I'm doing a monthly poll that will decide what NSFW Theme/Topic I'll be drawing for my Spicy Fish Tier on Patreon!
I'm looking for suggestions to put on the poll, it can be stuff like Jak taking it up the butt, or just character art suggestions in general! I think once I get into the swing of things more I'll get more specific with monthly themes, but to start, I want it as broad as possible!
If you're interested, comment a NSFW Art Suggestion down below!
I plan on posting the poll sometime tonight on my patreon for free! So stay tuned!
this may be a dumb thing to ask but could you draw dijon kirkpatrick nude like naked with no clothes ( you dont have too okay im just asking just take your time ) :)
Summary: It hadn’t been half a season before the news spread like wildfire through dry brush- whispered over whiskey at the saloon, traded between idle hands outside the sheriff’s office, passed from porch to porch until even the far edge of town to Amon’s quiet inn, couldn’t pretend not to know. You were pregnant, as aggravating of an experience that could be, Dijon, your lover, protector, and Shepard was always there to ease your burden. Or create more...
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Notes: just something short and cute I wrote for the last two Courtin Cowboys fans out there.
Content warnings: None, Tooth Rotting Fluff
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A pregnancy in the small town was just as paramount as a newcomer.
It hadn’t been half a season before the news spread like wildfire through dry brush- whispered over whiskey at the saloon, traded between idle hands outside the sheriff’s office, passed from porch to porch until even the far edge of town to Amon’s quiet inn, couldn’t pretend not to know.
You’d expected talk, sure - but not this feverish sort of excitement, not the way it seemed to take hold of everyone all at once.
The congratulations came easy. At first, they landed light as spring rain. Then they kept coming. And coming. Soon enough, they felt heavier like dust caught in the hem of your dress you couldn’t quite shake loose.
As you grew, eyes would linger too long, watching with bright, greedy curiosity. Many would mumble as you dragged by, their whispers trailing behind you.
Worse still were the elders.
They came in waves, settling in like they had every right, their voices low and thick with their southern drawl as they spoke of blessings and burdens, of mothers before you and mothers long gone. Their prayers stretched on and on, curling through the air like smoke that no matter how hard you wished it, never cleared. Morning, noon, night - it didn’t matter. They came anyway.
You were miserable, plain and simple. Even in the quiet of morning, with the house still and the light coming in soft through the windows, you couldn’t seem to settle. Comfort just… wouldn’t take.
This morning was no different-
Your feet were swollen, your back a steady, pounding ache, and your stomach sat heavy and unforgiving. Even breathing felt like work - slow, stubborn pulls of air that left you queasy and short-tempered besides.
Some stubborn fire in you refused to be snuffed, and with a low grunt, you shoved the covers aside and dragged your legs over the edge. The air bit colder than it had any right to be, the room holding onto that chill that made you want to throw that cover right back on. You hesitated, just for a second, truly weighing your courage before letting your bare feet drop to the floor.
Getting up felt like a fight all on its own.
Dressing yourself without help? That was a whole other kind of trouble waiting to happen.
You settled for the basin instead.
Splashing water onto your face, you let it drip down, cool and sharp against your skin. For a moment, you just stood there, breathing, hands gripping the edge like it might steady more than just your balance.
“And just what do you think you’re doin’ out of bed?”
You should’ve startled, should’ve near jumped out of your skin when that thick, molasses-slow drawl came from behind you. A younger version of you might’ve.
But not now.
His voice was a comfort. A constant bright, beacon of light in this new sea of change.
“I was thinkin’ of takin’ a walk,” you replied, voice soft, edged with something almost teasing before you questioned him back “Now what’re you doin’, lurkin’ on me like that, Dijon?”
“A good Shepard keeps track of the whole flock, but since' you won't come on home- I have to come to you instead."
“And just how did my 'Shepard' get in. Don't tell me you climbed through the window again?"
Whatever lightness had lingered between you had soured at you - likely correct- accusations. You turned on him, quick as your bloated body would allow, irritation burning through you - hot as coals, and hard to hold as the brewing frustrations boiled.
"W-well my darlin... I couldn't lie to you-" Dijon smiled sheepishly, rubbing the back of his straw covered head.
"And just how many times have I told you to just ask Amon for a spare key?" You braced your hands against your hips, widening you stance. Frowning- summoning as much anger as a grumpy, worn-out pregnant woman could manage.
Dijon- rather wisely- didn't answer back, instead his toned arms slipped around your waist, firm and unyielding.
