#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.

[vxntagedior]

Marauders reaction to hippie!reader smoking ouid

james would so be shocked, thinking you were innocent, but would probably ask for some

sirius would be equally as shocked, wondering where you got it from and how you got it to hogwarts (and thinks it's make you look even more hotter)

remus is just slightly concerned after seeing your stash, and now thinking back to every instance when you really weren't acting like yourself, thinking you were high

plus he would also think it was hot

[2knightt]

Heyyy can you do a Dallas (outsiders) x male hippie???? I think it would be cute :)

↳heartbeat, my heartbeat!₊˚✧

──IN WHICH, Dallas Winston falls for male hippie reader!。✦

he hated you before, i’m sorry.

he hated how much you advocated for peace and love.

bullshit, he thought.

 you were following dallas winston around, telling him that he shouldn’t just beat up people. how, peace and love can fix everything, how violence isn’t the answer.

“c’mon man, you’re better than this.”

“no. no i ain’t.”

“cause you ain’t try to be better.”

he didn’t try?

why did he need to? he’s already a terrible person. might as well make the best of it.

“what d’ya know, hippie?”

“i know that love can fix everything.”

“like what, wise guy?”

“wars, fights, arguments, and other things.”

dallas kissed his teeth and rolled his eyes at your corny answer.

you thought dallas could change.

you knew anyone could change if they just, tried.

dallas just thought you were full of shit.

“what planet you come from, huh? this is real life. ain’t nothin’ like that gon’ fix wars.”

“well, we haven’t had a war recently to try. which is good, means the world is a step closer to peace.”

‘step closer to peace,’ his ass.

you’re so bright, he pissed him off.

“just scram, hippe! i ain’t tryna get a lecture from a lowlife like you!”

you sighed, getting a sad expression on your face.

“see, dallas. this is what i was talking about.”

“don’t call me dallas.”

huh?

isn’t that his name? you thought to yourself, with a confused look on your face.

“why not?”

“dally sounds better. dallas ‘s to formal for my liking.”

oh, he just wanted to sound cool.

you smiled, nodding to acknowledge his answer.

“alright, dally.”

“ugh, nevermind. you can call me dally when you get that stupid smile off your face.”

he said, with a grossed out face.

his eyebrows were scrunched up and his top lip was raised.

he looked you up and down, finally noticing your ridiculous outfit.

you had a brown jacket on, with these strings hanging off at the bottom.

you had a white shirt on that was unreasonably dirty. dallas wanted to ask why, but he didn’t want another 15 minute story.

you had almost white jeans on. they had different patches of colours sown in, making them stand out.

your pants were wide, they basically covered the shoes you were wearing.

dallas noticed the large peace necklace you wore.

god, how annoying.

he finally looked up to look at you, eye to eye.

that’s when he noticed how, handsome i guess.

your eyes shinned real bright. your lips looked soft, softer than anyone elses.

god—he never knew how attractive you could be.

“starin’ is rude, dally.”

“i ain’t starin, hippie.”

“calling me a hippie isn’t an insult. it’s just what i am! i mean, do you take offence when people call you a greaser?”

dallas thought about it for a bit.

i guess he didn’t. i mean, that is what he is after all.

“no.”

“see? ain’t all that bad.”

you said, in almost a sassy tone.

he was gonna answer you in some way nobody would like, until you walked off.

you saw your friend—M&M, they call ‘em.

of course you’d be friends with him, dallas thought.

you turned around to face dallas one more time, to say your goodbyes.

you were taught it was rude to leave without saying goodbye at a young age.

“BYE DALLY! STAY SAFE!!”

you shouted, holding up two fingers, making a peace sign as you turn your back to catch up to your friend.

dallas rolled his eyes and pulled out a cigarette.

he lit it with a stupid smirk on his face.

dally liked that you were using his nickname.

he liked that you looked out for him.

he liked that you saw the better version of himself in him.

dallas winston liked you, period.

[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.

[marvelobsessed134]

Hear me out Elvis with a hippie!girlfriend

[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.

[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

[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.

