#poeticbarnes writes
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Home (Joel Miller x Barbie!Reader)
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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
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helloooooooo b could you please maybe do "tender kisses when one brings home flowers for the other." w/ Chris Beck? thank you ily!!
heyyyy b! i hope this fulfils your fluff needs and it does Beck justice :D ily!
Prompt: “tender kisses when one brings home flowers for the other” w/ Chris Beck
The news played quietly on the TV as you watched with anticipation. The Hermes crew had landed that day and it was all that was plastered on every front page and on every news channel.
You wished you could have been there to welcome Chris home but with a 3 year old, it wasn’t the best place for them to be, surrounded by news reporters and many fans. Instead, you had to watch the arrival all from a TV screen, not being able to dull the ache in your chest as you longed to be with your husband after not seeing him for so long.
It was currently 11:30pm and you were laid on the sofa, a blanket thrown over your body as you stared at the screen in front of you, although you weren’t paying much attention to what was happening.
The sound of a key being pushed into the lock of the front door snapped you out of your daze. You slowly sat up, listening to the door open and close, shoes and bags being chucked on the hallway floor and the soft sound of sock clad feet making their way towards the living room.
It was like a sight from a dream. Chris Beck, your husband, was stood in the doorway of your living room, a tired but loving smile plastered onto his face as he took in the site of his beautiful wife. A bunch of roses held in his right hand as he rushed over to you.
“Chris,” you whispered as he bent down in front of where you were sitting. He didn’t say anything, just connected his lips to yours, his free hand making it’s way around the back of your neck, pulling you closer to his body, deepening the kiss.
The kiss felt like it lasted forever, and you wouldn’t mind if it did. Chris pulled away slowly, resting his forehead against your own, placing one last gentle kiss against your lips before opening his eyes.
“I’ve missed you so much, darling,” he whispered, smiling up at you. A grin broke out onto your face and Chris believed it was the most heavenly sight he had ever seen. “I’ve missed you too, baby,” you giggled, pushing your lips forward again and placing them on Chris’.
He chuckled, causing you to pull away. He moved slightly, lifting the bouquet of roses in between your bodies. “This was all they had at the shop, I promise I’ll get you something better tomorrow,” he admitted, a shy smile on his face.
You shook your head, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and pulling him up onto the sofa to lay with you. “You’re all I need, Chris.”
Drabble Prompts
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FIC RECS (Part 6) :)
sorry if you got tagged in this again, I'm a dummy and deleted it on accident :(
Request: Could you recommend me some biker!bucky fics? I’ve read all of @bucky-plums-barnes’ and I’m desperate for more
Alright guys, this is my favorite fic recommendation list I’ve done thus far. Lets buckle up for my absolute favorite AU. This one is LONG. But I just couldn’t stop I love this AU too much to not go on and on lol. These fics are amazing, I tried to keep it to one fic an author, but I stated if they had more! Also the descriptions may be a little smaller, because there were so many I didn’t want this to be way too long :) And shoutout to @bucky-plums-barnes for all of their amazing biker stuff too!
Swallow by @all1e23
This fic here, is absolutely beautiful. The way Allie writes is so unique, and reading their work is always a wonderful experience. There is never an emotion that goes unfelt by the reader. This fic is a story that perfectly embodies the way love makes you act. Love isnt perfect, its heartbreak, and destruction, and pain, yet above all else its beautiful. Don’t go in expecting a fairy tail, go in expecting tangible realistic love between two broken people. Also, Allie has an amazing story called Home, that I also highly recommend.
New Girl by @omnomsauruswrites
This was the first biker Bucky story I ever read, and I think thats why its one of my favorite AUs, because I got sun a good start with this fic. I love this story. We’ve got enemies to lovers, biker bucky, and a killer plot twist that I did NOT see coming. All in all it was such a lovely story. Its shorter chapters, but every word is purposeful to making you fall in love with both characters. In the end you get a happily ever after, and you couldn’t ask for more!
Howling’ For You by @invisibleanonymousmonsters
Ohh my love, my whole heart is in this fic. This is such an amazing story. I sometimes don’t love the good girl bad boy trope because its overdone and excessive, but THIS. This is so well done, is he protective? Yes. But does he also know she is perfectly capable of being an independent human? Yes! There were so many twists and turns and absolutely heartwarming love between the two characters. I also love how in character every person is. Amazingly well done, would read it every day if I could.
Wild Horses by @whitewolfbumble
Bad Boy exterior SOFT boy middle?? Yes! This fic is so adorable. It really shows the build of the relationship, and thats always my favorite part. It was such a true to life story in my opinion, the reader started of lost and finding her place in the world, then this lovely group of people just accepted her and helped her through her tough times. It was such a heartwarming read, with angst that just solidified the connection between the characters. And the friendship they all had was so refreshing compared to some stories where people are just rude for no reason. Its a short yet sweet read, and I 100% recommend it.
Long Way Round by @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan
This was a hard one to choose, so many amazing biker stories they’ve written! But im a sucker for series’ and this series is so awesome. I LOVE Plus size reader stories, hell yeah representation! Now this story is a TRIP! Its like a really good episode of criminal minds. There are so many details jam packed into this that I couldn’t put my phone down! Shady gangs, corrupt leaders, and a smart as hell reader. This was just such a good read, not even for Bucky, but just for the incredible story telling. Sweet protective Bucky is always a plus though. Also, check out their other amazing stories like The Bounty, and Red Star Rebel, they’re just as amazing as this one!
A Real Sweet Guy by @mycupoffanfiction
I remember when I first read this it was only a oneshot and I was super sad, but then BOOM it turned into an adorable series. Its not done yet but its so good so far! Its the epitome of soft baby boy Bucky under a hard tough guy exterior. The way Ellie portrays relationships between characters is so cute, you feel the love between everyone whether that be platonic or romantic. Its through details that she sets up this lovely little universe that you just get sucked into, and honesty im fine staying there lol. I cant wait to read more of this one!
Rebel by @promarvelfangirl
Okay for this, just a warning, my device has a little trouble with the master list so it may be easier to use the desktop version :) Okay about the story, holy hell this one is cute. Bucky is HOPELESS, and just wants a date, Peter has the worst timing, and Steve just is along for the ride. I love mutual pining fics where one is completely oblivious to the other trying to ask them out, and the other is just trying their best lol. I felt like banging my head on the table very time Bucky got too nervous, but alas! It worked in the end, adorable little fic. They also have a cute set of biker Bucky stories called Fancy hair that I love so much.
Born To Run by @softbiker
Slow burn baby! This one is still in progress but hot damn is it good so far. I love this trope of the girl not really wanting anything to do with the guy but the guy and his friends being like well thats too dang bad! I love the idea that family isn’t what you’re born with, its who you love and who loves you. This fic is absolutely lovely so far, and though obviously I don’t know much about where its going to end up, where it is right now is good enough for me to put it on this list!
Notorious by @interestedbystanderwrites
I know I’ve been going on and on about how much I love Soft sweet Bucky. But I also LOVE badass tough guy who is very scary Bucky. And oh baby is this the perfect fic for that! Bucky is a felon, and a hot one at that. And what he sets his eyes on, he gets. That thing just so happens to be the all to trusting reader. This is such a thrilling fic. It reminds me of baby driver for some reason. I love seeing the cracks that show a bit of sweet Bucky. It leaves me waiting for more! He’s her addiction, she cant help but to stick around. Such a good fic, I cannot wait for more of it!
Deny Me by @brooklynsboys
This fic made my heart turn to mush. Its about an insecure reader, and a tough buck who has the softest heart ever but doesn’t know how to show it sometimes. My absolute favorite bucky is the bucky that only his girl gets to see, and this is the perfect representation of that. The way they write is spectacular. They get you to completely understand the feelings the character has without literally just writing it. You are right there in the world with them, feeling what they feel. And who doesn’t love a perfect happy ending?
Whatever it Takes by @sgtjbuccky
Oh Buddy, lets talk about how much I LOVE this fic. Bucky is the biggest charming jerk there is, but you love to hate him. I was smiling the whole way through this read. Literally my face hurt by the end I was smiling so big! It was cute, and I felt every frustration, yet every single bit of the tension they had. The reader is a smart little cookie, and bucky is too cocky for his own good. If you want a cute extremely well written fic, this is the place to go!
Tender Surprises by @empyreanwritings
Jesus, talk about tooth rotting tear jerking fluff. You know those videos where the child asks a pseudo-parent to adopt them? Yeah, thats this perfectly embodied in a fic. I cried, read it again, then cried some more. I love how it mixes tough biker Bucky with soft non-toxic masculinity father. We need more of that. It was so perfectly written, the flashbacks are perfectly placed, and give another layer of depth into this familial relationship they have. I love Dad!Bucky and Biker!Bucky, so to have them wrapped into on is perfect.
Softail by @nacho-bucky
Theres something about the way Cait writes thats just poetic. She could write about my morning routine and it would be art. This fic is no exception. Its the cutest little thing, two people in a diner, brought together by chance and a little bit of courage. Its an adorable little story about trust, and taking a chance. Bucky is supportive and encouraging, reader is a little scared. But it all works out in the end, because everything is okay when you’re with the one you love. 10/10.
You Give Love, A Bad Name by @em-imagines
I love stories like these. The cocky boy chasing the uninterested girl, yet there is obviously some tension there? Yeah, thats my cuppa tea right there. Also, its a high school AU! Love those. This story is definitely a mixed bag of feels. You get the super cute chase, but you also see a raw side of Bucky, and his unfortunate home life. As sad as it is, I think its a good representation of true life, where there is always something that you don’t know about someone. Theres vulnerability to this, and that makes it such a lovely story to read. Incredibly well done.
What’s On The Inside by @revengingbarnes
Is this technically a mechanic and not Biker AU? Yes. But he rides a motorcycle and its too good to not mention lol. This fic is ADORABLE. Mutual Pining! Shy flirting! Instant Connection! Bike Riding! Its incredibly well done too. Its just one of those feel good stories, it makes you smile, and want to get to know more about the characters. Soft Beefy bucky is my favorite boy, and this is SUCH a good representation of him. My heart was mush the whole way through. 10/10 would read again (for the 12739th time)
Broken by @allthebucky now on @poeticbarnes
Forbidden lovers y’all, thats it. Like Romeo and Juliet except Bucky is a dummy who doesn’t know the right thing to do, and the reader just wanted truth. Its a short but sweet little fic, theres so much emotion packed into the story too! You feel the pain the reader and bucky hold at different times, but you also feel the longing as well. Its such a cute relationship they have, and I’m always a sucker for bucky putting the reader first!
Over The River and Through the Woods by @geminimoonbeamx
Sure its only September, but that doesn’t mean its not time for a killer Christmas Fic! Also another plus size reader hell yeah! I LOVE the domesticity from this! Its like Love Actually, a bunch of absolutely crazy people coming together, and the reader and Bucky are just trying to get out alive lol. It also really sweet in dressing what its like to be without those you love on holidays. A perfect balance of sweet and serious. Its so cute, and so funny. I have a non conventional family so I can relate to this so much. The love between the two is so palpable and so heartwarming.
Home Sweet Home by @sweet-barnes
Their name says it all. This story is just one big ball of sweet biker Bucky and his sleepy gal. I am always looking for those small tooth rotting fics just to boost my feelings for a day and oh man is this is. Bucky is the biggest cuddle bug in history and not even his scary biker persona can change my mind. This fic made me smile so hard, and then want to take a nice nap with the teddy bear Bucky Barnes himself.
