love?” His words slur together in arousal, but the hand that strokes your back is slow, thoughtful. “Feel good?”

“Fuck me, Tae, baby, please,” you beg. It’s so, so so much, so good, amazing, hotter and bigger and harder than anything you’d let yourself imagine, your entire body taking Taehyung and holding him in, in, in. “Please, I need it, it feels good but I want more, please.”

When he pulls away it’s slow and torturous and he goes so far he almost slips out, cock nearly sliding out of your folds. You whine, a little shameless, mostly needy, but then—

The snap of his hips drives you forwards, towels shifting underneath as you scrabble for a hold on something. Each sharp motion of Taehyung’s body has you choking for air and letting out whimpers and gasps, drowned out by the slap of skin on skin; his hipbones meet the soft flesh of your ass, again and again, but all you can focus on is the thick heat of his cock inside you, in-out-in-out, the press of his balls against your clit, everything so wet and smooth and slick.

You can feel how you’re losing yourself to that heady place that’s golden bright with feeling, lust and sex, the rest of the world gone, unimportant. There’s nothing but this—Taehyung touching you, filling your body so well, so perfect, helping you chase that high that’s growing faster and faster, that precipice of pleasure that he’s going to throw you over again, intent on it.

One of his hands trails up your back, between that sensitive dip of your shoulder blades and into your hair, locks tangling with coconut oil before he urges you up. He doesn’t yank or pull but his hold is firm and you end up back on your hands, arms trembling as you try to keep your balance, back bowed, overwhelmed.

“Baby,” he rasps. “Oh, you’re so tight n’ hot, so pretty, fuck. You feel so good, do you feel good?”

Your answer is almost a wail, so overcome with pleasure, sensation, the glide of his hands over your shining skin, the mix of oil and arousal that drips out of you, only getting wetter with each thrust of his hips into you. “So good, o-oh God, Tae, baby, fuck, oh, theretherethere—”

“Here?”

He punctuates this with a roll of his hips, using the hand still on your hip to pull you back onto his cock as he fills you up once more, throbbing heat. He bends over you, and this time, there’s nothing stopping the skin on skin contact, the slide of his chest against your back as he kisses the soft skin behind your ear, nipping at your lobe, and that’s it, you’re gone. Your eyes slide shut and your mouth falls open as another orgasm crashes through you, legs shaking as you cum around Taehyung’s cock, grinding back against him to drag out that pleasure; the only thing holding you up is the hand still in your hair, the lips trailing up the side of your bared neck, the hard cock inside you, keeping you against him, so many points of connection with Taehyung.

(His chest pressed against your back, heart beating so hard you can feel it, your own heart moving in tandem, matching him.)

He’s been whispering filth to you, heated praise and love, how good you feel, how beautiful you are, what it’s like to see you like this, touch you like this, have you like this. Lovely, pretty, perfect, gorgeous, hot n’ wet n’ tight, fuck, love, oh.

You’re still shivering, the final pulses of your orgasm curling through you with each unintentional shift of Taehyung’s hips, the drag of his length inside your inner walls. You can feel something dripping out of you; oil, cum, you don't know, but fuck, it feels so so good.

“Oh, God,” you say. Breathless. “Oh, Taehyung, oh.”

“Pretty darling,” he murmurs. He swivels his hips, grinding against you, and your entire body jolts with oversensitivity, clit swollen where his balls press against it. You tighten around him and groan at how hot and big he still feels inside, even as you still shiver from the come down of your second orgasm. “Gonna roll you over so I can see that perfect face.”

And when you’re on your back again, fucked out and mussed and wrecked, he just stares at you. You’ve watched his face for so long, seen so many expressions flit across his features, but never something like this—it’s a mix of amazement and awe and tenderness and lust and love, a lift to his brows and a spark in his eyes and a set to his lips.

And when he leans down to kiss you, that look doesn’t leave. It melts and softens around the edges as you catch each other's mouths, as you kiss and kiss, small tender things interspersed with longer, deeper touches, lips and teeth and tongue—his eyes darken and his mouth flushes darker pink, kiss swollen and so beautiful, but that expression stays. It stays for you.

