#hippie!reader

[hearts4golbach]

hihihi i adore ur work and i was wondering if u could do a hippie!reader x johnnie fluff?? mayb like a record store date or something cutesy :3

We Don't Believe What's on TV.

"i don't care what's in your hair, i just wanna know what's on your mind. i used to say i wanna die before i'm old, but because of you, i might think twice."

pairing:

Johnnie Guilbert x Fem!Hippie!Reader.

a/n:

as requested, hippie reader!

proofread

warnings:

none!

word count:

1.0k

you sifted throughout the stacked records. your boyfriend, Johnnie, stood next to you, trying to find one of your favorite albums. there was a comfortable silence between the two of you.

he pulled out [album] and handed it to you with a sweet smile. "Look at what I found." he handed it to you and placed a soft kiss on the top of your head.

your jaw dropped as you looked at it in your hands. "you know ive been looking for this album forever! I can't believe you found it,"

"I was so fucking excited whenever I saw it, he responded, turning his attention back to the records.

you smiled, looking at him for a second more before you continued flipping through.

you and Johnnie had planned this date a month in advance. with his busy schedule, it was hard to find time to take you out on a real date. he made you feel loved nonetheless.

the whole afternoon, it'd just be the two of you. there was a picnic blanket in the car, along with a couple of canvases and paint.

Johnnie had been wanting to do the painting trend on tiktok; you switch canvases every 5 minutes or so, and now was finally the chance. excited energy radiated from the both of you. even though you and Johnnie had been dating for over a year now, the honeymoon stage never faded.

you made sure to wear Johnnies favorite outfit of yours. he adored everything you wore. he loved your style in general. he could watch you style outfits for hours, the colors you wore were always so mesmerizing. each time, his stares made you nervous.

you left the shop with two records in hand, which Johnnie had paid for despite your protests.

in the car, Johnnie turned on your shared playlist. it was always so bipolar with your contrasting music tastes, but it was enjoyable anyway. he sang the words to your favorite songs as you did his. you drove to a park right on the outskirts of town.

Johnnie jogged around the car to open the door for you. "thank you, kind sir." you giggled.

"you're welcome, sweetheart." he flashed you a toothy grin.

being 'cringe' with Johnnie was your guys' thing. he loved calling you all of those silly pet names, and you took pride in the fact that you two were the stereotypical 'love bird' couple.

the two of you collected all of the supplied and trudged out into the park.

"im so glad I'm here with you." Johnnie mentioned, holding your one free hand. "it feels like it's been forever since I've gotten to take you on a real date, something other than cuddling and watching a movie with takeout or some shit."

you sighed, taking a step closer to him. "I know. but, it's okay baby." you planted a kiss on his cheek, stumbling over your feet as you tried not to drop the things in your arm. "I love those dates, too."

you laid out the blanket and Johnnie piled all of the painting supplies on top.

Johnnie sat across from you, a love struck look in his eyes that never seemed to leave whenever you were around. he spoke to you about whatever was on his mind: his music, the new Star Wars game, how much he loved your smile. he always found it so easy to talk to you, and you felt the same.

as you squirmed some colors out onto the pallette, you quizzed him on his new music. you practically begged him to show you daily, but he always refused, claiming it'd 'ruin the surprise.' so, as your paintbrush moved gently over the canvas, you gathered whatever information you could about his album (which wasn't very much.) you groaned, making a joke about him cheating on you with his album. you changed the subject, filling him in on co-worker drama. you also asked about how getting his drivers license was going, which he seemed proud to talk about.

finally, the timer went off and you switched paintings. you had painted a night sky, and that was all you had. his beautiful blue eyes were the biggest distraction.

he had illustrated a large, lanky, dead tree. it resembled his shoulder tattoo. you began painting small fairies under the tree as he immediately got back to work, simultaneously talking more in depth about his license.

you updated him on how learning guitar, on his guitar, was going. he gushed about how proud he was, and how he couldn't wait for the two of you to be able to play together. the only reason you hadn't yet was because you wanted to get better before he heard. silence fell between the two of you once more. you listened intently as he hummed, his eyebrows furrowed with concentration. he looked like a painting himself.

you switched off paintings. in your night sky, he had painted a UFO. a goody smile formed on his face whenever he saw your fairies.

he brought up the idea of making a youtube video together. the internet knew you were together, but you kept your relationship private. you had filmed videos with the whol group before, but never just Johnnie. you immediately agreed. word vomit erupted as you told him how excited you were to have two new records for your collection.

you mutually agreed you were ready to go home, seeing as you both were pretty tired and ready to cuddle and watch a movie.

the final painting switch commenced. he had drawn houses in the tree for the fairies, along with where lights strung around it. you had added a cow wearing sunglasses and a tutu under the UFO. you planned to hang both of the paintings up as soon as they were dry.

Johnnie leaned in, placing a long, sensual kiss on your lips. "I love you," he muttered against them with a smile.

you couldn't wait to marry Johnnie someday.

[marvelobsessed134]

Hear me out Elvis with a hippie!girlfriend

[fbfh]

ahhh screaming screaming screaming. i'm the anon who requested the Magnus Chase thing and I thought there was like a zero percent chance you would ACTUALLY DO IT! I love it so so much omg you have added so much to my daydreams

YOOOOOOOOOOOO BABES!!!!! I'm so glad you like it!!!!!! fr though you are Magnus's precious lil punk heart hippie looks gf who teaches his crusty ass /affectionate to do shawl twirls and make daisy chains. you are nothing short of a breath of fresh air to him and he is so viscerally and fundimentally obsessed with you he doesn't even notice it. you're just part of every moment, every thought in a way that feels so organic and natural that losing you would feel like losing a limb or something.

[terrence-silver]

could you write something about poorsona!terry meeting hippie beloved at a bar while shes singing a stevie nicks cover? ive been obssesed with stevie lately

---

There's a guy who visits every night.

And of course, there's re-occurring patrons. Re-occurring guests. Regulars, as it were. But this one --- he lingers in the corners of the venue, in the crowd, around the backseats, by the exit of the corridor that led to the men's room, all by himself, blended into the shadows of the louder, more rambunctious visitors to your small slice of the stage. You sang as a hobby, really. Not exactly something you were being paid for. A jar for tips was just about the one thing there was available in terms of compensation and everyone was free to leave whatever they felt like leaving, which on good days was enough to pay for transport back home and some groceries. Every little bit helped. Fridays were open-mic night and the occasional brave soul could get up there, try their luck and do anything from a stand-up comedy routine, strumming the guitar or sure --- singing. That's why you noticed this man. Because you noticed every face, every individual that would pay attention, clap, cheer, even occasionally whistle, or perhaps, carelessly talk over your performance. You figured that it was something that simply went hand in hand with being an amateur. Every bit of feedback was blaringly obvious. Every person that cared was impossible to ignore. Every person who didn't, doubly so.

And sure, there were people who tended to be disrespectful.

Chat amongst themselves, engrossed in their conversations, ignoring you completely, laughing and clinking glasses, even going as far as shouting. You'd lie if you said that you weren't met with the occasional 'boo!' but your disappointment overtime turned into numbness and numbness turned into the decision that as much as it hurt, you wouldn't let a couple of knuckleheads ruin your passion for something and mess up a pleasant night out for those who really cared. Except, that one weekend --- when the venue was nearly empty, outside for a couple of people. You sit down at the bar before closing hours, sighing. You were allowed to be disappointed every now and then. Your jar of tips was empty and the month has only just started. You had bills due. -"Not as much of a crowd tonight."- You remark matter-of-factly, certainly a bit sad about it, yes, dragging an exasperated hand through your hair. The bartender sets a cool glass in front of you and pours. Sparkling water, on the house. Just what you needed to wash down your sore vocal cords before you headed out home. -"It's that guy."- The barman leans over and whispers discreetly. -"What guy?"- You take a sip of the refreshing beverage right before setting your glass down on the counter, confused. -"Tall ponytail guy. The one engrossed in your flower child routine."- He explains, looking up and down and pointing at your attire with the tip of nose, being good enough of a friend to where you took no offense to his harmless jab. -"He's been leading them outside."- He adds and you shake your head, momentarily even more confused.

