#causes of oral cancer
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
Text
Oral Cancer â Types, Symptoms, Causes and Risk Factors
What is Oral Cancer:
Oral Cancer is also known as mouth cancer usually forms in the oral cavity including parts of your mouth.
Types of Oral Cancers:
Squamous cell carcinoma
Minor salivary cancer
Sarcomas
Mucosal melanoma
Symptoms of Oral Cancer:
Non healing ulcer â more than 3 weeks
Lump in the tongue or palate
Difficult or painful swallowing
New lumps or bumps in the neck
Numbness
Ear pain
Sore throat
Red or white patches
Loose teeth or dentures
Weight Loss
Difficulty in speaking
Causes of Oral Cancer:
Alcohol
Usage of Tobacco
Sun Exposure
Age
Immunodeficiency
Poor Oral Health
Mouth Conditions
Chewing Tobacco
Genetic Syndromes
Risk Factors of Oral Cancer:
HPV infection
A weakened immune system
Poor Oral hygiene
Poor Diet
Preventions of Oral Cancer:
Avoid Tobacco products
Limit Alcohol consumption
Limiting UV exposure
Regular Dental Check-ups
Vaccination against HPV Infection
Subsites of Oral Cancer:
Tongue
Lips
Gums (gingiva)
Cheeks
Palate
Tonsils
Floor of the month
#what is oral cancer#oral cancer#preventions of oral cancer#risk factors of oral cancer#causes of oral cancer#symptoms of oral cancer#types of oral cancers#Dr Rahul Buggaveeti#head and neck onco surgeon#ent specialist#Squamous cell carcinoma#Minor salivary cancer#oral cancer doctor
1 note
·
View note
Text
5 Common Causes of Painful Mouth Ulcers
Mouth ulcers are painful, often recurrent sores that can disrupt your daily life. Understanding the underlying causes can help in finding effective mouth ulcer home remedies and managing their recurrence. If youâre asking, âWhat is a mouth ulcer?â and want to know how to treat or prevent them, youâre in the right place. This blog explores the five most common causes of painful mouth ulcers and offers insights into à€Šà€Ÿà€à€€à„à€ à€źà„à€ à€à€šà„à€«à„à€à„à€¶à€š à€à€Ÿ à€à€Čà€Ÿà€ (dental infection treatment) and dental infection.
1. Nutritional Deficiencies
One of the primary causes of mouth ulcers is a deficiency in essential vitamins and minerals. Lack of vitamin B12, folic acid, and iron can lead to the development of painful sores. When your diet lacks these crucial nutrients, it can affect the health of your oral mucosa, making you more susceptible to ulcers.
To address nutritional deficiencies, incorporate a balanced diet rich in fruits, vegetables, and whole grains. If you suspect a deficiency, consider supplements after consulting with a healthcare provider. This can also be a part of your mouth ulcer home remedies strategy to prevent recurrence.
2. Stress and Hormonal Changes
Stress is another common trigger for mouth ulcers. High stress levels can weaken your immune system, making it easier for ulcers to form. Similarly, hormonal fluctuations, especially in women during menstruation or pregnancy, can contribute to the development of mouth ulcers.
Managing stress through relaxation techniques such as meditation, yoga, or regular exercise can help reduce the frequency and severity of ulcers. If hormonal changes are the issue, discuss potential treatments with your healthcare provider.
3. Oral Trauma
Accidental bites, aggressive brushing, or dental appliances like braces can cause oral trauma, which may lead to mouth ulcers. This type of trauma damages the oral mucosa, creating a vulnerable area prone to ulceration.
To avoid this, use a soft-bristled toothbrush and be gentle while brushing. If you wear braces or other dental appliances, consult with your dentist about ways to minimize irritation. Additionally, you may want to explore à€Šà€Ÿà€à€€à„à€ à€źà„à€ à€à€šà„à€«à„à€à„à€¶à€š à€à€Ÿ à€à€Čà€Ÿà€ options if trauma leads to secondary infections.
4. Food Sensitivities and Allergies
Certain foods can trigger mouth ulcers, especially if you have sensitivities or allergies. Citrus fruits, spicy foods, and even chocolate can cause irritation and lead to ulcer formation. For those who experience frequent ulcers, identifying and avoiding trigger foods can be an effective preventative measure.
Keep a food diary to track what you eat and note any patterns related to mouth ulcers. If you identify specific foods that cause discomfort, try eliminating them from your diet. In cases where food allergies might be the cause, consulting with an allergist or dietitian could provide additional insights and relief.
5. Underlying Health Conditions
Sometimes, mouth ulcers can be a sign of an underlying health condition, such as autoimmune diseases (like Behçetâs disease or Crohnâs disease), gastrointestinal issues, or infections. If you experience frequent or severe ulcers that do not respond to typical treatments, itâs essential to consult a healthcare provider to rule out more serious conditions.
For those suffering from underlying health issues, addressing the root cause is crucial. Your healthcare provider may recommend specific treatments or medications as part of your à€Šà€Ÿà€à€€à„à€ à€źà„à€ à€à€šà„à€«à„à€à„à€¶à€š à€à€Ÿ à€à€Čà€Ÿà€ plan to manage both the ulcers and the underlying condition.
Effective Mouth Ulcer Home Remedies
Alongside addressing the causes, several mouth ulcer home remedies can help alleviate discomfort and promote healing:
Saltwater Rinses: Dissolve salt in warm water and rinse your mouth several times a day. This can help reduce pain and inflammation.
Honey: Applying honey to the ulcer can soothe pain and aid in healing due to its antibacterial properties.
Aloe Vera: Aloe vera gel has soothing properties that can reduce irritation and promote healing.
Baking Soda Paste: A paste made from baking soda and water can neutralize acids and soothe the ulcer.
Coconut Oil: Applying coconut oil to the affected area can provide a protective layer and reduce inflammation.
Conclusion
Understanding the 5 common causes of painful mouth ulcers and implementing effective mouth ulcer home remedies can significantly improve your oral health and comfort. If ulcers persist or worsen, seek professional advice to explore à€Šà€Ÿà€à€€à„à€ à€źà„à€ à€à€šà„à€«à„à€à„à€¶à€š à€à€Ÿ à€à€Čà€Ÿà€ and other treatment options. By addressing the root causes and using practical remedies, you can manage and reduce the impact of mouth ulcers in your life.
#à€Šà€Ÿà€à€€à„à€ à€źà„à€ à€à€šà„à€«à„à€à„à€¶à€š#mouth cancer symptoms#baking soda#mouth ulcers#oral hygiene#5 Common Causes of Painful Mouth Ulcers
0 notes
Text
đŁïžThis is important!
Americaâs puritanical, homophobic, anti-vaccination, anti-sex education, âmoralityâ mentality is killing people.
This information could literally save someoneâs life. Please share.
Links:
đđż https://www.businessinsider.com/oral-sex-is-the-leading-risk-factor-throat-cancer-expert-2023-4
đđż https://www.nbcnews.com/health/cancer/hpv-can-cause-cancer-many-people-dont-realize-rcna79597
đđż https://www.gardasil9.com/adults/hpv-faq/
đđż https://www.mayoclinic.org/diseases-conditions/hpv-infection/in-depth/hpv-vaccine/art-20047292
#politics#gardasil#hpv vaccine#lgbt#hpv#cancer#throat cancer#lgbtq#signal boost#cervical cancer#throat goats#antivaxxers
49K notes
·
View notes
Text
ORAL CANCER SCREENINGS
Oral cancer screenings are a very important part of the dental visit for the patient. With the advances in modern technology, we are now able to pinpoint the start of a potential problem much earlier in its evolution. The ability to do so is extremely important in being able to treat any issues prior to them becoming a major irreversible problem.
#an apple a day dentist#dental hygiene for gum disease#gum disease complications#dental care for gum disease#causes of gum disease#dental cancer#dental screening#teeth screening#oral cancer dentist
0 notes
Text
youtube
Oral Cancer Causes Other Than Tobacco | Head & Neck cancer | Mouth cancer Awareness
Regular follow-up is a must with your oncologist even after the cancer has been removed to check the possibility of residual cancer. Early detection of oral cancer helps the patient to get the best successful treatment.
0 notes
Text
Solar Return chart notes ii
**not my images**
áŻâ
chart ruler of SR in 3rd house may mean you will have a new (younger) sibling (or cousin).
áŻâ
pluto in 1st house of SR is the year that i had a transformative overall year. I wouldn't call it an identity crisis but i was questioning who or what i am or what i need to be doing.
áŻâ
IC ruler in 4th house in SR can make you more family oriented. i had this one year and i had a closer relationship with my household family.
áŻâ
another indication of studying the occult is having vertex in the 8th house. i had mines in Gemini (mind, studying, writing).
áŻâ
venus in 4th house in SR can mean you loving your culture and your traditions more.
áŻâ
the ruler of 5th house in 6th house can be an indication of starting to move your body for fun. i had my ruler of 5th house (hobbies) in the 6th house (physical body, routine) and it was in Aries (fast moving, fast pace). i started dancing more that year as a hobby and for fun.
áŻâ
11th house SR in cancer can make your friendships very confusing. For example i had my 11th house in cancer and moon (ruler) in 3rd house (of communication, talking), there was lack of communication which led to confusion.
áŻâ
vertex in the 8th house of SR can mean earning money/ getting money from other people. i had this in gemini (rules social media, and communication) in 8th house.
áŻâ
when i had mars (action, messages) in the 9th house (higher learning, education) i had multiple of university offers. Mars was trine Neptune and the courses were art related. very interestinggg.
áŻâ
ruler of 11th house square mars can bring conflict to your friendship circle.
áŻâ
the ruler of 2nd house in Aquarius can make your senses change. what i mean by this is that your taste may change or say your sense of smell can become weaker or sharper etc etc.
áŻâ
in your SR, when the 4th house ruler trines Venus, you may create a beautiful bond with your family members. This can also enhance your love for your heritage.
áŻâ
Jupiter trine asteroid Aphrodite (1388) can influence self care. i had jupiter in Aries and i was very focused on the head/face and taking care of these areas such as my skin and my oral health. The asteroid was in the 2nd house which rules the face and teeth in medical astrology. very cool.
áŻâ
when i had moon sextile uranus in my SR i was very chronically online. i had comfort in that area and would almost allow what i saw on the internet control my mood.
áŻâ
venus trine saturn in your SR can make you become stricter on your appearance. this may cause you to be very aware of how you look and be quite strict about it.
áŻâ
SR sun in 7th house, expect to be more confident. i had this trine pluto and went out of my comfort zone lots of times even if i felt a bit anxious.
áŻâ
Mars in cancer in your SR can make you bicker with family members tremendously. i had this placement in a taurus degree (2,14,26) and there were topics related to finances being discussed quite often (mostly the females).
áŻâ
ketu in 1st house of SR can make you more isolated. not always a bad thing this can just mean that you don't crave spending time with other people and enjoy your own company.
thanks for reading, have a nice day!đ€
#solar return#solar return chart#astrology#asteroid astrology#astrology community#astrology degrees#astrology observations#kpop astrology#vedic astrology#sidereal astrology#astro notes#astro community#astro observations#astro placements#vedic astro notes#astrology synastry#celebrity astrology
771 notes
·
View notes
Text
I got my biopsy results today. The good news is there's no new or unknown disease wrecking my insides.
The bad news is it's most likely my MCAS burning down my GI tract.
I say "likely" because the GI doctor had the humility to admit the medical world doesn't know enough (yet) about conditions like MCAS to say for sure, only that the areas biopsied showed elevated numbers of mast cells and that the inflammation and damage are consistent with mast cell dysfunction.
I got to watch in real-time as the GI doctor added the mast cell stabilizers to my regimen of meds, the exact ones the allergist denied me 3 years ago because he said I needed psych treatment and was mistaking anxiety for anaphylaxis because I 'googled too many things.'
Part of me hopes the allergist gets notified and chokes to death on eating crow. A larger part of me is just relieved it happened before I developed internal bleeding or cancer.
Anyway. We're testing new meds soon to try and bring down my base inflammation to something lower than "my insides literally feel like they're burning."
I'm also starting even more supplements to try and combat the mass deficiencies likely being caused by the MCAS inflammation. I've been told to take twice the daily recommended amount of pre-natal supplements on top of my existing regimen, and if that fails, they'll start infusions. (The hope is that my stomach isn't so far gone that oral meds won't help, so fingers crossed.)
Apparently, this is the year we finally stop my gradual death from malnutrition for good. Well, better late than never, I guess.
#chronic health tag#mcas#I'm trying not to be angry#or ill wish the allergist#but I'd be lying if I said I'm not wishing devastating bodily harm on him right now#hmm#probably something for therapy
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
someone left my cage open quick
[cato/f!ambassador]
(1) (2) (3) (4) (5)
(8,800ish words) (holy fucking kill me mate)
CONTENT WARNINGS:
âąnot dubcon? [omg they've grown guys]
âąhints of size kink
âąvaginal fingering [on herself]
âą(so i guess) masturbation
âąoral [m receiving]
âąintercourse [M/F]
âądiscussions on contraception
âądiscussions on pregnancy
âąmild possessive behaviour
âąhint of slapping (he deserves it)
âąmild horror themes [warp ptsd]
âątumblr's cancerous fucking formatting as always
âââââââââââââââââââââââââââââââââââ
hi guys :3 guess what i got you all good im not dead,,, the gods have let me live another fateful fortnight (fortnite) also i love you all so so so much pls enjoy!!!! @moodymisty, @lemon-russ, @bispecsual, @the-raven-lady, @egrets-not-regrets, @pluvio-tea, @kit-williams, @thevoidscreams, @mothiir, @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan, @sinistermojo, @beckyninja, @passionofthesith, @cosmic-cryptid-from-beyond, @allergymoose, @scriberye, @yestheantichrist, @ma1dmer, @cucunot!!! if anyone wants off or on taglist lmk!!! im more than happy to adjust this in post OK BYE ILY ALL AGAINNNN!!!
âââââââââââââââââââââââââââââââââââ
There should be higher security in this wing, Cato notes.
But compared to the rest of the vessel, it's safeâas in, there's senior Admech's leaving their doors open while they buff out the scratches in their mechadendrites sort of safe. He bets seeing a mouse around here would cause a stir. Honestly, he can fully render the pict in his mind of some haughty Seneschal turning their nose up to his Primarch because of that.
Cato can imagine the exact following happening, 'eugh, why doesn't Lord Guilliman virus bomb the pipes? That's what I had done on my pissy little rowboat of a void ship!' in that nasally, all too predictable tone that every single bloody one of them seems to have bar maybe a few.
Cato grits his teeth at the thought alone.
But it is safe. You're safe, here. He trusts his Primarch to ensure that for you. Being so cozy to Guilliman as a baseline certainly has its benefits. This place is good for you, unlike the bowels of the shipâwhere even Cato avoids going.
Not for any risk to his persons, of course. But simply because of the tightness of the hallways. And the stink of baseline sweat and oil that practically sticks to his senses for days afterward.
It's most certainly not because the low lumen count sends his mind wandering. And the flickeringâdamn those flickering lightsâthey make him uneasy. The impossible chance they'll flicker out and reveal a reality awash with fleshed decking is completely unrealistic. But still, down in those depths, he feels like he's stuck in a dying vessel, cracked at the bottom like a broken vase, leaking. Adrift, on a storm laden sea with the blackness pouring inâwhere within that black there is a barely perceptible colour in infinite abundance, like the phosphenes behind closed eyesâand there are eyes in that oceanâso, so many eyes, fixed with the glowing, molten hues of the warp itself; their shades a melted tapestry, a solvent thing, ever-changing.
Eyes and screaming. It sometimes returns to Cato like a bad case of tinnitus, ringing and shrillâbut the mind crafts horror that pale reality in comparison, and in that wretched plane of existence those mental horrors bore real talons, and real hooves and real thoughtâand the caterwauling of its victimsâhis brothersâever came from maws heaving and frothing in agony.
Cato hears himself stumble and slam a palm into the side wall to steady himself, but doesn't feel it. He feels like he's in free-fall, as if the ground has opened up and swallowed him hale and whole.
All time in that abominable realm was rendered simply nonexistent, without matter nor meaning to behold to any living creature. Naught but the notion of being practically alone and how chilling it was spiralling down the depthless lake of energy remained. No resistance of air lent to the sensation of plummeting, but he was sure he was for reason beyond any form of tongue. The distance was irrelevant and utterly unmeasurable. But the warp had no edge, no limit; and as it lacked a limit, the depth of him sinking was surely unboundedâjust as it was eerily silent. A merciless wall of mute, dark unknown which swallowed all whole under it's cresting wave of solitude. Mute except the wailing, like songâsong of sheer coincidence, where so many voices in unison chances harmony by mathematics beyond comprehension.
The sour taste on his tongue drags him loose of the claws about his mind.
He blinks, and sees and feels steel.
Cold, unforgiving steel walling like a soothing downpour on his nerves.
Cato groans as he rights himself, shaking his head, and then rolls his tongue around his mouth; gagging a little at the bitter, acrid aftertaste of his Betcher's gland acting on instinct.
He'd thought himself largely past this now. It had been so long since it happened, and Cato tries, he tries so painfully hard not to imagine the same thing happening here, because he's okay, you're okayânothing would try to take this ship.
The vile taste on his tongue annoys him, because he'd scrubbed his teeth raw in an effort to seem as polished as he could; and now his tongue probably stinks like an empty las cartridge.
He spits on the floor and straightens up, it's fineâat least that's what he tells himself. You're close, and you're safe and that's all the encouragement he needs to fall back into step.
Cato takes a few strides down the corridor towards your quarters before realising something rather important.
He reaches into the folds of his rest attire and practically yanks out a sheathed knife.
It'd be closer to a dagger to you, and he doubts you know how to use it, butâbutâ
He wants to give it to you.
It's what he'd like to receive, at least. After all, it is what he was given, once.
The smith on Talassar is long dead, from age or sickness, but it matters little. All that matters is that Cato had received it ages ago when he'd yet to make anything of himself and he wants your hands to know its weight. You never carry weapons to diplomatic ventures in the past, and you've told him as much, but he gathers it's because there's never been place for you to put them on your persons in those stupid outfits of yours.
It's a little bit brutish of a gift, yes, he's well aware. But there's no possibility of bringing any sort of cliche boon to your door, like flowers, or something of the sort. Or whatever those waifs of yore would demand as a courting gift.
He doesn't even realise he's continued walking until he's stopped and standing outside your chamber like a kicked hound.
Cato stuffs the dagger back against his breast.
He's not sure if he should knock.
Maybe barging in is a more logical approach.
He knows the universal override to all the input pads, but there's something seemingly rooting him to the spot.
The nervousness hesitation he feels regarding seeing you is a lingering problemâthe longer he stays beyond the confides of your room only adds to the chances of being caught. And he's not about to wait for hours outside for a hint you're actually in there. He has right to suspect you are, but the possibility of a serf being there instead of you is unrealistic but present. Actually no, he's sure that a cleaning serf would not lock the door.
So, finally, he raps a knuckle against the door and sets his footing to a martial stance.
The door clicks, then slides open a minute later.
There's a clear surprise that paints across your face as he stares down at you, before it dissolves into a small, flustered smile.
His hands twitch where they hang by his sides, itching to reach for the dagger he wants to give you. He had planned how he'd do this on the way here. Thought it through and prepared, rolling it over and over in his head. And yet, actually having you before him throws any precedent out the nearest air-lock.
You're not in any sort of prim and proper wayâyou're in bedding clothes, more than anything: pants and a top.
The trousers are a light shade of cyan, loose around your calves but more form fitting around your thighs. Your hips seeming to be the only thing holding the pants up from showing the warm, smooth skin beneath; that, and a small thread tied in a crude bow. Your tunic is more of a inched stola, low necked enough that he can sort of see the top of your breasts.
"I didn't.. uh," you mumble. "I didn't expect you so soon."
He knows he's earlier than he promised, but he grunts in answer and looks over your shoulder.
You blink, "What?"
"Am I to wait out here all cycle, then?"
A small 'oh, rightâsorry' from you is all he receives before you take a step back to allow him entrance.
