#I was gonna edit out the red pencil but I kinda like it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

tangledstarlight · 4 years

Photo

...i said i was going to make it and well, here we are i guess. im so sorry for this.

Carlos Molina’s to Guide to Ghost Hood (title subject to change)

welcome to the 1st edition, maybe i’ll make a 2nd if i get inspired enough but also, this is such a mess already i don’t think the world needs a part 2 dfghg

Link to the power point is in the first reblog. (i’d highly recommend watching it for the full experience dfgh)

Link to ao3 also in the first reblog.

below the cut is the accompanying fic and description of the rules/guide.

The tape recorder lets out a low buzzing sound as Carlos presses a button on the side and stands it up between them on the dining room table. Julie shoots an amused glance at Reggie who’s taken up residence in the chair next to him, the two of them flipping open notebooks and clutching pencils.

“Where did you even find a tape recorder?” She wonders, stretching out a finger to touch the silver rectangle only for her hand to be swatted away by Reggie.

“Found it in a box of moms stuff and dad said we could order some tapes from amazon,” Carlos replies matter of factly, straightening up in his chair once he seems to have found the page he was looking for. “Right. Let's start off easy, shall we?”

He looks at her expectantly and Julie rolls her eyes, waving a hand at the two of them, “Lets.”

“Question one,” Carlos taps his pencil at the top of his page before squinting at her, “Did you conduct any séance related activities before the ghosts showed up?”

Julie blinks at him, wondering if he’s joking but the pair of them just look back at her, heads both slightly tilted and it’s at that moment that she realises how serious they’re going to be about this. It was going to be a long afternoon of questioning apparently.

“No, I didn’t conduct any séance related activities. I just put on their CD and they y’know, fell out of the sky.”

“Interesting, interesting,” Carlos mutters as he looks at Reggie’s notebook as the older boy writes her answer down, underlines something and taps it with his pencil that makes Carlos let out a small hm. “So you don’t know anything about the dark room? Didn’t make any wishes?”

“No,” Julie shakes her head, watches Reggie write something else down and tilt his notebook to Carlos. It’s weird, watching them communicate like that, like they’ve created a shorthand between them and don’t even require her presence to have a conversation. Which is obviously true because they’ve clearly discussed all this beforehand.

“You walked through Luke right? What did that feel like to you?” Reggie’s question catches her off guard and she looks between them, but Carlos is already looking at her, waiting for her answer.

“It was um cold? But also not. I--” she frowns, trying to think back to that first night in the kitchen when she’d turned around and walked through him. Back when she’s barely known any of them and was more annoyed by their presence then comforted. “It was weird. The first few seconds after I walked through him I just felt cold but then it was like a rush of warmth? You know when you get one of those random shivers that runs through your whole body? It feels all weird and tingly but also kinda nice? Like that.”

“Did it feel like you got a feel of Luke?” Carlos asks and Julie shrugs, a slight blush on her cheeks and somehow, despite the fact they can’t see each other, the two of them share a look.

“What’s the next question,” anything to move off the topic of walking through Luke and how it felt.

“Oh Julie is gonna be so pissed at you guys,” Alex mutters but makes no move to step in and stop the ‘experiment’ currently going on. He watches as Reggie tries to put a hand on Carlos’ shoulder, fingers phasing through the younger boy's jacket with a frown.

“She won't be pissed if it works,” is all Reggie says, face morphing into one of concentration as he slowly lowers his hand on to Carlos’ shoulder again.

For his part, Carlos bounces slightly on his toes, eyes fixed on the notebook in Alex’s hand in case they need to tell him something. And okay, Alex might not fully agree with the way the two of them are going about this whole thing, but he can’t say he’s not on board with it. Their whole stint as ghosts has been nothing but confusion after confusion that not even Willie has answers for. Does he think Reggie and Carlos are going to uncover some fundamental thing that makes them the way they are? Probably not. Will they maybe get him some kind of answer? God he hopes so.

Especially since there’s been small moments in the last few weeks where Ray and Carlos have been able to hear them even without them playing music or Julie nearby. Which had scared all of them. Thought it was nothing compared to Ray’s reaction when he’d apparently walked into the kitchen to find Julie and Luke hugging, only for him to vanish when they suddenly let go. It was a hell of a way to find out they could be seen if they were touching her.

“Oh!” Carlos suddenly exclaims, head whipping to look at his shoulder where Reggie’s hand is resting solidly on the fabric of the jacket. Alex feels his eyes widen a fraction and watches Reggie’s smile widen as he squeezes slightly on Carlos’ shoulder. “Oh my god! I can feel that!”

“Holy shit,” Alex whispers, grip on the pencil in his fingers growing.

“Hey! I heard that too! Quick! Write it down! 30 minutes and- and however many attempts it took!” Carlos grins, face turning towards him and Alex doesn’t even have time to feel guilty about swearing before he’s scribbling in Reggie’s notebook.

“Thanks again for taking me,” Carlos says as he pulls his seat belt across his chest and clicks it in, eyes drifting from his tia in the front seat to the little notebook resting on the back seat and the pencil that’s hovering just a few inches off the paper. Subtly he sees it tap on the page, once, twice, and he bites down on his grin, tucking his hands under his thighs to stop from bouncing in his seat. They’re ready.

“Of course mijo,” Victoria smiles over at him as she turns on the engine, fingers already messing with the buttons on the radio to find her favourite station. “I have to say I’m impressed. Planning ahead for your dad's birthday.”

“Mhm,” he agrees, his eyes on the notebook that he can just see in the rearview mirror. The pencils resting between the creases in the pages and he holds his breath as the radio jumps to a different station.

Victoria frowns slightly, her eyes darting from the road to the radio and back, hand reaching out to change it back. When it jumps to another station. And another. Carlos feels his eyes widen a little, legs bouncing on top of his hands as he watches the radio cycle through station after station, only lingers for a few seconds on each before moving on.

Finally it stops, the words of Despacito ringing through the car and it’s lucky they’re at a red light he thinks, because when Victoria tries to change it it jumps right back.

“What the f-” she starts, the furrow between her brows growing deeper and the knuckles on her hand that’s still gripping the wheel turning white.

“Can we leave it? I like this song,” he looks over at her with a smile, blinking in what he hopes is a completely innocent way. He’s pretty sure she’s too distracted by the radio to question it.

“Sure, sure,” she mutters, not even looking at him, eyes going from the road to the radio.

The song ends and from the corner of his eye he can see the pencil in the back moving, Reggie or Willie writing something down and he has to stop himself from turning around to see what it is. Instead he watches as tia starts changing the radio station again, her fingers never leaving the touch screen as if that was the problem. But the second she lands on her favourite 80’s classics station and is moving her fingers away it changes. Skipping through stations again until Despacito is once again filling the car.

It’s probably lucky that they’re at another red light and that there’s no one behind them because her eyes widen and she’s suddenly saying words in Spanish that he knows he shouldn’t know and is pulling over to the side of the road.

“We have to get out! The car is being possessed! Out, out Carlos! Come on!” Her seat belt is off and her door is open before Carlos even has a chance to process what’s happening. The notebook from the back is pushed in front of his face and he tilts his head a little to side to read Reggie’s familiar handwriting,

Too far?

“Maybe,” he whispers back, taking the notebook out of the ghost's hand as he starts to get out of the car, plucking the pencil out of the metal spirals and making a note about not pushing tia in a moving vehicle and to wait until after they’ve gone shopping first.

She’s got her phone pressed to ear when he joins her on the sidewalk, pacing up and down. Carlos is pretty sure there’s going to be a family dinner story time in their near future.

Luke watches as Carlos sets his tape recorder up, idly plucking out a half finished tune on his guitar in order to be seen and heard. He doesn’t really get the other boys interest in figuring out their ghostly state of being. The same way he doesn’t really care about finding answers to all of Alex’s questions.

They ate some bad street dogs. They died. Julie brought them back and then she saved them a second time. They can play music and sometimes be seen. He already has all the answers he needs and it’s two words: Julie Molina.

Would it be nice to know what the black room was? Sure. Did he sometimes wonder why they could be seen but other ghosts couldn't? Sometimes. Did he want answers? Only if someone was going to give them to him without having to do the work. Was he going to sit here and answer all of Carlos’ questions because it was important to him and to the others? Fuck yeah he was.

“Does that think pick up our voices even if we’re not playing and not near Julie?” He nods at the recorder on the table after Carlos hits a button.

“Yeah! It’s so cool too. You sound like, all static-y and I have to listen really hard sometimes because your voices fade in and out but they’re there!”

Okay, Luke can admit that is pretty cool, “That’s wicked. Maybe we should start using that to communicate instead of writing.” He was really sick of people commenting on his handwriting.

“Dude that’s genius! It would be like leaving each other voice notes!” He gestures in the air with his pencil the same way Julie does when she’s realised the issue with a verse and Luke smiles softly. He doesn’t know what voice notes are, but he’s glad he could contribute to the communication issue.

“What questions have you got for me then little dude?” He raises an eyebrow at Carlos as he flips through his notebook.

When he’d first knocked Alex down Willie never thought it would lead to him sitting in the Molina’s family living room, a whiteboard resting on his knees as a twelve year old shows him bar graphs and pie charts of information on ghosts.

There was probably some kind of domino-butterfly effect going on that had led him here. But he’s too busy trying to fit all his know ghost knowledge onto a whiteboard so Carlos can fill in the gaps in his knowledge.

Over the years Willie has met a lot of lifers, has interacted with a handful at the HGC but he’s never met a family like the Molina’s. Who found out ghosts were real and instead of running, or trying to profit off of them, had just...welcomed them into the family. Arms wide and hearts open.

And more than that, here was Carlos trying to get answers to questions that none of them really had an answer too.

“Black room, yes or no?” Carlos asks, holding up a flash card and a clothes peg, ready to add it to the line of string stretching across the room. It was already littered with other cards in an order that Willie really didn’t understand but seemed to make perfect sense to the younger boy and Reggie.

Not for me, or anyone I asked at the club, he scribbles down, turning to the board around.

“Just like we thought,” he nods to himself, taking two steps to the left and reaching up to attach the card, “An anomaly.” he whispers it to himself and Willie has to bite his lip to stop from smiling before remembering that Carlos can’t actually see him.

“Hey,” Alex’s voice from the doorway drags his gaze away from the lifer and the smile he’d been trying to stop spreads across his face, “How’s it going?”

“I don’t think we’re even half way through,” he chuckles, gesturing with one hand at the stack of flashcards and the charts he hasn’t even seen yet. “Do you understand this system?”

The exasperated laugh that leaves Alex’s lips is answer enough before he’s even shaking his head, strands of blonde hair dipping into his eyes and Willie wants to reach to move away, “Not a clue. They’ve tried to explain it to us but it makes zero sense to anyone but them.”

“Hey, Alex, stop distracting him, we’re working here!” Carlos’ voice makes him jump, head turning back to where he’s standing with his arms crossed and shaking his head in disappointment in the vague direction of where Alex is standing.

“Wait, can he see you?” Willie frowns, mind trying to remember if he knew this or not.

“No, he’s just really good at sensing us these days,” Alex sighs, but there’s a fond look in his eyes as he looks at Carlos, “He says it’s his ghost powers kicking in from how often he hangs out with Reggie and from all the failed teleportation experiments.”

“The failed what now?”

“Oh, you’ll find out. I think it’s section 7?” Alex grins, pushing off from where he’d been leaning against the doorway and waving.

Willie turns back to Carlos feeling a little more confused than he had minutes ago but also much more intrigued about teleportation experiments. And if he could help get some answers for any of the many questions Alex had, that was cool too.

Carlos Molina’s Guide to Ghosting. So you became a ghost, huh?

(working title, subject to change)

By Carlos Molina, with special thanks to Reggie Peters and Willie Skateboard.

1st Edition.

Dedicated to Alex Mercer, so he can stop asking so many questions. We’re working on it buddy.

1. Tangibility

They can walk through anything (except my sister now, reasons still unclear).

Works especially well with walls, doors and locked vaults (see exhibit a)

When they walk through people it “allows them to get a feel for the person” – Reggie Peters. “It’s weird” – Alex Mercer. No comment from Luke Patterson as he was too busy staring at Julie.

2. Souls

Objects can be attached to their souls.

Still unclear if it has to be an object that they were close to in life, or if they can attach their souls to any object once a ghost.

Experiments with Reggie Peters are still ongoing. Updates will follow.

3. Being Seen

Can be seen by “lifers*” when they play music with Julie.

This is the first rule which only applies to our ghosts.

They can be heard when they play music without Julie. This is also unclear as to why, working theory is “Our music is just so awesome it transcends deaths!” – Luke Patterson.

Mr Willie Skateboard was quick to point out it’s “weird” and “ghosts aren’t supposed to be seen by lifers.”

4. Touching

Our ghosts can now touch Julie. The biggest change in their afterlife.

Still no explanation for it. Experiments are ongoing (see exhibit b)

Have witnessed Julie hugging the air many times only for Alex or Willie to appear. Same with hand holding. (see exhibit c for dads reaction)

5. Magic

Some ghosts have powers and abilities.

Willie* can control different types of technology. Appears to work best with cars. This we believe correlates with who a ghost dies.

In our expedition to test his skills he skipped through 15 different radio stations of Tia’s car until he found one playing despacito. Test was a success. Tia does think her car is haunted now however.

6. ???

There was a dark room.

All other ghosts interviewed had never heard of it before.

All our ghosts agreed it was weird and creepy.

We are choosing to pretend it didn’t happen.

Working theory: a hole in time that they fell through. Must find a way to test.

7. Teleporting

part 1)

Ghosts can teleport wherever they want in the world.

Only the most powerful can teleport a lifer with them (will keep attempting)

part b)

Our ghosts can pinpoint Julie’s exact location wherever she may be in the world.

Will be helpful if she is ever kidnapped, Julie however wishes they would stop using said power to find her in gym class.

“I already have find my friend activated” – Flynn had to say on the matter.

part c)

Julie can summon the boys to her if she concentrates hard enough. Came in handy when an evil magician tried to kidnap them.

Also possibly how they escaped the dark room, no way to prove or deny this as dad won’t let me eat a bad hotdog to become a ghost.

Working theory: magic of music and family

See Exhibit d

See Exhibit e

#julie and the phantoms #julie molina #luke patterson #alex mercer #reggie peters #carlos molina #willie jatp #willie #ray molina #jatp #this is...this is really something that i made huh #why did i do this #i just. okay #you gotta read the power point as if carlos and reggie are presenting it btw #and reggie is wearing a sheet for the aesthetic

548 notes · View notes

satendou · 4 years

Text

⟼ monster

⍣ all time low series | next | 1/4

・‥…━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━━…‥・

⇢ pairing: tendo/reader

⇢ au: atl!au, college!au

⇢ summary: you like horror movies, tendou likes horror movies, what could go wrong?

⇥ masterlist

⇢ warnings: unprotected sex, creampie, fingering, mentions of bullying, insecurities, piercings, cursing

⇢ word count: 13.2k

・‥…━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━━…‥・

⇢ a/n: i think this is the biggest fic i’ve ever written and it’s one of my favorites, if not my absolute favorite i’ve written so far. it was kinda hard to write it in a way that stayed true to my vision for it but also didn’t make it childish, so i hope i succeeded in that regard. as always, thank you to @keijiskitten for editing this!

“Oh, come on, ‘Kaashi,” you said, setting your hand on your hip. You were standing around in the middle of the classroom with him and a few others, waiting for your professor to show up who was no doubt getting a coffee from the overflowing Starbucks down the street. Class would be half over before he finally arrived. “It’s just a few scary movies.”

“Sorry, _____. I have to study and I just know that trying to watch movies with you and study is gonna be a nightmare,” he said, giving you a sympathetic look. “And give me nightmares.”

You rolled your eyes and looked around to Bokuto, who was scrolling through his phone while he chatted with Yaku about the next practice. That was a hard no. Poor Bo would agree without complaint and wind up with nightmares for a week, clinging to you throughout the night. Catching Akaashi’s eye, you exchanged knowing looks and chuckles.

“Hey, _____,” Semi said from your other side. He was busy filling out a music sheet with notes for his next possible song, and the way he said your name indicated he was more focused on that than your quandary.

Still, you turned to look at him over your shoulder, quirking your eyebrow at him. When he didn’t immediately continue, you prompted him. “What’s up?”

“Oh, right,” he said, looking up from the paper. He gave you a small smile and tapped the tip of his pencil on the desk in a smooth rhythm, leaving small marks all over the surface. “You should see if Tendo wants to join you. He’s really into horror movies too.”

“Um, who?”

Semi’s eyes widened in surprise and he pointed over his shoulder. You could hear Akaashi snicker from your other side. The chair on Semi’s other side tipped back on its back legs, and a man with close-cut red hair peeked around his back, waving cheekily at you.

“Hi, name’s Tendo Satori. I’ve only been hanging around you for about two weeks now,” he said and, though he sounded lighthearted and jovial about it, you could see the way his eyes remained narrowed, scrutinizing you. And he didn’t look impressed.

You flushed bright red, realizing you did know him but had never committed his name to memory. Mostly because he hadn’t ever really said anything to you or seemed interested in you at all.

“I-- well, I’m sorry,” you offered awkwardly. But you meant it, at least. You felt a bit bad now that he was in your face. Trying to lighten the mood, you joked, “I’m _____ _____ and my brain space is committed to horror movies and studying. No space for names I’m afraid.”

Semi rolled his eyes and Akaashi heaved a long-suffering sigh, covering his eyes with his hand, but Tendo laughed at your stupid joke. His eyes eased up, his smile relaxing, and he now looked genuinely interested.

“A horror movie marathon, huh? I’m interested. Why don’t you tell me more?”

Tendo didn’t actually expect it to go his way. As with most other people, he was sure you were just faking your enthusiasm and would flake out once you were free of him.

And yet when lunch rolled around and your group of friends were standing in the breezeway, shivering as you tried to pick out some place to go and eat off campus, you fell into step beside him.

“I really am sorry for not knowing who you were,” you offered, adjusting your bag on your shoulder and slipping a pair of gloves on. “Could we, maybe--”

He cut you off, grinning. “Forgiven and forgotten, _____.”

Hesitantly, you smiled back. He was strange, to be sure. Even though you hadn’t really had a true conversation with him yet, you got the feeling he was different, eccentric and unpredictable maybe. The way he harassed the shit out of Semi and some of the others was hysterical, though. You couldn’t pinpoint what it was that made you feel that way, but it wasn’t bad. You were even a little curious.

“Okay cool. So if, by chance, we were to do this movie marathon, how would you feel about cannibals?” you asked, tapping your chin thoughtfully. It was a theme you had been thinking about for a while, but none of your friends were into horror movies much, let alone a dozen or so movies centered around such a gory theme.

Tendo clicked his tongue and you heard a strange clink. “Hypothetically, right?”

“Right,” you said, your eyes zeroed in on his mouth, waiting for him to speak again.

He hummed, his lips curling in thought and his eyes narrowing as he stared off in the distance. Second in height only to Bokuto, he towered over everyone even though the two of you walked together at the back of the group. Speaking of Bokuto, you could hear him over the chatter of the other students around you, talking about the diner just a block away from the school and guessed that that was where you were going.

Then he shrugged. “That sounds rad. What’re you thinking? Hypothetically.”

“Well, obviously gotta go with The Hills Have Eyes. I mean, it’s a classic. And then of course Wrong Turn because there’s so many of those. And, uh…that’s all I have, but that’s literally like 8 movies and if we get past those I don’t know what we’ll do,” you said, weaving through the throngs of people on the sidewalk. You had forgotten you had been trying to see what was in his mouth just a few minutes ago as you avoided toes. You could see the diner sign up ahead, reading “Newly Opened” and a list of menu items, but it was otherwise obscured from your view.

A gasp from Tendo startled you and you whipped around to look at him, only to find him staring at you in disbelief.

He had to fight the laugh in his chest from coming up at the wide-eyed, freaked out look on your face as he said, “I cannot believe you’ve forgotten the most classic of classic cannibal movies, _____. How could you forget The Texas Chainsaw Massacre movies?”

Relief mingled with amusement on your face when you realized what he was getting at, and you covered your mouth as you laughed. Putting on your best ashamed expression, you closed your eyes. “I can’t believe I forgot those. I’m such a fake fan.”

“Kicked out of the club for sure,” he said, holding the door open for you. The bustle of the diner drowned out anything more Tendo said as you followed the others towards a large table in the back corner. After that, you were seated between Semi and Akaashi and the conversation was halted.

For the time being.

You didn’t bring up the marathon again, though you snagged Tendo’s number the day after you went to the diner. The conversation started out about movies and morphed into other topics like majors, highschools, how he knew Eita and how you had met Bokuto and Akaashi, amongst others. It left Tendo in a bit of confusion. The two of you kept up a steady stream of communication throughout the day, even sneaking in texts during classes that could net you extra work or pop quizzes. And yet never once was the marathon mentioned.

Part of him was bummed because he had kind of been looking forward to the movies, but the larger part of him was unsurprised. Something like that was way too intimate, and for someone like you to want to do something like that with a-- someone like him was too much to hope for. He was just happy that you weren’t avoiding him like most others did; he wasn’t going to ask for more.

Except he kind of did want more, and he didn’t want to feel that. The disappointment was already tangible on his tongue and he swallowed it down every time he saw you in the hall, chatting or laughing with someone else. It would ease slightly when you would turn to look in his direction, flashing a smile and waving as you passed by. In class, you started sitting beside him, Bokuto and Akaashi often following behind, and he found his small group of friends growing because of you. Bokuto was loud and brash and treated him like they were best friends, and Akaashi’s quiet demeanor reminded him a lot of Ushijima. Except he was maybe a little more expressive.

You even started walking home with him, parting ways when you had to go in different directions with a soft smile and a shine in your eyes that he tried not to read too much into. He enjoyed those days, when no one else was around and he just talked. You even knew some of the manga he read, and he lost himself rambling about Jump. When he brought it up once, about how he talked too much, you shook your head frantically.

“No, no, I don’t mind! It reminds me of Bokuto, to be honest. He can talk about anything and keep a conversation going so easily. I’m kinda jealous,” you said, giving him that satisfied smile again.

He tried to clamp down on the feelings, to keep a tight rein on the emotions that kept trying to pull his eyes in your direction anytime he heard your voice or drew his thoughts to you late at night.

Sighing, he rubbed his eyes, frustrated at the fact that he was thinking of you a-fuckin’-gain. Didn’t he have enough to worry about without wondering what you thought of him? He already knew. You weren’t interested. It was fine.

His phone dinged, the screen lighting up to reveal your name and a text.

You: ‘watcha up to?’ Tendo: ‘nm. studying and suffering. you?’ Y: ‘“studying” sksks what’re you doing tomorrow night by chance?’

Tendo’s heart stuttered in his chest and he groaned, barely resisting the urge to fling his phone out the frost covered window in front of him. For the love of god, could the universe stop fucking with him? Clicking his tongue, he considered telling you he was busy. It would be easiest, and save him the disappointment that was sure to accompany whatever you had planned.

But his fingers were traitorous and typed out exactly what he didn’t want to say. Or so he told himself.

T: ‘nothin. what’re you thinkin?’ Y: ‘well...i’m thinkin about cannibals’

Tendou snorted at that and watched the three little dots appear again.

Y: ‘and u’

He choked and slammed his phone down on the desk, wincing and immediately picking it back up to check the damage. No, no way, he wouldn’t look at it like that. It wasn’t like that. You were just inviting him for the movie marathon in a totally platonic way.

Another message came in.

Y: ‘and me’

You were actually trying to kill him.

He could think of nothing the next day but how much he was looking forward to that night. Once he had finally gotten his shit together enough to text you back, the kinks had been worked out. It was almost a no brainer that he would be spending the night. A movie marathon with twelve movies meant an all-nighter, if the two of you could pull it off. He would go home after classes, while away the few hours until around six o’clock, and then head to the address you had given him.

Unfortunately, he didn’t see much of you that day. You shared no classes, and you had a class when he took lunch, so he ate with Semi and Bokuto that day. Instead you snuck texts to him when you could, mostly talking about how excited you were for that night. It didn’t help, somehow both fanning and soothing his inner turmoil.

“Why do you look like you’re gonna throw up?” Semi asked at last. Tendo was staring at his half-eaten chicken sandwich like it had mortally offended him, and he was curious.

Tendo jumped, having forgotten the other two were even with him, and shook his head. “Uh, nothin’.”

But Bokuto snickered and leaned in to whisper to Semi, who was already suspicious of his short, clipped answer. Whether he actually wanted to whisper or not, Tendo wasn’t sure, but Bo sure as shit didn’t manage it. “Him and _____ are gonna watch movies tonight.”

Of course you had told Bokuto. And probably Akaashi too. He wondered if they had changed their minds and decided to join you when they found out. It put a rather annoying feeling in his chest, like someone was squeezing his heart.

The other two were still talking in a loud whisper, watching Tendo’s expression shift and flicker through a myriad of emotions. Bokuto was lost, but Semi could recognize them after so many years of knowing the moody red-head, and wanted to laugh. He was so good at hiding his negative emotions, but when it came to sadness or happiness, he was like an open book. And he was being pretty obvious right then.

“Wow, that’s pretty big, Tendo,” he said, watching his friend closely. Tendo flinched, shrinking into his hoodie, and Semi nodded to himself. “Don’t let yourself get so worked up. She wouldn’t ask if she didn’t want to.”

He knew where Tendo’s insecurities were coming from. A childhood fraught with bullies and fake friends and people pretending they wanted him around only to treat him like a freak. Even through highschool it was that way, with a particularly nasty incident involving a girl pretending to want to date him that ended with Tendo refusing to come to school for almost a week. After that, he kept to himself and the volleyball club, refusing to even acknowledge that anyone else might actually want to get to know him seriously.

It had gotten a bit easier when he left Shiratorizawa and those memories and most of those people behind. Growing up with them was what had made it hardest, so surrounding himself with fresh people who didn’t have any preconceived notions and rumors about him had allowed him to open up a little. Even Ushijima, across the ocean in California, noticed a marked difference in Tendo’s demeanor.

Semi just hoped you didn’t do anything to send him spiralling back into his insecurities.

“Yeah, I guess.”

It was easy for Semi to say that, but he had no idea what it was like, constantly worrying if people were being serious or if they were just waiting to pull the rug out from under him. Even now, he was fighting with himself to just get through the day, waiting constantly for you to change your mind and cancel the plans. Every time his phone lit up with your name, he expected it.

And yet, even after his classes ended and he arrived home, you didn’t. Just commenting that you would be MIA for a while while you cleaned the apartment and went to the store. And when you came back a few hours later, while he was binging Buzzfeed Unsolved videos, his heart leapt into his throat, but you were only telling him what you had gotten for him and to pick up anything else he might want on the way over.

The time couldn’t pass by fast enough while he busied himself packing as slowly as he could. He was already wearing sweatpants but brought a pair of basketball shorts just in case. A clean t-shirt and the other essential items he would need for the night went into a backpack, and when that was done he decided it was a good time to leave.

Unable to help himself, he sent you a text before he left, interrupting whatever you were already typing, the three little bubbles disappearing for a moment while you read his text.

T: ‘you sure you’re alright with this? i don’t have to come over’ Y: ‘?’ Y: ‘do u not want to!’ Y: ‘?*’ Y: ‘we can do this another time if you want’

He was typing before he could really think about the possibility that that might be the best option, his heart thumping harder than he liked in his chest, and he willed himself to take a deep breath. It was just two friends hanging out, watching horror movies together. Nothing more.

T: ‘no i do. was just making sure you were still ok w it.’ T: ‘leaving now to get snacks. your choices s u c k’ Y: ofc hurry up and get over here Y: ‘tf rude’

Locking the door behind him, he slung his bag onto his shoulder and sighed, hoping the night didn’t end as badly as his nerves were telling him it would.

Your doorbell rang an hour later, while you were in the middle of setting up your room for the binge. You were hoping he wouldn’t mind, but you didn’t want to make him uncomfortable either. It was hard to miss the nervousness and the way he seemed to shy away from you sometimes, especially when you did certain things like reach out to pull something off his hoodie or read something over his shoulder. But you wanted this to be as normal as possible, to prove to him you were genuine.

