#cancer bullshit tag.

[irishais]

Hello, friends! I have, per friends' request, created a GoFundMe for my Stupid Cancer Bills. At this point, I am just desperately trying to keep my head above water!

Venmo/cashapp are @irishais, and here's my PayPal.me if that's preferred.

If people could reblog and share this, that would be deeply appreciated.

[iliveinprocrasti-nationn]

in radiology ✌️ day 1/3 of treatment shit. official radioactive quarantine (and potential spiderman transformation) start day 3

[consciousexe]

intersex deadpool headcanons where are you

[redjennies]

my favorite thing about being into astrology is liking signs everyone hates (leos, geminis, caps) and talking mad shit on signs people like (aquariums, pisces, cancers).

[foreverxdaydreaming]

if you know any of these, i respect you and your taste dearly... but also, how hard is that nostalgia hitting you rn? pretty bittersweet, eh?

[melancholicscoundrel]

Super fucking duperrrr that the lump I got checked out 4 years ago has grown so much that I can’t even ignore it anymore. And the lump that got cut out last year was on my other boob. I was fortunate enough to have it close enough to my nipple that the incision was made around the areola but this older lump?? Not even close to my nip. I’m gonna have a huge obvious scar right there on the side of my other tit can you believe???? Nip scar on one tit, side scar on other tit. I have a body.

[thefallennightmare]

Just Pretend-Twenty Seven

*gif created by me. feel free to use, simply give credit*

Parings: Noah Sebastian x Musician! Reader

Warnings/Tropes: language, angst, fluff, smut, star-crossed lovers, right person/wrong time, cheating, talks of mental abuse, talks of death, depressive thoughts.

Summary: “I can wait for years, heaven knows I’m not getting over you.” A story about two star-crossed lovers, that always find their way back because their souls are entwined. The universe desperately attempts to bring them together, no matter what the cost.

Authors Note: I apologize for the trauma I will cause with this chapter. But I promise that it's meant to happen this way. The light might be flickering now but soon, it will shine brighter than ever.

Also, I know I teased sweet, sweet, smut, but time got away from me so I will save it for the next chapter! Tumblr is being stupid and only allowing me to tag 50 people on a post so I might have to take some of these tags and add them in a comment, so if for some reason you don't see your tag, don't fret! It is added in the comments. As always, enjoy my loves, and thank you for sticking with me!

Tags[CLOSED]: @blueskylinesx @missduffsblog @hayleylatour @sleepyomens @loeytuan98 @artificialbreezy @marvelousmal @bngurngheart @lma1986 @dsireland86 @wild-child-7747 @calleyx13 @illmakeyousaywow @jaded-and-hollow-souls @exitwoundsx @shayzillaaaa @badomensls @princesspeach-00 @shadowseve @collective-heartbreak @klutzy-kay24 @sorrowsofsilence @sweetlittlekitsune @shilohrosechicken @itsafullmoon @toospooktocute @niicoleleigh @thatchickwiththecamera @hoe-for-daddywise @whenthesummerdies @cookiesupplier @concreteemo @thisbicc @sammyjoeee @joe9cool @ozwriterchick @teenblues @malice-ov-mercy @krisslee18 @xxkittenkissesxx @happi-goth @embracethereaper42 @softvgold @cncohshit @heyyoplayer @rain-down-on-me @bloody-delusion-expert @respectfulrebel @reader13000 @koskeepsake @malerieee @cheyyyyr @myownthoughts12 @noahsbong @laurpartyprogram @cloudykoookie @jessiskyee @a1ex-ba1ex @sideeyenoah @emzandthevoid @badomensls @bellaboo967 @waake-mee-up @rxdlstgn @anthemheatwave @lobolocaamo @cncohshit @amelia-acero @karenfranco @collidewiththesavannah @xserenax-13 @bleachampion @thepastelfae @supersquirrel1996 @madomens @themodern-daywednesday @oxythoughtin7715

READER

People once believed that when someone dies, a crow carries their soul to the land of the dead.

That’s complete bullshit. 

The noise around me was muted, and uninteresting, as my eyes stared daggers into the burial plot at my feet. It was all wrong, everything about this day was wrong. This entire moment was a facade of what people always believed happened after death. My dad wasn’t up in the sky watching me with a proud smile on his face. 

His body was in the ground beneath my feet. 

There was an empty hole in my heart, caving in with every pathetic attempt from the ones around in an effort to comfort me. It was a feign response due to what happened. No one here knew me or my father. Some of these people I hadn’t seen in years while the others I never met, acquaintances of my father’s while he lived here in Japan. They were compelled by the crosses on their necks because they were worried about what came next for them. They were all liars. 

My dad included. 

He lied to me for over a year. He hid his cancer from everyone. He suffered in silence and in pain. 

Did I not matter to him? Was I not important enough for him to tell me the truth? Did he even love me?

When I arrived in Japan four days ago, Noah and I immediately went to the hospital where my dad died to speak with the doctors. According to them, my dad had been diagnosed with lung cancer almost two years ago but they were hopeful because they caught it early on. He even beat it with rigorous treatments and was feeling good; alive. 

Yet, five weeks ago the cancer came back, more aggressive than before and this time my dad opted out of treatments. He told his doctors he was done fighting and wanted to go naturally. He had all of his funeral plans already set in motion, casket and all.

The real kicker about my dad’s cancer? He never smoked a day in his life and he was one of the healthiest persons I know. 

You knew. 

When the hospital first told me what happened, I didn’t believe them. There was no way my father was sick and didn’t tell me. I was in a state of denial for hours after the news, I sat in the hospital waiting room for my dad to walk through those doors to tell me everything was alright and it was just a normal check up. 

Noah had to force me out of the chair after three hours of waiting for a ghost. 

“Y/N, he’s not coming back,” Noah’s eyes shined with his tears as he lifted me up from my seated position. “I’m sorry, angel. But we can’t keep sitting here.”

I choked on a breath causing Noah to turn his head towards me but I refused to meet his gaze knowing that if I did, all of my strong reserve would crumble the second I drank in those almond eyes. Instead, I burned all of my hate down at the open grave, desperately wishing the dirt would cover the oak box that was six feet deep. He cheated death before but now it was real.

My dad was buried in a box because the cancer couldn’t stop. 

“Would his daughter like to say a few words?” 

Noah shifted beside me, the softest of breezes we felt for the first time all afternoon blowing through his unkempt hair and through the muted feeling coursing through me, I felt his fingers link with mine. 

“We can keep going,” he answered for me. 

I didn’t say a word all morning while getting ready for my dad’s funeral. I was in a catatonic state of numbness in a way to mentally prepare myself. It wasn’t until Noah and I were sitting in the rental car outside of the cemetery as we waited for the funeral home to arrive with my dad’s body that I finally spoke. 

“Please don’t make me say anything today. He won’t be able to hear me,” I kept my eyes trained hard outside of the window, not bothering to glance towards Noah who sat in the driver's seat. 

His tattooed fingers wrapped around my wrist. “Whatever you want, angel.”

As the funeral continued on, I felt Noah’s strong arms wrap around my shoulder and pulled me into his warm chest. The dress I wore did nothing to keep the warmth inside of me with the short sleeves even after Noah asked me three times before we left this morning if I wanted a jacket. 

“Please take all the time you need to say your goodbyes,” the man from the funeral home said. “Miss. Y/L/N, is there somewhere you would like everyone to meet you for the wake?” 

Right, the wake. Another name for an after party where you’re supposed to celebrate the life the deceased lived. 

Or as I called it, another bullshit reason for people to act like they knew my dad. 

Chase, who stood on the other side of me, cleared his throat. “Feel free to head on home after this. We decided not to have a wake.”

A round of gasps rose from the group of people standing around the now filling grave. “Dear, you need to have a wake! It’s what your father would want!” 

My head snapped up towards the older woman who hid beneath an excessively large hat. I think she was in one of my fathers book clubs. Through the bloodshot eyes, I sliced her in half with my gaze and my throat burned as I tried not to cry.

“You have no idea what my dad would have wanted,” I snapped. 

Noah hushed me by dragging his lips into my hairline and running a hand up and down my arm. 

“It’s alright, angel. Just breathe.”

Malcolm gave an apologetic smile to everyone before bidding them all a goodbye with a curt nod. Slowly, everyone who didn’t matter dispersed and I was left with the ones that did. 

Noah continued to hold me to his chest as the sobs began to fall through my lips, and I grasped onto his jacket to find some sort of anchor. 

Chase and Malcolm solemnly stood on my right with their hands deep in their pockets. Besides me, they were the only other ones here that actually knew my dad. He loved Chase and Malcolm like they were his own sons so I knew they were hurting deep down as well. 

Jesse, Matt, Faye, and Michael all stood on the other end of the grave. I could feel their looks of sorrow as it bounced from the filled grave back to me. 

Jolly, Astrid, Folio, and Nicholas were behind me, closing ranks almost in a way to shield me from any other bad thing that threatened my life. 

Since it was so last minute, some of the rest of the crew couldn’t fly out but I didn’t hold it against them. It was unknown how long we would be here for so between Tay, Bryan, and Davis they all offered to take turns with watching Salem. 

“Can heaven fall to earth?” I cried into Noah’s shirt. “I want to feel it come down. I need him.” 

Noah let out a shaky breath, resting his chin on top of my head as he rocked me slowly. He didn’t say anything for a long moment, just let me stain his shirt with my tears, and it wasn’t until I saw Chase’s striking blue eyes that I realized the sun had set and the moon was starting to crest over the hills, gray lights breaking through the cherry blossom trees. 

“I don’t want to rush you, sweets,” he gave me a somber smile. “But I think they’re going to close the gates soon.” 

Blinking rapidly, I looked around at all my friends; my family. They dropped everything to be here for me and most of them never met my dad. However my heart was too broken to care. At that moment, I wanted to be alone with my dad. I didn’t even want Noah. I tried to push him away the first few days but he refused, he wouldn’t let me be alone during this.

While everyone went back to their hotel rooms, we would be going back to my dad’s house again. His scent still lingered in the aged walls and I swore the first few nights we slept in the guest room, I could hear his footsteps in the hallway. I expected to see him sitting in the old and faded green reading chair in the corner of the living room with either a book or the paper in his lap. Instead I woke up to an empty house. 

Well, almost empty. 

“Did you want a few minutes alone?” Noah asked. 

Finally looking up at him through the tears, I shook my head. “Can we please go back?” 

His face was contorted with his own pain yet still managed to give me that smile I loved. “Anything you want, angel.”

While they all conversed about possibly meeting up for breakfast in the morning, my mind was elsewhere. All of my thoughts were in the dark recesses of my mind and I let them take me further and further. I didn’t want to find a way out. 

I wanted to be with my dad. 

With Noah’s gentle tug on my shoulder, I let him lead me back towards the rental car, still in a state of dissociation. I didn’t even realize he helped me into the seat, buckled my seat belt, and drove off from the cemetery until we were minutes away from my dads place. 

“Y/N?” 

Feeling like it weighed like a bag of rocks, I raised my head up from staring at my dry knuckles and over towards the concerning eyes of Noah. 

“Hm?” 

Words couldn’t even form on my tongue. I was too far deep in my grief and the idea of talking was too much of a task.

“Are you hungry? I can stop by that ramen place, if you want.”

Noah flicked his eyes back on the road as he sat straight up against the seat but I knew with the way his jaw ticked, something was weighing heavily on him. It wasn't a secret that he was keeping how he felt with everything to himself and the little voice inside my brain was screaming at me to talk with him, work out how both of us were feeling. 

Instead, I gave him a very weak shrug before turning to look out the window, the scenery whipping past us. It was all a blur of colors, unimaginative and unappealing. When we arrived back to my dad’s place, I barely gave Noah a smile as he opened the door for me and when I stepped into the darkness of the somewhat empty home, I made a beeline towards the guest bedroom on the far end of the hallway, not bothering to look at the envelope with my name on it on the kitchen counter or the 10lbs fluff ball that happily wagged its tail at my feet when he saw us. 

Like I’d done the last four days, I locked myself inside of the guest room and buried myself underneath the mounds of blankets. There was a lot of work to get done with packing up my dad’s place but it didn’t matter to me. Nothing mattered anymore. The only thing that did was rotting in the earth's soil. 

NOAH

"Angel?" I called out into the cold darkness. 

Stepping into the now familiar house, I shook the chilled rain from my jacket and hung it up on the hook next to the door. The aged wood of the floor creaked beneath my feet as I padded across it, after kicking off my shoes. There was a faint glow emanating from the lamp in the living room, casting my surroundings in a muted yellow as I set down the takeout bag on the counter. 

Not like she would eat. She hasn't eaten anything in days.

