#tw insecurities
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No thoughts but El dressing up as Billy because he's her hero- (it was supposed to be shorter but you know how it is)
TW: scars, descriptions of anxiety, insecurities, depression (it's fluff overall though)
"Well, I'm no nerd, but that sure as hell doesn't look like Wonder Woman, kid," Billy observes, the corners of his mouth quirking up into an amused yet fond sort of smile. He hadn't really smiled in ages, and he didn't think he could ever get used to it. It felt strange. The good kind, though.
El snorts a laugh, and his smile widens. She's an odd girl. Quiet, too. But she's the only one who doesn't treat him like he's a freak. She doesn't baby him, either. "Guess."
"Mmmm..." He taps his chin in thought, humoring her. "Bonnie Tyler?"
She shakes her head, the curly blonde wig hanging onto her buzzed head for dear life.
"Joan Jett?"
"Joan Jett has black hair!"
He looks at her costume again; a dangling earring, light pink lip gloss, denim jeans, and a stained wife beater hanging off her frame.
"You've lost me, kid."
El frowns, giving him a look that she gives Mike when he's around Will. The "I'm tired of your shit" look. It's eerily similar to Joyce's momma bear face.
A loud honk, followed by Hopper's empty threats of getting his gun, makes them both jump; Steve, Argyle, and Jonathan must be here to pick the kids up.
"You're gonna be late for trick or treating with Steve. Don't wanna make him wait, do ya?" he says, forcing a smile. He'd be lying if he said he didn't want to join them. However, there was no place for a scarred shell of who he used to be. Not that he missed the anger and the bruises (at least they faded away in time), but he wasn't like Steve or Dustin or even Robin.
He could be taken out of the equation, and... no one would care. He looks away, avoiding El's piercing stare.
She holds out her hand, and lightly tugs the tip of his fingers. "I'm you."
A startled laugh emits from him, and he shakes his head. He ought to clean his ears when she leaves.
"I'm dressed as the man who saved my life. My hero," El says, and those words combined with her voice, full of stubborn love, give a new reason to the growing lump in his throat. "Robin even added your scars on the shirt, see?"
He does, in fact, see. The scars don't look anything like the ugly jagged ones on his skin. They look... almost like decorations.
El gives him a knowing smile, not letting go off his hand. "Steve came up with the description. He said that they reminded him of flowers. The mark of a survivor. A hero."
There's that word again. Billy's eyes glaze with tears and he grabs his leather jacket, heading for the door, dragging El along.
She sends him a confused look.
Cheeks damp and stretched wider than ever, he takes out two cigarettes and passes one to her. "Now we match."
El puts her cigarette into her mouth, at the same time he does. "Bitchin'," she says gleefully.
He straightens her wig, and fluffs it up a bit before grabbing his keys. "Now, let's get going before all the good candy's gone, and all that's left is fruit snacks."
#billy hargrove#billy hargrove deserved better#billy hargrove was brave#el with a mullet would be so cute#tw scars#tw insecurities#a bit of angst#billy and el are friends#this is not a ship#harringrove imagines#harringrove#hopper and joyce#adopting everyone at this point#my writing#harringrove fanfiction#probably has errors#idk idc#we couldve had it all#billy hargrove is a hero#hes els hero#if you dont like it#argue with ya mama#and the wall#and dacres wig
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Drinks at your place
Starter: @duderosiers
Where: JC's apt, Descray
When: Whenever
Okay! Nick thought to himself as he pulled up to the apartments in Descry where Jean-Claude lived. This is no big deal. You can pretend JD looks great, it's probably nowhere near as bad! As a very vain man, Nicholas could imagine how JC might be feeling about what the mist had done to him. He could imagine because, he himself felt personally attacked by the almost human condition he now found himself in. Nick was far from wasting away, but the six foot four, broad shouldered wolf was smaller. The lean figure was still muscled, but lacked the sheer size it had been. Even his swagger was altered, now his muscles didn't bulge in a way that restricted his movements. He put on a brave face, but Nick had become a little obsessive in the intense changes he had made to him work out regiment and diet. Nicholas knew the power of diet and exercise had little to nothing on a supernatural big bad stripping him of his wolf given geology and gifts, but that didn't mean he would stop trying to control something. Given his own insecurities, Nick was therefore determined to not show any shock on his face when he finally saw his friend.
With a determined furrow to his bushy brows, Nick pushed his car door open, grabbing the ice box of salad and cocktail ingredients from the passenger seat, as he did so. The wolf locked his car with a quick click on his key and then strode towards the apartment building, heading for JC's place.
The wolf was dressed rather plainly, relative to some of the style choices he had made only a year ago. He wore jeans, dark brogues and a plain shirt that exposed a little of the chest hair, he had let grow out instead of waxing. The outfit was simple, ironed and neat, but lacked... colour. It looked good on his leaner, apparently hairier physique, but there was nothing special to it. The man's dark curls were longer, left wild without product, and he had facial hair that made him appear older.
The baby blue eyes and smirk on his chiselled face remained unchanged however. He also knocked on JC's front door with his usual force... though he had to exact more effort into the action.
Look normal, look normal Nick kept telling himself, inhaling deeply in anticipation. He was also just excited to see JC. Having not seen him in almost a year, the two had so much to catch up on and he didn't want the evening ruined by reacting badly to the vampires' appearance. Nick just hoped the evening would remain light, he needed light right now, just a little calm to compensate for the storm he had felt the world had become in the last year.
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#new art yeaaah#we have GOT to stop drawing this guy#my art#gintama#sakata gintoki#cw blood#tw blood#sorry for deleting I got insecure but I will be brave
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Hot take: SNAP/EBT (foodstamps) should be usable for buying hot ready made food. Not allowing poor people to get takeout is just punishing disabled people who can't cook just cause we're poor. I shouldn't have to choose between my last spoons and eating.
Second hot take: able-bodied poor people who can cook also deserve takeout. Everyone has days they're too exhausted to cook. No one should be punished for being poor. Easy access to food shouldn't be a fucking privilege.
-Saffron
#i just had the best fucking hot sandwich and I'm so mad about it#chronically ill#fuck capitalism#actually disabled#tw food insecurity
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i’m so fucked up that i think my therapist finds it annoying when im scheduling appointments with her
#borderline#borderline personality disorder#borderline thoughts#bpd#bpd vent#actually bpd#tw ptsd#actually ptsd#bpd feels#bpd thoughts#cptsd vent#tw self image#insecurity#bpd mood#bpd stuff#bpd problems#bpd shit#text
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!! QUICK PSA FOR TESTOSTERONE TAKERS !!
warning this is a bit gross so i'll put the photos under the cut but i think it's important because nobody told me about this before i started T
if you're taking testogel/any other T that you put on your skin, please for the love of god moisturise the skin you put it on
gel REALLY dries out your skin and as someone with dry skin anyway it caused my skin to flake and scab and break out more which has left a lot of scarring on my back/chest/shoulders
(yes, T causes acne anyway, but for me personally my skin didn't get that much worse after i started and it's improved since i've been moisturising more so that was the problem for me)
obviously there is absolutely NOTHING wrong with having acne or acne scarring or anything like that (it just makes me a bit insecure and means i have to put off getting tattoos there until it gets better), i just wish i'd started taking care of it earlier
also i would Never want to scare anyone off HRT if they want it because it's been a wonderful magical thing for me but there are some uncomfortable aspects of it and this is just one that i didn't know about
#tw scars#ramble#tboy swag#trans stuff#luckily from a distance it just looks like freckles but it's like. an insecurity i didn't have before#i've always moisturised my face but never my body and i didn't think it would make a difference#spoiler alert it DOES#again hrt is AMAZING and i've NEVER regretted starting it#but. puberty is awkward and uncomfy y'know#at least it's the RIGHT puberty this time#the benefits make all the bad parts SO WORTH IT#also for t takers you do just. have to wash more. because at the drop of a hat your skin starts SCREAMING#also bad combo if you're a scab picker. it's just not nice to go through
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🎃 trick or treat 🎃
summary: it's halloween and joel's taking your girls trick-or-treating with you in a family costume. feeling uncomfortable in his clothes and his skin, he's on edge most of the evening but does his best to disguise it in order to not spoil the fun. back at home, when his girls lightheartedly tease him about everything he already thought about himself, you're sure to end the night showing joel exactly how you feel about him and his body.
wc: 10k (oops?)
warnings: established relationship/married, canon divergent (no outbreak, ellie & sarah are both his kids, sort of obscure with if they're both his bio kids/your kids - basically y'all are a cute lil family either way! also joel is ~40, no age mentioned for reader!), halloween, family/group costumes, DOMESTIC JOEL!!!, fluff, body insecurities, age insecurities, joel has minor sensory issues?, his kids poke fun at him, sensitive joel, SMUT. it kind of is a thing for the basically the second half, descriptions of joel's body, tummy & thigh worship, oral (m receiving), cowboy rule (for a costume), unprotected piv, lowkey sub!joel for a lil bit, reader is "giving cunt" according to bestie el, then quickly gets back to dom!joel as he gets his confidence back, joel gets that strength in an adrenaline rush that moms get lifting cars off babies but his is for chasing a nut, also, dirty talk!
a/n: my contribution to spooky season, basically at the buzzer lol. this started with me thinking how cute it would be for joel to dress up and go trick-or-treating with his kids, and ended with wanting to s*** his d*** big time. anyways, enjoy my version of halloween with joel, and thank you to @kiwisbell for screaming about this scenario with me and as always a big thanks to my sweet, sweet girlfriend @northernbluess for beta-ing!!!!
Brought on much later than the northern states, fall in Texas is not quite an impactful sight. The one thing that can’t be beaten though is the Texas sun; shining across expansive horizons all times of year, temperatures of the light shifting with the seasons. Orange evening sun stretches across the sky and seeps down in between the leaves speckled with changing colors while Joel’s truck coasts down the neighborhood street. Kids retreat from running around in the road when his car approaches, returning right back to their gameplay when he’s through. Half are dressed up, a medley mix of witches, zombies, vampires, Power Rangers, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, Disney Princesses, and countless outfits that he has no idea what they’re referencing.
Fibrous, white faux spiderwebs litter the front porches of the houses lining the street, Jack-O-Lanterns carved and lit up stack on the stairs or create a path along the front walkways. Some of the pumpkins’ faces are wrinkly and sagging, signs of overeagerness from when the fall season started earlier this month. A handful of scarecrows find themselves pitched in the middle of yards with hay spilling out of them, and some of the houses have turned out an expense to get those motion-sensor decorations — the ones really intended to scare the kids that will be unleashed on the neighborhood to trick-or-treat this evening.
Rolling to a stop as he turns into the asphalt driveway, throwing the truck in park, he sits in the cab for a still moment, staring at the signs of life scattered around his family’s house. Four pumpkins, gutted and showing off their faces, a family feud that reached a compromise when it was decided that yes, they would carve pumpkins but no, they would not sit to rot on the front porch all month long; the corn stalks wrapped around the posts of the porch, tied with burlap twine and arranged with sprigs of fall foliage; pots of colorful mums framing the path up to the house, carefully selected by your eye and less delicately planted in their terracotta vessels by Joel’s hands.
Aside from the seasonal decorations, the usual markings of the Miller family were easily spotted: chalk drawings on the shared sidewalk in front of the yard and along the driveway, replaced every weekend by Sarah once the old was washed or worn away; Ellie’s bike discarded on the front lawn, small tire tracks digging up the grass, no matter how many times Joel and you have asked her to put it away when she’s done; the porch swing that Joel built for you, swaying in the breeze and now unoccupied — unusual for the evening routine around the time that Joel comes home from work. He’s normally greeted by his girls, not merely their artifacts. But tonight is a different night, much busier than the slow, molasses life Joel gets to enjoy in the colder weather.