-"What do you mean 'leading them outside'?"-

Before you even manage to get say those words outloud, their meaning hits you.

-"Like beating them up!?"-

You cover your mouth, slightly shocked. What? All of them? There were several patrons here that were a bit rowdy on occasion. Several you could single out. But, that one man couldn't have taken all of them. Could he? And how did you not notice that when you usually noticed so much? Did he just sling his arm around them and calmly suggest they should have a stroll outside of the venue so they don't make a mess inside or what? -"Kid, it's LA and we're in the year 1985 of our Lord. Don't know what grown men get up to outside when it's dark, and quite frankly, it's none of my business, but he sure didn't look like he was taking them out for a smoke and a friendly chat."- Your friend explains and you gulp, feeling partially intimidated, partially curious, partially extremely relieved over the simple fact that...maybe...just maybe...next time you preform up there, you'll actually preform in a peaceful, less nerve-wracking atmosphere. You didn't remember when was the last time that happened. You almost manage a tiny smile. The middle aged, portly bartender chuckled to himself as he returned to tinkering around the sink, rolling up his sleeves, joking to himself.

-"Should have the owner hire him as a bouncer. Definitely fits the bill. Lot quieter around here too."-

---

The would-be ponytailed bouncer is indeed present the next day, before everyone, as a daytime guest at the bar, when customers were scarce and the venue as vastly empty. You make a decision that morning, after dwelling on it for days and after counting the money in your jar of tips, finding you had enough to comfortably survive the month.; you'd approach him. Say hello. Perhaps, thank him for his effort with the rowdiness around here. You found that guests and the would-be fan, not that you deemed yourself someone who had fans, tended to become oddly pacified and mellow once you'd acknowledge them. Let them know their efforts were welcome. Their donations. Tips. And your jar? It was strangely full as of late. You wondered if you could attribute it to ponytail guy, even though, quite honestly, he seemed like he struggled just as much as you did out here. You cut right to the chase once you find yourself muttering a shy hello, alerting him to your presence after mustering the courage to take the necessary steps and make a move, having him turn his back towards you to look at you. Up close, it felt like he was so big that he needed to move his whole body just to meet your gaze. -"I take it you're a huge fan of Stevie Nicks covers?"- You ask carefully, hoping you being so forward wouldn't bother him. He shoots you a smile, putting down his half finished Sabeco beer bottle. Interesting choice.

-"Nah. Just the past."-

He shakes his hand and his head in equal measure, looking down, appearing momentarily bashful. Such a big guy, taking out loud patrons out back, yet he was bashful. You can't help but feel your cheeks match his disposition with what you figured was the redness of blood rushing into your face, even more so when he chooses to complement you. -"Don't get me wrong, your singing's, well, it's fantastic."- Your breath gets hitched in your throat when he says those words and you instantly want to dissuade him of his opinion, feeling a wave of humbleness wash over you, only to realize you couldn't because he immediately continues talking. -"It's the nostalgia of it."- He explains. -"That and how you're dressed."- He gestures up and down with the tip of his nose. You look down at your floral patterns and the wide, loose fabrics you had on, matching color with color, finding yourself unable not to smile at the guy. First impressions first, was kind of sweet, actually. -"Oh, why thank you! Glad you like it. Very kind. It's part of my gimmick, if you will, but I do enjoy the style on a personal level too. If you play last decade's music, everyone expect you to look the part, a bit."- You do some explaining of your own, getting chatty, finding tips tended to get nicer when you put in the extra effort with an aesthetic fashion front however thrifted, discounted and second-hand it might've been. You found it actually tended to seem even more authentic like that.

-"It's how people dressed when I returned from the war. Brings me back."-

He gives you a tender smile and it catches you off guard --- that, along with his statement. From the war? Oh? A veteran? That added some new context as to why he felt so nostalgic about your performances, not that you were offended or thought any less of his kind words imparted your way. That also explained how he could supposedly subdue several people all by himself out back too. He extends a hand. You stare at it, remarking its size before taking it to shake it and return the gesture of introductions. Well, how tall and large he was certainly helped him in giving a good talking to those guys. -"I'm Terry. Terry Silver, by the way. I live just down the street, at Lankershim and Magnolia. I took up an old friend's dojo there as a teacher."- His expression turns boyish with a certain enthusiasm and it seemed like he was young --- very young. Almost too much so to have been in the military, but what the heck did you know --- maybe it was simply this feeling of lightness he emanated that made him seem like he was really no older than a twenty something, even though he had a name of an older man. Peculiar. -"So, Terry, pleased to meet you."- You say, returning a smile as he lets go of your hand and you swear you feel a static of electricity once your fingers part. Somehow, inexplicably, you get bolder, finding the ability to tease a little. Harmlessly. -"I assume all those anonymous tips in cash ---they're from you, if you don't mind me being forward, neighbor."-

You chuckle at Terry.

He was the only person here, early morning and he was back in the evening, listening to you sing more ardently than anyone else, never separating his eyes from the stage, to the point even the barman noticed. You had a radar for these sort of things by now; if someone gave you all those jar tips, it was definitely him. Artists' intuition and all. And he seemed kind. Not what you expected at all from someone taking out people to throw hands with them outside during working hours. He seemed like he'd place his last dollar down for someone else. He bears his teeth, laughing, his face wrinkling up around his mouth with a sudden bolt of joyfulness. It was weirdly infectious. You laugh with him. -"Oh, yeah! Guilty as charged!"-

-"Wanted to thank you for it. That's very sweet of you. You've no idea how much it means to me."-

You remark, sincerely, truly and genuinely meaning it. You could spot the single vehicle in the parking lot through the window of the venue you figured could belong to nobody else but Terry; the front of it apparently busted and damaged. This guy, he could use the money too, but he choose to give it to you. He deserved you letting him know that the gesture didn't go unnoticed. It did mean a lot to you, yeah. But you figured, that money could've meant just as much to him. Living in LA wasn't cheap. Far from. -"Don't thank me. I'm not a multi-millionaire, but I can appreciate a hard worker and a talent when I see one."- His eyes beam and his words hit you. Then and only then do you notice how blue his eyes were and that they radiated a certain conviction. Like he absolutely meant what he said, uttering the word 'talent' with such distinction, you have to look away, towards the bar's tiles under your feet, feeling suddenly embarrassed. Seen and heard. He...thought you were talented? Well, you wouldn't call yourself anti-talented or anything special or beyond the stage open-mic act at a casual bar, but, the way his voice vibrated the word was.... -"Have you...been getting into confrontations with some of the guests?"- You feel emboldened then, perhaps wanting to quickly change the topic, blurting out the first thing that came to mind as bluntly as you could, having him immediately respond just as bluntly, not hiding a thing. You expected excuses. You get none.

-"Yeah. They were talking over your singing. I didn't appreciate that."-

Terry states, matter-of-factly, standing straight in his grey zipper jacket and blue jeans and you're rendered speechless. You imagined he'd give you a laundry list of reasons why he did it, how he wasn't to blame, start lying, fidget around, get nervous, try every tactic in the book every man at every bar always tries, but no, he was confessing to it. Staring you right in the eyes. Telling you he didn't like them not appreciating your performance. You feel your heart rate accelerate, thumping away in your chest. You manage a tiny chuckle, looking away once again, simply to conceal the fact you were stunned for words, barely even noticing other guests waddle through the front door and take their seat at a table in the corner, approached by a waitress jotting down their respective orders. -"You know, I do Karate."- Terry clarifies, finding your eyes. You felt alone with him, inexplicably. Like there was still nobody here and the bar only just opened. Your newfound friend elaborates, continuing; -"And Karate, it's all about peace and self-defense. There's rules and a code of honor. You don't attack someone unless they attack you first. That sort of thing. But, I think being a jackass like that warrants someone teaching some manners around here."- He gives you a fond look and you nod wordlessly, suddenly shy again, wondering how you mustered up the courage to get to this point in the first place and in equal measure questioning ---- was it possible to fall in love with a stranger after one conversation?

