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#body image au
tieronecrush · 5 months
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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!!!!
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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.
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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. 
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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.
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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.”
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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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whetstonefires · 11 months
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I know I talk about mdzs modern AUs a lot, but it's just somehow become a fascinating adaptation process to me, all these people making their personal calls about the nature of reality.
And a thing I keep coming back to is all the people who deliberately decide to give modern!wwx Mo Xuanyu's build.
To preserve the strength contrast that's leveraged for horny, which like, yeah that's fair, horny is an acceptable reason to make a story choice. I respect that, sometimes grudgingly.
But as a result of noticing this being done, oftentimes it seems without any reflection about why, I've developed this minor obsession with the fact that wwx in his own body at its adult height was fractionally shorter than lwj.
And this was the height he reached after a multi-year period in childhood living on scrounged garbage, plus the three months starving in the mass grave toward the end of his growth period.
Meaning that by all normal logic, a modern AU wwx who did not experience these periods of intense privation--which is most of them; it's quite rare for children to experience that particular form of total neglect in modern developed nations and modernAU!wwx's life ruining circumstances only occasionally involve intense physical torment--is going to be significantly taller as an adult.
Like. Add a few inches on there.
Where are all my adequately nourished six-foot-four Wei Wuxians???
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sketchy-tour · 2 months
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Fuck it, it's my blog time for a
SKETCH DUMP
I do so many doodles and post so little of them so augh have a dump! These are all made at different times so qualities will so very I'm so inconsistent
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First take some doodles of an AU who's made by @randompony03 ! Cozy Corner Wally he's so pretty he's so sweet what a cute fella~!
And then I've got an assortment of Dandy interactions I've doodled OCs belong to
@randompony03 @theknifeclown @xxxkewkiesxxx (context for that one is they were riding rides at an amusement park together) @kandavers
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And then an extra silly idea of OG/Regular Dandy somehow being able to bump into Beta and mistaking him for Wally. Silly silly.
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gamergenia · 2 months
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[Image ID: A picture of The Hollow Knight's split selves, depicting its shade form and its bodily form. It's bodily self is severely infected, its mask having been split in three. It's shade lacks the injury its body has, and is looking upon itself from the left. End ID]
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ellecdc · 29 days
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Hello beautiful! I have a request that is kinda personal! Anyways o was wondering if you could whip something up about reader and (which ever marauder you think best fits) who kinda has big boobs(like f/h) and is kinda self conscious about it (plus her weight cuz she’s chubby) because they sag and not all cute and perky and such? I could just use the comfort of a marauder and your writing 💕 -thank you lovely
I feel like we must be twins or something; I too am a plus-sized H cup girlie 🙋🏻‍♀️ thanks so much for requesting dolly; we're in this together 💖
James Potter x plus size, busty fem!reader
CW: insecurities, body image issues, negative self-talk, mentions of sex but no smut
You could hear the panicky tone of your whine teetering towards hysterical, but you swallowed past the lump in your throat as you discarded another article of clothing. The top joined the growing number of other shirts, dresses, and pants littering the floor of your closet. You were disturbingly close to tears and knew if you turned around to see your sweet, handsome boyfriend who had the audacity to sit casually on your bed without a single care in the world, it’d push you over the edge.
Apparently, he did have at least one care in the world.
“You almost ready, lovie? We have to leave soon if we want to get to Marlene’s on time.” James asked from his place, laying back on your bed as he threw a small stress ball above him and caught it only to fling it upwards again and again. 
The worst part was how sweet he was about it; you’d never know from his gentle tone or word choice that he was basically accusing you of making the two of you late.
It would have been better if he’d been rude or snide, perhaps more overtly accusative – at least then you would have felt validated in how harsh your next words came out.
“I’m going as fast as I can, James.”
Though you didn’t turn away from your closet, you could tell he paused the ball throwing as he calculated your sudden mood change.