Gathering his lunch bag from the bench seat and bunching up his jacket in the same hand, Joel climbs out of the car and walks into the open garage, leaving his tools behind in the flatbed to be dealt with tomorrow morning. Passing your parked car, he shakes his head with a subtle smile as he closes the driver’s side door of your SUV left open. He can picture you now, running around after picking the girls up from school, mental space occupied by getting everything and everyone together to make it out the door before the sun went down completely.
There’s a trail of evidence to support his musings: a lonesome plastic bag filled with groceries left on top of the car, Sarah’s purple jacket looped through the handle of the garage fridge, probably left behind after she went looking for a juice, and Ellie’s army green backpack tossed on the ground in front of the shoe racks lining the wall next to the door. None of that would fly had you been your usual focused self — more often than not, you’re the parent to put their foot down and keep the girls in line while Joel is the total pushover.
Along his way inside, he picks up all the left-behind items, balancing everything in his hands while he steps into the mudroom. Ellie’s backpack gets shoved into her designated cubby, and Sarah’s jacket gets wrapped on a hook screwed into the wall as Joel kicks off his work boots. After depositing his own belongings in their spots, lunch bag in his cubby and jacket on the hook next to Sarah’s, he grabs his boots in one hand, leaning out the doorway to place them on top of the shoe rack. Closing the door behind him, he picks up the singular bag of groceries left on top of your SUV and pads across the tile further into the house. Immediately, he’s embraced by the warmth radiating from the kitchen, the smells of tomatoes, onions, garlic, and more wafting into his nose causing a smile to stretch across his face and his stomach to rumble.
Every year that he’s known you, without fail, you use Halloween night as an excuse to cook up your family-favorite chili recipe. Sure, it doesn’t get too cold for October in Texas, but damn, does he look forward to the night every year simply for a bowl of it. Laboring over the prep and slow-cooking it all day long, anyone who tries it can taste the care in each bite; like a warm blanket wrapped around his shoulders that lasts with him for the entire evening spent outside with the kids.
The pleas of his stomach lead him straight into the kitchen, his smile growing wider when he sees you standing over the kitchen counter, affixing a sheriff badge to the cow print vest laid out in front of you. He strides over to your side, resting his palm on your lower back and swiping his thumb against the material of your shirt while he leans in to press a kiss to the top of your head, drinking in your scent and feeling the ache of missing you all day. Losing focus from your task, you turn toward him with a bright smile, a quiet sigh leaving your lips, and your shoulders relaxing from their tensed position. Wordlessly, he folds forward, catching your lips in a lingering kiss. Heat pushes against his chest through his denim shirt, your hands skating from his pecs, up and across his shoulders, and down his arms to rest on his biceps. The motions raise goosebumps in their wake, trailing down his spine with a tepid drip.
Joel steals another kiss before he stands up straight again, voice rasping from yelling over powerful tools all day and volume low to keep the semblance of a private moment between the two of you for as long as possible; anything louder would expose his arrival, bombarding him with questions and conflicts to resolve between his daughters.
“Hey, baby.” He greets you with one fleeting kiss pressed to your forehead, hand at your lower back now rubbing side to side, fingers carefully lifting the fabric and pressing the tips of them into your deliciously soft skin.
Turning back to the vest, you drop your hands from his arms not before giving them a gentle squeeze, “Hi, Joel. Good day?”
He shrugs, unable to step away from you just yet, “It was fine — much better now. And I take it yours has been a busy one?”
Joel holds up the plastic bag of groceries with two fingers, one corner of his mouth lifting in a teasing smirk. His hip pops out as he leans against the counter, the smirk turning into a smile when you grimace. His heartbeat skips when your laugh fills his ears, the sound still exciting him after all these years, and you stand over the bag to take a peek inside.
“S’all good. Non-perishables.” It’s Joel’s turn to laugh, shaking his head with a breathy chuckle as he places the bag on the counter, unloading its contents into the pantry while you go about recapping your day for him.
In the midst of you speaking, the tumble of footsteps down the stairs draws his attention away, eyes focusing on the open threshold that leads from the living room into the kitchen. As the quickened steps grow closer, Joel turns to you and holds up three fingers, counting down with them. When he lowers his last finger, a mop of curly hair, a bouncing ponytail, and a whirlwind of chaos disrupts the initial peace of his return home.
“Hi girls, how was today?” he starts before a cacophony of noise fills the kitchen. Skidding to a stop in front of him, he exchanges a look with you before facing his daughters, already overwhelmed with their two voices talking over the other.
“Dad, Dad, Sarah said—”
“Dad, Ellie’s saying that I said—”
Holding his hands up, he flicks his eyes between his two girls. Sarah, the older of the two at eleven years old, stands in front of him with her arms crossed and brow furrowed — a look he is all too familiar with, the similarities between him and her emphasized with her annoyance. Ellie, your youngest, stands with her fists clenched at her sides, her mouth twisted up in frustration and the same furrowed brow as her sister. She looks so much more like you at the moment, only a nine-year-old version, calling back on times Joel can remember of you giving him that very look.
However, with their tempers, there’s no doubt that they’re his kids.
Dropping his hands back to his sides, he rolls his shoulders and takes a deep breath before addressing them.
“So, what’s going on now?” he asks, brows raising and head tilting when the girls each take a sharp inhale, about to speak over each other again, “One at a time. Ellie.”
Sarah rolls her eyes at her younger sister being called upon first, expectantly looking at her sister with annoyance still painting her face. Ellie shoots her a smug look before turning back to Joel, drawing a pout onto her lips to sell her story. He can’t say it doesn’t work for a second, it always will with these two and they know it, but with a quick glance in your direction, he sees you turned away from your task, watching the drama from the sidelines. Mustering the strength to stand his ground against the sweetness of his girls, he clears his throat and listens with his best poker face as Ellie begins explaining.
“Sarah said she wouldn’t trade all her Skittles for my Three Musketeers even though she knows I hate Three Musketeers and she said last week when we were getting our costumes that she would—”
“I never said that, Dad! She’s lying—” Sarah gestures with her hands as if to physically point out the obvious falsehoods in Ellie’s story. Spiraling back out of the fleeting control he had over the situation, the kids get riled up again, yelling over each other, and inching closer. The dad-instincts kick in and he grabs one of each of their shoulders, separating the two of them and turning them to face him again as he puts on what you affectionately call his ‘no-bullshit’ voice.
“Okay, okay, okay! Enough arguin’ about candy that you don’t even have yet. Ellie, you don’t even know if a single house is gonna give ya Three Musketeers, and you don’t even know if Sarah is gonna get any Skittles. Save the trade negotiations for tonight or tomorrow morning. ‘Sides, you gotta pay the Dad Tax before either of y’all get to trade around your pickings.”
“What?”
“No way!”
Joel smiles, waving his pointer finger between his daughters with a single nod of his head. “See? Something y’all can agree on. Now go get washed up for dinner and plot how you can hide your candy from me and Mom.”
As quickly as they came in, they rush right back out, this time a united force scheming against their parents. Joel huffs out a breathy laugh, shaking his head to himself as he turns back to face you. Met with a growing smile, you unravel your arms crossed in front of your chest to pick up the vest from the counter.
“Nice conflict resolution there, hon. Now I won’t see a single piece of candy.” You throw a pout at him, bottom lip jutting out as he steps over to you, one hand splaying on your hip and thumb rubbing languid circles.
“Don’t worry, baby, I think I know every single one of their hiding spots from how many times they had to move their candy last year. They won’t even notice anything's gone.” With a quick wink, he leans in for a kiss, short and sweet. Standing up straight, the smile on your face mirrors his, your left index finger reaching up to fit into the valley of his dimple.
“Are we bad parents to be scheming how to steal from our children?” you question, biting back a laugh.
“I think that’s just part of parenting, darlin’.”
The laugh you held back escapes you, rolling your eyes playfully at his facetious answer; the vest in your hands catches his eyes again, and he sighs to himself as he holds a hand out for it.
“So you really did find a cow print vest for me? How lucky.” Sarcasm coats his tone and you lift the material, depositing it in his open palm.
“It is lucky, isn’t it? I think you’re going to look great in your costume. Got all the perfect parts, plus you can wear your own jeans and boots. Economical.”
“You sure you need me for this group costume?”
“Joel. You’re literally one of the main characters from the damn movie. And the girls really want you to dress up and take them trick-or-treating. Plus it’s probably going to be one of, if not the last year that we get to do all this as a family. Our kids are growing up.”
“Don’t remind me, means m’getting older too,” he grumbles under his breath, eyes falling to the fabric in his hand.
It’s true what they say about having kids: the days are long, but the years are short.
At times, Joel wishes he could pull each hair out of his head instead of dealing with the shit his kids bring to him sometimes — “Dad, I got called into the principal’s office.” “Dad, I threw a softball and broke the window.” “That’s so unfair, Dad! Why do you have to be so mean?” It’s easy to get lost in the mess that is his family, but it’s a mess he loves. It feels like it was only yesterday that he was becoming a father when Sarah was born, getting a grasp on the whole thing and then Ellie came along. What he would do without you there by his side, he doesn’t have a clue.
Like flipping through a scrapbook, he can remember every year prior for his girls. In a flash, they’ve grown from dressing up as princesses and unicorns — a dragon for Ellie — to being Spy Kids and vampires. His oldest is verging on becoming a teenager, and if he knows his daughters, he knows that once Sarah quits dressing up each year, when she asks to go to her friends’ houses instead of spending the night with Mom and Dad, Ellie will want to do the same as her older sister, always looking up to her despite their differences.
There’s only so much more time for his kids to be kids, even if they may always feel like the tiny baby girls he held in his arms. All he wants to do is to protect them, keep them under his eye as long as he can, but he can hear your voice prying his grasp away from them, encouraging him to let them grow, let them experience the world as he got to do when he was younger. You’ll remind him that you were a teenage girl once, reassuring him that they’re always going to need him. He knows it’s all going to sneak up on him; one day, he’s going to pull into the driveway and notice the lack of chalk drawings. He might even be happy at first about Ellie’s bike being put away, but when he goes into the garage to work on some of his projects, he’ll notice the smallest bit of dust on it from disuse.
Stepping away from him to shuffle across the kitchen, you reach on your tiptoes to pull out four bowls from the cabinet. Joel steps over behind you, a hand on your back as he intercepts your movements, grabbing the ceramic dishes and handing them to you.
Like a shadow, he follows behind you as you walk over to the pot filled with dinner, eagerly watching over your shoulder with his chest pressed against your back and hands on your waist as you lift the lift. Aromas waft with the steam rising, the delectably rich dish slowly bubbling as it finishes melding altogether. It smells like home, always the mark of the changing of the seasons in the Miller household, and one of the little traditions that he so appreciates you creating for your family. Just like the way you make crinkle cookies and still sign presents from Santa at Christmas, despite the fact that your daughters found out about that a couple of years ago from a yappy kid at school.
Joel was very close to driving over to his house and letting his parents know how he felt about their kid murdering the magic of Christmas for his girls.
All he can hope is that these little traditions continue even when the girls are grown up; the four of you gathering around the table for your annual chili dinner before they head off to hang out with friends and you two are left to watch cheesy Halloween movies and hand out candy to children that remind you of your daughters.
With another deep breath, warmth surrounds him. Joel’s lips find the spot just under your ear, kissing gently before he rests his chin on your shoulder, “Smells so good, baby. Have I told you how much I love you?”
A breathy, incredulous laugh falls from your lips as you stir the pot’s contents around, your smile sticking around as you counter, “You’re only saying that ‘cause I’m feeding you.”
A dramatic, exaggerated gasp sharply inhales into his lungs, standing up straight and patting his hands on your sides, “Absolutely not, darlin’. I love you all the time—”
“But especially when I feed you,” you finish, turning out of his arms to grab the stack of bowls. He stops your motions by wrapping his arms around your waist, feeling the press of you against his torso and relishing in the heat of your body against his. Curling up like a cat in the sun, he nudges his nose against your hairline, peppering kisses along the contours of your face.
