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vyzz-undercover · 3 months ago

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someone left my cage open quick

[cato/f!ambassador]

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

(8,800ish words) (holy fucking kill me mate)

CONTENT WARNINGS:

•not dubcon? [omg they've grown guys]

•hints of size kink

•vaginal fingering [on herself]

•(so i guess) masturbation

•oral [m receiving]

•intercourse [M/F]

•discussions on contraception

•discussions on pregnancy

•mild possessive behaviour

•hint of slapping (he deserves it)

•mild horror themes [warp ptsd]

•tumblr's cancerous fucking formatting as always

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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!!!

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There should be higher security in this wing, Cato notes.

But compared to the rest of the vessel, it's safe—as 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 ship—where 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 flickering—damn those flickering lights—they 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 in—where within that black there is a barely perceptible colour in infinite abundance, like the phosphenes behind closed eyes—and there are eyes in that ocean—so, 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 shrill—but 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 thought—and the caterwauling of its victims—his brothers—ever 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 unbounded—just 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 song—song 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 okay—nothing 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 fine—at 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, but—but—

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 problem—the 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 way—you'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, right—sorry' 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 smaller—but 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 fascination—then 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 gone—and you none the wiser to the fact he's an Ultramarine who can, in-fact, spit acid—he 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 glass—and 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 you—and 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 desk—what 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 is—you'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 manage—he'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 eyes—so 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 loosed—he'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 red—and it's exactly the reaction he was after.

Cato tips his chin up, noble in his smugness, and smiles back.

"It's lovely, but—" 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 your—

"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's—that'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 ancient—and 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 is—"

"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 ribbons—like 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, "Yes—yes, 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, no—you haven't ever raised your ass to let him mount you, you haven't groped his cock—you most certainly haven't ridden him like an unruly beast, taking your pleasure—letting him fuck your tight cunt full, time and time again.

He ought to remind you, he ought to get you flushed with the words—because 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 precise—utterly 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 stayed—eyeing 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 his—as 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 asked—or 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, actually—and he only had his great Talassarian Tempest blade. It was a lucky mark from the beast. It died seconds later. He's just that good—he'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 ears—all the while pawing at a thick hunk of his pectoral, "They toast you?"

"Only a single passing," Cato admits, "It doesn't hurt—stinks 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 back—and 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 thigh—the 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 tongue—eagerness in your gaze as it flicks up to find his again—Throne, 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 substitute—still, 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 it—and 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 you—because 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.

"Because—" 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 down��instinctively 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, damn—the 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 that—and just on time, he feels his balls tighten up—static 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 first—and 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, eager—and 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, and—fuck, 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 loud—you'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 much—"

"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 bed—in 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 down—slumping 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 there—huffing 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't—"

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 'Sicarius–' 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 closer—so, 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 a—" 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, "Thro—oh—ne..."

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 paranoia—but 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 whore—and 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 perfect—Cato 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 cunt—unable to escape his efforts to hound you over the edge as soon as possible again.

"I c-can't, I-I—" you whine, and in response, like any reasonable Astartes, he keeps pounding until you're compliant.

"Say it," he pants.

"Ca—ah–Cato, h-harder, please—" 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 it—he's already addicted to it, impropriety damned, because fuck does it sound good. It's always been Commander, and only recently had it been Sicarius—but now you're finally giving him the validation of crying out for Cato—for 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 beat—Throne, 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 name—and 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 orgasm—so he takes it at face value.

He keeps you upright and lets you cinch down around him, staying still—riding 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-Cato—" 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, "Are—are 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 now—or 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 cycle—or 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, but—eugh, 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 himself—still 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 it—it smelt like satisfaction, and slick, and 'harder, please—please, 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, sinker—

You dither, red in the face as you mumble, "It–it was nothing."

—and 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 him—and Cato's never had you actively physically retaliate for any jabs—so 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 adoration—everything.

He's practically vibrating from elation.

"Despite your profession, you are terrible at hiding your emotions," he snarls, despite himself.

"Look at the time—aren'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 am—you'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 victory—Cato 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 tries—and fails—to 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, yes—" 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 thing—and 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 go—oh, 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 arm—the 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 that—

"What do you think you've doing?" He growls, ever the hypocrite—his 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 touch—not 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.

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scientia-rex · 1 year ago

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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.

#the attending dr. kristophine #wound care

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oralcancerdoctor · 6 months ago

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Throat Cancer – 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

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reality-detective · 7 months ago

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SAY WHAT: Dental Treatments Cause Cancer, Heart Attacks, Mental Disease, Arthritis & More... “97 % of breast cancer patients had a root canal”

Your ORAL HEALTH is very important. 🤔

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nanaminsmoon · 1 year ago

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Good morning!!!! I love your blog so much!!!!💗🫶🏾 Your writing is amazing???

Baby daddy Choso????

thank you so much!!! but thanks for requesting this fren bc i love this so much🤭

𝐛𝐚𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞. (𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲𝐝𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲!𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐨 𝐱 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫)

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 it’d be the day they’d see him. and you guys had a routine: you got them ready in the morning, took them to school, then choso’d pick them up, and they'd be his for the weekend.

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 door—usually with some playful change in their appearances. yet this particular one would cause your forehead to crease in confusion,

”what's on my daughter's face?”, you’d ask, once the girls were of earshot. immediately, choso knew what you were talking about but he’d play dumb just to irk you.

”eyes, eyelashes, eyebro—”, he’d start listing, and you’d interrupt him.

”no, dickhead, the thing over her nose”, you clarified and he’d inwardly rejoice at his success at annoying you.

”oh. she saw my tattoo and said she wanted one, so i just got her a little temporary one”, he’d explain, eyes trained on the twins as he waved back at them while they ran around the house.

”and when she wants it for real?”, you’d poke at his chest, and his hand would rise to hold the spot your fingertip had touched as he faked a pained expression.

”i don't know how reckless you think i am, but i'm not gonna tattoo a six year old”, he’d scoff, but his amusement would fall to flatten quite quickly.

as hard as choso tried to fan the hurt fogging his mind, it just wouldn’t leave him. choso could be denounced for his work over, and over, again and he’d 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 didn’t come from insecurity, but from sensitivity to reminders of the same baseless assumption. especially coming from someone he deemed to be the perfect parent,

”why do you keep doing that?”, he’d look at you earnestly, and confusion would force your eyebrows together.