“Sorry, sweetheart.” He started carefully, moving to a sitting position. “I just know how much you hate being late, is all. I didn’t mean to rush you.”
Your next exhale came out a little shaky, but from your place in your closet, James couldn’t pick up on it. 
“I know. I’m trying.” You said, working overtime to keep your voice even. He must have picked up on some of the tension anyways, as he rose from his place and came to stand behind you, hands moving to your shoulders instinctively. Unfortunately, with your current mindset – your shoulders immediately flew to your ears, effectively shaking him off of your body.
“Maybe you should go without me.” You admitted quietly. Suddenly, the idea of putting on anything except one of your oversized t-shirts and a pair of sweats felt like nothing short of torture. 
“You don’t want to go?” He murmured just as quietly.
It’s not that you didn’t want to go – although, at this point your answer was leaning heavily towards hell no I don’t. 
You loved Marlene; you were excited to celebrate her birthday, you got her a wonderful present you know she’ll be ecstatic over, and you always had fun with the group when you could all manage to get together. And besides, getting the whole group together was happening less and less now that you were all adults, living separately and working various jobs. 
So no, it’s not that you didn’t want to go.
What you didn’t want was to look at yourself in even one more piece of clothing that was either too tight, too frumpy, too lowcut, or showed off too much skin.
Who even bought these clothes? Why do you own them?
If you asked your mother, she would simply say you were ‘well-endowed’, which roughly translated to ‘you inherited your grandmothers dreadfully large breasts, darling, I’m sorry.’
Some may wonder what defines ‘dreadfully large breasts’. In your case, it was an H cup. 
Well-endowed could be used to describe one of those busty models in lingerie ads, not you.
Yours were large, and long, and marked with stretchmarks and not perky in the slightest. Nothing a good bra couldn’t fix though, right?
Wrong.
Bras that were big enough for breasts like yours were not at all cute. You had to special order them in most cases, and they were always beige or pink and they never did offer you as much lift you as much as you’d like.
If your boobs were the only part of your body causing you grief, you’d probably relent. But skinny girls don’t often have boobs this big, and it wasn’t just your tops that were bothering you.
Every pair of jeans and trousers you pulled over your hips felt too snug, too restrictive. You felt as if one wrong move and you’d pop right out of them like one of those Pillsbury biscuit containers.
James interrupted your mournful musings with a gentle “love?” and brushed the side of your wrist with his finger, clearly hesitant to touch you after you’d shaken him off earlier.
“I can’t find anything to wear.” You admitted.
James looked around at the clothing surrounding you before his bemused face turned back to yours. “What do you mean, love? It seems you’ve found a lot to wear.”
You rolled your eyes and felt the first tear fall. “James...” But he was already in problem solving mode.
“What about this?” He asked as he picked up a tank top you had discarded because the cut was too low, and the straps were too thin.
“I don’t have the right kind of bra for that.”
He looked between your bra covered form and the shirt, clearly not understanding what that meant but not willing to argue about it. 
“Okay...” He said as he dropped the offending shirt back onto the floor. “What about this?”
You didn’t even bother looking at the shirt he was holding. “If it’s on the floor, it’s a no.”
“But why is it a no?”
You looked over to see the button up shirt he was holding. “Because it makes me look...” fat, was going to be the negative ending of your sentence, but James’ face turned hard as he cut you off.
“Beautiful?”
You scoffed. “Sure James, I decided against the shirt because it made me look beautiful.”
“Okay.” James said far more sternly than you believe you’ve ever seen him. You turned and grabbed a t-shirt, so you at least weren’t being scolded by your boyfriend half-naked.
“Am I attractive?”
You reared your head back at his question – not at all where you thought this conversation was headed. “Uhm, yes? Yeah...of course.”
“I’ll forgive the hesitation on account of you being upset.” He said severely which caused you to snort a laugh as you wiped tears away from your eyes.
“Is Sirius attractive?”
Your eyebrows furrowed and you could tell by James’ eyes moving towards your nose that you were scrunching it up in confusion.