In between kisses, he says word by word, over and over, “I. Love. You. My. Beautiful. Wonderful. Incredible. Wife.”
“Alright, alright! Gosh, you’re clingy,” you tease, leaning back to look into his eyes with a playful glint in your eye and a smirk held tight in your lips, “I love you too, my beautiful, wonderful, incredible husband.”
Your free hand smooshes his cheeks together and tugs him down gently to exchange a tender kiss. It ends much too soon for Joel, him chasing your lips and pouting when you turn away to start serving up dinner.
“Better go tell the girls dinner’s ready before they’ve finished plotting how to stow away candy in the floorboards.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he answers, punctuating the conversation with a cheeky smack to your ass, scampering away quickly before you can pretend to scold him.
Tugging at the material across his stomach, Joel combs his eyes over his reflection in the mirror of your en-suite bathroom. Rolling his shoulders back, the fabric of the yellow and red plaid flannel pulled taut, lifting the hem a couple of inches and showing off the skin of his softened tummy. Dark curls of hair litter the center of the sliver of skin, trailing down under the waist of his dark wash jeans. He doesn’t bother tucking the shirt in, giving himself the breathing room of the few inches at the hem. Fingers grip the thick fabric, sharply pulling it back down to lay over his jeans again.
Picking up the cow-print vest you were adorned with the plastic gold Sheriff badge downstairs in the kitchen, he’s taken back to a few weeks ago at the Halloween store.
You and he had opted to spend Saturday morning taking Sarah and Ellie to pick out their costumes for the holiday, letting them run free until they decided on a shared costume for once. Sarah quickly picked out her size in the Jessie costume, and all of the family agreed to be different characters from the Toy Story movie.
Ellie wandered the aisles, searching for the perfect combinations to create her ideal costume, which was, of course, the mechanical spider toy with the baby doll head that the kid Sid builds in the film. She returns to where Joel is standing with you, staring at the walls of costumes to find something for the both of you; he looks down at his youngest, jumping minutely when he’s faced with a mutilated baby doll mask, shiny plastic reflecting him in the surface.
“Ellie. You can’t be the creepy baby doll,” he sighs, hand falling to his hip as he rests his weight on it, the other leg stepping out while he slowly shakes his head.
Tipping the mask up to the top of her head, Ellie stomps her feet, shoulders falling and head leaning back as she groans in complaint, “Why not, Dad?” She draws out his parental title, kicking the toe of her shoe against the buffed tiles of the storefront that remains empty eleven out of twelve months of the year.
“You’re gonna scare the little kids, and it’ll be your mom and I who are dealing with the angry parents.”
Ellie huffs out a breath, reaching up to snatch the mask off, turning on the heel of her sneaker, and stomping off to go find another costume. Turning his attention back to you at his side, he notices a cheeky smile on your face as you find your size in a woman’s Buzz Lightyear costume.
“What? What are you laughin’ at?” he questions, his lips tugging up in a grin.
“Oh, nothing. Jus’ that you told our daughter she can’t be the creepy baby doll 'cause you’d be the one scared of her.” A laugh takes over the end of your sentence, a flash of your bright smile widening his own.
“Did not. It’s ‘cause we’d have a bunch of crying little kids and judging parents to deal with.”
“Sure, honey, sure. It’s okay if you’re scared.”
Stepping closer to you, he pinches your side playfully, wrapping an arm around your waist to tug you against his side. He presses a kiss to the top of your head, speaking softly, “Know me too well, baby…”
Your free hand pats his chest affectionately and you unravel from his hold. Joel takes your hand before you get far, intertwining your fingers together while you both shuffle along the wall of costumes. The plastic bags shine, displaying cartoonish outfits of various characters. The exaggerated smiles of the models give him the heebie-jeebies, shuddering his shoulders at the thought that any grown person would be that excited to wear itchy polyester once before letting it collect dust in their closet and giving it away before next Halloween.
Halting in front of the costume you were looking for Joel, you bend down to flick through the sizes, your lips pulling together in a thoughtful pucker. Standing back up straight next to him, your teeth toy your bottom lip left to right, eyes scanning for any other options before you turn toward him.
“Can’t find what you’re lookin’ for, baby?”
With a shrug, you respond, “They have the costume the girls wanted you to wear, but they don’t have your size. Think I can find some stuff at the thrift store or TJ Maxx or online to make the costume up if that’s okay—”
“Whatever you need to do. S’fine.”
“I’m sorry, hon, but you don’t need to worry about it, I’ll find everything.”
“Said s’fine, darlin’. Don’t even need to dress up, really.” A small seed of shame is planted in his gut, insecurity watering it and causing it to grow, branching off to tangled in his chest. Comfort eases him out of the spiral when your hands find his chest, rubbing softly and tilting your head to meet his gaze with pure affection.
“Still gotta dress up with us, hon. Who’s gonna be the Woody to my Buzz if it isn’t you? Can’t dress up as one half of the best friend duo without my best friend,” you grin, standing on your toes to catch his lips in a gentle kiss, which ends too soon for his taste despite being in the middle of the shop.
Vest shrugged onto his shoulder, and he gives himself another once over in his full outfit, the same insecurity from a few weeks ago pouring down to cultivate his shame. He doesn’t look the same as he did when he met you, even the same as he did last year. Graying hair and salt and pepper beard, lines next to his eyes and across his forehead, only deepened when he furrows his brow at the look of him in his costume.
He looks ridiculous.
Better to get this night over with, let his girls enjoy themselves, and attempt to forget his discomfort in the outfit. Picking up his cheap cowboy hat that arrived in the mail earlier that week, he avoids another look in the mirror before he slips out of the bathroom, eyes focused on the toes of his boots while he walks out the door of your bedroom, past the full-length mirror next to your closet and the small round one on your vanity.
No need to foul his mood and spoil the fun. It’s for his girls.
The screams and laughter of children echo into the deepening night sky, the street bright from the lamps lining it along with porch lights staying on, open garage doors, all signaling a welcoming to the trick-or-treaters to come and grab their haul from each vast bowl or cauldron of candy.
Blurs of costume cross below Joel’s sightline as he walks hand-in-hand with you, kids running around blindly, the safety of such a crowd in the small neighborhood blanketing them with trust that they’ll be able to find their way home wherever they end up. Sarah and Ellie are ten paces ahead, moving quickly and efficiently to “maximize their candy collection”. Ellie’s words, after she presented her hand-drawn map of their neighborhood and the one across the main road, highlighting which houses are notorious for King Size treats and noting which ones give out toothbrushes or nothing at all.
The collar of his flannel is tightened around his neck from the string of his chestnut cowboy hat. Pulled down to rest on his clavicle, the body of the hat swings against his back as he walks, only adorning the top of his head for a few photos that you insisted on dragging out the tripod and self-timer for in the middle of the living room. He took the rest of the photos you wanted, maybe a bit too eagerly getting out of the frame and relaxing the slightest bit behind the camera. Photo evidence of how laughable he looks does not need to exist en masse. With a sigh, he reaches a hand up to tug the string down for what feels like the tenth time in thirty minutes of walking, relief felt for a few seconds before it slides back up to the base of his throat, flipping up the collar of his shirt with it.
Denim from his dark wash bootcut jeans starts to dig into his hips, roughening the skin there from his strides and their inch-too-small size from the year prior. These were deemed his “nice” jeans, per your request, only pulled out a handful of times a year for occasions that he was meant to look nicer than his raggedy Levi’s, covered in spots from paint, wood stain, oil, or dirt, the fraying, white strings hanging from the hems and ripping when caught under his step — all the signs of his day-to-day life. What he’s comfortable in.
These — these are not comfortable, not worn in enough to feel buttery against his skin, and not returning to his size even after washing and line drying. These are stiff, formed to his skin and resisting a tightness with each swing of his legs. The fresh material rubs against his bare skin underneath, the waist of his boxers falling an inch or two down to create the perfect space for the waistband to chafe. He’s tempted to pause the two of you walking along, long enough to tuck in the material of the flannel, but quickly decides against it when he thinks about the exaggeration of his stomach with the form-fitting, tucked shirt stretched over it.
Occupied in his thoughts, he barely notices that you've slowed down until you come to a stop at the end of a driveway, two streets over from your own home, waiting as your daughters wait in line for their packaged sugar.
You hold onto his bicep with your opposite hand, leaning your weight against his side. Like a weighted blanket, in the interim of a hug from you, he takes on the change to his equilibrium, relishing in the comforting press of your body against him. Easing away his anxieties and his insecurities that, of course, had to be present for this wholesome, once-a-year family night; he rests his chin on your head, breathing in the smell of your rosemary and mint shampoo, tingling his nostrils and drinking down the scent he’s so familiar with.
His focus draws to Sarah, hair in a French braid pulled away from her face and cherry red cowboy hat on her head, and Ellie, lime green face paint that she insisted on and an antenna sticking up from the top of her head and exaggerated, pointed green ears all attached to the same headband. The two of them are near the front of the queue for candy at this particular house, the process a bit more involved with a haunted graveyard required to pass through to earn your sweet reward.
All she’d been saying the whole night since getting dressed had been “The claaaaaw!” or “I have been chosen!”. She screams the latter in the face of a teenager who pops out from a bush to scare her, completely unphased as she sneaks past him, grabbing a handful of candy for her and Sarah, running back down the path with her older sister before they pause to distribute the goods.
Joel lifts your joined hands, hooking his arm over your shoulder and laying your arm across your chest as he gathers you closer.
“So how many cavities do you think we’ll be paying for ‘cause of tonight’s candy haul?” he wonders aloud, a smile ticking up the side of his mouth when you giggle at his joke. It never gets old, being able to make you laugh, and it’s like a weed whacker to the strangling vines of his insecurities growing tightly in his chest. A looseness that gives him the chance for a deep breath, gratitude wilting the branches as he studies the grin on your face, the admiration twinkling in your eyes.
“Probably should be callin’ the dentist to see if they have a two-for-one discount.” It’s his turn to laugh at your response, tautening his arm around your shoulders to tow you closer to him, your head tilting back as you swing your front toward him. Joel bends his neck, pecking your lips with a smile before he looks back toward his daughters walking back to the two of you.
Annoyance thumbs the bruise of shame, driving his frustrations higher; his hand reaches up again with a huff, yanking the string away from his neck, “Thing’s like a damn noose…”
“Jus’ take it off, hon, I’ll carry it for you,” you sweetly suggest, swinging your joined hands between your bodies.
“But, you got it for me…” he mumbles guiltily, a worry in his voice over your potential irritation with him. Ever the masochist, Joel argues with you, not wanting to disappoint. He knew he should have just kept his mouth shut—
Pausing in your steps, you hang behind him long enough to snatch the hat off his back, releasing it from around his neck and depositing it on your head in one smooth movement. Taking his hand again, you continue, unphased by his complaints and happy to hold onto the new accessory.
At the next house, the two of you wait at the end of the driveway for the girls; Joel taps the side of his pointer finger on the brim as you look up at him, a cheeky smile growing on his face as a thought distracts from his festering doubts. His voice lowers, rasping as he speaks only to you, attempting to disguise the conversation from all the people milling about.
“Y’know, there are consequences for stealing a cowboy’s hat, baby.” Wetting his lips with the quick swipe of his tongue, his hands drift to your waist, fingers stretching to skim the top of your ass, dangerously close to grabbing a handful in front of everyone.
“M’well aware of those consequences, cowboy. Why d’you think I took it?” You shoot him a wink that goes straight down below the belt, a brazen flash of mischief in your eyes, the reflections of yellow lamplight lighting them up further.
