19. She/her. September libra. I create works for Matt Dillon Characters. I LOVE The Outsiders, Gilmore Girls, and Twin Peaks. Mentally married to Matt Dillon. I love 60s and 70s fashion and music. Currently trying to write my own book.
~ I would like to make some friends on here so feel free to ask anything! ︎ ❤︎
favourite artists: Ethel Cain, Mazzy Star, Lana Del Rey, Fleetwood Mac, The Doors,
(Reminder that I do occasionally post nsfw things, each post will be labelled as such so read at your own discretion)
Okay drunk rant…. I’ve missed you all and this blog so muchhh and all my mutuals on here! Summer is coming up so I’m automatically more into my outsiders etc era but truth be told I haven’t been much into writing, it takes too much out of me atm. I do eventually hope to come back to it esp my preachers daughter series which I started half a year ago, I have the full plot down just nothing written. Anyways I just wanted to say this blog has not been abandoned it’s just taking some time but I’m always here! Love you all 🫶🫶🫶
♱ Dallas Winston x Preacher’s daughter reader au ♱
Welcome to my Preacher's Daughter by Ethel Cain au! Each chapter is named after a song in the track list but the plot is very loosely based on the original Preacher's Daughter, mainly just inspired. Much love!
♱ Family Tree (Intro)
Summary: Enduring the cold ritual of mass, carrying the hidden scars of her father’s violence, the Preacher’s daughter is troubled by Dallas Winston’s increasingly constant presence. Her fragile world begins to shake; nothing feels safe anymore.
Warnings: fem!reader, negative attitudes towards religion, abuse, violence, domestic violence, troubled family dynamics
January 3rd, 1966. A new year, though it didn’t feel like one.
Winter had carved the town hollow–biting cold and lands still bare, but the knowledge that the ice was slowly beginning to thaw was enough for small surges of positivity to pump through their veins.
In South East Tulsa, it was quite the opposite. Once the Christmas lights came down, every trace of warmth vanished with them. The streets left damp and murky; the town silent.
There was some optimism to be found. Communities came together, particularly during mass, to celebrate and share the few joys that could be appreciated during these bleak times.
You had just finished a reading at the altar. Your voice still faintly echoed throughout the hall, the congregation absorbing the message of the scripture, faces blank.
This was your daily bread, aiding your father with his preaching in the small decrepit Chapel that stood almost at the edge of town along the rubbled path.
It was the only time you felt connected to your family, to the sweet innocence of youth that you craved for every day, yet no amount of desperate prayers ever brought it back to you. Smoothing your cream prairie dress, you bowed at the altar and joined them at the first mahogany pew. You could feel the cold stone floors through your shoes.
Most of it felt like hypocrisy, no matter how hard you tried to play the role of the lovely Preacher’s daughter.
Your attention slipped, the reverb of your father’s voice weaving itself along the cross-shaped scars that marred your soul as you watched the dust drifting in the candlelight.
It was easier to dissociate from the harrowing truths that lurked behind the walls of your family’s house, both the physical and the spiritual. Thinking about them left your oesophagus burning and your eyes stinging.
Heat crawled up your neck as you twisted the hem of your dress, tightening the fabric around your fingers. Each wound splintered your skin more than it could bear, nightmares plagued with the memory of your most recent beating at the hands of your father, the image of your mother’s indifferent expression scorching your brain, leaving you feverish.
Shoulders stiff and jaw tensed, your body shifted naturally into position.
Your mother glanced at you with a tight lipped smile, eyes gleaming with the reflection of the flickering candlelight.
You pitied her. She was trapped like you but too afraid to admit it. With nowhere to run, not that you thought she would be capable of mustering up enough courage to ever do so, she had to keep up her image of the Preacher’s wife, gentle and kind.
The fate had already fucked you sideways. You were born into a family tree filled with disease, roots rotted, only a few green leaves clung to the branches that ached under the weight of illness, the blanket of a façade still had to remain.
You often found yourself wondering when it would all fall apart. Would it end with you swinging by your neck from those very branches?
For now it didn’t matter. Each day blurred into the next, none less muddy than the one before.
After Mass, your father looped his arm through yours, causing your body to tauten, legs trembling with every step your saddle shoes made with the stairs outside the church doors.
You turned the corner at the end of the Church path with your family, tired eyes making contact with a particularly intense scene, Dallas Winston thrashing around in the grasp of two police officers, curse words rolling off his tongue like nothing at all.
This was nothing unusual. Greasers were always getting into trouble with the authorities, but you rarely saw it up close. It was more distressing than you cared to admit.
Though Dallas hardly appeared to care, a sarcastic smirk still plastered on his face, which only widened when he watched your picture-perfect family pass by. He tilted his head and blew you a dramatic kiss. Your father seethed.
