#them sweet cowboys (neither of them are cowboys) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

johnpriceslamb · 1 year ago

Note

hey! i really love ur writing! are your requests open?? if they are would you maybe write another arthur x reader fic? maybe something with arthur introducing his new girlfriend to the gang for the first time? thank uuu!!😊

𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝓯𝓪𝓲𝓻𝔂 ,

❥ ˚₊‧ swishswishswish prattles the pink-tinted brush within your nimble hold. Each delicate tap against the swell of your soft cheeks swell even more with colour, adorning a scent you were far too familiar with— cherry-kissed by love herself. ˚₊‧

𝓑𝓔𝓕𝓞𝓡𝓔 𝓨𝓞𝓤 𝓟𝓡𝓞𝓒𝓔𝓔𝓓 ! ꒰ ❥ hyper-feminine ! reader ❥ female ! reader ❥ reader is mentioned to be physically shorter than characters mentioned below ❥ lovesick Arthur Morgan ❥ super-shy reader ❥ rugged cowboy bf x mini baker gf ❥ fluff ❥ Age gap implied ❥ 7k words ꒱

❥ arthur morgan x female! reader

꒰🍰꒱ “SWEET GATEAU” Written in all bold, the colour pink, carved in cursive. The board swings heavily amidst the top of the pole that sticks out to show off the demure place.

That was the name of your workplace. Located in the most populated city in the state of Lemoyne, Saint Denis. It was an obvious spot for cakes and pastries, considering that the literal meaning of ‘Gateau’ was cake in French. It stands out from most buildings surrounding it as do the connected shops beside it- large windows to display the sweet delicacies of riches on little shelves for those to glance at when passing by.

More-so.. advertising then teasing, you'd say.

The comforting, delicious fragrance of vanilla extract fills the air. You have yet to work on other requests commissioned by customers, though you focus solely on this particular order. Mainly because it was the easiest and much quicker to prepare.

A simple sponge plain cake with vanilla icing. Couldn’t be too hard.

You’re quite tempted to take a little swipe of the wet cream and taste it yourself- fortunately your temptations resist yet again because of repetition and practice. tiktiktik does the whisk in your hand go as it constantly scrapes against the bowl, the mixture hardens and becomes more of a fluffy-like texture rather than a wet clump of nice smelling liquid.

The comforting sound of the fire crackles with faint embers floating amongst the brick-encased oven. Inside the oven lay two lovely little flat cakes. Just exactly twenty minutes ago you’ve bestowed them upon a wooden flat board to dish out near the heat to harden up.

“Ten more minutes..” You mumble to yourself. Enough time to finish whisking the vanilla icing and pour into a pipe-bag.

You admire the prettiness of the sweet-tasting icing which was coated inside the surface of the bowl, before glancing at the paper-filled request again to make sure that you’ve been following the guide correctly. Thankfully enough, the woman who requested the small two layered cake wrote it on a piece of paper rather than verbally out loud. Her hand-writing was lovely, and so was she. At the end of the piece of paper, her signature was written out—

‘Mary-Beth. :-). Please do not forget the cherry on top !!!!’

You can’t help but giggle softly at the absurd amount of exclamation marks she wrote down. She was quite bubbly, and that lady was- very excited. From the looks of her- you were just at least a year or so younger than her. You remember she adorned a long skirt, dark pink in colour.. with her hair in a half down half updo. Freckles prettily placed on her skin. You recall stating to come pick up her order at around 8 in the morning tomorrow. The clock strikes 6 A.M. Two more hours until she can pick up her cake!

Long, dewy lashes tinker at the sound of the bells at the door jingling as a person enters. You were quick on your feet, miniature ribbon-tipped slippers softly tapping on the ceramic floor of this building, curiously peeking your dainty head from the corner. Another rich man seemed to peer around curiously at all the pastries and such inside, pondering if he should buy a few sweets. You weren’t one to really socialise, neither was he- from the looks of it. You could only offer the sweetest smile you could etch onto your face and shyly nod as he turned to you to acknowledge you, before returning back to the kitchen hidden from customers to work on the cake.

He could just ring the bell on the front counter to get your attention.

It was common for people to enter the little bakery, though at around 10-2 is when chatter becomes louder and you become more frantic.

And with that- ten minutes has passed. You clumsily get the cakes out of the oven and place it on the kitchenette's bench. Hot and rough-looking around the edges.. You could probably cover it up with the icing.

Before you do, you cover the first layer with the fluffy icing, before plopping the second layers on. This job was very therapeutic, you considered.

Droop does the vanilla sweetening go as you drown the plain cake with the sweet icing. Delicate swipes of a butter knife allowing it to smoothen amongst the hardened surface of the spongy delicacy. Plop! One little swirl of icing on top. And another.. and another.. Until it surrounds the whole edge of the cake. Oh, don’t forget! One big swirl in the middle of the cake, where the cherry shall be placed upon.

You can’t help but decorate the sides with little frosted hearts, the piping bag in your hand ever so sturdy as it squeezes most of the remaining out and onto the lovely decorated cake.

Was the decoration necessary? No, not really. But did it make you feel bubbly? Yes.

Ding!

You hear the sound of the silver bell reverberating against the metal itself just a few times from outside the kitchenette. You blink a few times, before toddling out and back at the counter. Seemed like the man from earlier had already decided on what to buy.

The sound of your meek, tiny voice can be heard echoing about and bouncing back to you. It was rather empty, considering that it was 6 in the morning-

“Welcome to Sweet Gateau! Where all your tastebuds experience sweet wonder and satisfaction. How may I help you?” Recitation of the same line allows you to memorise the whole thing completely. Sometimes you do change it up a bit just to have a bit of fun.

The man blinks at you.

He looks around before narrowing his eyes at you, sizing you up- albeit.. confused.

You want to ask what's wrong, did he perhaps get the shops wrong?

Perhaps it was his old eyes, or the way he perceived people by appearance. Maybe the tuft of pink on your uniform, or maybe the way you style your hair with ribbons and such. But looking at you, you looked as if you were just a..

“...Does this business support child labour?”

You stammer.

꒰🍰꒱ You are not one to argue with customers. Or argue at all.

But you’ve had to greatly convince the man that this place does not in fact, recruit people under the age of fourteen to work. He stumbles over his words as he realises that you were not actually in early adolescence, and to affirm his apology, he tips you a dollar. The wooden door which was pulled back allows the sweet little bells hung on top to jingle gently yet again as you see his retreating form with the paper bag of biscuits and sugary delicacies.

You smile happily. Another customer satisfied! though.. confused.

The clock strikes 7. One more hour until the lady can pick up her cake.

With a hum that sounded more like a serenade, you pack the cake into a small frilly-looking box, a sort of see-through material shaped in an oval which was built inside the frail box to allow the person to see the decorated cakes. Your beady eyes shimmer at the leftover frosting inside the piping bag.. maybe you could just have a little..

Your temptations are yet again disrupted by a flood of customers coming in. It was a Saturday, of course people were shopping at early dawn. The small crowd amidst the bakery mainly consisted of young ladies in friend groups admiring the pretty delicacies around, rich elderly retrospectively adorning the sweets from their childhood.

A squeak and a babble of incoherence once many line up, you're quick on your tippy toes to heat a tea-pot up with water near the brick-encased oven and organise many distributions of loose tea leaves.

Sometimes, you wonder if people did genuinely acknowledge their health since eating cakes and biscuits and other sweet stuff in the early morning wasn't really considered the healthiest breakfasts. Though, at least you earned a fair paycheck at the end.

A pretty smile feigned on your face until your apple-blossomed cheeks strained, as you recited the line over and over again to many customers who pointed at the delicacies they wanted to buy and eat. The fragrance of chocolate, vanilla, red velvet, it swirls into one and becomes a potent scent which drives more and more to eat up. You can’t help the giddy smile and the apple-blossom swelling with colour on your cheeks as you shyly peer at everyone who eats the pastry with delight. You’ve baked a few of the treats that linger in the bakery, and the soft moan at the end of the bite which signifies great pleasure in eating your own baked sweets allows your tummy to flutter with butterflies.

The tip jar starts to slowly fill every ten minutes. Quarters shine and tinker within the glass container, bidding every donation with a pleased 'thank you!' and a little wink.

It’s been an hour or so. Mary-Beth has yet to pick up her cake.

As if on cue, the bells attached on-top of the door chimes, producing the same little melodic drag. You look up to see the lady you were thinking about! Mary-Beth, if you recall correctly. You wave at her with a happy smile, and she reciprocates with a big grin obviously excited to see the order. From behind her slightly taller figure in comparison to you was followed by three more ladies, admiring the shop with a soft coo and a gasp.

“I told y'all this bakery was cute!” Said-woman falls with a bemused smile on her face.

“Twenty-five cents for a whole brownie! What a catch,” One nudges another.

“It has caramel in it!! C’mon Abigail, we oughta!” The lady with blonde hair almost whines, “It’ll be a good surprise for lil’ Jack!”

“Mh, I don’t know Karen..”

Mary-Beth eagerly comes to the counter, her dark rosetta coloured skirt swishing around as she does. “Hello, miss [name]!”

You smile in return, wiping your powered-up hands on your frilly light-pink apron, “Hi, Miss Gaskill. Your vanilla glazed cake is done. Are you here to eat in or to take out?” As nimble as you were, you can’t help but be comforted by the lady’s presence. A sunshine amongst a field of closed sun-flowers.

She almost seemed surprised at your words. Perhaps the usual shops that she went in did not offer such things. She ponders, before calling out to the three women who still stare at all the sweets on display, arguing with each other whether or not they should buy a few sweets, “Would you all mind quieting down!?”

You can’t help but softly giggle under your breath.

You patiently wait for Mary’s answer, that small grin still plastered on your face.

“Hm..” She hums, “Do you perhaps have spare plates and serviettes..?” She meekly asks.

“Of course!” You nod sweetly, “Give me a moment to prepare a table would you?” “Oh! Okay,” She beams.

As you pass by, all of the girl’s bid you a “hi!”, “lovely place!” “hello!” You respond to them with a wave and a smile.

“She’s very pretty,” The black-haired girl whispers to Mary-Beth. She nods immediately at her response.

“She really is,” She agrees, “So lovely too! I think she's got to be the nicest girl I've ever met in Saint Denis.”

As the chatter in the bakery by other folks becomes a tad bit louder, you're too busy preparing four serviette-adorned plates. You nod to the lady waiting, she bickers with the others and allows them to toddle on over and take a seat. The legs of the chair scrape at the floorings below, some are mindful about the fact and instead of dragging it, they slightly elevate it to eliminate the scratchings.

“Oh! Right, would you like me to cut the cake?” You graciously ask.

She smiles and politely nods, “Yes please!”

Their prattling drowns out in silence as you waddle away back in the kitchenette to cut the cake.

Mary-Beth smiles at the other girls.

“So? How do y’all like it here?”

“It’s real fancy in here,” Abigail responds calmly, “Real pretty, though.”

“Mhm. Anywho.. How much did you pay for the cake?” Her blonde haired friend asks. She fiddles with the napkin on the plate, before placing it beside the food holder. She inhales the scent of the bakery, sighing sweetly.

She sheepishly grins, “Err.. five dollar.”

“I— Mary-Beth! My goodness..”

“Tilly, I promise you. It’s gon’ be real good!” She nudges the girl in the yellow dress.

"I better see miracles happening once I take a bite out of the cake," Karen- the blonde haired woman scoffs, allowing herself to get comfortable in the chairs. The two women beside her softly giggle at her bluntness.

The bold, sweet odour of the sugary vanilla glacé hits their nose, arriving with a slight wiggle inside the box as you carefully place it in the middle. Mary-Beth was the first to gently take the lid off, she gasped at the small decorations at the side. Little piped hearts.. "My, oh my.."

"Now, ain’t that just the cutest little thing i’ve ever seen?" Tilly coos.

You do a little curtsey, tipped with a sugary smile and doll your wispy lashes. "Enjoy, ladies!"

"Ah ah, wait a moment now- hold on!" Mary-Beth frantically stammers and tries to get your attention with a squeak once your small back is turned to them. It does, fortunately.

You turn back around, curious. Your head is slightly tilted to embody your confusion, beady eyes staring at the ladies whom seem to also want to keep you back here.

"I've seen you runnin' all about and uhm.. Do you ever take breaks, miss?" She curiously asks.

You blink. Was she offering..?

"I do," You respond truthfully, albeit shyly.

She sheepishly smiles, "Would you perhaps.. Like to enjoy this with us?"

You stammer, "I-I uhm, I'm not sure about that-"

The woman in blonde cuts you off, "Awh, c'mooon! C'mere and sit, girl. You need a damn break."

You hesitate again. "No, really-"

"Ahh, give us a break- c'mere now!" She cuts you off easily. The one whom insisted on you sitting down with them grabs a chair from an empty table, before easily plopping you down.

"What's yer name, lil' lady?" She asks with a smile.

You grin with a docile muse, saying hi to the other girls, "It's [name]."

"Ooh! Purdy name for an even purdier girl." She cheekily pats your pixie-like shoulder. Your cheeks pop with colour at her low-toned flirting

"I'm Karen, that's Tilly, Abigail, and of course, Mary-Beth. A pleasure to meet your acquaintance, little miss [name].”

Another girl pipes up, “Do you work here all alone, [name]?” Tilly— the one with the pretty yellow sundress asks with interest. She admires the interior of the building, how the edges of the roof had little floral pastry designs, on-going around the whole building and to the hidden kitchenette behind.

“Mhm!” You nod. Abigail raises her brows up, leaning slightly on the table. She has the mother-like aura which makes you feel ever-so giddy. She’s hushed in her tone, worried that she might make a scene if she spoke too loud, “Excuse me for intrudin’ but.. Ain't you a little… too young to be running this store all by yourself?”

“Ah!” Your cheeks become darker in hue. “I’m of legal age to work, miss. It’s just the frills ‘n the bows.”

Tilly was the first to serve herself a slice. She takes a small bite from the sweet delicacy, icing oozing out inside as she lets out a delightful hum. She finishes chewing it, before her eyes twinkle and she turns to you, “My goodness! And you baked this all by yourself?”

“Uhuh, I��m so glad you like it.” You clasp your hands together happily. Mary-Beth is eager to get a slice, then Abigail, then Karen.

“Okay, maybe the dollar was kind of worth it for this cake..” Karen mumbles quietly, poking her fork at the sweet cake.

Mary-Beth cheekily nudges Tilly’s shoulder, “Seeee? I knew you’d like it.”

You look around, noting yourself that you should give them something to drink to drown that sucrose-filled treat. You excused yourself from the table, the little frills etched on the back of your small skirt bobbling about like a tiny princess toddling about. You’re quick to bringing a teapot over, with a few porcelain-like cups stacked on top as you gently place it on the table.

“Wait- er.. Does the tea cost extra?” Mary-Beth asks, raising a finger before lowering it down as it catches your attention.

You raise a brow, “It’s free.”

“I could quite literally kiss you right now,” She beams, allowing you to pour the hot tea in the cups which were given out to the women around.

The overall vibe amongst the interior was pleasant. The small, gossamer-bunched bonnet on your head tilts a bit as you lean down to tip the fragile teapot.

As you carefully pour the hot liquid, you hear them conversing with each other as usual. Though you tend to take a blind eye- or ear in this case, you can’t help but be a tad bit curious to their little gossip.

“D’you reckon we should’ve invited Molly over?” Abigail asks.

“Oh- Maybe. I feel like she'll like it here, but I also have this feeling she’ll just fan herself away and give us nasty looks the whole time.” Tilly mumbles, delicately cooing out a 'thank you' as you poured a cup of tea for her. The tea swishes and sloshes against the cup as she drinks from it with her pinkie out.

Karen snorts, "You're so right. Just one touch from Dutch, and she's ready to take over the world. Miss primp and polish she is till' mister Dutchie doesn't give her a lick of affection."

Mary-Beth gasps softly, "Karen!" She calls her name as if to scold her, only for a small chuckle to follow after.

Your curiosity is visible, but you don't say anything. You're one to entertain gossip, but you aren't one to prod- considering that you've only met these lovely ladies.

They finished the small cake in another hour. Currently, you were situated behind the mini counter serving a few customers amongst the treats they wanted to buy.

"Ah, that was real good." Abigail wipes her mouth with the napkin provided, in a more rushed sense- an underlying feeling that she wasn’t so used to these kinds of etiquette.

"Maybe we should buy sumthing! We ain't gonna visit 'Denis for a while unless if we like- beg Arthur or sumn' to come wit', so I reckon we should give ourselves a little treat after all the things we've been through."

"We should buy them caramel brownies.."

"C'mon, c'mon! Lets get it then," Karen ushers Tilly and Abigail out of their seats once they've finished up, Mary-Beth following after with a giggle.

"[name]! These brownies cost twenty-five cents a bar don't they?" Mary-Beth calls out, pointing at the display at the front. Oozing with caramel delight, encased with a delicious chocolate coating which makes her swoon at the beautiful sight.

"It does, yes." You nod with a shy smile.

"Goodness, [name]. These prices are kinda high.. Reckon' you can give us a lil'.. discount? Y'know! Since we're friends!" Karen winks.

You shyly ponder, "Mhh.. Alright, why not?" As said before, you weren't really one to argue. Besides, they were sweet girls.

"Woo-hoo!" They cheer with a giggle, before eagerly grabbing the little tong at the side to grab a slice.

"A bar of brownie.. 20 cents." You bargain.

Karen shrugs, "Good enough." And she hands you the coins.

You hear them all bidding you a good-bye, and a cheeky "Expect to see me here again!!"

The door closes, and you're left with the constant conversations on-going. You stare at the shining coins placed in your hands, and can’t help the pleasurable feeling of gentle-tipped joy flood your tummy.

꒰🍰꒱ Morning dawn comes.

Another day at the bakery.

You rise slowly from your beauty sleep. The silky gossamer curtains flow slightly from the wind, as the sun shines pink and yellow lights from the half open windows of your room. The wood creeks beneath your light footsteps as you grumble on to get ready for the morning.

Lazy pats of coloured light pink powder is gently flushed against your cheeks, the small ribbon-tipped brush rattles because of the amount of use it's been through. Your hair is done prettily, silky bows attached to the side which matches the coloured powder you put on your dewy face. It takes you a tad longer to arrange your morning routine into a real situation, until you're out of the door and walking on the path to the bakery.

Pushing past the entrance, you hear those bells chime a little ballad that was always memorable and will never be forgotten.

Though it may be a nuisance to look at the same things constantly, you are always reminded that this place was a safe-zone for anyone or anything. Mainly because at the entrance hangs a low sign on the door handle that entrees prohibit the use of weapons and must take it off before entering the store.

Suddenly, your thoughts are interrupted as the entrance opens to the same women from yesterday. Though, two older men are accompanying them from behind, albeit.. begrudgingly.

"-I don't think this store is the right thing f' me.." He grumbles, you can see from behind the counter that Abigail was holding his hand, perhaps her lover. She glares and hisses at him, pinching his arm. "Quiet, you."

"Y'sure this place sells them biscuits I like?" The one in dirty blonde seemed low-key embarrassed to be in here, scratching at his head as he looks around. His hat is tilted to obscure his eye-sight. Your curious eyes widen a bit as his own stares at yours. You quickly avert your eyes with a soft blush etched on your cheeks.

"They sell all kinds of sweets 'n' delicates," Tilly pipes up, slightly hitching her long skirt up with her thumb and index finger. Shoes clack gently against the floral-designed tiles, eyes wandering around the familiar place. "I'm sure you'll find those dumb biscuits you keep talkin' about!"

"[name]!!" Mary-Beth was the first to run to the counter with a giddy smile, "Told ya I'd be coming back."

You have a small smile on your face, "Welcome back, miss Gaskill!" You do a tiny curtsey with your frill-bunched apron and skirt.

She giggles, "Goodness, [name]. You are too cute for your own good."