“C’mon now,” Dijon murmured, thumb smoothing lazy circles against your waist. “If you’re so set on wanderin’, at least wander someplace decent."
"Don't ignore my question-" You pout. Taut skin above your brows creasing as your expression soured.
He lets out a choked laugh, pressing closer until you can smell the forest on him, barn on his skin. His curly hair is wind-tossed and his skin is breeze-kissed. He looked beautiful— like the sun in summer. Sure, it burned your ass— but you still couldn't help but appreciate it.
“Thought climbin’ through the window made me look devoted.”
You scoffed, throwing up your hands in mock annoyance. "Yeah— a real devoted creeper!"
The laugh that tears from Dijon throat was soft, a stark contrast to his sudden forcefulness. He was on you in a heartbeat, possessive hands around your hips, squeezing you so tightly you squeak in surprise. Wasting no time burying his face into the crook of your neck, breathing in your scent. His rough, unkept stubble raised gooseflesh in Its wake beckoning you to turn away fruitlessly from the ticklish sensation. Your futile struggling only amplified by Dijon planting desperate, slobbering kisses to you exposed neck and shoulders.
"D—Dijon! That Tickles!" You tittered, softly pressing a palm to your tormentors forehead, urging the dog- like affection to cease. "Stop! Down boy! Down!"
"Oh— so I'm some kind of dog now?" Dijon growls playfully, rough lips mumbling against your jaw.
You fire back, quick to tease your self-proclaimed Shepard: "If it barks like a dog and acts like a dog..."
"Why you—" He scolds, gripping your hips tighter, cutting off any chance of escape, before softly sinking the blunt of his canines into the tender skin beneath your neck. Not hard enough to break skin, but enough to make you flinch with a startled yelp.
Instinctively your palms found the wide plane of his back and smacked, hard.
He hardly reacts, only the subtle shift of muscle beneath your palm betrayed that he'd felt the attack at all. His jaws unlatched from your sensitive flesh, parting from your skin with an apologetic final kiss to the reddening mark.
You huffed, half exasperation for the frustratingly lovable man before you and half exhaustion from the product of your love weighing heavy in your stomach.
"C'mere, lamb," He finally relented, loosening his unwavering grip on you, settling you down upon your bed. "You're wearin' yourself out."
"M'fine. You're such a worrywart." You remained seated anyways, knowing fighting against Dijon's will was like trying to move a brick wall; at best you'd be met with a gentle, yet firm nudge in the opposite direction, either way, You weren't getting through that stubborn skull of his.
That didn't mean it wasn't worth a shot to try. "Honey?" You cooed.
His smile was instantaneous, whenever you were with him he'd always wore an almost dopey, love-struck grin that widened whenever you spoke a certain way.
"Hmm?~" He took your bait without question and you wasted no time readying your hook, line, and sinker.
"You want the best for me... Right?" You batted your eyelashes, fixing your face into that irresistible plea that you knew he couldn't resist.
The suspicion barely had time to cross his face before it crumbled entirely.
“Well, yeah,” Dijon answered at once, fumbling over the words in his haste to reassure you. “Course I do. You know I do.”
His hands smoothed over your sides absentmindedly, thumbs rubbing soft circles like he couldn’t help himself.
“Wouldn’t let nothin’ happen to you, lamb.”
"Can you take me home... Well— to your home?"
Dijon blinked, once, then twice. His expression pinched into something giddy. "My home?" He repeated dumbly, a wild grin already threatening the corners of his mouth and crinkling the niche of his eyes. You watched as the realization dawned on his slow and sweet.
“Well,” he started, failing terribly at hiding how pleased he looked. “Yeah. Yeah, honey. Course you can. B—but how long will you stay?"
"How long do you want me to stay?"
“Oh honey— please don't ever go.”
He settled like his words did, heavy and hopeful, lowering to his knees before you. Shaky hands found each other at your back as his head came to rest in your lap, against the faint heartbeat within your stomach.
For a moment, Dijon didn’t move.
His grip on you tightened just slightly, not possessive—more like instinct, like something in him had heard the same fear he’d just spoken and didn’t know what else to do with it.
His eyes lowered until they slid closed, resting against you, breathing warm and close.
“Ain’t goin’ nowhere,” you murmured at last, soft and assuring. “Wouldn’t dare stray from my diligent shepherd.”
He chuckled at that, one soft rolling sound that came and went like wind through tall grass. Then it faded, leaving only a quiet, content hum between you.