Kim Taehyung is beautiful and lovely and unique. Kim Taehyung is so far out of your reach it’s kind of stunning, actually. And yet, here you are, existence of his touch over every part of you, in every part of you, lust driven, love full; the carefully balanced weight of his body splayed over you, pinning you down, keeping you close.

“I wanna see you cum, Tae,” you say. “Please?”

And just like he always does, Taehyung indulges you, just like you indulge him. He presses back inside you, cunt opening up for him so easy, so smooth, like his touch has already been etched into the memory of your body, perfect for him. He stays pressed close, face so near as he rolls into each thrust, sweat and coconut oil painted across your skin as your bodies shift together.

He’s been covering you in his words, both heated and sweet, and now you return the favour. You tell him how good he feels, how beautiful he is, so good, so perfect, so considerate, how much you’ve wanted this. So good, so long and thick, oh, Tae, feels so good, ah-ah-ah, baby, you’re unreal, fuck.

You can see the exact moment he starts to reach his high, the way he sucks in air, the way he lifts his chin, starts to thrust a little harder, a little faster, chasing that thread of pleasure that’s spiralling through him, and you urge him on. You lift your hips and clench so tight it has him gasping, hips stuttering, and you press your nose against his jaw, saying give it to me give it to me give it to me, wanting him to feel the same pleasure he’s given you.

When he pulls out, you’re too busy moving to pay attention to how empty you feel, settling between his legs and swallowing down his shining cock almost desperately. There’s no coconut. You can only taste yourself and when you lave your tongue across his slit it’s all Taehyung-Taehyung-Taehyung, hot and salt and bitter; he gasps and his hips jump and you take it all, lowering your head as far as you can, the head of his cock at the back of your throat before you pull up, dragging your tongue over the pulsing vein at the underside, messy and wet. You drink down the wetness of his cock, your own arousal, mixed with his, the precum that beads at his head, staring up at him, your hands sliding over the sheen of his stomach, his thighs, cupping his balls, everything slick with oil and sweat.

“Oh, God.” Taehyung’s eyes are blown and his hair is a mess and his mouth is wide open as he pants for air, watching. “Baby, baby, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum.”

You suck hard, dragging your lips up from the base of the cock to the rounded tip, swirling your tongue, bobbing your head faster—

“Oh, fuck—”

—and you swallow down each wave of cum, swallow down the way his cock twitches as he spills the evidence of pleasure into your mouth, swallow down the lovely noises that shudder out of him, watching him the whole time, never wanting to look away.

When you take your mouth off his softening cock, you draw a line of kisses with your mouth, up the soft skin of his body, stomach to chest to neck to mouth. He licks the taste of coconut oil off your lips, the taste of himself off your tongue; you curl up in his lap, settled against him, the apartment’s cool air even sharper against your skin, magnified by the oil that still lingers.

(Even without the oil painted across him, Taehyung would still shine, even under the weak light from the cheap lightbulb that hangs above you.)

You feel soft and warm and small in the circle of Taehyung’s arms, pulled close, and you can hear the words in his chest as he speaks, a resonance that touches against your skin.

“‘M sorry,” he murmurs.

You pause.

“Baby, love, darling.” The endearments are sugar sweet in your mouth, soft against his skin before you pull back to look at him, confused, concerned. “Sorry for what?”

“I really—I really was just planning to do a massage, but you’re so…”

You let out a slip of laughter. The room smells of coconut and sex, but when you lay your head against Taehyung’s collarbone all you can smell is the light tinge of his sweat. You breathe in, deep, like you can hold onto that ephemeral part of him. “Oh, Tae. I’m so what?”

“You’re so good,” he says. “So good and kind and lovely and—and so beautiful. I was going to do the massage to make you happy and then… tell you. About how happy you make me.”

You burrow your head into the hollow of his neck, the way he does to you, shy. “I’m not as beautiful as you,” you reply. “Tae, you are literally the most beautiful person alive, and—God, I’ve. I’ve been. So head over heels for you.”

There’s a pause. “Really?”

When you pull back to fix Taehyung with all the surprise in your gaze, you can see that he’s surprised, too. His hair hangs into his eyes, and he looks a little unsure, like he believes you, but finds it impossible to fathom.