Skin by @captain-ariel-barnes
Okay I love this one because I’ve not read another like it. I love how she portrays Bucky as having been in an accident and having memory problems because of it. Its so real and sad when you think about it because its entirely realistic and truthful to life. And boy is Bucky not just the sweetest thing ever. He wants to remember his girl no matter what, so he makes it permanent. Their relationship is so cute. I just love soft Bucky with my whole heart. Amazing story, so well done!
The Mailbox by @kaunis-sielu
This one was one of the first one shots I read of biker bucky and I still love it so much! Bucky is such a softie, running into mailboxes fixing them, even having Steve paint it? Okay big bad biker guy, you sure are scary… Also, protective bucky yeah baby!! Hell do what he needs to to keep the reader safe, and oh baby if that isn’t like my favorite trope ever. Also the little sassy elements are hilarious. I also recommend their other biker fics such as Stitches, or Just Married. :)
Oh god. That was a long one. Would you believe me if I said I had to cut it from 37 to these 20 here? Hardest decision of my life lol. Thank you all so much for reading until the end. I hope you all love these fics as much as I do! :)
#bucky x you#bucky x y/n#bucky fic#bucky barnes#bucky#bucky x reader#bucky fluff#bucky angst#biker!bucky#bucky barnes smut#bucky barnes x reader#searchingforbucky#bucky series#bucky barnes imagine#bucky fanfic#bucky barnes angst#bucky barnes fic#ficrecs
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8 people I’d like to know Better
Tagged by the wonderful @nerdypinupcrystal
Name: m(andii)
Birthday: June 29
Zodiac sign: an emotional cancer
Height: 5’6
Hobbies: bullet journaling, writing, watching movies, and reading
Favorite color: Blush pink or mint green
Favorite book: the Summer I Turned Pretty by Jenny Han
Last song I listened to: Number One Fan by Muna
Last film I watched: The Lion King
Inspiration or Muse: Joe Keery, Sebastian Stan, Chris Evans and Charlie Cox.
Dream Job: Working as a casting director
Meaning behind your URL: my love of spider-man and Peter Parker and my favorite word babe.
I’m tagging all these lovelies: @higher-further-faster-bb @hollyxxcxx1996 @geminimoonbeamx @coal000 @theonelittleone @lostxsea @poeticbarnes @asphalt-cocktail and anyone who would like to do this 💖
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Bucky Barnes Headcanons: pining for you
This is basically just adorable pining Bucky.
This was not requested so idk why I did this when I have so much writing to do that was requested months ago but, y’know, shit happens. Enjoy anyway! P.S. this is the first piece of bucky writing I’ve ever posted so… exciting but also terrifying??
In my world everyone forgave everyone at the end of civil war and now everyone lives together and bucky still gets to live his best life w/o his left arm (bc that was obvi his choice when he was living in wakanda so why not here too?) and iw never happened bc i refuse.
Bucky would be the first to admit that he was no longer smooth when it came to dating
while he may once have had a way with women (and occasionally men)
this was something that had been lost long ago
and honestly he hadn't really had much use for it anyway recently
romance wasn’t exactly on the forefront of his mind
until he met you
and then suddenly he was praying for his long lost skill to come back
at least a little
because honestly?
his game was lacking so. badly.
When you first met him Bucky was on the better side of recovering
he’d accepted that he could never be as he once was
and he was well on his way to healing and becoming a new person
someone he wanted to be
someone he was ready to be
Bucky Barnes 2.0
and right off the bat he’d thought you were attractive
and funny
and smart
and goddamn were you attractive
which meant that he was a little quiet at first
a little nervous
a lot insecure
he’d do things like angle himself so that you couldn’t see his left side
keep his head down so that his hair covered his face
look at you only when you couldn’t see him
basically just tried to make himself invisible
but because he was all new & improved
he decided to work through this properly
and eventually spoke his insecurities and his “I’m not good enough”s and his “I don’t deserve love”s through with his therapist
and came out mulling over the thought that maybe
just maybe
after everything he’d been through
he did deserve love
and maybe he was actually ready for it
So after two months of stilted conversation, averted eyes and hidden feelings
Bucky Barnes decides to give it his best shot at romancing you
And that was when he realised that he wasn’t quite as smooth as his memory suggests he used to be
despite his best efforts he still seemed to become mute around you
sometimes because he was too busy admiring you to come up with a whole structured sentence at the same time
seriously, how could he be expected to when you looked like that?
sometimes because he’d try to speak
and end up mumbling or stuttering
which just made him feel embarrassed so he closed ranks again
but mostly just because he was so nervous that he was going to fuck it up
and he figured that if he didn’t say anything
then he couldn’t ruin anything
right?
not only did it turn out that he couldn’t speak
but apparently he had absolutely no control over his remaining limbs
he dropped things left and right when you were around
cups were elbowed off tables
chairs were walked into and subsequently knocked over
steps were stumbled over
once he even managed to walk head-on right into steve
and hell if sam didn’t rip him to shit over it for weeks afterwards
he hadn’t even known it was possible for one to be so clumsy when they were all pumped full of super serum
and yet here he was
(what he didn’t know was that you found his clumsiness entirely endearing)
Bucky made the drastic mistake of hinting that he needed help to Steve and Sam
Steve only made a couple of jibes before seriously making an effort to help
you were friends with steve so he could give bucky tips
flowers he knows you like
your favourite kind of chocolate
TV shows he knows you watch
film genres that you saw the most at the cinema
restaurants that you raved about
even small things like your favourite colour
bucky used this information to the best of his ability
aka he may or may not have bought 12 new tshirts in that colour as well as two pairs of sweatpants
Sam however
Sam was significantly less helpful
ie he laughed his ass off
made a few glib remarks about bucky’s helplessness
and shrugged “i don’t know man I can honestly say I’ve never been in your situation - a centenarian tryna seduce someone a quarter their age”
a couple of hours after that sam comes to him and gives him some real advice
(after ensuring that no one would ever know that it was possible for him to be so nice to bucky)
“you gotta get off your ass, man, and let her know that you want her. you can’t expect her to choose you if she doesn’t know you’re an option.”
Sam’s advice really hit home
and Steve’s was exceptionally useful in helping him ‘get off his ass’ and put a plan into action
Bucky Barnes is bisexual, let’s be real here, he deffo seduced men and women alike back in the olden days.
This will be followed by another set of headcanons at some point in the future (bc this was getting long so I figured I’d make a separate post) wherein Bucky confesses his feelings and finally (finally) asks you out. If you wanna be tagged in that, drop me an ask.
I’m in a very Bucky-centric state of mind rn so I’m going to very briefly open headcanon requests for Bucky Barnes only. I’m only gonna take a few so send them in quickly!
Taglists are open - just drop me an ask if you want to be added! I have a permanent tag, as well as character tags, fandom tags and series tags.
Perma-tags: @im-socialy-awkward-no-joke
Bucky Barnes tags: @poeticbarnes
#bucky barnes#bucky barnes x reader#bucky x reader#bucky barnes headcanons#bucky headcanons#bucky x you#bucky barnes x you#bucky barnes headcanon#bucky headcanon#bucky barnes drabble#bucky imagine#bucky barnes imagine#bucky drabble#sebastian stan#sebstan#seb stan
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know me better
tagged by @poeticbarnes
Rules : answer 21 questions and then tag 21 people who you want to know better
Nickname : don’t trully have one
zodiac : sagittarius
height : 5″4 (1.64m)
last movie i saw : bird box
last thing i googled : Mammon (it’s the name of a demon, was searching that for smth i’m writing)
favorite musician : it varies like A LOT but it’s either Shawn Mendes, Frank Sinatra or Passenger (which are so different from each other lmao) but i also adore Harry Styles, and i’m more of a playlist person.
song stuck in my head : Somebody to you - The Vamps
other blog : @shawns-a-cute-ass-muffin and i have no idea why i have this blog i’m not even using it, i might delete
do i get asks: nope but feel free to send me stuff
following : 171 but i’m following a lot of people lately so it’s gonna grow fast
amount of sleep : well when i have class i try to go to sleep not too late cuz i have to wake up early so it’s like 11PM-6AM but when i’m on holidays i’m a sloth i sleep 12-13 hours and i’m living my best life when i sleep lmao
lucky number : huh none i guess
What i’m wearing rn : gryffindor velvet sweatpants which i ADORE it’s so comfy and my bf’s shirt
dream job : i have no idea, i’m currently studying law / economics and management in a bi-diploma but idk where i’m going, i’m just doing stuff that i enjoy and we’ll see later haha
dream trip : i’d love to do a road trip somewhere, across america or europe, with my best friends, that would be so great.
favourite food : sushis, pizza, i love indian and chinese
play any instrument : i used to play the guitar but i haven’t played in so long i probably don’t remember a thing
languages : I’m french so like french and english i guess (i’ve been learning german at school for like almost 10 years and i still don’t know a thing)
favorite songs : tbh it really depends on my mood, i have some playlists if you want (here, here, here and here also i make tons of playlists on spotify so if you wanna check them out here, some might please ya, there’s also a collaborative one if you want to recommand me songs just add them in) cuz the list would be very looong.
random fact : oh boy idk huh i’m on the phone rn with a friend of mine and she’s telling me about her first ever one night stand and i swear this is hilarious nothing went right, it was a total disaster, poor girl
describe yourself as aesthetic things : idk, vanilla candles, fluffy pillows, throw blanket, fairy lights, vinyls, tiny plants, pastel colors, dreamcatcher, flowers teddy bears, iced tea and donuts idek what and aesthetic thing is supposed to be lmao
i tag : @bucky-plums-barnes @softboyshawn @softlybarnes @song-bird-shawn @shawnm521 @shawnsmoans @buckysgoldenheart @avengerofyourheart @elivanah @revengingbarnes @torontogawd @illumendes @infiniteshawn @buckitybarnes @imaginingbucky @lostinshawnslight @gaybybirth @flickershawn @dirtymendes @caplansteverogers @hufflebucky love
so i’m actually going to sleep rn and i’m too lazy to check for any mistakes, so sorry and goodnight/day whatever ( if anyone ever read this i love ya)
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“Tagged by @poeticbarnes
it’s kinda nice that you really want to know more about me xD
Rules: answer 21 questions and then tag 21 people who you want to get to know better.
(I don’t even know 21 people here xD)
Nickname: Ju
Zodiac : Aquarius
height : 1,75m ...I suppose. May be that I am taller.
Last movie I saw : I’m not even sure. Maybe it was Forrest Gump.
last thing I googled: what to do against sore throat
favorite musician: I don’t have one
song stuck in my head: a lot of hungarian songs at the moment.
other blogs: Nope
do I get asks: not really
following: 64
amount of sleep: not enough. never enough.
lucky number: I like 11 :D
what I’m wearing: Jeans and a sweater
dream job: I would like to write. The best of course would be to write my own book series
dream trip: uh, I have so many places to visit...going to Scotland, Ireland an New Zealand would be awesome
favorite food: Pizza.
play any instruments: Flute
languages: German, Hungarian, English, a bit Spanish
favorite songs: “Perfect Day” by Lou Reed, “Wild World” version from Skins
random fact: I collect snow globes
describe yourself as aesthetic things: I am not even an aesthetic person, I think xD ...but, well: Tea, stormy weather, fluffy socks and blankets, ehh, I don’t know anymore xD
I’m tagging: @jungwencantdie @leualamia
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fall/autumn preferences
tagged by @cilntbarton thanks love 💜💜
Rules: bold what you prefer & tag 10 people
1. go apple picking vs go on a hay ride
2. scary vs. sweet
3. sweaters vs. boots
4. socks vs. mittens
5. bonfires vs. football
6. trick-or-treating vs. watch scary movies
7. bake pies vs. bake cookies
8. rain vs. fog
9. black cats vs. owls
10. ghosts vs. wizards
11. harry potter vs. halloweentown
12. go hiking vs. sleep in
13. cinnamon vs. nutmeg
14. reading vs. writing
15. hot chocolate vs. tea
16. live in a cabin in a forest vs. have it be fall 24/7
17. candy apples vs. caramel apples
18. blankets vs. pillows
19. roasted marshmallows vs. roasted chestnuts
20. coffee vs. apple cider
21. red leaves vs. orange leaves
22. braids vs. bows
23. scented candles vs. the smell of fresh baked goods
24. carve pumpkins vs. make pumpkin pie
25. pumpkin spice lattes vs. chai tea lattes
26. coats vs. oversized sweaters
27. beanies vs. berets
28. candy corn vs. peanut butter cups
29. s’mores vs. apple crisp
30. jump in a pile of leaves vs. swing on a tire
31. corn maze vs. haunted house
32. bob for apples vs. visit a pumpkin patch
33. whipped cream on hot chocolate vs. marshmallows on hot chocolate
tagging: @valkyriesbi @ironarm @nativemossy @book-of-emmy @probably-not-star-lord @sebbiebarneslikeplvms @poeticbarnes @gettingdizzyonn @starswarss @midgardian-princess
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Prettyyoungtragedy 2k Writing challenge!