“You better watch yourself Winston. Keep your filth away from my daughter and my church.”
Dallas’s smirk widened into a full grin as he got shoved into the police car, glancing once more at you through the tinted window, his gaze lingering for too long, causing your skin to shiver. The sound of police radio-static filled your head.
Dallas Winston was becoming more of a pervasive presence in your life.
Ever since you had run into him at the station, your father reporting a small theft from the church garden, arms flailing all over the place as the officers attempted to calm him down as he yelled, “Who would be depraved enough to steal from a church of all places?” Dallas was there, grabbing his belongings and marching towards the door, it was impossible to miss the strange double take he made at you on his way out.
Now he always stood lurking on streets you happened to walk, eyes roaming all over you. You didn’t quite understand what his sudden interest was in you, if you could even call it that, you were probably just another amusement to him, another challenge.
“Been talkin’ to that greaser scum recently?”
Your father’s voice pulled you from your thoughts as you stirred absentmindedly at your soup, metal clinking against the china bowl.
“Pardon, Daddy?”
“Winston.”
You noticed how his grip tightened around his spoon, your mother’s eyes were already flitting between the two of you.
“No. No I haven’t.”
“Then why was he lookin’ at ya like a piece of meat?”
The kitchen table shook with the force of his words.
“He was? I don’t know, I didn't notice anything.”
You attempted to act casual, reaching for another piece of bread, but your father grabbed your wrist and yanked you towards him as he rose, the chair legs scraping across the floor.
Your mother flinched, a small gasp escaped her and you momentarily lost your balance, almost spilling your soup across the table had you not managed to steady yourself.
“Don’t. Lie. To. Me.”
“I’m not lying!”
His palm met your cheek with a sharp slap. You winced, hand flying up to feel the sting bloom across your face.
“Do not raise your voice at me. If I see so much as him looking at you, I’ll make sure he prays he was in a jail cell. As for you–you know what will happen!”
With that he stormed away from the dining room, the room suddenly eerily silent as you shook, trying to hold back tears.
Your mother reached her hand out to you.
“Sweetie-”
“Don’t.”
You ran straight up to your room, cursing the home you lived in, cursing the life you had, and most of all, cursing Dallas Winston.
HI OMG i have a request because i love love love your writing 💕💕💕
i was thinking maybe Dallas Winston and a reader who’s very fragile? maybe she had an ex boyfriend who was very like firm and aggressive on her? IDK i feel like that’s so stupid. you can write it however you want but idk maybe that could be the theme??? ITS UP TO U
sorry if it’s stupid😭😭😭
LOVE U🤗
Thank you for the request (not stupid at all)! I hope you enjoy! 🤍
Warnings: fem reader, harassment, mentions of past abuse
Loud. Crowded. Stuffy. Those were the words that came to mind when thinking of the infamous greaser gatherings that took place at Buck’s bar. It was really the last place you wanted to be, and the last place Dallas wanted you to be, without him, of course. He had said many times that wandering around without him there was dangerous and vaguely alluded to incidents that had occurred with even some of the tougher greaser girls who knew how to throw a punch; he didn’t want to even think what could happen to the girl who walked facing the ground to avoid stepping on little insects crawling around.
Not that he thought you were dumb or unable to take care of yourself – you had displayed immense strength in ways he would always secretly admire you for – but you alone late at those parties would be a very stupid act in itself.
Nonetheless, there you stood, a few feet away from the door, illuminated only by the neon sign reflecting in the puddles. The earthy scent of freshly rain-soaked grass filled your nostrils, and bitter wind lashed across your cheeks as you chewed your cracked lips, debating turning around and running home. The last thing you needed right now was harassment.
Though surely Dallas was only ever exaggerating. Nearly everyone knew who you were; no one really ever dared to mess with you due to the fear of getting their teeth knocked out and ribs broken.
Today had been a harrowing day. Little things piling up until you felt your chest tighten and head pound. Not to mention the sudden brutal change in weather that had your bones quivering, your little blue sweater wrapped as tight as possible across your trembling torso.
You just wanted Dallas. Wanted him to hold you in his bed that smelt so distinctly of him; even if it wasn’t the nicest scent, it was the most comforting one in the world to you.
You knew you wouldn’t have to ask twice; just glare silently at him until he sighed, lifting the edge of his covers so you could slide in.
Just thinking about it made your heart clench, and before you knew it, you could hear gravel crunching under your boots as you marched towards the door.
You’d go in, not so much as glance at anyone, and head straight up the stairs to the room Dallas was often in. He might get annoyed, but he’d get over it the minute you kicked off your boots and curled up in his bed.
