#tw; breast cancer
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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! 🖤
BODIES MASTERLIST
MAIN MASTERLIST
JOEL MILLER MASTERLIST
#pedro pascal x reader#pedro pascal#joel miller#joel miller x reader#pedro pascal characters#joel miller x you#joel miller x f!reader#joel miller x female reader#joel miller smut#joel miller fluff#tw breast cancer#tw cancer#tw illness#tw medical#bodies series#every body is beautiful#real bodies#real love#diversity#inclusivity#jett's writing
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If you enjoy my blog please do me a huge favor and share this post and please donate, if you can.
#signal boost#go fund me#go fund them#signal boooooost#don’t ignore#please help#please help if yall can#mutual aid#cancer#tw cancer#breast cancer#tw breast cancer#financial assistance#fundrasier#fundraising#donation post#donate#donations needed#please share#please spread#please send help#urgent#important#please support#cancer treatment#please reblog#please read#gofundme#crowdfunding#charity
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#Transgender#breast cancer#trans breast cancer tw#politics#news#ron desantis#trans#florida#gop#republicans
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Was It Over? // Jake Seresin
-> Series Masterlist
Summary: When Jake is tasked with taking his kids this festive season, he never though he’d get a call in the middle of the night that would change his life. Marriage is tougher than it seemed on paper—but whats harder than accepting your marriage is crumbling around you is watching you ex wife slowly fade away.
Warnings: Character Death. Sick!reader. Breast cancer diagnosis. Jake Seresin x F!reader. Angst, hospital & medical inaccuracies. SLOW BURN ROMANCE/ANGST. Inaccurate medical information. Relationship turmoil.
Author Note: Masterlist subject to change as series is still a work in progress. Descriptions, word counts and titles may vary.
-> Chapter One: [The Diagnosis] The last thing you ever expected was to be diagnosed with breast cancer. To make matters worse? You’d been separated from the love of your life for just shy of a year. How do you tell the love of your life you might be dying? It’s simple really— You don’t. (Out Now) 2.1
-> Chapter Two: [Chemo & Charisma] Jake arrives in Rhode Island to accompany his three kids back to Houston Texas the next morning. He expects it to be slightly awkward, but something he doesn’t expect is to be cryptically seduced by you—his ex wife. (Out Now) 4.6
-> Chapter Three: [V For Vendetta] When your stomach can’t handle the Chemo medication, you empty the content of your stomach. While doing so, you and Jake come to a crossroads about your relationship going forward. (Out Now) 4.5
-> Chapter Four: [Parental Guidance] Jakes Mother simply cannot understand what he saw in you, your mother simply cannot comprehend why you left Jake. (Out Now) 4.1
-> Chapter Five: [Why Do They Call It Love?] Jake spends time with his side of the family and your kiddos in Texas. The lies quickly come to an end though when an overworked and overwhelmed nursing student makes the wrong call to your not so emergent contact. (Out Now) 5k
-> Chapter Six: [Chaos & Conflict] As panic consumes Jake after finding out about your current medical condition, Jake calls your mother to fill in the gaps. Nurse Lydia escapes being taken to her supervisor and Jake lets lose on his mother who tries to stop him leaving. (Out Now) 4.4k
-> Chapter Seven [Faucet Failure] Jake makes his way back to you after finding out the truth. While under sedation to give your brain some rest, you remember the good times and the bad with your husband. (Out Now)4.6
-> Chapter Eight [Oh, Honeybee] Jake can’t accept why you’d keep such a life threatening situation a secret and you can’t accept why he suddenly seems to care. (Out Now) 4k
-> Chapter Nine [The Pomegranate Theory] Jakes still trying to wrap his head around what’s happening with your health. Doctor Ignatii oversteps? And you settle in while Jake helps you write some of your newest book. (Out Now) 4.3
-> Chapter Ten [The Potato Head Society & The Other Guy, Jarred?] Jake helps you shave your head in hopes of keeping your power and control. Facing your own mortality makes you question your faith in a higher authority and Jensen and Jake met for the first, and what you hope, will be the last time. (Out Now) 4.0k
-> Chapter Eleven [The Man] When Jensen and Jake butt heads over who’s what to you, it blows way out of proportion to an extent so high, that Jake lashes out. (Out Now) 5.6
#was it over? // jake seresin#jake seresin fanfiction#jake hangman seresin#jake hangman imagine#jake hangman seresin x reader#jake seresin series#jake seresin imagine#TopGun hangman#topgun fanfic#tw: cancer#tw: breast cancer#tw: stroke
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Following the news that Kate Middleton has in fact been diagnosed with cancer, I’d like the take the time to offer some information on cancer in afab people and some charities to support.