“This feels like a trick.”
“You can answer the question honestly.”
“Okay...yes, Sirius is attractive.”
“Okay. And Mary? Is she attractive?”
“Yes.”
James nodded curtly. “And would you say that the three of us have good taste?”
“Wha-”
“Just answer the question.”
“Sure, you guys have good taste, but I don’t see-”
“You want to know what the three of us have in common?”
You sighed and nodded, knowing he was going to tell you regardless. 
“We have nothing physically in common – yet you find all three of us attractive. Alternatively, all three of us have had a crush on you.”
You scoffed. “Shut up, James.”
“I’m not joking.” He said, and you noticed he was almost just as stern as he was when this conversation began. “Sirius said he’d never do anything about it – bro code and all...also he’s like, happy with Moony now or whatever. But Mary had no such qualms; she told me that if things don’t work out between the two of us that she’s throwing her hat in the ring. I made her promise not to tell you - in case you left me for her - but I figured this was a good moment to share.” 
You barked a surprise laugh that seemed to ease some of the tension from James’ frame.
“Now, I don’t like the way you were just talking about my girlfriend.” He said gently, opening his arms as an invitation; an invitation you quickly accepted as you moved into his embrace. 
“I’m sorry.” You murmured into his chest.
“You should be.” He murmured into the hair on your head. 
“I just hate my body sometimes.” You admitted quietly. He never faltered in his gentle strokes of your back but hummed in acknowledgement. 
“Well, I love it all of the time, so.” 
“I don’t see how.” You whined as you pulled back. “My boobs are saggy, my tummy juts out, I’m soft everywhere, I’m covered in stretchmarks.” 
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. You’re just listing some of my favourite things, sweets. Your boobs?” He said as he moved his firm grip to your clothed breasts. “Look at that! Can’t even fit them in one hand.” He murmured, eyes glazing as he took in the view of your boob pooling around his large hand. “If I want to give your tits the attention they deserve, I need to use both hands! And your tummy...”
He moved his hands down your abdomen, albeit with more consideration than he’d shown your breasts. “I have to admit, this is my favourite spot to lay my head when we’re watching movies, but what I love the most about your tummy?” He said with a low growl as he spun you around aggressively, pushing the front of his hard body up against the back of yours, grabbing roughly at your hips/stomach as he moved his lips to your ears. “Gives me something to hold onto when I’m pounding into you from behind, or better yet, as you ride the fuck out of me.” 
Your face was a furnace and you were sure James could feel the heat radiating from you as he spun you back to face him. 
“What else were you worried about? Stretchmarks?” He said as he pulled his shirt off in one swift movement, showcasing his demi-god body style. “I’ve got them too.” He stated simply as he pointed to marks lining his biceps and pecs, a few on his hips, and pulled his trousers down slightly so you could see them trailing towards his ass.
“I know you’ve seen all of these before too – you’re no stranger to my body.” He said with a salacious wink.
“James...” you moaned, not able to handle anymore sexual innuendos. 
“Okay, okay. I’m sure you get the idea.” He relented as he replaced his shirt. “My point is, you’ll look lovely in anything you put on, but I’d prefer you wear something you’ll be comfortable in. I can have my girl suffering in her head all night.” 
You rested your forehead against his chest, willing away the tension headache that was forcing its way forward after all you just put yourself (and admittedly, James) through.
“What’s wrong with the shirt you’re wearing now?” He asked kindly.
You looked down at the old band-tee, it had a few holes in it and paint stains.
“It has holes in it and paint stains.” You deadpanned.
“Sirius always said to make dishevelled look intentional. Do you have a leather jacket?” He asked, turning toward your closet without waiting for an answer.
Suddenly, James was pulling a leather jacket around your shoulders, and grabbing a pair of heels.
“Now the stains and holes will look intentional. I think you look bad ass.” 
