#the victory belongs to Jesus

[yeslordmyking]

But you are a shield around me, O LORD; you bestow glory on me and lift up my head. [ Read devo thought and prayer for this Bible verse ]

[ceilidho]

sirius c

Johnny’s been bragging about a pretty bird lately. Ghost isn't interested in letting him go down that path alone. (ghoap x reader) [read on ao3 here] general dubcon/noncon tag final chapter first part >> last part

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He hungers like a bad dream.

Not one easily shaken off. All his life, it’s been like this. Poor boy with nothing to his name, stomach empty and aching. Every morsel and scrap saved for his little brother, the boy he once thought of as his charge; his to protect. That was a long time ago. Back when he first trained himself to walk on his tiptoes to avoid the loose, creaky floorboard and learned to turn doorknobs slowly so they wouldn’t ricochet back. Back when making any sound when his father wasn’t off working at the scrapyard was anathema. 

The pain of remembering doesn’t come often, but when it does, it pulsates through him. It’d be easy to say that it’s all behind him. Easier said than done. 

Time has changed him though. With his desires pinned down all his life, he’s grown up gnarled and deformed, a hollow coring down the centre of him. 

Even now, the acrid scent of want withers in the air.

“The two of ye have a good time all by yourselves?” Johnny asks when they walk through the front door, talking to the bird but meeting Ghost’s eyes instead. 

Ghost’s smile from over her head is smug. A subtle thing, barely a twitch of his lips. Johnny catches it though, his attention always finely tuned to the little things that Ghost lets slip. Always intentional, always with purpose. 

Jealousy wars with glee briefly before the latter emerges victorious, Johnny’s smile splitting his face in half. Good. Ghost doesn’t enjoy hurting his boy, but he does take pleasure in giving back what’s been dealt to him. Tit for tat. For weeks now Johnny’s hidden this little bird from him; kept her all to himself, under lock and key. Kept Ghost away from her. As if property weren’t nine tenths of the law. 

As if Johnny wasn’t already his. As if what belongs to Johnny doesn’t belong to him in turn. 

“We had a nice chat, didn’t we, doll?” he says. Barely pays attention to whatever she says after that. 

She must say something nice though because Johnny’s smile is blinding. Dusted with some suspicion, but ultimately satisfied. 

She still shakes, even half an hour later, glancing at him from the corner of her eye while cutting flowers behind the desk and baulking when she catches him staring back. He can’t say he’s surprised. His focus unnerves people bigger and stronger than her. Still, after dating the mutt for over a month, her skittishness is unexpected. 

Ghost knows fear makes the meat go sour, but still he relishes in the way she squirms and sweats in his presence. 

For the better part of the afternoon, she avoids being alone in the same room as him. When he speaks to her directly, she answers as quickly as possible, spitting the words out before hurrying to the other side of the shop to tend to some of the plants. Even eye contact is anathema. She keeps her eyes trained on her work, only occasionally interrupted by customers coming to the counter to cash out. 

It grates on his nerves. He doesn’t demand much from the bird, apart from surrender. She can hide her pleasure, cry as much as she wants, shriek and beat his back with her fists—any matter of resistance, so long as she doesn’t try to run away. 

So it pisses him off that she acts like he doesn’t exist. Reminds him again that he can never have anything. It’s an itch he can’t scratch, a pressure building behind his eyes and it’s been there for years. Since birth. It’s a hollow in his belly that he can’t fill. A hunger he can’t satiate. 

He slips away to corner her in the back office when Johnny gets swept up with a customer, pausing only long enough to admire the shape of her bent over her desk. She flinches when he comes up behind her, his hands flat on the desk on either side of her, caging her in. 

“Jesus Christ—” she hisses, her hands tightening to fists on top of the table.

“Don’t let Johnny catch you talkin’ like that,” Ghost huffs, amused. He knows better than anyone how the mutt would take her using the Lord’s name in vain. It pisses him off to no end when Ghost uses it out in the field during a snafu, no reverence of his own for the name. Ghost hasn’t had a god in years. 

“What do you want?” she asks instead of responding to that. He’s tempted to ask her if she already knows how Johnny would react to her little slip of the tongue. 

“You gonna keep pouting or wanna talk about it like adults?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says, twisting her head away from him when Ghost dips his head down, smiling at the hard jut of her jaw. 

“Don’t play dumb, bird.” He loves the way she bristles at that. “You’ve been avoiding me since we got back. Hardly said a word to me in hours.”

“What does it matter?” she snaps, still looking away from him. 

“Because it’s fuckin’ rude,” Ghost growls, pleased when she shivers from the heat of his breath on her neck. 

Braced behind her, he doesn’t have a good enough view of her face to see the emotions flashing across her eyes, but he can feel the tension in her shoulders and down her spine. 

“You embarrassed or something?” he asks bluntly when she doesn’t say anything. 

“No.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“I’m mad,” she spits out. 

“Mad about what?”

“Are you serious?”

“I can get Johnny’s opinion if you don’t wanna say why.”

That catches her off guard. “No! Wait—please don’t. Please don’t tell him,” she begs. 

“Then spit it out.”

Her mouth opens and shuts on that, the pith of her anger hid behind clattering teeth and a thick tongue. 

“I’m…—I’m mad that you…forced me to do…that, and you made me—” She can’t bring herself to say it, the words catching in her throat. “I—”

“Came all over my fingers?”

“Don’t say that,” she snaps. 

“You just need to get your lick back,” he says, dismissively. “Then you’ll calm down.”

There’s a second where she frowns down at the desk, not entirely comprehending him, and then his hand is on the nape of her neck. He forces her down easily, bending her over the desk and slipping a finger into her mouth when she opens it to let out a shriek. 

She freezes when she registers the intrusion. 

“Go on then—get even. Bite me. Hurt me back.”

His fingers spread over her tongue, feeling the ridges and bumps. Her saliva slickens his finger down to the knuckle. He runs his finger over her gums and molars, feeling around the inside of her mouth. 

Ghost smiles to himself when he feels her teeth lightly press down, the sharp ends leaving shallow indents in his finger. She holds off biting down harder though, not more than a light pinch. Her indecision is a pleasure all on its own. 

“That all? That ain’t gonna do shit, bird. If you want something, you have to see it all the way through.”

Part of him expects the slice of pain through his finger in retaliation for his words. He even feels it for a second—the tightening of her jaw, her teeth digging in deeper, the line of her spine stiffening. It’s the possibility of pleasure that gets him worked up more than anything. The will-they-won’t-they. Like a language he can finally understand; the ringing in his ears clearing for a few precious seconds. 

He tells himself it’s not disappointment that he feels when her jaw relaxes. 

Defeat radiates off her in waves, her body slumped over with it. He lets his finger sit on her tongue for another few seconds before retracting it, the hand around her neck still holding her flat against the desk but only loosely now. She could slip out from under him if she tried. If she wanted to. 

“Okay, doll,” he murmurs before leaning down to kiss the top of her head.

She sags against the desk when he lets her go, her legs almost slipping out from under her. If he didn’t know himself any better, he’d think that the heavy feeling in his chest was pity. 

Too bad he does. Know himself better, that is. 

“Your fingers taste like dirt,” she spits out right before he leaves, his hand on the doorknob, humiliated right down to her core.

Ghost turns back towards her just long enough to pop her on the ass for that, snorting under his breath when she shudders and yelps. 

She still avoids him after that but with less urgency. More like magnets of opposite polarity. Something about her seems subdued though, fatigued. Defeated because a man gave her the opportunity to hurt him back and she squandered it. Chickened out at the last moment and lost her nerve. 

He always knew she was sweet as pie. 

It’s Johnny that talks her into joining them for a pint at the pub down the road. Not that she has much of a say in the matter. It’s twilight by the time they leave the flower shop, the two of them lingering nearby while the bird sets the alarm and locks the front door. The town is ensconced in a blue hue. Neon signs sizzling in the windows of corner shops and laundromats. Stubborn weeds sprout up from between the cracks in the concrete and ivy ropes lick thick tongues up the brick facades of the nearby houses. 

At the pub, Ghost picks a booth near the far wall, nodding at Johnny to get him to slide in first so the bird has no choice but to sit between them. The two of them cut off her only escape routes. Dogs herding sheep; nipping at her heels when she falters and barking when she tries to run another way.

It clearly pisses her off, but there’s not much else she can do besides sit between them and stew in sullen silence. To her right, Johnny yaps about something that she only responds to in clipped, one-word sentences.

Ghost is aware that they’ve only gotten to this point because of her continued reluctance to make a scene. She probably still thinks that after this weekend, she’ll never have to see either of them ever again. That she only has to endure them for a little while longer before being set free—just grit her teeth and bear it.

His lips twitch. If only it were that easy for her. The bird will have to learn that she can’t always get what she wants. Spoiled thing.

He does wonder offhandedly what he’d do if she were to put up a fuss. If she excused herself to take a piss and snuck around back instead. She wouldn’t be stupid enough to just go home. They’ve already broken into her flat once. A second time wouldn’t be nearly as fun. But if she were to flag down the bartender and ask for help or phone the police on her own, would that be enough to chase them off? 

The thought lingers in his mind for a moment before Ghost shrugs it off. Unlikely. He’s as stubborn as the weeds pushing up concrete ten times their weight, unbothered by concepts such as consent or approval. He has a lifetime of unmet needs to rectify now that he’s grown, now that he has the power and means to take whatever he wants. 

Any desire in conflict with his own gets expunged. If there’s something the bird wants, he’ll see to it himself, so long as it doesn’t involve her leaving the two of them. 

He and Johnny carry on most of the conversation without her, leaving the bird to sit between them, awkward and nervous. Her restlessness doesn’t bother him a whit. The only thing Ghost bothers to keep an eye on is whether anyone else in the bar happens to notice her unease. He’s in no mood to deal with someone encroaching on his territory. 

It’s no use dwelling on what he would do if someone were to try and take either the bird or Johnny from him. Even thinking about it makes the blood pound in his ears. The glass in his hand squeaks when his grip tightens. 

Johnny yammers on about the match on the telly, his eyes darting between the screen and Ghost’s face. Back and forth and back and forth. He played football in secondary—it’s a fact he likes to bring up whenever he can.

In between them, the bird continues to sulk, sipping her drink instead of talking. 

When Johnny finally notices her mood, he frowns. “Ye havenae said a word all night, hen. What’s wrong?”

Her lips purse, gaze narrowing and shifting away. “Nothing.”

“Cannae be nothin’—ah’m nae dumb, ye ken.” 

Ghost is quick to notice the stubborn jut of Johnny’s lip and the irritated twitch in his eye. It takes nothing to rile the boy up, and he’s been on edge since they arrived the night before. The bird must notice it too because she tenses. At least Ghost’s mood swings are predictable. Johnny’s temper flares up unexpectedly, swift and furious. 

“I have to go to the washroom,” she announces suddenly. 

It does the trick of jolting Johnny out of the bad mood looming over him like a storm cloud. He blinks instead, the smile shifting back onto his face. The bird forces a brittle smile on her face in return, then scooches down the bench only to bump up against Ghost. He wonders if she expected him to get up to let her out. 

She’ll just have to learn some manners. 

Ghost waits a beat, eyebrow cocked. The bird looks up at him from the corner of her eye like she might compel him to move through thought alone. 

He stares back down at her without moving a muscle. 

“Can you move please?” she finally whispers, lips tight around the question. 

His dick stiffens in his jeans. 

He’s only too willing to oblige when she asks so nicely. Johnny gives her a messy kiss to the cheek before she manages to pull away, wrinkling her nose. Still, he only half-shifts off the bench, forcing her to squeeze out from around him, amused when she mutters a little sorry under her breath and scurries away towards the washroom at the other end of the pub. His eyes follow the sway of her ass until it disappears from sight. 

“So. What’d the two of ye really get up to earlier?”

When Ghost turns to look at Johnny again, his eyes have lost much of their playfulness. Only a sliver of it remains in the quirk of his lips, youthful naivety replaced by a well-worn guile. Sly like a fox. He has no doubt that Johnny’s already drawn his own conclusions from the bird’s twitchiness. 

“What makes you say that?” he asks instead.

“Cut the shit, Simon,” Johnny says, clipped, his shoulders tensing again. The last of his smile slips off his face. “Ye cannae tell me to trust ye 'n' then run around behind my back without telling me what’s going on.”

Ghost blinks, staring down at Johnny.

“Wanna try that again?” A warning.

Johnny’s face screws into a scowl, his upper lip curling back. Ghost waits, anticipating the flare of his anger, but then it recedes after a few seconds of self-control. 

“Jus’ tell me what ye did,” Johnny asks, eyes flicking away for a second before meeting Ghost’s again. He won’t beg, but the desperation is thick in his voice. 

When Ghost scans the bar, looking for any sign of someone eavesdropping on their conversation, he finds nothing. Scattered groups and a few stragglers at the bar, drinking themselves into a stupor, swaying on backless stools. A hazy amber light filters through the bar, dimmed since they first sat down. 

Still, the shift in conversation requires an accompanying shift in intimacy; it’s no one’s business but his. Ghost shifts down the bench until their knees knock together, until Johnny’s shallow breathing is loud in his ear. His hand drops to Johnny’s thigh, palming the muscle there. When he angles his head towards him, it’s just the two of them; no prying eyes or ears to listen in. 

“Been waiting all day to ask, haven’t ya? Thought you’d break hours ago. Had more patience than I thought.”

“Simon,” he whines.

His hand slides up Johnny’s thigh as he speaks. “Ain’t fucked her yet, if that’s what you’re worried about. Only got a couple fingers in her cunt on the drive back.” He gives it a rough squeeze, smiling to himself when Johnny’s leg jerks, knee smacking against the underside of the table and making their glasses wobble. 

“Fuck,” he curses, curling his own hand around Ghost’s thigh, like he has to keep his hands busy somehow or he’ll explode. “Thou—hng… Thought you’d wait fer me.”

“Had to be fair, didn’t I?” Ghost says, unable to resist taunting his boy. “Didn’t want the bird to feel left out after the other day.”

The sharp inhale makes his blood go hot, perverse pleasure coursing through him. 

“How’s that fair?” Johnny pants, grunting under his breath when Ghost squeezes his hand around his bulge. A flush sits high on his face already, his cheekbones stained red. 

“You got yours yesterday on the mats and now she got hers. ‘Sides, the only one who should be pissed is me. Didn’t even ask me before you fucked her for the first time.”

Even trying to muffle his sounds, Johnny’s noisy. Soft grunts and moans slip out unbidden, his legs spreading wide under the table, hips bucking up into Ghost’s hand. The sluttiest thing that Ghost has ever put his hands on. Soft, parted lips and heavy-lidded eyes, glassy with his arousal. 

“Bile yer heid. She was mine first,” Johnny grunts. Big words for a man falling apart from having his dick touched.

Ghost squeezes his hand, smiling when Johnny hisses through his teeth. “You were mine first. And what’s yours is mine.”

“Yer a lunatic, Lt,” he says, but the look in his eyes is fond, raptured. 

He doesn’t respond to that, already beyond their conversation. Truth doesn’t merit a rejoinder. It is what it is. And maybe he is damaged; maybe there is something deeply wrong with him, buried generations deep. Deeper than subcutaneous fascia; tucked beneath the dermis. Maybe he waters the seed of evil within him with enough violence to keep it dormant. 

It doesn’t change the way things are. 

His hand squeezes around Johnny’s length and gives it a rough jerk over his clothes before letting go. “Go take a walk, MacTavish. Been a while since our girl left for a piss.”

Johnny has to step outside for a moment after their conversation, heart pounding something fierce. It’d be more manageable if he knew he could sneak off to the bathroom with his girl to take the edge off, but with her still mad at him, he has no choice but to keep his hands to himself. At least until they get back home. 

Someone bums him a smoke out front, which he thanks them for before ducking into the alleyway around the side of the bar, leaning against the cold brick. 

It’s easier to collect his thoughts away from the noise of the other patrons. Smoking is Ghost’s bad habit, passed on to him over the years they’ve worked together, and it does little to relieve the tension in him. It gives him something to do with his hands though. He’s a fidgeter unless he’s out in the field; fingers drumming against his legs or stroking his girl’s hair or fiddling with the coins in his pocket until someone hands him a gun and tells him to lock in. 

He thinks maybe suppressing his impulses for so long out in the field is what leaves him so restless when he’s back on dry land. 

His cock still throbs from Ghost’s manhandling. Easy to jerk him around and leave him wanting more. Both his girl and Ghost have perfected the skill. Ghost could’ve tugged him off under the table and milked the tension from his bones, but instead he sent him outside to sulk in the cold, waiting for the bird to do something as stupid as leave without telling them. 

Johnny’s mind is in such a disarray that he can only stare in disbelief when the backdoor swings open and his sweet bird comes tumbling out. 

His mood flips so fast that it nearly blinds him. Anger snaps into him like a rubber band, quick and sharp. He almost can’t believe it. She tried to skip out on them without being noticed. Only happenstance had him already loitering in the alley, practically waiting for her to make her escape. 

The look on her face when she spots him is priceless though. Shocked dumb, her eyes big and wide, and her mouth gaped open. He stubs the cig out beneath his boot and stalks over to her, still rooted in the same spot by the backdoor looking guilty as sin. 

“On yer way out, hen?” he asks, stepping in close enough that his chest almost bumps hers. 

When she takes a step back, she bumps into the steel door behind her. Johnny follows her step for step, blocking her in with his body. Cutting her off from the rest of the world. 

“I was gonna—” she mumbles, but he cuts her off before she’s finished her sentence because he’s nearly out of patience. 

“Gonna what?” he mocks. “Go home? Without us?”

“I didn’t want to go out in the first place,” she snaps, her anger flaring up suddenly. Johnny’s cock pulses, leaking against his thigh. 

His temper nearly gets the better of him. For the way he lets Ghost treat him, he doesn’t extend that same liberty to anyone else. Even his girl. He has to slow his breathing, let it wash over him and wash away the anger blistering his insides. 

He barricades her in with a hand on the door behind her, lets the sheer size of him do the talking instead. His breathing picks up when her eyes widen. 

“Bit impolite to ditch us without even sayin’ goodbye. Matter of fact, ye havenae said a word to me all afternoon.” He ducks low enough that their noses touch. “Ye’ve had a real unpleasant fuckin’ attitude today and I’ve had it. What’s got ye all agitated?”

Her attitude breaks there, anger receding back into her. There’s a moment where he doesn’t think she’ll answer him, that she’ll try to bolt down the alleyway instead and he’ll be forced to chase her down and pin her to the dirty ground like a runaway animal. His pulse ratchets up at the thought. 

Then her bottom lip wobbles. 

“On the drive home, we—” Here she draws in a watery breath, looking almost too ashamed for words, “—Simon and I, we…—” 

He tilts his head with faux sympathy. “Ye did what?”

“He put his…” she cringes, still unable to finish the sentence. 

“Ye fooled around before driving home, hen? Is that it?”