She perks up, "Ah! We brought a few friends over. This here's John," She points to the man who grumbled a 'hi', crossing his arms. He clearly does not want to be here. The woman who clings onto his arms scolds him quietly for being so ‘impolite’. You hide your lips behind your hand to stifle your soft giggle.

“That’s Arthur.” Mary-Beth points to the man who looks at the biscuits section. Topped with a black shirt and a vest which had a unique design, he seemed.. very determined to find those biscuits he mentioned earlier when entering the bakery. He looks around curiously, the little flower-y paint-job is something he expected for a small little bakery like this one here.

He’s holding onto his belt whilst striding to the counter lazily, before curiously looking at you. Cold, dark eyes peer at you like a lone wolf about to catch it’s prey for lunch. You meekly shrink just a bit as you feel him size you up with his daring gaze.

“Howdy, miss.” He greets casually.

You slowly nod, very shy with your greeting. Your quiet voice echoes loudly in his ears. He unconsciously has to lean just a bit to even hear you. “Hello, welcome to sweet Gateau..” A smile forms on your face as you see his brows relaxing slightly at your harmless form. Suddenly, he’s as bashful as a kid being told off for causing a ruckus. He looks around with a narrowed gaze, before looking back at you. A soft grunt escapes his lips.

“..Do ya’ll make uh.. Osborne biscuits?” He asks in a low tone.

You brighten up.

“Oh! Yes we do. Would you like a bag?” You ask with that same pixie-like smile which makes him soften up even more. Something.. catches his eye. He’s not sure what though.

“Ah, um.. Yes please, miss.” He tilts his head to obscure his eyes from your view.

You mumble a little ‘excuse me,’ to push yourself off your shoes to retrieve his request. He watches the way your fluffy-frilled skirt bobbles up and down.

Very.. cute.

A tap to his shoulder, and a soft snicker catches his attention. He turns around.

“Whuh.. What?” Arthur blinks at the three ladies who stare at him with a big grin. He was stunned at the abnormal behaviour they were currently showing off.

“Yer cheeks are real red.” Mary-Beth comments. Tilly has to hide her soft chuckle with her hand the corner of her eyes becoming alike of a crows feet to acknowledge her amusement.

“They are?” He quirks a brow, crossing his arms. Though imposing, he’s as docile as a lamb when it comes to the ladies, “Yer jokin’ with me.”

“Are not!” Karen laughs, “Don’t tell me you like her already. Ya’ll only just met!”

Arthur looks defensive, he narrows his eyes at the women in-front of him. “The hell you talkin’ bout?” He rests on the soles of his feet, nervously looking around. Anywhere but in their eyes.

“It’s as plain as daylight, cowpoke. No shame in hidin’ it, she’s real cute.”

Unaware of their conversations lingering in the background, you come back with the bag of Osborne biscuits. located within a transparent plastic bag and secured with a ribbon. A sticker in the middle with the bakery's emblem on it It rests delicately in your palm as you blithely toddle up front. The chatting suddenly ceases when you return.

“Apologies for taking a while,” You apologise sweetly, placing the biscuits on the counter. He brightens up entirely at the cute packaging of the biscuits he was craving for for so long.

“Don’t sweat it,” He opens the satchel hanging over his shoulder, “How much?”

“Fifty cents for a bag.” You watch him throw a few coins onto the counter. You smile sweetly, counting the coins before placing them inside the cash register. The swelling of your cheeks become just a tad bit more prominent as his fingers linger on yours to grab the bag out of your hand once you push it lightly in his direction.

You do a tiny curtsy. So much alike of a princess who expresses their gratitude to a king. “Thank you for ordering!”

He could only nod, scratching at his stubble as he awkwardly looked away. “Yeah. Uh.. No problem.”

“Do we really needa be feedin’ Jack all this? He’s gon’ be diabetic once he grows up if we keep feeding him this stuff..” John and Abigail bicker in the background which catches both of your attention. You can’t help the amused smile on your face at his comment. Though he was trying to be quiet, these walls echoed right back at you.

“Are.. They always like this?” You can’t help but question the sweet- or.. something couple from the back. It was cute in your eyes. Arthur can’t help the grin forming on his face.

“Their way of showing love I guess,” He leans on the counter with the biscuits in his hand. Then, he slowly turns his head to you, “Er.. What’s yer name?”

“[name],” You squeak in response to the handsome man.

He blinks. Without hesitation, he says with a soft hum— “Purdy name.”

Your cheeks become the same pigment of powder you apply on your temples. You look down at the ground, your hands behind your back as you can’t help the giddy smile on your face, “Thank you..”

Arthur is curious to learn more. He's fascinated by the personality you portray. With a pixie-like physique and a timid mindset akin to a doe, a stark contrast to his.

“How uh.. How long have you been workin’ here? In sweet..” He pauses awkwardly, trying to think of a way to say the final word in a mumble without looking or sounding ignorant.

“Gateau,” You finish his sentence for him with a light smile. He’s thankful that he didn’t hear a soft giggle at the end. Perhaps you were trying to save him from looking pitiful. Or maybe you were really just a decent-hearted girlie.

You do not notice the way the other ladies looked back at you and Arthur with a cheeky smile.

“Ah, yeah. Sweet Gateau,” He clears his throat with an oafish, low beam.

You can’t really remember the exact date you started working in this petite patisserie, but you give him a rough estimation of when you started. He nods with an interested hum, seemingly curious about your story. He didn’t seem like a man who would indulge in small-chat. But for you, he did.

“We’re leavin’, Arthur! We all got what we wanted!” One of the women calls out to him, causing him to be startled at the abrupt calling.

He clears his throat shyly again. “Ah.. Um.. I should get goin’. Only came here to see if ya’ll had ‘em in stock. Glad you guys did.” His words were nothing but gentle- waving even. As if Arthur didn’t want to leave just yet. You nod kindly, letting a tiny blossom of adoration to slowly develop inside your tummy.

“Come back next time,” You faintly add, shyly waving at him with a sweet beam.

He has a low smile, “Oh, I will.”

Your heart stammers a bit.

The door closes. The sound of multiple footsteps creaking amongst wooden floorboards is heard.

John’s looks at the cowpoke who strides next to him. He’s careful not linger near the dirt-path, noting to himself to not get his boots so dirty. A nudge to his arm is what gets Arthur away from his thoughts.

“What the hell was that?”

Arthur glowers. “What’s what?”

“Don’t play dumb, cowpoke. Saw how you looked at ‘er.”

“I don’t know what yer’ talkin’ about.”

The conversation ends there. Either John was becoming frustrated with his ignorance his words were stuck in his throat, or he gave up entirely to persuade the man’s attraction to the girl behind those doors.

꒰🍰꒱ To your utmost surprise, Arthur Morgan slowly yet surely becomes a common face within Sweet Gateau.

It’s not to say he was unwelcome in the premises, rather more.. how should you say this, amusing to say the least.

A man who stands firm and tall at a whopping 6’4 in height, who carries a gun at his side with a rifle almost as big as you- with a sharp gaze that could pierce your heart as quick as a glance in your direction, stands in a small bakery with light pink fairy-like cakes and floral themed walls. Perched up on a table with his little snack whilst scribbling down things on that journal he always took. You wonder what he writes about.

With his constant visits, it’s clear that you’ve down packed his order to your brain.

Osborne biscuits with a small cup of coffee.

You wonder if that man likes to torture himself with such blandness. No sugar, no milk, just coffee. It’s as bitter as it can be- if you can smell that bittersweet scent from just a few centimetres away.

Sometimes he would come up to you for a small chat to probably make you feel less lonely as you sweep away at a dusty corner for a few minutes straight. Other times he would just mind his own business, munching away on those plain biscuits he always orders.

It’s been a few weeks since seeing the other girls. Sometimes you ask Arthur to say hi to them for you, and he always comes back with a lazy grin saying that they miss you and hope you’re doing well despite only knowing each other for a few days.

The bell rings up front.

You know it’s him from the way he slowly strides to the counter, a quiet grunt escaping his lips as a faint jingle of spurs become evident the more he walks closely.

You truly cannot help the blossoming smile which etches on your face.

“Good afternoon, Mister Morgan. Welcome to sweet Gateau,” You welcome him with a slight lean on the counter. You can’t help that cheeky expression, “The usual?”

“Y’know me.” He nods at your words, “The usual, please.” Baritone and deep, his voice was. It almost sends a shiver down your spine.

You watch him turn his back to go sit at one of the more secluded spots in the bakery, deep into a corner. A diary in hand, with a pencil busily being worn down on the papers. The sounds of led scratching at the fibres of the white expansion of pages is heard easily from afar. It’s calming to say the least.

You’re quick with the order, almost giddy as you place the plate of those plain biscuits on his table with his bitter coffee. He gives you a small ‘thank ya’ kindly.’ before returning back to his sketching on something.

In just under twenty minutes will the bakery close. It’s quiet, with only a few people including Arthur relaxing in the wooden chairs placed within the interior.

You’re busy within the kitchenette, allowing the brick-encased oven to be put out completely. Washing up all the equipment you’ve used to make and create such food, soapy bubbles floating everywhere. The sounds of the door opening and closing is heard, many of the customers served leaving with a small tip inside that jar of yours up front.

Slowly yet surely, you wipe down the benches of the kitchenette before putting the rag back down. You walk up to the counter with a soft yawn from the tiring day.

A soft clearing of a throat catches your attention. You blink a few times and see Arthur.

“Oh! I thought you would’ve left a while ago,” You smile. Though you’re not very keen on customers staying five minutes before closing time, you’ll be very glad to make an exception for Arthur.

“Sorry, uh..” He awkwardly scratches at the back of his head, “Reckoned It’d be better to give this to you in private.”

You tilt your head sweetly, almost puppy-like. His heart squeezes at the simple yet innocent gesture. What was he giving you?

With that, he hands you a piece of paper, folded in half just once with a small heart at the corner. Your eyes light up immediately, as you shyly take the piece of paper- one which was from his diary he probably torn off, considering that one edge of the paper was bumpy and rough.

You mumble out a shy ‘thank you’, very curious and opening it with one simple hand gesture.

You feel like the luckiest girl alive.

A pretty led-based sketch of you. You were drawn with your usual frilly outfit on, the bakery drawn in the background. He drew every single detail on your face so accurately, it sort of amazes you. The small beauty mark was in the correct spot, with your eyes big and sparkly.

You softly gasp, putting a small hand over your mouth to not look like a dummy in front of him, “Arthur..”

“It ain’t the best but..” He averts his gaze, “I couldn’t help but draw ya. You just looked..” Pretty. Beautiful. Adorable. Cute. “—..Lovely.”

“Ain’t the best?” You scoff. “This is so beautiful, Arthur. Y—You got the bow, too! And the outfit, and the background..” You beam sweetly.

“Thank you so much,” You keep the drawing close to your chest. You note to yourself mentally to buy a picture frame, “This is so beautiful, Arthur. I love it!”

He holds his gaze low, cheeks slowly burning from the praise you squeaked out. He awkwardly shifts, before bidding you a goodbye.

You open the piece of paper one last time, flipping it over to see a message written in cursive which read:

‘Kinda weird to write this but I heard you were free tomorrow. Would you like to walk around the park nearby with me? I’ll probably be around there at 8 in the morning, you don’t have to come if you don’t want to. —A.M ◡̈’

For a man like him, you’d never thought his handwriting was alike of a fairy tale novel.

꒰🍰꒱ swishswishswish prattles the pink-tinted brush within your nimble hold. Each delicate tap against the swell of your soft cheeks swell even more with colour, adorning a scent you were far too familiar with— cherry-kissed by love herself.

You are very adamant in looking like a right pixie for today.

Last night you could not get much sleep because of the excitement your heart held. You were dying to meet Arthur again without being in the same frilly uniform you always wore, a face coated with powder not from your beauty products but from pastries you make and serve.

You adorn a floral patterned dress, with a pretty pearl necklace. The hat you wore was similar to a southern belle darling sun-hat, but less brim and less flowers, a simple laced bow tied around the rim instead. And of course, your signature laced bows clipped in your hair.

As pretty as a porcelain doll you were.

Your ballerina-like flats click gently on the cemented pavement down towards the park. The scent of steam and machine slowly transition to more of a petrichor-like smell as you near the park.

There he was, standing around the entrance, admiring the flowers from beyond. You can’t help the soft giggle escaping your lips as he looked behind him and went immediately silent at the sight of your beauty. It was almost coincidental on how the flowers around gently wavered by and shined more brighter once you passed by with a shy smile.

“Hi,” You greet him softly- almost too gentle for his liking. Your hands are positioned behind your back, with the soles of your feet resting on the ground as you tilt your head to maintain eye contact with him. You notice his hair was slicked back a bit, and his attire was more cleaner than usual.

“Hey,” He replies back. He lends out an arm for you to hold, and you do so happily. He looks everywhere but your direction.

He clears his throat with a bit of hesitancy. “Thought you weren’t comin’. Hell, I thought you didn’t even see the message I wrote on the back.”

“Why wouldn’t I go?” You smile eagerly, “It’s nice to be somewhere else for a change. Being cooped up in that bakery can sometimes make me feel dizzy.” That was the longest sentence he’s ever heard you mutter.

“I reckon smelling the same sweets over ‘n’ over again would make ya go crazy” He replies cheekily. His eyes size you up again. Slowly yet surely. A little fairy you were, with beauty no other. He opens his mouth to say something, anything- but he slowly shuts it.

And suddenly, he builds up enough courage to say something.

“You look.. Real pretty.” He quietly mutters. Lovely doe-like eyes stare up at him again- and how quick did his knees almost buckle was a good comparison to his latest duel.

“..You think I look pretty?”

He slowly nods, scratching at the stubble on his chiselled jaw with his other hand, “The prettiest.”

He’s not sure if the glittering pink powder on your cheeks becomes more prominent as seconds pass by. He watches you slowly become sheepish and giddy under his sharp gaze. You fight the curled corner of your lips to turn downwards, but alas you give up immediately as you quite literally melt under his touch.

You shyly stutter out a small “Thank you.” The grip on his arm becomes just a tad bit tighter.

The silence was nothing but comfortable despite it being a bit awkward at the start. After his compliment, you can’t help that fluttering feeling of love bursting inside, up in the skies lays an imaginary cherubim whom shoots those heart-shaped arrows quickly into your heart as you glance at him another time.

And it seemed that the cherubim shot his arrow in his heart, too.

“I loved that drawing you made f’ me yesterday,” You mutter. High-pitched yet so soothing in tone- was your voice. Almost mellifluous, like a serenade similar to those soft jingles heard in the entrance of the bakery, “I never knew you could draw.”

He chuckles lightly, “Yeah, figured. I don’t really look like the type to draw, do I?”

“No, not really.” You softly giggle, “But it’s.. it’s cute.” The way your tone changes pitch at the end makes him conclude of how your intentions were supposed to be.

He quirks a brow. A slow smirk curling on his face.

You catch on immediately. Your cheeks become the same pigment of blush you used, “I-I didn’t mean it like that—”

His soft laugh interrupts you. “No, no. I get ya, I get ya.”

You can’t help but look away from embarrassment. Just a few minutes in and he’s unconsciously teasing you.

“Hey.. Look at me.” He narrows his eyes at your little show.

You don’t.

“C’mooon, it ain’t such a big deal..” He’s about to grab your chin to make you look his way. Though his hand backs away when he sees those beady eyes of yours slowly coming back to maintain eye contact.

He smiles unconsciously at your sweetness. “Yeah. Good girl.”

He unconsciously brushes your cheek with his thumb. You puff your cheeks out immediately, heart hammering in your chest at the title. You cross your arms in-front of your chest, hand resting on your fore-arm. He quietly notes to himself how pretty your hand would be if a ring was seen on your ring finger.

Suddenly, you feel your heart drop. You want to say something, anything.

“Arthur?” Your hand suddenly goes to his sleeve, tugging it softly to get his attention.

“Mhm?” He responds, tilting his head down to meet your gaze.

Suddenly, you feel like your tongues all tied up inside your mouth. Your mind is in shambles and you’ve suddenly forgotten every word in the English dictionary as his pretty eyes stare at you as if you were an ethereal being.

“I.. er,” You fiddle with the small frills of the end of your dress, “N—nevermind.”

“Hey, now.” He comes a bit closer with that boyish charm smile. The faint scent of hair pomade and wood makes you swoon just a bit more, “You can’t just back off like that, c’mon.. tell me.”

“I..” You hesitantly start off. “What.. What are we, Arthur?”

He seemed to be a bit caught off guard with the abrupt question. You catch onto his quietness, and immediately you shrink out of embarrassment. You feel ashamed, flustered for even asking that!

You dare try to look at him in the eyes once more, “I- I’m sorry I shouldn’t have—”

“Don’t apologise.”

You slowly blink when he cuts you off.

He’s a bit difficult to read at this moment as he processes his words. He looks at you a few times, gosh did his heart beat fast.

Then, he slowly opens his mouth. “I.. I ain’t so sure myself. But I just..” He takes a deep breath, “I like you, a lot. Yer a real lovely girl, a good girl. But you shouldn’t be with a man like me, miss.”

You feel yourself falter, “Wh— What? Why?”

He shakes his head. He’s hesitant. He doesn’t want to answer, but for your sake he does.

“I.. ain’t a good man, [name].” He tries to explain to you. “Never was in the start. ‘N I don’t want you gettin’ into trouble just cuz people seen you with me.”

You narrow your eyes, allowing him to continue on and elaborate. You feel like the happiest woman alive, but the saddest.

“I’m..” He looks around to see if anyone was listening, and he leans in just a bit, “I’m an outlaw, sweetheart.”

“…And?”

He’s taken aback once again. The garden amongst you quietens as soon as you uttered out that single word. You feel awfully thankful because of the fact that no one was around you.

You feel like this’ll be the most stupidest decision in your life. Your heart and brain yearns for the man that stands in front of you, who holds you like a porcelain doll and who treats you like the prettiest princess alive.

“I— I don’t care if.. if yer an outlaw.” You stutter out, “You’ve made me feel things I’ve never felt before and I..”

Both his hands come to yours, fingers coming to intertwine with yours. The bold contrast between your skin and size told you everything. Calloused filled, scar-stricken hairy hands paired with hands that were always smoothened, delicately cared with little to no blemishes. He squeezes your hands firmly.

“Darlin’..” He sighs, “I don’t want you to get hurt ‘cuz of me, ‘s all I’m saying.”

“Please, Arthur.” You plead silently. You’re not even sure what you’re begging for at this moment. You want him, and he wants you. He looks so conflicted, his demeanour falls as soon as you use those puppy eyes you were blessed with. Long lashes slowly fall down, which rises and shows those glistening pearls of coloured irises.

“..Damn.” He kisses his teeth out of pure irritation over the situation. Not because of you, never. But because of the decisions which ultimately resulted in the worst. He looks at you one more time.

“You’re real needy thing y’know that?” He grunts lowly before leaning in slowly to press his lips on your forehead. Immediately do you melt in his arms, you cling onto him like the princess you were.

He holds you closely. Your face meets his chest, and his arms are wrapped around your waist, “You really wanna get with me huh?”

“Yes,” You reply, out of breath at the touch. “More than anything.” You continue on with a sweet whimper which makes his desires go crazy in his mind.

“You’re gon’ be in for a real long ride, sweetheart.” He mutters softly in your ear.

You don’t hesitate to answer back. “I don’t mind.”

“You really sure?” He asks one more time, “Y’can’t back out once yer with me. You’re mine from then on, y’hear?”

“All yours.” You nod once again.

꒰🍰꒱ “I’ve been thinking.”

The brush in your hand is slow in movement, before placed down gently on the table below. A brow is quirked at the sound of your beau’s voice which rattled in your head.

It’s been over few months or so since you’ve gotten together. When he couldn’t visit, he’d send letters with the sweetest words. You’ve kept them all in a small box which cheekily peaked out in the corner of your room, right on top of your mahogany wardrobe.

“You oughta meet m’ family.” He bluntly states.