You liked Tendo. A lot.

He was funny and sweet and just as eccentric as you had expected. His jokes were off-color but not offensive, just sarcastic and witty and you giggled every time. The way his face lit up when he heard you sent your heart into a frenzy, and the way it fell and he seemed to shrink into himself a moment later hurt. It didn't feel like a rejection of you but instead a rejection of himself and you wondered if there was any way to help him understand that you didn’t want anything from him but for him to be himself.

Upon opening the door, you found it was only the pizza delivery man, and you smiled with disappointment, until you spotted a shaved red-head coming up behind him.

Tendo gulped when he spotted you in your open doorway, wearing woolen leggings and a t-shirt, exchanging a box of pizza for cash and smiling brightly at him over the man’s shoulder. Waving, he waited until the stranger was out of the way before he approached you.

“Hey,” he greeted, peering down at you before scanning the empty living room of your apartment over your head.

You were unsurprised to see the wariness in his eyes, bleeding into the smile he was forcing on his face. It was your first time seeing a look so fake on him and for the first time you wondered if this was really a good idea. But it was only movies. And you liked Tendo. It would be fine.

So you smiled and ushered him in with one hand, the box perched precariously on your other, and watched him shrink into himself like he always did when he came within touching distance of you until he had passed into the living room. Then he just stood there, peering around with that same suspicious look, eyes narrowed and mouth turned down at the corners.

“So, what do you think?” you asked, pretending you hadn’t seen it as you moved into the kitchen.

“It’s nice,” he answered, letting his bag hit the floor with a thump. The rest of the apartment was silent save for the heater going, and little by little he felt himself relaxing. “You didn’t have to go through all this trouble for little ol’ me, y’know.”

You giggled at the way he pointed at himself, wearing a cheesy grin as he walked into the kitchen. “Maybe not, but it’s been ages since I’ve been able to do anything like this. It’s as much for me as it is for you.” You punctuated your statement by poking him lightly in the chest, and he feigned pain.

“You wound me. And here I thought you were treating me special,” he moaned, leaning back against the counter and placing his hand over his forehead. He grinned a little hearing you giggle again, and then the pizza box hit his arm.

“I am treating you special, you goof,” you said, opening it up and letting the smell of cheese fill the kitchen. “With pizza. But I think we’d better take it into the bedroom, since that’s where we’ll be watching the movies. Just in case we fall asleep, you know,” you tacked on at the end, suddenly realizing how that might sound. Not that it meant anything, but again, you feared making him uncomfortable.

Absorbed in your thoughts, you missed the faint dusting of pink on his cheeks, clashing marvelously with his vibrant hair. You carried the box down to your bedroom with Tendo on your heels, eager to see your room. It was about what he expected from you-- a messy bed, a cluttered desk, clothes half in your laundry basket and half on the floor surrounding it. The TV sitting on your dresser was already set up with The Hills Have Eyes menu playing, volume muted. You set the box on the bed before smoothing the covers and crawling on.

Tendo hovered in the middle of your room, casting his eyes around nervously, looking for a chair or something to sit on. He definitely did not want to assume, but you patted the bed beside you, giving him a quizzical look.

“I’m not gonna bite, Tendo. Promise,” you said, and though you made it sound like a joke he could hear a line of seriousness at the core. Running his tongue over the back of his teeth, he walked slowly towards you, giving you every opportunity to change your mind, but you just looked impatient until he climbed on beside you. “Alright, now let’s get this started!”

Two movies in and the two of you had gotten pretty comfortable. Both of you had stretched out on the bed, but you had decided to lean up against the headboard with your pillows to support you while Tendo had opted to lay on his stomach with his head resting on his arms by your feet.

“Would you stop?” he laughed, pushing your foot away where it had been tapping incessantly at his shoulder. You were just doing it to annoy him, and you giggled at the irritated amusement in his voice.

The pizza box sat empty on the floor by the bed, but you found yourself craving something else to eat. When you hummed, Tendo looked away from the screen, rolling onto his side and propping his chin in his hand to watch you nibble at your lip. It was cute, he couldn’t lie, and the anxiety he had repressed by getting distracted by the movie came back slowly.

“What’s up?”

“I’m thinkin’ about...those chips,” you answered, and made to get up. You had to crawl over his long legs and almost fell off the bed as you gracelessly made your move, knee slipping off the small space between his leg and the edge of the mattress. Sticking your tongue out as he laughed at you, you pranced towards the door.

“Bring my bags too, would you?” he called, pausing the movie since you had forgotten. It had just started, and you were lucky that he was nice enough to do it, especially when he heard your voice carry back down the hallway.

“Kiss my ass, Tendo.”

He laughed at that, loud enough that you could hear it from the kitchen and over the crinkling of the bags as you rifled through them. In the end, you shrugged and carried them all back down to your room, along with a few drinks. Maybe you wouldn’t have to get up again for a little while.

You shivered when you stepped back into the room. It wasn’t much warmer than the rest of the house, and now your arms and toes were cold. The heater was already set as high as it would go and hardly touched the chill, and you cursed the cheap piece of crap.

“What, you cold?” he asked, pulling out a bag of the chips he had brought with him. The tab on a can of soda popped and he cursed as it fizzed over onto your blanket. “Shit, sorry.”

“No worries. Yeah, kinda. But the heater is already on full blast. Ugh,” you said, sitting beside him on the bed again. He was still wearing his hoodie, and up close he was warm, making you realize just how cold you were. You were just gonna have to crawl under your blankets because you would never survive the cold like that. “Wait…”

There was a tent on the screen where the movie had paused, and Tendo looked back and forth from it to you with curiosity. There was a calculating look on your face and he wasn’t sure he liked it. “Uh, what?”

There was no way he would agree to it. Way too intimate, right? But it really seemed like it’d be right up his alley, and it would be fun to build, and it would get you warm. It was the perfect idea really.

“Tendo, how do you feel about making...a pillow fort?”

The heater continued to buzz in the corner, overlaid by the slight static from the TV, while Tendo processed your question. His mouth had fallen open, brows furrowed while he stared at you in what could only be surprise, and you laughed nervously.

“Wha-- Seriously?”

“Um, you know what, nevermind. I guess it was a stupid idea. It just seemed like it might be fun and--”

He cut your babbling off with an excited wave of his arms, leaning forward into your space and in the light from the TV you could see a childlike happiness glowing in his eyes. “I’ve never made one but it sounds like fun. You know how to do it?”

Stunned by the turn of events, you nodded. “Well, sort of. Mine have always fallen down after a while though,” you admitted, standing up from the bed again. “We need chairs and books and all the blankets and pillows we can find. And the couch cushions. Probably.”

In no time flat you had everything gathered, with Tendou hovering around waiting for you to direct him. It was a pain to get everything set up, and you ended up using the bed since you didn’t have enough chairs. Moving the chairs all over the place until there was enough room inside and you could put the books down to seal the ‘walls’ was tedious, but it was worth it when Tendo crawled in to set up the cushions to seal the space beneath the bed. After padding the floor with several blankets to lay on, you stuffed the pillows from your bed in after Tendo. When you didn’t immediately crawl in after him, he poked his head out to see what you were doing.

“Well, we didn’t think this through at all, so now we gotta watch the movies on my laptop,” you said as you ejected the DVD from your player. The jingle of your computer booting up played and backlit your face in the glow, and you prayed it wasn’t going to go right into an update. It took a few minutes to start up, so you passed it to him while you plugged the power cord in and ran it into the fort.

You could hear the clicking of the mousepad and by the time you flipped off the light and crawled in beside Tendo, the movie menu was playing. You also realized just how cramped it really was with Tendo’s lanky form inside. There was just enough space for both of you, but you were going to have to either sit up with it in your lap or you were going to have to set it to the side of you and lay on your sides.

He was tense, staring determinedly at the movie playing and trying to avoid moving too much. Or so you guessed, anyway. Anytime you so much as shifted he would jerk away before relaxing, and you were a split second away from nixing the idea. A part of you was starting to wonder if it wasn’t you that was the problem, but if it was, why had he bothered to agree?

“You’re really warm, Tendo,” you said, trying to break the ice. It was an awkward and clumsy attempt, but maybe you could help him settle down if you showed him you weren’t uncomfortable first?

But that just made him pull further away, leaning against the couch cushions. “Oh, sorry.”

It was already warm and comfortable in your little fort, a light blanket thrown over your knees and warming your toes. And with him beside you, you were actually a little more than comfortable. “No,” you said, waving your hands frantically, “no, like, it’s nice. I’m finally warm.”

It was hard to tell in the washed out light of the laptop, but Tendo’s face turned a very bright shade of pink. He tugged the neck of his hoodie up over his nose and fixed his eyes firmly on the flickering violence, annoyed that he was overwhelmed by something so simple. Why did you have to be so damn cute?

But it did the trick, even if he didn’t know that was your intention. He finally relaxed and stopped flinching every time you shifted, trying to find a comfortable position. Sitting cross legged only worked for so long and Tendo noticed you moving around after a while, when your knee knocked his for the third or fourth time.

“You alright? You’re about to bring the whole fort down,” he commented around a mouthful of chips.

“Ah, well, my back is starting to hurt sitting up, I guess. I wanna lay down,” you said, sounding whinier than you meant to, following it up with a short stretch. It alleviated the pain for a moment, until you hunched over again.

He swallowed his chips and returned his eyes to the TV screen, thinking. On one hand, he wasn’t exactly comfortable. On the other, he had no idea what you were thinking. Did you want to abandon the fort?

But you didn’t say anything, fiddling with the blanket for a few moments as you tried to work up your courage. You damn sure didn’t want to tear down your fort-- it had taken you way too long to put the stupid thing up-- and if you said the idea of cuddling up with Tendo wasn’t appealing, you would surely go to hell for lying. The underlying problem was him. What would he say if you brought up the obvious solution?

You were taking too long to answer, so Tendo prompted you, pausing the movie. “Do you want to just get back on the bed again?”

“No,” you said, and then flinched. You had answered way too quickly and that somehow made him nervous and reassured at the same time. “This is really nice I just…I-know-that-you’re-kind-of-uncomfortable-and-I-don’t-want-to-make-you-more-uncomfortable.”

Tendou stared at you, unblinking as he tried to decipher your breathlessly rushed words. After a moment he laughed, still confused, but he could see the anxiety on your face. “I-- what? All I heard was uncomfortable, I think. But you don’t make me uncomfortable.”

Your heart thumped painfully in your chest as that weight left your shoulders. He was so intuitive it was almost scary. Even still, you had to make sure. “Oh, really? You always seem like...weird around me, I guess. I was starting to think I was pushing too hard, I guess?”

“Sorry,” he said, scratching the back of his head. His elbow brushed the sheet above you and he quickly dropped it. “I’m used to people being uncomfortable around me. Guess it just turned into a habit to avoid people I don’t know. So that I don’t freak them out.”

Not entirely true, given that he enjoyed messing with people, but it was true in your* case. It took you a moment to answer, and he started to worry that he had said too much.

“You don’t...make me uncomfortable, Tendo. You never did. You’re a weirdo but not...in a bad way,” you said, and glanced at him to gauge his reaction, worried he would take it in a negative light.

But he was smiling, eyes fixed on the paused movie and you bit your lip. He was way too attractive and you couldn’t fathom anyone who thought otherwise. Clearly they were just cowards.

“Well that’s a relief. It would make things pre-tty awkward right now if I did,” he said and bumped your shoulder. It felt like a whole planet was lifted off his shoulders with this revelation and he heaved a huge sigh. “So, if we don’t want to abandon the fort but our backs are about to crumble, what do we do?”

“Uh.” You blanched, having forgotten about that little hiccup. Your idea was embarrassing to think about let alone explain and if you hadn’t made him uncomfortable yet this was sure to.

“Uh,” he mocked, and twisted around like a snake so his face was in front of you, blocking the light from the screen. “Spit it out before we collapse.”

“Just-- um--” you stuttered, and he quickly realized whatever your idea was, it had you flustered. He was just about to start teasing when you picked up the laptop and set it to the side of you. Rolling over onto your side, you tucked your hand underneath your pillow and relaxed, feeling the pain immediately alleviate. “Now you lay down. If you want.”

Your heart was racing in your chest, waiting for him to do something. It was a long, long minute before he finally said anything, and it wasn’t what you expected. Not that you had any idea of what to expect.

“Uh, are you sure? I mean, we could just--” What was he thinking? This was exactly what he wanted and wasn’t it Semi who had said she wouldn’t ask if she didn’t want it? Did he really have to overthink everything? You were in a literal pillow fort watching scary movies with him, offering to let him cuddle up with you, and he still thought you weren’t sure.

“Well, unless you aren’t,” you said, and was that disappointment in your voice? No way.

“No no, no. I’m gonna take my hoodie off first, though. It’s way too warm in here now,” he said, backtracking quickly. Then again, maybe it was just him that was too hot. It was an actual dream come true, and he pinched himself quickly just to make sure he wasn’t asleep.

You rolled over onto your back to watch him struggle, his arms brushing the ceiling and walls of your warm little haven as he fought the hoodie. Your eyes widened as it finally came free, seeing the colorful swirls of ink covering his arms. “Holy shit.”

“Wha--?” he said, and turned to find you staring open mouthed at his tattoos. “Oh, right, I guess you haven’t seen these before, huh?”

“Nope,” you said, sitting up and squinting to see the undefined shapes in the faint light. It was almost cute the way he held his arm out to you hesitantly, like a child offering you a drawing to examine and praise. Taking it, you traced the lines covering his smooth, warm skin, trying to figure out what they were. But the shapes were undefinable in the faint light. You could make out splashes of blue and purple, red and pink, separated by black lines or faded together to make something. Part of you wanted to ask, but there was something mysterious about not knowing. “I can’t even tell what they are but god, Tendou, I know they’re gorgeous.”

He shivered at your featherlight touches, the feel of your fingers skimming delicately over his skin, and your words caused fire to erupt in his stomach and chest. His tattoos were something he was extremely proud of, one of the few things he had that made him feel confident, and hearing you compliment them made him feel so fucking good. Chucking his jacket out into the room, he returned to your side and the two of you got comfortable.

Pressing play on the movie for the 3rd time, the two of you fell silent. With your head below his chin, it was the perfect position for him to see the screen over you. You could feel the warmth rolling off of him, only an inch of space between his chest and your back, and both of you were well aware of it.

It was nearly impossible to focus on the movie, trying to reign in the urge to just slide back a little bit and mold yourself to him. Nibbling at your lip, you rolled just a little under the pretense of stretching and bumped into him. Just your arm into his, and he didn’t move away.

“You good? Need more space? I can crawl under the bed if you want,” he said, smirking at you. He thought he knew what you were playing at, but your next words confirmed it. It was the oldest trick in the book and, even though no one had ever used it on him, he had seen it at work with Semi and Shirabu too many times.

“Just stretching. I’m still a bit cold though,” you said, facing the TV again.

Suppressing a snicker, knowing damn well that wasn’t what you were after, he offered, “I can get you another blanket, if you need it.”

The silhouette of your shoulders fell, and you couldn’t hide the sigh that accompanied it. “It’s alright, Tendo. It’s not that bad.”

You really should have seen that coming, you guessed. The swell of hope and the crash of disappointment was painful in your chest, and you tried to focus on the movie again, ignoring the tempting warmth at your back. If he wasn’t interested, he wasn’t interested. It was cool.

Which was why you jumped when a weight settled over your side, a snicker filtering behind you as he molded himself to your back. It was slow, hesitant, and you would guess he was trying to make sure you were alright with it. Warmth seeped through your t-shirt and you sighed happily, shimmying back into him out of instinct, and this time you could feel his quiet laughter in his chest.

His arms were so long that he had to fold it in front of you, hand coming to rest just underneath your chin, and when you relaxed so did he. With his chin resting atop your head now, he asked, “Better? This is what you wanted, right?”

“Shut up,” you whined, hiding your face in your hand. It was embarrassing enough without him having to tease you about it. But you supposed it wouldn’t be Tendo if he didn’t make fun of you for everything. It was so easy after that to focus on the movie, now that you had gotten what you wanted. The snacks lay forgotten near your feet, not wanting to move and mess up the delicate balance that was now between the two of you.

It was tenuous and any small movement from either of you could send it toppling in either direction, and you weren’t even sure what it depended on. You knew for sure which way you would like to see it go, but it was just as comfortable the way it was.

Silence fell again until the movie ended, which was the only reason you moved. You could probably have fallen asleep like that, but you weren’t ready yet, wanting to bask in whatever you had with Tendo for a while longer.

When you sat up to change the next movie, Tendo rolled over onto his back, watching you fiddle around with it. Sweat beaded on the back of his neck and he shifted uncomfortably. Seemed you felt the same because you turned to look at him, an apology written on your face.

“Sorry, do you mind if I go change into shorts. It’s actually too warm for these now,” you said, setting the DVD case back on the pile. You felt like you were suffocating in your thick winter leggings now, but if he wasn’t okay with that then you would suffer a little longer. At least until you melted.

“Oh thank god you said something. I was about to die in these sweatpants, I swear,” he answered, fanning his face with his hand. You were pretty sure he was just exaggerating that though. “I don’t mind if you don’t.”

“Nope,” you said, popping the ‘p’, and crawled towards the escape flap, wincing at the sound of crunching and crinkling under your knees all of a sudden. “Oops.”

“Oh those had better not have been mine,” he whined, flashing the light of his phone towards the bag. He groaned, seeing his bag of doritos crushed. He could hear you snicker outside the sheet as you walked away and growled, “Watch it. Yours are still in here, _____.”

You opened a drawer as he finally came out as well and began rifling through his bag, pulling out the pair of shorts he’d packed. When you turned around with a pair of soft shorts in your hands, you found him standing awkwardly in the middle of your room again and laughed. “I’ll go change in the bathroom. I gotta use it anyway. I’ll be right back.”

Your footsteps receded down the hall and he raced to get changed before you came back. His sweats landed on his backpack and he shrugged at himself. What did it matter, so long as they weren’t on your floor?

The sound of the sink reached his ears just as he was climbing back into the fort, frowning at his crushed chips even as he shoved a handful into his mouth. He was so gonna make you pay for a new bag, especially because you had laughed. The door creaked open and the flap shifted, and he almost choked on his chips as he realized just how short your shorts were. Were your legs always that long? And smooth? And pretty? Shit.

“How are your chip fragments?” you joked as you made yourself comfortable beside him again. Your hair fanned out behind you and you gathered it up off the base of your neck, twisting it around so that it spread out above you instead. How the fuck was the back of your neck sexy*?

He was so screwed.

“Uh,” he replied. Smooth, Satori. Shaking his head, he tried to gather his thoughts and focus them literally anywhere else. It worked. Sort of. “Pointy. You owe me a new bag.”

You scoffed, smiling at the car full of vacationing teenagers on the laptop. “There’s like four other bags in here. Quit whining.”

But he wasn’t giving it up, throwing his bag into the corner and hopefully out of the way of your carelessness. Settling behind you like he had before, he once again left space between you, afraid now of how his body might react if he didn’t. “No, all of them suck.”

You definitely noticed the gap and wondered if he was just waiting for you to take the initiative, so you did. Before he could blink, you were once again molded to his chest, head tucked under his chin and knees folded around his. He tensed, fingers curling into a fist while he willed himself to chill.

His arm came down around you again, but you could feel how stiff he was. When you made to move forward again, to give him space, his arm locked, even pulling you back again and you grinned. With his arm now lit up properly by the light of the laptop, you realized you could see the tattoos more clearly, and began to trace the stars and fish on his arm.

“Aren’t these the spirit fish from Avatar?” you asked, skimming over the white and black koi. It was a watercolor piece, lacking the heavy lines like the ones on his other arm, and you felt him nod against the top of your head. “They’re gorgeous. Who’s your artist?”

“A friend of mine in Miyagi did those,” he answered, watching you continue to trail up his arms. Goosebumps were raising the fine hairs all over his body, your touches so gentle and intimate, your focus rapt. Higher up near his elbow was what appeared to be two jolly rogers, but they weren’t the normal ones. “Those are from a pirate manga I read in Jump,” he said before you could ask, and you smoothed your hand over them before sliding it back up near his hand.

His heart skipped a beat when your fingers curled into his palm, hesitating before you slipped them between his. He was sure you could feel his heart pounding away in his chest, unaware that you couldn’t because yours was racing fast enough that you were lightheaded. Folding his fingers down over your hand locked them together, but you didn’t try to pull away. If anything, you tried to cuddle up closer to him, dragging your hands so that they were pressed to your chest. It was the most intimate thing he had experienced in recent memory and if his heart didn’t slow down it was going to explode.

The movie wasn’t holding his interest and a new question cropped up in his mind, one he had wondered more than once before tonight and he couldn’t figure out why he thought of it now, but he latched onto it because otherwise he really thought he was going to combust. Besides, it would ease some of his insecurity if he got an answer.

“What took you so long to set this up, anyway? I kind of thought you had changed your mind for a while,” he said, staring at the screen. He was sort of taking it in, an anchor point so he didn’t get lost in his thoughts.

Your chest rumbled against his hand when you hummed, and your answer was so mundane and rational that he almost laughed. “Well a part of it was wanting to get to know you a bit before we did this. Didn’t want to invite a total stranger to spend the night, after all. And then it was just a matter of waiting for my roommates to freakin’ leave.”

“Oh, are your roommates actually gone*?” he asked in surprise. He had thought they were just out for the night and would be home-- probably not soon, given the time, but still. “Like, for the weekend?”

You hummed again in agreement, twirling the ends of your hair absently around your fingers. You were locked onto the movie, absorbed as Leatherface chased one of the characters he didn’t care about through the yard. He fell quiet, thinking you wanted to watch uninterrupted, but then you asked, “That’s alright, right? They would have just wanted to join in otherwise and they can’t stand horror movies either, so they would’ve just talked through it.”

Exactly like he was doing, he realized, and his face grew hot. Hopefully he hadn’t already annoyed you. He nodded, responding in a much quieter voice. “It’s fine. Was just surprised, I guess.”

For a while, neither of you said anything and Tendo managed to focus on the movie, feeling you jump and twitch every once in a while at scares you weren’t expecting. Unfortunately, those movements were brushing against areas that he really didn’t need them too and your shorts did nothing to diminish the curve of your ass against him or the slowly growing hard on he was getting. It didn’t help that every time he shifted even a little you would just follow him, as if he wasn’t pinned by your hand holding his.

But shit, if he didn’t move soon he was going to be screwed. The bathroom-- that would get him out of there before he embarrassed the fuck out of himself.

It was too late, though. You flinched and ground your ass back into him and he groaned before he could help it. You froze, he froze, he just really wanted to die.

“I-- Sorry. I’m really sorry,” he said, tugging at his hand to try and escape. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do, but the best option was probably to leave and transfer to a school in a whole different country. He could already hear your words now, an echo of so many times before, the sting of disappointment a familiar feeling around his heart.

“I’m sorry, Tendo. I just don’t see you that way.”

It was because he was a freak with a weird name and creepy eyes and-- fuck. It was high school all over again, being rejected by someone he genuinely thought liked him only to find out they were using him to get to Ushijima or pretending to as a fucking joke, only this time Ushijima wasn’t around and he had really gotten himself into it by agreeing to any of this.

But you were refusing to let his hand go, holding so tight he thought his fingers might break, saying his name until he came back down from his panicked high.

“Tendo, Tendo, calm down, please,” you were begging. You had rolled onto your back, unable to sit up because you were using both your hands to keep him from jumping up and taking the whole fort down. You could see it on his face when he finally heard you, wide vermillion eyes locking with yours while his heart continued to race.

He remained propped up on his elbow, ready to run at the first opportunity, and you almost felt bad for antagonizing him as much as you had. If you had known your teasing was going to get him this riled up, you would have tried a different tactic-- or not tried it at all. Maybe you had pushed too far too soon, and the skittish look in his pretty eyes worried you that you had ruined it.

“It’s alright, Tendo,” you said, trying to keep your voice quiet and soothing. It felt an awful lot like you were dealing with a wary animal-- like a coyote or a fox. When the insistent tension in his arm faded is when you relaxed your death grip on his fingers.

The sound of the movie was too loud in the unnatural silence between you, and you rolled over to turn it down. When it was only a background buzz, you turned back to him. He was still staring at you without blinking, his eyes devoid of the panic from earlier but now they were eerily blank.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, deadpan. He flinched when you took his hand again, forehead scrunching in confusion. “I don’t understand. There’s no way you-- What are you doing?”

It was your turn to be confused, pursing your lips at him. He sounded so lost-- and wary again-- like a child. For the first time, you wondered what his childhood had actually been like. He talked an awful lot about Ushiwaka and Semi, and the volleyball club in general, but you heard nothing outside of that. It made you suspicious now.

“What am I doing?” you parroted, finally sitting up. Your joined hands fell into your lap and you stared down at them, petting the back of his hand with your free one. “Do you not want me to?”

His words were stuck in his throat, trapped by the lump there, and he swallowed thickly. His mouth felt like cotton, and he shook his head, croaking out, “It isn’t that. I just don’t understand why.”

“Why what?” you asked, gentle amusement in your voice. There was no teasing, no malicious undertones that he could hear, like you were waiting to spring the final part of the joke on him. And he was listening for it. After years of dealing with it, he had learned to recognize it in people’s words and on their faces. The way their lips would curl and their eyes would narrow just before cruelty would spew from their mouths, he knew the tells and you--

Had none.

There was nothing but open curiosity and nervousness-- and hope. A lot of hope swirled in your eyes and he swallowed again. He was just going to disappoint you. If not tonight then tomorrow, if not tomorrow then next week. It was going to happen--

“Why do you like me? How do you like me? I’m-- weird. And you’re--” He gestured frantically up and down at all of you. You weren’t anything he was-- a freak. With freaky eyes and a freaky name and a freaky personality.

“I-- um,” you said, and you couldn’t help but smile. There was clearly a lot of baggage with him, and his questions made that obvious. It was likely too much to unpack tonight, especially when you were still only just getting to know each other. Reassurance was what he needed, and that was something you could offer on the spot. “You’re funny...and sweet and...very good looking. Your eyes are so pretty. Um, there’s also the fact that you’re the only person who would watch these movies with me, which earns you a lot of points, in my opinion,” you said, tapping your lips as you stared up at the ceiling.

Your face was on fire as you listed things off the top of your head, your throat tight with anxiety as you wondered what he would say in response. They were all surface level things for now, but you knew underneath the armor that there was a lot more to Tendo, and you hoped you had a chance to discover it.

He groaned low in his throat, not from disgust but from a deep seated need to believe you meant those things. His forehead met your shoulder, his fingers squeezing yours. He didn’t fight it when you eased back down, following after you without a word, leaving his face hidden in your neck. He was still trying to gather his thoughts and calm his overworked heart. It would be so easy to reject you and be on his way, to return home and beat himself up for letting himself get too close and too comfortable with you when he knew nothing would come of it.

Except something had come of it and he wasn’t sure what to do now. Semi and Ushijima always told him he was too closed off and that someone was going to come around who actually liked him and his ‘weird ass’ and that he was going to lose that chance because of some stupid high school assholes. Was he though? He wanted to believe you, wanted to trust you, and slowly he relaxed, his stress leaving him in a long, tired exhale.

“You mean it?” he whispered against your neck, and you could feel his lashes tickle your skin when he blinked. His arm was heavy where his hand rested on your stomach, fingers intertwined with yours, and you squeezed his hand as tight as you could.

“I do. I like you and really want a chance to get to know you better,” you whispered back, and it suddenly felt like no one existed but the two of you, protected from everything in the world outside by a few sheets and each other's warmth. There would be things to discuss and hiccups to overcome, but you could worry about those tomorrow. In that moment, all you wanted was to prove to Tendo you wanted him.

Maybe it was your words, whispered softly into the dark, or your hand gripping his for dear life, or the way you let him cling to you like a lifeline, or maybe it was a combination, but when he pulled back from his hiding place and found you staring at him, he slotted his lips against yours without thinking. Your lips parted almost immediately, free hand sliding out from between your bodies to tangle in the close cropped hair at the nape of his neck and you used it to pull yourself closer.