She nods, teeth sunk deep into her bottom lip to keep from sobbing. 

Seeing her break down makes him go gooey soft. He wraps both arms around her waist and pulls her in close, resting his chin on top of her head and swaying with her in his arms, a gentle rock meant to calm her down. “Och, I ken. That’s what’s been botherin’ ye?” 

She stares up at him woundedly. “He told you?”

“‘Course Simon told me, baby,” Johnny coos. 

It’s not altogether truthful, acting like he’s known all along when in fact Ghost only told him moments ago. But he likes the way she looks up at him with big, guilty eyes, tears clumped in her lashes. 

She cringes, mortified. “And you’re—are you mad at me?”

“No, baby, I’m nae mad,” he protests, letting go of her waist to cup her cheeks, dropping a soft kiss on her parted lips. “How could I be mad at ye? My perfect, perfect girl. You’ve done nothing wrong at all.”

“I don’t get it. You should be mad at me, I—” Again she cringes and his heart hurts. His poor girl. “I…I just…I feel like I cheated on you.”

“Ye dinnae do anythin’ like that, baby,” Johnny tuts, dropping another kiss on her lips. 

Comforting his miserable girl is a treat that he didn’t even realize he was missing out on. It almost makes him feel bad for withholding the truth that would actually comfort her. If she knew what he’d gotten up to with Ghost on the gym mats the night before, she wouldn’t be making herself sick at the thought of betraying him. That time has long come and gone. They’re both under new ownership, new rules. 

She follows him back inside because she’s a good girl. Always has been. The past week has been a challenge, sure, but nothing insurmountable. Nothing that could ever really come between them. Not that he’d let it. 

Besides, all it tells Johnny is that their relationship is built on a solid foundation. Strong as bedrock. 

He guides her back in with a hand on her back. She still seems dazed when she’s back sitting between the two of them, Ghost now barricading the other side of the booth. His lieutenant barely looks fazed at the sight of the tear tracks running down her cheeks or the slight wobble of her bottom lip. 

“Thought you weren’t coming back,” Ghost says, his tone ambiguous. It’s anyone’s guess if he means it or not. Johnny’s hard pressed to believe it though. Something about the dull amusement glinting in the dark of his eyes contradicts his words. 

“We jus’ had a wee chat outside,” Johnny says, speaking for both of them. 

“All good?” 

“We sorted it out.”

Johnny knows that Ghost sees something else when he glances over their girl. She looks lost between them. Out of sorts. 

“You still upset, doll?” Ghost asks her, prodding more than comforting. 

Her bottom lip trembles. “…Yes.”

“Spit it out then. All that stress ain’t good for ya.”

The look she tosses him out of the corner of her eye is dark. “Everything about this is just so fucked up.”

“Why do ye keep thinkin’ this is bad?” Johnny asks. He drags his nose down the side of her throat while he speaks, gorging himself on the perfume of her skin. Her natural scent is pungent with anxious sweat, a sharp, acrid note that he aches to lick off.

“Because it’s not normal—I didn’t go into this thinking that—” She stiffens when Johnny dips his tongue into her collarbone to lap at the salty skin there “—Johnny, knock it off. We’re in public!”

“So what?” he murmurs, licking the same spot again, the flat of his tongue running over her skin and leaving a wet trail up the side of her neck.

Around them, the lights flicker as people walk from the bar back to their tables, shadows dragging across the floor and over the walls. A server passes by with a round of beer for a nearby table. 

“Where does this even go?” his pretty girl croaks, tears brimming in her eyes again. “What happens after this?”

Johnny glances up at Ghost almost instinctively, looking for something. Reassurance; an answer. Even he’s not clear on what exactly he needs from the man—just that it’s important. Just that it’s the only thing that matters. 

“The same thing as always, hen; nothing has to change. Just have to think a bit bigger.”

“But what if I don’t want to?”

The look Johnny gives her is pitying. 

“Ain’t that kind of situation, doll,” Ghost grunts. 

A tear spills over her waterline and down her cheek. Johnny barely restrains himself from leaning over and licking it up. 

Getting her back home without a fuss is nothing short of a miracle. Johnny keeps an arm around her waist the entire walk back just in case though, Ghost at their rear following them from just a few steps behind. No chance of her slipping off without one of them catching her.

Part of him feels for the poor bird. She never would’ve chosen this for herself—two brutes following her home, intent on keeping her. But the heart wants what the heart wants. He doesn’t think he’s strong enough to give her the option to leave. 

It’s not like he knows what he’s doing either. Life was simpler before he had Ghost’s voice in his ear. Back when it was just his own voice in his head.

But the bird has never had just him, has she? They’re always been a package deal, him and Ghost. One and the same. Ghost’s voice in his head telling him where to go. She’d know if she could crack open his head and look inside; root around until she found the bit of Ghost lodged in him like shrapnel in a wound. 

Sometimes he wonders at his luck in picking the right people to call his own. The wrong person might have taken advantage of his nature.

She sniffs, resigned to her fate when Ghost opens the door to her flat, her key somehow already in his hand. Must have swiped it at one point during the night. Still, she follows him inside without remarking on it. 

“Would you like coffee?” she asks sardonically, her tone belied by the way her hands shake when she hangs up her sweater. 

“Dinnae bother, hen,” Johnny says, almost pityingly. 

They both know what’s coming. What’s just around the corner, waiting for them to drop the ruse. Ghost stands in the hall like a spectre, staring down their girl with an intensity that doesn’t waver even when his gaze shifts to Johnny. He’s always looking down at them. 

Johnny preens under his gaze. It’s nice being wanted. More than nice—it’s an imperative. The thought of losing Ghost’s attention leaves him cold, an ache deep in his core, like a cancer spreading from organ to bone.  

Breathe in and out.

This time when he tugs her in by her waist, she goes limp, stumbling into him, hands splayed on his chest and her chin already tilted up. 

Johnny gets lost in the kiss, his lips sliding slick over hers, tongue licking into her mouth. Her taste is familiar, but it’s different this time somehow. Heightened. Creamier, sweeter. She whimpers into his mouth when he squeezes her closer, her breasts squished against his chest. Tits so soft that he salivates thinking about popping her nipples into his mouth. 

His hands run up and down her back, groping her hips and waist and the underside of her butt, squeezing her cheeks until she squeaks and tries to pull away from him. 

“Wanna wrestle? Is that it?” he purrs, strands of saliva stretching between their lips when he breaks the kiss. 

“Johnny—” she gasps, twisting her face away to breathe only for him to chase after her, hand sliding up her back to grip her by the neck. 

There’s no plan for how this should go, but when Ghost grabs a handful of her shirt and rips her from Johnny’s arms, he knows his turn is up. The shock of feeling her ripped away almost sends him spiralling, teeth already bared. Animalistic rage washes over him. That’s his girl, the one he hunted down to exhaustion and dragged home. 

“Stand down,” Ghost snarls when he takes a step forward. His instinct is to charge, overwhelm the man circling wide, rough hands around his girl’s arms and tugging her close. 

The sound of Ghost’s voice stops him in his tracks. Keeps him from taking another step closer. He shakes off the anger, the red rage seeping from his vision. 

“Aye, sir,” he croaks. When he swallows, it’s thick. Viscous. 

Watching someone else strip and take his girlfriend apart fills him with equal parts nausea and delirium. Johnny follows the two of them into the living room on shaky legs, bracing his hand against the doorframe to keep from stumbling. Her shirt comes off first. Ghost 

It’s not like the thought never occurred to him. Ghost even told him earlier about their romp in the van. It’s the seeing that’s pain inducing. World changing. His reality collapses around the notion that he’s letting this happen again. That he’s encouraging it this time even. 

Saliva pools in his mouth when Ghost pulls the bird into his lap, forcing her to straddle him. With Ghost still fully clothed, the contrast between the two of them is stark. She trembles over his lap, naked. Vulnerable. Her knees have to spread so wide to touch the couch under him that her bare cunt is forced to grind against his jean-covered crotch. 

When she glances over her shoulder, looking to Johnny for reassurance, his heart almost breaks at the distressed look on her face. 

Viper-quick, Ghost grips her by the chin and turns her head to look at him instead. “Don’t look at him,” he murmurs, a soft command in his voice. “Eyes on me.”

She listens like a good girl, hands perched delicately on his shoulders. “But, I want Johnny—”

“You’ll get him later. S’not about him right now.”

Johnny’s head spins, dizzy with lust. He has to rub his hand overtop his jeans, palming the shaft straining against his zipper. 

The moment Ghost reels her in for a kiss, a big hand on the nape of her neck, and their lips slot against each other—the first time Johnny’s seen Ghost kiss someone with his own eyes, the first time he’s watched his girlfriend kiss another man, and not just any man, but his superior, the man he’d build an effigy to if it meant he got to keep him for the rest of the time—his vision doubles. 

Ghost kisses like a plundering, holding her in place while he takes what he wants. When she whimpers into his mouth, Johnny’s cock jumps. Broad hands hold her in place, one sliding down her back and curving over her ass until calloused fingers rub at the soft folds between her legs, one finger to stretch and two to make her whine. 

“Get over here, pup.”

He almost doesn’t hear the command at first, his attention wholly fixated on the way Ghost’s fingers piston into his girl’s pussy, the veins in his hand flexed and protruding. 

“Johnny.” He hears it the second time, head snapping up to find Ghost staring him down. “Come here.”

The moment he lets go of the wall, his knees buckle, sending him to the ground. He crawls the rest of the way over, half-delirious. The coffee table is pushed unceremoniously out of the way, books tumbling onto the floor. She squawks in protest; says something about scratching the floor, but then Ghost pulls out his fingers to give her pussy a sharp slap and her eyes roll back in her head, the words knocked clean out of her. 

“What do I…” Johnny asks, trailing off when Ghost’s fingers slip back into his girl’s pretty, stretched hole. 

His mouth waters at the sight. 

He wets his lips when Ghost spreads his legs, forcing the bird’s legs to spread wider as well, ignoring the way she whines at the stretch. The thick fingers spearing her open pull out, dew-coated and glistening. His groan is guttural when Ghost’s fingers drag from her hole to her clit, stroking her back and forth before 

“Put that mouth to good use,” he orders, spreading her lips with his fingers and framing her hole. 

It wouldn’t be more inviting if she hung mistletoe over it. He goes willingly, crawling forward until he’s between Ghost’s legs, his nose almost grazing her pussy, eyes locked on the wet hole between her legs and the tight rosebud winking at him from just a bit higher. The most gorgeous sight in the world. Men have fought and died for less. 

Despite the fact that this is his girl, there’s something sacred in being chosen by Ghost. Being given the honour of eating his girlfriend out. He’s always enjoyed the thrill of being Ghost’s chosen favourite. Unspoken, maybe, but undeniable. They orbit each other like binary stars. 

It's a bit different when his lieutenant is holding his head down into his girlfriend’s pussy and telling him exactly how to rub his tongue over her clit. Ghost’s hand like a brand on the back of his neck, tears building in the corners of his eyes because it’s too much, too much, too much. 

“There, bird,” Ghost murmurs, stroking a hand up her back. It barely settles her. “Ain’t that better? Still gonna cry when you’re getting your cunt licked?”

She does cry too. Big, fat tears that Ghost licks up when they dribble down her cheeks. Johnny barely registers it though, face buried in her cunt, tongue shoved in her hole and dredging out every drop of slick. 

It ends too soon for him. A hundred hours would be too soon for him though. Ghost fists the back of his mohawk and tugs him away from her drooling cunt, nearly ripping out his hair when Johnny resists, trying to chase after her pussy. 

“Simon—” he gasps, tears welling up in his eyes. 

“Fuck. That desperate, pup?” Ghost sneers. 

“Please, Lt,” Johnny pleads, licking her essence off his lips. “Jus’ gimme five more minutes. Ah need it—look at her—”

“Johnny,” his girl begs, thrusting her cunt back towards Johnny’s face. Ghost grabs a handful of her ass to hold her still, chiding her when she whines.

“Desperate fuckin’ slags,” he sighs, beleaguered. Long suffering. Like no one in the world has had to endure the hardships he’s faced. 

The next few minutes disappear into a blur of clothes tugged off and thrown across the room, Ghost dragging the two of them into the bird’s bedroom. Her little bed hardly seems big enough for two grown men, but there are no other options and Johnny’s hardly solution oriented at the moment. 

He hasn’t had enough time to think about what it might be like. For all of the assumptions that could be made about his sexual proclivities, he’s kept a few things close to his chest. Never shared a girl before, no matter how many times the thought has crossed his mind. It’s a desire he’s kept at a distance, only looked at from afar. 

The reality is so much worse.

Worse because Ghost’s hand curls around his cock when he guides him through it, slick with lube. Almost too tight at first, clearly mimicking the way Simon likes to jerk himself off, even though Johnny prefers a slightly looser grip, a little slower, more indulgent.

Worse because it’s so much better than anything he could’ve ever imagined.

Ghost positions Johnny over her, big hands on his hips and Johnny has never felt like he had narrow hips until this very second. Lube is drizzled over the furl of his entrance and his head is spinning, staring down into his girlfriend’s eyes as she watches the two of them wide eyed, still so anxious and it makes him want to soothe her, coo down at her that he’s got her and everything’s going to be just fine, but that thought is snipped right out of him when Simon lines himself up and presses in and Johnny’s vision goes white.

He loses himself in those first few moments. The girl beneath him vanishes. She’s just a warm, wet hole for him to fuck, to relieve himself from the pressure of the cock seated in his ass. 

The blunt intrusion has him gasping for air. It’s beyond the pale; a sensation beyond whatever he might’ve imagined in the past. He’s thought about it once or twice—never with enough detail to guess how it might feel to have a man fuck him, but enough to think that he might like it. 

He never could’ve anticipated just how much. 

It’s sublime. White hot; scorching. Any lingering pain dissipates, chased away by the blinding pleasure of the cunt wrapped around his cock. Hot and tight and dripping wet. When she clenches around his dick, Johnny’s mind shatters. Fragments into a million pieces. He’s held in place by the rough hands on his hips, the nails dug into his back. A man’s lips on the back of his neck press a kiss into the sweat-coated skin, sweeter and softer than he deserves. 

“Fuck,” he gasps into a sweaty neck, eyes squeezing shut. 

Don’t get all quiet on me now, Johnny hears from behind him, Mancunian accent slipping into his ear. Some of the words disintegrate before reaching his ear. Too far away. 

The massive weight of Ghost at his back acts as a lodestone. A star guiding him home. A voice in his ear growling about how tight he is, how good his hole feels around Ghost’s shaft. His perfect pup and bird. 

Tell me I’m good enough for you, tell me I’m good, I’m good. 

Gentleness is a luxury he isn’t granted. When Ghost draws his hips back, he expects a moment of reprieve, a moment to catch his breath. Then he snaps his hips forward again, hurtling Johnny up the mattress, the bird smothered under him. 

“Simon—fer fuck’s sake!”

Underneath him, his girl keens, stuffing her own fingers in her mouth to muffle her screams. 

He grunts out a curse when Ghost batters into him harder than before, his hole burning from the stretch of taking Ghost’s cock. Hung like a bloody horse. The hands on his hips shackle him in place. He couldn’t wiggle out if he tried.

It’s all too good, too much. Staggered breaths, black spots on the edge of his vision. Hips pumping mindlessly, rhythm dictated by Ghost’s pace. Better than anyone or anything that’s ever come before. 

“Good fuckin’ boy,” Ghost growls at his back, voice pitched low. “Better like this, ain’t it?”

Johnny chases after his release like it might get away from him, pounding into the plush cunt beneath him with a mindless fervour. Her little yips are music to his ears. 

“Sir, please—” he gasps, feverish, his drool pooling in the divot beside the bird’s neck. “I need ta—lemme come, sir, please—”

His mind is emptied out, full of cotton and dreamy thoughts of pussy and cock. Her wet hole squelches with every thrust, creamy soft around him. 

He yelps when a big hand is shoved between his legs, fingers circling the base of his cock squeezing. 

“Gotta earn it, boy,” Ghost pants, a harsh laugh to his voice. “Haven’t heard the bird come yet.”

Her eyes widen, the space between her brows pinched. 

“I got ‘er,” Johnny slurs. His eyes go half-lidded. “Ah’ll make ‘er come.”

Johnny’s hands grope all over her face, squishing and pinching her cheeks. Brushing her hair out of the way. Wiping away stray tears and licking them off his fingers. Feeding her his tongue. 

It’s a shame no one else will ever be able to see his pretty girl this way, eyes glossy and mouth hung loose, her perfect pussy stretched open on a big cock. But he’d kill anyone other than the man bruising his hips for seeing her like this. Even the thought makes violence fester in his belly. Images flash across his mind: gouging out their eyes with his thumbs, tearing their throats out with his teeth. 

Her teeth clack together with each thrust, jolting him back into the real world. 

“J-Johnny—” she gasps, on the verge of hyperventilating. 

“Shh—yer a’right,” he shushes her, dragging a hand down her face. 

He can feel it in his loins, balls tightening. Stomach clenching. He needs her there with him though, dangling over the edge of release. A thumb on her clit has her in near hysterics, on the verge of hyperventilating. Chest arched, beaded nipples hoisted high enough for Johnny to dip his head and suck them into his mouth, one after the other. Then chewed and licked and bitten for his pleasure.

“Nono, it’s too—hng, shit, ohohoh—h-hard, Johnny—”

He runs his tongue up the crevice between her tits, sucking on the delicate patch of skin at the base of her throat. 

“Squeezin’ me sooo fuckin’ tight, hen—shitshitshit. Ye gonna come?” Johnny asks, pinching the little bud between her legs until she squeals and clenches around him. His words are slurred, whole body on fire. 

“No—no—I’m not—”

“Don’ hold it back—c’mon, gimme it.” His lips split open, feral, a snarl revving deep in his throat, teeth bare like an animal. “I wan’ it, I wan’ it, I wan’ it—”

When Ghost’s fingers loosen around his cock, Johnny comes harder than he ever has in his life. It knocks the wind out of him. Submerges him in dark water, choking him. Electric pulses up his spine and down to even the backs of his knees, his whole body electrified. 

And his pretty girl takes every hot rope of come spurting out of him. Lets him come deep in her slick hole. Legs spread wide for him, hips gyrating. Fuck, take it, hen, jus’ lemme—tha’s it, what a good fuckin’ girl. 

Johnny barely registers collapsing on her. He does register Ghost pulling out of him, his hole clenching around nothing. In another life, he might be grateful for the reprieve, but in this one he groans, mourning the absence. 

“Simon?” he mumbles into the bird’s tits, his words almost smothered.

A hand cards through his hair. “Down, boy. Need to clean up.”

Ghost leaves them there, tangled in the sheets, Johnny’s hips still flexing in half-hearted thrusts, chasing the last of his orgasm. Only when his cock is too sensitive to keep in her does Johnny pull out, flopping onto the bed beside her. 