[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

[vxntagedior]

“Your a hippie 😐”

“No shit Sherlock“

A few months later

“Remus you bought enough crystals to impress siruis-“

i kind of made this a james x reader and wolfstar pairing

james was well aware you were a hippie, something you had to explain a while for him to understand.

sirius had also knew about it and that let to remus finding out.

"your a hippie." he deadpanned.

"about time you figure it out." you snorted, adjusting the straps of your tank top, "the room, my outfits outside of uniforms, and i kind of smell like weed."

-

"look at this y/n." sirius smiled, running up to you, "remus got me another crystal."

you knew full well when sirius started getting crystals from remus, that's how you got with james.

"you know he likes you." you smiled.

"what?"

"you are dense." you patted his cheek.

[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.

[caramelcleopatraa]

iii. SUIT & TIE

word count: 1,300~

x: Somehow a lot easier to write, so I was able to get this entire part written in a night and some change. Came out sooner than expected as well. Don't get comfortable too long, cause I got some plans for these characters aaaand some tea *clacks fan* 🧐

content: Mafia!Roman Reigns x Designer!Reader, 18+, MDNI... please, oral ( f receiving)

“Didn't know that you were such a gentleman,” you say provokingly, causing him to look at you sternly. “I know how to please a woman, sweetheart.” Before you could answer with a rebuttal, he ran his middle finger down your wetness. A soft gasp leaves your mouth as you tilt your head back again. “You’ve been this wet this entire time? Should’ve said something princess.” His index finger dips into your pussy while his thumb rubs your clit. Your hips move on their own, grinding against his hand. He quickly spanks the inside of your thigh and you let out a little yelp. “Stay still or I'll stop.” You let out a frustrated moan, earning you another slap and he rubs the red area of your sensitive skin.

“Now you gon’ let me take care of you?”

“Yes,” you moaned weakly.

“Good. Eyes on me while I eat this pussy.”

Roman wasted no time diving into your dripping heat. You sharply inhaled as Roman’s tongue explored your folds. His eyes lingered on you. He wanted to see how you react when he touches you. He wanted to see how good he can make you feel. He wanted to see how your eyes roll back when you cum on his tongue. He barely knew you, and he was never one to attach to people so quickly. But you were so magnetizing. Your presence, how you hold yourself, that attitude of yours, how you melt in his hands. It left him wanting more. Which led him to the position that he’s in right now. Between your legs while indulging himself in your sweet juices. 

Your hand makes its way to his head of hair, trying your best not to grab him for dear life. Your chest rises up and down from the immense pleasure he’s giving you. You’d probably never admit it even if your life was on the line, but you had never felt like this before. You’ve had your fair share of experiences, but this. Him. He made you feel so high off of pleasure. Your mind was in shambles already, and you have yet to cum. Loud moans shamelessly filled the empty space in the room. His hands wrap around your thighs to stop your thighs from shaking so intensely. He was making love to your pussy, and neither of you wanted it to stop.

The meticulous slow licks up your cunt made you lose your mind. His sudden change in pace left you whining and begging for him to go faster. He takes his time trailing wet kisses from your folds, to your clit, to your thighs, and any other place on your body that his lips could reach. You finally get a clear glimpse of his face. Still absurdly handsome, but now, his lower face is soaked in your wetness. “That pussy got me drenched baby.” His irresistible teasing had you rolling your eyes and dismissively waving him off, giving him somewhat of an attitude. But inside, you knew you were melting at his words. Taking the little summation of common sense you had, you retaliated. “Is that supposed to be a problem? This ain’t no average pussy Mr. Reigns.” 

“Damn right this ain’t no regular pussy,” He moans before delving into your core once more.  “Good ass pussy.”

The ruthless cycle of licking and sucking made your whole body shake. Your needy and eager praises made him smirk, encouraging him to keep going. He no longer wanted to toy with you, he wanted to make you cum. Work you up, just to be the one that sees you come down from your high feeling satisfied and taken care of. That familiar feeling came faster than you expected. You would’ve tried your best to hold it off, but considering how good you felt, you didn't care. You wanted to cum. Needed to. Your hands push at his head while you weakly warn him that you're close. He didn’t budge. He stubbornly sat there, lapping up every drop of your juices without a second thought. He wanted you to make a mess. He wanted you to drench his face while he licked up your release just to make you do it again. You were going to give him what he wanted, and he wasn’t leaving this dressing room without it. Your moans got louder, and your pleasure was steadily rising. You were about to explode. You weren't able to ignore this desire anymore. There was nothing more you wanted than to chase that feeling. 