When your tongue poked out to glide across the seam of his lips, he let you in on a breath, tilting his head to deepen the kiss. His eyes were squeezed shut tight as your tongue met his, praying that what was happening wasn’t a dream, and he wasn’t expecting it when you gasped and pulled away all of a sudden.

His eyes popped open and he stared down at you with panic. “What? Did I do something wrong?”

“I-- forgot you have a tongue ring,” you said, and the laughed. “Fuck, that’s hot.”

He blinked like an owl, eyes wide as he processed your words. It wasn’t something that he had ever expected to hear in his life, let alone from the girl he was half-making out with in a freakin’ pillow fort. He suddenly wondered if his life had turned into a Shounen Jump manga.

“Well, so are you,” he said, and leaned in for another kiss.

It was kind of hot to see him confident and you felt heat pool in your stomach, starting to bleed further down as his tongue slipped into your mouth again. He tasted like the root beer he had been drinking all night, and you couldn’t resist toying with the piercing, swirling your tongue around it and listening to him moan against your mouth.

Your shirt had ridden up your stomach as you moved around, trying to get closer to him, and neither of you realized it until Tendo’s hand smoothed over your skin. He froze mid-kiss, waiting for your reaction, and was unsurprised when your hand grabbed his.

What he didn’t expect was for you to guide it upwards, letting go when you hit your ribs to cup his cheek. Pulling back just enough that he could speak against your lips, he asked, “Are you sure?”

“Frankly, Tendo,” you said, and kissed him again before you continued, “I haven’t wanted anyone this bad in forever. Even if we wake up tomorrow and change our minds, I am fucking sure right now.”

He groaned, letting his hand hike your shirt up a little higher until his hand cupped under your breast. He wasn’t sure when you had taken your bra off, or maybe you hadn’t been wearing one the whole time, but there was nothing impeding his skin from caressing yours. Your breast was so soft in his hand, topped by a pretty pink nipple that he couldn’t resist pinching. You mewled underneath him, pulling your shirt up to uncover your other breast and he moved to that one, doing the same and feeling your nipple harden at his touch.

“Fuck, you’re so pretty,” he rasped, gazing down the length of your body. Your thighs were clenched, and his hand migrated lower, fingertips skimming over your skin.

The heat that was pooling earlier erupted when they met the waistband of your shorts, but he paused, looking unsure again.

“Tendo, I’ll show you how much I want this,” you whispered and grabbed his hand. He was still hesitant, looking at your face as you slid his hand into your panties, and his eyes widened.

“You’re so wet,” he groaned, his fingers gliding over your soaked lips, spreading your slick all over them. His fingers quickly found your clit, circling it and you squeezed his hand between your thighs, hips jerking. “All because of me? I’m flattered.”

Teasing at your soaked opening, he waited for you to balk but you only twitched, panting against his lips before he sunk one finger in, your walls parting easily. You moaned and he swallowed it in a kiss, his tongue filling your mouth again. It wasn’t long before he was fitting a second finger, crooking them up and grazing your sweet spot, his thumb taking over massaging your clit as he pumped them inside you. Your arousal was already high enough that you could feel your orgasm coming on, and you pulled away to announce it.

“T-Tendo, gonna--” You gasped when he forced them in deeper, a mischievous smirk on his face as he prodded your cervix. “How-- fuck, your fingers are so long,” you whined, toes curling.

“Think you can take one more?” he asked, already fitting the tip of a third finger in. But it was only when you nodded, tears pricking the corners of your eyes that he slipped it in. Your teeth dug into your lip before they parted in a soundless cry.

The coil snapped on the first thrust and he groaned, drinking in your face as he tipped you over the edge. No one had ever cum so prettily for him before and he wanted to see it again.

But only if you wanted it. His cock throbbed painfully in his shorts when he pulled his fingers from your twitching hole, feeling you shudder against him. Examining his glistening fingers in the screen light, he slid one experimentally into his mouth and moaned. “You taste so good, princess.”

You gasped at the pet name, a warmth unrelated to the one between your legs blooming in your chest. He said it was such reverence that you flushed, hoping he’d say it again at some point. Never had anyone called you that before, at least in that context.

When he laid back down beside you, his erection brushed against your leg and he stifled a groan. He was wearing boxers but the friction against his cock was still a pleasurable sensation. Not as much as your hand might be--

Speaking of hands, he nearly jumped out of his skin when you cupped him, squeezing and kneading up the length of him confined in his clothes. A shaky breath ripped out of him, the result of him barely containing a moan, and his long fingers wrapped around your wrist to stop you.

“That’s alright, _____. You don’t have to--” But you weren’t listening and the pressure felt too good. His head fell back, eyes fluttering closed, content to let you literally massage his dick until you started tugging at his shorts. He stopped you more insistently then, pulling your hand away. “Wait a second. Let me get ‘em off since you’re so eager, princess.”

He pulled his shirt over his head first, because it was getting way too hot in there anyway, and then kicked his shorts and boxers off into the dark corner. His cock bobbed against his stomach as he rolled onto his side again, leaking precum already.

Your hand was soft against his stomach, roaming over the hard planes of his abs and down further, until it wrapped lightly around his head.

And froze.

“What the-- Tendo, what are those?” you asked in a high pitched, startled tone. Before he could answer, you let go and rolled onto your back, exposing him to the light and you thought for sure you had died and gone to heaven.

It wasn’t just his arms that were covered in ink. His shoulders, chest, and sides were all covered in it as well, swirls and splashes of color interrupted by splotches of black or white or skin. You could hardly make out what the images were in the flickering, inconsistent light, but you recognized flowers and circles, and on his pec you were pretty sure there was a scene of a lake bathed in moonlight. And as your eyes followed the path of colors down, you landed on the thing that had startled you in the first place.

“Those are--” you breathed, taking his cock into your hand again. There was a ball at the tip, covered in precum, and you knew if you traced down, you would find another just below the crown. Further down on his shaft were five horizontal barbells in a row, and you recognized it as a Jacob’s Ladder. “Fuck me.”

“Gladly,” Tendo quipped and pounced. He settled between your legs and tugged your shorts down over your hips, and you had to hold your legs up to let him pull them the rest of the way off. He was too tall to sit straight up without brushing his head against the ceiling, but he braced back on his arms when you grabbed his shaft again. He groaned when you fondled the ball below his crown, shuddering at the intense pleasure. It was one of the major reasons he’d gotten it- to enhance the sensations. But the feel of your fingers gliding over his tip, gathering the precum and nudging the ball was something else entirely. “Holy shit, that feels amazing.”

His voice sent shivers through you, deep and raspy and way too needy. But you were unsure of what would hurt him, so you kept your touches light, feeling his thighs tense under yours, his fingers squeezing your calves as he let you explore. Before long though, he was pulling your hand away, pinning it down at your side. “Can’t keep that up, princess. I need more, if you’re alright with it,” he said, letting his cock settle against your cunt.

The piercings were warm and pronounced against your folds, and you shuddered when the ball under his head grazed your clit. The thought of them inside you, rubbing all along your walls as he fucked you was too much and you could feel yourself growing wetter, your pussy drooling for it.

“Yes, Tendo, please. I want it, I want to feel them inside me,” you begged, rocking your hips. The stimulation was mind blowing and your walls clenched, empty and needy for him to fill you up. And he would, his cock was huge-- he still had room for more piercings below the ones he had. You had no doubt you would be stretching to take him and you keened in the back of your throat.

“I want you to call me Satori, princess. And I need you to let me know if it’s uncomfortable,” he said, pressing the tip of his cock into your sopping hole. “Sometimes they make it hurt, but you’re so fucking wet I don’t think it will. You really like these, huh?”

You were really just answering his question as you said yes, but a stream of them fell out of your mouth as he pushed the rest of his cock inside you, encouraging him to continue. The stretch was so good, your walls splitting easily for him, and you could feel every ball just like you had imagined grazing against your walls. The ball at his slit rested snugly against your cervix, and you didn’t even realize you were screaming as you came, hips jerking in his hands as he let you ride it out.

He was staring at you with what could only be awe, his mouth slack and eyes wide with surprise. “Holy fuck, princess, did you just cum?”

Your breaths were coming in pants as your mind spun, trying to come down from the unexpected high. It came on so suddenly you had no time to prepare, and tears slid down your cheeks. “F-Feels so good,” you whispered, fingers digging into the blanket beneath you. “Satori, oh my god.”

“Are you alright? We can stop--” he said, but you shook your head frantically, locking your ankles around his back, and he laughed under his breath. You sure were something else. He knew for a fact no one had ever come just from him sliding into them and a swell of pride filled his chest. “No? Alright, whatever you want, princess. Can I move?”

This time you nodded and he was slow as he pulled back, making sure you were okay. You were so tight around him from your orgasm, your walls fluttering with overstimulation, but your back arched when he stuffed himself back in, a breathy moan slipping out of you. Hiking your legs higher up on his hips, he bent over you, gathering your hands and pinning them above your head, lacing his fingers with yours. His lips met yours as he thrust into you slowly, grinding deep and stifling a moan. Once again you were playing with his tongue ring, flicking it as you suckled on his tongue. The fort-- and probably the room-- was filled with the wet slap of his hips on yours every time he drove his cock into you, drowning out the low buzz of the forgotten movie still playing. He was being careful, waiting for you to stop being so sensitive, and he knew you were ready when you arched into his chest and pulled away.

“So good, Satori,” you murmured against his lips, hips rising to meet his. Your eyes were glazed and fucked out, tears still flowing and you could already feel the start of another orgasm, but he was moving too slow. The drag and pull of his piercings had almost all of your attention, the ball at his tip constantly tapping your cervix, making your toes curl with every thrust. “You’re so big, and those-- fuck-- piercings feel so good inside me. I can feel them all everywhere.”

He snickered darkly at that and kissed your cheek. “You wanna feel even better, kitten?” he whispered into your ear, nipping the shell. He could feel you nod against his cheek, nails digging into his hands where he kept them pinned above your head, and then he was letting them go and pulling out of you. You whined, staring up at him in dismay, but he already had your thighs in his hands, prodding you to roll over. “Trust me, pretty girl. On your stomach, just like that.”

It was a bit difficult to get comfortable, but he grabbed a pillow and jammed it beneath your hips before settling with his legs outside of yours. And when you shook your ass, begging him to hurry up, he couldn’t deny you, not when he wanted to be back inside your tight heat so badly.

“Holyshitholyshitholyshit,” you whined, high-pitched and breathless as he finally filled you again. His thighs trembled as he forced himself not to just stuff himself into you, you were so tight. And the way you were crying and shuddering beneath him wasn’t helping, especially when you gasped his given name like a prayer. “*Satori, oh my god.”

If you thought those piercings felt good before, you were in heaven now. Everyone of them dragged slowly over the front wall of your cunt, grinding into your sweet spot and you had to bite the pillow to keep from outright screaming. And he was so, so, so big inside you, but with your legs trapped between his there was nothing you could do but take him. Against your will, your legs kicked, hitting him in the back as you wailed into the pillow, tears streaming down your cheeks in an endless flood.

He snarled into your ear as he planted his elbows beside your head, plastering himself to your back. “You are so fucking tight, princess. How do those piercings feel now?”

“So good so good so good,” you babbled, circling your hips back on his dick to get any friction you could. The orgasm that had been building came back ten fold just from him hilting inside of you and you knew that if he fucked you like this you would be cumming in seconds. “‘Tori, please move, please please please.”

Your needy begging made his cock twitch and you whimpered as he slowly pulled out of you and pushed back in, intentionally slow to let you feel everything. The pleasure was ebbing and flowing, building and falling because he wasn’t moving fast enough, but you couldn’t bring yourself to ask him to go faster, not when you could feel him so clearly. Every time he bottomed out, he made sure to grind down into you, nudging your cervix with the tip of his cock so he could feel you clench suddenly around him. It never failed to make him moan, your slick walls gripping him so tightly as he dragged himself back out. He wanted to make your pussy his new home and barring that he was going to fuck the shape of his cock into you.

“Tell me what you need to make you cum, princess,” he whispered into your ear. He knew what he needed, but he was still learning what would make you feel good.

Releasing the pillow from your teeth, the first thing you did was moan out his name again as he buried himself inside you again. You were so close to cumming, your clit throbbing with need and if he even brushed it you were going to be gushing all over him. You gasped as he thrust a little harder than before.

“If you don’t answer me I’ll just keep going like this, kitten. I can go for hours, if you want,” he whispered, warm against your ear. That made you twitch underneath him, and he chuckled. “You like the sound of that? We’ll try it another time. Right now, I need you to tell me where you want me to cum and how I can make you cum, okay?”

His words were dark and sweet and coaxing, and you were sure you had never whined so much in your whole life. “Touch me, please, Satori. I wanna cum all over your cock and pretty piercings while you cum in me, oh fuck.”

Bracing himself on his elbow, he forced his hand beneath your stomach, aided by you lifting your hips, and you whimpered when he finally, finally brushed your clit. It was all it took and you had to bite the pillow again as you creamed all over his cock, whiting out and screaming into it as you shuddered and jerked. He eased you through it, leaving his cock buried inside you while he fondled your clit, listening to you whimper and moan. It was a good thing you had hidden your face because you would surely have woken the whole complex up otherwise.

He groaned into your ear as you massaged his cock, so tight that you launched him into his own orgasm, cumming inside you as you had asked. He remained still inside of you even after you had relaxed, leaving small kisses all over your hair before he leaned down to rest his head on the pillow. He had fucked you so slowly that he hadn’t broken a sweat, and yet he was still out of breath and panting. His head swam for several more minutes, until you shifted beneath him. But you didn’t move like you wanted him to get off.

Instead, you turned to look at him, a lazy, blissed out grin on your face and said, “Holy shit, that was so amazing. I’ve never cum so many times.”

“So were you. I’ve never made someone cum so many times,” he admitted, and replayed the way you came just because he had filled you. That was something he was unlikely to ever forget. He brushed some hair out of your face before leaning in to kiss you. It was slow and gentle, belying how tired the two of you now were, and he could see you were ready to fall asleep. “Gonna pull out of you now, princess. Need you to stay nice and relaxed, okay?”

You nodded, your eyes closing and winced as he slid from your ruined hole. A stream of cum followed after and he took a moment to appreciate it, allowing a smirk to steal across his face. There was no doubt you were his now, at least for a little while, and he committed it all to memory before gently gripping your shoulders. “We should really get cleaned up, then we can go to sleep.”

You grumbled cutely but let him help you up, the both of you stumbling blindly to the bathroom. Sleepiness was a thick fog, and you got cleaned up as quickly as possible before returning to the room. The two of you stood in the doorway, looking at the mess of nonsense covering the bed, and then you looked at Tendou.

“Let’s just sleep in there,” you suggested, taking him by the hand. He let you lead him over, watching the way your ass swayed as you crawled into the fort for hopefully the final time that night. In the few minutes it had taken him to get in after you, you had already pulled a blanket over your legs and were setting up the next movie to play. Not that you would be watching it, but he understood it was the principle of the thing. This was a movie marathon and it just wouldn’t do to fall asleep without being in the middle of one.

Once he’d gotten comfortable behind you, you rolled over and splayed out across his chest, startling him. He had expected to curl himself around your back while you went to sleep, but now you were tracing what lines you could see on his chest in the thin light. His hand rested on your waist, the other tucked behind his head, and he closed his eyes, comfortable with your warmth and weight in his arms.

“Satori,” you murmured, your hand falling flat right over the picture of the lake. “I really do like you.”

He laughed at that, and you could feel it rumble in your ear, deep in his chest. He was clearly as tired as you were, but you needed to say it. There was something in your half asleep brain that would not stop telling you to say it, and you were in no position to fight it.

“I figured as much, princess. Three orgasms are hard to fake, especially around a dick as big as mine,” he answered, and you blanched for a moment before erupting into laughter. He watched you through narrow eyes, fondness bubbling in his chest, until you settled back down against him. “You’re absolutely gorgeous, you know that?”

“So’re you,” you murmured. The nagging had stopped now that you had said what you needed too, and you were falling asleep quickly. “Don’t be gone when I wake up tomorrow, okay?”

“It already is tomorrow, and I’ll be here. There’s nowhere else I wanna be anyway,” he answered, letting his eyes close as well. With your comfortable weight on his chest and your even breathing mixing with the buzzing of the movie in the background in his ears, he drifted to sleep in no time, for once not worrying about what tomorrow would bring.

⇥ masterlist

⇥ taglist: @visaintes, @kunimwuah

#tendo x reader #tendou x reader #tendo satori x reader #satori tendo x reader #tendou satori x reader #satori tendou x reader #haikyuu x reader #.monster

3K notes · View notes

violetnotez · 4 years

Text

When They Taste Their s/o’s Chapstick| HQ Edition

Welcome to Hannah has no sleep schedule lmao-but I remember I did these HC for BNHA and they did really well, so I thought I would do some for HQ too! I might do more characters and not make the HC so detailed, but I hope you like these! 🤍

Music Genre: Acoustic | HQ

Characters: Atsumu, Yamaguchi, Bokuto

Warning: cursing

Music Collection | Tip Jar | Requests!

Atsumu: Cherry

The bright ass teacher who thought it would be smart to put your boyfriend right behind you was realllllllyyyy smart 🙃

Okay sarcasm aside this dude is annoying in the cutest way possible????

This guy gets bored super quick, and knowing his dear, sweet s/o is gonna take all the notes he needs makes him use the class period to just mess with you

(Also him not paying attention in class secretly gets him to be able to have study dates with you, so yeah, Atsumu isn’t learning nothing from the teacher 💀)

Some days it’s bad-he will kick your chair just to laugh at your pissed off face,

He’ll air drop you memes, cute puppy pics,,,sometimes shirtless pics if he’s reallllyyyy bored 🙃😳

But some days he’s a little better and not so annoying,,,,like playing with your hair, passing notes to you, or just casually texting you about random things that are on his mind

But today he was poking your back like his life depended on it

You tried to ignore it for as long as you could, trying to just focus on the teacher droning on about some random war-

Until this fucker flicks your head

You instantly swivel around, pissed written all over your face as he gives you a smug ass look

“Took ya long enough,” he whispered, clearly enjoying bugging you, “but ya got some chapstick?”

Kinda wierd and not what you were expecting but-whatever

You just roll your eyes and nod yes, quietly shuffling through you pencil bag

Poor Atsumu lost his a few days back and hadn’t been able to get more, so he’s really feeling it on his fifth day of no chapstick

He takes it, putting it on and going to hand it to you but soemthing stops him

Cause whoa-this tastes just like you

He hand sit back, kinda just mesmerized...cause this taste is exactly what he tastes everytime he kisses you, like he’s eating candy

No wonder why to him kissing you was addicting cause you tasted like a lollipop lmao 💀

But anyways, after class he decided to test this theory of his out

He walks you out of class, shouldering your backpack for you as you two walk to the cafeteria

“Cmon, lets go this way today,” he says with a small grin, leading you down a more secluded hallway

The moment you two seem to be alone he attacks

Atsumu is a fricking good kisser maybe a little rough but UGH he is gooooddddddd 🥴

He grabs ahold of your back, pressing you against him, you feet slowly rising to meet his lips

He pulls away, loving how surprised and flustered you look as he brushes his thumb against your lips

He’s really happy, cause yup, you taste exactly like the chapstick-sugary sweet but still tart, just like a cherry

you will never find your chapsticks ever again he will always be stealing them so he can taste you 24/7

Yamaguchi: Mint

Practice had finished, but today it was pretty cloudy

And of course, the moment the gym was cleaned up and everybody was ready to head out

It was pouring buckets

Yamaguchi was always a big softie, but he was also super protective over you

So he always makes sure to walk you home everyday

Fricking cuteeee 🥺

He was getting all of his stuff under the awning of the gym when he saw you running towards him in your uniform

You were smiling, trying desperately to keep your backpack dry as you ran through the rain shower

The way this boy yelled your name 😂💀 you would have thought you were dying

Yamaguchi can be really protective he has tooooooo

He doesn’t have an umbrella, so he unzips his black volleyball jacket and just starts running towards you like his life depends on it

His white volleyball tee cannot survive this amount of water and is soaked, but he really doesn’t mind,,,,

Your confused on why he took of his jacket, until this sweet guy uses it as a makeshift canopy and shields both your heads from the rain

You start to chuckle, cause he just looks so cute, his cheeks red from being sheepish making his freckles more prominent but this proud grin on his face

“Yams, you didnt have to get all wet for me,” you say with a smile, your digits wiping away droplets of water from his cheeks

*cue him turning even redder

and then you give him a quick kiss on his lips

HES COMBUSTINGGGGGGGGGGGG-

this guy gets flsuetred so quickly ITS SO CUTE😭

But something is much, much different about that kiss than before-

His lips are tingly and ticklish and he’s like WTH

But it feels-nice?? Like it almost makes the kiss feel like its lasting longer on his skin-

You dont even notice him being totally just dazzed out as he tries to figure out whats going on and grab his hand, leading him inside the gym to wait for the storm to pass

As your digging in your backpack to make sure none of your notes got wet from the rain, Tadashi noticed that something rolled out of your backpack

And lo and behold! Its chapstick! ☺

Before he hands it to you, he notices its a Mint flavor-

and it allllllll makes sense to him

After he walks you home he guiltily SPRINTS his ass over to the convivence store

THIS MAN IS ON A MISSION

He was in there for a good hour searching for hat same brand+flavor

After he found it he is now obsessed with it and applies it like crazy cause it reminds him of you 🥺

Bokuto: Strawberry Sorbet

Bokuto has just gotten out of class, Akaashi right next to him as he went to go meet you by your locker

You three were lowkey like the Three Musketeers-

just two of the musketeers happened to be dating lmao

Anywayssss the man was already jumping around just from the idea of seeing you

It had been 5 whole hours since he last had contact with you-the horror 💀

Akaashi was pretty much used to this behavior, as Bokuto always needed a dose of y/n love every other hour to keep him preppy and up beat

Once Bokuto saw you, he immeditaely bounded over time you, wrapping his arm around your shoulder

“Hey baby birdie, missed me?” He said eagerly, placing a kiss on your lips

Usually after kissing you he’d just cuddle you close to him as the three of you waited for the rest of the team to go to practice....but soemthing was off

But in a good way

You tasted reallllyyyyyyyyyy yummy to him-but he had no idea what it was

This man has no shame

Like at all

He just starts kissing you

Over and

Over again

He can’t figure out why you taste so good! He can’t even figure what the flavor even is...So of course he has to keep “taste testing” 💀🙃

You have no idea the hell is going on, your face flushed you were in school still lmaooo

The dude was just attacking your poor lips at this point

Poor Akaashi is just as embarrassed as you 😂💀

“Bo!” You finally were able to muster out, gasping after the assault to your airwaves you just had

Poor guy looks so defeated and confused, still not knowing what was going

Sad baby bird look 🥺

“B-but babe,” he said, almost whimpering, “I don’t know why you taste good,,,”

You give him a “the hell you talking about face”,,,until it dawns on you that you had bought a new chapstick

Your just laughing, cause who knew Bokuto would be so intense over some damn chapstick

None of these characters or shows are my own, only the storylines and narratives I create are mine. Copying, stealing, plagiarizing, rewording, or using my storylines in other media, claiming to be your own, or reposting without my consent is not allowed.

293 notes · View notes

tanzaniiite · 4 years

Text

ROAD TRIP • SEIJOH THIRD YEARS

requests: OPEN

warnings: cursing & stupid high school antics

word count: 2.2k

a/n: this idea has been on my noggin for so long omg, enjoy!

please reblog and reply, engagement is both fun & important ✨

[not edited]

this was fun, should i do more fics like this?

“Ugh, are we there yet?”

Oikawa whined looking out the window with a forlorn look as if he was in a music video. You glanced at Iwaizumi, who was at the wheel, snickering slightly as you saw his eye twitch in annoyance. The five of you decided to take a road trip, sort of like a last hurrah, for your last year of high school.

This originally started as a small trip that was planned on senior ditch day but Matsun and Makki wanted to do a road trip. And so, senior ditch day morphed into senior ditch weekend. Of course, none of your parents approved this, so you guys were in for an earful when you returned. But as Hanamaki stated, when you got a screaming voicemail from your guardian, “Live in the moment, worry about that later”. And despite that being terrible advice, you listened anyway.

The destination of your little road trip is Tokyo which was a five to six hour drive. Some might say that’s not too long but traveling with Oikawa it feels like an eternity. He was already complaining. That was mainly because he was upset that you got shotgun and he didn’t. Originally you planned on sitting in the back with the disaster duo but Hajime insisted you sit in the front with him. Something about you being the most tolerable. Iwaizumi was obviously the driver because he’s the most responsible out of you five. It’s weird to think you guys just planned this trip just a week prior.

“So what are we doing for senior ditch day?”

You asked setting your tray down and sitting in between Matsukawa and Hanamaki. Issei just scoffed lightly, “I dunno what you’re doing but I’m sleeping” He answered. Takahiro laughed in agreement. “Probably practicing” Tooru replied. You pouted at their lame responses, “Hajime please tell me you have better plans than these losers” You pleaded. Iwaizumi looked up from his notes, “Uh, I don’t know, I’m probably going to come to school” He shrugged ignoring your disgusted face.

“I know y’all are not serious. This is the last year we’re going to be together like this, we should do something memorable”

You declared crossing your arms over your chest glaring at your friends. “Ew, you sound like Oikawa, getting all sentimental and shit” Makki quipped popping a french fry in his mouth. You stuck your tongue out at him playfully. Oikawa hummed, “I mean they do have a point, let’s do something we’ll remember for years to come”. “Whatever, I guess I’m down” Matsukawa added rolling his eyes. The four of you looked at Iwaizumi, who mentally checked out of the conservation a while ago, waiting for his answer. “Count me out, my parents will kill me if I skipped school” He responded, causing the lot of you to groan. “Ugh, can you not be an upstanding student for like two seconds” You huffed leaning your head in your hand. Now the brunette looked up, “You guys know how my parents are, especially you Shittykawa” He stated, pointing his pencil at the setter. “Yeah yeah, we know how your parents are. Y/n’s parents are just as bad” Issei voiced.

You couldn’t help but internally groan, you remember how your guardians reacted when you brought the four boys to your house. “Don’t remind me. Senior Ditch Day is on a Friday, we barely do anything as is since it’s the end of the year” You said, “plus, you’re the only one of us that drives decently” You stated mustering up your best puppy dog eyes. Hajime looked at you before answering, “Fine, but if I get in trouble. You guys will be the ones talking to my parents”. And from there, the planning commenced.

Currently, you guys were only an hour out of Miyagi. Issei was already knocked out, Hanamaki was on his phone and Oikawa was sulking as per usual. “If you ask me if we’re there yet, one more time, I’ll have Makki push you out the car” He threatened his eyes never leaving the road. “Makki wouldn’t do that to me” Tooru claimed which caused ‘Hiro to snort. “Shut up, you know I will” He stated not even bothering to look up from his phone. Oikawa let out a dramatic gasp, “But we’re going 85 miles an hour on a highway!” He exclaimed. “Did I stutter?” Takahiro mumbled, still not paying any attention to his captain’s dramatics.

This was going to be a long four hours.

You woke up leaning against something super warm, you opened your eyes taking in your surroundings. You weren’t in the front anymore, from what you could see, it looked like Oikawa got his wish of riding shotgun. You sat up rubbing the sleep from your eyes, “Oh, good morning sleeping beauty” Oikawa teased. You were too sleepy and disoriented to come up with a witty comeback.

“Why.. why is Issei driving?”