When the door slides shut and locks behind him, Cato notes the lack on downlight activated. Everything is hazed in a moody, misty (hi) sort of warm, amber glow from the candles you've left burning. He thankfully wrestles down the urge to stand there scenting the air with his lip curled up like a beast. Trying not to linger on the abundant stink of you, you, you on everything, pervading every sense he has. Promising himself he won't smother into your pillows and start humping them like a rabid dog.
He distracts himself by cataloguing his surroundings. Cato has consistently focused on utilitarianism over all else, and it shows in his room. His room is accessorised in the style befitting of his many years and achievements; with walls lined with trophies and weaponry made by the best of the Imperium. It contains just the basic necessities required: a work area, a seat, a couple of lights, an agreeably Astartes-sized cot at the middle, and close to it, a dependable incense holder.
Your room is much smallerâbut the ensuite appears the same, though. Which Cato doesn't know how to feel about. He surmises it was likely a converted Captain's quarters. It's not standard issue, and neither are the copious amounts of, for lack of a better word, trinkets. But he supposes being the Primarch's favourite little diplomat-bookkeeper-pet-thing is a title full of unseemly rewards. His Father has a strange, uncouth way of interacting with baselines, and he doesn't dare linger on the hypocrisy behind that thought coming from him standing in your private quarters.
Be as that may, he still feels enormous standing there in the cramped space between you, the bed, and the desk behind you, unimpressed at the amount of clothing bundled near his feet.
You stand in your own mess without any hint of shame. A silent Ambassador is typically a welcomed novelty, but a silent you makes Cato jumpy.
You near and try to urge him to lean down, clearly trying to coax a kiss from him.
"Water," he says abruptly.
You don't seem to be listening, just looking at him with a distracted sort of fascinationâthen the request clicks, and you stumble into the bathroom and run the tap.
He hears the glass he's to be drinking from clink with the hardware before it fills, and them you step out and close to him to hand it over.
He takes a big gulp and swishes it around his mouth before swallowing, and gladly the wretched sourness of lingering acid is gone.
With the threat of burning your little nagging trap goneâand you none the wiser to the fact he's an Ultramarine who can, in-fact, spit acidâhe rears down and gives you what you'd sought.
A slow kiss, nice and sweet and gentle; and he closes his eyes this time, in preparation.
You grin against his mouth and pull back after, and he smiles a tiny bit at the way your lips are a little redder.
Cato huffs in satisfaction and straightens back up, going in for another draught of water.
"I am surprised you live in squalor, despite all the benefits of your station," he murmurs offhandedly, looking aside the rim at the room once more between sculling down the rest of the cup.
You frown, and glance about the room, "It's not that bad."
"It looks like a drop zone," Cato grumbles, holding out the empty glassâand you take it, while he's fixed on staring disapprovingly at the messy stacks of data-slates stacked and leaning like two great spires. "Have you no discipline? No self-respect?"
"Clearly not," you mumble and glare at him, eyeing him up, then down, then up again with a judgmental leer. Suddenly, something about the situation is amusing to youâand you snort.
Cato scowls, crossing his dense arms over his chest, "And what's that suppose to mean?"
"Nothing," you huff.
He glares back at you in silence as you turn and set the glass upon the deskâwhat little free space there is, in that shitstorm bundle of random work.
"I just think it's funny that you say that," you start again abruptly, rounding about to look at him. "Given the circumstances."
The scoff that leaves him is nigh a bark, "Exceptional circumstances."
You snort amusedly, "So where's your discipline and self-respect?"
"Somewhere between your thighs," he says, and prides in the begrudgingly fought-back smile he earns out of you with it.
He sits himself down on the side of the bed and continues priding to himself at the wit of the remark he made.
Cato relishes in the moment, simple as it isâyou're oblivious to his own troubles and there's a sweet, lulling sense of comfort in that.
"You're a real class act," You pout, manoeuvring your rear up onto the desk inelegantly. Something tumbles to the floor to accommodate, but you're evidently unbothered. Your pants ride down at the change just enough that it put the part where your hip met leg on display. Just the temptation has him fiending off an insidious amount of lust.
He wonders if it'll hold up against an Astartes fucking you on it. But it's not bolted down, so he doubts that.
The bed will hold, though. And even if it doesn't, he'll still manageâhe's sure he'll take every bit of you he can, on every surface he can manage. It's just a matter of time before he goes down the checklist, really.
Cato, understandably, groans long and low at the thought.
"Something the matter, Commander?" You intone with an annoyingly obvious faux-stupidity, crossing your legs and tilting your head a little.
"No," he rasps, and tears his gaze from your hip.
You eye him, "You look a little stiff."
He grumbles, and reaches into the breast of his robes.
The sheathed dagger looks flimsy in his muscle and callous laced palm, and when he holds it out to you, you look bemused.
Your brow arches up and you scowl a little, "What's that for?"
"You," he harrumphs, and turns away. Then Cato cannot, for the life of him, look back at your eyesâso he fixes his stare at your sandals set by one another at the door frame.
A little giddy huff leaves you as he watches you scoot off the desk top and reach for the weapon in his peripheral vision.
"You didn't have to," you coo, wrapping your small fingers around the hilt and freeing the blade from its casing. A little kiss hits his cheek and then he hears the gleam of it being loosedâhe'd polished the time-dulled filigree to a mirror finish in preparation for gifting you, and even sharpened it back to a killing edge.
Your sweet hum of fascination as he sees the reflected candlelight dancing off the steel has him finally look back at you.
There's a big smile on your face, and your cheeks are a little redâand it's exactly the reaction he was after.
Cato tips his chin up, noble in his smugness, and smiles back.
"It's lovely, butâ" you say, "I remember having told you before I can't wear weapons."
He pouts, and then he's sour again, "There's a belt loop on this one so that you can."
"I don't wear them for a reason," you digress.
"What reason?"
"Because it looks bad for a diplomat to do so."
Cato huffs petulantly, "That's not good enough."
"Yes, it is," you huff back.
"It's just one knife," He grunts, and gestures at you vaguely. "Why not put it on the inside of your thigh?"
And for some reason a few neurones misfire in his head at the thought of his dagger being so, so close to yourâ
"Do me a favour, Sicarius," you simper abruptly, as if there's a hidden punchline to the entire conversation he's yet to discover, "Look under the bed."
Cato scowls, but ultimately allows the request, putting one big palm on the duvet to leer down.
Oh, that'sâthat's a small fortune of ceremonial weaponry.
"Throne, woman," he starts, still looking and a bit stunned. "Why? Do you just collect all these? You don't hang them up, or anything?"
"I don't collect them willingly," you mumble, "They're just... handed to me, most of the time. Sometimes by dignitaries, a few by other Astartes. I don't understand it much, either."
Cato arches lower and reaches his free hand out to the gilded sheath of a curved sword, blue and gold and embossed with jewels. It's crusade-era levels of ancientâand Cato swears he'd seen it upon the lobby wall before the broad doors of Guilliman's chambers. That, and the hundreds of other favoured tools of war his Primarch so loved to display. Some hadn't been touched since the heresy, but still. Their nostalgic sentiments held strong. He supposes age does that to someone. Even for someone as noble and mindful as his Father.
Cato purses his lips as he lays a hand on the sword and tugs it free from the pile with ease.
He holds it up as he rights himself back on the bed and scowls, "This isâ"
"I know," you sigh, and your hand braces against the side of your neck as you tut, "He insisted."
"He insisted?"
"He insisted," you grumble, and Cato tries hard not to find the embarrassed colour on your cheeks painfully endearing. "I said I wouldn't wear it, but he said it'd be a good thing to keep 'incase of emergencies', or something."
"Guilliman is right," Cato says sourly, placing the sword back on the ground and using his heel to shuck it backwards back under the bed. "You're easily assailable."
"You're the fifth Astartes to say that to me," Your face scrunches up, "I feel like it's an insult at this point."
"It's a valid observation," he shoots back. "You may as well be held together with silk and ribbonsâlike some spoilt little princess. You should expect the fanfare with that behaviour."
You leave his dagger on the desk behind you and take a few bold steps closer to him, crossing your arms over your chest; scowling as you say, "Oh, so you're the knight in shining armour here, then?"
Cato scoffs, "I always have been."
"And that is so terribly hard?"
He raises a brow and straightens up a bit, "Yesâyes, it is."
He likes the haughty attitude you get when you're subtly seething, he likes the little scowl you wear, and the tiny crease that forms on your nose. It gets his blood up, and warp damn him if he doesn't thrill at the slightest chance to have you gratifying his antics.
"Well, you got a pretty good reward for your troubles."
He frowns sourly, "What did I get?"
"Laid," you snark.
Cato huffs, "You were desperate for it."
Your brow quirks sourly, and you cross your arms over your chest.
"Groxshit," you grumble.
Ah, so it's time for lying now. You weren't desperate, noâyou haven't ever raised your ass to let him mount you, you haven't groped his cockâyou most certainly haven't ridden him like an unruly beast, taking your pleasureâletting him fuck your tight cunt full, time and time again.
He ought to remind you, he ought to get you flushed with the wordsâbecause he knows you'll squirm, dithering, bright red in the face and aching between the thighs.
Instead, he snorts loudly, "Shut up and come here."
"I don't think so," you laugh.
Cato growls and rolls his eyes, "Suit yourself."
Still sitting, he lifts the folds of his robes aside and works his arms out of the sleeves, baring himself aside from the underclothes hanging on his hips.
With another huff, Cato shuffles himself back up against the headboard, settling into the pillows. He locks his fingers together, raising them above his head, stretching tall and taut; huge chest bulging as a strained groan slips free from his throat, earning a chain of muted cracks from his back in reward of his efforts.
Your eyes trace his torso where you stand aside the bed. Studying the ports and ancient scars that draw up from his hips in mirrored pathways, linear and geometrically preciseâutterly surgical. Their routes turned up the sides of his ribs, stopping high on his serratus anterior, dodging his pectorals and wrapping around to his deltoids; where your gaze stayedâeyeing the tattoo of an inverted omega he had gotten so very, very long ago. It's faded a little, but the upside down Ω is still well defined.
He's got your attention now.
You shuffle forward, half on the edge of the bed; and lean close, flickering your eyes up to hisâas if seeking some sort of allowance.
"Disgustingly predictable," He scoffs, cocking his head and relaxing a bit.
Seeing an Astartes out of their armour always was something to behold for baselines. Ever eye-catching even to those who'd seen it a thousand times over. It garnered awe and fear; but that was the reason the Emperor made them so large in the first place. Aside from the practical benefits of throwing their weight around, their presence alone was intended to be physically intimidating as a means to dissuade the uncooperative from resisting and to scare off contest.
To you though, his bared form is a source of lust. The stink of it in the air has him toey and eager.
But it is, afterall, the first time you've had a good, close look at him in his entirety.
Cato preens at the flush he earns when he smirks at you.
"I won't stop you, you know."
"I hope not," You muse and lay a hand on his sternum, kneeling onto the bed and scooting close as your fingers graze over the dark spread of hair dusting across his chest.
You scan from the tops of his broad shoulders down the definition of muscle to the interfaces on his fused ribs; your eyes trailing for a brief second to his dense abdomen where the hair went even lower. Arrowing down his under-cloth. His entire body was marked with brutal scars of every kind. Some raised and old, others raw and sunken.
He'd indulge a question or two about their origins if askedâor well, if asked nicely.
Oh, that meagre cicatrix below his left pectoral? That was a Carnifex he had fought. It was five of them all at once single handedly, actuallyâand he only had his great Talassarian Tempest blade. It was a lucky mark from the beast. It died seconds later. He's just that goodâhe's Cato Sicarius, afterall. You made the right choice letting him have you, please tell him that he's the right choice.
Instead, you sink down against him and lie against his side, tracing the ports on his chest.
Arguably, this is just as satisfying to Cato as gloating waxing on and on about his many successes. Your warm little body tucked against his like a perfect fit, and the feel of your fingers around the thinner skin rimming his interfacing ports isn't bad, either. It feels strange, yes, but it's a different sort of sensation. It's acutely sensitive. He almost feels like he's about to shiver at it.
But then your attention shifts to raking against the grain of the hair on his chest.
"I usually have it burned away," he says abruptly, because he's somewhat bemused by your fascination. Still, he puffs his chest out a little. "To allow greater synergy with my body-glove."
"Really?" You laugh, and it's a prettier sound than carillon bells to Cato's earsâall the while pawing at a thick hunk of his pectoral, "They toast you?"
"Only a single passing," Cato admits, "It doesn't hurtâstinks though. And then it's all hosed off."
You hum in acknowledgement and let your hand wander down his middle, following the trail of fluffy, coarse hair.
"Interesting," you hum, fingers tracing the path, stopping only when you're grazing just shy of the top wrap of his undercloth. "You feel a bit like a fur rug here."
Cato breathes in slowly, "Don't test your luck."
"It's an entirely valid statement, how am I testing my luck?" You grumble, glowering at him as you pull away.
"You ought to be reprimanded for insubordination," He says with a steely, disciplinary intonation, but the threat's hollow and you're seemingly well aware of that. He leans in and pulls you close again as his touch sweeps down your legs. His nose buries into your hair, big hands appraising groping.
You set about kissing his cheek, smothering yourself against him.
The airy gasp that leaves you when he squeezes your ass makes you bold, apparently, because the next words you choose to say are; "Do you accept bribes?"
Cato's immediate theoretical response is a snarky 'No,' but then the heel of your palm is sliding up the side of his cock through the wrapped linen.
So, pointedly, he eagerly groans out, "Yes."
You simper up at him, before fussing with the fabric. Exposing the dense plain of his hip, tugging and un-pleating a little more until he's bared from the navel down.
His cock's so hard it nearly bats you across the cheek as it springs free. To which Cato snorts, not even trying to hide his amusement.
You flinch a little in surprise, a hint flustered, and eye the hard length of him as if it's personally affronted you.
He sits a little more upright, thighs spreading, presenting himself. Offering his big, sturdy quads as a cushion to lean on as you slowly pump him in a steady motion.
"Well?" Cato snarks, "Get on with the bribery then."
You pout at him, glancing backâand huff, "You smell like an apothecarium."
Cato grumbles to himself, slow to gather his words as he watches you ogle him, "If I had... known that you wanted to get that damn snout of yours so close, I wouldn't've used such harsh soaps."
You raise an eyebrow and pout, "Wonder if they're toxic to ingest."
"I doubt it," he starts, "But I guess there's only one way to find out."
Your fingers glide over his big thighs, dodging his ports and smoothing upwards to trace the old paths of his surgeries.
And even with all his stoic, anally neurotic merit, Cato can't stifle the small subvocal hum that escapes him as you flatten your tongue, licking a warm stripe up the side of his cock.
The feeling of it is staggeringly new, and he's absolutely elated at the view. It's half the appeal, even if there's no way you're getting anywhere near as much cock in you as your cunt allows.
You wrap your lips around the fat tip, keeping it in your mouth as you stroke the thick base of him with a grip that can't even meet around the width; balancing yourself better on your knees by putting the other hand on his thighâthe sleeve of your top slipping down your arm.
"This may be a better use for your mouth than diplomacy," He says as he lets out a low sigh, hips jerking forward with shallow movements in time to the bobbing of your mouth.
When you pull off to swipe away the glaze of spit and pre-cum accumulating on your chin, you lap your bottom lip and huff, "You are a prick, you know that?"
Despite being enamoured by the sight of you disheveled, he grumbles petulantly and says, "And you had to take your tongue off mine to say that."
You frown at him, then acquiesce with a petulant little grunt.
Then your mouth descends on him once more, rocking back and forth, letting gravity angle him in. All Cato can do is relish in the sensation, finding no room in his brain for anything else. Just the feeling of the wet heat of your mouth swallowing around him, and the swirling counterpoint of your tongueâeagerness in your gaze as it flicks up to find his againâThrone, that makes him groan straight away.
You hum around his length in response, the vibrations ricocheting through his nerves and up his spine blindingly. His other palm is suddenly against his forehead, a bit stunned from the bombardment of new pleasure.
Your little fingers dig fruitlessly into his thigh, making him hyperaware, sending him grinding forward a bit only to be rewarded with another lurching buzz of ecstasy. The hand pumping the base of him shifts away, and then small nails rake across his navel, then his hip, tracing a port; and he buries his face into the crook of his elbow to stifle a heavy moan. They're only meagre claws, yet the pressure is strangely comforting as you lap at the blood flushed underside of his glans.
Cato's aware his voice catches as he keens aloud, pulling his arm away from his face to rest his forearm on his hairline. He's simply just enjoying the soft, hot drag your mouth around his tip again.
But a reedy little whine snags his attention, catching him unaware that he had even closed his eyes in the first place.
When he finally opens them, he swoons. Hard. Your cheeks are a stunning maroon, and your previously focused gaze now looks hazy and desperate, utterly lost in the act. He hadn't been cognisant he'd put his hand on your head, either. But watching you sink down around him again and again is intoxicating. How your pink tongue peeks out to lathe over a raised vein when you pull off for air has him dizzy. Your other hand's drifted down your pants and between your thighs at some point when he'd been lost in his own pleasure, fingers curling inside yourself. A deep inhale makes it clear you're absolutely soaking. And he's well aware that it is a meagre substituteâstill, the eagerness of you is adorable lurid.
Distantly, he wonders just how many times you've had that hand there in this bed. It's the scene of the crime, really. You'd already admitted to itâand he ought to make sure you're full of his fingers to keep yours where there should be. That is, if he could move. He can't find the will to even sit up higher, let alone move the hand he's been using to keep your head steady. But, he does have the mind to comb his fingers through your tresses, at least.
You seem to realise he's realised what you're doing and you whine again, forcing yourself to take his cock further.
Cato lets out an approving moan and hisses out a feckless string of curses, thighs tensing sharply as his senses stagger at the heat that suffuses his belly.
The sick temptation to spend himself in your sweet vile maw is nigh all consuming, but it's nothing compared to the fact he's far more convinced on dumping it in your womb. Anywhere else feels like an injustice to the fact he's able to fill youâbecause just like some fang-toothed warp-spawn abomination, you've opened the door and invited him in, so he can make as much of a wreck of you as he likes, or as much as you like.
He yanks you off him by the reigns he's made of your hair and you choke a little.
The small groan at the messy handling of the situation is a testament to how badly you're after his end, "Wh-why...?" you rasp, the efforts having made your voice a little rough; the mix of your drool and his precum giving your chin and lips a wet, glossy sheen.
"Becauseâ" he starts, and he's surprised by how ragged he sounds to his own ears. "Because, there's better holes to empty it in."
The little disappointed sigh that escapes you as you lick your slick bottom lip makes him immediately change his mind.
"Have it your way then," he heaves, and shoves your head back downâinstinctively chasing the rising tide and rocking forward into your quickly opening mouth.
His hand is tight in your hair now, fist tangling the strands in his grip as you let him thrust freely. Your own hand grabs the side of his hip as his tempo stutters. By the Emperor, his father would kill him if he could see this. But, damnâthe sight of you like this is sin. He's so much bigger than you it looks obscene with you servicing him like this. You're a mess, gagging and tearing up, but making no attempt to pull away. It's depraved, but if you're so desperate for a load down your throat, who's Cato to say no? He's more than happy to give you exactly thatâand just on time, he feels his balls tighten upâstatic rising out up his spine as a groan tears from his throat. Caught daft not a millisecond later by a bodily shudder blinding him in a hot rush.
Cato pants as the shivers subside in heavy throbs, filling your mouth. He pets your head as you swallow, at firstâand then the pockets of your cheeks puff out. And suddenly you're cringing and scrambling off of him and into the ensuite. The tap starts up, then you do, and all he hears spitting and sputtering.
You stumble out looking like you'd eaten something sour, swiping your hand across your lips before saying, "That tasted horrible."
"You wanted it," Cato growls.
A bright, wry smile plasters itself on your features, "And?"
"And, if you want more," he begins, eyeing you. "You'll have to lose the rags, woman."
You straighten, eagerâand promptly start to wrestle your top over your head, just to throw it at his face.