Johnny hears Ghost turn the tap, water running into the sink. The going-ons in the bathroom are beyond his purview though, too fucked out to pay attention. His body throbs with a deep ache. Tomorrow he’ll be sorer than sore, no use to anyone. 

When he hears the water turn off, his eyes crack open, flicking over to the man walking out of the bathroom, his bare cock swaying between his legs.

His cock is an ugly, brutish thing. Thick at the base with prominent veins running up the underside. Johnny’s mouth waters. Part of him can’t quite believe he took a cock of that size, his first ever. His first. The longer he stares, the deeper that thought penetrates. That dick took the only virginity he had left. The big, angry thing dangling between Ghost’s legs, flushed red and uncircumcised, the skin around the head pulled back. 

Ghost comes over to the bed only to grab their girl by the ankle, tugging her towards the edge of the bed. 

“S-Simon?” she stutters, eyes wide and concerned. Ghost ignores her panic, climbing over her prone form. 

“What’re ye doin’?” Johnny mumbles, twisting over onto his side. 

“Had your fun,” he grunts, spreading her legs wide enough to accommodate him, unmindful of the way she gasps and tries to squirm away. “Now’s my turn.”

“Oh god—” she whimpers, already shaking, a nervous sweat building over her brow. 

Ghost heaves her legs over his shoulders, nearly folding her in half, before driving into her with the single-minded intensity of a rutting bull. Their poor girl hangs on for dear life, hands clenched in the pillowcase. The tattooed arm braced beside her head bulges with every thrust, the muscles bunching with the effort to hold himself up. 

He’d feel worse for her if he had any energy left in his bones. 

“Fuckin’ ‘er like a stallion, Lt,” Johnny murmurs, lips forming a loose smirk. Teasing now that he’s not on the receiving end. 

Ghost ignores him, too intent on chasing his own release. 

It doesn’t take long for Ghost to come, pounding her sore cunt with deep, powerful strokes until a groan rumbles out of him. The base of his cock is frothy with their mixed release, Johnny’s come slicking his way. Johnny can’t see much from his vantage point on the bed—can’t see the way Ghost’s ass flexes with every thrust or the way his balls tighten up right before emptying out into her waiting cunt—but he recognizes the telltale signs: the deep plunges, the loss of rhythm, Ghost’s flared nostrils and pinched brow. 

The bird pants under him, on the verge of hyperventilating. She doesn’t so much as twitch when he pulls himself off her, legs akimbo. Ghost’s softening cock rests against his thigh still drenched in her juices. Distantly, like a thought cast off into orbit, Johnny wonders what Ghost’s cock would taste like if he were to slide it down his throat now. 

His heart goes firehot when Ghost rearranges the two of them so that he sits against the wall with the bird between his legs, her knees hooked over his, drenched pussy open for his gaze. Ardour moves through his sluggishly, energy renewed. Reinvigorated. Ley lines crossed through him, trenches scored through the muscle and meat.

Ghost hooks an arm across her chest to hold her in place, anticipating her instinctive attempt to squirm away. Her blown out pupils speak for themselves. 

“What’re you still doing over there?” Ghost grumbles, spreading her folds wide with two fingers. “Get over here and clean her up.”

Like a dog on a leash, he goes, a thick finger tugging him by the collar.

[msbigredmachine]

Here With Me - A Roman Reigns One-Shot

As the Bloodline Civil War takes an unexpected turn of events, Reader comes up with the perfect pick-me-up for her Tribal Chief. Post-Summerslam 2023.

PAIRING: Tribal Chief!Roman Reigns x OC

Warnings: SMUT

Word count: 6k 

A/N: Dido's "Here With Me" did so much for the writing of this that I had to name the fic after the song.

-------------------

I’m startled awake by the door clicking shut, my eyes remaining closed as he walks into the bedroom of his penthouse suite. I’m laying on my side facing away from him, but he is clear as day in my mind's eye as he tosses the gold title belt on the sofa across the room. His beloved ula fula, the subject of heated combat tonight, follows. The mattress dips as he sits on his side of the bed, letting out a painful exhale. 

My eyes flicker to the digital clock on the nightstand. I returned to the suite right after the main event. It’s currently 1.30 am. I have no idea where he’s been for the last two hours, but I let it slide. He’s come back to me and that’s all that matters.

The pointed silence and the hairs that suddenly stand on the back of my neck tell me he’s staring at me. It’s confirmed when I feel his hand rest on my leg over the white sheets blanketing me. His usually assured, confident touch is sad and distracted. Even in the humming quiet, I can feel the turmoil brewing inside him and understandably so. 

The last few weeks have been a lot for him to take in. Getting pinned in London; tensions exploding in MSG; putting his entire legacy on the line against Jey in Orlando, and tonight, at Summerslam, victory at Tribal Combat. But it’s come at a price, as his family has all but disintegrated now. He is exhausted, physically and emotionally. I could see it in his eyes backstage after the match in spite of his best attempts to conceal his true feelings. For him, tonight’s win feels like a loss.

The second his hand slips away, I miss him. He stands up from the bed and heads to the bathroom. I twist around the bed to face the partially closed door, and hear the shower start. I wait for a while before getting up and making my way to him. His head snaps in my direction when I open the door.

“Babe?” he calls out.

“Yeah, it’s me. Don’t panic,” I try to joke, my smile faltering a little when he merely turns back around and faces the wall. I notice the still visible red marks on his broad back, imprints from the kendo stick and leather strap beatings he endured tonight.

"I'm sorry, I musta woke you," he says, as I pull off the baggy t-shirt that belongs to him over my head. I swap my silk bonnet for a shower cap and open the door to the enclosure. Stepping inside, I immediately jump away in alarm when the water beating down on him splashes onto my skin. It’s boiling hot. 

“Jesus, Ro! You tryin’ to cook yourself?” I exclaim, quickly grabbing the tap, my wrist frantically twisting the knob to adjust the temperature to a less dangerous degree. He hasn’t flinched once. I steer him away from the water, then slip around to his front and wrap him up in a hug that he clearly, desperately, needs. His body stiffens, hesitant at first, before he sags against me and locks his arms around my waist. His face is tucked in the crook of my neck, nestled comfortably like it belongs there. I can feel the weight of the world on his shoulders. 

“It’s okay. Just keep holding me until you’re ready,” I whisper, combing my fingers soothingly through damp strands of his hair as his grip on my waist remains tight. Being the macho hypermasculine entity that he is, I know he doesn’t like it when I see him like this. But relationships are about sticking together through the good times and the bad. I’ll always be there to see him through both.

“I coulda sworn you won your match tonight. What’s wrong?” I lure him in with a coaxing peck to his shoulder, hoping to quicken his response time.

After several seconds of hesitation, he gives in. “I warned them both,” he starts to vent. “I knew it would come to this. You saw for yourself tonight what happens when you become selfish and greedy. All I ever wanted to do was keep my family together, elevate them and their careers. Those two ingrates turned against me and made me out to be some kind of monster. Conspired with the Elders behind my back and questioned my place as the Head of the Table. Now they’re at each other’s throats and our entire family looks weak! I warned 'em, I told 'em-”

"Hey, hey, hey,” I gently shush him, lifting his face so our eyes meet. My heart sinks from how despondent he looks. “Breathe, baby, breathe. Deep breath.” I wait for him to do so, feeling his chest rise and fall against mine, inhaling and exhaling. But his mind is clearly still on his cousins. 

“This is all on them,” he continues. “They refused to see the big picture and now it’s gone to shit.” He licks his lips and his eyes are glazed. “The family wants me to intervene, but fuck that. Not after they tried to destroy everything I’ve worked my ass off for the last three years. As far as I’m concerned, they’re dead to me.”

"Don’t say that. Families fight all the time. It’s going to be fine,” I vow, even though I'm in no position to promise such a thing. “Come here." I gently prompt him to turn around, and watch for a few seconds as the less scalding shower stream pelts his shoulders with water. The tribal tattoo adorning the right side of his back is majestic and intimidating up close, and I never pass up the chance to idolize the intricate design. “I want you to relax for me, okay?”

He reaches out and braces his hands on the wall in front of him while I run mine up his back to slowly knead his shoulders, working the tense flesh. His muscles are tight and I do my best to ease them up with my amateur masseuse skills, gleefully aware that I love touching him anyway.

I move down to the middle of his back, and he starts to relax under my touch. As I’m about to retrace my route, I lean in and press soft kisses to his back right before massaging that same spot. Roman exhales again, suggesting he is calmer now, but only just. He’s a tough man to crack, so it feels good each time I become more conversant with his…complexities, if you will. Our relationship is relatively new…We only just met in February this year. I was not a wrestling fan growing up, but I’ve since plunged headfirst into the circus-like controlled chaos that only a pro wrestler is capable of living in. In my defense, it’s easy to dive in when it’s with a man as sweet, charming and criminally sexy as Roman Reigns. Of course, it’s not all rainbows and roses; his prolonged absences, our bitter exes and his psychotic fan girls spring to mind. But I won't change a thing as it’s only made us stronger together. Every day I wonder where he has been all my life, and I want to be with him forever. Yes. I’m in that tight of a chokehold. It’s a whole lot sexier when he’s actually doing the choking.

“You know, other people woulda buckled under the pressure and responsibility long ago. But here you are, standing tall despite the setbacks. That says a lot about you, big boy,” I say to him, my hands still at work. “You’re still the Champ, the longest reign in the last thirty plus years. The twins may have turned their backs on you, but best believe I won’t. I never will.”

Roman scoffs cynically and shakes his head. “Right. Everyone leaves me in the end. Seth. Mox. My ex-wife. Sami. Even Heyman abandoned me once. Now my own cousins.”

“Well, I ain’t none of them,” I answer smoothly, as he turns around to face me.

“I'm not a bad person, Y/N,” he insists, his eyes pleading, as though he’s desperate for me to believe him. I do. I take his hands in mine and stare into his chocolate-colored eyes. 

“I know you’re not. You’re not afraid to speak your mind, and you don’t take shit from nobody. You’re passionate and you stand your ground and fight for what’s yours. There’s nothing wrong with that at all. In fact, it’s sexy to me.”

His eyes twinkle mischievously at my choice of words. “Sexy, huh?”

“Mm-hmm. I’m learning a lot about this sweet, sexy man I’m sleeping with and falling in love with.”

The sudden silence that follows is amplified by the rush of the shower water. The look in Roman’s eyes is so intense that my knees grow weak. It’s not the most picture-perfect setting to utter the L word for the very first time, but witnessing first-hand the ferocity with which he defends his pride and his legacy has sparked a wave of awe and devotion and yes, love…through me that I can no longer keep to myself. 

"I'm sorry I came back so late. I needed to clear my head,” he says softly, his hand lifting to caress my cheek. The anger in his voice has disappeared, while his eyes and demeanor are much softer…My little declaration has penetrated his armor. He looks down sheepishly at his feet and wets his lips before speaking again. “I kinda feel like I’ve been neglecting you, too…” he adds.

He’s such a sweetheart. To be fair, he’s made up for it by flying me to London, New York and now Detroit to be with him. The beautiful part is, I know I’m not the only one in love…His actions and gestures lately have spoken volumes. But if he’s not ready to say it back, he doesn’t have to. I just need him to know that he has my heart and I’ll always be by his side no matter what. 

Pressing my body more firmly against his, my arms wind around his middle as I leave delicate licks and kisses all over his tattooed pec, right over the spot where his heart beats. I hope every day that it’s me his heart beats for. 

“I know how frustrated you are about what’s going on. It sucks to feel like you’re losing control,” I tell him, staring up at him through my long lashes. “I can do something for you, Daddy. I could give some control back to you. I can make you feel better,” I offer, my voice as soft and seductive and as enticing as what I’m proposing. My mouth applies more pressure to his wet skin, and his breath hitches when I suckle the shell of his earlobe. “However you want me tonight, you can take me. Just say the word and I’m all yours.” My hands slide down to scrape his firm backside, and his dick twitches between our naked bodies, the exact reaction I yearn for. 

For a long moment, he says nothing, only stares at me with his smoldering gaze. The energy simmers between us, and it boils over when he grabs my face and presses his lips to mine. Instantly my skin prickles and my heart pounds as we plunge headlong into each other. Our heads tilt from side to side, our tongues dance together as the water cascades around us, and I lose myself to the heat of our embrace. 

Feeling dastardly, I break the kiss to slip his finger into my mouth. My lips drag along his long index finger, keeping eye contact with him the entire time. I suck on it like I am sucking something else, bigger, and the memory has him groaning deeply, his erection straining impatiently against my belly.

“Get on your knees and do that with my dick,” he orders.

Now we’re talking.

Leaning in for one more kiss, I trail my tongue along his throat and down his torso until I’m kneeling on the tiled floor. I wrap my right hand around the base of his engorged dick and tug gently on it. He lets out a quiet whimper, and it is a massive turn-on to know I can elicit such a response from this specimen of a man. Watching him succumb to me is always sexy as hell.

His cock jumps in my grip when I roll my tongue around the tip. He inhales sharply, moving his hands behind my head, and squirms as I lavishly lick along the underside, teasing him. I luxuriate in his throaty groan as I then slowly make him disappear inside my mouth. I stroke and suck simultaneously, relaxing my throat to take him in deeper with every bob of my head.

"Fuck yeah," he pants, his fingers sinking into my scalp. “Suck my dick, beautiful. Don’t fuckin’ stop...”

Right now, I’m all about obeying Daddy. Staring up at him with hazy eyes, my tongue twirls around the base of his dick again before I switch to more intense suctions, my cheeks hollowing as my mouth glides hungrily up and down his entire length. His moans and gasps echo around the enclosure, causing my pussy to moisten and throb with lust. Gripping the back of my head, he holds me all the way down on him, my lips touching his pelvis. He withdraws and then pushes back in, rolling his hips to go even deeper down my throat. "Shit, your mouth feels so good, babe," he moans, a ravenous look in his eyes. My fingers slip underneath to play with his balls while I suck and tongue him down, and I’m rewarded with another desperate groan. I’m so aroused knowing I’m bringing him so much pleasure. 

Suddenly his pace quickens, his hips pumping, fucking my mouth more aggressively. Saliva spills down to my chin as his long, thick cock slides more easily in and out of my mouth. Roman lets out another moan before holding my head down again, exploding down my throat with a harsh grunt. He collapses against the shower wall, catching his breath as I pop him out of my mouth and pat his cock against my tongue. Once upon a time, I used to be uncomfortable letting my exes finish in my mouth. I talked about it with Roman, and he was fine with it. But there was something in me that wanted to please him to the fullest, and not long after our first time together, I changed my mind. It’s an experience I learned to fully commit to, and I haven’t looked back since.

"That was fuckin’ amazing. Come here," Roman lauds, tugging me up on my feet and sweeping his lips along mine. "I'm so glad you were awake." The timbre of his voice, deep and laden with desire, sprouts goosebumps all over my skin. 

"I don’t sleep as good without you," I reply, running my fingers again through his hair. He leans down and scoops my right breast into his mouth. I moan as the sensation zips straight to my loins. His hands glide down my back to squeeze and caress my ass. He keeps me tight against him, pressing himself firmly on my stomach. Feeling him so turned on sends more chills through my body. 

"You know we ain’t done, right?" he says, “We just gettin’ started, baby girl.”

"I hope so..." I reach behind him to turn off the shower. Handing him one of the bathrobes, I wrap myself in another one and open the shower door, taking his hand and leading him back to the bedroom.

We stand at the side of the bed and he undresses me, dragging the robe off my body. I can’t help but blush as he ogles me like he’s seeing me naked for the very first time. He cups my breasts, rolling them in his hands as he kisses me passionately. I tug his robe down his shoulders as I kiss him, my tongue bossily claiming every inch of his mouth as my own. His hands travel all over my naked body, heating me up with his stimulating caresses. He tells me all the time how much he loves my curves, but this is more than that. He’s prepping me for an onslaught. He is about to manhandle me like the sex god that he is, and my breathing quickens and my loins pool with anticipation.

Roman detaches his lips from mine out of nowhere, a devious smile on his gorgeous face. He shoves me onto the bed, flat on my back right on the edge with my legs spread. I can’t hold back my moan as he strokes his dick while stepping between my thighs. The sight of his muscular right arm flexing as his fingers strum his long, hard cock, makes my clit throb. 

Ever observant, Roman notices me staring and smiles smugly. “You like this baby? Want me to jack off for you?” he asks, tugging and smacking his dick a little harder, a bead of pre-cum oozing out the tip, and my thighs clamp together to relieve the maddening pressure between them.

“Dude, no! I want it in me,” I practically admonish him, almost offended that he thinks I want anything else. I’m about to bust right now just looking at him.

His smile widens, and he takes my knees and yanks them in opposite directions. He’s enjoying this, torturing me, making me beg for him. “My little slut is so needy. Don’t worry, baby, Daddy will give you what you want.”

As his face nears mine, I instinctively reach up to touch him, but he grabs my wrists and pushes them back down to the mattress above my head.

"Uh-uh. I got plans, baby girl," he informs me with a brief kiss. He searches around for what ends up being his bathrobe and draws the long white belt off, twisting it around his hands and tugging it ominously. We lock darkened eyes, and his tongue swishes hungrily across his lips.

“Gimme your hands.”

I obey. He takes my right hand first, and then my left, crossing my wrists together and winding the belt firmly around them, before pushing my hands back above my head. I’m flat on my back and all tied up with my ass halfway on the bed, legs spread, naked, cunt exposed and at his mercy. I love it. I love that he trusts me and is comfortable enough with me to explore his kinky side. I trust him, too. I’m proud to be the fucktoy of my Tribal Chief.

“Jesus, you’re so fuckin’ hot,” he groans, his eyes raking down my prone frame like he’s famished. My breath catches as I watch him tie his wet hair in his trademark man bun. Then, he bends down between my legs, breathes hard on my clit and then sticks his tongue out to lap at my folds. Right away my body jerks, blooming with sensual heat. He starts licking me with longer strokes, working his tongue all over the surface of my pussy lips, then he breaches, jabbing his tongue in and out of me with expert precision. The quiet of our room amplifies the erotic audio between us; my staccato breaths, his lazy slurping, my wet pussy splashing against his deadly tongue. Then, to murder me, he closes his mouth around my clit and starts sucking it lightly. That’s a big ass mouth, and it takes everything in me to not scream from how good he’s working me. He keeps glancing up at me; I know he’s getting off to my moans and my attempts to grind against his face. He takes me hostage, his muscled arms winding around my thighs to hold me down while he feasts. His soft groans against my flesh, the warmth of his breath, the scratch of his beard on my inner thighs…The combined stimulation is toe-curling, with wave after wave of pleasure bombarding me like a thunderstorm.

“Don’t come yet,” he instructs unexpectedly, and I’m about to cry. His mouth feels so damn good. He continues sucking and licking, wreaking havoc on my sensitive core. I grip the sheets tighter as my back arches off the bed. “Fuck, Roman, please!” I cry out, damn near begging for release.