Cancer is a very personal and scary thing to face, and according to Cancer Research UK, every two minutes in the uk someone is diagnosed with cancer. Over 182000 women in the uk are diagnosed every year.
Almost half of all cancer cases are diagnosed at stages 3 & 4, and screening rates for breast and cervical cancers have fallen in the last few years in England and Scotland.
According to The Eve Appeal, around 60 afab people are diagnosed with gynecological cancers alone every day in the uk, and 21 of them will not be able to receive appropriate treatment in time.
People around the world are woefully uneducated about cancer as a whole, but the stigma and lack of proper knowledge given to the public and young afab people about our own bodies means that we often go under diagnosed, or are too afraid or ashamed to see a doctor until it’s too late.
I’ll be listing some informational pages to help people learn about the signs of breast and gynecological cancers that I believe every young person with an afab reproductive system needs to know. On the pages from The Eve Appeal and Breast Cancer UK there is also information for transgender and intersex people.
All of these sites have information on how to identify possible markers of cancer, information on how to get tested, and on how to donate to their charities. I highly suggest everyone regardless of gender identity have a look through to potentially help yourself or a loved one.
-Roe
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Hello, a friend of mine was diagnosed with breast cancer. Her wife has opened a go fund me. I would be very thankful if you'd be able to help by sharing the post or the link to the campaign. If you can help financially that would be amazing, otherwise just spreading the post would be more than enough. Thank you!!
Link to GoFundMe
Link to Post
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Update: I’ll be having two surgeries, a double mastectomy and tissue expanders, then a bilateral DIEP flap (reconstruction using fat from my belly) a couple months later when my tissue has sufficiently expanded. It’s gonna expand a lot. I’m going big.
I’m about to be sober af this summer…no weed 6 weeks before or after each surgery. So I’m getting absolutely snoop dogged tonight. 200mg. Because my surgery could be as soon as 6 weeks from now (come on let’s get this over with!). I’ll get an exact date when the surgery scheduler calls.
Dr. Plastics wants me to start losing weight in a healthy way, too; cut out sweets, fast foods, and alcohol, and cut back on simple carbs. So that’ll be something to work on this spring.
This. Is. Gonna. Suck.
These are huge surgeries.
And two of my favorite coping mechanisms are now off limits. Three, counting sweets.
#insertcaffeine breast surgery#insertcaffeine vs weed#insertcaffeine vs alcohol#cancer fitblr#tw weight loss#metastatic breast cancer
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The Starring Astartes of Poor Unfortunate Soul AU
Author's note: So, this is based on the wonderful, wicked Idea that @barn-anon, @bleedingichorhearts, @c-u-c-koo-4-40k, @kit-williams were talking about how Biochemical Rejuvenation treatments are used by certain ranks of the Imperium.
Tagged: @whorety-k :) I had to have some sweetness for Smyith before his life goes... to Nurgle.
Part One
Warning: Illness, chronic pain, chronic fatigue, late-stage breast cancer, early-stage dementia, Comatose, car accident, PCOS, parkinson's disease, please let me know if there is more, I need to tag and add to the warnings! Keep yourself safe.