“Your family?” You tilt your head.

He nods, scratching at the stubble on his angular jaw. Your eyes catch the slight tremble his hand had when it was coming to his jaw, and you can’t help but be even more curious.

“Lemme rephrase that.. Reckon you should come meet my gang. They’re my family, in a way.”

You hesitate at the word ‘gang’. Obviously, by that word alone it insinuated meanings which you were taught to be aware.

“Don’t you worry, they’re all nice people,” He brings up a hand to place on-top of yours, “You don’t have meet ‘em if you don’t feel ready yet, ‘m just saying.”

You shyly smile up at him.

“I’ll meet them.”

His crinkled eyes widen in surprise, “You will?”

“Mhm,” You nod, “Oh- Just give me some time to prepare, will you?”

“Right, right. You go do your little princess activities which’ll span for over a whole five hours.” He teases. He earns a glare from your puppy face, something he’s all too familiar with.

“Quiet, you.”

“The hell are you even doing in there? Does it really have to take you a whole two hours to pick an outfi— Ouch.” A sock clumsily hits his face.

Surprisingly, it didn’t take you a whole five hours to get ready. Before you could grab the necklace on your desk, Arthur reaches from behind to grab those dainty pearls of yours before clasping it behind your neck himself. He slowly leans in to delicately place a soft kiss on your sensitive neck before standing up to dust himself.

“Y’ready, sweetheart?” He asks with a low drawl.

“Mhm!” You smile happily, clinging to his arm.

Outside from the building you lived in has a small horse post outside to hitch said animals. He leads you to a horse far more taller than him, quite literally towering over you. With the least of efforts, he picks you up from the waist to plop you on the saddle, before he himself hitches on the magnificent mare.

It took over an hour to travel to some sort of densely packed trail. You can’t help but tilt your head at the location, tilting your head up to question the man who lazily rode the horse behind you. His chest was quite a good alternative for a pillow.

“..You live here?”

He snorts, “Er.. Kinda. You’ll see.”

Not long do you see a large campsite, you feel yourself shrink at the sound of.. new people.

Sure you worked at a job where you had to talk to people. But you weren’t the best at keeping up a conversation with.. criminals, you could say.

“Arthur’s back, Arthur’s back!” A little boy’s voice rings through your ears, you can’t help but curiously peak from his shoulder to see whom it was. A young boy with brown hair- blue coat and a tooth missing. He eagerly points to the man as he enters in the vicinity.

“Ooh, ‘n he’s brought a girl..” The young boy ushers a woman far too familiar to come over.

“He what now?” The sound of a few footsteps were heard- oh gosh did you feel as nervous as a doe trying to not stumble on its legs.

“A girl?”

“Don’t tell me we’ve got another mouth to feed.”

“She’s real purdy.”

“She seems fancy..”

“[name]?”

You jump at the sound of your name being called- you look behind to see.. Mary-Beth!

“Oh!” Arthur hops down, picking you up from the horse to settle you onto the ground. You eagerly smile at the woman you knew well.

“What are you doing here?!” The book-worm asks with a squeal, rushing to you for a hug.

“I— I could ask you the same thing!” You stammer as you feel yourself getting lifted up a bit from the ground, hugging her tightly back.

Arthur coughs to interrupt the soft chattering, “I’d like you all to meet m’ girl. No touching, ‘cept for the girls ‘n Jack.”

“Ha! Knew you had a thing for her—” You hear a raspy voice from afar, near the little boy you presumed was named Jack. You’ve seen him before, and if you could recall.. His name was John. A flick to the forehead is what you see between your beloved and him.

“Tilly ‘n the others are here somewhere finishing chores up,” Mary-Beth beckons a few of the girls to come over. Karen was the first to bid you a ‘hello!!!’

“Y’got any cake for us?” She jokingly asks. Her eyes widen when she realises she’s spoken too soon when she sees the few boxes of treats which were stacked and tied with a pink bow neatly on top of Arthur’s horse.

“[name], I think ‘m gonna kiss you.” Karen walks away to grab one box for herself. You let out a giggle as you go and greet the other girls.

Fortunately for you, everyone was welcoming and homey well um, except for one. But you’ve heard from most that he’s always like that.

“It’s quite a surprise for Arthur to bring a woman back to camp,” An old man to which you’ve became comfortable talking with for a while sits next to you. Hosea was his name, for some reason does he remind you of your grandfather.

“Oh? How so?” You shyly question. His warm eyes stare at your figure endearingly.

“Well for starters, he usually scares them off.”

“Hosea.” Your love comes to your side, embarrassed at his words.

“It’s quite true! Here, let me tell her about the story of when you…”

For the rest of the day, you were treated carefully and lovingly. You weren’t sure what you’d expect from a gang filled with criminals and thieves, but you could surely say that they were a sweet group of people.

You’ll be expecting a large sum of visitors on the following days, and perhaps a small ring soon enough.

549 notes · View notes

dazed-and-confused23 · 11 months ago

Text

Dear Hearts and Gentle People 7

Pure Indulgence 2

Summary: The only way Cooper wants any part in sharing you is if he's in charge. Hancock is fine with being ordered since he gets to be the one between your thighs. You're just along for the ride.

Pairing: The Ghoul | Cooper Howard x Female Reader / John Hancock x Female Reader

Warnings! Drinking and Drug use. Threesome. Smut and power dynamics? Blood too. Jesus this feels sinful.

Masterlist. Part 2 -> HERE

You lay on your back, head pillowed in Cooper’s lap, eyes glassy and heavy from the hit of jet Hancock had pressed to your lips on the way up the stairs of the Old State House that Hancock calls home. Cooper's scarred fingers have threaded themselves in your hair, keeping you still for the other ghoul that lays between your thighs. Your legs have been shoved up, knees swaying and twitch in the air.

"Don't be such a pussy, John," Cooper rumbles from behind you, and reaches down to pinch your nipple harshly, and he smirks when you sigh and bow off the bed, seeking more, "My girl likes it rough."

Hancock humms, and the subtle vibrations against your clit make you buck up, but John is stronger than what his lanky stature made it seem, and keeps you held down with ease. He abandons your throbbing bud with one last lingering suck, and sinks his teeth into the flesh of your thigh, making room for his hand to sneak up and shove two fingers into that beautiful, wet cunt.

Cooper watches, dark eyes focused on the way you wither and shake under the onslaught of having both of them touch you. The hand that John isn't using to finger fuck you with pushes your hip down, and he can't help but find the entire sight hot as fuck. He shifts behind you, pushing you forward so that he can bend down and seal his lips against your own in a furious kiss full of teeth and tongue. The cowboy bites your bottom lip hard enough to draw blood, and the groan you make when he cleans the red liquid has his cock twitching in his boxers.

"Let a man enjoy his meal. Ain't every day that I get something as sweet as this," Hancock murmurs and flicks the tip of his to gue through your puffy folds, gathering the slick pooling from your cunt and lapping it up like the starving mutt he is.

Your mind is slow and muddled, a fantastic mixture of alcohol, chems, and blazing arousal that you lose yourself in.

"Curl your fingers up - heh, yeah, jus' like that," Cooper orders when he pulls away from your red smeared lips. Your eyes clinch shut when the tips of his fingers brush against that spongy spot hidden within your core. A broken sound of pleasure falls from your lips, and your thighs quiver when John does it again.

"Look at that, better than the smoothest hit of jet," Hancock drawls and cocks his head up to look at the other ghoul, lips twisting in a sardonic smirk, "Can I fuck her now, Sir?"

It irks him to call the other man that, but John wasn't one to pass up good things, and neither did Cooper it seemed like. So it wasn't too much of a loss.

Cooper’s grin is nasty, and he reaches out to hold the other ghoul by the jaw, the tips of his fingers digging into Hancock's jaw, and rumbled, "Ask nicely."

If John were still human, he would have blushed at the display of dominance. Instead, he grinned just as meanly back and hissed.

"Please?"

Cooper laughed, then released the other man, leaning back against the headboard in satisfaction. You squirmed under them, lips twisted up in a pout at their attention drifting away from you. Your cowpoke snickered, and waved a hand at John.

"Hurry it up, boy. The lady's gettin' impatient."

Hancock doesn't need to be told twice. He sits back on his knees and grabs his dick, and scoots forward to drag his cockhead through the mess between your legs. You whine in want, hips shifting, and looking for release. John angles himself and then slides inside your fluttering pussy with a long groan.

"Fuck," He snarled and buried his face in the crook of your neck, hips jumping forward as you clench around him. John gets lost in the feeling of your cunt, and you wrap your legs around his hips, meeting him thrust for thrust.

"She feels good, huh, John. Nice and tight like a goddamn vice," Cooper snarls above you, and the ghoul between your legs jerks a nod, his brow furrowed, and you turn your head, pressing hot, open mouthed kisses along his heated skin.

You nip his neck, tongue soothing the hurt, and you squeeze your legs around his hips, pushing him ever further. His cock brushes against that spit inside you again, and you see stars, mouth dropping open as you pant out nonsense.

It's over for the mayor when you bite him again, and then he hears your sex rough voice growl in his ear.

"Come inside me, John. I wanna feel it."

Hancock comes with a muffled shout, his shoulders shuddering as he pumps you full of seed. Your cunt greedily sucks him in, and he is left a panting mess when while you wither and cream around his cock. He doesn't get to enjoy it for long before Cooper is shoving at his shoulder.

John reluctantly pulls out and rolls to the side and watches as Coop takes his place and slides home. His teeth bared in a savage grin as he wraps a hand around your throat, leaning down and looming.

"My turn now, Sweetheart. Hope you can keep up."

#cooper howard #fallout #fallout prime #fallout tv series #cooper howard x reader #x reader #the ghoul x reader #dear hears and gentle people #john hancock x reader #john hancock #hancock

353 notes · View notes

gwenphobic · 11 months ago

Text

COWBOYS ARE NOTHING BUT TROUBLE.

(arthur morgan x pianist at a saloon!male reader)

a/n; sorry for not posting for so long!! gwen stacy x black cat reader will return but rn i’ve had this worm stuck in my head for a min so hold on on that. STAY with me now, this one is good i swearr

You’ve never found it especially appealing, the way cowboys hold themselves and yip and yell about. The way they loiter and accidentally make themselves family men. It’s always been quite annoying though you imagine it is what you would’ve been had your parents been present. Nonetheless, it is not envy you hold toward them but.. annoyance. Yes, that red warmth in your stomach and heat on your face is pure annoyance. And nothing more. Of course.

Your town is small, of no concern. It would never even be dotted out on a map, it is so unimportant. You’ve always imagined what it would be like to leave but have never had the strength. Your place is here at town saloon, fingers dancing around the keyboard. The man who’d taken you had been saloon owner Pete Carter who’d taken your street urchin mind and managed to shift it into something greater, or well, something that makes money. Perhaps, this is why your faith is so strong.

The heat of the day beamed even on your face and flooded the floorboards of the saloon. You sigh. Still, the saloon will open and still will you play away. An Irish woman came in for she was new to town, new to America in a way so obvious. Not much people were here, only the town drunk and a few of the working girls. You sat down with her as she weeped softly, her curly brown tresses falling into her eyes. Her face was bent and curved to her age. She was a mother, you knew and had seen her son and daughter around town often. Trailing upon her like ducks to a mom. Her son was sweet and her daughter, proper. Both young, you didn’t believe either were a day over 6.

“Sir,” she cried, accent thick in her mouth. You rubbed her back before taking her hands. “Yes?” you replied. The mother sighed as she stopped her tears. “I need to write a letter home, but I’ve made no sense of the alphabet. Please do help me, sir,” she said and prayed, “Please know to write.” She looked as desperate as she sounded. She continued, “My Mam has passed, and I don’t know— I need to send my Da a letter. Oh, please, sir!” You shushed her and went to find a piece of paper. That afternoon you’d spent helping her craft a letter home.

As you sent her off, the saloon wasn’t quite full but neither was it empty. A few sat in drunkenness, others sat in a buzz. Some old, some young. It was a comforting feeling, a saloon not so full but neither so empty. You adjusted yourself when you heard it. The sounds of immature folk coming into town. The hooves of horses didn’t stumble as the clambered onto the dirt road. You could feel your stomach tighten with annoyance. Cowboys. Or rather, outlaws. Nonetheless, both were strangely irritating to you. The leather, the boots and all the self-confidence. Can anyone really blame you for holding such disdain? You roll your eyes and sit on the piano bench, beginning to play a tune.

Eventually, the attendance of the church extends and the more proper day drinkers leave. The last to leave is Old Charles McDonald, the union soldier with a limp and a missing tooth. He’s especially fond of his granddaughter who helps him around. He said, some days, he feels crazy. You remember nearly everyone who comes into the saloon, everyone who shares their tale with you. Why would anyone want to forget such history? You begin to help clean up before the sound of jangling spurs throw you off. You froze, completely froze. You turned around;

And there, your worst annoyances stood, an outlaw with two others trailing just before him.

You hid the grimace and continued to wipe down the windows. He wouldn’t be the last cowboy to come out tonight. You just knew the cowboy was walking with some sense of self-importance. You’d only gotten a glimpse but found yourself reflecting on the man’s looks, body. His sandy blond hair and nice tanned skin. Those shining eyes that you were almost certain were a shade of blue or green. You swallowed. He must be popular with the ladies, you came to the conclusion. He’s attractive, alright? Even you can admit that. You pushed a piece of hair behind your ear, suddenly feeling.. insecure of your appearance. But insecure isn’t the right word, maybe just.. very oddly aware.

“Play a good one,” the man shouted out, his more pale friend snorted while the tanner one huffed. You scowled. You’ll play what you want, not what some insolent outlaw wants to hear. Your fingers find the keys and continue the same tune you’ve been playing. The outlaw can deal with it. Faintly, you hear the drunken footsteps coming closer. The saloon is bustling with business now, outlaws and working girls all circulating about.

“Hey there,” he greeted, his voice was faintly reminiscent of a southern accent. He was pretty, his eyes at least. All green and.. nice. You shook the thought away and returned in a hardened voice, “Hi yourself.” The man looked a little embarrassed if not.. nervous. He looked down, his hat shielding his face. “You, uh, you play real nice,” he complimented and a fill of warm crowded inside your stomach. You returned, “Thanks.” You continued playing as he spoke, “I hope.. Uh, we ain’t causing too much trouble for ya.”

You wanted to say something mean, or snarky. Usually, you would. But staring at this.. outlaw— he’s an outlaw, remember— you couldn’t help but fumbling out, “Oh, don’t worry about it. Y’all ain’t no more trouble than a few drunkards.” He smiled nicely. Really, it was a nice smile if you ignore how beat up his teeth seem to be. “Alright,” he drawled, “good.” The sound of the piano and chattering of the saloon kept the scene from being awkward. “I’m Arthur,” he added like it was an afterthought. You told him your name. “That’s a nice one,” he said and looked as if he was about to say something else before one of his friends called him back over.

“It’s alright,” you said, “go.” Arthur smiled a little brighter and touched your shoulder. “This ain’t the last you’ve seen of me,” he said lightheartedly before stepping back and returning to the bar. You could feel your face all warm, you inhaled. What was that feeling? Hate, maybe. But hate doesn’t make you all flustered like that. He didn’t even do nothing! You grimaced.

It was gonna be a long night.

#arthur morgan x male reader #cowboys #rdr2 #arthur morgan #piano man!reader

329 notes · View notes

poeticpascal · 2 years ago

Text

Home (Joel Miller x Barbie!Reader)

Masterlist | Request here!

Summary: When a deep sense of loneliness overcomes Cowgirl Barbie, she leaves Barbieland to find whatever poor kid it is that's making her feel that way. Of course, she could never have expected just how much light Sarah would bring to her life, and she certainly didn't expect the things her grumpy father would teach her about love.

Word count: 10.6k

Warnings: Barbie movie spoilers, angst, angry Joel (he's insecure and protective), descriptions of loneliness, lots of fluff!

A/n: this is literally my Magnum Opus. Reader is Cowgirl Barbie. I truly hope you love this as much as I do 💖

Barbieland has been very different since Stereotypical Barbie left. Good different.

The Kens have jobs now, proper jobs, not just ‘Beach’ or ‘Surf’. They’re not the most competent workers Barbieland has ever seen; they get too distracted trying on new overalls at the building site or throwing paper aeroplanes at each other in the offices. But they’re trying, and you have to admit, it’s pretty adorable seeing them so excited to head off to work each morning.

Barbieland has laughter now, true laughter, not perfect giggles but the kind that brings tears to your eyes and makes your belly hurt. It has crying, proper full-bodied sobs that rack through your chest, aching in a good way. And it has life. Fervent, overwhelming, painfully brilliant life.

It’s magnificent, even the really hard bits. Which there are a lot of.

Like losing someone you really, really love.

Stereotypical Barbie - Barbara, as she’s known now - had been your best friend. Your Dreamhouse was right next to hers, and every morning you’d float down to the streets together, where she’d hop into her little pink car and you’d mount your pony and ride into town. It was perfect, a sweet little life surrounded by pinkness and joy, and if you’re being completely honest with yourself, you miss it.

You bonded over how displaced you both felt. Neither of you really had a thing, a specific job to do. She was Stereotypical Barbie, and you’re Cowgirl Barbie. Destined to wear dusty denim and cowboy hats for all of eternity; not a doctor, not a physicist, not an astronaut and certainly not the president. Just a cowgirl.

And there aren’t even any cows.

That was what brought you and Stereotypical Barbie together; you both felt slightly unsure of the world, however perfect it may be, and you found friendship in that.

So when she left, that hurt.

Because she found purpose.

Purpose in feeling, and knowing, and living.

Purpose in things you could only dream about. And what you hate the most is that she was right.

It feels good to hurt. It feels good to have that pain in your chest, that ache in your cheeks when you’re not quite done crying yet. That emptiness that fills the space where flowers had once bloomed.

It feels like shit to miss your friend, and it feels incredible to have loved someone so much that you miss them.

And that’s the beauty she brought to your life. To all the Barbies’ lives.

But it still goddamn hurts.

About as much as the strange thoughts of loneliness have hurt the past few weeks.

You’re never alone in Barbieland; there’s always someone there, a friend, a listening ear. A million other Barbies who genuinely care.

But the feeling is so strong, so heavy in your gut, that all the Barbies and Kens and Allens in the world can’t take it away.

Which only calls for one thing.

“Your friend had the same problem, you know,” Weird Barbie says, walking round you in circles like prey. You gulp; she’s significantly less ‘weird’ now, what with her fancy job at the Capital and the whole ‘awakened Barbies’ thing, but she certainly kept some habits that set you a little bit on edge.

“How do you mean?” You stutter, trying to keep up as she continues to stalk around you and make strange gestures.

“First came the depression-” she pulls down a presentation screen from god-knows where, one decorated with the typical Barbie anatomy and annotated with the same notes Weird Barbie is now recounting. She points to the head, ‘depression’ scribbled beside it, and stops in front of you.

“And then-” she moves again, rotating to the other side of the screen and pointing to the drawing’s legs. “-came the cellulite.”

She pauses, seemingly waiting for some big reaction, but you just stare. Sure, cellulite was feared back then, but almost every Barbie has it now, and it’s really no big deal. “...okay?” you posit, slightly more concerned as Weird Barbie’s face falls at your reply.

“Damn, I guess we really are doing things differently now.” Her surprise is dropped quickly, as she continues to explain what it means to be overcome with these awful feelings so quickly.

“In the end, sweetheart, there’s only one way to fix this.” She leans in uncomfortably close, making you gulp. “You gotta go to the real world.”

You had a feeling she’d say that.

♡❀˖⁺. ༶ ⋆˙⊹❀♡

When you arrive in the real world, there’s really only one person you can go to. The one person you’ve missed more than anything.

She was your best friend, and yet standing here on the doorstep of an apartment that looks nothing like a Dreamhouse, you can’t help how nervous you feel.