You weren’t as optimistic, but you turned to observe yourself in the mirror. Even if you didn’t see much of a difference, the sight of James looking at you like you hung the moon was enough to convince you to go for it. Either way, you’d be comfortable.
You’re not sure if James had mentioned anything, but both Sirius and Mary made sure to compliment you on your ‘punk rock look’ when you arrived to Marlene’s party 30 minutes late. 
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lucabyte · 29 days
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cleaned up NoHats doodle from the middle of the original discussion because i think its important to understand in what tone of voice @samhainian and i are saying
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cowardlykrow · 14 days
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After Cyn's done tryna kill him, she'll eventually relent and they can get to work... whatever that is. I didn't do the outfit any justice, but the second i saw the Cowboy!Curt mega @ricky-mortis made i was literally like, "yes, that is IT."
This is, in my heart, a cannon fit for this au
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bendysinitiation · 21 days
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One day while shooting a journal in the Brooklyn area, amateur moviemaker () happened upon something in his film that he described as “bone-chilling”. In a window from one of his shots of the old Joey Drew Studio, he found a face staring back.
Despite it being a clear fake, something about the photo put a new fear into the people who saw it, even more when it showed up unprompted in magazines. It seemed that this peculiar prank had reawoken the scare Bendy gave the public two decades before.
“I didn’t know much about Bendy, only that it was silly cartoons my parents watched,” () is reported saying. “But believe me when I tell you, that face I saw, it’s stuck to my mind like glue ever since. All these old memories are coming back. I could never come up with a prank as bizarre as that.”
Unbeknownst to most, Joey Drew Studios has always had its fair share of “ghost stories”. From phantoms on-strike to children who have never heard of Bendy drawing him around themselves, it’s had an aire to it that ignites people’s nightmares.
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References under the cut
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puppetmaster13u · 7 months
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Y'know what would really increase the demon-child rumors about Damian in @phoenixcatch7 's Possessed Doll Au? His pet demon bat Goliath
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biggiedraws · 17 days
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i did it
anyway i do have more ideas for this (evidently) so check the notes for extras in the next few days ^_^
free reaction image!! and version with no kimcom lol
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DPxDC Prompt
Because Danny is half ghost and half human, he can't exactly "die" or "end" like a human or ghost would.
If his ghost half is ended his human half will heal the damage with his remaining Ectoplasm or with Ectoplasm from the environment before acting as a "defibrillator" to jumpstart his Core to reform.
If his human half is killed his ghost half would be able to heal the damage to his body or recreate his body with any organic matter it can gather before also acting as a "defibrillator" to jumpstart his brain and heart to restart.
The problem is when his brain or Core becomes damaged, for his Core his brain can pretty much fill in the blanks to tell it how powerful it should be, what it's obsession should be, that it should be an ICE or SPACE Core (that was an odd discovery the first time, when his Core switched elements)
But for his brain it's a different matter, the Core store memories differently then the brain does. The brain files things as an archive of experiences and knowledge that map out a person's entire life, the Core on the other hand stores things instinctually important, what is safe, what is dangerous. Language is more passing on the meaning of intentions and emotions for a Core then it is shaping words, sense of self is vague and fluid, identifying Fraid by name or appearance isn't important when you can recognize them at their CORE.(but what when your Fraid is human? when you CAN'T sense their Core, because they don't have a Core)
So when the brain is damaged severely, things get lost along the way, memories don't grow back like cells do, those impulses between neurons are so easily lost.
Maybe that's why Danny finds himself confused and lost in a city he doesn't recognize, having fled from a place of metal walls and burning Ectoplasm, from the humans dressed in teal and orange. He needs to find his Fraid, so he flees the building he woke up in with the metal walls and roof, he flees the town full of humans dressed in white, he travels further when he doesn't sense the Cores of his Fraid.
He finds himself in a city drenched in Ectoplasm that bleeds hurt and desperation, somewhere in this city he can feel a Core that radiates RAGE but also PROTECTION. That is what he seeks out, hopefully whoever has claimed part of this city as their Lair will be able to help him.