Of course, my pleas are ignored. He twists his tongue inside me, gifting me with more strokes over my pussy and my engorged bundle. The decadent rhythm of his mouth and tongue on me is edging me dangerously closer to a mind blowing nut. Just when I’m certain I’m about to disobey him in the worst way, he pulls away, his full lips glossy and shining in the lonely lamplight by the bedside. I don’t know whether to be upset or relieved. He licks all the way up to my chest and clasps my left breast in his hand, worrying the sensitive nipple between his fingers while sucking my other breast in his mouth. 

"Imma fuck the shit outta you," he whispers to me in a rough and raspy voice, his dark eyes gleaming.

His promise is a direct hit to my groin. "Do it, Daddy. Do that shit," I gasp, squirming under his touch.

He brushes our mouths together, and I sigh softly as my own juices melt from his tongue onto mine. Roman stands upright at the bed’s edge, bends his knees and rubs the tip of his shaft along my slick, softened folds. He lunges forward in one fluid motion, his lips parting in a moan as he slowly slides inside me. I bite down on my bottom lip, my eyes glazing over with pleasure when he draws back out, leaving just the tip, before plunging in again with a sharp snap of his hips. It feels like the wind has been knocked out of me.

"I'm inside of you, baby. This what you want? Want me to take this pussy?" he asks with another deep thrust, his big dick nestled in my warm wetness, and it’s driving me wild.

"Yes, take your pussy Daddy, fuck me," I plead, my voice catching on the desire and lust washing over me. 

With that information, he hoists my legs onto his shoulders and picks up the pace, pushing in deeper and filling me to the brim like he always does. I’ve told him more than once that he belongs inside me, and the pure pleasure in his eyes every time we fuck says he agrees wholeheartedly.

"Shiiit, baby, right there, that feels so good…" I whine, feeling him nudge right up against my hilt. He pulls back for a second, and I watch as he holds my legs open and a thick glob of saliva spills from his mouth and onto my pussy. Before I can fully process this, he slams back into me, more easily now, snatching my breath from my lungs. His fingers grasp my hips as he pounds me, slow and balls-deep, to the point that I’m seeing stars. My restrained hands claw at the sheets above me, searching for some kind of leverage as he dicks me down. He has total control of my body and he’s using that power to make me take every inch of him, literally and otherwise. My eyes squeeze shut, mouth falling open as my chest begins to clog and my head begins spinning from his long, lethal strokes. 

His hulking upper body closes the space between us and descends on top of mine, bringing us chest to chest. "Breathe, sweetheart," he tells me, and on command, I draw in a raspy breath, alleviating the discomfort in my chest. His evil little smirk tells me he is enjoying every second of my agony. His arms stretch upwards, brushing over the cotton material of the belt securing my wrists and twining his fingers around mine. His muscles flex and ripple as he keeps pumping into me. He nuzzles the spot where my neck and shoulder meet and bites down on it, making me call out his name.

"Goddamn, this pussy good as fuck. Every damn time," he grunts. His hands tighten around mine as his pounding thrusts switch to salacious rolls of his hips, grinding deliciously against me while he swallows my moans, his tongue slipping inside my mouth for another hot, sloppy kiss. My legs wrap around his waist, my ankles locked behind his back to keep him to me. 

"Tell me again, baby. Tell me you love me,” he rasps in the middle of our intense kissing.

“I love you, Daddy, mmm,” I moan back, my heart pounding as hard as he is pounding me. It’s a stunning mix of the emotional high of love and the carnal rush of lust that I’ve never felt before with anyone else. 

“Yeah, you love me?” He searches my eyes, as engulfed in the throes of passion as I am.

“I do, Roman, I love you so fuckin’ much...unnhh my god…”

He has moved off of me, seizing my legs from around his waist and shoving my knees into the mattress. There’s no time to miss the warmth of his body as he’s back to his rough, brutal strokes, drilling me over and over, stuffing my pussy with his cock. It’s like the animal in him has been unleashed, months of family strife spilling over and transferred to me via his increasing aggressiveness. As my orgasm builds in my stomach, I flex against my restraints again, my fingers craving to dig into his skin, to sink into him the way he’s sinking into me. With one more suffocating thrust, I break at last, and my eyes roll into the back of my head, my moans ringing around the entire suite as I tremble beneath him. His arrogant chuckle tickles my ears, clearly reveling in the blissful state he’s put me in.

Before I can blink, he grabs my waist and flips me roughly onto my belly, bending me over the side of the bed. Hovering over me, he unties the belt binding my hands, and I assume I’m free. But then, he tugs both my arms behind my back and re-ties my wrists together. I’m still recovering from the shock of my orgasm and this new position when his dick slots back in my cunt, and my mind is wiped blank, a strangled moan escaping my lips. Roman gives a few short, stabbing thrusts inside me before finding a rhythm he enjoys.

"God, you feel fuckin’ amazing, baby, so tight and wet for me. Damn,” he hisses behind me. Using his right hand, he slaps my left ass cheek and jiggles it. I gasp from the pain and the pleasure, making my pussy squeeze around his dick with a force that has us both groaning. My fingers scrape against his pelvis as he keeps his momentum, sliding in and out of me, in and out. Oh, fuck, it feels sooo good! He’s so long and girthy that I feel like I’m being split open, but I melt into submission and take it like the fucktoy that I am. 

His husky groans are my soundtrack as he fucks me into the bed at a savage pace, having his way with me. Clutching my ass in large handfuls, he spreads my cheeks open and plunges his dick deeper inside me, forcing me up on the tips of my toes. Using his thumb to scoop up my juices, he circles it around the puckered hole of my second opening, a keening cry tumbles out of me and into the sheets as he pushes it deep into the tight entrance. 

“Too bad we forgot the lube, I’da fucked this pretty ass all night long,” he says with another slap on my backside, and I can only whimper in response. Pinned face-down to the sheets, I can feel all of it. His thumb fucking my asshole, his magic cock stretching my other hole wide open, his powerful tree trunk like legs barricading mine against the side of the bed. My body is so riled up that my pussy reacts by leaking all over his cock, the gush of my nectar sending a pleasurable sensation through us both. 

“Mm-hmm, make a mess on my dick, baby, keep comin’ all over it,” he taunts me. He lifts both my legs off the floor and onto the bed, arching my back and spreading my knees wide. From there, he wraps his hand around my hip, his fingers pressing into my flesh, and he rocks me back and forth on that big ass dick, making me move with him. We moan together at how good we’re making each other feel. Every sound resonates through my heated body; the inevitable squelches of my dripping cunt, our skins smacking lewdly together, our sex filling the air with a familiar primal scent that belongs to no one but us. 

My brain is on sensory overload as he speeds up his thrusts, his balls slapping against my clit as he hammers into my pussy with newfound aggression. The pressure is building inside me at a dizzying, alarming rate, so much so that I use my bound hands to push again at his lower abs. This time I succeed in pushing him off, but only for a second.

“What’chu doin’? Don’t run, c’mere,” he growls, sliding his dick back in me right before it slips out, and I cry out as he impales me hard on his shaft. He spanks my ass hard for my bad behavior. “I ain’t goin’ nowhere. Take this fuckin’ dick.” 

Seizing my wayward hand in one of his, he buries himself in me, deep-diving in my g-spot, making my walls contract around his dick again. My voice is all but gone, I’m that spent. But Roman wants more. He’s an expert at coaxing more out of me even when I have nothing left.

"Tell me who you belong to, huh. Who’s my slut?" he demands, giving my ass an underhand slap.

"I'm your slut," I slur.

"What’chu say?"

"I'm your slut, Daddy," I enunciate with great effort, inebriated in a cocktail of love and ecstasy.

Another stinging smack on my butt.

"Louder." 

"I'm your slut!" I bellow, my voice cut off when Roman pins me down by the back of my neck, my cheek pressed into the mattress. This forces a deeper arch in my back, opening me up to be plowed mercilessly by his dick. The pressure of his fingers on both sides of my throat has me struggling for breath. I’m high from overwhelming pleasure right now, and that menacing coil that’s been winding in my belly finally snaps again. 

“Ohmygod…ohmygod…fuck, fuck, fuck!” My body explodes again, and I’m shaking like I’ve been possessed by a supernatural entity. I know Roman can feel it too, as he’s moaning and gasping, a handful of my vibrating ass cheek in his grasp because the grip of my pussy is about to break his dick in half. I’m reduced to a weak, moaning mess as somehow he continues fucking me senseless. Then, with a loud, hoarse grunt, he yanks his dick out of me. One squeeze is all he needs, expletives tumbling around my name as he comes all over my ass, warm, thick droplets spilling onto my backside. I can hear the wet, slippery skin on skin contact as he strokes out his nut, and the sound arouses me despite my thoroughly fucked disposition. 

“Fuck!” he moans out, leaning tiredly into me, his drained cock mashed against my ass. “Damn, baby. Damn.”

The rest of my lifeless body melts onto the bed, my arms limp on my lower back, my mouth hanging open. I’m barely cognizant of him loosening the belt from my wrists. When he’s done, he seizes my ass cheeks with both hands, slapping them together one last time before walking away from the destruction on the bed. I haven’t moved an inch. My ass is still in the air and my eyes are starting to drift shut. It won’t be the first time he’s fucked me right to sleep. However, before I succumb to the darkness, his deep voice rouses me. 

“Don’t go to sleep yet, baby. Come here.”

I force my eyes open and lift my head to search for him. He’s stretched out on the other side of the bed, watching me with unabashed amusement.

“We ain’t done?” I mewl, exhausted.

“Nope. But we’re taking a little break for now. Come sit on top of Daddy.”

That’s a dangerous position to be in, especially as his dick is still hard and covered in layers of my cum. But how can I ever resist my man? With all the strength I have left, I crawl up the bed towards my lover. His brawny arms wrap around my body and ease me on top of him. He grabs his bathrobe and wipes his mess off my backside, before rubbing my back and my thigh with those big callused hands of his. He feathers a kiss on my forehead, my nose and then my mouth, in the sweetest, most tender of kisses. "You're so good to me, baby. I appreciate you so much," he whispers against my lips.

"Anything for you, baby," I remind him, dabbing away the sweat from his forehead with the bathrobe. "Do you feel better?"

"I do." His soft, beautiful eyes gaze into mine, observing me. “I know that you worry about me a lot, and I’m sorry,” he says.

"Don’t ever be sorry. I always worry about the people I love. I just want you to be okay," I answer. 

"I know, and that means a lot to me. You have no idea how much you mean to me, baby girl. I think about you all the time...I feel at home every time I’m out there performing for the fans, but coming home to you is always my top priority," he tells me. His eyes shine with emotion. "I love being with you. I love calling you mine and me, yours. I’m so happy you love me, because I love you too baby, so much."

Oh my god. He’s said it. I’m not imagining it this time. Tears spring to my eyes but I quickly blink them away. "I love you, Roman," I breathe, and press my lips to his, grateful to have this amazing man in my life. Our mouths move sensually together as I glide my palms down the side of his face, smoothing out the bristles of his beard. He lets out a throaty moan at my touch, at my kiss. I could stay like this forever, but my baby needs his rest.

“You should get some sleep. You had a long night tonight,” I say. 

He raises an eyebrow at me. “I think you’ve forgot when I said we’re just getting started. It’s your turn to fuck me.”

“Damn, you were being for real huh.”

“Course I was. You’re my little fucktoy, aren’t you?” Two of his fingers rub across my bottom lip before slipping into my mouth, as he hypnotizes me with his smoldering, effortlessly sexy stare. “I can use you however I want, however long I want, as many times as I want. Right?”

I may be fatigued from the barrage of orgasms he’s blessed me with tonight, but I’ve since realized that no matter how tired I feel, I’m still greedy for that big ol’ dick. He’s turned me out and turned me into a raging nympho in the process. I nod thirstily, gasping around his fingers as I feel his dick stiffen against the swollen mound of my cunt, ready for me again. 

“Good girl.” His fingers slide from my mouth to join the rest of their counterparts down south. Together, the ten of them gather the supple cheeks of my ass, molding, caressing, a devilish twinkle in Roman’s eyes at the hunger shining in mine. “Recess is over sweetheart,” he announces. “Ride this dick. And this time, I’m nuttin’ all up in that sweet pussy of yours.”

Fuck, I'm such a slut. It’s almost embarrassing, the way my already battered pussy instantly flutters at his low, husky tone, at the thought of getting filled up with his seed. I reach down to grip his cock, sliding the tip along my wet slit to lube it with more of my juices. The shiver of his big body as I stroke him sends a thrill through me. His big hands envelop my hips once more as I lower myself down on his waiting erection, sending a jolt of electricity through our bodies as we begin the eternal, spellbinding dance of lovers all over again.

THE END

----------------

The good girl in me wants so badly to apologize for writing so much smut, but dammit I’m not sorry! Roman is sexy af lol

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[moodymelanist]

dumb love (i love being stupid)

happy day 2 of @nessianweek everyone! I've had so much fun writing wlw!nessian that i just HAD to flip it around and do mlm!nessian too. hope you all enjoy <3 title from casual by chappell roan!

Summary: Five times Cassian didn’t realize he had a boyfriend, plus one time he finally got it. 

Word Count: 8.4k

Warnings: Smut at the end!

Read on AO3 here!

✵✵✵✵✵✵ Cassian 

1.

Cassian knew he’d put off doing his basic science requirement until the last minute, but it didn’t quite hit him just how long he’d put it off until he was standing in a biology lab surrounded by baby-faced freshmen. 

“Welcome to bio lab,” their TA greeted them at the top of the hour, taking the time to send everyone reassuring smiles. “Today we’re going to go over the syllabus, some really important safety rules, and, most importantly, how to succeed in this class. But first: assigned seating!”

Most of the assorted freshmen looked relieved at not having to figure out where to sit, but Cassian held back a groan. He was usually pretty good about finding partners or groups who were willing to do a little more of the work around his hectic club soccer schedule, but having assigned seats — and likely partners — meant he’d probably have to suck it up and put in a little more work than usual. That would be fine, though; he just needed to pass this class to graduate, and then next semester he could really let the senioritis kick in. 

There didn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason behind how their seats and resulting lab partners were assigned, but Cassian had a sneaking suspicion their TA had paired him up with the only other senior in the room. Cassian had seen the eldest Archeron here or there over the years, mostly because he was pretty tight with the Vanserra brothers and Azriel was dating one of them, but he’d never been this up close and personal with the guy. 

Until now, anyway. The eldest Archeron was tall, only a few inches shorter than Cassian himself; his golden brown hair was parted to the side and pushed back from his face to reveal a pair of gray-blue eyes framed with pretty, bronze lashes. He was dressed comfortably in a white shirt and jeans, though Cassian had a sneaking suspicion those two items alone cost more than his rent, let alone the backpack that just screamed quiet luxury.

“Hey, man,” Cassian said once they were seated, doing his best not to look like he was staring. Which he absolutely wasn’t, but who could blame him? The guy had a jawline sharp enough to cut something, and those eyes were even icier up close. “I’m Cassian.”

“Earnest Nathaniel,” came the other man’s reply. He smelled really good, and it was a miracle Cassian managed to catch his full name with the way he was fighting leaning in closer to take a whiff.

“That’s kind of a mouthful,” Cassian replied jokingly. “Your parents must’ve had it out for you, huh?”

Earnest Nathaniel stared at Cassian for several long seconds, clearly unimpressed with Cassian’s joke. “Whatever nickname you’re about to come up with, I’m not interested in hearing it.”

“Whatever you say, Nes,” Cassian fired back, the nickname rolling off his tongue like it belonged there. 

“Don’t call me that.”

“EN?”

“Jesus Christ, no.”

“Nessie?”

“Do I look like the Loch Ness monster to you?”

“Didn’t peg you for a Twilight fan.”

“Didn’t peg you as such an idiot.”

“Okay, Nesbit.”

“How are these getting worse?”

“Nesseroni? Yes? No?”

“Definite no.”

“Mhmm… think I’ll stick with my first choice, then,” Cassian said with a victorious grin. “Nes.”

Whatever Nes was about to say back was cut short by their TA calling their class back to order, and Cassian sent the other man a pleased little smirk before trying his best to pay attention. He’d gone through enough sylly weeks to know the drill, but if it had the added bonus of getting under his new lab partner’s skin, then he was going to be the most model student possible.  

Still, Cassian must not have fucked up as badly as he thought he did, because Earnest Nathaniel — Nes, in Cassian’s mind — stiffly asked Cassian to grab coffee with him after class. It turned into a bit of a standing thing on Tuesdays and Thursdays, mostly to work through the bulk of their weekly lab reports, but they talked about plenty of other things too. Cassian was on the receiving end of a lot of witty one-liners, but he also learned about Nes’ sisters, about the books he liked to read, and even about the other man’s law school applications. 

Those were Cassian’s favorite coffee days, but he couldn’t exactly put his finger on why. Maybe he just liked making a new friend, or maybe it was just Nes himself. 

✵✵✵✵✵✵

2.

A week or two into October, Cassian caught a nasty cold one weekend and couldn’t shake it off by the time Tuesday's lab rolled around. He’d at least been able to email his professors and TAs to let them know he probably wouldn’t be in class this week, but he’d completely forgotten to give Nes a heads up before lab started. 

They’d exchanged numbers after that first day, and they texted here and there about anything from class to memes Cassian thought Nes would like to random soccer facts that Nes thought Cassian would care about. Still, Cassian wasn’t expecting Nes to be texting him from class when the guy was normally such a stickler for following the rules, so when his phone buzzed, he couldn’t help but be pleasantly surprised at the name on his screen when he finally discovered his phone half-buried beneath his comforter. 

Nes Archeron, 11:12 AM

????

Where are you?

Cassian didn’t have the energy to say much, and he was a little woozy from the strength of the medicine he’d taken about twenty minutes ago. He somehow managed to take a picture of him surrounded by tissues and Tylenol and typed out a short reply that he thought conveyed his predicament well enough.  

Cassian Hernández, 11:15 AM

[Attachment: 1 Image]

send help im dying

Cassian didn’t stay awake long enough to see if Nes had replied, letting the cold medicine pull him into an easy nap instead. He woke up about an hour and a half later to the sound of someone knocking on his bedroom door, and he was still too sleepy to come up with a proper sentence. “Huh?”

Azriel opened the door and poked his head around the corner, his nose wrinkling at the unpleasant sight of a sick roommate. “Your boyfriend’s here with some soup and more medicine.”

“Ha, ha,” Cassian said, sniffling very attractively. Not that it mattered; it was just Azriel, and they’d been friends for far too long for Cassian to care about what he thought. “You’re hilarious.”

“I wasn’t joking,” Azriel said back with a roll of his eyes. He opened the door fully to reveal Nes standing there with a steaming thermos in one hand and a grocery bag filled with cold medicine in the other. Once Cassian had fully processed that this was happening and Nes was very much standing outside his bedroom, Azriel turned back to Nes and said, “Good luck with him. He’s even dumber than usual right now.”