She’d given all the Barbies her new address, in case any of them managed to sneak into the real world, so she mustn’t mind that you’re here. But she’ll be so different now, so human, and you’re still just a Barbie with a jaunty cowgirl outfit and a sunny disposition.

Your worries are immediately washed away when the door flings open, and before you can even see who it is, a pair of arms are tightly wrapped around your neck and you’re pulled in for a big, warm hug. But you know who it is, and you hug her back immediately, tears welling in your eyes as you finally hold your best friend again.

Barbara pulls back, holding your cheeks in her hands, almost like she didn’t think you were really there. “I can’t believe you’re here!” She grins, hugging you again with a giggle. “I missed you so much.”

“Oh, Barbara, I missed you too,” you cry, not wanting to let her go.

“What are you doing here?” She asks, and you finally relax your arms, taking in how much she’s changed. She isn’t wearing anything pink, or sparkly, but a white blouse and nude pants that look very professional. Very human. Very different.

You don’t reply to her question, unsure of what the answer even is, and that alone makes her worried. So she takes you by the hand and leads you into her apartment, one painted white with sweet pictures on the walls of her with Sasha and Gloria, and some other women you don’t recognise. It makes you a little jealous.

She leads you to the kitchen, sitting you on a bar stool and pouring tea for you both. You go to drink it, holding the cup away from your mouth and tipping it, but she quickly jumps up shouting “no!” and pulling the cup down.

She laughs, making you laugh nervously too, and explains you need to hold the cup to your lips and sip. “Are you sure?” you ask, staring down at the liquid and tentatively trying to drink it, the warmth on your tongue foreign but sweet.

“Yep! That’s how we drink here. I know it’s weird but once you get used to it, it’s so good.”

You smile, putting down the cup and looking back at your friend. “Things are pretty different here, huh?”

Barbara smiles, nodding her head and swinging her legs where they hang from the stool. “Yep! Isn’t it great?”

“Yeah, it is,” you reply, with a fraction of the excitement. You push a loose strand of hair behind your ear, knocking your hat slightly which you quickly correct into place, acutely aware of yourself in the presence of someone who’s changed so much. “Do… do you ever miss us? The Barbies?”

She grimaces, making you regret asking as soon as the words leave your lips. Her eyebrows sink into concern, and she sets her tea down beside yours, taking your hand and squeezing it tightly.

“Every single day. Of course I miss you - I even miss the Kens!” You both giggle, and you’re reminded of how things were before.

You have to admit, you almost asked your Ken to come with you, but he was having so much fun in Barbieland now that you couldn’t bring yourself to take him away from it.

“I’m so sorry I made you feel that way.” Her eyes have welled up now, and guilt hits you like a truck.

“No, no, I’m sorry. You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m so happy for you, truly.” You smile, and you know she knows you mean it. “I just… I feel so lonely. It’s like a big hole in my chest, all the time. No matter what I do, no matter how many girl’s nights and big blowout parties and days on the beach, I just feel lonely. And it’s even worse without you here.”

Barbara holds your hand tighter, and something you said seems to have caught her attention. “You mean you felt like this even before I left? Before the Kendom?”

You nod, sheepish, and her eyes squint in thought. Then, as if a lightbulb has gone off in her head, she gives you her trademark big white smile and excitedly shouts, “I know what you need to do!”

She jumps off her chair, grabbing your hand and pulling you towards the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking LA. You stand there for a moment, taking in the view, the overwhelming sights and sounds of rushing traffic below you. It’s beautiful and terrifying at the same time.

“You need to find the little girl who’s playing with you,” Barbara whispers, watching your amazement.

“Isn’t that what you did?” You ask, finally pulling your eyes away to face your friend. She nods, her smile just as bright and honest as ever, and it makes the idea of facing this big wide world seem a little less scary.

“I’ll come with you, we’ll go find her, and we’ll figure out what’s been making her feel so lonely.”

“Will you really come with me?”

You already know the answer; of course she will. She’s the kindest person you know. Of course, all the Barbies are the kindest people you know, but that’s a technicality you don’t feel like getting into right now.

“You know it,” she grins, and you can’t help but grin back as you think about what an adventure this is going to be.

“How will I know where to find her?” You ask, looking back through the window at the huge world on the other side of the glass. How could you possibly find your kid?

Barbie tugs you to face her, straightens your hat and looks directly into your eyes, making you focus. “You gotta be really calm, okay? Just close your eyes, clear your mind, and find her memories. And then try to figure out where she is. That’s how I found Sasha!’

You nod, not quite sure how this is going to work, if this is going to work. But you try anyway, squeezing your eyes shut and doing your best to shush all the noise and confusion in your head, desperately searching for anything that could help you find your kid. You get nothing, ready to give up after a few minutes of emptiness, when suddenly - there it is, the faintest hint of a memory.

“Dad, can we have a movie night tonight?” Sarah asks, watching as Joel paces the room, frantically searching for his other shoe.

“Yeah, sweetheart, course,” he replies. She smiles, heading over to the TV stand and already searching for a film to watch, giggling as her Dad begins to lift up the couch cushions.

She looks down, seeing the shoe hiding just behind the stand, and rolls her eyes as she picks it up and throws it at him. “How’d you find it?” He mutters, scoffing as she just laughs at him, though a matching grin is etching its way onto his lips.

He slides on the other shoe, grabbing his wallet and keys and heading over to give Sarah a kiss on the head. “When will you be home?” She asks, and he offers a guilty smile that doesn’t make her particularly hopeful.

“Soon as I can, Sarah. Around 8? 9 at the latest.” She nods, forcing a smile and letting him go, and Joel’s out the door in a flash with a final shout of “Love you, honey!” and a slam of the door.

The memory changes, then.

It’s nighttime, and Sarah lies alone on the couch, a movie playing that she doesn’t seem to be really watching. Her eyes flicker up to the mantlepiece, where the clock reads 10:13, and she sighs.

Then she stands, traipsing into the hallway and towards the front door, where the key hangs in the lock. She turns it, unlocking the door and leaving the key on the sidetable, then picking up a piece of mail that had been left there.

“51 Mulberry Road

Travis County

Austin, Texas

Dear Mr. Miller, we are writing to solicit your contracting services for our new development…”

Sarah groans, throwing the letter back on the table and muttering “more work, great.” She retreats upstairs, slamming the door behind her and climbing into bed…

You’re pulled out of the memory by Barbara’s voice, filled with excitement. “Can you see her? Do you know her name? Do you know where she is?”

“Sarah” you mumble, still dazed. “Sarah, her name’s Sarah.”

Barbara squeals, clapping her hands together before calming herself and urging you to continue. “And? Where is she?”

You concentrate, trying to remember what was written on the letter you saw. “Er… Texas. Yeah, she’s in Texas. Mulberry Road. Is that close?”

She pulls a face, a yeah… no kind of face, then grabs a big book from under her coffee table and flips it open. You watch in amazement as she scans the pages and pages of maps inside, until she shouts, “a-ha!”, pointing to a spot on a page titled ‘The United States of America’. “Here it is. We’ll need to fly there.”

A nervous excitement brews in your tummy, your eyes glued to the little spot on the map labelled Texas. The spot where Sarah lives, with her Dad. The place you’re destined to find.

“Oh, and don’t get freaked out… but men fly planes here.” Your head snaps up, confusion painting your face, and Barbara just nods at your reaction.

“Seriously?” You ask, wondering if she was just playing a prank. “Is… is that safe?”

She giggles, putting the book down and grabbing your hand. “Yep, there’s a lot to get used to here. You’ll see. Now come on, we need to pack our bags!”

♡❀˖⁺. ༶ ⋆˙⊹❀♡

And so here you are, on a flight to Texas, on your way to find Sarah and bring an end to her loneliness.

Barbara tells you all about the real world. How different yet wonderful it is, how much there is to do and see and feel. She’s at university now, getting qualifications to be a psychologist and work with young girls who are struggling. It’s brilliant, but strange, you think - qualifications aren’t needed in Barbieland - anyone can just do anything. Well, the Barbies can. And the Kens really do try.

The journey is filled with new and exciting things, but it’s scattered with memories of Sarah and her dad that pop up in your mind at random. You see everything; their best moments, their worst, the times they’ve laughed and cried and screamed.

You can see the first time she chose you. She was smaller, much smaller than she is in the more recent memories, and her Dad seemed friendlier, then.

“Alright, honey. Which one d’ya want?” Joel asks, smiling as Sarah’s eyes scan shelf after shelf of Barbies.

“You should get this one,” he jokes, picking up a doll labelled ‘Builder Barbie’. “She’s just like your daddy!”

Sarah giggles, shaking her head and crossing her arms. “You’re not a builder, daddy! You’re a cont-ac-er.”

Joel’s heart warms, both at how much she loves his job and won’t accept a vague similarity, and her attempted pronunciation of the word ‘contractor’.

“Well then, which one, babygirl?”

She spends a few more moments looking at each option, before her eyes widen, landing on one a little further away to the left. She stands up on her tippy-toes, grabbing the doll and admiring it, giddy.

“This one, Daddy! I want this one!” She shows him the doll, waving it in his face but not letting him take it, protective already. It’s a Cowgirl Barbie, one clothed in denim and brown leather, with cliche cowboy boots and a hat.

“She’s just like you, Daddy.”

Joel pulls a face, looking back and forth between Sarah and the doll. “How in the hell is she like me?”

Sarah scowls, pointing to the cowboy hat and explaining, “she’s a cowgirl! And you’re a cowboy!”

“I ain’t no cowboy” Joel retorts, shaking his head and leading Sarah over to the cashier’s desk. “When have you ever seen me in one of them hats, huh?”

Sarah giggles, itching to take the doll out of the box, and Joel knows she’ll do it the second he’s paid. “Maybe you can borrow hers, daddy, and be a proper cowboy.”

He rolls his eyes, though the smile hasn’t fallen from his face for even a second. He pays, watching with joy as Sarah scrambles to rip open the plastic, finally pulling out the doll and hugging it the whole way home while making up stories of ranches and horses and pistol duels - she was certainly her father’s daughter.

“Barbie? You there?” Barbara pulls you out of your thoughts, staring at you as you finally turn to look at her.

“Sorry, I’m here. Just…”

“Keep getting memories, huh?”

You nod, looking out the plane window and into the skies. She still seems concerned, but lets it go, returning to her magazine and letting you be with your thoughts.

More memories swirl in your mind; you can see Sarah’s first days of middle school and high school, her most vulnerable moments of crying in her room and talking to you like you were the only one who’d listen, her relationship with her dad and how he’s become more and more distant over the years.

Sarah slams her bedroom door behind her, falling on the bed with a sigh. She sits back up, her eyes falling on the Cowgirl sat on the shelf across from her, growing dusty as she plays with it less and less.

She’s 14 now, too old for dolls really. And yet, that Barbie had been there with her through her toughest moments, and even now, it was comforting to have her there.

“Dad’s at work. Again.” She says, half to the doll, half to herself. “It sucks.”

She dives into her backpack, pulling out a small box and opening it up, the newly-polished watch inside glistening in the light from the window.

She takes it out, delicately, and turns it around to see the engraved lettering on the back.

‘No matter what, we have each other. I love you, Dad. From Sarah x’

She smiles, quickly placing the watch back in its box, not wanting to damage it before she could even give it to her Dad. “You think he’ll like it?” She asks the doll smiling at her from the shelf.

“I just… I just want him to know I love him. And that I know he doesn’t mean to be gone all the time.”

She stands, picking the doll up from the shelf and brushing the dust away, carefully readjusting her little hat and smiling at the piece of her childhood.

“I’ll give it to him tonight. If he ever comes home,” she sighs, lying down beside the Barbie and taking a nap, knowing she had a long wait ahead.

♡❀˖⁺. ༶ ⋆˙⊹❀♡

“Alright, here we are!” Barbara chimes, pulling up to the house you’d been looking for. 51 Mulberry Road.

“Are you nervous?”

“Hell yeah I’m nervous,” you quip, the fear plainly stated in your wide eyes. What if she doesn’t like you? What if you can’t help her feel less lonely? What if this just doesn’t work?

“Look, I’ve been there,” she replies, knowing exactly how you feel. “You’ve gotta remember that you’re her Barbie. You’re her friend, and she’s yours. It’s all gonna work out. My only advice? Don’t expect her to thank you for making everything amazing for women. Trust me, it does not end well.”

You giggle, remembering the story of when she first met Sasha, and hope Sarah won’t be quite as mean. You feel a little better, and thank Barbara for her support, grateful to have your friend back.

“Alright, I’m gonna go and get a coffee. If you need anything, call me, okay?” She hands you the little flip phone she bought, having shown you how to make texts and calls on it to her iPhone. You nod, thanking her again and stepping out of the car, the nerves building up as you hear her drive away and you’re left alone in front of the house.

You take a deep breath, your boots clicking on the path as you make your way up to the door, supported by a big wooden patio and a bench out front. It reminds you of home a little; your western-themed Dreamhouse, clad with old wooden floors and southern-style windows.

Before you can talk yourself out of it, you raise a hand and knock, waiting with baited breath before you hear footsteps on the other side and the door swings open.

And there she is. Sarah.

She’s a little older than she was in the most recent memories you saw, around 16 now. She’s tall, with a purple cardigan on and pretty blue jeans that you’re jealous of already. Her smile is bright, precious, and if you didn’t know better you’d think she was a Barbie herself.

“Can I help you?” She asks, looking you up and down with a slightly confused, but still polite expression.

You stall, the introduction you’d prepared completely forgotten, your mouth just opening and closing like a fish out of water. Sarah’s expression becomes one of concern more than anything, and she reaches out a soft hand to touch your arm, making you jump.

“Oh! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…” she pauses, looking you over again. “Sorry, do I… do I know you?”

You stumble again, trying to find the right words, and she must see how genuinely nervous you are because she searches behind you into the street, then pulls you inside and shuts the door. “Come on, you need something to drink.”

She leads you to the kitchen, a beautifully decorated but old fashioned room with porcelain tiles and wooden beams across the ceiling. You trace your fingers across the counter top, looking around in awe while Sarah pours you a glass of lemonade.

Your eyes fall to the corner of the room, where her school bag sits, and a familiar-looking cowboy hat pokes out. You walk towards it without thinking and pull out the doll, admiring the little plastic version of yourself.

“Oh, that’s - that’s not what it looks like. I’m not… I don’t play with dolls anymore, obviously, I just…”

Sarah’s voice trails off, and you assume she’s embarrassed, but when you turn to face her you realise it’s not that at all. She’s staring at you, then the doll, then back at you, with a cocktail of confusion and realisation on her face.

“You’re dressed… you look exactly like her. What -“ She’s cut off by the front door slamming shut, and a familiar voice shouting down the hall, “Sarah? I’m home.”

Her eyes widen, quickly looking for somewhere she to hide you, the stranger she’s invited in, panicking as her Dad’s footsteps get louder.

But it’s too late. Joel stands in the door frame, staring at you, then shooting Sarah a look that says, ‘the fuck is this?’

“Dad, I can explain-“ he cuts her off, staring you in the eye and taking a step towards you. He looks older than he did in your memories - not in the way that Sarah does, but in a tired way, like he’d worked a hundred years and counting. Grey curls wash over his head, matched by a silvery beard and sunken eyes, and for all the Kens you’ve known in your life, you don’t think you’ve met anyone as handsome as him.

“Who the fuck are you?” He asks - no, demands, one arm protectively stretched in Sarah’s direction.

“I- I’m- Barbie. I’m Barbie.” You stutter, clutching the doll a little tighter in your hand. Joel’s face scrunches angrily, and he looks at Sarah again, who just shrugs.

“You’re fuckin’ what?” He asks, clearly unimpressed.

You panic, holding up the doll to your face, showing him the obvious similarities between you. The same clothes, same hairstyle, same eyes.

“You know, Cowgirl Barbie. Sarah’s Barbie,” you explain, a little more confident now, hoping they’d accept your explanation.

Your hopes are quickly dashed as Joel asks Sarah, “do you know this clown?”

His arms are clenched, and you try not to worry about what’s coming next.

“No, Dad, but-“

He cuts her off. “So you just invited this crazy person into our home?”

He’s shouting now, and you recoil, remembering Barbara’s first experience meeting Sasha. You wonder if this is worse.

“Dad, don’t talk about her like that,” Sarah shouts back. It makes you feel at least a little better, but it’s too late. Joel’s incensed, shouting about stranger danger and how you’re probably an escapee from some mental asylum, how weird it is that you know what dolls she owns and how to dress like them.

“- and you” he looks directly at you now, pointing. “You get the hell out of my home and you don’t speak to my daughter ever again, you hear me?”

Tears stream down your face as you nod, throwing the doll onto the counter and running past Sarah and Joel and out of the house. You can barely make it out the front door, stumbling against the columns on the patio, before making it just far enough onto the grass outside to stumble to your knees and let yourself cry properly.

That same, overwhelming loneliness fills you again, tearing deep into your chest and only adding to your pain. Your shoulders shake, and you try to remind yourself of what they teach you at Barbieland; crying is good, hurting is good. It means you’re alive.

But it really doesn’t feel good right now.

You can hear the faint sound of the door opening and closing, but you don’t really register it, not until you feel a soft hand on your shoulder.

You look behind you, meeting Sarah’s apologetic eyes, and you try to wipe your own of their flood of tears.

“Oh no, I’m sorry, I must look horrible,” you laugh, though it’s forced.

Sarah smiles, sitting down in front of you, knees crossed. “I think you look beautiful.”

And that makes you really smile.

You giggle, pulling off your cowboy hat and setting it on the grass beside you. Your denim jacket feels a little hot now, too tight, but you try to ignore the feeling and focus on getting your breathing back to normal.

“Is it true? Are you really… her?”

Sarah’s question is soft, like she doesn’t know quite which answer she wants. You only nod, fiddling with your hands in your lap.

“You’re Barbie?” She asks again, and you can tell she’s expecting a reply this time.

“Cowgirl Barbie,” you answer, still only looking at your hands.

“God, you know, when Stereotypical Barbie came here, she had such a good time. Mind you, that was in LA, so -“

Sarah cuts you off with a gasp. “Wait, that was real? I heard about that! It was all over Twitter - Barbie and Ken on roller skates in LA, Barbie in a pink cowboy outfit-“

“Yes!” You exclaim, excited - “she told me all about it! She chose the cowboy outfit ‘cos it reminded her of me, you know. We’re best friends.”

You’re showing off a little now, but you don’t care - it feels good to talk, to be believed.

Sarah watches you in awe. “Wow. So this is, like, real. This is real? You’re Barbie. Where’s Ken?”

“Oh, he had to stay back at home. Well, he didn’t have to, he would’ve come if I asked him to. He’s really sweet. I just… I didn’t wanna be a burden.” You explain, grateful he hadn’t seen you crying like this now you think about it.

“But isn’t he, like, your boyfriend? I’m sure he wouldn't mind.” Sarah replies.

“Oh, he isn’t my boyfriend,” you giggle at the thought. “No, no, we don’t really do that in Barbieland. Everyone’s their own person and makes themselves happy, no need for boyfriends and girlfriends. Even the Kens!”

“Rad,” Sarah grins, liking the sound of Barbieland. “So… why are you here?”

You reply honestly, there’s no use in skirting around it anymore. “Well… I feel what you feel, Sarah. And when you’re sad, and lonely, I feel that too. That’s why I came, to help you feel better.”

“Oh.” It’s all she says.

“Why do you feel like that?” Your tears have stopped by now, your face left red and puffy. You try not to start up again as you watch her face twist at your question.

“Just… stuff. With my dad. He’s never here anymore, always at work. It used to be just me and him against the world, you know? And now it feels like… like it’s just me.”

You pout, rubbing a hand on her knee. “I’m sure he doesn’t mean it, Sarah. You always have each other, just like the watch says.”

You smile, trying to be as comforting as possible, but it’s quickly wiped away by the look of shock on her face.

You’re about to ask her what’s the matter when a southern drawl sounds from behind you, “how do you know that?”