It's not been unlocked by Ancient Terra and how the Loyalists and Chaos Marines usually aren't trying to give too much technology and medical knowledge that isn't already made/discovered by the ancient humans upon Holy Terra. But... sometimes, the bonds between Astartes and Human pull the Astartes to doing things that are... ill-advised.
Tagged: @barn-anon, @bleedingichorhearts, @c-u-c-koo-4-40k, @kit-williams, @sleepyfan-blog, @whorety-k
Tagged: @whorety-k
This post isn't really going to be story, but it will help me, and anyone who reads understand who's-who, of the Main Character Astartes who read this AU. This is more of a "set up" not-chapter.
Seven is the favored number of Nurgle, and very important in Nurgilite Cultist stuff. So, Seven Astartes with humans suffering that will be going to a Death Guard for help. To keep their human safer, happier, 'healthier', and with them.
Loyalist Space Marines:
Su'cona he is a Salamander from post-heresy, after the second death of his Lord Father, Primarch Vulkan. His human has Chronic pain.
Zadakael is a Blood Angel who fought in the same battle that slew his Primarch Sanguinius and is one of the first to have fallen to the Black Rage and survived, somehow, and landed on Ancient Terra. His bonded has Parkinson's disease.
Symith is a Space Wolf who is from after the Heresy and during the time when his Primarch Leman Russ just got lost in the Warp, and they realized that he isn't returning. His Bonded was in a bad car accident and is now in a coma.
Renegade Space Marines:
Karlsor is a Night Lord from after the Heresy, and after the death of his Primarch, and the scattering of the Night Lords. His human has PCOS.
Alpharius nicknamed Chief by his human, true name Zariel, his bonded human has late-stage breast cancer.
Chaos Space Marines:
Zaarius is an Emperor's child from after the Heresy and is a Slaneshi space marine. His human has chronic fatigue.
Zeth is a Black Legionnaire from after the Heresy. His human has early stage dementia.
Hura is a Death Guard Chaos Marine and is the one that is providing the curse for what ails their humans. For a Price, of course.
#warhammer 40k#space marine husbandry sentience#space marine husbandry#warhammer#adeptus astartes#space marines#space marines oc#Poor Unfortunate Souls AU#Mermay#mermay 2024#mermay 40K#Poor Unfortunate Souls Space Marines Husbandry AU#Poor Unfortunate Souls Mermay AU#illness#chronic illness#invisible illness#illness tw#illness whump#sickness#physical health#breast cancer#PCOS#chronic pain#chronic fatigue#dimentia#comatose#OC: Hura#OC: Veth#OC: Zaarius#Alpharius
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PSA
I've thought long and hard about whether I should post about this, and I decided I should, if only to help raise awareness. Now that it's been a year, I think I'm ready.
Last year, on Easter Sunday of all days, I found a lump in my right knocker. I won't bore you with the details or the diagnostic hell that I went through (that my cat died in the middle off, fucking hell), but long story short, I was diagnosed with ER+ HER- Invasive Ductal Carcinoma, the most common form of breast cancer.
I had a lumpectomy and sentinel node biopsy on May 1 of last year, and completed a course of prophylactic radiation and am now taking an estrogen blocker called Tamoxifen to reduce the odds of recurrence, which for me, is fortunately very low (around 4% I'm told). Since completing treatment I've struggled a lot with anxiety and PTSD, and have started talk therapy and a low dose of effexor to take the edge off the emotional roller coaster I'm currently dealing with. I still have sleepless nights and rough moments, but I truly am doing very well right now.
My point in posting this is NOT to get sympathy or attention; I'm honestly fine! My purpose is this: I am considered young for cancer and hadn't even had a mammogram yet. I just need all my followers and mutuals with tiddies to know that it is possible to get this at any age, even with no exceptional risk factors. I had no family history of it, I'm relatively fit, and I quit smoking several years ago.
Did you know that 25% of all BC diagnoses are in people under 50?! I sure as hell didn't.