”doing what?”,

”making me out to be this bad influence.”,

”maybe it’s because you run around with cancer sticks behind your ears”, you pulled the cigarette from behind his ear, and shoved it in his pocket.

”aside from that. you treat me like i'm gonna corrupt the girls.”, he paused, ”you treat me the way your parents treated me”, due to his appearance and impassive demeanour, most people around you had opposed your relationship with choso. your friends warned he’d 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 didn’t care because the most important people in his life understood him. he was his daughters’ best friend, protector, and joint number one on their list of favourite princesses to join their tea parties—the other being you.

no matter how many years passed, you’d always love choso. though you weren’t 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.

”choso, i'm so sorry. i didn't know i was being—”, you’d start to apologise, but you’d be quickly interrupted. penitence sunk all your features in a way choso couldn’t ignore; he knew you had no malintent with your words, and he didn’t want you to beat yourself up over it.

”nah, it's cool.”, he waved you off, ”i 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 frida—”, he’d been stood in the doorway and, as he began to step backwards to leave, your hands would clasp one of his. he’d be visibly surprised, but his feet would still be ladened to their spot.

”let me make it up to you”, you'd propose, and intrigue would raise choso’s eyebrow.

you’d always known there were benefits to your best friend being your neighbour, and today would be the day you’d reap one of them. after instructing choso to sit and wait on the couch, you’d gather the girls’ stuff and take them next door. you’d 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 would’ve liked, but you’d keep composed. even under his fervent glare as he watched you take your shoes off. there’d be a moment of waiting once your eyes met, then you’d beckon for him to follow you. choso’s curiosity was eating away at him, but if there’s 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, he’d just scoff to himself and continue trailing you.

once at the door, you’d open it and hold it for him to go in. and, chuckling, he’d 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. he’d only be brought back to reality by the clicking of the door lock.

”the fuck are you doing?”, he laughed as he turned around.

”making it up to you, now sit.”, he'd raise his hands in surrender, before he’d 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 choso’s favourite things. he’d even claimed that, had your pussy not been so good, he’d 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 hadn’t 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,

”can i put—fuck—my hands in your h—shit, y/n—hair”. and another low ’shit’ 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.

”’f you fuck it up, then you gotta pay for me to get it redone”, you tilted your head to run his length against you lips, and choso’s hands were on your head immediately.

”yes, ma’am”, 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 didn’t want the first time in 24 months to be in your mouth. that’s what his heart wanted, but his body would have other plans. head wasn’t just about the feeling for choso, the man loved a performance. knowing this, you’d 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.

”you can’t do shit like that, y/n, i’ll nu—”, his strained voice tried to explain, but it’d 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,

”w-wait, y/n i'm gonna—fuckfuckfuckfuck—baby, wait i'm gonna cum”, 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 wouldn’t 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, he’d 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.

”i forgot how fucking nasty you are”, he'd chuckle before flopping backwards to face the ceiling, as he just laid on his back.

choso’s love for head wasn’t limited to just receiving, because one of his life’s finest pleasures resided between your legs.

”i just need to get you ready f’r me, baby”, would be his response when you told him he didn’t need to reciprocate. but the truth was, choso luxuriated in the way you grabbed at his hair and closed your thighs around his head—the near suffocation was the closest to heaven he thought he’d 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,

”you taste so fucking good, baby, i don't know how i went without this for so long”, 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 he’d started, he couldn't stop. he’d lost track of time and then, all of a sudden, the feeling of your nails on his scalp was harsher. and if he wasn’t relishing in the feeling, eyes fluttering shut in enjoyment, he might’ve noticed that you were about cum a lot sooner. but he’d only catch on when your babbles became more coherent,

”chos-so, i'm-m cumming, shit”, 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 he’d move to remove them of their shimmer. the feeling of the metal on your skin would coax a jolt out of you, before you’d 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 choso’s shirt and boxers. and, seeing your bare body for the first time in years was having visible effects on choso—he was stunned.

”wow”, he said, in a whisper, reaching to hold you but you’d pushed his shoulder.

”what?”, you giggled, and he just shook his head so as to not make you feel embarrassed.

”no, i just…i forgot how beautiful you are”,

”shut up, bruh”, you'd playfully roll your eyes, before pulling at choso’s arm to switch your positions. his interest would be piqued yet again, and you'd quell it with a sloppy kiss to his lips. you’d 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 wouldn’t 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. choso’s 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.

”this is all for me, right?”, he'd ask breathily, hands stilling you. it’d 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.

”well, can you…”, choso’d 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 he’d been wanting for a while, or something completely left field.

“could you choke me?”, he'd ask, and your once lidded eyes would be widely staring back at him.

”like…?”, you'd raise your hand, and both of his would engulf it, leading it to his neck.

”this.”, he looked you in your eyes, and your hand grew firmer, ”and just keep it there”, 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 neck—sweat making it hard for you to move while maintaining a secure grip on him—was 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 dick’s 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,

”where d’you want it?”, he asked, and your hand would remain on his neck as you leaned down to speak to him.

”nut in me, choso”, you’d 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, would’ve been enough but choso completely lost it when he’d 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 choso’s control of his limbs would return to him, then he’d 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, he’d 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.

”you're doing this all for me, right?”, he'd ask, and you'd nod, ”this fucked out all for me. taking this dick so good just for me”, 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.

”choso, fffuck”, 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 wasn’t 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,

”choso, g-gimme a s-second”, 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,

”you said you doing all this for me, baby.”, he'd remind you, ”’nd i wanna see you make a fucking mess on my dick.”, his words would do nothing but edge you closer to your nut.

”can you do that f’r me?”, he’d ask, and you’d nod your head.

”just f’r me?”, he’d ask, voice laboured, ”i don’t deserve you, baby”, he’d pout before moving down to connect your lips.

and, under his instruction, you’d just let that funny little feeling near your bladder do whatever it wanted to. one of your hands would be struggling to wrap around choso’s 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. choso’s hand would plant a light slap to your cheek to wake you back up, but it'd be to no avail. so he’d try once more, this time, grabbing your chin to shake your face until your eyes opened.

”say ‘ah’, baby girl”, 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.

”didn’t even have to tell you what to do”, he’d snicker, and you’d 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,

”shit, maybe i am a bad influence.”

#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

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thefearandnow · 1 year ago

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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, it’s not just a piece of history but an ongoing struggle that’s colonized and irradiated generations of New Mexicans’ 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 it’s 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 that’s often overlooked.