In the wise words of Stevie Nicks, you don't know what it was --- but, whatever it was, it was very powerful.

[yeyinde]

Thinking about post-war/70s era Price coming home to an empty house (his wife divorced him while he was overseas) and a child he can't take care of all on his own, and snatching up the sweet little neighbour-next-door as a babysitter.

Temporarily, you stress, all soft smiles and polite little sir's that go straight to his cock. You're going back to university in September, after all. You have big aspirations that go beyond the whims of the men around you, ones who seem to want to confine you to the kitchen where your mother spent most of her life. And he can respect that. He likes people who have that grit. That determination.

But unfortunately for you, he thinks all devotion would be better suited to taking care of a family. Particularly, his.

NONCON. MISOGYNY. AGE GAP.

It's cute, though. The way you keep reminding him that you're going to college when he slips in sly comments about how good you look with his baby in your arms. barefoot in his kitchen as you make him dinner, his child on your hip, babbling at his new mommy. nervously stuttering around the notion that you're going to become something more than a mother, Mr Price. more than this deadbeat town stuck in the fifties, where women wearing pants is still an anomaly that makes men shake their heads and stare disapprovingly.

But you get these notions in your head. These little ideas he finds so adorable, and ones he sees no qualms in manipulating to his advantage—and why would he? You want to act grown, independent, then he'll teach you what happens to silly little girls when they get too deep in over their heads.

(like letting you think this is just a fling. flirting with an much older man is harmless, your friend says with a shrug. a little summer fun.)

And he plays into it, too. humming along dutifully as you stammer out that you don't want children when he shoves his hand under your skirt after steadily chipping down those walls of yours. Or that you don't want to be tied to just one man when he slips a little extra wine in your cup to loosen you up before dragging you upstairs to his bed. You want to experiment and enjoy life as a single woman while you're in college. And this is just a fling, right? Your friend said losing it to an older man was normal. perfectly okay as long as you were safe about it.

But he doesn't have any condoms, and you're too tipsy to put up much of a fight when he pulls you into his bed (beautifully obedient, as always). A nervous little tremble to your voice as you beg him for more—

(and please, please, please, Mr Price, don't put a baby in me—)

You're skittish around him the next morning, but that's fine. It's common for newlyweds, isn't it? And when you try to avoid him, pretending to be sick the day after—

Well. It doesn't hurt to remind your parents just who he is, and who he has stuffed inside his pockets, so he isn't too surprised to see you at his doorstep the next morning, wringing your hands as you apologise for getting sick. An indiscretion that's easily forgiven when you shiver against his hands, nervously asking how you can make it up to him.

(you want autonomy. agency. control. and he's always been the type to coddle, hasn't he? so he teaches you the most powerful position you'll ever be in next to him—on your knees, mouth wide open, begging for him to cum on your face like the naughty thing you keep pretending you want to be.)

It's a much better alternative than taking you over his knee like he was planning when you didn't show up to take care of your child the way a new mother should, and he tells you this after you put the baby to bed. Whispers it into your skin as he grips your hips and makes you take him deeper than you ever did before. Coos softly about places—

(and yours, sweetheart, is under him. takin' his cock like a good little wife should—

wide-eyed and shivering from more than just pleasure as he spells out your future beneath him.)

—something that seems to scare you a bit more than he expected when he finds out you sent your college applications out when he thought you had come to an agreement already. But luckily for you, he knows how to pull strings and keeps you right where you belong: with him.

Of course, the rejections come at the perfect timing, too, and he watches the fight inside of you dwindle to smouldering embers after your father pulled his funding, and even the local college refuses your application.

You just feel so confused, you tell him, biting nervously on your nail as he prowls after you. The baby is in bed. The other in your belly. His glass of whiskey after dinner did little to soothe his hunger when you showed up at his door with red-rimmed eyes and the ghosts of your father's anger snarling down at you. He, too, disapproves of college—and it's just so sudden, Mr Price, because he used to be so encouraging, but now, he's telling me it's not right, and i don't know why—

Everyone around you is pushing you towards the inevitable, it seems. And he manages to feign enough sympathy when you turn to him, teary-eyed, as your carefully laid plans fall to pieces under the weight of his own. Cups the back of your head softly as you weep into his chest over this craziness—this sheer madness, Mr Price, because surely you don't want to even marry me? god. you can't even think straight anymore.

but that's the problem, isn't it? he asks, rapping his knuckles softly against the side of your head before offering a smile oozing with thick patronisation.

"You keep thinkin', mm," he rumbles, chipping away the last of your meagre defences as he pushes you towards the bedroom—your bedroom, now. "Thinkin' 'bout things you don't need to, love. Not anymore. Got all these silly little ideas inside here—" his hand curls around the back of your skull, thumbs stroking your skin in a way that might feel comforting if he hadn't been adding a slow, unrelenting pressure to the cup of his palm. Pushing you down, down—

Your knees hit the carpet in a muted thud, and he doesn't even need to tell you to do anything—your hands are already there, trembling fingers unlatching the clasp of his buckle before clumsily pulling him out. Scared and cornered and with nowhere to go because he changed the locks, didn't he, mm? mum ain't answerin' the door? but that's okay. you belong here, anyway, don't you?

And really. You don't have much of a choice when you wake up feeling sick to your stomach at the end of August. belly already swelling with his second child. Your first. ain't that excitin'? givin' your little baby a brother.

He presses a kiss to your sweat-slicked forehead when he finds you hunched over the toilet that morning, cooing in your ear about how happy he is.

"and jus' think, sweetheart," he murmurs, eyeing the shredded acceptance letter sitting in the trash beside you, the one you tried to sneak past him, with a withering distain before aiming that dulled hostility back towards you, a mockery of a smile toying along the edges of his mouth when you shiver, pushing yourself closer to him. The only thing you have left.

"you thought this—we—would be temporary."

[nenoname]

It's still interesting that TBoB called more attention to Stan's control over his mindscape (And if you go with the interpretation that the lost pages are partial truths that are heavily influenced by Bill, then he's the one insisting that only someone with training should be able to have that much control over the mind.)

Meanwhile we have a memory!Stan. Someone who apparently knows too much and is rather aware for being a simple memory.

From the Wheel of Shame, we know Bill was able dig up all kinds of dirt on Stan but... that wasn't why he was there in the first place, was it?

Bill couldn't find the code immediately despite a memory of Stan opening the safe being a few hours old at most and decided to have Mabel try find it for him (The original concept of the ep had it far more hidden but this was likely cut because of time constraints)

Ford did experiments on Stan's mind which likely meant using Project Mentem and actually looking around his mindscape, and his only reaction was to comment on his jokes-- despite what little we the audience know being enough to render us sobbing wrecks

(yes I refuse to shut up about this part cos the book's intro is extremely underrated)

Stan was able to replace his memories of Ford with the swingset instead and managed to hide Ford in his Bar Mitzvah memory. And that's not even mentioning the lack of visible Portal and Stan o' War which noticeably show up in Ford's dreamscape (the broken swingset manifesting anyway pains me tho)

He subconsciously has misdirects for his secrets that are both silly and manages to disturb everyone too

And while Bill-as-Soos being bored by the vending machine memory is a joke that's basically the crew's way of going "hey remember the thing way back in the first ep that's going to show up in the next one?" and in-universe appears to be Stan slipping up, it's interesting that they had Stan input the wrong code when it's consistent literally every other time its inputted (especially when it shows up correctly in the very next episode)

It's even possible that the safe code that Bill found could have been a misdirect too but we'll never know since the safe got blown open by dynamite.