I got lucky. I caught it super early because I check myself regularly. In the shower, while I'm on the couch watching TV, or whenever. Different angles is key. I'm constantly feeling myself up. And I felt something that immediately felt wrong. I wasn't sure I would ever know if something was there, with all the lumps and bumps already present in there, but I knew. It felt hard, like a little stone.
So, I got it taken care of, and now I'm good! But If I can help even one person catch something early, then that would be a wonderful thing.
I truly am fine so I don't want anyone to worry. I posted this to my fandom blog simply because I have a LOT more followers here than on my boring main, and I'd like as many people to see this as possible. I know I'm not the only one in the fandom who has gone through this, so if you're out there and you want to chat, I'm here.
I'm happy to answer any questions you may have; my ask box is always open! Love you all! xx
#tw: cancer#cancer talk#breast cancer awareness#breast cancer#sorry to everyone who might not want to see this#feel free to ignore#ily
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For those who are unaware, October is breast cancer awareness month. I do not honestly imagine that many of you are unaware, as there are in fact substantial controversies around what has been termed "pinkwashing" i.e. companies using support of breast cancer charities to advertise their brand while meanwhile doing very little to support the cause and/or promote products which may actively contribute to increased risk of cancer. One of the most prominent charities, the Susan G Komen Breast Cancer Foundation, has been followed by controversies related to their allocation of research funding, their decision to pull support from Planned Parenthood, the considerable CEO pay, and their litigiousness around other charities using the phrase "for the cure".
Mattel have in fact collaborated with the Susan G Komen Breast Cancer foundation, with 2006's Pink Ribbon Barbie. Suitably, she was a Pink Label release, a collectors edition doll for ages 6+.
Barbie has a particular history that ties in with this subject matter; quite apart from the fact that the doll herself seems like a natural tie-in given her associations with the colour pink, feminity and, well, large breasts, the creator of Barbie, Ruth Handler, was herself diagnosed with breast cancer in 1970.
As a part of her treatment, Handler had a mastectomy. At the time, there were very few options available to women who had undergone mastectomies and wished to look like their pre-surgery selves. As a result, Handler collaborated with a prosthetics designer to develop liquid silicone prosthetics that could be worn by women who had undergone mastectomies. These hit the market in 1976.
As a result, Handler's obituary quotes her as saying that she lived her life "from breast to breast".
Just to cap this off, please do be aware of the risks and signs of breast cancer. Breast cancer can affect people regardless of their assigned sex at birth, potentially including those who have had top surgery depending on what kind of tissue remains post-surgery.
#barbie#ruth handler#pink ribbon barbie#breast cancer#tw cancer#breast cancer awareness#susan g komen
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A friend of mine lost her battle with cancer this spring.
About two weeks before that, she gave me a wack of pink fabric and a pattern and asked me to make this because she just didn’t have the energy and really wanted one made.
I finished the quilt top and took it to the hospital so she could see it on Friday evening, and on Saturday her daughter called and said Kathy had passed that night.
That weekend I quilted it and did the binding, and it was hung up for display at the funeral on Wednesday.
I love bargello quilts, and this one was too rushed for me to enjoy making it, but it’s been about eight months now, so I may try it again in a different colour way, or maybe just different pink fabrics.