FIRST OF ALL THANK YOU ALL SO FUCKING MUCH!
I can’t believe 2000 of you actually hit that follow button and want to see my posts on you dash! Thank you for all the reblogs on my fics, and the memes and comments! You ALL make my day every day! I love you all so much!!!
So to celebrate my lil milestone! I want to do the age old Tumblr tradition of a writing challenge!
I HAD TO CHANGE IT BECAUSE I GOT TO 2K FOLLOWERS! WHAT EVEN, YA’LL ARE AMAZING!!!!
A few rules before we get started:
must be following This Stucky Trash blog!
reblog this post to signal boost
You can write for any character so long as they’re from any MCU movies/comics or tv shows. you can also write for any Chris Evans or Sebastian Stan character.
all lengths are accepted; Oneshots, drabbles or series. word minimum is 500. There is no maximum
Any genre is allowed fluff, au, angst, smut, etc. just make sure you include all warnings at the beginning of your submission, and add a “KEEP READING” Cut please!
if you write smut i beg that you’re over 18 to submit it. no peter parker/Shuri smut PLEASE
Must be reader insert
One prompt/song lyric per writer!
The prompt must be used as a basis for you fic!
Tag me @Prettyyoungtragedy in your A/N so I can add them to my masterlist page!
Please tag your work with #PYT2k and #PYTwritingchallenge
Deadline to post your submission is 11th July 2018 (MY BIRTHDAY)
send me an ASK or Message with what prompt you want and what character it is for so I can update this list and there are no repeats!
Prompts:
AU’s:
College!AU – @mcu-peterparker
Single Parent!AU – @alongwinter
Soulmate!AU – @stark-spangledbanner w/ Bucky Barnes
Royal!AU – @Anotherrotter
Neighbour!AU – @stuckyfox w/ Steve Rogers
Fake Lover!AU – @buchonians w/ Carter Baizen
Dialogue:
“Do you even know how to use a phone?” - @notimetoblog w/ Bucky Barnes
“Yes? No...Maybe...Shut up!” - @gotov-otvechat w/ Bucky barnes
“Don’t leave me...”, “I wont. I got you, soldier” - @writingsbychlo w/Bucky Barnes
“What is up with Y/N?”, “Her moms here.”, “Oh god, Satan’s here?!” - @lostinthoughtsandfeelings w/ ?
“Somehow you don’t even have to open your mouth to make my head hurt!” - @macaroni-marvel
“Hear my heartbeat? Just focus on that.” - @fxnrisulv w/ Steve Rogers
“I can fix that!”, “No, I am calling a professional!”, “I am a professional!!”, “A more professional, professional!” - @blackirisposts w/ Bucky Barnes
“You’re the crown prince of collateral damage!” - @henrietteoaks w/ Loki
“I love you!”, “I know.” - @awwtommo w/ Bucky Barnes
“Where is the tequila? Who drank my fucking tequila!” - @spideymybuck w/ Bucky Barnes
“How long can you keep this up?!”- @rhiisnotawitch w/ Bucky Barnes
“Do you know how long I have waited for this?” - @hereforsumbucky w/Bucky Barnes
“Welp...Its definitely bigger than i expected” - @softhairbarnes w/ Bucky Barnes
“Do you have to smell so good all the time?” - @steve-rogers-personal-hell w/ Steve Rogers
“what’s your darkest desire?” - @poeticbarnes w/ Bucky Barnes
“Is this okay?” - @readitandweepfics w/ Steve Rogers
“Shower?” “Shower!” - @buckysforeverprincess w/ Stucky
“Touch me...” - @sinceimetyou w/Steve Rogers
“God, you have that fuck me face again.” - @4theluvofall w/ Bucky Barnes
Places:
Library - @acreativelydifferentlove w/ Bucky Barnes
Avengers compound - @evanstar w/?
Eiffel tower - @hamiltonwrite12 w/ Tony Stark
Coffee shop - @captain-brns w/ ?
Steve’s room - @greeneyedgirls4 w/ Bucky Barnes
#PYT1k#PYTwritingchallenge#fanfiction#bucky barnes#steve rogers#Marvel#captain america#the first avengers#avengers#the winter soldier#marvel fiction#sebastian stan#iron man#tony stakr#sam wilson#natasha romanoff#wanda maximoff#james rhodes#t'challa#black panther#black widow#chris evans#James Buchanan Barnes#PYT2K
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“How have you been Buck..?” (Steve and Bucky Drabble. *NOT ROMANTIC.* )
~Author’s Note: Yes, I know. A stucky fic. Shocker. Yet I’m not writing them as romantic couple. Nope. Can’t do it. I just don’t see them this way. They are brothers. Nothing more. *no offence to the Stucky shippers out there*.
~Author’s Note no2: Again, this is just an experiment for me. Tagging two lovely people on here because if it weren’t for them, I wouldn’t even bother. @poeticbarnes & @sgtjbuccky
Word Count: 316
The end was near...
That much Bucky could understand.. Yet, he felt a rather peculiar sense of optimism. Perhaps the Wakandan sunsets did him immense good. The once troubled soldier now was having positive thoughts, at least as positive as they could get with the threat of the Mad Titan looming over them.
Bucky, with Shuri’s help, the former Fist of HYDRA was free of their programming as well as the trigger words.and was well on his way to get better. In fact, lost memories began resurfacing; memories that Bucky believed to be gone. Even his memories of a certain redhead assassin that he used to be with. Perhaps fate had decided to be nice to him for once. King T’Challa, the day he presented him with a new vibranium arm, told him that he would help Bucky find as much as he could.
So there they were, waiting upon the arrival of the former Captain who had come to ask for help to the fight against Thanos and all his forces. The day Bucky was waiting for. He truly missed Steve.
His inner thoughts were interrupted when the rumble of the Quinjet was heard at the distance.
The King was surrounded by the Dora Milaje, patiently waiting for the First Avenger to appear. Which Steve did. But he was not alone. He had Natasha and Dr. Banner with him. Yet Bucky didn’t care about the latter. His eyes were fixed on his friend.
A small smile crept on his lips as the two super soldiers reunited, while the blonde Russian watched them.
Never in his long life, Bucky felt so elated.. The two people that mattered most to him were there…
“How have you been Buck..?” Steve asked grinning happy to be with his best friend.
“Not bad, for the end of the world…” The brunette soldier responded, sneaking a glance at the Widow’s direction.
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White Lies (Joel Miller x Reader)
Masterlist | Request here!
Summary: Joel would do anything for you. He does anything for you. And he makes sure you don't know a thing.
Word count: 3k
Warnings: violence, Joel kills 3 dudes (what murdaaah?), descriptions of blood and wounds, stitches, Joel feels guilt and shame but is also very soppy and very in love, fuff and angst all tangled up, descriptions of chronic pain
A/n: I have had a bloody nightmare the last few weeks with suspected endometriosis, which is what inspired me to write this. In my head, reader has endo and the medicine is some sort of contraception or strong painkillers to help her manage it. But it isn't explicitly mentioned so you can imagine whatever you most relate to. Please do let me know what you think, and as always, requests are open!
It’s a harsh winter, even by Boston’s standards.
The QZ is coated in a veil of thick snow, the blizzard that took hold weeks ago now bruising the streets with an icy fist.
Joel pulls his coat tighter around himself, grateful at least for the cover the snowstorm offered, the skies foggy and grey. He can slip through the alleyways much quicker, much quieter beneath the frost. His footsteps are erased almost as soon as he leaves them, and when things get messy, he can soothe his wounds in the freeze.
Which is good, because things get messy a lot.
Not that he’d tell you that. You were too pure, too gentle; not unlike the snow that paints your doorframe now.
No, Joel keeps those things from you. The world has been unkind enough, and if he has one purpose now, it’s to protect that sweetness of yours. To collect it, each golden ray of sunshine that so easily radiates from you, to give it back and let you bask in the warmth of your own soul.
No one deserves it more than you do. Least not him, and yet you’d given him more love, more sweetness, than he could ever dream of.
That’s why he told you he was working a late shift today - sewage, he thinks he said - rather than where he actually is at 3am, catching his death in an old littered alleyway.
He occasionally shifts to avoid the silver moonlight dripping from the gaps in the fire-escape stairs above him. Tonight’s meeting should be a simple one, free from FEDRA’s strict patrols; he’d done this long enough now to know when, and where, was safest for these things.
He stays on high alert, though. Just in case.
Marco’s late. He isn’t known for being the most competent of dealers, but Joel was getting desperate now, and he was the only crook in the QZ who could get what he needed. He was a small man, a bit pathetic looking, really. But he was smart, and he had connections that even Joel couldn’t make for all his smuggling and dealing.
So when Joel’s supplier told him he couldn’t help him anymore, he didn’t have a choice. That’s what he tells himself, anyway.
“Miller, there ya’ are.” Joel’s snapped out of his thoughts, his looming regret of this whole situation, as Marco strolls down the alley. He grins, in the same cocky way he always did, the sort of grin a man who couldn’t win a fight but has enough men who could wrapped around his finger, doing the dirty work for him.
Joel insisted he come alone. Not because he couldn’t handle his goons; he knew he could. Maybe. But it would cause a scene, and draw attention, to something he very much wanted to keep under wraps.
He’s semi-surprised to see the two men walking behind Marco. Deep down, he’d had some faith that the dealer would stick to his word.
“Quiet the fuck down,” Joel warns, seething through his teeth as his eyes search the alley behind them, making sure they hadn’t been heard. “Who are your friends?”
Marco follows Joel’s gaze towards his companions. “They’re just here to observe.”
The men are the same height as Joel, maybe a little taller. He recognises both from the sleazy speakeasies that lie beneath the floors of the QZ. Where the bad guys go.
One is bald, with a jagged scar carved across his cheek and over his eye. He’s scowling, unlike Marco and the other man, who looks somewhat softer with thick hair grown to his shoulders and brown eyes that stayed on Joel like bedrock.
“That’s not what we agreed,’ Joel growls.
There’s tension in the air, thick, and they must feel it too because Marco’s henchmen each have a hand hovering near their sides, where silver blades reflect the white of the snow.
“I recall us also agreeing that you’d get your meds in return for the money. But we’re doing things a little differently today.” Joel remains stoic, though his eyes turn dark and angry, the moon’s light no longer illuminating his features. Marco tiptoes slowly towards him, getting so close that Joel can feel his breath and raising a hand to pick a piece of lint from his flannel shirt. “I want my money. But you might have to wait a little longer for your meds.”