Cato grumbles at the rudeness periodically, before he starts sniffing the article. Vomeronasal organ having a momentary frenzy. It smells of warm you, and a little bit of sleep. Like an embrace, andâfuck, his spent cock twitches back to life. He really shouldn't behave like this. It makes him assume he looks savage. Even he feels strange. So he wretches your top off himself and tosses it somewhere to the left.
Watching you suddenly appear on the bed, fighting your way out of your pants is much more entertaining.
He likes the way you shimmy onto your back and fuss yourself free; and the way you practically lunge back close to him when you're finally bare.
You lean over him and grin, and Cato appreciatively drags a hand down your back, palming your ass.
Promptly, he rolls himself and drags you along. He groans theatrically as if you're fifty times the effort to move than you are, simply because he can. And the shifting of his bulk makes the bed shake enough that the stack of slates on the table across the room falter, and tumble to the floor in a loud clatter of sound.
On your back under him, he preens at the flushed surprise on your face.
"That was too loudâyou're too loud," you heave.
"I'm too loud?" He grumbles, pinning your far smaller shape down. "Says you."
That stirs a groan out of you, at least, squirming while Cato drags his tongue up the side of your neck.
"Someone can still pass by and hear," you whine, "We shouldn't make that muchâ"
"I doubt it," he grunts, cutting you off as he slides off the mattress and drags you to the lip of it. "We have a bed all to ourselves. Your bedâin your quarters, with six inches of steel in the way, might I add. They'd have to stand at the door to listen."
He flips you over, pressing you front downâslumping against you on his knees to grant a rough grind or two to make sure you're hyperaware of his thick erection plastered against your ass. Your legs kick out and you wriggle, a series of ragged gasps leaving you as you endure the onslaught. A small lick here, a small lick thereâhuffing and panting to stir an empathic response. Winding you up to writhe and flush as he groans next to your ear, only to start chuffing out mean spirited laughter when you moan back.
"See, you don't really care about anyone hearing, do you?" He rasps out against your throat before sucking the skin over a thudding little artery. "You're not sworn to chastity. They might just think, 'oh, the Ambassador's found another poor soul to suck the semen out of, shame,' or the likes."
"I don't know how you do it," You scoff, breathing hard into the covers as he pulls away and grabs you by the hips to hoist your rear up into that perfect taunting arch he remembers so well from the cabin. Aptly presenting yourself on your knees at mounting-height while he stands.
"Do what?"
You laugh, "Manage to find the worst possible thing to say every time."
Cato sneers haughtily, "Decades of practice."
Taking himself in hand, he angles the tip of his cock to kiss the soft rim of your entrance. And Throne, Cato's ecstatic. He finally gets to fill in the gaps of what he should've seen back in the cabin the first time. The theatrics you'd hidden under rags and your own embarrassment.
He hears the cartilage in your gullet click when you swallow dryly and grumble, "Fine then, but don't say I didn'tâ"
You're rudely interrupted by your own shuddering moan when he starts sliding into you, and Cato's never been happier to shut you up.
He bottoms out in you in one smooth thrust, and the sound you make next is a stellar thing. An eager, warbling 'Sicariusâ' as his cockhead jars right up against your cervix. Warm, fluttering muscles around his length and the mewling of a whorish little Ambassador are ever a perfect combination.
But he wants to be closerâso, so much closer; he wants you pressed to his front, so he can absolutely smother himself against you. He wants to burn the feeling of you and him into his edict memory, so nothing can untangle it from him.
Cato has to bend himself at an awkward angle to manage it, but he's well aware of the fact he can manage a free hand to draw lethargic circles on your belly.
"And if they can hear, it's not like anyone will believe them," he pants, a little chuff of laughter chasing his words, looking down at your face buried in the sheets. "They'll think you're a busted piston, or maybe a whining pipe."
"You're such aâ" you start as his hand slides slowly down your navel, and your voice tapers off, "You're a-ah..." he dips his fingers between your thighs, and you moan, "Throâohâne..."
His pointer and ring finger spread the hooded peak of your folds, then the middle moves in and rolls over your clit again and again and again. Your smaller, folded body strains back from the new attention. Mewling at the stretch, and the hot, heavy press of trans-human dick inside you. It's just how he likes it. He's got you all to himself, his bulky hips flush to your ass, and his pleased rumbling beside your head. He's genuinely content, if not for the constant paranoiaâbut content is a feeling he never really appreciated before the warp everything went to shit. But that paranoia is inconsequential compared to the sheer amount of joy he feels with you near and receptive to his affections marauding.
"That's it," he rasps, and he has to swallow down how much he's raring to just blindly rut into you like a savage. "Now, be a good little whoreâand say 'Cato, harder please,' for me."
The request falls on deaf... or rather, cock-drunk ears. You simply moan in answer and squeeze, over-eager for him to keep practically putting a dent your womb. It catches Cato by surprise when you climax all too suddenly, high-strung, and fuck, everything in that moment is absolutely perfectâCato would gladly suffer for an eternity to stay, just like this, for as long as the accursed galaxy will allow. Your body reduced to a juddering wreck, arching forwards and suffering even more touch to your abused clit; your insides twitching in time around him with each passing graze of his finger over that sensitive nerve.
Rearing back isn't a safe choice either, because you end up getting even more of him in your cuntâunable to escape his efforts to hound you over the edge as soon as possible again.
"I c-can't, I-Iâ" you whine, and in response, like any reasonable Astartes, he keeps pounding until you're compliant.
"Say it," he pants.
"CaâahâCato, h-harder, pleaseâ" you start crying as you shake underneath him.
His ears practically perk up at you finally using his first name; it was only quick and garbled, but he's so glad to hear itâhe's already addicted to it, impropriety damned, because fuck does it sound good. It's always been Commander, and only recently had it been Sicariusâbut now you're finally giving him the validation of crying out for Catoâfor him, just him.
You can be louder, and clearer than smothered against the covers. So Cato acts on the brilliant idea to hoist you upright on your knees while he slams into you.
You're struggling erratically against the big hands holding you up, making the sound of a dying animal, now.
He fucks you right through your struggles, one hand keeping your head up under your jaw so he can arch down to tuck his chin on your shoulder. The mixed sound of your little rear making contact with his hips is a rushed, degenerate beatâThrone, the poor headboard of your cot against the wall too, it's almost like sabatons on steel, a rhythmic clank clank clank. And oh, then you make the sweetest little overstuffed sob, isn't that cute. Aren't you adorable.
He's only just started again and he's already liable to empty himself in you.
Suddenly, there's a scream of his nameâand a quick, warm-wet splash from you that drips down his balls. Then you've apparently been struck daft and limp in his hold, sniffling out a wrecked little cry as you slacken. It's an entirely new phenomenon. It seems to be a good thing, seeing as you're squeezing on him like it's another orgasmâso he takes it at face value.
He keeps you upright and lets you cinch down around him, staying stillâriding out the aftershocks of your finish and keeping his cock nice and warm and snug.
Cato is honestly surprised when you regain enough sense to weakly buck backwards and fuck yourself on him.
"Please... p-please," you slur, and it seems like all you needed was the incitement to be reduced to begging now; "Cato, in me, i-in me..."
Cato's completely enthralled, and he's never been more willing to follow an order faster. He'd walk right into an orbital barrage if you asked, right now.
He shifts his weight into the next thrust and meets your meagre attempts to get him to rut into you.
The loud, wet plap of him bucking forward is almost deafening.
His eyes roll back at the searing burr of pleasure that chases up his spine, panting through a clenched jaw, "So eager to be f-full of Astartes cum, huh?"
"Please, C-Catoâ" You can barely even get the sentence around the pace of him practically rearranging your uterus into your stomach.
Fuck, he knows he's so beyond defective it's not even arguable, because he's practically feral for any hint of validation you'll give. And if you want to have your insides painted so badly, why should he deny you?
"I know," he pants, "I-I know."
You whine, well beyond words.
He's about as robbed of verbal sense as you are now, and he groans, your cries becoming hiccups.
He swears he almost blacks out for a moment when he actually finishes. His arrhythmic, choppy sighs chase each thrust. So suddenly seized by his end he slumps forward, pushing you with him, feeling half-dead and gritting his teeth as shudder after shudder wracks him. Persisting, his hips still keep pumping without a hint of respite, pinning you with his bulk while emptying himself inside you, just how you wanted. The subsequent leaking of his spend from you turns the pace of him still rutting into an even stickier cacophony of lewd wet sound. Hand splayed out beside your head supporting his weight, huffing and puffing to himself like a pissed-off bull as he works himself into overstimulation.
He stops at last with a long, trying sigh and pulls his slick and spent-wet fingers out from between your legs; dragging them across the sheets somewhere to the right before letting his palm splay on your hip, dry.
You're bent ass up under him, with your cunt still full of his cock, plus a thick load; moaning so lowly and continuously it's almost a purr.
Cato groans tiredly, rocking his hips a little for good measure despite the ache of it. "Does having me finish inside you feel that good to your little animal brain?"
Your voice is a fucked-out mumble as you say, "Well... 's not like... y'going to get me pregnant or anything."
Cato stays quiet, considering.
And that quiet seemingly sends you asking, "Areâare A-Astartes... sterile?"
"I'm actually not too sure," Cato huffs, and finally grows the spine to pull himself out.
Your gasp at his exit and subsequent little exhuasted 'hmm' is curiously without any hint of fear-smell.
He scowls, "And you're not at all concerned by that?"
A soft groan from you answers, "Got an i-implant... after the first t-time, just incase."
He doesn't have the balls energy to even begin to comment on the fact you'd correctly anticipated him trying after you again. Is he that predictable?
Cato rears back and makes an affirmative sound, groping at your ass, big thumb pulling one of your labia aside to ogle the fat pearls of cum dripping from you. You'd take another load, too. And if you ask him nicely enough, he might do just that right nowâor have your mouth again. But he likes spending himself in your warm cunt far more. The way you squirm and squeeze on him when he's in you is intoxicating. Maybe later, given your exhaustion. You both have all cycleâor at least, whatever remains of his rest hours. Regardless, it's a genuine wonder the device hasn't succumbed to the stress of stonewalling an Astartes' draining his balls in you so many times these last few months.
He makes a soft tutting sound as his big palm smooths down your sides; his warm breath dancing across your inner thighs.
No better than some slavering beast, Cato gives into the urge sent by his hindbrain and licks a wide band from clit to taint in one smooth motion, and pulls away, seemingly briefly appeased.
Your squeal is priceless, butâeugh, his cum does taste foul. Nutrient gruel be damned, he needs to fix that somehow.
Sputtering as quietly as he can to avoid dignifying your similar reaction earlier, he grumbles to himselfâstill pawing and groping at your ass.
"You've ruined m-my sheets," you manage to say.
Cato grunts, "You're the one who decided to piss on them."
He says that, but knows it wasn't. It didn't smell like itâit smelt like satisfaction, and slick, and 'harder, pleaseâplease, Cato, harder.'
The sudden shiver that runs up his spine thinking about it surely isn't born of a vaguely possessive thrill.
Abruptly you roll onto your back and sit up, grimacing at him.
"That's n-not what that was," you hiss, flustered enough that you're stammering. "T-That was..."
Cato raises an eyebrow, "What was it, hm?"
Hook, line, sinkerâ
You dither, red in the face as you mumble, "Itâit was nothing."
âand ta-da, he reels in an Ambassador.
"Oh, that's right," he grins and leans over you, "It was you finishing so hard you screamed my name."
Something bold rears it's head in you then, eyeing him petulantly; because you start swatting at himâand Cato's never had you actively physically retaliate for any jabsâso he just freezes, bemused.
They're barely even pats to his sturdy form, and it amuses him to no end that you're so small but still trying to annoy him.
So, he acquiesces; and starts using his own strength on you. He keeps it in check, of course; because you're still a twig of a baseline, even as grating as you are. He's practically tossing you around on the bed with minimal actual effort. Big hands stroking and kneading, rolling you around, pinning you beneath him and trying to annoy you back.
The efforts yield an entirely different result. You're laughing, hyperventilating, and every rough grope earns him a shrill little keen of excitement.
"Throne, you're a degenerate," Cato hums, giving you a wry look before reeling you back under him. "Getting off on being tossed around, are you?"
And with a yelp, you're made to watch him maraud his way up your body again.
You start grinning then, and it's not the typical sweet, coy smile of you luring him in; rather, it's one of a mad thing, feral and giddy.
You snigger sharply, a little breathless from struggling. "You say that like t-there's any downsides."
Cato scoffs, and rolls onto his back, pouting. "So anything that can rough you up will do, then?"
"I, unfortunately, have a very singular preference," you chuff, and snuggle up against him; tucking your chin against his neck, humming softly to yourself.
"Is that so?" He grunts, "And what would that be?"
The kiss to his jaw is heartachingly soft, and you snort a little when he turns to look down at you and your cheek is grated by his stubble.
Your big eyes are locked on his, half-lidded and lazy, and there's that familiar, honeyed look in them again. The soft, heady fixation of focused affection.
Cato feels like he's about to start weeping out of sheer joy. You're all his, your time, your gaze, your adorationâeverything.
He's practically vibrating from elation.
"Despite your profession, you are terrible at hiding your emotions," he snarls, despite himself.
"Look at the timeâaren't you expected somewhere, Commander Sicarius?" You ask sourly, but the warmth in your eyes stays the same.
Cato wonders if his expression betrays any of that sort of softness. If there's any residual capacity to show affection left in his face after all he's been through. He's sure there's something going on there that's got you looking at him with that sweet gaze. Or maybe you've gotten a good read on what's going on in his head now. He certainly feels as if he's been figured out. As if you've got him pried and nailed open like a xenos corpse in some creaking admech's lair. The prospect isn't anywhere near as daunting as it should be.
Still, he plays along.
"Probably, but you don't seem to really be complaining, Lady Ambassador," Cato quips low in his throat as he leans in close, only to pull away and sneer. Your lips part slightly as you swallow your words instead of speaking, clearly captivated. That said, he is also still a little breathless from teasing you so it was no surprise you seem dazed at his own attempt.
"No, I amâyou've just more muscle than brain," you bite out with a flash of snark a second late, taunting him further by sticking your tongue out.
Retaliating immediately, he snares your mouth against his own; sliding his own tongue with yours and drinking in the soft moan that slips free. You nip his bottom lip vengefully, making him stifle a growl and lean away as he hisses, "Don't tempt me for a third."
It's no lie, because fuck, he probably could go for one more. Especially with the treatment he's receiving now.
"Why not?" you say in a tone that's so sweet one of his hearts aches.
"You want more already?" He drawls as he licks your jaw, your throat, everywhere and anywhere his mouth can reach. Tasting the salt of your sweat, and practically suffocating himself in the smell of you. Basking in his victoryâCato makes a sound like a great big feline, somewhere between a chuff and a growl against your neck; lazily entertaining himself by mouthing a bevy of bruises there. You almost immediately let him do as he pleases, your mouth hanging open, eyes half lidded and face flushed. Cato triesâand failsâto restrain the sudden amusement edging his tone at how easily you fall to your lusts. "You're going to overload that implant and end up gravid, woman."
"Throne, yesâ" You slur, wriggling against him as he lathes his tongue across the top of one of your tits.
"What?" Cato barks.
Your face reddens, "What?"
Cato glares at you, and raises a brow. You're pretending you hadn't said anything and he's stunned you think he's stupid enough to miss it, "Baseline ducal protocol likely dictates... I would have to carry you off to be wed if that happened," he says, rushed. "Or... something of the likes, I suppose."
"R-Right," You fake a cough and avert your eyes, and you're breathing a little heavy.
"Within the context, of..." Cato backpedals, suddenly hyperaware of himself. "Of... that theoretical scenario."
You harrumph meekly, and then mumble, "Oh, of course... I agree, in that hypothetical situation."
He blinks, flabbergasted, "...really?"
You clear your throat and nod stuffily, only to tuck closer against him.
There's an entire subsector's worth of unpacking those statements need; you agree, but is that you saying it's a distant assurance? That you'd let him, one day, or is it merely conjecture? The primitive satisfaction of that base biological imperative is a heady one. Dangerous, too. If there is a chance of knocking you up, it would require significant subterfuge to keep hidden. Astartes can smell that sort of thingâand fuck, a Primarch could probably tell who's it was when given a source sample. He's got no litmus test for how easy you both would be caught. Maybe if you're suddenly on leave, for say, nine-months? That's one solution.
But where would you goâoh, Throne, he's thinking about Talassar again, and you in a pretty little slip, or in his rest robes, lying next to him notating; maybe resting against his chest in the crook of his armâthe fantasy is mundane, and domestic, and anathema to his status as High Suzerain of Ultramar, but still his cock throbs and his cheeks heat at the idea of calling you Lady Sicarius.
Your hands card through his hair abruptly, combing and petting him, and hm... that's nice, why are you looking at him like thatâ
"What do you think you've doing?" He growls, ever the hypocriteâhis face doesn't feel hot at all, shut up.
You harrumph, "Stop pretending you don't like it."
"Whatever," Cato scoffs, and leans into your touchânot before mumbling; "Cunt."
Self-admittedly, he entirely deserves the feisty little smack he cops to the snout the very next second.
"Don't call me that," you pout.
The laugh it earns from him is just as genuine.
He's having you a third time just because of that, for sure.
#warhammer fanfic#reader insert#cato sicarius#warhammer 40k x reader#cato sicarius x reader#space marine x reader#ultramarines#writing#warhammer 40k#someone absolutely does pass by outside#WHO? THATS A QUESTION TO BE ANSWERED NEXT CHAPTER#oughgh my sweet idillic vanilla smut#my apolocheese for the lenght#they are in lobe your honour#next chapter shit hits the fan oopsieee#teehee#cato voxoogle history is my wife#â#backspace backspace backspace#is my girlfriendâ#backspace backspace#can astarts#make woman#prgagnt#grenant#next search#can i make woman pegagnt#how many times for make woman pgagnant#(shes not)#haha.. unless yall want me to
175 notes
·
View notes
Text
Throat Cancer â Causes, Symptoms, Types and Treatment
What is Throat Cancer?
Throat cancer states the development of malignant tumors in the tissues of the throat, which includes the pharynx, larynx, and tonsils. It can affect various parts of the throat.
Types of throat cancer:
Pharyngeal cancer (Tonsillar cancer)
Laryngeal cancer
This type of throat cancer is categorized based on the specific cells involved and their characteristics, like squamous cell carcinoma, adenocarcinoma, or lymphoma. Squamous cell carcinoma is the most regular type, accounting for the majority of throat cancers.
Causes of throat cancer:
Use of tobacco
Consumption of alcohol
Human papillomavirus infection (HPV)
Poor diet
Age factor
Exposed to unidentified chemicals
Poor oral hygiene
Signs and Symptoms of throat cancer:
Continuous sore throat
Difficulty swallowing aka dysphagia
Change in voice
Ear ache
Non-stop cough
Undefined weight loss
Neck Swelling
Visible lumps or masses
Diagnosis of throat cancer:
Physical examination
Endoscopy
Imaging tests like CT scan, MRI scan, PET scan
Biopsy
Blood Test
Lung Function Test (LFT)
Treatments for throat cancer:
The treatment for throat cancer depends on different factors, such as the type, location, stage of the cancer, and overall health of the individual. Treatment options may include:
Surgery
Radiation therapy
Chemotherapy
Targeted therapy
Immunotherapy
Supportive care (nutritional support, pain management, and speech therapy)
#throat cancer#causes of throat cancer#treatments for throat cancer#symptoms of throat cancer#types of throat cancers#radiation therapy#Pharyngeal cancer#Laryngeal cancer#what is throat cancer#Dr Rahul buggaveeti#oral cancer doctor#ent specialist#head and neck onco surgeon
2 notes
·
View notes
Text
PERSEPHONE - CHAPTER THREE
âPersephone, queen of the underworld. Hades runs Hell, but sheâs in charge of punishment.â
Series Summary: A serial killer who works with the police herself has a tumultuous past with Jack Crawford and his new profiler Will Graham. While trying to rebuild what she once broke Hannibal Lecter sticks himself in the middle of the few things she cares about - Comments and critiques are encouraged.
Chapter Warnings: Swearing, dead bodies, murder that is very female targeted, canon character death, smut, oral (fem receiving), unprotected sex, creampie
Word Count: 9.5k (yes you read that rightâŠI'm sorry)
The sterile walls of the hallway close in around you as you make your way towards the autopsy room. "Agent," a familiar voice calls out behind you.