You leave massage oil on his cheeks when you cup his face in your hands, staring at him with wide eyes. “Kim Taehyung, I have had daily breakdowns about the intensity of my love for you to Pickles ever since we got him. You’re the first person I think about each morning—usually because we wake each other up—and the last thing I think about at night—well, usually because you end up climbing into my bed more often than not, but, it still counts,” you say. You’re both tangled together in so many ways already. “You’ve had my heart for a long time, you know. I just never thought I had a chance?”

When Taehyung kisses you, it’s brief, a hard press of his lips before he rests his forehead against yours. “You really, really have no idea how perfect you are,” he murmurs. “I’ve wanted—I want to do everything for you to show you how grateful I am for everything you do for me.”

“You don’t have to,” you protest, but he just smiles.

“I don’t have to, but I want to,” he says. “Like you don’t have to look after me, but you do.”

“That’s because I love you,” you say. “Like, capital L love you.”

You’ve been so afraid of confessing, so convinced that it was an unattainable dream; that Kim Taehyung would never, could never, has never seen you as more than a friend. But the way he’s looking at you now, the way he’s touched you, the way your body still echoes with the feeling of him inside you: you’re not scared, any more. You don’t need to be.

Taehyung’s eyes are so dark and warm when he replies, easy and effortless. “I love you, too.”

Your relationship has always been a give and take, is the thing. When you climb in the shower together, he washes the oil from your back while you massage shampoo into his scalp, laughing when he makes devil horns in his hair. He catches you by surprise when he presses you against the tiles, swallowing your moans when he coaxes one final orgasm from your tired body, rubbing tight circles over your clit as you buck against his hand and water cascades over you both. His cock hardens in your hands, sliding between your legs when you press them together, tight-tight-tight, his length rubbing against your cunt as he fucks your thighs until he’s moaning and shaking and cumming again.

(The water’s cold by the time you finally climb out, but that’s okay. You giggle and kiss as you dry yourselves, each other, excuses to keep touching and feeling, driven by affection, not lust.)

When you’re both clean, and dry, Taehyung’s leg thrown over your hip as he tugs you in, flush with his body under the covers, you press your lips against the line of his jaw.

“Taehyung?”

“Yes, angel?”

You smile and hunch up even closer to him, scrunching yourself up as small as you can to plaster yourself against his side. “Thank you for the wonderful massage. Definitely the best massage I’ve ever been given, ten out of ten, would do again.”

Taehyung laughs, pressing his rectangular smile into the kiss he lays against your lips, and you think that nothing tastes better than the happiness curling his mouth.

“Love you,” he murmurs. Always romantic. “I love you love you love you.”

“Tae-honey-hyung.” And it feels so nice to not have to filter your words, to bite back that second layer of meaning, to try and keep things platonic and chaste when you speak. “I love you.”

And it feels so nice to have your Taehyung beside you, your body still aching with the press of him inside you, a good ache, a nice ache. A physical ache from good love, rather than a heartache from a love you didn’t think was reciprocated. But it is, somehow, each of you so bowled over by each other.

(“Hey, Pickles.”

The bearded dragon looks up at you, placid as he lounges in his tank.

“Well, you’ll be happy to hear that you won’t have to put up with me ranting at you any more,” you say. “Taehyung did break out the massage oil but it’s all good. I didn’t spontaneously combust or anything, like I thought I would.”

Pickles’ tongue flicks out as he shifts, and you smile.

“Okay, that’s it, I’m done,” you finish. “Thanks, Pickles. You’re a real pal.”

Taehyung nuzzles into your neck. His arms are a tight circle around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder as he looks down at the reptile, too. He’s warm and solid against your back, and you lean into him, happiness tingling through you.

“I wonder how much longer we would have taken if you didn’t get that coupon for a massage therapy course,” you muse, and Taehyung chuckles, warm and lovely.

“We would have gotten there eventually. And we would have had each other until we did, anyway. Right, angel?”

Pickles stays quiet as you both kiss, but you can tell he approves.)

taglist: @beyoncesdragon

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