That’s when you noticed Iwaizumi was the warm surface you were leaning against moments before. “I got tired of driving, we stopped at a gas station and switched places” Hajime explained noticing your confused face, “and you were sleeping so we moved you to the back”. You realized that not only were you leaning against Iwa but your legs were propped up on Makki’s lap. You nodded slightly, still tired despite waking up from a nap. “We spoil them rotten, don’t we?” ‘Hiro commented pinching your thigh causing you to whine slightly. “Shut up” You mumbled leaning into Iwaizumi’s side once again making him chuckle. Matsukawa looked at you through the rearview mirror,

“That’s right, Y/n gets all grumpy when they’re tired”

“Issei… focus on not crashing the car, not on me”

Oikawa let out a low whistle, “Woah, catty much?” He asked rhetorically laughing slightly. You rolled your eyes, “Whatever, how much farther?” You asked closing your eyes. Hajime glanced at his phone, “Two more hours” He replied. Tooru made a choked noise before turning around to face his childhood best friend. “Uh! They ask you if we’re there and get an answer, but when I ask, I get threatened?!” The brunette cried his eyebrows furrowing. The ace rolled his eyes, “Yeah, cause they’re not fucking annoying about it” He retorted. You pointed at Oikawa while laughing at his shocked face causing him to pout and crossed his arms like a toddler throwing a tantrum. “Uh oh, I think it’s Oikawa’s turn for a nap” Makki joked. Matsun hummed in agreement, “Yup, Y/n gets grumpy and Oikawa gets bratty” He laughed.

“Ugh whatever, at least I don’t snore like a chainsaw”

“Says the man who can’t sleep in any other position besides fetal”

“Dude shut up! It’s comfortable!”

Iwaizumi sighed, already knowing this petty argument wouldn’t end anytime soon. He looked down at you, “Who are you messaging?” Hajime inquired, peering at your phone. “No one, just some first years in my DMs” You hummed noncommittally. “You still leading those poor kids on?” Hanamaki asked. Glancing at Makki you pursed your lips, “I’m not leading them on… I’m just entertaining the antics” You replied smiling innocently and batting your eyelashes. “Yo, remember when that one first year confessed to you in the middle of lunch?” Issei asked slowing at a red light. You sat up suddenly, “Oh my god yes! That was so embarrassing!” You exclaimed. “You were embarrassed? Imagine the kid when you rejected him” Iwaizumi countered raising an eyebrow. “The second-hand embarrassment was strong on that one” Takahiro agreed, “Y/n’s a heartbreaker,” He said shaking his head.

You gasped, “I’m not! I’m just not interested in people like three years younger than me” You explained defending yourself. “Well, your choices are limited, since all the people in our grade are scared of us for whatever reason” Tooru stated with his eyes closed and head leaning on the window, looking like he would clonk out soon. “Yeah cause y’all are intimidating as fuck” You claimed. Issei chuckled, “Mm, yeah we kinda are” He admitted. “If they really liked you, they wouldn’t be scared to confess” Hajime shrugged. You smiled widely, “Ok king! My fault” You laughed giving him a high five. “Wait but if we’re so intimidating how come girls are always throwing their panties at Oikawa” Hanamaki questioned.

“Cause he’s not the intimidating one, it’s mainly Iwa and Matsun”

“Matsun is not intimidating, he looks out of it half of the time”

“Not out of it, more like zooted”

You quipped, laughing when Issei playfully glared at you through the rearview mirror. “Bro, remember when Kindaichi found out we were going on this trip and asked to come?” Takahiro laughed. “Stop! Y’all are so mean to him” You said kicking Makki slightly with your foot. Matsukawa snorted, “No cause what did he expect us to say, “Sure buddy you can come!” Like dude nooo,” He mocked laughing loudly. You bit your lip in an effort to not laugh, “Stop this Kindaichi slander at once” You demanded holding back your own giggles. “Okay Y/n, are you saying that you would’ve said yes if he asked you?” The wing spiker inquired giving you a look. “Well.. no—” You started. “Exactly! You’re just as bad as us” Issei interjected.

“No, I am not! You two literally looked at each other and busted out laughing, you didn’t even answer the poor boy”

“Sorry… it was funny”

“That shit was hilarious”

Hajime cleared his throat, “Is Trashykawa sleeping? Haven’t heard him talk in a while” He asked drawing shapes into your shoulder absentmindedly. Matsun glanced at his friend who was definitely passed out against the window. “Yeah, he’s gone” The middle blocker responded.

“Should we draw on his face?”

…

“Oh absolutely”

The car was fairly silent now, you guys were nearing the end of your road trip and it was later in the day. The sky was littered with reds and oranges as the sun started its daily routine. The sunset was bold, radiant, and just plain mesmerizing, you couldn’t help but stare in awe. You sighed inwardly, “I’m gonna miss you guys” You uttered looking out the window. Your four guy friends looked at each other before looking at you. Iwaizumi spoke up first, “What’s there to miss? We’re not going anywhere” He asked. “I know that but who knows when the next time we’ll do something like this?” You whispered refusing to look at them because you knew you would start crying if you did. Hanamaki nudged your foot with his hand, “Y/n stop being such a baby, we’ll still see each other—” He started before you interrupted.

“That’s not the point stupid. We’re all going our own separate ways. Iwaizumi’s going to school in America, Oikawa’s going to fucking Argentina, and we’re all going to different colleges. This sucks ass, I finally have a group of friends I love and now I have to leave them—”

“Hey, what did we just say? We’re not going anywhere. So what if we’re going down different paths? Holidays exist Y/n, you think Iwaizumi and Oikawa are gonna stay in America and Argentina all year round? Plus me and Makki’s colleges are not that far from yours, I could probably walk if I wanted to. Now stop sulking, you’re bringing down the mood”

Issei stated his eyes never once drifting from the road. You sniffed and leaned into Hajime’s side more, “Jeez, sorry” You mumbled playing with your fingers. If the car wasn’t quiet before, it sure was now. No one knew what to say, it seemed too early to make a joke about it and it was a conversation none of you were ready to have. But despite not being ready, Oikawa still voiced his opinion nevertheless,

“Well would you look at that, Y/n really does love us. And I thought you hated me”

You snorted, “I do hate you” You teased making a face at him which he gladly returned. But his demeanor suddenly became serious,

“Adding on to what Mattsun said, we’re not leaving forever Y/n. Graduation is like three months away, we still have time to hang out plus we have the summer so there’s that. I know you love us and can’t possibly live without us but I think you’ll manage”

You blinked in response to Oikawa’s little spiel, “You are so corny” You huffed looking down so he wouldn’t notice the small tears in your eyes.

“Ah! So when I do it it’s corny, what about that whole pitch Matsun did?!”

“Hey, I wasn’t corny. I was being real”

“Please, as if, you were just being mean”

“It’s called tough love, it isn’t made for softies”

Watching the two of them go back and forth once again was entertaining. And when Makki and Iwaizumi joined in, it was just one hundred times better. But seeing your best friends interact with one another just made you realize how much you love them. And although this may be your guy’s last high school adventure, it wasn’t going to your last endeavor with this crazy bunch. You smiled slightly to yourself,

“Man, I really do love you guys”

193 notes · View notes

loversandantiheroes · 4 years

Text

Hotel Hobbies - Part 2

Jack “Whiskey” Daniels x f!Reader Author’s Note: This was not going to be a multi-chapter thing, but then people liked it and Whiskey wouldn’t shut the hell up so here we are, folks. I no longer know where this is going so strap the fuck in I guess. This is so long and I am so sorry. Edited for a cleanup 10/5/2020 Summary: A co-worker gives the Reader a little nudge, which backfires just a bit when Whiskey runs unexpectedly late. Warnings: Public sex, exhibitionism, angry sex, mild choking/breath play, oral sex (f! receiving), fingering, dirty talk, rough sex, spitting, spanking, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex (do as I say not as I fictionalize), creampies, come eating, vague allusions to Whiskey’s job and all the dangers contained therein, Whiskey is a service top and I do not take criticism, very brief mention of Whiskey’s past, exactly one (1) use of Spanish that I hope I didn’t fuck up too badly. Rating: Explicit / NSFW / 18+ / How much clearer can I make this? Word Count: 12k+ (oh GOD do not look at me I have no idea what happened) Previous: Prelude / Part 1 / Interlude Taglist: @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa @oloreaa @the-feckless-wonder @sarcasmisakindofmagic

The conference drags on into its fourth day in a parade of excessively bored people in suits and pencil skirts toting stale danishes and overpriced coffee; the only comforts provided to distract you from the mobius circle-jerk of tedious corporate bullshit. Most of the assembly hall does little more than nod blandly as yet another guest speaker goes through their presentation, the topic of which you forget at least six times throughout the course of it. Half of the attendees aren't even bothering to take notes anymore. The company could've filled the room with potted plants in cheap suits and gotten a better result. At least the plants would provide a little oxygen to the atmosphere.

It certainly doesn't help your case that half of your brain is circling endlessly around Whiskey. You scribble down a set of shorthand bullet points in your notes and try to blink away the image of his arms straining against taut ropes. You sip your coffee and remember the heat of his tongue chasing the taste of his namesake in your mouth. When you cross your legs and feel the deep, pleasant twinge between them, for a split second all you can think about is the way he felt sinking down into you with his teeth against your neck.

The time absolutely crawls by. There's moments when you half expect to look up at the old analog clock on the wall and see the hands start running backward. Of course this would be the day the presentations run long, wouldn't it? Restless and fidgety, you eventually give up on your notes completely and just resign your attention to the clock and whatever obscenity your brain wants to conjure up from the night before.

Claudia, one of your only work friends that actually opted to attend this fiasco, gives you increasingly amused looks throughout the morning, glancing up at you over her phone (on which, you can't help but notice, she has been playing Bejeweled for the past hour with the brightness turned down). After you check the clock for the fifth time in twenty minutes, unable to really keep yourself from sighing angrily through your nose, she shakes her head at you, laughing quietly.

"So what's his name?" she whispers, leaning over conspiratorially.

You give her a glare, but she only raises her eyebrows expectantly. Goddamn it, why does the entire universe find it so funny when you're irritated?

"Whiskey," you mutter back, glowering.

She has to clamp a hand over her mouth to stop a snorting giggle from being loud enough to cause a disruption. "Oh my god," she sputters. "Are you fucking a biker?"

And okay, maybe that is a little funny. You shake your head, mutter back, "Cowboy."

Claudia grins so wide her shoulders pull up with it. "Save a horse," she whispers, trying to dodge out of the way when you elbow her to cut off the rest of the joke. Three people behind you simultaneously shush the two of you, and you toss a dirty look over your shoulder, settling back into your seat.

A few seconds go by before Claudia's leaning back over to quietly add, "The dick must be good to get you this distracted."

"Shut up," you shoot back, but you're already smiling.

When the presentation ends, the entire auditorium raising up on creaking knees to shuffle out to break for lunch, Claudia's hand clamps down on your arm.

"I'm buying lunch and you're going to tell me everything."

So you do. Parked in her conservative little hybrid over styrofoam boxes of take out, you tell her. Damn near everything, too. She listens with rapt attention, this not being the first time she's poked you for details of your love life, such as it is, but judging by the look on her face it's possibly taken the top spot as the most memorable.

"So you're gonna see him again," she says finally as you tell her about Whiskey's invitation before slipping out the door this morning.

You settle back, trying to make yourself look suitably apathetic before answering in the hopes of not being completely transparent. "I dunno. Maybe."

She rolls her eyes. "Oh please. You're gonna see him again. You've been spaced out with dickbrain all day, there's no way you're turning down that invitation."

You wave the end of your plastic fork threateningly. "I will stab you, I swear."

"Not with this many witnesses," she says with a wave at the horde of pedestrians outside on the sidewalk, blatantly ignoring the shanking motions you make in warning.

When she doesn't drop that annoying, knowing look, you start jabbing at your food, rolling a piece of cucumber around the styrofoam. "I mean...ok yeah I thought about it."

"All morning," Claudia provides.

"Fuck you," you counter lightly, and resist the urge to fling the chunk of cucumber at her. "I just...I don't know. I don't think it's a good idea."

"Oh my god, why not?" she cries, head thrown back in exasperation.

"Well it's not exactly fucking sensible, is it?"

"Honey if you were worried about being sensible you wouldn't have fucked a cowboy you picked up at a hotel bar," she says with a shake of her head.

"Did you miss the part where he tried to convince me he was James fucking Bond? I mean c'mon Claudia. That's gotta be...I dunno, some kinda red flag."

She scoffs, flapping a dismissive hand. "Oh please, when the bullshit's that obvious I don't even think it counts. It’s not like you bought it anyway. Besides, honesty is the backbone of a solid relationship, if you're just poking fun it's more like a bonus. As long as he's not married and not a serial killer, who gives a shit? You’re overthinking the shit outta this, hon.”

That’s...well that’s not wrong. It’s honestly irritating how not wrong that is.

When you don’t give a response save for the idle sounds of plastic scratching on your takeout box, Claudia groans. “God are you really gonna make me talk you into getting yourself laid? Okay, if you wanna be rational about it, fine, here's some rational thought for you." She pops out her thumb, ticking off digits as she lists. "He's hot. He likes to eat pussy. He's a fuckin' sub, which - holy shit, girl. Holy actual fucking shit. Plus he's packing and he actually knows what to do with it. Oh, and he bought you fuckin' breakfast!" She wiggles her fingers as she thrusts her hands out towards you. "Seven outta ten, babe! My god, if you don't fuck him I'll do it for you just so I don't have to eat another shitty continental breakfast."

You laugh, but there's a hot flush creeping up your face, and you have to stare out the window for a minute until it starts to wind back. It's almost successful, until you think of Whiskey again. This time, though, all you think of is him outlined in the door, looking back at you with his face too shaded to see. And then your cheeks flare hot again, not with that lingering sense of want, but with a flighty kind of panic.

And just like that you pin it down, your stomach twisting on itself as you finally put words to that moment of apprehension. Whiskey doesn't scare you. His lines don't scare you. The way he fucks you doesn't even scare you. But that moment that he lingered does. It scares you because you think maybe what was going through his head is the same thing that's been going through yours, a fine little thread looped around every remembered pleasure: the worry that you're about to develop a taste for something that you'll never have the chance to get again.

Maybe it's better to leave it. To chalk it up as a fluke and not risk finding out that he'd feel just as good the second time as he did the first. Cut it off now before that lingering taste turns into a full-blown craving.

Claudia sighs, closing her takeaway box. "Look, hon. I'm not trying to tell you what to do. It just sounds to me like you're overthinking this. You don't need to be fucking sensible all the goddamn time. So what if you're thinking with your pussy right now? You had fun. He was fun. You have the option to have more fun. You are entitled to have some fun. So, hey: fuck sensibility and have some fucking fun."

You nod. It's reflex at first, but slowly becomes more deliberate. More sure. "Okay. Yeah. You're probably right."

"I am always right, thank-you-very-much," she corrects, and then promptly shrieks as you launch a slice of cucumber into her hair.

⁂

The trick of it all, you remind yourself that evening as you cross the hotel lobby for the elevator, is not to think about it. Because if you think about it, really think about it, you will find a way to talk yourself out it. Sensibility is as much of a hindrance as a help at times. But you've decided now: the absolute last thing you want to be tonight is sensible. You've been bored out of your mind all week, and as much as you're loathe to admit it, Whiskey has been the only bright spot in the whole affair. At least he's given you something to look forward to, even if it is just the prospect of getting railed until you forget your own name.

You take the time to change when you make it to your room. Grab yourself a short, but blisteringly hot shower, and conveniently forget your panties when you redress. Eventually you make your way down to the bar with your heart almost strangling you with the way it's seemingly lodged itself in your throat. Whiskey's nowhere to be seen, which isn't a complete surprise. He always seemed to turn up a little late in the evening before. Not wanting to deviate too far from your own habits, if only to make yourself a little easier to spot, you take your familiar place at the far end where you've been set up for so many nights in a row. You order your drink, make friends with the closest basket of pretzels, and you wait.

And wait...and wait.

Your eyes are half on the clock and half on the door, flicking back to that last at every sign of movement. Despite the fact that you're practically nursing your drink, the bartender refills your glass twice over the course of the night. When he offers a third, you shake your head. Your face feels like it's burning. The bartender nods and wanders away, either oblivious to the growing anger on your face or determined not to end up the recipient of it.

It's nearly midnight when you finally push yourself off the bar stool, throwing down enough bills to cover your tab and storming off. He stood you up. You cannot fucking believe it. What's worse is you feel like you should believe it. Should've expected it. As if a man that strutted around like a preening rooster and fed you a bullshit James Bond story would have a streak of honesty.

You punch the elevator button hard enough to make your hand tingle, pushing your way through the doors as they open and hitting the button for your floor. The walls of the elevator are mirrored, and you duck your head, not wanting to know what your face looks like just now, twisted up in anger and more than a little shame. The doors hang for a moment before sliding closed. At the last possible second a hand darts in, stopping them. Broad. Tanned. Tattooed. The man of the hour leans through the doors as they retreat, and gives you a grin.

"Room for one more?"

Your stomach does a back flip, blood rushing in so many directions you're not sure if you've got enough left to power a response. If this little scenario had played out even half an hour earlier, you might've laughed. Might've fallen back into that easy bitchy banter the two of you seemed so good at. Might've even kissed him. But not now. Now you've built up too much steam, and every little ounce of anger – earned or not – that you'd had percolating for this man since you first laid eyes on him bursts out of your mouth in two words, laced with as much venom as you can muster.

"Fuck you."

You can practically hear the record scratch in his head. The smile falls, eyebrows ratchet up so high you can't see them for the brim of his hat. It's satisfying in an awful sort of way. Like scratching an itch hard enough to draw blood. Too late to take it back now, though. You lash out at the elevator panel, punching the button marked CLOSE DOORS, and Whiskey side-steps neatly inside.

"All right," he says slowly. "That is not exactly the reaction I was hoping for."

"Yeah, well tough shit, cowboy," you all but spit, raking a hand through your hair. You keep your eyes down. Forward. Anywhere but on him. It's hard, too many reflections. Even the distorted shape of his silhouette in the door makes your blood boil.

"I know I'm late," he starts, hands raised, and the low and placating tone of his voice hits you like lighter fluid on a match.

"You don't fucking say?"

His hands drop. "Can I at least explain myself?"

Laughing too loud and too sharp, you shrug, shoulders pulling up hard. "Yeah, sure, why not? Let me guess, rough day at Spy HQ? Assassination appointment run over? Or were you just hiding behind the fucking dieffenbachia to see how long I'd stick around before I came to my fucking senses?"

The shrill sound of your own voice almost makes you wince. You're overreacting. It's not like you're unaware of it. But you're pissed off, and worse now, you've committed to being pissed off. Backing down now is damn near impossible, never mind actually apologizing.

Whiskey takes a step forward, his eyes gone all puppy dog again; wide and imploring under twisted brows. "Look, I don't blame you for thinkin' the worst. I know I left you waitin', and I apologize for that -"

You roll your eyes, mouth twisting into a smile that shows too much teeth to be kind. "Christ, y'know what, don't flatter yourself. I like that bar. The pretzels are nice and they don't water down the liquor. I didn't show up for you."

"Oh horseshit," he snaps. He doesn't raise his voice, but there is a whip crack of impatience in it. "If you didn't want to see me tonight you wouldn't have turned up at all. You and I both know that."

Fuming, you jam your hand into your purse, fishing out his flask and tossing it at him hard enough that it hits him square in the chest. He catches it on the rebound.

"Here. You forgot this."

Whiskey turns it over in his hands, thumping the metal against his palm. "Right. I see," he says slowly, slipping the flask into his pocket. Under that thick drawl, there's a twinge of something that might be disappointment. "Just came to do the decent thing and return a man's property."

"Yes." Part of you sinks, screaming in frustration. But it's like you're a spectator now, just watching yourself sabotage the only thing that'd brought you a shred of joy all week just because your pride and temper won't allow any other option.

One hand falls to his hip, the other rubs idly across his mouth. He's scowling now, quite spectacularly at that, and for a second you think you've finally dealt enough of a blow to his pride to piss him off. Then he steps in close, jaw set. The way his eyes travel up and down you sends a flush through your body, and you're not sure if you want to slap him hard enough to knock the mustache off his face or kiss him until his lips bleed. His gaze lingers at your hip, your curves quite plainly displayed under the tight skirt. He reaches out. The back of his fingernails barely brush the fabric.

"Do you always make returns without any panties on?"

You try to swallow, but find your mouth has gone suddenly bone dry, your throat sticking with a sharp and painful click. "Fuck off," you try to tell him, but it comes out a croak.

"You know what I think?" Whiskey continues, and the tone would nearly be conversational if it weren't for the way he's looking at you, eyes perfectly black and hungry under the shade of his hat. "I don't think you're just mad because I'm late. I think you're mad because I can get a rise outta you. Part of you kinda likes it. Enough to wanna come back for a little more of it. And you don't know what to do about that. Bet you can't even decide if you wanna throttle me or ride me 'til you can't come anymore. Bit of both, maybe, huh?"

Oh fuck you very much, Mister Perceptive. "Christ, you and your fucking ego-"

"Oh to hell with my fucking ego, and yours too." He leans in close enough that you can smell aftershave and a fainter, acrid smell that, if you weren't so fucking preoccupied, you might recognize as spent gunpowder. "If you want me to go, just fuckin' say it. But don't bullshit a bullshitter. If you wanted rid of me that bad you would've tossed me out on my ass last night before I'd even finished coming."

Your jaw works, and you push yourself a little harder against the handrail just to keep from slapping him. How dare he-

How dare he what, exactly? Be right? Again?

You clench your jaw, gripping the handrail on the wall tight enough that the corners dig into your fingers. Glare at him like you're trying to light him on fire. He doesn't flinch.

"What you did last night...that made for a hell of a first impression," he says slowly, and the low rasp of his voice almost curls your toes. "One I don't expect I'm liable to forget this side of fuckin' doomsday. Shit, I don't even know your fucking name and I ain't been able to shake the thought of you all damn day. Now you can believe that or not, and I wouldn't blame you if you didn't. But the only thing I'm asking from you right now is to be fucking straight with me. If you want me to go, you fucking tell me, and I'm gone. But if you want me to stay, honeybee I swear I will make up for every second you had to wait."

"Fuck you, Whiskey," you breathe. It's all you've got left, all you can even think to say, but it's too soft. It's too hard not to believe him when he's looking at you like that. Even if he's still got your teeth on edge, ready to bite, the fire in your belly is sinking lower every second. And there's no way to mistake the low rasp of your voice for anger.

He leans in, hovering barely an inch away from you, and tips your chin up with his knuckle. "That ain't an answer, honeybee."

His lip curls into a smirk and for a second all you can think about is running your tongue out to follow the curve of it.

"You can punish me if you like," he offers in a low, darkly sweet voice. The fingers on your chin trace a path along your jaw, up to your ear, and down the side of your neck as he talks; a three-point constellation drawn in goosebumps. "Lord knows I deserve it. Tie me up again. Ride my tongue until you've had your fill and never lay a finger on me. I don't mind a bit. I'll probably come in my fucking jeans like a goddamn high school virgin while you do it, too."

Oh god. It's too hot. It's too hot and he's too close and it feels like there's no air left. Those words took the last of it and left you with nothing. And then your lungs finally unlock, hitching in air so pitifully loud that for a second his eyes drop first to your mouth and then lower to watch the buttons strain on your blouse.

His tongue brushes up against the back of his bottom lip, a strange gesture, but one you can't drag your eyes away from. And the bastard just keeps talking.

"Then again, maybe the way you've been acting up you'd be more inclined for a little punishment yourself. I could take you upstairs. Turn you over my knee and put my hand to that pretty little ass until it blushes like a ripe summer peach. I'd bet you'd drip just as much and twice as sweet, too. I'd kill for a taste of you right now. Fuck, if you really want I could just hike that skirt up and fuck you right here and now. I am a flexible man and I am willing to take you any way you'd see fit to let me. But only if you let me. I ain't here to play bullshit games, and I will not take anything you don't want to give. So I need you to tell me, honeybee. Do you want this? Yes or no?"

Everything inside you burns and twists. Fuck, you want that. All of that. And all you have to do to get it is unstick your stubborn, too-sharp tongue and admit that you want it. That even without the excuse of three shots of tequila on top of a few too many cocktails, you still want it.

You're burning up. There's sweat on your palms. It squeaks as you twist your hands over the railing. He hasn't just turned the tables on you, he's flipped the whole fucking room and cornered you with it. And God help you, it's infuriating how much you like it.

"Hate you. So much."

"Hm." His hand falls away, and you miss the touch instantly. "So you keep sayin'. Decision time, honeybee. You pick or I'm picking for you and we're both gonna be disappointed in that result."

There is a long long beat where that threat hangs between you. Any hope that he might just push forward and take you anyway – push you into the wall and fuck you ragged right here and now without another word – bleeds away as you stare him down, your wordless challenge going unanswered. His gaze is iron; hard and unyielding, and you know if you wait even one more second, this...whatever the hell this is, will be over. Permanently.

Swallowing the last of your pride like so much cheap liquor, you seize the front of his shirt, dragging him forward even as he starts to back away.

"Yes. Fucking goddamn it. Yes, I want this."

"Yeah?" He leans in, nose brushing your cheek. Somehow it's that little gesture that sets off a bomb's worth of butterflies in your stomach.

"Yes."

The heat of his hand is almost shocking as it glides up your thigh and underneath your skirt, his thumb stroking up and finding only bare skin. Whiskey grins. "Knew it."

You choke back a sigh. "Smug bastard."

"Yes ma'am." His thumb brushes up and down your slit idly, slow and considering. He glances around, quirks an eyebrow, and offers: "Here?"

Following his glance, you spot the hunk of plastic mounted in the top corner of the elevator. "Camera. Fuck."

"Sure enough," he drawls, still grinning. "You want to give the boys 'n' girls in the security booth a show, or d'you want to go someplace a little more sensible?"

Sensible. God, If he'd chosen any other word, you might've agreed. Private. Safe. Anything but fucking sensible.

"Fuck sensibility. Fuck security, too. Just shut up and fuck me."

He laughs through your kiss, the touch of his lips too gentle by miles. The last thing you want right now is gentle. You don't fucking deserve gentleness after all that. And so you rake your teeth across his bottom lip, roll your tongue against his. When you nip at his tongue, Whiskey breaks off, cupping your sex with a warm, calloused hand.

"You're gonna eat me alive, honeybee," he growls. He parts you with a thick finger, drawing the pad of it from your entrance to your clit and back again. "Mm, I have been thinkin' about this all day," he murmurs before his finger sinks into you.

Sighing, you curl your arms around his neck, knocking his hat off to run your fingers through his hair and muss up that razor-clean side part. His hand works unhurried between your legs. You rock against it, listening to the obscene smacking sound as he works you open.

"All that fuss and you're wet for me already, darlin'," Whiskey says wonderingly.

All you can do is groan, chasing the sensation of the heel of his hand pressing against your clit. "Shut up and kiss me."

You tug at his hair, try to urge him forward, but he doesn't budge. He sinks down to his knees instead, right hand never leaving the wet heat of your cunt.

"I'll kiss you, baby," he says, pushing up your skirt and lifting your right leg over his shoulder. "Don't you worry."

And he kisses you: a warm, wet slide of lips and tongue where he's got you spread. Gasping, you grab the back of his head. He looks up at you, only the crinkles at the corner of his eyes proof of his smile, and his eyes slip closed like a man savoring his favorite meal.

"Jesus." The word comes out in a squeak as his mouth works on you, your throat tightening in an effort to keep quiet. A second finger joins the first and you whimper, tightening reflexively against the stretch. Christ those fingers are thick. Shuddering, you work your fingers in his hair and pull him closer, your eyes wandering up to the reflection in the far wall. The view is mesmerizing: your back arched, skirt hiked up to your waist, with Whiskey's head buried in between your legs like a man trying to slake an ungodly thirst. The view on the left is even better. From there you can watch his mouth work against you, catching a glimpse of his tongue, wet and shining as it slips between your folds. He sways forward on his knees like a charmed snake, a growing bulge straining against the dark blue denim of his jeans.

There's a gentle ding, and for a moment you're so scrambled you think maybe your phone's going off. And then the elevator doors slide open. An older looking gent with a battered briefcase stands frozen on the other side, eyes wide as dinner plates as he takes in the same view you've been admiring in the mirrored walls of the elevator.

For a single spaced-out second the only thing you can think is, Going down?, which makes you erupt into a fit of breathless, senseless giggles.