Joel reacts then, squaring up to him, stepping forward and clenching his fists. The other men wrap their hands around their blades, anticipating a fight. Marco just laughs.
“‘Scuse me?” Joel asks, though they all know he understood what was going on.
“You’re gonna give me the amount we agreed. And then, you’re gonna speak to one of your guard friends, and cut me a deal. Then you might get your meds.”
Joel’s anger swells inside him like a beast, his previous care to stay hidden long gone as he imagines driving his fist into Marco’s smug, son of a bitch face again and again and again.
He has to think this through, though. He needs those meds. Marco can see the cogs turning. “Just give me the money, Miller. Don’t make this difficult. You can’t take three of us.”
“No?” Joel retorts, already decided in what he’d do next. “I don’t think it’s worth findin’ out. Give me the meds.”
Marco sighs, dropping his head and stepping away from Joel, leaving him to face his men. “Shame, Joel. You really coulda helped us.”
He nods to his men, who immediately draw their blades and attack. The first lands a punch on his face, the weight of it surprising him as he falls back into the railing. Before he can recover, the other has already plunged a blade through his stomach, right below his ribcage. He controls himself, swallows the yell that claws its way up his throat, tries to think. The cold steel of the rail stabs into his back, and when another fist collides with his cheek and sends him to the floor, he uses it to haul himself up and tackle one of the men - the softer one - to the ground with him.
Marco only stands and watches as Joel throws his weight onto the man and smashes his head into the stone floor. The other grabs his shoulder, spinning him round but Joel’s prepared this time and he dodges the swat of his knife. Instead he throws a punch into his stomach, making him double over which gives Joel the opportunity to grab the knife strapped to his calf and drive it through the bald man’s throat. He stumbles, collapsing to the floor with a choked cry, and Joel turns back just in time to see the other man trying to stand, though the injury to his head makes him dizzy. Joel stands first, easily pushing the man to the ground, and stomping on his head with as much force as his steel-toed boots would let him. Both men stay down.
Marco has regressed into the darkness of the alley, and he looks somehow smaller than usual. He’s pathetic, and if this was any other job, he’d laugh. But this wasn’t a laughing matter, and there was only one target for him; the medication.
The smaller man reaches into his pocket, searching for his gun, but Joel anticipates the move and has already reached him and thrown him against the wall before he can find it. His movements strain the wound in his abdomen, but he doesn’t care. Doesn’t feel it.
Joel’s fist pins Marco to the wall by his throat, making him splutter and flail like a fish out of water.
“Where are the fuckin’ pills, Marco?” He just continues to flail, trying to pull Joel’s hand off of him with both of his own, to no effect. Joel scoffs, throwing him to the floor and dragging his knife out of the now dead henchman’s neck. “If you won’t tell me, I guess I’ve got no use for ya.” He uses his shirt to clean the blade, the flannel already soaked in blood, his own.
“For fuck sake, Marco whines, slightly out of breath. “They’re at my place.”
“There anyone else there?” Joel asks, so nonchalantly that it almost sounds like a passing thought.
“No, no one there. But you’ll need me to get you in.”
Joel looks up again, the now-clean knife held in his fist with a vice-like grip. He stalks towards Marco, ignoring his desperate pleas.
“Shouldn’t be a problem-”
With that, he stabs him in the chest, letting him choke and gasp on the floor and searching his pockets for a key. He finds it, and does a quick, final survey of the alleyway. The once perfectly settled snow is disturbed, kicked up in the fight, and deeply stained with blood.
Joel curses, but leaves, only now noticing the burning pain from his torso. He leans against the wall, now stood out in the street, open; but there are no guards. He doesn’t think he’d care. Instead he grabs a fistful of the snow around his feet, packs it into the wound, hissing at the sharp pain of the ice but quickly feeling relief as it numbs him.
This was going to be a long night.
—------------------
It’s another couple of hours or so before he returns. There were, in fact, people at Marco’s place - but Joel knew that would be the case anyway. They weren’t a problem.
He’d showered in Marco’s flat, after taking out the men hanging out in there. Protecting it, he assumed. And he’d found a med pack that let him stitch up the wound to some degree; it was a hack job, but it should do the trick. He’d had worse.
The most important thing was that he found the meds.
The old door of your place creaks as he steps inside, quickly closing it behind him before the cold could enter. It’s futile, really; the wooden pillars are rotten, decaying so badly that the wind sweeps through the cracks with ease, and he can see dustings of snow on the floor around your windows. But he tries anyway.
“Joel?”
There you are.
It’s scary, honestly, what your voice does to him. Even so quiet, so distant from the bedroom upstairs, it lifts the weight from his shoulders that he thought he’d carry forever.
“I’m here, baby. I’m comin’.” He pulls off his shoes, placing them neatly beside the door just how you like, and heads upstairs. His bloodied shirt is long gone, buried in some forgotten corner of the QZ, where he has a collection of discarded items by now.
You don’t reply, he doesn’t expect you to. He reaches your bedroom, gently opening the door and sighing at the sight of you lying there, curled up between mountains of sheets and pillows.
He’d almost think you look peaceful if he didn’t know how much pain you’re in.
“Oh, honey,” he laments, crossing the distance from the door to you and kneeling down beside your head. You open your eyes, though they’re weighed down by exhaustion, and a small smile creeps onto your lips at the sight of the man before you.
“Hi,” you whisper, letting a gentle hand poke out from the duvet and brush his jaw. He can’t help but grin back at you, the total mess that took place just hours ago wiped from his mind completely, and he leans into your touch.
The both of you just stay like that for a moment, your thumb sweeping across his cheek, his eyes never leaving yours. Then you wince, and no matter how much you try to hide it, he can see the wave of pain inflict your body.
“I’ve got your tablets, sweetheart.” He reaches into his pocket, a desperation to his actions now; he hates seeing you like this. You just nod, pushing a meek but honest “thank you” past your lips, so quiet that he almost doesn’t hear it. His heart swells.
Joel presses out one tablet and hands it to you, then picks up the glass of water that stands on your side table, making a mental note to replace it later. You take the pill, grabbing hold of his hand before he can pull it away, and give it a gentle squeeze. He follows your lead and tips the water to your lips once you’ve placed the tablet on your tongue, gently helping you swallow and squeezing your hand right back.
A look of relief washes over your face, and he finally lets himself relax. He stands, letting go of your hand and leaning over to kiss your forehead, before pulling off the clothes he’d taken from Marco’s wardrobe and climbing in beside you.
He only knew heaven in these moments with you, late at night, when your hands reach for him beneath the sheets and your head nuzzles into his neck. It’s no different tonight; he’s quiet, unsure if you’d fallen asleep in those few seconds, and as much as he wishes you’d rest, he can’t deny the way his lips curl when he feels your gentle touch wrap around him.
“How was today? Doing the sewage?”
Joel swallows. “Yeah, yeah. It was fine. Don’t you worry about it, sweetheart.” His arms envelop you, holding you tight against him, one hand drawing gentle circles on your back. He’s lost in the bliss for a moment, letting it wash over him in waves, when your hand brushes his haphazard and you freeze. So does he.
“Joel,” you say; it’s still a whisper, but not the tired kind you’d given him earlier. It’s like you’re too scared to ask. “What’s that?”
He panics, holding you tighter, trying to think. He can’t believe himself for not remembering to cover it, to make sure you didn’t see.
“There was an accident today. I did some building work before I went to sewage, a pipe fell. Nicked me real bad-” you gasp, forcing yourself to sit up with shaky arms. Joel immediately pulls you back down, his hands grasping your face, staring into your eyes like they held the world inside them. It’s dark, but they glimmer, and he just hopes you can’t see his fear.
“No no. It’s fine, baby. I’m fine. Got seen by the doc, got a couple ‘a stitches. Says i’ll be all good by tomorrow.”
“By tomorrow? Joel that doesn’t sound right-”
He interrupts you. He hates this. “I promise, baby. That’s what she said. I promise.” He wipes a thumb across your cheek, and the way you seem to settle, to believe him, makes him ache. He hates this.
You nuzzle back into his side, placated. You trust him, endlessly, and he hates that he abuses that trust just as much as he needs to protect you. A means to an end, he thinks.
The two of you are silent for a few moments, your hand lay gentle over his wound. Like you’re trying to heal it. He thinks it’s working.
“Thank you for picking up my medicine,” you say.
“It’s okay.” His words are quiet, muffled; he’s got his face buried in your hair now, revelling in your scent, and really, he doesn’t want to talk about this with you. He doesn’t want to lie anymore than he already has.
You’re still oblivious, though. Still sweet.
“I’m so glad you can make my rations cover it. I don’t know what I’d do if they made them more expensive.”
Oh, babygirl, he thinks.
Because your rations don’t cover your medicine. Neither did his. Even combined, they’d hardly cover a drink in the bar these days. He’d seen you work and work and work, in spite of the pain that bloomed in your abdomen and tortured your bones until you could hardly stand up anymore, and he saw the way they laughed in your face and turned you away when you tried to get the help you needed. When you tried to trade your labour for medicine. You were nothing to them.
So he told you he could barter the price down. That it was best if he goes from now on, to make sure you’re not taken advantage of. He takes your rations, stuffs them right back in the savings pot you keep above the shelves in your kitchen, and leaves to make whatever underground deals he needs to in order to get those meds. And you didn’t know a thing.
He must’ve been quiet for a while, because you continue. “And I’m glad you don’t do those scary things anymore.”
That gets his attention. “Scary things?”
“Yeah. Like, the smuggling and stuff.” You take a breath, tighten your arms around his waist. “I mean, I know why you did it. I’m glad you were able to look after yourself.”
Joel curses to himself, unable to wipe the tears that brimmed in his eyes as you spoke, because that would mean letting go of you.
“But I’m also glad you don’t do that anymore. You go out, and you work, even the horrible sewage shifts like tonight.” You giggle, but Joel can’t even force himself to smile. Shame consumes him.
“I’m proud of you, Joel.”
He’s silent. He doesn’t know what to say. He feels like shit.
If you notice his stillness, you don’t mention it. That alone makes his heart ache; you’d always been so understanding, so careful to make sure he’s okay while knowing exactly how to handle his feelings.
It’s odd, really, how fiercely you protect one another. He doesn’t let the darkness of the world so much as touch you, and you extract the horrors from his veins like a vacuum, making him forget the damage was ever even there.
His eyes flitter down, watching you drift asleep, finally at peace and free from pain. He exhales.
He’d never feel good about lying to you. But some things, he thinks, are worth it.
You are worth it.
And so he brushes away the hair that’s fallen over your eyes, trying to fight the droopiness of his own so he can keep them on you for just a second longer. But sleep overtakes him, and the only reason he lets himself fall into dreamland, is because he knows he’ll find you there, too.
#joel miller x reader#joel miller x yn#joel miller x you#joel miller x y/n#joel miller fluff#joel miller#pedro pascal x yn#pedro pascal x you#pedro pascal x reader#pedro pascal x y/n#my writing#poeticbarnes#poeticbarnes writes
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His Return
Pairing: Bucky x reader
Word Count: 1.5K
Summary: after spending what felt like months in cryo, Bucky eventually comes out on a very special day.