"I'm not your 'Agent' anymore, Jack," you say, wincing as you turn to face him. You were never officially an agent; Jack only started calling you that when you began sticking your nose into his cases.
"Force of habit," he deflects, his tone unusually soft for him. "I need to talk to you."
You glare at him, hoping he'll get straight to the point. The last thing you want is for Jack to drag you into his office, which always feels like a principal's officeâthe prelude to a lecture youâd rather avoid.
"I'd like you to resume therapy," he says finally.
Your heart sinks. "No."
"Bloom knows a therapist in Baltimore-"
You cut him off with a bitter laugh. "Are you serious? The last time I took her advice, I ended up tied to a chair and tortured. I'll pass."
"Dr. Lecter is one of the best in his field. She recommended him when I expressed my concerns." He tries to reason.Â
Is he serious? "So, you discussed your concerns about me with her first instead of just asking me if I felt I needed help?"
"It's not about what you want. If youâre going to continue working on this case, you need a psychological evaluation."
Frustrated, you turn away and continue down the hallway. This is such bullshit. You don't need therapy. "I'll pass, Jack, but I appreciate your concern," you dismissively yell over your shoulder, not slowing your pace.
The moment you enter the room, everyone's eyes fall on your frame. The three in lab coats momentarily feeze while Will quickly makes eye contact before his gaze shifts to behind you and paces out of the room.Â
âWere you honest when you said you two never datedâhell even slept together because this is awkward.â He says in an awful attempt to break the awkward silence.
âAny close relationship that didnât leave on a positive note can cause tension, not just romantic ones, Price.â You state.Â
Beverly clears her throat. âSo Will thinks the killer is eating the girls. Elise's liver was removed and then put back in place; the killer did that after he realized she had liver cancer.â
âWe also found metal shavings on her body,â Zeller chimes in.Â
You sigh. âItâs plausible. It creates a very vivid image of this man. HeâŠcares for these girls in his own twisted way. Heâd view their consumption as an act of devotion, most likely a waste if he didn't. Itâs a hunter's mentality; if there's anything left of these girls, itâs most likely fragments. Hair stuffed in pillows, bones made into various thingsâhe wouldn't waste. If he is a hunter, he most likely has a dedicated space to this, a shed, probably doesn't live in the city.â You propose.
Youâre met with silence for a moment before Beverly speaks once again. âI canât believe you were never a profiler.â She shakes her head and smiles.Â
"Well, I momentarily am of sorts now.â You raise your arms forward and wiggle your fingers. âMaybe I understand him so well because I am him.â You say it in an unserious tone.Â
She rolls her eyes playfully. "Hmm, yeah, I'm real scared.â You didn't even realize how much you missed Bev until now.Â
"Well, is that all?â You ask.Â
"Yup, that's it.â Brain tells you before grabbing something behind him. âIâll be off then.â You smile and walk out the door.
2 YEARS EARLIER
Jackâs call came twenty minutes ago, his voice clipped and urgent. âAnother one.â That was all he said, but it was enough. It wasn't just another body, not a one-off murder. He made it clear by his simple lack of words that this was connected.Â
During the entirety of your drive, your heart couldn't stop beating. The dull vibration filling your ears and pounding your chest overwhelmed you so much that you felt relieved at the red stop lights, giving you a moment to collect your barring's. Jack pulled up at the same time, his grim expression mirroring your own.
As he approached, his words were drowned out by your internal rhythm. But when Jack opened the door into the room, your body finally went quiet, and you finally feel like youâre alive againâliving in the present.Â
A woman's body lay sprawled on the cheap, stained bed, blood soaking deep into the mattress. Your gaze travelled over her naked form, legs spread wide in a provocative display. Decaying vines twisted around her ankles and the bed frame, their dark, withered tendrils contrasting against her greying skin. It was a brutal, degrading spectacle.
There is a precise incision right above her pelvis, which is mostly one of the reasons why her entire torso is covered in her own blood, except her breasts. They look as if they were deliberately cleaned, the pink hue still lightly remaining on her skin.Â
Her mouth is slightly agape; something inside it is forcing her jaw unnaturally wide. Compelled by a mix of horror and professional detachment, your feet move towards her. You hear Jack say something but it becomes mute when you hear your heartbeat pick up again.
Your gloved hand delicately touches her jaw; now, closer, you can see her features. Up close, her traits become clearer. Sheâs unremarkableâplain, even. A white, brunette woman of heavy European descent with a slim build. Itâs odd to think how un-special she may have been in life but now, in death, she's a spectacle.
Gently, you pry her jaw open, revealing a small, fleshy mass inside. You look towards Jack in confusion and ask, âCan I pull it out?âÂ
Crawford gives a small nod and moves beside you. You give the object a small pull and it doesn't budge. âYou hold her jaw; Iâll pull it out.â Jack says while looking at the strangulation marks on her neck.Â
You move your hands and the man pulls. You watch him struggle between delicately grasping it and forcefully yanking it.Â
You adjust your grip, one hand on her lower teeth and the other on the upper, pulling them apart. Jack pulls a bit harder; you watch as it starts to slide out, and just when you think its going to be stuck once again, Jack gives a final, forceful yank, and the object comes free.
Jack is holding the woman's uterus.Â
âWhat the fuck?â you exclaim. Momentarily forgetting you two weren't the only ones in the room. Someone behind him brings an evidence bag to Jack, where he drops the organ inside the plastic.Â
All eyes shift to the incision on her torso. Another forensic tech steps forward with metal forceps, his face pale but determined. He fiddles with the cut, and when he finally pries it open. You hear others gasp but you're still trying to compute the sight of the mess inside. At first, it looks like a jumble of smooth, misplaced intestinesâuntil you recognize the pattern.
Scales. Snakes.
Sheâs been hollowed out, and her uterus has been replaced with dead serpents.
PRESENT DAY
Itâs been days, and still nothing. The most frustrating part of working in a field that is centered around solving crimes is the cruel irony that sometimes you need more evidence to build a profileâto move forward at all. You've heard about Jack narrowing down the search by identifying the specific metal found on Elise's body, but you honestly couldn't care less.
You deluded yourself into believing that taking on this case was a selfless act, but your defenses are crumbling. Youâre here for Will to glue together what was once broken. But youâve never fucked up on this scale before, and you donât know how to fix it. Your fingers stick together from your messy revival attempts, and the toxic fumes cloud your mind. Why did you think it was a good idea to show up at his house?
A knock at your doorâyour own doorâin Baltimore interrupts your spiraling thoughts.
No one called to warn you of an appearance; your overactive work brain can't shut off even now, envisioning an ax murderer standing outside your home.
How comical.
"Open up, itâs Crawford." Jackâs voice is muffled but unmistakable. Not an ax murderer; that makes more sense considering itâs 10 AM and you live in an apartment building. Unless heâs here for other reasons, maybe he knows and wants to give you a chance to explain yourself before slapping handcuffs around your wrists.
Unsure how to navigate this possible confrontation, you blurt out the stupidest thing: "Why?"
âBecause I need to talk to you,â he shouts impatiently.Â
With a sigh, you walk to the door and begin to unlock it. âThatâs what my number is for. I thought showing up at my workplace was invasive, but this isââ Your words cut off as you opened the door.
âWho are you?â you ask, your eyes shifting to the unfamiliar man standing beside Jack.
"Iâm Dr. Lecter. Jack has asked me to assist in this case, similar to you," he says with a polite smile, more out of courtesy than genuine pleasure.
You recognize the name from Bloom. She mentioned him plenty of times, but this isnât how you envisioned meeting him. It reminds you of when, after the "incident," as she likes to call it, she recommended him to you and offered to call him. You declined.
"Okay." Your glare bounces between the two men. Jack's scowl deepens while the doctorâs eyes remain fixed on you. You're not sure if heâs blinked once since you opened the door.
Jack groans and begins to speak. âI want you to speak to a professional for a psychological evaluation. I already told you this.â
Youâre taken aback by his intrusion. âIâm sorry, is this an intervention?â Crawford opens his mouth to speak, but you continue before he can justify himself.
âThis is ridiculous. First, you begged me to help you on this case, and now you're doubting my sanity?âÂ
You focus on maintaining eye contact with Jack, not fully seeing the doctor's face beside him, but through your blurry peripheral vision, it looks like amusement. What an asshole.
âIâm not doubting your sanity; Iâm clearing this up for legal reasons.â
Itâs bullshit, and you know it. âYou know what I think, Jack? I think youâre scared of another fuck-up.â You bite, âYou lost Miriam, and then, because of a lack of diligence on your part, you almost lost another one of your worker bees. And you just canât handle another tragedy like that again.â
Jack opens and closes his mouth, more-so shocked by how cold you were to him than anything. Youâve been pissy before, but nothing like that.
Itâs harsh and untrue; what happened to you or Miriam isnât Jack's fault, but thatâs not the point. You wanted to strike him where it hurts most. He confided in you about his guilt during the aftermath of your incident, and using it against him is cruel, but thatâs what youâre going for, and it clearly worked.
Your gaze finally directs to Lecter, âIâm sorry for wasting your time, but I think itâs best you both leave.âÂ
As you swing your door shut, you see him smile. This time, itâs genuine. His crow's feet become prominent, and his top lip slides up to reveal his pointed canines. You much prefer his disingenuous smile to the one where he looks at you like a pretty little doll who just did a party trick.
2 YEARS EARLIER
The victim, a model named Clare Greene, her once beautiful face beaten until her nose lay flat across her face. Blood pools around her head from her slashed throat, soaking into the plush carpet that her back lies on. In both of her hands rest two magazines; sheâs on the front cover of both.Â
As you approach the body closer to snap another picture, you notice the defense wounds her wrists bore. âWho found her?â You ask, not to anyone specific; you just let the words come out of your mouth with hopes of an answer.Â
âHer fiancĂ©, ma'am. Ethan Kingsley, he was supposed to meet her for breakfast; when she didnât show up, he came here to check on her.â The officer beside her answers.
You nod, your eyes scanning the room. Broken glass glittered on the floor near the bar; an overturned chair in the corner; the place was covered in blood splatters.Â
âJack!â You shout, hoping to get his attention.Â
You hear his footsteps before you see him. âWhat?â He asks.Â
âThere's a fine mist of blood over here, most likely a result of her severed artery.â You say while motioning to your neck, âAll across the back wall right there. The fatal blow happened hereâthen she stumbled onto the carpet, where she collapsed, and he started beating her. She was either unconscious or already dead when he started so he did it for the sake of it.â You explain.Â
You move closer to her. âThe long, linear streaks of blood that fan out from her indicate she was also stabbed before he started beating her. The angle and distribution suggest he was standing above herânot straddling and swinging the weapon in a very vertical downward motion.â
You continue as you lead Jack towards the bar area. âThese smaller, less-directed spots are all scattered around this area. I think the first attack was here, but she put her forearms up to block it and ran, leaving the droplets behind as she ran.â You say while mimicking an X with your forearms, âIt also matches the shallow defensive wounds right below her elbow; it didnât go too deep; it seems like a very light slash.âÂ
Jack nods, quite for a moment. âOkay.âÂ
Not satisfied with his response, you say, âThis is bad, Jack; four murders and no suspects. Iâm just-â You cut yourself off with a sigh, ââIâm not very confident in my usefulness.â Your head ducks down in your admittance.
âIâm sure many feel that way; there's no point in festering it; thatâs not how things get solved.â Jack scolds.Â
As much as youâd rather allow Jackâs words to fall deaf on your ears, you know he's right; itâs not about you; itâs about the victims and solving what's been done to prevent more tragedies. âYouâre right Iâm sorry, youâre not my therapist. I donât know why I said that.â
Jack says nothing and walks away, leaving you to stew in your own embarrassment over your unwelcome confession.Â
PRESENT DAY
The next day, you arrive at your momentary office in the BAU. You canât shake off the invasive encounter given by Jack. It sits heavily in your mind as you try to focus on the case files in front of you. It feels like your head is so full of tenacity itâll start leaking out of your ears.
Suddenly, you hear the sound of determined footsteps outside your door.Â
The door knobs twist and Beverly speedily walks in before you have time to adjust. Looking a bit more chipper than usual and dropping a stack of papers on your desk.
âGood morning. Any updates?â you ask, masking with a forced smile.
âJust the usual. Lab results, cross-references, the fun stuff,â she replies, giving you a teasing look. ââFound out the specifics of the metal found on Eliseâs body, which narrows things down a bit.â She smiles.Â
âWhat?â you say, picking up and flipping through the papers without really seeing them. "You've got to be shitting me, and Jack didnât even say anything to me.â
"Well, he mentioned heading off to Baltimore to talk to you but it seemed that never happened.â She cluelessly shrugged.Â
Grateful for her being unaware of your awkward encounter with him and Lecter, you ask, âSo what happened?â
With a smile, she turns her back and says, âRead it and talk to Jack.â
âOh fuck you.â You say unserious; she doesn't give another response but you hear her laugh accompanied by your door closing as she leaves the quaint room.Â
After reading the file, you make your way towards Jackâs office, curious as to why he didnât bring this to your attention. As you approach the door to knock, it swings open and bumps into you. âShit.â You say under your breath, pain blossoming where the door met your toes a moment ago.Â
As you back away, Will immediately comes out. You both stand there staring at each other. You see his jaw open to speak before he turns and quickly walks away from you.Â
You figure he was going to apologize for the collision, and now all you can think is if the reason he scurried off was because of the obvious stress he was exuding and decided to book it, or if he didnât deem you worthy of an apology.Â
Taking a deep breath to calm yourself, you peek into Jack's partially opened door and say, âI was wondering-â You feel yourself become silenced with the notice of another person in the room, Dr. Lecter.
âOh.â Is all you can give for an immediate response. The room is quiet, Jack looks annoyed with your uninvited presence, and the man across from him seems to be sizing you up in a clinical fashion.Â
Theyâre both waiting for you to speak, not wanting for this unbearable silence to continue for longer than you do. âMy apologies; I didnât mean to intrude.â You say before closing the door behind you.Â
You quickly scurry off, and as you turn into another hallway, you see a familiar figure hunched over a water fountain. You fasten your pace and Willâs eyes open suddenly from the sound of rapid footsteps. He pulls away from the fountain, water dripping off his chin that he wipes off when he brings his forearm to his face.Â
Within the few seconds you have before you reach him, you practice what to say and points to make speak that hopefully can de escalate his discomfort.Â
âI understand my presence is quite unbearable for you but Iâm asking for your assistance in a professional manner. Iâm being left out of the loop on plans for Nichols and I would like to be more aware. I donât feel as if Iâve contributed much and Iâd prefer to do better.â You justify your presence to him. Some parts of you feels pathetic, not because of what you are doing but because you know you would never do it for someone else.
âIâm sure I know as much as you do.âÂ
You want him to say more to you so desperately. Youâd rather him yell at you or punch you in the fucking stomach than be so reserved. You suppose itâs best; you quite literally came up here asserting itâs for professional reasons but only wish heâd deconstruct his walls and allow you in.Â
God, youâre so entitled.Â
With your shoulders slumped, you cordially respond, âI understand. Thank you for your time.â Before walking away.Â
As fate would have it, everything unfolded in its twisted, godly way. The call came in for another victimâa woman impaled on a stag head left to be displayed in an empty field. A stark contrast from the meticulous love of the Strike; the dissonance Jacks is unable to see is migraine-inducing.Â
Ding
Your phone chimes, and you really think that whatever higher-power there is is determined to rest your patience today.Â
The screen, annoyingly bright, stares back at you, displaying a name thatâs foreign to your recent call history.
Will
No last name; you know multiple Willâs, but theyâre contacts are accompanied by their last name. But not Grahamâs; heâs much more deserving than that.Â
You feel like youâre hallucinating when you look at the words asking you to see him and where heâs staying. From any other man, this might have been a crude proposition, but not from Will. Sweet, enigmatic Will.Â
Youâre not sure if this is meant for someone else. He would have had to search through his contacts to find you, given the long period of silence between you. He couldn't even be sure you still had the same number.Â
It must be meant for you. This is the opening youâve been praying for; youâve never been more thankful for deities youâre not sure if you even believe in.Â
Your legs feel like they're moving for you as you stand up, hardly fazed by the morning cold as you walk to where Willâs staying; leaving your dingy motel room just to go to his.Â
It feels like mere seconds from receiving the text to standing at his door; time feels so warped in the grip of anticipation.
Your knuckles gently tap the door multiple times to alert him of your presence. Flashbacks invade your brain of how awful your last encounter was, though your presence seems more welcome now.Â
The door opens faster than you can blink. Willâs messy hair and lack of pants make you feel like you're intruding, despite his invitation.Â
He cranes his neck out to look behind you. âCome inside,â he says, hushed.Â
You walk inside, and all you can think of is how âWillâ this place is; itâs like he was meant to stay here. But that could also just be you holding him in higher regard than necessary and assuming the world revolves around him.Â
That very well could be it.Â
As he closes the door, the room becomes cloaked in darkness. âCan Iâcould I open a curtain?â You ask.Â
"Yeah, sure,â he says, waving off. As you open the curtains to see the morning sun, you see a familiar man dressed in a fitted suit walking towards the door.Â
You stiffen, your muscles tighten and lock as you feel Will give you a glance, expecting you to know the visitor.Â
âDid you invite Doctor Lecter as well?â You ask, just as confused as he is.Â
"No, I did not.â He huffs as he opens the door, revealing the man with his fist raised, about to knock against the wood.
âEager.â The man outside says with a subtle, entertained smirk. âGood Morning WillâÂ
Walking closer to the door, tilt your head to take a peek. "Morning, Doctor.â You unenthusiastically greet.Â
His face momentarily drops, just quick enough to show disappointment, before rearranging his facial movements to show false delight.Â
âGood morning to you as well.â He says politely. You canât bother to verbally respond; this was meant to be a moment for possible reconciliation. Not interruption.Â
Will, whoâs deep in thought, snaps back into the present and offers the doctor to step inside out of the morning chill. He accepts it happily, seemingly aware that he interrupted something but he doesn't seem to care; if anything, it seems heâs taking enjoyment in it.Â
âI came bearing gifts.â He says, raising the glass containers of food heâs holding. âThough my apologies, I didnât expect you to have a guest.â He apologizes to Will.Â
âI donât eat in the mornings anyway; it makes me nauseous.â You excuse.Â
Will gestures towards the small dining area, silently and awkwardly indicating for everyone to sit. You take a spot, sitting on a stiff wooden chair, trying to ignore the piercing gaze of Hannibal.
âWhat is the purpose of your visit?â Hannibal asks you as he gives Will his prepared meal as they both settle into their seats, with Will beside you and Hannibal parallel to you.
Wills eyes continue avoiding both of yours. "I needed to talk to someone who understood," he responds for you.Â
Hannibal, opening his container of food on the table, raises an eyebrow. "And what exactly do you need to talk about, Will?"
Will hesitates, his fingers nervously fiddling with the fork in his hand. "Cassie Boyle. The case... itâs different this time."
Hannibal leans back, looking intrigued. "Different how?"
âWhat is the purpose of your visit?â You redirect the conversation. This was meant to be a private conversation and you don't appreciate the way Lecter finds it appropriate to put Will on the spot.Â
You watch as his hand tightens the grip around the fork in his palm; heâs mastered the art of his facial control. He really is an incredible attempt at the personification of nonchalant, but he still has his tells.Â
âAn attempt to befriend a coworker; Iâd like to serve the purpose of a mediator, alleviate tension when possible, and give my insight on more grim- work related things.â He answers.Â
You know you shouldnât taunt, but you canât help it; the temptation is too grand. âWhat makes one worthy of a visit and what disqualifies another?âÂ
Hannibal seems pleased by your words, oddly enough. âYou are more than qualified; I figured youâd appreciate time. I understand youâre not necessarily fond of me.â
âIâd argue the only person fond of you in this room is yourself.â You bite. Hannibal says nothing in return, nor does Will. They both eat in silence as you fidget with your hands, desperate to be soothed.
