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virginreprise · 6 months ago

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J U N K Y ' P R I D E

joel miller x reader

" I KNOW I CAUGHT YOU AT A NOT SO HAPPY TIME OF YOUR LIFE " ✧ ⁺ ⁺ 　°

WARNINGS: age difference (big one), pervy joel, trailer park joel, joel miller has a vintage porn collection, joel's a sad old man, video game joel was in mind when writing, joel is six foot because i say so, multi-part, smut in the next chapter because i can't write anything if it isn't slowburn

WORD COUNT: 7.7k

CHAPTER TWO

AO3LINK

CHAPTER ONE—BAD DISEASE

Static from the television set tucked in a corner, a beaten leather armchair parked in front of it and a stack of vintage, VHS porn tapes on the unit. One half of “Agent 69” stuck in the VCR, balancing on its side due to the lack of care from its owner who’d jacked off in the very chair that towered over it—cum stained fist and a name on his lips, slipped out between plush flesh. Hand frantic, jerking in tandem with the buck of his hips as he flit his eyes between the TV and the wood-panelled ceiling, profanities spilling from his filthy mouth. Muttering to himself as pornstar moans graced his ears, words whispered into the night, stolen by the archangels and flown up to God: conspiring, scheming, uttering under their breath that he should not be allowed through the holy gates on judgement day. That the defiled Bible on his bookshelf and the cross that had been left for him by the previous owners, pinned to the trailer wall, was not enough for them to ignore the strained sentences that he spewed in a desperate bid for the Trailer Park Princess on her knees—red nails and red lips wrapped around his cock. A ring of colour staining the base.

Utter filth. And Joel knew it.

The perversions he didn’t keep to himself, laughed about bending over the pretty thing next door whilst nursing a beer on Pete’s porch—puffing away on the cheap cigars he’d stolen from the liquor store. They tasted like shit, smelt like shit and Joel would’ve been better without it, but it added to the image: kept Susan from asking him stupid questions like why he didn’t have a woman. It was her way of flirting, bikini top displaying her sagging tits, bending over the kitchen counter whilst his buddies watched baseball.

“You got your eye on anyone, Joel?”

“Not really, Susan.”

Then Pete interjecting.

“Come off it, Susan. Just cause he ain’t committed don’t mean that he ain’t got women.”

That kept her quiet, made her slink away into the hallway, slipping into their bedroom and pulling a cover-up on—suddenly insecure.

Joel wasn’t a pervert. He didn’t have some strange penchant for young women. They were just…nice to look at. Pretty and sun-kissed in the Texan heat, ass hanging out their shorts, bikini top doing much more to entice than Susan’s did. There was no harm in looking—they never knew. He prided himself on being discreet, nursing a beer in the late afternoon whilst Kenny Rogers lulled from the radio, flicking ash from his cigarette onto the porch floor—eyes trained on your open window, cracked just a tad to let the air through. Drapes open.

At times, he thinks you do it on purpose, a gentle taunt, a silent jeer: “You can only look, perv.”

If the invitation was there, he’d take you up on it. Because out of all the women he’d fucked, headboard bashing against the wall, a chip in the wood of the trailer evidence of his trysts, you were the only one who’d worked him up to the point of no return. The only one who’d grabbed him completely by the collar and forced him to lick your boots.

Like Joel said, he wasn’t a pervert. You were just a fucking whore who needed to be put in her place.

So he’d sit there, in the white garden chair he’d snatched up from the pile of scrap that accumulated just east of his trailer, and watch. Most days, you’d be doing nothing in particular, unfortunately already dressed, dirty clothes in hand and wet hair dripping down your back. Other days, the days where Joel thought he was really lucky, where he’d stumble inside with a hard-on, sit on his recliner and hastily shove whatever he got his hands on, into the VCR, skipping over the poorly acted introductions, and pretend that the moans reverberating the trailer, were yours. Images of you slipping your shorts over your hips, swaying slightly to whatever tune you were listening to, peeling your shirt off your body. No bra. Slyly stepping towards your window, catching his eye once, a look so slight that he wouldn’t be surprised if he imagined it, and pulled your drapes shut.

He’d spilt all over his hand, white on his knuckles and a smile on his lips.

Joel would never feel guilty for wanting you, not when he had already made peace with the fact he was a deadbeat, bound to the white trash lifestyle, unemployed and living off the pills he paid for and sold for a ridiculously high price, still grieving his losses and wondering what the fuck he could’ve done differently. If he would’ve done anything differently given the chance.

No, Joel was not a bad person. He just looked for her in every person, desperately seeking a will. And so far, you had succeeded in helping him remove the gun from his mouth—evenings spent in different, dangerous ways.

Texan summers were unlike anything you’d experienced before, the heat so incredibly stifling that your love for the sun disappeared completely. Mornings spent on the porch, soaking in the last bits of breeze before cycling your ass to work, sweating and heaving by the time you got there, in the same condition when you rode back home and locked yourself away with every window flung open before nightfall fell and you felt you could breathe again.

The cicadas were loud, the snakes huddled up in the shade, waiting for you to trample on them, and the beast next door, Joel Miller: terrifying, gorgeous and a fucking pervert.

The day you’d moved into the trailer, despairing the loss of stability, ruminating upon your desperate escape from a home now dead and lost to the prairies of your mind, he’d been there. Wifebeater stretched across his wide torso, a cigarette placed on his lips, unused as it hung there, smoking away, the grey wisps begging with each dissipation into the atmosphere: breathe me in. He’d stared. Unable to be subtle no matter how slick he thinks he is, eyes flitting between your tits and your ass. Tits. Ass. Tits. Ass. A calculated dance that left a funny feeling brewing in the pit of your stomach, a lurch in your bowels that made nausea claw its way up your throat.

Tits. Ass. Then, he suddenly looked at your face, standing there on his porch, the sunrise building its way up the horizon, too early for anybody to see him looking you over like you were a dead deer he’d just shot, smirking at the notion of sawing your head off and displaying it on the wall above his mantle. Heaving boxes into the empty trailer, lot number seventeen, whilst the owner of lot eighteen wouldn’t take his fucking eyes off you, was a terrible feat.

Once you’d shoved the last box into your bedroom, you’d shut the door, locked it tight and peeked through the window to see that he had gone back inside, retreating to the haven of steel and veneer.

Over time, Joel became easier to manage. After the initial, awkward introductions where he’d called you princess, babydoll, sugar (almost adding a “tits” to the end of the nickname before realising where he was) your stomach reeling at the monikers, time settled your unmistakable disgust for him, the universe replaced the sickness you felt when you spoke to him with another stomach-turning anxiety that you pushed down far into every crevasse and high onto every mountain.

You grew to enjoy the nicknames, skipping a few paces up his porch steps and ask him ever so kindly if he could come and fix the cupboard door that was swinging off its hinges, change the lightbulb because you couldn’t reach the ceiling yourself, stop the leaky tap that seemed to start drip drip dripping every month—just to bully you.

Although you knew that Joel was a dirtbag, hearing him talking about the filthiest things, laughing as Pete clapped him on the back in praise and acknowledgement, knowing that he wanted nothing more than to treat you like a whore, he gave you nothing except a sly smile, a sleazy nickname and the occasional help around the house. Fixing things.

So, naturally, you began asking around about Joel. Susan liked to gossip. So did Lillian, a woman who had spent her entire life in the park and, at sixty-two, had no interest in leaving.

“I remember when he moved here,” she’d told you one fine summer evening, when the heat wasn’t as menacing and you felt content being away from the air conditioning, sipping sweet tea in Lillian’s wooden garden chairs, feet placed on the seat—chin resting on your knees. “All stoic, wouldn’t speak ‘ta anyone. I could tell he’d gone through something bad, you know me and my sixth sense.”

She’d paused for a moment, taking a drag, a sip, a sigh before looking at you solemnly.

“He was a catch with the ladies,” she’d muttered. “They were all after him, even this one over here,” she’d pointed to Susan who’d smacked her arm, complaining about her disrespect. She was a married, loyal woman after all. “Well, it’s true. If I were twenty years younger, I would’ve gone for him too, but it wouldn’t have done much anyway cause he didn’t touch anyone. There ain’t many pretty young ladies round here, you know you’re the only one,” she’d said plainly, addressing you with a hint of affection.

Waving her cigarette around as she relayed every single detail she knew about Joel’s love life, telling you how after a few years of moping, he’d bring back girls in the middle of the night, fuck them, and then throw them out the next day.

“He’s not a romantic,” Lillian had prefaced, Susan interjecting with:

“Ya think so? I think he is…if he just found the right woman-”

“Oh don’t listen to her Darlin’, he’s a man who likes to play. He ain’t lookin’ to settle, I tell you that much.”

Listening to them both, their anecdotes, their stories, and their opinions, you concluded one thing about Joel Miller. He was an asshole. A man who had done nothing to better his life since he stepped foot in the trailer park ten years ago, a sag in his shoulders and an anger in his eyes.

You weren’t sure if he’d mellowed since then, or if he’d just managed to conceal it better. Joel hadn’t been angry around you, not when you knocked on his door at three in the morning, asking him if he could come get the spider out of your bedroom, not when you’d accidentally run into his truck with your bike or told him that he was an asshole when you’d caught him talking about you one day in springtime.

“She’s as dumb as fucking rocks,” he’d chuckled. “Bet she gets cockdrunk so easy.”

He’d grumbled out the last sentence, an afterthought that was more for him than the men he was talking to, but you, stumbling around, half-asleep after your shift, were not willing to take the degradation. You’d berated him in front of his peers, slammed the door behind you, and regretted it immediately. Because, even though it shouldn’t matter, even though you thought he was pervy and angry and wouldn’t treat you how you’d been told you deserved, the last thing you wanted was for him to hate you.

Every time he praised you, told you that you looked good as you stepped out of your home, on your way to Lillian’s for a catch-up and the cigarettes she bought you every three weeks, just for being good and keeping her company, you felt that tingle, the synaptic transmissions running down your spine every time he stepped through your door, asking what the issue with your tap was. You should’ve been disgusted when he’d left and you’d gone to the bathroom only to find the panties you’d left on the floor were gone, but you’d felt that same spark instead. A deep, sliding ache that consumed every part of you.

Luckily for you, your sink decided to start leaking again on a gorgeous Sunday afternoon. Perfect time to lure him into your trailer, grab him by the neck and ask him as nicely as you could if he could cease the pain.

Sip of beer, drag of cigarette, click of the remote to change the channel, repeat.

A usual Sunday afternoon pastime.

Joel would’ve rifled through his VHS’s, find something he could jack off to whilst he deliberated whether today would be the day he’d say “fuck it” and saunter on over to next door, hoping to god he’d get his dick wet by someone other than a whore, but he couldn’t be bothered to move from his seat. It was effort enough trying to change the channel, arm aching as he pressed the button, rolling his eyes as the same boring drab illuminated his TV screen.

It was another one of those days. Glancing at the watch on his wrist, the broken glass, the notion that he would never fix it no matter how easy it would’ve been to go over to Shane’s and ask him to get it working again, all for the low price of a few pills.

She’d left him with it and he would die with it.

A reminder of her every time he glanced at his watch, swallowing hard as he remembered the way he’d pressed cool metal to the side of his head, a tear slipping down his cheek before realising that he never could. Because Joel was an asshole, he knew that. He was selfish and cruel and spoke about people as if they could get any lower than he already was. But more so than anything, Joel was a sad old man.

Tommy, the damn bastard, who’d left Joel to fend for himself while he went off with his new-found “true love” to have kids and a decent life, had sent a few thousand dollars and a pitiful “I’m sorry, Joel,” over the phone after his big brother had fucked up and lost his job. When Joel had been left penniless and broken. Nothing to fight for. No one to hold him or tell him that he was loved. He’d spent all his money raiding gas stations for cases of beer, bottles of whisky, anything that could numb the pain—choosing the alcohol over food, over his mortgage. When he’d lost the house, he hadn’t taken anything of hers. Even after she’d died, he’d insisted that everything needed getting rid of. Her clothes, her posters, even her damn phone. He’d slammed Tommy against the wall after realising that he was taking everything with him, that he was not doing as he was told. After that, Joel had closed the door on her bedroom and never stepped foot in it again.

All he had of her was a damn watch, a photo that his little brother had shoved into his hands, a harsh, “Take it, you damn bastard. You’ll regret it when you stop feeling so sorry for yourself,” on his lips, and the memory of her in his arms when he’d felt that huge heart of hers stop beating.

There had been many low points in Joel’s life, wandering through his existence on a tightrope that was ready to snap with every step, but none had been lower than that.

Not even when he’d called Tommy in the middle of the night, sobbing, struggling to breathe with a clean bottle of Jim Beam in his hands, begging him to help. He’d lost his house, he’d lost his job, he’d lost his daughter. Where to next?

Tommy, all the way in Wyoming had scraped together some money, told Joel to get himself down to the mobile park and a steady job. Start from the bottom again.

Sometimes, Joel resented his brother for not giving him that money for a flight to the West, smiling down the phone as he informed that they had a spare room for him, his nephew cooing in his bassinet and waiting for his old uncle.

He understood though. When he wasn’t drunk it made more sense why he hadn’t invited him to his home.

They hadn’t spoken in sixteen years. To his nephew whom he did not know the name of, he was just the deadbeat uncle who hadn’t made it out of Texas—still alive but lost.

Tommy would’ve probably hated him more if he was sitting on Joel’s couch, staring at the porn and the beer, the cigarettes that his little brother knew he had only smoked when he was a rebellious teenager—the occasional pull never becoming a habit, especially when his daughter came along.

Almost certainly would’ve despised him if he knew how he felt about the girl next door, the perverse catharsis he experienced when he took himself in hand and imagined taking care of her, shushing her whimpers, making her whine with the way he stretched her open.

Oh, and he was a bad man. A bad fucking man and he was the last thing you needed. Some poor, young girl who was doing her best to make it. Pay the rent on time, make sure she was kept fed, all whilst juggling the inescapable feeling that once you were in the trailer park there was no getting out.

Joel didn’t see an end. He’d been here for over a decade; his drug money was not for a new house or a new life, it was for whores and booze, a carton of Marlboro reds that he got for cheap from Bill, and porn. He’d collected all the goddamn vices—became a person so unlike who he was, so far from the quietly loveable single dad he’d been hailed as years ago.

As far as Joel now was concerned, that guy was a fucking pussy.

That guy would think he needed professional help for the way he thought about you, would expel every single image of you naked and writhing, tits bouncing in time with his thrusts as you lay boneless and crying in his grasp.