#dcxdp#writing#lucas writes#prompt#Amnesiac Danny finds himself in Gotham and goes to Red Hood for help au#Ghosts don't remember their lives only imprints left behind when they formed but they are strong thoughts and feelings instead of memories#Ghosts only have memories they formed after their deaths#The Fentons were right about the imprint part#Not so much the non-sentient and unfeeling malicious monsters part#Yes the Fentons finally tore him apart molecule by molecule#poor Danny#Language barrier as well because Danny forgot English#Danny is still healing his body so he is stuck in ghost form#Jason is confused at Core speak / Ghost speak#Danny is mute#he could talk if he remembered how but he doesnt#ghost speak / core speak is not an audible language#It works like telepathy#they can send feelings / ideas / sensations / images#so they could technically send a memory from their point of view and the receiver would smell / see / hear / taste and FEEL everything#they would even be able to hear the thoughts of the sender / sense their emotions and motives#even understand the context of what they were experiencing as if they had the knowledge the owner of the memory had#too bad Danny doesn't remember anything#He just sends “I need to find me Fraid”#Luckily he can project completely what a Fraid is so Jason can understand that much#Jason can't really do anything without knowing who they are when the only things he gets when he asks is silence#cause your boy doesn't know how to core speak and Danny CAN'T UNDERSTAND ENGLISH
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wheredidalltheusersgo · 3 months
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Total Drama Future AU design number 8!
Alejandro is 39 in this AU.
After All Stars, he took some time to improve his mental health and rekindle his relationship with Cody. Little did he know that Cody had been hopelessly pining for him, and he couldn't deny that he liked that funny little guy as well.
After 1 year and 3 months of dating, Cody proposed to him at the Café they had both grown to love.
It was nice to have someone who loved and appreciated him for more than his body.
With the help of Alejandro's mother, they had a lovely wedding and invited both the Gen 1 and 2 casts as guests (Minus Chris and Chef).
For their honeymoon, they went around the world and revisited all the destinations from World Tour. (Minus the island from the finale).
On December 26th, 2013, at 4:49am, they welcomed Axel Burromuerto-Anderson into their lives.
Alejandro runs his own Pub in Toronto, he's very fond of his work.
Alejandro never thought this is where he would end up in life, but he's quite pleased he got this far.
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shmorp-mcdurgen · 6 months
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A couple sketches of monster au Adam for the silly
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varpusvaras · 26 days
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Leia had loved sleeping in her parents' room.
It was always like a little adventure, like something they weren't really supposed to be doing. Like a secret of some sorts, even though she was never unwelcome to their room either, not really. Sometimes they wanted privacy, but if she truly needed them, Leia knew she was always welcome.
It had exciting, to crawl under the bigger blankets and put her pillow in between theirs, and listen to them talk to each other in low voices as she drifted off.
In the dark, she could see the soft, golden glow on her Mama's chest. It was never too noticeable during the day, with the sunlight being so much brighter, but in the darkness of the night, Leia could see it.
It had felt almost magical, in a sense. Mama never minded if Leia burrowed herself against her, hands splaying across the glow. Leia knew that it was because Mama had gotten hurt, but it had been a long time ago now, and the glow was a reminder that she was alive, that her Mama was alive and was still the Queen despite it all.
Leia's Buir's back also glowed the same, soft gold in the dark. It started as a line from where his neck and the back of his head met, and travelled down, all the way to the small of his back, like his whole spine was made of the glow.
When Leia had touched it, her fingers landing at his neck, her Buir had flinched away.
She had not understood it back then, not the sudden flashes of fear that had felt almost like her own. She had flinched away herself at them, and had spent the night on her Mama's arms, while Papa had taken Buir into his, and they had spoken in hushed tones even as Leia had finally fallen asleep.
She had asked about it, carefully, the next morning.
"Buir got hurt, once", Mama had explained.