Gripping his biceps, your nimble fingers squeeze gently while your thumbs rub massaging circles into his slightly flexed muscles. A nearly inaudible hum of a moan rolls from your chest, one of his hands gathering the polyester material of your dress tightly at the sound. Beckoning him to fold forward with one look, he molds his lips to yours in a supple kiss. It lasts only the length of an inhale, drinking in the taste of your lips before your warmth is fleeting, hands patting his chest in a signal to wrap it up.
He grumbles, irritation heating under his collar as he itches to get home and for the night to be over, now for more than one reason. You laugh softly at his annoyed pout, poking his chest as you tease, “What? Mad ‘cause you got a snake in your boot?”
“More like in my jeans…” he mumbles under his breath, loud enough for you to hear and playfully jab his arm, shaking your head as you breathe out a chuckle from your nose.
“Nice, Miller. In a costume for a kid’s movie no less.”
He matches your laugh, shrugging when you turn in his arms, back to him as you await your daughters to make their way back to the both of you. His arms drape around your hips, tugging you into his chest to press against him comfortably, the plush-filled wings of your costume padding you against his torso. Lips find your ear, chin resting on your shoulder as he responds, “What’s the saying from the movie? To infinity and beyond? Reckon that’s where I’ll be takin’ you by the end of tonight.”
“Joel!” you attempted to chide, your laughter exposing your real feelings over the suggestive comment, laying your arms over his. The girls walk toward the two of you, and he takes a second to press an open-mouth kiss to your neck, nipping at your skin before unfurling himself from you. A light smack on the side of your ass is the punctuation to the teasing, Joel standing up straight and taking your hand.
“Giddy-up, partner,” he murmurs before turning his attention to Sarah and Ellie, overly excited and completely calm. “Whatcha y’all get this time? Anything good?”
They answer over each other and he nods along, corralling them to start to walk to the next house, “Alright, mission accomplished at this house. Onto the next, we gotta get this wagon a-movin’! Only got another hour in me, girls.”
Protests whine against his announcement and your daughters start to walk faster, determined to complete their hit-list for the houses with the good stuff. You laugh to yourself, shaking your head as Joel looks over at you, feigning innocence.
“What? Got a bad back, bein’ out in the cold makes it worse.”
Now back at home, the four of you are gathered in the living room, costumes all on still as you seek out the comfort and warmth of the soft furnishings and blankets. Joel lounges on the couch, you next to him, back leaning against his side while your legs stretch out on the rest of the sofa. Ellie and Sarah have taken to the floor in front of the coffee table, massive pillowcases dumped out and beginning to be sorted. Every so often, you or Joel get up with the sound of the doorbell, passing out candy to the dwindling number of trick-or-treaters. Eventually, the intrusion stops completely, the TV playing a bad, kitschy Halloween movie per the request of the girls.
They trade their earnings, and you and Joel steal on the sly, both from the bowl you were handing out and from Sarah and Ellie’s piles. Wrappers are strewn around the floor and across the surface of the coffee table, the sound of another torn open by the girls making you sigh and sit up.
Holding out your hand, you shake your head, beckoning for the treat with your fingers, “Okay, Ellie. No more candy. You’re not going to be able to go to sleep if you keep eating it now, it’s too late.”
Ellie whines, rolling her head back with a groan before pleading her case, “Please, Mom, just this last one! And then I’ll be done, promise. Please.”
Joel chuckles when she shoots you the same puppy dog eyes that he gives to you to get what he wants, knowing his smirk grows wider when you fold easily. Shooting your head over to him, you announce to the whole room, “No more candy for anyone. C’mon girls, put it all back in your bags.”
Calmness finds itself back in the room once all the complaints are lodged with you, the girls lying down to watch the movie while you continue to sit with Joel. Spaced out as he focuses on the film, his attention is grabbed when he hears the crinkle of wrappers and glances around to find all three of his girls indulging further.
With the remote from his lap, he pauses the movie, pouting as he exclaims, “Hey! What happened to not havin’ any more candy? If I can’t have anymore, y’all can’t either.”
Sneaking the last bite of her fun-size Snickers bar, Ellie giggles and shrugs, always the smart aleck, “Well, you are gettin’ a little pudgy, Dad, maybe less candy’ll help.”
Sarah and you giggle at her lighthearted teasing, and Joel waves it off with a breathy chuckle, leaning back against the cushions as Sarah chimes in with her jests, “Yeah, think you’re getting a little fluffy, Dad. Better to lay off now than at Christmastime with all Mom’s cookies.”
Joel attempts to defend himself from the teasing by threatening their candy supply, eager to end the conversation as the back of his neck heats up, “If m’already gettin’ pudgy then I guess that permits me to eat all your candy.”
They both are in a fit of giggles, continuing to tack on silly comments as Joel sits quietly on the couch, trying to mask the way the words worm their way in, feeding the shame and insecurity that was already festering in his chest from the last few weeks.
You roll your eyes, shaking your head with a smile as you laugh softly, “Alright, alright, enough. Think that’s the sign that it’s time for bed. C’mon, up up up.” Before standing, you pat Joel’s thigh and shoot him a carefully concerned look, but he wipes away your worry by sending you a warm smile back, laying his hand over yours and squeezing gently.
Joel stays downstairs to clean up, the girls both saying goodnight before you follow them upstairs to get them ready for bed. Gathering candy wrappers in his fists, he throws them away in the kitchen, stomach rolling as he replays the small comments from minutes ago. He knows it was teasing, all in good fun as it always is between his girls and you, but he can’t shake the heaviness inside of him, the hot prickles of shame when he passes by the mirror in the hallway on his way back to the living room.
The bowl of extra candy you were handing out gets placed back on the coffee table, his silly cowboy hat from the evening deposited on top of it to hide the contents. Not that he was going to eat anymore, he couldn’t stomach even the thought of anything else when all he could think about was how much he desperately wanted to shed his skin at that moment. Breathing shallows when he settles on the couch again, one of his hands pressing onto the left side of his chest and willing his heart to slow down, for his brain to silence itself.
The skin of his palm meets the scruff of his beard, scratching against the roughened, worked skin. Grays in his hair, salt and pepper beard, wrinkles on his forehead and at the side of his eyes, softened tummy from years of love and care, from an easy life with you.
He certainly isn’t the same Joel that you met all that time ago, that you fell in love with. Have you noticed the changes as much as he has?
He swears you haven’t aged a day; all the more beautiful with each passing day.
Light steps carry you back downstairs, the sound shaking Joel out of his thoughts as you swing around from the staircase and through the entrance to the living room. Joel relaxes on the couch, the same spot he was occupying before, only sinking further into the cushion, shifting to pull the fabric of his shirt away from his stomach. Glancing up at you, away from whatever was playing on the TV that did nothing to distract him from himself, he sends you a tight smile, stretching an arm over the back of the couch to welcome you in.
Accepting it, you sit next to him, curling up into his side with your legs under you, leaning against his frame with your comforting weight. Your hand rests on his chest, your head on his shoulder while you both watch the TV movie playing. Silence falls between the two of you, minutes passing by with only the noise from the speakers, the volume turned low so as not to disturb the kids upstairs.
Joel feels your hand move against his chest, curling up to leave your pointer finger extended, the pad of it skimming against his flannel. He ignores the feeling, figuring it’s you fidgeting as you do while you focus. The same thing as twirling your hair while you’re reading, tapping your foot as you cook.
But when your hand stairs to wander, his eyes flick down to watch its path, your gaze still facing forward and quiet. With your thumb and index finger, you work open the first button on his shirt, trailing down with the rest undone in your route. Slipping under the material, your cold hand presses against his chest, nails scraping against the skin there. With a sigh at the contact, Joel finally uses his hand to gently caress your chin, turning you to face him.
Low and rasping, he questions, “What are you doin’ exactly, darlin’?”
Innocently, you shrug, bottom lip bit down on while your touch moves lower again, skimming across his stomach and reaching the waistband of his jeans, “Well, I still have to face the consequences from stealin’ your hat, cowboy.”
Fingers dip below his belt line, toying with the elastic band of his boxers. Slipping away, he almost protests at the loss, biting his tongue when you move next to him, sitting up on your knees while both hands reach for the button and zipper of his jeans. When his button pops from its secure place, he warns with a breathy exhale, “Baby…”
“Mhm, yes, honey?” you reply, words trailing up at the end, feigning naivety. Through your lashes, you send him a pout, tongue poking out to dampen your plush lips that he stares at, his mouth parted with heavy breaths. His blood is rushing from his head, leaving him feeling light, as it all pumps to his cock, your delicate and teasing touches getting him half-hard.
Before you can tug down his zipper, you pause, taking your hands off of him; he holds back a whimper, the sound dying as a low hum in his throat.
“Don’t worry, baby, m’not done yet. Let’s go to our room, yeah?” Your voice is soothingly saccharine, an eager nod being his only response.
Shutting off the TV, you stand from the sofa and take his hand, snatching the cowboy hat from the coffee table before pulling him to stand and follow you across the main floor, down the hallway into your first-floor bedroom. Joel shuts the door behind him, your nod toward the handle serving as a reminder for him to flick the lock.
“Y’know, honey, you’re always showing me how you feel about me. I think it’s time we had a night that’s all about you…” He’s holding in a breath as you stalk closer to him, shaking his head as the back of his neck heats up.
“No, baby, you don’t—I don’t…” he stutters before trailing off, ashamed that he can’t think of any other excuse than the truth of why he does not want the attention on him tonight.
“You don’t…?” Running your hands across the expanse of his chest, he drops his shoulders in, curling around to make himself smaller, one foot stepping back but he doesn’t move from under your touch.
Shaking his head, he avoids your eyes, faintly confiding, “I don’t feel like I deserve it. I jus’, I’d rather give to you, baby.”
“Oh, Joel…you deserve it and more, honey. Why wouldn’t you?” Your fingers graze up, skating across his skin and carding into the hair at the nape of his neck.
“I’m not…not the same. I don’t look like who you fell in love with. Everything’s changing, catching up to me. Got gray hair and white in my beard and wrinkles and a beer belly startin’ and my back hurts all the time. M’not who I used to be but you—”
“Have changed, too. It’s not just you, Joel. Everything’s a little softer now, I’ve got wrinkles too. Found like four gray hairs yesterday and had a mild panic attack before I got into the shower. M’curvier and—”
“And you’re fucking beautiful, baby. You’re as beautiful, if not more beautiful than the day I met you.” He’s quick to defend your negative self-talk, his hands running delicately along the curves of your sides and around your lower back. Enveloping you in his arms, he presses your foreheads together, nose notched next to yours.
“That’s exactly how I feel about you, Joel. Don’t listen to us teasin’ you, especially me, ‘cause I wouldn’t change a thing about you…” As you tilt your head back, your nose grazes against his cheek, feeling a rush of heat from your breath as your lips hover over his, deliciously close to a kiss, “Can I show you what I think about you, honey?”
Joel nods, wordlessly waiting in anticipation; in the next breath, your lips crash into his, drinking him down deep while the hand at the back of his head tangles further into his hair and tugs. He moans, parted lips allowing you to lick into his mouth, whining at the taste of him before you push the flannel material from his shoulders, letting it drop to the floor as you continue to dominate the kiss.
Pressing your hands against his strong chest, you push him back with a step. Joel follows your lead, carefully moving backward, your tongue melding with his. All he can focus on is the taste of you — sweet, fruity, with the tang of citric acid from all the sour candies you stole from the bowl, the softest hint of chocolate as an aftertaste from his indulgences. The flavors of you coat his mouth, the scent of your perfume and shampoo mixing in his nose, and the feeling of your soft skin in his rough palms when he hikes up the skirt of your dress, grabbing a handful of your ass; it all stirs together, creating an intoxicating cocktail of you that he can seem to taste enough of. Joel’s legs hit the edge of the bed, and he’s being pulled away from your mouth with a pop when you ease him to sit down. Curiosity flashes in his mind, the sight of you over him with kiss-swollen lips growing the bulge in his undone jeans. Eager hands find your hips, grazing over to your ass as he looks up at you standing over him.