You turn, facing Joel who stands on the steps of the porch, a hand on the railing. Your nerves set in again immediately, and you turn in on yourself, trying not to cry.

“Um, the watch, the one from Sarah. That’s what it says, right?” You can see that very watch strapped to Joel’s wrist, the glass broken, and he brings his other hand to touch it.

“No one else knows what’s written on that watch,” Sarah says, and you whip around to face her, “holy shit, this is really, really real, isn’t it? You’re her?”

You just nod, and she lets out a laugh, springing forward to hug you. You yelp in surprise but hug her back immediately, revelling in the feeling of wet grass hitting your back. Sarah pulls away, looking up at her Dad with pleading eyes, “come on Dad, you know this is real. She’s real. We have to let her stay.”

You sit up again, grabbing your hat and standing, facing Joel though your eyes stay trained on the floor. He’s silent for a long time, thinking, before he grunts and you can just about make out a whisper of “fine” as Sarah celebrates and leads you back into the house.

♡❀˖⁺. ༶ ⋆˙⊹❀♡

You stay there a few days, mostly keeping out of Joel’s way. They set you up in the spare bedroom, but Sarah comes to get you most nights, and you stay up together having sleepovers and telling stories.

You tell her all about Barbieland, about the beautiful beaches and all-woman Supreme Court, the Dreamhouses and the perfectly blue skies. She tells you about her life, the latest drama at school, about Brad the boy who won’t leave her alone and Jenny, her best friend who definitely fancies Brad. It’s incredibly exciting, and you wonder why you never left for the real world sooner.

Barbara’s ecstatic for you, of course; she’s staying in a nearby hotel for as long as you need her there, you even plan to introduce her to Sarah soon.

You wake up one morning, covered in a duvet somewhere in the corner of Sarah’s room, a host of her other old toys laid out where she’d been explaining each one to you last night. You wondered if there’s a Thomas The Tank Engine Land, too.

There are voices downstairs, and for all the rules of politeness and social expectations you’ve learned, you can’t help but tiptoe to the top of the landing and listen in to the conversation. To make sure Sarah’s okay, more than anything.

“Oh come on, Dad. It’s just one day!” Sarah almost shouts, though it’s obvious she’s trying to keep her voice down. They both are.

“Sarah, I gotta go to work. How the hell am I meant to keep a walking-talking Barbie doll entertained for 7 hours, huh? You want me to talk about makeup and glitter?” Joel’s voice is thick and annoyed, though he’s noticeably gentler when he talks to her.

Sarah scoffs, and you can’t see her, but you know she’s rolling her eyes. “She’s more than that, Dad. She’s smart, and she’s caring. Just - just do this for me, okay? And as soon as I’m back from school, I’ll take her off your hands.”

You can’t see them, but you hear their footsteps walk a little closer to the stairwell. “Fine, fine. Whatever. You better go and wake her up then, cos I gotta leave in 20,” Joel resigns.

You see the top of Sarah’s head from your view between the bannisters, and quickly hurry back to her room and under the sheets. She enters, sitting beside your spot on the floor and whispering, “Barbie? Hey Barbie, wake up!”

You feign tiredness, lifting your head and smiling at the girl. “Oh hey, Sarah, good morning.”

She giggles, and you’re quickly aware of your bedhead, something you never experienced in Barbieland. She talks as you grab a brush and fix yourself up.

“So look, I gotta go to school today. But my Dad agreed to take you with him to work so you’re not on your own… is that okay?”

She must see the slight panic in your eyes, as she quickly scrambles to reassure you.

“I know he was a bit of a hot head when you first met him, but he’s just… protective. But he’s sweet, really. Just give him a chance.”

You think about it for a moment. Barbara is still staying nearby, and you know she’d come and hang out with you while you wait for Sarah to come home if you asked. But then again, maybe it’d be good to spend some time with Joel/ It’s obvious that a lot of what brought you here comes down to their relationship, and if you can help to fix that even just a little bit, then your journey will have been worth it.

“Okay,” you answer, giving Sarah a small smile. She grins, standing up and grabbing her school bag before shouting over her shoulder as she leaves the room, “great! He’s going in 20 minutes… better get ready!”

You gasp, jumping up from your little nest on the floor and searching through the duffel bag Barbara packed for you of outfits to wear, all western-themed of course.

♡❀˖⁺. ༶ ⋆˙⊹❀♡

Car rides with Joel are… awkward, to say the least.

He drives in silence, no radio, just the slow drone of traffic outside echoing between you, whistling through the open windows.

His car is very different to the ones in Barbieland. It doesn’t have an open top, the seats are worn and rough to the touch. The smell of coffee and cigarettes hangs in the air, and though you’re not used to it, you still find it comforting. Safe.

You reach for the radio, looking for a tune to play and maybe even sing - you’re sure that’ll cheer him up. But he stops you, not hurting you at all but batting your hand away and finally taking his eyes off the road.

“Don’t touch that,” he grunts, and you shrink back in on yourself again. He recoils a little, like he’s trying to appear less aggressive, and refocuses on the road.

“Sorry,” you mutter, shy.

He shakes his head, resting his elbow on the window beside him and readjusting himself, clearly uncomfortable. Whether it’s you or just the way he’s sat, you don’t know.

“‘S fine,” he mutters, barely audible. You nod, unsure of what else to say after that. You’re not looking at him, though you can see his movements in the edge of your peripheral, and you’re certain you can see him glancing at you every couple of minutes.

He finally speaks again after a long span of silence.

“So…” he starts, tentative. “Is it hard to get here? From- from Barbieland?”

You turn, though he isn’t facing you, eyes trained on the road. You keep looking at him anyway - this is progress at least.

“It’s pretty simple. First you drive, then you cycle, then take a boat, then a rocketship, then you stay in a campervan for a little while, then a snowmobile and voila! You’re rollerskating into LA.” You grin, recounting your adventure into the real world, happy to be able to share it with him. You’re not sure what it is about him, but there’s just something inside of you that’s desperate for him to get you. To care.

Joel just grunts, rubbing his thumb and forefinger between his brows, and you’re worried for a second that he doesn’t believe you, again. But he doesn’t press, instead he seems to be thinking, and then he asks another question.

“How do you get back?”

“Gotta do all that in reverse,” you answer, giggling. You’re sure you can see the slightest pull of his lips, the hint of a smile, but it’s gone just as quickly as it appeared.

You decide to try and engage him, let him talk. “Do you like what you do? For work?”

He just grunts again, and your shoulders sink, giving up. He doesn’t want to talk to you.

You decide not to press him further, but you can see him continue to glance at you a few times out of the corner of your eye, and there must be something in the air because he sighs before talking, a vulnerability in his voice.

“I used to. My Dad did it, contracting. Used to take me and my brother out every weekend and show us the trade. And when I started my business, that was good. Things were good. Now…” he trails off with a sigh.

“Things aren’t good?” You ask, trying to be careful. Trying to encourage him.

He nods. “Things are different, now. Busy. It’s a hard business.”

You don’t reply, not because you don’t want to, but because you’re not sure how. Joel doesn’t seem to mind. After a few moments, he pulls up at a red light, switching gears and finally looking at you properly.

“What do you do? In Barbieland?”

“Cowgirl,” you reply, being the one to avoid his gaze now.

“Cowgirl?” He repeats, and you only nod, offering a small smile and waiting for his reaction.

“So is that, like, on a ranch?”

He’s switching gears again, cruising through the now green light and continuing the drive, muttering something about ‘almost there’ as you arrive in an upscale neighbourhood, lined with huge houses and cars that even the Barbies don’t have.

You shrug, self conscious, but you answer him. You owe him that. He did it for you.

“No, just… you know. I wear the hat, and the denim and the boots. And I just… cowgirl. That’s what I do.”

He nods, and for the first time since you met him, you’re not nervous about what he’ll say next. You feel comfortable with him, safe even, and you’re not sure what it is about this little drive that’s flipped that switch, but you think he might feel the same way.

“Does it pay well?” He asks, a playfulness in his tone that you haven’t seen in him before. It’s like he’s lit up over the course of your conversation.

You grin, meeting his eyes properly now, where he draws away for a moment at a time to check the road but lets his gaze fall back on you straight after.

“Better than contracting,” you sass. You’re not sure where the cockiness comes from, whether you’re matching his tone or you just feel that comfortable with him, and for a moment you’re worried you’ve offended him with the joke.

But then he laughs.

It’s not hysterics, but it isn’t an amused ‘huff’ either. It’s like a giggle, a bright, giddy laugh that spreads across his face and makes his eyes light up like stars in the sky. It’s beautiful. It’s sweet.

You tell him as much.

“You have a pretty smile.”

He slows a little, his mouth quickly reigning in its smile and his chest no longer bubbling with that sweetness it had before. But he doesn’t look angry, or offended. He looks as though he’s not quite sure what to do. Like no one’s ever told him that before.

“Thank you,” he whispers, the words quickly blowing away with the wind through the open window. You smile in reply, and he watches, neither of you seeming to notice that he’s stopped the car and you’ve reached your destination. Neither of you move.

And then he says the sweetest words you’ve ever heard.

“So do you.”

It’s gentle, mumbled so lowly you almost think he doesn’t want you to hear it, and yet it hits you in the chest like a lorry.

You’ve been told that before, of course you have. You’re a Barbie. Whether it’s the other Barbies complementing one another, or the Kens trying to flirt, or Allen just being the nice guy he is, you’ve heard those words before.

But you’ve never heard them like this, like they’re hard to say, but they need to be said anyway.

It’s powerful.

You smile again, so does he. You stay in the car a little while longer, in silence again, but it’s a silence laced with comfort and feelings you don’t know how to label. Until he finally breaks the spell, climbing out of the car and helping you out on your side.

He spends the day showing you his work, how to plan builds, how to measure up wood and mark all the right places to cut it. You learn there’s a key named after Allen, and Joel snorts when you tell him how excited you are to let him know that. He even lets you hammer a few nails, and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t make your heart flutter when he puts his arms around you to guide your movements, his breath in your ear.

And things are good after that day. Really good.

The three of you spend time together, as much as you can, almost like a family. You’ve never experienced family before, true family, but when you’re sat on the sofa with Sarah on a cushion on the floor and Joel to your side, just out of reach, you wonder if this is what it means to be home.

Of course, you quickly understand what Sarah means when she says she’s lonely. You know exactly where that feeling in your chest is coming from, because the times he’s with you are so fleeting, so far and few inbetween, that it feels like gold dust when you have him and like a black hole when you don’t.

And it’s only been a week before you realise just what it means, these feelings, and how they’re not like anything you’ve felt before.

Sarah reads you like a book, cornering you one day as you play dress up in her room.

“So, you like my Dad?” She asks, a knowing smirk already painted on her lips.

You splutter for a moment, trying to think of a rebuttal, but you give up because you know she has you nailed down. You know she knows.

“Is it that obvious?” You wince, making her grin spread even further.

“Only, like, all the time,” she laughs, and you flip down on the bed dramatically, making her laugh more. “You know he likes you too, right?”

You sit up again in a flash, eyes wide and searching hers. She raises a brow as you stare, your mind racing - she wouldn’t joke about that, would she? “How do you know?” You ask.

She rolls her eyes, taking a seat beside you on the bed. “Oh come on, man. It’s so obvious. He always talks about you, Barbie said this, Barbie did that’.” She mocks his deep southern drawl, making you giggle. “And he’s always looking at you.”

You blush - you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t noticed. You suppose a part of you just never let yourself believe he could feel the same way.

“What do you think I should do?” You’re nervous now, unsure of yourself. Unsure if this is real.

Sarah smiles, a cheeky sort of grin that doesn’t make you feel particularly at ease, and pats your knee with her hand. “Leave it with me.”

♡❀˖⁺. ༶ ⋆˙⊹❀♡

She calls you down that night, late, not long after Joel came home from work. You switch off the documentary you were watching, something about the animal kingdom, one that amazed you with all the creatures that walk the earth around you.

You tiptoe down the stairs, calling out Sarah’s name when you can’t find her in the front room, confused. You hear her again, distantly, like she’s outside, and you follow the sound through the kitchen and out the back door, where you’re greeted with the alluring smell of a sizzling barbecue.

“What is this?” You ask, stepping fully outside and taking in the scene. The backyard, usually overgrown and unkept, is littered with fairylights that wrap around the patio columns and line the fence right down to the end. The Miller’s barbecue is fired up, with an array of vegetable skewers and sausages and burgers cooking on top, Sarah proudly stood beside it in her apron while Joel watches, concerned.

Joel. He’s sat at the little table she’s put together, a round glass one with mismatched chairs on either side. He’s dressed up - his hair looks neater than usual, like he’s put extra care into styling it properly. His shirt isn’t plaid, or denim; it’s a light blue colour that matches the brown of his eyes so wonderfully. He looks nervous.

“Hi,” he says, gentle and soft. Your eyes must be wide and confused, because he doesn’t say anything else, just looks at Sarah for support. She rolls her eyes - again - and puts down the tongs she’d been using to flip the burgers.

“You two are so boring pining over each other. So, I’ve set up a date!” She grins, turning back to the food without a care in the world.

You nod, taking another step forward, looking back toward Joel and not bothering to fight the smile that spreads on your face.

He doesn’t fight his, either.

You reach out for the chair opposite him, but before you can, he’s standing up and pulling it out for you, his eyes meeting yours.

Not one of the Kens have ever pulled out a seat for you, you think, thanking Joel and sitting on the little chair. He returns to his own seat, clearing his throat and pouring you a drink; red wine, a new favourite of yours since he introduced you to it.

Sarah plates up the food, setting it down in front of you in a dramatic waiter-style fashion.

“You’re certainly my daughter, huh?” Joel asks, pride in his eyes as he looks at the food, which you have to admit looks pretty damn good.

“The student has become the master,” she quips, and your heart melts at the sweet moment between the two.

“Now, you two enjoy. I’ll be in my room. If you need anything… get it yourself. The kitchen is literally right there.”

You and Joel roll your eyes as Sarah bows out, laughing at her own jokes and giving a final wave as she heads into the house, leaving you both alone.

“So,” you begin, unsure of what to say.

“So.” Joel mimics, though you don’t think he plans to say anything after that. He’s not one to initiate conversation.

But then again, people can change.

“You look really nice,” he says, his eyes so heavy set on you that it makes you feel flush. You look down, at the old baggy top you’re wearing over grey sweats, and you’re suddenly self conscious compared to his nice shirt and carefully-put hair.

“I don’t,” you reply, embarrassed. “I look like a mess.”

He interjects immediately. “No. You don’t. How could you? I mean you’re literally - you’re -“ he can’t find his words.

You finish the sentence for him. “A Barbie.”

“Yeah.”

You’re not sure why it makes you feel the way that it does. Sad. Like you’re not quite real to him, a novelty. He sighs, and for all the time you’ve spent with him by now, you can’t read what’s going on behind the man’s eyes at all.

You sit in silence for a short while, enjoying Sarah’s food, drinking wine. There’s something hanging in the air, heavy and strange, and neither of you know how to address it.

It surprises you when Joel finally breaks the silence again. “Do you miss home?” He asks, pouring you another glass.

You think for a moment. You answer honestly. “I don’t know.” His eyebrow quirks, motioning for you to continue.

“There was a time when I’d have never even dreamed of leaving Barbieland. When I didn’t want anything to change. But things are different now, since Ster- since Barbara left. Everyone thinks differently, feels differently. It’s a very different place. And suddenly everything that made me love Barbieland doesn’t matter to me anymore. The perfect wardrobe, the perfect house, the perfect life. None of that matters. It’s the things here, in this world, that matter.”

“What things?” Joel asks, and it’s only now that you notice his hand has migrated across the table, holding your much smaller one. You wrap your fingers around his, revelling in the small squeeze he gives you, fighting back a smile.

You’re staring at your interlocked hands when you answer. “Family. Purpose.”

You look at him. “Love.”

He breathes out, like he’s letting something go, something that made him scared but doesn’t anymore. You squeeze his hand.

The rest of the night goes smoothly. It’s sweet, comfortable. It’s nice.

Until you put your foot in it.

“Do you still feel lonely?” Joel asks, the buzz of red wine making his drawl even heavier.

You smile, glossy eyes doting on him, hands still intertwined. “Well, I felt lonely because Sarah felt lonely. So… no. I feel good.”

Joel frowns, his head tilts. “Do you know why she felt like that?”

You’re not sure how to approach this with him. It’s something you’ve thought about, pondered for days, turned over and over in your mind with no good resolution.

You know exactly why she felt like that. She told you as much.

My Dad’s never here. He’s always away, working. I don’t see him.

But you also know it’s a truth he won’t accept. Not easily, at least.

“Well,” you begin, treading lightly. “I think she just… misses you, Joel. Misses her Dad.”

He’s confused. He pulls away from you, his grip on your hand loosens. “But I’m here.” It’s an assertion, challenging your suggestion.

“I know, I know. But you’re not… you’re not here. You come home from work late, you’re tired, you go to bed. You wake up and before we can even say ‘good morning’ you’re out the door again, going to work.”

His jaw flickers, in that same way it did when you first met. He’s angry.

“I do what i have to do to support my family,” he grumbles, fully retracting his hand now. You feel the loss of his touch instantly, in your heart.

That same loneliness sets in again, but it’s not Sarah’s anymore. No, it belongs solely, wholly, to you.

You try to placate him. “I know, Joel, I know. I get it. I just -”

“Just what?” He interrupts you, and you pause, scared to speak. Scared to mess this up.

“She needs you to talk to her. She needs you to listen to her. She needs you to hold her and let her know she’s not alone. She doesn’t see that right now, Joel.”

He doesn’t reply, just stares into space, arms folded. Guarded.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper.

“‘That how it works in Barbieland? Everyone gets what they want, everyone’s happy?” He asks, agitated.

You shake your head. “No, Joel, I-”

“‘Cos that’s not how the real world works, sweetheart. Everythin’ ain’t perfect. The trees ain’t made of cotton fuckin’ candy.” He sneers, mocking you, and the words pierce through you like knives.

“And I ain’t taking parenting advice from no Barbie doll.”

That really, really hurts.

And it makes you angry, because for all your faults and weaknesses, being a Barbie certainly isn’t one of them.

“Why are you being so defensive?” You ask, your tone rising to match his. “You know I'm right. All that girl wants is her Dad, not a stranger who’s barely there, not a ghost that puts food on the table but won’t even come home on time for her. She wants her Dad, Joel.”

He stands, slamming his palms on the glass with so much force you fear it’ll shatter. He doesn’t shout, but his words are sharp, pointed, and they land exactly where he intended them to.

“You have no idea what it’s like. You’re stuck in your fantasy world, where everything’s pink, but you haven’t got a clue what it’s like to live in the real world. So why don’t you head back to your special Barbieland and leave the actual living, the hard parts, to the rest of us, huh?”

Tears threaten to spill on your cheeks, your eyes burning from the strain of holding them back. “Joel, you don’t mean that-”

“Yes, I do. Just… just get out of my house.”

He walks away from the table, crossing his arms and facing away from you, staring out into the night. You nod, to yourself if no one else, breaking your strength as a sob racks through your body. You clasp a shaking hand to your mouth, not wanting him to hear you, but you see the way his shoulders clench. He heard.

He doesn’t react further, though. Doesn’t turn. Doesn’t make sure you’re okay.

So you do what he said. You leave.

You stalk past Sarah, wiping away the onslaught of tears that have taken hold now, ignoring her as she shouts between you and Joel. “Guys? What’s going on?”

She doesn't follow you upstairs, choosing to give you space and speak to her Dad instead, you think. You text Barbara, asking her to pick you up, and shove your clothes into your bag as quickly as you can in spite of your blurred vision and the messy hair that covers your face.

You’re not sure how long it’s been, you’d have only thought seconds if you didn’t know Barbara’s hotel was at least 10 minutes away, but you hear her beep the horn from outside and follows its direction.

Sarah’s waiting for you at the bottom of the stairs. You look down the hall, where Joel sits at the kitchen counter, arms still folded and head down.