Staring at the painted wall in front of you, you watch through your peripheral as Hannibal swallows a bite of food from his fork and opens his mouth to speak to Will. âI would apologize for my analytical ambush the other day, but I know I would be apologizing again.â He says, flicking his head towards you briefly in recognition. âAnd youâll tire of that eventually, so I have to consider using apologies sparingly.â
Quickly and harshly Will responds, âJust keep it professional.â
Hannibal responds after taking another bite of his cooking, âOr we could socialize like adults; God forbid we become friendly.â
âWhere's Crawford?â You ask as soon as the thought rolls into your head.Â
Hannibalâs head stiffly turns to face you. âDeposed in court. The journey will be ours today.â He curtly says.Â
Then why did he exclusively come to Will? Why has he seemingly made no plans to properly introduce himself to you?
Itâs not that you're jealous; itâs not his attention that you want; itâs just the simple need to be recognized as an equal. Youâre good at what you doâgreat, even. And this isnât the first time someone has disregarded you for no apparent reason. Well, you think you know why.Â
Standing up from your chair, you speak. âIf you donât mind, Iâll be off-â
âWhy?â Will immediately asks, mouth full of chewed food.Â
âGotta get ready for the day. Unfortunately, it takes more effort than just a clean shirt and brushed hair for me to be presentable. Iâm sure youâd understand that, Doctor.âÂ
The moment the words come out of your mouth, you realize the accidental insult you've just given. You didnât even mean to insinuate that heâs someone who must put in extra effort in order to be ready for the day, but by the way his grip tightens on his fork once again and the displeasing curl of his lips, you're sure he took it that way.Â
âJack gave a rental; I can drive you when you're ready?â Will offers, as pleased and equally confused you are for his sudden change of heart on your existence. You are also well aware that Lecter will most likely be hitching a ride to.
âI actually drove here. I thought it would be good for me to have some more time to sort out my thoughts.â You say, walking towards the door. âBut thank you; Iâll see you both soon.â You say, as curtly as possible before twisting the handle and making your exit.Â
Files, files and more files are all youâve sorted through since you arrived at your destination, the place where the Shrike most likely works.Â
You hear a car pull up next to the dingy little trailer of the office of the work site, the sound vibrant against the noise of ruffling papers and the secretary talking to her boss on the corded phone sitting on her desk.Â
The door creaks open, and as you turn around, youâre greeted by the sight of Will walking in through the door held open by Hannibal.Â
âIâve sorted through these four on the left so far,â you say in reference to the seemingly never ending towers of file cabinets. âAnd those boxes are where Iâm throwing shit that if you twist an arm and a leg, you might be able to find something slightly suspicious.âÂ
Hannibal walks in, closing the door behind him and Will nods. âWhat about her?â He asks, tilting his head to the side where the secretary sits.Â
âConversation with her boss, I think. One that doesnât seem to be going very well.â You explain with a tiny humorous smirk. Her head snaps towards you as she glares, unable to verbalize any frustration so she settles for squinted eyes.Â
âDo you need direction?â You condescendingly ask. Hannibal, seemingly unfazed by your attitude at this point, does nothing but shake his head and say, âNot yet, no. But Iâm sure youâll give me some.â His smile contradicting his pointed words.Â
Moments went by, flipping through papers upon papers. The feeling of being stuck in a never ending loop is finally broken by the secretary's voice directed at the three of you.Â
âWhat did you say your names where?â She asks, standing up.Â
Before you or Hannibal could respond, Will does. âGarrett Jacob Hobbs?â
With a sigh, the woman answers, âHeâs one of our pipe threaders. Those are all the resignation letters. âPlumbers Union requires âem whenever members finish a job.â She says, before quickly spinning around and whispering into the phone, âIâll call you back.â And places the landline back onto the plunger.Â
Finished with her phone conversation, Will continues to inquire. "Uh, does Mr. Hobbs have a daughter?â
âMight have.â She says in her tired, monotone voice.Â
âEighteen or nineteen, wind-chafed, um- plain but pretty. Sheâd have auburn hair; be about this tall.â He motions a bit below his ear.Â
She shrugs in response. âMaybe I don't know. I donât keep company with these people.â
âWhat is it about Garrett Jacob Hobbs you find so peculiar?â Lecter's voice chimes in.Â
âHe left a phone number, no address.â He answers, his back still facing you both.Â
 The doctor questions Will once again, turning to face more towards him, âAnd therefore he has something to hide?â
Taking a short breath to breathe, Will answers, âThe others all left addresses; he also missed work for days at a time.â You can see heâs slowly getting more wound up. His mind is moving and scrambling around different possibilities too fast for him to make sense of, and what he can decipher is nothing short of tasteless.Â
"Do you have an address for Mr. Hobbs?â You chime in an attempt to take a sliver of weight off of Willâs shoulders.Â
The dark haired woman rolls her eyes and silently walks toward her desk. She takes a few moments to gather her information, the sounds of a keyboard clicking and shallow- impatient breaths fill the room.Â
Grabbing a pen, she scribbles numbers onto the small square of paper before standing up once more to hand it to Will.Â
As often as it happens, you feel like youâll never get used to the way men are consistently served first in this field. It's not Willâs fault of course, and youâre sure it wasnât intentional on her part. But in a way that makes it worse, how habitual it is to subconsciously ignore you, woman, really anything out of the typical white male mold of an old detective movie.Â
Youâll never forget how Jack was so quickly disregarded in one of the first cases you accompanied him with. It was in some southern state where a series of home invasions resulted in multiple murders over a handful of months. On the way to the crime scene, the neighbourhood held lawns of homes that were decorated with not only American flags but Confederate ones as well. You watched the way the local police interacted with Crawford. The kind of people who tolerated him for his help but nothing elseâaversion constantly clouded their eyes.Â
It's not that you haven't encountered appalling people of that sort before, but it was the moment when it clicked that no matter how remarkable your work is, if Crawford could be so quickly disregarded because prejudice, the man who was truly their saving grace for this case, what chance do you have to truly excel in your field?
âI could start loading the boxes in the trunk; can you unlock it?â You ask, not even bothering to look at the yellow Post-it note containing the address.Â
Looking at you with brows furrowed, he digs in his trouser pockets. âItâs manual, you have to unlock it.â He says while handing you the set of cool rigid metal.Â
âThat's fine.â You say with a smile before heading out the door. Taking a breath of metal-scented air in an attempt to calm your nerves. Things are going okayâwell, even.
 Will seems to be no longer sickened by your presence, for whatever reason that may be. You're trying not to think of that, the reasoning for this sudden change of heart, and how you may already know it if it weren't for Lecter's earlier intrusion.Â
You're trying not to hold much disdain for him, to put it aside for the time being when there are non-metaphorical lives on the line. But itâs hard when the only thing you now personally know him for is an invasive little bastard. Not much like Bloom had described him to you before, back when you were civil. That's not fair to her, though; sheâs civilâyou're not. You're much too bitter now for niceties.
Moments pass by while you, Will, Hannibal and the secretary are hauling boxes out of the small office trailer into the back of the rental car. A monotonous and tedious task. One that may not seem to be fit for all though, as the doctor allows a box to stumble in hands, paper falling onto the wet ground.Â
Of course, Willâs the one to solve the problem, falling to his knees to scrounge the paper and telling the man not to worry. You watch as he doesn't even give a thank you in return; he just hustles back inside.Â
Clearly, the man doesn't have as much decorum inside of him as he presents.Â
Though you may not have room to speak, the moment the task was done, you grabbed the address covered note and put it into your car's GPS before telling Will just to follow you. You're sure you're contributing to his stress by being so evasive, but until you can stop being so erratic, your best bet is to stay slippery, not allowing him to get a good enough grasp on who you are before you can conceal it.
The robotic voice from your center console alerts you of the approaching destination. Turning on your turn signal a bit early to alert Will driving behind you of the driveway you are about to pull into.
You can only appreciate the home once you step out of your car. The plain suburbia of the family home becomes clearer once you get closer to the front door.Â
You turn to watch Will and Lecter step out of the car, Hannibal surveying the place with an analytical gaze much like your own, while Wills is unique. Itâs Wills.Â
You're unsure if you should wait for Will and have him be the one to knock at the door. Youâre defenceless; you have no gun, no badge, and no reason for someone to open the door for you alone.Â
The decision seems to have been made for you when the door opens. Turning to look, you are greeted by the sight of bloodied hair and body weight pushed onto you. Before being granted a moment to collect your thoughts, you feel yourself falling. The sight of a man with a knife turning away is the only distinct thing you can make out as the rest melts into a scene of blurry green and blue before you and the body on top of you hit the ground.
The moment your head hits the concrete, you know you're done for. The sound of your hard skull smacking against the ground reverberates through your spine like an echo. An uncomfortable pounding takes over all your senses as Will runs up to you. The body weight of the woman is pushed off of you. You can hear the vibrations of his voice against your eardrums but nothing moreâall unintelligible in your mangled brain.Â
You can feel your mind quickly leave its haze as fast as it came to you, your senses returning. You pull yourself up on your forearms to try to slowly raise yourself up. âGo.â Your voice sounds weird coming out of you; it's so loud that it feels like a microphone is hiding in your throat.Â
An unfamiliar hand grabs the back of your skull. âIâm here; you can go, Will.â Hannibal's voice firmly says behind you.Â
And he does; he quickly stands, pulling out his gun and walks into the house as Lecter pulls you by your armpits to sit properly. âYouâre not bleeding.â He states, moving your hair around your head softly to check.Â
âBleeding.â You think. Blood. You can feel blood all over your skin. You know youâre not bleeding, you donât feel anything leaving you. But you feel everything on you.Â
The woman lays beside you, face up towards the dreary sky, as the sound of a quiet pattering of blood collects in a pool below. âGod.â You exclaim while attempting to push yourself up from your wobbly arms.
âSlow do-â The accented voice behind you speaks before being cut off by a series of gunshots. You feel each noise in your chest, each one causing your heart to sink further into your stomach. Ignoring the dizziness blooming in your head, you clumsily stand up. Hannibal's hands pointlessly attempt to grip you to help your stability as you quickly stumble into the Hobbs residence.Â
The overwhelming smell of iron invades your nostrilsâyou freeze. Will huddles over a limp body, you from behind as he struggles to place his hands. Jack was right, you're not ready for this. Slumped in the corner lies a man, bullet wounds decorating his chest in rows.
Will killed him.
Your mind plays the sentence over and over again on loop as you feel Dr. Lecter's eyes bore into the back of your skull. He walks over to Will, his posture so straight that it's unnerving. The way his hands steadily grip the young girl's throat to prevent more blood from spurting out mocks your shaky ones.Â
Will beside him looks just as shaken up as you do, sitting there frozen, watching as the girl on the floor clings to life.Â
âCall in.â Hannibal's voice shakes you from your thoughts. As if on autopilot, your bloody hand messily dials for an ambulance. Your words sound so foreign, entirely not yours, as you explain the scene in front of you, eyes locked on Will as he dissociates from his surroundings.Â
It happens so slowly and so fast. A whirl of paramedics running in. Ushering you all to leave, but you canât. The moment you exit the door, you freeze at the woman's body in front of you.    Â
She was murdered, died on top of you and was the last bit of warmth she felt before she went cold. You feel sad, A woman's life was brutally stolen from her far too early. You feel sad about the surrounding context of her death, but mostly you feel gross, dirty, sticky, and frustrated that she had to expel her life force all over you.Â
You want a shower. Â
After getting checked by the waiting paramedic outside, who confirmed a grade 1 concussion. You can't stop thinking about what just happened to Will's head. He just murdered a man to save a life and you know what that can do to someoneâit's the exact thing that ruined you.Â
Youâve done it again, showing up uninvited again, only this time to his motel room and not his home. But you have to talk to him.Â
Some agent you never even got the name of drove you both back to your respected quarters. Neither of you were in a state to drive; you canât for the next 48 hours and Will... God knows how Will is.Â
That's why your visit is needed; itâs not for your peace of mind; it's not an apology; itâs to make sure he's not alone with thoughts and has someone to help clear them.Â
After knocking at his door once again, he opens it. âHi.â Your voice cracks.
âHi.â Greets back. He soundsâŠtired.
âI wanna come in.â You tell him there's no point in pleasantries; heâs known why youâre here since the moment you knocked on the door.Â
Fortunately, that gets him to crack a small smile and say, âSure.âÂ
As you both walk further into his room, he closes the door behind you. The roomâs dimly lit, and the curtains drawn tightly to block out the world. You can see the disarray around youâbooks strewn across the floor, papers piled haphazardly on the desk, and an untouched dinner plate on the nightstand.
âI brought a gift.â You say, sticking your arm out, handing him the bottle.
"Vending machine root beer, you shouldnât have." He attempts a joke, but the effort is hollow. Everything he says only deepens your concern; heâs so quick to brush off everything that's happened and act as if everything's fine.
âYouâre freaking me out, Will,â you awkwardly laugh. âI know your feeling pretty fucked up right now. You donât have to act unbothered.â Â
He sucks in a breath through his teeth, a defensive look quickly absorbing his eyes. âJust because you couldnât handle it doesnât mean I canât.â The moment the weight of the words heâs thrown at you registers, Will's face drops. His entire guarding demeanour immediately shatters the moment they come out.
"I-Iâm sorry." You stutter out in shock of how his attitude is instantaneously flipped by words. "I know what happened was different; I just wanted to check up on you." Your words are met with silence, the two of you just pitifully staring at each other. The room feels colder, the silence is more suffocating.
He breathes out your name so softly that you almost donât hear it. âI donât knowâŠwhy I sa-said that.â His hand roughly runs through his hair as he takes a step forward. âI want you to stay.â He states, uncharacteristically bold from him.Â
Unsure what to make of his words, you just stand there. Both your minds are reelingâWillâs for a way to apologize and yours to just disappear.Â
âI know I didnât handle myself well.â You say, taking a deep breath, âIâm not saying my actions will be your own; I just wish I had someone to understand what its like to take a human life and not hate it.âÂ
That's itâthe thing you could never admit, not even to yourself. So much time was spent sprilling about why you are the way you are. Trying to convince yourself that this feeling brewing inside you is new, that it had been manually moulded.Â
Panicking from your admission, you quickly follow up. âI didnât mean to projectâfuck, I just donât want you to wallow in the guilt of change like I did. What Hobbs did- who he wasâwas entirely irredeemable.âÂ
Another step closer and the gap between you both becomes bridged, and his large hands rest gently on your cheeks. âIâm sorry.â He delicately whispers.Â
You canât help it; you fall apart and the dam behind your eyes breaks. The tears cascade down your cheeks faster than you can blink them away as he pulls you into his chest. You can feel the steady thump of his heartbeat, the reminder that heâs real, heâs here, and heâs okay.
âI was so fucking scared when I heard those gunshots,â you whisper into his chest. His grip on you tightens, pushing you further into him. You both stay like that for God knows how long. From how heavily youâve soaked his T-shirt with your tears and how you feel it around your brow bones and eye sockets, youâd guess itâs been a while. And with a deep sigh, you finally feel him pull away. âAre you okay?â He asks, gently looking you up and down.
âI should be asking you that.â You scoff, âMinor concussion; Iâll be fine in a couple days and a good night's sleep.â
He raises his brows in shock. âYeah, well, good luck getting that.â You canât help but laugh at his tone and reaction, as if you just said the most bizarre thing in the world.Â
A grin makes his way across his face at the sound of your laugh. âI miss you.âÂ
You freeze. Itâs what he said that took you off-gaurd, just the way he said it. The tone wasnât sad or nostalgic; it was happy. Present tense too; he didnât once mourn you and, over time, healed the wounds of a lost friendship. No, theyâre still open, and he still misses you.
You were so caught up in your concern for him that you never had a moment to grasp the closeness between you too. Looking up, you see him. The individual hairs growing out of his chin, forming his stubble; the small scar on his cheek that he got when he was a child but doesn't remember how; and his eyes. Those blue eyes that hold so much patience, so much care and so much understanding it makes you weak to your knees. You see Willâsweet, complex, deserving Will.Â
His hands grip your face more firmly this time, peering into your soul like you just autopsied yours. He's drinking you in your image, like heâs been starved, dehydrated, and famished. You wouldnât dare pull away and deny him what he wants; youâll give him anything and if he wants your soul, youâll bare it to him.Â
âThe only thing I regret is everything I did to you.â Itâs such a heavy admissionâone thatâs entirely out of left field, and he still doesnât know the true weight of it. âPlease,â The words so delicately come from you. Youâre not sure what your pleading forâforgiveness? But for which of your sins? In what context are you begging for repentance?
It doesn't matter what you decide. The only thing that does is how close his lips are to yours and how itâs still not enough.Â
âI know.â His lips brush against yours, tentative at first, then more certain. The kiss is a soft exploration, a silent conversation filled with all the words you couldnât bring yourselves to say. You feel his hands trembling slightly against your skin, betraying the calm exterior heâs trying to maintain.Â
When you finally pull away, youâre both breathless. He rests his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the small space between you. Heâs quiet, waiting for the moment for you to turn and run like you do, but it doesnât come. Instead, your hand finds itself on the back of his head, tangling your fingers in his curls as you pull him in for another kiss.Â
Just as eager as you, he deepens the kiss, his hands moving from your cheeks to your waist, desperate to have you as close as he can. You could feel his heart beating against his chest, rhythmically in-sync with your own.
Energy intensifies, with hands greedily grabbing whatever they can, saliva coating each other's lips, feet scrambling across the floor until your back hits the crumpled sheets of the unmade motel bed.  Â
The thin mattress creaks under your combined weight, but you barely noticeâtoo preoccupied with catching each sound that spills from Will's mouth. His hands explore the curves and slopes of your torso with an urgency so similar to yours. Every touch, every kiss, makes your body buzz with ache, desperate to consume him from the outside-in.Â
He breaks away for a moment, his breath ragged, eyes dark with desire. "Are you sure?" he asks, his voice a rough whisper.
"Yes," you reply without hesitation, your voice as steady as you could be despite the pounding of your heart. "Iâm sure."
With that, he captures your lips again, his hands slipping under your shirt, the warmth of his calloused fingertips on your ribs sending shivers within you. You lose yourself in the sensation, the world outside the room fading into oblivion.Â
All you can think of is Will.Â
Will's hands slipping off your shirt.Â
Willâs chest bare against yours as you slip off his.Â
Willâs mouth on your neck, nibbling on your collarbone.Â
Will looking deliciously vulnerable covered in crimson outside of the Hobbs house.Â
The moan that slips out of your mouth as his tongue meets your nipple is involuntary; his wet mouth lays kisses and bites along the fat of your breast as he grips the other.Â
He looks up at you, his eyes dark and hungry as he breathes your name out, his voice thick with lust coating his vocal cords like honey. His hands roam lower, fingers hooking into the waistband of your pants, slowly sliding them down your hips. His kisses trail down from your sternum to your stomach, getting sloppier as his breath contrasts with the coolness of his spit.Â
You gasp as he reaches your underwear, his fingers teasing the fabric. "Will," you whimper, your voice a mixture of need and desperation youâve never heard from yourself before.Â
He peers up at you, his silvery eyes filled with desireâdesire for you. "Do you trust me?"
Without a moment of hesitation, you reply, "Yes."
With a smile both wicked and tender, he pulls your underwear down and spreads your legs, revealing you to him. His eyes roam over your body, taking in every detail, every curve, and every inch. He leans in, his breath hot against your slick center, and then his tongue flicks out, tasting you.
You arch your back, a moan escaping you as he explores you with his mouth. His fingers tease your entrance, rubbing just around it in circles while his tongue dances around your clit.Â
You grip the sheets tightly, your nails digging into the fabric. Youâd latch your hands onto his head but you're afraid youâd rip his scalp off his head. The sensations are overwhelming, not because of the pleasure coursing through you, but because itâs Will distributing it.Â
Will's mouth is relentless, his tongue flicking and probing, while his fingers continue to tease.