“Cum on my tongue, mama.”

Those 5 words were enough to send you over the edge. You unconsciously looked at him to see his reaction and you found his brown eyes locking onto yours. Neither of you backed down. He stared into your soul as he licked your pussy clean. You almost thought he was never going to move, based on the way he was eating you out. Any stray drops would land in his beard and dampen the seat. His thumbs massaged your thighs as you tried your best to calm yourself down from the mindblowing orgasm you just had. Strings of whispered curse words exited your mouth. Your hands trailed down your body to meet his and you interlaced his hands with yours. He stood up, still holding on to you, and pulled you to sit up. He took a seat next to you and wrapped his hands around your waist. You were hoisted onto his lap and laid on his chest. You didn't take him as someone to give aftercare, but you didn’t reject the attention you were being given at the moment. 

“How was that Ms. Expert?” Roman says, slowly rubbing the small of your back. You laugh into his neck and let your hands rest on his chest. You use your right hand to grab his chin and turn his face towards you. “It was good,” you say with a smile.

“I was definitely expecting you to be rougher,” you say, adjusting yourself to sit comfortably in his lap. “I will be when I fuck you. I said that I would take care of you, relieve your stress. And apparently, mama said I did a good job.” You two share smiles and laughter for a short time. You loved every second of this interaction, but something was gnawing at you. You had to ask, it was going to drive you insane if you didn't have answers. 

“So is she just a temporary accessory or your bottom bitch?” You asked with curiosity in your voice. He takes a moment to analyze your question. “More like a leech,” he says dismissively. His tone conveyed that this was a topic that wasn't a big deal to him. However, you still want to know more. “Seems like you attract leeches huh?” You feel his laughter through his chest.

“Hah hah very funny,” he utters sarcastically. “What makes you say that?” 

“Because my employee wants to join your roster.”

You were deep in thought. You were thinking about so many different situations and possibilities. ‘Was he just doing this because he was bored? Does he think of me like how he thinks of De’arra? Is he just taking advantage of me?’ 

“Rommannn! Are you done yet baby?” A high pitched yell on the other side of the door startles you. Roman’s grip on you tightens and you give him a confused look. He plants a tender kiss on your cheek, leaving you a little bit flustered, and he smiles at your flustered expression. His hand pushes your head down on his shoulder and you take a deep breath. 

“Yeah. Just be patient, ok?” Roman says sternly. “But Baaeee! You’ve been in there too lon-” “I’m not finna tell you again. Wait,” Roman says, rubbing the back of his neck. Annoyance was written all over his face. De’arra groans in defeat and the comfortable silence settles back into the atmosphere

‘Pleeaase! Please! Pleeaassee! Don’t let this turn into some drama…’

I hope you guys enjoyed dis one <3 as always, thank you guys for the support lovelies. tell me what you think! ( I'm a whore for comments )

~ your hippie author

🏷️ tags :) @harmshake @alichesmi @thesamoanqueen @alyyaanna @empressdede @badbitchcentralinc @christinabae @fame-ass-ers

[cowgurrrl]

Sleeping on the Blacktop

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader

Author's note: guys we did it i wrote smut i actually like (ps this was edited but also not reread because I’ve been trying to write it for five hours so if you see any mistakes no you didn’t)

Summary: The Land of No Return [4.7k]

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR MEDIA CONSUMPTION, platonic expressions of love, the mortifying ordeal of being known, sexting, we finally get to know about reader's secret tattoos, smut, Joel the Menace makes his long awaited return with that dirty fucking mouth, mutual masturbation, phone sex (??(sure)), protected sex (no Miller babies for them) p in v stuff, June being indulgent with describing Joel Miller, anxiety, I think that's it??