The newcomer's mouth hangs, flapping uselessly over words he can't quite formulate. He might be trying to apologize for the intrusion or insist you repent and turn to Jesus. You don't know and you don't care.

Whiskey looks up at him over the line of your thigh, lips glistening. "Get the next one," he snarls, and punches the CLOSE DOORS button.

He plants a rough, sucking kiss at the top of your cleft as the doors close again, utterly unperturbed. "Penthouse, darlin', if you please."

Oh he would be in the fucking penthouse, wouldn't he? Panting, you fumble a hand out trying to find the button just as Whiskey slides in a third finger and you cry out, almost swiping every button in the center row by accident.

The elevator hums to life and begins to move. The red light on the security camera flashes benignly and you stare at it for a long beat while Whiskey gets right back to work, moaning hungrily between your legs. Someone's watching this. The thought excites you more than it should, adding fuel to the already roaring fire Whiskey is so eagerly stoking with his tongue. You roll your hips, swearing roundly. It's not enough. It's fucking glorious, but it's not enough. You know what you need.

"Fuck me," you gasp. "Goddamn it, Whiskey, gimme your cock."

He glances up at you through thick lashes, eyebrows raised. "Is that what you want, honeybee?" he asks.

You bear down on his fingers hard as if to answer and he clenches right back, thumb and pinky giving him leverage against your pubic bone as he grips you tight, fingers stroking along your walls. It's only by virtue of the handrail and the support of his shoulder that you don't sink straight to the floor. Christ that backfired.

You nod fervently, head spinning.

A roll of his shoulder unseats your leg, and he stands. His left hand wraps around your throat, thumb against your jawline, and that's so fucking perfect you can't stop yourself from whimpering. In a flare of desperation you grasp his wrist, urging him to grip your neck just a little tighter. Chuckling, he brushes his lips against yours – soft and strangely tender – while he fucks you steadily with his fingers.

"Shoulda known you'd like that. Well? Cat got your tongue? Come on, darlin', lemme hear it."

"Yes."

"Louder. Tell me you want me to fuck you."

"Oh god-d-d-damn it!"

He chuckles darkly, fingers coaxing inside you. "You can do it, honeybee. I know you want it. I just need hear you say it."

You bare your teeth. "I want you to fuck me."

"Good girl." He grins down at you, wide and wolfish. "Now: ask me nicely."

Oh he would, wouldn't he?

"B-bastard," you snarl, then begin to laugh.

"Oh come on now," he croons, eyes darting between your lips and your own heavy-lidded stare. "I'm sure you can get along without your pride for an hour or two. It ain't so bad. And I promise I'll make it worth your while. C'mon."

You groan, grit your teeth, and hiss out: "Please."

He crooks his fingers and you gasp like you've been burned. "'Please' what?"

"Please fuck me. Please fuck me."

He slots your trembling thigh between his legs, pressing the clothed, solid length of his cock against you. "With this? Hm?"

"Fuck, yes." You writhe, feel it twitch, and he rolls against you in response.

"Come for me first, honeybee. Then I'll fill you up good and proper. Cross my heart."

His fingers press into you harder, spreading gently as he draws them back. Your legs begin to shake so badly that he has to pin you to the wall to hold you up. The rail digs into your back. You'll bruise tomorrow, but you're not sure you've ever cared less in your life.

"You gonna come, for me?" he asks, rutting a little more enthusiastically against you when he feels you begin to tense and flutter around his fingers.

Squeezing your eyes shut tight, you nod, feeling the drag of his lips on your cheek.

"Uh-uh. Talk to me, darlin', I wanna hear it. I want you to tell me every single time you're gonna come, you understand me? Count them out. Let's see just how many you got in you tonight."

"Oh you ass!" You moan and laugh all in the same breath.

"You like it," he says simply.

He kisses you, warm and deep, and you bite his lip for the audacity. "Don't stop. Fuck, I'm close."

He turns your head, slides his hand around to cup the back of your neck. "Open your eyes, honeybee. Watch yourself."

You try. Everything's a blur; inside and out. Fuzzy and disconnected and hot. Blinking to clear the fog, you can see your reflection caught between the wall and Whiskey's body. Your eyes are dazed, unfocused. His cheek is against yours, a look of utterly indecent hunger on his face, lips red and swollen where you've bitten him. He's pressed up against you too tightly to get a good view, but you can see his arm pinned between your bodies, and the flex of muscles working underneath his jacket.

There is, you note with a fuzzy sort of disconnect, a small, ragged hole in the arm of his jacket.

But before you can put any more thought to this discovery he presses his thumb down against your clit – no friction, only a firm, rolling pressure – and that's all you need. If it wasn't for the his body against yours, you'd buckle. As it is, trapped between him and the wall, all you can do is quake and cry out, arms tightening around his shoulders as you come.

He hums indulgently, kissing your cheek. "Count it out."

Panting, you pull hard on his hair until he groans. "One."

"Good girl," he murmurs. Slowly his hand withdraws, giving one last slow swirl over your folds before he sucks you greedily off his fingers.

There's the muffled sound of a zipper and you could almost laugh – finally! But then the elevator slows and stops, doors sliding open with a soft ding. Whiskey glances sidelong at the open door, corner of his mouth pulling up in a half-cocked grin. The disappointed whine you give as you hear him zip himself right back up is wholly involuntary.

"Well wouldn't you know it," he says, pulling away from you and stooping for his hat. It's all you can do not to whack him on the back of the head – or on the ass – as he turns away, wiggling your skirt back down over your hips instead.

He gives a ridiculous wink towards the security camera with his hat held to his chest. Your stomach gives a neat little flip as you look up at that blinking red light – god, you'd forgotten it was even there.

"Sorry to blue-ball ya and run, fellas." He gets an arm around your waist, tugging you into the hall at an easy, languid pace, as if nothing had happened. As if your legs weren't still quivering, with the evidence of your orgasm running in sticky trails down the inside of your thighs.

"Betcha money, marbles, or chalk they'll be jerkin' off over that for weeks," he says jovially, pulling you to his hip when he feels you start to wobble. "C'mon. Let me get you in a bed before I say to hell with it all and fuck you out here on the goddamn floor."

Your knees tremble again; at least one part of you has full support of that particular idea. As the door opens you pull him back to your mouth, kissing him hard even as he steers you by the hips through the suite. You barely see any of it. Recessed halogen lights. The sparkle of painstakingly cleaned glass and marble. Little else. A grunt escapes you as you fetch up hard against the wall and Whiskey crashes into you. The sudden pressure against his groin leaves him winded, rocking forward against you with a shuddering groan.

"Tell me how you want it," he says, words mangled against your mouth. The salt-musk taste of you still clings to his tongue, sharp against some faint remnant of sweet mint.

One hand slips down, squeezing your breast through the material of your blouse. The room spins giddily like a tilt-a-whirl, still riding the coattails of your last orgasm. "Hard," you breathe. The skirt you chose is too fucking tight, and you have to reach down to drag it back up your thigh just to hook a leg around him. "Don't you dare be gentle."

He chuckles as you press into him. "How hard is hard? I can be a little rough if you let me off the leash."

Frustrated, you slip your hands under his sports coat, nails biting into his shoulders through his dress shirt. "Fuck, do I have to spell it out for you?"

"Yeah," he says, and his voice has reached that breathy, sonorous pitch that sends a hot-cold shiver rocketing down your spine. "Yeah you do. A little honesty would be appreciated tonight."

One good shove and his jacket slips to the floor. "That's funny coming from Double-O-Cowpoke."

"Not my fault you don't believe me." It's pitched like a joke, light and breezy, but there's something in his eyes. Sharp and peculiar and gone almost before you can be sure it was really there, but makes your stomach clench with a sudden surety that the next words out of his mouth are completely genuine. "I ain't lied to you yet, honeybee."

And that almost brings you to a halt. Your hands splay out on his shoulders, pushing back to look at him more clearly. If that's true. If that's true...oh god, why would he have told you?

The question is halfway to your lips before he surges his way forward again, his mouth crashing into yours and kissing you hard and urgent and bruising. A faint sound of protest rises in your throat and you push back a little, not wanting him to stop but wanting him to wait because...because....

And the rest of that thought flutters away. He doesn't stop kissing you. He just doesn't stop. And he's moaning as his tongue licks into your mouth and his teeth scrape over your lips like it's the most decadent thing in the world. You grasp at his face, wrists caging in his neck, feeling his pulse race along next to your at such a frantic speed it's almost alarming. Your last little shred of rational thought all but begs you to push him back a little harder, to make him look at you and ask him what's wrong...and then it just flutters away because God this is what you want. This. This, this, this.

"You want it hard?" he rasps into your mouth, rutting up against you hard enough to drive you back into the wall.

Breathless, you nod. Work your fingers through the mess you've made of his hair. "Ruined you last night, didn't I?" You tighten your grip, use your knuckles for leverage and pull.

Whiskey groans, slipping his hands under the bunched hem of your skirt to grip your ass and grind you down against him. "Goddamn right you did, honeybee."

"So ruin me back." The thick denim that covers his fly is rough, but you rub against it all the same, shuddering at the coarseness against your tender skin. "Fair is fair. Right?"

His eyes slip closed and he buries his face against your neck for a moment, breathing unsteady. "Jesus, girl, you're gonna soak straight through my jeans," he mutters. "All right, honeybee. All right. I only got one rule. If I do anything you don't want, you tell me. 'Cause I ain't stopping unless you do. Not tonight. Got it?"

"Whiskey-"

He gets a grip on your chin, levels your eyes on his. "You tell me 'no' or you tell me 'stop.' Got it?"

"Yes." Patience exhausted, you wrench his belt open. "Now come on."

Buttons patter to the floor as he tears open your blouse. And that's good. That's fair. And what's even better is the rough way he puts his hands on you, yanking your bra down to knead and squeeze your bare breasts. When you finally free his cock there's only a brief moment to savor the warm, solid length in your grip before his fingers clamp down on your nipples. The sensation is so sharp and bright and sudden that you yelp, arching up on your tip-toes.

"Hands off, honeybee," he warns.

Whimpering, you flatten your hands against the wall.

"Too much?" he asks softly, that funny little furrow deepening between his eyebrows.

A groaning laugh slips out of you, and you arch your back, pushing your breasts against his hands. "Not enough."

"Fuck, ain't you just the sweetest, dirtiest thing." He twists and you cry out, hips bucking forward. His cock drags against your hip and you chase it, trying to pin it between you.

"Oh, c'mon. You promised," you whine.

"Oh I'm gonna keep my promise, baby, don't you fret. I want you just as fucked-out as you had me. Wanna see you so goddamn cock dumb your eyes roll back. Bet you've been thinking about this all day, too, haven't you?"

The wall warms under your hands as you fight not to push back more. And maybe that's what does it. A little mental-short circuit. Because God knows you haven't been able to think of a single fucking thing other than this. But the denial is on your lips so fast it must be involuntary, a reflexive need to find his buttons and push: "You wish."

Whiskey raises an eyebrow, lip curling. For a second he's amused, seeing the game you want to play. And then it's like a switch flips. Suddenly this isn't the man who'd begged for the privilege of fucking you last night. This isn't even the man who'd put his grateful mouth to your cunt in the elevator. This is the man he'd pretended to be right up until you got his hands tied. The cowboy get up wasn't the costume – this is. This smile. This infuriating swagger.

"Oh, really?" he says, and for the first time you realize just how much that drawl had begun to soften around you, because now that dial's ramped right back up to 11. "You turn up tonight without any goddamn panties on, ride my fingers like a coin-op pony, beggin' to get fucked all the while, and then you try and tell me you ain't been thinkin' about me? I felt how hard you came. How fucking wet you were." His hand darts between your legs as quick a snake-strike, fingers carding through your folds. "Are. Ain't no face left to save, darlin'."

He's in your space, radiating heat, his fingers stroking against your swollen sex, stoking your own fire all over again. But the fire those words kindle burns a little quicker and a little hotter. Without a second thought you strike out, palm tingling as it finds its target against his cheek.

For a moment Whiskey doesn't even seem to breathe. He just stands there leaning heavy against you with his eyes closed and his nostrils flaring. Redness blooms against his cheek. When his eyes open again, the way they bore into you, glittering and eager takes your own breath away.

He hums, that low, pleased sound. But now it slips lower and lower into a breathy rumble that lances straight through you. "Do it again."

Swallowing hard, you slap him again. Harder this time. For a moment the only reaction he gives is the way his cock bobs sharply, slapping against your thigh.

Then he growls, seizing the back of your neck and crushing you to him. You crane up, half expecting a kiss, but his thumb snags the corner of your mouth. He drags it open until your jaw hangs, tilting your head back. A choked sound that's a little too plaintive to be a protest slips from your open mouth a second before Whiskey spits into it.

"Swallow."

You do, sucking hard on his thumb for good measure.

"You nasty little thing," Whiskey says, his voice slow and dark as molasses. His eyes glaze over a little as he works the ball of his thumb against your tongue, watching the way your lips purse around it. "Maybe you are the one that needs the punishin'."

He leans against you, breathing hard as he considers this thought. You frown a little, catching his thumb with your teeth, hoping he'll get the hint and give you something better to put in your mouth. But then his grip loosens, one hand disappearing behind you. Hints, it appears, are completely off the table tonight.

"In," he growls, throwing open the bedroom door. "Now."

Whiskey leads you inside, hitting the lights with his elbow. The room is furnished in that same drab but sparkling minimal style, an impressively large bed swallowing up the majority of the space. One wall is nothing but windows behind drawn shades, a sliding door leading out to a small, isolated balcony.

He steers you directly to the bed, sitting on the edge and pulling you across his lap to straddle his knee. You let out an indignant little yelp at the treatment, but then he shifts his leg under you and the indignance crumbles. It presses against your mound just right, urging you open, and you grind down with a gasp, trying to find a little relief.

Whiskey tuts. "Oh now look at that. Try to tell me you ain't been thinkin' about takin' my dick and then rub on me like a goddamn cat in heat."

There's the sound of a zipper – not his this time, but your own – and then a little tickle at your hip as he undoes the skirt and wrestles it down your legs. He pushes your blouse up, bunching the material up around your shoulder blades. For a second you think he means to pull it off, but then he twists the fabric around his hand. The garment draws up tight, leaving your arms, still in the sleeves, pinned to your sides.

You moan a little when you feel his hand slide across your ass. He bends over you, and you feel the wet heat of his mouth against your ass cheek. A sweet, languid swirl of his tongue before he bites down. You jerk hard enough that your clit drags against the rough weave of his jeans and you cry out, the sound muted by the bedspread.

The pressure of his knee aches beautifully against your cunt, your breathing so shallow and quick it makes you lightheaded. You know what's coming, and you know what you asked for. The last thing you wanted was to be sensible. And this – well this might be the least sensible thing you've ever done.

You buck your hips up sharply. Searching for his hand. "Do it."

The first strikes are quick and brisk. They tingle, warming your skin, but don't hurt. Not yet. This is just a tease of the real thing. A warm up. The tips of his fingers trace the first reddening outline of his hand against your skin, a match for the not-yet faded print against his cheek. Crooning, he kneads your buttocks, spreading them apart, making the slick folds of your pussy slide against each other.

"Sweet Jesus will you look at that. Open that up, baby. Lemme see just how fuckin' wet that gorgeous little pussy is."

You gasp, grinding down again, and then first real slap lands across your ass, unexpected and jarring. The sting is enough to make your eyes water, but the impact drives you forward, almost encouraging your hips to grind into him. A second strike lands on the other cheek, then back to the first, alternating each time. You rock with it, caught between the hot stinging slap of skin on skin and the building heat between your legs.

"This what you wanted?" Crack.

"Fuck!"

"Is it?" he demands. His hand descends again. Crack.

"Yes!" You kick out, struggling not because you want to, but because you have to. And it only makes it worse. Or better, or – God, you don't even know now. It's more. It's just more. His knee digs in harder and your poor neglected cunt throbs with a misplaced ache and you swear you have never needed to feel yourself filled up more than you do right now.

"You gonna behave?" Crack. "You gonna stop lyin' to me now?" CRACK.

"Yes!" The word leaves you in a shuddering sob, thighs clamping down around Whiskey's leg. One more, God help you, one more and you'll tip over, you'll come all over his knee, you're so close.

And then he stops, rubbing and kneading the hot flushed skin, and you whine in desperate frustration as your orgasm begins to retreat.

"Goddamn. Prettier than a Georgia peach," Whiskey says thickly. His hand strays, slips down between your cheeks and presses against the splayed lips of your pussy. You writhe under the sudden attention, feeling the tips of his fingers slide around your clit. "And damned if you don't drip twice as sweet."

"Please." Warmth trickles from the corner of your eyes, blooming against the bedspread.

The swirl of his hand is lazy, almost soothing but for the way it keeps you so frighteningly close to the edge. "Truth first, honeybee. C'mon. You know what I wanna hear."

"Ye-yes," you mutter. "Goddamn it yes. I've been thinking about fucking you all day. All goddamned day...God, Jesus, fuck, and then you didn't show. Thought you'd ditched me. Made me want - want it and then ditch me."

You bury your face in the quilt. It's a fucking cop out and you know it. You don't just want it. You want him. Fuck, what is happening?

Again you feel his mouth against your ass cheek, open and wet, but this time his tongue is almost cool by comparison. "There now. I didn't ditch you, baby. Wouldn't fuckin' dream of it." His voice is low now, placating, nearly apologetic. And then his fingers are slipping inside you again, stroking and curling. "I'm right here here, baby. Right here. Just a little late, is all."

You whine, trying to wriggle back to drive him in deeper. Those thick fingers are like fucking magic but you need more than they can provide. Desperate now, you clutch your fingers back towards him, find his shirttail and tug at it. "Jack. Please."

It doesn't even register to you that you've called him by his name – God, you didn't even think you remembered his name – until the fingers inside you still. If it wasn't for the hammering of your heart in your ears you might've heard his breath catch.

Slowly he twists his fingers inside you, pressing down until you shudder. "What is it, honeybee?" he mutters. The hoarseness in his voice is familiar. You wish you could see his face. "Tell me what you want."

"Please fuck me. Please. I waited all fucking night."

He rolls you off his lap, leaving you dangling half off the bed and folds over you, cock nestled against the heat of your reddened ass. There's a sticky slide to it; you're not the only one that's wet.

"Hand to God, baby, I'll make it worth every minute. On my fuckin' life." The pained edge in his voice sets the room spinning, and for one mad moment you find yourself trying to grab onto the bedspread to keep from rolling away. Whiskey leaves a kiss against the back of your neck before he draws back, the hand fisted in your shirt tugging you along just a bit.

There's a long, wavering moment when his touch leaves you entirely and you almost protest before you hear him frantically shedding his clothes behind you. Then his hands return, his left winding back into your shirt, his right warm and strong against your back. The blunt, weeping head of his cock nudges between the swollen lips of your pussy. He stays there for an infuriatingly long moment, enough that you cry out your frustration into the bedclothes.

And then he finally makes good on his promise.

You go up on your toes, legs straining as he breaches you. After all the hours you spent thinking about it, all the hours you waited, it's bliss. But the pure, unadulterated stretch of it laces that bliss with a white-hot line of fire that only serves to make it all the more urgent. Maybe it's the angle, bent in half with your ass up and your legs closed. Maybe it's just how overwrought you are already. Maybe...fuck, you don't know, maybe somehow he's even harder than the night before. All you do know is that he feels so big you can't hardly stand it. It's so much, bridging the gap between pleasure and pain until it's just an overwhelming sense of pressure and fullness that has you clenching and fluttering around him. As if your body can't make up its mind if it wants to expel the intrusion or welcome it deeper.

He has no right to feel this good. None. But goddamn it you're so glad he does.

"Fuck," he mutters shakily, fingers biting into your hip. "This what you wanted, honeybee? Huh? This what you been waiting for?"

You can't find the air to give him an answer. Whiskey's still moving forward, you're not even sure how. Christ how much more of him is there? He leans forward, pushing you into the mattress, pushing down into you until you start to shake, until he hits that buried junction inside you that sends a flare of heat rocketing clear down to your toes and your stalled orgasm rears up again so sudden and so close that it's startling.

Every muscle in your body tenses, straining. The whine that breaks out of your gaping mouth is pitiful. "Shit, oh shit, Jesus fuck, Jesus fuck-fuck-fuck-"

He feels it. He must. There's no way he can't. "Oh fuck, that's it honeybee," he croons, working his free hand under you to circle your clit as he sinks that last broad inch into you. "Come on. Come all fuckin' over me."

For a second everything shorts out, all senses lost in a white-out. The only tenuous connection you have to your body lies in the grounding pressure of his cock inside you and the faint but rapid fluttering of his pulse in it. And then you're slamming back to yourself with a ragged cry, blood roaring in your ears and coming so hard that you nearly buck off of him entirely. Your arms flex, bend, bunched cloth digging deeply into your skin until you feel rather than hear the seams rip. And then the tightness is gone, Whiskey's hand unwinding immediately from your shirt to stroke up and down your back.

There's a lump in your throat when you finally find enough air to speak: "T-t-two."

Whiskey groans. "Beautiful. Fuck, you shake so pretty when you come for me. I could watch you do that all night. Might just, at that." He drags the torn wreck of your blouse off you, popping the clasp on your bra and bending to place an open, humid kiss in the valley along your spine.

He rocks forward and back, one hand clamped into soft flesh at your hip, humming tunelessly. "Been wantin' to bury myself back in this sweet pussy from the minute I woke up. Ain't been able to think of nothin' else. Just this," he says, drawing back slowly before burying himself to the hilt and rolling his hips against you.

You clamp your teeth down on your lip, fighting the haze. It's hard to swallow. Hard to breathe. But he's rolling into you slow, far too fucking slow. And that isn't what you need. You try to push yourself up on your elbows, but he thrusts forward, a little more force in it this time, and your arms give out.

"Ha-harder," you pant, voice thick and muffled by the quilt. You turn your head, claw the hair out of your face. "F-fuck me harder, god-d-d-damn it. Make me fuckin' feel it tomorrow. Big-dicked b-bastard, oh my God, don't you stop."

He breathes out a laugh, folding over your back. The pressure against your tender ass stings like hell, and you hitch in a hissing gasp as Whiskey's mouth finds your cheek. He kisses you, or does his best to. The angle is strange and your face is half-smashed against the bed, but his mouth slants over the side of yours, tongue dragging against your lips until you open for him, letting him lick against the sharp points of your teeth.

"Careful what you wish for, honeybee," he whispers, grinding forward in a maddening circle. "Words like that will get you in a whole mess of trouble."

The air leaves you in a whooping rush as he stands, dragging you up against his chest, your back bowing to try and keep the searing length of him pressed where you need it. And then – ah god – his hand is around your throat and his teeth are sinking into your shoulder, and you're suddenly glad he can't see the way your eyes flutter and roll back.

Not that he even needs to see it, because just then Whiskey groans into your skin as a rush of wetness courses down his cock.

"Fuck, is it that good, baby? Hm?" His voice quavers as his body impacts yours like a sledgehammer. "My dick finding all the sweet spots in that pretty little pussy for you?"

You grapple at him, find where he clings to you and grip his hands, inadvertently encouraging him to press his hand just a little harder against your throat. And there goes the room again, looping and floating as he starts to move, really move, driving forward harder and harder. You stumble, going up on your toes, some choked and desperate noise caught in your throat somewhere under his hand. Sparks pop behind your eyes, faint and wavering like fireworks reflected on choppy waters. And then the pressure eases, air rushing into your lungs once again. The fire in your belly flares up at it like a backdraft.

"M-more," you grate out. "Oh f-fucking God please more. D-don't...d-d-don't-"

"Don't you worry, baby. Ain't gonna stop," he mutters harshly against your ear. "I'll give you all you want. Ain't stopping 'til you tell me to stop."

You shake your head, or at least try to, the movement restricted by his hand. "N-no. Never. Fuck, never-never stop. Right there f-fuck-"

Whiskey growls out something low and broken and unintelligible as you clamp down on him, your body chasing that bright, blazing heat whether you want it to or not.

"Oh fuck, are you comin' again for me already, angel? Shit, you are, aren't you? Got yourself all riled up today and now you just can't stop. C'mon then, baby. Come on my dick. You feel like fuckin' heaven when you come. Pussy's so good it oughtta be fuckin' blasphemy. C'mon, honeybee, do it for me, come like you fuckin' mean it-"

Before you can breathe a word it hits you and it hits you hard, muscles seizing up so tight it's like they're trying to wring the pleasure out of you. You ride through maybe three or four near-blinding shocks of it and then your knees, traitorous things, finally give out underneath you. The only thing that keeps you up is Whiskey's arms wrapped tight around you, clutching you to him, suspending you on his dick as it grinds up brutally against your g-spot.

"Got you, honeybee," he grunts, rhythm never faltering. "I got you. Keep comin' for me, baby, keep comin'."

And god help you, you are. You're still quivering, still coming, and then his hand falls away from your neck to cup against your sex, palm flat against the rigid little knot of your clit. He doesn't even rub, it's just a heat and a pressure and it's like your whole body stutters upward, launching towards a second, higher peak. Whiskey lets out a broken groan against your neck as you bear down on him so hard it nearly hurts and you wail at the unexpected, overwhelming force of it.

Everything spins off and away in the aftermath, senses blown out like a bad circuit. Sounds are swallowed up in a high, persistent ringing. You haven't got the strength to force your eyes back open. There's a shift and a feeling of soft cloth beneath you and when the haze starts to lift you find you're on your knees on the bed, shoulders down and ass up with Whiskey draped over your back. He murmurs things against your cheek, your ear, your neck. You can't hear a word of it over the ringing in your ears.

You turn your head, knocking your forehead against his by accident. "Thr- I- f-four?" Your voice jumps in your throat, but you can't quite make it steadier. "I...I don't-"

"Honeybee," he drawls, his cock giving a hard, desperate twitch inside you. He grins at you indulgently, gathering your hair up in one broad hand and pulling. "Good girl."

A shudder goes through you as you realize he's still fucking you. Deep, swift strokes that send tingles sparking through you. He drags his cock out of you and drives it back in, pulling it over your blazingly sensitive nerve endings like a bow over violin strings. Like it's a privilege to do it. Like it'd be a fucking crime to stop.

He drags two more orgasms out of you like this. Shuddering, slow-building things that overtake you like flood waters, rising up with an aching, consuming crawl unmindful of the pounding pace Whiskey holds to like a clockwork battering ram. It's only when you gasp out a broken cry of "S-sih-s-six!" that Whiskey's hips finally begin to falter, stuttering and slowing at the feeling of your overworked pussy milking his cock again. His grip on you tightens as he tries to steady himself, tries to hold on, groaning his own restrained pleasure through gritted teeth.

"Tight - fuck! Goddamn it girl you get so fucking tight when you come. So fuckin' wet. Sweet Jesus. I don't know how m-much more of that I can fuckin' take."

"God, fuck, do it, just do it," you whine, reaching back for him with hands that can't stop shaking. "C'mon Jack."

He laughs at that, but it's a little frayed and frantic at the edges. He brushes the hair out of your face, working his fingers into it and giving it a tug. "I – ungh! Oh s-shit – I got... your p-permission this time, honeybee?"

You hum, nodding, and hitch in a breath as he grinds in particularly deep. "Please."

His rhythm falters again, hips canting suddenly at a hard angle. "W-where? Fuck, fuck, where do you want me, baby? Hurry."

"In-inside. Inside me. 'S what you wanted last night? Right?"

Whiskey makes a broken sound, lurching against you. "Y-yeah. Oh shit, yes. Jesus fucking Christ, honeybee."

Growling, he flips you over and slides in deep, pushing your knees up almost to your shoulders and staring raptly down at your face even as his own contorts. The length of him inside you stiffens even more, pushing in so deep his hipbones grind painfully against your own.

And then he breaks with a cry, his whole body locking up with the force of his climax. His head drops between your breasts and his back arches high, fists punching deep divots into the mattress on either side of you. He rocks through it, jerking at every pulse and spasm, and you can't help but shiver at the warmth that pools inside you as he comes.

"Fuck, fuck. Nngh, ho-holy shit." He almost says more, but another tremor wracks his body and it chokes off into a broken mess of Spanish - "¿Que chingas me estás haciendo a mi mujer?"