He was devouring you, and you were more than happy to be consumed.Â
âWill," you moan, your voice breathy, desperate for moreâanything else heâs willing to give. "Please."Â
He looks up at you, his eyes filled with lust, then slides two fingers inside you, pumping them in and out in a slow, steady rhythm. You cry out, your body bucking against his mouth, your hips grinding against his fingers as you feel the prickle of his facial hair on your thighs as you squeeze them tighter around his head.Â
âSo good,â he whimpers into you, his voice a mixture of need and desperation while he works you closer to your ledge. He does nothing but continue his assault, his tongue flicking against your clit, his fingers thrusting in and out of you. You can feel the orgasm building in your stomach, the pressure mounting higher and higher as he desperately bucks into the bed for some form of friction.
"Will," you cry out, your voice louder this time, begging him for your release. Heâs still so wordlessânothing but the vibrations of moans and grunts coming from him. Instead, he responds by increasing the pace of his fingers, his tongue more aggressive as you feel yourself tipping over the edge.Â
You feel your body move for you, sporadically convulsing as your orgasm washes over you as he drinks up release, coating his mouth and fingers. He continues his movements while you come down from your high, his hands prying your thighs open as he fucks his tongue into you, savouring your taste.
You're left panting, your body trembling, and your mind swimming in a foggy haze of pleasure when he finally pulls away from you with an expression of satisfaction. He moves up your body, his lips finding yours in a tender kiss.Â
You can feel your slick coating his facial hair as he kisses you, rubbing it onto you. Itâs a messy and filthy action but fuck does it get you going.Â
"Are you okay?" he asks, his voice gruff but gentle.Â
You canât help but smile; heâs so fucking perfect.Â
A grin coats your face. âYeah.â Heâs gorgeous; the light is low, the cool light of the moon peeking out the sides of the curtains. You canât see Will in his entirety, but thatâs fine. His face so close to yours, his body on top of yoursâyou donât need to see him; just feel him.Â
He smiles a small-relieved grin. âGood,â he whispers before pulling away. You didnât realize he removed sweats until you felt the tip of his cock teasing you. A whine escapes from your lips as he rocks his dick back and forth along your pussy, coating himself in your cum.Â
He pushes in slowly, inch by inch, his pace deliberate, giving you time to adjust. Your brain short-circuits from how deeply heâs stretching you out every time he slips himself further inside you.Â
He pauses, his forehead resting against yours, his breath hot against your skin. âYou feel so fucking good.â
You feel braindead; you've never been so pilant in your life. âMore.â You manage to whisper out, your voice shaky.Â
He starts to move, his thrusts slow and shallow. Just the feeling of his cock repeatedly entering you makes your brain feel fuzzy. You can feel every inch of him, the way he fills you, how tightly youâre wrapped around him.Â
You grip his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin as he picks up pace, his thrusts becoming more forceful, more demanding. ââMissed you so fucking much,â he grumbles into your neck.
âMâsorry.â You whimper, âMâsorry, Mâsorry.â You say fragmentedly, it took him nothing to fuck you dumb and yet your entire brain is filled with nothing but the repetition of his name.Â
The room is filled with the sounds of skin slapping against skin, the wetness of your bodies, and the occasional moan that escapes from either of your lipsâthe both of you soaking up the feeling of each other in this moment.Â
You can feel the pressure building up againâthe familiar prickle in your abdomen. âPlease, donât fucking stop.â Your voice desperately cries out. Â
He doesnât slow down; instead, he picks up pace, his thrusts becoming more frantic, more desperate. You can feel him shaking, his body trembling as he nears his climax. Not bothering the silence himself anymore, he becomes just as loud as you, no longer speaking coherent praises, just moans and grunts that slowly raise in pitch with each stroke inside you he makes.Â
Nothing but each otherâs names spill from your lips in affirmation that you're both here, together. You cry out, your back arching off the bed in a desperate attempt to be closer as your orgasm crashes over you. Your pussy clenches around him, milking him as he spills himself inside you, as he collapses on top of you. You feel his breath against your neck in ragged pants as his cock continues to twitch inside you, the last of his cum filling you up.Â
You wrap your arms around him, you're both spent. Bodies slick with cum and sweat, the euphoric high wearing off allowing the reality of how tired youâve been the last couple to take hold of you.Â
âDo you wanna talk about it?â You breathlessly ask. As sleepy as you are, you have to make an attempt to do what you came forâsomeone to talk to.Â
Head on your chest, you can feel his smile form. âI was liking how little talking we were doing.âÂ
A laugh puffs from chest at his response, âThat works too.â You say, gazing down at him. As if he could feel your stare, he raises his head to look at you, chin resting on your breast. âIâm happy.â
A small laugh now finds its way from his chest at the juvenile remark. As ridiculous as it seems, that is the best way to describe it. It doesn't need complex-flowery language, you're just glad to be in his presence, alive and healthy. You're just happy.Â
And he understands, his gaze softens as a sincere smile crawls on his face, âMe too.â
#PERSEPHONE#hannibal nbc#hannibal#nbc hannibal#mads mikkelsen#will graham#hannibal lecter#hannibal lecter x reader#will graham x reader#hannibal fanfiction#will graham x you#will graham fanfiction#will graham smut#mads mikkelsen x reader#hannibal x reader
186 notes
·
View notes
Text
Wound Care
Ok so, take this with a BIG grain of salt, because I may be a medical doctor BUT you need to know how much wound care training we get in medical school: none. Zip. Zilch. There may be medical schools where you do, but mine wasn't a bozo factory and there was NO wound care training. Everything I know I learned from one of several sources: an intensive 2-day wound care course I did in residency (highly recommend), the local Home Health wound care nurse (highly recommend), a completely batshit insane old white male doctor who started our learning sessions by yelling Vietnam War stories at me (do not recommend), a hospital wound care nurse (highly recommend), and experience (oh god do not recommend).
The first thing you need to know is that wound healing varies dramatically across the course of a lifespan. Kids? Kids will heal. If they don't, get their ass to a pediatrician because there's something genetic going on. Young adults will heal. Middle-aged adults will heal. You know who doesn't heal for shit? The elderly, and people with severe illnesses, and people with uncontrolled type II diabetes.
Your body needs several things in order to heal. It needs macronutrients, so you need to be able to EAT protein, fat, and carbs. If you are on total parenteral nutrition, aka TPN, aka IV nutrition, you are going to be worse at healing. If you are starving yourself, you are going to be worse at healing. If your body is desperately funneling all the calories you take in to surviving your COPD or cancer, you are going to be worse at healing.
It also needs micronutrients. If your diet sucks, you won't heal. Take a multivitamin once in a while.
There are two CRITICAL skin components to healing: collagen and elastin. Guess what we stop making as we age. Promoting collagen isn't just good for "anti-aging," it's good for NOT ripping your skin apart. Taking oral collagen is probably bullshit because your body is going to have to disassemble it to get it across the intestinal membranes to absorb, but it's also harmless, and if your diet REALLY sucks, who knows. Give it a try. Collagen is made of amino acids; think protein.
Another absolutely crucial component is blood flow. As people age, they start to develop cholesterol plaques lining arteries that eventually pick up calcium deposits. This makes blood vessels less elastic, which is a problem, but eventually also blocks them off, which is a much bigger problem. If someone has the major blood flow to their feet decreased by 90% by arterial stenosis, they are not going to heal for shit AND their foot's gonna hurt.
One component of blood flow I hadn't thought about before going into medicine is fluid retention. The way your body works, blood exits the heart at a very high velocity, but slows to a crawl by the time it gets into capillaries, the smallest blood vessels in the body. Water is a very small molecule and can leave the blood vessel, especially if there aren't big, negatively-charged molecules like proteins like albumin in the blood vessels to hold the water there. And we're built for this--some water is supposed to leak out of our blood vessels when it gets to real little vessels. It gets taken back up by the lymphatic system and eventually dumped back into the bloodstream at the inferior vena cava. But if you aren't making albumin--for instance, in liver failure--you may leak a LOT of fluid into the tissue, so much that your legs get swollen, tight, the skin feeling woody and strange. This isn't fixable by drainage because the fluid is everywhere, not in a single pocket we can drain. And because it puts so much pressure on the tissues of the skin, it often results in ulcers. Congestive heart failure, liver failure, kidney failure--these are all common causes of severe edema, aka swelling due to fluid in the tissues. And they're a real bitch when it comes to wound care, because we have such limited resources for getting the fluid back out, which is a necessary first step to healing.
Pressure is another common cause of wounds. Pressure forces blood out of those little capillaries, so you starve the cells normally fed by those capillaries, and they die. It's called pressure necrosis. Very sick people who can't turn themselves over--people in the ICU, people in nursing homes--are especially prone to these wounds, as are people with limited sensation; pressure wounds are common in wheelchair users who have lost some feeling in the parts of their bodies that rub against those surfaces, or diabetics who don't notice a rock in their shoe.
So, if you're trying to treat wounds, the questions to ask are these:
Why did this wound happen?
-Was it pressure? If it's pressure, you have to offload the source of the pressure or else that wound will not heal. End of story. You can put the tears of a unicorn on that thing, if you don't offload the pressure it won't heal.
-Was it fluid? If it's fluid, you have get the fluid out of the issues or else it won't heal. You can sometimes do that with diuretics, medications that cause the body to dump water through the kidneys, but that's always threading a needle because you have to get someone to a state where they still have juuuuust enough fluid inside their blood vessels to keep their organs happy, while maintaining a very slight state of dehydration so the blood vessels suck water back in from the tissues. You can use compression stockings to squeeze fluid back into the vessels, but if they have arterial insufficiency and not just venous insufficiency, you can accidentally then cause pressure injury. The safest option is using gravity: prop the feet up above the level of the heart, wherever the heart is at, at that moment, and gravity will pull fluid back down out of the legs. Super boring though. Patients hate it. Not as much as they hate compression stockings.
-Was it a skin tear because the skin is very fragile? This is extremely common in the elderly, because they're not making collagen and elastin, necessary to repairing skin. If this is the case, make sure they're actually getting enough nutrition--as people get into their 80s and 90s, their appetites often change and diminish, especially if they're struggling with dementia. And think about just wrapping them in bubble wrap. Remove things with sharp edges from their environments. I have seen the WORST skin tears from solid wood or metal furniture with sharp edges. Get rid of throw rugs and other tripping hazards. I had somebody last week who tried to a clear a baby gate and damn near destroyed their artificial hip.
The next critical question: why isn't it healing?
-Are you getting enough nutrients? Both macro and micro?
-Are you elderly?
-Are you ill?
-Do you have a genetic disorder of collagen formation?
Fix why it's not healing and almost anything will heal. If you're diabetic, find a medication regimen that improves your sugars and stick to it. If you're anorexic, get treatment for your eating disorder. If you have congestive heart failure, work with your doctor on your fluid balance. Wear the damn pressure stockings. Prop up your feet.
If, after those two unskippable questions are done, you want to do something to the wound--apply a dressing, do a treatment--that's a whole other kettle of fish. I'll write that later. The dryer just sang me its little song and I need to put away the laundry.
792 notes
·
View notes
Text
SAY WHAT: Dental Treatments Cause Cancer, Heart Attacks, Mental Disease, Arthritis & More... â97 % of breast cancer patients had a root canalâ
Your ORAL HEALTH is very important. đ€
#pay attention#educate yourselves#educate yourself#knowledge is power#reeducate yourself#reeducate yourselves#think about it#think for yourselves#think for yourself#do your homework#do some research#do your own research#ask yourself questions#question everything#oral hygiene#for your health#health tips#stay healthy#healthy living#news#you decide
178 notes
·
View notes
Note
Good morning!!!! I love your blog so much!!!!đđ«¶đŸ Your writing is amazing???
Baby daddy Choso????
thank you so much!!! but thanks for requesting this fren bc i love this so muchđ€
đđđ đąđ§đđ„đźđđ§đđ. (đđđđČđđđđđČ!đđĄđšđŹđš đ± đđ„đđđ€đđđŠ!đ«đđđđđ«)
cw: pnv, unprotected sex, oral (f + m receiving), choking (f+m receiving), spit kink, choso calls reader; 'baby' and 'baby girl', this man is a masochist lowkey, yeah this is a lil nasty
wc: 3858
your twins loved their dad; excited feet would scamper their way to your bedroom, three hours earlier than usual, every friday because they knew itâd be the day theyâd see him. and you guys had a routine: you got them ready in the morning, took them to school, then chosoâd pick them up, and they'd be his for the weekend.
© Rights owned by nanaminsmooninc. Do not repost without permission.
and, during those 48 hours, there was no beach far enough, nor park busy enough, for choso because he would take his girls wherever they wanted to go. every week, pinkie promises to not tell you about staying up later than rules would allow were made between the trio. then, come sunday morning, the girls would be impatiently jumping into your arms, as soon as you opened your doorâusually with some playful change in their appearances. yet this particular one would cause your forehead to crease in confusion,
âwhat's on my daughter's face?â, youâd ask, once the girls were of earshot. immediately, choso knew what you were talking about but heâd play dumb just to irk you.
âeyes, eyelashes, eyebroââ, heâd start listing, and youâd interrupt him.
âno, dickhead, the thing over her noseâ, you clarified and heâd inwardly rejoice at his success at annoying you.
âoh. she saw my tattoo and said she wanted one, so i just got her a little temporary oneâ, heâd explain, eyes trained on the twins as he waved back at them while they ran around the house.
âand when she wants it for real?â, youâd poke at his chest, and his hand would rise to hold the spot your fingertip had touched as he faked a pained expression.
âi don't know how reckless you think i am, but i'm not gonna tattoo a six year oldâ, heâd scoff, but his amusement would fall to flatten quite quickly.
as hard as choso tried to fan the hurt fogging his mind, it just wouldnât leave him. choso could be denounced for his work over, and over, again and heâd bounce back because he was so confident and sure of his abilities. but jabs at his skills as a father never failed to pinch at his heart. people would spend an hour with him, then start to question his parenting abilities based off the way he looked and his reserved manner. the prickling in his chest didnât come from insecurity, but from sensitivity to reminders of the same baseless assumption. especially coming from someone he deemed to be the perfect parent,
âwhy do you keep doing that?â, heâd look at you earnestly, and confusion would force your eyebrows together.
âdoing what?â,
âmaking me out to be this bad influence.â,
âmaybe itâs because you run around with cancer sticks behind your earsâ, you pulled the cigarette from behind his ear, and shoved it in his pocket.
âaside from that. you treat me like i'm gonna corrupt the girls.â, he paused, âyou treat me the way your parents treated meâ, due to his appearance and impassive demeanour, most people around you had opposed your relationship with choso. your friends warned heâd be a terrible father, and your parents mistook how reserved he was for coldness, and arrogance. outwardly, he seemed inattentive, rude, and aloof but choso didnât care because the most important people in his life understood him. he was his daughtersâ best friend, protector, and joint number one on their list of favourite princesses to join their tea partiesâthe other being you.
no matter how many years passed, youâd always love choso. though you werenât together anymore, the need to defend him against those who misunderstood him had never dissipated. so to hear that you had become one of the people you had spent almost a decade trying to quieten, lunged your heart into your throat.
âchoso, i'm so sorry. i didn't know i was beingââ, youâd start to apologise, but youâd be quickly interrupted. penitence sunk all your features in a way choso couldnât ignore; he knew you had no malintent with your words, and he didnât want you to beat yourself up over it.
ânah, it's cool.â, he waved you off, âi get it, but you know me. you know i love them to death and i'd never encourage anything that i knew would hurt them. but anyways, i guess i'll go now, i'll see you on fridaââ, heâd been stood in the doorway and, as he began to step backwards to leave, your hands would clasp one of his. heâd be visibly surprised, but his feet would still be ladened to their spot.
âlet me make it up to youâ, you'd propose, and intrigue would raise chosoâs eyebrow.
youâd always known there were benefits to your best friend being your neighbour, and today would be the day youâd reap one of them. after instructing choso to sit and wait on the couch, youâd gather the girlsâ stuff and take them next door. youâd come back to choso still sat where you had left him, legs spread and large hand dwarfing his phone. the urge to jump on his dick right then and there was stronger than you wouldâve liked, but youâd keep composed. even under his fervent glare as he watched you take your shoes off. thereâd be a moment of waiting once your eyes met, then youâd beckon for him to follow you. chosoâs curiosity was eating away at him, but if thereâs one thing he had learnt during your time together it was that he was not to question your plans. even as he realised you were leading him to your bedroom, heâd just scoff to himself and continue trailing you.
once at the door, youâd open it and hold it for him to go in. and, chuckling, heâd enter the room, chills already running down his spine at the way those four walls boxed him into your scent, and swathed him in it. his back being turned to you allowed choso to shamelessly close his eyes, and take it all in. heâd only be brought back to reality by the clicking of the door lock.
âthe fuck are you doing?â, he laughed as he turned around.
âmaking it up to you, now sit.â, he'd raise his hands in surrender, before heâd sit on the edge of the bed, eyes narrowed as he watched you saunter your way towards him.
one thing led to another, and you went from kissing and licking at choso's bulge through his boxers to having his dick throat deep inside you. during your relationship, head had been one of chosoâs favourite things. heâd even claimed that, had your pussy not been so good, heâd like head more than sex. there were never enough words to explain it but, to him, there was nothing that drove him crazier than the sight of your eyelashes batting up at him as you took all of him into your mouth, nose tickling his pelvic bone. and, busy with his tattoo studio, choso didn't have a lot of time to date so he couldn't remember the last time he felt a woman's throat enclose around his tip the way yours did. his toes were damn near gripping at the carpet through his socks, as his fingers dug into the duvet. though their one wish was to be entangled in your tresses, scratching at your scalp when you swallowed around him, choso hadnât forgotten that the reason you had asked him to drop the girls off two hours later than usual, was because you were getting your hair done. so he'd refrain for an entire two seconds, fingers contracting around nothing, before he'd just ask,
âcan i putâfuckâmy hands in your hâshit, y/nâhairâ. and another low âshitâ would leave his lips when you'd pull him out of your mouth to show him the lewd mix of your saliva and his precum leaking out your lips.
ââf you fuck it up, then you gotta pay for me to get it redoneâ, you tilted your head to run his length against you lips, and chosoâs hands were on your head immediately.
âyes, maâamâ, he moaned out.
though you had been broken up for five years, the mutual sexual attraction between you two had never dwindled, so you two fucking post-breakup was inevitable. that being said, choso hadn't nutted in you in almost two years and he didnât want the first time in 24 months to be in your mouth. thatâs what his heart wanted, but his body would have other plans. head wasnât just about the feeling for choso, the man loved a performance. knowing this, youâd pull him out of your mouth to allow a string of spit and precum hang from your lips, letting it land on his length again just so you could use it as lube to stroke him a few more times.
âyou canât do shit like that, y/n, iâll nuââ, his strained voice tried to explain, but itâd be cut short by more of your antics. one second your lips would be around his balls, then the next they'd be damn near touching his pelvic bone, as you took him into your throat again. he'd raise his hand to place it on your forehead,
âw-wait, y/n i'm gonnaâfuckfuckfuckfuckâbaby, wait i'm gonna cumâ, he'd warn, but you'd just take that as a signal to keep hallowing your cheeks and taking him into your throat. the pleasure delayed his reflexes, so choso wouldnât be fast enough in pulling his dick from your mouth; most of his nut would be inside it and, as you let his dick slip from your lips, heâd get some on your cheek, chin and nose too. the tip of your middle finger would collect some of it, and put it in your mouth, eyes locked with his as you did so.
âi forgot how fucking nasty you areâ, he'd chuckle before flopping backwards to face the ceiling, as he just laid on his back.
chosoâs love for head wasnât limited to just receiving, because one of his lifeâs finest pleasures resided between your legs.