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. I’m not trying to judge anyone for seeing what I’m sure will be an entertaining piece of art. I just want y’all to leave the theater knowing that this story goes beyond what’s on the screen and touches real people’s lives: people whose whole families died of multiple cancers from radiation from the Trinity test, people who’s 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. They’ve assembled an incredible list of resources from the people who’ve 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. They’re 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 that’s 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 grandpa’s 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 “nuclear colonialism” to foreground the Manhattan Project. Her book Nuclear Nuevo Mexico is an amazing collection of oral stories and archival record that positions New Mexico’s era of nuclear colonialism in the context of its Spanish and American eras of colonialism. A must read for anyone who’s made it this far.

https://uapress.arizona.edu/book/nuclear-nuevo-mexico

There isn’t a ton of podcasts about this (yet 👀) but recently the Washington Post’s 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

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nikonladyz4 · 6 months ago

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Prayers and BTS Friend’s 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 D’s 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 “rebirth” 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

#bts #prayers #cancer #jimin #jungkook #v #rm #jin #jhope #suga #jikook #kookmin #minkook

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5cookiekitty-nsfw · 9 months ago

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*『Till Death Do Us Part』

Yandere zombieman x f.reader 《nsfw》

Summary: or the one where an open balcony leads you downa spiral tha you won't be able to come back from. He's always been patient after all.

Tw: yandere , yandere behavior , implied unwanted medical procedures , marriage through bargain, zombieman name is tadashi , smut: fingering , oral(F receiving) , creampie(wrap that willy kids) , reader has a sort of breakdown

Word count:8.77k

It was deep into the night when you woke up. The cold breeze that had originally disturbed you from your slumber made itself once more known , bringing with it the smell of fresh rain. Another breeze caused her to squirm deeper underneath the covers as you bundled them closer to your body. Now warm , you dozed back off , almost falling asleep once more when a thought crossed your head.

you should not be able to feel the cold breeze unless-

you opened your eyes fully now and blinked away the blurriness of your vision. you were right in your assumption. The door to the balcony that led from their bedroom was open. There was a figure standing there , one who you had long ago associated with such a possessive love that it threatened to ensnare you deeper into its loving dark embrace.

He was wearing a pair of gray sweats and a black tank top and in his hand you could see his trademark cigarette hanging from his fingers.

You once told him that if he wasn't for his immortality , lung cancer would kill him long before any monster could.

He then told you that if he wasn't immortal then he wouldn't have to fight any monsters.

Batard. You still remember having to hold yourself back from knocking the teasing smirk off his face.

A lighting strike hits somewhere in the distance and allows for the room to be illuminated with light for a few seconds before returning to a semi pitch black. From your view of his backside position you could see a puff of smoke leave as it came in too few of his side.

You were one of the very few people permitted - allowed really - to see him like this. Shoulders sagged in relaxation and no stress over when the next monster would pop out. He used to worry over your safety and life but he had long ago eliminated that issue.

You shook your head and the thought along with it.

A cold breeze once more drafted through the room and while it didn't affect you like it normally would, it was still annoying to feel. Especially with you wrapped up around a warm blanket. The contrast of the two was what was really bothering you-

He moved. Leaning over the railing of the balcony - there was an extended roof so he didn't have to worry about the rain - he crossed his legs and , in your eyes , looked a little more like the human he was than the monster he was forced to be.

During moments like this, when he reminds you of his humanity , multiple things cross your mind. How could a man who swore to protect lives take the one who mattered to him the most. Even till this day the betrayal still stings and leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. You were difficult , oh so difficult , in the beginning of…of this strange relationship yall had going on. But there's only so much a person can take until stubbornness to fight gives wave to tiredness of fighting.

The first time he had come home to you sleepin in the bed instead of on the floor you swore his eyes would have bulged out his head.

You pulled yourself away from the memory to focus on the one who caused it instead.

Despite being a prestigious , famed , and powerful hero , said hero has yet to notice or feel your eyes drilling into his person. That was probably due to the lack of survival instincts he has undeveloped due to them not being needed. Don't really need to worry about danger if nothing can kill you.

(you shiver when the thought of his immortality brought memories of how you came to get yours)

Another breeze coming through the open glass doors , though , was enough to remind you of why you had even been up in the first place. You hand twitched under the covers as you debated on whether or not to disturb him or turn your back to the window and bundled up even closer to the covers.

Another breeze wafted in and goosebumps popped up on your skin.

Despite your better judgment “,If you're going to smoke outside , at least close the doors,” you finally spoke. The sound of your voice caused him to tilt his head back as red eyes like the prettiest of ruby's met yours. He turned his body slightly to face in your direction slightly as he smiled apologetically.

“Sorry , didn't mean to wake you.” it annoyed you how sincere he sounded , it only made you more irritated knowing he was.

Zombieman , despite all the wrongs he has done for , has never done them out of malice. He was crazy and unpredictable at times but you knew the one thing you could count on being true from him was his deep rooted love for you.

Even now as you scowled at him tiredly his eyes never once lost that gleam that looked at you with such love it shined even if he was scowling.

“Well you did,” you huffed out and you made a show of pulling the thick covers closer to your body. Zombieman just huffed out a quiet laugh right back at you as he turned his face to look back outside. He fingers strummed in a way you had learned that meant he was thinking before facing back towards your burrito form.

“Join me.” While the sentence itself was simple , the statement he was saying was not. Before , zombieman had barely let you leave the room and while you had full range of the house , there were still some things he did not trust you could do. Being able to go outside the house was one of them. You could look out the window longingly but the moment you tried to open it he was on your ass like a tax collector.

You grumbled , but even you weren't stubborn enough to fight him on your first chance of going out in months - 9 to be exact. And so you slid from the bed , grabbed one of the smaller fluffy blankets to wrap around your body and went to join him outside.

As expected , he wrapped his form around yours and with your body trapped between him and the railing - the both of you stood there in silence as you listened to the rain. By some miracle that cancer stick was surviving in such weather and every moment or so he would bring it to his lips to take a long drag. You took advantage of the freedom you had been given to take a long look at the scenery that you had only seen through the glass window.

Zombieman's house was in a reclusive part of the city and cut off from all his other neighbors. He lived on a hill surrounded by trees and with a decent size front and back yard. From where you stood , if you squinted enough , you were able to see the other houses that looked tiny from the distance you were at.