The two envelopes had sat in the same spot on the kitchen counter since we first arrived eight days ago; untouched. One with Y/N’s name and one with mine. She refused to touch it or even look at it because she knew what it was. 

A letter from her dad. 

I didn’t force her to read it knowing she needed the time to accept everything beforehand. Yet deep down, I was so afraid that the walls Y/N had made in her mind had locked her in. We weren’t okay but for now, I needed to try my best to just pretend.

Jingling tags caught my attention and I bent low at the knees just as Kuma met me halfway. He was Y/N’s dad’s three month old Akita puppy. From when he died to when we arrived three days later, one of his friends had been taking care of the dog but I offered to take over in Kuma’s care. 

Y/N wanted nothing to do with him. 

“We’ll take him to the shelter before we leave.”

“Hey bud,” I smiled while scratching behind his ears. “Did you get dinner yet?” 

Kuma let out a bark, quiet and squeaky, and he shook out his fur. He was all black with a white spot around one eye and on one paw. 

After filling up his bowl with food and water, I brushed my hands on the back of my dress slacks and let out a long breath. Earlier today, Y/N had a meeting with some lawyers to figure out her dad’s estate and what to do with the rest of his money. It was stated in his will that she had the final say on what to do with his things and that she was entitled to all of his savings. Y/N was never hurting financially since Hollow Souls was thriving but now with the extra money, she’d be able to live comfortably without worry. Thankfully in the divorce, it was made clear that her mom would not get a cent of her dads money when he passed. 

Y/N had yet to decide what she wanted to do with all of her fathers things. As soon as we both arrived back earlier, she yet again locked herself in the guest room. 

The house, while it was unfamiliar at first, I knew that the bones of the structure told a story; one of a man that loved his daughter very much and wished he was able to say goodbye. My socks slid against the floor as I followed the soft tune of music from the guest bedroom, passing the one room that had remained shut since we arrived a week ago; her refusing to open it. 

Her dad’s bedroom.

"Y/N?" I tried again, hoping now that I was closer to the bedroom she'd be able to hear me. "I brought some ramen from the place down the road. Your favorite."

The only thing I heard was the same tune of music, louder now. 

"I'm sorry I can't get out of bed. I'm sorry that my head’s always a mess." 

Joe. His song, I’m sorry. I’m trying, was one of her favorites. 

Y/N had been playing the same nothing, nowhere song the entire afternoon, drowning in his melodies when I left her earlier after our disagreement. I knew she wasn't in the right headspace with what she tried so I couldn't hold it against her. But there was no way I could do what she asked. 

Not now. 

"Noah, please," her hands reached for my shirt, trying to pry it away from my skin. "I just need five minutes."

"Y/N," I tenderly held onto her wrists, halting her. "You're not in the right mind for this." 

She wrenched her hands from my grip and knelt on the bed, grasping the waistband of my dress pants, and began pulling them down. I fought against her as her hand slipped between my briefs and took a hold of my cock, squeezing it. 

"Make me forget this pain, Noah. Please."

Y/N attacked my lips with hers and for a brief moment, I sunk into the way she felt against me, her fingers gathering the precum from my cock, smearing it over the head. I shook in her touch as my mouth moved against hers. It had been so long since we were intimate, almost two weeks, and my soul had yearned for hers wanting to feel complete again. 

But I knew this wasn't the right time. She was using me as an outlet for the pain she hid behind the smile on her face.  

"This isn't right, angel," I gently pushed her away but kept a hold on her face. "I won't take advantage of you when you're like this." 

Bloodshot and broken eyes stared up at me, soulless and lifeless, before she pushed me away to burrow herself under the covers again; where she'd been every day since the funeral.

Knocking on the open door, I peered inside expecting to see Y/N lying in bed where I left her but my heart stalled in my chest at the sight. The world came to a standstill as every single one of my senses was on high alert, panicked eyes dragging across every inch of empty space. 

Shattered glass spilled onto the floor from the trail that began in the adjacent bathroom and that was when I noticed the mirror had been broken. I did my best to tiptoe around the shards as I peered into the shower, hoping to see Y/N. 

“Angel?” My voice shook with fear, wondering what the hell happened in the twenty minutes I was gone. 

Running a frantic hand through my soaked hair from the earlier rain, I scanned the room once more and made the decision to go search the rest of the house when I froze. Choking on a breath, I gingerly reached for a piece of paper stained with blood that lay on the torn up bed. It was from Y/N’s lyric journal. I only knew that because of the older writings from You and I. 

Yet, it was the fresh ink that made my heart drop to the depths of my stomach, the sound of crinkling paper overpowering the music in the desolate room. 

I’m sorry. I can’t keep trying. 

JESSE

“What is going on?” I asked while pushing through the already open door, Michael following close behind.

Malcolm was trying his best to calm an erratic Noah, who wouldn’t stop pacing the room, drowning in the rainwater that clung to his shivering body. Chase was sitting on the couch with a relaxed Kuma laying in lap, while he was not. He had his phone pressed to his ear only to curse before redialling a number. 

“I have to get back out there!” 

Noah tried to push past Malcolm, only for him to shove him back. 

“Dude, look at you! You're soaked and shivering! It’s pouring outside, you need to dry off before you catch pneumonia,” Malcolm angrily threw his auburn curls up into a messy bun.

Noah’s eyes narrowed at him. “It’s Y/N! I need to find her!” 

About twenty minutes ago, Noah had called my phone in a frenzied state, rambling on about how Y/N is missing and he spent the last hour out in the rain looking for her. While everyone else had flown back home a few days ago, me, Michael, Chase and Malcolm hung back just in case Noah or Y/N needed anything. 

Suddenly, I was very thankful we did. 

“You tried, Noah! You were out in the rain for an hour. Chase had to drag you back inside,” Malcolm’s voice was raised but not nearly as high as Noah’s. 

“Fuck you!” Noah cursed, finally brushing past Malcolm, only to be stopped by Michale and I as we made a barrier in front of the door. 

I crossed my arms over my chest and shook my head. 

“You’re not going anywhere until you tell me what the hell is going on,” I said as calmly as I could. 

I’d known Noah for years, lived with him just as long, and I also knew that the only way to reason with his stubbornness was with your own calm stubbornness. 

He tried to break through our barrier but Michael laid a firm hand on his chest, stopping him. 

“Y/N’s gone!” Noah exasperated while throwing a hand in the direction of the door. “There’s broken glass in the bedroom and she left me a note. I have to find her!”

I’d never seen him in this kind of state. His hair was a wild mess, even from the rain. His eyes were wild and bloodshot, showing he’d been crying. His lips were blue from how cold he was. But worst of all was the look of pure failure on his face. 

“You didn’t fail her, Noah,” I sighed while dropping my arms. 

He blinked. “I-I-fuck!” 

Michael stepped forward and rested two hands on Noah’s shoulders. “Look at me.” 

When he refused, Michael gripped Noah’s chin, forcing him. 

“You. Did. Not. Fail. Her.” Michael blew out his own shaky breath, it was killing both of us to see our friend like this. 

So broken. 

So defeated. 

I rarely ever saw Noah like this, the only times I knew of him having a panic attack, it was always Nicholas there to help him through it. But now, it was us. 

He let out an unsettling sob before he fell to his knees, letting out an earth shattering scream. All four of us watched him for a moment, allowing him to release the pent up frustration and anger he felt from the past week. Noah had held it together for Y/N, being there to catch her when she fell from her dad’s death, whereas no one had been there for him. He’d found himself in a deep hell and now, he woke up screaming with the realization that all he’d done to protect Y/N was for not. 

Noah was on his knees, body shivering from the chilled rain and now his cries, so I tentatively knelt in front of him. 

“Come on,” I spoke gingerly while placing my hands underneath his arms, ready to hoist him up. 

“She left me,” he sobbed, grabbing a hold of my shirt and was met with eyes filled with heartache. “She fucking left me. Again!”

Glancing over to Malcolm with narrowed eyes from underneath my hat, I waited for him to give me some sort of indication that Y/N had in fact not left Noah in that way; all she needed was some time to herself. 

Malcolm shared a look with Chase, who in turn shook his head. “She wouldn’t leave him. We all know that.” 

But I didn’t miss the hesitation in his voice.

“There’s this fucking hole in my heart, Jesse!” Noah pounded his chest. “It’s that stupid shit Jolly always talked about, the soulmate crap. Y/N feels so far away and my soul is crying for her. It needs to find her because it can’t survive without her. After everything we’ve gone through, she still fucking left me. Why did she push me away? I was here for her, did she not realize that? I’d give up everything for her. But she just threw it all away!”

Noah was rambling a bunch of nonsense now, we all knew that. He didn’t mean any of it. Y/N and Noah’s love was pure as a fresh flower bud, trying to push through the heavy soil that dampred its growth. But once their souls find each other again, their love will be able to break through and flourish. 

Like it always did. 

“Come on,” I repeated again, this time now bringing Noah to his feet, albeit his head still hung low. “This is what you’re going-Noah, look at me.”

Reluctantly, he lifted his head. 

“You’re going to take a shower, try to eat something, and sit your ass on that couch. Snuggle up with Kuma. Write out your feelings. Play guitar. Mediate. Whatever fucking helps you calm down. Because when I find Y/N and bring her back, you need to have a clear head.”

Something flickered behind those dull eyes and I wiped away those lingering tears. 

“I promise you. I will find her and bring her back, alright?” 

When Noah didn’t say anything, I tapped his cheek with my hand causing him to grumble a few curses under his breath. 

“You didn’t have to smack me, asshole,” he rubbed at his face with the smallest of smiles. 

Feeling the grip of anxiety loosen a bit, I let out a long breath and nodded. Trying to pull Noah out of this current state wasn’t helping my own anxiety but I tried my best to not slip into that familiar feeling of dread. Noah needed all of us to be strong. 

“Micheal and I will go out to look for Y/N. You stay here with Chase and Malcolm, in case she comes back. 

As we took two steps towards the front door, Malcolm stopped me with a grip on my elbow, stopping me. Chase was keeping Noah preoccupied by forcing him to snuggle with Kuma. There was an immense fear clouding his emerald eyes as he ran a hand over his face. 

“Do you have any idea where to start?” He asked. 

I zipped up my jacket with a sigh. “Not a fucking clue. Her dad’s grave is too far on foot. The rental car is still here. Unless she took a cab.”

“There’s one place no one knows about, besides me,” Malcolm admitted while shifting on his feet. 

Michael slinked up beside me. “You’re just saying this now?!” 

I placed a hand on his chest, feeling his anger radiate into the air around us. We all were doing our best to remain in control but deep down, we were afraid for Y/N. 

“I didn’t think of it until now,” Malcolm sucked in a breath while averting his gaze for a few beats before locking it with mine. “There’s this garden about two blocks from here. Y/N and her dad went every morning when we were here last. It was where she had that conversation with her dad about Noah. Where he told her to go for it.”

With a reassuring squeeze on his shoulder, Michael and I quickly left the house and into the rain towards the car. Following Malcolm’s instructions, Michael drove towards the garden and as we pulled up to an empty lot, I did my best to look through the windshield while the sky opened up with even more rain. 

“Shit. We’re going to have probably split up to find her. This place is huge,” Michael noted. 

Suddenly, I remembered something from the one Hollow Souls live streams Noah and I watched together years ago. A fan asked her where she liked to go when she needed time to think.

"Oh, that's easy," she answered with zero hesitation. "The rooftop of the venue we’re playing or the rooftop of my apartment. I love looking out at the vastness of the city almost like I'm Zeus staring down at all the other DemiGods."

“You stay in the car, make sure it’s warm. I have an idea where she’d be,” I said before leaving the car and gazed through the onslaught of the current storm. 

Thunder shook my bones as I ran through the garden looking for any kind of rooftop that Y/N could be sitting on. Minutes whizzed by as I stood there shivering, ready to give up hope, I saw the smallest of movements in the quick break of rain. There, less than ten feet in front of me, was Y/N sitting on top of a pergola with her knees pulled to her chest. 

“How the hell did she get up there?” I muttered to myself before taking off my hat to shake out the water from my curls. 

With a grunt, I willed my body up the scaffolding of the pergola and nearly slipped with how wet it was. 

This has to be illegal, right? Am I going to get thrown in jail for this? Is this disrespectful? Oh man, I’m going to get haunted by some kind of ghost. 

My knees shook when I stood to full height on the roof just as the storm started again. 

“Y/N!” I yelled over the thunder. 

Her head whipped up from being buried in her hands and the sight before me shattered me. Her eyes were red and puffy, her lips blue from the outside chill, and worst of all was the look that mirrored Noah’s. 

Failure. 

“J-Jesse?” She choked on her words. “Wha-? How did you find me?” 