âi just need to get you ready fâr me, babyâ, would be his response when you told him he didnât need to reciprocate. but the truth was, choso luxuriated in the way you grabbed at his hair and closed your thighs around his headâthe near suffocation was the closest to heaven he thought heâd ever get. he loved the way your body didn't know what to do with itself, squirming underneath the cold metal of his tongue, and lip, piercing. yet, nothing could dethrone the way the warmth of your thighs taking away all his air made his dick twitch. he'd enjoy the gratifying discomfort they brought, before he'd force your legs open again,
âyou taste so fucking good, baby, i don't know how i went without this for so longâ, he'd say when he came back up for a breath. his fingertips would dig into your thighs as he placed your legs on his shoulders. fingertips would soon be substituted for large palms, as choso pushed the flesh together to basically cut off his air supply. it felt sick to admit, but he loved the feeling of you essentially choking him out.
choso hadn't intended on eating you out until you came, but once heâd started, he couldn't stop. heâd lost track of time and then, all of a sudden, the feeling of your nails on his scalp was harsher. and if he wasnât relishing in the feeling, eyes fluttering shut in enjoyment, he mightâve noticed that you were about cum a lot sooner. but heâd only catch on when your babbles became more coherent,
âchos-so, i'm-m cumming, shitâ, you'd say, and when his brain finally processed those words, it'd be too late because he'd have your release all over him.
for a few moments, the only sounds audible in your room were your heavy breathing and the sound of choso licking your arousal off his fingers. the glisten of the inside of your thighs would catch his attention, and heâd move to remove them of their shimmer. the feeling of the metal on your skin would coax a jolt out of you, before youâd be backing away from his mouth to sit up and face him. the man looked depraved; hair a mess, and face shining, as he just smirked at you.
the shirt covering your top half would be off, as well as chosoâs shirt and boxers. and, seeing your bare body for the first time in years was having visible effects on chosoâhe was stunned.
âwowâ, he said, in a whisper, reaching to hold you but youâd pushed his shoulder.
âwhat?â, you giggled, and he just shook his head so as to not make you feel embarrassed.
âno, i justâŠi forgot how beautiful you areâ,
âshut up, bruhâ, you'd playfully roll your eyes, before pulling at chosoâs arm to switch your positions. his interest would be piqued yet again, and you'd quell it with a sloppy kiss to his lips. youâd mount choso to sit at the bottom of his abdomen, and his hands landed on your hips. they'd help you ride the ridges of his toned stomach, taking note of how you moaned into his mouth as your juices smeared all over his lower torso.
you'd soon shift yourself, sliding down his length and choso wouldnât be able to see much of it because his eyes rolled to shut once he felt you wrap around him. hands placed on his broad chest, you'd move up and down on him and his tatted fingers would dig into your hips. chosoâs pleasure was visceral, and he almost wanted it to stop before he got too attached and refused to let it end as he had many times before. when you and choso fucked, you did so for hours because you were both relentless. yet, as good as this felt, choso was ashamed to admit that something was missing.
âthis is all for me, right?â, he'd ask breathily, hands stilling you. itâd be hard to formulate thought, because you were just paused with his dick deep inside you. but you'd manage a shabby attempt at a nod.
âwell, can youâŠâ, chosoâd pause, eyes wandering around the bed, and his uncertainty would make you anxious. when it came to sex, you two had always been honest, and open to try anything. so if it made him cautious, then it was one of two things; something heâd been wanting for a while, or something completely left field.
âcould you choke me?â, he'd ask, and your once lidded eyes would be widely staring back at him.
âlikeâŠ?â, you'd raise your hand, and both of his would engulf it, leading it to his neck.
âthis.â, he looked you in your eyes, and your hand grew firmer, âand just keep it thereâ, he'd instruct, and you'd nod, before starting to move again.
though new to you, you began seeing the appeal of choking choso very quickly. mainly because of the way his eyelids would flutter, as his eyes rolled to shut, just by virtue of feeling your hand on his neck. not to mention the way his hips would move on their own to rut into you, every time your thumb and middle finger tightened around his throat. he may have been larger than you in stature, but choso was completely under your control. both the tightness of your walls, and the feeling of your hand around his neckâsweat making it hard for you to move while maintaining a secure grip on himâwas making him delirious. and he never wanted it to stop.
choso's mouth was making any noise it could muster to express how good he was feeling. he went from quietly cursing under his breath, to just shouting cuss words at you. you weren't far from your nut either; due to both the view and the way his dickâs chase for more pleasure, made choso fuck into you harder. the feeling made your thighs weaken but, ultimately, choso would be the first to let go,
âwhere dâyou want it?â, he asked, and your hand would remain on his neck as you leaned down to speak to him.
ânut in me, chosoâ, youâd whine, lips latching onto his neck to kiss it. the combination of the sultriness of your voice and your lips attacking the most sensitive spot on his neck, wouldâve been enough but choso completely lost it when heâd feel a sting as you marked his skin. he'd cum underneath you, hips stuttering upwards to prolong the pleasure he was feeling. all choso could do was cuss, and dig his trimmed fingernails into you before just laying there, a shell of his former self.
you'd be riding him for a few more minutes, before chosoâs control of his limbs would return to him, then heâd have you laid underneath him. no further words would be exchanged before he was slamming into you, silver chains dangling in your face and his hand on your throat, as he fucked you with vigor. as amazing as the opposite had felt, choso much preferred this version of things. he preferred looking down at you as your eyes fluttered and rimmed with salty displays of euphoria, heâd even lean down to lick one as it ran down the side of your cheek. choso indulged in the way you'd grab his forearm as strong as you could, sanguine crescents colouring in the empty spaces in his tattoos. he'd lean down to suck on your nipples, nipping at them just so he could hear the raising in pitch your moans and whines would do when that sensation coursed through you. his eyes would flicker down to the white froth collecting at the base of his dick, as his nut was pushed out of you with his every thrust.
âyou're doing this all for me, right?â, he'd ask, and you'd nod, âthis fucked out all for me. taking this dick so good just for meâ, he'd say, lips once again around your nipples.
choso wasn't letting up; his pace was merciless, as he fucked you dumb. most times you had fucked, choso would slow down, or pull out, when that familiar constriction of your walls told him you were close. he'd do it until you were crying and begging underneath him, voice growing excrutiatingly hoarse. but, seeing as you already had tears in your eyes, he'd only do it once before he'd just maintain a harsh rhythm as you came around him.
âchoso, fffuckâ, you cried out, but he'd just keep going. his eyes were so focused on the silhouette of his dick moving in and out of you, as your stomach contracted, that he'd lost all sight of where he was. you could've told choso he was jupiter and the man would've believed you. he couldn't even remember why you guys had started fucking in the first place, all he knew was that he didn't want to stop. to choso, thinking about anything that wasnât you was a waste of brain power. so he'd turn his brain off and let his body do whatever it wanted to. even if it meant overstimulation for the both of you.
your third nut would be pretty imminent, seeing as choso literally would not stop moving inside of you. but it'd be unlike the others,
âchoso, g-gimme a s-secondâ, you'd say, and he'd shake his head because he knew what you were doing. choso knew your body, and he knew it well; he knew what you were trying to prevent well enough to know that it was the very thing he was striving for,
âyou said you doing all this for me, baby.â, he'd remind you, âând i wanna see you make a fucking mess on my dick.â, his words would do nothing but edge you closer to your nut.
âcan you do that fâr me?â, heâd ask, and youâd nod your head.
âjust fâr me?â, heâd ask, voice laboured, âi donât deserve you, babyâ, heâd pout before moving down to connect your lips.
and, under his instruction, youâd just let that funny little feeling near your bladder do whatever it wanted to. one of your hands would be struggling to wrap around chosoâs wrist, while the other would be gripping the sheets for dear life. the hand choso had placed on your neck would remain stagnant, movement only reserved for the other as it moved to your clit. worries about you moving because of how fast, and hard, he was fucking you were nonexistent because the sweat covering your body meant that you were adhered to the fabric underneath you. choso's tatted fingers would rub on your bud until you came on them, practically spraying him with your release.
a low chuckle would leave choso's mouth at the endearing view of you trying to calm your body down. heavy breaths would slither past your lips, but your eyes remained closed. chosoâs hand would plant a light slap to your cheek to wake you back up, but it'd be to no avail. so heâd try once more, this time, grabbing your chin to shake your face until your eyes opened.
âsay âahâ, baby girlâ, he'd ask, and you'd open your mouth as wide as your slack jaw would allow. a line of spit would fall from his lips to your tongue before you'd swallow it, and he'd smirk to himself.
âdidnât even have to tell you what to doâ, heâd snicker, and youâd smile contently up at him. the woman choso was seeing was so unlike the one he had met so many years ago, and he dreaded to think that the sweet glint in your eyes had bittered because of him. however, that dread would quickly fade and, in its place, would be a knowing smirk,
âshit, maybe i am a bad influence.â
#nanaminsmooninc#jjk x black y/n#jjk x black reader#choso x black!reader#choso smut#choso x you#jujutsu kaisen choso#i need him real bad#choso x reader
791 notes
·
View notes
Text
So with Oppenheimer coming out tomorrow, I feel a certain level of responsibility to share some important resources for people to understand more about the context of the Manhattan Project. Because for my family, itâs not just a piece of history but an ongoing struggle thatâs colonized and irradiated generations of New Mexicansâ lives and altered our identity forever. Not only has the legacy of the Manhattan Project continued to harm and displace Indigenous and Hispanic people but itâs only getting bigger: Biden recently tasked the Los Alamos National Lab facility to create 30 more plutonium pits (the core of a nuclear warhead) by 2026. So this is a list of articles, podcasts and books to check out to hear the real stories of the local people living with this unique legacy thatâs often overlooked.Â
This is simply the latest mainstream interest in the Oppenheimer story and it always ALWAYS silences the trauma of the brown people the US government took advantage of to make their death star. I might see the movie, I honestly might not. Iâm not trying to judge anyone for seeing what Iâm sure will be an entertaining piece of art. I just want yâall to leave the theater knowing that this story goes beyond whatâs on the screen and touches real peopleâs lives: people whose whole families died of multiple cancers from radiation from the Trinity test, people whoâs ancestral lands were poisoned, people who never came back from their job because of deadly work conditions. This is our story too.
The first and best place to learn more about this history and how to support those still resisting is to follow Tewa Women United. Theyâve assembled an incredible list of resources from the people whoâve been fighting this fight the longest.
https://tewawomenunited.org/2023/07/oppenheimer-and-the-other-side-of-the-story
The writer Alicia Inez Guzman is currently writing a series about the nuclear industrial complex in New Mexico, its history and cultural impacts being felt today.
https://searchlightnm.org/my-nuclear-family/
https://searchlightnm.org/the-abcs-of-a-nuclear-education/
https://searchlightnm.org/plutonium-by-degrees/
Danielle Prokop at Source NM is an excellent reporter (and friend) who has been covering activists fighting for Downwinder status from the federal government. Theyâre hoping that the success of Oppenheimer will bring new attention to their cause.
https://sourcenm.com/2023/07/19/anger-hope-for-nm-downwinders/
https://sourcenm.com/2022/01/27/new-mexico-downwinders-demand-recognition-justice/
One often ignored side of the Manhattan Project story thatâs personal for me is that the government illegally seized the land that the lab facilities eventually were built on. Before 1942, it was homesteading land for ranchers for more than 30 families (my grandpaâs side of the family was one). But when the location was decided, the government evicted the residents, bought their land for peanuts and used their cattle for target practice. Descendants of the homesteaders later sued and eventually did get compensated for their treatment (though many say it was far below what they were owed)
https://www.hcn.org/issues/175/5654
Myrriah Gomez is an incredible scholar in this field, working as a historian, cultural anthropologist and activist using a framework of ânuclear colonialismâ to foreground the Manhattan Project. Her book Nuclear Nuevo Mexico is an amazing collection of oral stories and archival record that positions New Mexicoâs era of nuclear colonialism in the context of its Spanish and American eras of colonialism. A must read for anyone whoâs made it this far.
https://uapress.arizona.edu/book/nuclear-nuevo-mexico
There isnât a ton of podcasts about this (yet đ) but recently the Washington Postâs podcast Field Trip did an episode about White Sands National Monument. The story is a beautifully written and sound designed piece that spotlights the Downwinder activists and also a discovery of Indigenous living in the Trinity test area going back thousands of years. I was blown away by it.
https://www.washingtonpost.com/podcasts/field-trip/white-sands-national-park/
#oppenheimer#oppenheimer movie#barbenheimer#manhattan project#new mexico#los alamos#I never do posts like this#but I felt compelled#theres just so much like nuclear worship going on right now
765 notes
·
View notes
Text
Was It Over? // Jake Seresin
-> Chapter Eleven: [The Man]
Summary: When Jake and Jensen go head to head over who means what yo you, things escalate to new heights, so much so that Jake lashes out and says something that may not be forgiven.
Warnings: Sick!reader. Breast cancer diagnosis. Jake Seresin x F!reader. Angst, hospital & medical inaccuracies. SLOW BURN ROMANCE/ Inaccurate medical information. Relationship turmoil. Mentions of religion. JEALOUS JAKE!
Word Count: 5.6K
Author Note: This chapter brings the total word count of this series to 50k....I cannot believe that an idea that began as a one-shot has turned into this. Thank you all so much for your support on this one. xxx
Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist
There was a brief moment right before your shower where Jake was able to step out into the hall to call his sister Jasmine. He knew the call he was about to make was going to be neither short, nor pleasant. But he also knew that deep down, you werenât mentally prepared to tell your children you were sick. But the pair of you had to start somewhere. And that somewhere was Jakeâs sister.Â
âWhat the FUCK is going on!â One single ring. One dial. That's how long it took Jake's sister to answer, hell, Jake thought it would have been sooner but he gave her a little good grace for potentially having to step out of whatever family dynamic she found herself in. âMum said Y/nâs sick?âÂ
âDid she say it like that?â Jake replied unamused as he found an empty chair to sit on in the waiting room area down the hall. He didn't want to stray too far away from your room. Although he knew that you were with the nurses, he couldn't find it inside himself to leave. If Jake tried hard enough, he could still see your bed socks at the end of your hospital bed.Â
âUhââ Jasmine's apprehensive silence confirmed all Jake needed to know. âShe may have said it with a little hope in her chest, mentioned the words dropped and dead in the same sentence of wishful thinking.â Jake couldnât say he was surprised after the way Janeen had spoken so poorly about you directly to his face. He couldn't really imagine what sheâd been saying to other members of the Seresin family. âBut what's going on? I'm keeping an eye on the kids as much as I can but holy shit mum's just on a warpathââÂ
Fuck: Jake knew leaving the kids behind was a bad idea on his behalf. The guilt of running off on his children in the middle of the night was beginning to eat him alive. The idea of lying to them about your condition only made that guilt harder to rationalise.Â
âOkay, can you just promise me you wonât tell the kids?â Jake groaned into the phone. âY/n doesn't want them to worry so she doesn't want to say too much.âÂ
âJakeââ Jasmine's voice changed, the serious nature of the conversation at hand was beginning to shine through with ease. âShe's alright, isn't she?â Jasmine asked as Jake let his elbows rest on top of his thighs. This whole situation, the newly found world of which you were living in was begging to give Jake the head spins. Keeping up was exhausting, but this wasn't about Jake now was it. âThis is Y/n weâre talking about, she has to be alright.â
Unbeknownst to you, Jake had been reading all your files, all your reports, everything and anything he could get his hands on about your diagnosis. After all, he had been named your emergency contact not long after showing up. Heâd made a convincing case. Jake knew a lot about your current situation. He knew the odds, chances, risks and possibilities.Â
âShe's been diagnosed with Stage three A, triple positive grade three invasive doctoral carcinoma.â Jake explained to his sister who on the other end of the call, sat watching his youngest try to eat the sand from the sandpit Jake himself used to shit in as a child. âThe oral chemo they had her started on caused a stroke, apparently it's a common side effect, to me they shouldn't be pumping people full of that crap if its gonna cause a fucking stroke forty percent of the time.âÂ
Jake knew the silence on the other end of the line was due to an overload of information getting caught in his sister's cerebellum. It was a lot to take in, hell Jake still hadnât really been given an opportunity to take it all in. since he found out heâd been go go go. He knew an impending moment of weakness mixed with overall exhaustion was coming. When that moment would come he wasn't sure.Â
âYouâre lyingââ Was all Jasmine said. Jake wished more than anything he could say he was.Â
âFucked up thing to lie about Jasââ Jake responded softly as he listened to the hustle and bustle of the hospital wing his sat in. âShe hadnât been feeling well for a few months, Doctors say it's aggressive, feeds off her hormones and stuff.â Jake didn't understand a lot of it, but he was trying his best to navigate a field he wasn't an excerpt in. âShe's in for a preventative double mastectomy on Christmas Eve. It would've been earlier but the strokes kinda set her back a few days.âÂ
âJakeâ I don't believe you, the kidsâwhat about the kids, what do I tell them?â Jasmine couldn't comprehend the devastation this would cause on the already struggling family dynamic. You and Jake were meant to be, everyone knew that. But this whole separation, the miscommunication and overall fractures within your marriage were all major contributing factors as to why love just couldnât be enough.
âDon't tell them anything, please, for the love of God Jas don't tell them anything, I justââ Jake let out a sigh of frustration as he ran his hand free hand through his hair. God he needed a haircut. âWe just need a little time to process what's going on and Y/nâshe's been doing this for too long on her own, I canât keep letting her down so just, take a moment to breathe for me.âÂ
âHoly fuck you arenât kidding about any of this are you?â Jasmine with all her good graces and problematic marital issues of her own, looked over at where her husband sat with hers and Jake's father. The sight was enough to send a shiver down her spine. The man who raised her was not someone who Jasmine ever wanted her brother to become. Losing your wife to such a disease that was as unforgiving as it was inhumane could potentially be an origin story bubbling under the surface of Jake's skin.Â
âJakeâYou don't get to turn into dad if this ends anything less than Y/n walking away from this cancer free Jake, your kids deserve to have a dad that won't treat them like burdens and mistakes.âÂ
***~***~***~***~***~***~**
âWatch your step alright?â Our skulls are designed to cushion our brains. Our rib cages are specifically moulded to guard our hearts. The human body is built to protect our most vulnerable parts. At least, thatâs how itâs supposed to work.Â
The way in which Jake helped to guide you out of the bathroom with his hand pressed firmly against the small of your back made your heart skip a beat. You held tightly onto his forearm with one hand and in the other? Was your IV poll, still pumping you full of antibiotics and fluids.Â
âI got it.â You tried to focus on just putting one foot in front of the other. That's what this whole thing was about right? This battle, this fight. It was all about putting one foot in front of the other. With Jake by your side, albeit with some underlying resentment still to be discussed, you felt as though those steps, small but meaningful in their own right, were made with intent and purpose to keep fighting. âShit the air-con feels so weird on my head.â You chuckled to yourself as Jake shut the bathroom door behind the both of you.Â
âYeah holy shit it's likeââ As Jake's eyeline faltered from you to the figure standing over near the door, his heart sunk into his stomach. His face turned to stone as the green in his eyes, usually an emerald colour, darkened to something more pine-like. The half finished sentence that left your husband's mouth and tailed off into complete and utter silence was what got your attention the most. It wasn't like Jake to not say what was on his mind.Â
âWhat's up?â As you turned your head slowly, you saw the man who had been nothing but a pillar of support for you to lean on since your diagnosis. It was the man who had kept you above water when you felt like youâd been drowning in a sea of unprecedented mortality. âJensenââ The shock and excitement in your tone was something Jake couldn't miss no matter how much he wanted to. âYou came?âÂ
Jake made no attempt to move as you shuffled forward, he stood still with his heart hammering inside his chest. He stood completely still as his thoughts carried him away into a world where nothing made sense to anyone. Into a world where he didn't have you, a world where for the last year heâd tasted of that very misery and hated every last second of it.Â
âI uhââ Jensen held out the bouquet of sweet peas, peonies and pansies heâd brought for you. The overwhelming colours and signature scents captivated the entire room with their freshness. âI wanted to stop by, see how you were doing, hope I'm not intruding?âÂ
The body tends to adapt quickly to new circumstances and pressures itâs put under. It knows how to protect itself. But it canât close off completely, or wellâweâre not really living are we? Biology tends to override our fears, so we leave the door open, just a littleâŠhoping like hell that it's worth the risk.Â
âOh no, no we just finished up some DIY haircuts.â You beamed, the smile that ignited across your face was a smile Jake hadn't seen in years. A smile so pure and full of love that it couldn't ever be faked. âJake, this is Jensen.â You introduced the two men who had played significant roles in your life, having no clue that they had both already met one another in the hall. âWe met at the doctors office, as unfortunate as that sounds, it's been really nice to have someone who just, knows.â Jake slowly but surely aided you over to your bed before he made his way over to where Jensen stood watching idly. Assessing the situation unfolding before him. âJensen convinced me to go to a few of those CCA meetings, although not my cup of teaâit's nice to know that that support system is there.âÂ
Jake eyed Jensen and his bouquet of flowers off as he stepped closer and closer with a look Jensen couldn't quite read in his pine green eyes. The betrayal of love often has boundaries that people end up living with for the rest of their lives. For Jake, his betrayal and the consequences of his emotional ineptitude inside his marriage was starting to play out right before his very eyes.Â
He saw the potential that there was in fact another man. And oh boy did he hate it.Â
âAnd Jensen, this is Jake, my husband.â Jensen took subtle notice of the way you introduced Jake to him as your husband, not your ex-husband like you'd been referring to him as since the two of you first met. Something had changed, Jensen could sense it. But for as much as Jensen could sense the chemistry between you and Jake, Jake could see the way your eyes lit up with overjoyous surprise when you realised that the flowers Jensen held in his hand were in fact for you. âAre those, are those for me?âÂ
âOhâyeah.â Jensen beamed as he walked a little further into your room. âI thought they might bring a little light into your room but it seems that you have it pretty well decorated.â It was the small nod to the Christmas lights that hung around your room that made you smile even brighter as Jake made his way back over and helped you into bed. You could tell there was tension brewing just from his quietness alone. âAnd the new haircut suits you, good thing you don't have a weird ass head huh?â
âHey Jarredââ Jake interrupted before you had a chance to reply, the way he intentionally called Jensen by a different name rubbed you the wrong way. The frown that cast itself across your face left little to Jake's imagination, but as he made sure you were as comfortable as could be in your bed, he kept going. âNows, probably not a good timeââÂ
Jensen looked around your room carefully, he knew the system well and what times were more common than not for nurses to do their daily rounds and check-ins. He knew that by the looks of things you had just showered and were probably settling in for the afternoon. If Jensen was correct in his assumption as he looked back towards where Jake stood at your bedside, he would assume that he couldn't have picked a better time to drop by.Â
âSeems like a pretty good time to me man, besides, why don't we let Y/n here make that call.â Jensen replied calmly as he went about finding a place for your flowers to go. Jensen could have played the safe card, he could have chosen to be the bigger person and not mention it, but he didn't really have a hell of alot to lose. After all, he was a dead man walking. What was the harm in stirring the pot a little where he still could. âHonestly, I didn't expect you to be here if I'm being completely honest.â Jensen smirked as he turned back to face Jake. You felt like your heart was about to explode right through your chest as you looked back and forth between the two men who had seemingly gotten into a mines bigger than yours contest on either side of your bedside. âDidn't think you knew your wife was sickââÂ
The silence was deafening as Jake thought about all the ways he could kill a man in one single motion. The rage he felt inside his chest was red hot jealousy. Jensen could practically see the steam spewing out of Jake's years.Â
âWhat my wife decides to share with me has nothing to do with youââ Jake growled, you could just see the way he was grinding his teeth. Jake's jawline had never seemed more profound. His knuckles were almost entirely white as he leaned against the railing of your hospital bed. Lowered down for convenience of getting in and out.Â
âIt does when Iâve been the one listening to how much she wishes you loved her the same way she loves you.â Jensen shrugged. âCome on man, don't play this game, don't pretend that I don't know what been going onââÂ
âEnough!â You couldn't have shouted it slider if you tried. âBoth of you, my god weâre all supposed to be adults here?â You sighed as you looked at Jake and then over to Jensen. Something was off with him, this wasn't the Jensen you knew. He seemed off, very off. âCan you two just back up, let's start over.â However, it was a plea that fell on deaf ears.
