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darkstaria · 22 days

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Yandere Batfam - Soulmate Soul Animal AU.

Chapter 1:

Chapter 2. Chapter 3.

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Dark pupils watched from the ceiling, their gaze affixed upon you. You sighed, deciding to ignore its presence.

An aggravated chitter interrupted you. Pausing, you watched as a little green bird jumped out of the bat’s shadow. It paced towards you, making a small leap to land on your outstretched finger. You smiled, extending your hand to pet the top of its head. The bird took a moment to consider the moment, head tilting with its beak outstretched as if it intended to bite you. It seemed to decide on sparing your finger, allowing you to give the bird some pets on the head.

However, it was time to resume your work. You turned back to your computer, a dismissal. The bird didn't like that. A quick flash, and the bird tittered about on your keyboard, messing up your setup.

“Robin!” You snap, reaching out as if to push the bird away.

You sighed. You disliked calling the bird Robin. It was the correct species, despite the bird being green, so it made sense to use the name. But.. you hated the connection it created between your soul bonded animals and the vigilantes of the city. Unfortunately, the bird didn't answer to any other name. You've tried.

The other robins were so much more agreeable than this newer one. Well, not that you could even call those three robin anymore. The newer robin was very possessive of the name, and you'd rather not have to search your room for more stray feathers that flew off in their next fight. Your soul animals were such a pain.

The flutter of wings distracts you from your musings. You look up, finding the very bat you had been so cautiously avoiding earlier descend onto your desk. The bat chirped a little, with the robin occasionally replying back with chirps of its own. They were having their own conversation.

You decided you were owed a break already, so you gave up on your dreams of getting work done in lieu of watching the ongoing conversation. It was rare for soul animals to talk. They didn't need to. Due to the nature of a soul bond, soul animals act on the innermost feelings of the soul they represent. The bond connects souls, so soul animals, which are a manifestation of the bond, are already intune with their soulmates.

The only instance in which soul animals did tend to talk, was if the soulmates themselves were talking.

Robin chittured with a snap, the bat in return giving a controlled chirr.

Oooh. You thought to yourself. This sounds like an argument. You wondered what it was about. Maybe Robin pecked one too many victims, or caused a mess again.

Ah. You were thinking of your bonded as just animals again. To be fair, it was fairly easy. The only things you knew of your soulmates were because of how the animals acted. Anything else, and you were in the dark. That's how you wanted to think, anyway.

Maybe while they were distracted… You scoot back a little in your chair, until you figure you’re out of their line of sight. You make for the door, tipping out of your seat as quietly as you can. You're almost out the door when a weight settles itself on your head.

You sigh.

“Robin. Get off me, please.”

Perhaps unsurprisingly, the presence doesn't budge. Obliging, you reach up to your head, feeling the bird’s little feet jump onto your hand. Bringing Robin to eye level, you stare at it, unimpressed.

A nearby bat of wings draws you out of your faceoff. Guess sneaking out on your own was too much to ask for, as always.

“Ughhh.” You whine. Your soulmates were going to push you into complete isolation at this rate.

“Fine. You two already know the drill.”

You point at the Bat. “You can never follow me, I mean it. A bat is way too ominous of a soul animal to be flying around. It's just asking for trouble.”

The Bat remains silent, watching. Always, watching. You really hated it sometimes.

In all honesty, a robin wasn't too great of a soul animal to have with you in Gotham either. But your robins came in odd colours, so people didn't always clock that the bird was actually a robin. Sometimes you said that your soul animal was a greenfinch or a swallow. It tended to work, as long as no one looked twice.

A bat was much harder to hide.

“So..”. You give up, gesturing to your bag. “Just get in already, I'll make the trip quick.” You always had to make any outings short with this particular robin. If you spent too long with someone it got snippy. Very, snippy.

The other three robins tended to be a bit more accommodating. Well, not by much.

Robin glides into your bag, a movement of precision and grace. Not for the first time, you wonder what your bonded was like in person.

Deciding to dismiss the thought, you unlatch your door, heading out.

Just another day, with your soulmates.

~ ~ ~ ~

Your parents told you about your birth. You were born to a bat watching your window. It wasn't such a red flag, at first. The maternity ward was flush with newborn babes, so your parents figured that the bat was bound to another child. It was what they had hoped for, anyway.

Plenty of children weren't born with soulbonds. It wasn't a concern. They could be the elder of a bond. Or, they could have a delayed bond. They weren't concerned.

But… then it followed you home. Your parents settled you down, snug in your crib. When they next came to check up upon you, it was there. Perched upon the crib, watching you. When they next blinked, it was gone.

The very next day, your parents awoke to the Bat watching you again. But this time, a smaller bird was snuggled to your sleeping face. It clung to you all day, refusing to disappear when they appeared like the Bat did. It was… very mouthy.

They had assumed this to be a good development, everyone knew The Night worked alone. They were happy.

They were happy, even when another robin appeared the subsequent day. A scruffy one, snappy. Its feathers were still growing out. Young.

Perhaps they should have expected then, that the dawn the next new day would bring another little bird to your crib. The youngest one, a nestling still developing pin feathers. Despite its age, it held a keen gaze at them.

There weren't any more animals that appeared after that. So they hid any evidence of the Bat, and instead allowed you to grow up freely with your three birds.

The Bat was evidently the oldest in your soulbond. It was protective, almost parental, in its movements. It had a sixth sense for when you were in any danger, always emerging from the shadows with perfect timing. If a bat wasn't such a symbolic image in Gotham, you'd probably be more appreciative of its efforts.

The eldest bird was silly, performing aerial tricks and jumps that always brightened your day. It was keen, focusing on you whenever you felt down. It had the uncanny ability to appear whenever you were under the weather. When you said the word robin, it snapped to attention.

You decided to call it Robin.

The second bird was protective. It wasn't as loud as the eldest, but there was a spark of kindness in its gaze. Originally the bird was a lot rougher, but it started to calm down a few years in. Became stable. It always seemed to find you when you got stuck on homework, or landed on your shoulder whenever you flipped through a book.

The third bird was small. You assumed it was only a year or two older than you, due to how the bird’s feathers grew in. It wasn't as affectionate as the other two. Solitary, it often lingered in the shade. It watched you. It watched your other soul animals too, when they appeared. It seemed a little tired. It took you a bit, but eventually you realised it was lonely. After that, you always had a comforting word.

That is… until the Batman gained a partner. A boy decked out in green and yellow, the same feathers on your eldest bird. The vigilante called itself Robin.

As the duo gained notoriety, you were hidden more and more. There was danger in soulbonds, and nothing was more dangerous than vigilantes.

Robin became Nightwing. Your eldest bird grew in blue feathers. The bird stopped responding to its name. A new boy became Robin. You spotted green and yellow feathers growing in on your second bird. It started answering to Robin.

You knew who your soulmates were. After that, it was no secret. Not to you, not to your parents.

Your parents weren't happy anymore. But you were safe. They could be content with that. They considered reaching out. The evidence was obvious, they knew it, and you knew it. Maybe you could be even safer, if the Batman knew where you were.

And then you watched your Robin die.

The little bird had been stuck to you recently, seeming to be in an argument with the Bat. When in conflict, soul animals gravitated to those they weren't in disparity with, and this was nothing unfamiliar to you.

You had been stroking the little bird, as it rested on your lap. But then it jumped. It started shaking. It started crying. Bleeding.

You panicked. You tried to comfort it, to whisper caring words, to give a reassuring touch. You were young, you didn't know what to do. There was nothing you could do.

When a soulmate dies, the soul animal dies too.

The little Robin died, crying in your lap.

You had never looked at vigilantes the same way again.

There was no point in denial, not after that. Your bat became the Bat, the eldest robin named Wing. A few days later, your youngest soul animal developed new feathers. Green… and red. You didn't have a name for the bird, but you suspected you would soon.

You took a week off school.

~ ~ ~ ~

“Please be quiet, this time.” You muttered down to the green bird resting in your bag. It started at you with a condescending gaze. Ugh. Younger soulmates.

You'd sigh, but you've been doing that far too much lately as is.

Time to get this over with.

You enter the supermarket, one of your very few weekly outings. You start perusing the shelves, picking out what was in your list. As you're walking though, you hear a frustrated bark. You peak out from the shelves, spotting a lone woman tugging a leashed dog along.

Ah. You knew what this was. Everyone did. The other shoppers in the store paused too, staring at what was going on.

It was a rejected bond. When feelings between single soulbonded individuals become too bitter, the soul animal dissipates. Well, it was supposed to, and then reappear when feelings improve. But if the animal was constrained in some manner, then the animal can't disappear and is forced to remain in a physical form.

Judging from the leash on the dog’s neck, this was that same scenario. It was rather bold of the woman to bring the soul animal out in public if it was rejecting her like this. Almost brave.

Gothamites rarely helped each other, but things became a little sensitive with soul animals. You wouldn't be too surprised if there wasn't at least one attempt to free the dog today. It certainly caught attention. It could even catch.. vigilante attention.

You frowned. It was a shame to cut one of your few outings short. Sometimes there was no alternative though. You certainly wouldn't be sticking around.

You jumped at the sound of a shriek, eyes darting down to your bag where Robin rested. Robin glared venomously at your shoulder, and you glanced at it.

Your shoulder where… Ah. That would do it. Your shoulder where Red rested. Your third robin. You felt like crying. Why, why this pair?

You didn't even feel the bird as it appeared. Was that a testament to Red's stealth or your lacking observational skills?

Robin glared daggers at Red, practically hissing. You didn't even know birds could hiss. Red paid him no mind, instead looking very settled on your shoulder. The bird even snuggled your face a little. What a smug guy.

Another bark caught your attention. You glanced forward, remembering the scene. Your soul animal’s squabbling would draw too much attention. If any of the vigilantes were watching, you'd be in trouble. One robin soul animal was potentially excusable. But two? That would get you caught.

You tried to shush the two, a small signal for them to knock it off. Naturally, because it was these two, they ignored you. You groaned. This was far too public.

You grabbed Red, snatching him off your shoulder as gently as you could. Placing him gently into your shoulder bag, you tried your best to pretend the resulting screech from Robin wasn’t noticeable. The flap of your bag was closed, so no one could spot them… They could certainly hear if they came close enough though.

Time to leave. You paid for what you picked up and dashed out. The sight of rejected soulmates was generally considered disturbing, so anyone watching could just attribute your rush to that.

Were you paranoid?

Mayhaps a little.

You've justified it by the fact that you're probably soulmates with Batman and 4 robins, so paranoia is practically a requirement for your soul.

____

Hello ^ ^ welcome to my soulmate au! I do hope you enjoyed.

If you have any questions about the au, please feel free to reach out :D

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olliemnjones · 22 days

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Hey there! Your actually one of my inspiration for art! I really like how realistically shaded the backgrounds are and everything! Do you have any tips for shading in digital art?

Hey, I appreciate it, thank you! There are lots of things that go in to making a good background but this is the main idea that made backgrounds click for me:

Hopefully you'll agree that of these two shapes, the one on the right feels more 'real', despite the fact neither of these shapes are meant to represent anything. The shape on the right just has a noise filter and a faint light-to-dark gradient from top to bottom. Those two things create movement on a small scale (the noise) and on a large scale (the gradient). The presence of that sort of movement is what gets your brain to register something as real.

Here I've taken the shape and given it a new environment, a colour and then a gradient. The shape with the movement feels a little more natural in its environment, I think.

Then directly on top of that, I can start creating small scale movement, like the noise, through brush strokes. At first (on the left) the brushstrokes look quite out of place and unnatural. But as you work in to the surface more, creating more and more overlapping brushstrokes of various sizes and directions - all while trying to maintain the sense of that gradient - the strokes will start to more naturally integrate in to each other, creating a bed on to which other elements will lay naturally.

Here I give this abstract shape some context by painting some cracks and decay on it. These new elements create movement by giving our eyes more shapes to latch on to and jump between. I then added a pattern to it. This pattern adds more movement and reinforces the light effect by adhering to the gradient (getting darker at the same rate the wall does).

You can see I use this idea all through this picture. I make sure in any section there is always some kind of movement of light, whether its left-to-right, or top-to-bottom, corner-to-corner etc. Patterns like the woodgrain on the drawer or the textile of the curtain create additional movement and reinforce the dimensions of their respective forms by adhering to them. Bit rambly but I hope there's something useful in there!

#artists on tumblr #illustration #painting #drawing #art #digital art #tutorial #art help

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morallyinept · 3 months

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ADORATION - A Joel Miller x Breast Cancer/Mastectomy F!Reader One Shot

Written as part of my B O D I E S Series 🤎

BODIES MASTERLIST

Summary: After some completely unexpected and devastating news, a long journey of loss and healing, Joel shows you how beautiful he still finds you.

Pairing: No Outbreak Joel Miller x Breast Cancer/Mastectomy F!Reader (No name or physical description of reader in terms of ethnicity, hair colour etc... However, Reader had breasts and hair before treatment. I've imagined Reader to be around a similar age as Joel, who is 56 when writing this, however Reader's age is not mentioned, so you can determine/imagine it's you, if you'd like to, bub.)

Word Count: 8.3k

Scoville Smut Rating:🌶️🌶️🌶️ “You tell me I'm doing well, and then, you try to kill me."

Check out my Scoville Smut Ratings here.

Triggers & warnings: Mentions of breast cancer/double mastectomy/surgery/grief/loss/depression/body issues/illness & recovery/fear/mentions of death. Established relationship/unprotected PIV (wrap up, folks)/breast worship/Joel loves on you hard.

NSFW. MINORS DNI! OVER 18’s ONLY. YOU ARE SOLELY RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU READ.☝🏻Don’t come at me; you’ve been plenty warned.

I write for me, and I share with you. If this story isn't to your taste, that's fine. Just slip quietly out the back door. No need to make a fuss. It's just a work of fiction.

Author’s Note: It's important to me that all types of readers are represented in my work, therefore this collection of stories is written for readers with REAL bodies. However, anyone can enjoy them. Whilst this story may not specifically represent your own personal journey, it is my hope that it resonates and offers comfort and enjoyment. The condition/disability mentioned in this story is not 'one size fits all' - everyone's journey is personal and unique, and I have undertaken as much research as I can to write accurately and respectfully. 🤎

MAIN MASTERLIST | JOEL MILLER MASTERLIST

Enjoy! 🖤

You’re whining, keening softly as your nose dusts the crown of greying curls resting just below your chin.

They tickle gently on the inside of your nostrils each time you inhale, smiling into the beam of sunlight that strobes onto the pillow, blinding you into a warm, balmy bliss.

Causing your body to spasm and jerk beneath him; little bursts of electricity soar with static, crackling down your spine. You arch your back, pushing your nipple further into his warm, wet mouth.

The insatiable pull around your nipple draws hisses from behind your teeth, eyes rolling back into the furthest reaches of your skull.

Your fingers press into the back of his cranium, cradling him close; losing yourself to the never-ending swirl of his tongue around that fleshy, hard bud as he tongues it, sucks it, nips it...

Hips grinding in a languid cadence against his crotch, a hard bulge catches on your clit as you grind against his cock; stiff and leaking into his faded, worn-out boxers.

Joel’s a self-confessed breast man. He likes pawing at your ass too on the very regular occasion, but he spends most of his foreplay time - and any time, really - latching onto your breasts like a hungry infant.

He likes to suck your nipples out of the puffy swell of your areolas on warm mornings when you wake nestled around him. Coax that stubborn left one out of it's invert with a probing, flickering tongue.

He loves to pinch the stiff, hardened peaks through your top when you're chilly to make you giggle and squirm against him. Feels closest to you when you sit together watching a rubbish film on Sunday evenings in his lap, and he casually has his hand up your shirt holding onto your breast like he would your hand.

It’s a comfort you both enjoy; a big, reassuring warmth holding onto you. He likes feeling the weight of them as they fill his palms, watching the bounce of them, mesmerized, as you ride on his cock vigorously.

Joel’s all up in your marvellous chest at any chance he can get. Sucking the pebbled teats between his lips, swirling his tongue around and around as you fist through his wavy locks and groan when he brings you to orgasm just by lavishing your breasts with his mouth - he loves how sensitive they are.

Especially the right one, it's almost as sensitive as your clit.

Just a few licks over it on this lazy weekend morning, has you panting and almost tearing the roots from his scalp as he squeezes the left one inside his deft fingers; flicking the nipple with his rough index pad and groping a lavish handful.

He’s rutting into you, on the cusp of just pulling his cock out of his boxers - that have seen better days - and slipping into his beautiful wife writhing underneath him; he can feel you seeping through the thin cotton against him.

Joel squeezes your breast again as he sucks at the other, humming at your moans. You croak out his name; each vowel rolling off your tongue with abject need.

Opening and closing his fist around the mound, grunting in rapture, he brushes his thumb along the underside, when he stops. Shiny nipple popping out of his wet mouth, with that furrowed brow pulling his face into a tight knot.

“Darlin’,” he says, with a pursed mouth; his heavy eyes falling to your breast, and his stubby thumb running under the obvious hardness of a lump. “Ya feel that?” He questions, gently.

You look down at him realising his pause.

“Why are you stopping?” You gasp, your hips still moving, slit making a sticky mess against his cottoned length.

You stop grinding, sitting up as you take your breast from him and squeeze all around it, slightly irritated at the interruption, until you find it for yourself.

You feel an unwelcome visitor nestled within the soft curve under your breast, inviting itself bluntly into yours and Joel’s lovemaking.

“God,” you say, his concerned eyes meeting yours.

A lump, no larger than a pea, yet heavy with the weight of uncertainty, that suddenly makes your blood run icy. Your heart pounds a frantic rhythm against your rib cage.

Fear, cold and unyielding, spreads poisoned rust through your veins as you trace its contours; your fingers lingering over the unfamiliar bobble of its terrain.

“It’s probably nothin’,” he reassures with a nod, with eyes so deep you could fall into them and never see light again.

"Yeah," you nod too, but your own eyes convey your trepidation.

And it’s enough to halt any chance of morning sex with your burly husband in its tracks, as you disappear quickly into the bathroom for a thorough inspection.

Disbelief, a fleeting hope that what your fingers trace is merely a figment of your imagination, or a cyst at best.

All weekend you fret and worry until you can call the doctor's office on Monday morning.

You can't count the number of times you touch it, prod at it. You tell yourself out loud that it’s probably nothing, like Joel suggests.

Yet, as reality sinks its claws into your rational thinking, fear takes root, gnawing away at the fragile threads of your composure.

Yeah. Probably a cyst.

Your breasts change all the time; lumpy and bumpy; they’re not as perky as they once were. Your monthly cycle sees them ache and weight heavy like granite blocks sometimes.

It’ll be fine. Nothing to worry about. You tell your weary reflection, but she has a hard time believing you as she stares back with unblinking eyes.

When Joel doesn't put his hand up your shirt as you nestle into him during your Sunday night film ritual, that's when the tears kick in.

Excusing yourself to the bathroom, you don’t cry in front of Joel, but he’s not so easy to convince that everything's fine, and it’s just allergies making your eyes red, when he knows it’s not allergy season. Or that you have any allergies.

“S’alright to be worried, darlin’. But ya gon’ be okay.” He tells you he’s coming to the doctor with you.

You argue that it’s fine, but he's insistent with his brooding frown and pursed lips like he’s constantly chewing on a wasp. He tells you he loves you no matter what, and you’ll be fine and that’s that, as he squeezes your hand.

He pulls you close as you watch the film together spread out on the sofa. Still no hand up your shirt. You see the colour moving on the screen, hear the dialogue and music, but none of it sinks in. You’re staring at the TV completely blank.

He excels at making you think clearly, challenges your fears and helps you confront them with simple questions and words to get you to think differently. It’s one of the main reasons you married him. He has a level head.

And you don’t realise how tense you are until Joel rubs your back and you melt fully into his chest.

With more soothing words and reassurances, eventually you believe him that you’re probably being irrational and panicking over nothing, because Joel has this knack of waving a magic wand and making everything okay.

But it isn’t okay, not this time.

Within two weeks you have a mammogram and a biopsy after the doctor murmurs hmms and huhs at you.

You’re told not to worry as there’s only a two per cent chance that it’ll be cancer, as you’re stripped bare before the prying eyes of medical professionals and the cold embrace of diagnostic tests.

The loss of control over your own physicality is so fast, leaving you feeling exposed and deprived of the autonomy you'd once taken for granted.

Unfamiliar hands groping and prodding on your breasts replace Joel’s warm, tender ones, and you try to hold it together inside the sterile walls.

You break the moment he has you in his arms outside in the long, lonely corridor of the hospital and asks you how it went.

Joel throws himself into work on the construction site, and you throw yourself into a sinking depression, clouded with worry and worst case scenarios.

You’re sent home with stitches and painkillers after the biopsy, and all you can do is wait.

The invasion of a hostile takeover of your once jaunty mood hovers thickly in the air between you both at home during that time.

You do the one thing you shouldn’t and Google fucking everything. Survival rates, post-op images, types of cancer and all the dread that your eyes can take in until you can take in no more.

You then switch tactics and try to stay occupied and distracted. You play Joel’s old country rock playlist full blast, deciding to turn the house upside down and clean and bleach the shit out of every nook and cranny of it, until Joel comes home, eyes stinging with the fumes, and asks if you’ve lost your damned mind.

You smell bleach on your fingers for days after and it reminds you bleakly of the smell in the hospital corridors.

You lay in bed side-by-side at night, awkwardly staring at the ceiling, recalling how most nights you can hardly get enough of one another. But Joel rolls over and mumbles an exhausted goodnight to you, and you try your hardest not to cry; but the tears slip silently out the creases of your eyes anyway.

You’re called to come in for your biopsy results almost a week later, and the car journey there is deathly silent as Joel and you stare out the windshield and don’t say anything the whole way there.

Joel glances at you and you feel the weight of his ginormous hand on your thigh, squeezing it, and you barely register the sensation at first, turning to him as he squints in the sunlight as he turns the wheel.