You were legal. What was the big fucking deal?

Joel needed this. You were not just some throwaway material good that would leave him in debt for the next ten years—you were full and gorgeous, smart, quick-witted and made him harder than the oak tree that stood centuries-old just a little down the road from the old Palmer farmhouse.

That day you’d heard him talking about you to his friends, the way he’d lied and said that you were dumb, when you’d come storming up his porch steps—all rage and heat—and cussed him out, he’d laughed. It didn’t matter about the taunts and the sniggers he got from his buddies who he would have no issue never speaking to again. They could go fuck themselves for all he cared because you hadn’t willingly thrown yourself at his feet and licked his boots.

Whores were easy. No challenge with a whore, no longing, no desire, just a mutual understanding that this was transactional and she was going to moan as loud as you wanted her to whether it felt good or not.

But you had given Joel something worth chasing. And fuck he was going to catch you, even if it meant he’d die in the chair he sat in, with nothing to show for his life except a case of Bud, an empty fridge, and a stain on his bedsheets where you’d reached for him—begging for everything he could not give.

Something about him had you checking your appearance before you walked out the door, making your hair presentable, touching up your lipgloss, blotting the oil from your face. All for a man who saw you as nothing but jailbait

You wanted to be wanted. To be looked at with a fire, an urge to grasp you and take you fully, pull you close when you cried and kiss you when you shook with the need to run far away. You wanted to be kept, to be reminded every day that you were needed, loved and desired.

You wanted Joel.

Joel: the sad old man next door, the dangerously handsome figure in your life that stood six feet tall, jaw sharp and strong, muscles straining with his arms crossed—built big and firm. A chest you’d very much like to lay your head on. A bulge in his pants you’d very much like to see stripped bare.

So when the opportunity came, you seized it, with an iron first, intent on capturing what had been yours since the day you’d moved to the free prison—since the day he’d stared at you, an unadulterated and irremovable, perverse desire that shook the very beings of your existence. That determined exactly who you are and how you would fall for the watchful eyes and glinting gaze that befell you every time you stepped down the rotten wood steps at the foot of the trailer entrance.

You stepped onto them then, Chuck Taylors strapped to your feet, laces loose and lazily tied, skin smoothed from the razor you’d pressed against it in the shower that morning—all for him. The appearance every bit of expectation you had for his fantasies and ideals, hoping that the attire would thrust him further into abandoning a morality he did not have.

The sun set rapidly behind you, the grass long and dry around your ankles, unmowed—as you nor Joel had ever discussed who would get mowing duty—and a clear head. A set destination, unstifled by a long day at work, the sweat curling along your back too harsh to be ignored and the sometimes discourteous demeanour of Joel’s so powerful that you often wondered why you liked him. Why you gave so much attention to a man years ahead of you, unable to look at you without laughing at the prospect you thought you were more to him than a pretty thing to look at whilst he wallowed in his castle of self-pity he’d built for himself all these years spent trapped and lonely.

It all seemed insignificant that day you’d crossed the boundary between lot seventeen and lot eighteen. When you’d shakily advanced up his steps, onto the porch you grew so fond of, and knocked once, twice, thrice on the white door—stepping back to await his welcome. Hoping to god that he’d see you and take you there.

The shuffling on the other side of the door raised your heart rate, a sweat forming on the back of your neck which you brushed away with a hasty hand, intimidated by what awaited you when the white disappeared and transformed into bulking arms and a firm chest—a tall body that you gazed up at with ardour.

When the sight appeared, you gulped away the desire to run away, to pretend that you’d just come here for the leaky tap and that there was no other reason you had bothered him on his peaceful Sunday afternoon. No ulterior motive. Not that you just wanted to see him because he had hardly been around the past couple of days and in truth you were worried about him; you wanted to make him feel better.

“Hi.” He struggled to conceal the surprise in his voice, seemingly struggling further to keep the thickness in his throat at bay, the redness of his eyes that displayed days of restlessness and insomnia. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” you murmured impassively, licking your lips, swallowing away the dryness in your throat at the state of him: burning cigarette in hand, flannel shirt unbuttoned and displaying the white wifebeater that lay underneath. The shape of his belly was visible underneath it, his belt purposefully unbuckled and hanging from the loops of his jeans. “I’m alright.”

There was a twitch of his lips as he stared down at you, eyes flitting from head to toe—shameless in the way he always was. In the way you liked.

“You sure?”

It seemed stupid suddenly: the entire situation. The call you felt towards him, the want you had to curl up against his chest, let him hold you and tell you he was proud of you for opening up to him—telling him how fucking much you wanted him, despite knowing exactly how it would end if you were to venture further into a relationship that surpassed just neighbours.

So instead of inviting yourself in, seducing him until he fell to his knees, tugged you by the waist and begged you for just the smallest piece of yourself, you succumbed to your insecurity, and retreated from the palace walls.

“Yeah…yeah, it’s just that my taps leaking again.” For a split second, he almost looked irritated, eyes honing in on you, narrowing with a look of aggravation—confirmed by the clench of his jaw. You appeased him, saying, “You don’t have to come over now. I just thought I’d tell you,” and the expression slowly slipped away into something much more sinister: mirth.

“Sure thing, pretty girl,” he said as he slinked away from the doorframe, inviting you into his home, coaxing you past the threshold as he fumbled about in the fridge and pulled out two beers.

Contemplating, you stared at him, the flex of his muscles as he uncapped each bottle, the stature and size of him as he hunched over the counters, turning around to hold out a drink to you. An invitation. One that you had expected you’d have to give yourself—that you’d have to kick and cry before he ever let himself find you.

“Just have a drink,” he soothed in that southern lull of his, the words rolling from his tongue with ease. As if he had practised the scenario before he knew it would befall him. “No point in worrying over your tap, I can’t do anything until I buy new washers. I’m out 'cause of you.”

The irritation he’d shown earlier seemed palpable now—as if he was inviting you into his home simply to make you as uncomfortable as possible, hold you down by the hips until you promised to leave him alone. A taunt, a ploy to make sure you would never get what you wanted.

However, you had never stepped foot in his trailer, had only ever been on his porch and ran your hand over the chair he frequented, wondering what it looked like beyond the four walls, and curiosity prevailed as it always did.

Uncertainly, you stepped onto the carpet, gently closing the door behind you, and mumbled a thank you as you took the beer from his hand.

Almost immediately, you felt like apologising for his irrational emotions.

“I’m sorry,” you muttered. “I didn’t mean to put you out. I’ll pay for whatever you need-”

“You pay in ways you don’t know. I don’t need your money.”

The cryptic way in which he spoke, the casualness as he gave you a look that hinted at something you couldn’t decipher and the slow saunter to his armchair left you in a state of uncertainty. Standing there, with a beer wetting your hand, a frown on your face and a furrowed brow, you had no idea where to go next. What would await you if you questioned him—the things you would discover that were best left in the hands of God and no one else.

Again, curiosity thrust its violent hand into your stomach and forced your feet to start moving towards him, hoping that he’d appreciate your bravery—your denial of your urges to run far away. It was noted, however, that Joel Miller could care less about bravery. That the quality itself was right down at the bottom of the ladder and that he could and would not give a shit if you welcomed his advances in spite of your lack of courage.

Hesitantly, you planted yourself on his couch, the furniture built into the wall, curving into an L shape where you imagined he’d kick his feet up after a long day, palm the bulge in his jeans and pick from the litany of porn that you took one glance at and thought better than to stare at it too long in case he felt offended by your interest.

The discovery admittedly took away a little of his allure.

“Make yourself at home,” he insisted, taking a sip of his beer and urging you to do the same with a single nod of his head. The slight twitch of his lips when you did so caused your body to go squirming, shifting uncomfortably in your seat as the fire raged within you—unable to be sated with the way he looked at you then.

Just a scoff, a sip, and a glance at your lips before he turned away completely and focused his attention on the blank TV screen— his reflection the only entertainment.

Silence grew uncomfortable, the bitter taste of alcohol coating the back of your throat, dripping down your oesophagus and choking any words that you wished to say. The heat emanating from him was overpowering even from the distance you sat apart, the scent of cigarettes overwhelming, so much so that you needed a distraction, anything to dull the rest of your senses from shutting down—all because of his powerful presence; the effect he had on you even when he sat still and awaited your call.

“What did you mean?” The words came tumbling from your mouth, driven by an insatiable desire and lacklustre confidence you had somewhere deep in the pits of your stomach, bubbling with the acid that nestled there until it rose to the surface—bile transforming into questions that could leave you in a shell of humiliation. At his furrowed brow, you expanded. “About me paying in ways I don’t know.”

He leaned forward in his seat, elbows resting on his knees. Sombre, all of a sudden. Staring into the barrel of his bottle, the brown glass reflecting like constellations on his face—accentuating the sharp angle of his jawline, the sunken hollows of his cheekbones.

When his eyes nestled on yours, burrowing right into your skull, you couldn’t move. Couldn’t even fathom the thought of taking a lungful of air, waiting with your breath held tight inside, for his answer.

“You shouldn’t go asking questions like that.” He sipped quietly, wetting his lips by flicking his tongue in and out, averting his gaze back to the shadow of himself in the television. “You’ll get yourself in trouble.”

It was not the answer you wished for, eyes downcast, focused on your shaking knee as you tried to gauge some form of clarity beneath the mystery that clouded the gates to his head—what lay beneath his skull; what you wished to find.

Against your better judgment, you pressed further, keeping the beer bottle clutched between your hands and hoping it would stay cold forever.

“I can handle myself.” It came out more confident than you had expected, your bobbing knee ceasing its movement, your dry throat provided with moisture. A break from the anxious sweat you had broken out in. “If you don’t tell me I’ll just leave a hundred dollars on your doorstep and leave you alone.”

You hoped quietly, in that stifling room, that he would make sure it didn’t come to that. That he would let you pay in any way he saw fit. You hoped that the sad hulk of a man sitting in the lone chair with porn in every drawer and money set aside for whores, would let you have him—bring back a semblance of light to his eyes. Find out what kept the despondency trapped so tight around him, the crown of thorns on his head expanding until it reached his feet and kept him locked in nature's prison—skin scratched, bloody and unable to be healed unless he found someone willing to cut through the overgrowth.

He seemed to bristle at your words, shoulders tightening, jaw clenching in the manner he did when he was irritated. You’d seen it before when Dale had been drunk and had followed you home. When you’d stumbled uncomfortably to your trailer and pleaded Joel who sat on his porch, almost looking like he was waiting for you, to get him off your back. That tick, the downturn of his brow, the twitch of his lip, the look so intimidating you had rushed inside and watched through the window as Joel clapped a hand on Dale’s back and ushered him away from you.

You had no idea what he’d done after they’d left your sight but Dale barely looked at you after. The last interaction you’d had with him was the morning after when he’d knocked on your door, timid for a fifty-year-old man, and apologised. Joel had been there, like he almost always was—always dancing in your peripheral, waiting for you, taunting you—with a cup of coffee clasped between two hands and a smug look on his face when he watched the interaction.

“You ain’t as smart as you think you are,” he uttered, slipping you away from the vignette and shattering the memory with his simple words.

They stung. More than you cared to admit.

Men were never this difficult, never this hard to get through to, never this confusing. He had given you every possible sign, every protection, every knowing look that confessed: you are everything I wish to have.

It seemed every day he was further from you, every day he looked at you and thought that he was blinded by loneliness and that you were the last thing he needed to dote on.

With the rejection, came vexation, a rumbling little thing that forced its way into your mouth—lips parting to let it out.

“You’re not as discreet as you think you are.” As soon as they fell, the rest came following like a herd of bulls, a huge red flag flying through the air, right where Joel sat. They came for him, and you didn’t care enough to stop them. “I’m not stupid, no matter what you say.”

The tick, tick, tick of his jaw. That subtle way his eyes narrowed, honing in on everything but the thing causing his problems, trying desperately to stop the truths from betraying his conceptions.

“I see you, Joel. I see you through my bedroom window, using me as your personal stripper because you’re too fucking cheap to go down to the strip club and give a tip.” The push and pull was becoming apparent, the sympathy and disgust you held for him all at once growing and growing until all that prevailed was rage. That after everything, he still refused. That he was still a fucking coward no matter how many faces he pulled at anyone who looked at him wrong. You would not be deterred by the look he gave you then: one that should’ve made you shrink away in fear he would do something rash. “I see the way you looked at me from day fucking one. Just a pair of tits to stare at, a new young girl that you can prey on-”

“Stop.”

“I’m not stupid.” Your voice was rising rapidly, your lips downturned in a scowl, unable to see the danger that befell you if you continued. “I know how you talk about me to your friends, I know that you make a show of being this immovable thing that no one can ever get to because you’re so wrapped up in your own self-pity that you can’t even admit to yourself that the only thing you are is a fucking pervert. And an asshole.”

“You are crossing a line, little girl.”

His words fell on deaf ears, a scoff coming from the back of your throat—so many things that you wanted to say but couldn’t voice. You settled for a final, blow. One that might kick him off his feet.

“I know you stole my panties.” Jaw ticking, teeth grinding so hard they were liable to turn to dust in his mouth. “Took them right off my bathroom floor. Could you not help yourself? Are you that sad, Joel? Are you that much of a fucking perve-”

Silenced by the way he towered, standing upright, bottle discarded by the leg of his chair and fury dancing in his eyes—so apparent and profound you finally stopped and cowered.

“You don’t know a thing about me.”

You were stunned into submission, finally on the end of his intimidation—a feat that was sure to happen sooner rather than later. You were just another Dale, just another one of his victims that he shot down with narrowed eyes and a nasty tone of voice that forced you to swallow down the confidence—sending it right back to your stomach, and burning the false assurance away.

“I have been cordial with you for as long as possible.” There was danger in the way he spoke so calmly, a tremor in your hands as he stepped forward, facing you completely, and kneeled before you—eyes boring into yours, forcing you to look at him with the hand he placed on the couch beside you. “I’ve tried my hardest to be respectable but you make it so damn difficult.”

“I’m sorry,” you began, wishing you could take it all back, wishing that you could’ve used your boldness for better: crawled into his lap and let him hold you, sank to your knees like he and worshipped him with every bit of yourself you had.

“Sh, sh, sh,” he shook his head, the hand on the couch, moving, the weight of it resting there dissipating and falling even heavier on the side of your face. “You can’t take it back now.”