Stan was able to buy time by making his mind blank despite being genuinely terrified when Bill enters his mind (to the point that he breaks character and uses his own voice to yell), and could conjure up his living room (in colour opposed to his mind's regular greyscale) to make sure Bill didn't have enough room to flee, slamming the door in his face before the effects of the memory gun kicked in.

(EDIT: Random door analysis here)

And maybe the twins eventually told him that Bill had already been inside his mind after their W3 reunion, but all we know was that his conscious self was left in the dark for ages and wasn't really aware of Bill until Weirdmageddon.

TBoB showing McGucket's dreamscape also brings up the idea of the effects of the memory gun manifesting differently to each person. To Stan's mindscape, the memory wipe manifests as blue flames which immediately brings to mind Bill's powers but it's a far lighter shade (maybe to more closely match the memory gun and its eventual fade to white?)

The end of TBoB and the website poem also firmly reminds us about Stan's connection to fire but there's also the question if Stan himself is actually aware of it...

[river-that-whore]

OK. I've seen so many peole talk about

"Simon with a housewife this" "Simon with a city girl that"

SHUT UP AND LET ME COOK RQ OK?!

Simon would ABSOLUTELY have a hippie wife/girlfriend. She's the whole package, long flowy sleeves and draping skirt, with braids in her hair that are decorated with beads and little golden cuffs (or loose curls/afro depending on her hair type)

And I could also see Soap teasing him relentlessly, comments along the lines of

"aye Lieutenant, where did the missus at? Getting shrooms?"

"I swear to Fuckin' God Johnny" he would grumble in return "I'll knock ya teeth in if ya keep it up"

It's almost comical to see them out together, a gruff strong military man with a buzz cut and mask, his strong and calloused hand gently holding the dainty, ring-adorned hand of his wife.

Of course she would be his voice of reason, the calm and sunshine of his stormiest day. The simple utter of "Si" from her lips had him hiding a smile and the red that crept up his neck

She would definitely be the type to randomly send baked goods for Ghost to take with him back to base, only to get a concerned look from Price

"Uh- Ghost, these don't have..."

"No, they ain't got any weed in them" Ghost would reply with a exasperated look, having to answer the same question whenever he brought something from his missus

[r0seb100d]

hihi sweetheart! 🫂 i adore your writing and your moodboards, i love looking at them when they appear on my feed! i'm not sure if your taking requests, but if you are, i was wondering if i could request a hippie, boho, free spirit, 60s + 70s icon, whatever you wish to call it, reader x dallas winston,  where the reader just stands out from everyone because she doesn't fit in either of the greaser or soc stereotypes and that's what draws dallas to her (not in a cringey way though). a small interaction between them would be cute!

i rarely ever see fics where the reader isn't a pretty pink coquette soc, or a greaser who wears baby-tees and cowgirl boots. don't get me wrong they are extremely cute aesthetics and i still adore reading those fics (and, i know it's somewhat book accurate), but they just never fit my vibe, if that makes sense? i've asked several writers before but they were unsure how to write it, but i have a feeling you could do it beautifully! (no pressure though!) LOVE YA! 💝

Thank you for the request, I hope I did this justice and you enjoy <3 🤍

Warnings: fem!reader

A lust for life

Hopping out of the passenger seat of your friend’s Mustang, your cream, flare-sleeved dress was harshly blown by the wind as soon as your platform sandals hit the ground.

Despite your friend’s complaints, you wanted to make a quick stop at the gas station, already exhausted from the long trip across the desert roads. The two of you were heading to a small music festival, excited to spend time out in the sun listening to rock and roll bands with an ice-cold drink in hand, dancing around with no care in the world.

You weren’t exactly late, but you were also short on time, which is why your friend insisted on making as few stops as possible, but with your incessant begging, she basically had no say in the matter.

Hurrying over to the small station, you quickly used the restroom and then went to pick up some cherry gum and a coke, but in your rush to get back, you found yourself knocking into a sturdy, leather-clad body. 

You immediately spun around and went to apologise to whoever it was; however, they spoke before you could even get a proper look at their face.

“Watch it, man.”

Looking up, you were met with an undeniably gorgeous face. Rough with a sheen of sweat and dark brows furrowed together as he peered down at you in irritation.

“I’m sorry.”

You mumbled, really not in the mood to start anything at the moment, especially not with someone as tough-looking as him.

“I just don’t want no broads runnin’ into me.”

At his comment, you scowled. Why was he being such a dick?

“I said I was sorry; you don’t need to be so rude.”

"Yeah, well, you just get goin’ to your little soc mustang over there."

He pointed at your friend's Mustang parked in the corner, crimson doors shining in the sunlight.

“I ain’t a soc, asshole, we found that car in an abandoned lot and fixed it up ourselves.”

He looked taken aback by this, his cold expression faltering. He really hadn’t been expecting you to call him out or to find out that you had mended a broken-down car. He tried to swiftly change the subject.

“Hm, so where ya headin’ then?”

“Segue really isn’t your thing, huh?”

He smirked.

“Hey, I’m just curious.” You told him the name of the festival and some of the bands you were going to see, and he found himself increasingly fascinated by you. He couldn’t categorise you like the other girls he had met. Not all stuck up like the socs and not roughened out like the greasers. You had your own flow, and you seemed pretty cool, and he would be lying if he said you weren’t beautiful, adorned in unique jewellery and bright blue eyeshadow, your eyes lighting up when talking about your favourite bands.

“So what’s your name?”

You told him and then asked for his. Dallas. Dallas Winston. It suited him, honestly, and though you probably shouldn’t have still been talking to the guy who was an ass at first, you couldn’t pull yourself away from him. 

The two of you slowly headed over to the till; Dallas asked for a pack of Marlboros before taking the items from your hands and placing them on the counter whilst pulling a five-dollar bill out of his pocket.

“Oh – you really don’t have to.”

“S’okay, I was kind of a jerk back there; let me make it up to you.”

Dallas collected his change and placed a hand on your lower back, guiding you through the store, the action making you feel giddy. 

“Well, don’t wanna keep your friend out there waitin’.”

You swallowed, realising that you had to say goodbye, feeling exposed even in the dim, flickering lights of the gas station.

“Yeah, it was nice meeting you, Dallas.”

“Nice meetin’ you too, doll."

He nodded at you, and you jogged back over to your friend’s car, her eyes rolling in impatience.

“What took you so damn long?”

“Oh. Queue was long.”

You lied through your teeth, settling into the worn leather seat whilst gazing back at the window in longing, a strange pit forming in your stomach.

Before she could shift out of the parking space, a knock at your window startled you.

It was Dallas; your heart jumped, and you immediately rolled the window down.

“Hey.”

He crouched down and folded his arms on the car door.

“You forgot your gum.”

He smirked at you, his breath smelling like menthol cigarettes.

“Thanks.”

“I’ll see ya around.”

With that, he sauntered off back to wherever he came from, his words confusing you. See you around? Where?

Looking down at your gum, you noticed a messy scrawl of numbers on the back and a “call me – D.W.”

“So the line was long, huh?”

Your friend shook her head as you grinned to yourself.

Though just an hour later when her Mustang broke down, it was clear as to whose number you’d be dialling on the rickety payphone on the side of the road…

♱ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ ♱ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ ♱ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ ♱ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ ♱ . ݁₊ ⊹ .

౨ৎ 846 words ౨ৎ

Taglist (comment or dm to be added!) : @rhea-is-bored-again @twobit-cade2095 @johnnycadesslut

[qwimblenorrisstan]

Catch of the Eye | Azriel x Hippy!Reader

Summary: After you moved into Velaris, your bright demeanor and clothing seemed to demand Azriel’s attention, as well as the rumors of the Princess of Autumn’s disappearance.

Word Count: ~ 800

Warnings: None!

A/N: This request had me cracking up while writing it bc the idea of a hippy bamboozling az into silence is so funny to me, hope you enjoy <3

Requests are open!

Ever since Azriel had met you, since you’d moved from Autumn Court, you always managed to utterly flabbergast him in ways that shouldn’t be possible for the stoic shadowsinger.