“Please,” Sarah begs, “don’t go.” She’s crying, and it makes your heart hurt more.

“I have to.”

You try to move past her, but she stops you, blocking the way with her body. “Sarah, I have to,” you repeat, choking on your own sobs.

“Why?” She shouts, hot tears staining her face. “My Dad told me what happened. You’re right. He’s wrong, he’s always wrong. He’s never here, but you are, and now you’re leaving me like everyone else. Like my Mom.”

Your nose scrunches. More tears fall. Your chest hurts. “I’m not your Mom, Sarah. And your Dad… he loves you. He loves you so much. Promise me you’ll remember that, okay? He loves you. I love you.”

She doesn’t stop you when you try to leave again. You all but run out the door, the once comfortable night air now painful as it hits your wet cheeks, ice cold. Barbara looks at you with more concern than you’ve seen her with before, more than when she discovered the Mojo Dojo Casa Houses, but you say nothing as you get in the car. You just stare straight ahead, and she drives.

♡❀˖⁺. ༶ ⋆˙⊹❀♡

“I’m so sorry, Barbie. I never thought it’d end like this.”

Barbara’s holding your hands, reluctant to let go. You don’t know when you’ll see her again. “It’s not your fault,” you reply, and it’s true. It’s not her fault. It’s yours.

“And it isn’t yours, Barbie,” she retorts, like she can read your mind. You just nod, unconvincing, but she doesn’t push it.

You hug her, for the millionth time since she took you home from Joel and Sarah’s house, since she flew back to LA with you. And now here you are, at Venice Beach with your roller skates on, going back to the place you’ve always called home.

So why does it feel like you’re going anywhere but?

“Thank you for everything, Barbara. I mean it.” You pull back, wiping a tear from her cheek and smiling the best you can, your own tears rolling down your face like the skaters behind you.

She smiles back, and though she doesn’t say anything, she doesn’t need to. You know she loves you. You know she’ll miss you.

And with that, you pull away, pushing on each skate until you’re rolling away from the real world and back into your own. Back where you belong, where you’re supposed to be. Where you’re actually wanted.

There are people pointing, laughing at you as you skate past them, but you don’t care. You haven’t cared about anything since last night.

You can see the snowscape ahead, the next part of your journey. Your next step towards Barbieland and a world of pink perfection.

A world that isn’t the same to you now.

You’re nearly there, about to switch skates for the snowmobile, when a familiar, desperate voice comes from behind you.

“Barbie! Barbie, wait!”

You brake, skates screeching on the ground, as you turn to search for him in the crowd.

And there he is, Joel, clinging to a ramp on the left side of the park with the most ridiculous pair of neon green roller skates you’ve ever seen.

“Joel?” You call, immediately rolling over to him when you realise how much he’s struggling. If you weren’t so filled with the joy of seeing him here, you’d laugh at the state he’s in; eyes wide and legs falling beneath him, clearly not used to roller skating. “What are you doing here?”

“I- I wanted to- jesus, if I could just stand up-” You giggle, and he shoots you a look, which just makes you laugh harder. You help him up, laying a gentle hand on his chest as he nearly falls again, your other hand clinging to his waist as he finally finds his balance.

He’s blushing, embarrassed, but there’s something else in his eyes as they finally settle on you and he sighs. “Barbie, I’m so sorry.”

You’re not sure where to look. At him, at your hands, at those ridiculous roller skates he’s wearing. Of course, you can’t pull your eyes from him, anyway.

“It’s - it’s okay. You were right anyway, I’m not-”

“No, no,” he interrupts, placing both hands on your cheeks and quickly stumbling as he loses his balance again without the support of the rail. You hold him, giggling as he almost brings you both down, though you manage to keep him upright and he laughs right there with you.

“Jesus, this is embarrassing,” he finally huffs, and your head falls against his chest. When you raise it again, he’s already looking at you, with those big brown eyes that you never want to forget.

“I wasn’t right. I was an asshole. A huge, insecure asshole.” You try to shake your head, to disagree, but he doesn’t let you. “Just let me say this,” he begs. You let him.

“You were right. I haven’t been there for her. I haven’t been the Dad she needs me to be. I’m just… I’m just scared. Of not being good enough. Of letting her down. So I work, and come home late, and leave early, and I convince myself it’s the right thing to do. But I’m hurting her. And I hurt you.”

There’s pain in his eyes, and it pains you as if they were your own.

“I haven’t seen Sarah this happy in a long time,” he continues, resting a hand on your cheek again, carefully this time. “Barbie, I haven’t been this happy in a long time.”

You don’t know what to say. You take your hand from his waist, tentative, making sure the other one is stable on his chest. You place it over his where it rests on your cheek, folding your fingers around his own, and turning to press a gentle kiss into his palm. He mumbles something, you don’t hear what, but from the look in his eyes you think you know.

“Don’t go,” he begs. “Don’t - don’t go back there. I want you here. You belong here.”

You look into his eyes. You know he means it.

And so you do the only thing that makes any sense in this moment.

You kiss him.

You’re careful to keep him upright, but he seems to have stopped caring about that; instead both hands are on you again, frantic, holding you tight like he never wants to lose you again.

When you finally break the kiss, neither of you pull away from one another, your foreheads connected and breaths intertwined.

“Okay,” you gasp, pulling on his shirt. “Okay. I’ll stay.”

Joel closes his eyes again, sighing in relief as you finally release your other hand, touching it to his neck and feeling the rapid pulse that beats against it. You’re holding one another so closely, so tightly, that there’s no way he can fall now.

“You’ll come back to Texas?” He asks, like he still doesn’t quite believe you.

You nod again, giggling at the joy that spreads on his face, though it’s quickly muffled when he kisses you again. And again, and again and again until you’re breathless and sweaty and no longer sure which of you needs help staying upright the most.

You help him turn, wrapping your arms around his waist and supporting him as you try to make your way back across the park, and only then do you see Barbara and Sarah stood to the sidelines, watching, smiling.

You realise Sarah has her phone out, pointed at her Dad, and you’re pretty sure Joel sees it too but before he can say anything, he slips again and falls flat on his bum on the floor, bringing you right down with him.

You gasp, cushioned by his chest and his protective arms around you, laughing hysterically as he groans and sits up. You watch as his face turns from pain into anger, his eyes fixated on something ahead, and you think you know what it is-

“Sarah! Delete that video right now!”

♡❀˖⁺. ༶ ⋆˙⊹❀♡

Tag list: @vickie5446 @skysmiller @none-of-this-makes-any-sense @letmehavemyfictionalmen

#joel miller x reader #joel miller fic #joel miller fluff #joel miller x yn #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x barbie!reader #poeticbarnes writes #joel miller fanfiction #tlou fic #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us fic #barbie #barbie movie

1K notes · View notes

1dcommunityficrecs · 3 months ago

Text

Rec List: New Authors!

Welcome to 2025! And as we say goodbye to 2024, this list is taking a moment to shout out new authors who ventured into 1D fic this year -- welcome aboard. It's truly amazing to me that 15 years since the band was formed, and 9 years since they as a group put out new music or performed together, new people are still joining the fold -- or dipping their toes into writing and posting fic, after hanging out in other spaces for a time. I'm sure plenty of people are joining via the solo music, but it still warms my heart to see this community that has meant so much to me continuing to grow and flourish. New fans are just as valid as old fans, and are absolutely essential for a healthy fandom ecosystem.

So with that said, here are 9 fics from people who started posting for the 1D fandom in 2024. And some of these writers have been incredibly prolific -- two of the fics listed are over 100k, and one of the authors has sixteen 1D fics already! Here's hoping we see more from them in 2025 and beyond -- please join me in giving them a warm welcome to the community!

Notorious by violetlilachyacinth (64021, Mature, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson) Warnings: period-typical homophobia, implied/referenced rape/non-con

1946. WWII has just ended, but there's still work to be done. To help bring Nazis to justice, U.S. government agent Harry Styles receives a new assignment: recruit Louis Tomlinson, the American son of a convicted German war criminal, as a spy. Neither knows the full extent of the task they're asked to complete nor the full impact they will have upon each other. The stakes are quite high.

Reccer says: This fic blew me away! It's an adaptation of a film, and I can imagine how much work the author did to make it their own. Harry and Louis' connection leapt off the page. And no spoilers, but I loved the ending.

freaky friday by tracksuitponytail (1700, Explicit, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson) – fic post Warnings: dubious consent due to body swap

It’s Friday the 13th—a day like any other for Louis until he wakes up in the middle of the night... in his best friend's body.

Reccer says: SO well written! I enjoyed it so much, and it really cheered me up on Thanksgiving

Coffee and Confessions by Vyshv (676, General, Zayn Malik/Harry Styles)

A cozy coffee shop in New York City, with the warm aroma of roasted beans and the soft hum of chatter, two lost friends find each other.

Reccer says: This fic so so soft and lovely! I love the feelings it evoked

Hazelnut by BlackRose_Lilly28 (100, Not Rated, None)

Another drabble based on a twitter prompt. This time: "Hazelnut."

Reccer says: Fun to read, and very sweet!

here for the thrill by worldsofdreamers (3357, Explicit, Niall Horan/Zayn Malik)

niall wore a cowboy hat and he was just saving a horse

Reccer says: we needed a fic of niall in his lil cowboy hat and this fic DELIVERS. always love fics from this author. they’re very good writer and they are a good go to if you’re in need of a ziall fic.

All in the Golden Afternoon by leighllbealright (126028, Explicit, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson) – fic post

When Louis Tomlinson needed to find a new preschool for his daughter, he wasn't expecting the one across the street to be everything he and Goldie ever needed. Or: the one where Louis is closed off, Harry is the weirdest person ever, and Gemma may as well be a psychic. Somehow, calico-cat-style, they forge a beautiful family from pieces that don't quite fit.

Reccer says: This series is one of my top 10 from 2024. Brilliant characters, gorgeous writing, Harry’s sweaty elbow-pits, everyone is a flower, naked treehouses and more.

Whole Lot of History by Blue_Green28 (73592, Explicit, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson) – fic post

With 3 children coming out of their twelve years long marriage Harry and Louis are essential parts of each other's lives even though they have moved on with new partners since their divorce ten years ago. Or have they?

Reccer says: Exes to Lovers, Miscommunication, mpreg

everything of mine is yours by blueskiesrry (33000, Explicit, Harry Styles/ Louis Tomlinson) – fic post

With Harry in New York finishing up his PhD and Louis in London working as a solicitor, they try to navigate their eight year situationship including almost-daily phone calls, the occasional indulgence of casual phone sex, and endless gossip sessions as the feelings they have for each other get harder to ignore.

Reccer says: The scene where Louis reads a Lincoln biography out loud to H in the bath? Swoonworthy!

The Handbasket Diaries by Hazel_tea_dreams (160326, Mature, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson)

London’s expensive and work’s a grind but everything is a little better when you have good mates who understand you. The narrow brick flat building in Brixton, home to Louis, Liam, and Zayn and affectionately referred to as The Handbasket, is more than a place to catch winks and reheat leftovers. When Harry stumbles into its midst (and Louis' lap) with flatmate Niall in tow on a particularly hot Pride weekend, none of the five of them will be fully prepared for the shenanigans, tomfoolery, true friendship, or steamy romance that will unfold over the year.

Reccer says: This was so fucking lovely. I binged it in two days—only put it down to scream about it on Bluesky (and sleep and like, essential stuff). The writing is witty and tender and, apparently, communication kink is my jam. This is the only fic (in recent memory) that I finished and then wanted to restart immediately.

#rec list #category 23 #new authors #one direction #zayn malik #liam payne #niall horan #harry styles #louis tomlinson #1dficvillage #1d rare pairs #1dsource #hlficlibrary #hlcreators #tracksintheam #trackinghome #allwaswell16 #alwaysxlarrie #ficsfor4am

99 notes · View notes

midnight-mourning · 2 months ago

Text

Hearts & Home

💘💘Midnight's DCA Valentine's Day 4💘💘

Woahhhh more cowboys.... That's CRAZY... hehe anywho, i very much enjoyed taking another crack at these idiots, hope you enjoy reading about them :)

Prompt: Valentines continuation of the prev wild west x yn request i made last time perchance :)c i liked your story you made with em a lot teehee

Word Count: 2203

Read here if you prefer ao3!

💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌

You keep your eyes on the horizon, mouth a firm line as you scan the distance for any sign of life.

Nothing but the vast expanse of white and grey stares back at you. They're not here. Again.

The breeze blows by, chilling you once more, and you shake your head, deciding it's for the best to head inside. Despite they're seeming lack of care for you in the moment, you know they wouldn't want you to freeze. You think, anyway.

This was the third week in a row now, they'd promised they'd be back this time. Not another letter, not another empty promise. But, you couldn't be too harsh on them, they still had jobs to do, and with the weather as of late, you're sure they're being worked hard to keep their ranch in tip-top shape. You were doing the same here, afterall. Though, you were handling roughly the same size property on your own, whereas their boss had multiple hands to help out besides your cowboys—

You shake your head, the door slamming shut behind you.

The warmth of your home greets you, but it does little for your mood. You're less worried and more, disappointed. For well over a month now they'd been promising to visit you, their usual trips having become few and far between.

You hadn't been given an explanation for this shift either. Only noting that when you did see them this last time they'd become a bit skittish, off-put even. Your usual affections weren't returned in full, and if you had thinner skin you'd be alarmed by this. For now, you were just concerned. And annoyed, incredibly annoyed.

You thought that after the confrontation of your feelings, things would be more defined between you. You'd been mistaken of such. Rather, you felt as if you were stuck in a bit of a limbo. Though, part of that was your own fault to be fair.

You were each seemingly too scared to take that next step. To go from casual flirting, joking back and forth, late nights spent together to something more, intimate neither you nor Sun nor Moon has made the step. Sure, you'd gotten close. On several occasions.

When Sun would corner you in the barn for a brief 'chat' that was filled with far more actions than words. Or when late at night, when you couldn't sleep, you'd find yourself in your kitchen and Moon would come up behind you, offering sweet nothings of comfort in whispered words and chaste kisses.

But that's all it was, wasn't it? You bitterly think as you swirl the coffee in your cup, the black liquid seeming to taint your very being in the moment.

All of it, it meant nothing. And again, perhaps you were to blame for such. In those moments, it was you who pulled away in the end, it was you who hesitated and froze upon hearing those murmured expressions of desire. And for what, fear? Fear of what? It surely wasn't rejection, not at the surface level at least, you knew they both wanted for you as you wanted for them, to an extent at least.

Commitment then. Stability. Even if you told yourself it's what you wanted, the idea of it seemed impossible, and therefore terrifying to you. Being able to trust someone, multiple someone's was unfamiliar to you, it always has been. To have it all so easily within your grasp made you feel as if you were living in a dream. So you were doing everything that you could to wake up.

But still, even with your own insecurities, that didn't explain their odd behavior, or their sudden disappearance altogether. That, was something you'd need to determine on your own.

And the best way to do that, was with a confrontation.

So, you sent another letter. And another. And another.

If that damn courier was going to pass through here daily and use your land as a shortcut, you were going to make well sure you made use of him.

You sent letters without waiting for a response. As despite your insistence and incessant writing, somewhere deep in you you knew that one was never going to be enough.

But as the days grow from one, to three, to seven, and still no answer to even one, you had enough. It didn't help matters that Valentine's a day you never really celebrated truthfully, but now desired more than anything, was about to be upon you. If anything, that fact pushed you over the edge finally.

You hadn't wanted to resort to it, but now felt as if you had no other choice. You would have to do this directly.

Face to face.

You didn't pick the best day to go for this, you realize. The wind, once merely just a bother while going about your day to day around the farm, now bites mercilessly at the uncovered skin of your cheeks. You pull your hat down further with one hand, and snap the reins again with the other.

Besides the wind, it's snowing hard, covering the plains in a way you hadn't seen in years. Just your luck it seemed, that a blizzard like this would happen right at the worst possible time. But, you're too far out to turn back now, even if you're admittedly beginning to lose your way a little.

You knew it was only a half day's ride between your ranch and theirs, so surely you must be close by now. But with all the snow, your field of vision is nothing but white. Which frightens you just a tinge.

Your fright becomes genuine alarm when suddenly, Felicity spooks. Unprepared, the reins slip from your hands as she bucks, sending you flying into the snow. You land, face first into the powder, almost grateful for the softer than normal landing. But still, it knocks the wind from you, and you groan in pain as you lift your head just enough to see Felicity fade off into the distance.

Out of either desperation or disbelief, or maybe even delusion, you start to laugh. Quietly. Not because there's anyone around to hear you but because you're in pain.

A lot of it, actually.

As you lie there you become increasingly aware of two things; the cold, and your ribs.

The first of which is starting to seep in despite your many layers, and the second you think might be broken.

What a grand situation you've put yourself in here.

You find yourself with a lack of care however, perhaps because of the dire absurdity of it all. No one's coming to save you. No one even knows where you are. Well, Felicity does but she's long gone.

You may very well die out here, you realize. All for a couple of cowboys you couldn't even say 'I love you' to.

Your own fault, truly.

You close your eyes, face cold against and feel a pull for sleep in you that you know is dangerous. One that tempts you, so, alluringly so.

But luck was on your side, as right when you feel yourself beginning to slip, there's a muffled noise out in the distance. A shout.

Soon enough you can make out the sound of hoofsteps and then footsteps that rapidy approach you.

Your body is suddenly hoisted up, the light blinding even against your eyelids. Whoever it was, you weighed nothing to them.

You find out soon enough, based on voice alone. "Come on darlin', stay with me now."

It's a struggle, but you find your voice.

"Tryin' to, Lone Star." You wheeze out, cracking open an eye to see his worried face staring down at you.

He presses a kiss to your forehead then, hissing once he feels how cold you are. "You're frozen solid. Just what were you thinkin'?"

Sun starts to walk back over to his horse, you bite your cheek to hide the agony it causes you.

"I wasn't. It's called desperation—" You can't help but cry out as he shifts you to mount his horse, biting your tongue again after a moment and speak through gritted teeth. "Can't a poor rancher be with their loves on the most romantic day of the year? Or some sap horseshit like that. You get the point."

Sun's too busy examining your body for damages, poking and prodding until he makes his mark against one of your ribs and you hiss. "Save that for somewhere warmer, won't you? Bit too cold to get a peek under there don't you think?"

He tsks, shifting you hold you tight against him with one arm, using the other the grip the reins and start moving. "I think the cold's made you delirious, Sweetheart. Just hold on a little longer for me, yeah."

"I'll try."

You're only able to half register as Moon rides up to the two of you, concern plastered across his features. They speak to each other, but you can hardly listen. Now that you have a sense of safety surrounding you, that urge to fade in the black pulls at you stronger than ever, and you can't help but close your eyes. Though, the jostling pain of your broken ribs keeps you from falling asleep entirely.

Soon enough, you find yourself in a warm bed in the boss' house, despite your protests the bunkhouse would be fine. You're treated and fed and warmed from the moment you step in the door. Something you're not taking for granted. To make matters better, you learn the reason you were found was because of Felicity wandering near the outskirts of the ranch, thus confirming to you that she was okay after all.

With that news, you crash, weight off your shoulders—and ribs—waking up some time much later.

When you open your eyes, you spy two restless cowboys nearby. Sun sits with his hands clasped in a chair beside you, frown settled heavily on his face. Moon is on the end of the bed, eyes trained on your face and thus, the first to notice you were awake.

"You sure know how to make an entrance, don't you Starlight?" His tone is a mixture of displeasure and relief.

You chuckle, wincing a little as you sit up. Sun reaches out to stop you but you wave him off. "Ah, couldn't help myself, Moonshine. Figured I needed to get your attention somehow, since it's been lacking here lately."

"You really risked your life for something so simple?" Sun asks, taking hold on your hand in both his own, squeezing tight. "All of that?"

You shrug, though not very well. "I didn't say it was a good idea. But it all worked out in the end, didn't it?"