“Trust me, I’m aware,” Nes replied dryly. They exchanged a knowing glance before Azriel huffed a laugh and left them to it, disappearing down the hallway back to his own room. “You doing okay, Cassian?”

Cassian suddenly and intensely regretted not cleaning up the massive pile of tissues surrounding him. He probably didn’t smell great, either, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d brushed his teeth. So much for it not mattering. “I feel like shit.”

“Yeah, I bet you do,” Nes responded, though his tone seemed a little more sympathetic than usual. “I didn’t know what you had on hand, so I brought you some stuff. Hope that’s cool.”

“Very cool,” Cassian agreed. It was a really thoughtful thing to do, and something went a little soft and gooey and a little sad inside Cassian at the realization that he probably hadn’t been taken care of like this since he was in high school. Mostly soft and gooey, though, so he’d take it for the kind gesture that it was and leave the rest to examine probably… never. “Thanks, Nes.”

“You’re welcome,” Nes answered simply, the barest hint of a blush appearing on his cheeks. 

Instead of trying to clear Cassian’s bed, Nes had the much smarter idea of pulling over the chair from Cassian’s desk and sitting there. He put down the thermos — which smelled like chicken noodle soup, now that it was close enough for Cassian’s nose to pick up on it — and spread out his cold medicine haul across one of Cassian’s end tables. 

“What have you taken today?” Nes asked expectantly. 

Cassian wasn’t totally sure what time he’d taken his meds this morning, and he told the other man as much. “Uh…”

“Idiot,” Nes muttered, though it sounded fond. “Just try to eat a little something, and you can take some more meds when you wake up.”

Nes helped Cassian sit up so he could get a little something in his stomach, his touch firm against Cassian’s back as he shifted up on the bed. Cassian didn’t totally understand why he could still feel Nes’ hands on him long after the other man had let go, but he wasn’t going to question it. It had felt nice, and the soup was even nicer, warm and seasoned surprisingly well despite its source. 

“Don’t look so surprised,” Nes said haughtily, though he couldn’t keep up the act for very long. “I, uh… one of my sisters helped. Lucky for you, Elain actually knows what she’s doing.”

“Knew it,” Cassian said back. He managed a smirk before his nose started running again, and then Nes was taking the thermos out of his hands, offering him a clean tissue, and helping him lie back down. He didn’t even blink before holding up the trash can so Cassian could weakly toss the used tissue inside it.

“You need some more rest,” Nes informed him matter-of-factly. He put down the trash can and left it close enough to Cassian’s bed that he could throw more tissues inside it as needed. “I’ll text you when you should take some more medicine.”

“Okay,” Cassian agreed, his eyes half-closed already. He hated being sick and how much it took out of him, but it didn’t seem so bad with Nes here taking care of him for a little while. “Stay until I fall asleep?”

“Yeah, okay,” Nes promised. His voice had gone strangely soft but Cassian decided not to question it, much more focused on how good his pillow felt against his cheek. 

Before Cassian drifted off to sleep, he swore he felt Nes’ cool fingers gently pushing his hair back from his face. What a dedicated friend, Cassian thought before he was tugged completely under. 

✵✵✵✵✵✵

3.

Cassian made a full recovery by the end of that week, just in time to start prepping for fall midterms. However, the week after they’d taken their bio lecture exam, everything went to shit for several days, and Cassian had no reason why. 

He and Nes had gone for their usual post-lab coffee, and the two of them had been standing outside the library when a certain blonde friend decided to make an appearance. 

“Cassian!” 

Cassian turned from where he was talking with Nes to see Mor barreling up the walkway towards him, his arms automatically coming up to catch her as she leapt into his arms. “Hey, Mor.”

“Hey yourself,” Mor said back, a little out of breath from her short sprint. She squeezed Cassian tight before jumping out of his hold. “Where’ve you been, stranger?”

“Semester’s been kicking my ass, you know how it is,” Cassian replied apologetically. Mor had been trying to corner him for a catch-up lunch for weeks now, and while he hadn’t been intentionally avoiding her, things had just been much busier than he’d expected in his final year of college. “You know I wouldn’t ignore you on purpose.”

“Of course not, silly,” Mor told him with a little laugh. She put her hand on Cassian’s arm before adding, “You know there’d be hell to pay. I have you too well-trained.”

“Cassian,” Nes suddenly interjected before Cassian could respond, his voice as icy as his eyes. Cassian turned to see a muscle in the other man’s jaw working overtime as he stared Mor down. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your… friend?”

“Oh, shit, I’m sorry,” Cassian said sheepishly. Jesus fuck, where were his manners? “Nes, this is my friend Mor. Mor, this is Nes. We’re lab partners this semester.”

“It’s Earnest Nathaniel, actually,” Nes corrected coldly. His eyes zeroed in on where Mor’s hand was still on Cassian’s arm, and Cassian jumped out of her grip like he’d been burned. “I don’t do nicknames.”

“I’m Morrigan, then, if we’re being formal,” Mor replied with a roll of her eyes. Cassian didn’t know why things were suddenly so tense, but he’d do anything to get that blank look off of Nes’ face. “Aren’t you friends with Eris?”

“Since middle school,” Nes answered shortly. Cassian had to blink back his surprise; normally Nes was always ready to talk about how he and Eris had gone from bonding over being the two oldest sons in their respective families to being roommates all four years. He didn’t know what had changed now, but it left him feeling uneasy all the same. 

“Then we’ve definitely met before,” Mor responded. Cassian remembered that she and Eris had had a brief fling their sophomore year before Eris abruptly realized he was gay and had started dating Azriel not too long after. “We’ve probably seen each other around, at least.”

“I don’t recall,” Nes told her stiffly. He made a big show of checking his phone before sliding it back into his pocket and shouldering his backpack. “I have to go, I’m running late for something. Have fun with your friend.”

“See you… around,” Cassian finished lamley, watching helplessly as Nes’ long legs carried him halfway across the quad in record time. He turned back to Mor with a sigh. “I don’t know why he’s being like that.”

Mor stared at Cassian like he was the biggest idiot in the world for several long moments, eventually throwing her hands up with a loud scoff. “Az was right. You’re actually such a dumbass.”

“What?” Cassian said, totally thrown by Mor’s response. She just shook her head at him before she took off too, leaving him standing by himself wondering what, exactly, he’d done to piss off not one, but two people in such record time. “Thanks for the help! Not!”

Cassian still didn’t understand just what he’d done to make Nes so upset, but by the time Tuesday’s lab rolled around, he was determined to make things right. Nes hadn’t answered his texts all weekend, but after Cassian had reposted one of Mor’s Instagram stories from Friday night happy hour with her and her girlfriend, Nes was suddenly much happier to see him. 

Weird.  

✵✵✵✵✵✵

4.

October eventually turned into November, and Cassian found himself suddenly getting ready to play his last home club soccer game. It wasn’t nearly as intense as playing varsity, but he’d enjoyed having an outlet for all his restless energy over the years, and even more so getting to know the rest of the guys on the team. 

Cassian had mentioned his final home game in passing to Nes during one of their post-class coffee hangouts, but he certainly hadn’t expected to find him sitting in the bleachers on a rainy, miserable Saturday in early November. Usually the only other people at their games were close friends and family members, so it was a nice surprise to see Nes up there; none of Cassian’s other friends had been able to make it for various reasons, so he’d fully been expecting to be celebrated later. Even more surprising was that Nes wasn’t alone – Cassian could spot two other women up there with him, and judging by that familiar golden-brown hair, it could only be Elain and Feyre. 

Cassian waved happily from the field, grinning when Feyre and Elain immediately and eagerlty returned his wave while Nes’ just held up his hand in greeting. He knew how much Nes hated getting up early, especially on a weekend, and the fact that he’d dragged himself out of bed for a 10 AM game made something go warm and fuzzy in Cassian’s chest just like that day where Nes had come over to check on him. 

He didn’t have time to investigate that right now, though. He had a game to win, especially with an audience as important as this one, so he channeled all that sudden nervous energy into being the best left back he could. 

After the game — which they’d won 2-0, much to Cassian’s glee — he walked over to where Nes and his two sisters were waiting for him, having walked down from the bleachers in the time it had taken Cassian to finish up with his teammates. He couldn’t stop smiling at the fact that Nes had dragged himself down here just to watch Cassian kick a ball around. 

“What are you doing here?” Cassian asked once they were all standing together, still pleasantly surprised ninety minutes later. “I thought you didn’t believe in waking up during single digit hours.”

Nes flushed, much to his sisters’ clear amusement. “It was your last home game. Why wouldn’t I be here?”

“I don’t think I’ve seen you wake up that early since high school, Earnie,” one of Nes’ sisters teased. She looked the most like Nes, with her gray-blue eyes and high cheekbones, and she was bundled up in an oversized cream sweater and leggings. 

“How many times have I told you not to call me that, Feyre,” Nes grumbled, much to Cassian’s delight. 

“Not enough to make it stick,” Feyre retorted with a laugh. She turned back to Cassian and stuck her hand out expectantly, so he shook it and hoped she didn’t mind the grass and sweat on his hands. “It’s nice to meet you, Cassian. We’ve heard so much about you.”

“Don’t scare him off, Feyre,” Elain, Nes’ other sister, responded. She was the shortest of the three Archerons, and had warm brown eyes that crinkled around the edges when she smiled up at Cassian. “It’s nice to finally meet you, though. I promise we’ve only heard good things!”

“That doesn’t sound like Nes at all,” Cassian replied, teasing Nes just a little bit. He liked that Nes only showed his softer side to the people he cared about, and he counted himself very lucky to have somehow made it into that small group. “Lord knows I’ve given him plenty of things to complain about.”

Feyre’s eyes lit up like Christmas had come early, and even Elain couldn’t stop her smile. Cassian wondered what had been so significant about his words, though his question was quickly answered.

“Shut up, Feyre,” Nes said before Feyre could get a chance to comment.

“If you buy me lunch, I won’t say anything,” Feyre said back, “even though it’s extremely tempting to comment on this new nickname.”

Nes sighed heavily, clearly unable to resist Feyre for too long. “Fine, but nothing too crazy. I’m not made of money.”

“We literally get the same allowance, so objectively—”

“Well then, objectively, you should be able to pay for your own food for once—”

“I’m sure you’re hungry, Cassian,” Elain turned to him with a smile, clearly used to tuning out her siblings’ bickering. “You should join us!”

“Oh,” Cassian answered, touched that they’d want to invite him to their family bonding time. “Sure, I could eat.”

“Great!” Elain clapped her hands together before reaching out and yanking Feyre to her side, her grip appearing surprisingly strong for someone so small. She nudged Nes in Cassian’s direction as she said, “You two, stop your bickering so we can go get some food. Lead the way, Earn.”

Once Cassian got his gear together and changed out of his cleats, the four of them made their way to one of the fast casual places right outside of campus. Feyre and Elain were fun to hang out with, even if they asked a lot of strangely personal questions, but it was more than worth it for all the nuggets of information they gave him about Nes. It was more than a nice way to spend the rest of his afternoon, even more so when Nes paid for everyone’s food, but Cassian knew he’d pay the other man back in coffee and pastries after lab next week. 

Cassian eventually got up to use the bathroom, and as he made his way back to their table, he overheard the Archerons talking amongst themselves. 

“I really like this one, Earn,” Cassian heard Elain say. He slowed his steps to give them time for a sibling moment if they needed it, but he was strangely curious what else they’d say about him. Assuming they were talking about him, anyway. “He seems like a really good guy.”

“Yeah,” Nes replied, his voice strangely soft again. “Me too.”

Cassian wasn’t sure why hearing that put a smile on his face for the rest of the day, but he’d take it. He hadn’t known he was facing some kind of sibling friend test, but he was glad all the same that he’d passed.

✵✵✵✵✵✵

5.

The weekend before everyone went home for Thanksgiving break, Cassian got invited to an end of the semester party that one of the guys on the football team was throwing. Most of his other friends were going, so it was bound to be at least a fun enough time between that and the ridiculous amounts of alcohol that tended to be at these kinds of things. 

Cassian of course invited Nes, pleasantly surprised when the other man said he’d be there. Nes didn’t exactly strike Cassian as the party type, but maybe he wanted to let loose after a long semester just like everybody else. 

“Whose party is it, anyway?” Nes asked as they waited for their Uber. Nes had a car, but they both knew the odds of them both staying sober were slim to none, so he’d parked in the garage across from Cassian’s building so they could ride to the party together. Azriel and Eris were also going to this party, so Cassian figured Nes would maybe catch a ride back with Eris when everything was said and done and would come grab his car another time.

Cassian laughed, his breath fogging up in front of him in the brisk November air. “Now you’re asking?”

“Feyre and Elain said they might come,” Nes replied, rolling his eyes. He looked really good in a pair of dark jeans and the fur-lined leather jacket he’d stolen from Cassian’s closet, and Cassian had a hard time taking his eyes off him. “I can’t just send them in without any information.”

“Aww,” Cassian cooed. “What a good older brother.”

“Shut up, asshole,” Nes shot back without much venom. “Someone has to keep an eye on them.”

Cassian had learned just how shitty the Archeron parents were over the course of getting to know Nes, so he didn’t dare make another joke, not about that. Instead, he double-checked his group text with Rhys and Azriel for the information Nes had asked for in the first place. “Jurian’s throwing it. I think he’s one of Lucien’s friends?”

“Jurian’s alright,” Nes responded. He pulled out his phone and typed out a few quick texts before putting his hands back in his pockets, and Cassian had to stifle the insane urge to slide his hands into those pockets, too. “Besides, even if he weren’t, Lucien will help me keep an eye on them.”

“Don’t forget to have some fun for yourself, too,” Cassian told him. Nes always took himself so seriously that Cassian was almost hoping to see him let a little loose tonight, for once. 

“Don’t worry,” Nes said just as their Uber arrived. He held Cassian’s gaze for a few charged moments in which Cassian nearly forgot how to breathe. “I plan to.”

—

About an hour and a half into the party, Cassian could safely say they were both having a good time. Feyre and Elain had spent most of their time chatting with Rhys and Lucien respectively, so Nes felt comfortable enough leaving his sisters with them that he was actually drinking and laughing and generally letting loose the exact way Cassian had hoped he would. 

Cassian had a nice buzz going himself, even more so after he’d done the rounds and said hey to a lot of his own friends. He was playing some beer pong with Tarquin, one of his friends on the swim team, against Tarquin’s cousins Varian and Cresseida, and even though they were losing spectacularly he didn’t mind not one bit. Nes was still close by enough that Cassian could keep an eye on him, unable to look away as Nes laughed at something Eris had said. 

“It’s your turn, Cassian,” Tarquin pulled him back to the game, yelling to be heard properly over the music. Cassian took the ball and missed his first throw but sank his second easily, and he high-fived Tarquin as Cresseida jokingly flipped them off from across the table. “Nice!”

Their luck didn’t hold for long, however. Varian and Cresseida got their heads in the game and absolutely destroyed Cassian and Tarquin, who split the cups in half before downing one cup after the other. 

Whoever had decided to use tequila instead of beer deserved to have a perpetually warm pillow or something, Cassian thought as he finished his half of the cups. Even as big as he was, he knew drinking that much tequila in such a short time frame was only asking for trouble, so he just hoped the rest of the night would be worth it if he ended up throwing up tonight. 

Cassian really hoped he didn’t throw up tonight. He didn’t want Nes to see him like that, even though he’d definitely already seen Cassian all gross and sick earlier in the semester. Something about Nes just made Cassian want to be on his best behavior, and he was once again hoping that whatever he did would be enough to impress Nes’ high standards. 

Speaking of Nes, where had he even gone? Cassian looked around the room for almost a minute until he spotted the right head of golden-brown hair, and then he was making his way through the crowd to where Nes was still talking to Eris. He and Azriel had shown up to the party at some point during beer pong, both of them covered in hickies and Azriel’s hair way too mussed to be natural bedhead.

At the moment, though, Azriel wasn’t anywhere to be seen, and even though they were all friends, something about watching Nes laugh yet again at something Eris said made Cassian want to haul Nes away and keep him all to himself. 

Nes was still chuckling once Cassian came close enough to interrupt whatever conversation was happening, and Cassian was willing to do whatever it took to get that attention directed at him instead of Eris. 

“Heeeeey, guys,” Cassian said, casually throwing his arm around Nes’ shoulders like it was a thing they did all the time. It should be a thing they did all the time; Nes was the perfect height for Cassian to do that and a whole lot of other things that Cassian hadn’t considered until just now. “What’s going on?”

Eris looked like he wanted to laugh, but he swallowed it down. “Hey, Cassian. You having fun?”

“Yup,” Cassian answered, popping the p. “Soooo much fun.”

“You okay, Cassian?” Nes asked. He shifted his drink to his right hand so the left one could snake around Cassian’s waist, and wow was that a nice feeling. Almost as nice as hearing his name come out of Nes’ perfect mouth. “How much have you had to drink?”

“I lost beer pong,” Cassian replied, fighting the urge to turn and press his face into Nes’ hair. It was always shiny and perfectly styled and just long enough that Cassian would be able to run his fingers through it if he could, but he knew Nes spent way too much on his haircuts for that to be a reality. “Well, really it was tequila pong. They should rename it.”

“Or maybe you should be better at the game,” Nes told him, though Cassian could tell there wasn’t any real venom behind it. 

“Maybe you can be my teammate next time,” Cassian responded with a pleased little grin. What an excellent suggestion his brain had come up with. 

Nes just snorted. “Not really my thing.”

“We’ll just find something that is, then,” Cassian promised. Whatever it took to spend more time in Nes’ arms, he’d do it. “Pinky promise.”

“What are you, five?” Nes retorted, though he finished the rest of his drink and put the cup down somewhere just so he could brush his fingers against the hand Cassian had slung across his shoulders. Cassian seized the opportunity and grabbed hold of Nes’ hand before he could move too far away, interlacing their fingers and giving them a fond little squeeze. 

“Oh, thank God,” Eris said suddenly. Cassian looked away from Nes and his pretty, flushed cheeks to see that Azriel had returned to his boyfriend’s side. “They’re being disgusting.”

“Don’t be homophobic,” Nes said back with a roll of his eyes. 

“It’s PEMDAS, it cancels out,” Azriel replied with a sly little grin. That grin disappeared as he took a good, long look at Cassian, who tried not to squirm under the intense scrutiny. “Cassian, how drunk are you?”

“How drunk are you, Az?” Cassian fired back. 

Azriel rolled his eyes and turned his attention to Nes. “You should probably take him home soon. If he drinks any more he’s going to start throwing up, and nobody wants to see that.”

“Nobody’s going to throw up,” Cassian responded, frowning. He was not going to do that, especially in front of Nes. “I’m fine.”

“Sure, Cassian,” Azriel placated him. He turned back to Nes and added, “I’m going back with Eris after this, so… knock yourselves out, I guess.”

“Thanks,” Nes answered dryly. He squeezed Cassian’s hand one last time before letting go, ignoring Cassian’s pout as he pulled his phone out and started to call an Uber. “It’s time to take you home, Cassian.”