It had all started when he’d noticed the bright, almost obnoxious clothing you always had. Some weren’t bad, like the jeans you would wear with bright floral patterns accenting them, or the flowery shirts or skirts you’d wear.

Your fashion sense was the complete opposite of his, and since you had moved to Velaris under his suggestion, he got to see your wacky outfits every day.

Sandals were a common choice, not to mention warm-toned clothes, cardigans, and knitted tops. The earrings you wore were nothing like he’d seen before, not even trying to be elegant or beautiful, just giving an extra pop of color and flare to your outfit.

It fascinated him.

He’d always seen proper noble women trying to be beautiful or elegant or alluring, but you weren’t that at all. You were just…yourself. You didn’t care about what others thought, you were a rule unto your own law. You were just so out there, sticking out like a sore thumb, but in a good way.

Your bright clothes and personality became a comforting sight for him amongst the dark color theme of Night Court, with most residents opting for black.

And your opinions?

Completely outrageous. But also funny.

Like when you rambled on about how Fae should need a license to winnow, to ensure that they weren’t endangering themselves or others if their skills weren’t good enough. Or how any winged Fae should also need licenses, for the same reason.

He will never forget the time that you told Rhysand to his face on one of your first few times meeting his family that if Velaris was already peaceful and perfect, why not expand that principle to Hewn City, too?

And when he’d tried to explain that the people of Hewn City were too stubborn and hateful for that, you’d just called his reasoning “stupid” and an “excuse” because he just wanted to live in his little paradise city and not deal with the problems of the Court.

That had frazzled Rhys.

In fact, you frazzled almost everyone in the Inner Circle. Except Cassian. He seemed to find you extremely entertaining. You’d nearly given some of them a heart attack, especially since your fiery red hair and hazel eyes oddly resembled the Princess of Autumn, who hadn’t made a public appearance in months, and some people were getting suspicious.

Once getting over the initial hurdle of them adjusting to you, Feyre invited you to her art studio, and when Azriel got there (he’d volunteered to help with some of the paints since he didn’t have any missions that week) he saw you, an absolute mess of paint, helping all the children. You were surprisingly good at it, knowing just what colors to mix for them, giving them what they needed and when, and generally working well with Feyre even if all your paintings were bright and usually neon, and hurt his eyes a bit if he looked too long.

“You’re good with them.”

He spoke to you as he walked down the street, you alongside him as you finally left her painting studio.

“I’ve handled kids before, they’re pretty fun usually.”

He raised a brow at that.

“Did you…babysit, or something?”

He asked, the mental image of you watching and caring for a child for an extended period of time not exactly a great one.

“No, I helped raise my little brother. He was always a more mellow kid, but he had a tongue on him, that was for sure. I oughta visit Luci sometime soon.”

He listened. You’d never mentioned brothers before, or any family at all, really. It didn’t help his suspicions.

“‘Luci’ is an odd name for a boy.”

He commented dryly, and you, clearly not catching onto his sarcasm, as you rarely did, only laughed.

“Boys can be named whatever, but his full name’s Lucien.”

He stopped walking at that, and you continued, oblivious to it until he jogged to catch up.

“You’re Lucien’s sister? As in Lucien Vanserra?”

He asked in a quiet but surprised tone. You only nodded, grinning at him in that lazy, relaxed manner you always had.

“Our secret!”

You declared, before prancing off to go look at the bright fabrics of your favorite salesmen in Velaris. You’d already befriended more than half of the people there, and they all seemed to like you.

Cauldron help anyone who befriended you, and definitely help the shadowsinger stuck as your mate for eternity.

[dominicfikesguitar]

jake with a reader who dresses in more hippie like clothes? like emo bf with his hippie s/o

tumblr

latina!hippie!reader x emo!jake 

warnings - mentions of weed, mentions of getting drunk, grinding, no actual smut, ass squeezing, hair pulling.

readers name is maliya!

from afar, maliya looked innocent. once you got to know her, she was out getting high, drunk, but never had sex.

maliya met jake at a target. maliya was shopping for vinyls and clothes when she ran into jake and johnnie filming, making fun of a halloween costume. for jakes luck, it was a hippie costume. maliya took a closer glance and said that what he said was judgemental to hippies and that jake was cute. 

after 6 weeks of talking, they made it official and public. 

8 months later and there they were, sitting outside, passing joints back and forth, laughing about some weird video on tiktok. 

“jake you know you can turn into a worm” she said while laughing. she looked at jake while he was looking at her plump lips covered in smudged nyx lip oil. 

“how did i get you?” he asked her, moving his eyes to her cropped v-cut tank top. “well i dont know you were insulting my style!”.  

jake leaned in and kissed her, his hand going to the back of her neck. maliya grabbed his shoulder and slid onto his lap. 

maliyas hand moved to his hair, gripping and combing through it. 

jakes hands moving to her ass, squeezing the fat skin and moving her hips back and forth against his hard on.

[kkimmylipp]

⠳⣄⣀⣠⠞✿͙⢷ like petals of a flower ⠀♬ they always go … ❀᭢᜴꤬⠀

.•°->💍<-°•..•°->💍<-°•..•°->💍<-°•..•°->💍<-°•..•°->💍<-°•..•°->💍<-°•..•°->💍<-°•..•.

[cowgurrrl]

“The arts are not a way to make a living. They are a very human way of making life more bearable.” - Kurt Vonnegut

“They say you don’t get to pick and choose/ who sticks around and who you lose/ but I’m begging God to let me pick this one time.” - Pick and Choose by Daniel Nunnelee

Summary: Being a high school art teacher has its perks. Getting to teach the next generation, making art, flirting with trouble personified by Joel Miller. You can’t date a student’s parent. You can be professional. You can handle this. Right?

01. Something in the Orange: A parent-teacher conference leads to trouble [4.0k]

02. It Ain’t Me Babe: Ellie’s first art club meeting [2.8k]

03. You’re My Only Hope for Heaven: An unlikely patron saunters into your bar [3.5k]

04. Lavender Girl: A field trip [4.7k]

05. Keep the Wolves Away: A bad decision [5.2k]

06. I Believe In You: A bet is made [3.0k]

07. Slow It Down Cowboy: The wall [5.8k]

08. Dear Arkansas Daughter: A truce [2.8k]

09. Tall Boy: Fireworks, Uber Calls, Confessions, Oh My! [3.6k]

10. Sleeping on the Blacktop: The Land of No Return [4.7k]*

11. Dawns: The Morning After [2.9k]

12. I Wish I Was: Murphy’s Law dictates… [3.1k]

13. Little Wind: Caught out [1.6k]

14. Playing the Fool: COMING SOON

15. Lay This Body Down: COMING SOON

16. Thin Line: COMING SOON

17. Lady May: COMING SOON

18. A Life Where We Work Out: COMING SOON

19. I’d Come Back If You Just Called: COMING SOON

[spenglerssweetheart]

obviously I saw your reqs r currently not open so take ur time but uhh,, hippie!reader sharing a blunt w egon after a rough day? but like hippie in a 70s spiritual way, I think its silly to pair a character with a seeming opposite:]]

You got me. This is my weakness, couldn’t stop thinking about this all freaking day. I will say I will definitely be adding a little bit of my own twist to reader but if it doesn’t align with you, I absolutely apologize. Also giving them a little bit of shotgunning action. I hope that’s okay :p

———

Pairing - Egon Spengler x Hippie!Reader

Description - Egon goes over to readers place, hoping to find some comfort and a way to relax after a tough long day.

Warnings - Smoking, Mentions of weed, etc.

“What’s it all about, this crazy love?…”

Y/n hummed as she first walked up the stairs to her apartment. She had just gotten home after having a rough day at her job. She worked down at the record store, and much never happened there, except for today. As she stepped inside, She let out a soft sigh as she set her bag down by the door, walking over to the windows to open them all up.