Remember that impending moment of weakness mixed with overall exhaustion Jake mentioned earlier? Yeahâ about that. Guess it was coming around the corner sooner rather than later.Â
âNahââ Jake shook his head as he let out a sigh. This was bullshit, you really had him fooled. He really did think that there was a possibility here that maybe, just maybe, the two of you could fix what he had unintentionally broken while focusing on your health. âNah, I'm not gonna put up with this dickhead.â Jake hissed as unclenched his hands from the railing on your bed. âI'm gonna go get a coffee, try not to catch each other's cancer cells while I'm gone.âÂ
âJake, don't leave!â You begged as you sat up a little straighter in your bed. âPleaseââ The panic that followed was something otherworldly as you watched Jake round out of the hospital room that had become your home away from home. âPlease!âÂ
Jensen was if anything, enraged. He hadnât helped the situation but he never would have left your side after making a remark so thickly lacquered with jealousy. He didn't think Jake would react the way he did, so quick to make assumptions. The small gift Jensen still held in his hand was quickly placed on your bedside table.Â
âIâll go talk to himââ Jensen pressed his lips together as he let his hand fall gently to your shoulder. âMy fault, I shouldn't have said what I did, I'm sorry.â Jensen didn't pretend to not see how upset you truly were. He understood what it was like to feel the weight of the world crushing your spirit. âHe didn't mean what he said Y/n.âÂ
âHe didââ You sighed as you wiped away your tears. âHe asked me when he came to take the kids to his mum's house if I was seeing anyoneââÂ
Ah, Jensen thought to himself as he stood by your bedside and listened.Â
âHe wants to get back together, fix what's broken, change.â You sighed as you looked over to the open door that Jake hadn't long before walked out of. âHe probably thinks you're more than a friend.â In another life, perhaps Jensen could have been more than just a good friend. In another universe somewhere he hoped that maybe you never had this unforgiving disease. But this wasn't another reality, this was right now.Â
âAll the more reason to fight for his girl.â Jensen cooed as he leaned in to kiss the top of your now very smooth head. âI'll go talk to your husband.âÂ
You caught onto the not so subtle subtlety of the way Jensen teased that title. Husband. Jake Seresin was still very much your husband. He was the very definition of a man who was supposed to be at your side through thick and thin. But right now? You were doubting his ability to fully comprehend what was happening to you. Jakeâs focus shouldnât have been on Jensen and who he was to you. But yet you couldnât not defend him.Â
âHeâs not a bad guy, heâs really notââ There was an awkward silence that lingered in the room as Jensen chose to take in what youâd said. âThis is all just so much for him to take in.âÂ
âYou donât need to explain your relationship to me.â Jensen wanted to say that if Jake was such an alright guy, then you wouldnât have left. He wanted to remind you of all the conversations the two of you had had over the past few months. All the times youâd cried about the man who didnât value your time, your energy, your love. âBut a woman like you should never have to beg a man to stay.âÂ
âI left him.â You felt the need to remind the man who stood at your bedside with an ora surrounding him you didnât recognise. âI stopped begging him to love me a long time ago and you know that.âÂ
Jensen could have thrown the fact you just called out after Jake back in your face, that youâd begged your husband not to leave. But he wasnât that mean. He was just looking out for you. Someone had to. Someone had to make sure this Jake guy had his priorities in check and that you were at the very top of that list where you belonged.Â
âI knowââ Jensen pressed his lips together into a fine line. âBut that guy just walked out the second things got a little more complicated, whatâs gonna stop him from throwing in the towel if your health declines more than it already has?â Jensen shrugged his shoulders like he wasnât being nasty. It was his version of tough love.Â
âIâm sorryââ You scoffed as your face contorted into that of a frown mixed with frustration. âAre you, are you testing Jake?âÂ
âCancer is one of the world's most leading causes of divorce.â Jensen added like it was a statistic you should have known. He knew you knew it. âI just wanted to see how well he handled a little external pressure.âÂ
âYouâreââ Before you could finish your sentence, Jensen was smiling down at you from ear to ear.Â
âA menace, I know, but Iâm a menace that only has your best interest at heart.â Jensen explained as he sat down beside you for only a brief moment. âYour fight isnât with Jake right now, he shouldnât be fighting you or anyone else in your life that may come and go.âÂ
âJensenââ You knew Jensen hadnât been well, but he hadnât explicitly told you how bad it was. There was something in his eyes though, the way he looked at you like he was looking at you for the last time that had you worried. âWhatâs going on with you?âÂ
âIâm just making sure if youâre letting that man back into your life that heâs gonna stick around when things donât go the way he wants them to.â Jensen smiled softly as he picked up your hand to bring towards his lips. He left a fleeting kiss upon the palm of your hand and let out a sigh he wasnât aware he was holding in. âIâll go track down your sook of a husband, make sure heâs aware that youâre hopelessly devoted or whatever you wanna call it.âÂ
âPlease be niceââ You pleaded gently as Jensen stood from your bedside. âPlease.âÂ
âAnything for you Y/n.â Jensen replied, he knew that this would be the last time he ever saw you apart from in his own version of heaven. âAnything for you.âÂ
***~***~***~***~***~***~*
Jake Seresin had never been a fan of hospitals. That mentality first started when he broke his leg in kindergarten and needed a full cast, but it grew with him well into adulthood. Jake had never liked hospitals, even when all three of his children were born he still hated them. Not even the love he had for his children could override the hate he felt towards the sterile environment that gave far too many infections to people to be considered ânormalâÂ
âSeresin.â But Jake had never hated hospitals more than he did the second he heard his last name being called from just a short distance down the hall. Called by a man who Jake would happily like to never see again. âThe hell is your problem?â Jake caught the sight of the man whoâd brought you flowers coming right towards him with a fire burning in his eyes. The man you had kept somewhat a secret from Jake. Much like your diagnosis.Â
âMy problem is asking me what my problem is.â Jake groaned as he took a sip of his shitty ass hospital coffee. âDonât you and my wife have things to talk about?â Jake asked as he took a few steps away from where Jensen had stopped in his tracks. âThings Iâm not privy to as it seems? Like her health or new love life?âÂ
âYou donât even know who I am to your wife!â Jensen barked loud enough to have Jake stopping in the middle of the hall. The six foot something aviator turned slowly on his heels to give the almost matching in height bald dude the time of day he seemed to crave. âBut I know all about you, because Iâve been there for Y/n while youâve been busy playing part time parent across the country.â Jensen had nothing to lose, he was just a dying man who had no time left to cherish.Â
Jake wasnât about to stand here and take this. He didnât need some guy whoâd stepped into your life to tell him what to do. You were the mother of Jakeâs children, youâd always be that to him regardless if he could fix what he broke.Â
âGet out of my face before you need a plastics consult.â Jake growled through gritted teeth all the while Jensen grinned. He was standing his ground as Jake continued on his defensive. âBecause so help me god, you may feel like god right now with your self-righteous heart and knight in shining armour attitude, but you sure as hell wonât feel all high and mighty when you meet him.âÂ
Jensen didn't want to fight with your husband, but he did want to make it known that time was forever fleeting, and if Jake kept going the way he was there would be no time left to fix what he broke. You needed someone to be there for you, Jake had to be that person.Â
Because Jensen couldnât be that guy for you anymore, he had no fight left to give you. He had no fight left in himself.Â
âYou know I sympathise with you Jake, I do, it must be hard being the guy who broke your own marriage to a woman who loves so fiercely and so much.â Jensen started as he let his elbows rest atop his sweatpants clad knees. âAnd now having to deal with the fact that said wife is dying must be a lot to work through.âÂ
Jake remained speechless as his eyes lingered down to the man who was almost out of breath from his walk through the halls. He held his half drunk coffee cup in his hand with enough rage coursing through his veins that Jake was actually surprised he hadnât crushed the flimsy cardboard vessel.Â
âBut you know what the worst part of all that is? Is that your priority isnât your wife, or fixing your marriageââ Jensen continued on. âNo, itâs on the guy who your wife chose to confide in when you were nowhere to be found.âÂ
âYou donât know what youâre talking about.â Jake replied with a hiss in his tone that mimicked the deadliest of snakes. âI couldnât give a shit who you are to her or what you want, because sheâs my fucking wifeâmine!âÂ
âAnd yet here you are arguing that point with me in the hall when you could be at her bedside appreciating all the small moments youâll be lucky to look back on one day.â Jensen grew more heated as Jake took a few strides his way, towering over where Jensen sat. âYou threw a fit the second I stepped into that room without using any critical thinking skills you aviators claim to have in the heat of the moment.âÂ
âShe told me she wasnât seeing anyone! Come to find out that thatâsââ Jake didnât get a chance to finish his sentence before Jensen intervened that train of thought.Â
âSheâs not! Youâre wife fucking loveâs you!! She kept her prognosis from you because she was so scared you didnât love her back enough to fucking care! And youâre hung up on the idea sheâs seeing someone? Me!?â Jensen scoffed as he stood, the few strides he took towards Jake were made with intent behind every single one. Enough to have Jake stumbling back every so slightly. âHereâs a concept for you man.â Jensen pressed his index finger into Jakeâs sternum. âMaybe, just maybe, if I was sleeping with your wife, sheâd remember her worth.âÂ
âYou really donât know what youâre talking about.â Jake sighed, there was no way he was entertaining this delusion any more than he already had. âI think you should leave.â The idea of you being with another man sent Jake into a blind rage of jealousy that saw no reason. But at the end of the day, he was the one who walked out on you. Heâd strayed too far from your hospital room and couldnât see your bed socks anymore.Â
FuckâŠ.
âMaybe, maybe I shouldââ Jensen agreed. âAnd hell I donât even know you at all, but from what Iâve managed to piece together? itâs that you're a crap husband who doesnât have the emotional capacity to handle the fact his wife could lose this battle.â Jensen retaliated with a stone cold expression. âBut something I do know is that no amount of prayer or candles or begging will reverse time, so put your ego side and focus on the fact your wife needs you now more than ever before and if you leave her side the way you did today ever again, trust me when I say youâll regret it every day of your life.âÂ
âY/n isnât dyingââ Much like Jensen was taking his fear of the unknown out on Jake, Jake was just about ready to let loose on the guy who was picking apart his very character. Sure, Jake recognised he wasnât the best husband, but he also knew you werenât dying. Not right now, not while he wasnât by your side.Â
âI wasnât either, but as it turns out we all have an expiry date.â Jensen replied. The atmosphere and energy surrounding the two men who were going head to head suddenly shifted. âSome sooner than others, but we all have one, and when yours is up yours is up and there ain't nothing you can do you extend it.âÂ
âYouâreââ Jake couldnât bring himself to say it.Â
âA walking corpse.â Jensen finished the sentence he knew Jake was trying to speak into existence. Although he didnât care to beat around the bush. âSo trust me when I tell you that wishful thinking does shit when your body decides itâs had enough.âÂ
âDoes Y/n know?â Jake's first worry was how this news, how this detrimental turn of events, would affect you. His heart forgot how to beat inside his chest when he watched Jensen shake his head in response.Â
âShe needs to focus on her own journey, and before I go I need to make sure she has a support system because for a while there I was all she seemed to have.â Jensen explained. There it was, the truth of the matter.Â
Jake saw it clear as day, the care, the worry, the intention to make sure you had someone there for you because Jensen wasnât going to be there anymore. You may not have slept with the guy standing before Jake but if Jake knew anything, it was the look of a man who was unequivocally in love with you. He saw his own reflection of Jensen's eyes.Â
âGo back, apologies, and you fix your marriage man because that woman? That electrifying woman who sees the good in everything doesnât deserve to go through this aloneâand you turning your back on her the second someone made things a little difficult for you isnât a good representation of the husband she deserves.âÂ
âYou love her, donât you?â Jake asked as he took a second to truly take in Jensens whole argument. The world seemed to go on around them, with doctors and nurses carrying out their daily duties and rounds. Family members walking to and from rooms visiting loved ones. But for Jake and Jensen? The world stopped when it came to you. âYouâre in love with my wife, say it.â Jake couldnât hide the pain in his voice. âTell me you love her, then this all makes sense.âÂ
âMaybeââ Jensen tried to play his love for you down into something that was just a social construct. âMaybe I love her, but I donât get a chance to explore that, you do though.â Jensen was truly trying to hide the pain in his eyes, but Jake could see it all too easily. Jensen knew that. âSo if not for yourself, for her, pull your head out of your ass manââ
âI never stopped loving her though.â Jake sighed out in frustration as he sat down on one of the plastic hospital chairs that lined the hallway. Jensen followed soon after, both men decided that the heat of the argument was settling into something more valuable. âI justâI lost sight of what I had.âÂ
âThatâs just not a good enough excuse.â Jensen replied as he let his head fall back against the wall. âListen, I donât plan on coming back after I leave today.âÂ
Jake didnât respond, he simply waited for Jensen to explain. But the explanation never came and Jake never pressed. If anything he was kind of relieved in a selfish way.Â
âIf you truly want to fix whatâs broken, if you really want to fight for her and be by her side when she needs you the most, youâll get up and youâll go back in there and youâll be the guy who gets to hold her like no one else does.â Jensen pauses momentarily before he continued on. âBecause thereâs better guys out there Jake, and she shouldnât have to settle for one who doesnât appreciate whatâs right under his damn nose.âÂ
âIs this your way of telling me youâre a better man than me?â Jake asked cautiously, a part of him didnât want the answer to be yes. But Jake needed to know what the man sitting beside him truly thought. You saw something good inside him, inside both of them.
âIâm not a better man than you Jakeââ Jensen sighed as he stood from his chair. It was getting late, he had said his peace, he had put the fear for a dying man inside Jake Seresin. There wasnât much more Jensen could contribute to your life besides what he had already given.Â
The body tends to adapt quickly to new circumstances and pressures itâs put under. It knows how to protect itself. But it canât close off completely, or wellâweâre not really living are we? Biology tends to override our fears, so we leave the door open, just a littleâŠhoping like hell that it's worth the risk. But for JensenâŠ.He was ready to close the door and lock it shut.Â
âIâm just a man whoâs run out of time and has nothing left to lose.â
***~***~***~***~***~***~
Tags: @blindedbythelightt @starset21 @tayl0rhuynh @mamachasesmayhem @marvelogic @itsmytimetoodream @maverick-wingman @kodzukenmaaa @eternalsams @seitmai @nota-professional @jessicab1991 @hardballoonlove @senawashere @fanficfandomlove @withahappyrefrain @dizzybee03 @maisie-rebloging-blog
@goldenseresinretriever @a-reader-and-a-writer @sunlightmurdock @shelbycillian @memoriesat30 @accioprocrastination @the-aspiring-fanfic-writer @athenabarnes @eternallyvenus @emma8895eb @kmc1989
#was it over? // jake seresin#tw: cancer#jake hangman seresin#jake hangman seresin x reader#jake seresin x reader#jake seresin fanfiction#jake hangman imagine#jake seresin imagine
289 notes
·
View notes
Text
Prayers and BTS Friendâs Support Requested
To my followers and fellow BTS lovers, I have been battling a very rare blood cancer called Waldenstrom Macroglobulinemia for almost 10 years. Last year the immunotherapy drug I had been on for 6 years caused ventricular tachycardia of the heart which caused me to immediately stop therapy. This news was three days after attending Suga/Agust Dâs concert in Chicago. What a downer to come home from that amazing, phenomenal concert.
I resumed a 2nd generation drug 3 months later which caused additional heart issues and had to reduce the dosage and subsequently stop that therapy in November. There were only two options left, one being a regiment of chemotherapy that would put me in palliative care, or the other option being an autologous stem cell transplant. This option could potentially add several more years of life in partial/full remission. Unfortunately the cancer will come back and I will get that palliative final round of chemo.
I chose the stem cell option and started the process 3 months ago with an oral chemo drug to kill cancer cells. I had a high dose of infusion chemo this past Friday and started daily injections on Sunday to create new stem cells in my bone marrow that will be moved to my blood stream for harvesting in two weeks. It will take up to 4 days to harvest the stem cells and then frozen until transplant day.
I will then go into the hospital for extreme chemotherapy to kill off my immune system (red and white blood cells and platelets) for a medical ârebirthâ where my harvested stem cells will be transplanted back into my bloodstream for engraphment into my bone marrow.
So again, I am just telling my BTS family and friends while asking for your prayers and well wishes as I complete this new medical journey so that I can see my beloved BTS boys in concert next year.
The good news is my initial prognosis was for 5-10 years. I was diagnosed at 51 and I will be 61 on Saturday, one day after our beloved Jimin drops his new album of love songs! YES YES YES
Posted: 7/15/24
97 notes
·
View notes