#gay crafting#quilting#patchwork#lap blanket#quilt#finished project#pink#breast cancer#tw: death#cancer ribbon
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I've got a personal situation going on that I want to eventually talk about here, but in summary transphobes and fundamentalist christians hate women and can suck my spiritual dick about it
#idk maybe I'll go into more detail eventually#but essentially I'm very tired of the christian and terf narrative of 'don't get gender affirming care your body is healthy and perfect'#'the lord made you the way you should be :)'#and I know terfs aren't doing it based on jesus but they can still go fuck themselves over the same rhetoric with a 'fem' sticker over it#because I want to get top surgery but that's 'mutilating healthy tissue'#but I have a family history of early onset breast cancer which means getting preventative surgery is one of my best options#so what now? am I mutilated because it's gender affirming and technically not cancerous? or am I brave because I went under the knife to#prevent cancer I know Im likely to get?#You can't tell if I got top surgery to affirm my gender or a double mastectomy to prevent cancer unless you ask me#So right now Im very angry about the concept that I was 'beautifully and wonderfully made' by some deity that wanted my mom to die at 45#I discovered quite a few more medical issues I have and the christian crowd is getting on my fucking nerves about it#'let me pray over you' pray over this dick my mom and her mom already got got and I was gonna chop them regardless#ex christian#religious trauma#parental death tw
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Was It Over? // Jake Seresin
-> Chapter One: [The Diagnosis]
Summary: The last thing you ever expected was to be diagnosed with breast cancer. To make matters worse? You’d been separated from the love of your life for just shy of a year. How do you tell the love of your life you might be dying? It’s simple really— You don’t.
Warnings: Mentions of Cancer Diagnosis. Jake Seresin x F!reader. Separation. Marriage issues. Mentions of death.
Word Count: 2.1k
Author Note: I've put so much love, passion and time into this series. I'd love to hear all your theories and concepts as each chapter is released.
Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist
December 31st
Jake Seresin tried his best to hide the wet tears that fell down his cheeks as he sat with his kids on the lounge of the home that he had tried his best to keep as tidy as he could. There was a lot of uncertainty, a lot of frustration, a lot of fear and unbelievable sadness that surrounded Jake and your three small children. The unknown was truly tragic, terrifying and treacherous, but Jake wasn’t about to let his kids see the way he so desperately wanted to cry. He didn't want his kids to know how truly broken he was.
“What did mum get you for Christmas daddy?” Little Lenny asked cautiously, knowing the emotions were still raw for them all. He was just six years old but Lennox Seresin knew his life had changed forever. That something had been ripped from his heart never to be returned.
Jake held the small present in the palm of his hand, the present he had yet to open. The present he wasn’t sure he wanted to. It felt like something he’d held before, the weight felt all too familiar. It haunted him the more he carried it around, held it in the palm of his hand and contemplated the inevitable.
“I dunno buddy, you reckon I should open it?” Jake asked as he kissed his son's head. “S’not Christmas anymore.” The Naval Aviator had recently shaved his head, it had been the closest to a number one he’d ever had. It was in solidarity, union. A decision he made in the blink of an eye but one he did not regent or ever would.
“We haven’t taken the tree down yet.” Lucy added her two cents into the conversation as she laid her head on her father’s thigh. “Mum would be upset if you didn’t open it dad.” Jake knew that much was true, you probably would be pretty bent out of shape if he never opened it.
“Alright, I better open it then huh?” Jake shook the small perfectly wrapped box he could hold in the palm of his hand. He heard what sounded like a rock rattle inside. His heart nearly exploded inside his chest.
Fuck….Jake knew what it was and he really didn’t want to open it.
But before we get to that we need to go back a little. So settle in, grab your tissues and emotional support water bottle and hold on for dear life. Because this Christmas isn’t your average festive Christmas fic: No—this one’s something much more heartbreaking.
***~***~***~***~***~***~
November: 2nd
“I need you to take the kids for Christmas—“ It was the first thing Jake heard come through the phone as he held it up to his ear. It had been a few days since he’d last heard from you, not that you owed him daily check ins or regular updates, you owed him nothing, after all the two of you had been separated for just shy of a year now. January had been the start of his new beginning, Lieutenants Jake Hangman, soon to be divorced, couldn’t hack it as a husband, Seresin. The title was pretty long winded and riddled with self pity, but Jake wouldn’t ever let himself forget how much he’d let you down as a husband. As a father, as best friend.
The two of you had been college lovers. The star crossed kind of lovers with Jake being the very definition of Mr Popularity and yourself being the well mannered and reserved library dweller. You’d only stumbled across each other's paths one day in the unlikely event that Jake needed to borrow an actual hard copy of a Douglas A Howard book on the Ottoman Empire.