There’s no casual flirting, no animated discussions about supper; no singing along to Bennie And The Jets together on Rock FM.

You watch the town pass you by out the window like it’s a stranger, equal parts numb and terrified.

The specialist takes a seat opposite you both, their gaze never wavering as they speak in a soft voice laced delicate with empathy, and you immediately know from the look on their face.

“It’s gon’ be alright, darlin’.” He says.

Although you’re unsure if it’s for your benefit or his, as his eyes remain focused on the road and glaze over in their emptiness somehow.

"I wish there was an easier way to say this, but the results of your biopsy came back, and I'm afraid it's cancer..."

Your breath catches in your throat, your world dangerously spinning out of control as the weight of those words settle over you like a suffocating shroud.

"Cancer? Two per cent…" You whisper, your voice barely audible above the rush of blood in your ears.

The medical speak jumbles your brain. Triple-Negative. Faulty BRCA1. Aggressive…

The words fade out and so do you.

But when you come back, you're looking at Joel; at his profile as he speaks. Mouth moving at the specialist with questions fired behind stunned snarls.

You're not sure where you go, or for how long, it’s just all muffled and quiet. Like being underwater, it fills your ears completely as you sink. Peaceful in a way.

The first time in weeks you’ve had any peace inside the tornado of your mind. It all stills.

He’s so beautiful.

You think it’s odd how a man can be deemed beautiful, like it emasculates him somehow, but it's the right word, you think. Beautiful, with heavy features etched with concern, yet softened by an unwavering love that radiates from his soulful brown eyes.

In the opaque light filtering through the window, you notice the creases at the corners of his eyes, the remnants of countless laughter-filled moments you’ve shared; your mind reliving through all of them in a handmade scrapbook decorated with glitter glue.

You can hear that little breathy snuffle he makes as he chuckles at something you say, whether it’s genuinely funny or moronic. His eyes, once bright with hope and joy, now glisten with unshed tears filling round shiny scleras, reflecting the tumult of emotions churning within him.

He talks, asks all the right questions you can't even form into comprehensible words. And somewhere through the falling, the tumbling, you love him even more for it.

You spend a quiet moment tracing the prominent curve of his nose with your eyes down into the way his lips will quirk upwards in a playful, crooked grin that never fails to warm your heart.

Yet now, they’re drawn down into a thin pout of worry; a silent plea for reassurance amidst the uncertainty that looms over you both.

Joel's a practical man, hands on. He needs to know. He needs to have all the facts and weigh up all the options presented to him like a gloomy spread of cards on the desk before him.

You can’t help yourself, reaching your fingers out and tangling them in the soft tendrils of his hair as you brush them behind his ear.

But you're fixating on his hair, once a riot of chestnut curls that framed his face with youthful exuberance, now bear the distinguished marks of time - strands of silver threaded through the greying curls that fall in gentle waves around his temples.

It’s almost like they’re greying further in front of you as you watch him now.

When was the last time he got a haircut?

Your fingers brush against the fuzzy, silken stubble that adorns his jawline and top lip, a tactile reminder of the physicality of your love, recalling the way he rubs it against your face, your inner thighs...

His jaw clenches slightly, a reflexive response to the weight of your shared anguish, yet his grip on your hand remains steadfast.

Your eyes drop to the calloused knot of thick, squeezing tendons and bone crushing around your own.

The look in his coffee bean eyes as you advanced towards him, stacked chest puffed out; filled with love and pride that you were his. You remember his speech, how he choked around carefully thought out words relishing that he’ll get to spend every waking moment with his best friend.

The gleam of his wedding ring and the feel of the warm metal is no longer perfect in its circumference as you trace your finger over the tarnish of it. It’s flecked with tiny scratches from his work.

You remember how handsome he looked in his snug-fitting tux as he waited for you at the end of the aisle scattered with rose petals.

You squeeze your eyes shut as you picture him looking down into your coffin, wearing the same tux; red eyes and snot falling from his nose as he collapses, wailing your name in haunted howls, and it’s enough to have you fleeing from your chair, with a spine-chilling scrape against the floor, in search of the nearest bathroom as your stomach lurches.

You barely make it, spilling your insides into the toilet bowl uncontrollably.

No. No, no, no…

The harsh fluorescent lights flicker overhead, casting eerie shadows against the cold, tiled wall with you pressed up against it; your breaths coming in ragged gasps that echo in the hollow confines of the tiny bathroom.

Tears stream down your cheeks, hot and relentless, as the weight of the diagnosis presses down upon you like a suffocating lead blanket, threatening to engulf you in its darkness.

Panic claws at your chest, its icy fingers tightening with each heartbeat, squeezing the air from your lungs until you feel as though you’ll suffocate beneath its crushing weight.

You can't breathe as you fumble at your buttons on your shirt trying to loosen them.

"I got ya, darlin'. I got ya." He soothes. "It's okay. I got ya. Sssh. Just breathe. I got ya..."

It doesn’t take Joel long to find you at all. All tiny and cowering in the cubicle; sobbing wildly as you reach for him, and he pulls you to him and lets you shatter against his broad shoulders.

His voice is your anchor, pulling you back slowly.

It's not fair. You can’t leave him.

You slur something about fucking it all, you’re going to die anyway, right? Might as well go down swinging, before he takes the bottle from you, muttering fucks of his own, as he prods you back up to bed and wraps band-aids around your bleeding toes.

You don’t remember him picking you up and taking you home, or holding you all night.

You don’t remember him finding you in the kitchen at around two AM, drinking yourself stupid with broken glass around your feet, and his concerned tone asking you what the hell you’re doing.

You eventually fall asleep encased inside of his arms and inhaling the spiced scent of his skin, breathing it in deeply so you don’t forget it.

He makes you breakfast in the morning that you don’t eat, irons clothes for you that you don’t wear.

Buys you brightly coloured flowers, that he knows you love, to cheer you up. But you simply let them wilt and die on the counter top, not bothering to get a vase out for them.

You just sit and watch them die; their velvety petals shrivelling and curling before your eyes over the course of days.

Cancer just doesn't affect you, it affects the people closest to you, too.

That’s what the website says that you’ve been directed to. You realise this when you notice Joel and you haven't had sex since the day he discovered the lump.

You haven’t kissed either, not passionately anyway. Your breasts have been unloved and untouched by him, for what feels like weeks, when the man usually can’t bear to not grope or pinch them playfully when he holds onto you. Or sneaks up behind you when you're washing up the dishes, making you splash bubbles in his face.

In a bout of feverish desperation, you climb into his lap whilst he’s watching a game and nursing a bottle of beer on his day off, kissing him with wanton bites on his neck making him frown, as you push your chest towards his face.

It only kills you further when he shakes his head and tells you not like this, darlin’ before he lifts you off of him.

It creates an argument. You accuse him of not finding you attractive anymore, and he growls at you that you’re being ridiculous, before you yell even louder.

You don’t even know why you’re yelling or how you even got to this point. Nothing makes sense anymore.

And yet now, for the first time, you don’t know what he’s thinking behind that knot of muscles pulling his face taught; what he’s feeling, and it fucking terrifies you as you plead for him to talk to you.

You and Joel never fight like this. You always talk about things that bother you both. You've never heard Joel raise his voice in the whole entire time you've known him.

Honesty and open communication has always driven your relationship and come naturally between you both.

But instead, he leaves to let you cool off. You don’t know that he doesn’t go far at all. He just drives his truck round the corner and sits there in it, sobbing helplessly into his thick palms until it gets dark and he goes to a bar in town to drown his sorrows further.

You don't know that it kills him not being able to touch you; he wants to. Fuck, he wants nothing more than to ravish you, but he’s terrified he’ll hurt you, or will do something dumb that only his own mounting panic convinces him he’ll do.

For the first time in his life, Joel feels completely helpless.

It’s not fair. He can’t lose you.

“Let me see,” you prompt, and he drops the ice-pack to reveal a nasty black eye in the early stages of birth.

You find him in the kitchen late when he eventually comes back home, and making no effort to hide the fact he’s had a heavy drink.

He looks up at you, holding an ice-pack to his face and waiting for the tirade from you.

Red grazes orbit around his fist too, knuckle skin missing, you note. His eye is almost sealed shut with the swelling that’s a mix between blue and purple, in stark contrast to his golden face. Broken blood vessels litter the area, and he sniffs deeply before he speaks again.

“Ya should see the other guy,” Joel assures with a tight mouth.

He has a large dimple on the left side of his face when he smiles; an almost perfect, crescent like the moon in its waxing phase. But it’s hard to coax a smile out of him for it to be fully revealed these days; his mouth constantly twitches into a downward arch most of the time.

As you look at him, there’s an old man somewhere inside of his face; a burdened man, exhausted and on the verge of giving up entirely.

Cancer just doesn't affect you, it affects the people closest to you, too.

“What happened?” You query, tentatively as you dab at his knuckles.

“I lost my shit.” He replies stoically, as you tend and fuss over him whilst sighing.

You look up at him and as much as you want to be mad with him, you can’t - he’s hurting too.

Comprehension is a difficult task to begin to tackle. You ask so many whys - why me? Why is this happening? But fail to find an answer to any them.

Everything has been spun one-eighty and you’re still dizzy from the shock of your diagnosis.

Hours and soon days disappear from your life, like sand falling in an hourglass, as you try to fully understand what’s happening around you.

You feel as though meandering through a blur, your body robotically doing the things you're supposed to, but your mind not being fully coherent. Get up, eat, work, go to bed and so on. It ticks continuously whilst your limbs belong to that of a zombie.

Questions, thoughts and images... all blinking through you trying to piece it all together whilst you move stagnantly. But eventually the anxiety begins to chip into your mentality and inserts thoughts that you daren’t venture down.

The exact truth is staring you in the face, but try as you might to refute it, it’s plainly obvious and it begins to terrify you in ways that are new.

You have cancer.

It invades your dreams and deprives you of sleep. Tears make themselves acknowledged, at the most inconvenient of times too, like shopping in the grocery store, or typing at your computer at your desk at work, and trying to hide them from the prying world is a task in itself.

And you don’t realise it at the time, but Joel’s going through the same. Questioning, worrying, just as paranoid and stressed as you are.

And you both need to talk about it, you know you do, but yet neither of you can quite summon the courage to do so.

“M’sorry,” he says into your hair, as he pulls you in for a crushing cuddle against him.

“It’s okay,” you murmur, as quiet tears absorb into the plaid flannel pulled tight over his chest from your eyes.

But it's not okay. You have cancer.

Over the course of your discussions with the doctors, specialists and oncologists - and other medical professionals, whose names, faces and titles get lost in the swampy fog of your brain - the words ‘bilateral mastectomy’ are tossed around.

It’s clear the risks aren’t worth you keeping both of your breasts when they tell you you’re at high risk of it potentially coming back. To add another punch to the blow, they suggest removing your ovaries too, mumbling the words just in case.

Just in case…

You look at Joel, devastated. You’d both agreed that children were something you weren't both keen on having years ago, but it still feels like that choice of having an open dialogue about it is ripped from you.

When you agree it’s the best way forward, and he agrees too with a face that looks like he’s just had a lobotomy and doesn’t know where he is, a date is put in the diary for the surgeries and treatments, and it’s sooner than you think it will be.

There’s hardly any time to breathe and take it all in.

A day before the surgery and you’re sitting at the kitchen table with a face on as Joel comes in from work, sawdust caked in his hair and boots.

Your voice cracks as you explain that perhaps you should just call it time. Let him find someone else. You won’t be upset, you want him to be happy as you mutter incoherently about death and divorce, and death again, until he shakes his head defiantly and huffs loudly.

He reaches into the fridge for a cool beer and offers you one, but you don’t reply. He looks down at your face.

At the face that Joel affectionately calls butt face.

The beer fizzes over the top in a foamy eruption as he slams it down on the counter top.

“Ya really are an idiot, ain’t ya?” He says, slumping down heavily into the chair beside you.

“But,” you begin and he makes the butt face at you, with pushed out lips and squinted eyes. “You won’t want me anymore.” You whisper.

His face pulls serious as he drags your hand into his blistered ones. “I ain’t fuckin’ goin’ anywhere.” He grits. “And neither are you.”

“But-”

“Quit with the butt face, darlin’. In sickness and in health. Ain’t that what we promised?”

“Yeah, but-”

He shakes his head again, his stubby fingers finding their home on your face, catching renegade tears in the whorls of his fingerprints.

“What, ya think m’gonna not love ya anymore because ya ain’t gonna have any breasts, is that it?”

That’s exactly it, hit the nail on the head, and although you don’t say it, he knows. Damn it, he knows.

“Ya really think m’that shallow?” He clicks his tongue around his teeth.

“No, of course I don’t,” you shake your head. “I’m just… I’m scared, Joel. I'm really fucking scared.” You gulp.

“I know.” He says, pulling you into his lap and wrapping those big, strong arms around you. “M’gonna be right there, when ya wake up, okay? M’gonna bring ya home and we’ll get through this, together. You n’ me. One day at a time. Okay, butt face?”

It’s the first time in weeks you smile and the first time in weeks you kiss; a soft, but tentative peck against your lips, that still holds back somewhat.

Pushing your foreheads together you sigh out, unable to think about anything else.

Two operations, four and a half months of chemotherapy and three weeks of radiotherapy, and it takes months for your hair to grow back.

You remember recoiling in horror as it fell out in clumps a few weeks after the chemo started, until you decided to just be done with it, and had Joel shave it off for you.

He offered to do his own in solidarity with you, until you snatched the clippers from him.

“Don’t you dare!” You almost shrieked as you ran your fingers through his tufty curls, smiling. “You’re never getting a haircut ever again.” And he smirked at that.

“Yes, ma’am.” He'd said as he put them away.

You had woken, groggy and aching, to Joel's face smiling at you and pushing a water beaker to your lips. You looked down to see your chest covered in bandages and drains under your hospital issue nightgown.

It was an odd feeling, you didn't feel much of a difference in those first few, post-op days; weighted down by the drains and dressings, and in and out with the pain meds.

They shifted you out of hospital the next day to recover at home, and Joel took up the role of carer, doctor and home cook as he fussed and got you comfy on the couch in a suffocating fort of pillows and blankets.

After the ovarian surgery, you started taking aromatase inhibitors, which were an added nightmare as these treatments bring on an almost immediate menopause with your ovaries now gone.

No gradual decline - a full push over the fucking cliff, face first. You can’t bear for Joel to touch you when you’re burning up and sweating; soaking the sheets through completely that you fear you’ve wet the bed.

When you’re sick from the radiotherapy, he feels useless hearing you heave behind a locked door. All you can do is lay in bed for days, struggling to keep food down and sleep it off.

You're too weak and exhausted to climb the stairs sometimes, so Joel carries you in his arms up them, even though it kills his knees and makes him groan silently when it pulls on his back. But he still does it anyway.

There are more discussions as the treatments carry on. More options, more pills, more chemicals. More time spent feeling like sludge.

Your bandages and dressings finally come off and you see yourself for the first time in front of a mirror, and there are a few moments when you can’t feel anything. Like there’s no water left in your body to cry anymore.

You just stare at your reflection with the nurse hovering by your side.

They warned you you’d be left with scarring. The scars from the mastectomy extend across the skin of your chest either side and into your armpits where you had lymph nodes removed too. They’ll fade over time, but will never completely disappear.

They warned you they’ll also feel permanently numb. And they’re right, as you touch your mutilated body with shaky fingers, you feel… nothing.

It’s another loss to mourn, the loss of your femininity, of yourself.

And that’s the worst feeling of all as you stare at the mess of your chest that was once curved and bouncy and shapely like a woman ought to be.

Now you’re flat as a board and there’s nothing remotely feminine about your body now, you think.

You can feel the sensation of touch to some degree, but it’s nothing like before. No sensitivity, no prickly feeling that creates goosebumps, just completely numbed out.

And over the course of some weeks, you can feel odd sensations arise, like you’ll touch your chest and you’ll feel it under your armpit. Your body feels all out of sorts as it slowly heals.

You have options; you can have more surgery to build you a pair of breasts if you'd like, but that comes with more pain and recovery and you decide you’re done with that.

You can wear a padded or filled out bra, you can have a tattoo which you briefly consider to cover the scarring.

But you settle on remaining as you are for now. Overwhelmed by the options out there, when you truly believed there was nothing that could make you feel even remotely feminine again.

Maybe something pretty, like flowers…

And Joel nods at all of them as you ask for his input, but ultimately he just wants what you want.

You cover the scars up with layers. You sleep with long sleeved tops and no longer undress in front of Joel. You can't bear him to see you like this, not yet.

Each day you think will be the day when you garner enough bravery to show him, but don't.

It feels weird, like some days they’re still there, akin to a phantom limb. You find yourself checking your chest as you feel the familiar bounce of them as you run down the stairs, or go to grope them with the suds to clean in the shower and the loss devastates you all over again.

He reassures you, telling you that you're beautiful with sincere eyes, and there's nothing that you need to worry about. But it still niggles away.

That lone, renegade thought that he might not be attracted to you anymore when he sees them, suddenly becomes the loudest of all.

They say time is a healer. Patience, understanding. And Joel has been all these things and more.

He’s carried you above the surface of the muddy water when all you’ve wanted to do is drown at times. He’s the one who nudges you awake each morning with a nose in your cheek and reminds you to take your pills.

He’s the one who brought you a beautiful coloured scarf to wear on your head when you lost your hair. A gorgeous floral print that you admired with a smile at the intricate pattern of petals as you ran your fingers over the silk of it.

He’s the one who, despite working all the hours God sends, still comes home and makes you something to eat because he knows you might not have any energy to cook.

He’s the one who still tells you he loves you, no matter what’s going on under your tops and sweaters that swamp you in their bagginess.

It isn’t time that does it at all, it’s him.

You wake one morning, months after, as the sun pools in the bedroom, and look at Joel on his back, asleep and snoring gently.

Joel’s seen you at your absolute worst; your most vulnerable, and he’s still here. Resilient, strong. A man who puts others to shame.

A man that you still desire, and you want him to desire you, even if you’re not whole anymore.

You reach out and touch him, hand brushing over the swell of his golden belly to convince yourself he’s real. Soft, downy hairs around his belly button tickle your palm gently.

He stirs at your stroking, sleepy eyes looking down at you as he blinks, adjusting to the light.

“Ya alright?” Joel asks, and you nod with a smile.

“I love you.” You say to him and he blushes, like he always does at that. Pink capillaries coming to life in his cheeks.

“I love you, darlin’.” He confirms, clutching your hand and kissing across the knuckles gently.

His hair is a tousled mess, the greys on his chest seem more plentiful and it stirs something within you; something the intense and gruelling treatments haven't fully killed off.

You straddle him and lean over, kissing him, much to his surprise. Your hands roam over his soft belly, squeezing gently as he smirks around your lips, and yelps a little when you pinch a ticklish spot.

“Hey now,” he warns, as your tongue licks over his lips.

He hums out as his hands sweep up your back, cupping the back of your head as he slips his tongue inside your mouth.

To taste him again is divine as your body instantly relaxes onto him. He nips gently on your lip and you groan out as you feel how hard he gets underneath you.

You can’t help but subtly grind on him as he groans into your mouth.

You break the kiss to sit upright, heart thrumming in your chest as he looks up at you with those dark, molten eyes.

"I'm ready to show you." You say and he straightens up.

"Okay," he nods, thumbs stroking over your thighs gently.

Without hesitation, you lift up your top revealing the flat, scarred wasteland that is your chest now, that you haven’t had the courage to let him fully see.

For a moment, his face is completely unreadable and you consider reaching for your top to cover up again.

You hold your breath as his eyes wander over the puckered welts; you feel his fingers twitch against your hips.

He sits up on his elbows, eyes locked onto yours, licking over his lips slowly as his peepers follow the lines back and forth.

His eyes dip further down to the two, little dimpled scars from where your ovaries were removed, either side of your tummy.

“Don’t ya dare,” he says, as if able to read your mind.

And you realise that he can, in his own way. He’s always been able to see you even though you try to hide sometimes. He just has the patience to wait until you're ready.

He never pushes, he just waits, because he knows that eventually, you’ll crawl out from whatever hole you need to hide in for a while to deal, to process - whatever it is you need to do. Then you’ll come back to him.

And he’ll always be there aith open arms when you do.

Joel takes you in his arms, twists you so you’re laying on your back and he kisses you there without hesitation. Kisses gently where your breasts once were in the same way that he used to.

Runs his mouth delicately over the numbed skin, dragging lips and leaving wet tracks with open mouthed kisses.

You gasp out as your eyes fill with water, your fingers finding their rightful place, raking through his curls as he glides his tongue over every creased line of your scars.

“Joel,” you whimper, cradling him as you feel his hardness press up against your centre.

You can feel a tingle of the warmth from his lips on your skin kissing gently as your eyes pool. He looks up to see you crying.

“Baby, baby. Does it hurt?” He asks, worried.

You shake your head. “No. No, I can feel you.” You gasp, shaking. “It’s weird, but I can.”

“Where?” He asks.

“There, kind of,” you say, as he brushes his lips over the spot where your right nipple used to be.

He kisses you there and runs his tongue gently over the area making you shudder, and you feel the tingles again, strangely in your armpit.

It makes you giggle at how your nerves have patched themselves up all wonky, and he smiles at you, chuckling as he licks and tests all places that might have an ebb of feeling, with little kisses and watching your reaction to each one.

All the tension leaves your body, muscles relaxing beneath his gentle ministrations; breath steadying as you surrender to the intimacy of this moment.

Reaching down, you cup his swollen cock over his boxers, with the fraying elastic tickling your wrist.

“We really need to get you some new underwear,” you titter at the state of them.

He simply shrugs with a smirk. “I could just simply take ‘em off.”

You nod eagerly and he pushes them down over his hips as you stroke him; your palm sticky with him as he leaks undeniably into it.

“Ya sure?” He queries gently as you swipe him against your folds.