Music floods the kitchen as you and Andie work on making the best "last supper but with women" possible. The lamps glow orange on the walls and create funny shadows when you dance together, pulling each other in and out to old jazzy tunes. You laugh when she throws a string of spaghetti at your fridge to test if it's ready a little too hard, and it splatters water everywhere. You, honestly, might be a little delirious. You're both in your pajamas, and you've been watching movies all day. You exchange what you remember from New Year's Eve and cringe at what the other fills in. You drink cheap wine from plastic cups and snack on chips as the food cooks. 

It feels like high school again, with all the girlish giggling and inside jokes you trade back and forth, except this time, instead of her going back to her house ten minutes up the road, she's going back to her apartment half the world away. No matter how long you get with her, it's never enough. Thousands of miles and different schedules will do that. Keeping long-distance friendships as an adult is just as hard, if not harder, than making new ones. 

When dinner is ready, you fix your plates and sit next to each other at your messy dining room table— the IKEA one she helped you build when Henry walked out with the first one— and eat. Paint stains the wood of the table, and half-finished works are scattered around the dining room, but you barely notice them as you talk. She tells you about the things waiting for her in Vienna: work, her cat, Oslo, and piano lessons. You don't have to pretend to be envious because you are. You have to go back to school and the Real World once you drop her off at the airport in the morning. You wish you could go with her. 

"Alright, c'mon. Spill it. What's going on with you and Joel?" She asks in between bites of garlic bread. You laugh and shake your head.

"There's nothing to tell."

"Bullshit. Tommy told me he saw you guys."

"Speaking of Tommy," you pivot. "What's going on there? You two seemed pretty chummy." You raise your eyebrows at her, and a big smile takes over her face. She takes another bite of food to buy herself some time, but there's no way you're letting her off the hook, especially after all her teasing about Joel.

"Nothing. We were just… talking." She finally says, and you give her a look. 

"Talking?"

"Yes. People talk. You should try it sometime."

"Was it talking like we are now or talking like Joel and I talked?" You hum, and she kicks her feet as she leans forward.

"So you and Joel did talk." 

"Well, we probably would've if somebody didn't come barging in."

"Goddammit, I told him to wait," she groans. "Sorry, girl."

"Yeah, me too," you say, and she laughs. You bump her knee and give her a look. "Alright, your turn. What's going on with Tommy?" 

"Nothing that could actually turn into anything." 

"Aw, c'mon. Don't count yourself out so early."

"It's not counting myself out. It's being realistic. I live in Vienna. He lives here. I'm not ready to come back to the States, and he seems content, so there's nothing that can happen," she shrugs. "It was a fling. A very nice fling, but a fling nevertheless." She seems a little too sad for it to have been just a fling. They exchanged numbers, and you've caught her texting him several times. She said she did kiss him on New Year's Eve (before she threw up), but they didn't go any further besides flirting the next morning. You watched them test each other at breakfast, and he seemed just as interested in her as she was in him. They'd be cute together. She sighs and pushes her pasta around in her bowl like a dejected character from a period piece.

"Tommy is very handsome." You comment, and she grabs your arm, animating all of a sudden. 

"Dude, I've been dying to talk about it. What the fuck are they putting in the water here? It's insane." 

"It's annoying, right?" 

"So annoying." She agrees. You laugh about it together and, finally, give her the details she's been waiting so patiently for. When you finish your story, her hands are over her mouth, and her eyes are wide. "Oh, my God. You have to get him back."

"I know, I know! He's driving me up a fucking wall." You say, taking a bite of food. It will get cold if you don't stop talking, but you also don't care. 

"You could surprise him with some lingerie or something." She suggests, and you groan. 

"God, I don't even remember the last time I bought lingerie."

"All the more reason to buy some." 

"I don't know. I feel like I could just show up naked, and he'd be happy with that."

"He sounds like a keeper then."

"Yeah, I don't know," you shrug. "I like him a lot. I just… don't know if it's sustainable."

"Why?" She asks. You almost want to gesture around your messy apartment and half-put together life as if it will answer her question.

"I mean, he's a good guy, and we're having fun, but for how long? His kid's gonna be in at least one of my classes until she graduates. Not to mention, he has another daughter who is in medical school. We both work full-time. And then there's the whole having to keep it a secret thing. It could get really old really fast." You sigh. 