Moon huffs. "If you call ‘working out’ almost dying, sure."

You lay back again a bit, looking up to the ceiling as a quiet settles over the three of you.

"An explanation would be nice."

"Suppose that's fair." Sun says. "Moon can share."

A tsk. "Of course you'd put it on me..." He grumbles, then takes your other hand and you glance back down. "Long and short of it is, we got fired."

Your eyes widen and Sun lets out a long, disappointed, sigh.

"We didn't get fired. But we did ask to quit. Move on to somewhere else. Boss asked us to find replacements before we left." Sun explains.

This does little to comfort you. "Somewhere else? Can't stand it and have to put more distance between us, huh?" You can't fight the bite in your tone.

But, they both chuckle at this. Moon shifts to lay on his stomach beside you, grin cheeky as he leans in close. "Closer actually. Much closer. Within walking distance. You might even say kissing distance."

Before you can get further confused, Sun juts in, halting any chance of Moon getting what he wants for the time being.

"We'd like to come work for you. If you'll have us. No need to worry about payment or the likes, just a place to stay, your hand to hold." He nods once. "That's more than enough."

You're more than surprised, shocked even. "I, you mean it?"

"We haven't been great 'bout it, but we care a lot, darlin'. Let us prove that to you." Sun kisses your hand, looking up to you with a plea in his eye.

Moon pulls your focus by taking his free hand and setting it on your cheek. "You look ready to cry, Sweet Thing."

"Truthfully, I just might." You swallow, shaking your head. "You two are somethin' you know that?"

He tuts, leaning in and kissing you softly. "We take pride in it."

"One of us does." Sun grumbles.

A snicker from his counterpart. "How about you wait your turn in silence, Sunshine?"

"How about you,"—You feel a tug on your arm pulling you away—"Learn to play fair?"

If you weren't stunned from your previous kiss, or in so much pain, you might've interfered with there argument. But, with the combination of both, you're content to simply lay back and watch it go down.

You're getting kissed by someone, someway eventually, and that's good enough for you.

💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌

Thank you for the request @alynwrench! The cowboys are always a delight to write for, especially when I get to put them in SITUATIONS >:)c

My writing masterlist

DCA Valentine's masterlist

Tag list (if you would like added, simply say so!):

@scarletcowboy @beemyhuneybee @fishm0ther @deviouscrackers @elsajoyagent8 @luckyyyduckyyy @zenkaiankoku @jogimote @local-shrub @milosmantis @robinette-green @everlightreader @sinister-sincerely @starredeclipse @dangerva @juukai @crystalmagpie447 @mothgutz236 @lizyxml @divinit3a @amarynthian-chronicles @crystalfay @that-one-unknown-artist @rosescarletful @buzzybee3

#fnaf dca #dca fandom #fnaf sun #fnaf daycare attendant #sundrop #moondrop #fnaf moon #dca fic #x reader #mm dca valentine's #writing that snow scene was a joy let me tell you #yes im evil like that what of it #also also making them clingy at the end there hehe

117 notes · View notes

kismets-barista · 1 year ago

Text

Hold onto your Stetson, @ohposhers; have I got some personal HickDory lore for you 😎💜🌟🫧

Excuse the insanity for those who don't feel compelled towards these two

SO!

Hickory and JD met a few good years before the events of the World Tour when Dory was traveling to find Lonesome Flats, got heatstroke and passed out in the desert. Wakes up to Hickory shadowed in the flickering light of a campfire beneath a canopy of the brightest stars he'd seen since the Neverglades, but it wouldn't be until QUITE a few months later until they really started developing crushes against each other. (Cowboy under the stars, you'd think he'd fall right then and there, right? 🌟)

Why was Hickory already in Lonesome Flats, you might ask? Where was Dickory?

In a glue trap, I say in response. Hickory came from Yodelsberg (is there a canonical name for this?) for international study and to learn about new music. He fell in love with country because yodeling and country music are actually quite gorgeous together. She Taught Me to Yodel, anyone?

Delta Dawn obviously didn't take to Dory showing up and around the town, but after some convincing by Hickory and lots of proving himself (plus a vulture attack that resulted in John Dory saving the very young niece of Delta Dawn- Clampers-) he 'earned' a place there and began to work around town.

It was weird for him.

He'd never quite settled down, until then.

(Now, the specific timeline, yearly I mean is a little muddled because I'm still crafting this, but I'll put them out about three years, now.)

John Dory was still living in Lonesome Flats, and he'd started a relationship with Hickory. They loved each other, as my cohort in crime @protagonist-art (CHECK OUT THEIR ART I LOVE THEM SM MUAH) has Hickory tell John when we get write them, "More than the moon loves the ocean." As surely as the tide pulls in and out, so the lovers return to each other.

So Via, what does Hickory think about BroZone?

Oh, my sweet star.

He doesn't know.

After returning to the devastated Troll Tree, John Dory lost a piece of his heart in the damaged pod they used to live in. It was the first time he went grey, and the memories of his brothers started shifting from what was, to what would never be again. He couldn't find it within himself to talk about them, and has his secrets.

But so does Hickory.

Girl wdym stop being so mysterious.

Heh. I know. It's just a glimpse into my dark mind /ref. Anyways, Hickory never told John Dory he was a Yodeler troll. (Another piece of lore that Quizzy and I worked on together and I think it's brilliant.)

Huh? Aren't they in a long-term relationship? Won't this cause issues later on if they don't share these things with each other?

Oh, they love every aspect of each other too much for their bond to truly be broken.

And yet.

One morning, years after just living and loving, John Dory wakes up with a massive headache and nausea.

"Maybe it's that horse that kicked me yesterday, could've gotten me harder than we both thought."

"Lemme check for a knot, Darlin'."

No knots, but there was an egg.

🌟 (Here I'll say that I'm massively in love with the headcanon that trolls conceive through true love- it isn't quite necessary for them to physically do anything unless they want to. Just them, wholeheartedly trusting and putting everything into their relationship and pouring their heart out to their partner.)

They were absolutely ECSTATIC, and rightfully terrified in their own ways. Neither of them were looking for children but not against it, and after resting for a few days they began to plan. A nursery in the house, baby books with millions of names scattered on the coffee table, toys and cute little baby clothes for when the little one hatched.

Wanna know two of the names John Dory had in mind? Rhonda and Dolly.

They were ecstatic until the night John Dory woke up absolutely ill and with a pit in his stomach.

They lost the egg, and it was the second time John Dory went grey in his life.

A week after this had happened, John Dory left a bundled lock of his hair at Hickory's nightstand and did what he knows how to do all too well. He ran.

Hickory never went too far out of Lonesome Flats in the hopes that John Dory would come back. He couldn't imagine what would happen if his love came back and didn't find him there.

The events of World Tour come about, Hickory meets Branch, and travels for the first time since John Dory left.

John Dory continued to travel, until the events of Band Together.

But don't worry, dear readers, for as surely as the tides come in, so will the lovers meet again. 🌟

Aaaand BOOM! That's it! 💜 I've got lore behind the names Rhonda and Dolly as well, and am SO down to answer any questions about them that anyone has. For you, Posh, thank you for asking and helping me to share a story I've been working on, and for everyone else that read this, thank you kindly! I hope that everyone who made it this far has quite a lovely day, or if you didn't, have a lovely day anyways!

Remember to take your meds, drink water, eat something, and stretch!

💜🌟🫧

413 notes · View notes

thegnomelord · 1 year ago

Text

Additional idea while my brain still works: cowboy/farm TF141 AU;

Imagine you're a cowboy who raises sheep, like huge fucking flock, then one day you go out and there's just a big ass black bull with white skull markings in your back yard. None of your distant neighbours raise cattle and your workers don't know where he came from, you have half a mind to sell him but he turns out really sweet and a good guard for your sheep so you keep him. You're even more surprised when you're out in the pasture he's following after you like a puppy.

Then other animals start appearing.

Soap's a wild Clydesdale draft stallion you adopt after your old mare dies from old age, you're warned is feral as they come(bit off more than one man's finger), but are amazed when he doesn't even try to kick you when you pass his stall. He bucks you off plenty of times before you get him broken in, then he's just a mild headache when he keeps stealing your cowboy hat(and everything else)

Price is a Tibetan mastiff you adopt from the shelter since you decide you need a guard dog and he's so fucking big and cuddly. And he takes his job seriously, guards your sheep from wild coyotes and other animals but always whines to be let inside.

Gaz nearly gives you a heart attack when you walk out and see a fucking cougar, which your government labeled as a 'bobcat', just sitting on top of your new bull and neither of them give a fuck, you're creeped out when it just lays down like a pet cat and demands pets. You try to shoo it away many times but he just sticks around and you don't know how but you end up with a cougar purring in your lap on the couch.

Graves is still a mangy coyote you mistake for a malnuorished and abused dog. You keep him as a house pet until he's back to health then use him as an additional farm dog, thought you get the impression your other animals don't like him a lot :/

They all enjoy having you around, especially as you're so tired at night you sleep like the dead and they have free reign of your house to be pervs. On hot days you best believe they're watching you do mundane shit without a shirt on or Soap purposely splashes you with water so you need to take your shirt off.

Then you wake up one night to find Johnny and Gaz raiding your fridge...

#gnome's tea break #cod mw2 #x reader #male reader #trinkets from the hoard #captain john price #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #kyle gaz garrick #phillip graves #cod x male reader

763 notes · View notes

untitled-document-95 · 21 days ago

Text

cowboy, baby (dodge mason x reader)

Summary: Dodge has a record-setting night at the rodeo; he has no idea you're about to make it even better

Warnings: alcohol | pregnancy

Requested: only by my own brain

A/N: ok I guess I'm actually on a Mike Faist kick...also prepare for ALL the rodeo themed fics in August when my local rodeo happens 🤠

*gif is not mine*

______________________________________________________________

Tonight was a big night. The sun was beginning to dip low on the horizon, casting out an array of colors. Not that every rodeo wasn’t important to Dodge and by extension, you. Tonight was an even bigger one than normal, with competitors from across the state that Dodge was determined to prove himself against. His event wouldn’t be for another hour, so he was waiting nervously on the ground, trying to lend a helping hand wherever he could.

Dodge looked up and saw you leaning against the railing in the VIP section above the chutes. The various hues of the sky gave the illusion of you being the subject of a watercolor painting. Your white shirt had a blue floral design, and he couldn’t help but admire the way your white shorts clung to your curves. You finally looked over and caught his eye, giving him a shy, sweet wave. He noticed you’d been more subdued the past few days, but he knew he had been too, just nervous and excited about tonight’s rodeo.

You blew him a kiss as one of the girls nearby signaled to you, extending an invitation to walk to the bar with them. Tromping through the gravel, the other wives and girlfriends of the rodeo contestants for the evening joked and teased one another playfully. You walked off to the side of the group, a social position you were all too familiar with. You were there, sure, but ten years from now when the stories of these nights are repeated and reminisced on, it’s unlikely anyone will remember your presence.

Your brain was too full to join in on the conversation at the moment anyway. Anxiously, you twisted your ring. You’d never been one for jewelry, but when the most handsome cowboy in the world presents you with a gold band adorned with a small but brilliant diamond in the center, what more is there to say? As of right now, there were no plans. No white dress in the closet, no church booked, no cakes tasted. Just a simple request: that you love him forever. You didn’t need a ring or anything else in order to do that. You’d known you were going to do that anyway from the very start.

At the beer stand, one of the more boisterous girls calls out to each person to ask for their preference. When she reaches you, you hold up your bottle of water and smile as a way of saying, “Thanks, but I’m good.” Not that you didn’t want a beer. Boy, did you. Anything to calm your nerves. The neon green wristband you wore was verification to any of the stand workers that you’d been verified as being of legal drinking age, so that wasn’t an issue. You were the only one in the world who was privy to the knowledge that was sitting so heavily on your mind and heart.

You were pregnant.

---

One Week Prior

You’d never been…regular, you know? “Nothing to worry about,” you’d always been told. “Might have a little trouble conceiving someday, but we’ll cross that bridge when you’re ready,” your doctor had said. Dodge knew this, which was why neither of you’d had a problem forgoing protection now and again.

It also wasn’t uncommon for you to be nauseous. Hot girls have tummy issues, right? That’s why you didn’t think anything of it when you’d spent two days in a row with barely an appetite, feeling off. Until you’d been at work a few days ago and swore you could smell the fish a co-worker was reheating in the break room from a mile away.

“Oh, I remember when I was pregnant with my youngest, I could smell every little thing for a couple months. Made life miserable!” a different co-worker laughed. An innocent joke, but it got you thinking. That afternoon, you stopped by the drug store on your way home. Desperate, you tore the box open as soon as you got home. To your dismay, the directions specifically stated that test results would be most accurate if taken first thing in the morning. You buried the box in your bag, away from Dodge’s eyes. That night, thoughts raced through your mind at a pace that made it impossible to do or think about much else.

What should have been the easiest thing was by far the most difficult emotion to decipher. If the test came back positive, would you be happy? Would Dodge? And if it came back negative, would you be sad? Was it possible for both mindsets to coexist?

Though it caused you great discomfort, you skipped your morning bathroom visit and held it until you arrived at work. Locked safely away from the world, you followed the test directions, setting a timer for the requisite three-minute waiting period. Face buried in your hands, heart pounding, you wait.

Your phone begins vibrating in your lap. You lift your head to read your results. After a moment of contemplation, you carefully place the test back in its wrapper, then back inside its box. Tucking it in your bag once more, you exit the bathroom. Such a simple act, yet it felt too much like leaving behind one life and entering a whole new one.

One thing that had been certain, even before you’d taken the test, was that you couldn’t tell Dodge yet. He had been so nervous and worked so hard for this particular rodeo. You’d never forgive yourself if you distracted him with such life-altering news. This decision was affirmed when Dodge met his goal and then some under the starry Texas sky. It may not be the life of most people’s dreams: dirt and sweat, animal odor faintly in the air. Some people only have to hear the word “rodeo” and wrinkle their noses. But to you, there was nowhere else in the world you’d rather be.

After the night’s events were over and his tasks complete, Dodge found you just behind the bleachers. You extended your arms, thrilled about his victory. His huge grin lit up his face, a far cry from his usual half-smirk. He wrapped his arms around your waist, spinning you around with so much joy. As soon as he’d set your feet safely on the ground, he kissed you. This, too, was something else you’d never trade for all the mansions and luxuries in the world.

“C’mon, angel. Let’s go celebrate,” he rasped in your ear.

—

The name of the game became attempted casualness. You listened as he recapped the night from his point of view the entire time you had your late dinner, and even the whole ride home. Now that you were past the only restriction you’d given yourself, it was clear the logical next step was to tell him. But how? You hadn’t thought that far ahead. At home, he’d pecked your cheek and headed off to take a shower. You changed clothes and laid down, exhausted just from the mental load of the past 6 hours. Twenty minutes later, Dodge climbed into bed next to you with damp hair and red skin from the hot water. He wrapped his arms around you from behind, burying his face in your neck.

“Mm. Thank you for being there tonight. Makes me a lot braver when I see your beautiful face in the stands,” he mumbles into you. You turn to face him, placing a hand on his cheek.

“I’ll always be there for you, Andrew Mason.” Your use of his legal name makes him blush and release a sigh of contentment.

“I cannot wait to marry you,” he says. Your heart leaps.

“You know…” you begin. “We haven’t talked much about…the other stuff that comes with marriage.” He continues smiling, but gives you a puzzled look.

“Other stuff?” he asks.

“You know, kids, pets, stuff like that,” you respond.

“Ah, kids!” He says in a spirited tone. Oh, this lovely, funny side of Dodge that only you are ever given the privilege of seeing. “What are you thinking? Just a basketball team’s worth or go all the way for a baseball team?” You laugh in spite of yourself.

“Seriously!? We are not having 5 kids, much less 9!” you shriek.

“What?” Dodge says with false incredulity. “Says who?” he jokes.

“Says the person whose body has to carry and birth these children!”

“To which I again say, says who? We could always adopt a few!” You both chuckle at his lame and unintended rhyme. You both laugh for a moment more, but you allow the laughter to die down into calmer breathing before speaking again.

“I mean,” you broach carefully. “I’d like to have at least one of our own. A little…you and me all wrapped into one.” The whispered words almost choke you up, only because you are too aware of how close of a reality it is. Dodge looks at you lovingly.

“I can’t wait, angel.”

Despite every part of your brain screaming at you, you find the words you need to say.

“What if you didn’t have to?” you whisper. Dodge’s face slowly changes from lovestruck idiot to dumbfounded.

“What do you mean?” he asks carefully. You stare. He says your name in a scared, questioning tone.

“I’m pregnant,” you say, voice barely audible. You give him a small smile, despite the fear of his reaction. Dodge sits up, gently pulling his arms away, but never taking his eyes off of you.

“Are you serious?” he asks. Propping yourself up on one elbow, you assure him that yes, you are pregnant. He continues to stare. You’re beginning to feel shame, fear, and other awful feelings until finally, his lips crash into yours once more. When he pulls away, one hand cups your cheek, thumb rubbing back and forth mindlessly. His face remains close to yours, tears threatening to spill from his eyes, which causes you to tear up as well.

“You’re not mad?” you ask.

“Mad? I have never been happier in my entire life,” he gushes. “I didn’t think tonight could get any better. But…” he trails off so he can lean back a little and find your lower abdomen with his hand. Rubbing it gently and affectionately, he continues. “We’re having a baby, angel.”

“Yeah,” you nod, tears spilling down your smiling cheeks. “Yeah, we are."

#dodge mason x reader #mike faist #dodge mason #andrew dodge mason #panic #mike faist x reader #rodeo #cowboy baby #untitleddocument95 #cowboy x reader #pregnant reader #x reader

52 notes · View notes

goosita · 1 year ago

Text

billy antrim is smooth

he pulls you in with strong hands at your waist, warmth radiating off of him. his chest is broad and sturdy where your hands fall against it, flannel shirt soft and worn. there’s a group of other men somewhere in the corner of the saloon, playing at their guitars and fiddles while the oil lamps keep the place lit in a hazy glow.

“hey, sweetheart,” he drawls, giving you a crooked smile. so boyish and sweet despite the heat simmering in his eyes. “missed ya today.”

he’s been out in the sun, that much you can tell. his cheeks are redder than usual, freckles dotting his nose faintly. dust has settled in the wisps of dark hair that fray out from underneath his hat. he smells like grass and sunshine, something masculine and heavy below the surface. billy’s been pulling long days, doing work he never really tells you about. all you know and need to know is that he’ll come find you at the end of the day, he always does.

everyone in town always called him “the kid”, but by the time you’d met billy, he was all man. his jaw sharp and stubbled, tall and broad and firm, unyielding. he commanded attention, even when he didn’t mean to. billy antrim holds himself confidently, self-assured. he had a natural leadership to him, something that it caused people to look at him and see him. the men watch him with mixtures of admiration and envy, and the women watch him with longing and desire.

“missed you too, billy,” you say with a smile in return. and its true; you always miss him during the day. billy haunts your thoughts when the sun is up, then slinks into your arms when the moon replaces it.

he pulls you in tighter to his body, his hand splayed across your lower back pressing you flush against him. his grin twitches up a little higher at the little gasp that his actions pulls from you. this close, you can feel exactly how much he’d missed you pressing into your lower belly through your skirts.

“i know, baby.” he dips his head to skim the tip of his nose along your cheek, his breath tickling your ear. “can’t wait to get you alone,” he whispers, pressing the softest kiss below your jaw. you knew people were probably staring, his bold display of affection in such a public space making you shiver. it didn’t really matter much, though. everyone knew you were his girl anyway.

“slow down, cowboy. i’m havin’ a nice time right here, actually,” you tease. billy lets out a breathy chuckle that makes your stomach do fluttery things.

the boys in the corner continue to play and you let billy sway you to their song, keeping his heavy palm at your lower back and holding your hand in his free one.