"Mmm, Joel." You groan at the feel of him as you pump him. "God, I want you."

It feels so good to have him touching you, so close. The weight of his body pressed into yours, crushing you again. How warm he feels against your skin.

“I fucking want you, Joel.” You plead, as you clutch his face in your other hand. His warm breath breathes life into your tired bones. “I don’t want you to be gentle either. I need you to fuck me, hard.”

“Ya so fuckin’ beautiful, darlin’,” he grunts as he pushes his thick cock head against your drenched hole.

You both groan out as he fills you, stretching you wide around him and pumping into you gently as you acclimatise to his girth - it's been a while.

You wrap your legs around his waist as he mouths at your neck; tongue trailing down to your chest and finding that spot again.

“Snug as a bug in a rug... damn.” Joel quips, his tongue running over his teeth and then shaking his hips from side-to-side, making you feel all those little movements as he furrows up so tightly in there.

He flexes his groin and begins moving back and forth inside of you, pressing on that sweetly, pinchy spot deep inside; slightly uncomfy and yet incredibly good at the same time.

“Fuck me, Joel,” you plead, gripping onto his arm skin, “fuck me hard, please…” You whine as he sets to ploughing you like you command and demand of him.

You’re so wet that the sounds coming out of your pussy are almost farcical, making you giggle and him grunt as they squeak and soak him. He slips out a few times trying to gain his momentum - it’s like a damn slip n’ slide.

Joel presses down on your knee, bearing his weight on it so you can’t shut your legs. Making you endure it - to ride that full gigantic wave smashing into your pussy and rising up through your body.

“Ya so fuckin’ wet, ya drenched.” He’s panting, beside himself with the state you're in. “Gushing for me already, huh, darlin’?”

Your eyes roll back into your head and he smirks as he fucks hard into you like you want.

“Like this? This how ya want it?”

“Yeah, Joel. Don’t stop!” You wail.

“Ain’t gon’ stop til’ ya come for me, baby.”

He only slows to lean in and kiss you as he pistons in deeper, winding those hips of his into you further.

“Joel…” you drone. It feels so good as he grinds, so deep.

“Darlin’ ya feel too good. Fuck, m’not gon’ last like this…” he whines with a panting smirk.

“Slow it down,” you moan as he grips a hold of your thighs and brings you back onto him slower, deeper.

He licks over your mouth clumsily, tongue swiping across your nostrils, grunting out loud as your pussy clenches around him as you shudder underneath him.

He watches with a smile, lighting up the contours of his heavy set brow as you come around him.

And it’s like staring at the sun for too long; his smile brands itself into the back of your eyelids - a permanent scorch that you never want to forget.

And you feel every inch of him like this. He fucks into you slowly; your breaths hitching and falling from your chest quicker as you both work to build you up again.

“Joel!”

He reaches forward, stroking his thick fingers over the marred scars; feeling the smoothness of healing skin juxtaposed with the slight roughness of the scar tissue.

He strokes up to your neck, pulling you upright gently as you cry out when his cock hits so deep.

“Like that, darlin’...” he croons, as he winds further into you. “Mmm, fuck!”

You tremble and shake uncontrollably as he brings you to another orgasm.

“There ya are, baby. There ya are…” Joel smiles, kissing over your nose and cheeks. "So fuckin' beautiful, ain't ya?"

And he’s right there with you, head pressed into yours, watching; feeling as you squeeze and contract. Feeling you tremble and shake.

Watching as your eyes water and you gasp; your hands squeeze around his biceps, nails digging in.

You claw at him. Pulling him closer as he whimpers. A ragged cry escapes from his throat as he drives his hips deeper and struggles to contain himself.

You feel his teeth on your shoulder, grazing and desperate to bite down through the flesh. Your nails rake through his scalp, twisting and pulling as you pant and groan.

He watches in awe at you shaking on the end of his thick cock, rattling about as he turns you out and finally has his way with his gorgeous wife again.

His eyes fall over your chest and he looks at you adoringly, tongue weaving across the scars again without hesitation. Planting kisses and mouthing over the scars.

“Oh God! Oh Fuck!” You holler.

Making you feel every thick, beastly inch of him, as he pounds up into your insides like a boxer taking his fury out on the bag.

Joel pulls you by the hips upright, as he rolls onto his back, so you’re now on top of him. Everything’s fluid, swift and in a blur.

He anchors you down by your waist, making you sit on him; making you unable to escape him.

“Holy shit, oh shit-shit! Joel!” You exclaim as you gasp and struggle to swallow as the frantic intakes of breath choke you. “Oh my God!”

“Ya can take it… ya can do it, that’s it. Ride it.” Joel encourages. “So fuckin’ beautiful when ya take my cock like this, darlin’. God damn."

He just keeps coming at you; powering and thundering through you, without any hesitation in letting up anytime soon. He’s a powerhouse of sweat and grunts, breathing like he’s dying; small, quick rasps and wheezes gurgle in the back of his throat.

You find your pace, pressing palms into his broad chest and letting your hips bounce, and it feels so damn good as the curve of his cock rubs in all the sweet spots deep inside.

You reach down and stroke your clit, groaning at the feel of it tingling wildly under your fingertips.

“Stroke that pretty clit for me,” Joel croons, hammering up into you.

You stroke and rub the sticky nub, and then bring your digits up towards your mouth, sucking and teasing your lips with your fingers, and he watches enthralled.

“Suck those fingers, darlin’.” Joel hisses. “Tell me how good ya taste.”

“So good,” you smirk. You push your fingers to his lips, and he sucks them too.

"Yeah, ya do. Taste so fuckin' good."

You feel his thumb circle over your clit bringing you closer and closer with each swish of his pad against it.

“Yes, yes, yes, yes. YES!” You pant, as he grips around your waist tighter.

“Ya want me to fill ya up, hmm?”

“I want all of you, Joel.” You whine, desperate for him.

“That’s it, grind on my cock. Just like that.” He coos; his lip caught between his teeth as he cranks you around, holding onto your hips.

Your head flops onto his shoulder, your hand gripping onto the other as your lower half powers through.

“Mmm, Joel... please!” You groan, feeling your body tighten and clench again.

“Ya close again, baby?” He wheezes in your ear. "Gonna come for me?"

“Mhm… so close.”

“Come all over my cock.” He encourages. “Soak it, I want it all.”

“Oh God!” You whine.

“So damn good, fuck,” he grunts as you move around and around, your back tensing. He rubs it fondly with his big hands. “Right there, that’s it. Oh fuck, that’s so sweet, darlin’.” He groans. “M’gonna come so deep inside of ya.”

You cry out; your body shuddering and trembling on top of him, and you feel him tense and grunt out on a long, satisfied sigh.

You come, your head expanding and your body floating; your cunt clenching around him as you milk him completely dry. Tingles flood your body, your back arches and you can see the sun burning behind your eyes again.

Unable to think or say anything, Joel kisses you; silencing you before you have the chance to ruin this moment by shrinking back or wrapping yourself back up and hiding your body away from him.

For one millisecond, he’s weak; just a sweaty mess of bewildered man meat beneath you. Joel loses himself inside the holistic spiral of your irises for a moment, unable to get out or find his way through the maze of them.

And part of him wants to stay lost in them forever.

He trembles as he rocks slowly, feeling himself empty and deflate with a final grunt of your name, and his shoulders sag in unison into the mattress.

You wrap your arms around him and finally collapse upon him and lay there for a few minutes, listening to nothing but his heartbeat thrumming in your ears, eventually slowing its pace back to its normal rhythm.

Joel looks down at you as you run your fingers across his scalp and it makes him shiver; goosebumps travelling down his spine at breakneck speeds.

You stop winding the curls, shifting and resting your head up against his as you catch your breath.

He holds you, kissing you gently over your eyelashes and cheeks.

“Ya more fuckin’ beautiful to me than you’ve ever been, ya know that?” He murmurs into your face.

"They made 'em neater than I thought they'd be." He says.

You feel his knuckles sweep over your chest gently, unafraid to touch you at all, and you feel like a weight as been lifted as he does it.

You watch as he traces the ridge of the scars delicately.

"Yeah." You nod. You lift your arm up so he can see them run into your pit.

"Do ya feel much pain still? I didn't hurt ya, did I?"

You smile and shake your head. "No. It's just mostly numb. Just feels different. I'm really happy that I could feel something when you kissed me. Even if it was in my armpit," you chuckle.

"Ya still fuckin' beautiful," he smiles, and kisses inside your armpit.

You smile bashfully, headbutting his chin gently as you try not to let the tears water your eyes.

“Look at me, darlin’.” His fingers tip your chin up to him. Thumbs smearing away any tears. “I mean it. You’re the strongest woman I’ve ever known. Fuckin’ balls on ya are bigger than mine.”

“I don’t know about that,” you say, reaching down to cup and stroke the soft swell of his between your fingers.

He groans, biting on his lip before his mouth finds yours again. "Ya tryin' to kill me?" He slips his tongue inside and tastes you all over again, his hands slipping down your back and groping your ass. “Ya so fuckin' sexy."

"You think so?" You smile.

"Oh, I know so. Ya always have been. Don't hide from me anymore, okay?"

"Okay." You breathe.

"Want ya sleepin' naked next to me again." He thinks for a moment. "Why don't I take ya out to dinner tonight? Anywhere ya want. If ya feelin' up for it?"

"You taking me out on a date, hmm?"

"Yeah. I am. Maybe put one of them nice dresses ya got on. I'll put on that shirt ya like. The green plaid one. Spruce myself up for ya."

"That's my favourite." You agree.

"Ya deserve to feel good, darlin'. Wanna take ya out. Show the world how fuckin' lucky I am."

You smile into his face. "What did I do to deserve you, Mr Miller?"

He kisses you again. Soft lips brushing against yours. "M’gonna keep loving ya. You n’ ya stupid butt face. Ya hear me, Mrs Miller?”

You nod, chuckling, safe in his arms; a place where you can feel safe and heal, and begin to feel like yourself again.

“I hear you.” You smile, as he pelts your face with swamping kisses in the warm sunlit bedroom. "I love you."

He smiles and he's never looked more beautiful.

“I love ya too, butt face.” Joel hums, as he crushes you to his chest and never lets you go.

I really hope you enjoyed reading this story with Joel, and welcome your comments/thoughts. I'd appreciate a re-blog if you liked it so others can find it on their dash to read and enjoy too - thank you very much! 🖤

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JOEL MILLER MASTERLIST

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mint-yooxgi · 3 months

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Permanent - Wooyoung X Reader

Tattoo Artist!Au - Part of the CODN Spring Event - The Language of Flowers

Genre: Fluff, Non-idol!AU

Pairing: Wooyoung X GN!Reader

Words: 1,408

Rating: E for Everyone :)

Warnings: Mention of needles, tattoos, unconventional proposals.

A/n: Something short and sweet! I just thought the idea of Wooyo as a tattoo artist was really nice to think about lol As always feedback is greatly appreciated! Enjoy!~

Summary: Expect the unexpected, especially when it comes to your boyfriend.

Bluebell - Grateful

Lavender - Faithful

Lily of the Valley - Sweet

The soft buzzing of the needle fills the air, your hand tightening lightly over the tattoo gun. Wooyoung’s skin is soft and pliant beneath your touch, a soft sigh exhaled through his nose as the needle touches the side of his ribs.

“You okay?” You hum, sparing a glance upwards to his face.

He smiles back, his one arm tucked neatly beneath his head as he watches you. “Never better.”

“This was your idea, you know.” You reply, wiping over the artwork blooming over his skin. A matching print which already rests over the side of your own ribs, curtesy of the man currently laying on the chair before you.

“Do you regret it?” He tilts his head slightly, blinking at you curiously.

You take a moment to finish outlining the final bud before lifting your gaze to his. Nothing but sincerity can be found within your eyes as you smile softly at your boyfriend. “I could never regret you.”

His lips pull upwards bashfully, a giddy giggle escaping his lips.

“I love you,” He coos, reaching out with his free hand to brush his fingertips over the side of your cheek.

You turn your head, pretending to nip at his fingers.

“I love you, too,” you chuckle as he whines, watching as he pulls his hand away from your face. “Now, stop distracting me. I don’t want to mess this up.”

All you receive in response is a hum, another comfortable silence falling around the both of you. You work meticulously on the design, making sure the colours are blended thoroughly into his skin. It has to be perfect, especially if you want it to match your own.

“I still can’t believe you agreed to this.” Wooyoung’s voice is soft, his gaze shining in adoration at he watches you work over his body.

“I’m surprised you didn’t suggest it sooner.” The corner of your lips twitch upwards, wiping the excess ink from his skin once more.

Despite being a tattoo artist, Wooyoung isn’t covered in tattoos. It takes a lot for him to decide to permanently ink his skin; it has to be of great importance to him, and he needs to know that he wants it. He already has a few, sure, but each holds a very specific meaning to him. Just like you.

The moment he suggested the both of you give each other matching tattoos, you went wild. Thoughts of what you could give him, and of what he could give you swirled within your mind until finally, you settled on something meaningful for the both of you. It’s his design that rests on your skin, and your design that rests on his own, drawn in each of your own art styles to make it all the more special. Two of the same, but still unique in their own ways.

The design itself is simple: three individual sprigs of flowers which symbolize you, him, and your relationship.

On one stem, bluebells reside, handpicked by you to represent what he means to you. You’ve always been grateful to have him in your life, and now you can always show him without having to tell him.

The centre stem is a sprig of lavender, meant to symbolize the both of you in the relationship. It took some discussion between you both, but neither of you are anything less than faithful to the other, and this flower represents that. It will always represent that.

Finally, you get to the final flower that was personally picked by him to represent you. The lily of the valley is bright upon his skin, and you notice him smiling down at you as you stare at it a bit longer than the others. You can still recall the very words he said to you when he showed you the flower he had chosen.

Because you are the sweetest thing that has ever come into my life, and stayed.

Thinking back on it now, your heart warms.

Tying the three stems together with a neat little bow is a thin red string. You’re still unsure who came up with that idea, whether it was him or you, but you know as soon as it was suggested, it was a given. There is nothing you wouldn’t do to guarantee keeping him in your life, just as there is nothing he wouldn’t do to keep you. You both work well together, and have grown significantly since meeting all those long months ago in the spring.

How fitting to have such delicate flowers be the symbol of your love.

With another swipe over his skin, you pull the needle away. A flick, and the buzzing stops, taking a moment to admire your work. Though, in reality, you’re simply admiring him.

“Done?” He asks eagerly, attempting to look down at the design on the side of his ribs.

You hum, lips tugging upwards in a satisfied smile. “Done.”

Wooyoung grins, sitting up eagerly in his spot only to hop off of the chair and waddle excitedly over to the full length mirror you have resting at the side of your shop. His eyes flit over his side, admiring the new tattoo as he shifts back and forth lightly on his feet.

He lifts his gaze to yours in the mirror. “It’s beautiful.”

Gently, you place your tattoo gun to the side, reaching to grab the materials you’ll need to wrap it properly before you can truly say you’re finished for the evening.

“You’re beautiful, Wooyoung,” you respond casually, your expression soft as you watch him continue to admire the new tattoo.

He turns to you, a serious expression suddenly painted on his features. “Marry me.”

The words are so unexpected, you nearly drop the bottle in your hand.

You look up, blinking at him in shock. “What?”

Wooyoung begins to walk back over to you, each step firm and determined.

“Marry me.” His gaze is just as intense as the first time he says those words, coming over to kneel before you. Gently, he takes your hands into his own, holding them softly as he stares into your eyes. “You’re the only one for me, and I love you. I only ever want you. So, marry me.”

Your breath catches lightly in your throat, blinking down at him a few times as you study his features. You can see how his eyes shine with nothing but love and adoration for you, his throat working slightly as he waits with bated breath for your response.

Your lips part. “Okay.”

Now, it’s his turn to blink in shock at you. That is, until a brilliant smile is lighting up his features. “Really?”

“Really.” A low chuckle escape you, and you lean forward to place a tender kiss to the tip of his nose. “Now, get back up here so I can wrap you properly.”

A devious grin tugs at his lips as he stands back to his feet, moving to sit back on the chair. His eyebrows wiggle suggestively, hands gripping the sides of the seat as he leans towards you.

“Want to get a head start on practising our vows?”

You smack his arm lightly. “Wooyoung!”

“What?” He chuckles, his eyes crinkling at the sides as he positively beams. “I’m just enjoying the perks of marriage early!”

You shake your head, beginning to treat the freshly inked tattoo on his side.

A loud gasp escapes him, causing you to nearly stumble out of your stool.

“Does this mean I finally get to call you wifey?”

You can practically see him trembling in excitement as you huff out a breath in amusement. “You already call me that.”

“Yeah, but context!” He beams, wiggling his eyebrows once more. “Oh! I wonder if Hwa will be your maid of honour.”

“Why don’t you ask him?” You snicker, knowing damn well Wooyoung is going to be smacked for so much as inquiring such a thing.

“And then we have to decide on a cake, and flowers-“ His excited ramblings fill the space, only causing a loving smile to pull at your features.

Once you’re done wrapping his tattoo, you look up at him, heart swelling with warmth at how excited he seems to be. Your eyes settle on the side of his ribs. You have a feeling you know exactly which flowers are going to be used, and if you’re being honest with yourself…

You wouldn’t want it any other way.

#cultofdionysusnet #codn: spring24 #wooyoung x reader #wooyoung scenarios #wooyoung imagines #ateez x reader #ateez scenarios #ateez imagines #ateez fluff #wooyoung fluff #kpop scenarios #kpop au #kpop imagines

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hugmekenobi · 2 months

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S3: The Bad Batch (1)

Chapter One: Confined

Gif by @ventresses

Hunter x femaleJedi!reader

Series Rating: 18+

Series Summary: Ever since Eriadu, Clone Force 99 had been a fractured squad. Months have passed but you're finally back with the Batch but Omega is still out there and you won't stop until you find her again.

Chapter Summary: Imprisoned on Tantiss, Omega finds herself needing to adjust to life there whilst the rest of you decide on your next mission to give you intel you desperately need.

Masterlist for S1 and S2

Genre: Friends (idiots) to Lovers (we're in the lovers stage now)

Chapter Warnings: Very mild canon-typical violence, one use of y/n, Hemlock, brief wound description, nightmares with emotional hurt/comfort, my interpretation of various people's headspaces, slight angst, me going off script/episode plot in the last part, and remember, italics represent silent Jedi communications

Word Count: 5K

Author's notes: And we're off! Happy Star Wars Day!! We are pretty much just following the plot of this episode, save for a bit at the end so it might feel like a bit of a slow start, but bear with me! Technically, this will also wind up being a 'fix-it' fic so just stick with me on that process too! Hope you enjoy! And I have already started working on the next chapter! Also, I am just going off my past taglist so anyone who wants added/removed, please let me know!

21 days since Eriadu

Water dripped from the faulty tap in the small cell as light crept through the bars on the window.

Omega stared out into the open space with a forlorn sigh as she envied the birds that sounded their freedom as they chirped their usual song. She stepped down from her bed and started pacing anxiously as she waited for Emerie to make her scheduled appearance.

Sure enough, a couple seconds later, the door opened, and Emerie stepped inside.

“Good morning, Omega. How are you feeling today?” Emerie asked.

“Like a prisoner.” Omega replied curtly. “I want to leave.”

“Prisoner?” Emerie repeated, surprised. “Omega, you are no such thing. It will take time to adjust, but you will acclimate. It is far safer in here than out there. Come. We have much to do.” With that Emerie turned to leave.

Omega reached under her bed and brought out her box before she followed Emerie out into the corridor. The grey colouring of her new clothes matched the other scientists and the non-descript design of the inside of the base.

They turned a corner to pass a squad of clone prisoners being escorted past and Omega let out a gasp as she recognised the figure at the front of the line but despite her effort to look at him, he only stared at the floor.

Omega entered the lab and watched in quiet upset as the clone was subjected to a blood sample being taken from the back of his hand. They all had similar expressions of pain and defeat written across their faces and she wished she knew how to stop it.

Emerie placed the test tube into one of the free slots in the tray that Omega was holding before she took the datapad out and created a record for Omega. “And now I need to take a blood sample from you.”

“From me?” Omega repeated. “Why?”

“The samples are used for various research projects. All of us serve a purpose here.” Emerie explained. “It won’t hurt.” She added as a means of reassurance before she readied the equipment to take the sample.

Omega sat up on the bench. “Can you at least tell me where my brothers are? Or my friend, (Y/N)?”

“I do not know.” Emerie replied simply.

Omega held her hand out and braced against the sting of the needle as her blood was drawn. “If you’re a clone like me, how come I never saw you on Kamino?”

“Because I was sent elsewhere until Dr. Hemlock took me under his wing. He saw potential in me, like Nala Se sees in you.”

“I never knew that I had a sister. It’s nice not being alone.” She offered Emerie a small smile, but it wasn’t quite returned.

“Head to the lab.” Emerie ordered as she took the device away and placed Omega’s sample in with the others. “Nala Se is expecting these.”

As the security scan was completed, Omega entered the lab and walked over to Nala Se who was busy placing more blood vials into a centrifuge.

“Thank you, Omega.” Nala Se said as she took the tray from her and started processing the data from the samples and it was through that that she saw the concerning sight that Omega was now a part of the system. “Omega, your sample was taken?”

“Mn-hmm. Emerie said it was routine.”

Nala Se deleted the record from the system before she destroyed the physical sample.

Omega watched this with curiosity. “Why are you discarding it?”

“Tell no one.” Nala Se replied before she took the other samples to the centrifuge. “It is safer this way.”

Omega knew the Kaminoian well enough to pick up on the worry in her voice. “This research, it’s not like what we did on Kamino, is it?”

“No, it is not.”

“I don’t understand. Why did they bring me here?” Omeag asked, hoping that if Emerie couldn’t give her the answers that she sought then Nala Se would have some idea.

“To ensure that I co-operate. The Empire seeks the reproduction of a genetic M-count, but the experiments on the specimens have yet to yield the desired result.”