Winded and boneless, you scratch your nails weakly across his scalp, working your fingers down his neck to his shoulders. "Better be a compliment."

"You have no idea," he pants open-mouthed against your skin. Instead of elaborating he just eases himself out of you and crawls his way down, trailing his mouth over your skin until he's settled between your legs, staring at whatever disaster he's made of you and groaning softly in appreciation.

Take a picture, you almost say, it'll last longer. But before you can work up the air and energy to put breath to the quip he's drawing his tongue against you, cleaning up the mess he's made with a desperate, greedy reverence that sets your knees trembling on either side of his head.

Whimpering, you clamp your lower lip in your teeth, shuddering up against the warm heat of Whiskey's mouth. "Careful," you warn. "Oh, G-God, careful."

The only answer you get is a low moan and the feeling of his fingers sinking diligently back into your cunt, coaxing out the trickling remnants of his orgasm.

A high, lazy heat begins to build again, over-sensitivity easing back into something warm and sweet and giddily aching. Your hands cradle the back of Whiskey's head, carding through his sweat-soaked hair as he licks his own come out of you. It's not a thing you've ever really given much thought before – bodily fluids were always more an incidental part of sex for you than anything else – and you're not sure if he's enjoying the act itself or just the strange submissive edge of it. Curiosity gets the better of you and you glance down at him, expecting to see him staring intently up at you over the rise of your mons, gloating over the state he's put you in. Fuck, he's made you come so many times you're sure he'll never let you forget it.

Only he isn't. His eyes are closed, face lax with a blissful intoxication as he tastes himself inside you, holding your thighs up and apart to let him work his tongue and fingers in deeper. The sight of him so clearly lost in the moment, not goading or gloating, just rapturously gone is maybe the single most erotic thing you've seen in your whole life. And that sweet, lazy heat suddenly licks up to a blaze.

The sudden clench you give is impossible to miss from Whiskey's vantage point, and he groans against you. "One more, honeybee," he almost pleads, breaking away from you with a sucking pop just long enough to gasp air. "You can gimme one more, can't you? I know you can. C'mon baby. Lucky seven."

He lowers his head once more with a decadent hum and you throw yours back as he sets to more deliberate work, hooking his arms around your thighs to keep you right where he wants you.

"God, you greedy b-bastard," you rasp out. The stimulation to your worn nerves leaves you quaking, wriggling underneath him. You're not sure you can stand another one, but a deep, hungry part of you is desperate to find out.

He growls at that, more in agreement than in offense, and when your hands scrabble at his he parries them without even glancing up, seizing your wrists and yanking you down even tighter against his mouth.

You nearly kick him in the ribs when you come. It's not your fault. Honestly it's his for working you up to this point. To this high, nervous overload that's barely left you any control over your body. It doesn't seem to faze him, though. Your heel glances off his side as your shaking legs lock around his back and he just keeps going, like he hasn't even noticed, like he isn't even here. Like the world has spun down smaller and smaller and the only thing left is his mouth and your cunt and leaving that would mean the end of everything.

But it's too much. Goddamn it, it's too much.

You sob, wrench your hands out of his grip and push at his head. "S-s-seven. Sev-seven. F-f-fuck, Jack. No more, n-no more, please, stop, I can't, I can't– "

He's pulling away before you even finish, pressing one last biting kiss against your thigh before crawling shakily over you to put his mouth to yours with a surprising gentleness. The taste on his lips is heady, musky and sharp. His arms tremble at the strain of keeping himself from slumping over on top of you, gasping raggedly between each kiss like they’re just as necessary as air.

For the longest time you can’t even move, you’re far too wrung out and exhausted to even try. All you can do is lie underneath him and do your best to remember how to breathe between slow, lazy kisses. Eventually you work up enough breath to speak. "'M sorry," you whisper hoarsely.

Whiskey shakes his head, trying to focus his eyes. "What for?"

"'Two minutes and a cigarette.'" You bring up a hand, patting his cheek with an awkward bonk. "I stand corrected"

A look of comical confusion takes over his face, brows knitting together, until he finally remembers the jab you'd made after you'd tied him up the night before. "Shit," is all he says before he dissolves into giddy laughter. His arms finally give out on him and he rolls to keep from toppling onto you.

You roll with him, tucking your head into his shoulder and giggling. It aches. The muscles in your abdomen so overworked that even laughing hurts, but somehow that just makes it funnier.

You’ve nearly composed yourselves when Whiskey tries to prop himself up on an elbow that immediately slides out from under him and almost smacks you in the head, and that just sets you both off all over again. Giving up entirely, you just lay there, shoulder-to-shoulder, laughing like a couple of punch-drunk loons.

"You hungry, honeybee?” Whiskey asks breathlessly when he’s got himself back under some semblance of control. “I could eat a goddamn horse."

Now that he mentions it you realize just how long ago lunch was, and your appetite, which had so far taken a backseat to both your temper and libido, roars back to life. "God yeah, actually. 'M fuckin' starving."

So for the second time today, you get room service on Whiskey's dime. Or his employer’s dime, he insists. You're not sure if that's better or worse. It's a little ridiculous. Even more so when you think to look for a clock and realize just how late it is, but you're absolutely famished and the second he's on the phone asking in a pleasantly fuck-drunk voice for a couple hamburgers and french fries you're stomach's growling so insistently you're almost certain the staff on the other end of the line heard it.

He's chuckling as he hangs up the phone, draping over you to nuzzle into your neck. For the first time you notice just how much his mustache tickles, and you squirm under him, giggling all over again.

"Love me a woman with an appetite," he mumbles, nipping playfully at you.

"God, what the fuck are we doing?" you stutter out through your giggles. It's not meant to be a real question. You’re practically a space cadet right now, and you can’t remember the last time you were this giddy after sex. But Whiskey shifts a little, pulling back to look down at you, and you can't quite parse the look on his face. "Never had a one-night-stand like this before.”

"Hm." He drops his head a bit, tapping an idle finger against your collarbone. "Think the repeat offense kinda cancels out the one-night-stand idea, honeybee."

"You didn't strike me as the repeating kind."

"Mm. Didn't strike you as the kind who could hold his dick up for longer'n a minute, either. So I'll try not to take offense at your continued misjudgment of my character." His eyes wander away from yours, pulling up his well-worn crooked smile with some degree of effort. "But if you're looking for a polite way to tell this old man you've had your fill, there ain't no need to beat around the bush about it."

You might've appreciated the easy out once. After tonight, though, you're almost offended at it. You're not in the habit of begging for things you only have a mind to dispose of. A little of that flighty panic starts to take hold, and you tamp it down. Fun. This is just for fun. Even if you do want a little more. Fuck, don’t start overthinking it now.

"Is that what you want?" you ask, and it's only the curiosity in your voice that keeps it from sharpening into an accusation.

Whiskey shakes his head, a bit of incredulity in his eyes. "What I want...shit, what I want is to get me somethin' nice an' artery-clogging to eat and then get some fuckin' sleep. Preferably next to the woman who has fucked me ragged two nights running, if she happens to be amenable to that kind of thing. That's as far as my wants go right this second."

The deflection is so clumsy it’s almost funny. “Chickenshit,” you mutter.

Whiskey blinks down at you, shocked for a moment before you give him a teasing smile. “Fuckin’ comedian,” Whiskey says, snorting laughter. “Ain’t no softening that tongue of yours, is there?”

“You never know.” You shift a little, heart hammering as you consider your next words. "How much longer are you going to be here?"

The crooked smile slips, becoming softer. "Well. That sorta depends on you, honeybee. My work's all wrapped up. But if you're gonna be around a bit longer and are lookin' for a bit of company I might be convinced to stay a bit longer."

You feel the smile creep up on your face before you can stop it. "I wouldn’t mind a little continued reprieve from corporate hell. Under one condition," you insist, waving a finger at him.

Schooling his face into a parody of gravitas, he nods expectantly. Proceed.

"I need to know something first. Some things. Plural."

He cocks an eyebrow. "How many is plural?"

You consider for a second, squinting. "Three."

"All right," he says, resting his chin against your shoulder. "Fire away."

You pop out your thumb. "Are you a serial killer?"

He stares at you for a long, silent beat before his eyes slip closed and he shakes his head, his chest hitching with stifled laughter. "No, honeybee, I am not now nor have I ever been a serial killer."

You nod, grinning. "Okay, one down.” You pop out your pointer finger. “Are you married?"

The levity bleeds out of his face with a swiftness that makes you regret the question instantly, sure he's about to drop a bombshell directly on your head that's going to leave you hating him and yourself. But he shakes his head, holds up his ringless left hand as if in proof, as though nobody having an affair would've ever thought to slip a ring off beforehand. But then, very quietly, he adds: "Was. But not for a long time."

You nod dumbly, mutter, "Okay.”

For a second you wonder if you should apologize – you’ve clearly tripped on something raw by accident – but then he's poking you in the ribs and drawing in a sharp breath. "And number three?"

A little grateful, you pop out your middle finger ask your last question: "What do you do? What do you really do?"

The corner of his mouth gives a twitch. "Shit, is that all? Well. Officially, I'm a businessman. I own a sizable amount of shares in the Statesman distillery company. Which, incidentally, is where that fine stock of bourbon whiskey came from," he adds.

You lean back, eyeing him carefully. You don't think he's lying. And yet....

Your fingers find the catch of a scar against his ribs. "You're scarred to shit for a liquor tycoon, cowboy."

The twitch turns into a grin. "I have been known to get a little rough-and-tumble once in a while."

"I don't know if I believe that story any more than I did the James Bond bullshit."

Whiskey huffs a laugh. His jeans are in a puddle at the end of the bed and he drags them up, pulling out a thick leather wallet out of the back pocket. From one of the compartments he pulls a business card embossed in gold and black and hands it to you.

Jack "Whiskey" Daniels, Statesman Distillery, Kentucky.

You blink at it, giggling a little. "Jesus Christ that is actually your name?"

"More or less. Been Anglicized for flavor, among other things."

"What was it before?"

There's an odd sharpness in his eyes when he looks at you, a shrewdness you'd never have expected from the costume cowboy you'd met down in the bar. For a moment you're sure that not only is he not going to answer, but that you've overstepped a line you weren't even aware existed.

"That's four questions," he says, "not three."

"I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours," you add with a tilt of your head.

The corner of his mouth curls slightly, and the sharpness fades. "Well now, how can I resist that a bargain like that?" He pauses a moment, as if reconsidering, then adds: "It was Joaquin."

"Joaquin?"

"Mm." He nods. There's only a moment of quiet before he tilts his hips to the side, jostling you. "C'mon, darlin. A deal's a deal."

You roll your eyes, staring up at the ceiling. And you tell him your name. He repeats it back, and you don't need to see his face to know he's smiling.

"Pleasure to meet you," he says. "Literally."

"Jackass."

#agent whiskey #jack whiskey daniels #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey x you #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fic #citrus variations #spicy spicy content babes #I really didn't mean for this to end up this long but here we are I guess #ao3 version and fic masterlist will be updated shortishly

530 notes · View notes

voicefromunderthecovers · 2 years

Text

Total Drama: The Creeps Cut Episode 1 | Not So Happy Campers

Chapter 0: Audition Tapes

Ezekiel

In a dusty, cluttered, cramped space with a mess meeting you at every corner, sat on top of an old, barely functional TV is the field of vision of a low budget, partially grainy camera. A greasy, pimpled hick with an awkward air about him scratches the back of his pencil neck insecurely before flashing a small closed smile.

“Yo, name’s Ezekiel, or like, Zeke, y’know? As you can probably tell, I’m kinda new to this whole celebrity thing, eh.” His smile fades and he looks around nervously. A few coughs can be heard in the background as he rubs his arm. “Anyway, Pa used to be the breadwinner but now he can’t work as hard no more. I’m gonna get on this show and bring home the bacon instead, I mean, without me, there’s no way I’m gonna be able to support ma. I’m ramblin, I know, y’know? Er, you know what to do.” His dopey grin ends off the video.

Two men, one tall and built and the other small but well put together are sitting and watching the following tapes. They glance at each other and shrug. “So.. what do you think?” Chef Hatchet, the larger man asks.

“I’d say the kid’ll be at least partially fun to make fun of. But people also love a good rags to riches story. I’m game! Next?” The smaller one, Chris Mclean, beckons an intern to supply him with the next tape.

Eva

The first shot of the video is of a black haired, butch type woman doing pulls up at a close-up angle in a public gym. A few prettier, pinker girls walk behind her and mutter something as she finishes up her routine, grunting out the number of reps she’s done.

“57.. 58.. 59.. 60!”

She then hops down on her feet, solidly standing tall. She nearly lets her eyes linger towards the sound of the teenage girls in the background she can so obviously hear, but refocuses on the camera, tightens her fists and talks to the hosts.

“You see that? I’m the only girl in my school who can do more than ten pull ups. So whatever you can throw at me, I can handle it.” She points at herself confidently, head held high and eyes closed. The girls in the background find a red dodgeball and aim it. “Bring it-” BOINK!

It collides with her temple, knocking her off balance. “HEY! You’re dead, you hear me?!” She barks as their fits of giggling turn to panicked gasps and screams. The footage cuts just as the girl rushes at the posse harassing her. It returns to an image of the angry teenage girl with blood on her fists, now outside of the gym on the sidewalk.

“My name is Eva Chantrey. If you want a fierce, no holds barred competitor who is also a huge team player.. You’ll pick me.” She points a thumb in her chest. “Hey, you can edit this, right? Good.”

Chris and Chef recover from chuckling as the footage cuts. “Man, talk about psycho!” Chris belts out.

“I like her.” Chef muses.

“Of course you do. She’s in! Who’s next?”

Noah Sitting at a desk in the middle of a quiet library is a young man with a medium-dark skin tone. Despite the camera being focused on his face he isn’t at all interested in it until he turns to the next page of the book he is currently trapped in. “Yo,” finally looking up from his book to reveal his bored frown gives the first glimpse of realization to the camera. “Look, you’re probably going to get a dozen audition tapes from ‘musically’ talented teens or dependent dorks who claim to be ‘intellectual prodigies’ so I’ll save you the time… Like you should save yourself from reading this cliche ridden novel.” Taking the book from its face down position, Noah flaunts it to the camera with an annoyed expression plastered to his face. “The cover lures you in with a depiction of an epic story. Heroes, dragons, castles… What do I see? A thousand and one cliches on how NOT to write a fantasy novel. I haven’t watched any of the audition tapes on your website, which is so 2010 might I add, yet I can already guess that ninety-nine percent of your auditions are from rich kids or dumb jocks far too in over their own heads. With Noah? Nuh-uh. I’m the real deal, an actual schemer not some wannabe used car salesman. Put me on your show and it’ll be a domino effect of backstabs with me always staying a step or two ahead. In the school chess team? Grand master. Yeah, you can see what I’m getting at.” Noah pushes the book he was reading off to the side before looking at the camera one more time with a confident smile. “See you on the show, big name Hollywood executives.” “Heheh, he’s right about the numerous trust fund kids we’ve gotten so far ain’t he Chris?” Noah seemed like just the type of kid that could use some of Chef’s… Bootcamp. A snobby little poindexter like that? Chef would accept him on grounds of breaking him alone! “I think the irony of his tape is what gets me the most. Going into intense detail about all the scheming little yuppie kids he hates without the self awareness is HILARIOUS! Reminds me of how much you hate that hotshot chef on that one cooking show. What was it called? Cooking Up Drama? That guy is a total Hollywood sleaze!” Chef raised an eyebrow to Chris. That sleazy chef reminded him more of Chris than himself. “But hey, I feel an odd connection to the kid. Consider him in the show! Who do we have next, Chef?” “Some girl who claims to be able to talk to ghosts or something! Oh, and another set of those damn BlixBloxxers!” “Kids, aren’t they the greatest?” Chris’ rhetorical question was only answered by a devilish grin towards the camera.

Justin

The camera pans to show one of the most handsome men in the world with a frown on his face. He’s crouched up on a rock, hair wet (it looks sexy even when wet) and all hope lost. What tragedy could’ve befell this gorgeous man?! “I’m Justin… And once I got lost at sea. Then… I remembered pretty men don’t need to read maps, they just need Dude Time for Men .” Justin sprays himself with the cologne, this parts away the clouds and sends the bad weather long off into the distance. In its place comes a herd of women, all of them eager to rip Justin’s shirt off to reveal his perfectly chiseled torso. “ Dude Time for Men is not responsible for any side effects that may occur such as constant attraction of females, an enhanced sense of confidence, a flock of women tearing your clothes off, or erectile dysfunction. If you experience testicle shrinkage please consult your doctor immediately and stop usage.” One of those commercial voices ended off the advert, Chef raised an eyebrow while Chris clapped his hands together. “Classic Dude Time for Men , I did a commercial for them a year or two back. My agent told me I should probably demand they never show my clip again though after that huge lawsuit they got in for those nasty side effects.” “Plus that smells nasty! Ain’t no real woman gonna want to smell some Dude Bro whatever the hell it is.” To Chef’s cynicism, Chris shook his head. “Just because you’re jealous of a product doesn’t mean you have to shame those of us who found success because of it, Chef.” “Man, didn’t you just get divorced a year ago?! Face it, Dude Time don’t work… But that kid's a looker, though, reminds me of my first– gig. I worked at a modelin’ place, pretty boys like that all over the damn place.” “So you’re saying you want him in? Meh, okay. He’ll get us ratings, he’s already a totally hot model. Just look at his gram! That’s a lot of followers bro.”

Katie and Sadie

A nauseatingly pink polka dotted room filled with childish plush toys and a big speaker is the backdrop of this next one. Two teenage girls, one chubby and white and the other brown and slim (both wearing the exact same outfit) are holding each other's hands while Glamorous by Fergie plays in the background.

“Oh my gosh, I cannot believe we’re doing this!” The larger one exclaims. “So cannot believe we’re doing this!” Her friend replies.

“Okay, um.. Hi!” A fit of giggles erupt from them both. “Oh, I can’t lead, Katie you have to!”

“Okay, okay.. I’m Katie, and this is Sadie. We both want to apply for Total Drama because I mean,”

“Just look at us! We’re cute and we both have our own Blickblock account, KatiexSadie=, AND-”

“And we’re sooo close! We’re inseparable, which is like, so rare for small town girls like us.” They hug each other, nuzzling one another’s cheeks.

“So, so rare! Ooh, Katie, let’s show them our dancing!”

“Oh, uh-” Katie’s grip on her friend loosens and she backs away.

Sadie turns up the volume incredibly loud, swinging her body to and fro wildly, flabby skin smacking against her body while she seductively glances at the camera. Katie blushes and gives a nervous smile.

“Ahaha.. Woohoo.. Go Sadie.” Her words are too quiet though.

“What?!” The camera falls from the vibrations of the music right onto the carpeted floor.

Katie picks it up and is joined by Sadie as they both shout, “Put us on!~” the clip cuts out.

Chris and Chef simply blink, then look at each other. “Blickblockers on my show? Chef, look up KatiexSadie+ultra whatever now!”

Chef glares. “I ain��t your personal assistant, fool.”

“Just do it, ya big baby.” He slaps him on his toned shoulder.

“Ugh,” Chef gets on the computer and looks up their username. “One hundred thous- well I’ll be..”

“One hundred WHAT NOW? What do their fans say?”

“Oh, they posted the audition. Let’s see..” Chef applies his reading glasses, scanning the comments. “‘Katie is so cute. Go Katie!’, by Pepefan24. ‘Katie needs an Onlyfans, sweat drop emoji.’ by Crimson Candy. ‘I want a Katie solo account (i love you Sadie too ooh woo.)’, by tearjerker.tdi.”

“Katie is the star, but they’re both annoying. Why not include ‘em both, for.. Brand recognition?”

“Mm, good idea.” Chef nods. “Next up: Tyler.”

Tyler

The video starts without a star in front of the camera, this quickly changes as we hear a boy curse as he sprints over to the front of it, just barely avoiding tripping over his own feet. “W-Woah! Sorry about that, I’m Tyler! A totally serious athlete who everyone says should be in the Olympics… Or was it the Paralympics? To tell you the truth I don’t really know the difference. Either way, check out this highlight reel from my time here at Bullworth Academy!” The camera fades from Tyler to a clip of him giving a thumbs up to the camera as he jumps up to catch a football thrown to him. In a horrible miscalculation the ball actually comes down and smacks Tyler square in the face! Another clip flashes by, this time Tyler gives another enthusiastic thumbs up as he goes to block a hockey puck via glove save. Yet another terrible stroke of luck causes the puck to go right past his hand and smack him dead in the face again! The final clip shows Tyler in a stairwell at what looks to be a hospital. His head is all bandaged up and he’s missing a tooth, even still he gives a thumbs up and hops on his skateboard. He jumps on it and tries to ride down the rail, this results in him being launched off the board and flying into a hamper of towels! Despite the stunt being a failure, he smiles at the camera just happy to not have taken another shot to the head. However this proves to be his undoing as the board comes back down right on top of his head, knocking him out one final time. “Yeouch! That had to hurt!” Chris chuckled as he rewinded the tape to play some of the brutal injuries over again. “Is that one of them Jack’s Ass boys?” Chef couldn’t lie, watching Tyler get hit over and over with various sporting goods was pretty entertaining. “Oh MAN look at that hit right there! Duuuuude!” It had been six rewinds before the two hosts finally stopped laughing, it was pretty obvious Tyler was in. “He’s absolutely terrible at sports but imagine the ratings we’ll get on him!” Chris explained.

Izzy

A black and white filter overlays the camera feed. A dark room, or as dark as you can piece together through the filter, is lit up by candles, emitting enough visual aid to showcase framed pictures of a blonde haired, fit surfer dude with a chiseled jawline and casual looks on his face. Several of these pictures show him smiling on the sidewalk, laughing inside of a restaurant, eating a messy sandwich, clocking in at the production studio for Fresh TV.. wearing a nametag that says the name Graham.

Suddenly, the camera spins backwards to reveal a filterless girl grinning ear to ear at the camera, orange, unkempt neck length hair and orange lipstick on her. “Boo! HAHAHAHA! Gotcha, Graham-Graham! Surprised to see me?” She appears to be wearing a lab coat with goggles on her forehead. “Yeaaah, I had no idea you were working at Fresh TV now, I’m so jealous! That means you’re kinda sorta barely famous, Graham! Isn’t that wild?? Remember when you used to talk about owning a mansion and three dogs named Skip with me? Or settling down at a nice graveyard with both of our gravestones next to each other?? Oh man, great times! You were an awesome boyfriend. In case you don’t see this, or remember, hey! I’m Izzy, and I’d be really good for the show Total Drama whutz it becauseeee I am multifaceted and very attentive! I swear I’ll leave your viewers laughing and my fellow castmates entertained! As for you, Graham?”

She finally takes a breath of air to jab a finger into the camera, zooming in on her green eyeball. “I missed you, baby~! Wait for me!”

Static fills up the last four seconds.

“..Batshit crazy, man.”

“Right on, brother. As if this show needs more insanity.” Chris grins, writing down her name anyways.

“Do.. Do we even know a Graham?”

“I think he’s a production assistant? I dunno, all of the lackey’s look the same.”

“True that. Soo..?”

“She’s in. I like her breed of insanity: dangerous, but quirky. Lesbians around the world will relate to her immensely.”

“I get the feeling she’s the type to enjoy my camp food.”

“No offense, bro, but I wouldn’t feed your cooking to a starving raccoon. I’d pay to see it.” His grin only becomes more cocky.

Chef growls, then stands up and yells. “Shut up! Next!” He sits back down cross armed for the next tape.

Cody

“Oh hey there, didn’t see ya. I’m Cody Emmet Jameson Anderson, the Codemeister is what all my friends online know me as.” This audition tape took place in the RGB colored room of who could only be identified as a tech-fetishist. Computers, consoles retro and new, even what seemed to be a fridge with a screen on it. “You may be caught up in all my cool gadgets, don’t let that fool ya! I’m like Batman, cool gadgets and machines at night… Playboy also at night. I’m missing the rich part, which is one reason why I want to be on Total Drama!” Was I interesting enough? Oh crap Cody think, think! “L-Look! I’ve got music too!” Cody fiddled around with his keyboard, finally finding the space bar as his beats started playing from his speakers. “I-I can actually play that! I was just editing it, oh! This is the good part!” Cody threw up the rock and roll symbol with his left hand as he jammed out to his solo, smiling up at the camera. “A man of many skills as you can see. Games, music, ladies… Did I mention my YouTube channel? Ohhhh it’s not too big or anything, just SEVEN HUNDRED subs. Heh, see this is my latest video, I talked about some chicks from Blickblock.” Cody’s channel was pulled up on his phone, the latest video sure enough was about Katie and Sadie. “Small world.” Chris remarked. Y’know, there was a total audience for guys like Cody! “Girls won’t be able to get enough of him and he’s just dorky enough for guys to find a liking to as well. I mean making fun of Blickblockers on the internet? He’ll have his own unique fanbase.” “Either that or he’ll stir up enough drama tryna be a cool guy. Hehe, what’s your decision Chris?” “Seen worse… Why not? If worse comes to worst, he does have seven hundred subscribers. That’s at LEAST fifty viewers.”

Beth

“Hey there! I’m Beff!” Spitting all over the camera was a gal with braces, glasses, and a lisp. “I’m here with my best friend in the whole wide world, Bertha! Say hi Bertha!” In her arms is a squealing pig, it doesn’t at all look happy to be held by the four-eyed teen. “W-Woah, don’t wiggle so much! I’ll-!” As the pig desperately wiggled out of Beth’s grasp, the momentum of a pig almost half her size caused her to land forward onto her face right into some mud! Beth defeatedly pulled herself up to her knees again, face covered in mud and tearfully clenched her fist.”I-I get it, I look like another pathetic nerd girl who can’t do anything right… Mark my words, if I get into your show? That’s all going to change! You’ll see, everyone from school will see, and doormat Beth will be NO more!” “Nerd rage, eh? What do you think, Chef?” Chris was a bit on the fence about Beth. She was another nerdy looking competitor, they already had a lot of those… “That girl got a look in her eye that none of those other kids had. A scary one.” A bullied student out for revenge? That’s one reason he became the way he did! Chef was a sensitive soul underneath all the war paint, military training, and awful culinary skills. “Revenge in a lawsuit kind of way or a ratings kind of way?” Chris questioned his co-host. “I doubt that girl could actually cause harm to anyone, prolly just a ratings thing. Probably .” “Alrighty then, Beth? You’re in!”

Courtney

In the center of a courtyard, a Latina-Asian girl with short chestnut hair and freckles is sitting in front of a camera, a table separating her from the camera man across from her. On the table are pamphlets that read, “Courtney for Student Council President”. Several students walk past her, scoffing or outright rolling their eyes at her from behind, all while she emphatically chants:

“Vote for Courtney! A vote for me is a vote for a well organized, better serviced and happier classroom. Vote for Courtney!” She glances at the camera before focusing her attention on it entirely.

“Oh, hello there! As you can see, I’m running for Student Council President. If I’m elected, I swear to make this school a better place. So, why do I, Courtney Barlow, wish to enter a drama reality TV show when it’s so obviously below me? Well, discounting the prize money, I think it’s best for any great leader to surround herself with commoners before she becomes a responsible ruler for the people. Essentially - I want to know what people are like outside of the bubble that is high school.”

“Hey, can we hurry this up? I gotta head to gym class.”

“In a minute, Tom! Ugh, you better edit that out.”

“Yeah, yeah, Court, I will.” Tom mumbles, sighing. She seems offended, mouth gaping.

“Don’t address me that way! Do you know how degrading nicknames are? How do you think most political campaigns end, Tom? Nicknames!” She claps her hands together thrice, scathing with gritted teeth and furrowed brows.

“Okay, okay, whatever, you crazy bitch, just finish up!” He yells back, probably for the first time ever. A few students freeze and look at the duo, then move on with their day.

Courtney glares daggers at the controller of the camera for a few seconds, then puts on a fake smile and flashes a peace sign. “Ahem.. Vote for Courtney!”