Twisting the icy brass doorknob, you slipped in, immediately clouded with the dizzying stench of cigarette smoke and liquor.
You tried to “sorry” and “excuse me” your way through, but the crowd swallowed every word, leather-clad elbows knocking into your side with not so much as a grunt for an apology.
Once you had finally caught sight of a clear path to the stairs, you had also unfortunately caught sight of a towering, stocky figure looming by the staircase. A greaser whose name you currently couldn’t remember; just Dallas’s constant warnings of his sheer ruthlessness flooded your mind. Even Dallas said that he avoids him at all costs, so you could only begin to imagine what he was capable of.
You figured you’d just stand in the corner for a bit until they would surely eventually move elsewhere.
That lasted for about two minutes before you noticed some guy staggering over to you, licking his alcohol-coated lips in a manner that had you cringing and darting straight for the stairs.
Just your luck, the greaser Dallas warned you about was still planted right by the stairs, not to mention he now had two almost equally broad guys beside him.
Panic rooted you in place. The man was on you instantly, still licking his lips in that disgusting manner.
His grimy hands clamped onto your waist, trying to pull you in for a dance.
You gasped and desperately tried to tear his hands off of you, but he just squeezed harder, leaning into your neck to mumble something in your ear, his breath reeking of pure filth.
“C’mon, pretty thing. I’m just asking for one dance. Don’t ever get the luxury of seeing something as gorgeous as you in here.”
Before you could calm down and even begin to think of the appropriate thing to do next, a voice yelled from across the room.
“Hands off, fucker.”
Dallas was beside you in an instant, pummeling his fist into the man’s side, and you watched him cower back in unsuspected pain and fear.
Just as quickly as everything happened, Dallas gripped your wrist with strength he had never used on you and dragged you straight up to the room.
He didn’t even turn to look at you once. Good. You felt embarrassingly fat tears build up in your eyes.
Once he locked the door, he finally faced you and released your wrist, causing you to wince. He looked terrifyingly furious.
“What the fuck were you doing down there? Do you have a single fucking brain cell in that head of yours or what?”
You remained silent. He had never been so harsh with you; you were beginning to feel all those horrible feelings that you had just recently been able to convince yourself were all behind you now, just an ugly stain in your past.
“How many fucking times did I tell you not to ever wander around there alone?”
Silence followed.
“Answer me for fuck’s sake, or do I need to smack some sense into you, huh?”
At that you visibly flinched, your body curling in on itself as it had been taught to do so many times before.
“What the fuck…?”
Dallas inhaled sharply and tried to calm down, reaching his hand out to lift your chin, only for you to distance yourself as far as you could.
“Hey, c’mon, don’t do that. Look at me.”
You remained as you were, silent and unmoving save for the small tremble of your body.
“Y’know, I don’t mean that I just—I just got so angry seeing what happened when it was something that could have easily been avoided. Something I’d told you about many times.”
“Can you please look at me?”
He sounded cautious, confused, and almost apologetic. You raised your head ever so slightly, breathing heavily.
“What’s going on?”
You knew there was no way to escape telling him now. You had been together for a few months, and to be entirely honest, it was a miracle you had managed to keep it hidden this whole time.
“Um, I—”
More tears streamed down your face.
“Slow down, doll, you’re okay.”
“Um, you know my ex, the one I dated around a year before you?”
Dallas nodded, but you noticed the way his lip curled slightly at the mention of another guy.
“Well, he, um – he was always really aggressive, always grabbing me too tight, and when he’d get really mad, he – he would…”
Your voice trailed off, unable to say anymore. You let out a small broken cry, and Dallas could only watch in clear discomfort, hands awkwardly planted at his sides as he tried to guess what to say or do next.
“I’m sorry, it’s my fault I ignored what you said, and now I’m getting all upset over nothing—”
“No, hey. Come sit with me, please?”
Dallas sat on the edge of his bed, watching as you hesitantly followed.
“I’d never lay a hand on you.”
He wasn’t sure what else to say; he just needed you to know.
“I know Dal.”
You leaned into him, allowing him to wrap an arm around your shoulders.
“What that bastard did – you didn’t deserve that.”
His jaw was clenched as he spoke, anger seething within at the thought of someone hurting you. Your ex was lucky he had moved out of Tulsa.
“I’m sorry for scarin’ you.”
Dallas whispered.
“It’s okay. Lie down with me? I had a shitty day, and that was the only reason I came here in the first place.”
“Yeah c’mere sweets.”
He pulled you under the covers with him and held you close to his chest, his hand sliding under your shirt to rub your back.
“Call here first next time so I can come find you, okay?
You nodded, sinking into the warmth and his scent that you had been aching for all day.