I extended a hand towards her. “Come on, let’s get you somewhere warm and dry.” 

Y/N frantically shook her hair, the wet strands of hair sticking to her face. “I can’t go back there, please don’t make me. I-I-can’t.”

Quickly, I had her in my arms as I sat next to her, feeling her body trembling against me; not sure if it was from the rain or the sobs that controlled her. Even though we were drenched, neither of us moved. 

“Sweetheart,” I cooed in her ear. “It’s alright.” 

Y/N latched onto me. “N-no, it’s not. Everything is so fucked up! My dad is buried in the ground and it’s all my fault.”

This time, I forced those broken eyes to look at me. 

“How is his death your fault, Y/N?” 

“He’d been calling me for weeks,” her bottom lip trembled. “Weeks! I ignored him because I was too caught up in my life and didn’t want to disturb it.” 

“Disturb it, how?” My brows furrowed. 

Droplets of rain fell from the rim of my hat, splashing down onto her lap along with her tears. 

“I was caught up in the bliss of everything; Noah, Hollow Souls, just life in general. I was afraid that he’d bring the same drama my mom had. All I wanted was to keep the bubble around me, protecting me from it all,” she cast her eyes down, ashamed. 

I brought her closer to me when I felt her shivering more now and rested my chin on top of her head. 

“Your dad has never been that way, sweetheart. You know that,” I reminded her. 

She wiped her nose against my shirt but I couldn’t be bothered. 

“I think deep down I knew something was wrong with him. The cough he had lasted way too long but I kept telling him to get it checked out. I thought he was ignoring me. So I guess I got tired of pushing something on him when he didn’t want it. Subconsciously, I began pushing myself away hoping he’d realize how upset I was with him not getting himself checked out, when in reality-.”

Her words trailed off, unable to finish, but she didn’t have too. I knew what Y/N was going to say. 

“He fought for his life as long as he could, sweetheart. I promise you that he never meant to leave you like this,” I assured her.

“Why did he have to die? My dad left me broken and alone with a long life,” her voice was muffled against my chest. 

I rubbed circles against her back, feeling the indents of bones against my palm and it was then I realized how drastically her dad’s death affected her. Noah mentioned that Y/N stopped eating days ago and with the dark circles under her eyes, it was evident she hadn’t been sleeping either. Shew was skin and bones, starved for the light of the everglow.

“I miss him so much, Jesse. I want him back with me. I went to his grave first to scream at him for leaving me like this. Digging in the dirt hoping he would resurface. All of the light is gone, just darkness. My body is numb with coming undone. Why did it have to be him?” 

I lifted her legs so she could sit completely in my lap. “Your dad loved you so much, Y/N. I know you’re hurting right now and it’s going to take some time to get rid of that anger but it’s normal. I know you're tired now but you can't keep running because you’re terrified you won't see your dad on the other side. The only thing you have to remember is to not let that anger consume you and destroy everything good in your life. You cannot let it overcome the light.” 

She sniffled and nodded. “I know. I pushed away so many of you, ignoring everyone. Astrid has been texting me wondering how I am but I don’t know what to say because I just don’t understand how I should feel. Chase and Malcolm have tried to get me out of my dad’s house the last few days but I leave them on read because I’m so tired. It physically hurts me to move out of bed.”

The rain began to let up as Y/N took a deep breath, it was unsteady and broken. 

“Noah,” she cried. “Fuck. Noah. I kept pushing him away when all he has done is take care of me!” 

She pushed away from me with a start. “Oh my god, Jesse! I left him. I promised him I would never leave him like that again but I did! He must hate me, I can’t believe-.”

I gently cupped her cheeks, brushing away the tears, and she was cold to the touch, falling alone like snow. 

“Hey, stop. Noah does not hate you. He’s worried about you. He spent the last two hours out in the rain searching for you. If anything Y/N, you scared the shit out of him. But he doesn’t hate you.” 

Her shoulders fell. “I left behind such a mess. I can’t imagine what was going through his mind when he saw the glass in the bedroom.”

“What exactly happened?” I wondered. 

Y/N gnawed on her bottom lip, ripping away the dead skin. “I felt disgusted for what I tried to do to Noah. I almost forced him to take advantage of me because I needed to forget about this pain. How could I have done that?” 

I didn’t answer, simply let her continue on. “I found myself staring at my reflection with revulsion so I punched the mirror. It shattered everywhere and I sliced my hand pretty good.” 

Tenderly turning it over in my hand, I cringed when I saw the various cuts along her knuckles. Faintly, I could see dirt underneath her fingernails and my heart sank with the image of her digging at her fathers grave. The blood had been washed away from the rain but I knew that her hand needed to be bandaged up in case the wounds opened up again. 

“Sweetheart, you weren’t in the right headspace. Noah would never hold any of this against you. He loves you, he just wants you back safely with him.” 

Dull eyes stared up at me. “I owe him an apology.” 

“Why don’t we get you back to the house first, yeah?” I suggested just as the rain began to slow. 

Y/N didn’t say anything, only nodded, which was enough to raise her up with me just like I had done to Noah before. 

“Jesse?”

Her voice was meek as she reached for my arms, holding onto them with all her might. 

“Hm?” I hummed. 

Our gazes locked for a long beat and gradually the light that was Y/N began to shine through the clouds that blocked her mind. 

“I love you. Thank you for being here,” she wrapped her arms around me in a vice grip, nearly knocking me off my feet. 

With a quiet laugh, I kissed the top of her head in the way a brother would his little sister. 

“I love you too, kid.” 

Playfully, she pushed me away. “Kid? You’re only four years older than me.” 

With a shrug, I then helped her down the rooftop of the pergola and once we were back on solid ground, Michael came running up to us nearly knocking Y/N to the ground now when he wrapped his arms around her. 

“Don’t ever do that again, Y/N! You scared the shit out of everyone!” he chastised her once her feet were stable on the concrete again. 

She cupped his cheek. “I’m sorry. I never meant too. I was lost and needed to try and find myself.” 

Michael nodded in her embrace. “You’re like a sister to me, to all of us. When you’re hurting, we all are. We just want to make sure you’re alright.” 

“I know. I am now.” 

Tears pooled in her eyes before Michael wrapped her underneath his arm and began leading her back to the car, me following close behind. But upon closer inspection of Y/N, I noticed something peculiar. 

“Y/N?” I pulled them to a stop. “Where’s your shoe?” 

She pursed her lips as a red hue covered her cheeks and looked down at the foot that didn’t have a shoe covering it. “Oh, well-uh-I tripped while running from the cemetery to this garden and it fell down a sewer drain; along with my phone.”

Michael and I shared a look before we burst out into a fit of laughter, us doubling over. Y/N rested her hands on her hips with the hope to be upset with us finding the whole thing hilarious, until her own laughter filled the air thick with humidity due to the previous storm. 

With every precious laughter that emanated from Y/N, it was as if her soul was beginning to glow bright again. The light around her halo flickering back to life as the sun broke through the clouds; a sign from somewhere that everything would be alright.

NOAH

My mind was a mess of emotions, all leading me to think of the worst things of what happened to Y/N. Most of all, it demanded that I push past Chase who’d been guarding the door to find her myself. Jesse and Michael had been gone for quite some time, meaning they had yet to find her. I’d been so worried about her that I had yet to change out of my still soaked clothes that had barely dried, much to the dismay of Malcolm who continued to mutter under his breath that I was leaving puddles all over the floor.

It would be better if I went out there again. Maybe this time I could go a different route and-.

Suddenly the front door clicked open causing me and Kuma to pause our pacing of the floor and through the hazy vision of tears, I watched as Michael walked in, followed by Jesse who was holding a shivering Y/N against him. The sight of her like that stole all the air from my lungs as I let out a choked breath, the vice grip that was entangled around my heart from the moment I read the note finally began to loosen and we both stood there for a beat of silence, simply staring at one another. 

Kuma barked happily before trotting over to Y/N, pawing at her leg yet her eyes never left mine.

I swallowed the burn in my throat while blinking away the tears and then all at once, we both ran to each other and as soon as our souls connected, it felt like the earth shifted around us. All evening while she’d been gone, the earth was off its axis but now that Y/N was in my arms again, all was right in our universe. 

“Angel,” I brushed away the hair from her face. “Are you alright?” 

She nodded, her bottom lip caught between her teeth, and she slipped her shivering hands underneath my shirt to claw at the skin of my back. 

“I am so fucking sorry for walking out like that. We promised each other we wouldn’t, we would talk about things, but I broke that promise and I’m so sorry. I couldn’t keep trying, I felt like I was failing everyone, especially myself. I-I-couldn’t do it anymore.”

“It’s okay, angel. Just breathe. You don’t have anything to be sorry for. I’ve got you now. You’re back. You came back,” I assured her while cupping her cheeks. 

Those eyes I loved so much were wet with tears as her bottom lip trembled with her sobs. 

“I’ll always come back to you, Noah. Always,” she vowed with a graze of her lips across my jaw.

Reluctantly, I let her slip from my embrace to allow Chase and Malcolm to check her over while I brought Jesse and Michael in for a tight hug, thanking them for bringing her back to me. Soon, the four of them left, leaving Y/N and I alone with Kuma who continued to paw at her leg. 

“He was worried too,” I motioned to the dog. 

She bent low to her knees to scoop up Kuma, holding his warmth to her chest. “I’m sorry I scared you sweet baby. I’m sure Noah took good care of you.”

While she didn’t change her mind about taking the dog to the shelter once we leave, it still warmed my heart to see that she was now warming up to Kuma. 

Speaking of warming up.

“Let’s go take a shower before we both get sick,” I said while linking fingers with her to lead her to the bathroom. 

“I should clean up the glass,” she sighed as we stepped through the door of the bedroom but was shocked to see it already clean. 

“Chase,” I informed. “It helped him to keep his mind focused on something other than where you were.” 

She hummed while resting her chin on my bicep to gaze up at me. “I scared all of you, huh?” 

I brushed a kiss across her forehead. “All that matters is that you’re back, angel.”

While the shower warmed up, steam slowly filling up the small space, I helped Y/N out of her clothes as it clung to her like a second skin and she did the same for me. Her nails dragged over the tattoos on my chest, down my abdomen, over to my arms and I shivered under her caress. When I took a hold of her hands, I frowned seeing the dirt under her nails and the scabbed over cuts along her knuckles. 

Not saying a word, I placed my hands on her hips and brought her into the shower with me. The warm water immediately ease away the chill that hung to our bones as I switched out positions so Y/N was directly underneath the spray. Her head tilted back, exposing her neck to me, and she let out a soft moan; the noise causing my cock to twitch. I ignored the fire burning in my gut though to reach beside Y/N and grabbed her shampoo bottle. 

My fingers worked the shampoo through the dark strands of her hair, working out whatever knots she received from the rain. She hummed as I massaged her scalp and kept her hands low on my hips, bringing us closer together. The only sounds were the water running over our bodies, down to the drain beneath our feet, and her soft giggles as I dragged my fingers down over her neck. Reaching up now, I pulled the shower head off of its hook and tilted her head back a bit further so I could rinse all of the soap out of her hair. As the conditioner sat for a few minutes longer than the shampoo did, I quickly stepped out of the shower to rummage around in the drawers of the vanity, water droplets splashing to the tiled floor. 

“Mochi! You’re getting water all over the floor!” 

Ignoring her scolding, I stood back in the shower and held her hand in one of mine, the other with a grip on a pointed nail file. 

“Oh, a manicure?” She teased. 

Giving her a playful glare, I began using the sharp end of the file to dig out the dirt underneath her nails as she stood there, watching. I didn’t need her to tell me what happened as I had a pretty good guess. 

Once the dirt was clean from her nails, I set the file down on the shelf in the shower and went about rinsing the conditioner from her hair before washing her body, taking my time around her most sensitive parts. As much as I wanted to feel her body against mine in that way, it wasn't needed tonight. We needed to come together in a different way. 

After Y/N was clean, she motioned for me to switch with her and now it was her turn to wash me. Although, watching as she tried to reach for my hair with soap all over her hands was a cute sight so I got on my knees, eye level with her stomach. While she washed my hair, I dragged a hand up and down her thigh, feeling the skin prickle from my touch. 

“You need a haircut,” she noted. 

I hummed in agreement, the noise rumbling in my chest, and I peered up at her. “It’s almost back to the wolf cut length.” 

“I wouldn’t be opposed to it,” Y/N shrugged while rinsing the conditioner from my hair and tapped my shoulder so I could rise to my feet. 