The M-count was something she was aware of but nothing else Nala Se was saying made much sense to her. “What specimens? You mean the clones?”

“No. Not the clones.”

Any further elaboration was cut off as the lab doors opened and Omega turned to see who it was.

“How nice to see you reunited with your trusted assistant.” Hemlock commented to Nala Se. He massaged the palm of his gloved hand. “I’m sure Omega’s presence here will only strengthen your efforts. Shall we head to the vault?” He waved a hand in front of him towards the doors.

Omega went to leave but Nala Se’s hand on her shoulder stopped her from advancing.

“See to your remaining tasks.” Nala Se instructed before they left the lab.

Omega watched them from the window and wondered what was so special about this vault Hemlock had mentioned but she didn’t have the means to find that out yet. For now, she had little choice but to head to her next chore of the day.

She glared at the droid as he shocked one of the Lurca hounds and she irritably scooped some food up before sending it through the hatch into the bowl of the hound she was currently tending to. As the droid’s attention was focused on something else, she took the opportunity to gather more loose straw from the ground and hid it in the bottom compartment of her box.

She carried on to the last cage to see her favourite of the hounds. “Hi Batcher.” She whispered to the hound curled up at the far end of the cage but her only reply was a low growl. It was then she noticed the bowl was overflowing with uneaten food. “Hmm. Still won’t eat the food, huh? I don’t blame you.” She stole a quick glance back to the droid to see he was still paying her no attention and she took the chance to fish out her lunch from earlier. “Here, I saved you some of mine.”

Batcher got to her feet but snarled and pressed herself aggressively against the bars of the enclosure.

In the shock, Omega had dropped the nuggets inside the cage, but she watched as Batcher ate them and swiftly retreated to the back of the space. “Better? I’ll bring you more tomorrow.” She stood up and left to do what she had been wanting to do the entire day.

As she slowly walked down the corridor, she glanced between each of the cells, the sounds of teeth chattering and coughing made her concern grow as she saw the effects this place was having on all of the clones here.

She made her way to the cell she’d been searching for. “Crosshair.” She called quietly. “I tried to come earlier, but there were too many guards watching me.”

Crosshair sighed. “You shouldn’t be down here at all.”

“Well, how else are we gonna plan an escape?”

“There is no ‘we.’ And there is no escape.” Crosshair sat up. “I’ve already tried.”

“Every stronghold has a weak point.” Omega said. “Maybe I can convince Emerie to help. She’s one of us.”

She sounded just like them and that was the last thing he needed. “Not every clone is your ally. You trust too easily.”

“Maybe you don’t trust enough.” Omega countered but as she said that she noticed a tremor in his right hand which he tried to conceal with by holding it with his left. “Crosshair?”

“Just…” He sighed again. He didn’t need her pity or her concern. “Go, before you make things worse for both of us.”

Omega went to leave but she stopped herself. “There has to be a way out of here. I’ll find it.” She didn’t expect a reply, so she didn’t wait for one, instead she left now.

Crosshair watched her go. Even from that small interaction, he’d already seen so much of them in her and that would either make her or break her in this place and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to be around to watch.

Darkness had fallen and it was that time again where she scratched the next tally into the wall. She brought the Lula hay doll out and held it close to her chest- it wasn’t much but it was the reminder of home she needed. If you truly weren’t here, then Omega knew you all would be looking for her, but she was going to do whatever it took to make that easier.

5 months later

The dripping water, the sunlight creeping in, the birds chirping, the concealing of her doll at the bottom of her box… the routine was all so familiar now. She was already standing at the ready for when Emerie opened the door and, like clockwork, it whirred open to reveal the older clone who had the same opening remark she always did.

“Good morning, Omega.”

“Good morning.”

“Let’s begin.” Emerie led the way out.

Yet again, they walked the same route to the testing centre and yet again she passed Crosshair in the corridor, but she had long since learned that trying for any sort of recognition from him in this environment was pointless, so she kept her gaze down too.

She let her blood be drawn, her hand was now numb to the sensation, and she took all the samples to the lab where Nala Se once again destroyed all traces of her sample. She hadn’t been able to learn anything more about the vault or the specimens but what she had gathered was that you, Hunter, and Wrecker definitely were not here and that made the thought of escape feel far more feasible and appealing.

The lurca hounds were the same as they always were but as she made her way to Batcher’s spot, she saw the hound tending to a nasty cut on her front right leg. “Batcher? K-9X1! Hurry!” She yelled to the droid.

“What is the issue?” The droid asked as he approached the girl.

“Batcher’s hurt.” Omega informed him.

“LH-201 sustained injures during the nightly patrol. If her wounds do not heal, the subject will be terminated.”

“Then do something to help her!” Omega demanded.

“I am not a medical droid. It is not part of my programming.”

Omega could only watch as the droid merely walked away, and she turned to the sound of Batcher’s whimpers of pain. She wouldn’t accept termination as Batcher’s fate, if the droid wouldn’t help Batcher, then she would.

She ran over to the medical kit on the wall and took the bacta out but when she reached into the kennel to try and tend to the wound, Batcher snapped at her. “Now look. I need to clean your wound for it to get better. It’ll only hurt for a second, so put those teeth away and behave.” She said sternly but it seemed to do the trick as Batcher let her do it. “See? That’s not so bad.”

Omega worked in silence for a few seconds before she spoke to the hound again, “You know, I have a friend that would’ve been able to help us get along a lot faster.” She said warmly as she continued to apply the bacta to the wound. “But I think we’re getting there now.” She smiled as Batcher gave her hand a tentative lick once she finished with the bacta.

“I dressed Batcher’s wounds as best as I could. At least she didn’t bite me. That’s progress, right?” she looked at Crosshair, but he gave her nothing, so she continued talking. “If she doesn’t get better soon…” She sighed. “Maybe I can steal a med kit from the lab and see if there’s anything I can use-”

“Stop.” Crosshair interrupted her with a frustrated sigh. Clearly the others hadn’t done a very good job of making her stay on course and now he needed to be the one to remind her. “What is your primary objective?”

“Escape.” Omega answered.

“Then stop wasting time on lost causes. Forget the hound, forget me, and complete the mission.”

“Not without you.”

“If I get the chance to escape, I wouldn’t think twice about leaving you behind.”

“You’re lying! You wouldn’t do that. You’re my brother.”

She had been insisting on that for months now, no matter how many times he tried to push her away and he didn’t know how much more of that he could tolerate hearing. “I’m not them.” Crosshair snapped.

Omega couldn’t accept that. “I’m not giving up, Crosshair. I won’t let you either.” She got up to leave.

Crosshair stood up with a heavy breath and called out to her retreating figure. “Omega.”

Omega stopped and turned back to face him.

“Don’t risk anything for me. I belong in here.” He said, meaning every word.

“None of us belong in here.” She replied before walking away.

Her door whirred open before the usual time, and she woke up with a gasp as two troopers entered her room. She got to her feet and concealed her doll behind her. “What’s going on?” She asked Emerie.

“Surprise inspection. Standard procedure.” Emerie informed her.

“Clear.” One of the commandos said.

However, the other noticed the doll hidden behind her back and he tore it from her grip and handed it to Emerie.

“We’ve been over this before, Omega. Personal items are forbidden.” Emerie chastised her. “I’ll dispose of it.”

“Don’t!” Omega protested. “Please, Emerie.”

“It is for your own good. Come, we have work to do.”

It was a welcome sight to see Batcher so happy to greet her this time around. “Hey, Batcher.” Omega said fondly and she saw the wound had nearly scarred over. “Look at you. You’re almost at a hundred percent.” She gave her a soft scratch on the jaw.

“Did you not read the standing order for the day?” The droid yanked her to her feet. “LH-201 has been slated for termination.”

“What? Why? She’s healed.” Omega argued.

“The creature’s recent domesticated disposition has been deemed a liability.”

“But that’s my fault, not hers.” Omega tried to resist being pulled away, with Batcher also barking in protest, but the droid’s grip was strong.

The droid groaned. “It is protocol.”

Omega finally managed to weasel her way out of his grasp and steal his datapad but the droid reacted swiftly and started to pull it away from her. She allowed herself to be tugged airborne and she braced her feet against the droid’s torso and leaned back, the momentum giving her the victory. She got away from the droid with the datapad in her hands and she quickly activated one of the large crates on the ceiling above and it fell on top of K-9X1. She grabbed his electro-staff and shocked him with it but not before he had the chance to call security so now, she had to act swiftly.

Omega used the datapad to open the exit hatch in Batcher’s kennel and deactivated her collar. “Batcher, come!” She ran over to the bars and reached in to take the collar off the hound. “Now you need to run away and not come back, okay?” It pained her to let her one close companion go but it needed to happen. She patted her snout. “And try not to bite anyone.”

Batcher hesitated and whined at her.

“I can’t go with you yet.” Omega explained. “I have to get Crosshair first. Batcher, go!” Omega watched her run down the tunnel with both relief and sadness, but she’d get out soon too, she knew she would.

“Breaking the rules, I see.”

Omega jumped and turned around to see Hemlock standing before her and Emerie standing behind him.

“And releasing a weak lurca hound into the wild? I didn’t know you were so cruel, Omega.”

“Me? You were gonna terminate her.” Omega said angrily.

“And you believe your actions changed that outcome?” When Omega faltered in her reply, he kept speaking, “Now some rotations ago, one of our shuttles crashed just beyond this mountain. But that is not what killed them. No, it was the creatures that roam the jungle. Even our strongest lurca hounds struggle against what’s beyond these walls. And your domestication of LH-201 only made her vulnerable.”

“You don’t know she won’t survive.” Omega disputed. “She deserves a chance.”

“Oh, the flawed logic of an idealistic child.” Hemlock’s tone fuelled with quiet mockery. “Emotion and sentiment have no place within these walls. You would do well to remember that.”

She wasn’t afraid of his threats anymore. “Or what?”

Seeing the way he turned to look at Omega again, Emerie hastily intervened. “Doctor, perhaps I should return Omega to her room.”

Hemlock held a hand up to stop her from going any further and kept his gaze on Omega. “You have more to say?”

“I know you brought me here to make Nala Se cooperate. You need her. She won’t work for you if you hurt me.” Omega said confidently.

Hemlock only laughed. “Of course I’m not gonna hurt you, Omega.” He inhaled deeply. “Your friend in the detention block, however, may not be as fortunate.”

“Don’t hurt Crosshair! He didn’t do anything.”

“I did have plans for CT-9904, despite his resistance to re-education, but I am willing to make a few sacrifices if your misbehaviour continues.” He bent from the waist and leaned down towards her. “Actions always have consequences. Sometimes not in the ways we imagine.”

Now that threat was one that she knew he would follow through on and she didn’t want to be responsible for Crosshair suffering even more than he was already.

“Take her back to her room and restrict her access.” Hemlock ordered Emerie as he exited.

Omega left with her a few seconds later.

Night had fallen and Omega sat huddled on the edge of her bed, but she heard the door open. “Go away.” She said with a sigh, not even bothering to look at Emerie this time.

“Omega…”

“Please… just go.” She requested, hoping the misery in her voice would be enough to convince Emerie to leave and she was grateful to hear her footsteps retreat and she angled herself towards the door to see that her hay Lula had been returned to her. She picked it up, but the sound of a lurca howling brought her back to the window.

She attempted in vain to peer through to bars to the outside for any sign of Batcher, but she couldn’t see anything. She then looked at the growing collection of tallies that represented the months that she’d been here. It may take more time, but now more than ever she knew she needed to get out and she needed to take Crosshair with her.

Hunter’s eyes snapped open, and his heart was pounding in his chest, but his surroundings told him it had been another dream. The ship was still steadily travelling through hyperspace towards Oba Diah, and the three of you had been using the long journey to catch up on some much-needed rest before the mission would begin.

Reaching out to Roland Durand of all people had felt like a long shot but when he said he could help if you only found the Pyke that had disgraced him and the Durand name, it had been an easy decision to accept but it had done nothing to quell the worry and fear that coursed through his veins. He sat up and began the usual routine of deep breathing.

Ever since you’d fully opened yourself up to him and the Force again, he didn’t need to wake you anymore when this happened, you would feel everything he felt and wake up a couple seconds after he did, and this time was no different. “Which one this time?” You whispered; your tone filled with tender understanding.

“I’m sorry.” Hunter rasped as he steadied his breathing. He hated that this was having a knock-on effect on you two, especially since your own sleep had only now started to get better. You were another person he was still finding a way to let down.

You shushed him softly as you sat up next to him. You have nothing to be sorry for. “Which one?” You prompted again. You knew his sleep had been haunted by more than just the reminders of what had happened in the recent months, it was these new nightmares that were plaguing him more and more.

Hunter released a heavy breath. “Same one as the nights before. I can see her, she’s right in front of me but no matter what I do, I can’t reach her and- and then she’s taken away.”

You pressed your lips to his shoulder, and you rubbed soothing circles on his back. “This mission for Durand is another step in the right direction. You’re doing all you can. We will find her, Hunter.”

Hunter shook his head and swung his legs out to the side of the bunk. “We took too long to find you, and you weren’t even really hiding.” Hunter countered without glancing back at you.

He didn’t need to look at you for you to feel his distress. You reached a hand out to his shoulder to try and get him to face you again. “Hunter-”

He gently but firmly pushed your hand away. “I’m going to go over what we’ve got again. Go back to sleep, I’ll be back soon.”

You sighed and watched him go to the cockpit. You’d seen the shift in him as had Wrecker. The relief of your reunion had long since passed and he, like the two of you, was getting more desperate to find Omega but it was affecting him far more than he was willing to talk about. His once calm and collected demeanour had vanished and he was taking on missions with little care for the risk or conditions they came with and this mission for Durand was no exception. Whilst you and Wrecker were happy to agree, there had been little discussion over the matter or the conditions of the deal. The two of you had done what you could, but you knew the only true thing that would bring him comfort would be finding Omega again.

Although a strong part of you wanted to follow him, you knew that right now, he needed the space, and you would give him that, but you couldn’t stand by and watch him drive himself into the ground for much longer.

You woke up again to find the space next to you ice cold and you knew that Hunter had not returned at all, and he wasn’t planning too. You tossed the blanket aside and silently walked towards the cockpit where you could hear the faint tapping of fingers against the keys of a datapad.

You leaned against the entryway to the cockpit and studied him for a moment as he kept his focus on Tech’s datapad. He looked utterly exhausted. His head drooped every few seconds, his shoulders were hunched, and weariness was written all across his face. It pained you to see him like this.

Aware that his brother was sleeping a few metres away, his words to you were quiet, “I said I’d be back soon.” He continued to tap through the intel that he’d been anxiously scanning for any detail he could’ve missed.

“You said that hours ago.” You matched his volume and straightened up. “You need to talk to me. Shutting down like this isn’t good for you.”

“I’m not shutting down. I’m doing what needs to be done to get Omega back.” He couldn’t stop. He’d let her down for long enough. The answer was there, and he kept missing it and he couldn’t stand it.

You fully came into the cockpit and kneeled in front of him. “You may be a leader, Hunter, but you’re not alone. This isn’t just the fear that we’re not going to get her back because you know we’re not going to stop until we do. There’s something else you’re afraid of.” You searched his face for a sign of what more it could be, but he wasn’t giving anything away. You kept your voice low but kind, “What is it?”

Hunter ignored you and kept his eyes fixed on the words on the screen in his possession, but he wasn’t reading them anymore.

“Hunter, put it down.” You attempted to take the datapad but his hold was too tight.

“I can’t stop. I can’t. She-” He cut himself off and swallowed thickly. “I can’t stop.” He repeated again, his voice barely above a whisper.

“You’re no good to anyone if you’re too exhausted to think straight.” You said with concern. “Talk to me, please.”

Hunter silently shook his head. The responsibility of all of this was on him, you shouldn’t be worrying about him now.

You knew how hard this was and he rarely allowed himself those moments of vulnerability, but he’d been there for you countless times, it was now your turn to be the one he could lean on. “You’ve helped me through so much, Hunter.” You placed one hand on his tattooed cheek and stroked your thumb along his cheekbone and whether he meant it or not, you felt him relax into your touch. “Let me help you now.” You whispered as your other hand fanned across the datapad and started to push it out of his grasp. “Put it down.”

“I-”

“Put it down.” You repeated again, applying more pressure now as you felt his resistance fade and relief coursed through you as he let you take it from him.

Hunter finally let the datapad slip from his grasp and he let the tiredness take over and his body sagged against the chair.

“What else is it that’s bothering you?” You came back from putting the datapad away and crouched again and laid your hands on his knees.

Hunter hesitated for a moment but for this first time since he woke up, he caught your eyes and he saw nothing but love and concern behind them and he swallowed thickly. “All she wanted was to not end up an experiment and that’s exactly what I’ve let happen.”

“Hunter…”

The words just tumbled from him now. “I let down Crosshair, I let down T- I let down Tech. I was too late to save them, but I still had you, I still had Wrecker and I still had Omega. Then you and Omega were ripped away from us and that was another thing I couldn’t stop. I relied too much on Wrecker when we were looking for you, I wasn’t who he needed me to be, and I can feel that happening again. I can’t be too late again. I can’t let another person down… I can’t let Omega down.” He turned away from you once more.

Your heart broke for him. “You have done no such thing.” You brought your hand back to his face to keep his eyes on you. “Listen to me, you didn’t let them down and you weren’t too late for them. At that time, Crosshair had made his choice, and you wouldn’t have been able to change his mind. Tech, he-” You felt the emotions rise up in your throat, choking the next words you were going to say. After pausing for a second, you cleared your throat and started again, “Tech made his choice. That wasn’t you being too late for them. As for Wrecker, he won’t and doesn’t think that. You’re his brother first, Hunter, he would never think that.” You paused for a moment to let that sink in before you added, “And you weren’t too late for me either. I’m right here with you and I’m not going anywhere.”

Hunter’s jaw tightened as he listened to the words you said but he couldn’t quite bring himself to fully believe them.

Still seeing the reluctance behind his eyes, you took his hand and placed it over your heart. “Feel that? I’m not worried, I’m not doubting you. We’re getting her back, you have not failed her, Hunter and she’ll know we’re looking for her. She’ll know that.”

Hunter closed his eyes and let the comfort of your steady heartbeat flood his senses.

After some time had passed, you decided it was time for him to get some proper rest before you arrived on Oba Dia. “Come on.” You took his hands, and a gentle tug encouraged him enough to get to his feet.

Hunter was so tired he could barely register his movements; all he knew was somehow you were getting his feet moving and leading him back to your bunk.

“Lie down.” You instructed gently as you reached the bed.

Hunter did as you said, and he felt you slide in next to him, he willed his weary body to turn and hold you like he usually did.

You shook your head and nudged him, so his back was facing you. You wrapped your arm around him and put your hand in his and placed it over his chest. “Just close your eyes and breathe with me.”

“This mission’s gonna help us somehow, right?” Hunter murmured with a tired voice.

You planted a soft kiss to the hinge of his jaw. Yes, it will. Drug syndicates were not high on your list on the people you were looking to stay on an even keel for. The Pykes weren’t going to stop you from doing whatever it took to get to her.

Next Chapter>

Tagging: @noeasyisnoisy, @fuckoffthanos, @tpwkcalli, @graciexmarvel, @arctrooper69, @starwarsnerd111, @nightmonkeysstuff, @brujaporfavor, @flyingkangaroo, @sunkissedclones, @ladytano420, @keep-calm-and-drink-caf, @yyourmotherr, @xxeiraxx, @dragonrider9905, @skellymom, @lokigirlszendaya

#the bad batch #the bad batch season 3 #the bad batch s3 #hunter x reader #hunter x femalejedi!reader #hunter x fem!reader #hunter x female!reader #sergeant hunter x reader #sergeant hunter #hunter tbb #hunter the bad batch #the bad batch hunter x you #hunter x y/n #tbb hunter x reader #the bad batch fanfiction #star wars #angst #hurt/comfort #friends to lovers

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the0doreslover · 10 months

Note

hii ! i absolutely love your writing and i don’t really know if you do requests but if you do i have one for theodore nott.

it’s inspired by the song blue hair by tv girl. basically the reader is a metamorphmagus and has blue hair. this song can be interpreted in many ways and i absolutely love it for this so it’s really up to you. i personally see it as the blue hair would represent her childish side. how theodore and her have known each other since their childhood and been through every moment in her life, her insecurities when she asks him how to be funny or pretty. he loves this side of her. he’s always had a crush on her. but then he slowly sees her falling apart. maybe from other people’s jugement or she just matured. and she cut her blue hair or maybe decided to change her hair colour because of this and he just misses her old side.

feel free to change as much things as you want

Thank you so much! it means so much to me when people say this, i absolutely love this request here you go x

Blue hair | theodore nott x fem!reader

You and Theodore had been friends longer than either of you could remember. The vibrant threads of your connection began in the earliest days of childhood, where laughter and whispers echoed through hidden alcoves. He was your confidant, and you were his. He saw you for more than the colors of your hair, something you were deeply insecure about.

He was there through some of the most important moments of your life (even the most embarrasing ones) like when you accidentally dropped an glass of water on the table while your family was having dinner with the notts and turned your hair purple out of sheer embarrassment. While your mother scowled, he pushed his own glass all over himself getting up and throwing a fuss, shifting the attention onto himself. It was something you would never forget.

As the years passed, your bond only grew stronger.

From the moment you entered hogwarts you were noticed, not in the way you wanted though.

"why is your hair blue?" a little girl asked while you were all waiting to be sorted

"why is yours blonde?" theo butted in for you watching as the girl stuttered before he put an arm around your shoulder.

Your unique ability as a metamorphmagus had always fascinated him. He loved how you could change your appearance at will, yet he could always see the true you beneath the surface. Your blue hair, which was what he sometimes saw as a representation of your childish side, only added to your charm in his eyes.