“But I don’t wanna go home yet,” Cassian said, still pouting. “Nessssss.”

“Too bad,” Nes said back. Cassian didn’t need to be looking at him to know the other man was rolling his eyes, though he liked watching Nes do it anyway. “Let’s start saying bye to your friends.”

Nes made quick work of guiding Cassian to the door while still managing to exchange goodbyes with everyone who mattered. Their driver was already waiting when they finally made it outside, and Cassian didn’t even mind sitting in the middle seat if it meant staying close to Nes. Cassian spent most of the Uber home leaning on Nes’ shoulder, thoroughly enjoying the way their thighs were pressed together in the backseat. When they got out of the car, Cassian also enjoyed the very firm grip that Nes kept on him as they walked.

Tonight had really been amazing.

“Where are your keys?” Nes asked as he corralled Cassian toward his building. Cassian mumbled out something unintelligent in response, more than ready to crash in his bed, and Nes sighed heavily. “Cassian, come on, it’s fucking freezing and you’re heavy as hell.”

“Left pocket,” Cassian eventually told him. He giggled as Nes shoved his hand in said left pocket and came up empty-handed. “No. My other left.”

“You’re even dumber when you’re drunk,” Nes grumbled, sticking his hand in Cassian’s right pocket and finally coming up with the keys. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Nes used Cassian’s key fob to get into the building and onto the elevator, apparently remembering the way well enough that he didn’t bother to ask Cassian for his floor. Cassian was far too busy trying to remain upright, finally throwing caution to the wind and slumping fully against Nes. “Mhmm. You’re warm.”

“You’re heavy,” Nes said, though he didn’t sound mad about it. He actually released a huff of laughter that tickled the side of Cassian’s ear before poking at Cassian a few times to get him moving. “Come on, let’s get you ready for bed.”

They eventually made their way down the hallway, Nes using Cassian’s keys to open the door to his and Azriel’s apartment. They managed to make it to Cassian’s room without bumping into anything despite not turning on any of the lights, though Nes turned on the lamp on Cassian’s desk so they had a little bit of light in the bedroom. While Nes busied himself with taking off his borrowed jacket, Cassian sat on the edge of the bed and fell backwards so he was comfortable.

“Don’t you dare fall asleep,” Nes said sharply once he noticed Cassian was laying on the bed. “You’re not going to sleep in all that. You’ll overheat in the middle of the night.”

“Says you,” Cassian said back, closing his eyes. Nes loudly snapped his fingers right in front of Cassian’s face, and Cassian forced his eyes back open just so he could roll them, hard. “Ugh. Whatever, Dad.”

Despite Cassian’s grumbling, he didn’t put up too much of a fight at Nes making him kick off his shoes and take off his jacket. He didn’t even mind taking off his shirt, since that’s usually how he slept anyway, but when it came time for Nes to coax him out of his pants, suddenly all bets were off. 

“Come on, Cassian,” Nes said, exasperated. He’d gotten Cassian to sit up while his other clothes had come off, and he was being really patient as he tried to unfasten Cassian’s jeans and take them off. “You can’t go to sleep in jeans.”

“No jeans for everyone,” Cassian said back with a loud laugh. He knew he was drunk and being more than a little annoying, but Nes certainly didn’t seem to mind as Cassian fumbled with the buttons on the other man’s jeans. “It’s only fair.”

“It’s not about fair, it’s about— hey!” Nes yelped as Cassian got the bright idea of suddenly yanking him forward. They overbalanced and Nes landed awkwardly on top of Cassian, who had developed a serious case of the giggles at the shocked expression on the other man’s face. “Really, Cassian?”

“Oh man,” Cassian replied, still giggling, “the look on your face.”

“Ha, ha,” Nes deadpanned. “Very funny.”

Cassian’s giggles abruptly stopped as he realized just how close he and Nes suddenly were. Cassian didn’t think they’d ever been so close before, and he found himself liking it, probably more than he should considering Nes was just trying to be a good friend and help him get ready for bed. It didn’t stop him from finally giving into the urge he’d been shoving down all night to bury his face into the side of Nes’ neck.

“Mhmmm,” Cassian said, breathing in the smell of Nes’ cologne and whatever fancy pomade he liked to use on his hair. Even underneath the smell of weed and alcohol and sweat from the party, he still smelled so goddamn good. “You smell good.”

“Thank you,” Nes said back, his voice a little strained. “Can I get up now?”

“Oh, shit, sorry,” Cassian said.

Cassian shifted underneath Nes, ready to sit them both up so they could stop fucking around and go to sleep, but it seemed the universe had other plans. As Cassian tried to sit up, he was completely unprepared for the hot stab of arousal that hit him as he realized their dicks were pressed together, and that it felt good. 

Really good.

“Fuck,” Cassian said, his dick already half-hard. He was torn between apologizing for making things weird and shifting under Nes again, but he didn’t know what to say to make either thing happen. He just laid there, his heart pounding out of his chest as he waited to see what Nes would do.  

Nes had frozen too, his full, pink lips parted in surprise. He stared down at Cassian for a few moments without saying a word, and Cassian braced himself for the worst. 

But then Nes rolled his hips against Cassian’s, thrusting against him with intention, and any and all worries Cassian had abruptly disappeared with the feeling of Nes’ very hard dick grinding against his. “Oh, fuck, you feel good.”

“Yeah?” Cassian breathed. Now that he wasn’t worried about Nes’ reaction, all that nervous energy had been replaced with pure hunger. He’d never been with another guy before, but that didn’t change the way he wanted to know what Nes looked like when he came.

“I’ve been thinking about this all fucking semester,” Nes continued, pausing briefly to yank off his shirt and kick his jeans off. Cassian could only gape at the sheer amount of skin suddenly on display, interrupted only by the dark blue boxers Nes was still wearing. “You have any lube?”

Cassian flushed as he realized why they might need that. “Um. I. No?”

“That’s fine,” Nes answered, yanking off Cassian’s jeans before climbing back on top of Cassian. “Take out your dick.”

Cassian had never moved faster in his life. He scrambled to pull his dick out through the hole in the front of his boxers, hissing a little as he touched himself. He was so hard it almost hurt, and he nearly stopped breathing as Nes reached down and wrapped his hand around Cassian’s dick.

“Oh my God,” Cassian breathed, though he was pretty sure it had come out more like a whimper. He’d earned plenty of notches on his bedpost over the years, but somehow this was the hottest thing that had ever happened to him. 

And that was before Nes started to actually move his hand. Cassian groaned when Nes began to slowly stroke him, his cock leaking like a faucet the entire time, and he couldn’t stop himself from thrusting upwards into Nes’ firm grip. “Nes, come on, please.”

Nes smirked down at Cassian for a few moments before deciding to take pity on him. He sped up a little bit, just enough to reach a nice, steady pace, and Cassian couldn’t help making helpless little noises every time Nes flicked his wrist upwards. After a few minutes of that, Nes finally pulled out his own cock and worked himself over a few times, his eyes fluttering shut at how good it must have felt, and then he was reaching for Cassian’s hand and placing it on his cock.

Cassian had thought things were intense before, but this was an entirely new level. 

“Jesus,” Cassian muttered, all of this going straight to his own dick. He’d never touched another cock before, but it wasn’t so different from touching his own. The angle and the way Nes’ cock felt in his hand were different, yeah, but that was a very welcome change. Nes wasn’t as thick as Cassian, but he certainly made up for it with the inch or two he had extra.

Once Nes had decided Cassian had done enough staring, he closed his hand around Cassian’s and started to show Cassian what he liked. Cassian was mesmerized by the slow, slick slide of their hands moving together over Nes’ admittedly very nice cock; he hadn’t stared openly at very many dicks in his life, but Cassian was more than happy to look at this one. He was even happier to look at the man it was attached to, doing his best to commit the look on Nes’ face to memory for reasons he wasn’t entirely sure of just yet.

“Yeah, just like that,” Nes groaned, his voice low. He let go of Cassian’s hand, apparently trusting him to keep the rhythm they’d set together, and reached for Cassian’s dick again. “Yeah, fuck, Cassian, that’s it.”

Cassian moaned as Nes started stroking Cassian’s dick a little faster than he’d done before, the praise and the perfect friction against Cassian’s dick absolutely doing it for him. They were both hot and slick under the other’s hand, and Cassian swore as Nes turned his focus to the very tip of Cassian’s dick. “Shit, don’t stop.”

Of course, Nes picked that exact moment to let go. “Relax, Cassian. I have a better idea.”

“It better be— oh,” Cassian cut himself off with a shocked gasp as Nes knocked Cassian’s hand out of the way so he could hold both of their cocks together in one hand. “Oh, God.”

“That’s what I thought,” Nes replied smugly. He shifted so their cocks were better lined up, and Cassian saw stars as Nes started to stroke both of their cocks together. Everything was slippery and hot and perfect, especially once they fell into rhythm that guaranteed the most friction between them, Cassian surging upward while Nes’ hips moved back, over and over and over again. Eventually Nes moved his hand out of the way so they were just grinding against each other, their cocks trapped between their bodies as Nes leaned down and completely covered Cassian’s body with his own, leaner frame. 

“Oh, fuck, don’t stop,” Cassian panted, reaching down to grab a handful of Nes’ ass so they could press together that much better. “So good, Jesus, you feel so good…”

Feeling Nes move against him was giving Cassian all sorts of ideas, mostly about what it would be like if he was fucking Cassian for real. Cassian’s rhythm turned frantic as he thought about Nes holding him down, fucking him hard, making him take it—

Cassian came with a choked off moan of Nes’ name, his come spilling across both of their cocks and setting Nes off. Nes drew it out for both of them until Cassian was squirming underneath him, not stopping the movement of his hips until Cassian was near tears and the pleasure-pain of it, and then the only sound in the room was both of their heavy breathing. 

Nes gracefully rolled off of Cassian and reached for a nearby towel, using it to wipe up their shared come as best he could before tossing it toward Cassian’s hamper. “Move over.”

Cassian didn’t even think to object, his head spinning between the tequila still in his system and the enormity of what had just happened between them. But Nes didn’t seem to be as affected; he just kicked off his wet underwear before delving under the covers. “Night, Cassian.”

Cassian guessed they would just talk about whatever that was in the morning, so he kicked off his own underwear, got under the covers, threw his arm around Nes’ waist, and let sleep take him. Nes’ feet were freezing where they were pressed between Cassian’s calves, but he didn’t mind that one bit. 

✵✵✵✵✵✵

+1

When Cassian woke up the next morning, he didn’t have the faintest clue how things were going to go. Last night had been beyond even his wildest fantasies, but the reality of Nes warming his bed was starting to creep in. 

Not that he had a lot of time to really ponder that, considering Nes was already awake and staring at him expectantly. They’d fallen asleep spooning, but they must have rolled apart during the night given Nes was now facing Cassian. 

Their legs were still tangled together, though. Maybe that counted for something.  

“Hey,” Cassian said hesitantly. He had a solid headache from last night, but he knew even that couldn’t stop this conversation from happening. “Um. Good morning.”

“Good morning,” Nes replied, his voice a little raspier and deeper than usual. It went straight to Cassian’s dick, which was not helping his creeping panic at the discussion they were about to have, though it was certainly another thing to add to his mental list of things Nes did that were incredibly attractive. 

He wasn’t even freaked out at his newfound bisexuality — he’d always thought of himself as open to experimenting, so it was nice to know that hadn’t just been a passing fantasy — it was more that he didn’t want to risk his relationship with Nes. Cassian didn’t know what he’d do without their coffee hangouts, or their text threads, or the way Nes looked at him like he was the biggest idiot on campus. 

“What are we doing?” Cassian asked hesitantly, knowing the only way forward was through. He just had to rip the band-aid off, and if that meant their friendship was done, he’d be okay. Eventually. “Are we… together now?”

“We’ve been together,” Nes said, an adorable frown appearing on his pretty face. Cassian wanted to smooth it out with his fingers. “What do you mean, what are we doing?”

“We’ve been together?” Cassian repeated. He was so, so confused, but also a not-insignificant part of him was incredibly relieved that Nes wasn’t going anywhere. “Since… when?”

“You can’t be serious,” Nes replied. When he realized Cassian wasn’t kidding, his frown morphed into a deep scowl. No smoothing that one out with his fingers. “Oh my God. You are being serious.”

“What are you talking about right now?” Cassian asked, realizing just how out of his depth he was. Had he missed something from before they’d hooked up last night? “I’m not fucking around, Nes. What’s happening?”

“I asked you out after our first lab,” Nes answered slowly, like he was talking to a little kid. “I brought you soup when you were sick, I came to your soccer game — you met my sisters, for fuck’s sake. We’ve been dating all semester, Cassian.”

“Oh,” Cassian said, unable to come up with something more eloquent as a lot of pieces suddenly fell into place. He’d chalked all of that — and the way it made him feel — up to Nes just going above and beyond in their friendship, but clearly there was so much more than that going on here. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” Nes said back, irritated. 

“Is that why you were so mad at Mor that day?” Cassian asked, a light bulb suddenly switching on in his mind. No wonder Mor had said he was being such a dumbass; he owed her a massive apology. “Holy shit, were you jealous?”

“She was touching you,” Nes hissed, that muscle in his jaw working overtime as he thought back to that fateful afternoon. “Of course I was fucking jealous, you idiot.”

“You don’t have to be jealous, Nes,” Cassian replied. He couldn’t stop smiling, and the more worked up Nes got, the wider his grin became. “Mor doesn’t even like men romantically!”

“How was I supposed to know that at the time, Cass,” Nes retorted. 

“This is such a ridiculous argument, sweetheart. Besides, you know how much I like you,” Cass said, immediately gratified at the look on Nes’ face. “Oh, wait, you like that nickname.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Nes immediately denied. Cassian knew it was bullshit from the adorable pink flush spreading across the other man’s cheeks. “Shut up.”

“Nes. Nesseroni. Earn,” Cassian said, running through all of Nes’ other names just because he could. He could do a lot of things now, apparently. “Earnest Nathaniel.”

“Just Nes is fine,” Nes grumbled. “All those other names suck.”

“Sure they do. Hey, do you want to be my boyfriend?” Cassian asked before he could lose his nerve.  

Nes sighed, but Cassian saw right through that from the pleased tilt of his mouth. “Yes. Fine. Whatever.”

“Just whatever?” Cassian repeated with a grin. He shuffled forward until their chests were pressed together and rolled them so he was on top of Nes, very much enjoying this new development. 

“Just shut up and kiss me,” Nes replied. Cassian was more than happy to follow orders, leaning in and closing the distance between their lips. Both of them had morning breath and Nes had a little bit of stubble tickling Cassian’s upper lip, but it was easily one of the best kisses he’d ever experienced. Nes’ lips were softer than Cassian had been expecting, and they parted easily so Cassian could explore with his tongue. The slick slide of their tongues immediately reminded Cassian of the way their cocks slid together the night before, but he forced himself to stay focused. They’d have plenty of time for mind-blowing sex later, if Cassian had anything to say about it. 

“Was that… okay?” Nes asked quietly after a few more minutes of kissing, his gray-blue eyes furiously searching Cassian’s hazel ones for the slightest hint of any discomfort. 

“So much better than okay,” Cassian answered. He didn’t want Nes to have even a single doubt, so he leaned in and kissed Nes again, though they were both smiling a little too much for it to count as a real kiss. “You make me so fucking crazy.”

Nes hmmed and they lazily made out for a while, though it wasn’t with any intent beyond just exploring each other’s mouths. When they eventually broke apart, Cassian just had to laugh at how much of a dumbass he’d really been all these weeks. At Nes’ confused look, Cassian said, “Don’t get mad, but… this whole time I thought you were just really invested in being my friend.”

“You’re actually one of the most ridiculous people I’ve ever met,” Nes said, though the effect was lessened given how pink his lips were from all the kissing. He pushed at Cassian, who rolled over so they were on their sides facing each other again. “Jesus Christ, how were you so oblivious?”

“I just thought you really, really liked me,” Cassian said back, still laughing at himself. God, he was such an idiot. “Platonically, though.”

Nes stared at him incredulously for several long seconds. “Should I be concerned that you thought all the things we did were totally platonic?”

“I figured it out in the end!” Cassian protested. Sure, maybe it had taken a ridiculously long time to come to what felt like a very obvious conclusion, but Cassian wouldn’t change it. Not when he got to be the one waking up next to Nes exchanging good morning kisses. 

“Yeah, after I told you to take your dick out,” Nes responded. He released a long-suffering sigh that absolutely delighted Cassian to hear. “Like I said… you’re lucky you’re cute.”

“Nah,” Cassian said, grinning. “I’m lucky you like me so much.”

His boyfriend — and wasn’t that a thought — didn’t deny it. Instead, Nes graced Cassian with a rare smile and said, “Yeah. Something like that.”

tag list: @perseusannabeth | @bookstantrash | @fieldofdaisiies | @goddess-aelin | @c-e-d-dreamer | @talkfantasytome | @whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk | @sv0430 | @talibunny30 | @unlikelypersonalknight1 | @champanheandluxxury | @lilah-asteria | @burningsnowleopard | @sayosdreams | @readskk | @simpingfornestaarcheron | @bellaful08 | @readergalaxy | @podemechamardek | @pearlfortears | @nerdperson524 | @jmoonjones | @kale-theteaqueen | @autumnbabylon | @hiimheresworld | @illyrianshadowhunter | @dustjacketmusings | @live-the-fangirl-life | @that-little-red-head | @sweet-pea1 | @brieq | @queercontrarian | @jsmelodies | @afflicted-with-wanderlust

[jcbbby]

hey!! could you do a enemies to lovers where jace teases the reader for actually loving him and not hating him like she says she does then she gets flustered and jace also teases her about that too and it ends with him eating her out?? sorry if it’s too specific!!

hello hello! so like I said, writing for Jace is a lil out of my comfort zone, just because I don't know too much about the mortal instruments and that sort of universe in general. but I've given it my best shot for you! and the specifics help a lot, thank you! I hope this is alright. <3

Warnings: SMUT, 18+, SCRAM KIDS or I'll turn the hose on you. enemies to lovers. oral sex (f receiving). a few swears.

note: okay well...I guess I do smut on the reg now, sorry mom and jesus.

-

Life at The Institute was not exactly where you thought you would be growing up. You had only recently learned the truth about your early life and birth parents. They were both shadow hunters, and they had placed you for adoption, in fear for your safety; wanting to keep you away from the evils and darkness that swelled around them. Eventually, your intuitive and gifted mind sorted out the truth, uncovering the very world they tried to keep you from.

You tracked down The Institute, meeting Alec, Isabelle, and Jace, upon arrival. Letting them know that you hoped to find your fellow shadow hunter parents, they invited you in, offering their help and hospitality. Alec and Isabelle were lovely and the three of you hit it off rather quickly. However, Jace was not as warm to you.