A hand on your hip brought you of the daze looking at the rain had brought on. Rubbing circles on where your slip on dress was covering the area , he brought his lips to kiss the top of your forehead. You ignored his affectionate gesture and instead looked down towards the tempting ground. If only you could jump off - it's not like any damage would last long anyway.

“I can practically hear you thinking about it.” looks like you weren't as subtle as you hoped. “Don't. it hurts and unlike me you're not used to the pain that near death brings on.” he stated and , apparently , you looking down at the ground had been the catalyst for him to just grab the blanket you had wrapped around yourself and replace it with his arms now that he had finally finished that cigarette of his.

“That was unnecessary.” you stated as you looked longingly over at your blanket laying sprawled out on one of the chairs. You turn your head back towards the tree line though when you hear some sort of sound. The longer you listen though , the more you begin to realize it's some sort of music. The kind that as a child you would have been running around in circles as you flung your arms up and down in a childish glee of happiness.

“Oh hey , That reminds me.” The sound of the music made you remember what you were going to ask him. Zombieman hummed in acknowledgement. It wasn't often that you asked for anything from him and he was always eager to please you to get in your favor. “I saw on the news,” you could feel him burning eyes into your skull “,That there was going to be a little festival tomorrow out in the city…” you trailed off towards the end when he made no sound.

It was silent for a few seconds before he spoke “no.”

“Oh come on!” you spinned on your heel to face him - you ignored the way you had to crane your neck to look up at him - as those ruby red’s of his stared you down. The furrow in his eyebrow was a clear indication of the slight frustration he knew was going to start building up. “I'm stuck in here everyday with nothing to do but watch tv or sit around and do nothing!”

“You have books you can read,” he said calmly.

“Means jack shit when I've read them all ten times over!”

you don't know how it happened; just that one moment you were screeching at him like a petulant brat and the next , his arms slammed on either side of you on the railing as he leaned down. “Watch it , brat.” the growl in his voice would have made you scared. That entire display should have made you scared. It didn't. But you weren't about to test the limits of his patience tonight.

Instead , you opted for a different approach.

You willed yourself to wilt like a dried up flower as you gave him those sad eyes you knew he was weak for. “Come on , I'm going insane with being looked up like this.” he swallowed , one hand coming to rest on your hip as the other drummed behind him.

“y/n-”

“Zombie.” then you were fiddling with the hem of his pants with one hand as the other went to splay itself across his chest when his slow beating heart laid. “Please?” you looked up at him from under your fluttering eyelashes looking very much like a false image of innocence that you were displaying. You could feel him shudder against you. You could practically feel him restrain himself as he went to grab at your wrist attached to the hand on his chest - he didn't move it however.

“y/n , no.” he sternly said but your ears were immediately attracted to the slight waver in his voice.

“y/n , yes.” you gently took your hand from his hold before hooking both arms around his neck. A shudder breath left his nose. “Tadashi please. I want to go.” hook , line , sinker. The sound of his actual name leaving your lips had any fight in his body dispersing as he buried his face into your neck.

“Brat. i fell in love with a fucking brat.” was the mumble reply he gave as your hands busy themselves in playing with his hair. Two hands came to rest on your hip as he spoke “,Alright i concede. I’ll go out to buy you a kimono tomorrow.” Just as you were about to celebrate the victory he made it a point to raise his head from where it was laid as he grabbed at your chin to face it up towards him.

“But there's something I will like in return.”

The kimono he got was beautiful. It was komon styled and the obi , as he told you , was supposed to be tied in a bunk knot in the back.

It was black with red , white, and orange styled koi swimming between white ume flowers and golden japanese styled smoke like curves. While the koi fish did not reach the top of the kimono though , the white flowers and golden mist did. There was red fur around the neck line and the obi was a beautiful red with white and yellow flowers and the obijime was a simple black. You wore some geta style sandals on your feet and you had put on a bit of touch up makeup and earrings.

It was when after you had gotten done doing your hair and putting in a lantern styled hair pin did you hear him open the front door. “y/n , let's go!” he called out and you were quick to scramble up to make your way downstairs where you got a look at him this morning.

He had changed into a black turtleneck tucked into some black skinny jeans and wore a simple pair of red dress shoes. He , of course , still wore a trench coat though this one reflected the pattern on your kimono - colors and all and you could see the gun he had hidden by said trench coat. He was fiddling with his hand , smiling oh so happily as he did so and it made your stomach clench at the reminder of what you had to give up to even go out.

He had stopped though once he heard your feet pattering down the stairs and you could see the way his eyes gleamed in dark pleasure once his eyes caught sight of the small thing. His eyes practically stalked your movement as you walked towards him and you , eyeing you like a kid about to unwrap a nicely done present to shreds.

“You look beautiful.” he complimented once you got into ams reach at which point he pulled you closer to fix your hair pin. “Since the festival is to celebrate the end of the monster association the hero association sent someone over to come pick us up.” he then move on to fix the string tied around your obi as he spoke “,we’re going in thru a different way then everybody else at which point were allowed to do whatever until 10. Then I have to leave to go sit with the other participants from the raid as they release the fireworks and give out speeches…” his hand at some point had found purchase on your hip as he gave it a good squeeze “i expect you to behave when i'm not with you.” the dark tilt to his voice made your hand twitch.

“Of course.”

He loosened his hold before giving you a kiss on the forehead as his phone went off. He kept one hand on your hip as he looked down at his phone before shuffling it in his pocket. “They’re here.” he commented and it made you perk up. Zombieman gave a small chuckle as he pulled you along. “Let's go pretty girl.” you ignored the nickname in favor of distracting yourself as you left the house for the first time in what feels like years.

Fresh crisp air entered your lungs and you never thought that you would be happy with the way you had to step away to avoid messing up your outfit. Zombiemna kept his hold on your hand tight as he pulled you along the walkway of his yard and out the gate where a black car was waiting on the curb. He opened the back door , gave you one hard look that promised punishment if you were to do anything , before ushering you in.

It was a decent size car with enough leg room. You felt zombieman get in and slide his way over towards where you were sitting and place an arm around your shoulders as the car began to move. While he made small talk with the driver he obviously knew , you were focused on looking out the car window as trees passed by in a blur.