Nerves slipped like rapids through your stomach, the damn thing churning so much you began to feel sick with the anticipation and fear you felt being closer to him than you ever had been before. Your mouth opened as if to speak, then closed again when you realised that your throat had closed, the inside of your mouth dry and unable to lubricate your words with credibility as they fell from your lips.

“You think I’m a pervert?” he asked, eyes expecting an answer, eyebrows raising to help you find a response. “Hm?”

“Yes.” The monosyllable fell shakily, unable to lie when he was looking at you so harshly, all whilst stroking your cheekbone with his thumb and engulfing the right side of your face with one, big, warm hand.

He nodded with knowing, his other hand falling to your bare knee. You were crowded by him, completely consumed by his presence and with a harsh swallow, you hoped that he would slip away and allow you to breathe—if only for a moment.

“I know,” he said with finality, your cheek whacked with cold air as he removed his hand, quickly providing you with warmth again as he pressed his thumb to your chin, holding it delicately. Making sure you couldn’t look away from him. “But you like it, don’t you?” he brushed the bottom of your lip with his nail, an uncontrollable shiver running through you that he revelled in.

He’d called your bluff entirely. He’d locked you up in his cage, gave you the upper hand for just a second, made you believe that you could get away from him if you kicked and screamed enough, only to leave you hopeless as he twisted the key to the right, and threw the metal that granted you freedom, into the fire.

“If you had an issue with me looking, you’d close the drapes. You’re a smart girl, I’m sure it ain’t too hard for you.”

His patronisation, his demeanour that consisted of arousal and determination, had a small breath puffing from your lungs, a sudden and overwhelming heat crawling from each of his hands and into your head—breaking your rationale and leaving you pliable and willing in his grasp. He’d got you. Right there. And if he wanted you, you would let him have you.

“And if you didn’t want me to steal your panties, then you shouldn’t have left them there.”

It was unbelievable, the way he twisted the blame onto you, the way he made you believe in everything he was saying with a simple swipe of his thumb over your bottom lip and a look in his eyes that stopped you from questioning him.

“Yes, Joel, I’m sorry, Joel,” were the only words swimming through your head: words that you would’ve spoken aloud had he not stunned you into silence, the hand on your knee sliding along your skin, up towards the hem of your shorts where he slipped his fingers under and skimmed the skin concealed by the denim.

“You understand me, little girl?”

“I’m not a little girl,” you managed, voice shaky as the warmth of him engulfed you entirely, wrapped up in the scent of him, the feel of the callouses along your smooth skin and the eyes piercing you. If looks could kill…if those pretty eyes could rip you apart with the viciousness of their stare.

“No you ain’t,” he murmured, gripping your chin, thumb rubbing along the flesh of your bottom lip, the skin bouncing as he peeled it back and let go. “I know you ain’t.”

There seemed a flood came over his being, a white wave of purity dowsing him, ridding him of every adulteration and forcing sense back into his head as the hand fell from your face, the one on your inner thigh taking longer to slip away before the cloud of insensibility faded and he arrived to a semblance of morality.

You watched as he stumbled over to the kitchen, hand working over the scruff he called a beard and forced his eyes away from you.

“Joel,” you called softly, finally gaining back a little strength now he wasn’t crowding you; forcing you to look at him and make the first move so his conscience could be clean.

“Just go.” The words were uttered much softer than before, the delicacy of his voice surprising you but the strain that coated his throat a reminder that this was still Joel Miller. Dangerously beautiful Joel Miller with a lifetime of terror stashed somewhere in the backrooms of his mind, a darkness in the depths of his eyes you couldn’t help but be frightened by, and a story you wished he would tell. A story that stretched years back to the life before he crept past the opening gates of Shady Springs Mobile Park and left a life that you had no clue wether had been better or worse than his life now. “I’ll come over tomorrow afternoon and have a look at that tap. You might have to get maintenance round soon though if it keeps up.”

“I don’t like strangers…in my house.” Your words trailed off at the end of your sentence, caught up in the possibilities of your words and how he would reply. If he would see right through you and clock how you’d only spoken because the tap was one of the biggest ties you had to Joel. If he would realise that you’d thought about getting maintenance months ago when it first started dripping but didn’t want a permanent fix, no matter how annoying. All because of Joel Miller and the way he’d perversely captured you in the plot of some barely legal porno that you would’ve turned your nose up at if it was anyone but him and you.

You and Joel.

The thought sounded nice—the reality a little less nicer.

“Yeah, well…” he leant back on the countertops, arms crossed over his chest, eyes bloodshot and bordered by black—an undeniable piece of evidence that Joel perhaps wasn’t doing as well as he made everyone believe; that there was something deeper tugging at his mind and causing such aggravation.

After a moments silence, when he looked at you and you looked right back at him, your head clear and working properly again, you diverted the conversation elsewhere—a ploy to hack deeper at his head and find what lay underneath his skull.

“Are you okay?” Simple, easy. Not difficult to ascertain the concern laced deep in your tone because you were concerned for him. The moment he’d opened the door after days of barely seeing him, time spent cursing the fact he could peer through your windows but you could not peer through his, you knew something was wrong. That there was something happening to him. Something dangerous. Your sympathy began to overtake everything else, memory shed of all the times he had wronged you and replaced with the very little he had done right. “You look…tired. Exhausted, really.”

“I’m fine,” he said with finality, the rage in his eyes returning but with less power this time. The fatigue was setting in, the constant running from himself finally catching up to him.

“Are you sure?”

“I said I’m fine.” It shut you up well enough, so much so that you began to lose the commiserations. You could always say you tried. “Now get out of my house.”

It was the final thing he said to you before he slipped away, striding down the hallway, footsteps echoing until he reached the bedroom; the click of the door resounding throughout the trailer.

You stared at the spot where he’d kneeled, a finger brushing softly over your lip before shaking away the self-pity and gently placing the beer bottle on the table that sat next to his chair.

Looking one last time at the door at the end of the hallway, shadowed and guarded by snapping dogs, you opened the door, the damn thing creaking as if to shout to everyone within a mile radius that you had made no progress with the man you desperately wanted, and stepped out. Leaving your pride on the doorstep.

thanks for reading !

#virginreprise™#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us #the last of us 2 #tlou #tlou2 #joel tlou #the last of us fanfiction

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oniikabuto · 2 years ago

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one bed!

-- sfw --

characters: kyle broflovski, kenny mccormick, stan marsh, eric cartman

a/n: i did this for a different fandom like a year ago. i love the one bed trope i just had to write a new one for south park....,,, lmk if you want part 2

notes: fluff yayyy; gn reader; characters have a fat crush on you live laugh mutual pining;

guys requests are very much open rigjt now pleasseeeekksflkdfnkjs

— ⛧ k. broflovski

sweetest guy. he doesn't want to take your bed, but you insist.

he also hangs his jacket on the door and keeps his hat neatly on your desk... which is kinda funny and cute that he tries so hard to be neat

freezes up and goes red when you slide into the bed next to him. poor boy is about to melt.

"dude why are you so sweaty are you okay"

"huh- what? yeah, yeah it's cool i'm fine it's..,,,,,,,"

wakes up with a puddle of drool and a wet cheek. he panics and wipes his face and looks over to see if you're awake. you pretend you aren't for kyle's sake. he's so cute.

his nose also does that stupid whistley thing it's so funny

a relatively still sleeper. he just kinda curls up and.. sleeps. sometimes he murmurs something in his sleep.

"cartman.. shut up..",

"what?", you murmur groggily.

"no"

"kyle??? are you awake??"

(no response)

genuinely cannot remember any of that when he wakes up.

— ⛧ k. mccormick

it's like 1am and you turn off the movie as the credits roll.

when you look over at kenny, he looks like a baby that had just woken up.

"dude, what time is it..", he murmurs.

"um.. late." you definitely did not mean to have him over for so long.

"do you wanna go home, or like.. stay with me?"

kenny perks up immediately when you offer to let him spend the night. huge, shit-eating grin spread across his face.

"dumbass", you laugh. but you kinda wanted him over, too.

he sits in your room and pokes at all of your plushies while he waits for you to go get a change of clothes for him. ("no way you're sleeping in that eyesore of a parka!")

almost faints when you change your shirt in front of him

youre the only person that can fluster him like that.

sleeps curled up like a little car

(I MEANT TO TYPE CAT BUT THATS REALLY FUCKING FUNNY)

makes funny noises

like when a dog is sleeping

you'll wake up with his face in your chest and he'll swear it was an accident. it was not

— ⛧ s. marsh

you were at your desk doing homework and stan was on your bed on his phone, both doing your own thing as music played from your speaker.

it's not until that last math problem that you realize it's late. really, really late. you look over at stan, and he's face-down dead asleep on your bed, phone still in one hand.

you don't want to wake him up and tell him to go home, so instead you take his hat off and leave it on your bedpost.

he's splayed across the bed right in the middle.

how?? are you supposed to move him???

after a moment of deliberation, you hold your breath and roll him over, praying he doesn't wake up.

he does obviously

"ow..???? y/n??"

"shit. sorry. it's late, just go back to sleep. you can walk home tomorrow morning."

"wha- okay"

he's too tired to object

plus he secretly loves being in your bed. it smells like you

snores and breathes kinda funny once in a while

no matter how still he looks when you get into the bed with him, somehow you wake up with his limbs sprawled out like a spider.

in the morning, his leg is on top of you and his hand is on your face.

— ⛧ e. cartman

actually such a bitch about staying over

he definitely tried to distract you so that he would HAVE to spending the night

he just loves spending time with you but he doesnt wanna ask :(

"but the couch will make my back stiff! i'll be soo sore in the morning!"

"just say you want to sleep in my room with me, cartman."

"whaat?? if you insist, i guess!"

makes himself absolutely at home. if you want to sleep in your own bed, you'll have to sleep on top of him or touching him.

he definitely does that on purpose

as much as it pains you to admit it, cartman is actually like really really comfortable.

even if he's squishing you to death

and he claims he has no idea he does that in his sleep

smells like a dove soap bar or like. baby shampoo and its actually really nice

snores like a monster truck engine

leaves his shit all over the floor but also offers to help clean up to impress you

(he cant clean for shit but at least he tried??)

#south park x reader #eric cartman x reader #cartman x reader #south park fluff #fluff #kenny x reader #stan x reader #stan marsh #stan marsh x reader #kyle broflovski #kyle broflovski x reader #kenny mccormick #kenny mccormick x reader #cartman fluff #kyle broflovski fluff #stan marsh fluff #kenny fluff #kenny mccormick fluff #south park

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kennytheworkingclasshero · 4 months ago

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Kenny had to grow up fast. He’s a 9 year old kid who doesn’t have the luxury of being 9 years old because of his circumstances. He’s the middle child of the poorest family in South Park and while his parents being addicts isn’t their fault, given the fact that drugs and alcohol are placed in working class communities on purpose in order to keep them there, that doesn’t negate the fact that they aren’t great to their children or each other. They’re violent, they fight and they’re often inebriated.

Their children have to witness this and have the potential to soak it up like a sponge. We see this with the eldest McCormick child, Kevin. He’s a heavy drinker (as can be seen in “The Poor Kid”) who finds domestic violence funny and goes to participate (as can be seen in “Chickenlover”). He doesn’t seem to step up as the eldest, and we see Kenny take on that role much more frequently.

In “The Poor Kid”, we see Kenny try and warn his parents that the police are outside and they could be in trouble. We see his younger sister, Karen, lean on Kenny rather than Kevin as they are taken away from their parents, both physically (holding his hand, leaning into his side) and emotionally “I’ll see you at recess, right?” “I’ll be there, Karen.” This can be taken as proof that at home, Kenny is usually the one making sensible decisions and looking out for his sister. We see the care he has for his sister carry on in “The City Part of Town”, where he spends the salary he’s earned on his sister, buying her a doll they couldn’t usually afford in order to make her happy and feel like a normal child.

This carries on when we see him operate as Mysterion, where he has a very Spider-Man feel, in a sense that like Spider-Man, he has grown up in a working class community and seen the struggles that his people go through everyday and that makes him want to inact change in the city. However, his priority still seems to be to his sister, checking up on her regularly and comforting her “I was wondering when you’d appear, you always come when I’m sad,” “You are going to be okay, Karen. You have to keep believing that.” He protects her against bullies, as well as getting the message across to his parents to treat their children right. “Hey look, we did what you told us. We treat our kids better and we don't beat each other up as much.” “And we gave our sons allowances and stopped gettin' high every night.”

However, he tries to find balance between having to grow up faster than the people around him and his childhood. We see this when he uses Mysterion to play superheros with his friends, despite the fact he developed Mysterion as a coping mechanism in order to better the lives of him and his siblings. He still tries to find some joy in it, even though his friends take it as nothing more than a game, even when Kenny is in the midst of making deep discoveries about his parents choices that had major ramifications on him, particularly. He participates in bake sales, he cracks jokes and he comes to terms with the fact that his friends will never know him fully or take him seriously because they always forget the trauma they should have shared by witnessing him dying again and again. He wakes up again in the same bed, with the same orange parka and he’s ready to face the day.

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lumillsie · 2 months ago

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ೃ⁀➷ what kind of partner would suit the from characters best? ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

includes: tabitha, jim, kenny, jade, kristi, marielle, randall, donna, boyd, ellis, fatima, sara, nathan

a/n : here's my formal plea for you guys to send in from requests with more characters ! this is just my take and a little exercise in showcasing how I view these characters, but it was fun to write regardless! the order I wrote them in was boyd, sara, randall, jim, fatima, marielle, nathan, tabitha, donna, jade, ellis, kristi and then finally kenny - and you can probably tell that my inspiration started dropping of at the end with how the ellis part turned out, but I still tried my best with all of them <3 I really hope you guys enjoy these, and if you have any constructive criticism and tips on how to improve my portrayals, please let me know

I would also like to thank my friend carla ( @divorcingjimmatthews ) for looking over all of these preferences as I was writing them and helping me make sure that my portrayals stayed rooted in canon, as well as assisting me when I was writing jim's part by providing me with a different perspective on his character. I am so so incredibly grateful 🩷🩷

⚠️ major spoilers all the way up to 3x10 with mentions of canon-typical horrors !!

- ', ꒱ ↷ tabitha.