He would happily fight anyone who bullied you, and he did a few times

you had gotten one of the highest scores in your charms assignment and you were getting heavily praised which seemed to upset a few people,

"the chameleon got more than me?" you didn't even have time to see who had made the comment before you heard a loud bang, you turned around and saw theodore on top of seamus finnigan holding his arms down shouting at him to apologise.

After that incident no one dared to say anything... to your face at least.

One day, during your fourth year, as the sun set behind the castle's spires, you found yourselves sitting by the Black Lake. The waters shimmered in shades of gold, and the air was filled with the scent of blooming flowers. Your voice broke the peaceful silence, "How do i make myself interesting ?"

He turned his gaze towards you, increasing your heart rate as he opened his mouth to answer. "you don't"

"what do you mean?" you asked

"you're already the most interesting person i know"

"theo i'm being serious"

"so am i"

you dropped the subject realising you weren't going to get the answer you wanted and it quickly settled back into a comfortable silence

"You know that you're more than your hair right? more than anyone's judgment. you don't need to change a thing."

"yeah, it was stupid sorry" you said lying through your teeth

Over time, your feelings for Theodore began to shift. What once was an innocent friendship evolved into something deeper. You found yourself looking forward to your moments together, cherishing the way his laughter warmed your heart and his presence made the world feel a little brighter.

But life had a way of throwing unexpected challenges your way. As sixth year approached, the weight of impending reality and responsibilities pressed down on you.

The colors of your hair began to fade as you grappled with the complexities of growing up. You started questioning yourself, your choices, and even your appearance.

What even was normal? brown, blonde, black, ginger? why do you have to look the same as everyone else to be liked.

you stood before the mirror in your dorm room, your once-vibrant blue hair now a muted shade, it only ever shifted to murky colours now. You felt a pang sadness, your hair didn't glow like it used to anymore, You hated it, just as much as everyone else hated you for it, you weren’t ‘normal’

You grabbed the pair of scissors on the desk and brought it to your hair. You closed your eyes and once you opened them again you saw a chunk of 'normal' coloured hair on the ground.

Pansy came into the dorm a few moments later and saw you on your bed staring at the wall.

She helped you even out your hair while rubbing your back, she wasn't used to seeing you without some sort of colour tinting your hair but she stayed silent and instead stayed rubbing your back and wiping your tears.

a lot of people noticed the change in your hair... how could they not, your hair hadn't been a different colour for weeks

"your hair looks so much better like this"

"i love your hair"

"keep it like this"

"you look so much better now"

"why would you do that?" Theodore said slowly coming into the common room where you sat between your friends.

"do what?" you asked quickly waving at a new person who had taken interest in you after your change

"y/n don't act dumb, why would you cut your hair"

"i wanted to do something different"

"you wanted to do something different or you wanted to be someone different"

"i-"

"don't even answer that" he said storming up to his dorm

After a few days theo had apologised to you, which you happily accepted missing his importance in your life, he still made it very clear his views on your choice but decided to quiet down.

You wouldn’t admit it but you were slowly regretting your decision more and more each day, you missed the way you got to wake up every morning wondering what colour your mind had made your hair today, you missed feeling different and most of all you missed the way theo loved it.

"Theo?" you asked breaking the peace of your current predicament, which was you both under a tree while he read aloud to you.

"yeah"

"Do you think i'm pretty?" The words tumbled out before you could stop them.

He set his book aside and scooted closer to you. "i've always thought you were the most beautiful girl in the world."

“even without my colourful hair?” you pressed

“of course, it made me sad you thought you had to cut your blue hair off in order to become liked but you did, and i can’t change that… i don’t love you any less”

You sighed, feeling the weight of your insecurities pressing down on you.

"But Im not pretty anymore right! i used to be funny, didn't I? And my hair... It used to be... I thought maybe it's time to grow up. My hair was childish"

Theodore reached out, placing a hand on yours. "Your hair was, or should i say is, a part of who you are, you're allowed to change, but sometimes it's best to keep the most amazing parts of you the same. Your blue hair was never a sign of childishness; it was a testament to your uniqueness and your willingness to be yourself."

Weeks turned into months, and as the final week of your sixth year drew to a close, the future loomed before you both. On the eve of your last day, you stood on the Astronomy Tower, gazing at the stars.

Your hair had slowly been returning to its colourful hue, but you knew that this time, the color was more than just a physical trait.

Theodore stood beside you, his presence comforting. "It's a big world out there," he said softly. "But no matter where life takes us next year, remember that you'll always be the girl with the cool hair to me, as much as you hate it, you're my girl with the cool hair"

you smiled and leaned against him

"i love you" he said confidently "i love you for you and that's not going to change. Even when your hair goes back to it's normal colour i'll still love you more than i will ever be able to express"

“you think my hair is going to go back to it’s normal colours?” you asked hopefully

“i know it will, i’ll personally make sure it does”

"i love you too"

and despite the fact you couldn't see it, theodore pulled you into a tight embrace looking down on the new blue hairs that had just begun glowing.

#x reader #harry potter #hogwarts #fanfic #slytherin #theodore nott #theodore nott x reader #blaise zabini #lorenzo berkshire #pansy parkinson #theodore nott x you #theo nott

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themakeupbrush · 7 months

Text

Miss Universe Malta 2023 National Costume

"IL-FARFETT" This year's costume represents a butterfly, which in Maltese is called 'Farfett'. In Malta there used to be approximately 50 different species of butterflies and around 550 species of moths. This costume is a representation that unfortunately due to over construction being carried out on such a small island, without consideration for local fauna and flora, are having a devastating effect of the state of Maltese biodiversity, according to experts. A few decades ago, butterflies of every shape and colour would take off in swarms as you walked under carob trees. Unfortunately, nowadays, the decline of butterflies is occurring at such a high rate that when naturalists spot a particularly uncommon species, they do not disclose its location to protect the insects from harm. While migratory butterflies can still be spotted with some frequency, local butterflies have all but disappeared from view. Another issue which the flora and fauna are facing in this modern age is climate change, combined with rapid changes in temperature, the use of fossil fuels and pesticides are compounded upon flora and fauna, giving the environment very little time to adjust. This costume is a representation of creating more awareness about taking care of our nature.

#miss universe 2023 #miss universe #pageant #national costume contest #national costume #Malta

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syrma-sensei · 2 years

Text

→ A Doe's Trap.

gif credit.

pairing: daemon targaryen x baratheon!reader.

rating: explicit.

word count: 3.9k

warning: daemon targaryen is a warning himself, usual westerosi agendas.

PART II: A GOLDEN LOCK.

masterlist | ao3

COURT IS INFINITELY BORING; the flashing red colour on the outside walls is merely a clever cover for the ennui of what's happening inside. And the Small Counsel is, Seven Hells, dreadfully, the most tedious place one can choose to spend time in. King Viserys, however, is persistent on having his younger brother in his counsel. His Grace has given his orders and nobody, not even the Rogue Prince, can refuse his liege's commands.

Nevertheless, even his royal duties and counsel obligations get habitually interrupted by certain cunts. After several replacements for his job —stirred by those cunts— the prince, eventually, takes the post of the Commander of the City Watch, and he isn't pleased one bit. The supposed city protectors are nothing but lost and lowly scum. But he knows better, that cunt of a Hand wants nothing but to offend the Prince and his potentials, such an elaborated attempt to irritate the hot-tempered prince; the current heir to the Iron Throne is nothing but a mongrels tamer. But if the bearded wanker thinks himself subtle, then he's terribly mistaken, thus, Daemon accepts the challenge. Because after all, if he truly wants to be King someday, conducting with the riff-raff is a good way to prepare himself for the role, rather than transacting with sickly old men who swagger through the glories of their ancestors and making none of their own.

Tonight though, to his bother, he has to take a break from his new duties, for King Viserys has blessed the court with yet another of his many festivities. Queen Aemma, his cousin and sister-in-law, is with child, again. The celebration is held in the Red Keep's grand yard under the full moon's glimmer. And to his surprise, Daemon finds himself rather enjoying himself in the fresh air.

His violet eyes are fixated on the table where the King and Queen are seated, two vacant chairs next to them. One is his, and the other is Rhaenyra's, his beloved niece. His gaze, however, is not, by any chance, drawn to the royal couple, rather, the ones who escort the Queen. That specific one, with the blue eyes and dark hair. The Baratheon Lady, his precious doe.

She stands next to her queen as one of her most trusted ladies-in-waiting. With a bright mind, and pure soul she has captured the hearts of most men, and the Prince is no exception. The niece of Lord Boremund Baratheon is sent by her lord uncle to represent their house at court in her aunt's stead, Lady Jocelyn Baratheon, Prince Aemon's widow. Once the Prince saw her, she stirred something familiar within him. Something he thought he'd not feel as he fucked his way through almost every whore of the Street of Silk. The place that provides him maidens whenever he desires to claim their innocence. What's better than a whore maiden but a paramount and maiden lady?

Virtuous isn't a word one can label Daemon Targaryen with. Rather, the Rogue Prince has an equivocal proclivity for those of virtue, of purity. He cannot brush off the image of that beautiful doe clinging to his shoulders and sobbing in delight beneath him, while he rams inside her virgin hole as he deflowers her. He fantasizes her calling his name as she willingly gives herself to him, as he fucks Mysaria in the recent days, and his high would be unmatched. The only thing can outdo it is having the doe herself in his bed.

The doe senses his heavy gaze, and her sapphires lock with his amethysts, and she tries to hide her sheepish smile. Gods be good, he can't decide wether he likes that smile of hers, or the cries she'd be making when he's inside of her. His predatory eyes follow her slender figure after she dips in courtsy for the King and Queen, excusing herself. He traces her golden gown, the one he'll have much pleasure ripping it off of her and see what she's treasuring beneath it.

“Good evening, Prince Daemon.” The doe bows to him, then he sees clear blue eyes looking straight into his, the plumping heart between his ribs skips for a moment, “Congratulations on your new office!”

“Why, thank you, Lady Baratheon.” His tone is solemn.

“Please do not call me as such,” The doe bites on her lower lip adorably, “We're much more familiar with one another.”

Ah, the red cheeks, they're definitely his favourite, and perhaps what's more delightful is making them grow redder.

“Much more familiar? Hmm.” Daemon teases, “Then why did you not come and congratulate me when I first got appointed as the Commander of the City Watch, my lady?”

Daemon's grin goes wider as his tiny trick makes her cheeks flush with dark crimson.

Tearing her face aside, she says under her breath hotly, “Gods,” Then her eyes are staring back at his face again, adding hastily, “I'm terribly sorry, my Prince! The instant I heard of the marvelous news I looked for you everywhere to do so, but...”

Her blue eyes dart everywhere but his face now. Daemon purses his lips into thin line, tugging a dark lock behind her ear. “But what, my lady?” His tone is bored, unamused, supposedly.

“Please, let me explain, Your Grace.” He nods, granting her her wish. “I did want to be the first to congratulate you. But when I couldn't find you anywhere, they told me you're making new arrangements for the City Watch; to ameliorate the state of the soldiers.” She adds breathlessly, and Daemon can clearly imagine her breathing heavily after he sends to her highest high. “So, I presumed you were occupied with much more important matters, and I couldn't bring myself to take from your valuable time.”

Oh, isn't she delightful? So sweet, so caring. Does he deserve such consideration? Of course not. Should he take it? An absolute yes. How not? And she's practically showering him with it.

Daemon twists his lips, grinning. “In that regard, I should forgive you, my lady. But on one condition.”

“Name it.” Her answer comes immediately.

Ah, he does like those moments when her Baratheon blood rises, when she shows signs of challenging and daring, and the confident feature she wears is truly pretty.

So, Daemon indulges her. “I want you to honour me with a dance, my lady.”

“A dance?” She arches a dark brow quizzically, shockingly.

“Does it not rise to the doe's expectations?” He teases her again.

And for the second time, it remarkably works. “Did I give such an insinuation to the dragon?” The way her brow switches from puzzled to intrepid puts the Prince under a charm. The irony, how effortless and unintentional her gestures are, but oh, the way she wraps him around her beautiful fingers. How bewitching she is.

“It is said that dancing is much similar to battling.” She adds, “I dare not stand against you in the second, but dare I say, I enjoy doing the first with you. It is a sliver of reminiscent of what fighting by your side might be like on the battlefield.”

It's Daemon's turn to raise an eyebrow. “You wish to dance with a dragon, little doe?”

“Yes, very much so.” She says it with utmost thrill.

“Even if it might get you burned?” He asks her, eyes glistening with something menacing, but the doe does not see it.

“He won't hurt me.” The certainty in her eyes makes Daemon's head whirl. Perhaps he isn't the only one under a charm.

“What you speak is true.” His smile is gentle this time, and what he speaks is also true. Lust did indeed blind him at first, and the desire to defile her has driven him mad for quite some time. But no, after getting to know this doe, his delicious prey, he cannot bring himself to hurt her. But has his craving for claiming her ceased within him? Not once. It's been like raging fire, huddling and jostling in his chest, and taking hold of his head. It's like a curse afflicted upon him. He's no patient man, and the gods have put him in a laborious test. But again, since when the gods are indulgent with man? But Daemon Targaryen is as unyielding as them as well. And he'll be so until the gods get bored of him and give him what he wants. Daemon, however, won't wait for gods to get lenient. He shall take it by himself.

They dance, the dragon and the doe. And the shy lady is back again as her face turn red as she is spinning between the Prince's arms, holding his hands. Their feet move in such harmony with the music, and they capture everyone's eyes. Her face is close, so close to his, and hers is as dark as blood. Her fresh breathing is on his face, and the dragon inside him goes feral. He wants her. Gods, He utterly and wholly wants her.

The music comes to a stop, and a cheered applause rages from around them. King Viserys is the strongest clapper, and the Queen shakes her head at her husband's excessive excitement.

The dancing comes to a pause, and the King raises a toast, and the feast for all is set. The guests eat, drink, and laugh. The King gets drunk soon enough, and the Queen becomes tired. Viserys keeps on drinking, while Aemma retires to her chambers to rest. The Prince is next to his brother and niece, thinking of the doe who's nibbling on her food ever so delicately.

It is a rare thig she is, to be born a Baratheon and have a tender character. It's known that the stags are of vigorous spirits and adventurous endeavour. But unlike her house and himself, she seems quite enjoying herself at King's Landing's court. That, however, does not nullify the hints of fury within her soul. She's a daughter of a stag after all, and stags have always attracted the eyes of dragons; his great-grandmother, Queen Dowager Alyssa Velaryon, married Rogar Baratheon, lord paramount of Storm's End, their wedding is known as the Golden Wedding. And Daemon's cousin, Princess Rhaenys Targaryen, is half Baratheon herself from her mother's side, Lady Jocelyn Baratheon. Daemon still remembers how Caraxes was enthralled by his doe when they first introduced them to eachother; she has Valyrian blood after all. He smiles at the memory, she has the dragon and his rider enchanted.

“You're quite taken by her, uncle.” Daemon's ears prick at Rhaenyra's High Valyrian.

“Quite the woman she is.” He replies in their mother tongue.

“Indeed.” She nods. “She is quite taken by you as well.”

That piques his interest, his niece has all of his attention now. “Oh, really? How did you learn that, Princess?”

Rhaenyra chuckles. “Oh, uncle, you have no idea how much smitten she is with you.”

Trying to conceal the curiosity eating him up, he clears his throat. “How so?”

“You have a reputation, uncle.” Rhaenyra remarks, “But the lady refuses to believe it exists, claiming that she knows you better. She sees you as her knight in shining armour.”

A queer sensation clasps on the Prince's heart. And for a moment, he feels as if someone has kicked the air out of his lungs. He directs a wavering smile to his niece.

“How unfortunate.” Then he falls silent, and speaks very little for the rest of the night.

After an hour of feasting, the music replays, and a merry yet drunken enrapture sweep over the place. From his seat, Daemon looks for his doe and he finds her laughing at some stupid jest cracked by Ser whoever the fuck he is. When their eyes lock again, she smiles at him sweetly, but he doesn't return it. Instead, he stands up, and maneuvers his way through the drunken singing and wobbly dancing.

It was an ill decision to come here from the outset, but what choice he had when the King forces him to attend the banquet that's held in the next royal's honour. The one might brush him off from his current line to the throne. Daemon, sometimes, thinks that his brother taunts him deliberately, and perchance he's pulled by other hands.

He directs his indignation upon his royal brother as he threads his way to his private chambers; where he's going to drink himself till sleep, and maybe giving his cock a hand-fucking before falling asleep. Momentarily, he thinks of visiting Mysaria, but no. He needs some solitude away from everyone else.

Once in his chambers, he shrugs off his formal attire and slips into more comfortable clothing. Before he starts his drinking session, he hears soft knocks on the door; he grumbles. Perhaps the one behind the door wants to be the victim of his wrath tonight.

Striding down to the door, he opens it sharply. He freezes.

“Prince Daemon.”

Gods, how does she do it? Putting off that raging fire within him onto ice just like that. Mayhaps she is an enchantress after all.

“Lady (Y/N).” He responds.

“Is everything alright, my Prince?” The concern in her eyes tugs the strings of his heart.

“Yes.” For the first time, Daemon finds his lying unconvincing. Seven Hells.

“Then why did you leave the feast in such manner?” The doe inquires, brows knitted, “You made the King worry.”

Of course, she came here upon an order by his brother.

“You made me worry.”

Daemon regards her, then he retreats back to his chambers, leaving the door open. A private invitation for her to follow him inside which she obliges to.

“What caused you distress, my Prince?” The eager concern in her voice makes him melt. A strange mixture of sensations coil at the tip of his stomach. It is the first time she comes to his private chambers, and he feels as if he led her into a trap. The poor doe, she doesn't know she just entered the dragon's den, and in his current state, he has no guarantee of what he might do next. He is mad.

“You.” Daemon spins around and faces her, she stands a few steps away from him. “You cause me distress.”

Gasping, her dainty hand rises to her now heaving chest, and her blue eyes widen. “How could I ever do so?” Daemon takes a step towards her, and her eyes are focused on his figure. “My Prince, I implore you to—”

Seven Hells. His doe can be annoying when she becomes rather talkative, sometimes. And it is a perfect moment to silence her in the way he most desired; his lips on hers. And oh, they are much more delectable than he ever imagined, and he could've sworn he can sip wine from them.

The doe stands still, eyes as wide as saucers, as he claims her lips as if he is the thirstiest man alive. When realization casts upon her at last, she pushes him away. Daemon whips his mouth looking at her. She's horrified.

“Do forgive me.” Daemon looks at the floor, not bearing to gaze at her scared face. “But I've been wanting to do this for a long while.”

When she doesn't answer; he dares look up at her face again. A more questioning expression adorns her face instead of the terrified one moments ago. She doesn't flee, nevertheless. Which is a good sign, Daemon supposes. He narrows the gap between them, cautious steps as if he's afraid that the doe to run off.

“I desire you.” He confesses, “Gods, you're the one I lust for the most.” His hands reach for her reddened cheeks. “I want to have you. Let me have you... please.”

“How can I let you have me, and we're not wedded, Daemon?” He sees two thin strings of tears rolling down her cheeks. She tears her face aside. “Gods, they warned me about you.” She sobs, “They told me to steer clear of you, but I didn't listen.” A hand covers her mouth. “The Queen even promised my lord uncle to match me with another to prevent your dark reputation raising questions about my virtue.”

Any ounce of sense left in him until this very instance is blown away now. The Prince's hands latch onto her forearms, and he draws into a vicious kiss. He tastes the salt in her tears and he's fuming.

“You're mine.” He whispers against her mouth, “Mine. You belong to the dragon, and anyone dares to think of having you, they'll have to deal with fire and blood.”

“Daemon, please...” She cries. “I do not want it.”

The Prince cradles her face softly, his hot breath licking her face. “Tell me, what do you really want, little doe?” He brushes the tears away, “Tell me what you wish for and I shall grant it for you.”

His fragile doe gulps, looking at him with the eyes of a prey begging for mercy between its predator's jaws. “Do not allow us to be separated.” She weeps, and her heart feels heavy.

“No, no, little doe,” He says in whisper, “Not a single soul can separate us, my little doe. Give yourself to me. Let me corrupt you...” He inhales, he's almost begging, “Let me defile you, and they'll have no choice but to let us be.” He leans to her ear, adding, “Let me fill your belly with my child.”

“Do not let another have me, my dragon, please.” She clutches into his chest, beseechingly.

Daemon's violet eyes dart over her face, before he plunders her lips again. His hands adroitly baring her, layer by layer, until she stands naked before him. Through her blurred mind, the realization of her nakedness casts upon her. She gasps and tries covering herself.

Daemon, on the other hand, laughs, shaking his head with such amusement. “Do not shy away now, little doe.” He makes her lay down on his bed, removing her hands from the parts she attempts to hide. “Let me see your beauty.”

Daemon has to pin her hands on the either sides of her head to make submit to his request. He looks at her body, and she turns redder and hotter than Caraxes's fire.

He has to admit, she exceeds any fantasy he ever had. And now she's all his to claim. The Seven be fucked, this is the one who deserves worshiping, perhaps she is The Maiden herself, and mayhaps he can be her Warrior.

“Fuck.” Daemon hisses, “You're beyond anything I've ever imagined.”

“Daemon...” Her voice is breathless, “I-I feel queer things in my stomach.”

The Prince laughs again, kissing her temple. “They are good things, my lady, worry not.”

She nods, unsure of what might happen next. Daemon isn't going to disappoint her. Although the strain in his loins is unbearable, he takes his time to spread what he dares to call... affections upon her. His rough-padded fingers massage her shoulders, his lips lavish her erected nipples, and his mouth leaves no spot of her soft skin neglected.

When his fingers reach her core to fondle, she asks him about the moistened sensation. He shushes her, and tells her it's normal and a good sign. He brushes her clit and her moans become uncontrollable, he enters a digit and she screams.

Daemon laughs and grins as she's innocently grinding against his fingers, chasing something building inside her belly, she tells him. He adds another, then another, and her virgin drawers can take no more and flutter around his fingers with a sigh of his name leaving her mouth.