“And this is?” The conversion that you were only paying half attention to is now brought to your full attention as the question is directed towards you. Zombieman sits up straighter - prideful , you realize - as he relaxes back into the cushion behind him. You feel his hand come up to play with the baby hairs from where his hand was wrapped around your shoulders. He looked like the cat who ate the canary - bones , feathers , and all - as he spoke.

“This is y/n.” he says and with his hand still wrapped around you , grabs your other hand before bringing it close to his lips. “My fiance.” The ring glistened in the setting sun as he placed a kiss on your hand.

You wave goodbye to the driver and thank him as he drives off. Zombieman stands at your side as the two of you begin to walk towards the entrance. The person at the back entrance looks up - only to freeze at the sight of you and zombieman walking towards him “,We thought that you weren't coming.” the man said in a surprisingly even tone as the both of you reached him.

“My fiance wanted to come.” was the explanation he offered and you could see the way the man's eyes widened as he glanced over at you. “Well then , I suppose a congratulation is in order.” he said as he scanned his card on a metal pad allowing for the gate to open. “Enjoy the fun.” zombieman hummed but you made sure to give the man a thank you as the both of you walked in.

It was slightly packed already and you stopped for a moment to look around. There were kids running around and everyone was dressed up nicely - you even saw a couple of heroes with kimonos on - and the place smelled rampant of delicious sweets and savory foods. You could see the game’s from where the both of you were standing in a backstage short of area that was blocked off to everyone else.

Then a hand came to rest on the bottom curve of your back that made you stiffen in surprise. Warmth spread on the side of your face as his breath fluttered on your skin. “Come on pretty girl. You begged me to come here.” you gave a huff of annoyance but decided to move anyway. He moved his hand to warp around your waste as you walked towards a game.

The promoter did a double take at the man behind you before explaining the game. Using a fishing hook , you had three tries to get one of the fish at which point - depending on what's inside the box fish - you could choose a prize. The only problem was that the fishes moved like real ones so if you were not fast enough they could flip off the hook before you even grabbed it.

As you were turning around to ask zombieman to pay - the man held up his hand and shook his head. “No need miss , everything is free to the heroes who participated and their families and or partners.” you blushed a little at that last part but otherwise took one of the fishing rods he gave you. You messed up the first two but you were able to snatch the last fish once you reeled back in your line.

You felt a zombieman come to stand closer behind you to look over your shoulder as you opened up the toy fish. It was a green card which you showed the man. “Ah! That means you can pick any of the prizes on the wall.” You had the man grab a bunny with strawberry ears that you took and thanked him for before squealing in happiness as you hugged it close. You grabbed zombieman hand’s and began to pull him to the next game.

And that's how it went for the next couple of hours. You were happy and giddy as you pulled the undead hero to game after game to play. He even played some and by the time you both went to get something to eat , zombieman's hands were full of plushies and trinkets as the both of you walked towards the hero only section. “I have to go store these.” he jostled the toys held in his arms and you gave a sheepish smile at him. You didn't realize you had gotten more than many and were making him carry all of that. “Stay here.” ahh , there's the sternness “i’ll be back in a minute.”

You watch him walk off and for the first time in months you are left alone with all types of ways to escape. You could run - run so far and so fast that by the time he comes back you will be gone and he will be left with nothing but heartbreak. Or you could try to tell one of the heroes running about that you have been kidnapped and be out of here with a new identity somewhere far far away from him.

But the thought of it makes your heart clench and you hate it. You hate the way you gave in so easily that night and now a ring made of your very flesh and blood sits on your hand - not even cutting it off will save you as it was a piece of you now. You hate the way your body seems to grow hot and bothered whenever his touches turned a little less innocent and it made you want to scream out at him to just do something so that you had a reason to hate him.

But you don't and he doesn't because he loves in his own twisted way and he couldt bear the thought of doing any harm to your person.

You hate yourself -

As you wallow in your thoughts , you weren't able to notice a person coming up beside you before a hand was placed on your shoulder that brought you out of your thoughts. You jumped and looked up to make eye contact with a man who was giving you a smile. "Hey there beautiful , why are you sitting all by yourself when you could be with me.” you gave him an uncomfortable smile. You were not used to other peoples touches other than zombieman for the past few months so the feeling of someone else's hands on you made your body shiver in disgust.

“No thank you. My fiance should be back in a moment.” you wanted this man gone. He was so..plain looking compared to your captor. Much weaker to and due to you being used to shoving off a playful s-class hero who wanted nothing more than to continue to hold you , removing this dude's hands from your shoulder was like flicking off a bug. “Please don't touch me.”

The men , who you could identify as a drunk if the pinkness in his cheeks was anything to go by , did not like that. He raised his hand towards you , about to slap you - something zombieman would never do - as he gave out a snarl. “You little-”

“What the hell do you think you're doing?” The air grew frigid cold and both you and the man looked to where the all familiar voice came from. annoyed , yes. Irritated , yes. But you have never so much heard the hero sound so blatantly furious as the snarling question left his lips. Zombieman stood behind the dude and that moment he very much looked like the s-class hero who’s battle’s brough river of blood to the street just the way he liked it

There was a glare on his usually laid back face and his body was tense like he was about to tear the guy to shreds at any moment. He took a single glance in your direction as he asserted your form for any indication of you healing any damages before turning those glaring red eyes back on the drunk “Why are you even back here?”

“I-i…umm.” the man stammered out before his eyes locked onto you. “That girl was back here so i went to-”

“That ‘girl’ is my fiance.” The snarl shut the man up who quickly became clammy as he realized how big of a mistake he had just made. “I'm feeling extra generous today so here's what is going to happen. You're going to apologize to my girl , leave , and hope I never see your face ever again cause I will not be showing you the same mercy a second time.” The man did exactly as he was told as he apologized to you before running out of there like the devil was on his heel.

Zombieman watched the man leave and you could see the way his hand moved towards his gun- “Tadashi!” you quickly said and he dropped his hand from where it was rising. “I wasn't going to do nothing.” he said as he walked over towards you before pulling you up to your feet. “I wouldn't want to ruin my girl's day out.” he pulled you along to a food truck that was quick to serve you two.

The night went mostly well after the incident even if you did have to stop him from shooting another guy who was flirting with you. By the time 10 rolled around he was on the stage and you were sent to the back along with other heroes' families as hero representatives gave speeches before the fireworks were released. By the time everything was said and done zombieman was agitated and ready to leave and you had your fill of fun for the day.