“Whatcha wanna do, beautiful?” His voice is lecherous as it comes out in a rasp, dripping with desire and a bit of wonder over what exactly you’re going to do with your night in control.
You shake your head at him, standing up straight and reaching for his hands, placing them at the hem of your dress, “Go ahead, baby. Take off as much as you want.”
His choice is obvious, tugging the fabric over your head with your help, a hand around your back yanking you to stand close, between his spread legs, while his fingers work open the clasp of your bra. Sitting back on his hands, he observes greedily as you let the straps fall down your arms, dropping the bra entirely onto the floor.
“These too?” Your thumbs hook into the waistline of your panties, doe-eyed and biting down on your body lip teasingly. Cotton-mouthed, Joel nods slowly, lips parted with shaking breath as you strip completely, sinking to your knees in front of him before he can reach out for a handful of your curves.
He lets you work his jeans down to his thighs, his boxers following in their wake, his cock springing free against his bare stomach. You keep eye contact as you kneel in front of him, his keen stare unblinking as his tongue pokes out to wet his lips, the need to see every single one of your movements outweighing the drying of his eyes with his slow, infrequent blinking. Scooting to settle comfortably on your knees, you stand up straighter, gaining enough height to bend your head over his lap, lips meeting his soft tummy and hands gripping onto his thighs. Delicate kisses and ghosting touches on his skin raise goosebumps, a warm shudder trickling down his back at your tenderness.
“So handsome…” you whisper, grazing your teeth into the flesh of his torso, biting down to nip. “Y’know I think about doin’ this all the time, baby. Every time you take off your shirt, jus’ wanna sink my teeth into you.”
His cheeks heat with sincere attention, muscles in his abdomen flexing when you litter lovebites and heated, open-mouth kisses all over him, the gentle touches and desire to relax his anxieties slowly. The focus on your mouth drops to his thighs, turning your head to the side when you sit back on your haunches, licking a stripe up toward his aching cock, a quivering exhale from his mouth drawing your eyes to his face. A satisfied smile stretches across your face, kissing his inner thigh before mirroring the actions on the opposite side. His fingers curl into the duvet, gripping hard as your lips wander closer to where his stiff cock drips needily, throbbing for any kind of reprieve.
“You’re so pretty, baby. So strong, solid.” The sweet nothings tickle at the back of his neck, words that he’s sure you’ve spoken before, but at this moment, they raise his body temperature and lighten his head, the only thoughts being how much he needs you.
Standing on your knees again, you bend your neck over Joel’s lap, eyes flickering up to his face to look at him through your lashes. Your lips part, spit dribbling from your mouth and onto his waiting cock, the sensation making him hiss with urgency. One of your hands wraps around him and strokes slowly. He looks down at you with hooded eyes, mouth opening in a small gasp at the languid stimulation. One swipe of your thumb across his tip drags the beads of pre-cum from where they’re leaking, melting them into the mix of your saliva that lubricates your motions.
Searing needles pierce into his skin when you finally give in and press hot, open-mouthed kisses against the soft skin of his swollen length. Your thumb brushes against his tip again, another hiss of pleasure escaping from between his teeth. One of Joel’s hands finds the back of your head, tangling fingers into your hair. He doesn’t move to guide you, simply wanting to touch a part of you to ground himself.
Your free hand gently cups his balls as you press a featherlight kiss to the tip of his hard cock. A kitten-lick swipes up the fresh dribbles of pre-cum that have collected and Joel’s fingers tense against your strands. Humming satisfied with the reactions you’re drawing from him, he looks down at you meeting his gaze, feeling the splotches of redness growing across his cheeks and neck at the frustration of your light teasing. He groans out your name as your mouth works to tease him more, not having taken him fully in.
“Fucking hell, baby, quit teasin’, please.” Joel rasps as he watches your methodical seduction. He applies the smallest pressure against the back of your head when your lips finally wrap around just the tip of him, a moan of relief rolling from his chest.
Your eyes stay glued on his face, and he’s lost in the delicious warmth of your mouth, unabashed in every response that he’s having to your mouth working him. Starting a slow bob up and down, he moans at the weight of him on your tongue, saliva coating the underside of his cock as he feels you curl the muscle against every vein. With half of him with your mouth, your hand working what isn’t initially fitting inside. His noises grow louder and in quicker succession, hyperaware that his cheeks are likely visibly warm and eyes dark with a craving when he looks down at you again.
“Such a sweet girl. Look so pretty with my cock in your little mouth. Think you can take more, baby? Think I can fit in your throat?” You shift in your position slightly, thighs rubbing together and a chuckle rolls from his lips, smug in the need he’s drawing from you simply from enjoying his pleasure. A sigh exhales around him in your mouth as your thighs rub together to relieve some of your aches.
The rhythm of your head brings his cock deeper, his tip brushing the back of your throat. You swallow around him and it squeezes him just right, a loud moan rumbling from his chest, the reverberations sending aftershocks to the tips of his ears. At that point, he gets lost in the high feeling, his composure leaving him when his large hand at the back of your head pushes you down onto his cock, taking him down your throat further and causing you to gag. Tears spill from your eyes and spit drips from the sides of your mouth, the blow job quickly turning sloppy as Joel takes more control.
“Fucking hell, darlin’. Taking me so well on your own, being such a good girl for me,” he whines, heading tilting back as his eyes squeeze shut, shallow thrusts meeting the rhythm of your head. “Gonna fuckin’ come, baby, holy fuck, I—”
A moan around him gurgles to nothing when he thrusts again, hand tangled in your hair pulling you back until his tip rests against your lips, “Don’t wanna—please—” His words are lost on the tip of his tongue, pleasure hazing his mind as he searches for the plea he wants to make with you.
You giggle from your knees, swiping your fingers to wipe away the drool from the corners of your mouth, a satisfied smirk on your face. Bracing yourself on his thighs, you push yourself up, standing in between his legs while your hands find his shoulders, scraping your fingernails against the curve of them.
“You wanna come inside of me? Not my mouth? Is that what you were trying to say, baby?”
“Yes,” he exhales, relieved to find the word he needed, blinking open his eyes to look up at you. Your thumb skates across his bottom lip, holding onto his jaw as you study his features.
“I’ll give you whatever you want, Joel. Anything for my perfect, doting husband. D’you know how fucking good it makes me feel to make you feel good?” you question curiously, tilting his head as he lets you mold him whichever way you want. “Tell me how you deserve to have me like this. ‘Cause you’re so fucking good to me, tell me that you’re gonna let me fuck you, let me take your come inside of me.”
“Baby, I don’t think that—” he starts, palms pressing into the backs of your thighs as he looks up at you.
“Tell me, Joel. You said you wanted to be the one giving to me tonight. That’s what I want.” You use his earlier, shy request against his negative thoughts, and the intensity in your eyes bends him to your will.
“M’gonna let you have my cock, gonna let you fuck me and show me how much you love when I take care of you.” The words roll foreignly on his tongue, unconvincing coming from his mind to his mouth. You bend a knee, bringing it up to rest next to his thigh, nodding along to encourage him to continue, “I give you whatever I can give to you, and always gonna, baby. Now’s your turn to take care of me, right?”
“That’s right, honey. I should show you how much I appreciate you more often…you work so hard, give us exactly what we need, and provide for us. My big, strong man. You do so much for me, baby. Gonna show you how thankful I am for you, how grateful I am that you’re lettin’ me have this cock,” your words breathe hot against his ear, your other leg now straddling him on the bed, cunt hovering over his waiting cock. A hand leaves his shoulders, reaching between your stomachs to wrap around him, guiding him to your entrance. His breath catches in his throat when you ease down onto him, pushing through the wet seal of your slit.
Wet heat envelopes him, taking in a few inches of him; Joel groans under you, head falling forward onto your breasts, forehead pressed into your sticky skin. One hand tangles into his curls, dragging his head back to look into your eyes. Your hips start to move, adjusted to his size easily and taking more of his cock, letting it split you open inch-by-inch. His eyes wildly search yours, seeing the pleasure overtake your mind, lips parting to match his as you both breathe out shallow, hot breaths.
“Fuck, Joel, so fucking big…” you whine for the first time tonight and the sound goes straight to his cock, twitching him inside of you as his hips jerk up, giving you another inch. Lust clouds his mind, nodding confidently as you take him, desperate to feel your tight, dripping cunt around him entirely.
“I know, baby, I know. Should’ve let me get you ready. But I bet you like the stretch, like a lil’ bit of pain, huh?” he coos, arm snaking around you to hold you closer, your eyes fluttering closed above him as you nod languidly.
“Fuckin’ love it, makes it feel even better,” you whimper when his arm tugs you down further, only an inch or two away from him being fully sheathed.
“C’mon, be my good girl, baby. Show me how you sit on my cock.” He leans forward, bending you backward with his force and holding you tight, his lips attaching to the soft, velvety skin of your breasts and biting, “Gotta face your punishment for stealin’ my hat. Take a cowboy’s hat, gotta ride the cowboy, babygirl. I don’t make the rules.”
You giggle, eyes clearing as you’re pulled out of your cloud of pleasure, gripping onto his shoulders and holding eye contact as you finally sink completely down, burying Joel’s cock inside your soaked pussy. Moans echo in the room, bitten down before they get too loud, your hips immediately finding a quick, sloppy pace to chase your highs. The slick glide of your walls grip his cock lusciously, your flooding arousal coating his balls as thighs as you ride him. Little noises slip from your mouth, simmering the coals burning in the base of his gut as he feels the familiar bliss building.
“Is this what I’m supposed to be doin’, cowboy?” you wonder, hips continuing their pace and mouth twisting as you hide a smile. Joel is unashamed, a wide grin on his face as he unravels one arm from you, picking up the hat from the corner post of the bed, and setting it loosely on top of your head. Giggles erupt from the both of you, your pace faltering as the muscles in his stomach cramp from use.
Recovering from the interlude, your thighs rub against the outside of his as you bounce, nails digging into his shoulders as your rhythm picks back up, the slap of skin against skin the only noise save for your airy breaths that get shallower and shallower. Flames have ignited in his gut, licking inside and burning hotter and hotter the closer he gets. Nearly at the edge, he needs more, body taking over and lifting you with him as he stands, holding you up on his cock as he thrusts hard and quick into you, dripping for him and gripping him tight to keep yourself up while he fucks into you.
“Oh—fuck, Joel! Right there, m’gonna—oh!” Your desperate pleas in his ear pitch up as you moan, cunt tightening with a flutter around him as you come, soaking his dick as he continues his hard pace, selfishly chasing his high.��
A growl rolls from his chest when you come, his fingernails biting into the flesh of your ass, the slap of his balls against your skin as they draw up. His eyes squeeze shut as he moans your name, the first rope of his come released into your cunt, smaller whimpers following in its wake as he fucks one, twice more, filling you up as deep as he can.
Limbs feeling heavy, he turns you both around, pulling you off of him and dropping you gently onto the mattress. He flops down next to you onto his stomach, blissfully out of it as you move to straddle his back, fingers working the knots and soothing the aches growing there after a long week of work, and a night spent corralling your kids.
The warm press of your body against his back makes him hum contently, your breasts at his shoulder blades as you lay on him, one of his hands reaching the rub his fingers softly against the outside of your thigh.
“You know I think you’re the most handsome, right, honey?” you ask with a hint of worry in your voice, barely above a whisper. He nods, rolling over to his back underneath you and meeting your eyes, brow furrowed with concern.
“I know, baby. Jus’ was feeling weird this whole week. You made it a lot better, though.” A knuckle nudges your cheek, and you take the hat off, Joel chuckling again as you throw it off to the side of the bed. Laying down on him again, he strokes your hair while you hug yourself to his torso, both your eyes and his fluttering shut with exhaustion, from tonight and life in general.