“alright. you want slow, i’ll be slow for ya,” he whispers, mirth dancing in his gaze. “anything you want, darlin’.”

always so in control, your man is. but he bends for you, lets you take his reigns. you know he’ll always give it to you. billy antrim is steadfast and unwavering, until you look at him with your pretty eyes and sweet lips. when you tell him what you want, that becomes his whim too then.

later on, when your wants begin to melt into each other until neither of you can wait any longer, billy keeps his promise. the way he undresses you and pushes you gently down onto his bed is slow, even slower when his lips and tongue caress everywhere on your body he can reach until you’re gasping and mewling his name.

slow even as he rolls his hips into you, feeling the way your thighs tremble around his waist. his hands take their time caressing the length of your arms before his fingers are wrapping around your wrists, pinning them into the pillows above your head. his mouth does wicked things against your own, his tongue teasing and teeth nipping softly.

when you beg for him to move faster, he smirks against your lips and shakes his head.

“nuh uh. you wanted slow, remember? we’re gonna be slow tonight.”

he chuckles at your whine, making a cheeky point to push hips hips even more unhurriedly. his pubic bone grinds against your clit at every press, making your back arch. his cock grazes against a spot inside you that makes you sob his name, relentless even as he takes his sweet time with you. it’s overwhelming, the sweetest torture as he moves against you. his bare skin sliding against yours feels like velvet, smooth and soft and warm.

he’s everywhere all at once, and you relish in being completely at his mercy. his sheets smell like him, splayed out around you as you writhe; his mouth only ever leaves yours to find a new spot to kiss, lick, bite. his hushed voice fills your ears, low moans and filthy praises that make your cunt squeeze even tighter around him. billy’s a solid weight above you, completely surrounding you and all of your senses. he’s taking you apart piece by piece and you let him.

when you finally fall over the edge, it feels like it lasts for ages. your body shudders and you pant, whimpering as billy whispers praises in your ear.

“that’s it, baby. cum on my cock, just like that. fuck, you feel so good,” he growls, and you can tell he’s close too. your thighs tighten around him, hips lifting to meet each thrust of his until he’s groaning and dropping his head to your shoulder, spilling inside of you. his body shines in the moonlight with a thin sheen of sweat, hot to the touch and sensitive.

billy antrim is smooth where you need him to be, when he occupies your thoughts at all hours of the day and lures you into his bed at night.

a/n: shoutout to the anon who told me about the black velvet edit on tiktok and also @ voidaconitum for making said edit

#lets try this again #billy the kid #billy the kid x reader #billy the kid x you #tom blyth #tom blyth x reader #billy bonney #william h bonney

394 notes · View notes

withlove-amber · 1 year ago

Text

Peaches and Cowboy

gibbs x reader

This does take place before Jack Sloane appears in season 15

Peaches. (Y/N) only had to thank one Leroy Jethro Gibbs for that nickname. He insists it’s because she’s so sweet and kind. But, she’s pretty sure it’s because of her perfume. He calls her that only when they’re alone, neither of them want to ruin his reputation.

Her head was down on her desk, with paperwork covering every inch of her desk. Gibbs was growing concerned, because she was looking paler by the hour. Once Tony headed to interrogation, Ziva was checking out a lead, and Tim was getting an update from Abby, he made his way over to her desk. That’s when he smelled her perfume, peach with just a dash of vanilla. “Hey, peaches, you feelin’ okay?” Her head instantly rose from her desk, and she sleepily responded, “Yeah, just a headache the size of Texas. I’ll be alright. Just need to drink more water.” He was still concerned, but ultimately said, “Okay, let me know if you need anything.” “Will do, hun.”

The day went by and by the end of it, she was very excited to go home, make some soup, and crawl into a warm bed. Gibbs had the same idea, but because he was still concerned, he offered to drive her home. She was hesitant at first, saying she didn’t want to be a bother. But he insisted. And she damn near fell asleep during the ride home. She was so out of it, she didn’t even notice that it wasn’t her house. It was Gibbs’ house. Fair enough, they only live a street away from each other. She only noticed something was different when the front table was in a different spot than it was in her house. He led her to the couch, and told her to make herself comfortable. As she did, he disappeared into the kitchen. He reappeared a few moments later with two bowls of soup, water for her, and a beer for him. She felt a little bad that her friend was taking care of her, but ultimately felt so grateful that he cared enough about her to do so.

They ate in comfortable silence, and after finishing her soup, she started feeling incredibly exhausted. To no shock, he noticed that she was starting to fade. He took the dishes back into the kitchen, and when he returned to the living room, found her half asleep, curled up on the sofa. He gently pushed her hair away from her face, and gently laid a blanket on top of her. He whispered, “Goodnight, peaches.” She responded with a half-hearted mumble that sounded similar to, “Goodnight Jethro.” And with that, she fell into a very blissful sleep, where she dreamt of a very familiar silver-haired, steely-blue eyed man.

Cowboy. Gibbs only had (Y/N) to thank for that nickname. She calls him that only when they’re alone, neither of them want to ruin his reputation. It was a slow day, the team didn’t have a case, so they took the day to catch up on paperwork. Sometime in the afternoon, they all took a break (minus one silver-haired boss), and took turns guessing what their favorite movie genres were. Lastly, it was (Y/N)’s turn. She correctly guessed that Ziva hasn’t watched a lot of movies, Tim’s favorite is action-fantasy, and that Tony’s was classic films. But Gibbs, she had a hard time figuring his out. But ultimately, she correctly guessed he likes westerns. Specifically, black and white westerns. “Yeah I see it, cowboy. It fits.” And with that, that’s how he became “cowboy”. Just with an afternoon distraction from the mind-numbing paperwork they had all been busy with all day. The rest of the day went by in a blur. They all said their goodbyes and went their separate ways for the night. Sometime in the evening, (Y/N) found herself in Gibbs’ basement, drinking bourbon out of an old glass, talking with not her boss, but her friend.

“Why’d ya guess I like westerns?” “Because, you have this air of authority about you, your house is bare besides furniture, you have an old TV, and you build boats in your basement. Plus, at night, you smell like bourbon.” “Wow.” “Yeah… it’s one of my favorite things about you.” “What is?” “Everything. It’s just so you.” He leaned over and wrapped her in a hug. She swiftly accepted his hug, and held him tight. They spent the rest of the night laughing and talking about anything and everything. Not a lot of people know, but Gibbs can be very talkative with the right person. He also smiles his beautiful, soft smile quite a lot. But only when he’s with her. Only when he’s with his “peaches”. And when she’s with her “cowboy”, the sun will never be able to outshine her smile.

#ncis #gibbs x reader #leroy jethro gibbs #tony dinozzo #ziva david #tim mcgee #abby sciuto

227 notes · View notes

writing-until-i-drop · 7 months ago

Text

What's In A Name? Chapter Two

Meg Harding and Kate Carter were inseparable until their friends died five ago, then she ran to New Orleans to save lives as a paramedic. But when Javi calls on his two oldest friends to help him collect data, counting on their matching natural instincts for tornadoes, Meg goes home for the first time in years. That's where she meets Tyler and the rest of the Wranglers, the YouTube storm chasers her dad likes to watch, and finds herself fitting in more with them than with Storm PAR. Meg only plans to stay for the week but will it be easy to leave when the dust settles?

If a certain cowboy has a say in it, nothing about leaving is going to be easy.

A/N: A failed tornado chase and a long night at the bonfire.

AO3 Link

Previous Chapter

Welp. That had been a shit show. Kate had panicked before Meg and Javi could get the PAR on the ground, nearly driving off without them. Javi had been frustrated out of the gate but quickly realized just how pale their friend had gotten, the trauma clear in her eyes. Neither of them needed to ask what she had been thinking, it was clear as day that Kate had been reliving the EF-5 that had taken their friends.

Meg had been shaken being so close to a tornado again but she had come to terms with the situation a long time ago thanks both to her line of work as a paramedic and to the views on life and death in her adoptive home of New Orleans.

By the time they pulled into the shitty motel they’d be staying in for the night, the parking lot was filled with chasers throwing a little party, drinking, smoking, and dancing. There were even a few bonfires going, which Meg was sure the owners of the motel loved.

“Haven’t we stayed here before?” Javi asked as the trio strolled towards the motel, Meg scrunched her nose, trying to recall if they had stayed at this specific shitty motel before.

“Yeah, Javi,” Kate chuckled, “We’ve stayed in every motel in Oklahoma.” The three of them laughed, they really had stayed in a lot of motels while chasing storms for Kate and Parveen’s research.

“Remember we used to have Addy check in?” Javi reminisced, “Then later, we’d all sneak into the room just so we could all save ten bucks?” Kate and Meg were nodding along to the memories and Kate slipped her hand into Meg’s intertwining their fingers like old times. “We’d have Addy do it because she just looked-”

“So sweet,” The trio said together, laughing.

“She was also a cover hog, Kate and I would always end up cuddled up together to stay warm.” Kate snorted,

“And Parveen’s snoring?”

“Oh my god, not even industrial earplugs could block him out,” Javi added and they trailed off into a comfortable silence. “Hey, um, do you guys want to hang out later?” Javi asked and before Meg could agree, Kate was already shaking her head.

“We’re a little tired, Javi,” Kate spoke for the two of them like she always had. It didn’t bother Meg but she also wished that Kate was more open to having some fun after what they had been through that day. “Maybe another night?” Javi’s face fell but he recovered quickly, smiling at them.

“Yeah, alright, goodnight.”

“Night, Jav,” Meg hugged him tight, giving him a peck on the cheek. “Take a shower, you stink,”

“Yet somehow you still smell fresh as a cow’s ass, Meg,” Javi teased, ruffling her already messy hair. Kate pulled her away from Javi towards their shared room, quietly humming a tune Meg didn’t recognize. “It’s good to have y’all back!”

“I’m not back,” Kate shook her head with a smile. Javi’s eyes landed on Meg who was grinning, shrugging,

“You’ve got a week to convince me, Jav.” That lit his face up like a kid on Christmas.

They were halfway up a set of stairs when Tyler’s voice stopped them.

“City Girl, Louisiana,” The rest of the Wranglers shouted in greeting. Seeing them up close and personal, Meg was reminded not only of her friends but of her family, the chasers who she had grown up around and it made her smile. This was why her dad and the crew liked watching the streams so much, they saw themselves in the Wranglers and now that’s all Meg could see. A fondness grew in her heart for them. “The cells to the west will choke each other out, they said. The one to the east will put on a show.” Boone had a shit-eating grin on his face, obviously drunk as he hung off the side of Tyler’s truck.

“Well, it didn’t throw you off the scent,” Kate bit out with fake amusement.

“Hey, that’s what makes Tyler famous,” Boone gestured to his friend, who flushed at the compliment, turning his attention back to the weather instrument he was fixing.

“On YouTube?” Kate teased sarcastically but Boone was too far gone to get the nuance of the situation.

“Uh, yeah, yeah. We’re on YouTube.” He looked towards the rest of the crew, “We got what? About a million subscribers now?” The Wranglers whooped in excitement.

“Yes, sir,” The one Meg recognized as Lily chimed in, focused on her drone. Ben, the reporter from earlier in the day, came closer with his little notepad.

“Um, Kate and Meg what? In case I mention you in the article I’m writing,” Kate physically pulled away from the situation, trying and failing to look relaxed.

“Um, just Kate’s fine.”

“Starts with an H if that helps, Ben,” Meg gave him a tight smile, unwilling to share her famous surname in a parking lot full of chasers. Ben dutifully noted the information.

“They’re tricky,” Tyler remarked. Boone took over again, leaning dangerously far off of the truck.

“Actually, you made a good call earlier. The other cell looked stronger but the cap never broke.”

“What’s a cap?” Ben looked painfully confused and Meg felt bad for him, being so out of his element. Dexter’s explanation didn’t help much so Meg added in,

“Think of it as a shield in the atmosphere that prevents a tornado from forming.” That’s how Preacher had explained it to her as a kid, she saw the lightbulb go off in Ben’s head as he scribbled it down. “Are you hurt, Ben?” The man touched his temple where there was a bit of dried blood,

“‘Tis but a flesh wound, my dear.” Meg rolled her eyes, dropping her backpack on the ground and hopping the railing, landing deftly on the ground with the Wranglers with her heavy medical bag on her shoulder.

“Let the professional be the judge of that.” Meg knelt, digging out an alcohol wipe and a few bandages while the conversation flowed around them.

“Where did you guys all meet?” Kate asked, “Did you all study meteorology at U of A?” That got a laugh out of the rowdy group, none of whom had formally studied besides Tyler.

“This is going to burn for a second probably, alright, Sweetie?” Ben winced as she swiped away the dried blood. The wound wasn’t big, already scabbed over, so Meg put a regular bandaid on it, one of the bandaids she kept for kids with a smiling kitten on it. “Right as rain. Anyone else need a checkup?”

“You a doctor?” Lily asked, both brows raised.

“Nah, just a paramedic but I can fix you up if something’s bothering you.”

“Well, I hit my bicep on the camper door, I think you should kiss it better,” Dani said with a grin, teasing her. Meg rolled her eyes but happily crossed their set up to the impressively muscular woman. “Right here, Doc.” She flexed, pointing to a perfectly tan spot on her arm.

“I agree with your diagnosis, here,” Meg kissed the woman’s arm, “All better?”

“Here hurts too,” She pointed at her cheek and Meg obliged. “Thanks, Doc. All better.”

“I guarantee you, these guys have seen more tornadoes than anyone else on this lot combined.”

“Not likely,” Meg snorted softly. Dani gave her a questioning look, “Not my first rodeo by a long shot, Sweet Thing.”

“Really, do tell, Doc,” Meg shook her head, “I ain’t nearly drunk enough to start telling stories.”

“Dexter, get this fine-looking woman a beer,” Meg looked up at Kate who was shaking her head with an easy smile on her face, used to Meg making friends anywhere they went.

“Where are you chasing tomorrow?” Lily asked Kate, who looked like she was going to answer when Tyler interrupted her. Dexter dutifully handed Meg an unopened can of Budweiser.

“Oh no, no, no, not falling for that again. Kate’s from New York, you can’t trust a word she says.” Meg snorted, covering it up with a cough, thanking Dexter for the beer. Tyler must have never heard a New York accent before because Kate’s twang, as much as she tried to hide it, was so clearly southern.

“Well, you can always trust a guy who puts his face on a t-shirt,” Kate snarked with a grin, getting yet another laugh out of the Wranglers. “See you in the room, Mud Bug.” Kate shouldered Meg’s bag and headed up the stairs.

Dani pulled a folding chair out of the van and motioned for Meg to join them, Boone, who had been focused on Kate, joined them after a few seconds.

“You seem like a cool cat, Meg. Don’t tell me you got one of those fancy degrees too,” Meg shook her head, taking a sip of the cold beer with a sigh.

“Just a bachelor's in public health.”

“So you were sniffing the dirt for fun?” Tyler called down from the top of his truck,

“Said I never studied, doesn’t mean I haven’t been around more twisters than in your wildest dreams,” Meg called back, getting a pat on the shoulder from Dani. “Here, Sweet Thing, my first tattoo,” She pointed to her bicep, where there was a large illustration of a tornado with Dorothy’s sensors flying in it.

“Shit, that’s cool, what’s in it?”

“Y’all know about Dorothy?” Dexter perked up, spinning around,

“I do!”

“What’s Dorothy?” Ben asked, pen poised over his notebook again. Meg would have to text her mom about this, it would make her coo with laughter imagining her daughter enthralling a group of chasers and a reporter with stories about her and her husband’s old project.

“It revolutionized tornado data,” Dexter spoke excitedly.

“Yep, two Muskogee State PhDs and their team came up with the idea to send sensors up a tornado’s funnel, which recorded real-time data about the tornado. Allowing them to create a better early warning system.”

“Bill and Jo Harding,” Dexter added, “They’re legends in the field.” Meg had a sneaking suspicion that Dexter would have a heart attack if he ever met her parents. “Can I see it?” He gestured to her arm and she held it out for him. Dexter snapped a photo of it with his phone with Meg’s permission.

“Seeing a twister suck up those sensors is a godly experience,” Meg teased, taking a long drink of her beer as she watched her words sink in.

“You’ve watched Dorothy be deployed?”

“Many times, like I said, not my first rodeo. Kate and Jav’s seen it too once or twice.” Boone’s face soured,

“What are you doing with that crowd anyway? Storm PAR ain’t great company to keep.” Meg filed that information away for a later date, not wanting to ruin the moment.

“I ain’t here to be with them, I’m here for Kate, who’s here to help out an old friend.” Boone seemed satisfied with that answer,

“Shit, you got a lot of tattoos.”

“This ain’t even all of them, Boonie Baby,” She realized her mistake as soon as the nickname left her mouth. Lily was the first to round on her,

“You watch our streams?”

“I’ve seen a few minutes here and there, darlin’, enough to know who y’all are.” Tyler climbed down off of the truck, giving her an appraising look that had Meg turning pink.

“I was right, Louisiana, you are a tricky one.” Meg rolled her eyes, “What’s so funny?”

“Not from Louisiana, Arkansas,” Boone chuckled at his friend’s expense, patting him on the shoulder. “Take another guess.”

“Texas?”

“Say that again and I’ll slash your tires, Sweetie Pie,” Meg was a proud Sooners fan, her hatred for the Texas Longhorns running deep. Tyler barked out a laugh, shaking his head.

“An Oklahoma girl then, I should’ve known.” Ben looked confused again, so Meg bailed him out, explaining the college football rivalry. “So, if this isn’t your first rodeo, what was?”

“You always goin’ around askin’ girls what their first tornadoes were?” Meg teased,

“Only the pretty ones.” Meg’s blush deepened, “So, what was it, Oklahoma?” Meg finished her beer,

“Got anything stronger?” Boone happily fetched her another can, this time it was purple with a high APV rating on the bottom. He perched himself on the edge of the table Lily was working on, Tyler coming to stand at his side.

“My parents loved to chase a storm, any storm, and when I was five we were out to dinner when dad realized something big was about to break. So, they threw me in the car, and off we went. It came down right in front of us, maybe a hundred yards down the road. We were stupid close to an F-3,”

“EF-3, you mean?” Tyler tried to correct her, eyes widening when she shook her head.

“This was 2001, Sweetie Pie, now hush, I’m telling a story.”

“Yeah, Ty, hush,” Dani huffed. Meg took great pleasure in Tyler’s blush and the way he looked away from the group to hide it.

“It was beautiful, watching it uproot the trees along the road, eating everything in its path. I tried to get my mom to open up the sunroof so I could climb out and see it better.”

“You weren’t scared?” Ben asked, writing notes. Meg had never been scared of a tornado in her life, something her parents accused each other of teaching her. Not even after the incident, she respected them and the damage they could do of course.

Mother Nature was not someone she wanted to mess with but she had always just found the storms to be chaotic, wild, and absolutely thrilling. Being scared of dying was another question, one she hadn’t been asked and wasn’t going to answer. Her wrist started to ache and Meg switched the hand holding her drink.

“You know when you see a lion at the zoo? It’s kind of like that, you know it’s a killing machine and could and would rip you to shreds without breaking a sweat but you also can’t help but admire how majestic and beautiful it is.”

“God, look at his face,” Lily scoffed, looking at Tyler. Meg glanced his way and found him staring back at her with a look she couldn’t read but one of his friends seemed to understand.

“But you’re a paramedic, not a chaser?” Ben prompted, drawing her attention away from the cowboy.

“That’s right, storms are the love of my life but helping people, that’s what I’m good at. But enough about me, who else has some stories? Laissez les bons temps rouler!”

“Hell yeah!” Boone tapped his can to hers, “I like you!”

Next Chapter

Taglist: @theforevermorereject @beltzboys2015-blog @writingrose @sinners-98-world @nerdgirljen @candlejuice

Want to join the taglist? Just ask!

#what's in a name fic #tyler owens x oc #twisters fanfic #twisters 2024 #twister 1996 #twisters #kate carter #javi rivera

74 notes · View notes