A/N: so this was originally written for @poeticbarnes’ birthday and i thought i’d share it with you guys because i feel like i’ve neglected you all a bit on the writing front😅 i apologise for that, i’m in the middle of my exams but i will be back properly in a short while☺️
A/N pt.2: we’re also gonna pretend Bucky gets his new arm straight away, okay thanks, that’s all☺️
“Bucky, stop!” You squeaked, attempting to roll away, “Bucky!” You exclaimed again. Your giggles echoed throughout the clearing that you has found in the woods. It was another peaceful day in Wakanda and Bucky had said it was the perfect day to take you out for a picnic date, considering it was your birthday. “Not unless you say it!” Bucky chuckled down at you, his hands still wriggling over your sides as you laid on the soft grass underneath him. His legs were on either side of your hips as he attacked your ribs, giving you no mercy.
“No,” you whined, dragging out the sound with your eyes crinkled shut. Bucky thought the sight was adorable, the sun shone gently onto your skin, making you glow as your hair fanned out on the grass, the face of an angel, he thought to himself.
Soon enough, you were starting to run out of breath from being tickled for so long, finally giving in to Bucky’s wishes, “okay, okay! You’re the best boyfriend in the whole entire world,” you panted, smiling up at him. “And?” Bucky prompted, placing his hands back on your side, causing you to flinch as you thought he was going to start his onslaught of tickling again. “And you have the best arse in the whole universe,” you mumbled, although Bucky still heard you and a giant grin broke out onto his face. “That’s my girl,” he chuckled, finally rolling off of you and back onto the blanket that was now a mess underneath you from all the thrashing.
A silence filled the air for a few moments, both of you letting the comfort wash over you ask you basked in each other’s presence. Just laying next to him, you felt so much more at peace, feeling more safe than ever before.
“Y/N?” Bucky mumbled, turning his head to face you. You hummed in response, shuffling onto your side so you were fully facing him. “I love you so much, I really hope you enjoyed today, I know it wasn’t much but I wanted to make it special for you because you deserve the world,” Bucky’s crystal eyes flicked up to yours as he finished speaking, only to find adoration spilling out of your gaze towards him.
“Buck, I don’t need anything big, I’m just so happy I was able to spend this day with you, that’s all I need in my life, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” you smiled softly at him, seeing small tears form in his eyes at your words. No matter how many times you complimented him, he would still blush and become flustered, still not understanding how you could see him in such a way that you did.
Your eyes flicked from Bucky’s eyes, down to his lips, licking your own in the process. “Come here,” Bucky whispered, reaching a hand over to pull you into his body, softly connecting your lips with his. The kiss was gentle but you felt all the love Bucky had to offer in that one kiss (which was a lot), and it was all for you. You let out a small whimper, being pulled into a separate world as Bucky deepened the kiss, a hand moving to the back of your next to tug you closer to his lips.
“Y/N,” a familiar voice could be heard in the distance, but you paid no attention to it as all your focus stayed on Bucky and how he was flipping you over, placing your body underneath his as he hovered over you.
“Y/N,” the voice was more stern now, and you felt a hand pressed against your shoulder, shaking you slightly. You let out a groan, your eyes flickering open as you were met with Steve’s face, the harsh lights of the Wakandan lab blinding you for a moment. “What do you want, Steve?” You mumbled, sitting up on the sofa that was in the corner of the room, looking around you saw some of the scientists walking around, clipboards in hands as they inspected various things. “Did you sleep here all night again?” Steve’s voice was soft as he looked down at you, you noticed a slither of pity making it’s way into his gaze.
“I couldn’t sleep, I needed to be near him,” you looked down at your lap, before moving your gaze over to where Bucky was in cryo, only to find him missing from his usual spot. Your adrenaline instantly picked up. “Steve, where is he?” You voice shook a little with worry, but Steve instantly placed a hand against your shoulder. “He’s just having a check up, Y/N, he’s perfectly fine,” he sent a soft smile your way, although by his tone of voice you could tell he wasn’t telling you the whole truth. “Now come on,” he continued before you could question anything, “let’s get you cleaned up.”
You let the hot water run over your body, washing away the aches in your bones from being huddled on the small sofa near Bucky. Most nights you could be found there, staring at Bucky as he laid there, hoping that one day he’ll come out and remember you. Shuri assured you that he would, on many occasions, but there was always a small doubt in your mind that he wouldn’t, and he wouldn’t want you back.
After what felt like forever, you turned the shower off, reaching over to pick up a fluffy grey towel and wrap it around yourself. You hummed to yourself as you made your way around the bathroom, collecting the clothes you had discarded earlier and picking up an extra towel for your hair. You walked out of the bathroom, towards your dresser as you placed your clothes in the hamper on your way past. It wasn’t until you looked in the mirror that you saw the dark figure sprawled across your bed.
You whipped your head around and let out a scream, clutching at the towel wrapped around your body, shielding yourself from the person.
“Woah, hey doll, I know I made you scream a lot before but I didn’t expect it to be your first reaction to seeing me again,” the familiar voice rang through your ears as your mind tried to focus on the situation at hand. “Bucky?” You whispered, your eyes scanning the frame as he moved to sit on the edge of the bed. “Yes, beautiful?” His voice was soft as he looked up at your through his lashes. You didn’t realise you were crying until Bucky moved to stand in front of you, his thumbs gently wiping the tears from your cheeks.
“You’re really here, oh my god, you’re really here,” you mumbled, mainly to yourself, before pressing yourself flush against his body and grasping at the back of his shirt. Bucky’s arms immediately enclosed around you, his lips moving to press little kisses against your forehead. “I’m here, Y/N, I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered.
You stayed there for minutes, in silence, basking in each other’s presence, neither one of you wanting to leave each other’s arms. “I have something for you,” Bucky said, moving away to look at your face. “Okay,” you whispered, your brain still not processing what was happening. Bucky chucked before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small square box. “So, today’s your birthday and I missed our year anniversary whist I was under, so this is a present for both mixed into one,” he took a breath, looking up to meet your eyes and offering you a small smile. You returned it, looking down at the box in his hand as he removed the lid.
The light hitting the metal caused it to glint and a small gasp left your lips. “Bucky,” you placed your hand against his, trying to push the gift away. “No, no, no,” Bucky pushed back, “these aren’t mine, they’re yours.” You furrowed your brows at his statement before he reached into the neck of his shirt and pulled out his own dog tags. “I had Shuri make these for you, they’re exactly the same as mine, apart from…” he trailed off as he turned one of the tags over. Your initials were engraved onto the back along with his underneath. Bucky then turned his own over, showing the exact same writing on his.
“Buck, I don’t know what to say,” you felt tears rushing to your eyes again. “You don’t have to say anything doll, you mean the world to me and I want to do everything I can to show you.” You simply leaned forward, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him down, connecting your lips with his gently. Bucky let out a small groan at the contact.
Once you both pulled away, he let out a content sigh. “God, I’ve missed that,” you let out a soft giggle as his eyes opened to meet yours. “I love you, baby doll,” he nudged his nose against yours, leaning down to brush his lips against yours. “I love you too Buck,” you murmured, “so much.”
Permanent Tag List: @stanning-seb // @alwayshave-faith // @poeticbarnes // @redstarstan // @serieuxnoir // @keshuasd // @lizm-05 // @milyylupobri // @buckyisthepuresthuman // @impalatobakerstreet // @bitchsike1 // @sindujaaa19
(bold means that i couldn’t tag you, sorry! please send me an ask if you’d like to be added to the tag list!)
#bucky barnes#bucky barnes blurb#bucky barnes imagine#mcu#bucky barnes fluff#bucky x reader#james bucky barnes#mcu imagine#bucky fluff#bucky barnes x reader
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Trouble (Pedro Pascal x Rockstar!Reader)
Masterlist | Request here!
Summary: Pedro had never heard of (Y/N) (L/N) before his latest appearance on The Graham Norton Show. By the end, his assistant wishes it had stayed that way, and he wonders how it took him so long to find her.
Word count: 4.8k
Warnings: mentions of drug abuse (now recovered), allusions to but no specific mention of an overdose.
A/n: I am very nervous to post this! I've never written a fic about an actor like this before, so depending on how this one does lol, you may be able to expect more from me like this. Please let me know what you think, and don't forget my requests are open!
“And he used red this time! We were getting so worried that he wasn’t interested in all 3 primary colours-”
Pedro sighs, glancing towards the door to see if his assistant was coming back yet. No sign.
He turns back to the old lady who’s been talking now for what - 4 hours? 5? It felt like it. She was sweet, and he didn’t want to be rude, but god if he had to spend one more minute hearing about her grandson’s latest finger painting-
“So sorry I took so long! We’ll have to get going Pedro - your next interview is in 10.”
His assistant - Alicia - burst back into the room and Pedro was sure he could feel his eyes well in relief. He takes the lady’s hand, shaking it and giving her a warm smile. “Mrs Alderman, I’d love to hear all about Harvey, but I’ve gotta go. It was lovely to meet you!”
She smiles in understanding and clasps her own hand on top of his. “It was lovely to meet you too, Peter!”
Alicia snorts behind him, and Pedro gives up with a final, defeated smile before heading out of the cafe and back towards his car. He’d only wanted to nip in for a second, to grab coffee and a pastry, but then Alicia got a phone call, and Mrs Alderman started talking to him in the queue, and by the time they left his goddamn coffee had gone cold.
They clamber inside, Alicia pushing a few files onto the backseat as Pedro stares. “I almost died, you know,” he quips, half muffled as he takes a bite of his croissant. He hums at the taste, light and buttery; maybe it had been worth it.
Alicia rolls her eyes, used to his antics by now. “I was on the phone to the BBC. They’ve confirmed who you’ll be on The Graham Norton Show with.”
“They have? Who?”
He generally felt nervous going on the big chat shows, especially with how in demand he'd been recently. But Graham had been so warm, especially for his first time on the show, that when they asked him to come back he'd accepted without hesitation.
And really, he was quite looking forward to it.
Alicia doesn't seem quite as excited though. She flips open her notepad, littered with delicate but hasty scribbles of various projects and dates, and begins to read out the names.
“Robert Downey Jr, he’s promoting Oppenheimer.”
“I'm gonna meet Iron Man?” Now he was nervous.
“Kate McKinnon. She's in the Barbie movie, I think.”
“Amazing.” He'd always wanted to meet her.
“And…” she sighs. “(Y/N) (L/N).”
“Who?” No seriously, who?
Alicia snaps her head up to look at him. Surely he didn’t not know who she was? “(Y/N) (L/N)? The singer?”
Pedro just shakes his head, unbothered. “Nah, never heard of her. She any good?”
“No, Pedro, that’s the point.” He cocks an eyebrow, gesturing for her to continue as she looks back and forth between him and her notes. “She’s a publicist’s worst nightmare. She’s the lead singer of this band, The Heartbreakers, they’re huge. Like, Taylor Swift-huge. But if Taylor Swift did heavy metal.”
“And why don't we like her?” he asks.
“Because she’s trouble. She’s had big drug problems, she argues with everyone, she goes on stage and pulls all these crazy stunts. She’s always in the news, Pedro.”
He can’t help but think she sounds like fun.
“Can’t be that bad, right? If she’s that famous?”
Alicia shakes her head, “she's famous, but that doesn’t mean she’s not dangerous. People love you right now, Pedro. I’m just concerned that if you’re seen to be… friendly with her, people will raise their eyebrows. It won’t look good.
He thinks for a second. It really wasn’t in his nature, this whole PR thing. He liked meeting new people, and listening to them, and connecting. Maybe not Mrs Alderman - and now he's thinking about that nightmare again - but, for the most part, yes; Pedro liked people.
And not giving someone a chance because of his public image didn’t feel right.