In fact, he had a chip on his shoulder that made it awfully hard for you to enjoy his company. A smugness and sarcastic nature that never failed to instantly annoy you when he walked into a room. He seemed to always know how to push your buttons; making snarky comments, being short with you, getting you frustrated and worked up before smirking to himself, having the victory of getting to you. It was like a game to him.

You sat in your room this morning, reading your current choice of literature, sipping a mug of tea before you started your day. A knock came upon your door, startling you momentarily. You gently closed the book, marking your spot, and swung your legs over the edge of the bed. As you grabbed your robe from your bedpost, another knock came from the door.

“Just a minute!” You called, cursing under your breath at whoever couldn’t wait more than 20 seconds for you to open the door.

Once you had made yourself decent, you went over and turned the knob, swinging the door open. On the other side, you were annoyingly met with Jace. His shirt was unbuttoned and hanging open, revealing his many rune markings across his toned torso. He was significantly taller than you, so your eyeline was at his chest.

“My eyes are up here, love.” He smirked. “I know it’s hard to take your eyes off though.”

You rolled your eyes, leaning against the door frame, crossing your arms. “What do you want, Jace?”

He held up a notebook, your journal. “I believe this is yours.”

Your eyes widened as you snatched it from him. “Where did you find this?!”

“It was on a windowsill in the library, you must have left it there. You’ve got some interesting ideas, by the way.” He winked.

You instantly saw red, realizing he had read these private thoughts of yours. “You read my journal?!”

“Well, I had to see who it belonged to, didn’t I? You really shouldn’t be leaving your belongings around if they’re so valuable to you.” He still held his smirk.

“I didn’t mean to leave it anywhere…When did you even find this? You’re not usually up this early.” You tucked the journal under your arm.

“Couldn’t sleep…I was just really invested in what I was reading. Especially page 23.” He leaned against the doorframe to match your position, raising his eyebrows at you.

“You son of a…” You quickly whipped open the notebook to the page he had mentioned. Scanning your writing, you came across a short passage you had written about Jace.

I almost fell flat on my face in the hallway, but Jace actually caught me. He asked if I was alright, even. I’m not sure what kind of good mood he was in, I would have expected him to let me knock my own teeth out. It was a surprisingly nice moment. But god, I really can’t stand him sometimes. He’s rude, cold, full of himself, just insufferable… It’s such a shame he really is rather attractive. If he had any redeeming qualities, I’d maybe even say I would be into him. I would have enjoyed having his hands on me. I really wish I could like him. Truthfully, I want to like him. I think I do care about him somewhere deep down. But he just has to be a total asshole all the time.

You looked up to Jace, who was grinning wickedly. You slammed the book shut, tucking it back under your arm.

“I bet you’re just so pleased with yourself.” You hissed, scrunching your face into a scowl.

“I’m always pleased with myself. But I’m more interested in the fact that it seems you are actually rather pleased with me.”

You scoffed. “Oh my god…you’re delusional.”

“I think you’re the one being delusional. You wrote it yourself. You really don’t think I’m all that terrible, do you?” He leaned forward slightly.

“I do. I do think you’re terrible.” You said in a stern tone.

He shook his head. “I don’t think you do…I think you really do like me.”

“Oh my god…” You rolled your eyes. “I do not! You’re infuriating.”

Jace chuckled. “And I’ve noticed how you look at me, too, when you think I don’t notice.”

“I-I don’t look at you in any way… I don’t-” You raised your voice at him, and he chuckled again. “See you’re just trying to mess with me right now, like always. Jace, it’s 7am. It’s too early for this shit.”

You went to close your door, but he held his hand out.

“You wouldn’t get so worked up if you didn’t care about me, would you?” He cocked his head.

You huffed, lost for words about how to convince him that you didn’t have feelings for him. Maybe a few times you thought he looked nice, or maybe you had a strange dream about the two of you together…but you didn’t have feelings for him. No, absolutely not.

Jace stepped through the threshold of your room, closing the door behind him. You found yourself swallowing hard as all you could do was watch him. He stepped closer to you.

“Jace…” You started to say. “I…I don’t…” Your gaze fell again to his chest.

“Oh, but you do, don’t you?” He said, just barely above a whisper, stepping closer again.

Your mouth fell open slightly, to say something, anything. All you could do was shake your head no, feeling your heartbeat in your ears. He slowly brought his hand up to your cheek, cupping it lightly. You brought your eyes up to him; his were dark, staring deep into yours. He was intoxicating, you felt an ache between your thighs, finally realizing the walls you had been putting up were falling away. You needed him. He tilted his head as he gently caressed your cheekbone with his thumb. Only centimeters separated you now.

“Jace-“ You started to say, but were soon cut off by his lips pressed into yours, which you didn’t fight.

In fact, you pressed your own lips hard into his. His hand fell from your cheek, snaking around your waist, resting on the small of your back. Your hands came up, journal dropping with a thud to the floor from under your arm, pressing against his bare chest as he pulled you into him. He pushed you slowly backward towards your bed; your whole body and mind were buzzing, you barely even noticed until you felt the back of your legs hit the mattress and Jace gently lowered you down on to your back.

His lips traveled from your lips down to your neck, nipping and licking, as he ran his hands over your torso. Your breath was heavy as you reveled in his touch.

“Let me show you that I can play nice too.” He whispered against your neck.

He sat up on his knees on either side of your hips. His hands reached for the tie on your robe, pulling it teasingly slow, smirking down at you. He pushed away the satin fabric from your top half, revealing your torso, covered only by a sheer bralette that you had slept in. He dipped down again, delivering kisses to your collar bone, making his way more center, to just under your throat, then down between the valley of your breasts, and down to your stomach. As he traveled lower, he parted your robe further, displaying your light pink panties; a patch of arousal already soaking through the fabric. His eyes looked up to you hungrily, noticing how badly you ached for him.

“All for me?” He winked.

He placed a soft kiss on your thigh as he pinched the fabric on the waist band of your panties, pulling them down your legs and letting them fall to the floor. Lowering himself between your legs, he held eye contact with you as his lips made contact with your pussy, teasing you with a soft kiss. You whimpered, bucking your hips ever so slightly, eager for more, you needed more. He chuckled to himself.

“Don’t get greedy.” He smirked.

“Jace…please…” You whined.

“Well, since you asked nicely…”

He maintained his eye contact as he brought his mouth to your clit. His soft tongue generously started working on you and your breath hitched, screwing your eyes shut. You felt him smile against you, seeing you squirm in pleasure under his touch. His tongue lapped at your clit in perfect rhythm, circling it euphorically, sucking every now and then for added sensation. You rocked your hips into him, quiet moans escaping your throat that were music to his ears. He teased a finger at your entrance, driving you wild for just a moment, before plunging inside, curling upward.

“Mmm, oh god…” You breathed. “Please don’t stop.” Your hands found their way down to his blonde locks, entangling your fingers in them.

He slipped a second digit in, curling that one along with the other. You gasped, throwing your head back against the mattress. Your mind went fuzzy, only managing to whimper and let out strings of curses and his name. He loved hearing his name on your lips like that. You felt the coil in your stomach tightening, arching your back, as your legs started to shake.

“Jaaace…fuck…I-I’m…gonna…ohmygod.” You moaned, tightening your grip on his hair.

“That’s it, baby. Go on, let it go.” He said against you, placing his free hand on your lower belly, increasing the pressure.

It was all the extra pressure you needed for the coil to snap. You shook and bucked your hips as he kept his tongue and fingers working, riding out your orgasm with you, leaving no ounce of pleasure for you ignored. He kept going until your moans turned into gasps of overstimulation. It was so much, but you didn’t want to tell him to stop. He slipped his fingers out of you as you came down from your high. He then placed one last gentle kiss on to your swollen, sensitive bud, kissing his way back up to meet your lips, tasting yourself on him. Your excitement coating his lips and chin, glistening in the early morning light that came through the window.

“So, it seems like you do like me after all…quite a lot, actually.” He grinned.

You let out a soft burst of air through your nose as a smile grew across your face. You hand rose to tousle his hair, bringing his lips back to yours.

“Maybe you’re right…” You smiled.

[dangerously-human]

I'm a little late on posting my celebration this year, though I did celebrate with writing Resurrected Hope. I've been reflecting on this anniversary quite a bit - coinciding with Holy Week had me thinking a lot about hope and resurrection and life conquering death and how our stories are echoes of The Story - and I ended up focusing on a slightly different angle of this part of my own history.

Thirteen years ago, I was the most suicidal I've ever been. I don't tend to talk about that part as much, because there's no nice neat bow to tie on it the way there is with the cutting - there wasn't a habit to quit, and it wasn't the last time, by a long shot. I knew the how and I was pretty much decided on the when. So you've got a pretty good idea of where my head was at, at the time.

I forget, often, that I got baptized around this time, too. I was born into a Christian tradition that believes in infant baptism, so I was sprinkled as a baby, but as a teenager actually studying the Bible for myself, digging into theology more, I decided that didn't sit right with me, and I should take the step of obedience on my own as a reflection of the spiritual rebirth and renewal I'd experienced years prior through the work of the Holy Spirit. My dad recently told me that was a time he heard most directly from God, praying for wisdom after I asked what he thought I should do: God told him to tell me to do it, basically. Increasingly, when I have the opportunity to share my testimony, that's a piece I mention, that even in the midst of the darkest season of my life, God was still working, and I was still growing, even though I didn't feel the faith he'd gifted me with.

But it wasn't just "around the same time." I'd forgotten, but it was two days later. I didn't really know at the time, but I cut myself for the last time, and then I was baptized into the fullness of belonging that comes from walking in the Way. Renewal. Rebirth. None of it the narrative I had planned, but the one my Maker ordained before time began.

That wasn't the end, for better or worse. Getting dunked in some water didn't magically take away the depression I pled with God for years to take from me. I still spent a lot of my teens and early twenties wanting to die. But on the self-injury front, at least, by the grace of God, I never went back, even when the temptation was very, very loud. And I am being constantly remade as a new creation in Christ - my identity in him is irrevocably sealed.

Partly because of what I've been studying in the Bible recently (especially Psalms), and partly because of my special interest in Lockwood & Co, I've been thinking a lot lately about the victory of life over death, and the way breaking the grip of depression is a picture of that. Celebrating Easter last week was a powerful reminder: Jesus submitted to the grave in order to put it under his feet. I remember last spring, just when I'd gotten to the climax of The Empty Grave, I had to put the book down to head out for a Coram Deo prayer and worship night at church; perhaps unsurprisingly, I was struck by the thought that night that my God has stolen me back from death many times over. Once when he pulled me out of the muck of my own sin; again when he said, "Not this time. That's not the way it's going to be" and pulled me back from the grave I was determined to throw myself in. However worthless I considered my own life (the last lie I wrote on my skin), God saw it as precious, worth redeeming, because he made it and claimed it - and this morning, taking Communion, that's what I repeated through tears: "It's yours, it's all yours." That's why I spend this time reflecting and remembering each year, in gratitude for the light that entered the darkness and made me new.

[hiswordsarekisses]

A lot of you have military sons and daughters.

You probably know they don’t go to

boot camp to enjoy the scenery and take pictures. They go to boot camp to get squashed into les' miserables, which is to train them to rise up ready for war.

They are trained daily, hourly, day and night, for the war, not only to learn how

to war,

but to become …..a warrior…….body, soul,

mind and spirit.

They don't spend months reading manuals and then hope for the best, when they are finally under attack.

Nope, they are put out on the field, in harsh and strategic training. A good leader will almost make it harder on them, than it need be, for good reason.

He knows they have a better chance of survival when the day of battle arrives.

A good leader, is training them to be a warrior, not just fight a war.

They are training them

how to think so much like a warrior, they

go after victory like there’s nothing else. 

When we went to mission boot camp,

we were told the aim was to make us quit there, not on the field. They didn’t need a missionary quitting on the field.

That was too costly.

And so, they tried to break us in training, because it made us better soldiers in the war. It was hard for a good reason.

As God is teaching us daily to be Warriors,

we must remember we do not learn to be fierce by just singing Kumbaya My Lord, around the campfire, and by reading a few Bible stories now and then. You don't do

battle with your sword sitting at home,

dusty and shelved. You don’t learn how to

pray just from saying grace at dinner.

God calls Himself a man of war.

He is a fierce God, of truth and love.

To learn the art of war, you must not only do battle, but become a warrior mind,

body and soul. As Jesus put it, love

the Lord your God with all your mind, strength, body and soul.

You must learn to battle when you are tired,

when you feel alone, when you are hurting,

when you are bewildered as to what to do

next, when you need to rest, but cannot.

You must not …..let the battle define ……

your soldiering.

Too many of us are leaning on the everlasting arms, wiggling and tossing like babies, rather than trusting and learning how to be His arms in the battle,

His power in the war.

The battle is fierce today, and God wants a Warrior He can trust.

Can He trust you?

Most Christian soldiers are Scripturally illiterate and parasitical in practice.

God forgive us, it’s time to go to war.

If it feels like He has put too much in you,

it could be He just thinks you are the fierce warrior He needs.

He is as loving as He is fierce.

He is as present in peace as in battle.

Nobody admires a warrior who’s

playing games in the barracks.

Nobody appreciates the whining, soft soldiers that make it hard for everyone.

Give us that warrior, bloodied and filthy with fight, grit, power strong and tested beyond hard.

That's who we trust.

That's who we want fighting for us.

That’s the warrior God wants too.

While the battle belongs to the Lord,

we have been called to do our part.

Don’t just say you’re a soldier in the army of the Lord….Be one in every inch of you body, soul, mind, spirit and strength.

Stay fierce my friend, abounding in love.

~AnnStewartPorter

[borisbubbles]

Eurovision 2024: #06 & #05

06. SWEDEN Loreen - "Tattoo" 1st place

Decade Ranking: 19/116 [above Halo, below Adrenalina]

Alright, fine, we've arrived at Loreen. There are plenty of conflicting emotions swirling around in my head, but overall, yeah, you know how I feel about her. It hasn't changed. She's very good, but I'm not obsessed with her. This is where those entries rank.

Let's tackle the elephant in the room: Tattoo is a good song and a boring, uninspiring winner. The two aren't mutually exclusive. Loreen's victory was determined the second she won Melfest, by default. It was unsatisfactory for two reasons:

(1) The moment Loreen was picked the casuals that remembered "Euphoria" immediately started praising her while ignoring everyone else, and this of course snowballed into the biggest jury coronation since Salvador. Lol that the same casuals that were obsessed with Tattoo preshow became upset when she beat Käärijä. What else did you think was going to happen? it was YOU who kept touting her as the best without giving as much as dismissive look at her competition, of course the Eye of Sauron was fixated on her and no one else.

(2) Käärijä. For better or for worse, this year will be remembered as the year Cha Cha Cha was robbed by the juries for the sake of Sweden. Käärijä was not without his own set of problems which directly led to his demise (which we'll tackle when we get to him because this post is about Loreen), but he WAS the year and it was his loss specifically that left a bad aftertaste in many mouths. It's always better when the underdog beats the overdog, and not the other way around.

Once the dust settled, everyone pledged fealty to the crazyparty Fin while "Tattoo" was quickly replaced as the basic gay anthem by "Padam Padam".

However, neither of those things are particularly Loreen's fault?

What I can ascertain is that Tattoo is not Euphoria, obviously. A lot of the love for Tattoo was spillover Euphoria nostalgia. That's fine, but I meant their thematic differences went understated - Euphoria was an ode to the eternity of love, while Tattoo specifically is about the love fracturing apart and Loreen's inabilty to move on - in other words "Euphoria" was a victory, while "Tattoo" always felt like more of a defeat. It's a subtle difference, but one that should always lead to Euphoria being ranked AHEAD of Tattoo, jesus christ ESC250 voters.

However, this is still Loreen, and a lesser Loreen is still lowkey epic. Eventhough "Tattoo" is probably the least good Loreen song, (technically because it's a Cazzi Opeia song with a Loreen sound - "You're stuck on me like a tatoo-oo-oo that is a Cazzi hook if ever there was), it is still a good song. Loreen proved although she's now at an age where her memory is starting to fail her, forgetting essentials such as clipping her fingernails and paying her taxes, she still has the attitude and flat stomach of a cougar ready to pounce. All credits for Tattoo's successes belong to her, SJB and no one else.

And, not unimportantly in a audio-visual medium such as Eurovision, Tattoo also looked really good on the stage. It had A Vision, which is what every winner needs nowadays. Again, the staging is great but also... not that grat lol - it's not the best staging ever. It's not better than Euphoria's or even Vesna's that we'll talk about later. Nevertheless, the song was beautifully framed under the confined space of that impromptu photocopier and Loreen's choreography. The staging was dynamic, artistic and gave the impression real stakes were involved. It Understood The Assignment. It made the song *pop*.

I specifically really LOVE the wide shot during the bridge that really anchors the devastation and desolation she sings about.

It's one of those money shots linger in your mind after the song has ended.

So overall, yeah, Loreen is not my winner or even a top fiver for me, but oh well, whatever? She was a dull winner compared to Käärijä but not an undeserving one. She's still a solid eight-and-a-half out of ten. She alone provided the triple threat of Good composition, Stunning Act and Killer Execution, so ofc juries flocked to her if they're instructed to assess the overal package. If you still think they robbed Käärijä (they did not.) remember that Loreen was solidly second in nearly every televote behind him. If he were destined to always lose Eurovision 2023 like I now believe he was, it's definitely only Loreen who should have taken the W here.

-------------------------------

05. AUSTRALIA Voyager - "Promise" 9th place

Decade Ranking: 17/116 [Above Adrenalina, below Manizha]

Sometimes the reason is "I like music." Many were surprised Voyager came top 10, but not I. To repeat a common question one final time:

HAVE YOU HEARD THE SONG?!?

Well-executed ProgMetal, at Eurovision! By a charismatic lead! Of course it was going to get a good chunk of jury votes from a group of people that know more music beyond what gets radio airplay. As Danny sings, if you haven't done anything like this before, you haven't been alive, sillies!

Going into the contest though, I wasn't fully sure Australia would grab the top 10 I envisioned for them. Like sure, I saw the vision. But my predictions come from Antwerp, not Delphi and the visions I see don't always come to pass. Voyager were hit the hardest by the fandom's latent misandry for daring to be men (+ Simone). Then again, if the fandom got their way, "Padam Padam" would win every year (lol can you imagine what a nightmare that meta would be? especially because "Padam Padam" isn't even that good to begin with) and not songs that are effectively Synthwave with Metal instrumentation. This is a combo that leads to immersive moodpieces, and not the high energy spikes you might expect from metal.

But what this blog if not for its appreciation for moodpieces and what was "Promise" if not A Mood immortalized by Voyager into An Experience. Danny playing the keytar on the bonnet of his delorean, or nearly choking on a chicken sandwich while getting 12 Portuguese points, THOSE are MY little joys in life.

Everything on stage suits a wholesome song about ~promising your loved ones you're in this life's adventure together, ride or die~, which as a message hits home even harder since Danny's cancer diagonosis (not like this affected their placement here - Australia were coming 5th on this ranking since the beginning).