"What if it doesn't?"

"What?"

"What if it doesn't get old? What if it ends up working out?" She asks. You take a deep breath. "You didn't even think about that possibility. Did you?"

"I just don't wanna get hurt."

"That's a very real possibility. Things could go wrong. He could break your heart. You could lose your job. Society as we know it could come crashing down, and you know what? The sun's still gonna come up the next day. The birds will still sing, and I will still be here," she says, putting her hand over yours. You purse your lips as you process her words. "You deserve nice things, kid. Don't count yourself out so early." She echoes your earlier sentiment, and you smile.

She's right. Of course, she's right. You don't let yourself think good things could happen because you're so focused on all the bad. She's known you for so long she can read your thoughts and know your habits before you can. What a horrifying and beautiful thing it is to be known inside and out like that. 

"Maybe you should've been a writer instead of a musician," you say, and she laughs. You squeeze her hand and sigh as you look at her. "I'm really gonna miss you."

"I'm really gonna miss you, too."

"I wish you could stay."

"I know," she says. "But you need an excuse to come to Vienna, and I need an excuse to come to Austin, and if I stay, we lose that."

"I guess that's true."

"Besides, if I stop making trans-Atlantic calls, I think my phone company would be concerned." She points out, making you laugh. You know she's telling you what she's told herself this whole time. She loves Vienna, but you know she gets homesick. You know she's trying really hard to convince herself to get back on that plane. You don't push her about staying again. You just indulge in her presence. 

"I love you." You say softly, and she smiles.

"I love you, too." She says. 

It means so much more than just "I love you." It means, "I love you, and I want us both to eat well." It means, "I love you, and I can't imagine doing this life without you." It means, "I love you, and I know you have to go." Never any buts. Always ands, because love like this knows no bounds. Not borders, not time zones, not lifestyles. 

You finish the dinner you made and clean the kitchen side by side before climbing into bed and staying up as late as possible to try and get Andie back on Vienna time. In the morning, you drag yourselves out of bed and sing in the car on the way to get coffee, and when the time comes for you to get her suitcase out of your backseat and watch her disappear behind glass doors, you hug her tight and tell her you love her again. She repeats the sentiment with another squeeze and deep breath that tells you how close to tears she is. Then, she turns around and doesn't look back to prove she's strong enough to leave. She doesn't need to prove anything to you. You always knew she was strong enough to do this.

The car ride back is emotional and lonely and tinged with the bass line of Ribs by Lorde, but your phone buzzes as you pull back into your apartment complex with tears staining your cheeks. 

Thanks for letting us meet Andie. She's a really sweet person. I'm sorry she has to leave today.

You don't remember telling him what day she was leaving, but she might've told Tommy, and Tommy told Joel. You smile and text him back. 

Thanks for taking care of us. She only had good things to say about you and Tommy. We'll have to all hang out again the next time she's home. 

And then.

Thanks for checking on me. I really appreciate it. 

Of course. I'm always a wreck when I have to drop Sarah off at the airport. I'm around if you wanna talk. Ellie's hanging out with some friends, and Tommy's on-site today.

You stare at the messages and debate your options. He basically just told you he's home alone and has nothing to do for the rest of the day. And yes, he is probably being sweet and really offering to talk if you're feeling lonely, but you also know how talking usually goes for you two. You smirk as you type out a message.

Just talk?

It seems like he can't type fast enough.

What else would you wanna do?

I think you made some promises you need to follow through on, Miller.

I guess I did. 

Come over and I can do just that.

Actually, I have some work to get done :( maybe next time?

You lock your phone and bound up to your apartment, conscious of the sudden lengthening of time between messages. It's fun to imagine him trying to come up with a response that respects your boundaries but also lets you know how needy he is. He may have started this little game, but you're gonna be the one to perfect it. Thus begins the days upon days of not sexting, but not not sexting. 

At first, it's just messages about how you miss him and wish he was around. He tries to find an excuse to come over, but you effectively cockblock him at every turn. Your response times get a little slower the more worked up he gets, so he has to figure it out on his own. You never would've thought Joel Miller, a man with gray in his beard and wrinkles lining his face, could be such a fast texter, but you figure there's nothing more desperate than a horny man. 