As she began to walk over to the kitchen, she could hear a gentle knock on her door, which caused her to perk up slightly in surprise. She wasn’t expecting any visitors, especially not now but she made her way to the door, opening it slightly before she opened it fully after she saw who stood at the door. “Egon! Hi, I wasn’t expecting you. Come in, what can I do for you?” She asked, his tall figure strolling in and glancing down at her, watching as she closed the door behind him.

“Well.. I’ve had a rough day, being around the others won’t do me any good at the moment.” He said as he watched her walk around the apartment, tending to her houseplants. He took in her outfit, a mid-thigh length skirt with a longer train to the back, paired with a loose floral top, a denim vest to go with it as well. He noticed she possibly had just gotten home seeing as her brown mid-calf boots were still on her feet. As she turned he noticed the floral stitching on her boots, his eyebrow quirking just a bit before he could hear the jangle of her bracelets and rings nearing.

“Egon?” He heard before he snapped out of whatever trance he was in, glancing down at her. “Oh- yes sorry, what was that?” He murmured, feeling a fluster rise to his cheeks hearing Y/n’s raspy giggle. “I had asked if you wanted anything to drink, water, tea? Can of soda?” She repeated, Egon thinking before he responded. “I’ll have some tea. Eh- Hot tea if you have any.” He replied before Y/n gently nodded, walking over to the kitchen.

“Chamomile with honey alright?” She asked, getting her kettle started, pulling out two mismatched mugs. “Thats perfect, thank you” He replied as he turned to take a seat on one of the different seats she had. Before he took a seat, he removed his coat, sort of just taking in the different decorations Y/n had draped around her apartment. Seeing the way she decorated and had her living space really captured her eccentric personality, it was sort of refreshing to him, considering he wasn’t that much of an expressive person.

As he sat down, he could hear the jangly sounds of her jewelry nearing once more, his eyes wandering as she came around to sit on a love seat, her curls bouncing as she sat down. “You mentioned your day was rough, did you wanna talk about it?” He heard her ask as she leant over, opening a small drawer from the small side table she had besides the loveseat she sat at. “Well.. Today was just infuriating, we had all kinds of calls today, but Peter just couldn’t keep his mouth shut in front of the clients and Ray was just his excited self, which isn’t necessarily bad… it can just get very overwhelming at times. And I was very overwhelmed. After the calls, Peter and Janine are both in a sour mood and when they’re in a sour mood, they make it everyone else’s problem. It got just a bit too much today. I also ended up snapping at Peter but it was deserved.”

Egon said as he spoke, his hands waving slightly as he spoke. His tone was somewhat stale but Y/n could sense the tension in the way he spoke. “That’s horrible, and definitely annoying. I’m glad you came to me, I think I may have something to cheer you up” She said softly, a small smile creeping up on her face as she pulled a pre-rolled blunt out of the small drawer she was reaching into beforehand.

“Have you smoked one before?” Y/n asked, her eyes tracing over his features as she tried to read his expression. Surprisingly Egon nodded his head which caught Y/n completely off guard. “Believe it or not, I had my fair share of experimentations with weed.” He shared which simply made Y/n nod, the information making her feel a little better about it. “Well.. Shall we then?” She asked, as she grabbed her lighter, Egon nodding softly, feeling as this might actually help him relax a little more than what he’d usually do to relax.

—

As a little time passed since they started smoking the blunt, they were fairly quiet. Egon felt light, his head tilted back to rest on the sofa as Y/n laid with her legs gently atop of Egon’s lap. He already had removed a few garments as well, his coat, his tie and his shirt had been unbuttoned just a top. She laid with her eyes closed, the blunt resting between her fingers before she took another drag, holding it in before she exhaled, passing it over to Egon. As he gently took it he glanced down at her, before a gentle but genuine smile formed on his lips.

“Thank you for this, I really appreciate this.” Egon said before he repeated her actions from moments before. His words made Y/n hum softly in response before she sat up slightly, resting on her forearms, her eyes low as she opened them slightly. “Of course, I appreciate you giving me company today.” She said softly, tilting her head to the side, her curls falling place before she sat up completely, reaching up to remove his glasses, curious to see him without.

He simply stared in adoration, unsure if it was the effect of the weed or if it was his own heart, but he was sure that whatever he was feeling, was a good one. He allowed her to continue, never being this relaxed with anyone, or genuinely close unless necessary. She simply waited for him to stop her but realizing he never did, she moved his glasses to be atop of his head. Her movements gentle as he continued to watch her.

Seeing as he stared down at her in admiration, she giggled slightly, feeling a little funny. “You have very pretty eyes” She hummed before she rested her side against the couch, still looking up at Egon. He gently passed the blunt back to her and she got a small idea. Placing the blunt between her lips, similarly to Ray usually would, she slowly moved her legs, adjusting so that she’d rest on her legs as she sat up. “I wanna try somethin’ is that okay?” She asked softly, grabbing hold of the blunt once more, exhaling whatever smoke she inhaled in the opposite direction.

He nodded softly, curious as to what it could be. She tilted her head slightly as she thought of how to ask him. “Have you heard of shotgunning? Or like shotgunning smoke?” she asked softly as she handed him the blunt, Egon thinking as he took the blunt before he conclusively shook his head.

“No, what’s that?” He asked, his eyes feeling just the slightest bit heavy. She bit her lip before she began explaining. “So basically, One of us, it could be you or me, and you basically inhale like you normally would but when you’re ready to exhale, I guess I’d be inhaling the smoke as it comes from your lips.” she said, trying her best to explain before a small laugh left her lips. Egon thought before he nodded, imagining what she could be explaining.

“Can we try it?” He asked, tilting his head back once again, his eyes still on her. She nodded softly, watching as he lifted his head as she pressed the blunt between her lips, inhaling and holding it before she leant in close, sort of seeing that being that close had made him nervous. She watched as he glanced down at her lips before she began to blow the smoke at his lips, seeing as he inhaled it. Both of their eyes seemed to close shortly after, as if they had kissed.

Egon was first to open his eyes, Y/n doing the same shortly after. Both of them silently stared, tingly and relaxed. There wasn’t anything awkward but they were both definitely feeling much closer than before. “Where’d you learn to do that?”

Egon had asked as Y/n gently passed him the blunt, and she sat back, returning to her other position her legs beginning to stretch over his lap as she sat up. “I had an ex, who was unfortunately in the Vietnam war, he told me they did drugs out of their shotguns. I can’t quite remember how they did but what we just did I guess mimicked what we just did. Shotgunning” She explained as she watched him.

“Hm, that’s very simple.” He said softly, as he laid his head back once again, handing the blunt back. Y/n gently took one last hit before putting it out on an ashtray. As the silence fell above the two of them once again, they each stared off into the distance, the sound of soft but older music played from Y/n’s record player as the sounds of the city accompanied it. Their breathing became adjacent and slow as they were both fully relaxed.

Each of them not quite really thinking, Egon gently had his hands on Y/n’s legs, as Y/n had rested her head just about the same on the sofa. Egon glanced over at Y/n once again, remembering she placed his glasses on his head before he fixed them to rest on his nose once again.

“Thank you once again, I really appreciate it.” He hummed, Y/n beginning to shake her head, waving her hand. “Don’t worry about it, I mean it. I will always be here regardless to help you relax whenever you need it. Now I should probably order us some takeout, for once this high is over.” She giggled, closing her eyes as Egon did the same.

—

I had to give in, my requests are still most definitely closed but I genuinely got a bit too excited to write this one out. I really hope you guys enjoyed this, thank you to anon for requesting this and temporarily getting me out of whatever funk I’ve been in, I appreciate you. If you enjoyed this, thank you, please leave a little like, maybe even a repost. I will see you all soon, bye bye now. Toodles <3

[thebugcollector2]

Stoned with Dallas Winston

“Last dance with Mary Jane, one more time to kill the pain” (Mary Jane's Last Dance by Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers)

------

Summary: in which you are a hippie and sometimes get high with your good friend Dallas Winston (fluff)

Warnings: smoking, weed, mentions of drinking

------

Most of the time, Dallas Winston preferred getting completely pissed drunk rather than a universal high. He often would go to parties, slamming drink after drink, only to find himself next to a random broad the morning after. 

