#hippie cowboy
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daddysmusicblog · 9 months ago
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Summer vibes
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cowgurrrl · 1 year ago
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“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
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queenofthemagazines-stp73 · 8 months ago
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I don't ♡ elvis btw
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uschigirlie · 2 months ago
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isralelz · 7 months ago
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my cowboy oc and my hippie oc and theyre dating. theyre both from texas. and theyre both transgender. 🎉🎉🎉
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swappin ideas with @your-unfriendlyghost n stealin his amazin art ask that yall need to go check out NOW
pick one of my shitty sketchy fits n an outsiders character n drop it in my inbox n I'll give u a doodle!!!
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mylittlestims · 11 months ago
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hello once again my good friend!! I was wondering if you would be willing to make a stimboard for Tree Hugger x Trouble Shoes x Zecora? You can use whatever aesthetic you feel fit!
Thank you again and have a great day!!
-🌈
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TroubleTreeCora | Troubleshoes x Tree Hugger x Zecora Stimboard for 🌈 anon!
(X) (X) (X)
(X) (X) (X)
(X) (X) (X)
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alaskashigh · 1 year ago
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“texacali!” “yorkcali!”
stfu all three of em’ kiss and do gay shit
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charredtoad · 10 months ago
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Choose your fighter!
Toad Edition
📷 🐦
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cowgurrrl · 1 year ago
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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??
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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."
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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.
TAGLIST: @abbyhaslongshorts @kiwiharrykiwi @sumsworldz @myloveistoolittle @anavatazes @marantha @cosmoscoffeee @shyminnie07 @beezusvreeland @eddiemunsonsbedroom @harriedandharassed @doodlebob-mp3 @ignorethisplz2004 @buckyispunk @d1lf-loverrr @vee-bees-blog @moel-jiller @anoverwhelmingdin @casssiopeia @maried01
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angelsdean · 1 year ago
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wouldn't be a gender pinterest board without a chunk of jensen images:
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one-winged-dreams · 5 months ago
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I'm still waiting on this sticker I bought to ship
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and it's got me thinking about Jean again
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mar1g0ldie · 10 months ago
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My best friend took pics of me under the shade
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gypsylotusrose · 2 years ago
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hartbreakingdad · 8 months ago
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That kiss a cowboy pin really worked for me that night
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cowgurrrl · 1 year ago
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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
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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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