He ran right into you—and to this day had never stopped loving you. His Honey.
“Are we not splitting it between my family and yours like we said?” Jake frowned as he stepped out of his truck in the car park on base. You could hear the familiar jingle of his car keys as he shut the door of that black F150 he loved so much behind himself.
Your contact remained unchanged, it was simply Honeybee. That term of endearment that illuminated his entire phone screen never boded very well in Jake's favour when it came to his meaningless conquests. Hard Deck Badge Bunnies were a dime a dozen, but they were never you. Never the woman he longed for the most. Never the woman Jake let down more than enough times to count on two hands.
They were never you, because you left him January seventh at approximately four thirty in the afternoon. Jake would never forget that moment, that unimaginable heartbreak of finally coming to the gut wrenching conclusion that you had a limit. Hearing your voice through the phone as he pulled into work made him remember that you were across the country with his three kids in tow. You weren’t his anymore, he’d loved and lost you and didn’t know how to fix what he’d broken.
“I thought we were gonna—“
There wasn’t an easy way to explain to your ex husband how you were sitting in the doctor's office as you spoke to him looking at your last mammogram results. Aggressive Breast Cancer, Stage three A, triple positive grade three invasive doctoral carcinoma. Merry fucking Christmas. So, you interrupted him with a quick explanation, one so out of character and born out of pure panic to keep your newfound diagnosis of stage three breast cancer that needed to be treated as soon as possible before it could progress.
“I’ve been invited on a friend's trip, we’re going—“ Jake pretends not to hear the slight pause you took in your explanation, he decided it was because you feel guilty for dumping the kids on him like this. He knows you're not a bad mum, that’s why the kids he loves so dearly and with all his heart spend more time with you in Rhode Island than they do with him in North Island. “To Banff, yeah they booked a few rooms in the Sunshine Village but it’s a no kids trip.”
“You deserve it.” Jake doesn’t want to argue, it’s what ruined your marriage to begin with. The constant arguing back and forth over everything under the sun. But what Jake knew now that he didn’t back then was that over ninety percent of the time those arguments started because you were just begging him to love you the way you deserved. He’d never put you first a day in your marriage even though you’d selflessly followed him across the country to whatever posting, away from your family and friends, birthed his children, twins with heads just as big as his. You gave him love and support and thought he’d do the same in return.
But the reciprocal love in the form of equality never came no matter how long you waited or gave Jake, the love of your life, your best friend, the father of your children, the benefit of the doubt. It was you who cooked and cleaned and took care of the kids. It was you who stayed home night after night wondering when Jake would be home. It was you who stayed up riddled with anxiety that his last mission would be just that. It was you who heard the rumours about your husband in every city or small town you moved to. That he was a lady killer, a smooth talking guy with a cock sure attitude. He was the prize at the end of any lucky ladies night.
Except for you. But you never questioned your husband’s loyalty, never once asked or believed what everyone told you. That’s just who Jake was—a charismatic man with a heart of gold that was often overlooked. He was the best of the best and he’d stop at nothing to get where he wanted to go, to the very top. If Jake Seresin had to move a mountain to achieve his dream of becoming Commander of the Pacific Fleet then he was going to move that mountain. It was one of the reasons you’d fallen in love with his very closested dorky self.
You just never expected him to drop that very mountain on top of you and bury you alive under the pressure of keeping three beautiful kids alive, working, making sure there was food on the table for breakfast, lunch and dinner. The endless hours of housework that went unnoticed or the constant stress of being the default parent while deployments passed and new assignments came around.
Love sometimes isn’t enough, and Jake, despite the endless love you had for the man who made you a mother and a wife, wasn’t enough. He didn’t love you the way you loved him. Endlessly and without hesitation. Jake had always been your number one priority along with your kids, but you weren’t even on his list.
Jake knew he messed up when you told him you were leaving, he begged you not to, begged you on his knees to stay, that’s he’d change for you, be a better man for you and the kids. That he would do better, be better, be the man you fell in love with. But it was too late.