╰┈➤ tabitha is one of the characters most connected with the strange place the residents of the town are trapped in - from her childhood dreams of the three red stones to the spectral, hyaline children only she and jade can truly see, she's shrouded in mysteries to which not even she herself has an answer. someone curious and with an open-mind, willing to assist her and help find answers and uncover the truth of what's going on would be a person she could easily find herself bonding with. jim's single-minded refusal to come to terms with the fact that circumstances in their personal hellscape don't have to make sense was what severed the marriage already hanging on by a thread and tabitha couldn't handle being with another partner who resists understanding that and tries to back away from all the strageness of their environment. her potential partner should be someone who wholeheartedly wants to know the same answers she's trying to discover, and who would contribute to her search with their own time and effort. from minor things like bouncing ideas of what something could mean to standing by her as she decides to venture into the underground cavern where the monsters rest - the ideal partner for her would be one that could face it all, with her.

╰┈➤ this is a woman that yearns to be listened to, and as the relationship between her and a potential partner develops, tabitha will need to feel seen and understood. her partner encouraging her to share her grief with them and taking the concerns she shares with them seriously would allow for the dynamic between her and someone else to develop from a platonic one to something different. listening to her doesn't simply mean absorbing the things she say and validating them but consequently doing nothing about them - no, it means standing by her as she makes decisions and venturing into the unknown by her side. someone attentive and decisive could do both of these things and that would allow her to realise that they're someone she can share the burden on her shoulders with.

╰┈➤ it's pretty obvious that tabitha doesn't want an overprotective partner - jim's attempts to be that didn't go over well, and all it did was widen the chasm between the two former spouses. she's an adult woman, and standing by her as she ventures into danger would be preferred to attempting to keep her away from potential threats. she will go near them regardless - she needs to. she's decided what her purpose is, what she needs to do and she's strong-willed enough to not be deterred to it. regardless of who her partner is, that won't change. on the other hand, tabitha would appreciate the person she's involved with wanting to protect her children - and trying to bond with them. despite the distance between them, caused by thomas' death and exacerbated by everything that followed, her love for them is infinite and they mean the world to her. no partner of hers should strive to take jim's place in the children's lives - they wouldn't respond well to it, the love they have for their father is immeasurable - but they wouldn't be opposed to having a friendly and even a somewhat familial relationship with their mother's new partner. if they came to know about this relationship after the events that followed jade's violin performance under the bottle tree, they may be initially resistant to said partner - but they would come around to it as long as their mother's partner was respectful to their father and what they've experienced.

╰┈➤ I can see tabitha as being particularly drawn to intelligent people who are well-educated in one field. her first husband was an engineer, and the reincarnation of her first self's husband used to be a successful software developer right before him and his childhood friend made their way around the fallen tree. whether the person she was involved in specialised in a stem science or something else, she would love the way their mind works - the connections they find in the most unassuming of things and the wild, unthinkable ideas that few would be capable of executing. when she listens to them speak, she can imagine a future in which they can simply relax and rant to her about whatever brilliant idea they have in mind. if she succeeds in rescuing the children, perhaps they will someday be able to.

- ', ꒱ ↷ jim.

╰┈➤ a man whose primary priority is his family, I can see jim with somebody who's more family-oriented - whether that be an individual who ended up in town with their family and is fiercely protective of them or simply someone who refuses to give up on returning home in hope of reuniting with their loved ones. while he's not always on the track to a father of the year award, and his actions often come across as misguided and counterintuitive, his love for julie and ethan is undeniable and I can't see him with a partner that doesn't put in effort to bond with his children. spending quality time with julie and coming up with stories with ethan are the way to his heart. if his partner was a single parent themselves, he would do his best to help them out and try to fill that role of a second parent for their child - after all, the role of a family man forms a large part of his identity, and someone who wants that from him would suit him well. dancing to that particular tune - aside from any potential children, whether the family his partner is close with consists of parents, siblings, other relatives, children or even chosen family in the form of friends that became such, jim would put effort into getting to know them well.

╰┈➤one of the main reasons his marriage to tabitha came to an end is ultimately the fact that that they had an incredibly hard time communicating after the passing of their youngest son - grief impacts different people differently, and it wasn't until they were stuck in an unavoidable situation that they discussed it. henry's advice and jade's call-back to reality were what encouraged him to change his outlook and prioritise communication, as opposed to his previous manner of dealing with issues by burying his head beneath the sand and simply doing what he thinks is best for those involved. with this in mind, jim needs to be with someone who's capable of communication, especially when stuck in a death-trap town and navigating boundaries with tabitha as a woman he still cares for as the mother of his children and figuring out what kind of role his partner would have in the lives of his two children. he's recognised what's doomed his first marriage and he's determined not to repeat his mistakes - but he cannot work issues out by himself. the right partner for jim would be one that is open with him and actively talks about the things that bother them and pushes him to do the same.

╰┈➤ jim is the protective type that worries about his partner and while he has learned to take a step back - he'd still fare better with a partner that doesn't mind said protectiveness. he's not going to revert back to threatening other people into staying away from his significant other or discourage them from doing what they think is best for them, but he'll need to be allowed to linger near - to alleviate his fears and lull him into a sense of security. he functions better when he's in a situation where he thinks he can protect his partner, even if that may not necessarily be true in reality. and while he may not even be aware of it himself, he would benefit from someone being protective over him as well - he's used to being in the self-imposed role of the protector and he won't abandon it, but he truly does need someone to look after him tell him that things will be okay, just as he's always convincing the people around him that they will be.

╰┈➤ both him and tabitha have both felt misunderstood and unheard in the final stages of their marriage, and I truly think jim needs to feel valued by the individual he chooses to commit to. seeking out his opinion, keeping him in the loop with what they're up to, doing little things for him and reminding him that they love him are things that would make him feel more secure in the relationship and help him heal from the wounds of the past. eventually, he may even feel seen enough to open up about thomas' death, and his partner may contribute to healing the emotional chasm between him and tabitha and help establish a friendly dynamic that is free of resentment. the support that this kind of relationship with his partner brings helps him to swap out his poorer traits for better ones and to improve as a person. the people that know him best can see the positive changes in him - and they know whose responsible for them. they are grateful for it, just as he himself is.

- ', ꒱ ↷ jade.

╰┈➤ whether they were a resident of the town before he arrived or ended up there with him, any potential partner of jade's would need to be abundantly patient with him in the days following toby's death. from his convinction that the entire situation was a practical joke set up by his childhood friend through his visions of bloodied men all the way to his fixations on the radio, the symbol in christopher's notebook and the bottle tree, the person who wants to be with him can't be someone that gets easily frustrated. early on he's often running around and trying to solve one mystery or the other, and it will take time for him to adjust to the situation - and when he does, he'll be seeking out his partner's assistance to help him untangle the muddled web of mysteries the town is deeply engulfed in.

╰┈➤ jade needs a partner with whom he can be on the same wavelength as. someone who can keep up with his frenzied train of thoughts and come back at him with theories and ideas of their own. additionally, someone brave and bold enough to venture out into the woods and explore to try and discover something new, like boyd fell into the cave with the talismans or kenny and jim stumbled upon the food, would be the perfect match for him. this kind of partner would be courageous enough to venture into the tunnels victor and tabitha found themselves in with him - but reserved enough not to attempt venturing into a faraway tree like dale did.

╰┈➤ up until recently an entrepreneur who had just made it big, jade would prefer a genuine and honest partner as opposed to someone who would sugarcoat things or tell him white lies to spare his feelings. if they think he's acting in a way they don't agree with - whether it's him snapping at victor for refusing to talk to him or skipping town meetings, he'd rather they tell him directly than keep their feelings to themselves. aside from disagreements, this applies to their feelings towards him and the situation they're in, he'd rather be aware of what they're going through than have them suffer through it without a word - even if at times he may not be able to help, he'd do his best to try. in addition to that, he'd find it easier to confide in someone he finds trustworthy - and someone who doesn't lie to him would be just that.

╰┈➤ out of all the townspeople, I see jade as the one who would benefit most from having a significant other whose love language is quality time. he's always up in his own head, plagued by scribbled symbols and haunted by the imagery of the departed, such as the civil war soldier and christopher. his partner knowing when to put their foot down and drag him away from all of that to give his brain a much-needed break would benefit him greatly. whether it's helping out tian chen at the diner, gathering something in the woods or just sitting in their room together, it's still a break regardless. the first few times he actually allows himself to take a break he feels as if he should be doing more, his hands twitching to arrange bottles and his eyes darting around the room at all times. once he realises how much lighter he feels after simply sitting with his partner as they talk about the most mundane things, he initiates these little breaks himself. he finds himself staring at the person he loves as they talk about ordinary things - the food they miss from home, what they managed to help out with around town that day, how they're considering taking up wood-carving. for a few brief moments, all the noise in his head quiets down.

- ', ꒱ ↷ kenny.

╰┈➤ the town's deputy is one of the very few people that was trapped with his entire immediate family. with the language barrier between his parents and his father's progressing dementia, one of kenny's primary goals is to keep them as safe and comfortable as he possibly can. I can see him developing feelings for somebody who bonds with his parents before they bond with him, whether that be someone who helps kristi and gina look after bing-qian or assists tian chen and sara in feeding the townspeople. his parents' fondness of them would naturally make him consider the person a friend, but it would be his own interactions with them that would lead to the formation of romantic feelings.

╰┈➤ kenny is one of the few characters I could see falling in love with a more reserved and withdrawn partner. being the town's deputy, he's one of the few individuals in town that comes into contact with most of its trapped inhabitants - and he's one of the few people that gets the chance to properly meet even those who find themselves unable or unwilling to take the leap to befriend or pursue someone. he's a helpful young man, in the role of boyd's right-hand man out of the pure desire to make life easier for those around him and try and keep this hellish place together. he'd take the effort to get to know someone who doesn't really talk to people much outside of their responsibilities, but who still comes off as a good and kind soul. eventually, they'd let open up to him and let him know who they truly are - their own qualities and flaws, as well as his desire to feel wanted and needed would result in him falling in love relatively quickly.

╰┈➤ his partner needs to be somebody kemny can consider trustworthy - sara's involvement in his father's death and boyd's decision to keep her out of the box and at his side have impacted him profoundly, not to mention shattered his faith in the people around him. his partner should be someone who isn't opposed to keeping him looped in in all of their major decisions and who can share all discoveries they consider important with him. he's not too affected by white lies and sugar-coating - but he does place a great deal of faith in his significant other, and it would be cruel to let him down. obviously, he'd appreciate his partner placing that same level of trust in him, and I can't imagine him doing anything to betray it.

╰┈➤ an aspiring polyglot, an individual with an affinity for learning languages, would be just the right kind of partner to try and help keep kenny tethered. he's one of the few characters with ties to his origin - his language and his culture, despite the fact that he went by an anglicised name to fit into his texan community. learning mandarin would bring his partner close to both him and his family - and bring him and his partner closer as he deals with loss after loss. in the evenings, when the curtains are drawn and the lamp's yellowish hue envelops the room, his partner would sit with their back resting against his chest as they try their hardest to memorise words and phrases - he'd correct then gently when they made a mistake, a warm feeling in his chest and a sense of pride at their effort. alternatively, if his partner was a native mandarin speaker themselves, I can see him having conversations in it more often - hopeful that he'd never really lose that connection to his culture as long as they're around. when death comes knocking and the monsters take the lives of his father and afterwards his mother, his partner knowing at least the basics of his native language allows him that closeness to his parents that nobody else can give him. they've left their impact on his partner too. the conversation he could have in his native language and his mother's unmatched recipes haven't left with them, they live on in him and the person he loves - the person that's now become his only living family. his partner was family to his parents as well - even if they never got to say it outloud. he'll protect what's left of that unit. he'll do it because he loves all of them, because he's not sure he could survive another loss.

- ', ꒱ ↷ kristi.

╰┈➤ a third year med student at the time of her vanishing, kristi's a character painfully aware of what she's left behind and how much she has lost. she's not going to dive head first into a relationship - and if feelings do form, she's going to suppress them out of respect for her estranged fiancee. a friendship with someone who doesn't immediately develop feelings would be the ideal first step towards forming a longlasting bond with her. there initially being no romantic undertones would help her feel more comfortable around this new individual - but them being someone she can freely confide in and emotionally there for her would be the turning point in her developing feelings for them.

╰┈➤ kristi could benefit from a humorous partner who can make her laugh - she's got a front-row seat to all the grim, grotesque aspects of life in the town, from minor things such as sprained ankles and broken bones to the horrifying ones such as burial preparations for mangled corpses and monster autopsies. if anyone needs some light in their life, it's the town's resident nurse. she enjoys listening to them regardless of whether they're silly pick-up lines her partner blurts out at random or exaggerated anecdotes from their life before the township. she may not always have the strength to laugh at them, but when her eyes light up and her lips turn into a half-formed smile - her significant other can rest assured that their attempts at humour have been successful.

╰┈➤ if her and her partner are already involved when the bus comes into town, they'd need to understand the situation and give her some space. marielle is her fiancee, and their relationship didn't end because either of them wanted it, but because they were separated by whatever entity or force has been dragging people into the town. she's naturally going to need some time to figure out how to proceed, and the depth of her feelings towards her new partner coupled with the unresolvable tension between her and marielle would ultimately bring their relationship to its conclusion. that being said, her partner would still need to be someone compassionate, who can respect her past and the fact that her former fiancee is an important part of her life. the pediatric nurse fell back into addiction while dealing with kristi's disappearance, and a partner who can keep a respectable distance from her but still care about her well-being and support kristi in navigating this new dynamic between her and the only person she knew before she was trapped here would be truly a great partner for her.

╰┈➤ circling back to the fact that kristi is one of the few people in town that truly has to see all of its horrors up-close, her partner would need to be someone with a comforting nature, who knows how to offer her reassurance and solace even in the darkest of times. there are times where humour truly isn't going to be anything but a hindrance, and those are the times where she's truly going to need someone to fall back on. I can't see her wanting to be touched in those moments - the images of guts, blood and death overwhelming her thoughts. that being said, I can see her accepting small gestures from her partner. a hot cup of tea, made with herbs randall's found down in the forest. the one blanket she has, draped over her shoulders as she shivers. the gentle murmurs of her partner's voice, spoken so quietly as to not disturb her while she's processing the monstrosity she's had to look at most recently. she's been building a wall between them since day one - they've been tearing it down little by little. at this point, they know exactly how to do it.

- ', ꒱ ↷ marielle.

╰┈➤ a young pediatric nurse battling an addiction, marielle ended up in the inescapable town on her way to a rehabilitation centre. in a world where her and kristi's relationship doesn't survive the turmoil of kristi's disappearance and marielle's subsequent relapse, I can see her being drawn to someone she considers reliable. someone who offers to help her sort out supplies from the ambulance, double-checks all the windows to make sure they're shut as sunset gathers and silently supports her as she navigates life in an environment where murderous monsters are an every-night occurrence and the only person she knows is her ex-fiancee. being able to rely on somebody aside from kristi alone helps her transition into this strange situation and provides her with a support system - while it isn't the same as the proper help she'd receive in a rehabilitation sense, it is still something that makes her want to fight and resist the urge to dig through the medicine cabinet.