And now you sat in the backseat of the car with your trashbug of stuffies stuffed in the car trunk. The sound of zombieman speaking on the phone was lulling you to sleep and you could feel yourself slouch slightly as you became drowsy. You heard him stop talking for a moment before a hand was wrapping around you and pulling you down into a lap.

You fell asleep to the feel of his rubbing circles on your arm as his voice carried you to sleep.

•~•○•~•

Weeks later and zombieman was officially able to call you his wife.

Now as you sit on the bed with your ‘husband’ - a shudder runs through your body at the thought - outside smoking a cigarette you can't help but wonder how your life turned out like this. From a lonely girl with no family and friends to a married woman with a devoted obsessed husband in the span of a few months. Honestly-

Your hand was being snatched up with your wrist being held tightly causing you to automatically unclench your fist. It was then that you noticed you had been clenching your fist hard enough to draw blood from your nails seeping into the skin and from the skin over your knuckles breaking. It was healed within seconds and seeing it only made you bitter.

How did your life ever come to this?

“y/n.” you look up and catch the eye of the man who was the cause of all this. Your heart , your poor confused , gullible , heart skipped a beat. He was looking down at you , worried and lips pulled thin as he loosened his hold on your wrist. You hated the way your first reaction was to reassure him you were ok instead of snatching your hand away.

You couldt stand to look at him anymore , least you bare face to the truth that you did-

You shook your head and the thoughts away with it as you snatched your hand away from his. You ignored the hurt look on his face in favor of rubbing your wrist and twisting your hand over. But of course , it wouldt be that easy.

It never was.

“Pretty girl.” the bed dipped as zombieman sat on it. “What's wrong?” there was a hand on your shoulder…that was all it took for you to nearly launch yourself out of bed and away from him. “y/n!” The surprise shout of your name caused you to whirl on him as you faced him with a glare.

“Don't touch me.” While you wished you could tell yourself that you sounded strong , you knew you didn't. Your voice waiver and you shook with a desperation for something. “Just-just…go away.” you said. You stumbled back though once he crawled over the bed and went stand on your side. You sent him a glare and gave a snarl.

“What's gotten into you so suddenly?” he questioned and you barely had time to think out his name before his arms were wrapping around like a boa to restrict you to his chest. You snarled and began to try to squirm out of hold but he was much too strong for you to do anything. He lets you tire yourself out and soon enough your snarls turned into pants.

And pants into hiccuping cries.

tears began to slide out of your eyes like someone released the floodgates and you were unable to stop it. You could feel him look down in worry as you buried your head into his chest as if you were trying to hide the wetness on your face. You felt him move , pulling you along with him towards the bed where he plopped down against the headboard with you in his lap.

There was a comforting hand on your head as sweet whispers filled your ears. “It’s ok sweetness. There we go…” he cooed as your cries settled down to only sniffles from where he had you laid out on his chest. “Let it out , pretty girl.It's going to be ok.” the hand continued to pet you head; strong and grounding as the gentle hand of your husband dulled the breakdown to merely a cry.

You forced your head deeper into his chest as you spoke. “I hate you.” there was a low hum that vibrated to your cheek as a hand came to rest on your lower back. “No you dont.” a statement to counteract a statement. You forgot that he specialized in detective work within the HA - meaning he was able to pick apart every little piece of information that you wanted to keep hidden.

“Is that what that was all about?”

the hand on your head came to cup your cheek.

“Little brat doest know how to control her emotions so she lashes out , huh.”

Shut up.

“It’s completely natural, you know.”

A finger moved under your chin , bringing your face from his chest to meet his face eye to eye. You wanted nothing more than to look away.

“You don't hate me , pretty girl.”

Don't say it. Please , don't say it-

“You love me.”

That was the straw that broke the camel's back.

You froze in place as lies stuttered on your lips to a complete halt. You ground your teeth together as words began to build themselves back onto your lip - only for them to be knocked out of your mouth and into non-existent courtesy of zombieman planting a kiss on your lips.

It was always the head , cheek , hand , anything but the lips with him. The shock caused your body to freeze for only a second , just one , before it relaxed against your better judgment. You were always told that the mind can be swayed easily - the heart is another matter though , and right now , your heart wants you to kiss him back while your mind screams at you to pull away.

Zombieman makes the decision for you. A hand comes up to your head and pushes you closer to deepen the kiss. Another hand was snaking down and a pinch on your bottom caused you to give out a gasp that allowed him to push his tongue in. you were forced to grab onto the t-shirt he wore to ground yourself Then you felt him grip your behind as that hand on your head jerked your forward and you knew what he wanted.

Despite your mind , you favored your heart's request and allowed yourself to kiss him back.

He hummed , pleased , as he tightened his hold on you. He didn't stop , and probably would have kept going on forever if it weren't for you pushing against his chest to get air. While he was used to not being able to breathe for long periods of time , you very much were not.

He broke the kiss and you could feel a blush spread across your cheeks as your eyes caught sight of a string of saliva connecting you two before it broke. You were breathing harshly as a long lost familiar feeling began to seep into the bones beneath your skin. The wandering hands on your body did little to help the matter.

“Pretty girl,” his knuckle lifted your chin , cooing in delight as darken eyes drinked up your haze over expression. “if only you could see how you look right now.” You could only guess. Hooded eyes that were glossed over , drool seeping out of a mouth , and hair that was disheveled due to the previous treatment. A perfect image of someone about to be devoured until there's nothing left.

You squirmed in his hold and it caused him to once more wrap an arm around your waist to keep you steady as his lips ghosted the shell of your ear. “My pretty little wife.” the hand that was around your waist slithered its way to the front as his fingers drummed right where your pelvis area was. “Won't you allow me to show you how much i love you.”

Then his lips were on your neck. He could leave a permanent bruise or hickey , but he sure of a hell did try. Kissing , sucking , biting , licking , your neck was being treated like a whole meal and you did nothing but gasp and bend your head back to give him better access. You felt him hum , the vibration sending little sparks through your body , as his lips pressed firmly against the skin where your neck met your chest.

“I need an answer, pretty girl,” he bit the skin “,I need to hear you say that you want me as much as I want you.” there were hand planting themselves on your hip. “,need you,” those lips were trailing back up your neck until they reached your jaw. “,love you.” and then he left off by pushing his head back into your shoulder where he stayed - waiting on your answer.