The recording ends with a subtitle:

Don’t vote for Courtney

Chris chuckles iconically. “Hehehe, damn.. Can we get Tom on the show? I mean, the back stabbiness, the character development unraveling as we watched in real time, the emotion necessary to freeze a room! Incredible!” He throws his arms into the air to exaggerate his point.

“Even A students watch TV, man. Need someone relatable for the preppy dorks of the world to latch onto.” Chef folds his arms, looking down at his partner with a stern, almost bored look.

“Is that Beth chick not enough? Fine. Courtney is in, if only so we can see more of her looney side. Next!”

Harold

This audition tape began with yet another dork smiling at the camera, he was in what looked like a boy scout outfit. “13.2 seconds, that’s the time it would take for me to kill an elephant with my bare hands. Not that I would, they’re endangered. But I could, that’s my hunting hand to hand combat badge. HYAH!” From out of nowhere two yo-yo’s entered the field of view for the camera! “I call this the double-decker-loop-to-loop-wild-style-space-typhoon technique, something taught only to grand masters at Rolling Steve’s yo-yo and- AUGH! OUCH!” One of the yo-yo’s hit Harold in the nose while the other wrapped around him in a way that took him to the floor! Luckily, or unluckily for him he was still visible! “I can get out of this, don’t worry. I have a badge in escape arts, I could probably get out of this if it was chains and I was submerged in water with sharks or something…” Harold was really hoping he could escape some sharks while drowning. That would be so awesome. After struggling for a moment Harold was actually able to get himself out pretty seamlessly. “As you can see I possess some mad skills no one else has. I can nibble rope like a rat, I can hold my breath under water for seventy three seconds, I can even pick locks with my teeth if I need to… Probably.” “Well that was a whole lotta nothing from that string bean. NEEEE-” “No, no, wait a minute! Chef…” Was that tears in Chris’ eyes?!

“Oh… What’s up man? Cecilia taking more money aga–” “NO CHEF, SHE IS NOT! Ahem , I used to use a yo-yo. Maybe you don’t know this, before settling on being a host I was in Toronto’s Next Yo-Yo Stars until… I tragically took one to the gonads. I-I had to make a career decision and focus on television!” Chris looked like he was about to tear up again, Chef knew all about giving up on a dream and settling. “It’s alright Chris, hey maybe we can take this kid then?” “I had to settle and here I am… Divorced and hanging out with a disgruntled drill sergeant turned Chef!” Chef’s empathetic expression quickly turned into one of annoyance as he let go of Chris. “And here I am hanging out with a divorced PAST HIS PRIME Cali-Dude Bro!” “Past his prime? Nonsense Chef! For Harold we’re in agreement he’s in, right?” That story about the yo-yo thing couldn’t be fact checked. Chris just figured another punching bag wouldn’t hurt the show too much. “Fine! String bean can be in the show! Can we just move on? And don’t tell any more LIES!” “My bad Chef! It was the actor inside of me.”

Trent

Next up was a young man sitting at his computer desk, he had a guitar in his hands and a microphone up to his mouth. “Hey there whoever is watching this, I’m Trent. Just your typical dude who loves playing guitar and writing music. Check this one out.” Trent began strumming his guitar humming in melody with the instrument until his eyes opened getting ready to sing. “I–”

“TRENT!” His door swung open as a man who looked as if he could be his father stepped in the room and gave him a disapproving glance. “I thought you were studying for your SATs? Why are you playing a pretend band again?” Trent rolled his eyes before turning to face the man. His previously composed posture had turned into a slouched mess.

“Dad, I’m just taking a quick break. Trying to get onto that show I mentioned earlier, remember?”

“Is that show you’re trying to get onto comparable to Yale? How about Harvard? Even Princeton?” His father argued rather matter of factly. “Maybe? There’s a cash prize for whoever wins. What if life isn’t so cut and paste as you make it seem?” Trent tried to argue his case but his pleas just got met with a door shut in his face. His dad was always like this, never once could he support his son without making it about what he wanted. He finally turned back to the camera with a sigh as he started strumming a new tune, this one a lot more somber than the last. “So you see… I really want to try and win that money so I can go to any school other than a posh law school. Maybe meet some like minded people, join a band… Meet a girl?” “Hey Chef, we have daddy issues yet?” “Is there ever enough?” “Nope, probably not! Plus he gives off that ‘not like the other guys’ vibe teenage girls just love.” Trent wouldn’t be that hard at all to market. His audition tape sells himself!

Bridgette

Ah, the beach. Typically, a calm and serene despot for young teenagers to run about, get high or catch a wave. Today however, we see a large crowd of people surrounding a blonde haired, hourglass shaped swimsuit toting girl as she places a beached baby whale on her surfboard, gently as if it were made of porcelain lying it down on its back. The camera shakes and thrashes as if its holder is running. It stops to zoom into the savior’s face as she carefully pushes her board out, getting on her knees to usher the whale back to the open water.

The crowd around her cheers while she swims back some thirty seconds later before dispersing back to their cliques to celebrate the saving of ocean life. The surfer chick looks surprised when she notices the camera is on her.

“What, we’re doing that now?”

“Bridge, chillax, girl. It’s been on! Just roll with it, okay?” A feminine voice with a heavy hippy accent says from behind the camera. The star rubs her bare arm, looking nervous.

“..Okay. Hi! I’m Bridgette. I’m sure you understand what I’m all about from.. All of that just now, so.. Let me explain my reasons for wanting to join.” Bridgette takes a deep breath, hands on her hips. “I know there will be plenty of people joining your show looking only for the pleasures of wealth, to satisfy their own selfish desires. But I think the cash you have, producers, could be put to real good use.”

She pauses, picking up her board to lean against it, making her appear smaller. “Foundations, charities, safer beaches, animal and people hospitals, commercials raising awareness for these very big issues, I think with one hundred thousand dollars I could very well save lives and make Canada one step safer than it was before. If I do lose, I promise to exit with my head held high and my spirit ready to make an improvement either way!”

“That was it! Wasn’t so bad, was it, babe?” The girl asks, a smile obvious in her voice.

Bridgette nods. “Thank you for your consideration.” She finishes with a cute smile as the screen fades to black.

Chef, bored again, waves his hand with mediocrity. “Eh, too goodie-goodie. Pass.”

“Woah, Chef, hold on: did she say commercials? Imagine how many lawsuits/morality wars we could avoid with the producers and viewers if we have a few scenes of Bridgette telling us off, or rescuing wounded pigeons. Boucot bucks saved and made, man!” Chef rolls his eyes at his partner's ludicrous saving habits.

“I’d still rather have the guy with all the sexy weapons.”

“No way, dude’s a creep and not in a funny way. Pretty sure our contestants would sue us, and they can’t even do that without probable cause we didn’t list in the contract.”

“You mean creepy in your way?” Chef grins. Chris is not amused.

“I am not creepy. I am sexy. Anyways, she’s in for the commercials we could make alone and that’s final.”

“Whatever, man. Next.”

Lindsay

A long haired blonde girl wearing tight, purposely ripped jeans that hugged her figure like a bear on a cub and a red tank top without a bra spoke through gloss covered lips, smacking every word that came out of her mouth as her cliché bulgy eyed chihuahua stared at the camera from under her breasts.

“Hi, my name’s Lindsay! The audition sheet says to list my best qualities, but I have so many.” She flutters her butterfly lashes, smiling adorably. She let’s go of her dog, who immediately sprints away upon being freed. She leans forward in criss cross position, showing off her cleavage. “I’m pretty, and smart and I get along with everyone, even ugly girls and dorky boys.” She nods with her eyes closed as if she’s somehow all knowing.

“Somehow, I was able to get offered twelve summer jobs just by walking down the street a mile from my house, but who has time to work all summer? If I’m gonna get money, I wanna do it by being me! Not Tina from behind the counter who has to watch other girls buy pretty clothes, although I’d totally love to help ugly girls get makeovers, or help pretty girls be prettier! If you couldn’t tell, I’m what my ex boyfriend calls a bimbo; really nice.” She rambles almost as long as her hips are wide.

“Oh, did I mention? For the American version, I’m bilangual: I speak fluent Canadian and American.” Her beautiful teeth shimmer as she smiles earnestly. Chris and Chef are floored.

“You know, I’m real happy there are no cameras in the room, otherwise uncle Chris might find himself on Twitter’s hitlist for saying this.”

“Saying what?” Chef cautiously asked.

“Man oh man I cannot wait to stare at that girl in 4k HD surround sound 1080p glory.” Sweat and drool coated Chris’s face as he spoke. Chef looked disturbed.

The audition opens with a stationary camera aiming at a tall Jamaican man with brick built arms and a picture of a middle aged black woman who looked a lot like him on display beside his bed. The setting was clearly his room, but the giant wasn’t just talking to his camera; he began to jump and flutter in the air, holding a pink ribbon as he paraded himself about his room wearing a white uniform for ribbon dancing. He finished his act with a split, never breaking eye contact or a smile away from the camera. Afterwards, the footage cut to him sitting on his bed.

“Yo! My name’s Devon Joseph, or DJ! I think I’d be a perfect fit for Total Drama, cause I’m kind, and strong, and sensitive, and most of all, I was raised right.” DJ lifts up the picture of his stern but proud mother folding her arms and points at it. “Thanks, mom! Without you, none of this would be possible.” He lets his smile fade.

“My Momma ain’t gonna be able to provide for herself forever. That’s why, if I win Total Drama, I’m gonna get her the best housing I can get her, make sure she never has to work again. I’d also love to join to diversify my skills and make more buddies! Thanks for your consideration.” He finishes it all off with a wholesome smile and wave.

Chef seems emotional. Chris is laughing almost gut bustling at the kid’s impassioned speech, but Chef is weeping. “W-woah, C-Chef, buddy it is not that funny.”

The brolic cook grabs Chris by the shirt violently. “It’s not funny at all! Kids got heart, man. Don’t you have a momma? HUH?”

The host looks away, no longer smiling. “Well.. I mean, yeah-”

“Well, do you?!” He shakes Chris.

“Yes! Yes, I do, okay? Why?”

“Ain’t it exactly like us starting out?” Chef whispers, sniffling.

“I dunno what you mean.” “I started in showbiz to provide for my momma, to make it big, to prove to her that I was more than a cook! I am a professional, and she raised me right! Do you understand?!” Chef wheezes, barely holding back tears. Now Chris is crying too.

“Yes, Chef! I understand!” The odd pair begin weeping into each other's shirts, bawling their eyes out as the next audition plays.

Geoff

“What more do you need brah? Party central here. Beaches, babes, and some gnarly burgers being cooked up by my buddy Brody. Lifes a party and I’m always hostin’ dudes.” Geoff put his cowboy hat over his eyes and soon got hidden behind another surfer. “Geoff bro, Johnny got us hooked up with the other B!” “Brody! The other B…?” “Some beer bro! His cousin Tony was up working at the shop and he swung in!” “Oh heck yeah dude! Let’s go and do a buttchug or wait…” The two surfer dudes pointed at each other and nodded. “SHOTGUNNNNNN!” The two dude bros clapped a high five as they ran off to go find their fellow surfers. At this point Chris and Chef had to do some fast forwarding, Geoff had left the camera rolling for what felt like an eternity. Eventually the surfer wandered back to the beach chair and plopped down as if he didn’t leave the camera on for nearly an hour. “Yup, average life of a party horse. Stressful? Not at all my dudes. Times like these are what we live for.” As his cowboy hat covered his eyes a final time, Geoff was finally asleep… But once again forgot to turn off the camera. “He knew he was still talking to the camera and yet he still didn’t turn it off?” Geoff screamed frat boy city to Chef. That wasn’t a one hundred percent negative thing though, Chef used to hangout with a party monster named Party Pete. He’d always wondered what happened to ol’ Pete, everyone figured he’d just partied too hard.

“Correct. Chef, I know you’re not invited to too many parties and the ones you are invited to you usually aren’t the life of. Please note there are some unspoken rules of partying. Rule one? Nothing but the party matters. Geoff lives to party! You can’t hate the guy.” Chef wanted to hit Chris with a sassy remark back but.. Yeah, he couldn’t hate Geoff. The guy seemed actually cool, unlike an actual fraternity “party animal”. He was in.

LeShawna

“Yo, yo, queen LeShawna coming to y’all ready for anything. Loud n’ proud, large and in charge, anything your TDI crew can throw at me, I can handle.” LeShawna then began to bust a move or two shaking her arms, head, and her… You can guess what else. “Let me promise y'all this too, there ain’t no party like a LeShawna victory party. Figuring I’ll be the one throwing it at the end and all if you pick me consider yourselves invited.” Continuing her spa-dancing she bumped towards the camera doing a call me sign and cutting the tape short. “Short, sweet, and to the point. What do you think, Chef?” “I think it’s prolly the opposite of her. A sister like that? Haha big, mean, and crazy, don’t let that party nonsense fool you. Woo-weeee.” “He said it, not me. Easy to misinterpret quotes aside, is she fit for the show?” “Her? Heh, she might be one tough nut to crack but that’ll just make it all the more fun when she does.”

Duncan

The visual quality of this one is grainy and barely comprehensible. The audio is very clear, thankfully. It almost looks like security camera footage. And, made out by the grainy footage, is a green mowhawked teenager scaling a large building while the full moon provides mood lighting. Obviously, a criminal.

He’s scaling the building downward with a rope, cocky grin glued to his face as he glances between the ground below and the camera.

“Hey, Duncan here! Though I’m sure you know me considering I’m somewhat of a local celebrity around these parts.” He remarks with gusto.

“Yeah, photographers are taking my picture all the time. It’s because of my charm and good looks, which is also why I banged half of Davis High. That and because I live in a big house with tons of security cameras, guards and guard dogs to watch over me. Not to mention: no parents!”

“My best quality? Let’s just say, I’m stealthy, a real thinker. Tough, too. Yup, the whole cake package.”

He hops down, finally free from the wall. The rope drops and an alarm blares. A spotlight highlights him and the sound of ravenous guard dogs catches his attention. He breaks character for a second, eyes widening as he realizes what he has to do. He starts running, still looking into the camera. “Well, I’d love to stay and chat but I really gotta run. My parole officer will be in touch!”

The recording ends with static and muffled yelling. Chris and Chef nod at each other, raising their brows with interest.

“A convict? Very cool!” Chris exclaims, writing his name down.

“Finally, someone I can relate to.” Chef says, arms behind his head.

His co-host places a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t push it, man. You’re way better than some bratty delinquent.”

He smiles. “Thanks, man.”

Chris smiles back. “You’re welcome. Next!”

Heather

We hear the sound of a shower turning off and see a hand reaching for a towel sitting on the shower curtain. Walking into frame for the first time was Heather, she was easily identifiable by her sly ‘better than you’ grin. “Will I be nervous if I get picked to be on the show? As if. I’m incredibly comfortable being on television, it wouldn’t be my first rodeo you know.” Heather reached for another towel to put over her hair, rolling her eyes at just the thought of even being embarrassed on tv. “What would I have to be ashamed of? I’m PRETTY. While I’m sure the standards won’t be anything to brag about being higher than, I’m going to be a 12 entering an average of 4. If you get me on the show I’ll sell it myself if I have to.” She waved bye to the camera and walked off screen, the last thing seen in this tape is two towels being thrown in front of the camera signifying that Heather was a bare naked lady for just a mere moment. “Well Chef, I think I’ve seen all I need to see here. Ratings? Check.” “Yeah, RATINGS huh? Face it Chris, you got a thing for trust fund white girls!” “Actually, Chef it says here that she’s ASIAN. So maybe take your racial assumptions back to 1970?” Chef raised his brow in annoyance towards Chris’ antics. Damn fool was going to make him sound like some good old boy from down south!

Gwen

Sitting cross armed in a computer chair is a goth girl in midnight blue who looks like she’d rather be anywhere but here. “Soooo… Am I supposed to sit here and do a talent or something? Why? So my tape can be shown off to the world and I can get laughed at? Not a chance I’d humiliate myself before I even get onto the show.” She rolled her eyes thinking about all the times she saw other people’s audition tapes make it onto the internet and they became laughing stocks for the world. She’d never leave herself vulnerable like that! “I’m Gwen. That’s all you trolls really need to know. I live with my mom and brother after my dear dad decided to leave us in the dirt for some floozy in Vermont. Yeah, Vermont , how desperate and deprived do you have to be?!” Just talking about her situation infuriated her. Was it too hard to just keep it in your pants?! “So look… I want to be on the show so I can try and win the prize money. If I ever want to go to college and help support my family I’m going to make more money than eight dollars an hour working my butt off in a kitchen.” Gwen wasn’t really sure how to sell herself without just trying to get pity from whoever was watching this. She wasn’t super talented or popular, she was just a down on her luck girl trying to provide for her family and future. “If you want someone there looking to win and not make friends, I’m your girl. If not… Whatever I guess.” That’s the last we see of the goth girl as the camera fades to black, leaving Chris and Chef to decide her fate. “Sounds like girl’s got it rough. First person I’ve seen other than DJ a while back who wants to spend the money on family.” “And you know what Chef? What’s more important than family? Sitting here with you, going through all these auditions… I think WE’RE family Chef. You get me, I get you. Same wavelength.” Tears started welling up in Chef’s eyes, did Chris really mean that? “Maybe I judged you too harshly, McLean. You ain’t a corporate puppet… You’re my BROTHER!” Chef leaned in and gave Chris a hug, embracing his co-host as if he truly was his own brother.

“And you know what Chef? Family really sells!” The hug immediately ended and Chef pulled away disgusted. “Forget everything I just said, you ain’t my brother!” “What?! Don’t be jealous dude, I’ve got to think about the family business first ‘bro’!” “Don’t call me bro McLean! Just get on with the next tape!” Chef was beyond offended! Just when he thought maybe he’d touched Chris’ icy heart.

Owen

A choir of church boys and girls are seen singing on a particular busy night. The camera recording all of this is clearly a smart phone propped up awkwardly where it won’t be seen, particularly zoomed in on a large blonde kid. The choir, including him, sing Hallelujah, with the blonde looking more and more red, anxious and suspicious by the second. At the finale of the song, when the kid slowly draws out the “Halleluuuujah..”, applaus erupts and the choir bows. The fat boy tries to, but ends up hitting himself on his stomach instead. He then runs towards his phone, picks it up and speed walks into what looks like a lounge.

The camera is positioned under his swollen chin until he places it against the counter wall, showing himself off as he opens the fridge and eats as much as he can, from donuts to fruits to an entire pie. Between bites he speaks.

“Hi.. I’m Owen! And I’m so psyched to be joining TD! Woohoo.” He whisper-yells the woohoo, continuing to eat as someone knocks on the door to the lounge.

“Owen, sweetie, you were amazing! Can we see you?” A sweet voice beckons.

“In a second, mom, hehe!” He smiles forcefully, though his chuckle is very cute, almost mascot worthy. “What? I eat when I’m stressed.. I wanna be on TD to party, but most importantly to find new, less judgemental people to be friends with. Don’t get me wrong, I adore my folks here at home, but they’re really not always so open to new concepts, if you get my meaning. Anyways, my best qualities are my iron stomach and endless sense of humor! I promise we’ll have a blast, bro’s! Catch you later!” He downs an entire peach cobbler, covering himself in crumbs, jam, chocolate and sugar.

“Owen? Who are you talking to?” A mature voice demands.

Owen bites his lip, leaving his phone to answer the door. “Sorry, dad, here I come!” The door opens and the choir, as well as their families collectively gasp. “...What?”

“You know, the final piece of this puzzle is a mascot. This kid’s got likability, the cute factor and he seems two dimensional at least.”

“He better appreciate my damn food…” Chef snarls.

“A starving raccoon couldn’t appreciate your damn food, Chef. It’s alright, man.” Chris offers a hand to Chef’s shoulder. He slaps it, paining him greatly before digging a kitchen knife out of his pocket and brandishing it.

“I’ll kill you, Mclean!”

Chris stands up as Chef bolts forward to chase him around their office. “H-hey, wait! Producers! Chef is fighting me again!” Chris knocks on the door desperately. “O-oh, and we got our cast! So get those signed copies of signatures and contracts ready!”

“You ain’t gonna have a head to host with, you bastard!”

“You wouldn’t dare touch a hair on my head- Chef, no!”

Oh, Mclean will have a head to host with. Stay tuned: Total Drama Island premieres soon.

#total drama #fanfiction #rewrite

2 notes · View notes

lumin3xe · 3 years

Text

Author Note: ACKSKCJD THE IMAGE FOR TSUKKI IS WAY TO BIG BUT I COULDNT FIND ANYTHING ESLE SJJWJ— anywhas I hope you enjoy this acksn-- my neck hurts oml, also different type of pov! I did it because why not? 🤷

I lied this pov style is like really popular so I wanted to try it out AKDND

Warning/Genre: Angst to fluff!! tsukki kinda mean but he makes it up to reader (?? Kinda LMAO-) not edited btw!

You were at Kei’s house studying for an upcoming exam. It was peaceful and quiet, with some soft music playing in the background and as-well the sounds of pencils scratching; The bright light coming from Kei’s small lamp desk as it reflected on the study materials that the teacher had given the students.

You scratched your head, showing you were a bit stressed out, you sigh out quietly but somehow still caught the blond’s attention. “Y/N. You’ve been sighing for about five minutes now. What’s wrong?” You looked at him with exhausted eyes as you respond “oh uh...it’s nothing” you give him a gentle yet exhausted smile.

Kei notices this as he moves closer to you, shifting his chair slightly to get a better view of your paper. The paper clearly empty but with only a few questions answered. He was quiet— I mean your paper looked fine? it wasn’t that bad? Were you just tired? You then finally realize that he was close enough to see your paper, you freaked out as you grabbed your paper, you getting red.

This caught him off guard— “Y/N what are you doing?” He asked confused as you look away from him, still red. “W-well it’s just..” you then look at the floor still holding the paper. The truth is, you’ve been staring at your paper for about 20 minutes now but you were too afraid to say anything to Kei, you thought he was going to make fun of you, laugh at your stupidity, tease you, even mock you. The tension grew more thicker as he grew more impatient “Well Y/N?” He stood up still looking at you. “I-I uhm...” you stuttered out, should you tell him? What if he makes fun of you? What if—

“Are you gonna tell me? Or are you just gonna stand there mumbling?”

You looked at him. Confused on why you felt like crying, you suddenly realized—Why did you feel hurt? To be honest It didn’t even sound that mean— so then why did you feel like crying?

Kei reached out to grab you, but you backed away a little, you blinked as you felt water on your face, you immediately moved your hand to your cheeks, feeling something wet—wait..were those tears?

Why were you crying? It wasn’t even a insult! You blinked again, tears filling up your eyesight—unable to make you see as suddenly you feel warmth against your body. Was he hugging you?

You stuttered out “K-kei I-I” He shushed you as you waited a moment before hesitantly putting your arms around his back, returning the hug. He then began to speak as his tone was quiet and gentle.

“Look I’m sorry that I said that.. I should’ve waited for you to speak. It wasn’t very nice of me to do that.”

You pause as you respond back

“Well.. nice isn’t in your vocabulary.” You then feel him hug tighter as you feel guilty for even saying that. He’s quiet—making you feel uncomfortable that you maybe made him upset as you start to apologize.

“But for you I’ll be nice.”

Your eyes slowly widened as he lets go of you, Looking at you. There was a gap of space, before soon he decides to close the gap as he slowly lifts your chin making you look at him then sharing a soft passionate kiss.

Ahh thank you so much for reading!! This was kinda difficult since I changed my POV style but otherness it was really fun!!

Come join my follower event!!

63 notes · View notes

kiriluvbot · 4 years

Text

hidden in the sand pt. i

in which feelings are discovered under early morning light.

—

i do not have a crush on shoto todoroki.

the boy in question takes a deep breath, muscled shoulders rising as he starts to shift. his head pops up, a mess of pink cheeks and disastrous, disgustingly endearing messy hair, and he squints at the light pouring in from the window.

all the air is knocked from sero’s lungs.

oh shit.

i have a crush on shoto todoroki.

yeah. this is that story.

—

you’ve heard a thousand love stories told a thousand different ways, with teary eyed confessions on a battlefield or explosive professions of adoration under a moonlit sky, but this story, however, is not that story at all.

this is a story of an extended hand, a knowing smile, a spot saved on the couch. it’s bumping shoulders in the hall, eye contact in a dark room, whispers over the phone. it’s one boy who never quite learned how to love, and one who has an abundance of love to share.

it’s learning how to be gentle, how to accept gentleness. it’s falling slowly, smoothly, oblivious.

it’s doing something completely mundane, like reading manga at one in the morning on a school night. it’s hearing a muffled bit of laughter, it’s catching the light in their eyes, it’s seeing a special smile they’ve reserved only for you, and realizing: oh shit.

there is no particular starting point, but it goes a little bit like this:

—

“poor little shoto todoroki. how tragic.”

heat and hate and rage washes over him, suffocating, crushing, inescapable. hands clasp as his ankles, his elbows, his throat. the pressure is unbearable, his skin is roasting, it’s falling apart, he’s crumbling at the seams, he’s—

“there’s nowhere to run.”

it’s too hot too hot too hot—

todoroki jolts up, sweat gluing his shirt to his spine, blanket trapping his legs to the bed. it’s too much, too hot. there’s no air—

he tosses the blanket back and jumps out of bed, tearing the shirt over his head, throwing it as far away as possible as his chest heaves.

“what’ll your friends think when—“

“shut up, shut up,” todoroki hisses, doubling forward until he’s on his knees, hands tearing through red and white hair. “you’re fine. you’re fine.”

it’s hard to breathe.

help, call for help, don't just sit here, don't just—

scrambling, todoroki crawls across the floor, tossing blankets and pillows out of the way. he finds his phone and unlocks it, ignoring the shake in his hands, the way his fingers can’t seem to hit the right buttons, and opens his contacts.

“fine, fine, fine,” he mutters. the clock says 2:37 am. shit. he takes the deepest breath his lungs will allow and hits call on the only name he’s sure might be awake.

one ring. doubles over again. two rings. presses his forehead into the floorboards. three rings. his throat catches.

“todoroki, holy shit, dude, whats—“

“sero, oh—“ another deep breath. “sero. i know it’s late, i’m sorry, i just—“

“woah, woah, slow down. todoroki, what’s wrong?”

“nightmare,” todoroki hisses, leaning back up and clutching the phone with both hands. “wasn't fast enough. sorry—“

“hey,” sero interrupts him, sounding more and more awake by the second. “don't apologize, okay? you’re gonna be alright. listen, you need to get your breathing under control. i’ll help you.”

sero’s voice alone, anyone’s voice at all, makes todoroki feel grounded to the earth. sero is calm and cool as he helps todoroki with his breathing, counting and humming. when he’s finally able to see straight, todoroki sits cross legged on his bed, still gripping the phone tight.

“sorry for waking you up,” todoroki mumbles, relishing in the clearness of his lungs. every nerve still shakes. “um—didn’t know what else to do.”

what he doesn’t say is: for some reason, you always know exactly what to say to help people feel better, in any situation at all.

sero is quiet for a brief moment. todoroki can almost hear him smile. “like i said, man, you don’t need to apologize.” a pause. “you sure you’re alright?”

“yeah.” todoroki runs a cool hand down his face. his lights are on now. he sits back on his bed, shoulder blades meeting the wall. on the other side, sero sits in a similar position. “i’m okay now.”

“if you need anything else,” sero murmurs, voice gentle, “anything at all, you can—you can come to me. doesn’t matter what it is. or what time it is.”

something about sero’s tone, his word choice, something about the late hour, about the nerves still dancing just beneath todoroki’s skin… he smiles, in spite of himself.

—

they never really talk about it after they hang up. not off the phone, and certainly not in broad daylight. talking about it meant admitting it out loud and—well, todoroki has a hard time thinking about any nightmares at all after he finally catches his breath. it’s something he’d rather ignore. sero understands.

“did you have another nightmare?”