Messages quickly escalate to pictures. They start off innocent enough: a picture of the painting you're working on, but your bare legs give away the fact that you're not wearing pants, a picture of him stepping out of a hot shower, his bare chest slightly red and glistening from the water, a picture of you wearing the burnt orange shirt he sent you home in New Year's Day with no bra on underneath. Then, you get a little bolder. After a quick trip to the mall, you pose in front of the mirror in a short delicate white night down with pretty lace details on the top, the hem barely hitting the tops of your thighs and showing off the large tattoos hiding there. You look hot, and imagining Joel's reaction to you makes you flush and rub your thighs together to get some relief.

It's true that Joel would've been happy if you showed up to his house wearing (or not wearing) anything, but when the photo pings to his phone, he's never been more grateful for Victoria's Secret in his life. His breath hitches in his throat, and he quickly tucks his phone into his chest like someone is gonna come up behind him and see what he's looking at. He's barely glanced at the photo and he's already straining in his jeans. 

Goddamn, he texts back. You're so fucking pretty, baby.

You like it?

It's a dumb question, but you really don't care.

It's perfect.

What do you like about it?

Besides the fact that you're the one wearing it? I like that it makes you look like more of an angel than you already are, and I like that I can finally see those tattoos you've been hiding from me. 

Bingo, you think to yourself. He was able to catch glimpses of the large pieces hiding on your back and shoulders at the art gallery, and when he picked up on New Year's Eve, you caught him staring at them each time. You thought he was following the inky lines up your body, but you couldn't be sure. Now, he's giving himself away, and you're practically buzzing with excitement.

You turn around in the mirror and arch your back, perfectly showing off your ass and the intricate tattoo lining your spine, and snap a picture. It's one of the largest ones you have, and it's also the easiest to hide. Besides, you definitely didn't get it for your own enjoyment. You live for moments like this. You send him the picture and smile as you type.

Like this one?

Your phone rings not even two minutes after he reads the message. You giggle when he groans into the receiver instead of greeting you.

"You're gonna fuckin' kill me, baby." He says, his voice so deep you can practically feel it rumble against your ear.

"I told you I'd get you back." You say it like it's obvious, but he just hums. There's shuffling on his end, and all you can do is wait for him to say something else.

"What else have you been hidin' underneath all those little dresses, hm?" He asks. "Tattoos. The most fuckin' perfect tits I've ever seen. Anythin' else I should know bout? 'S your pussy as pretty as the rest of ya?" You didn't mean for him to hear you gasp, but he seemed pleased that he could pull such a sound from you without even being in the same room. Just like that, any doubt or reservation you had left flies out the window. You finally cave and slip your hand down your panties to glide your fingers through your folds. "Am I makin' you wet, sweetheart?"

"Fuck," you mumble. It's absurd how turned on you are by this whole thing. Your fingers slowly circle your clit, and your head gets so fuzzy you almost forget to respond to him. "Yes, Joel." 

"Are you playin' with yourself?" He asks, and you nod even though he can't see you. "Poor thing. I wish I could be there to help ya. I'd have you spread open for me so I can touch you however I want. Figure out what you like and what makes you cry for me." You put him on speaker and throw your phone down so you can focus on gliding through your wetness, your middle finger pushing into you slowly.

"What... what would you do?" You ask, breathless. 

"I'd start by usin' my fingers just to feel you out, and I bet you'd feel so fuckin' good. I'd play with your clit until you're beggin' me to put a finger inside you, and I'd slip two in slowly while kissin' your inner thighs and watchin' you squeeze my fingers," you moan as you listen to his raspy voice and fuck yourself to his words. You try to imagine what his fingers would feel like inside of you. How different compared to yours, how much better they'd feel. Goddammit. "Then, I'd use my mouth on you while my fingers move in and out. I'd lick you all over and feel you soakin' me when I suck on your clit." He says, and you return to rubbing said bundle of nerves, faster this time, as you become acutely aware of his labored breathing over the phone. 