“Is this why people lay with eachother, my Prince?” She asks when recovers from her high, sweat glistening on her forehead, “Even when they don't want to have children.”

Daemon chuckles amusedly. “People fuck for many reasons, little doe. Pure pleasure is what, sometimes, one only seeks.”

“The Seven forgive me,” She says in something akin to shame, “But I want you to fuck me, Daemon.”

The words, coming off her tongue so effortlessly, make the blood travel straight to his cock.

“It might hurt you, though.” He warns.

“No,” She raises her chin stubbornly, “You won't hurt me.”

Before he gets off the bed, he kisses her. Then, he starts to take off his cotton tunic. He glimpses at her, and he finds her tracing his moves, intrigued. She gulps when he slips his dark trousers off, her pure eyes witnessing a man's cock for the first time in her life.

He chuckles, and cannot let the chance slide without a tease. “You like my small dragon, little doe?”

“I wouldn't call it small, my Prince.”

The latter throws his head backwards as a loud laughter bursts out of his chest. “Yes.” He lands a knee on the bed, dipping further to her face, bringing her hand to touch him. She looks up at him then down at his cock, as her hand faintly brushes the dripping tip. She shivers and he grins. His hand never letting hers crawl away. She gathers some courage when she sees him delighted, and her fingers curl around his cock, squeezing gently as he twitches. Daemon grunts deeply as her inexperienced hand caresses the bulging veins of it, and he feels himself coming. With a groan, he removes her hand away. He didn't want to scare her off with loads of white strings slamming her stomach and face. Rather, he wants it deep inside of her. “Open your legs for me.”

She does so, but uncertainly. He positions himself between his legs, wrapping her legs around his sculpted waist. Inevitable tears pour from her eyes as he thrusts himself into her, and Seven Hells, her virgin cunt feels heavenly. How her walls suck him up greedily even though he's yet to move.

With a hoarse voice, the doe whispers his name over and over, as he takes her slowly while his hair is ghostly brushing her arms around his neck. She cries and begs, and he kisses and reassures her that he'll give her what she wants. She tells him it's building again, and he hits that innocent spot of hers again and again until the fluttering he felt around his fingers is now happening around his cock. He's already at his limits and his seed fills her waving cunt.

“Well done, little doe, well done.” Daemon eases her quivering body.

When he pulls out of her, the Prince is utterly surprised when the doe flips their positions, as she straddles him instead. Their liquids are oozing from between her legs onto his muscled stomach. Shock is blatant on his face as she bites on her lip unsurely.

“What is this, little doe?” He teases, “I supposed this was your first.”

She lolls her head down timidly. “I've always wanted to do this with you, everyday when I look at that painting in the Queen's chambers.”

Daemon is well aware of what picture his doe is referring to. That salacious portrait Queen Aemma has received as a gift from Lys. It's called: The Seven Arts of Love. Perhaps his sister-in-law has kept it as a mockery of the belief of the Seven. He'll never know, or perhaps the Seven made her keep it, so his doe would witness it and mock him with her straddling him on their first night. The notion stirs him to the bone, and his cock is painfully hard now.

“Perhaps another time.” He cups her breasts softly. “This position is not meant for the first time.”

A surprised yelp escapes her mouth as he flips her again beneath him, clicking his tongue. “If you want to ride a dragon, little doe, you have to tame him first.” He leans down, his silver hair dangling over his shoulders, “And believe me, it is not as simple as you might think.”

“We shall see, my dragon, we shall see...”

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sanctus-ingenium · 2 years

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u guys wanna see more WIPs... similar to the last post, here are Some WIPs

all of these were started in sai before going on to procreate. before going back to sai again in the case of the strength card

so Blue Sky/Out Of Time... yeah it’s extremely self-explanatory, it’s very obvious what this scene depicts and i’m sure everyone gets it (this is a joke i’ve had multiple people dm me asking wtf this even is). the one element that absolutely NEEDED to be there was the LED digital clock with a bullshit time on it, and i decided to replace it with an AIRE warning sign instead and put the LED readouts in the bg. the warning sign in this setting serves the purpose of informing ppl when there are hostile faeries around. i knew what the colours would be from the beginning, but it took a bit for me to realise what sort of shading style i wanted (it took forever). but i did know i wanted to contrast the very sketchy black void against the cleaner and almost cartoony/comic book style rest of the drawing, to emphasise the fact that the foreground sky and background void are made of two very different things. again i used a colour shifting brush to quickly make all the shards of sky different colours, but originally i planned to have some of the shards be dark or night time (with stars or the moon etc). unfortunately it didn’t work, it was too dark and pascal got lost against it.

My Eyes Are Up Here is pretty obviously the exact same scene with the same character, in the same field, but with a different sort of atmosphere. i sketched this in sai then did the final in procreate. originally it was going to have a black background

i really like this version tbh but the blue works better. i think he looks good against dark backgrounds where it’s kind of hard to see wtf is even happening there

so about the neon signs..... i’m well aware that the sketch has way more promise than what the final ultimately was, and that’s because i found that i didn’t have the technical or artistic ability to pull off the complex neon signs like i wanted to. i couldn’t get it looking good enough so i had to scrap them. but these signs will be back, i want to draw them properly and do them justice. the gif was unplanned too but i thought it would be fun to have the flicker be very intermittent so that if you scrolled past it you might not even realise, or you’d have to stick with it just to catch it looping. i used GIMP to make the gif and change the frame rate, and this actually took a very long time because i had to preview it over and over. anyway if you WERE to get lost in the púca’s field, in this story, you would see neon signs like this encouraging you to follow them.

Strength is actually the last drawing i ever made that ended with a paint-over in sai, and the oldest drawing here. as such i actually don’t think it’s representative of my current ability but i do have a soft spot for it for sentimental reasons lol. the reason for the paint-over in sai was because i drew this at a time when i still did not trust procreate to be able to place the level of finish on it that i wanted

the background took me a thousand years to figure out. literally it was so annoying that i considered scrapping it for something simpler. but the idea was for it to be a kind of fairytale-ish lost in the woods sort of look while also appearing like the blood vessels around the human heart. the branches were also supposed to be heart-shaped in cross-section but i spent so long zoomed in painting them that i forgot to zoom out to see if all those fine details were actually visible, and it turned out they weren’t. i was disappointed that i couldn’t get félix’s tattoos to look right but that’s what i get for making a character with shit tons of both tattoos and body hair. i also got rid of the foreground branches really soon because they weren’t adding anything and muddied up the readability of his pose

the swan is from a daemon au and bears no relation to my other swan characters. i just like swans a lot

#this again!

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greenhorn-art · 5 months

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World Champions | Artwork for World Champions by TheDefenestrator by TheDefenestrator, art by Blurb_brain

Fandom: The King's Avatar | 全职高手

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Category: Gen

Words: 71 944

At the end of season 4 of the Glory Pro Alliance, the government finally receives the information it has been waiting for: The other players have caught up. Or, In which Glory has been a government recruitment ploy for remote-piloted mecha operators all along.

About the Book

FONTS: Mundo Serif, Azonix [dafont], Segoe UI Symbol

IMAGES: Illustration by Blurb_brain [AO3]; cover image by NASA ID: 440611 [Rawpixel]; Planet Earth background ID: 6331593 [Rawpixel]; Circuit lines background ID: 3117935 [Rawpixel]; endpapers' image by Eric Eastman [Unsplash]; Swoksaar, Desert Dust, Lord Grim, Vaccaria, and Cloud Piercer [The King's Avatar Wikia]

MATERIALS: regular printer paper (8.5"x11", 96 bright, 20lb), 80pt bookboard, Iris Bookcloth (colour: Black Pearl), Neenah cardstock (8.5"x11", bright white, 65lb), waxed linen thread (white, 30/3 size), embroidery floss (shades 3750, 350, 3845, 370), leather cording (1.9mm diameter), Reeves’ acrylic paint (Mars Black, Phthalo Blue, Titanum White), Americana acrylic paint (glow in the dark), ph neutral pva glue (Books by Hand)

PROGRAMS USED: Typeset in Affinity Publisher, cover/title page/endpapers designed in Affinity Designer/Photo, QR codes generated with LibreOffice Writer, PDF arranged for printing with Bookbinder-JS

BINDING STYLE: quarto, case bound (slightly rounded, with oxford hollow, forgot to use tapes)

Fenes' "Glory's tech isn't handwaved" AU. This was great! Funny and creative, and I'm both amazed and full of admiration for Fenes' ability to juggle so many characters.

I was feeling excited and ambitious with this one. Tried some new fun things (double core endbands, painted edges) and used some new equipment (a lying press).

The Text

TITLE/HEADINGS FONT: Azonix says 'SciFi' to me, it's a bold, non-serif, sleek font.

BODY FONT: Mundo Serif, it's a decent serif body font I haven't used before. Felt like it worked with Azonix.

SCENE BREAKS: a special character in Segoe UI Symbol of a black & white icon of Earth, the globe showing Asia.

TYPESETTING: Finished typesetting the fic, left document open on my laptop, laptop's battery failed, file now crashes immediately upon reopening, issue persists with copied versions of file (；￣Д￣) . Thankfully I had a backup file for the typeset with the barebones of the text, so I didn't have to restart from scratch...

Title Page

My thinking: it takes place in space, the world's at stake, and it's the dawn of a new horizon for Earth. Glory and the titular champions are represented by Swoksaar, Desert Dust, Lord Grim, Vaccaria, and Cloud Piercer – the captains of what I'd call the 'big 5' teams. A circuitry board background element hints at the tech/mecha nature of the story's competition. It may not match Blurb's art, but I hope I was able to convey some of what the story is about.

The circuitry image is used as decoration throughout the book. I only used the avatars of the top five teams' captains because too many silhouettes would lessen their impact and readability. (Removing the backgrounds was tedious, but worth it.)

Here's what it should have looked like. The test prints for this and the BB art were fine, but I think my inkjet started running out of ink just when I printed the final copies and I didn't reprint them. (Too impatient, really wanted to finish up and read the book)

The Cover

World Champions is another Big Bang fic, and once again I based some of my design choices off of the accompanying artwork. The dominant colours of Blurb_brain's illustration are red and blue-green.

COVER PAPER: For the decorative cover material I used NASA's ASTER image of Poyang Lake. NASA has some really interesting photography some of which remind me of marbled paper, thought it could be interesting. I chose this image of Poyang Lake because 1) it's in China, 2) the colours were similar to Blurb's awesome illustration (fate strikes again, dropping matching images and artwork into my lap!), and 3) NASA is tangentially relevant to the fic, which takes place in space.

BOOKCLOTH: Verona bookcloth in the shade Black Pearl, a lovely dark navy blue colour. Thought it suited the cover paper and title page. (Bought it for this fic specifically, but the colour goes well with almost all of my decorative papers so it should see a lot of use in the future!)

Endpapers

The final decision that held this project at a standstill for two months. In the end I drew inspiration from the matchups against the final opponent in the story. The image I used is a little chaotic and a little too unrelated to identify why I picked it without an explanation, but this book is for me and I know why, so there. (Note that I played around with the colours and cropped the photo.)

Endpaper inspiration: the maps for the matches against the Infilhites

"a long bridge through an enormous tube-like hall, where light seem to come from every side through stained glass windows. It was visually confusing, limited lateral motion" "a warehouse, crates stacked on and beside metal racks that went all the way to the ceiling." "a house of mirrors, fully enclosed to be sure the Infhillte couldn’t fly out of it." "like a volcano, rivers of lava moving sluggishly down a slope, occasional vents of overheated air nearby." "a series of overlapping bridges between halls and stairways, level after level layered over an open abyss."

Trimming & Painting the Edges

Going all out, a 2-for1 deal: the opportunity to use my lying press for the first time and learn a new technique!

TRIMMING: Used a paring chisel and lying press.

CHISEL: The 1.25" wide paring chisel I used was form a modern manufacturer. (Vintage paring chisels are very thin, enough so that you can bend/flex the blade. But don't do that.) It's long and wide blade made it easier to register against the surface of the press for consistent cuts. Looks like this one below from Lee Valley.

LYING PRESS: My dad's project. Solid black walnut, hand carved screws and internal threads — he even made the tools to make the threads too! The jaws of the press are each 3 7/8" wide. It's big and heavy (though much smaller than full-sized professional ones omg), but there's enough of a flat surface to register the chisel against. A thicc boi, much like this one below from Bookbinding Supplies.

PAINTED EDGES: The idea was to have dark navy edges, speckled with white stars. I used acrylic from a tube to paint the edges — tutorials recommended it over liquid bottled acrylic, and I had an old set hanging around. Had to water it down because otherwise the paint just flaked off.

My test of trimming and painting went well. Then the trimmed book itself came out slightly crooked, the paint required significantly more watering-down than before, and the white paint did not want to be both opaque and speckle-able. Unfortunate, but still book-shaped! And now I have an idea of what to do differently next time.

Also, did not like the glow-in-the-dark paint. Looked too translucent in the light when compared to the white acrylic, and needed a thicker coat to be visible in the dark. (The thickness combined with the translucence and base colour kinda reminded me of boogers... Ended up scrapping most of it off, so there's not much left to glow.)

Endbands

Still in the mood to have fun and go all-out, I attempted double-core endbands for the first time.

TUTORIAL: YouTube @ BookbindersChronicle: Bookbinding 101 Sewing Headbands Session 2. Also watched @ DAS Bookbinding's Double-Core Endband // Adventures in Bookbinding, but I personally found Chronicle's closeup video easier to follow.

I used embroidery floss from a 100pk of assorted colours off Amazon, wrapped around a core of 1.9mm leather cording from Michaels. I drew from Blurb_brain's art for the general colours, choosing a dark base, with red, blue-green, and gold. The specific shades were picked to go with the cover.

#World Champions #TheDefenestrator #Blurb_brain #qzgs #tka #the king's avatar #fanfiction #bookbinding #fanbinding

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xoxotifia · 2 months

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OCTONAUTS HEADCANONS: WORLD EDITION

HEAVILY BASED ON THIS POST, FULL CREDITS !

-ˋˏ ༻ ♡ ༺ ˎˊ-

— there are parallel cities and countries to our world, and the locations of their major cities and counties are all the same

— most animals live in places close to or in their natural habitat, but cities like London and New York have animals from all over the place mingling (but to a certain level of logic like you’re less likely to see a polar bear or a reindeer living in South America)

— many of the cities have slightly different designs to accommodate for the variety of species living in them

— the world population is split between anthro and non-anthro animals, because the Octonauts are clearly anthro but the animals they rescue aren’t

— there used to be a lot of conflict between the two, but now most places don’t care and are designed to accommodate both kinds of animals (like Tweak and Sandy are friends)

— whether or not predation of other animals (especially the non-anthro) is okay is a pretty heated debate in their society

— it’s possible for some non-anthro animals (most likely mammals) to learn to walk and to use their paws (hands?) like anthro’s but it’s very difficult (and vice versa if an anthro wants to learn to be more like a non-anthro)

— there’s also a United Nations equivalent who are tasked with keeping peace between species— they have a representative for each major species of each biome and with groups such as rainforest or polar regions working as groups, or having one collective vote on large scale issues (they’re also the ones who fund the Octonauts)

— their world is just as, if not more technologically advanced in some areas than ours (I mean hey, they manage to hide whole helmets in small collars!)

— humans never existed so many animals evolved in almost identical ways to fill that niche; some did, but some didn’t, which is why there are non-anthro animals as well

— most of, if not all, the world share a collective language that basically makes cross-species communication easier

— adding: each genus shares a language (with species having, like, slightly different versions, e.g.: wolves and dogs have slightly different pronunciations or slang, but sound very similar when compared to a fox) but all animals are taught the universal language

— like all things, the Octonauts probably have a few haters and enemies (because no world is perfect) and they sometimes have to watch their backs when at ports to resupply

— adding: they probably get into conflict with people who overfish, or people who pollute the ocean or oil rig people

— most animals have extended lifespans that are closer in length to humans

— some objects we use that usually have simple handles have grips, or whole shaped loops for paws to make holding them easier

— coat colour possibility and variations are far greater than in our world (I mean— Tweak’s GREEN and she also glows in the dark), and it either developed as a result of evolution, OR there was a nuclear war and some species’ genes were affected by nuclear radiation several generations ago; or both

— the Polar Scouts, in terms of world history, are a very recent invention—they were, most likely, introduced as a way to get young polar bear cubs to grow up in an environment that encourages equality and helping others (based on this post)

— the Polar Scouts programme was put in place by a Polar/Arctic sector of that United Nations style group, and whilst it HAS BEEN very successful (crime rates and the amount of violent polar bears has dropped A LOT), there are still quite a few bad eggs

— there are stereotypes about different animals; e.g. polar bears are expected to be violent and cruel, and enough live up to this stereotype that it persists

— adding: which is why Barnacles is really careful, patient, and understanding when helping other creatures

— although some countries are still using oils and plastics, society is gradually switching to sources more helpful to the environment

-ˋˏ ༻ ♡ ༺ ˎˊ-

NOTE : WILL BE UPDATED WHEN I FIND / COME UP WITH NEW STUFF !

#octonauts #octonauts headcanons

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tanihanya · 28 days

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RATING PRIDE FLAGS: DAY 1 2??

Soo... Of Course I set out something to do over pride month and then miss the LITERAL FIRST DAY Buttt... I'm gonna start it now !! at 12am!! wooo DAY 1 (or 2): THE PROGRESS FLAG

BOTH VARIANTS!

1. BOTH FLAGS

Okay--- So, Based on looks alone, these two flags have always historically been my favourites. I guess it's a really simple yet complex design as a whole? It's everything amazing about the Pride Flag: It has way too many colours, and is way too hard to draw to be a good flag design,,, BUT STILL WORKS??

Because of this, The Progress Flags work soo well with what they represent. They do break the rules of flag design, but the fact that they still mean so much and still work so well aesthetically, as flags? beautiful--- 100%, 10/10, Amazing.

2. The Differences

Okay... So, The only thing that seperates them is the representation of Intersex people on the second flag. In the past, I have normally disliked that aesthetically- as I believed it pushed the flag from 'overcomplicated in a good way' to 'overcomplicated in an impossible way'--- However, I've really gotta say, My opinion has changed. While I do love the extra space my identity- the trans colours, get on the Progress Flag... Intersex Representation adds so much to this flag, and I don't know, the extra number of arrows look rad as hell?? OVERALL, Newer Progress Flag just over-all wins for me. (I mean, as a flag, including the meaning, it was always better due to the representation anyways--) Buttt yea !! That's all for today !! That's today's lil Pride Flag Rant over !! hehe

#lgbtqia #transblr #transgender #trans #lgbtq #transfem #pride month #ANALYSE A FLAG A DAY CHALLENGE #Day 1 #pride flags #vexillology #pride flag #progress flag #queer

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morallyinept · 15 days

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Glorification - A Jack Daniels x Pregnant F!Reader One Shot

Written as part of my B O D I E S Series 🤎

BODIES MASTERLIST

This is the same Husband!Jack and Wife!Reader from my Christmas One Shot Cowboy Christmas. If you haven't read that story yet, you might want to for context, however this story can be read as a stand alone.

Summary: You're overdue and uncomfortable in your pregnancy, and so your husband Jack thinks of a way he can help.

Pairing: Husband Jack Daniels x Pregnant Wife F!Reader (No name or physical description of reader in terms of ethnicity, Reader does have hair. Reader is pregnant and married to Jack.)

Word Count: 9.3k

Scoville Smut Rating:🌶️🌶️🌶️ “You tell me I'm doing well, and then, you try to kill me."

Check out my Scoville Smut Ratings here.

Triggers & warnings: Mentions of a stillborn foal/descriptions of pregnancy and birth - the birth is successful, please do not worry/unprotected PIV (wrap up, folks!)/fingering/jerking off/sex during pregnancy/some very mild lactation/Jack finds you irresistible

NSFW. MINORS DNI! OVER 18’s ONLY. YOU ARE SOLELY RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU READ.☝🏻Don’t come at me; you’ve been plenty warned.

I write for me, and I share with you. If this story isn't to your taste, that's fine. Just slip quietly out the back door. No need to make a fuss. It's just a work of fiction.

Author’s Note: It's important to me that all types of readers are represented in my work, therefore this collection of stories is written for readers with REAL bodies. However, anyone can enjoy them. Whilst this story may not specifically represent your own personal journey, it is my hope that it resonates and offers comfort and enjoyment. Pregnancy is not 'one size fits all' - everyone's journey is personal and unique, and I have undertaken as much research as I can to write accurately and respectfully. 🤎

MAIN MASTERLIST | AGENT WHISKEY MASTERLIST

Enjoy! 🖤

The merging seasons aren't just a backdrop to life on the ranch; they’re a reflection of the cycles of nature, of growth and transformation.

Spring often brings with it a pastel clash of colour, as the barren trees burst forth with delicate blossoms, and the fields erupt in a carpet of wildflowers. The air becomes alive with the hum of bees and the chirping of birds, while newborn foals frolic in the paddocks, their playful antics a joyful addition to the season of renewal.

Dust kicked up by thunderous hooves hangs heavy in the air during the sweltering summer of Rodeo season, mingling with the scent of freshly cut hay and the tang of sweat. Evenings are spent under the stars, gathered around a crackling fire, the sky ablaze with the twinkle of a thousand distant worlds.

And then, as autumn sweeps across the land, the ranch is bathed in the bokeh light of fading days. The trees shed their leaves in a riot of reds and golds, covering the ground in a mosaic of vivid colour. The air is crisp with the promise of frost, and the scent of woodsmoke once again fills the air as preparations are made for the long winter ahead.

It was back in the depths of winter, when the ranch lay shrouded in a thick blanket of snow, that the news of the baby was met with joy and wonder by the ranch employees at yours and Jack’s announcement. It had felt like the perfect gift for the festive season.