Before drifting off, Joel speaks up, cheekily asking, “So…can I wear this costume next year, too?”
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ok no i am gonna think abt it and i am gonna cry abt it. mary jokes, "could you eat that any faster" and dean jokes back "no. no, i could not" and mary has no idea that dean hoards food and dean eats fast bc he spent so much of his childhood food insecure and starving. dean loves fatty, carby food because it's filling. as an adult now dean indulges in food because he can. food is a comfort. but so many of his food habits are so deeply rooted in the food related trauma he suffered as a child. he still eats fast because he still has that muscle memory of starving and finally getting a meal and going "food in front of you now? eat it up!" he goes for seconds and thirds when food is available because you gotta eat up while you can. and whatever he doesn't end up eating? save it, hoard it, even if it goes bad. keep it for emergencies.
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can you do a lil story abt alasor x chubby reader? Idk I've been getting kinda insecure lately especially abt all my stretch marks so please and thank you! Have a nice day also I love your story's and stuff
rahh i just had to write something for this even though its at the top of my list. hopefully you like it, and i hope youve been feeling better lately! heres some sickeningly sweet fluff!! rather short, around 1.5k words
Bare
Alastor x Reader (fluff/comfort)
TW: body dysmorphia, insecure reader, alastor ooc but hes a cutie pie so its ok really (coping)
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You purse your lips at your bare reflection, turning this way and that to peer at the different angles of your body and its curves. The expression on your face turned into a frown as your eyes trailed over the stripes that decorated the conjunction of your stomach and thighs, evidence of the weight you had gained over the last year.
The atmosphere was all too uncomfortable, which only made you feel worse. A mediocre shower had left your hair damp and skin cold, and the light breeze that wafted from your slightly cracked window chilled you. Your towel was lying, discarded, by your feet, but you had become too engrossed in looking at yourself in the body length mirror to really take note of the goosebumps that pricked up your arms.
You looked away from the mirror and down at your legs, lifting and twisting one to get a better look at your thighs. You sighed at the sight. You thought you might cry, but you didn't want to cry—
“Cher,” A familiar voice made you jump to attention, head whipping up and almost knocking against the chin of the culprit had he not placed his hand in the way to halt your motion. “We don’t want to catch a cold now, do we?” His voice was uncharacteristically low, and it lacked the usual intonation of static.
You met Alastor’s red gaze through the mirror as he stood behind you, bent slightly so his head was level with yours. You were embarrassed, standing here naked in front of the Radio Demon, but you were frozen in place. His hands rested gingerly against your shoulders, trailing up and down your arms, slow and gentle.
You fought back the urge to shove him away when his hands strayed from your arms, traveling under them and wrapping over your stomach. You swallowed. Tears started to blur your vision as numerous racing ideas filled your mind, casting doubt on the genuine nature of Alastor’s affections. You paused mentally when you felt another light touch of his lips against your cheek.
You didn’t blink, worried that a tear may slip down and concern the demon behind you. You caught his gaze again in the mirror and he stood silently for a moment, studying your expression. You knew your eyes looked glassy and your lips were pressed tightly in a thin line, but you prayed to God—ironically enough—that he wouldn’t notice. His brows knit, creating a slight crease on his forehead, and you timidly stood there wringing your hands together. You felt so vulnerable, so scrutinized, because why else would he be staring at you so intently if it wasn’t to judge your bared body?
“What a sight,” He said suddenly, promptly placing a featherlight kiss on the crook of your neck. “How lucky is a man to have you all to himself?” He eyed your face and your body, but his gaze lacked the typical glare of lust and hunger that you would expect from a man. Instead, they only conveyed some tender, unspoken feelings of affection for you. As strange as it was to see such a look on Alastor, you had grown accustomed and welcoming of it.
There was still doubt in your mind, but you knew to trust the gentle words he spoke to the best of your ability. Alastor was full of lies and manipulation, but he was different behind the doors of your shared room. You knew a side of him that was, for him, as equally vulnerable as you were currently. So, though there was still a part of you that fought against the idea of him loving you despite what you found in yourself to be so ugly, you allowed the reassurance of his touch and words to calm your mind.
“Now,” He said, standing up straight once more. He gingerly picked up the damp towel by your feet, contemplated it for a moment, and then vanished it in a dark plume of inky smoke. “Let’s get you something warm.”
He lightly placed his hand by your shoulder blade, pushing you with the lightest pressure to maneuver you away from the mirror. You cast one last look at yourself out of the corner of your eye, but noticed he was still watching you. You quickly looked away with an awkward, breathless laugh. He pulled you closer to himself as he walked you towards the bed. With a gentle shove from Alastor, you sat lightly on the edge of the mattress, bouncing your leg as you watched him cross the room.
He hummed as he sifted through the closet of your room, a finger on his chin as he looked too concerned about picking out pajamas. You figured he was just trying to be silly to lighten your mood, and you appreciated it. Plus, you had to admit to yourself, seeing him look so serious at a bunch of old, oversized shirts did cheer you up.
He returned after a moment with a simple red top and fuzzy black pants. He motioned his finger to prompt you to lift your arms, which had subconsciously come to rest over your stomach. You obeyed, albeit with some hesitance, and bit your lip as you lifted your arms from their protective position.
“You know,” He spoke as he aided you in pulling your arms and head through the shirt. He paused his words for a moment to shake out the pants so the fabric was straightened, and then he continued. “If the Gods were to exist, I’d say your beauty would make them rather jealous. I don’t think art even portrays them quite as enchanting.”
“Oh, you flatter me,” You said with a light eye roll and a too-sarcastic tone in your voice that you immediately regretted. He didn’t seem to mind, though.
“Oh, but it’s true!” He argued back with a light smile. He tenderly lifted one of your legs and slipped the fabric of the fuzzy pajamas over, and followed suit with your other leg. You lifted yourself up with your hands so he could slip the waist over your hips.
He stood, looking down at you for a moment, again just analyzing you. It was easier to feel more comfortable under his gaze—as comfortable as anyone could possibly be with Alastor looking at them so intently—when you were clothed.
He ruffled your hair, accompanying the movement with a pleased hum, before turning and beginning to change himself. You shuffled yourself up the bed, resting your back against the headboard as you carefully watched him.
His coat came off first, slipping down his shoulders and hung carefully in the closet. Your eyes were immediately drawn to the fluffy red tail that flicked as the cold air breezed through the fur. You made a mental note to ask to pet it later—maybe he would let you if you told him it would make you feel better. He then pulled at the hem of his undershirt, tugging it up and over his head and then down his arms. His hair tumbled down in soft locks from the neckline as he popped his head from the shirt.
God, how embarrassing you probably looked right now, watching Alastor undress in front of you with the sickest, lovestruck eyes. If you were a drawing, there would probably be hearts floating all over your head right now.
He bent at the hip slightly to rustle through a drawer of his own night shirts, and you watched the edges of his shoulder blades and the slight curvature of his lean muscles shift and contort under his pale skin with every move he made. Your eyes traveled up and down his back, drawing mental images with the lines of scars that marred his otherwise smooth flesh.
Heat flushed your cheeks when he turned his head slightly, looking at you through the corner of his eyes, catching you ogling him. His grin only grew wider, though, before he finally threw on a loose shirt. What a tease.
He made quick work of his pants, replacing them with some comfortable sweats that looked almost alien on him, considering his usual attire. He joined you in the bed, his body creating a sizable dip in the mattress that made you fall against him. His arm snaked behind your back, coming to cup you at the curves of your waist and pulling you closer. He pressed a kiss against the top of your head before resting his cheek against it.
There would be no discussion about what had been bothering you minutes prior, and you were perfectly okay with it. Alastor was useless at emotional discussions, and in extension comforting you directly, but he could, to the best of his ability, comfort you through his actions and presence. A light, soothing jazz tune reverberated in the dark room, manifesting from his cane that sat against the wall by the bed. You closed your eyes and sighed, tangling your legs into his underneath the sheets.
You purse your lips, a light curve at the corners as you smiled at your previous idea.
“Al, my love,” You said softly, moving your head so he would lift his own off of it and look at you. His red eyes had a light glow in the dark.
“Yes, ma moitie?” He lifted his clawed hand and gently placed his index under your chin. Your next words made his body jerk and tense.
“Could I pet your tail?”
#ohdeerfully#hazbin hotel#alastor x reader#hazbin hotel x reader#alastor#alastor hazbin hotel#fluff#alastor x you#tw: body dysmorphia#dysmorphia#insecure reader#):#alastor tries his best really#love him
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𝑆𝑘𝑖𝑛 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝐵𝑜𝑛𝑒𝑠
Requested by @strongheartneteyam
Rating // +18
Warnings // Body insecurities / Smut teaser at the end/ Jealousy / Body image issues / Might be triggering for some readers
Word count // 1,950
You’d never been ashamed of your body before. You’d never had a reason to hate your body before. Sure, you were shorter than most Na’vi girls your age, and you weren’t as thin as they were. Your body held more flesh and you had a bit of a belly that went along with your thick thighs and curvy frame.
With Neteyam, though, everything about you was perfect.
Courtship was something every Na’vi girl dreamed of when growing up, fantasizing about how her future mate would ask her, as well as their future afterwards.
You were no different.
What you weren’t expecting was for Neteyam to be the one to ask.
You’d had a crush on him since childhood and, due to the close bond you both shared, it was no surprise when he started gifting you small intricately-designed bracelets and elegant necklaces, asking you into a courtship with him.
You’d have to admit, you tended to match a person with a stereotype and, even though you were thrilled out of your mind at the prospect of a happy family with the boy of your dreams, you’d thought he was into a different type of woman. A thinner type.
He was quick to snuff out that stereotype, showering you with praise and adoration, and constant kisses all over your body at night when you were expected to be sleeping instead. He knew your body like the back of his hand, having explored almost every inch of you. His favorite thing to do with you was to kiss your thighs, trailing his lips upwards to your belly, before resting his cheek against your stomach.
You would lay there, fingers gently running through the beaded thin braids of his hair, as his head rose and fell with your relaxed breathing.
Trouble didn’t arise until Neteyam started branching out with friends of the opposite gender. Girls would flirt with him in a desperate attempt to take him from your side. He was usually very quick to shut it down and, should you have happened to hear about it later, he made sure you heard about the situations from his own mouth first.
One day, though, you were headed to see him, a handful of picked flowers in your hands to give him as a gift. You had to do a double take, seeing him sitting on the ground while talking with a girl. A skinny girl with thin limbs and the same amount of fingers as him. A skinny girl with a tall frame and pretty black hair.
A skinny pretty girl.
You couldn’t remember him mentioning a new female friend, but it wasn’t like you were against it. You didn’t mind, as long as he made sure to keep her in the friend space and nothing more. You trusted him.
Shaking off your stupor, you approached and gave him the flowers, and the smile on his face was brilliant and dazzling, bright as the stars at night. Your heart fluttered at the smile and you couldn’t help but return it with a sheepish one.
The next day, he was with that girl again. Talking and laughing, as if the bestest of friends. Standing on the edge of the field, arrows drawn back tight, they looked at their targets for a moment before releasing the strings, watching the arrows sink into the bullseye of the trees they’d been aiming for. They looked at each other, smiling in pure pride and happiness, and you can’t help but falter.
Especially when you heard the whispers.
Whispers of people all around you, talking about how perfect of a couple they’d make together. That was the first time you’d begun to feel insecure. That was the first time you’d begun to compare yourself to someone else in the village.
Sure, you were a halfling, just like Neteyam and the other children. You were born from the union of a Na’vi mother and an avatar father. Like Lo’ak, you had five fingers on each hand, and you had the slightest dusting of eyebrows upon your face.
You weren’t the best at archery, nor were you very good at hunting in general. Sure, you’d passed your iknimaya well enough, but you still weren’t one of the best. Instead, you preferred helping with cooking the meals for your people or crafting jewelry and clothing for your fellow people.