Did you want this? You knew there would be no turning back if you allowed for this to happen. You love zombieman , it was useless to deny that fact , but did you love him enough to give yourself fully to him? To allow him to love you in the most intimate way possible and live with the consequences that may come from it?

The answer was yes.

And you couldt even hate yourself for thinking it. You had a bad life before zombieman took you. Living all by yourself in a small apartment after your parents had kicked you out for your favorite sister. You had no friends to turn to and worked in an office that you hated. Any attempt at dating ended in a breakup due to cheating of them just not wanting to deal with you anymore.

You could still recall the first time you met the immortal hero. The first eye contact you both made in that small coffee shop that brought you joy.

He brought you joy.

So despite the absurdity of the situation , despite the fact that he took you from the life you knew , despite the fact that he made you immortal like him - you don't think you would be able to deny him or yourself this.

“Tadashi,” there was a small groan as a kiss placed on your shoulder. “Please, Make love to me.” as the words left your lip’s , you swear that you hear the sound of chains locking in place.

Rising up from his position from your shoulder , he placed a kiss on your jaw before pushing you onto the bed as he climbed on top of you. The both of you stared at each other for a moment , enough for you to breathe in fresh air - before immediately having it stolen as his lips descended onto your’s.

This kiss was softer , more loving in the way he moved it against yours. You could feel his hand slip under your dress as you opened your mouth to let him in. his tongue pushed in and you gave a groan as it tangled with yours. He broke the kiss , peppering his way down to your neck where he once more began to maw on your skin. A particular bite had you yelping out as your body arched up slightly.

He used this to his advantage as he detached his lips from your neck in favor of slipping off your dresses completely to leave you in nothing but your underwear. You squirmed under his gaze as his eyes drinked up every inch of previously unseen skin. “Beautiful.” he whispered as a hand reached to grab a fistfull of your breast. “So beautiful,” he said , awe clearly in his voice as he fondled you.

He tugged you up , unclipped your bra , threw it somewhere , before pushing you back down: eyes watching the way your breath jingled as you bounced. He quickly began to kiss his way down from your collarbone to your mounds at which point he took a nub in his mouth while twisting and tugging the other one.

You cried out , hands scrambling for a purchase on the sheets as you clenched them. He would switch from one to the other and it was making you extremely hot , extremely fast. One particular suck that had sparks flying to your core had your hips bucking against the leg that had settled between your legs.

“Ahh yes,” he finally released your breast in favor of rubbing a finger on the dampness of your panties “,The main course.” he said as he started to tease the slit through the fabric. You gave a gutterled moan as he did so. “So wet baby.” he hissed before moving his body down so that his face was looking directly at your covered heat.

He tore your panties this time and the difference in air between your entrance and the room had you pulsing. He spread your legs further apart , hands gripping your thighs as he placed little kisses near the area your body was begging him to go. He did for a good 30 seconds before you grew impatient. “Stop teasing!” you snapped , embarrassed at the way your voice was pithed in pleasure.

“Brat.” was all he simply said but he abided by your commands. He buried your face between your thighs before laying his tongue flat against your folds before dragging it up and down. You gave an actual moan at this as your hands flew to his hair instinctively. He gave a groan , the vibrations brought even more pleasure through your body as he continued to flick his tongue up and down - back and forth.

Your thighs shook and he had to use his stretch to keep you from bucking wildly. One hand that was wrapped around your thigh began to creep closer while at the same time his tongue was moving and closer to your twitching and gushing entrance. He teased the hole , another hand moving to release your hips to spread your folds so that he could see the twitching entrance.

“You taste so good , baby.” he groaned out as he lifted his head slightly due to the fact that your hands were still tangled in his hair. “I want a taste from the source.” The growl in his voice was the only warning you got as he plunged his tongue into your core while , at the same time , another one of his hands wrapped around your thigh once more to twirl your clit in a way that had you seeing stars.

Your eyes rolled back as you tugged his head impossibly closer. He groaned as he continued to plunge his tongue in and out of your gummy walls. Your thighs shook as the sinful tongue of his licked the walls as it slid out. You began to whine , about to demand what he was doing when he plunged two of his thick rough fingers in to replace his tongue.

“Fucking deliouse.” he growled , red eyes scanning your face as it twisted in unimaginable pleasure. Those fingers curled and he had the honor of watching as your eyes rolled into the back of your head as you clamped down on him. “Do you like that baby? Did I find your sweet spot?” he asked as he directed his fingers to rut against that spot.

“Shit , shit , shit!” you chanted , crying out once more has he continued to finger fuck you all the while he brough his tongue down to twirl your clit. He gave it a long hard smooch before sucking it back into his mouth as his fingers scissored you open. “Oh fuck~” you could barely think , barely had the right of having thoughts as he brough you closer and closer to your high.

Your legs began to quiver as you felt your organism coming closer and closer with each stroke inside you and every lick across your pearl. Feeling the way you tightened around him , zombieman replaced his tongue with his other hand as he twirled and twisted the nub between his fingers. “You about to cum , pretty girl?” he said as he twisted his fingers inside you making you give out a shaky moan.

“Yes! Yes! Please dont - dont -” you could barely finish a sentence as he fucked you on his fingers. You go closer and closer , ready to jump off the deep end when-

He curled his fingers , hitting that bundle of nerves right in the middle. That sent you over the edge as you clamped down tightly around him and sprayed him with your juices. He continued his mistreatment of your insides , slowing down to help you ride out your organism as you spazzed out on the bed. “There we go, pretty girl.” he cooed , slowing down to a stop as you breathed heavily - chest heaving and your mind banked over as you came down from your high.

“You're doing so well for me.” he praised and you could hear the rustle of his pants as he pulled them off his legs. There was a hand on your knee that slid up and under as he hoisted a leg over his shoulder. He turned his head , peppering the flesh in kisses as he sided eyed your heaving , sweaty form. “Think you can continue to be a good girl for me?” Cheeky bastard , he was smiling as he said it and you resisted the urge to snap back at him with a witty remark.

The only reason you didn't was because you felt something poking the bare bottom of your flesh. You looked down- only to have your eyes widen slightly at the sight of his mini him.

Oh no , make no mistake though. Despite the nickname you gave it he was far from small. It was long , it was thick , and the sight of bulging veins as your pussy throbbing. The head was an angry pink with pre cum dripping out and onto your skin - painting your flesh in its sin as it continued to pulse and throb.