While resting on one knee, I paused for a moment as the now lukewarm water ran down both of us, and took in the sight of her. What used to be broken and dull had drastically changed in a matter of minutes. Thoughts of our redo date came fluttering to the forefront of my mind as I remained on one knee, the question I’d be desperate to ask weighing heavy on my tongue now. But internally I shook my head, knowing that it wasn’t the right time. It would have to wait until I received a sign. 

Instead, I pushed myself up to my feet so Y/N could wash my body and as her hand grazed over my cock, I let my forehead fall to her shoulder. It had been so long since she touched me like this, the moment earlier today nothing compared to now. Earlier it was distressed but now, her touch was fuelled with the need to feel me against her; prove to her that her soul wasn’t dead inside. 

“Y/N,” I panted when her fingers wrapped around me, pumping my cock slowly. “I-shit.”

I craved her like an addiction and I was ready to let go, allowing us to fall together as we always did. Only we were interrupted by rapid barking and scratching at the bathroom door, causing Y/N to shake with laughter. 

“Kuma probably needs dinner,” I grumbled. 

“Dinner actually sounds good right now. I’m starving,” Y/N pressed a kiss to my lips, one I wasn’t quite ready to let go of yet. 

Brushing my tongue along her bottom lip, I devoured them with my own starvation. Her hands linked behind my necks and she stood on her toes to lean into me even more. Everything around us fell away and my heart beat was almost non existence as it was whenever we kissed. I found myself becoming lost in her aura, dragged deep within the depths exactly like the moment our fates were sealed that very first time our eyes locked.  

I kept reaching for her, any inch of skin my nails could dig into to bring her closer to me. I needed to feel her heart against mine, syncing our heartbeats together, and she moaned into the kiss, it quickly being swallowed by my tongue. 

“I love you,” I breathed as we pulled away. 

Y/N pulled me in for another kiss, almost as if it was breathing life back into her and she needed more. Her lips captured the water hanging on my bottom lip and I nearly folded in her embrace. 

“I love you too, Noah. I’m sorry my grief caused me to pull away from you. You didn’t deserve that side of me,” her voice quavered. 

I twirled her hair between my fingers with a small smile. “What is grief if not love persevering.”

READER

Blowing my nose into the Kleenex, I wrapped my dad’s cardigan closer to my body as I dragged my slippers down the long hallway back towards the kitchen where I heard Noah rummaging around in the cupboards, most likely feeding Kuma. 

“Hi sweet boy,” I murmured while reaching down and petting him between the ears. 

“Hi yourself,” Noah smirked before setting the full bowl in front of Kuma. 

When he noticed the sweater, he raised a brow and I shrugged. “It’s my dad’s. It still smells like him.”

With a kiss to the side of my head, Noah then motioned to the couch in the living room. “Do you want to watch a movie?”

“Actually,” I nibbled on my lips, trying to find the courage to do something that had been plaguing me the second we stepped foot into my dads house all those days ago. “I want to read my dad’s letter. I think we both should read them, if you want to.”

Noah paused, wiping down the counter, mere inches from the two letters that remained untouched, and his face gave nothing away. It made me nervous that I might have pushed something on him that he wasn’t ready for. I know it surprised both of us that my dad left a letter to not only me, but Noah as well. 

“Should we read them together?” He tentatively reached for the letters and handed mine toward me. 

Holding it close to my chest, I nodded back down the hallway. “I think-I think I’m going to read it in my dad’s room.”

Something flickered in his eyes as he tapped his letter on the inside of his hand. “Whatever you want, angel.”

After leaving him and Kuma together on the couch, I stood outside the door to my fathers room and with a few deep breaths, I gripped the handle and slowly pushed it open. The room was cloaked in darkness, the moonlight barely breaking through the curtains that covered both sets of windows, so I clicked on the light. I blinked a few times before taking in the sight of his room. It was exactly how I remembered it from the last time I visited him; even his bed was made and untouched. Until I slipped underneath the blankets, his scent wrapping around me in a tight embrace. 

Taking a deep breath, I opened up the envelope to pull out the letter, my dad’s familiar hand writing drawing a choked sob from my lips. There’d been a reason why I’d been putting off reading the letter because it meant that he was actually gone. But now, I needed to know what he said. 

Buttercup, 

If you’re reading this it means that I’m gone. I am so sorry you had to find out this way that I was sick but I didn’t want you to worry about me. Your life is flourishing with Hollow Souls and Noah, the last thing you needed was to worry. I am so proud of the woman you’ve grown into even if I did have to watch from afar after the divorce. Please know I never held your choice of staying with your mother against you. I understood why you felt the need too but I am glad that you still kept your relationship with me. You will forever be my little girl. My buttercup. 

Speaking of relationships, make sure to hold that Noah boy close because from what I’ve seen and heard, he loves you very much. You need someone in your life that will take care of you and will cherish all the moments you two share. I knew from the moment I saw that video of you two performing on stage together a couple years ago that he was in love with you. He’s a good man, buttercup. Don’t let him go.

Although, I am still shocked about Chase and Malcolm. Were they together when you visited last? All is well, I suppose. Good for them. 

Now, if you’re in my house reading this, that means you’ve met Kuma. He’s a three month old Akita puppy and shouldn’t grow to be more than 40 lbs, at least that's what the guy at the shelter told me. I adopted him as a way to celebrate beating cancer the first time around but now that it’s back and spread to seventy percent of my body, I think it’s best if Kuma goes home with you and Noah. Hopefully he won't be too much of a nuisance to Salem but I have a feeling they’ll get along well. 

Please don’t let the grief of my passing overcome you, buttercup. Don’t let the anger consume you to do something drastic. Your heart is too pure for that. Lean on others as they are there to help you. Remember me in the way I would sit in the chair in the living room, my glasses nearly falling off my nose, as I buried it into a book. Or the time we went to that manga shop down the road and you swore one of the characters looked like Noah, if he had his hair that length. Although, now I bet he does since his hair is shorter than the last time. 

Does that length bother him? Or was he able to go on stage all those times with his hair down to his back? Was he not sweating? 

Anyway, I’m rambling, even in a letter. But before I end it, I wanted to say how much I love you and will always be proud of you for whatever you accomplish with your life. Hollow Souls has come back from the brink of collapse after you kicked out that asshole, pardon my language, and you’ve proven to everyone that this is your band. This is what you were made for, buttercup. Continue to light up the world around you and don’t let anyone dull your light. 

I’ll be with you in spirit, Y/N. Please don’t ever forget that. 

Take care of yourself, Kuma, and Noah. Because that man will do whatever it takes to keep you happy. You’re the one for him, buttercup. 

I’ll be shining light on your path and remember, it can’t rain all the time.

Love, Dad xx. 

My sobs echoed throughout the quiet space of the bedroom as I read the letter again and again, imagining my dad sitting at the desk across from me, pen scratching against paper. 

“I miss you so fucking much, dad,” I cried out while holding the paper against my chest. 

I wasn’t sure how much time had passed or if Noah was finished reading his letter because as I lay under the covers of my dad’s bed, I let the familiar feeling of his spirit around me lull me into a much needed slumber that was long overdue.

NOAH

As I lay on the couch with Kuma snoring next to me, I scratched at his belly with one hand while the other worked out a text message to Jesse and Michael. 

To Roommates: 

Me: I hope you guys know Kuma is coming home with us. 

Michael: We had a feeling so we sent Tay out to pick up whatever things you guys would need. 

Jesse: My girlfriend was very excited to go shopping for not only Kuma but Salem as well. I guess she bought him a lot of toys and maybe a cat condo that I have no idea where we’re going to go with it.

I chuckled at the picture Jesse sent next of Salem on top of the new cat condo that stood awkwardly in the middle of the living room. 

Me: I never thought I’d miss Salem this much. 

Michael: Honestly, me too.

Jesse: How’s Y/N?

Me: Good, really good. She fell asleep in her dad’s bed. I peaked in on her a bit ago. I’m going to let her sleep there tonight. We’ve got a long day tomorrow of packing up her fathers stuff and shipping out what we're bringing back while we sell the rest along with the house.

We chatted for a few more minutes before I decided that it was now time for me to read the letter. Setting my phone to the side of the couch, I fiddled with the envelope in my hands. While I had a feeling my letter would drastically be different than Y/N’s, part of me feared what it said. 

Unbeknownst to her, I actually reached out to her dad a couple of weeks ago but was only met with his voicemail where I left my question. I hated it that it had to be done that way, but there was no other choice. 

As I ripped open the envelope, my phone buzzed next to me with a notification of a new email; one I didn’t read the name of. But it flashed brightly in the somewhat darkened room, the name almost urging me to look. With the now open letter in my hand, the familiar name continued to flash on my phone. 

Keaton. 

But it was the four simple words written on the piece of paper that held my attention, making my heart soar into my throat, causing me to nearly fall off of the couch. The two signs I'd been desperate for finally showcasing themselves.

You have my blessing.

[irishais]

hey, y'all, i'm dealing with what my oncologist is fairly confident calling stage 1 endometrial cancer. i haven't had my surgery yet, and there are already bills coming in from the multiple procedures i've already had to deal with, so if you feel slightly compelled to pad my shoestring budget for this nightmare: cashapp/venmo are @irishais, kofi is here.

[vyzz-undercover]

the voices have made this happen

[cato/f!ambassador]

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5)

(5,900ish words) (OUUGHHHHH)

CONTENT WARNINGS:

•slight dubcon

•hints of size kink [obligatory]

•vaginal fingering

•oral [f receiving]

•mild possessive behaviour

•the consequences of ignoring important medical devices

•mentions of (hypothetical) torture

•tumblrs recurringly cancerous formatting

———————————————————————————————————

im back on my bullshit after having to do overnights so as payment to the dark gods of whoring and degeneracy i humbly offer this taglist of sweet darling who've indulged my insanity: @the-raven-lady, @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan, @bispecsual, @lemon-russ, @kit-williams, @passionofthesith, @egrets-not-regrets, @moodymisty, @sinistermojo, @justeverythingnothingelse, @pluvio-tea, @thevoidscreams, @beckyninja, @yestheantichrist!!! if you wanna be tagged (or not) in the next let me know!!! also it may take me longer to do a part four to this namely because ive got more wageslaving ahead of me soon but alas i'll definitely have rowboat girlyman catch em. also maybe give cato some top. myehehehehe,,, AND THANK YOU FOR READING AS USUAL ILY ALL!!! :3

———————————————————————————————————

Cato is just about leaving.

After having spent the better part of an hour discussing the predicted destruction pathway of a hive-fleet on the system's rim with his Father; it sends his balls into his throat when you nearly run into him in the chamber's huge archway.

It only takes a fraction of a second to catalogue your presence.

You're wearing the same utilitarian blue robe as you had been last week again.

Last week, when he'd been pounding you insensible on a lounge in the library—Cato promptly quashes the insidious memory, smothering down any sort of reaction. But there is a change in comparison to the dizzying reminder: there's a new addition to the reoccurring outfit.

You've brought a navy, high-collared turtleneck into the mix, layered below your lapels.

So, the efforts of his mouth hadn't gone unheeded, then.

Throne, if he's not smug, he's got no bloody clue what he is.

Cato steps aside and turns to allow you entrance first before his exit.

"Commander Sicarius," you lilt with a soft voice and a small downward tip of your chin, all while holding his gaze.

He's transfixed periodically at the honeyed sort of warmth in your eyes.

Despite himself, he lingers and greets you with a slow, "Lady Ambassador."

The left side of his mouth twitches upward in a half-aborted smirk that he quickly tries to mask as a stern, frown-nod combination.

You break the staring match and Cato's confident he's salvaged his slip-up without detection.

Or not—because oh, fuck—if he doesn't feel the burning focus of a Primarch's eyes boring a hole into the side of his head like a brand.

It only lasts an instant, but the second is an eternity to him.

Of course, you're oblivious to this subtle exchange—and promptly trot past him to his Father's vast desk.

"My Lord Primarch," you say with a curt little bow; and then Guilliman's attention is solely on you, his favourite little pet project. "I read the data-drives you instructed from the preceding article logging. I've arranged them back to the most recent mark counts."

You're looking for an empty spot to lay them on his table, but with all the meticulously arranged stacks, it's none too easy to find one.

"Perfect," the Primarch breaths, "Just on the side there is fine, don't worry."

Obligingly, you lay them atop a small mountain of paperwork.

"Do you need anything else of me, my Lord?" You chirp brightly, the tone of your voice so very painfully sweet—Cato is nearly overwhelmed fighting a pitched battle against the urge to run over, pick you up and shake you around suddenly.

Guilliman chuckles, waving one massive hand about vaguely, "You've done more than enough for me today, why don't we leave it at that for now, hm? Go on."