This girl… she had more in common with Neteyam than you ever would.
Clutching the bracelet you’d made for him tight to your chest, that was the first time you’d ever fled from him.
It felt like your chest was on fire, like your heart was physically ripping in shreds. Because in that moment, you realized that the whispers were right; he deserved her. She would be perfect for him. You would have to let him go so that he could truly be happy.
When he came to find you, you were sitting in your hut, hunched over a loom, weaving a new top for your mother to wear. He’d asked you to go flying with him, something you both enjoyed doing with each other.
You’d kept your face down to hide the tears and the trembling of your lips as you shook your head, claiming to be busy at the time. After constant pushing for him to go and fly with his new friend, he left, but you could feel the disappointment that radiated off of him in waves. Each wave smashed against your tender heart like a hammer, cracking it more and more the longer you thought about it.
Thus began a new cycle.
You were pushing him away, trying to get him to realize that he’d found his match and she wasn’t you. Distance was what he needed. Distance and time. And then he’d see her and he’d fall in love and he’d be truly happy.
At least, that’s what you thought.
To Neteyam, you were simply being stubborn and cold. He had no idea why you were doing this or why you were behaving the way you were. The nights of snuggling, the days of talking and just being together, they were all over.
He missed you.
A lot.
In an attempt to figure out a solution to your sudden coldness, he turned to the wiser adults. First, he’d spoken to Mo’at. Then his parents. And finally, he’d sat down with your parents to find out what the root of this problem was.
No one had any idea what could possibly have caused this chaos between you and him. They were as stumped as he was.
One thing that did stick to him, though, was something his father had told him.
“Neteyam, girls are fragile, but they’re also strong willed and smart. They trust men with their lives, until they don’t. So if you’ve started doing things you know Y/n wouldn’t like, you need to figure out what it is and stop it.”
Was he doing something wrong?
He didn’t know. If he tried to ask, you’d brush him off and walk away, acting like everything was just fine, even if it wasn’t.
So, he turned to his new friend. Sitting down under the shade of a tree, he spilled out his heart to her, confessing his love towards you, as well as his confusion over your sudden coldness. She listened patiently, nodding as if she knew exactly what was wrong.
When he’d gotten to the end of his rant, she smiled.
“What is it? Do you know why she is acting this way?” he’d asked softly and she nodded again.
“I believe that she might be jealous of our friendship. Some rumors have started of late. Adults talking about how you and I would go well together. Even though we are only friends, I’m sure she has heard them and believes them.”
He was falling into a whole new level of confusion. It wasn’t like you to listen to gossip and rumors. You’d always thought that sort of thing was petty and cruel. So why would you listen to it now?
That was when he decided he’d had enough of it all. No more cat and mouse games. No more playing around. He was going to get down to the bottom of this with you one way or another.
He approached you in your little crook of the world, determination making it hard for you to push him away.
“Y/n, I’m not leaving until you answer me,” he stated, hands firmly planted on your shoulders as you stared up at him with wide eyes.
“Why are you behaving like this? Did none of this even matter to you? Everything we have built together, all of it. Does it no longer matter to you anymore?”
You were frozen, finally forced to face the conflict of your actions, and you didn’t know how to respond other than to break into tears in his arms.
“She would be so much better for you,” you sob softly as he cradled your body close to him. “She is skinny and tall and beautiful. She is good at all the things you’re good at and she has so much in common with you. She would make you so much happier than I ever could.”
You spill out every thought, every feeling that had been stowed away for weeks in your head.
He listened patiently, letting you ramble until you had no words left to speak.
And then, he pulled you over to your mat, pushing you flat on your back, hands planted on each side of your head.
“I love you. You make my life interesting, Y/n. No one could ever come close to replacing you. I love you and your beautiful body. Your funny jokes and your frustration. I love that cute little groan you make when you miss your target. I love helping you aim your arrows because I can feel your skin against mine and it fills me with warmth. I love cuddling with you at night and kissing every inch of your body. I love talking to you and listening to your exciting stories. Your mischievous adventures always thrill me the most. I’d rather listen to you talking about what you’ve done all day than talk to anyone else.”
He moved down to dust his lips lightly against your own, cupping your jaw gently with his hand.
“I think it’s time to remind you of how much I love you.”
His voice was soft, as quiet as a whisper, and it sent shivers up your spine. You were crying, but it was from relief. He wasn’t going to leave you because he loved you.
It was something he wasn’t going to ever give up on.
His fingers brushed down your body, light as a feather, touching every inch of your skin. And once he’d touched every part of you, he began to trail kisses down your skin, pulling your thighs up over his shoulders so that he could kiss the flesh of your legs. His teeth lightly graze the inner parts of your thighs and you just relish in his gentle kisses and light touches.
He returns his lips back to yours, drawing you into a deeper, more heated kiss. Fingers gently pull your tewng off, discarding it nearby, before he wiggled out of his own. His hands gently press against yours, fingers slotted between your own to grip your hands tightly as he rubbed his girth in between your thighs.
“I love every inch of you,” he whispered as he parted from your kiss. “Every inch of you belongs to me, just like every inch of me belongs to you. I will never throw you away for anyone else.”
#avatar fandom#avatar twow#avatar the way of water#avatar fics#avatar#neteyam te suli tsyeyk'itan#neteyam sully#neteyam#neteyam atwow#neteyam avatar#body insecurity tw#body insecurities#neteyam x omaticaya!reader#neteyam x you#neteyam x y/n#neteyam x reader
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TW: MENTIONS OF BODY (MAINLY STOMACH) RELATED INSECURITIES
Imagine being insecure because you don’t feel pretty, you’re too chubby and your stomach isn’t flat enough for you to feel pretty in the sense that the skinny girls are, but you’re too small to feel pretty in the way that the fat girls are, just stuck in the middle- mediocre and medium ugly.
Imagine having that insecurity, but not being able to fully hate your body for it because when Donnie’s been cooped up in his lab not eating, sleeping, or drinking, the only thing that can convince him to leave his lab is the prospect of cuddling with you and being allowed to use your tummy as a pillow. He loves it so much that it steals him away from his unhealthy habits, and even if it can’t make you love yourself, maybe it helps you to have a bit more compassion for yourself and your body
#tw body image#tw body dysmorphia#tw body insecurity#tmnt#RotTMNT#tmnt x reader#RotTMNT x reader#tmnt donatello#tmnt Donnie#tmnt donatello x reader#tmnt donnie x reader#rottmnt donatello#rottmnt donnie#rottmnt donatello x reader#rottmnt donnie x reader
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Gravity vs Steve Harrington
TW: mentions of abuse, bruises, body insecurities, Billy being a dick (to himself), foul language (it's basically angst but with a tad bit of fluff at the end) *also I didn't tag everyone on my list bc I wasn't sure this was the content you wanted 😃🔫- let me know if you want to be tagged tho)
Billy is so used to arguing. To fighting for basic things others take for granted. He's used to fighting for someone to believe him. He yells because he's never heard. Every argument he's had... he just wants someone to understand. Anyone.
So when he shows up at the Harrington house (the only coherent thought he can form is that damned name and the boy it's attached to) covered in fresh purple bruises, a heavy river of blood streaming from his nose into his mouth, and Steve Harrington answers the door, Billy is prepared to be turned away, or beat up even more- or worse, for Harrington to call Neil.
He takes a deep breath, crying out in pain. "Listen, Harrington, I don't have the energy to fight you."
"What happened?"
He almost snaps at the other boy, but goddammit, the way those doe eyes are looking at him with something akin to concern, his resolve crumbles.
He's probably delirious, anyway. The ground is swaying beneath him, and gravity is being a cow-
But Harrington is stronger than he looks, because he catches Billy before he can hit the ground. He planted his feet, Billy thinks proudly.
"Easy there, big guy," Steve says, and Billy winces; his father's unkind words about his little piglet of a son ring true in his ears.
He tries to push Harrington back, but it's a weak attempt. Steve doesn't look surprised or hurt, to his credit. Looks like he knows Billy well enough, then.
Judging by the fact that Harrington is now heaving him up with one hand cupping his ass cheeks, the other on the sliver of his back that isn't bruised, his original assessment of Harrington as that fawn he saw in a nature program once is startlingly accurate. Little guy had no chance of beating that stag, yet he still tried anyway. He got right back up, no matter what.
What was it like to have an unbreakable spirit?
Sure, Billy had fire in him, but it was Neil who fed the flames. Without his fire, he was nothing. Nothing but a bloated flesh puppet-
Billy yelps as he slips slightly out of Steve's hold. Harrington really grips his pudgy sides this time, and fuck all, this is the worst time for Billy to be an insecure fat fuck.
"Should put me down, Harrington. Don't wanna... have you throwin' out your back," he attempts to joke, blinking back tears. Christ, blood and tears don't mix well.
"Is that another one of your sex jokes?" Harrington asks, wrinkling his nose.
Billy cringes against him. Am I that disgusting?
Harrington somehow is able to carry him up to his room, where he places Billy gingerly on his bed.
"Yer sheets are gonna get bloody-" Billy protests sluggishly.
"I don't care," the brunette says, shrugging.
His nonchalance irks Billy, for some reason. "Don't wanna be a bother-"
"You're not."
Billy snorts in disbelief.
"Look, man, I don't know what's going on-"
Here it comes. Billy opens his mouth, years of pretty lies and the blanketed truths waiting at the tip of his tongue, and Harrington fucking kisses him.
Billy is too tired and too stupidly in love to push him away. He wants this. He wants Steve Harrington. But... there's no way Steve wants him.
Jesus, his thoughts really know how to humble him.
Billy pulls back, and Steve frowns. "Did I hurt you?"
Billy opens his mouth, a pitiful "No" emitting from it.
"Then what's wrong?"
"Harrington, I don't owe you an explanation." Fuck if you'll believe me anyway.
"I'm not asking for an explanation. Not until you're ready to tell me, okay?"
Billy nods feebly, dumbfounded.
"I'm gonna get my mom's first aid kit-" Harrington starts to head for the door, and Billy can't let him leave, he can't. Logically he knows it's Steve's house, and Billy is the imposter, but logic is stupid, and so is he.
"Stay," Billy whispers so low he can't even hear himself. "Please?" He has no reasoning, or explanation to give. No energy to bully Steve into staying-
And apparently Steve fucking Harrington doesn't need any of those things, because he stops and turns to smile at Billy, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He lays his slightly lankier body too close to Billy's (and not close enough at the same time), his thighs rubbing against Billy's, "Not going anywhere, Gorgeous."
Neil must have hit Billy harder than he thought. If this is all an illusion... Billy doesn't care. It's a really good one, and he doesn't want gravity to jerk him down from it. Ever.
Tags
@emeraldwitches
@jaethecreator
@ouizzyharringrove
@geormenia
@hardestgrove
@whoringrove
@harringroveho
@wixterirox
#billy hargrove#harringrove#tw mentions of abuse#and bruises and blood#tw body image#tw body insecurity#tw insecurities#tw neil hargrove#mentioned only#but still ew#chubby billy has my heart#and steves#this isnt funny or particularly soft so... yeah#but steve is soft with billy#bc he deserves it#chubby billy hargrove#is this a bit of a self projection? i-#my writing#harringrove imagines#this was supposed to be a prompt#istg yall#but i ended up writing more than i wanted#billy bunny hun#steve keeps my baby grounded
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Repeat After Me
‘I’m perfect and I love myself’
repeat that 30 times. it’s okay if you lose count.
now say three things you like about yourself
Get self care mantra-d bitch.
#no insecurities here bitches!#all you little freaks are worthy of being cared for!!!#hypnok1nk#cw flashing#tw flashing#flashing lights
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Health and Hybrids (XVII)👽👻💚
[I can't remember the original prompt posters for the life of me but here's a mashup between a cryptid!Danny, presumed-alien!Danny, dp x dc, and the prompt made the one body horror meat grinder fic.]