“like what you see?” the teasing tone had your eyes snapping from his member to his face that you only now realize was flushed. His eyes were hooded and as you opened your mouth to tease him about it - he stuck his fingers into your mouth causing you to instinctively close around them.

“save your breath dear. You're going to need it.” He removed his fingers from your mouth to grab your other leg and hoist it up over his shoulder. He then pulled the both of you until you were on the edge of the bed and his feet were planted on the ground. You felt his hardness tap against you and gasped out as he began to rut against you. You scrambled for something to grab on and your hands found purchase on the arm that he had planted on either side of your head to hold himself up.

“Do you not realize how long I waited for this , waited for you?” The question caught you off guard and you were brought out of your pleasure haze to stare at his face. He was looking at you , love clearly in those ruby eyes that you had always found captivating. “My pretty little girl , so close yet so far. All those times you yelled , insulted, and hit me: only to turn into a little mouse the moment you wanted something. You made my undead heart break in the best of ways.” Then he was lining himself up.

“Now look at us,” he leaned up to look down at where the two most intimate parts of you were touching- hole to cock. “We're about to become connected in the best way possible.” Then he pushed in.

It stung , a slight joint of electricity as he pushed the head in and you gave a groan of pain. “I know dear. Just bear with me a little longer.” He hissed out as he continued to push his hardness farther and farther in. Your hands twisted the blanket in a deathly tight grip , hissing in displeasure at the stinging sensation.

He was easily one of the biggest things you ever had in your body. Your poor pussy could do nothing but quiver and twitch as it tried to accommodate his bigness. He bottomed out and you gave a sigh of relief as he stopped moving.

“There we go. Good girl , you're taking me so well.” He praised as he began to rub at your clit in an attempt to make the pain pass away. It worked. You could begin to feel yourself grow wet as the heavy cock sitting inside twitched in anticipation. As he continued his mistreatment of your little nub and the pain turned to pleasure - you whimpered.

Bucking your hips slightly , he groaned in pleasure as both his hands went to grip onto your hips. “Please move.” You pleaded , voice whiny and gurgled as you spoke. He did as told.

He began to move , sliding himself to where he was damn near out before pushing back in. He was moving slowly , sensually , in a way that got your skin sweating and chest heaving. The feel of the little bulging veins from earlier dragging themselves against your walls had you moaning out.

It was a slow thing and you could tell he was enjoying seeing himself break you down into a puddle of pleasure. While it felt amazing , the pace was going to give you a slow agonizing death. “faster , Tadashi. Faster.” He responded by grabbing your two legs - before he began to speed up.

You gave a startled choked moan as your pleasure increased by tenfold. Each drag of his length had pleasure jointing up your spine and into your brain to the point of override. You could tell he was enjoying it as well. He groaned against your skin on your legs he had been biting and sucking on.

It felt as though he was trying to carve a piece of himself in you as he pistoned in and out of you. You were forced to bear the pleasure- even more so when he hit a bundle of nerves that had your eyes rolling into the back of your skull and a porn star worthy moan leaving your mouth.

“shit , you tightened up.” he sucked two fingers into his mouth before he placed them on that bud and began to rub in circles. You screamed , you honestly to God gave a scream of pleasure as the action caused you to blank. “shit , pretty girl.” you could feel him looking at your face: mouth hangs open ,cheeks sweaty , and hair clung onto wherever they touched. To him , you’ll always make for the most beautiful picture - even more so with your face contorted in pleasure.

“did I fuck you dumb already.” he teased and you gave a loud moan in response. “good to know.” and he went right back to focusing on making you both reach your high. Reaching for your legs. He unhooked them from his shoulder and began to bend them back towards you. This allowed for him to drive himself even deeper which had you keening in delight. You were chanting his name now. Tadashi , zombie , zombieman - each one coming out in broken up wording.

A familiar feeling began to build back up and it made you extra sensitive. You quivered , biting your lip and throwing your head back as white began to cloud your vision. Sensing your high coming and becoming closer to his own , he became sloppier in his thrust as his hand moved towards your clit. That had you gasping out in pleasure before babbling began to leave your mouth.

“Bout to come baby girl?” he was panting his own self as he sped up his hand. “Come on , let's to it together yeah.” and then he was twirling your clit as he aimed a thrust at that bundle of nerves in you and you couldn't hold it in even if you tried.

You came , juices painting his thighs and length as he continued to trust in you a few more times before he too came undone. He spilled his cum in you , warmth from it having you give out a small groan as your chest heaved. He trusted a few more times trying to drag out the last of his high before stopping.

He pulled out and you could feel the cum leaving out your twitching , quivering hole. His eyes tracked it with a prideful pleasure as he allowed your legs to collapse off the bed. While he left to get some rags , you were left there trying to catch your breath. He came back soon enough and you felt him clean up the mess from where his essence was leaving out of and on before wiping off the sweat and other juices from both of your body.

“I’ll take care of you properly in the morning,” he muttered as he laid down on the bed and pulled you along with him. He cuddled you into his arms as he laid his chin on your head. “But for now , lets get some sleep.”

•~•○•~•

You awoke to a familiar feeling. Wind on your body and an absent body from the bed. He was not there when you went to sleep. But judging by the sound of wind entering your ears , he was here now. You opened your eyes to see him standing on the balcony , smoking like always as he looked out into the night sky.

You didn't even think about getting up from the bed this time - you just did. Slipping from under the covers , you began to make your way towards him. You stood behind him , looking for a few seconds before wrapping your arms around him as you laid your cheek on his back. You felt a hand grab your interlock ones as he ran a finger over the skin.

“Well hello to you too.” the sound of smoke being exhaled reached your ears before the smoke was seen. You saw him place the stick on the railing before he turned around to face you. “You should be asleep , pretty girl.” he said as a hand cae to wrap around your waist to tug you forward. “Yeah , well , who’s fault is that?” you grumbled up at him. He laughed and apologized in a way that you knew he wasn't actually sorry.

You huffed at him and got ready to turn back around to go out under the covers when his hold tightened. He leaned down , connecting your lips in a soft , gentle kiss that had butterflies soaring through your stomach before he broke it. You pouted up at him as you grabbed his hand and tugged. “Let's go to bed.” you said and he allowed you to tug him back inside.

His cigarette lay’s forgotten on the balcony railing.

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