"Of course; thank you, and have a good evening, my Lord," You say, bow once more, and turn on your heel from the Primarch, and—and smile at Cato as you walk back towards the exit. That's—that's the first time you've smiled at him. His twin hearts lurch, slamming forward against the inside of his fused chest cavity. It's perfect abominable. You rotten temptress, he's—he's going to rectify that audacity later. Or now, if you're... possibly heading the same direction he is. Which is whatever direction you're going, purely by chance.

It's merely coincidence, he swears.

He's certainly not planning on hounding after you like a dog tailing a bitch in heat.

He's certainly not going to drag you into a side room the second he's sure no-one with a credible opinion's around.

He's certainly not going to indulge in anything heretical, like bending you bare over his knee for daring to taunt him.

Cato makes as if to fall in step behind you as you pass the threshold before him, but is quickly halted by his Father's curt, "I do not believe you have been dismissed, Cato."

He's never been subjected to such sinking dread quite so nonchalantly.

"Approach."

Cato complies stuffily, sparing a glance at your figure disappearing down the corridor before acquiescing. He's practically dragging his ceramite boots across the intricate rugs as he nears the Primarch's seated but colossal form.

Guilliman isn't looking at him, having had returned to notating a miscellaneous form.

The scritch-scratch of his gene-sire's preferred, yet archaic method of manually writing on the parchment is like someone grating a plate with a fork to his ears right now.

"You've gotten over your petty grievances regarding the Ambassador at last, I take it?" Guilliman asks, without looking up.

It is not Cato's duty to like or dislike. Nor is it to be biased without reason—his opinions are to be intellectual, not emotional. His duty is to assess, analyse and provide feedback, so that his Primarch can take it into account when making rulings and decisions.

Cato swallows around the proverbial hunk of drywall lodged in his throat and answers, "She has proven herself... useful, yes, sire."

Guilliman finally meets his eyes but says nothing for a short while. There's dark bags under his Primarch's eyes, and the deep, stern crease permanently between his dark blonde brows is a slight bit harsher, but the only thing Cato can parse out of the expression's intent is a vague sense of knowing. Because, insofar, he's thought himself quite adept at reading his Primarch; and rather well versed in deciphering the intricacies of his moods.

And right now, he feels like he's being read like an open manuscript.

The daunting prospect Cato's caught sinks it's teeth in his gullet. It's impossible, he's not left any room for suspicion, he's covered his tracks—there's no logical reason why he should be getting raked with such a look.

His gene-sire isn't a psyker nor omniscient, just impossibly intelligent—and so absurdly good at the mathematics of plotting and planning that it only appears superficially as if he is all-seeing. He can't possibly know what Cato has been doing—or rather, who he's been doing.

"It's about time," his Father hums abruptly, suddenly disinterested. "Now you're dismissed."

Cato nods, turns on his boot heel, and nigh bolts marches out the room. His proverbial tail definitely not between his legs.

The hall outside Guilliman's apartments is a central domed area that functions as a meeting area, where people go to one of six looming hallways. It's the bottom of a series of levels; and above, three echelons encircled by arcades and balustrades, framed on the exterior by engaged columns.

But the structure itself is immense and ancient, even by Imperial standards. One of the few still-original, unaltered parts of the great Gloriana-class warship's innards. It is doused in long swathes of red carpet and great standards of Magcraggian note, alongside glorious, heroic frescoes depicting Legiones Astartes in their thousands, crusading across the heavens with the Emperor their head.

Cato keeps his head down as he passes them, uneasy with guilt. Feeling as if their lenses are following him—intent on venturing into the lower layers to brood.

Several Astartes are hovering about amongst the personnel and serfs. The baselines look up at him in awe, and his Brothers nod in respect, but he pays them all no mind.

The furthest corridor beckons him, and so he goes; down the complex system of broad walks with high, barrel vault ceilings, mazing through the vessel's higher clearance reaches like arteries through a body.

Cato is seething, and self-admittedly itching to take a howler of a swing at the next thing that speaks to him.

He cuts down the southern channel and sees one of his subordinate Victrix Guard lingering in the middle of a groin vault intersection.

The younger Astartes is about to continue straight, yet he pauses.

Brother Marcellus meets Cato's eyes for a second, clearly notes his Commander's absolutely stinking mood from a hundred meters off; nods, swallows, takes a step backward—and changes direction to go left rather than pass him.

Cato's too pissed to even linger on the strangeness of the action.

Still, he doesn't rightly blame him.

Cato strides on, back straight, chin up—the red shawl pinned beneath his pauldrons swirling behind him.

His thoughts are eating at him the whole while.

He's sure his Primarch is just trying to innocently divine his sudden change of mind regarding you. There's no way his Father's aware of why. And yet, guilt is a big black wolf nipping at his ankles, making him hasten; and unease clouds about his heart. He's mortified, for lack of a better word.

The full implications of the situation are too enormous to be faced all at once; so he picks the smallest, most banal facet he can think of.

That being, you.

You, who he'll never see again if his Primarch finds out.

You, who's practically damned him without knowing it.

You, who he's now valiantly trying not to imagine in a hundred different circumstances where he gets away with it all. Each one more heretical than the last—it's like it was before he'd managed a hand on you: his body giving in to suffocating delusions, sleepless in his cot; lapping at whatever scant, lust-soaked morsels his mind offers up.

One of his favourites remains you scantily clad beneath a moonlit night sky, on the parapet of his ancestral fortress on the coastal edge of Perusia.

He likes to fantasise you like it there.

He suspects you would.

He knows just about all there is to know about you on paper, and wonders if you know much of Talassar. Or if you've read about Castra Tanagra. He assumes Guilliman would share the tale of that famed old battle with you as a part of your readings.

Each impossible reverie is a new shiny nail in his coffin, or dreadnaut—it depends where and how he dies, and if there's anything scrape up of him when he eventually goes down in a blaze of glory and duty, and honour.

If his Primarch catches him, there's going to be none of that.

He'll be struck from living record, like Titus had been. Cato would be lucky to get a little plaque in the deepest pits of the Fortress of Hera. Reduced to a whispered memory of his achievements passed solemnly between Captains, followed up with words of disappointment. Of waste. Until his memory dies with them and his deeds fade into obscurity, lost to any new brothers.

The fate that awaits you would somehow be worse. Cato was always going to die in war, as was his right—but you—you were not fashioned for such things. Yes, Guilliman enjoys you, but that fact won't save you. Just like it won't save Cato for all his usefulness. You'd be tried as a heretic, as a source of corruption upon the Legiones, and you'd be made to suffer; because torture ever comes before execution. You're so very soft weak in so very many ways. Your life lived in a gilded cage, without pain nor discomfort that extends further than grating professional grievances—he doesn't want to imagine the sound of you screaming, but he does.

He cannot stand the thought.

The sudden urge to barricade you in his chambers for permanent safe keeping is all-consuming.

It's suddenly all he can think about.

He has to find you.

The amount of serfs passing and parting to allow his passage thin out to nothing.

Even from the sterile confines of one of the many winding hallways, Cato abruptly swears he can hear the echoed rush of sandals—your sandals—reverberating off the floor.

He hadn't notice you following behind immediately because, damn it, he's spiralling thinking.

He chances a confrontation, and rounds about-face.

You stand there in the middle of the empty hallway like you've got a bolter aimed at you, frozen.

"Come here," he says, clipped.

You do not.

"Come here."

Again, no compliance.

"Do you pride yourself on being a idiot?" His voice is scathing now, taking a heavy step into your space and being met by you staying stock stiff, still. "Do you have any idea what that stunt of yours earlier might incur?"

"What?" You blink, finally animating. "I didn't do anything—"

"You know what you did," he hisses, accusatory. "You're hollow between the ears, but you're not blind."

Lips pursing tightly in mental deliberation, you make a fey noise of annoyance as a little frown graces your features, apparently not deigning to offer a comment back.

"Do you not understand that... this," he gesticulates between you both and his voice falls to a whisper. "This... is not common allowance?"

"It's not?"

Are you being intentionally dense at this point, or is it just second nature?

Cato raises a hand to knead the crease between his brows, "No."

"That explains a lot, actually," you say, seemingly without any real comprehension on the gravity of the matter. "I couldn't find any notes or references on it."

He's genuinely stunned, "Is that what you were doing when—"

"When I was rudely interrupted," you cut in, the comment is nigh a spat insult.

Cato isn't sure what to say to that sudden display of spine, and grumbles.

He surmises the optimal action is complete disregard.

Therefore, he has no problem turning on the heel of his sabatons and starting his pace on again.

"So... this isn't normal by Astartes standards?"

He's taken aback at your abrupt want for conversation after all that. Namely because it's atypical. You never attempted small talk with him. You never do anything but scurry off when he's accosted you for you flagrant overstepping—wait.

He feels as if the paradigm between you both has shifted again since the last time for some reason. More than last time, actually. More than you just simply having the audacity to backtalk him.

It's like some symptom of a deeper sickness rising to the surface.

It makes him unreasonably curious suspicious.

He wants to see just how much ground you'll give, so he plays along and answers, "Not as far as I am aware, no."

You hum, and immediately are at it again, posturing, "Surely you have heard of cases of it happening?"

"I have not," Cato says, and you hum in consideration.

You're satisfied at that information for a brief while, but then he remembers you cannot shut your mouth for more than five minutes, and purses his lips. He's already tiring of your incessant questioning.

"But you'd done it before?"

And that's just great.

You've expertly found an exposed nerve.

More kindling on the bonfire of him having an aneurysm before the cycle's end.

Cato can feel the hint of pressure behind his eyes as he begins increasing his walking speed. "I don't think that is a relevant question."

You haste to stay in step, "It definitely is."

"You ought to learn a civil fucking tongue when you're addressing me, woman," he bites out, nose crinkling into a sneer.

Unperturbed by his short-tempered comment, another thoughtful little 'hmm' slips out of you.

"So, to conclude... you where as inexperienced as I was at the start, and all those gloating insults back then were just projection?" You suddenly blurt out at rather impressive speed, like a politician possessed—before finishing with, "Sorry, 'all those gloating insults back then were just projection,' Commander Sicarius."

Cato grits his teeth and feels his eye twitch.

He stops, turns to look over his pauldron, and stares bloody murder.

He can't even imagine the idiocy in your brain that gave you the imprimatur to say that aloud.

But Throne, the sly little glint in your pretty eyes suddenly has his face thudding with heat.

Then you smile at him for the second time ever.

Cato bites back the urge to ogle you dumbly, and actually feels himself thicken in his body-glove in real time, because oh, fuck—his hind brain practically pelts him across the jaw with the mental pict of that sweet mouth lathing up the side of his cock.

Mentally unseated for a moment, his brows furrow; and he quickly turns away, applying himself entirely to the task of trudging down the stagings.

The silence is a breath of fresh air.

Even if he can still hear your laboured breathing a few steps back him from him. You're straining to keep up with his pace, and it's an excellent punishment for you. His heavy sabatons clank-clank-clank on the steel decking, and your little shoes practically pitter-patter in contrast. It's a syncopated rhythm that he's absentmindedly trying to match—and when he lingers for a step he manages to even the beat out.

He hangs a left, and scales the wide stairs to the open intersection platform above two at a time; trying not to snort amusedly at the little groan you let out as you hurry up them behind him, heaving.

Cato realises abruptly that you're actually, really, seriously following him—and pretending you're not.

He makes a right at the top and then waits for you to fall in step.

And, pointedly, he then turns and doubles back around.

You stand there stupefied for a moment, before grumbling softly and continuing down the thoroughfare without him.

If his observation skills hold any weight, he heads straight into the nearest open room and waits for you to follow.

He doesn't activate the locking mechanism on the other side on purpose when he strides in, and lets the sliding door close behind him.

This particular room is forgettable in its ubiquitousness, though unusual. He has no idea of it's actual intended purpose. It's fitted with screens and database terminals as if it's for debriefing purposes, but he has no real way of confirming. What he can catalogue is that there's wraparound surfaces littered with candles. A few strips of harsh lighting and scant furniture—a tallish counter and a few long benches. They're thankfully Astartes sized.

Which means he can sit down and pray for you to walk right into the metaphorical snare he's just laid.

Not a minute later, the door's sliding mechanism triggers and you scurry through—only to promptly go stiff.

You stare at him like a rat he's just found by lifting a crate.

The mechanism shuts automatically behind you and it apparently spooks you enough to jump a little.

"You're disgustingly predictable," he harrumphs, unimpressed.

A flush rises to your face as you scowl, "You're disgustingly predictable," you shoot back, echoing his words.

Of course, that audacity of yours leads to a short stalemate.

He huffs out a sigh as he concedes out of sheer frustration and says, "Three-seven-five-eight-eight-two-nine-one."

You blink dumbly at him, "...what?"