"You got too", Leia had said. "You're not afraid when I touch you where it glows."
Mama had looked almost sad, then.
"It's a different thing", she had said. "It's been a long time for me. I've forgotten most of it, no matter how much it hurt back then. It was an accident, after all. But sometimes-"
She had looked Leia in the eyes then as she spoke.
"-sometimes, when you get hurt when someone else hurts you, it's much more difficult to forget. He's a bit sad for scaring you like that last night, so do talk it out with him today, alright?"
"Of course", Leia had said, and then thought what her Mama had just said some more. "Did someone hurt Buir?"
Mama had been quiet for a moment.
"Yes", she had answered, finally. "Don't worry. He is safe now."
For some reason, for a reason Leia could not explain, she thought that her Mama had sounded afraid.
Leia hadn't wanted to believe that she would ever lie to her, so she had not said anything. She had climbed to her Buir's arms, later that day, and he had not felt afraid or sad anymore, so eventually, Leia had almost forgotten all about it.
But not completely, no, and she remembered it all too clearly now.
"No."
"Leia", Buir gave her a look, even though his voice was still level and calm. "Don't be too harsh on Luke. He needed to do it, in order for him to succeed in reaching him. He couldn't have anything weighing on him at that moment. He needed to do it."
"But I don't!" Leia tried to breathe, to calm herself down. "I don't have to do it! Luke can't ask me to do it!"
"I don't think he is truly asking for you to do it", Buir said. "Most likely he is just asking you to see his point of view."
"I do see his point of view", Leia said. "I also wish that he understands my point of view, and understands that I will never forgive him. He is not my father. You and Papa are, and he hurt you."
"He did", Buir said. "How would you feel like, if I told you that I have forgiven him?"
Leia looked at him. It was maybe unfair, to look into his feelings as well, but she was tired and angry, and she was especially tired of people in her life trying to soften their feelings for her sake.
"You don't mean it." She knew she sounded like she was accusing him. "Not completely."
Buir sighed, then shook his head.
"No", he admitted. "Not completely. But I am still walking, am I not? I am alive and standing on my own feet. Is that not what's truly important?"
Leia thought about it for a long moment, before she could be sure of her answer.
"Yes", she said. He was still there, in front of her, as tall and strong as he had always been for her whole life.
"It's a start, then", Buir said, and smiled at her. "For both of us. The last thing I want is for you to be angry for me, for the rest of your life, when I am happy."
It had been a long time since Leia had let herself be just her parents' child again, instead of a Princess, a Rebel, or a General. But now she hugged her Buir back tightly as he held her, and let herself be free of it all, of everything else than what was most important.
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bambiraptorx · 3 months
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a couple more drawings of beatrice because this goober is living rent free in my brain. little body horror child i love her
Commissions Info
[I.D. Five fully colored drawings of Beatrice, a pink humanoid turtle with yellow eyes. In the first one, she is sitting on Donnie's head as he smiles at her, his natural shell visible without his battle shell covering it. The word sitting is rather loosely applied, as Bea is mostly in their krang form and using their tentacle-like extremities to cling to Donnie's goggles. All in all, Bea is small enough to fit between Donnie's goggles. In the second image, Bea again is sitting on Donnie's head as if melted, this time sleeping as he holds a small screwdriver in one hand and a bolt in the other. He wears his battle shell and two robot arms are coming out of it, and his goggles are down over his eyes. In the third image, Beatrice is standing up and facing forward with a blank expression, her head slightly tilted. Four tentacles stem from her shell, suspended in the air in a way reminiscent of Donnie's robot arms. In the fourth, Beatrice has three winding tentacles sprouting from each arm in place of hands, and several new eyes- one in the middle of her forehead, and two on each arm approximately on her shoulders and where her elbows would normally be. The fifth image is a large canvas on which the previous four were drawn. End I.D.]
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squoblereign · 5 months
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I hate this one, but Dipper’s here now so what’re ya gonna do-
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