Alicia sees the cogs turning in his brain, so she flips the pad closed, giving him her full attention now. “I know it’s strange, but I mean it. It’s not a hole you want to get dragged into. Her fandom is huge, the media's obsessed with her, parents hate that their kids listen to her and kids love to piss off their parents by listening to her. I’m going to speak to them about getting you sat on the opposite end of the couch... I just want to make sure you’re not linked with her. Trust me.”
With that, he nods his head. He does trust her - at the end of the day, he didn’t even know who this (Y/N) person was. So what if he didn’t speak to her much on the show?
—------
“WHAT?!”
He had to pull the phone away as Bella’s near-screech pierced his ears. They yell again, something along the lines of “are you serious? Pedro, are you serious?!”
“Yes I’m serious, what’s the big-”
“Oh my god I can’t believe it! You’re going to meet (Y/N) (L/N)! Will you mention her to me? I saw her tweet once that she watched the show and oh my god I need her to follow me on Instagram-”
“Wait, Bella, wait,” Pedro rubs his thumb and forefinger between his brows, not exactly thrilled that what was supposed to be a call to calm his nerves the night before the show was now filled with so much rowdiness. “I don’t even know who she is! You listen to her?”
They gasp, and he just knew they were pulling a dramatic, jaw-dropped face on the other end of the line. “Come on man, I know you’re not the hippest guy around but you have to know who she is!”
He giggles, throwing his hands in the air. “‘Fraid not, Bella. I’ve no clue. I do know i’m not supposed to talk to her though.”
Now there was a real gasp, not the purposefully dramatic kind. “What? Pedro, you can’t not talk to her. You have to. She’s the coolest person, like, ever.”
Pedro scoffs, “what about me?”
“When you get sleeve tattoos and banned from performing at the VMAs, you might get considered dude.”
“She was banned from the VMAs?”
You know that feeling, when someone tells you not to do something, and you don’t want to do anything else?
Yeah, that.
“I’ll send you the link, it was so cool. She said she’ll be allowed back next year anyway 'cos they need her to stay relevant.” He giggles again at that, and yeah, he couldn’t deny his intrigue.
“So that’s why you like her? She's all rebellious and stuff?” Pedro chews on his thumb as he asks, the anxiety of tomorrow not quite forgotten, but listening intently as Bella rants on.
“Nah, I mean she is controversial, but I just think she’s amazing. She acts all tough and rock 'n' roll, but she's really great deep down. I went to see her band once a couple of years ago, and this girl fainted so she stopped the whole show to make sure she got water and was okay. She’s just misunderstood, man.”
“Is it true she’s a drug addict?” He's not sure why he felt the need to ask. Why he cared. Maybe it was just to build a better picture, or maybe because Bella loves her so much, and he cares about their interests. Maybe, he had a sort of… concern, for her. For this enigma.
They knew each other well, and Bella could sense Pedro’s interest. More than anything, they were just excited to tell him about their favourite singer. “She used to be, it was crazy. She’d go on stage high and everything, people really hated her then. But she’s been sober now for, like, a year? She talks about it a lot. This is what I mean dude - everyone remembers all those shitty things but I think she’s so strong.”
He hums in agreement, thinking back to Alicia’s warning a few days earlier.
“Do you think it’d be bad? If I talked to her?”
It was Bella taking a moment’s pause, now. “I mean… Alicia’s not wrong. She’s not exactly got the cleanest image a celebrity’s ever had. I guess it’s up to you to decide what matters most.”
It was quite profound really, and Pedro was reminded of just how mature they were for their age.
“The most important thing is that you give her my instagram handle.”
And just like that, the moment’s gone. He laughs, shaking his head and muttering “you’re a dick”, before falling into conversation about other things. He fully intended to look up (Y/N) (L/N) before he fell asleep, but the hours went by quick and soon enough he'd drifted off, phone in hand and tomorrow's nerves dispelled for now.
—------
Maybe this whole Graham Norton thing was a bad idea.
Pedro was tired.
It had been a long flight to London, a long drive from the airport to his hotel. And a long, long wait at the studio before they even thought about getting filming started.
He’d been in hair and makeup for a good while, and according to Alicia, it would still be another two hour’s wait until they got him sat on the big red couch.
Yeah, he was tired.
He steps out, the muddied skies of London painting a grey-cast shadow on his face, the frosty winds hitting his skin. It was nice. Different. Much harsher than the LA sun he was used to.
He looks around; it’s just him there in the car park, leant against the windowsill and letting his eyes drift shut. It’s peaceful, and if it weren’t for the rushing of the motorway that ran just beside him, he’d almost feel alone.
“Mind if I join?”
He jolts awake, startled out of his near-tranquility, facing the woman who’d crept outside through the same doors he did. She was casually dressed, far more so than the BBC staff he’d seen today; she must be a temp, or an intern or something. A heavy black hoodie swallows her frame, and he wished he had a similar one as his ice-cold breath fell into the air. His eyes draw upwards, and he thinks to himself just how pretty she is. (Y/H/C) hair is bundled in her hood, loose strands blowing messily in the wind. She has no makeup on, so he can see greyish bags hung under her eyes, her lips stained pink, a soft blush blooming over her cheeks from the frosty air. There’s a roughness to her, something harsh, and it makes her so utterly alluring.
“Yeah- yes, of course. Of course.” He offers a smile, and she smiles back, and his heart races.
He shuffles to the left, unsure of why he’s making room for her on the windowsill; they’re outside, he’s a stranger. There’s a bench not far from the door, perfectly fit for her to sit on. And yet she follows his movements, and leans against the porcelain outline of the large window, searching for something in her pockets.
“D'you smoke?” She produces a pack of cigarettes, and digs out a lighter from her back jean pocket. Pedro watches as she slips one of them between her lips, covering the end with delicate hands as she lights it, revelling in the taste and taking a long drag. He notices then her long black nails, perfectly painted and delicately holding the cigarette in place, elegant and weapon-like at the same time.
There’s a nonchalance to everything she does, and it’s enticing. She doesn’t look at him when she asks, or when she expels the smoke from her lungs, keeping her eyes set forward and undoubtedly feeling the weight of Pedro’s on her face.
He forgets he’s supposed to answer.
“Er, no, thank you. I’m being good.” He offers her a smile, forced as he tries to remember his own whereabouts, too entranced by the beauty and the charisma that fell from this woman in droves.
The two are silent for a little while, he can’t be too sure how long. He smells the smoke from beside him, sees the wisps drawl from her tongue and into the cool air, and for someone who considered himself rather charming, he couldn’t for the life of him think of something to say.
He doesn’t have to.
“What're you doing out here, then?”
And this time she is looking at him. They’re sat close, and his eyes meet hers with ease, warm and welcoming. He feels a little more comfortable now, like she’s a friend; her warmness makes it hard to feel anything other than at peace.
He smiles, bashful. “I’m working.”
“Working?”
He looks down at his shoes, rubbing them against one another. It was always a strange conversation to have, explaining who he was to people who didn’t know. It felt like showing off a little; more than anything, he didn’t want to make a big deal of it.
“Yeah, I, uh… on the show.”
She giggles, and it sounds so sweet that his tummy heats up. “I’m only kidding. I know who you are. The Last Of Us, right?”
There’s a sincerity to her tone, nothing like this thick, false charm people try to use when they know he’s famous. It didn’t feel like she wanted anything from him in that moment. He nods, looking back up at her and his breath hitches when they immediately lock eyes again. Her lips are turned into a sly smile, cheeky almost, and he can’t help but grin back.
“I liked that show,” she says before taking another long drag.
“Thank you. That means a lot to me. Makes this fuckin’ huge press tour worth it.”
She laughs. Not the quiet giggle she gave him before, but a proper laugh, one that makes her eyes brighter and her nose scrunch up. Pedro laughs too, caught up in her, and when their chuckles die down they relax into a comfortable silence for a few moments before he turns to her again and asks, “how about you? Are you on the production team?”
She ponders her answer. It’s the first time - in the 10 minutes since they’d met - that she’d seemed to falter. Like she was unsure. “Yeah, you could say that.”
He didn’t push it. Maybe his fame was a problem. Did she feel overwhelmed? Or judged? He didn’t know - but a twang of sadness settled in his gut, and he wondered what to say next.
She recovers quickly, though. Stands back up a little straighter, puts the butt of her cigarette out against the wall, and faces him once again. “You seem nervous."
Pedro chuckles, nervously. “Am I that obvious?”
“Only when you scuff your shoes within an inch of their life and readjust your glasses every 10 seconds.”
“And here I thought I hid it well.” Cocking an eyebrow, the woman looks at him knowingly and tilts her head, encouraging him to go on.
“I always get nervous before these things... it feels worse this time, though. I just know Robert Downey Jr is gonna think I’m so weird, and then there’s this other lady I gotta avoid-”
“Who?”
She was abrupt, quickly apologising for interrupting him. He didn’t mind. “She’s like this... musician? I think. I’m sure you’ll know who she is. I’m awful at keeping up with whatever the kids are doing now. (Y/N)- (Y/N) something.”
There was a pause, awkwardly long. “My assistant says I gotta stay away from her” her continues, feeling a need to fill the gap. “Just doesn’t feel right to me, you know? To judge someone like that before you’ve even met them?”
He watches as she nods her head, deep in thought. She meets his eyes and nods again, faster, showing to him now that she agrees. She understands. He’s not quite sure how she understands, but he believes her; she didn’t strike him as the dishonest sort.
Pedro’s phone vibrates in his pocket, startling them both and they share another soft laugh. He grabs it, seeing Alicia's text flash on the screen - You’ve got a meeting with the producers to go over filming. 10 minutes. Ah shit.
“Everything okay?” There’s concern in her voice, and Pedro wonders if she knows he has to go. If she’s just as disappointed as he is.
“Yeah, yeah. I just - I gotta go.”
She’s definitely disappointed. He knows because her bright eyes fall the same way his did.
He’d never quite felt like this; like a magnet was drawing him to someone and like it would hurt in his soul to let her go. It occurred to him then, he didn’t even know her name, and he’d be damned if he was going to crawl back into the world of PR and publicity stunts and rehearsed answers without finding it out.
“It was nice to meet you. I don’t know if you- you want to get a coffee? Or something? After filming?”
The same harsh edge she had when they met, the one that had slipped and softened as they talked, seemed to have crept back as a once-sweet smile became that sly, cautious smirk. He couldn’t quite understand what she was thinking, what the cogs that so clearly turned in her mind were churning up, but he knew he didn’t care as long as he got to see her again.
“I’d like that.” Pedro sighs in relief, smiling again and sticking out an ice-bitten hand. “I’m Pedro.”
She giggles, offering her own hand and he stalled at the feeling of her fingers wrapped around his own. “I know.” She retorts, and he laughs, and just when she opens her mouth to tell him her own name-
“Pedro! We gotta go!”
Alicia shoves the door open, not even looking up from her phone which was presumably inundated with countless emails and phone calls, and Pedro sighs before looking desperately into the still nameless women’s eyes. She just smiles, dropping his hand and digging hers into her pockets. “Go on. I'll catch you later.”
He nods, swallowing and offering a small, regretful smile before pushing himself off the wall and following Alicia back inside. She huffs at him, speeding back off down the corridor and muttering something along the lines of “these goddamn producers”. He looks back a final time, to where the woman still sits in the windowsill. She waves, and he grins, unable to hide the childlike excitement her little gesture gave him before waving back and letting the door shut behind him.
—------
“We’ve got a fantastic show for you tonight, ladies and gentlemen. Let’s get some guests on!”
Pedro hears the roar of the audience, only a single wall between them and him as he waits to hear his name. He looks around the room; Robert and Kate are stood with him, chatting away at something he’d stopped listening to a little while ago. He felt better now he’d met them - they were lovely, so down to earth and genuinely happy to chat to him and hear what he had to say. It made him less nervous, and you might even say he was looking forward to this now.