Is he touching himself? The idea of him holding the phone with one hand and fisting his cock with the other sends a wave of heat down your spine, and you keen into your own hand. A shaky breath and muttered curse leave his lips, and then you know for sure what he's doing. Your head spins, and you'd be embarrassed by how close you are just from his voice if you weren't entirely focused on the pleasure clouding your brain. 

"Fuck, Joel-"

"I know, baby, I know," he coos sympathetically. Another lewd moan leaves you as you get closer and closer to the edge, stars threatening the corners of your vision. "Are you gonna come for me like this?" He asks, and you hum in the affirmative, not trusting yourself to form words. "Come on. Let me hear you. I wanna hear what you sound like when you fall apart." His voice is coming faster and breathier, a light growl at the end of his words. How are you to deny him that? 

The speed of your fingers on your clit increases, but it's his own broken whimpers that finally do it. Your back arches as the waves wash over you, and noises you didn't even know you could make escape your lips. You can vaguely hear a broken sigh accentuated by a particularly hot whine from Joel's end. Henry was never as vocal or talkative as Joel is. None of your past partners have been. In the aftershocks of your orgasm, you have a quick passing thought that he might ruin dating for you. You might never want to see anyone else who doesn't treat you like this. You might be fucked.

"Joel," you say when you have control over your thoughts again. He takes a deep breath and clears his throat.

"Yeah?"

"Get the fuck over here now."

Joel's house is on the other side of Austin. With traffic, getting to your apartment can take anywhere from twenty to forty-five minutes, depending on how fast you're willing to go and how many red lights you can pass under. Joel gets there in fifteen. You're still in the flouncy dress you bought specifically to torture him, but by the time you open the door for him, you're much less interested in making his life any more miserable than you already have over the past week. 

He doesn't hesitate to charge into your apartment, grab your face, and kiss you like his life depends on it. His tongue sweeps over your bottom lip, and you open to him, clinging to him as his hands move from your face to the backs of your thighs to pick you up. You squeal in surprise and lock your legs around his waist to bring him closer and keep yourself from falling. Even though he obviously came over the phone at the same time you did, he's hard again and pressing against your bare pussy. He hisses when you grind against him, and his jaw clenches as he pulls away like he's in pain.

"Where's your bedroom?" He asks, wide eyes searching the hallway behind you.

"First door on the left." You say as you duck your head to kiss his neck. He sighs and indulges in the feeling of your tongue against his skin before he finally finds his feet and stumbles into your bedroom. You're halfway through marking him before he lays you down and immediately rucks his hands up your thighs, spreading them apart and making you whine. 

"You okay?" He asks, stopping all movement to scan over your face for any signs of discomfort. You nod and reach for the buttons of his jeans.

"Yes. Just need you." You say. 

"Are you sure?" 

"Joel, I just came from the sound of your voice. Yes, I'm fucking sure." You say, a little frenzied as you pull at the hem of his shirt. He laughs as he pulls it over his head and quickly unzips his jeans. 

"Feisty." 

"Can you blame me?" You ask, and he shakes his head. He tugs his jeans and his briefs down at the same time and unveils all of him to you in one go. He's beautiful. You knew he would be, but seeing the graying chest hairs and the pretty happy trail leading down to his hard cock in between his strong, tan thighs is an entirely different thing. You reach for him, desperate to feel the weight of him in your hands, but he stops you by slipping the tiny straps of your night gown down your arms. 

He carefully pulls the fabric down your body until it's pooled next to his clothes on the floor. His eyes fall to the black lines wrapping around your shoulders, and he draws his eyes to your collarbones and sternum, his breathing stuttering at the sight of you laid out under him. 

"So much prettier than I imagined." He murmurs as he ducks his head to kiss the valley between your breasts. You smile and run your hands through his curls as he mouths at your chest, leaving red marks in his wake and making you press him closer.

"How many times have you thought about this?" You ask. Has he always wanted you in the way you've wanted him? You're almost positive he has. There's no other way to explain the reverence with which he's looking at you. He's so wrapped up in you it's almost suffocating. Every time you glance at his face, he's staring at you with soft eyes and blown pupils. 