And let's be honest, "Promise" is a just really good song that doesn't need frills or embellishments, but it got those anyway with everyone's fun adlibs.

It's like S10 or MARO, not the flashiest entry nor the most iconic staging, but never the less, the personality came through well enough to merit revisitations when I have a craving for it. Besides, we need a diverse array of genres at Eurovision, to ensure the bar remains high and we don't get a year full of Liars and Firefighters. "Promise" defo fit that bill well. It was good to have A Real Song into the mix, and one that was very deservedly was rewarded with a top ten placement.

If you think that a bad result, then that's fine. I agree with you, but mostly because I think Australia should have come top five and were robbed by the televote. 🙂

THE RANKING

[troperrific]

I don’t think anyone has suggested this yet, but I wonder if Mr. Priest’s real name is some sort of variation of the name Yisra’el (יִשְׂרָאֵל).

The meaning is relevant to what’s happening with Mr. Priest, being something along the lines of “he that striveth with God”. The question of whether Mr. Priest will fall or not, and whether his faith is strong or not, is being brought up a lot.

I also think that Imuri would find humor in that, as she was sent to tempt him. The meaning would certainly appeal to Imuri, who marveled at the idea of being so charming, so loved, to the point of being chosen over God… her only calling his name once she made him fall… it would be the mark of victory, a goading if you will- he struggled with God, but instead of God/his faith prevailing, as it seems to be the hidden meaning, it would be Imuri's win instead.

Furthermore, there's a bit of linguistic humor if that's the case. The name Yisra'el (יִשְׂרָאֵל) is composed of “el” (אֵל) which means “God”… and it also has “sarah (שָׂרָה)”, which here means “to fight, to contend”, but can also mean “princess, noblewoman”. Fitting, as Asmodeus tried to find her Sarah in Mr. Priest’s soul, but got mostly a beating instead.

Finally, Yisra’el was the other name given to Jacob after he wrestled with a divine being. Jacob, in the Bible, was married to Rachel and Leah.

Seeing as Leah and Mr. Priest already have quite a few parallels, especially regarding their first and second encounters with Beelzebub and Asmodeus, respectively, and the author seems to be setting them up as narrative foils (seemingly opposite personalities but have quite a few things in common, “belong” to opposing factions in the Church, chosen one vs unchosen one, etc), I think it would be fitting if they were connected by name as well.

The name doesn’t really have to indicate a future romance, mind you, as I don’t think it will. But if (and that’s a BIG IF) that was Mr. Priest’s name, it would make for an interesting contrast against Leah taking Judas’ seat (and Mr. Priest taking Jesus’ seat) during Leviathan���s arc. Something about seemingly one-sided devotion, deception and unrelenting love, I dunno. Should be interesting anyway.

On a side note, I think it would be cute if Mr. Priest’s name was shortened to “Rae” (ラエ) from “Yisrael” (イスラエル) (especially to contrast with Leah’s “Rea” (レア). I know it’s usually a nickname for Rachel, but that would just make it funnier to me. Or “Rael” would work too.

But I digress, Mr. Priest’s real name could really be anything.

[yeslordmyking]

Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! In his great mercy he has given us... [ Read devo thought and prayer for this Bible verse ]

[beevean]

@d4cluvtrain it's not much, but it's honest work <3 thank you for the idea!

~

Jesus Christ hanging from his cross stared down at Hector the moment he set foot into the church, in all of his bloody, agonizing glory. The palpitations that shook his chest were an awfully familiar feeling, that he did not miss in the slightest.

No longer one to bow to a superior entity, however, Hector stared back at those glassy eyes. A petty victory, before observing the rest of the building.

The village church looked exactly as he had imagined: small, quaint and cozy, an honest welcoming place for those who sought God’s comfort. The stone walls and low ceiling would have been suffocating, were Hector alone.

(He forced his eyes open to not think about how easily his Devils smashed to rubbles similar churches in charred land that used to be peaceful towns.)

To his side, shoulders touching each other and hand not letting go of his, stood Rosaly as bright and lovely as always, even with her hair meticulously covered by the veil he had known her with. He, too, had chosen to enter the church hidden under a hood, but not for the same respectful reasons.

The few people inside were praying to themselves, not minding the couple that intruded, but nevertheless he couldn’t stop darting his gaze back and forth to make sure.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Rosaly asked in a hushed voice, thankfully distracting Hector from his spiral of thoughts.

“It is,” he nodded. “It reminds me of the chapel in the castle.”

Not quite, Hector had to admit to himself. The chapel of Lord Dracula’s castle was nothing short of grandiose, with tall, colorful stained-glass windows washing down the pristine marble walls and floor with warm hues that did not belong in such a place. It was also the home of peculiar demons, creatures with broken angel wings and dark halos that only served to make a mockery of the One his former Lord opposed so vehemently.

But the chilling peace was similar. With Rosaly’s hand in his, Hector was positive that he could have spent the entire day inside, lulled by the promise of serenity he so desperately needed.

“A chapel? Wasn’t the Count a… oh, I can’t say it here.”

Hector shrugged at Rosaly’s understandable confusion. “I’m not sure why it existed. I doubt the Count had ever set foot in that wing of the castle. But including it in his realm must have made his wife happy. I understand why he did it, then.”

It was the wrong thing to say. Rosaly’s smile waned.

“Hector, you don’t have to make me happy.”

“But I want to,” he said, and how much he cherished doing so! He wanted to, and nothing else. He lived for Rosaly’s joy not because he was forced to repay in kind all that she did for him – not even ten lives would have been enough – but because, simply, loving her came as easily as breathing.

He would have died for her. He would have lived for her. And if Rosaly believed that Hector could walk in a church without it crumbling under the weight of his sins, then he trusted her.

But Rosaly still wasn’t convinced. “Dear. I love you already, you know that, right?” Hector nodded again, hurt that she had to ask in the first place. Her love was as certain as the sun rising every morning. “You don’t have to change for my sake. We’re here for your ease of mind, and no one else’s.”

“I’m at ease, I swear.” Hector squeezed her hand, and for once, his words did not weigh with a lie. “Thank you for being with me, my Lady.”

She giggled, with a laughter so pure it could have turned the Devil to ashes, and squeezed his hand back. “Always. Now come, it’s about to begin.”

Hector hardly had time to notice the first notes of the organ filling the air before Rosaly tugged him towards one of the pews, the farthest ones from the altar. And so there Hector sat, ready to listen to God’s words for the first time since he had learned that he was an abomination of nature.

They weren’t for him, not really. Hector still felt no moving call at the sight of Christ, no desire to don himself a cross on his neck or read the words that were spat against him by cruel humans hiding behind their faith. But he was sitting in a church with the woman that he couldn’t wait to call his wife one day, and he chose to take the first step because he was tired of living in fear and hatred of the outside world – he had seen with his own eyes what that sort of dark sentiment led to – and he held onto that surge of pride.

“Mmh…” Rosaly muttering to herself caught Hector’s attention. “Perhaps another time you can stay after the mass is done, and confess to the priest. You saw how gentle he is, right? So you don’t have to worry. The problem is that, without a confession, you cannot partake in the communion…”

“Another time, maybe,” Hector interrupted her. That would have been too much. His past was for no one’s ears other than the only woman he could give his heart and soul to.

“Of course, another time.” Rosaly smiled and laid her head on his shoulder. “We have plenty of it, after all.”

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

The Victory of the Lamb

Then one of the seven angels with the seven bowls came and said to me, “Come, I will show you the punishment of the great prostitute, who sits on many waters. The kings of the earth were immoral with her, and those who dwell on the earth were intoxicated with the wine of her immorality.”

And the angel carried me away in the Spirit into a wilderness, where I saw a woman sitting on a scarlet beast that was covered with blasphemous names and had seven heads and ten horns. The woman was dressed in purple and scarlet, and adorned with gold and precious stones and pearls. She held in her hand a golden cup full of abominations and the impurities of her sexual immorality. And on her forehead a mysterious name was written:

BABYLON THE GREAT, THE MOTHER OF PROSTITUTES AND OF THE ABOMINATIONS OF THE EARTH.

I could see that the woman was drunk with the blood of the saints and witnesses for Jesus. And I was utterly amazed at the sight of her.

“Why are you so amazed?” said the angel. “I will tell you the mystery of the woman and of the beast that carries her, which has the seven heads and ten horns.

The beast that you saw—it was, and now is no more, but is about to come up out of the Abyss and go to its destruction. And those who dwell on the earth whose names were not written in the Book of Life from the foundation of the world will marvel when they see the beast that was, and is not, and yet will be.

This calls for a mind with wisdom. The seven heads are seven mountains on which the woman sits. There are also seven kings. Five have fallen, one is, and the other has not yet come; but when he does come, he must remain for only a little while.

The beast that was, and now is not, is an eighth king, who belongs to the other seven and is going into destruction. The ten horns you saw are ten kings who have not yet received a kingdom, but will receive one hour of authority as kings, along with the beast. These kings have one purpose: to yield their power and authority to the beast.

They will make war against the Lamb, and the Lamb will triumph over them, because He is Lord of lords and King of kings; and He will be accompanied by His called and chosen and faithful ones.”

Then the angel said to me, “The waters you saw, where the prostitute was seated, are peoples and multitudes and nations and tongues. And the ten horns and the beast that you saw will hate the prostitute. They will leave her desolate and naked, and will eat her flesh and burn her with fire. For God has put it into their hearts to carry out His purpose by uniting to give their kingdom to the beast, until the words of God are fulfilled. And the woman you saw is the great city that rules over the kings of the earth.” — Revelation 17 | The Reader’s Bible (BRB) The Reader’s Bible © 2020 by Bible Hub and Berean.Bible. All rights Reserved. Cross References: Deuteronomy 10:17; Psalm 69:28; Isaiah 1:21; Isaiah 8:7; Jeremiah 2:20; Jeremiah 47:2; Jeremiah 51:7; Ezekiel 16:37; Ezekiel 16:39; Ezekiel 28:13; Daniel 7:3; Daniel 7:24; Daniel 7:26; Nahum 3:4; Matthew 27:28; John 2:10; 2 Corinthians 8:16; 2 Thessalonians 2:7; Revelation 1:10; Revelation 1:20; Revelation 2:13; Revelation 10:7; Revelation 10:11; Revelation 11:18; Revelation 12:3; Revelation 13:3; Revelation 13:10; Revelation 13:18; Revelation 16:6; Revelation 16:19; Revelation 18:1

[cruger2984]

THE DESCRIPTION OF SAINT HELENA OF CONSTANTINOPLE Feast Day: August 18

St. Helena was the mother of Constantine the Great, and according to the sixth-century historian Procopius, she was born around AD 248 in Drepanum, which today is located in modern Turkey. Her full name became Flavia Julia Helena Augusta.

She married Constantius Chlorus, who would later become co-Regent of the Western part of the Roman Empire, but in order for that to happen, he had to divorce Helena after twenty-two years of marriage and marry Theodora, the step-daughter of the Emperor Maximinianus.

After the divorce, Helena and her son were dispatched to the court of Emperor Diocletian at Nicomedia where Constantine grew to be a member of the inner circle. Her son remained faithful to her, and following the death of Constantius Chlorus, Constantine succeeded him.

After he became emperor, he summoned his mother to the imperial court and conferred on her the title of Augusta, a Roman imperial honorific title given to empresses and honored women of the imperial families. Augustae could issue their own coinage, wear imperial regalia, and rule their own courts.

Constantine ordered that all honor should be paid to her as the mother of the sovereign, and he had coins struck bearing her effigy. Some of the earliest coins were minted in Nicomedia.

She embraced Christianity following her son’s victory over Maxentius, and, according to Eusebius, she 'became a devout servant of God,' and her influence helped Christianity spread throughout the empire.

She had churches built over the sacred spots in Palestine, and at an advanced age, she undertook a journey to Palestine in the year AD 324, once her son had become the sole emperor of the Roman Empire.

During this journey, she had two special churches constructed, one in Bethlehem, near the Grotto of the Nativity, and the other on the Mount of the Ascension. She had great concern for the poor, financially assisting both individuals and entire communities. It was during this time that a legend, first recorded by Rufinus, began circulating about how she had 'found' the true cross.

There are several versions concerning how the cross was found. In some, Helena has a dream telling her where the cross is buried. In another tradition, the Ethiopian Coptic tradition still celebrated as Mesquel, she followed smoke from a bonfire to the site.

However, in the version that received the most circulation and became popular in the Middle Ages, she asks the people of Jerusalem to tell her the location. When the Jewish leaders of the city are silent, she places one of them, a man named Judas, in a well until he agrees to show her the site. After seven days, he prays to God for guidance and is told to reveal the location to her. Afterwards, Judas converts to Christianity and takes the name Kyriakis, 'he who belongs to the Lord.'

Helena finds three crosses, nails, and the titulus (title) under a pagan temple. To determine which is the right cross, a deathly sick girl was brought to the site. She was touched by all three crosses, but upon being touched by the True Cross, she was restored to health.

St. Helena lived in a lavish house near the Lateran, and a pious tradition associates her with the founding of what would become the Vatican Gardens because, on that site, she spread earth brought from Golgotha to symbolically unite the blood of Jesus with that shed by thousands of early Christians who died under Nero. After her death, her residence was demolished, and the Church of the Holy Cross was built on that site. On November 8, 324, she received the title Augusta, and in AD 327, Constantine changed the name of his mother’s hometown to Helanopolis. She was about eighty-two when she died on August 18, 330, with her son at her side, and her body was brought to Constantinople and laid to rest in the imperial vault of the Church of the Apostles.

She was buried in the Mausoleum of Helena, outside Rome on the Via Labicana. Her sarcophagus is on display in the Pio-Clementine Vatican Museum. Next to her is the sarcophagus of her granddaughter Saint Constantina (Saint Constance).

Her skull is displayed in the Cathedral of Trier, in Germany. As the Muslims began advancing, her body was transferred to the Abbey of Hautvillers in Reims, France in AD 849.

St. Helena is the patron saint of difficult marriages, divorced people, converts, and archaeologists.

Source: Church of St. Helena's - The Bronx, New York

[deadinarussianelevator]

Okay, I will go ahead and say this, and then save some of my other analysis for later when I actually have time to sit down and write more... but I personally do not think the wafer placement on the forehead was an accident.

In Scripture you have two marks of ownership:

The "mark of the beast":

"Also it causes all, both small and great, both rich and poor, both free and slave, to be marked on the right hand or the forehead, so that no one can buy or sell unless he has the mark, that is, the name of the beast or the number of its name. This calls for wisdom: let the one who has understanding calculate the number of the beast, for it is the number of a man, and his number is 666.

(Re 13:16–18), ESV.

BUT ALSO the Seal of the Holy Spirit:

In him you also, when you heard the word of truth, the gospel of your salvation, and believed in him, were sealed with the promised Holy Spirit, who is the guarantee of our inheritance until we acquire possession of it, to the praise of his glory.

(Eph 1:13–14), ESV

Important note #1: you cannot accidentally accept the mark of the beast. Those who have the mark willingly accept it. Therefore, while Mina was forced Dracula's blood and it does have an effect on her, it will not have a bearing on her being claimed or marked for Dracula/the curse of vampirism.

Important note #2: The seal specifically being on the forehead (in Scripture) conveys an idea of ownership.

Therefore I posit that by placing the communion wafer on Mina's forehead and it burning her to give a mark, results in a seal of belonging to God for Mina, and is not a mark of her condemnation. Regardless of whether she suffers from here on out, or if she gets hypnotized or is temporarily under the influence of Dracula, or even begins a transformation, she will come out of this uncondemned and uncursed because the mark made by the wafer - Jesus's flesh (either symbolic or transubstantiated that's not the point) - has marked her for Victory in God. We know that Dracula will not win Mina's soul, because she has been sealed.

[womanwarriorofgodww59]

`1 Corinthians 15:57 (KJV) But thanks be to God, which giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.

Victory belongs to Jesus Christ. As Christians, we can be totally confident, no matter what we face, because we know all things will work out as a result of us being in Christ. For as long as we stick to His guidance, all will be well with us.

Dear God, I am grateful as I think of the great assurance I have as your child. It is because of you, and your Son, Jesus Christ, that I can be confident about my life. I live a life of victory because I am yours. In Jesus' name, I pray. Amen. ☆

[hiswordsarekisses]

“You can feel the heavy breathing.

They faced each other in the arena.

One fell hard against the ropes.

The stench of fight surrounded the wrapped hands and girded waists.

But really, it feels like there’s no protection.

You’re just a standing out in the open

in the heat of the……submission.

But this.

This is meeting a fist to face in the

middle of a jungle. A warrior where you think you might die. Either that or you

are going to wish you were dead.

This is how it will feel!

God met Jacob this way in prayer.

Jacob’s hip was broken, though he

prevailed in the battle.

Remember Job?

Job knew this confrontation, and the

end of his life was blessed, more than

the beginning!

For those of us who love to see God

as all pretty and butterflies full,

this verse might throw us.

It’s just another dimension of our God,

but oh how foreign it may seem.

Not in feeling, but surely in processing.

The God who allows us to be broken

from wound to wound, that we might

be the strong, the unyielding, the victor,

against the Adversary.

You will feel there is one hit after another. There is no place to hide.

It must be faced. Again. Then again.

It hurts like you won’t leave hurt.

These are real ‘Come to Jesus’ meets.

The God who feels like He comes at

us as a fierce warrior, is the same God,

who seeing us afar off, weeps with us.

He stands alongside of us.

He fights with us…..for us.

He is the God who bowed in surrender

on a cross, to triumph over death,

to crush the Adversary’s power, to be

our guarantee of eternal life.

This Prince of Peace, Jehovah Nissi,

the sweet Rose of Sharon, is the same

God as the God of War, who tells us

He teaches our hands to war, our

fingers to be skillful in battle!

He renews the mind, rights the spirit, cleanses the heart to use us for the war.

The same God who is a Good Shepherd, an everlasting Father, our wonderful Counselor.

There are so many dimensions to God!

Do not miss this one.

This one we often hide, because we don’t like the feel of a confronting God.

Or worse, being confronted by God.

But Job and Jacob and others will tell you, they have felt this God.

If there is no binding up of the wounding,

if there is only accusations and oppression, fear and degradation, confusion and there’s no sense to it,

it belongs to the Adversary.

If, after a season, there is a clarity, a deeper intimacy with God, a greater transforming in the character, a new strength beyond your own, then you have been with the

God and He will be your balm in Gilead.

Do not fear the times God is training

you to be a fierce and savage warrior.

He is doing so because He knows

your Adversary and He loves you.

He only breaks us and blesses us in the breaking, so that we know our worth in Him, our usefulness in Him.

This is different than when we sin

and we know the authority of chastising.

This is when He is specifically training us for the war at hand.

He knows the fight from beginning to end. He sees the victories where you see the losses. From wound to wound,

He stands, and love is still in His hand.

Do not lose heart.

Your Father is near.”

~AnnStewartPorter