There was no sign of her though. The singer - (Y/N). Alicia had scoffed, “typical,” just 10 minutes earlier, when there had been no sign. And she still wasn’t here.
“We’ve got the newly Emmy-nominated actor, best known for his amazing roles in The Mandalorian and HBO’s The Last Of us,” the audience’s roars got louder, “Mr. Pedro Pascal!”
It’s time.
He pulls his suit jacket a little tighter around himself, laying his palm flat against the bottom of his chest. With the other hand, he waves, smiling brightly at the crowd who cheered him on. Graham greets him, pulling him in for a hug and welcoming him back, before pointing him towards the end of the couch. Pedro gives the audience a final wave, mouthing ‘thank you’s and trying to express his gratitude for the love that filled the room.
Kate and Robert came next, shaking his hand and ‘introducing’ themselves again, despite the fact he’d already met them an hour earlier. A producer runs up to Graham, whispering something in his ear before darting off in the other direction. Graham rolls his eyes playfully, turning towards the audience and announcing, “we’ve got a late one!” The audience laugh, and Graham just organises his cue cards as producers usedthe extra time to prepare the camera angles and get the lighting right.
Graham looks at the couch, smiling with a wink. “Don’t worry - she’ll be here in a minute.”
“Is this (Y/N) again?” Robert asks, grinning.
“You’ve met her?” Pedro jumps in, falling into small talk among the four of them.
“A couple of times now yeah,” Robert replies. “I think she’s great, really funny. She's just… not the most put together person.”
They laugh, and Kate recounts her own story of having to wait on some celebrity or another, entertaining the crowd.
Graham parts from the conversation after around 10 minutes, holding a finger to his ear piece and nodding at whatever he was being told from the other end of the line. He stands up, smiling wide and turning to the audience, “she’s here! We have our rockstar ready.”
Cheers immediately erupt, and Graham turns to the guests to check they’re all ready to carry on with the show. Pedro nods, anticipation building as he spots Alicia from the corner of his eye, keeping watch.
“And don’t worry everyone, we’ll cut that little intermission out!” The room laughs. “Now I’m very glad introduce our last, but certainly not least, guest of the night. She’s the lead singer of Grammy-nominated band The Heartbreakers, she’s one of the most famous women in the world right now, and she’s only a tad terrifying. Ladies and gentleman, please welcome - (Y/N) (L/N)!
The audience becomes the loudest they’ve been all night, standing and yelling as the final guest takes the stage, and -
Fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
It’s her. The woman from outside, the one he’d been thinking about all afternoon. The one whose name he never learned.
She looks different; she looks like the woman he’d been warned about. She looks dangerous. Where a black hoodie had hung from her shoulders, a black lace dress now clung to her figure and he could see the tattoos that littered her sleeveless arms. The bags under her eyes were gone, as was the pink on her cheeks; her skin was painted, perfected, sculpted with darker shades and glowing radiantly. Her lips were black and glossy, so neatly done that she almost looked like a doll. Thick eyeliner carried a smoky shadow across her eyelid and beyond, drowning the same (Y/E/C) eyes he’d memorised in black.
She was ethereal.
And she was his one, single instruction for the night. Don’t get involved in her.
She waves at the audience, smirking in the same sly way she’d done to him earlier; he saw more clearly that they were the same now. She has the same charm, same charisma, same allure and yet she seems all the more potent now as she strides across the stage in 6 inch heels and pulls Graham into a tight hug, like old friends. She whispers something in his ear, and he throws his head back with a laugh before she saunters to the couch, where the three guests stand up to greet her. She and Kate introduce one another with a kiss on the cheek and a warm smile, before she gives Robert another tight hug and they share a word that Pedro can hear now. “I have to stay here an extra 10 minutes ‘cos of you” Robert quips, causing (Y/N) to pull back and look at him with a cocked brow.
“You know I’m worth it, Downey.”
With that, she turns to face Pedro, and his breath hitches the same way it did when they’d first met. Her grin falters slightly, and there it is again; that honesty. She almost seemed like she was putting on a show, with her slow saunter and cheeky remarks, but there was nothing false about the way she wrapped her arms around him and looked into his eyes.
“My name’s (Y/N).”
He just laughs. He can’t help it. She makes him feel giddy. “I know.”
The audience’s applause dies down, and (Y/N) takes her spot as the star guest, and the first on the couch closest the Graham. He talks between them and the crowd, commenting on what a great line up they had today, despite certain delays, which has the audience howling again. (Y/N) laughs with them, shaking her head and pretending to cover her face with her hand, before looking up at Graham and saying, “I’m sorry! I’m sorry, okay? I got held up!”
“Well you have to tell us what happened,” Graham retorts, and they banter as (Y/N) recounts getting stuck in the backstage toilets. She has everyone wrapped around her finger, listening to everything she says and laughing at her jokes, and Pedro can’t find himself believing the warnings Alicia had given him.
He remembers Bella, and how much praise they had for her, and he gets it. He sees what they see.
“Well you’re here now, that’s all that matters. We actually haven’t seen you for a while!”
(Y/N) nods, her demeanour becoming slightly more serious. “No, it’s been a strange few months.”
Graham continues, “the last time you were on the show was 2021. And obviously as most of us here know, you've had quite a difficult time since then, right? Tell me how you’ve been.”
She takes a sharp breath, and Pedro could’ve sworn she glanced up at him before she answers. “Well, yeah. I’m sure it’s no surprise to anyone that I was struggling with addiction for… most of my career, really.”
“‘No surprise’?” - Graham interjects - “you used to get high on stage!” It seemed judgemental, but it quickly became clear that he and (Y/N) had that sort of friendship, the kind where you can talk to one another so blatantly. She purses her lips at him, and he giggles, which makes her break the feigned offence and giggle too.
“Look, man, that’s rock and roll.” The room laughs again. “No but seriously, yeah, it just got worse and worse until… well, you know what happened. it was hard. But I’ve gotten clean, I haven’t touched that shit in what, 8 months?” The crowd launch into cheers and applause, echoed by Graham and the other guests. Pedro could see how much it meant to her, how she tried to keep a stoic appearance despite the tears beginning to glisten in her eyes. She mouths a thank you, and he longs to skip right past Robert and Kate to be by her side, to hold her. She recovers quickly, something Pedro notes she seems to do a lot; cover her moments of weakness as soon as they start. Instead she sits up straighter and jokes, “I think everyone’s worried I’m gonna be boring now, without the drugs.”
Graham laughs, “I mean, you are known for being one of the more controversial artists out there.”
“If anything, I think being high slowed me down. I’m just gonna get worse, now.”
“Oh god, don’t say that,” Graham jokes, “you’re going on tour again soon, I’m not sure we can handle it.”
The audience cheer even louder at the mention of the tour, making (Y/N)’s smile grow wider. “Yep, new album, new tour. It’s all happening.”
Graham turns to Pedro suddenly, as if remembering he had three other guests to rope into the conversation. “Do you listen to this sort of music, Pedro? The Heartbreakers?”
And, shit. Pedro can feel Alicia’s eyes burning into him from off-stage, and he recalls her warnings about this very situation.
Don’t make friends with her
Don’t give the media something to talk about
Don’t ruin your reputation
And yet, her voice got quieter and quieter in his head, as the sound of (Y/N)’s laugh and the pierce of her eyes became all he could think about. The decision was pretty easy to make, really.
“I actually hadn’t heard of them, until today.” Graham chuckles at his reply. “But I think I’ll have to start listening.”
The crowd cheer, and the pair lock eyes for what could’ve only been a few seconds, but felt like so much longer. She tries to fight the way the corners of her mouth pull upwards, white teeth poking through painted black lips, but when she sees him smiling back at her she lets them go and drowns in the butterflies she’s so unused to feeling.
God, he was in so much trouble.
#pedro pascal#pedro pascal x reader#pedro pascal x y/n#pedro pascal x yn#pedro pascal x you#joel miller#joel miller x reader#joel miller x yn#joel miller x y/n#joel miller x you#poeticbarnes writes#my stuff#my writing#pedro pascal oneshot#pedro pascal fluff
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Joel Miller x Barbie!Reader 💖
Hello my lil darlings, this one is so close to being ready now 🥺🥺 expect it tomorrow!!
In the meantime, here is a snippet (reader is Cowgirl Barbie!) x
You pout, rubbing a hand on her knee. “I’m sure he doesn’t mean it, you know? You always have each other Sarah, 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 back, 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.
#joel miller x reader#joel miller fanfic#joel miller one shot#joel miller x you#joel miller x yn#joel miller x y/n#joel miller x barbie!reader#joel miller fluff#tlou fic#barbie fic#poeticbarnes writes
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Joel Miller x Reader
Hi gang, please enjoy a lil snippet of my new canon!Joel fic, hopefully coming tonight! Oh, and it'll be smutty xx
TW: gun, threats of killing someone
“You’re gonna put that down, and you’re gonna walk away. ‘Else i shoot you.”
It’s him. The man, Joel.
His voice is far more gruff now than it was before, when you were outside. You turn to face him, still clinging to the wall, the backpack still in your hand. His expression is a mix of anger and nonchalance; like this was more of an annoyance to him than anything else. He just wanted a good night’s sleep, but here you were, coming in through the night to steal from them.
He’s about as happy as you’d be if you were him in this situation.
“Put it down.” He repeats himself, louder this time, the unwavering aim of his pistol pointed right between your eyes.
You must’ve woken up Ellie, because you hear movement from the room behind Joel, and next thing you know she’s creeping out the door with her eyes wide open. “The fuck is going on?”
Joel curses, rolling his eyes, and you just watch their strange dynamic unfold. “Get the fuck back in there. I’m just dealing with a little… problem,” he turns back to you.
You really didn’t want it to end like this. You never do. But this is the way it goes, more often than not. Still, the girl’s spunky, with more life than you’ve seen in anyone for a very long time. And he, well… he’s hot, and if that isn’t a good enough reason to feel bad about killing someone, you don’t know what is.
#joel miller x yn#joel miller x you#joel miller x reader#joel miller x y/n#joel miller smut#joel miller fic#poeticbarnes writes
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Dr. Miller (Doctor!Joel Miller x Reader)
Masterlist | Request here!
Summary: An unexpected visit to the new OB-GYN in town results in a less than professional exam.
Word count: 2.4k
Warnings: SMUT, NSFW, 18+, MDNI, fingering, oral (f!receiving), allusions to infidelity, porn with (some) plot, gynaecological exam, undefined age gap, very unprofessional doctor!Joel lol, pet names, lots of fluff at the end!!
A/n: Thank you to the very lovely anon who requested this! You can find the request here. The idea is from a wonderful Bridgeton fic by @ao3loveisstrong, which you can read here! Thank you so much again for letting me use your idea ☺️❤️ hope everyone enjoys!
There’s nothing particularly warm about the waiting room. Of course, for all the gynaecology offices you’ve visited, that’s pretty par for the course. Just stone-grey walls, the paint chipping in parts, and posters stuck up that may have once added colour but have faded now into barely-legible antenatal support numbers and information on STIs.
The only noise that fills the space is the mechanical click click click of the receptionist’s typing, the only sound she’s made apart from a grumbled “sit over there” when you first walked in. Anytime you tap on your phone she shoots you a death stare from over her desk, so you instead opt for sitting with your hands on your lap and staring at your feet.
“Ma’am? The Doctor’s ready for you now.”
You look up to find the nurse looking right at you, her friendly smile about the only thing brightening up the room.