"It's my locking code," he growls, and Throne, you must be acting stupid just to grate him; because there's no way your brain is so smooth as to not connect the dots. "It's for the door, moron."

A soft 'ohh' leaves you as you turn and step aside to the key pad fixed into the frame.

"Three-seven-five-eight-eight-two-nine-one," he's agonisingly forced to say once again.

"Three-nine-five-eight-eight-two-seven-one..." you mumble to yourself.

Cato hears an angry beep and suddenly wants to smash his head into a wall repeatedly.

Grinding his molars, he snarls, "Three-seven-five-eight-eight-two-nine-one," and then adds, "If I have to repeat that one more time, I'm going to throw you out of the nearest airlock."

And it seems the threat of violence works wonders, because you don't bungle the input this time.

Cato sighs, exasperated, and leans back against the lip of the table behind the bench.

He ought to start carrying around a correctional stun rod. Just for whenever you annoy him. If it's good enough for a Neophyte to suffer, it's good enough for you, he supposes.

Or it'll send you into a seizing fit.

He's not to sure of the maximum voltage a baseline can take without their singular, puny little heart giving out.

One disciplinary option scratched out, then.

But he can think of many, many more to make a model Ambassador out of you. The wonders of carefully applied violence are plentiful. A little roughing up never hurts, or at least, not for long. And fuck, do you need some lessons on proper manners. He could have you smacked into shape like a show pony in no time—even if it'd be more like teaching a grox to trot lateral movements. Then again, he also believes if he stuck a frag far enough up a Carnifex's ass, he could probably get it to play Regicide.

And then pointedly, he starts thinking about your ass.

Cato is so utterly lost on the tangent of hypotheticals that he's flabbergasted when a small mouth lands on his own.

He hadn't even been paying attention.

He hadn't even noticed you'd neared.

It feels like the breath has been knocked out him at the sheer unexpectedness of it.

The kiss is hasty, your eyes scrunched shut and cheeks flushed, scowling with focus.

All the while, his mind reels because Throne, the contact of his lips to yours doesn't really feel particularly profound aside from how soft your skin is—but the intention of it is the real reward.

Cato's genuinely infuriated when you pull away.

You blink owlishly at him, giving him a cautious look like you're trying to gauge his reaction.

There are a thousand things he wants to ask, to say, but the foremost among them is but one.

"Again," he huffs, lessening the distance between you just enough to invite you back.

And he thinks that perhaps he’s abusing his station over you, but when you tentatively find a hold on his gorget to steady yourself to give him another kiss—those thoughts are all but erased from his mind. It's a curious weight off his shoulders to have you initiate and to show you want him in return, especially since it's as new to you as it is for him.

Nonetheless, he can't even imagine finding a reason to stop you, so he starts blindly mouthing; trying to coordinate around the fact he's so much larger than you.

The angle is difficult, but he's willing to follow your lead. Your body is even more fragile when he's in full armour. The risk of actually hurting you is realer than ever, but he can't help the desire to wrap an gauntlet around your waist and pull you closer to him. Thankfully, you let him when he urges you to, trembling hands flitting across his chestplate like you're unsure of what, exactly, you should be holding—and he catches the tiny line between your brows smoothing out as you risk a peek. Only for you to yelp, nervously wrenching yourself back in flustered surprise upon meeting his unwavering stare.

It's as if you expected something else.

He senses he's made a mistake of some kind.

Then he remembers from the motion-picts he's not supposed to keep glaring at you when kissing.

Regardless, he studies your face, memorising the lingering want still clearly there like his life depends on it.

He pulls you in and kisses you again, just because he can, this time brief and chaste. And then he goes for a third, fourth—fifth, each time slightly longer, until finally he rears back; and when he does you push up on your toes just a little, trying to chase him, but lose the nerve; although to Cato the reason for your faltering is, frankly, irrelevant. Because just like him, you lack the practical capacity to really know what next step you should take. Still, you look down at his armour, as if there's a latch to pull that magically undoes all his wargear.

He knows he's not going to get himself out of his armour in any reasonable way or amount of time.

There's no way he's getting the satisfaction of having you on him right now—but he still wants to keep you near.

He thinks he hears you ask for something, but he's too distracted to catch it in time.

"What?" Cato scowls, "What do you want now?"

It's clear you've been struck by your own embarrassment, strung up somewhere between shy and wanton, "I.. uh..."

"Spit it out," he rumbles.

You wince, hesitant as you mumble, "You, uh... i-in me."

Cato's brain skids to a halt. And it's the gall of that request alone that has him sweeping you up off the ground and spinning you around to sit in his lap.

It's obvious you're overwhelmed at being held to the formidably larger size of himself in full-plate. But as usual, you're yet to actively complain. Using his vambrace as a leg-bar to scoop under your thighs, he folds you in his grasp—your knees pressed to your chest as you're tucked back against his pauldron and chestplate.

The angle forces the hems of your robe aside, and he can see the underside curve of your ass; along with the plump mound of your vulva under the white of your small-clothes.

Cato's suddenly offended by their existence. You didn't wear any last time, so why now? The irritation of there being one more thing between you and him is enough justification to yank at them, tearing them loose—before throwing them aside.

You grumble sourly, which he chooses to ignore.

The palm of his gauntlet smooths across your hip, and you make a small huff as you shiver, goose-bumps suddenly covering your exposed flesh.

Cato lets the pads graze closer and closer to your sex, content to watch you impatiently glare at his armoured fingers from between the gap of your thighs.

With little preamble, he's stuffing his middle in. You're already so wet it's practically a cake-walk. Your cunt swallows down each articulating segment of his armoured finger down to the knuckle. The fact he's going to have to personally scrub your slick out from between the joints, instead of a lowly serf, is infinitely worth the shrill whine he receives as tribute.

"Would that my wargear had a zipper," he breathes, and fuck, he grins behind the obscurity of his gorget at the mournful mewl that remark earns. "I'd have you on your knees sucking for all the cunted trouble you've caused me."

You're making a warp-awful attempt at keeping yourself together, high-strung as you evidently are. Little more than a minute of him pumping his finger in and out of you has you red-faced and panting. All it takes to get those heavy breaths of yours to change into proper whines is his large thumb-pad adjusting to rest on your clit, applying pressure. You jerk, reflexively trying to buck into every motion. Fighting and failing to withhold the stuffy little moans escaping you—trying to stave off the inevitable by scrambling at the thigh plating of his power armour with one hand and tugging at his couter with the other.

Some part of Cato wants to stop solely out of spite for you being so grating earlier, or some other stupid mercurial justification of his; but instead, he simply continues, letting you squirm on his fingers.

And squirm you do.

It's clear to him the tide of it all is becoming too much for you to resist. Your sandal'd feet kick out where he's got your legs secured, joining in on the struggling as it begins anew when his thumb starts circling. It's a good sign, so he adds his pointer into you to bolster the stretch, curling in; before letting his fingers fan out inside you, stretching rather than stabbing. Your hips try to stutter forward in time with the quick thrusting of his digits, broken whimpers resonating off the room's walls. He promptly stuffs down to the knuckle and curls them again—and you all but bleat his surname as you're dragged into a fast and apparently exhausting orgasm. Just knowing he's you got you beat has his erection ache where it's trapped under the suiting and plating of his navel.

Cato can't feel you clenching through all the layers separating his skin from yours, but he knows from experience that you're seizing in fits internally—tight little cunt trying to milk a load out of an Astartes cock that should've been stuffed in you.

Just to allow himself one last bit of smugness, he scissors his fingers; giving a final swirl for good measure.

The shivered sob is worth every possible future disciplinary action he'll receive.

He pulls his gauntlet away slowly, and the wet shlick of it leaving you is almost amusingly alike pulling a blade from sinew. It's a degenerate comparison, he knows, but it's true.

Nonetheless, he splays out his hand and swallows dryly, eyeing the sticky, clear liquid webbing out and thinning between each ridge of his gauntlet'd digits.

Suddenly focused entirely on the fluid on his fingers, he pulls his vambrace barring under your knees up away. Now limp, and without the support, you slide off his lap and onto the floor in a slow slump.

"Nn-ngh," You groan weakly, face-down, legs still juddering a little.

Seeing as you're preoccupied, Cato doesn't even dignify the concept of hesitation, and promptly jams his fingers in his mouth—lathing the aftermath of your orgasm from them. And Throne, the taste of your hormones make him groan. He's absolutely stunned, unsure of how to act. He's so fucking stupid, why didn't he do this earlier? He's practically drugged by the omophagic aftereffect—getting off on your second hand bliss. Some sort of fey feedback loop in his brain catalysing his next decision solely on instinct.

He clambers to the floor and gets to his knees guards, securing a mitt on your bared thigh to roll you onto your back.

Apparently boneless with afterglow, you're easy to manhandle.

You barely have the strength to do much more than crane your head up at him and whine as he arranges your thighs apart, settling on his front between them with a warp-awful clank; before lifting your legs up to rest onto either lip of his gorget.

You try to scud back on your ass suddenly, but are quickly halted when he holds you fast by the hip.

He raises a confused brow.

"I-Isn't—" you start, still gathering the scraps of your brain together so soon post-orgasm, "Isn't y-your saliva acid?"

Cato suddenly wants to cuff you on the ear, "Who the hell told you that?"

"M-Master Calgar," you mumble.

Oh, of course, the gossiping hen.

He's going to have words with the Lord Defender of Greater Ultramar the next time they meet—words like 'for fuck sakes, stop scaring the woman he's trying to eat out with talk of Betcher's gland, Marneus,' come to mind, but then Cato realises that doesn't sound like he's not fucking you, so he quickly settles on: 'stop dignifying the Ambassador's hundred-and-one insane questions.'

"Not Ultramarines," Cato manages not to snarl, "It's a vestigial organ in most of us."

Your voice is shaky as you parrot, "Most of us?"

"Yes," He grunts, and promptly buries his face in your cunt.

The disproportion in size is painfully apparent when he realises his whole damned tongue is able to drag a stripe up the entire splay of you with minimal effort.

The pitched gasp he wins out of you is pure sin, and he's on the brink of swooning; but then you're running your trap again.

"Please, d-don't tell me you're one that can spit acid—" you manage to warble, seemingly still stuck on the topic.

Cato sighs as he's forced to pull away from your vulva, "I think you're forgetting I had my tongue on your tonsils in the library."

"Th-that's different," you stammer. "That's not as sensitive."

A long, unimpressed deadpan paints itself on his face.

"So," he starts with a bated hiss, "And let me be perfectly clear in this—you believe your vagina is more susceptible to burns than your mouth?"

Your face transforms into a strange mix of embarrassed and angry.

"I didn't say that—"

"Yes, you did," Cato grumbles.

"Did not," you huff.

"You—you just fucking did," he snaps, frustrated enough that he can feel one of the veins at his temple bulge. "The implication is obvious, you insufferable little whore."

You snort, but stay silent.

The argument appears, for all intents and purposes, to be finished.

"Did not," you say abruptly once more, pouting.

Cato's eyes roll back in his skull as he grits his teeth.

"Throne of Terra, if you don't drop the subject, acid in your cunt will be the least of your worries," he all but snarls, and that apparently quietens you enough that he can get back to lapping at you—the flat of his tongue running over your clit and earning a jolt.

He wraps his lips around the pink little nub and sucks. And that's all it apparently takes to make up for his amateur career in the practice.

You siphon down a sharp breath and let out a garbled cry, hips canting forward into his mouth—to which he obligingly stuffs his tongue into your slick entrance.

There's a satisfaction well beyond simple pleasure that swamps him at the way your thighs shake either side of his head. His own breath is hot about him, stuffy and dizzying; and the skin pressed against his cheeks is warm and smooth.

You're panting when he goes back to lapping over your clit, perching yourself up on a bent elbow and reaching out a hand.

Your fingers card through the messed brown hair atop his head. And he stiffens without realising—but he realises something: like this, the touch is ecstasy—pure, golden ecstasy. Every bit of higher thought in his head evaporates when you stroke him again.

A long, rumbling subvocal moan tears from him.

The infrasound vibration makes you buck weakly into his mouth again, teary eyed afore him as he adjusts his grip on you and crawls closer.

He's suddenly acutely aware that in this new, much more prone position, he's able to grind his body armour into his groin guard pressed on the floor. And as soon as the action bears results—namely a scorching burr of pleasure racing up his spine—he's deadset on rutting against the ground like a slavering beast.

He's frotting himself at a pace so rabid it'd be cruel to subject your cunt to. It's brutal, and the harsh scraping sound of plasteel on steel only further proves that. It's just frantic lust—he's desperate.

It's complete insanity how close to finishing he is so quickly.

Not as close as you, though.

He can feel how your legs jump with each pass of his tongue; and then you're unraveling in front of his very eyes.