╰┈➤ marielle wouldn't want to be with somebody who is constantly hovering over her or constantly fretting over her struggle with addiction. she struggles to acknowledge how much impact it has had on her, and she desires to be treated like any other regular person - she's doing her best, she's a nurse and she wouldn't deplete the little resources they have and she couldn't stand it if someone she cared for deeply, trusted and respected thought otherwise. in addition to that, kristi is still an important person to her regardless, and she doesn't want her to feel responsible for her relapse, and she doesn't want to discuss it with people other than her partner to begin with. it's completely normal for her significant other to be concerned with her wellbeing, but they need to respect her boundaries when it comes to a matter as complex as this. she can confide in them in the moments where she feels at ease enough to talk about it, but she shouldn't be pressured to do so unless her partner notices a genuine cause for concern.

╰┈➤ as the only medical expert in town aside from kristi, marielle has a lot on her plate in her day-to-day life - most notably fatima's strange non-pregnancy. her significant other being a perceptive and helpful individual would help alleviate some of the burden off her. taking note of which medicinal herbs are missing and venturing out to retrieve them from the forest and making sure to drag her out to the diner for a proper meal and a well-deserved break are all gestures that may appear small, but mean the world to her in the long run. little things like these make her life easier in the long run, and it makes her feel supported and cared for. she's grateful for these gestures, and she does her best to make sure she lets her partner know how much she appreciates them and the things they do for her.

╰┈➤ keeping what I said in the second paragraph in mind, I do still see marielle as an individual who would benefit from and enjoy having an affectionate and touchy significant other. she's been starved of physical comfort ever since kristi went missing, and seeking out a new relationship was the last thing on her mind back in the real world - now, however, it's one of the few luxuries she can afford. during late evenings, she buries herself into her partner's embrace with her head tucked tightly into the crook of their neck. death still lurks beyond the front door, but the curtains are drawn and their voices are incomprehensible, and it allows her to shut it all out. the night nicky is killed and she has to patch up randall, her partner holds her hand wordlessly - knowing that no words could truly comfort her in that moment. the morning after she has another nightmare about what she, julie and randall have endured, her partner gently strokes her back and waits for her to start speaking. it's in these touches that she finds the strength to believe that everything might be okay - that they may just make it out of there alive.

- ', ꒱ ↷ randall.

╰┈➤ while randall may initially come across as brusque, aggressive and overall disagreeable, an individual prone to seeing the good in others may take note of his willingness to help jim search for tabitha in the aftermath of their basement caving in or his foolish yet well-meaning attempt to force donna to open the diner door in an attempt to save the distrustful people outside from the dangerous monsters lurking within the dark. a more optimistic individual would be able to look past the rough exterior and see him not as a loose canon and a potential threat, but rather a man worth getting to know.

╰┈➤ upon his arrival to town, he's incredibly distrustful of everyone around him so I think an individual who knows how to keep their distance initially but still lets him know that they're willing to help him adjust would be the kind of person he'd most willingly let in. taking the time and effort to let him know that the offer to show him around the town or talk to him is on the table but still not constantly approaching him enough to make him suspicious of your role in what he originally perceives as some sick experiment is the most successful path to take for him to first tolerate, and then later on enjoy their company. as stubborn as he is, in a situation as horrifying as the one he's trapped in - very few would choose complete isolation over companionship and some semblance of normalcy.

╰┈➤ randall likes his personal space, but as a partner I see him as quite protective, constantly looking out for the person he's involved with. coupled with the fact that living on the bus with no curtains to separate him from the human-like creatures slinking around the town at night, he'd be more likely to want to move in with his partner not long after the relationship is established, and someone who is open for cohabitation relatively soon into the relationship would suit him better than somebody who would like to take their time with it. that way, not only is he able to get away from the creatures, but he's also able to keep an eye on his partner and ensure their safety throughout the night.

╰┈➤ he's one of the few people in town to be directly impacted by the music-box monster, and the only person the monsters left alive after torturing. he survived the worst threats the townspeople've encountered firsthand, and it's plain to see that he felt abandoned by boyd on the night that the ambulance came into town. if he was protective beforehand, afterwards I think he'd prefer to be with a partner who seeks him out all the time and after being left for dead in favour of other people, he needs to feel as if he's somebody's priority. and for the person that does give him that lifeline, that seed of trust they've placed in him would grow exponentially - the person whose priority he is would ultimately be his priority as well. whatever the future holds, whether they're trapped in that hellscape or make it back to the safety of the real world, they're in it together. wherever they go, randall will follow.

- ', ꒱ ↷ donna.

╰┈➤ aside from boyd himself, donna is one of the town's authority figures as the leader of colony house. those that choose the flower and choose to live under her roof, choose to life for today because tomorrow isn't guaranteed - and I can see donna falling for a partner who shares that stance. she's seen so much loss - from her sister's screams that still ring in her ears to the massacre that followed kevin foolishly opening the window for a monster he'd found himself besotted with, tomorrow is truly never guaranteed. someome spontaneous and lively, who makes the days a little less bleak and the nights a little more bearable may be just what donna needs after all the tears she's spilled in secret. pulling her aside for a lunch date at the edge of the woods and convincing her to take a day to the brundles every once in a while may be just what she needs to soothe her soul.

╰┈➤ following tense situations such as the colony house massacre, the arrival of the bus in town and the harvest of rotten crops, donna's significant other needs to be her rock - someone truly dependable whom she can rely on when the entire town is relying on her. she's rarely ever vulnerable - and when she breaks down, she deserves the luxury of being able to do it in someone's arms. while she does hold a position of authority in town, her hold over the people isn't quite as firm as she would like it to be during times of frenzy and despair. if her partner was to disagree with one of her decisions - it would be wiser to discuss their stance with her away from the mass of people who may already be hesitant to follow orders they have doubts about.

╰┈➤ donna considers the people of colony house to be her family - and her partner would need to integrate themselves as a part of that. they don't need to necessarily agree with or be friends with all of the people there, but they need to have some respect for them - and look out for all of their safety, just as the other colony house members would for them. that's truly one of the things that matters most to donna and it would make her happy to see her significant other accept that way of life, and the only family she really has.

╰┈➤ donna could truly benefit from a partner who often verbally reassures her. I don't think she hears the praises she needs to hear enough - and while I think she initially may scoff and dismiss them, after some time she would come to truly accept them. she doesn't receive much gentleness in her role as the leader of colony house and while all of the residents of colony house defer to her, I would argue that only a few are truly appreciative of all she does - very few take the time to express it, which is understandable given the situation they're in. her partner reminding her that they love her or declaring that they're proud of how well she's handling things despite all the adversity surrounding her may be things that she's not used to hearing, but they are things that she realises she needed to hear. her sister's screams are still ringing in her ears - but a familiar voice pops up every once in a while, repeating declarations of love. these sounds represent two polar opposite memories - and yet, they both urge her to keep going.

- ', ꒱ ↷ boyd.

╰┈➤ as the town's leader, boyd is expected to shoulder the weight of the world - the people look to him to be their symbol of home, to find a way out, to reassure them when the going gets tough. it's a heavy burden, and he needs somebody to share the weight of it with him. he can put up a front to the people around him, but when the night falls and the monsters come knocking at the windows, somebody needs to be there to guide him away from their whispers and the depths of his own thoughts.

╰┈➤ being sympathetic to the losses he's had to endure would go a long way. abby and father khatri both meant a great deal to him, and he's haunted by the memories of them. trapped in a perpetual circle of death and arrivals, it's not like he's had much time to deal with his own grief. being willing to listen to him talk about them, even asking him a couple of questions about things he's never really found the space to talk about could help him start to process all that he's been through. what was abby like before you got here? how did you and father khatri go about convincing the people that the talismans worked?

╰┈➤ the former soldier is also the town's most prominent authority figure, but that's not to mean that his reasoning isn't without flaw. somebody who can present themselves as authoritive and a voice of reason would help boyd with thinking some actions through. when in agreement with boyd, they could help to keep the townspeople safe by echoing and further solidifying his orders. when he's intent on keeping people in the dark to prevent frenzied panic, his partner should be there to remind him to bring donna up to speed - even suggest when the people are relentlessly yelling at tabitha for not seeking help, his partner should be there to reinforce the notion that they don't know enough about faraway trees to attempt trips down through them.

╰┈➤ boyd is fiercely protective of his family, and he would expect the person he's with to care for them as well. ellis and fatima mean the world to him, and he's willing to step over the moral boundaries he's set for himself to protect them. I can't see him with somebody who wouldn't take the effort to befriend his family and I can see him being more drawn to a potential partner who behaves in an approachable manner toward his most beloved. if his partner is around before the arrival of the matthews family, he'd be likely to confide in them about the regret he feels over his torn relationship with his son, as well as rejoice with them when ellis reaches out to attempt to repair it. boyd may have very little time to participate in the impromptu wedding by walking fatima down the aisle, but his partner helping her get ready and lending ellis a listening ear to recite his vows would ultimately draw them into the fold of this small family and solidify their place by his side.

- ', ꒱ ↷ ellis.

╰┈➤ the sheriff's son is an artistically inclined character, and I could see him connecting with someone who also finds comfort in some form of artistry - whether that be painting, writing, pottery, music or a completely different art form. he'd be incredibly supportive of them if they refused to surrender their passion and insisted on perfecting their craft regardless of how long they've been stuck in town, not to mention that it would cause his respect for them to grow exponentially. I can see ellis keeping an eye out for and bringing his significant other supplies - be that cutting down his own stack of paper and coal or discovering clay and gathering some for them.

╰┈➤ ellis is quite possibly the most romantic soul in town - and the most devoted. he'd enjoy spending a vast majority of his time with his partner, and the person he's with should be someone who truly wants to spend most of their time with him as well. he'd plan out dates as often as he could, and they'd range from preparing breakfast in the kitchen together while laughing to cozy, quiet morning strolls in the woods as him and his significant other simply bask in eachother's presence. often, he couldn't care what they're doing - as long as they're together.

╰┈➤ as is made obvious with his appreciation for fatima, ellis has a soft spot for kind and amiable people who try to be helpful and welcoming towards others. an individual that goes out of their way to help new people adjust and lends those struggling a listening ear would be just the kind of person who he'd find himself falling in love with. he would consider himself very fortunate to have a partner like that, not to mention that his significant other would be the person he'd always turn to when he needs to get something off his chest or when he simply needs to feel comforted by holding them close. while his partner shouldn't meddle in his relationship with his father too much - I can see him reaching out to repair it with their support and guidance.

╰┈➤ circling back to the topic of artistry, ellis' is the sort of guy to make his significant other into his muse once he's well and truly head over heels in love with them. he's another character whose love language would be quality time - but in the sense that he could spend hours painting his partner and trying to transfer every feature onto the canvas. he'd try to immortalise whichever features he could - the precise hue of their eyes, the curve of their lips, the bridge of their nose. a partner who could sit with him for hours as he does this, or to be more precise, a partner who is comfortable being his muse would truly suit him better than any other. not only is he immortalising the person he loves, he's immortalising his love for them through his craft. they could both disappear from the world any day now - whether that be at the hands of the vicious creatures that lurk outside the windows or to an unknown entity, but the love they have for one another will remain on the canvas he left behind.

- ', ꒱ ↷ fatima.

╰┈➤ from her first introduction, this beautiful persian woman is presented as welcoming, humorous and full of light. if her future partner was to arrive in town after her, chances are that fatima would be one of the first people to catch their eye. and while she's admired by many, I can see her developing feelings for someone confident, with inner strength to match her own. while setting themselves apart from the other people she's admired by through expressing their interest in her isn't something that would guarantee her reciprocation, it would be something that makes them stand out to her next to all of the other people she's formed strong bonds with. fatima is widely-beloved by her community and the people in it are all very comfortable with her, so if somebody wants her to see them in a romantic light, they have to take the first step towards it.

╰┈➤ fatima is loving and generous, and her character is best seen through her countless gestures to help julie adjust to town and her gifting trudy her favorite sweater. with that in mind, I see fatima's ideal partner as someone truly compassionate - I don't think she would function well with an individual lacking empathy or who has managed to fully distance themselves from the humanity of others, not when she herself feels as deeply as she does. someone who keeps an eye on donna when she's got a lot on her plate or defends victor when new people misunderstand him is likely someone she could connect with much easier than someone whose solely out for themselves and their closest ones. at the centre of that compassion would still be their love for her, and in an environment like their inescapable town, even a person that appears carefree as her needs support. a partner that encourages her to talk to them about how she feels and relentlessly tries to motivate her to keep going, to stay the person she's trying to remain would make life more bearable, even if only by a little bit.

╰┈➤ the daughter of a cleric murdered for his outspoken nature back home in iran, fatima vowed not to allow monsters anywhere in the world to prevent her from living the life. the monsters may come out during the night, but during the day - she's determined to live her life. a romantic partner who puts effort into beautiful gestures would help her truly hold onto that promise. making her laugh with cheesy jokes or organising picnic dates and decorating them with flowers by the brundles are not unachievable - and they ground the relationship as something more than a temporary connection made during distress.

╰┈➤ she would be an incredibly supportive significant other - if her partner was keen on holding onto their passions despite the dreadful situation they find themselves in, she would encourage them to keep pursuing them. whether they were an artist or writer spending the evenings with traces of coal on their fingertips, an aspiring medicine practicioner often revising the things they were taught or striving towards anything else, fatima would be right by their side. she'd take the time to pose for their portraits or to read through their works, to quiz them on the theory of their practice and to make sure that they don't lose hope in those things still being possible. after all, she wants a future with them - and she wants it to be the best one imaginable for both of them.

- ', ꒱ ↷ sara.

╰┈➤ a haunted young woman with an incredibly eerie presence, it's strongly implied that her brother helped her scape an abusive relationship shortly before arriving to fromville. with that in mind, I think sara would appreciate a potential partner who wouldn't immediately insist on a romantic relationship, but rather be her friend first and foremost. she's glad to be out of that situation, but she'd prefer to take things slow, as opposed to rushing into a new relationship. a partner who's content being her friend first and allow for a relationship to develop organically would suit her more than a partner whose immediately prepared to jump into a relationship.