You follow her down the corridor, just as dull and drab as the waiting room, to the final door where a sign reads ‘Dr. Miller, OB-GYN’ in scratched letters.
“Just through here,” she gestures, knocking the door and quickly getting a “come in” in reply. You straighten your top, even the waistband on your skirt and give the nurse a quick smile before slipping into the office.
Dr. Miller’s room is brighter, the walls clearly treated to a fresh lick of paint, with ‘thank you’ cards pinned to a corkboard beside the window. You can tell he’s made an effort to make it more welcoming, more comforting, and it works. It’s still clinical, all-white with tools and sanitising solutions dotted around, but his touches of personality make it almost like a home. There’s a picture frame on his desk, a little too far away for you to see the detail on it, but the black-clad, larger frame holding the smaller white-draped one tells you it’s a wedding photo. It’s sweet.
And sat at the desk, of course, is the man himself, his eyes trained on you from the moment you walked in.
Doctor Miller stands, tugging on the shirt of his white scrubs. “Ah, hello -”
“Y/N,” you interject, and a small grin tilts his lips upwards. He’s cheeky, confident. He’s hot.
“Right, Y/N,” he pauses. “Your appointment was made quite last-minute today.”
He makes his way to the exam table as he talks, patting where he wants you to lie down.
You let your eyes wander from his hand, trailing up his arm to his jaw, covered in a soft, greying beard that gives him an irresistible ruggedness. He’s tall, with big broad shoulders that overshadow your own, the structure of his face harsh yet perfectly sculpted.
“Well, it was an emergency, Doctor,” you reply, leaving your coat and bag on a nearby chair before hopping onto the table and trying not to let your gaze linger on his frame. He’s just trying to do his job, after all.
You swing your legs onto the table and lay down, legs bent and knees in the air, exposed. Dr. Miller’s already towering figure hangs over you, his eyes on yours, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up past his elbows.
“Comfy?” He asks, something playful underlaying his tone. Like he’s teasing you.
You shrug, “are these things meant to be comfy?”
The Doctor laughs and shakes his head, landing a hand on your covered knee. “Unfortunately, I don’t think so. But I’ll make things as comfortable as possible for ‘ya.”
His southern drawl is prominent, but for his rough appearance, it’s soft and gentle. Kind to the ears.
You just nod and smile, satisfying him as he takes a seat on the stool before the table and asks, “what’s the problem then, darlin’?”
Darlin’. A name that drips so easily from his lips, so smoothly, and yet it sets your tummy on fire and it’s all you can do not to squeeze your legs back together right there in front of him.
You swallow. “I think it’s best if you see for yourself, Doc.”
His gaze falls to your crotch, carefully pushing the mesh of your skirt up over your legs to reveal your underwear, the ones you can feel a puddle of arousal forming in. You know he must see your wetness when he sighs out, his eyes stuck on your crotch for a moment longer before he looks back up to you again.
“You’re married,” he observes, having noticed your wedding band.
You’d be hard-pressed not to notice his hands drifting along your thighs as you answer with a soft “mhm”.
“And how’s your sex life?”
The question is blunt, direct, genuine. Hopeful, perhaps. “It’s… okay. A little slow,” you answer, biting your lip when you see his brows knit together.
“Slow? You don’t have sex often?”
“No, no,” you answer quickly. “He’s just slow in bed. I think it’s ‘cos he’s so old.” There’s a firmer grip on your thighs now, and you try not to giggle, focussing on the ceiling so as not to give yourself away as he stares up at you.
“Right,” is all he replies, before startling you with how quickly he rips off your underwear and throws them onto the floor. Unprofessional, unsanitary, uncaring.
Desperate.
“How’s it look, Dr. Miller?” You tease. He slowly, painfully, brings a finger to your entrance; his thumb if its thickness is anything to go by.
“You’re wet,” he whispers, almost inaudible. “You always get this wet? For your husband?”
Your heart races, and you don’t realise you haven’t answered the Doctor until he pulls his hand away, tracing it back along your inner thigh. “You seem distracted, (Y/N). Maybe we should reschedule our app-”
“No!” You all but yell, an embarrassed flush quickly joining the heat in your cheeks. You can’t see his face, but you know Dr. Miller’s smirking, and you shuffle awkwardly on the table. “Need you to check up on me, Doctor,” you whine.
“Well in that case, ma’am…” he stalls, though you’re acutely aware of his presence at your core, so much so you can almost feel his breath hit your clit. “I need you to lay extra still for me. Can you do that?”
You nod, not saying anything, and he laughs. “Very well then.”
You jolt as Dr. Miller swipes his thumb over your clit, throbbing and sensitive at his touch, desperate for more. He goes lower, using two fingers to spread your folds apart, his voice noticeably deeper as he groans.
“You’re dripping, sweetheart.” The Doctor’s gentle cadence is gone, pure lust soaking his words.
“That a good sign, Doctor?” You ask, willing yourself to stay calm as you feel the tip of his fingers tease your entrance.
His other hand moves to the top of your knee, holding it in place as he pushes two fingers inside you, so big they stretch out your cunt with ease. “Very good,” he breathes, too occupied with watching his fingers push in and out to even register his own words.
The two of you are silent for a few moments then, the only sound in the room that of your laboured breathing and the wet slick of your cunt tensing around Dr. Miller’s fingers. He’s skilled, moving in all the right ways and finding a rhythm that makes your toes curl, straining against the table at his mercy.
“You need another one. ‘Ta make sure everything’s fine,” Dr. Miller mutters. His words are strained, like he’s resisting his own urge to moan out, to go completely feral on you while nurses and receptionists shuffle around on the other side of the door. You wish he would.
“O-okay, Dr. Miller. Whatever you want, sir, please,” you gasp, a wave of pleasure flooding you as he finally reacts to your words, groaning a “fuck” and quickly spreading you even further with a third finger. Your hands go to grab his hair on instinct, but your position on the exam table makes it impossible, so you grip the sides of the metal frame instead and squeeze as he curls his fingers deep inside you and fucks you with them harder, faster.
You bite your lip, desperate to halt the moans that threaten to break out far too loudly, sure to draw attention from anyone passing by. But the coil in your lower tummy tightens, led by the Doctor’s expert movements inside you, and you whimper “I’m cu- cumming, oh my god, I-” before arching your back off the table and -
He stops. He removes his fingers, the feeling of emptiness immediate, and you cry out as he goes back to caressing your thighs.
“Sh, shh,” he soothes, placing a gentle kiss to your knee. “I need to see how you taste, baby. Can I do that? Can I fuck you with my tongue?”
You don’t, can’t, even speak, just frantically nod and buck your hips into the air for some sense of relief. You hear the Doctor chuckle against your skin, his kisses trailing back down your leg until his nose is nestled in the crook of your pubic bone, not where you need him but just close enough to bring tears to your eyes.
“Please, Dr. Miller, I need it, please-”
He hears you. He hears you, and you know it gets to him when you call him that, and before you can even register his movements he’s driving his tongue inside you and nudging his nose against your cunt. You yelp, hands once again gripping the metal frame of the exam table, heels digging in to the cushioned mat where you’re lay.
The Doctor moans, the vibrations hitting your clit and making you moan back, the fast pace of his movements making it almost too overwhelming. “So good,” he grunts, flicking his tongue against your clit as he takes a moment to breathe. “So fucking good, baby. Such a gorgeous little pussy. So perfect.”
“It’s yours, Dr. Miller. Oh god, it’s yours. Please just - oh, just make me cum, Doctor, please.”
You sound pathetic, you know you do, but you can’t find it within yourself to care. You know he loves it because he groans again, still breathless but diving back into your cunt and pushing his tongue even deeper inside you, wet and warm and hitting all the right spots.
You’re getting close, and he must sense it because he releases his bruising grasp on your knee to thumb your clit, fast and needy, losing the rhythm he’s built in his own desperation.
“Come on, sweetheart, cum for me. Cum on my tongue,” he demands, pushing and pushing until you stutter over the edge and finally reach your release. You clasp a hand over your mouth, ignoring the tears that fall down your cheeks and arching up from the table, seeing stars as Dr. Miller coaxes you through your orgasm and finally begins to slowly, gently, bring you down from your high.
“Alright baby, alright.” His voice is starkly different to how it was just moments ago; calm, gentle, caring. You lay still for a little while longer, the rising and falling of your chest starting to settle, the pattern on the ceiling more visible where it once whirred with your dizziness.
And then you sit up, Joel’s face already tracking yours, a grin playing on his lips.
“Too old, huh?” He recalls, less-than-impressed although you know he’s only being playful. “I may be older than you, sweetheart, but I doubt none of them younger boys could make you squirt in my office.”
“I squirted?” You ask, shocked. You didn’t even realise, too caught up in the pleasure and the way he filled your senses.
Your husband just grins further, and you roll your eyes, though you match his smile.
“You gotta start warnin’ me when you visit the office, sweetheart. You’re wearing me out,” he laughs, finally standing from his little stool to settle between your legs where they dangle off the exam table.
“Shouldn’t be a problem since you’re so not old,” you quip back, making him roll his eyes. He takes your hands in his larger ones, brushing a messy piece of hair from your eyes and kissing the spot just above your brow, whispering “I love you” against your skin.
You adore when he’s like this; so gentle, so sweet. And you know that no matter how much he complains, he loves it when you come to visit him at work. He’s only moved into this office recently, the both of you still getting used to the new area, and you couldn’t be prouder of how far he’s come.
“I love what you’ve done with the place, baby,” you tell him, nuzzling his bearded jaw and resting a hand on his chest. “I’m so proud of you.”
Joel only hums, modest as ever, holding you closely. He knows you mean it. You’ve been with him from the start, through everything, making the highs higher and the lows easier; every day he wonders how he’s gotten this lucky, even if you do leave him endlessly flustered with your surprise office visits.
You lean up to press a gentle kiss on his lips, grinning as he moans into you, and ots only then that you notice how hard he still is beneath his scrubs.
“What time are you home?” You ask, your hands playing with his collar and the scruff of his beard.
“Around 5:30, hopefully,” he replies, though he looks in his own world as his eyes flutter closed at your touch and his head tips into your hand.
“Alright,” you press another kiss against his jaw, “well as soon as you’re back, I’ll fix this.” You gently squeeze his throbbing cock over his pants, making him moan and his hips stutter.
“Baby, you ruin me,” Joel whines as you remove your hands and jump off the table, collecting your bag and coat before turning to face him with a giggle. You cup his jaw again as he rests his hands on your waist and you kiss him, deeper this time, not wanting to let go. “You love me,” you retort, grinning even wider as he cocks a brow but laughs all the same.
“I do, sweetheart. So much.”
He stares into your eyes, thumbing your hips, his forehead pressed against yours. It’s such a sweet little moment, intimate, and you wonder why you keep on visiting him at work when it means you can’t stay there all day. He wonders the same.
“I love you too, Dr. Miller” is your final reply as you head for the door, sending your husband a little wave and giggling as he mutters, “stop calling me that. Drives me crazy.”
Of course, you know he loves that, too. “Whatever you say, Dr. Miller,” you laugh, slipping out of his office and already thinking of how you’ll treat him when he gets home.
─── ･ .✧: .☽ . :✧. ･ ───
Tag list: @vickie5446 @skysmiller @none-of-this-makes-any-sense @letmehavemyfictionalmen
#joel miller smut#joel miller x reader#joel miller x you#joel miller x y/n#joel miller x yn#joel miller fic#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller fluff#joel x reader#joel x you#joel x y/n#joel x yn#pedro pascal x reader#pedro pascal x you#pedro pascal x y/n#pedro pascal x yn#niamh writes#poeticbarnes
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