"I-I can't—I can't, S-Sicarius, I-I—" You ramble, dazed, trying to get away as he works you right through it, sobbing and oversensitive while he's rutting himself closer and closer to his own end.

It all comes to a head when your fingers dig into his hair, tugging—and his brain is overrun with static. A drawn out groan scathes from his maw as any sense of rhythm scatters like light through a prism. For a fraction of a second, the pleasure is serene.

Then it's abject agony, he feels—he feels like Roboute Guilliman himself has just taken a running start and kicked him in the balls.

"F-Fuck–ing—gh—" he chokes, vision swimming, straining against the tide of the torment. His back arches up, and he curls inward on himself; white-hot pain clocking his nervous system into overdrive. Every muscle in his abdomen is doused in acid. He's tolerated being shot, stabbed, burnt without so much as blinking—but this is an entirely new and entirely different sort of wound. It's like he's pissing promethium. It's—it's the catheter, he realises. He'd forgotten about the bloody catheter jammed up his cock.

Through the searing ordeal, he manages to force his armour's facilities to finally abide his impulses and dose him with a pain dampener.

And then everything's fine.

He opens eyes he wasn't aware he'd closed and finds your face has suddenly gotten far closer to his.

"S-Sicarius?" You stammer, and there's an honest panic in your voice. "Sicarius, p-please, please—a-are you okay?"

He realises he's on his back, and you're sitting beside him, half draped on his chestplate, frantically trying to figure out what's wrong with him to no avail.

You've leaned in so close he can feel your rushed breathing.

"I'm fine," Cato groans, and you sputter out a sigh.

"I-I don't know what happened, I-I—" you're still wildly confused and raving, and he inhales deeply; only to be greeted by the sour animal stink of fear practically dripping from you.

Cato rolls his tongue around inside his mouth and cringes knowingly at the foaming side-effect of the chem he'd self-administered, the acrid taste mixed with your slick is certainly not an ideal cocktail.

The sincerity of concern behind your reaction is baffling. He's not made of glass, for fuck sakes—and he's a bit pissy about the fact you'd actually fallen victim to the idea of him suffering some grievous injury so easily. But he supposes where there's a will of baseline overreaction, there's a way.

"You're acting like a child, woman. Pull yourself together," he sighs hoarsely, hoping the comment jars you out of your hysteria—or at the very least scares you off.

It does exactly neither, and you sidle in closer and rest your cheek on his jaw.

It’s an action so overwhelmingly horribly affectionate that it would’ve been a crime to not press into it with a lean of his head. Or, at least, that's the half-assed justification he tells himself.

Because he's loving enduring your attention, not seeking it; and therefore only humouring you when he lifts a hand and settles the wide splay of it on your flank as a comfort.

He shouldn't be, but he is.

[sgiandubh]

Me pareció extraño que ellos (sí, ellos, por supuesto) no simplemente optaran por duplicar su apuesta por Barbie Fitness. Para bien o para mal, ya estaba algo establecido. ¿Qué crees que les llevó a cambiar de rumbo?

Dear Bizarre Anon,

Como siempre, primero la traducción y luego - mi respuesta.

' I thought it was bizarre that they (yes, of course, 'they') didn't just choose to double down on Fitness Barbie. For what it's worth, that was already a fixture. What do you think made them change their mind?'

I have many conflicting thoughts and yes, even feelings about all this, Anon, at the moment. I think it was a botched plan from the very start. Must have picked her from Raya, she was cheaply available (a quick buck for a quick side job, for her) and he did not vet her at all.

Why not double down on the other woman? Too loud, too orange, too brash are things that immediately come to mind. I think she sealed her fate with that Scottish week-end, when she had to share her son's vomit with the entire world. And overexpose a child, in the process. Probably also some things we might never be privy to - so, no use to look for answers in the Room of Nothing.

My answer to your second question will be very short: Park Anon. Panic. The problem was that this pap walk was picked up by People, a media outlet read by many in Hollywood, including agents, directors, producers, etc. A Big Problem, indeed.

For the moment, he turned off tags. I don't think you will see that girl ever again, Anon - and I do think this is a sure sign.

My questions are perhaps simpler:

How many IG followers will he lose in the foreseeable future?

How will this impact OL's broadcast ratings for Seasons 7-B and 8?

How will this impact Sassenach Spirits' sales short and middle-term?

How will this impact his business relationship with Southern Glaziers and the like?

How will this impact MPC's subscription trends and financials?

How will this impact his CSR relationship with NGOs, such as WWF, Blood Cancer UK, etc?

How will this impact a personal brand that can now be legitimately described as unreliable and borderline schizophrenic? And I mean it in a very logical way, as the impossible reconciliation between manwhoring and philanthropy.

From my watchpoint, I couldn't care less about any other rationale. These are the real questions he will have to face soon enough. All the rest is bullshit and sentiment. And we are now forced to talk business, not sentiment. For as far as sentiments are concerned, my answer will never change: they will find a way, even if in the process they might hurt each other. True love is never easy.

[disaster-j]

You wanna "reach across the divide" that you created maybe first acknowledge your own people's violently homophobic actions and the constant harassment me and my friends have been through

I don't need your excuses for why an actor doing xyz made it okay for y'all to attack the queer men in this fandom for liking a gay man on TV or send me and my friends hate or attack people just minding their own business by accusing them of faking cancer or bombarding our tags and inboxes with surprise CSA material

You wanna reach across show your face and own up to your own bullshit first before calling strangers and celebs out

[klausinamarink]

Easy Promises

rating: T | cw: cancer, mentioned child abuse | tags: pre-relationship, Steve has good parents, childhood friends, reunion, Theodore is Eddie’s full name agenda | wc: 956

written for @steddieholidaydrabbles | Dec 14: Angst with happy ending

When Steve was eleven, he was told that he was going to die. Naturally, he burst into tears. His mother immediately pulled him to her chest, shushing him gently while his father yelled at their doctor.

“He’s just a child!”

“It’s important for your son to know that leukemia isn’t possible to survive-”

“Bullshit!”

Steve cried harder in his mother’s arms, even after they left the office.

Back home, his mother knelt down, looked Steve in the eye, and said, “You are going to live, baby. You are still going to grow up to be a smart, healthy man. You will fight that cancer and live.”

It was easy to make a promise. It was harder to follow through it.

After the urgent move to Indianapolis, Steve’s days fell into a blur of check-ups, medicine, throwing up, and exhaustion. He spent more days at the hospital than at his new school. He wasn’t sure which place was worse. The clinical words and smells with thin blankets and more sick children like him or the classrooms where apologetic teachers gave him too many lavish gifts while the other kids avoided him.

But there was one boy who declared himself as Steve’s buddy. Steve thought he would hate Theodore Munson, but he didn’t. Theodore (“Just Teddy! My full name makes me feel like I’m Roosevelt.”) never stared at Steve or asked about his leukemia or poked at his thin arms. Instead, Teddy always asked how his day went and listened to every word, even if it was a foggy repetition of hospital visits. If Steve said he was tired, Teddy never announced it to their teachers and just silently offered some cookies or juice under their desks. During recess and lunch, Teddy sat next to him and spoke excitedly about the new comics or movies Steve never had the chance to check himself.

It was always nice listening to Teddy talk. Way better than a doctor reading his statistics aloud like it was an eulogy.

When the chemotherapy inevitably snuck into his schedule, Steve cried and begged everyone to keep his hair. He was already The Kid With Cancer. He didn’t want his hair shaved off.

Nobody listened to him.

A couple days later, Steve wore a Reds cap. He refused to wear the knitted wool hat his Nana had made for him like he was five again. That would just push his classmates into bullying him for real.

He came to school late, not wanting to join the student crowd. He stopped when he saw Teddy sitting on the steps, his shaven head in his arms.

For a second, Steve thought that Teddy somehow knew and wanted to shave his hair in solidarity. And then Teddy looked up and he saw a nasty black eye. They stared at each other for a long time until both of their eyes welled up in tears.

“Your hair’s gone.” Teddy said wetly after they ran into each other for a hug.

“So ‘s yours.” Steve sniffs, daring himself to pat the buzzed scalp.

“My dad got mad last night.”

Teddy told him about his dad enough that his muffled words made Steve tighten his grip. “At least you’re not dying.”

Teddy barked out a wet laugh, “Just don’t leave me first.”

It was an easy promise to accept. Except it was already broken when Teddy never showed at school the next day. And then Steve was alone again.

—

I’m in remission. I still have a future. I’m going to live. Steve repeated that mantra to himself in his car, staring from afar at the ominous entrance of Hawkins High.

It had been a good year and a half since the doctors finally gave the good news. Steve was always a crier, but he’d only stared up at the ceiling in silent disbelief while his parents wept joyfully. The news never really hit him until two months later, when he touched an inch of new hair in the bathroom, and then sobbed and thanked God for letting him live.

Even if that little what if it comes back lingered in the back of his mind.

Now, he was thrown back to Hawkins, which included starting his sophomore year in person.

But old habits still stayed. Steve kept seated in his car and watched the other students walk inside while they laughed with healthy smiles. Even after the bell rang, he stayed. After a good five minutes, Steve’s courage returned and he stepped out.

He only took three steps when a van suddenly appeared, scaring the shit out of him with a blaring honk. Steve jumped back and flipped the driver off. “Watch it, asshole!” He stomped away, his mood broken further by the van’s door opening. Great, now he’s gonna be in a shouting match in front of the school-

“Steve?”

He froze. Turned around slowly.

Teddy, all dressed in some dark clothes with long hair. Teddy, who stared back at him with wide eyes. Teddy, Teddy, Teddy-

Steve wasn’t sure who ran towards the other first, but it was Steve who hugged the tightest and cried first.

“Holy shit,” Teddy laughed wetly in his ear, “Your hair-” He leaned away so his hands were placed on both sides of Steve’s head. They felt warm and oddly right. “You look so much healthier…”

Steve just smiled, a little blush in his cheeks as he said, “I got better.” He watched as the realization dropped on Teddy in real time. Then he was pulled into a more tighter and fiercer hug, already feeling a wet patch on his shoulder.

There were definitely lots of things they needed to catch up on. But Steve’s more contempt in sharing his warmth with his friend.

[redjennies]

i do not want to get to know new people. I want someone who I already know has such similar damage to mine in a way that feels like destiny and can make me laugh and fuck me stupid.

me: *has a scheduled date on Saturday with a total cutie*.

also me, an insane person: *runs into an ex on a Tuesday night and we have a small but heartfelt moment* BUT DADDY I LOVE HIM.

[rfxiii]

Okay, so I'm the person who made the request about Michael and his wife being toxic about each other.

Since then I can't stop fantasizing about Michael taking his wife to a bank robbery with Trevor and Franklin... I just imagine Michael and his wife yelling and cursing at each other (she totally slaps and pushes him, and he just curses her) in the back seat in the car only to be kissing and dry humping the next second. All while Franklin and Trevor are sitting up front in the car lmao.

(This is…incredibly late. Life hit me hard and fast the last few months, but I apologize for the delay.)

TW: light smut

Minors DNI

Rain droplets trail in little rivulets down the tinted windows of the van Trevor had stolen earlier in the night, leaving streaks of wet that mimic the twinkle of fairy lights as the street lamps make each drop glow against the inky black of the night. Normally, a night like this would be full of long silences only curtailed by Franklin changing the low tune on the radio, or Michael and Trevor’s usual bickering. Even for this usually lively group of bank robbers, a stakeout grew boring quickly.

But tonight, much to the displeasure of Franklin and Trevor, there would be no silence— as tonight, Michael had opted to bring you along.

“Mikey, oh my god! Could you breathe any louder?! You sound like an asthmatic!” You snap at Michael for what feels like the hundredth time tonight. You’re not even sure why you agreed to come along. It’s like he goes out of his way to be extra obnoxious when you tag along on jobs with him.

Michael scoffs out a loud laugh, the sounds of the beginning of yet another argument. Franklin and Trevor each cringe from their places in the front seats of the van.

“Oohoh, you’re seriously going to start this already?” Michael chuckles sardonically. “Fine! Maybe I wouldn’t be fightin’ to breathe if you didn’t put on perfume like a cheap hooker!”

“Or maybe it’s because you chain smoke like you’re a fucking train! It’s probably the cancer suffocating you!” You snort back without thought, more than used to making quick retorts in these arguments with Michael.

“Great! Ya see? I can’t even have one ounce of enjoyment in my life without you bitchin’ at me for it!” Michael shouts back at you, lighting up one of his damn cigarettes just to spite you. And as if that little act of defiance wasn’t enough, then he addresses your two companions in the front seat. “Lemme tell you guys something— never get married! You especially, Frank. Let us be a lesson!”