╰┈➤ sara is one of the very few people in town with whom the entities of their entrapment communicate with directly, and it's safe to say that her day-to-day life is directly impacted by this circumstance. an observant partner who can notice the subtle changes in her could help her navigate the struggle of the whispers constantly circulating through her mind. pulling her aside and waiting for the voices to subside, letting her share them with the person she trusts the most makes her feel less alone, finding a way to distract her from the chaos within her mind are all things that could make her life just a little more bearable.

╰┈➤ a figure more feared than she is loved, sara knows she can't take back the things she's done. she can't bring back tobey, gina or bing-qian. she can't undo what she tried to do to ethan. worst of all, she can't bring back nathan - the only family she had. she's riddled with grief and regret, and she can understand the animosity of the people that once considered her a friend and the whispers of people who will only know her as the maddened woman with a trail of blood following her. that doesn't make their loathing and fear any easier to stomach. a partner who doesn't fear her, and reassures her that she can still do good - that she isn't a lost cause, a murderous beast beyond salvation could have a profound impact on her. someone strong-willed and loving, who stands by her even when the entirety of this small world they're stuck in is determined to keep her away.

╰┈➤ sara has little left to remind her of life before her and nathan ended up stranded in town. all she really has to her name is a clumsily pieced-together christmas ornament. being loved by somebody who is creative and fond of gift-giving could provide her with memorabilia to ground her and help remind her that somebody actually cares about her. whether it's a scrap of fabric crafted in a vague shape and hung on a thin string or a wooden box made to keep the little snowman she's kept safe and tucked away, little things would help her feel more 'at home' in a partner's presence and tether her to them as her proper, true home - a patch of salvation in a neverending nightmare.

- ', ꒱ ↷ nathan.

╰┈➤ the caretaker for the town's barn animals at the time of the matthews' arrival, nathan doesn't appear to be close with anyone in town with the exception of his sister. due to this, I can imagine his potential partner being somebody who has a pre-established connection to sara - whether that just be a coworker at the diner who drops by their house when she's forgotten something or a close friend his sister spends a lot of time with. seeing as his proximity to them would make this person somebody he encounters on a daily basis, he'd begin to notice them - and while exchanging pleasantries and taking the time to have a quick conversation with him as they go about their day would endear them to him, it's the little things he takes note of over the course of time that ultimately end up drawing him towards his future partner.

╰┈➤ his potential partner would have to be quite friendly and even the slightest bit assertive to really get anywhere with him, as I don't really see nathan as the one who would take the first step to establish a relationship. finding excuses to come talk to him throughout the day and openly admitting that they enjoy his company would draw him towards them, and he would reciprocate that effort by finding some time to go and talk to them, as well as by checking up on them throughout the day.

╰┈➤ while I see nathan as a quite withdrawn and reserved individual, I can imagine him becoming involved with a more outgoing partner - one that would regularly encourage him to get out of his shell. for the most part, that does simply consist of heading off to the diner with him and roping him into a conversation with whoever may be there - but nobody can claim that those attemps were in vain. while the people he's closest to are still his sister and his significant other, he has grown closer with several other people and started considering them close friends - the most notable of those being kristi and kenny.

╰┈➤ a relationship with nathan could be properly defined as 'private but not secret'. the people around him don't really know much about the details of his relationship, but all of them know that both him and his partner are off limits. I see him as the type to enjoy keeping the private details of his relationship between him and his significant other, and I can't quite imagine him with a partner who would mind that. in public, the farthest he'll go is a gentle peck on the cheek or holding onto their hand - but that's not to say that he comes across as cold or uncaring, not at all. the manner in which he talks about the person he's involved with, even if the things he's saying appear mundane, make it painfully obvious how deeply he cares for them - if the thinly-veiled adoration in his eyes and the slight curve of his lips are anything to go by.

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cosmicjoke · 10 months ago

Text

Alright, even though I haven't yet read a full translation of "Bad Boy, I just want to talk about some things from the pages we do have translated and what we see happen in the story itself.

I don't t think the level of psychological trauma Levi's experiences in this story can be overstated.

We see Levi cry when his mother's cup breaks on the floor. I think what's important to note about this, is that it takes place directly following Levi violently and brutally killing a group of men who had been threatening and beating him.

The first man Levi kills very nearly beats Levi to death. He's using a hammer fist to beat him, meaning his balled fist, and using the edge of his fist, not his knuckles, to beat Levi over and over, with Levi's head against the stone ground. He would have eventually beaten Levi to death if Levi's power hadn't awoken when it did. We also realize that Kenny has abandoned Levi before this happens. Looking through the panels again, I noticed Levi is wearing different clothes when Kenny leaves him than what he's wearing here, in the present. That means Kenny left Levi before his powers even awakened. He left him to fend for himself, a 9 year old child, on the streets of a place that had men like these prowling around, waiting and looking to prey on children, men who felt no hesitation in beating a child to death, or selling that child into sexual slavery. Clearly, Kenny couldn't be bothered to even wait for Levi to develop his actual powers before throwing him to the wolves. And once Kenny walks away, after years of drilling into him that strength is the only thing that matters, Levi is left not understanding what any of it was even for. His power finally awakens, and he brutally kills these men, and he doesn't understand any of it. He was taught violence, but for what purpose? He even asks "What's it for?" to the sole remaining assailant. He's talking about his strength. He doesn't understand why he's so strong, when it's gained him seemingly nothing, and resulted in nothing good. He's still alone, he's still in the dark, he's still existing in a world and in a life that offers him nothing but despair and hopelessness.

And this last man, in my view, is truly the most vile of the group. A truly cruel and hateful coward. We see this man begin to try and manipulate Levi, threatening him and lying to him about his own intentions, trying to claim he meant to "save" Levi, and perhaps most disgusting of all, using Levi's love for his mother against him in some twisted attempt to save his own life, by telling Levi that he would be sullying the memory of her by killing him. I can't begin to imagine the psychological toll this man's words had on Levi following this entire experience. I don't know what the entirety of the dialog between them is, yet, and I'll give a better analysis once that's revealed. But I think it's safe to assume, given what happens with Levi after, that this man's words to Levi likely solidified in Levi himself a belief in his own monstrosity.

Because we see Levi crying, after. When his mother's cup breaks in his hand, and shatters against the floor.

This is a trauma response.

Levi was clearly in shock leading up to that moment. We see him return to the place he and his mother presumably once lived, and we see Levi prepare a cup of tea, afterward staring vacantly into the liquid of the cup, remembering a clearly romanticized image of he and his mother drinking tea in that same spot. I say it's clearly romanticized, because we see a shaft of light in Levi's memory, coming down on the two of them, when in reality, in the present, there is no light at all. It's complete darkness. It's complete despair. I don't think Levi remembers his mother well. He clearly only has an impression of her, and it's an impression he's clearly idealized. An image of elegance and beauty in a world of filth and ruin.

When he picks the cups up to drink from it, the handle snaps, and the cup falls, shattering on the floor. The cup breaking is what finally snaps Levi out of his shock, and finally all the emotion of what's just happened to him comes crashing down, and he begins to cry. Again, this is very obviously a trauma response. It's not the cup itself breaking, but what it represents, I think, that reduces Levi to tears.

Because, really, that cup shattering represents the shattering of Levi's own innocence.

We can assume this is the first time he kills, and we see the devastating effect of it on Levi in the aftermath.

He's alone, abandoned by Kenny without explanation, after Kenny's approval of him had seemed predicated on Levi becoming strong. And so Levi is left here with nothing but confusion, the fading memory of his mother, the blood on his hands, something forced on him both by Kenny and the men who were attacking him, and with that horrible man's words no doubt echoing in his ears about how killing him would sully his mother's memory, that idealized image he has of his mother. One has to think Levi's own self-image was warped into that of a monster.

Levi killed those men with his bare hands, and in doing so, he displayed a truly shocking amount of strength. I'm talking something equivalent to or even greater than a brown bear or a tiger. We have to remember here that Levi is only 9 years old. He's a child. And he's able to do this.

And yet, it didn't come naturally to him at all.

Levi wanted these men to give back his mothers tea set. He asked them to give it back to him, because it didn't belong to them. He still asks, even after they beat him badly.

It's only after the brutality of their attack increases, that we see Levi try to actually fight back. He lands a punch on the man holding him down, and then that man begins to beat Levi to within an inch of his life, bringing his fist down on him over and over again, until Levi's power awakens and explodes out of him.

Levi resorted to violence in response to their increasing violence against him, but it wasn't his initial response. I know I go on and on about how I don't believe Levi is naturally inclined toward violence at all, but I think this story, for all its intense violence, demonstrates that beyond doubt.

Because Levi finally loses it, and he kills these men, and he does it in truly terrifying fashion. He tears them apart the way an animal would tear a person apart. He shows no mercy to the final man, who tries to squirm his way out of paying for his actions by lying to Levi and guilt-tripping him. It doesn't work, though. Levi kills him, too, and he does all this with seemingly no remorse and no feeling.

But, again, I come back to the immediate aftermath, when Kuchel's cup shatters on the floor, and we're reminded in stark, naked fashion that Levi is just a child. He was an innocent child. And that innocence was stolen from him by this incident. By Kenny teaching him how to kill, teaching him that strength was the only thing that mattered, but not explaining to him why before leaving him. By these men nearly killing him, by their brutality and cruelty and ugliness. By Levi having to kill them to save himself. And by his grieving fury and confusion over the point of any of it, when he kills the final man, even when he didn't have to. Levi breaking down into tears has nothing to do with the cup itself, but with what's just happened. He's horrified. I think he's horrified with himself, and he's alone, and the last, good memory he has, the one point of light in his life, this single, vague memory of his mother, has been shattered to pieces, literally and figuratively, with the shattering of Levi's own innocence.

I think that point of contrast, his memory of his mother's elegance and grace, with the brutality and violence of himself, in that moment, devastates Levi. I think he feels ashamed. I think he believes in that horrible man's words to him, about how he's disgraced his mother's memory by doing what he's done. Can there be any doubt that Levi begins to think of himself from this point on as an animal? As a monster? As "abnormal"?

We know from "No Regrets" and Isayama's own words, that Levi didn't have any friends until he met Furlan and Isabel, two people he didn't know until he himself was full grown. And so we know that from the age of 9, or even younger, since we see Kenny leave Levi before his powers even awaken, he's been on his own. He's been on his own all this time, while harboring the belief that he's some sort of savage and violent killer. That he's some kind of monster, possessing an immense strength that seems meant for nothing but death and destruction. As though he were an engine for pointless death and destruction.

And yet, all on his own, he comes to realize that his strength can be used for something else. That it can be used to help people. He saves Furlan's life, and he saves Isabel's life. And from that point on, with this realization of what his strength can be used for, Levi dedicates himself to that end. To using this immense and frightening strength to help people.

That Levi could come out of this experience still with the ability to love, to still have in him the ability to be loved, despite how all he'd ever known from love was suffering, and that he could come out of this still with the deep desire to help others, to do good, is honestly nothing short of a miracle, and I think it demonstrates more powerfully than anything the innate goodness in Levi.

Because there's so much negativity wrapped up in the concept of love for Levi. He watched his mother die, succumbing to disease, and there's little doubt in my mind that Levi blamed himself for that, her ability to care for herself compromised by his presence in her life, by being another mouth to feed, another back to clothe, when she could scarce afford to feed herself, could scarce afford to put clothes on her own back. And for his own love for her to end in an eruption of blood and violence, and the loss of his innocence, for Levi to come out of that with the ability to still connect with people, to form connections, to love and care for them, and allow himself to be loved and cared for in turn, it can only come from a deep well of genuine and innate goodness. From a heart that longs for kindness and compassion, even in the face of utter cruelty and despair.

Levi's tears demonstrate his despair and grief at his own violence. They demonstrate his bereavement and regret. They demonstrate his horror and loneliness. And they demonstrate, at his core, the persistence of a pure and loving heart that wishes to do and be good.

All of this horror wasn't enough to stamp out the goodness in Levi.

Despite it all, he became a genuine hero.

Despite it all, the goodness in him remains.

#Levi Ackerman #Bad Boy #bad boy spoilers #analysis #commentary

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naanima · 3 months ago

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I am so fucking feral over Maxiel. URGH. Anyways, a fic written in 40 mins. No beta. BUT I NEEDED TO WRITE IT. THE IMAGES OF DANIEL WITH IT IS, SCREAMING!! POST Max winning his 4th WDC. This will get edited and posted to Ao3 eventually. Around 770 words.

ETA: PART 2.

The thing was he didn't even have an excuse for it. He wasn't drunk, he wasn't depressed, and he wasn't even fucking doom scrolling at 2 AM in the morning because he couldn't sleep and his brain was a fucking mess. If it had been any of that he could have had an excuse. He could have kept on ignoring the weird intimacy he shared with Max, all the sharp messy feelings that he had ignored, examined and buried throughout the years.

But he didnt. He had watched Max win his fourth consecutive world championship, watched his emotions overwhelm him, watched the guys hug and fold him into themselves, watched all of it from the comfort of his own home. Watched all of it, and the only things he could feel was pride and so much fucking fondness for his boy. And a soft regret at not being physically there so he could have embraced Max and told him how proud he was of him.

He had watched the close-up of Max's champion helmet, the M, V, and the four stars above it. The design was simple but beautiful, and Daniel was hit with a sudden want, a need. And he couldn't wait anymore. He called his guy Kenny in LA, and was so happy that he could do a home visit that evening. Daniel didn't want to leave the coccon of his home for this one. He had a shower, carefully dried himself off, put on a loose shirt and shorts and waited on his couch till Kenny arrived with his kit.

When Daniel showed him the picture from his phone Kenny had looked at him with a raised brow.

"Man, are you sure?" Kenny looked low level concerned, someone who has seen way too many people regretting their decisions at times of vulnerability or stupidity. Or both.

"Yeah," Daniel said with confidence. This was what he wanted. He knew it with certainty. "And yeah, that's where I want it too."

"It is your funeral." Kenny shrugged and got ready.

Daniel took off his shirt and laid down on his bed. It was the easiest way to do this.

Three hours later Kenny was gone with a judgemental look and aftercare instructions. Daniel had nodded his head to whatever Kenny was saying, and had ran to the bathroom as soon as Kenny was gone.

He stripped naked and looked at the red inflammed skin of his lower back in the mirror. The whole design was about ten centimetres wide, and it sat a bit lower than what most people would have considered the prime tramp stamp location. This was beyond slut territory.