Now Dallas did enjoy it, don’t let it be mistaken. Though, every once in a while he would find himself longing for the feeling of hot smoke burning his throat until his mind went fogged. 

So, once every few weeks you would get a call from Dally. His voice was alway rasped and gruff over the phone and it made your head spin. He knew you always had pot and that you were always looking for someone to get high with. It always went the same. You guys would spend the entire evening together, and on the rare occasion the night as well. Nothing out of pocket would be done between the two of you, at the most your shoulders brushing against each other if you sat too close, but never anything more.

You were sitting on Dallas’ bed, back against the wall with your knees hugged against your chest. He sat next to you, red eyed with a hidden smirk on his lips. You guys had been together for about four hours and in that time frame, two joints had been smoked and a pack of cigarettes as well. 

“Dallas,” you turned your head to look at him, a lopsided grin plastered on your lips as you spoke “what’s your zodiac sign?” 

Dally’s chest hummed as he stiffed a laugh, “Jesus Christ, man, you’re always asking dumb shit,” he shook his head and took a hit of his cigarette, “I don’t know doll, born in November so whatever that means.”

Doll, your smile widened at the nickname and that didn’t go unnoticed by him. 

You shrugged and looked away “I believe in ‘em,” you rested your chin on the top of your knees. “I think it’s all real interesting when you look into it,” you rambled, not even really processing what you were saying. “I like the stars and moon phases and all that,”

“I know ya do, doll.” He watched as you fell quiet. You reached for the pack of cigarettes that was to your right and lit one. Dallas would never say it out loud, but he always felt a sense of admiration towards you. He had never met someone in Tulas who was so entrancing and calm. You held a peace about you and that was rare for people that hung around him. Dallas watched as the smoke from your cigarette drizzled slowly from your mouth. “November ninth,” he broke the silence and smirked as he watched a wide grin form on your face. 

“Scorpio,” you murmured as you glanced his way. “Very loyal and uh,” you squinted at him as you fell deep in thought, “protective and intense too.” 

A deep chuckle came from him. “Hope that’s a good thing,” he inhaled his cigarette deeply. 

“I think so,” you always found yourself unable to hide your smile when you were with Dallas. It made your face feel numb from it. You’d blame it on the weed, but deep down you knew it was because of him.

“What ‘bout you,” Dallas gestured towards you as he spoke, “what’s your sign, or whatever” he mumbled. Normally he would have left the conversation silent, using the time to fall deep in thought. Though, for some reason he couldn’t explain, he wanted to listen and watch you keep talking. 

“Pisces.” you sighed and hit your cigarette before you continued on. “I would say we feel things very deeply, kinda like um, like a deep emotional connection to the universe.” Dallas noticed how your voice went soft and how your gaze formed a gentle look. “Also very creative but a bit impulsive.” 

Dallas also wanted to blame the weed for the thought, but he thought at that moment he had never seen anyone look so beautiful.

[r0seb100d]

Dallas Winston x boho 60s/70s reader for this ask!

[cowgurrrl]

Dawns

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader

Author’s note: Selena Quintanilla I miss you every day

Summary: The Morning After [2.9k]

Warnings: loving descriptions of Joel Miller, a whiff of angst, I think that’s it this is literally just fluff

Joel is a heavy sleeper. You kinda knew he would be, but he proved himself when you got up halfway through the night to get water, and he didn't so much as flinch. The only thing that roused him from his sleep was you sliding back into bed and kissing his jaw. He groaned and rolled onto his back, pressing you into his chest and bringing you with him. So, you're not surprised when you wake before him once mowers start working around your apartment building. He stays asleep, and light snores leave him every so often as he dreams. It's weirdly endearing.

In the morning light, he looks like a lost Adonis. His broad chest moves with his breaths, and his muscles contract whenever he moves, showing off the strength of his body, which has been forged over years on sites and by carrying kids around. He has a tattoo over his heart that you hadn't noticed before. It's small enough to hide easily, but you make out the letters easily: initials. One is Ellie's, and you assume the other is Sarah's. His girls forever close to his heart. His curls create a halo of amber salt-and-pepper around his head, and his beard is unruly in a way that people try to emulate to get the perfect "messy" look. On him, it doesn't look messy. It just looks like him. His heavy hand rests on your waist while the other lies above his head, almost in a pose. He's so fucking beautiful. 

There are lots of versions of Joel you'd like to draw: him on his knees at the foot of your bed, kneeling in a type of worship that the church would never condone; him smiling at you from across your apartment with orange fridge light shining on half his face; him tapping a beat into the steering wheel of his truck as the wind tousels his hair. But this version with the relaxed features and golden sunlight might be your favorite. It's private and unguarded, something only you have the privilege of experiencing. It's only fair of you to try to capture it.

You manage to wiggle out of his grasp enough to reach for your sketchbook on your bedside table, the water cups and snack wrappers from last night still lingering nearby. You lay on your stomach and uncap your pen as you glance between the empty page and his sleeping face. You start with his face shape, which is undeniably kind of easy to draw, before moving on to his features. His nose crooks a certain way, and you want to make sure you get it exactly right. Your eyebrows furrow as ink stains your pinky and the page fills up, and the morning slowly rises around you. 

It would be easier to take a picture and reference that instead of looking up and down, straining your neck in the process, but you like noticing the way his face moves so subtly in his sleep. This feels more intimate than sex. Art has a funny way of doing that. Guilt pools at the base of your neck, and you're about to shut your sketchbook and get some breakfast when he shifts, his hand blindly searching the sheets for your body. 

You freeze as he rolls over and opens his eyes, blinking through the light to find you lying there. When his vision adjusts, and he's rubbed enough sleep from his eyes to see you clearly, he smiles, and the guilt is quickly replaced with that dizziness that only he can induce. You smile back and throw your sketchbook on the floor, the pen still twirling in your fingers.

"Hey," you say softly as you get closer to him. He welcomes you into his arms and pushes the hair off your shoulders so he can see you. 

"Hi." His voice rumbles in his chest, deep and gravelly with sleep, and you want to wrap the notes around you like a warm blanket. You settle for leaning down and kissing him, his hands sliding around your body in the process. "How long've you been awake?"

"Not long." You say, a smile stuck to your lips. He glances over, taps his phone to check the time, and groans as he rests his head back on your pillow. You giggle at his reaction, and he looks at you like you're crazy. 

"How can you be this happy this early in the mornin'?" He asks and you shrug as you push a curl out of his face. 

"I woke up to a view." He hums at your compliment but doesn't say anything else. Every time you've complimented him in one way or another over the past few months, he's shrugged it off or barely acknowledged it. You wonder if he's just not used to being told regularly how pretty he is or what a great person he is. You wonder how long it will take him to believe your words. 

"What were you workin' on?" 

"Nothing, really. Just had to get something out of my system."

"Can I see it?"

"My sketchbook?" You ask, that same guilt clawing its way back up your spine, and he nods. 

"You don't have to show me if you don't wanna. I just... I dunno. I like seein' your work." Well, fuck, you think. How am I supposed to say no to that? You take a deep breath and chew on the inside of your cheek.

"I'll show you a few."

"Just a few?" 

"For now," you say, and he smiles. You kiss him before you move to retrieve the Moleskine from the floor. He curses under his breath like he's hurt, and you quickly look up to see if you somehow elbowed him or something. 

"Now, that," he says as he sits up to trace the edge of the tattoo that wraps around your shoulder. "Is a pretty sight." You laugh and relax into his touch as you watch him become entranced by the ink.

"Tattoos really do it for you, huh?"

"Everythin' bout you does it for me," he says, and you shake your head, heat rising to your cheeks at the quip. "You do this one in a dorm room?"