He wished he’d listened to you all the times that you had begged him to, so now? He didn’t want to argue, not with the woman he loved so dearly and missed so badly.
“I’ll take the kids, no problem, just tell me when I need to be at the airport and I’ll meet you guys there.”
You’d expected a fight, some sort of push back or argument to come from the other end of the phone call as you sat in your doctor's office with eyes trained heavily on your mammogram. But it never came and that made you sure that your ex husband had well and truly fallen out of love with you the way you wished you could with him. At least he cared enough before to argue, now? It was just passive stupidity.
“Okay, will do.” You pressed your lips together in an effort to not blurt out that you had asked your doctor if you were going to die and she had told you that she couldn’t answer that. In your mind that was a yes, yes you were dying and you felt like you couldn’t tell the one man you’d ever loved that you were taking that one way ticket to the place he’d once told you he wished you’d go in one of your long winded arguments. Hell. “I’ll uh—I’ll get the kids organised and explain what’s going on and I’ll text you all the information, sound good?”
“Sounds like a plan, Honeybee.” Jake had yet to kick that old habit. He cringed as the terms of endearment left his mouth and stilled in his tracks. “All good on my end.” His attempt to stumble awkwardly through his mistaken term of endearment didn’t go unnoticed by you in the slightest bit. Your stomach filled with butterflies at the terms that had slipped past your ex husband's lips on the other end of the line.
You missed him, you missed what the two of you used to be before things got so complicated. You missed the gentle nature of Jake's charisma before he fell so deep into the persona he played up for his colleagues and country. The Hangman. Always leaving people hanging, including his wife.
Jake was just and always would be simply Jake Seresin to you. Your now ex husband but still and forever the love of your life.
“Okay, I’ll talk to you soon, bye Jake, have a good day.” You hung up before your tears could spill from your lower lash line and left out a heavy sigh. As you closed your eyes and imagined what it would be like to be held in this moment by the man who promised he’d be there for you in sickness and in health, you reminded yourself why you left. You weren’t good enough for him to love you the way you deserved. How could you expect him to love you now when he couldnt even fix a fucking faucet when you asked?
“Okay, so what’s the next step?” Your doctor just looked at you with sympathetic eyes that told you this wasn’t going to be easy. She took a deep breath and handed you a treatment plan that was in her opinion, the best case scenario for your specific type of cancer.
“You fight for your family, Mrs Seresin.”
***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***
Tags: @blindedbythelightt @starset21@tayl0rhuynh @mamachasesmayhem @marvelogic @itsmytimetoodream @maverick-wingman @kodzukenmaaa @eternalsams @seitmai @nota-professional @jessicab1991 @hardballoonlove @senawashere @lafrone @fanficfandomlove @withahappyrefrain @dizzybee03 @maisie-rebloging-blog @goldenseresinretriever @a-reader-and-a-writer
#was it over? // jake seresin#jake seresin#tw: cancer#tw: breast cancer#jake seresin x reader#jake seresin x female!reader#top gun fan fiction#top gun fandom#jake hangman imagine#jake hangman seresin#jake hangman seresin x reader
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Happy Solar Eclipse day to the seven years woman and ONLY the seven years woman
Source
Content ID under cut
[Content ID: a 20-panel comic. It’s drawn in a simplistic stick-figure art style. The first 8 panels are more faded than the final 12
Panel 1: a woman and her boyfriend are sitting on a bed while the woman gets a call from a doctor. The boyfriend has one hand on her shoulder and another holding her unoccupied hand. She says “oh god”
Panel 2: the woman is sitting in a large chair, she has lost her hair and is receiving an IV infusion. The machine goes “…beeep…beeep…beeep” her boyfriend is sitting next to her. They’re both working on laptops.
Panel 3: the woman and boyfriend are canoeing on a lake. The woman is wearing a beanie. There’s lilypads in the lake and mountains in the background.