Kenny did an amazing job, the man was an artist. The V cutting between the M were thick lines shaded in molten gold as if hit by the sun, and highlighted by black. The four goldden stars above it were similarity shaded, there was enough space to add more to it beneath them. Because Max wasn't going to just stop there.

His underwear was gonna block off most of the design, just top of the stars showing. So at least he could still go around shirtless.

It was beautiful, and he still wasn't regretting it. And yeah, this probably crossed the line of friends, but if Daniel couldn't fucking admit that they were more than friends now when he had purposely put Max fucking Verstappen's mark practically above his ass crack then he really would be beyond stupid. He could hear Blake's voice in his head saying how he was beyond stupid for marking himself for another man.

Daniel ignored the voice, grabbed his phone and tried to get the perfect picture of the tattoo. It took him several tries, but he finally got the angle that best showed the tattoo. It was fucking beautiful. He thought about cropping out his back and ass, there was no way that people wouldn't know it was him, even if his face was facing away. But fuck it, they had been joking around for almost a decade, and it was best to be as clear as fucking possible.

He sent the picture to Max. No words or messages.

If Max didn't fucking recognise it as Daniel going all in, as a declaration of intent, then Max didn't fucking deserve him or his ass.

#maxiel #maxiel fic #dr3 fic #daniel ricciardo #naan writes #my fic #dr3 tattoo fic

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atarathegreat · 11 months ago

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Hello! May request a Draken sibling!Reader x Mikey. Any scenario and/or headcanons will do! Thx♡

No one knew what the hell was wrong with the commander. For weeks on end Mikey had been acting weird, not acting as childish or as ruthless. Even in fights, he was more inclined to let people at least have the ability to walk away, which was a little concerning to Draken. All the founders and captains were used to Mikey absolutely destroying his opponent, and he just suddenly...stopped.

Draken leaned back on his bed, watching his friend. "The hell is up with you recently, man?" Kenny couldn't take it. Especially when Mikey was over to hang out, he wasn't acting like himself. "What do you mean, Ken-chin?" Mikey looked up from the comic book in his hand. "Dude, you've been acting strange as hell." Draken threw a pillow at him. Mikey was the only one who hadn't noticed this change. He thought he was the same as always.

"Kenny!" Mikey straightened up at the cute voice, "I brought you and Mikey some drinks." Draken's little sister came in and set down a couple of drinks. She was only a few months older than Emma, and Mikey figured that if Kenny had a crush on Emma, then he could have a crush on Y/n. Dark eyes watched as she plopped down next to her brother, "And the ladies said that, when you have time, they need help moving a couple boxes."

"I'll get to it when I get to it. Damn." Draken rolled his eyes, "Don't they know I'm busy?"

Y/n giggled, and Mikey felt like his heart was going to implode. She was adorable. Unlike Emma, she had no desire to grow up fast, be more mature, or even dress like she had something to show. Mikey loved his sister, of course, but this girl... she was everything he wanted, and he couldn't help but compare and contrast the two the same way he did to himself and Kenny. Draken was mature and careful where Mikey was childish and impulsive. Was Y/n the same as him? He really hoped so.

"What about you, Mikey? Can you help?" Y/n turned to the shorter blonde.

Draken tugged on her ponytail, "Hey, don't start asking my friends to do your chores!"

"I'm asking for help, you overgrown lima bean!"

"Watch your mouth, you underdeveloped mouse!"

It was always weird when the two argued, hurling meaningless insults at each other that Draken would apologize for later.

For a second, Mikey wondered if she'd even be into a short guy. He was just around below average, but she grew up staring at the ceiling to talk to her brother. What if she couldn't stand looking eye level at him? Or what if she wanted someone with a deeper voice? Mikey wasn't exactly...gruff.

"Stop being a brat!" Y/n was pinning Draken down and jerking on his shirt, "I'm only asking for help, not for him to do everything for me!" Kenny could've easily thrown her off, but she was his baby sister. So, he yelled to Mikey for help. "Mikey, grab this deranged dust bunny!"

Mikey was careful to grab around her waist, no higher and no lower, to pull her away from her brother. He liked carrying Y/n, but he didn't want to hold on for too long and risk Draken seeing that he had a crush. "We should bring her along to our next fight and set her loose on the guys!" Mikey laughed, though he wouldn't actually let her anywhere near a fight. "I'll help you with whatever it is." Mikey smiled, ignoring the way Draken groaned and told him not to bother.

Despite her brothers' warnings to not help, Mikey followed her through the brothel and to her own little room. "I just need help moving these boxes to the room across from Kenny's." She crouched down and picked up a box, a box that Mikey quickly grabbed from her. "Alright." He grabbed another box underneath it, "Lead the way."

Maybe he would just confess to Y/n when Kenny confessed to Emma...

yes, the parallel is on purpose :)

Part 2

#anime #manga #x reader #tokyo revengers #tokyo rev #tokyo rev x reader #mikey #mikey x reader #manjiro sano #manjiro sano x reader #asks #send asks #anon ask #ask away #inbox #answered

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callsign-cacti · 6 months ago

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Bet on it

Finn x F.Reader 5.3k words

Summary: A missed meeting, a drugstore bag with a fake pregnancy test, a forgetful Kenny Roper, and intimate knowledge about a bet made by the STU baseball team. What could go wrong?

Rating: Mature: drug use, drinking, future chapters will be 18+.

Warnings: Mentions of faking a pregnancy for a prank/ revenge. If this triggers you, please don't read!

Part Two

You had made it a point to never step foot in either of the South Texas University Baseball houses. For any reason, be it for work or, other recreational purposes. However, here you stand, hand seconds away from banging on the front door of the house.

The neighbors probably thought that you were yet another scorned lover, come to beg for yet another piece of the baseball boys. Yet that couldn't be any farther from the truth.

Taking a moment, you recall all the anger from early as you had sat in the library, waiting for Kenny Roper to show up. And he never did.

As the minutes turned into an hour, and your anger continued to grow with the passage of time, you became more and more sure that today was the day. You had been holding onto this little nugget of information for when one of them truly pissed you off, and you knew that the bunch of idiots, would in fact, do something dumb enough to warrant this.

Kenny Roper was just the poor soul that pushed you over the edge.

So you felt no remorse as you banged on the door, not hesitating to throw it open, as you knew the dumbasses never locked it. You bit your lip as some of the boys yelped, all turning to see who was storming in. As soon as you crossed the threshold, you were assaulted with the stench of stale beer, weed, burnt food and B.O.

Wrinkling your nose, you scanned the room, taking in about half the team lounged about the living room. And then you found Roper, tucked behind McReynolds. Looks like he wasn't so dumb after all, if he immediately knew that you were here for him.

Finn recovered first, "Well look who it is, I thought you had taken a solem vow to never step foot in this cursed house!"

"Shut the fuck up Finn!" You snapped, eyes never leaving Roper. "Roper, where the hell have you been?"

As Roper pales, the rest of them start snickering.

"Actually, I don't give a shit where you have been, 'cause I don't want to hear your dumbass excuse! Upstairs, now!" You barked, knowing it would be easier to compose yourself in front of Roper then it would be with half the team watching you. And lord knows you would need some composure for what you were about to pull off.

As Roper silently led you to his bedroom, passing a door with a sign that read, Fornication. Under. Consent. of King, you scoffed, rolling your eyes.

Behind you, the boys began to whoop, Plumber was even dumb enough to shout, "Get it Rope!"

At that, you whirled, ripping the sign off the door and chucking it at Plums head, promptly shutting him up.

As Roper closed the door behind him, you heard shuffling coming from downstairs, the boys being as subtle as a pack of elephants in their snooping.

"I cannot believe that you didn't fucking show up Roper!" You yelled at him, beginning to pace back and forth. "I literally rearranged my whole schedule for you, and you don't even have the gall to show up! This class is quite literally the only thing that is keeping your ass off the bench!" You're screeching now, knowing that you need to be loud enough for the entire house to hear.

"Listen, I'm sorry I didn't show, but practice ran late, and then coach wanted to talk to me after. By the time I finished at the field, I figured that..."

"You figured what?" You bit out. No need to fake your anger for this part. You knew that the baseball boys felt entitled due to the treatment they recieved from students and professors alike, but this was on another level.

"You just figured that since you were a little late it would be okay to make me sit for an hour waiting on you? That since your on the goddamned team I would do the entire thing for you? That I would bend over backwards for you, yet again!"

"Just calm down!" He tries to placate, rising up off of his bed, hands outstreched in front of him as if you're a wounded animal that he's trying not to scare. You can practically hear the collective intake of breath from his teammates.

You're not sure if even Brumley is dumb enough to tell a woman to calm down when she's this mad.

"Calm down, you want me to fucking calm down?" You hiss at him, tone dangerously low. The realization that he is well and truly fucked washes over him, his face going pale, limbs tensing. Now he's the one taking a step back as you advance on him. Eventually, his legs hit the bed, leaving him to fall back onto it.

"How in the ever loving fuck am I supposed to calm down when I am stuck with your dumbass for the considerable future. When you can't even show up for a meeting for a class that would keep you on the team. Now that I know for sure that I can't trust you as far as I can throw you!"

Throughout your little speech, you had been gripping the bag tightly, using it as an extension of your hand as you waved it around. Now, you brought it up to your chest as you lowered your voice, Ropers eyes squinting as he tried to figure out it's contents.

"How am I supposed to calm down, when I just took this!" And with that, you fling the bag towards him. He just barely manages to catch it, holding it slightly away from his body as if it was going to bite him.

Cautiously, he opened it, squinting as he reaches down to pull it out. It's barely out of the bag before it's being dropped on the floor as if it's poisionous.

"What the hell is that" Fear has edged into his voice as he finally looks at you.

"You know exactly what it is!" Crossing your arms, you glare at him, not giving him an inch.

"But it's not mine right?"

"Well do you see anyone else in here with us dipshit?" You spat, pinching the inside of your elbow, desperatly trying to keep the laughter that was clawing it's way up your throat down.

"But, we've never... we didn't... did we?" He's reached back down to tenatively pick up the pregnancy test. He looks at you, then back at the test, then back at you, then shakes his head, as if trying to wake himself from a dream.

"You're shitting me Roper. You mean, you don't even fucking remember sleeping with me?" Your voice is dangerously high at this point, and your hoping that it will pass as you trying not to cry instead of you trying not to laugh. In the other room, something crashed, and you heard the whisper yelling at whoever had knocked it over, but your eyes never left Roper.

“I can’t believe this!” You screeched, throwing your hands up into the air.

“How the hell am I supposed to trust you with a baby if you can’t even remember the simplest fucking thing like a meeting, or the night that you fucking impregnated me!”

And with that, you threw the door open, not at all surprised to see the guys strewn about the hallway, desperately trying to look as if they hadn't been eavesdropping, and failing miserably.

You rushed down the stairs and flew through the back door, barely holding yourself together. It was only once you were outside that you allowed the laughter to escape.

This was the part of the plan that had taken you the longest to decide on. You knew that the money would come out very quickly, but did you want to let Roper stew in what was surely a full on crisis?

As tempting as it was, you also didn't want the rumor that you were pregnant getting around, let alone with Kenny fucking Ropers baby.

So, as soon as you composed yourself, which took a couple minutes, as the look on Kenny Ropers face was not something that you would be forgetting any time soon, you let yourself back into the house, went to the fridge, pulled out a beer and popped the top of.

Unfortunalty, you wouldn't get the full amount today, as only half the team was here, but you had the time to collect, and a pocket full of blackmail material.

Reaching into your bag, you pulled your camera out, and began to head for the stairs.

Once you got within eye sight, you began taking pictures. Finn was collecting the money, McRenyolds was sitting next to Roper on the bed, who was still clutching the pregnancy test in his hand. Plum and Dale were both on the ground laughing, and Coma was pulling out his wallet and counting bills.

As Coma put the bills in Finns hand, Plum collected himself enough to pull himself up off the floor.

"I mean, really dude, how the fuck did you forget sleeping with her?"

"Yeah, especially with that much money on the line." Coma chimed in, reluctantly placing his bills in Finns hand.

"I mean,first of all, she's hot as fuck..."

You raise your camera again as you speak and began to snap away.

"Well thanks Plum!" You say, a grin spread wide across your face. Most of the heads in the room, except for Roper and Plum snap towards you, and you beam as you capture the pure fear and confusion as it flits across their faces.

Plum, bless his heart, just continues on. "I mean, you guys literally told me about this bet on the first day of practice!" And just as the guys begin to violently shush him, he connects the dots on his own, his head whipping towards you.

Once you get a picture of his face, you lower the camera, tucking it into your bag as you take another sip of your beer. They all watch as you walk across the room towards Finn, taking the money from his hand and putting the beer in it's place.

Once you make sure it's all there, you shove it into your bag, and take your beer back from Finn.

Brumley, the dumbass, is the first one to break the silence.

"I don't think your supposed to drink if your pregnant. It's bad for the baby!" He exclaimes, nodding at the beer in your hand.

Rolling your eyes, you look around the room. You can see it in there faces who has figured it out, Finn, Dale and McRenyolds being the only ones who have figured it out. The rest are still looking between you and Roper in confusion.

"I'm not pregnant dickheads!" You hiss. "I mean, you think I'd touch him with a ten foot pole? Not fucking likely!"

When you don't get a response from anyone, you take one last drink from your can before shoving it back into Finns hand.

"Well, this has been fun, Roper, I'll see you Friday for our presentation!" And with that, you head for the stairs, pausing to look back over your shoulder. "And I expect to see you with the rest of my money. I know the whole team was in on it!"

And you left as pandemonium broke out upstairs.

They found you the next day in the dining hall at lunch. Heather, your roommate, had literally just walked out for her class, and you remained behind, having a few more minutes before you needed to leave for class.

Opening your book, you pulled out your pens as you lifted a fry off your plate, only to have your fry snatched from your hand as you watched someone else slide your book out from in front of you.

You looked up to see Finn munching on your fry as Dale closes your book. You smirk as Roper and McRenyolds pull out chairs in front of you, and flinch as the chair Nesbit is dragging over squeals on the tile floor.

They have you completely surrounded.

"Hello boys," You smirk, picking up another fry. "Come to give me the rest of my money?" Popping the rest of the fry into your mouth, you summon a smug smirk as you lord your win over the boys.

Finn chuckles as he throws his arm around the back of your chair.

"We'll give you the money."

'Perfect," You interrupt him, holding out your hand.

"If, you tell us who squealed to you about the bet." McRenyolds finishes for him as Finn high fiving you before reaching to steal yet another one of your fries.

"Nice try, a reporter never squeals on her sources!" Batting Dales hand away as he reaches for your plate.