As you traverse across the ranch now, the scorching heat of summer beats down upon you, the sun's rays relentless in their fierce intensity. You can feel the warmth radiating from the ground, seeping through the soles of your boots, and you wipe a bead of sweat from the back of your neck, longing for the cool relief of shade.

Walking, you’d read, had seemed like a good idea to ease the near constant discomfort you felt now. With each waddly step, your back aches with the weight of your large belly that’s dropped, and a dull throb radiates from almost everywhere.

The rhythmic movement of your walk seems to exacerbate the pelvic pain you’ve been experiencing rather than soothe it - aching twinges shoot through your pelvis with each step. You pause for a moment, placing a hand on your globular stomach and take a deep breath to ease the discomfort.

Despite the fatigue, and the dry heat hanging in the late August air, you press on towards the stables, determined to find distraction in the familiar surroundings of the ranch.

But as you walk, the swelling in your feet and ankles becomes more pronounced, your boots feeling tight and constricting. You already long to kick them off and let your feet breathe, toes dipped in cool water, but you soldier on, knowing that there are tasks to attend to.

With each step, you feel a sense of breathlessness creeping in, your lungs struggling to expand fully beneath the weight of your swollen uterus. You stop again to catch your breath, leaning against a fence post for support as you wait for the sensation to pass.

Amidst the aches and pains, there’s one sensation that never fails to bring a bit of surprise - the gentle nudges and flutters of your unborn baby. As you walk, you feel the movement in your belly, which soon becomes heavier and makes you wince a little.

Despite Jack’s insistence that you take it easy, you can’t stand being cooped up inside all day. You love the horses, love the rhythm of the ranch, and need to feel useful.

As you fill a bucket with grain, you feel a familiar kick from the baby, as if the little one is agreeing with your decision.

"Hey there, bub," you begin, your voice affectionate yet playful. "Are you practising your boxing moves on my insides?"

The baby responds with another vigorous kick, as if in confirmation, and you chuckle, feeling the impact reverberate through your abdomen.

"Okay, okay," you continue, grinning despite the discomfort, and the constant urge to pee. "I get it, you're eager to make your presence known. Trust me, I can’t wait to get you out, too. But let's go easy on Mama's organs, alright?" You stroke and pat your tum until the movements subside.

As you enter the stables, you feel a sense of familiarity wash over you - a feeling of connection that seems to transcend the boundaries between human and animal. You approach the nearest horse, a gentle, black mare named Rosie, and reach out to stroke her soft muzzle.

"Hey there, girl," you murmur, your voice gentle and soothing. "How are you today? Missed you."

To your surprise, Rosie nuzzles against your belly, her warm breath tickling your skin. The horse's movements are unusually gentle, as if she senses something different about you.

You can't help but smile at the gesture, a warmth spreading through your heart.

"Do you know there's a baby in there?" You whisper, your hand resting on your swollen abdomen. "Are you trying to say hello?"

Rosie seems to nod in response, her dark eyes meeting yours with a knowing gaze. It’s as if the horse can sense the new life growing within you, offering a silent but unmistakable gesture of welcome.

With a tender touch, you reach out to stroke Rosie's mane, your heart heavy with the memory of the shared grief.

As you stand beside Rosie, feeling the gentle nuzzle against your belly, a wave of empathy washes over you as you remember the pain Rosie had endured the previous summer.

It had been a difficult time for everyone on the ranch when Rosie birthed a foal that was stillborn - a heartbreaking loss that had left an ache in your heart. Even Jack had shed a tear, running his calloused hands over his red, misty eyes.

"I remember, Rosie," you murmur softly. "We were all so sad when your little one didn't make it."

Rosie whinnies softly, her eyes reflecting a depth of understanding that seems almost human. As if the horse can feel the bittersweet mix of emotions that you carry within - a longing for the new life growing within you, tempered by the memory of loss.

As you stand together in the quiet of the stables, you feel a sense of connection with Rosie that goes beyond words. You’re both mothers, bonded by the joys and sorrows of life on the ranch. And in that moment of shared understanding, you know that Rosie is more than just a horse - she’s a friend, a confidante, and a kindred spirit.

With a grateful smile, you lean in to butt your forehead against Rosie's, feeling the warmth of her breath mingling with your own.

“Come on, let’s give you a brush down. You’ll like that, huh?”

You open the paddock and step inside reaching for the brush and lead Rosie out. And that’s where Jack finds you shortly afterwards, brushing down the rear of the mare and conversing with her like the old friends you are.

You look up to see your husband striding towards you.

Jack cuts a striking figure against the backdrop of the ranch, his tall frame and rugged features reminiscent of a classic cowboy from the old Westerns. A Burt Reynolds swagger that only he can pull off.

He often wears a dark black Stetson, its brim shading his deep chocolate eyes from the harsh glare of the sun, adding an air of mystery and intrigue to his swarthy demeanour.

With a crooked smile under a well-groomed and thick, dark moustache, and a twinkle in his eye, Jack is the epitome of the quintessential Kentucky cowboy; handsome, charming and incredibly devout - to you, his wife.

His attire - when not on the Rodeo in those bejewelled, fringed shirts and chaps - typically consists of well-worn plaid shirts. Their earthy tones compliment the rich colours of the landscape and cling to his muscular frame, emphasising the strength and vitality that seems to radiate from every pore.

Paired with sturdy jeans that bear the marks of hard work and countless hours in the saddle, which show off his perfectly pert ass that you can never stop staring at.

You understand that his intentions are pure - he only wants what’s best for you and your unborn baby. But you long for the days when you can simply be together, without the weight of his worry hanging over you like a dark cloud. You're capable, you’re strong and you don't need to be treated like you’re made of porcelain.

But lately, he’s been the bane of your irritation.

Despite Jack's unwavering love and care, his fussing around with the pregnancy has begun to grate on your nerves. While you appreciate his concern, there are moments when his constant attention feels suffocating, as if he doesn't trust you to take care of yourself.

His attempts to mollycoddle you leave you feeling frustrated and smothered, longing for a sense of independence and autonomy.

“What in tarnation do ya think you’re doin’?” Jack’s voice booms, startling the horses and making you jump.

You turn to face him, your eyes flashing with defiance. “I’m feeding the horses, Jack. What does it look like?”

“It looks like ya puttin’ yourself n’ our baby in danger!” He strides over, his tan cowboy boots thudding heavily on the stable floor. “Ya could’ve been kicked, or trampled!”

“Rosie won’t hurt me, Jack.” You say, patting her behind gently.

“And if somethin’ happened to spook her, then what?” He braces his hands on his slender hips whilst he frowns at you.

“Only one who’s spooking anyone here is you. Keep your voice down!” You hiss, setting the brush down with a thud. “I can still do things around here. I’m not just gonna sit inside and wait-”

“That’s exactly what ya need to do!” His voice rises further with frustration. “Doc said to take it easy, n’ you know it.”

You square your shoulders, your chin lifting stubbornly. “I need to feel like I’m part of this ranch, part of our life. Sitting around makes me feel useless, not to mention uncomfortable.”

Jack takes a deep breath, trying to reign in his temper. “It’s not about bein’ useless, sugar. It’s about keepin’ you n’ the baby safe.”

“Jesus Christ, you’re smothering me, Jack! Wrapping me up in damn cotton ain’t helping things!” You shoot back, your voice wavering with emotion. “I-I need to breathe. I need to be me!”

Jack’s eyes harden. “So, riskin’ your life is how ya wanna be you? What about our baby? What if somethin’ had happened to you out here?”

“Nothing happened, oh my God!” You shout, tears of frustration welling up. “I can’t just sit around waiting for this baby to come. I’m going crazy, Jack!”

You throw him a pained look. “And I don’t think you get that.”

You storm out of the stable, leaving Jack standing there, anger and worry warring within him.

“Sugar!” He calls after you, but you ignore him. He kicks the bucket of feed over, grain going everywhere. “Fuck!”

He glances at Rosie who seems to eye him back with the same contention.

“Don’t look at me like that. I know, I know…” He says, stepping towards her and patting her affectionately.

Jack finds you upstairs a little while later, your posture slumped in the chair by the window, and your eyes red from crying after the argument.

He replays the scene in his mind, each moment etched with vivid clarity. The frustration in your eyes, the hurt in your voice - it’s all too real. Jack knows he’s crossed a line, said things he doesn't mean in the heat of the moment.

Taking off his Stetson, guilt weighs heavily on him as he lingers in the doorway, realising he’s upset you more than he ever intended. He seems to be doing that a lot lately.

His fingers pad against the rim of the hat anxiously as he observes you.

But now, in the aftermath, the remorse floods in like a tidal wave.

The impending arrival of the baby fills him with a mixture of excitement and dread, as he grapples with the weight of his responsibilities as a new father. In the months leading up to the birth, Jack had thrown himself into preparation, devouring parenting books and attending antenatal classes with you in town.

He recalls sitting behind you and mimicking the deep, rhythmic breaths together. As you'd exhaled, Jack couldn’t help but blow a raspberry in your ear, trying to lighten the mood, and you'd burst out laughing, earning you a glare from some of the other expectant mothers.

And when he helped you into the squat position, you'd wobbled and tipped back on him, resulting in more infectious giggles spreading between the two of you that you’d almost peed there and then.

Jack had really embraced the thought of being a dad. He’d meticulously assembled the crib, painted the nursery walls, and stocked up on diapers and baby clothes. He was particularly fond of the little vests and onesies that had cute slogans sewn on like daddy’s lil’ cowpoke.

And that’s when he suddenly went into protective mode at full blown speed.

He’d even practised changing diapers on a doll, much to your amusement, as the diaper fell off when he held up the doll to show you.

But despite his best efforts to prepare, the reality of impending fatherhood still felt daunting and overwhelming.

Jack's anxieties about becoming a father manifested in his tendency to be overly protective of you and your unborn baby. Every day seemed to bring a new set of worries, and Jack couldn't help but hover around you, constantly checking on your wellbeing and fretting over every tiny, little detail.

From ensuring you were eating the right foods to reminding you to take your prenatal vitamins, he was always there, eager to anticipate your needs before you even voiced them. And at first it was endearing and cute.

But sometimes, his well-intentioned fussing felt more suffocating than supportive. And he realised he was probably being irritating and irrational, and tried to reign it in, but he couldn’t help it - he’d had a nightmare that'd spooked him.

One night, waking up beside you, drenched in sweat and trying to convince himself it wasn’t real - that he hadn’t lost you during the labour. He never told you, just stroked your hair whilst you were sleeping and tried to calm himself down.

He loves you, more than anything in the world. You’re his rock, his better half - his everything.

But Jack couldn't shake the nagging fear that something might go wrong. He became overly cautious about you engaging in any activities that he perceived as potentially risky for you or the baby. He insisted that you refrain from lifting heavy objects, climbing ladders, or even bending over too far, fearing the worst.

He found himself keeping a closer eye on your every move, trying to shield you from any potential harm. He’d watch you like a hawk, ready to swoop in at the slightest sign of discomfort or distress.

It was exhausting you both, and it was only inevitable that one of you would eventually snap.

"Sugar," Jack begins softly, reaching out to gently touch your shoulder. "I'm sorry, darlin’. I’m an insensitive fool. Can ya forgive me? I hate seein’ ya like this.”

“I’m so uncomfortable, Jack. I just want this damn baby out.” You sob in frustration, glancing down at your distended belly, almost as if it’s taunting you.

You’re long overdue, the once-glowing excitement has waned, replaced by a weariness born of anticipation and impatience. Each morning brings with it a renewed hope that today will be the day, only to be met with disappointment as the hours slip away without any indication of impending labour.

You’d tried everything - walking, spicy foods, even old wives' tales passed down through generations - but still, the baby remains stubbornly nestled inside, refusing to budge. The doctors reassured you both that it’s not uncommon for pregnancies to go past their due date, but with each passing day, your anxiety and frustration grows.

“I can’t take this much longer. I’m hot, I’m swollen… I ache all over-”

He kneels down beside you, squeezing your hand gently inside of his. “Ssh now, you’re alright. It’s alright.”

You sniffle and wipe your eyes free of tears, but they just keep coming. “I’m so tired.” You whine with a choke.

“I know, darlin’.” Jack thinks for a moment, his mind trying to recall anything he’s read in the books that will help ease your discomfort. “How ‘bout we try to help you relax? Maybe a massage, ease some of that tension, hmm?”

You look at him sceptically. “A massage?”

“Yeah,” he says, his voice filled with earnestness. “Can help with the aches, n’ maybe even encourage the lil’ dill pickle to come on out. Stubborn lil’ thing’s overcookin’ in there.”

He places his palm open on your belly, fingers splayed like a giant starfish. “You’re causing ya Mama all sorts of grief, ain'tcha?” He says directly to your stomach.

You watch as he lifts up the lapels of your shirt and places a soft kiss on the globe. And you stroke through his soft curls at his nape, unable to be mad at him when you know he just cares and loves you so much.

He looks up at you, smiles crookedly under that damn moustache at you, and you melt.

“C’mon. Let me do this for ya, sugar.” He sways.

You hesitate, then nod when those big browns of his hypnotise you. “Okay.”

Jack smiles “Alright. Let’s get ya comfortable now.”

In the quiet of the bedroom, Jack helps you undress, gently pulling off your boots and unbuttoning your shirt with a tenderness that speaks volumes. As he looks at you, his eyes filled with admiration, he can't help but marvel at you, even in the midst of your obvious discomfort.

“Damn, you’re so pretty when you’re mad at me,” Jack smirks with a crooked grin.

“I don’t feel pretty, I feel like a damn elephant.” You pout.

“Y'know, the gestation period for an elephant is twenty-two months.”

You frown at him. “Are you calling me an elephant?”

"Well, if you're an elephant, then you're the most beautiful elephant in the whole damn world."

You roll your eyes, but a hint of amusement dances in them. "Flattery will get you nowhere, mister," you retort, though your lips twitch with suppressed laughter.

"Oh, I don't know ‘bout that," Jack replies, his voice low and suggestive. "I seem to recall it workin’ pretty well for me in the past."

You arch an eyebrow, a playful challenge in your expression. "Is that so?"

“Mm-hm.” He grins.

"Yeah. You’re right. You did this to me.” You remark with a wry smirk and pointing to your belly.

"We’ve got some nice smelling oils, pregnancy safe... Wanna crack one open n’ see if it helps?”

You nod, too tired to protest. "Let's see what magic potions you've got, cowboy."

As Jack's hands move over your skin, the soothing aroma envelops you, mingling with the natural scent of the sweltering summer afternoon drifting through the open window.

Jack retreats into the bathroom and comes back with a small bottle with a purple label. Natural lavender oil. He helps you sit on the bed and kneels up behind you.

With careful hands, he begins to knead your shoulders, using the oil he’s warmed in them.

His touch is firm yet gentle, the callouses from years of ranch work adding a unique texture that seems to blend strength and tenderness. The oil, warmed to perfection, glides smoothly, leaving a trail of relaxation in its wake.

Jack’s fingers work their magic, easing the knots and tension that have built up in your muscles over the past months. You feel the stress melting away, replaced by a deep, encompassing calm.

Every stroke of his hands seems to coax a sigh of relief from your lips, the tension in your shoulders and back dissipating like morning mist under the sun.

"You're pretty good at this," you murmur, your eyes closed as you savour the sensation.

“I don’t like to boast, but I’m good with my hands…” Jack remarks, smoothing them down your arms and back up again.

As he continues, the scent of lavender grows richer, blending with the natural oils of your skin. Jack’s touch moves further south, carefully massaging your lower back.

You feel yourself sinking deeper into the bed, the aches and pains of late pregnancy receding with each gentle press and stroke.

For a while, you’re both silent, lost in the intimacy of the moment. Jack’s hands, roughened but tender in their purpose, bring you a sense of peace you haven’t felt in months.

The oils, combined with his careful ministrations, create a cocoon of serenity around you that you just sink into.

“Jack, your hands feel amazing,” you all but drool. “Oh God, right there!” You groan out when he presses into a deep knot in your lower back.

He smiles as he presses in harder and you groan out again, this time louder. “That got it, huh?”

“Fuck, yes. Mmm, feels so good.”

“Yeah, ya like that, huh?” You can hear him smirking.

“Don’t stop.” You sigh, turning your head as his lips graze the skin on your neck. He kisses you there softly. “Oh God…”

His hands slide up your back and unclasp your bra. He slips the straps down your arms and you feel warm drops pelt your engorged breasts.

Opening your eyes, you watch as his hands smear the oil into your swollen, heavy mounds and you sink back against his chest. He runs his thumbs and fingers around your nipples, pinching gently and making you hiss.

“Jack?” You hum, dreamily.

“Yes, darlin’?”

“You said this was an all over body massage, right?” You smirk.

“Devil woman.” He clucks in your ear.

You can hear him grin and feel the hairs of his moustache tickle you deliciously.

“Ya feelin’ nice n' relaxed?” He purrs in your ear.

He gropes and squeezes your breasts and your breath catches in your throat as he moves lower, his hands skimming over the swell of your belly with a reverence that borders on worship.

He can feel the gentle flutter of the baby's movements beneath his fingertips, a reminder of the life you’ve created together.

“Yeah…”

“Good,” he says as his hand dips below your stomach and momentarily you feel him rubbing between your legs against your panties. He slips his fingers in the side of them and finds you absolutely soaked.

“Jesus, darlin’, you’re drippin’.” He groans in awe as his fingers slip inside your drenched folds.

“Can’t help it, your hands feel really good.” You sigh.

“Maybe... maybe we could try somethin’ to help get things movin’.”

“Like what?” You murmur.

“I read that sometimes having sex can help induce the labour. Somethin’ in the semen.” Jack husks.

“Is that so?” You grin. “You really did your research, huh?”

You gasp as he swipes the pads of his fingers over your protruding and throbbing clit. It feels so good as the tingles ramp up into a desperate ache, seemingly drowning out all the others as the heat starts to overtake your body.

“I just wanna help ya anyway I can, sugar. But only if you're comfortable with it.”

"I don't know," you hesitate, your voice barely above a whisper, but breaking as he strokes your clit. "I feel so large, so... uncomfortable, and... oh God, Jack…"

The thought of intimacy, of losing yourself in the heat of passion, is undeniably tempting. Your whole body craves it right now.

And yet, the weight of your swollen belly, the physical discomfort that seems to grow with each passing day, fills you with a sense of self-consciousness you can't shake.

He pulls it all out of you, letting you shudder and moan against him.

“There ya go,” he soothes as his fingers dip into your hole to gather more of your slick before swirling them around your throbbing clit.

The urge is too much, you’re clenching around nothing and want desperately for him to fill you.

“We can try, go slow?” You pant.

“Real nice n' slow.” He murmurs in agreement.

You twist seeking his mouth, and he slips his tongue between your lips as you groan. You feel his fingers on his other hand glide under your chin, tilting you into him as he massages your clit in dizzy circles.

“You're so fuckin’ beautiful,” Jack says, all warm and moist in your ear.

And it makes your eyes water because for a while now, you’ve felt anything but.

Your body has changed and it won’t be the same. Spidery stretch marks ripple across your belly and thighs, your nipples feel bigger and longer somehow like they've been stretched. Your body aches so much, your ankles feel like they might snap at any given moment when you stand. And your back? God, your spine really abhors you almost every second of the day.

Pregnancy has been hard to adjust to, the morning sickness wiped you out in the beginning. That nauseating feeling that you thought would never go away still haunts you. Your sense of smell has been altered, and your vagina was doing all sorts of weird things to prepare for the labour the closer you got to the due date.

“Ya glowin’, sugar.”

And yet through it all there’s been one constant - Jack.

He’s never stopped telling you how beautiful you are throughout the whole transition. Even when he’s been annoying.

“Ya gonna come for me, mama?” He smirks.

“Jack…” You whine as his fingers slip over your clit, and you can feel that delicious pulsing start to tighten again.

He feels you melt into him, your hands fisting around the comforter as you climb that peak.

“Jack, baby… Oh God! Don’t stop!”

His fingers swirl in your wetness and coat your clit again that’s about to burst. He feels you shake against him and hears you lose your air as you fly.

His fingers twist around your nipples and you just wish he would bite them - hard.

“So damn pretty,” he husks.

He plants a hot trail of wet kisses across your shoulder before shifting to grasp your breast and tongues the nipple. He sucks it and it makes your cunt ache deliciously for him.

“Jack, suck them,” you whine. “Please.”

He does, teasing his tongue around the swollen areola and then slips your nipple into his mouth. He squeezes between his thumb and finger on the other and milky fluid seeps from it to which he laps up so brazenly.

“Fuck, darlin’, you taste so good.” He says, running his lips and mouthing over them gently.

“Harder, Jack.”

He continually strokes over your belly, plants kisses over it and lavishes it with affection. You reach down and slip your hands into his jeans, feeling him out.

You feel him pinch it between his teeth as he sucks and you cry out in relief.

You gasp as his hand slips down your stomach and he runs his oily index finger across your slit. Slides back and forth, up and down over your labia until you’re practically begging for him to fuck you.

But he resists, keeping you on the edge, each nudge of your overstimulated clit sending sparks through your body.

He assists and unbuckles his belt, popping open the buttons to reveal a dark thicket of hairs, and your hand finds his impressive cock.

Reaching for the oil, you drizzle a little over it after he shucks his jeans fully off and he grunts, licking into your mouth as you stroke his thick length.

“Jesus, darlin’,” Jack pants, just watching you work him up and down, twisting your cupped palm around him.

Slathering his rock hard cock in the oil and massaging the girth of him. All shiny under the light and squelchy between your fingers as you tighten your grip around him.

Working the pressure you feel him swell and pulse around your palm as he slips through it with wet ease. It’s wondrous as you look down at it, settling your eyes on that gorgeous, thick shaft inside your hands, making his thighs taut and his abs twitch in response to your slow, massaging strokes.

“You’re spoilin’ me, sugar. This was 'posed to be all ‘bout makin’ you feel relaxed,” he groans.