PART ONE is here PART TWOis here PART THREE is here PART FOUR is here and PART FIVE is here PART SIX is here and PART SEVEN is here PART EIGHT is here PART NINE is here PART TEN is here PART ELEVEN is here PART TWELVE is here PART THIRTEEN is here PART FOURTEEN is here PART FIFTEEN is here PART SIXTEEN is here and we're limping into part 17...
💚 Ao3 Is here for all parts (now featuring mediocre mouseover translations, only available on a computer)
Where we last left off... Two! Words! In! English!!! And a television? Hardcore!
Trigger warnings for this story: body horror | gore | post-dissection fic | dehumanization (probably) | my nonexistent attempts at following DC canon. On with the show.
💚👻👽👻💚
Danny can raise his head now.
Only a little. It still hurts his neck for a while after. But his arms and his head both rise, now. His fingers curl, now, too.
The result is that Danny can now watch and change his own television channels. No more news! Now it’s all Food Network, all the time, baby. The result is that sometimes the doctors tending to him get distracted by various pasta dishes, but also. Danny is also distracted by various pasta dishes.
And roast chicken.
And fried potatoes. Every potato ever, actually.
…It makes eating his oatmeal a more awful ordeal.
“Aw, dyrling, na þa sæd egean,” the lady says to him, spoon at his lips. Danny weakly moves his arm towards her, but only manages to hit her elbow with the heel of his thumb. “Inne cwic tima, gise? Hiere þa læce.”
Danny is pretty sure his face is a nightmare to look at at the moment, but he still makes the world’s saddest expression at the lady, because she hasn’t blasted him or hit him or even sedated him yet, and he needs something. Anything.
He’s pretty the lady makes an equally sad look under her medical mask, but Danny is hungry and he’s tired all the time and he’s sad and he wants a cheeseburger. Or fries. Or…or anything at all!
Danny’s look gets progressively sadder, and the lady gets progressively sadder to match, and then they’re both just looking at each other so very sadly until a doctor physically has to cut between them to reach for Danny’s green-speckled blankets.
Ugh. Great. Now he’s cold too. He can’t quite muster a glare, but the doctor gets an extremely stern squint from him for their “help”.
The only response Danny gets is a half-strangled laugh. That is not the response Danny needs. He needs immediate respect and a Nasty Burger number two special.
And a new blanket.
“—Eall dæg?” the doctor asks the woman, but not Danny, and then he has to listen to everyone talking about him in a weird language without even pretending to ask for his input. It’s extremely annoying, and Danny half-considers falling asleep to avoid it. His gaze slides back to the television. He’s just as capable of ignoring everyone else as they are. He bets it sucks. He hopes it sucks.
They talk for a while, but then the lady takes the oatmeal away—and hey! Danny’s eyes widen and sting from the stretch. Uh. Maybe he didn’t think this one through. He’d still thought he’d get lunch out of this.
Um. He would like to continue to receive meals. But he’s watching her walk out with his oatmeal, which is the only human food that’s ever been given to him here, and…
Danny’s stomach cramps. It’s probably just anxiety.
He wishes he’d eaten the stupid oatmeal.
The doctor stays with him, setting the blanket into a laundry bin and checking over Danny’s body (ew) (gross) (nasty) for whatever they have to check on him, and Danny tries to go intangible at least four times during the check only to get oWOUCHOW jerks inside his core. At least one time, he flickers invisible. Not much, he thinks. Probably just an arm and the chunk of his torso.
The doctor pauses. Danny waits for things to (start to hurt) get worse.
“Mæg Ic?”’
…Danny doesn’t move. It hurts to breathe. Every time air scrapes through his nose and mouth, it burns a little more.
The doctor doesn’t move.
So they just.
Wait.
“Mæg Ic?” the doctor asks again.
They move very, very slowly. They touch him, and his—skin—and they rotate him to check underneath him. If they find something of whatever it is they’re monitoring him for, he gets wiped down with something gooey and wiped clean, and sometimes he even thinks they bandage him.
Danny wishes he had a bath. A whole, real bath. Where he could wash his own hair. And wipe off whatever this goo is.
When they’re done, the lady comes back in.
The sound of the door latching shut makes Danny flinch. Is she going to punish him? She walks to his bed. With her medical mask over her face, Danny can’t see if she’s visibly mad at him or not. She doesn’t look mad though…does she?
She stands to his good side, presumably so that Danny can see her. The oatmeal is back—it looks kind of gloopy, though, like it’s been badly reheated. The lady shows something to the doctor, who makes an irritated groan, and then they start talking to each other again. She cuts off to show him something, though—
Danny blinks. She’s showing it to Danny. He…looks down at it.
It looks like a mustard packet. It’s a black packet with yellow streaks, with writing on it with those letters Danny’s never seen before coming here, and it takes his eyes a second to focus on the package before realizing that there’s a little bee and pot on one end of the packet.
Oh. It’s honey?
Oh!
…Oh!!
Danny jerks upright, and, OW, and he definitely scares the lady and the doctor who rush to settle him but there’s honey?? Flavor??? His food can taste good again??!
He wheezes— and slaps a stinging hand onto the packet. “Pl’s?” he begs. He’d stopped begging in the old labs, no one there had listened to him—and he’d stopped begging for them to be gentle, to stop hurting him, to let him go. But for food. For food that tastes, Danny might do anything. Anything. “P’lease? Ple’se? Pleese?”
“Pleece?” the woman repeats, baffled. The word doesn’t mean anything to her; she’s only repeating the sounds. But Danny can’t stop begging.
“P’lease?”
“Pleece? Pleace?”
“Please?!”
“Awrite þis,” the woman mutters, and the doctor leaves. “Bist wel. Eom hebbjan eower wist. Es wel.”
And that still means nothing to him, but the lady gently lifts him up until his back can lay on the pillows, and he can sit more than lay. Danny watches in raspy silence as she rips the packet open and dumps the contents into the oatmeal. She stirs with gloved hands, ensuring that the packet is equally distributed. And then there’s a glob on her spoon, and the spoon to his lips.
Danny takes a bite. Tears well.
“Shhh,” the woman coaxes. “Wanian ma?”
Ma sounds kind of like more. Danny opens his mouth, and is rewarded with another spoonful.
He doesn’t start crying in earnest until the bowl is gone. But that’s alright. The lady finds tissues, somewhere, and he gets to look into her human-blue eyes as she carefully dries over and around his still-soft, green-edged wounds.
It’s a very nice gesture.
Danny sobs a little harder.
#Diana: kids like sweets right? Honey? We have honey packets in the caf for the tea drinkers#Closest Doctor: I don't know if it would be too hard for him to digest at this stage—#Diana: look at him. Look at my sad child#Danny: *having several simultaneous crises*#Closest Doctor: ...Okay. I will say. That's pretty bad. Yeah he can probably digest like a teaspoon of honey; lemme go add that to his char#health and hybrids#danny phantom#dp x dc#dpxdc#dcxdp#tw gore#tw medical#tw body horror#dcu crossover#Lemme ✨sprinkle in✨newfound food insecurity trauma
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i don't want to hear about your diet i don't want to hear about your weight loss "journey" i don't want to hear about your clothing size i don't want to hear about your "healthy alternatives" recipes i don't want to hear about your fucking nutrient dense protein pancakes or your green juice super smoothie metabolic booster lemon water cayenne honey tea i don't want to hear about your workout routine i don't wanna hear about your slimming shapewear i don't want to hear about how much you hate your arms or legs or stomach or hips i don't want to hear about how "bad" you've been for eating too much dessert i don't want to hear about the number on your scale i don't want to hear your casual fatphobia dressed up in the language of "wellness" or the excuse of self-hatred!!!!
#sorry i simply. am so beyond pissed off#i'm never going to congratulate you for your stupid fucking diet!#i'm never going to congratulate you for weight loss!#i'm never going to commiserate with you over weight gain!#saying oh sorry but i'm just insecure abt my body isn't a fucking excuse#i'm sorry but i DON'T CARE!#work on ur fatphobia or shut the fuck up and hate your body privately#like i know it's a hard pill to swallow but being afraid to be fat is something you should actively be challenging!#and no matter how wrapped up in the language of wellness it is#anything you share or say publicly about wanting to make your body smaller is only ever going to contribute to fatphobia#no matter how rooted in personal insecurity it is#tw fatphobia#tw ed#sorry babes but dieting IS disordered eating. it is#ranting and raving#txt
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eddie munson x plus size!fem!reader, 18+
a little drabble loosely based on this text post cause I was having a feeling-bad-about-my-body day and I know eddie would be having absolutely none of that ♡
---
Thick, ringed fingers holding you, pressing into where your tummy dips and fold and rolls. Your legs are spread wide, Eddie's thighs holding yours open, leaving you exposed, bared completely to the mirror in front of you. It's hard to look at first, your head turning into the soft curls at his neck, hiding from your reflection.
"Uh-uh. Look, baby. Look'it how she opens up for me."
It took a long time, learning how not to hate yourself. Learning that everything you hated about you was the opinion of someone who didn't love you, didn't care. It took a long time to look in the mirror and be okay, to accept. Not always celebrating, or loving, but sometimes admiring, appreciating. Understanding that your body didn't hold the entirety of your worth.
And Eddie did enough loving for the both of you anyway.
For a while you stayed away from skinny boys like him, afraid they'd do more damage to all that hard work. But Eddie... there was something different about him. You knew it right away. He wasn't ashamed to be seen with you, wasn't asking you to stay the night only to pretend like he didn't know who you were in front of his friends. He worshipped you, fully worshipped you properly. That can't keep his hands off you, needs you by his side 24/7, thinks you've hung the moon kind of worship.
It was intense at first. You thought he'd get tired of you, move on in a week or two have his fun until something better came along. But it's been months, years of him loving you like no one else has before and, no matter your own reservations about your body, you believe him when he tells you, when he shows you just how much.
His thick fingers delve into your core, a reward for finally looking back at your reflection. The sopping wet center of you wets his winding fingers, the sound obscene as he makes tight circles around your clit.
"The prettiest pussy I've ever seen."
You want to tease, to ask just how many he's seen to make that claim, but you can't form words with the way he's jackhammering his thick fingers in and out of your cunt.
"That's it, princess. Making such a mess for me."
Eddie presses kisses to your temple, down your soft jawline. You stare with rapt attention, jaw practically hanging to the floor and eyes glazed, hazy but laser focused on the ring of your creamy juices around Eddie's knuckles.
His fingers curl into the roof of your cunt, pushing, searching for your release like he needs it more than you do. He's begging in your ear for you to give it to him.
"Show me, princess. Shhhh, I got you," his other hand moves to your clit to work the aching nub when you whine, tears gathering at the corners of your eyes. "Give it to me. Want you to see yourself cum. You're so pretty when you cum on my cock."
Your thighs tense and shake at the mention of his cock and you're bombarded with images of him bending you over in front of this mirror, his fat cock stuffed in your cunt to the base and before you can catch your breath you're screaming, clenching down on his fingers and wailing like a cat in heat. Your eyes never leave your sweaty, heaving body in the mirror. Full breats shuddering, shaking as you gasp for air. Your tummy clenching against Eddie's arm pressed to your middle, holding you tight.
"That's it. Fuck, that's it, baby."
Eddie drags his fingers from your pussy, pulsing and grasping for his fingers, begging them not to leave.
He catches your gaze in the mirror, watching you watching him with his fingers in his mouth, sucking them clean.
"Did so good for me, princess. So good, so beautiful."
#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x plus size!reader#eddie munson x fem!reader#eddie munson x you#eddie munson x y/n#eddie munson smut#eddie munson fluff#tw body insecurity#eddie munson fan fiction#eddie munson drabble#eddie munson fanfic#eddie munson headcanon#eddie munson imagines#my fics#tbh i hate writing negative body shit but i needed to get this out of me
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