"Come on, you owe me!" Roper states, leaning across the table to take your drink. You scrunch your nose as he puts it back down in front of you, and reach over the table push it back towards him.

"You can have it, I have no interest in catching whatever diseases you may carry!" Beside you, both Finn and Dale chuckle, and you lean back to cross your arms so that you can effectively death glare at Roper.

"And I owe you, owe you for what exactly?" You let all traces of humor drain from your tone.

"Umm, for yesterday?" Roper offers up weakly, well aware that he just fucked up.

"Oh, I owe you for completely rearranging my schedule to fit around yours, only for you to stand me up and leave me to do all the work on a project worth thirty percent of our grade. Oh, and lets not forget about the little bet that you started with the entire baseball team about who could sleep with me first. I owe you for that?"

"Well, I didn't fucking start it... W..." McRenyolds kicked him under the table, promptly shutting him up.

"What he means to say, is that he is truly and deeply sorry, that he regrets all of his actions. And that we would all truly appreciate it if you could, just this one time, fudge your morals a little bit, and tell us who ratted on us!" Finn proclaimed, as Roper nodded along with him.

"In fact, I think we all owe her an apology!" Finn stated, a grin stretching across his face.

"Y/n, I am very, very sorry about the bet! It was very wrong of us, and we will never do it again!"

"Your damn right you won't!" You mutter rolling your eyes at Finn. Dale and McRenyolds scoff at him, as Nesbit smothers "Asskisser" in a very fake cough.

“C’mon guys, you gotta be better then that, y’all gotta butter her up. Right now, she’s fifty bucks richer and still riding the high of Ropers embarrassment!” Finn chastises.

“She already took our money!” Dale whines. “C’mon, don’t you wanna be a good friend and tell us who squealed?”

You snort at this, throwing a fry from your plate at him. He catches it and winks as he throws it into his mouth.

"It's cute that you think we're friends!"

Now, Nes chimes in. “It was obviously someone who was least likely to win that squealed!”

“So, you!” Finn says, popping another fry into his mouth.

“Guys, it was probably someone who already graduated. Figured they would sabotage the bet because they didn’t win.” Roper adds, looking at you with suspicion.

“I mean, statistically speaking, I’m the one who would win.” Finn says, tightening his arm around you. “Right honeybunch!”

This sends the guys into an uproar so loud they don't notice your low hum.

“Why the fuck do you think you would win!”

“Bullshit”

“Shut the hell up Finn!”

“Tell him he’s wrong!”

You scoff. “As if I’d touch any of you with a 10 foot pole. I’m very content not having any STDs thank you very much!”

“I mean, look at the rest of the guys she slept with…” Finn starts, before your turning to look at him.

“Keeping tabs on me Finnegan?”

And he doesn’t even hesitate. “Course I am. Gotta see who floats your boat, so I can imitate them, and subsequently win the bet.”

Rolling your eyes, you shove him off you. “You’re all disgusting!”

And as the rest of the guys begin to protest, you snatch your book off of Dales lap, shoving it into your bag, and ignoring Finns eyes on you as you walk away.

Your not even the least bit surprised when Finn finds you the next day, even though your tucked away in your little corner of the library.

“Ok, I know you’re the type of person who appreciates the whole, no bullshit thing,” which Finn and the team had learned the hard way when they had all attempted to flirt with you on your first team interview after a game last year.

Your response, listing off all of the simple mistakes they had made, and insinuating that they were all very, very small because of those dumbass mistakes.

That was the night the bet was born.

“So I’m just gonna come right out and say it. You’re a liar. A hypocrite, if the shoe fits.” You narrow your eyes as he finishes his statement with a flourish, bringing that stupid pipe to his lips. Leaning forward, you snatch it from his hands, throwing it down onto the table.

“You can’t smoke in the fucking library dipshit. And also, how dare you call me a liar. You don't know jack shit."

“But you don’t deny being one?” Finn was smart, you would give him that. It was a damn shame that he wasted it all on beer, baseball and pussy.

“And why would I lie Finn? Isn’t being with one of the baseball boys the goal? From what I’ve heard, I’m supposed to shout it from the rooftops, maybe even get it tattooed on my forehead. I slept with one of the baseball boys!”

“Don’t be ridiculous, that’s way too long to fit on your forehead. It would probably be better on your lower back, you know, like a tramp stamp!”He grins as he says it, leaning back into his chair, propping his feet up on the table, and crossing his arms behind his head. You try to ignore the way it makes his biceps look, and you definitely don’t notice the way it makes the veins on his forearms stand out.

“Did you come here for a reason Finn, or do you just find enjoyment in bugging me?" You snap at him, looking back down at your paper.

“Well, I clearly came for the pleasure of your company! And also, to… sate my curiosity, if you will.”

“Well, you asked your question, and I gave you an answer, now you can leave me alone so I can work on my paper!” It was a clear dismissal, but he didn’t move a fucking inch, continuing to stare. You kept your eyes on the paper, your hand moving to write down shitty sentences out of pure spite. You were definitely going to have to rewrite part of this paper.

“You know, I can go away real easy for the low price of just two words, a name is all it takes sweetheart!”

“I told you Finn, I have never slept with anyone on the baseball team, ever. Now leave me alone!”

“See sweetheart, the thing is I don’t believe you when you say that. You hesitated for too long yesterday, and quite frankly, we are all good looking guys. Well… most of us. And you cannot tell me that watching us play doesn’t get you all hot and bothered!”

“I have literally never been less turned on then I am when I am watching y’alls games.” You deadpanned. Which was a lie of course. He wasn’t wrong. The team had some very good looking guys, and those pants did wonders for their asses.

“Sweetheart, please, you can’t bullshit the bullshitter!” Rolling your eyes, you turn your attention back to your work, hoping that maybe if you stopped giving him your attention, then he would go away. He was silent for a few seconds, and out of the corner of your eye, you saw him stand, only for him to pull out the chair your bag was in, drop it to the floor, and seat himself.

“Look, we can do this the easy way, or the hard way…”

“Shut the fuck up Finn, we aren’t in one of your stupid spy thrillers!”

“Please!” He begs, so loud that a few other students turn to look your way. The attention doesn’t seem to phase Finn, although you should have known that it wouldn’t. If anything the new eyes just egg him on.

“Why do you even want to know so bad huh? The bets over, no one won, it doesn’t matter!” You spat.

A part of you debated on just telling him. He was as hard headed as you were, and the likelihood of him giving up was slim to none. There was always the option of just giving him the name of one of the seniors that had graduated, no harm no foul, but this was also Finn. If he found out that you had lied, then it was just going to make things worse.

You could revisit the idea of telling their coach. The probability of any of the players getting benched was slim to none, but you did have a little bit of pull, as you were the one writing half the articles the scouts were reading. You would never actually write untrue things about the guys and their game, for several reasons, but they didn’t need to know that.

You were jolted out of your thoughts by Finns snapping by your ears, flinching at the loud sound.

“How am I supposed to make my argument if you’re not even listening to me?” He pouted, leaning back in his seat once he was sure he had your attention.

“I don’t know Finn, maybe you could take the goddamned hint and leave me alone so I could get some work done?”

“I’m just saying, you had to find out from someone, and the team has been sworn to secrecy to never tell! The only thing I can think of was if someone was pussy..." He trailed off, remembering who he was talking too as he snapped his mouth shut.

“So you just wanna know who blabbed. This has nothing to do with me?” You innocently ask, batting your eyelids at him.

“Mm, exactly. See, you’re a smart girl, I knew you would…”

You lean forward, gesturing for him to come closer. Trailing your hand up his arm before cupping it around his ear as you leaned in to whisper a name.

"Walt Finnegan."

And that shuts him right up, allowing you to quickly shuffle your papers together and gather your bag, leaving a shocked Walt Finnegan left behind.

After Finn found you that morning in the library, Dale cornered you as you were coming out of class, demanding to know who told you. Then it was McRenyolds, who had shoved a girl off of him, before marching up to you, spouting some bullshit about the sancitity of secret keeping on the team, and how, as captain, he needed to know and some other crap.

The next day, you saw Nez coming out of the cafeteria, and you had to put up with his badgering the entire fifteen minute walk to class. The class that you shared with Coma. And you might as well have skipped it, seeing as you spent the entirety of the fifty five minutes shoving the notes from him off of your desk.

After class, you met up with Heather on the green, practically collapsing onto the blanket she had laid out.

"Rough day?" She asked, a smirk fully gracing her face as she took in her misery.

"Their tenacity is surprising. They have been bugging me all day!" You whine. "It almost makes it not worth it. Almost!"

After you explain your day to her, the two of you lay on the green in silence for a few minutes, before she begins packing up. She still has one more class to attend before she's released for the weekend. Once you confirm your plans for later, she is off.

Flopping back down onto the blanket, you pull out your book, letting out a content sigh.

It’s the first time in days that you aren’t doing homework, or writing articles, or being assaulted by the entire baseball team, or stressing about all three. Your laid out in one of your favorite corners of the green, sun shining down on you as you open your book.

You get five minutes of peace and quiet before Finn sits down next to you, effectively ruining your alone time.

“No!” You shout, the frustration in your tone clear. “No, not right now Finn. This is the first time in days where I haven’t been busy. I've been alone for like, five freaking minutes and…”

"Well, I could give you some peace and quiet if you just tell me the truth!" He says, that signature shit eating smile of his firmly in place. When you stay quiet, he nods. "That's what I thought!"

And then he surprises you, shifting so his back is against the tree next to your blanket, and lifts your legs, pulling them onto his lap. Without another glance at you, he pulls out his own book before opening it to the dog eared page.

Quickly, you snatch your legs back, moving to nail him in the leg, but he's faster then you, wrapping your ankle in a steel grip.

"Ah ah ah, you want peace and quiet don't you?" Then he's gently placing your legs back in his lap.

You gape at him, not quite comprehending what was happening, or what angle he was trying to play. But his focus never strayed from the page.

Now you were torn, if you said something, he would probably start in on you, and you were too tired to really fight him on this today.

Maybe you should just leave it alone, and not look a gift horse in the mouth. You really didn’t want to get up and go inside, and if he was being quiet, then who were you to protest. It also didn’t hurt that he looked really, really good with his dumb fluffy hair and stupid tight shirt that strained across his biceps.

Your decision was made for you as his hand begins sliding up your calf, kneading at the muscles there. You're barely able to catch the moan that threatens to escape.

Suddenly, your assaulted with visions of running your hands through that hair, finding out if it was really as soft as it had always looked invaded your mind, nails raking down that toned back…

“I can feel your staring!” He teased, breaking you out of your trance, and made you snap your attention back down to your book in an attempt to hide the blush that heated your face.

And you tried to focus on your book, you really did. Finn didn’t seem to have any problems paying attention to his. At least, that’s what you told yourself in an attempt to explain why his hand was crawling up your leg. His fingers moving higher as the patterns he was tracing got larger.

Yes, that was it. He was just distracted, and he didn’t realize what he was doing. And he also didn’t realize that you were making absolutely no effort to stop him.

But when you looked up from your book, you found his eyes on yours, a smug smile plastered on his face as he trailed his fingers dangerously high on your inner thigh.

“So, we’ve slept together huh?”

You hum, refusing to break eye contact with him. “Shame you don’t remember, although, with your performance, I’m not surprised you blocked it out.” You had fully intended for the comment to be biting enough to get him to back off. However, your voice came out unexpectedly breathy, undercutting the snark of your words.

A smirk grows on his face as he shifts his weight, bringing his face closer to yours so that he’s whispering right in your ear, his fingers dangerously high close to where your thighs meet.

“I know that’s a lie sweets. You wanna know how I know it’s a lie?”

You know you should push him off you. Finn was a fuck boy, and more then that, right now he was motivated, not to sleep with you, but to get some answers. But instead, you found yourself nodding, the sensible part of your brain having left the second his fingers made contact with you.

“There’s a few reasons. One, you could quite literally cut the tension between us with a knife, but somehow, your managing to keep your hands off me, which means I’ve yet to work my magic on you!”

Your moving to swat Finn away, the moment ruined by the return of Walt FInnegan to his natural state, a cocky asshole. But one again, he's moving too fast for you to comprehend, swinging your legs off of his lap and leaning over so that he's hovering above you, faces inches away from the other.

“Besides sweets, if we fucked, there’s no way in hell I would forget that.”

And then he’s standing, brushing off his jeans and winking before walking away.

You sit in shock for a second, watching as he fades into the throngs of people milling about campus.

Finn won that round, you can admit to that. But there’s no way he’s winning the war. Gathering your things, you plot the entire way back to your room, practically throwing the door open, grinning manically when you see Heather beat you back.

“Get up! Change of plans, we’re going out tonight!”

I still don't get why you won't just sleep with him!" Heather whines are she puts the finishing touches on your hair. With a flourish, she spins your around to the mirror, and you smile at what you see there.

"Thanks babe, your a godsend!" She just winks at you before moving to start on her own makeup.

Your original plan had been to stay in and do a movie night, but after Finns stunt earlier, you weren't content to let him have the upper hand for long.

So now, the two of you were getting ready for the Sound Machine, knowing that was the baseball boys party of choice when they weren't throwing their own or out of town.

And, to top it all off, James, a smarmy asshole from your English class had told you he would be there tonight. Which made him the perfect unknowing accomplice in your little game with Finn.

In the back of your head, you knew that you were walking a fine line, especially with Finn. When you had chosen to play that little prank with Roper, you severely underestimated the boys need to know who had told you.

And you never thought that Finn would take this much interest in getting to the bottom of it.

Although now, you were beginning to question if you would have done anything differently.

Your snapped out of your thoughts when Heather emerges from the bathroom, still ranting about the baseball boys.

"At this point Heath, it's a principle thing. I can't go sleeping with the athletes! I would lose all my credibility. Also, I have spent the last three years of my life insulting their very manhood. It would be hypocritical of me to fold now."

"And Walt Finnegan has spent the last three years panting after your ass babes!"

"Oh has he now, is this before or after he's stuck his tongue down three quarters of this school's female population?" You spit back at her.

Walt Finnegan didn't want you. He wanted to win the bet to rub it in his friends faces. He wanted you because he felt like you were unattainable.

And most importantly, he couldn't have wanted you that bad, because he had already had you, and he had forgotten about it.

#walt “finn” finnegan #Finn x reader #Walt Finnegan x reader #Walt “Finn” Finnegan x Reader #everybody wants some #Glen Powell #Glen Powell Universe #Glen Powell cinematic universe

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