Panel 4: The woman and her boyfriend are sitting at a table. The woman is still bald. There’s a phone on the table and a clock on the wall. The woman says “how long can it take to read a scan!?”
Panel 5: the woman is receiving another IV infusion. Her boyfriend is with her and they’re playing scrabble. The boyfriend says “‘zarg’ isn’t a word.” The woman responds “but caaaancer.” The boyfriend relents “…ok, fine”
Panel 6: the woman and her boyfriend are talking to someone else. The woman is wearing a hat. The other person says “so next year you should come visit us up in the mountains and” the rest of his text is obscured. The woman and the boyfriend are both thinking “next year”
Panel 7: the woman and the boyfriend are getting married. The man is wearing a bow tie and the woman is wearing a white dress and veil. Her hair is short and a bit frizzy. There’s lots of other people there.
Panel 8: a caption at the top says “two years” the woman and her husband are at a coast watching a large bird swoop in and take a fish with a “fwoosh.” the girl is wearing a hat. This panel is the last of the faded ones.
Panel 9: the woman and her husband are walking through a forest full of tall trees. The woman seems to have grown back some of her hair.
Panel 10: the woman is sitting on the ground, her hair is down to the nape of her neck. Her husband is standing behind her. The woman says “my toe hurts. And I found a report of a case in which toe pain was an early sign of cancer spreading.” The husband responds “wait—didn’t you stub your toe yesterday?” The woman responds “yes, but what if this is unrelated?”
Panel 11: the woman and her husband are climbing into a dark cave while someone else guides them. The woman’s hair is down to her shoulders.
Panel 12: the woman is on a large rock taking a picture of a crocodile with a large camera. Her husband stands behind her on a platform with rails, he says “when they estimated your survival odds, I think they made some optimistic assumptions about your hobbies”
Panel 13: the woman is at a doctor’s appointment. Her hair is a little past her shoulders. The doctor says “this is probably nothing, but given your history, we should do a full scan. We’ll call with the results in a few days. Try not to worry about it until then!”
Panel 14: the woman and her husband are at a lake, their image is distorted by the water due to the angle of the picture. The woman is controlling a small submersible camera, she is looking at the lake floor.
Panel 15: the woman and her husband are standing next to each other. The woman’s hair has grown a bit past her shoulders. The woman says “hard to believe—six years ago, I was bald. But today, after a long struggle, I finally look like the little girl from The Ring.” Her husband responds “that’s, uhh…good?” The woman responds “hissssss”
Panel 16: the woman, her husband, and two other women and two other men are looking at a solar eclipse. The landscape is dark and you can see the corona behind the dark moon.
Panel 17: after the eclipse has passed, the world is bright again and everyone looks at each other. another blonde woman says “wow.” The woman says “yeah.”
Panel 18: the woman and her husband walk away hand in hand. The woman says “that was incredible. When’s the next one?” The husband responds “in seven years. Wanna go see it?”
Panel 19: the woman and her husband, still walking hand in hand, are both thinking of a timeline. The timeline has the years 2010, 2017, and 2024 marked with points. Before 2017, the timeline is a solid line, but after 2017, it’s a dashed line. There’s three question marks under the 2024 bullet point.
Panel 20: the woman says “yeah. I’ll do my best.” Her husband responds “it’s a date!”
End ID]
#jk happy eclipse day to everybody#do you know what this fucking comic means to me?#for context I am a breast cancer survivor#seven years woman I hope you see the eclipse with your husband today#I will draw that happening if xkcd doesn’t#eclipse#solar eclipse#cancer#tw cancer#cw cancer#cancer tw#cancer cw#2024#eclipse 2024#xkcd#xkcd.com#source: xkcd#seven years#chronic illness
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#the fact i had a fucking cancer scare today#thankfully the gp thinks it's just an abscess but i still feel so shaken up#especially cos my mom's had breast cancer twice#scary scary scary#tbd#tw cancer mention
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Human Future Leo doodle
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