“Oh, fuck you, Michael,” you shout at him with a firm slap to his broad shoulder, “don’t bring them into this shit! Besides..being married wouldn’t be so bad..if I wasn’t married to you!”

“Yeah, well, the same goes for me, angel! I’m startin’ to think I shoulda just left you right where I found you! My biggest mistake was to let you keep hangin’ around!” Michael snaps at you with such disgust you may have actually taken him seriously…had you two not been having this same argument for years now.

If there was one thing about you and Michael, it was that you just couldn’t leave each other alone. And after several years of being married, you were both more than sure that no matter how hard you fought, nobody was going anywhere.

“Bullshit! Before me you were fucking paying for your blowjobs!” You spit at him with equally matched venom. “So, unless you want to go back to that, I suggest you rethink your attitude!”

Michael reclines further in his seat, speaking from around a mouthful of cheap smoke, “You still end up with my money! And you don’t even put out half the time! At least those other girls knew when to shut up and blow me!”

“Fine! Bring it over here and I’ll bite it off, Mikey!” You all but scream at him, giving his shoulder another firm shove in the process.

“Oh, I’m sure you would!” Michael shouts back with equal ferocity, jerking away from your violent touch. “But I’d love to watch you choke on it, sweetheart!”

The two of you always got so absorbed in your petty little arguments, so absorbed that you’ve both failed to notice the increasingly dark energy brewing in the front seat. You see, Trevor usually didn’t give much thought to you and Michael’s toxic interactions—usually laughing it off or disregarding it as just an annoying facet of his best friends relationship. But, trapped for hours in the confines of this van, the arguing is beginning to wear thin his already flimsy patience.

And while neither you nor Michael notice Trevor’s agitation, Franklin finds himself cringing as he hears Trevor’s irritated mumbling rise in frequency until he’s finally shouting over both you and Michael.

“Would you two SHUT the FUCK UP?! If you assholes think it’s necessary to air your marital problems in front of an audience, then do it in front of a divorce lawyer, or your shrink, or some other poor bastard that’s getting PAID to listen to it! Now, unless you’re planning on writing me a check for whatever those rates are…SHUT THIS SHIT DOWN!” Trevor finally explodes, fists gripping the steering wheel until his knuckles turn white.

The silence falls heavily in the van, only Trevor’s labored breathing permeating the stagnation. And it’s only once he’s certain that neither you, nor Michael, are planning on continuing the argument, that Trevor turns back around in his seat and turns up the radio just a fraction to fill the, now blissful, silence.

Franklin feels the tension slowly ease from his shoulders, and he lets out a barely audible sigh of relief, too cautious to make any louder noise. And as the quiet stretches for the longest duration since you’d all gotten into the van together, he’s relieved to finally get back on the task of staking out the warehouse Lester had sent you all to begin with. That is, until he hears something that makes his skin prickle.

You hadn’t really given much thought to being quiet or not. Once you’d caught Michael giving you that look from across the seats, all rational thoughts had left your head—just like they always do after you two fight. And the next thing you know you find yourself straddling Michael’s hips and letting out soft moans into the messy kiss you’re both desperately sharing.

“Come on, man..” You hear Franklin mutter softly to himself— you know you’ve been caught. But you’re so overwhelmed in the euphoria, and adrenaline of yet another fight, that you completely disregard it.

Your hips roll in well timed thrusts against the stiff fabric of Michael’s suit pants, and it’s not long after that you feel his thick cock prodding against you. Michael’s hands slip under your shirt, gripping firmly at the soft skin at your waist while he drags you more aggressively against him. And damn him, if he doesn’t pull another gasping, desperate moan from your lips while you now know you’re being watched.

And Michael knows it too. He’d caught Trevor’s persistent gaze in the rear view mirror, but he makes no move to stop— more than used to Trevor peeping in, or blatantly watching him, while he’s in the act. And frankly, Trevor is the least of his worries at a time like this.

If you were being quite honest, both you and Michael enjoyed these fights just as well as you enjoyed foreplay. You could spend all day, sometimes even all week, in some hateful argument just to end up tangled up together on the nearest available surface to fuck away all of the built up tension. It’s what’s always made your fucked up relationship work, and you knew nobody else could match that energy except Michael. And you knew he knew it too. There’s nobody in the world that would put up with the shit he puts you through the way that you do.

“Hey, hey! Heads up!” Franklin interjects, pulling you and Michael away from your frantic groping. “I think this is it.”

You reluctantly peel yourself from Michael’s lap, biting back a smirk when you spot his throbbing boner straining against his pants. And when he spots that taunting grin on your lips, Michael’s hand snaps out to firmly grasp your ass before you plant it back in the seat— letting you know that this is far from over.

“Alright, perverts.” Trevor calls to you both from the front. “As much as I love watching a good hatefuck, it looks like it’s time to work!”

“Yeah, yeah. Shut the hell up, T.” Michael grumbles, shooting you a quick side-eye paired with his most charming crooked grin.

And god, now you can’t wait for this night to be over for a whole other reason.

[definitelynotaminion]

Rated "R" - Part 4

First 7k here (my blog) or on ao3 here | Skip ahead to the end of my WIP doc/see all updates on patreon (full 11k doc) | The tag i'm using for this fic on tumblr (chronological order)

-

His breath picks up, exactly like a little bird trying to keep his respiration even without the cheat of tactical breathing patterns. Giving Jason his-- fuck, his honesty here, not trying to hide behind the training!

“God, I was a little asshole.” Jason says fondly. “Leaning over you, nudging you, teasing just to get a reaction.”

“It was terrfying.” Tim says, lips pursed but audibly fighting a smile. “I was worried you’d find out that I knew. Or that I was so far from home.”

“Instead you showed me a shit picture of the sky—you totally took that right before I landed on the balcony, you little shit—and stuttered through your planned lies and let me talk you into sneaking out to the corner ice cream shop.”

It’s fuzzy around the edges, just another night as Robin before the end, but Jason remembers how easy it was to coax startled laughter and wide-eyes out of the boy, how impressed he’d been when Tim shimmied down the fire escape so easily for his ‘first time’.

“It was the best of night of my life.” Tim says quietly. Not quite wistful, but something… a treasure, here, pressed into Jason’s hands.

Jason had swung the young boy back to the landing, felt his shock and joy even as he was so quiet, not whooping or screaming—Jason wasn’t suppsoed to use the grapple with civilians outside of emergencies, but aside from the stuttering and awe he hadn’t managed to get strong reactions out of Tim.

He'd wanted to.

“I’d have recognized you.” Jason announces. His head thumps back on the pillow. “At the next gala.”

A sharp inhale.

“You… that was only two weeks before Garzonas.”

“And three weeks before I fucking bit it, I gotcha.” Jason blows out air heavily. “I don’t remember the dates, but that was April. Earth Day had already happened, so…The next one would have been, what, the Belmonts’ charity ball?”

Tim disagrees with a little noise of dissent.

“Sophia Starr held a big event in May to raise money for cancer research.” He reminds. “Her aunt died from brain cancer the year before.”

“Better that than fundraising for shitty outreach programs that ended up embezzled, or tax write offs, or fucking—early movie showings.” Jason had almost forgotten the contempt in his heart for all the different reasons Gotham’s elite got together to spend their hoardes of money.

“Mm.” Tim quietly agrees. “You weren’t there.”

Jason squeezes his eyes closed, thinking about where he was instead—and what he would have given up to be there, once the trap sprung. 

Shit. He needs a distraction. Galas and balls, little birds dancing around each other.

“If I had been?” Jason tips his chin up, eyes still closed. “What was your plan, hmm? I’d have recognized you.”

A shaky inhale as his reward. Jason grins again.

“Do you think you’d have come, even if your parents weren’t in town? Tim Drake, almost old enough to be chauferred there, to apologize with a smile for his parents’ absense. Schmooze a little on their behalf.”

“I first did that to get close to… well.” Tim lets the words trail off, lets Jason pick up what had really been going on at the time. “It was closer to the end of summer by the time I realized someone had to step in.”

“Let’s not go there,” Jason decides, letting his eyes open, see the lines in the ceiling. “We’re painting a different picture, here, Tim. C’mon.”

“Yeah?” Something soft in that tone, almost breathless. Jason gets more comfortable.

“Mm.” Jason prompts. “The mysterious boy at the gala. I’m… on edge. Fed up with Bruce’s bullshit. I’d latch onto that kind of distraction.”

“Latch onto… me.” Tim blinks hard.

“You were a mystery, baby bird. I was a detective.” Jason clicks his tongue. “Besides, those parties were miserable. You would have been fun.”

[corporatefrog]

꒦‧₊ ꒷ HEADCANNONS: team craig reacting to yn being in the hospital✧.*

✧.* tags: superhero au, college au ✧.* Characters: tolkien blacl, craig tucker, tweek tweek, clyde donavan, jimmy valmer a/n: I got around to sharing team craig! i'm so happy everyone liked the previous one and I hope you enjoy this one just as much!

masterlist

Craig

He’d act very apathetic about the whole situation when you told him

“I’m going to be in the hospital for the next week, I got into an accident during a villain attack and hit my head pretty bad.”

“Oh wow. That’s a bummer.”

“Yeah, can you grab my homework for me?”

“Eh… I’ve got some things going on tomorrow.”

He doesn’t want to see you hurt 

So he just avoids going

As long as he doesn’t physically SEE you, you can’t really be hurt, right?

Clyde drags him to the hospital to visit you 

After that he’s visiting everyday until you’re discharged 

Then sits with you to pass the time since you can’t look at screens until you’re healed

Definitely shows you his astronomy books

(lowkey very happy to have someone who listens to his interests instead of dealing with south park’s bullshit of the day but he’ll never say it)

Tweek 

Let’s be honest we ALL know what he’d do

And it’s not sit down, have a cup of tea and wait to for you to be discharged

He’s running into the automatic door before he can open

Probably ends up in the hospital WITH you by the time he makes it to your room

“WHAT HAPPENED”

“I literally texted you”

“I tried to read it but my hand wouldn’t stop shaking so I decided to get here as fast as possible but then my bike hit a curb so I had to run all the way over.”

“Jesus fuck dude, you need this bed more than me.”

“NO DONT GET UP YOUR BLOOD WILL GO EVERYWHERE”

“Im literally being discharged rn”

You being hurt means that HE can get hurt

Starts showing up to EVERYTHING covered in bubble wrap

He looks like that kid from home alone except with bubble wrap 

Craig blames you

“Bro my car was literally crushed by the fucking coon how is that my fault”

“You didn’t coon-proof your car and now Tweek’s going to be freaking out for the next month”

Tolkien

Probably the only one with a NORMAL reaction

You send him a text that you were in the hospital and he says he’ll be over once he’s out of class

Real normal stuff

Normal until he gets to the hospital

You can’t tell it’s him through the balloons and flowers and stuffed animals

“Why does the bear have a card that says ‘We’ll beat Cancer together’?”

“I didn’t know what was wrong so I grabbed one of everything.”

You were knocked out when a piece of debris hit your head during a villain attack

You need to go back to work to make money for rent?

Nah he covered your rent for the month. And utilities. And filled your fridge.

What’s the point of being rich if you can’t help your friends when they’re hurt? 

He’d do it for anyone!

(anyone meaning you and butters. Maybe kyle if he’s in a good mood. Only redeemable souls in the whole town)

Clyde

Acting like you’re DYING the moment you tell him

You could literally have a sprained ankle and he’s sobbing like you’ve got a day to live

“I know i wasn’t always the best friend in the world but I care about you so much!”

“That’s great clyde, can we talk about this tomorrow though?”

“You’re so strong. Acting like everything’s okay.”

Watching the area around you like a HAWK for the next month incase there are any dangers

What if you get hurt again??

Wants you to stay home for a month after you get out of the hospital 

Stands in front of your door, holding the doorknob so you can’t open it inward

But the door opens outward

So you send him falling onto his ass and start walking to class with a sobbing clyde crawling across the floor behind you

He means well though

Jimmy

Finally, the perfect audience to try his new hospital set with

He doesn’t really like hospitals since his comedy isn’t usually appreciated 

He’ll call you everyday though! And tell you everything that’s happening with your friends

It’s like having your own personal sitcom that calls you everyday

“And then craig threw his ice cream at cartman’s face and made him the true mint chocolate chip.”

“PFFFT! God i love your commentary”

“What can i say, you’re a great audience!”

“Can you just call me everyday and recap the day?”

“Wow, my mom always told me i’d be famous but this is getting a little wild”

Even if he’s worried, he’s not going to say anything.

He wants to boost your mood since he knows hospitals have rancid vibes

He’s the first one to visit you once you’re back at home and he’s got PAGES of recaps to share with you