“Oh, I’m feeling pretty good,” you smirk.

He slides his thick fingers inside you, and immediately squeeze around them.

“Jack, I need you,” you groan desperately.

“Take what ya need, darlin’. I’ll make it all better for ya.”

You straddle him instantly. He holds onto your hips as you steady and wobble and then slide down onto that greased up cock, feeling every inch of him as you take him. The ridge of his head, the puff of his frenum; the thick ropes of his veins… you feel it all.

Moving up and down on him in slow see-saw movements, your pussy seeps all over him, coating him in an oil all of its own. You hear those little moans and whimpers and watch how he bites his lip at that first melding of your pussy around his cock.

“Jack! Fuck!”

He supports you with his big hands on your butt, lifting you up and down on his cock as you ride. He keeps licking your nipples, sucking them into his mouth as you buck and moan on top of him.

“That’s it, sugar, let it all out. Oh, your pussy feels so damn good squeezin’ me like that, fuck… yes. So damn tight, how the heck are ya gon’ push our baby outta this, hmm?”

“Mmm, you feel so big.” You coo.

“Nice n’ big for you, sugar.” You can feel that delicious sensation as you descend down his cock, inch by excruciating inch.

He feels so good inside of you, reaching deeper and making you feel so full. You need to come so badly, you can feel it burning through your body with that deep ache rising in your core.

Jack sits up, licking up the salty skin between your breasts until he finds your lips. Bucking his hips up into you as you pant. You grasp the back of his neck, sweat laden curls sliding like silk through your fingers at his nape as you ride him to reach your peak.

“Fuck, I love watchin' you take it, darlin’,” Jack pants.

He rests back on his elbows just watching you ride, eyes dark and hooded as you throw your head back and greet your orgasm with an intense pitch of moans.

His neck cranes and jaw clenches as you shudder around him, eyes rolling back in sweet delusion as you rock on his cock buried deep inside your body.

You place your hands on his chest and feel the throng of his heartbeat pulse under your fingertips. He rubs up and down your arms, slipping across your skin with ease.

“I love the feel of your hands all over me.” You whine.

He smirks as he rubs them all over your greased belly, holding that precious life you’ve both created inside of you, the culmination of your love.

“Do whatever ya can to keep that dick tight inside ya, sugar. That’s it. I can feel your pussy grippin’ onto it. Fuck, that feels so good! Keep that cock inside ya. That’s it, ride it. Ride me!” Jack puffs.

“Jack! Shit! I’m coming!”

“Ride through it, darlin’, fuck!”

It melts it all away in a burst of twinkles and glitter behind your eyelids. That stubborn ache in your spine seems appeased, if but for a few heady moments. Jack’s kisses and hands swamp you, soothing it all away as you grind and ride him, taking it all.

“You look so fuckin’ beautiful, sugar. Shit… pussy’s all wet n’ soakin’ all over me.”

He reaches down beneath your swollen belly and finds your engorged clit, which he starts to rub and flick with his thumb. It drives you into a frenzy, keening and moaning as you buck on top of him, gasping for air and shaking uncontrollably.

“Oh fuck, darlin’, feels so fuckin’ good… look at you, carrying my baby like that. Gonna put more inside of you. Give you all my babies.” He grunts.

“Jack!” You can feel yourself fleeting, exhaustion creeping in as you struggle to keep yourself up right.

“Hold on steady, darlin’,” Jack croons as your hands steady themselves on his chest. “I got you. C'mon now, ya got one more in ya. I know you do. Want some of this hot come I got for you, don’t ya? S’all for you, darlin’.”

As you approach your finish, your strength wanes, giving way to exhaustion so Jack holds your hips in place, holding you down on him and rocking his hips. Crushed together, just rubbing and grinding as his cock furrows deep and your pitches rise.

You can barely take it, but it feels so good too as you both move in tandem around sultry, gasping circles.

“Jack, fuck… too good, I need it, I need it-”

“Show me those pretty eyes, that’s it.”

“That feels so good. Oh my God!” You’re gripping him tightly, he can feel it and those grunts of satisfaction start grazing out of him. “I love feeling every inch of you.”

“I love givin’ you every damn inch of me.”

You can feel stream after stream of him explode deep inside of you.

You can see him tense, the cords in his neck pulse, the flush in his cheeks rise. And a loud grunt escapes him as he lets go. “Ah, yeah, there you go. That’s it darlin’… all for you.”

“Holy fuck, sugar… you're incredible. Look at you, you’re gonna be a mama.” He says in awe as he strokes over your belly.

You clasp your hands over his, sweaty and slick with oil. “And you’re gonna be a daddy real soon.”

The night is peaceful and still, the ranch enveloped in a serene silence broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves and the distant call of a night bird.

The soft glow of the moon filters through the bedroom window, casting a gentle light across the room where you and Jack lay sleeping.

But a sudden and unfamiliar sensation jolts you from the depths of sleep. You blink, disoriented, before realising with a startle that your water has broken.

The bed is damp beneath you, and a mix of excitement and nervousness surges through you.

“Jack,” you groan urgently, reaching out to shake his shoulder. “Jack, wake up!”

Your heart pounds in your chest. “My water broke. I think the baby’s coming!”

Jack, a deep sleeper after long days of hard work on the ranch, groans softly and turns over on his back.

“Sugar? What’s wrong?” His voice is thick with sleep, but concern is evident.

Those words snap Jack awake instantly. He sits up, his eyes wide and alert in the moonlight. “What? Now?”

“Yes, now!” You reply, a mixture of anxiety and excitement in your voice. “We need to get to the hospital.”

Jack springs into action, all traces of sleep gone. “Okay, okay. Let’s get ya dressed n’ in the truck.”

He has you in there double time and soon racing off the ranch towards the highway.

“Now, don't ya worry ‘bout a thing, darlin’. Lil’ dill pickle was just stayin’ in there all nice and cosy like.”

“Guess we woke him up.” You chuckle as Jack winks at you.

“‘Bout time. Are ya feelin' alright? Any pain yet?” Jack asks, turning the wheel.

His other hand is in yours as you squeeze it. The reality of the moment hits you both like a tidal wave, washing over you with a powerful force.

Months of preparation and anticipation have led to this instant, and now, the time has finally come. Your baby is finally on its way.

“It’s a little uncomfortable, yeah,” you reply, taking deep breaths to keep yourself calm.

“You keep breathin’ like them classes taught ya. In through the nose, nice n’ deep like.” He mimics the breathing exercises himself, inhaling in deeply and puffing out like a locomotive, and you can’t help but smile as his cheeks fill with air.

As you both drive down the highway, the headlights illuminating the way, Jack feels you squeeze his hand tighter as you gasp.

“We’re gon' be okay. You’re strong, n' we’re gonna meet our baby soon. Hoo boy!”

The drive feels both endless and fleeting as he speeds through the quiet countryside, the dark landscape passing by in a blur. You focus on your breathing, trying to stay calm as the contractions begin to build.

“Oh shit,” you groan. “Jack!” You clutch your belly as you feel a tightening sensation in your abdomen that ebbs and flows with a sharp rhythm of its own.

You breathe through each wave, your eyes fixed on a point in the distance as you focus on managing the pain.

“We’re almost there,” Jack reassures, his voice steady even as he drives a bit faster than usual.

Finally, the hospital comes into view, and Jack pulls up sloppily to the emergency entrance and jumps out, calling for assistance. Within moments, a nurse appears with a wheelchair, helping you into it as Jack parks the truck.

The hospital room, initially bright and hopeful, grows tense as the birth progresses. Your contractions are intense and close together, but despite your best efforts, something doesn’t feel right.

The hospital staff quickly take over, guiding you to a delivery room as your contractions intensify. As the nurses and doctors prepare for the birth, Jack stays close by, never letting go of your hand.

The room buzzes with a hive of activity, but all you can focus on is the fact that soon, you’ll be holding yours and Jack’s baby in your arms.

The doctor’s calm demeanour begins to slip, her eyes reflecting a growing concern.

“We need you to push harder,” the doctor urges, her voice steady, but urgent. “The baby’s heart rate is dropping. We need to get this little one out now, okay?”

Jack tightens his grip on your hand, his voice trembling with worry. “You can do this, sugar. Just a lil’ more. You’re so close.”

You push with all your strength, your body exhausted and your mind foggy with pain and fear. You can see the worry etched on Jack’s face and try to draw strength from his presence, but the fear is overwhelming.

"Push!” The doctor urges you, and you strain pushing and grunting as Jack taps your hand with his other, encouraging you.

“Push, darlin’, that’s it, ya got it! It’s comin’, our baby’s comin’!”

You cry out, screaming as you push. You squeeze Jack’s hand as hard as you can, and he’s steadfast and resilient, locking his fingers tight inside yours.

He’s looking at your face and admiring your strength right now, even if it’s a face that fucking terrifies him to see you in so much pain.

Your heart pounds in your chest, panic rising. “What’s happening? Jack? Why isn’t the baby crying?”

Finally, with one last, desperate push, the baby is born. But instead of the joyful cry you’d hoped for, there’s an eerie silence.

The doctor quickly takes the baby, working with the nurses to stimulate a response.

Jack’s face is pale, his deep nutmeg eyes wide with fear and staring over where they're all huddled.

“Jack, is the baby okay?” You ask, your voice cracking.

Your heart clenches with fear, when he looks back at you with desperate, watery eyes, and in that moment, a painful memory surfaces. You’re transported back to last summer, recalling Rosie’s stillborn foal.

The silence now feels hauntingly similar to the silence then - the same suffocating quiet that had filled the barn when you both realised the foal would never take its first breath.

Tears stream down your face, your body trembles with exhaustion and fear - Jack stays by your side, his own eyes filling with tears as he watches helplessly as the medical team crowd around your baby.

"No," you whisper, your voice trembling. "Not again. Please, not again...”

Jack grips your hand so tightly that you can no longer feel it.

"C’mon, lil dill pickle," he murmurs, desperation lacing his words.

In your memory, you’re back in the barn, the scent of hay and earth filling your senses. You can see Rosie, your beloved mare, standing over the stillborn foal. The mare's mournful neigh echoes in the quiet barn, a haunting sound filled with sorrow and loss.

The memory of Rosie's cries seem to grow louder, more insistent, and suddenly it isn't just a memory - it’s here, now, mixing with the present. The harrowing sound of the horse's cry merging with another sound - a small, tentative shriek that slowly grows stronger.

You blink, the barn dissolving as the delivery room comes back into focus. The baby's cry, now clear and robust, fills the walls.

Jack’s eyes soften, starting in his eyebrows and continue down to his smile as it becomes a beautiful pink arch on his sun-rough features. A diamond in the scuff of his face. He pulls you close and wraps his strong arms around you tightly in relief as you sob against his chest.

The crying of the baby rattles you both; both your heads turning to see the tiny, bloodied babe that the doctor has pulled out of you. It’s powerful grizzles stunning you both as she plops it on your chest.

“Well, look at that, our lil dill pickle is a fighter, huh? Just like his mama.” Jack coos as he places a kiss on the side of your head.

Holding your baby close, you whisper a silent thank you to Rosie, feeling the mare's spirit with you, guiding you through this moment.

The cries of your baby boy fills your heart with a joy so profound it’s almost overwhelming.

Your little boy is a mound of shaky flesh with tiny features and puffy slits for eyes as he cries. He’s perfect and pure. The epitome of what life is all about; re-birth, growth.

His nostrils are two, small pin pricks in his face as he settles into gurgles, and you’re more enamoured and fascinated with him than anything you’ve come across in your life so far.

“You did it, sugar.” Jack praises. He places a kiss on the top of your sweaty crown and squeezes your shoulder affectionately.

“We did it,” you smile up at him. “God, I love you,” you smile through your tears at Jack and stroke the baby’s head.

“I love you too, sugar.”

A few weeks after the baby's birth, you feel strong enough to venture out to the stable.

You cradle your tiny son in your arms, feeling the warmth of the late afternoon sun on your back. Jack walks beside you, one arm wrapped protectively around your waist, the other holding the stable door open.

"Hey there, Rosie," you say softly, your voice full of affection. "We've got someone special for you to meet."

As you step inside, the familiar scents of hay and horses envelop you. Rosie, standing in her stall, lifts her head and nickers softly at the sight of you.

Rosie immediately moves closer, her large, gentle eyes focused on the baby in your arms. She sniffs curiously, her warm breath brushing against your son’s tiny face.

"Easy, girl," Jack murmurs, patting Rosie's neck.

You carefully lower the baby so Rosie can get a better look. The mare nuzzles the baby gently, her whiskers tickling his cheek and making him gurgle with a sleepy delight.

Tears fill your eyes as you watch the tender interaction, feeling a deep connection between the past and the present.

"It's like she knows," you whisper to Jack, leaning into him for support.

Jack nods. His love for his horses knows no bounds. Each one is more than just an animal; they’re his partners, his friends, his companions on the rodeo that he trusts with his life each time he slips into the saddle.

Jack has spent years building these relationships, understanding each horse's unique personality and quirks. In return, they give him their loyalty and affection, a silent promise of unwavering companionship. Through it all, their bonds have only grown stronger, a testament to the unbreakable connection between man and horse.

From the spirited stallions with their fiery eyes, to the gentle mares with their nurturing natures, every horse on the ranch holds a special place in his heart.

There's something almost magical about the bond he shares with these magnificent creatures. They trust him implicitly, responding to his gentle touch and soothing commands.

But Rosie is special, unique, and he can't help but marvel at the beauty and strength of the animal before him, and the bond you share with her in particular.

“Horses always do, darlin’.” Jack confirms, as he strokes down Rosie’s neck with misty eyes of his own. “They know nothin’ but love.”

The months following the birth had been a whirlwind.

Sleepless nights, endless bottle feedings, and constant diaper changes had consumed your days and nights. Jack’s rodeo schedule only added to the strain, leaving you to navigate the challenges of new motherhood largely on your own.

You feel the weight of exhaustion settle into your bones as you breastfeed in the chair by the window in the nursery.

As you watch your child’s tiny chest rise and fall, your mind wanders back to the days when life was simpler, when it was just you and Jack, navigating the ranch and your love for each other - the excitement you both felt at starting a family, which has now waned into chronic exhaustion.

Your muscles feel weaker, your back aches from constantly bending over to pick up the baby, and your hips still feel wide and sore from the birth. You notice every change; the extra weight you carry, the way your clothes fit differently, the persistence of the linea nigra, the dark line running down your abdomen.

Your body still feels foreign. You imagined that once the baby was born, you’d start to feel like yourself again, but that hasn’t been the case.

Your stomach, once flat and toned, is now soft and stretched, the skin marked with zig-zagged lines. Your breasts, swollen and sore from breastfeeding, ache constantly. Even simple movements often leave you feeling fatigued.

The fact that you and Jack haven’t managed so much as a night alone together since the birth, and you can't help but to feel a niggling thought itching at the back of your brain about that.

Each time you look in the mirror, you see a body that has transformed in ways you hadn’t anticipated. You gently touch your belly, feeling the residual softness now it’s flatter, but seems saggier somehow, and remember the kicks and movements of the baby growing inside you.

Despite your love for your son, you struggle with creeping feelings of inadequacy that try to rear their ugly head. The constant fatigue and physical discomfort takes a heavy toll on your emotions. There are times you often feel disconnected, not just from yourself, but sometimes even from the baby.

Your gaze fixates on the pastel patterned wallpaper in the nursery, the delicate flowers blurring into a wash of colour. Your body moves automatically, the rhythm ingrained from countless nights of the same routine now, but your mind floats elsewhere.

Hearing his screeching cries freezes you as you zone out, a sharp, insistent sound that soon ebbs away into white noise. The sound of the baby’s cries become a dull roar in your ears, the pitch and volume blending into a monotonous drone.

You can feel the vibrations of each cry reverberate through your body, but it seems to come from far away. As the cries grow louder, you feel yourself slipping away, your mind retreating to a place where the noise can’t reach you.

You think of the days before the baby, when your life had been filled with the simple, predictable rhythms of the ranch. You remember the freedom of riding Rosie through the open fields, the wind in your hair and the sun on your face.

Those moments feel like a lifetime ago, almost as if they belong to someone else and you feel wretched for even thinking of some minute speck of freedom.

The weight of your exhaustion presses down on you, your muscles ache from the constant strain of holding and soothing the baby. Your arms feel heavy, your back throbs, and your eyes burn with unshed tears.

The baby’s cries begin to soften, gradually tapering off into hiccuping sobs and you feel yourself being pulled back to the present, your awareness and guilt slowly sharpening.

The world outside the nursery fades away, leaving you in a cocoon of daunting silence. You’re vaguely aware of the baby’s tiny fists waving in the air, succumbing to closing your eyes, letting yourself drift further into the quiet place in your mind.

It’s a moment of surrender, a brief escape from the relentless demands of motherhood. In that stillness, you find a flicker of peace, a small respite from the overwhelming noise and exhaustion.

You look down at your son, whose tear-streaked face is beginning to relax. The sight brings a wave of love and tenderness that cuts through your fatigue. Despite the exhaustion, the worry, and the disconnection, there's a deep, unbreakable bond between you and your child and a love that transcends anything.

You know now what they mean about that motherly protective instinct, you feel it like fire in your blood.

Shushing the baby in your arms, you catch sight of yourself in the mirror. Prodding thoughts of worry about your relationship with Jack slip through the cracks.

There had been moments, a brief cuddle in bed before he was snoring into your shoulder, a kiss in the shower before the baby cried and you both slipped around each other clumsily to tend to him.

You wonder if he still finds you attractive, if he notices the changes in your body as much as you do. You fret over the intimate details, like how childbirth has changed you physically.

What if he doesn’t find me attractive anymore?

You wonder if Jack misses you as much as you miss the feel of him against your skin. Miss how his arms cradle you tight, how his lips feel brushing against yours.

Miss how deep his cock feels when he fills you up.

“What? Where?”

One evening, as the sun dips below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the ranch, Jack approaches you with a twinkle in his dark eyes.

“Come with me, darlin’.”

He pulls you along with his hands and all the way outside.

“Jack, we can’t leave the baby-”

You’re cut off by a figure walking towards the ranch and smiling, and recognizing it as Phyllis, one of the stable hands and a long time friend of you both.

“Dontcha’ worry ‘bout a thing, darlin’. We’ve got the night off.” Jack says, as he winks at Phyllis who heads inside.

Jack grins. “You’ll see.”

Your eyes widen in surprise, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips as Jack holds the passenger side door open to his truck for you.

“Where are we going, cowboy?”

As you settle down beside him, you look around, taking in the beauty of the spot Jack has chosen. The tranquillity of the moment washes over you, easing some of the tension that has built up over the past few months.

He drives to a secluded spot on the other side of the ranch across a few acres; a grassy knoll overlooking the rolling hills that’s bathed in the golden light of the setting sun.

Jack spreads out a plaid blanket and unpacks a wicker basket filled with your favourite foods.

You look down at the bottle as he pours out a glass for you, and smile.

“That isn’t moonshine, is it?”

Jack hands you the glass, his eyes filled with warmth. “Shit, I wish.”

“Well, ya needed a break. I know I ain’t been around much to help. Season’s winding down now, n' I promise I’ll pick up the slack with daddy duty.”

Your heart swells with gratitude and love as you take in the moments of peace and relaxation.

“Jack, this is amazing.”

“I’m so lucky to have you.” You smile. You reach forward and run the curls behind his ears through your fingers.

“Not as lucky as me.” He takes your hand and kisses over the knuckles. “I’ve missed you, sugar.” He says, his voice a low rumble that sends a thrill through your entire being.

“I’ve missed you too, cowboy. You know, you’re staring at me something hot there.” You say as you notice his eyes dark and burning into you.

Jack chuckles, his eyes twinkling. "Can't blame a man for admirin’ his beautiful wife, can ya?"

You baulk. “You… still think I’m beautiful?”

“Darlin’, I never stopped thinkin’ it. C’mere.”

You feel your heart flutter at his words, a warmth filling you up as he pulls you into his arms. Those deep, soulful browns holding a warmth and intensity in them that makes you feel seen. Jack’s gaze is magnetic, falling into a depth of affection and desire that never fails to send shivers down your spine in a delicious way.

He looks at you as if you’re the most beautiful sight he’s ever seen as his eyes trace your features with a slow, appreciative sweep. You watch as he licks his lip, tongue gliding slowly over the bottom cerise one as he takes you in and it makes you clench.

Despite the exhaustion and the constant demands of your new life as parents, Jack’s look and the way he's biting his lip right now can still ignite a fire within you.

“So fuckin’ beautiful.” He leans in and kisses your neck.

"Smooth talker," you tease with a sigh.

You inhale the scent of him and it makes your mouth water. A blend of earthy, rugged aromas that speak of his days spent working under the open sky. The smell of fresh hay and leather, mingling with the subtle hint of sweat from a day's hard labour.

A trace of the rich, loamy soil from the fields, a woodsy fragrance with notes of cedar and sandalwood, grounding and comforting; a scent that’s distinctly Jack - warm, strong, and reassuring.

Jack grins unabashedly, purring into your ear. "Guilty as charged.”

The heat of his body against yours is intoxicating, a heady mix of comfort and desire. You feel your own body responding, your breath quickening and your skin tingling with anticipation.

You feel his hands slide down your back and grope your ass tightly, making you gasp and smirk as he presses you into his hardening bulge.

He lays back with you on the blanket pulling you over him.

"How’s my lady doin’?" He asks, his voice slipping over you like smooth caramel. "You feelin' good?"

“Really good,” you whimper as he runs his tongue across your throat, up your jaw and finds your mouth and you’re gone, completely surrendered to him.

“Good. Now, how ‘bout you gimme some of that sweet, sweet sugar, mama." Jack smirks.

I really hope you enjoyed reading this story with Jack, and welcome your comments/thoughts. I'd appreciate a re-blog if you liked it so others can find it on their dash to read and enjoy too - thank you very much! 🖤

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