"Lost count." There it is. The confirmation. You grab at his ribs to bring him closer, pulling him over you to kiss him slow and deep. Despite the heat of him against you and the ache between your thighs, you both take the time to savor it. That is until his overthinking takes over. "I didn't bring a condom. Fuck, I was in a rush. I didn't think." He says quickly, like he's waiting for you to back out or push him away. You bring your thumb up to the worried wrinkle between his eyebrows and smooth it away, kissing his jaw.

"You think I would get you all worked up to not be prepared? C'mon, baby," you turn the nickname around on him, and he leans into your hand like a cat. "Top drawer." You say. He scrambles to your bedside table and grabs the first one he can find as you move onto all fours while he's distracted. You listen for the foil ripping and the subtle sound of the latex fitting over him. You can't stop the smirk from forming when he looks up and sees the sight in front of him.

"Fuckin' Hell," he mutters. Your back is arched perfectly, your hair gathered over your shoulder, and the tattoo you got done so many years ago is on display for him. "You are so goddamn perfect." He says as he presses his chest into your back and kisses your shoulder. He plants a few more kisses across your neck and back, making you wait longer than you already have, and just when you think you're going crazy, he slowly pushes into you and punches all the air from your lungs. 

He's big. Bigger than anyone you've been with before, and he seems to know that. He rolls his hips, and you moan, gripping at the sheets under you for stability as you adjust. His breathing is ragged behind you, and he groans when you involuntarily clench around him. "You okay?" He asks, his voice straining. His patience and self-control should be fucking studied. 

"Yeah, I'm okay." You assure him, and he nods. He starts to move slowly at first, but when you start whining and shaking under him, he snaps. You're both impatient. Months of following the rules and caring about what other people could think or say tumble out of your heads as he sets a rough pace. You've been dreaming about this and pushing it away since he walked into your classroom that day, and now that it's happening, you can't hide how desperate you are for him. You cry his name as he fucks into you deeply, no part of your bodies not touching, but it's still not close enough.

"You're so fuckin' good for me, baby. Jesus fuck," he moans into your ear, his uneven breaths echoing into your skull. "You feel so good." 

He sits back and brings you with him, changing the angle and forcing him deeper inside of you as his hand snakes around your waist and dips to play with your clit. You curse loudly and dig your nails into his forearm as bright pleasure courses through your veins. "'M gonna come if you keep doing that," you warn, your voice high and strained as he adds a little more pressure. 

"C'mon, honey, come on my cock for me. Please, I want it." It could be the slight whine in his voice or the fact that he's begging you for it, or the fact that the tight circles he's rubbing into your clit are making you see stars, but you come hard. You rely on him to hold you upright as he fucks you through your high, the slick between your thighs growing as his own orgasm washes over him, and he moans directly in your ear, an unexpected but not unpleasant gift. You think you could get off again just to the sounds he makes when he's coming. 

You stay like that for a second, wrapped up in each other and breathing hard with him still inside you, before he finally finds the courage to slip out of you with only a tiny pained moan. He carefully guides you onto your back, your bones jelly, and kisses your cheek before he pads off to the bathroom to throw away the used condom. 

It's quiet again in the apartment, but it's not lonely anymore. He makes himself at home in your space, asking if he can get water and snacks from your kitchen and walking around naked as the day he was born. "I wanna make sure you've got enough energy for round two." He says, making you laugh.

"Are you finally gonna make good on your promise to take your time with me?" 

"Fuck yeah." He says, coming back to kiss your lips one more time before walking to the kitchen. It's like if he goes a few minutes without tasting you, he can't function, or at least, that's what he makes it seem like. You're more than receptive to the attention and can only watch as he walks around. Your trust in your legs is not strong enough to get up just yet. 

In the domestic silence, it would be easy for your mind to run rampant with rogue thoughts and anxieties, but when Joel returns to the bedroom with snacks, bottles of water, and those stupidly sweet eyes, they get pushed to the back burner. He gets under the covers and pulls you into him, his warm body grounding you to this moment and not letting your thoughts stray. He presses kisses to your hair and your face every so often as you talk about everything and nothing. 

Somehow, it feels natural, like you've been doing this the whole time or like everything was leading up to this. Maybe it was. Still, you'll need to talk about this. You know you will.

Just... not yet.

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