"No, I had a friend who was apprenticing at a studio near the school. They gave me half off because she was an apprentice, but I think it turned out pretty good," you explain. His fingers follow the delicate lines around until he gets close to another one, and then he skips over and traces that one, his calloused hands much softer than any tattoo needle you've encountered. You let him follow the curves and bends of your different tattoos, but not before you press onto your elbows and lift a hand to trace the initials on his chest. "You were hiding this one from me."

"I think you were hidin' a lot more than I was." He says, and you laugh. He's not wrong. The juxtaposition of your covered skin versus his blankness is a little comical. Where you have deliberately placed art pieces, he has scars, freckles, and chest hair save for the letters above his heart. "Got it before Sarah went off to school. Figured it might be one of the last times my girls would be together."

"That's not true." You tsk.

"I know that now, but... I don't know. It's different than when they were younger. Good different, but still different."

"How so?"

"When Sarah was still home, Ellie had another woman to talk to. We were even numbers in the house. They would get to have their own days where they hung out and did whatever, which was really good for the both of them. But when she left, Ellie got really shy, like she didn't know what to do without someone guidin' her. Tommy and I tried, but I knew we weren't as good as Sarah. Nobody said anythin' bout it to Sarah, though, cause it wouldn't be fair to ask that of her. She has enough on her plate as it is, and she doesn't need us makin' her feel guilty." He says. He's so in tune with both girls that it almost blows your mind. It makes sense because you've seen him in action, and you know how he parents, but hearing him talk about the nuances of their relationships and giving them each space is refreshing. It would've been so easy to place blame on Sarah and ask her to help parent Ellie, but he didn't. 

"What changed?" You ask. He traces the lines going up the back of your neck until his hands frame your face, and he's smiling.

"This really great teacher started lookin' out for her. Changed our whole lives around." He says. You shake your head and force yourself to look away from his big, brown eyes.

"I was just doing my job."

"Don't do that," he scolds quietly. "I'm not sayin' anythin' that's not true. You helped Ellie in a way nobody else has done so far. You should've heard her tellin' Sarah bout you at Christmas. She couldn't say enough nice things."  

"I wish I could've met her," you say. "Sarah." 

"She really wanted to meet you, too," he says. "Next time." You smile at the idea of having him and Ellie around for long enough to meet this missing fourth member of their family. You hope he's right. 

Finally, you hand him your sketchbook and watch as he flips through the first few pages in silent awe. His eyes move around the page like he's trying to decipher a message when it's really just your sloppy scribbles you managed to get down between grading papers and working at the bar. To you, they're nothing revolutionary. They're just rough drawings that have this thing wrong with them or are missing that essential piece. When you look at them, all you see is what they lack. When Joel looks at them, all he can see is the art already there. He asks about certain things and points out different techniques he recognizes from Ellie's portfolio, like the hatching you did on a portrait of a stranger sitting in your bar. 

Sharing your art, no matter what medium, with anyone can be daunting. Someone you love might think you're a talentless hack but smile and tell you otherwise to not hurt your feelings, or they just don't pay attention to it at all. It's sacred. A piece of your soul materialized in the real world and left out in the open for anyone to come by and kill. Those emotions are still in the back of your mind, but as you watch Joel scan your work, you see admiration and reverence instead of disdain. He stops himself from looking at the whole book, remembering your words about only showing him a few, and looks at you when he's done.

"Baby, these are amazing." He breathes. The gentle tone in his voice makes your throat feel like sandpaper, and you have to breathe deeply to keep tears from welling in your eyes. You hide your face in the sheets, and he tsks as he grabs you and pulls you to him. You land on his chest, and then it's impossible to hide from him. Sometimes, it's annoying how strong he is. 

"Thank you," you say instead of listing off all the things you want to say about how bad the sketches are, how they're unfinished, and whatever else. He smiles as he gently puts your sketchbook down on your bedside table and kisses you. You straddle his waist as he cups your jaw and holds you close. You're vaguely aware of the sun rising higher and higher in the sky and the fact that he has a kid at home who's probably wondering where he is. His hands skate down your lower back as the kiss turns a little feverish and desperate, but you pull back before anything can start.

"It's getting late," you say. He sighs and rests his head on your shoulder. "I can make you some breakfast before you go."

"You really want me out that bad?" 

"No, of course not, but Ellie-"

"Is fine. She's with Tommy, and she's bout fifteen goin' on twenty. I guarantee you she's out with her friends at the movies or somethin' right now." He says. He's right; Ellie has become hyper-independent in the past few months and is almost always with a group of the art kids, but Dina and Jesse seem to be the ones she's closest to. Granted, Jesse isn't technically in the art club, but the bumbling basketball player always seems to find a way into your classroom despite never taking a class with you. Still, you can't shake your anxiety.

"What about when she asks where you were all night?"

"That's for me to worry bout, not you," he says. "If you really want me to go, I'll go but don't think you have to kick me out 'cause of my kid. She's fine, and even if she wasn't, I'd have already heard bout it." 

"Are you sure?" You ask, and he nods. 

"Positive," he answers. It's going to take a lot more for you to stop worrying about Ellie, but you let it go for now. If he's sure, then you have to trust his parental instincts. "Now, I think you said somethin' bout breakfast?" He says, and you smile. 

"I think I've got eggs and bacon." You say, and he groans at the thought.

"A woman after my own heart."

"You're a mess." You laugh as you climb off of him. You grab his shirt from last night off the floor and tug it over your head before grabbing a clean pair of underwear from your top drawer. Meanwhile, Joel throws on his briefs and the sweatpants you stole from him on New Year's Day and follows you into the kitchen. You get out the carton of eggs and hand him the package of bacon for him to put on the stove, a job he volunteered to do, as the coffee brews a few feet away. 

It's strangely domestic. Sharing the same space for the same goal as the dull hum of the city starts up outside. In your small apartment, you're safe from the demands of school for a few more weeks, and you don't have anything better to do than walk around your kitchen half-naked with him. He pours the perfect amount of creamer into your coffee and even pours a glass of water to accompany the caffeine. You push and pull him around the kitchen so you can reach certain things or show him where you keep plates. Any lingering doubt about your physical closeness has been dispelled and replaced with the ease of this morning. You could get used to it. 

You're in the process of making scrambled eggs when he starts playing music on his phone, a familiar explosion of sound coming over the speakers. Joel looks pleased even though he's the one who chose the music, and you laugh as he starts dancing toward you. Selena starts singing, and he sings along. Before you know it, he's grabbing your hand and spinning you into him. You struggle to match his feet when he takes steps you're not prepared for, and he laughs.

"I don't know this dance!" You defend, and he gives you a look.

"C'mon, don't tell me you've lived in Texas for this long, and nobody's ever taught you how to dance cumbia."

"Sorry to break your heart, maverick." You tease. He sighs dramatically but steps back enough for you to track his steps and copy them. Once you get the hang of it, he takes the spatula out of your other hand and takes you into his arms.

"You just do the same thing I'm doing but in a circle. It's not that hard, I promise." He instructs, and you raise your eyebrows at him.

"You have too much faith in my dance ability." 

"It's just a different kinda art," he says as he spins you. You manage to keep up with him and smile alongside him. You're not sure where Joel got so good at dancing, but you're sure it has something to do with the number of quinceañeras he's been invited to, if he's not been a part of one. He's gentle in reminding you of the steps and doesn't complain when you accidentally step on his toes or miss a step. It's fun and sweet and tinged with perfectly timed drum beats and Selena's effervescent voice.

He only lets you slip away from him once you remind him of the eggs cooking on the stove, but he's never far away after that. He helps you set the table and even makes your plate once everything is ready, so you don't have to. He refills your coffee and water without being asked and even pushes you out of the kitchen when you're done eating so he can wash the dishes. You like learning more about his little habits and nuances, and you think he likes seeing you in your own environment, too. 

You're not ready for him to go home and burst this bubble you've created. You're not ready to go back to school and reckon with possible repercussions. You're not ready for the real world to seep back in. You just want this morning with him and whatever other mornings he might be generous enough to share with you. Is that too much to ask?

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