“please just—talk to me. about anything else.”

shortly after that, classes got harder, tests more difficult, and sero turned to todoroki for aid. smoothly, nonchalantly, of course, because sero didn’t need anyone to know that if he didn’t get extra studying in he might just drown. he had briefly considered asking to join kirishima on his study sessions with bakugo before he saw how the blonde would take to literally beating the knowledge into kirishima’s poor head.

sort of unrelated, sero had stumbled in on them in the kitchen blushing under those buzzing fluorescent lights, practically nose to nose.

bakugo was furious, furious enough to deny sero extra help with his homework, that’s for sure. then there was kirishima, who couldn’t look sero in the eye for the remainder of that day.

sero’s still not sure why both of them had looked so embarrassed. it’s not like he hasn’t noticed they’d been fooling around, stealing glances across the common room and holding hands under the cafeteria table for weeks on end now. did they honestly think they were being sneaky?

not only that, but sero’s pretty sure bakugo’ll never let anyone else into his room aside from kirishima. not to study, and certainly not to peek at his limited edition all might posters. sero’s positive he wasn’t supposed to know about the posters, but kirishima kinda has a loud mouth.

and anyway, todoroki is much more patient.

“have you gotten number twelve yet?”

“hm? oh, uh, no. i’m kinda confused on this part right here, but—“

“i’ll walk you through it.”

most of the time, the studying took place downstairs in the common area. however, there were times when downstairs was just too loud. so naturally...

todoroki’s room is quiet. peaceful. also super fuckin’ fancy. needless to say, work is easier to accomplish in the peace of his space.

except for when it’s not.

“sero, focus on your work.”

“wh-huh? i’m focusing! just—“

“you were trying to balance that pencil on your nose.”

“still counts as focusing, roki.”

turns out todoroki makes a great tutor when sero actually pays attention.

—

sero takes it upon himself to start sharing his favorite manga after catching todoroki in the courtyard curled up with a familiar cover peeking through his fingers.

they liked to read a lot of the same things, they’d learned, but sero always had something new to show todoroki, and todoroki always had a classic to introduce to sero. it was a good back and forth, an excuse to escape their loud classmates and sit in companionable silence and read until they felt they’d go cross eyed.

todoroki sits on sero’s multicolored rug, hugging his knees to his chest. his chin rests on one knee, idly flipping the page of some romance manga sero claims is the best. his eyes find the spidery boy twisting around in his hammock, sticking his legs in the air and shifting until his head is upside down.

it’s an odd position, and todoroki has no idea why he refuses to sit still, but sero dips his head even further until his hair meets the floor, until dark eyes find blue and gray.

then he smiles, and time seems to slow.

“gettin’ to the good part yet?” sero asks, kicking his legs back and forth above him. his face starts to turn a little red. todoroki’s never really seen his forehead before.

todoroki blinks. time returns to normal. he goes back to his page. “all the blood’s rushing to your head.”

sero doesn’t seem to notice todoroki’s brief pause. if he does, he doesn’t spend too much time thinking about it. he smiles until todoroki considers asking if his cheeks hurt.

“you're deflecting. that’s deflecting, right? it’s gotta be. you’re totally deflecting, roki.”

maybe being upside down is affecting sero’s eyesight, but are todoroki’s cheeks a little pink?

it’s an excuse for them both to disconnect from the world, to indulge in something unreal, to explore another world with all its wonders and secrets and forbidden loves.

—

sero is in the middle of popping ungodly amounts of popcorn when todoroki makes his way into the common area. his classmates are either chasing each other around the couches, already trying to decide on a movie, or on the phone convincing the rest of them upstairs to come down and join them.

sero grins to himself when he thinks he hears mineta’s sly voice followed by a series of warning sparks from their friendly neighborhood bakugo. iida and kirishima’s voices follow soon after.

“do you need help in here?” a voice asks, startling sero out of his half daze.

“jesus, dude!” he chokes, clutching his chest. “you scared the hell out of me!”

todoroki is unphased, sidling up to sero and taking off the plastic covers of the remaining three bags of popcorn he still needs to pop. “guess i should’ve knocked?” he says, lip quirked just a bit.

after sero catches his breath (there’s an unholy screech from the living room that could only come from kaminari), he jostles todoroki with his shoulder.

“i saved us a spot,” sero says.

by saved, he means he stretched two long pieces of tape across one of the smaller couches in a big X shape. it was todoroki’s favorite couch, and sero was tired of seeing him show up last and have to sit on the floor. kaminari had been more than offended when sero told him the spot was already reserved.

sero didn’t see bakugo eyeball him suspiciously.

“i didn't know any of these heathens actually honored saved seats,” todoroki replied, working side by side with sero.

sero grins again, eyes bright. it’s warm, radiant. it’s lethal. todoroki bites his cheek to keep from grinning back.

“they’ll honor it if they don’t wanna get taped to the ceiling in their sleep, don’t you think?”

todoroki laughs at that. together, they exit the kitchen with their arms full of their own snacks. todoroki’s eyes find a giant X made out of tape on his favorite couch, and dips his head a little to smile to himself.

mina and kaminari sprint up to sero, who grins easily at them, too. kaminari has sparks in his eyes, but that might just be excess energy from whatever twisted game of tag they’d been playing before todoroki and sero exited the kitchen.

“are those for me?” kaminari gasps. “oh, hanta, you’re too kind!”

sero turns his arms away, rolling his eyes lightly. mina has already snuck behind him and is trying to tease a can of pop out of his grasp. he attempts to twist, tries to back away before they get their grubby little hands on his hard earned snacks, when he backs into kirishima instead. the redhead is already smirking mischievously before he joins the other two offenders on their quest to rob sero blind.

bakugo blows right past them, naturally. “you’re in my way, damn kids!”

todoroki smiles at that, too. damn kids. there’s a lot to smile about tonight. he takes away the tape X and sits cross legged on his saved spot. momo has the remote to the tv, and jirou is whispering movie titles in her ear.

“this seat taken?” sero asks, but he plops down next to the multicolored boy anyway. he managed to make it to his spot with nearly all his snacks. mina got a hold of the popcorn. todoroki notices, and offers to share with him.

it takes them awhile, but eventually the whole class makes their way into the common area, strewn across seats and the floor, snacks and drinks everywhere. they decide on some ridiculous romantic comedy movie. on their way in, midoriya and uraraka both ruffle todoroki’s hair as they walk past, and kirishima plants a kiss at the top of sero’s head.

sero and todoroki spend the entire night whispering their predictions for the end of the movie, making fun of terrible monologuing, brushing knees and shoving shoulders. it’s comfortable, easy. it’s fun.

“stupid icyhot,” bakugo grumbles to kirishima later on that night, in the quiet of kirishima’s room. “stupid soy sauce.”

“hm?”

“they’re both fuckin’ stupid.”

“oh yeah?” sometimes it takes bakugo a minute to figure out what exactly he’s trying to say. kirishima waits for him, always.

“fucking—dumbasses don’t even realize.”

kirishima feels his lips threaten to split in a grin, sitting at the edge of his bed. he watches bakugo pace. “you noticed, too?”

bakugo turns to him, eyes ablaze as they always were. he’s just within arms length. “of course i realized. only an idiot wouldn’t notice that. and they’re fuckin’ stupid! it’s gonna be a pain in the ass to watch them—watch them just—“

“dance around it?” kirishima suggests.

“fuckin’ stupid,” bakugo hisses again.

then when he throws his hands up, kirishima wraps his arms around bakugo’s thighs and pulls him close. it’s instinct at this point, to pull him closer, pull him out of his head.

they both used to be the idiots in question, dancing around the truth, around what they really wanted.

“give them time,” kirishima mumbles, cheek pressed to bakugo’s stomach. the blond’s hands rest on his shoulders. “they'll figure it out if and when they need to.”

kirishima tilts his head back, observing bakugo’s frown.

“if i have to watch those two losers pine—“ bakugo pretends to gag, sticking out his tongue.

laughing gently and taking bakugo’s collar, kirishima pulls him down until their lips meet. he kisses him like he means it, to remind him that they were both pining losers at one point.

in his own bed down the hall, sero sleeps soundly, curled around todoroki’s favorite manga. he’s read it three times now, but it never seems to get old. just next door, todoroki sleeps with his back pressed to the wall separating their rooms. he doesn’t dream, not this time.

—

part two on my account !

25 notes · View notes

blackssuunn-mandoandyodito · 4 years

Text

After Hours

Pairing: Javier Peña x reader

Inspired by that one edit on Twitter (you know the one)

Warnings: slight gagging, slight spanking, oral (both f and m receiving), smut, no condom (before you attack them, wrap your wacker), coming inside?, swearing, office sex?, slight hair pulling, and I think that's it? Let me know if you think I should add something.

Words: 3.0K

A/N: Hey! This is my first time posting anything I've written, so please let me know your thoughts <3 I hope you like it, keep in mind English is not my first language. The traduction to anything said in Spanish is at the end of the post. Thank you!

They say the nights are the best moments to let your secrets out, feelings are revealed, people get uninhibited and do as their hearts desire.

Your breathing was accelerated, you felt as if someone had been following you and the only thing you could do was run. But, as many people know, that's kinda how everything with Javier Peña was. You felt trapped, almost asphyxiated. The sensation was intoxicating, and now you could easily understand all those hookers who spent the night in his apartment and left with a big grin plastered to their faces. But two could play that game, and you believed you could handle it.

You were the last ones at the office, and the air felt so tense you could hardly take a deep breath. Both of you were just waiting, expecting the other one to run out of there or make a damn move about it. Both of you were stubborn people, and either one of you broke and said something or the entire place was going to catch fire with the kind of stares you were giving each other.

Facing each other on opposite sides of the room, it was hard not to steal a glance to see how the other one was doing. Until now, you were sure a slight blush was adorning your cheeks and your hair was rustled with how much you had been passing your hands through it in the last half hour. But you could also see Javi's tense shoulders, a slight sweat covering his forehead. His position let you see what the popped buttons of his green shirt already hinted at; his chest was damp, a slight red tone invading his skin. A bead of sweat ran from his neck down to the middle of his collarbone, and you could only clench your legs and suppress a moan. You wanted to lick it off of him. His frown was more pronounced than you've ever seen outside the field, and the thought of you putting it there made you bite your lip to hide the grin you couldn't afford to let him catch.

You kept pretending to read the stack of papers that were in front of your face, but you both knew it was all acting. You hadn't moved a single sheet of paper for more time than it could have passed as overanalyzing information, and Javi had stopped working with his typewriter long ago. You could feel an invisible rope tightening, trying to pull you to each other, but something stronger had to happen to make you react. You wouldn't react first, because that's exactly what he wanted.

You glanced back to your papers and pretended to read some more when you suddenly heard something falling to the ground. You jumped, so engrossed with your thoughts that even a needle dropping would have startled you. Smoothly as you could, you glanced up.

Oh fuck.

Javier was standing behind his desk, peering over to see what he had "accidentally" made fall from his table. Even with the dim lights that you had and being so far away from him, you could still see the bulge that was straining his tight pants. You bit your lip as you felt blood rush to your cheeks and... more southern places.

He walked around the table and picked up what you guessed was a stapler, but you were too busy admiring his back muscles to pay attention to anything else. You wondered if his pants were bothering him, and entertained the idea of taking them off of him.

NO! You stopped your train of thought right there. If you let yourself think any further than that, then you were gonna lose. You couldn't afford to lose.

Javi turned to look at you and gave you a lopsided grin. Fuck, he knew damn well what he was doing. He went back to his chair, and you could feel the heat rushing to your cheeks. Judging by how his grin only grew, he most likely had noticed your blush.

Well, now it was your turn.

Moving one of your stack of papers loudly, you "accidentally" made a folder fall, letting out a gasp as it smacked to the ground. Javier looked up his typewriter, frowning. He knew you were up to something.

You stood up as slowly as you could, then bent over the desk to "see" what had fallen. He let out a quiet gasp, seeing how your chest showed from that position. He adjusted himself in his chair, probably making room for the growing erection that was straining his pants. You smiled, satisfied with his reaction. But you still hadn't had enough.

As best as you could with your pencil skirt constricting you a little bit, you rested your knee in your desk for impulse, then climbed to the top of your desk to lower yourself and pick the folder up. Javi let out a strangled groan, gripping the edge of his table until his knuckles were white. You were killing him.

Once you had the carpet in your hands, you swayed your hips as you moved in reverse to climb off the desk, then stood up and pulled your skirt down. You glanced sideways to Javi, and he looked even more flustered than before, with a hint of frustration in his eyes.

C´mon Peña, break.

He cleared his throat and bent over his typewriter again, trying to hide his arousal. He had never been a shy man towards women, but you were different. It was as if something pulled him to you, and he fought with nails and teeth to resist it; he refused to let you have so much control over him. Even if he was sure the feeling was mutual, the risk of giving in before you was too much; it would leave him at your mercy.

You let out a disappointed sigh. Well, that didn't work. You took off your jacket, seeking a little bit of relief to the warmth spread all over your body; you weren't sure if it was because of the tension or because Colombia was simply hot as hell.

Javi tensed his jaw. This time he knew you hadn't done it on purpose, but that didn't mean it wouldn't affect him. Your dress shirt was pulling slightly at your breasts and sticking to your body because of the dampness that was covering you. Your hair fell at your sides, framing your face beautifully and heightening the blush that covered your cheeks. Your eyes were glinting, either from (what he hoped was) lust or from tiredness. He so desperately wanted to help with the former, but he needed you to take the first step.

Realizing that this wasn't going anywhere if you didn't do something, you made a decision. You took a deep breath, picked one of the many stacks of papers on your desk, and stood up. You walked to Javi, swaying your hips a little bit more than usual while the sounds of your heels clicking echoed the office, and stared straight to his eyes.

You were just going to "ask" for help with these papers, you technically weren't doing anything, right? You were just going to... give him a push, right?

Surprised by your sudden approach, he leaned back on his chair with his eyes wide open, arms going back to the back of his seat. He gripped his chair tight, waiting for you to make a move.

You bent over his desk, letting the papers fall next to his typewriter. Then, you got close to his face and smiled.

"Could you help me with this? Please?" He inhaled, trying to will himself to relax and not let your proximity get to him. He could feel your breathing hit his face, could smell your perfume getting stronger because of the heat you were exuding.

He nodded, straightening in his seat. He looked at the papers, but he couldn't concentrate. His focus was on you, being so close to your body completely clouded his mind.

He took a deep breath. "What do you need my help with?" His voice was raspy and sounded weaker than he would have liked. You were getting to him, and fast.

You tried to hide your grin. "I'm not sure how to fill this format. Murph was supposed to explain it to me but never did" you sounded more composed than him, that much was obvious. You lifted your leg to sit down on the corner of his desk, your skirt riding up a little. This let Javi see more of your skin, and he felt how his erection only got harder. He hadn't even thought it was possible, he was hard enough to cut diamonds.

A moment of silence passes between the two of you, while you gaze intensely at each other's eyes. Slowly, you lift your feet off the ground, your heels making a clacking sound as they fall. You turn to face him completely as you scoot your ass towards the middle and cross your legs in the space between his. He gives a sharp inhale, leaning as far as he can from the desk. Redness covers his cheeks, and you feel proud to be the one that made the infamous Javier Peña blush.

You lean into him and pick up the papers, putting them in your thighs.

"Please? I need to finish this or the boss is gonna kill me" Your tone of voice was pleading, but he had the sensation that it wasn't help you were asking for. He gulps, then nods and takes a look at the papers propped in your legs, resisting the urge to dump them and take you right there. He won't be able to concentrate like this. He needs to up his game.

Suddenly, his hands encircle your ankles and his fingers caress the skin there, making you jump and let out a harsh breath. You could feel how the dampness between your legs grew and your fingers twitched around the paperwork.

"Calm down nena, let me look at it" he moved his hands up your thighs, leaving them under the formats with his palms resting in your body. You could feel your blood rushing to your core, urging you to do something and alleviate the sensation.

He feigned to read your work, but the warmth of your skin under his hands distracted him too much. He could feel you tensing underneath his touch, and he gave a squeeze to your legs. You let out a shaky breath, his actions getting the best of you.

Deciding to change things, you moved your feet up to his crotch and rubbed absentmindedly. He raised his glance to yours and let out a low growl. His pupils were dilated to the point you could barely see the beautiful brown you always loved to stare at.

He was done playing games.

He dumped the stack of papers harshly to the ground, standing up while holding you by your ankles, uncrossing them. He yanked you to the edge of the table and finally, finally, made your mouths clash together.

Your hands instantly flew to his hair, pulling him closer to you between your now open legs, and he let out a low growl against your lips. "You think you can just play with me like that and get away with it?"

You let out a low whine, hiding your face in his neck as he palmed your ass, grinding his cock against you. He yanked you away, pulling your hair. "Answer me" his tone was commanding, full of desire and a hint of anger in it.

You shook your head "N-No Javi, I don- oh my God" he kneeled with your legs propped on his shoulders, his face at level with your cunt. He yanked your skirt up to your hips forcefully, leaving you completely exposed to him. You could feel his harsh breath through your panties, wet with arousal. He pulled them aside and plugged a finger inside you with ease. You let out a loud moan, finally receiving relief.

He smacked the side of your thigh with his other hand "I shouldn't even let you come" he added a second finger, quickening the pace. You could feel the desk move under you with how forceful his thrusts were and had to hold on to the edges to not let yourself fall back. Your gasps and pants could be heard all over the office, along with his rapid breathing. The warmth in your belly was steadily growing, and you could feel release getting closer.

As abruptly as he had kneeled, he stood up and let your legs fall. You whimpered at the loss. You had been so close.

"Javi please"

He shook his head, and started to undo his belt, "either you come on my cock or you don't come at all". Heat pooled at your cheeks, and you gave him a sultry glance, "yes sir"

He glared at you, but it was quickly replaced with a disbelieving stare as you fell to your knees in front of him, pushing him back to the wall. You then pulled at his belt with so much force that you moved him back towards you. He placed his hands at your shoulders to keep balance, and you finally undid the belt and popped the button of his pants. His boxer had a dark spot, wet with pre-cum. It stuck to his body, letting you see the outline of his hardness. You yanked them down, making him gasp. Then, you gently took him in your hand, pumping him. He shuddered, sensitive with so much time spent aroused.

You looked up at him as you licked his length and he let his head fall back to the wall, groaning. You licked him as if he was a popsicle for a while, revealing in his low groans. His hand flew to the back of your head, pushing you towards his cock, "come on baby, stop teasing."

You decided to indulge him and took him fully in your mouth. His grip on your hair tightened as he let out a moan, letting himself fall completely to the wall.

You rolled your tongue around the head, stroking what you couldn't take with your right hand. As your left hand rested on his thigh, you could feel the muscle under tensing. Sucking with force, you moved your head in time with your hand. His hips thrust into your mouth, making you gag a little.

With a loud pop, you took him out of your mouth and stood up. His hair was messed up while his chest rose and fell quickly, and he gave you a look so hungry it made you step back a little.

He gripped your waist with his hands and pushed you up into the desk, lifting your legs to his shoulders. The sound of fabric tearing reached your ears, but you couldn't care less. You had many skirts at home anyways.

He held onto your ankles as he slowly sank into you. Both of you groaned, finally feeling relief.

"You feel so fucking good honey", he started a soft pace pushing into you. You moved a hand to his nape, pulling him down to you and kissing him hard. He bit your lower lip, his grip at your waist tightening.

"Please Javi, faster" he snarled and quickened the pace. His desk was creaking with the force of his thrusts, and obscene sounds filled the space. If you weren't so turned on you would get embarrassed by it, but right now you couldn't give less of a fuck. You could barely breathe with the force of his movements, and you closed your eyes to embrace the feeling of him inside you.

He moved one hand to your ankle and held it with a strong grip. It would most likely turn into a bruise and the thought of him marking you made you moan, tightening around him.

Lifting his hands to your legs, he pulled them off his shoulders and you instinctively wrapped them around his narrow waist. His hips stuttered at the knew angle, breathing hard against your neck. He bit your jaw softly, making you whine.

The heat in your belly started to grow again, and you wrapped your arms around his back. He took his arms to the desk and support both your weights as you were practically glued to him. Tears started to fill your eyes with how much pleasure you were feeling.

"Please Javi" you pleaded, "I'm so close."

He whined and set up a punishing pace. You let out a short scream, gripping the back of his shirt. His hand traveled between the two of you and his thumb started circling your clit.

After that, all you could manage was arch yourself into him as loud whines left your mouth, clenching around his member as you came. He kept fucking you through your climax, and your legs were shaking with the intensity of it; his hips grew erratic as he started losing the rhythm.

Letting out a deep growl, he bit your shoulder and stayed inside you as he came, his cock pulsing with his release.

He took you in his arms with shacky legs and you tightened your arms and legs around him. You tumbled down to the floor, him taking the hit for both of you. He wrapped arms around your waist as you rested your head in his chest, panting as you came down from your highs.

He nudged your head with his nose and you lifted your face. Pulling you closer to him, he kissed you softly.

He caressed your back softly, helping you relax after your... activities. You also felt how his muscles untensed under you.

"So, I win. Right?" he asked, a playful tone in his voice. You swatted his chest lightly and pulled him close to kiss him again.

So much for giving him a push, you thought.

#javier peña #javier peña x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #javier peña x you #pedro pascal x you #narcos #narcos fanfic #reader insert #pedro pascal fanfiction #my writing

225 notes · View notes

decimadragonoid · 4 years

Photo

* Let's read a story. * Yaaaay! Story time! ======== (EDIT, 12/4: Grammatical fixes to the contract were made.) ======== You've always known the world was a messed up place, especially considering the crime rate had recently skyrocketed in this city. And it surely doesn't help that the police are being overrun with thieves, thugs, and assaulters. You just walked into a nightmare with no hint of escape, almost comparably the same as when Alice stumbled into Wonderland and had no idea what she gotten into. Your life continues to flash before your eyes as you run into a seemingly abandoned apartment complex. No voices can be heard from the inside. Either that, or the heavy rain was somehow muffling any other source of human sounds and cues. You figure you have a second or two to breathe, but as you try to ponder on the idea of what to do next... 'There they are! They're headin' into that building!' a voice could be heard from the alleyway close by. A trio of thugs you barely managed to trick off your tail quickly find you about to run inside the complex. One of the thugs direct a bullet from his pistol at you, but due to the distance between you and the group, the bullet barely makes it to graze you. You run inside the complex and don't bother to pay attention to the condition of the inside; the green-lime wallpapers had seen better days and tore apart at the seams, the cracked lightbulbs continuously flicker on and off, dangling for dear life, some doors are unhinged, rusted, and battered like there were endless streams of commotions occurring in each unit, and yet the supports and insulation are luckily stable despite their terrible condition. From what you're gathering so far, the abandoned complex you ran into consists of three floors, but with the state of the rooms, you can't seem to find a half-decent hiding spot. 'Stop running, you little shit!' one of the thugs angrily yelled across the hall. You made it to the stairs. However, given the condition of the stairs, you feel as though they could break down any minute now. You don't care anyway and take two steps per one lift of your legs without taking into account that one or two steps collapsed behind your back. Although it managed to slow down the thugs for enough time for you to get away to the third floor, you still feel unsafe. It comes to a point where you just take cover in a nearby unit where the door was left slightly ajar. You don't bother to take a look around the room and take cover behind one of the couches. The couch you hid behind was next to a broken window pane where droplets of rain and tempestuous gusts trickled their way past the gaping hole through the glass. Just as the lightbulbs in the preceding floors did, the bulbs above continue to flicker on and off, even to the point of sparks flying. You try to keep quiet for a few minutes until the thugs decide to give up and leave. But unfortunately, their presence lingers behind your back as they split up to search the perimeter. 'Scope the place.' the leader ordered, 'They couldna gone too far.' 'Bitch, lookin' fer one kid in this fucked up place is like friggin' findin' a needle in a haystack.' 'Shut the fuck up and keep lookin' before I beat yo' ass!' The leader was livid, red in the face like someone who was about to blow steam after regretfully taking a bet to eat an entire habanero chili pepper in one bite. 'Fuckin' little shit, thinkin' you could get away with pullin' our fuckin' leg, skippin' y'ur debts...! Can't let 'cha play me no more.' Suddenly, a shot from nowhere could be heard. The acrid scent of a shot bullet permeates the room, particularly in your direction - east corner where the broken window pane is. The boss is down permanently. 'Boss??' one of the thugs look behind him and see his leader drowning in a pool of his own blood. 'BOSS!!!' 'Hey! Who the fuck did that?!' 'Wassup, gentlemen?' a wisecracking voice sounds from the west corner of the room, 'Ya got an appointment with me?' 'No way... That voice!' 'Breakin' into my crib unannounced ain't very nice, y'know, especially since I don't play that shit with burglars like you.' Before the last two thugs can make out who the shooter was, their lives flash for one last time as they fall to the ground, their foreheads transfixed by two bullets. The acrid scent of gunshots still won't go away, but you're slightly relieved that the trio won't bother you anymore. However, there's still that unknown shooter to deal with. You hope he hasn't noticed you yet, and that he'll leave to scope the place out for any stragglers affiliated with the thugs who chased you in here. However, no footsteps can be heard. Even more so, your slight moment of relief has ended. 'That's about 93 confirmed kills.' the voice calls, and then a small silence fills the room. 'And, uh... you?' the voice calls again. You tense up almost immediately and barely make it to utter a sound of confirmation, 'Y-yeah?' 'Yeah, you. Get over here.' the wisecracking voice beckons. You can barely get your legs to move, but somehow you're able to get past your temporary paralysis and stand up from behind the couch next to the broken window pane. You try to slide your left leg in the direction of the door, but the voice apparently quickly takes notice. 'Up-up-up-up-up-up-up. Not left, Jackie Robinson. Straight. This ain't Brooklyn. Y'get me? S-T-R-A-I-G-H-T. Straight.' You don't know whether the voice is trying to beckon or prank you, but you decide to cooperate with the supposed wisecracking individual for now and walk straight to the table. Surprisingly, despite the dim lighting, electric sparks, and torn wallpapers, you can see a firm desk in the west corner of the room, which is ironically nicely kept. Not only that, but the knick-knacks, collectibles and papers are neatly organized. You notice a pencil holder with several mechanical pencils, two broken Ticonderoga pencils and an indigo-colored Gameboy Color with a Pokémon Crystal cartridge inside. The porcelain coffee mug with the crossed-out text '#1 Daddy' replaced with 'Killa' is still mostly full. You also find a Pikachu Nendoroid figure standing on top of a Master Ball, both of which were kept properly and showed no signs of wear or tear. Sitting behind the table on a black leather rolling chair is an interestingly built man wearing a fedora with two small decorative feathers wrapped behind a bow ribbon colored similarly to the German flag. He wears a harness behind his back holding two dual Japanese katanas with black hilts, both of which are carefully wrapped behind his black trenchcoat, charcoal-colored vest, light gray wool sweater, black turtleneck, and cashmere plaid scarf. The wraps from his trenchcoat dangle across the table. Below the thick brown workbench table, you notice a utility belt with a buckle colored like his red spandex mask with the black and white eye meshes, probably wrapped around his coat and vest to keep the bottoms of his sweaters from peeking out and covering his red spandex tights and knee-high motorcycle boots. 'Got an appointment with me or somethin'?' the man asks. 'N-no...' you reply, 'I was just trying to get away from those three men you shot.' 'They got a beef with ya?' 'Just some debt I could never hope to pay off.' 'What, from these lowlives? They always come traipsin' around this place. You just brought along the last of 'em.' You feel like this man isn't as bad as you previously made him out to be, but you decide you really have to go back home now. 'Well, thanks for helping me. But I should really get going now.' you say to the masked man. You stand back up and head out the door, but before you can reach the hallway, the masked man takes on a more serious tone of expression. 'What? So that's it?' he says in a colder tone, 'I come to your rescue, and you're already leaving? You just walked right into the lion's den, thinkin' you could leave just like that?' The air intensifies as you watch the man lift up a Wild West revolver in his right hand, three shots still ready and waiting to protrude through human flesh. And knowing the current situation, you might be next. 'Y'know, people usually piss their pants when they see a man in sexy red tights and a trenchcoat. Once they get a look at me, the guns, and my swords, they know shit's gonna get real, fast.' he continues, 'Matter of fact, I got about 87 reasons to slice you up and fill ya with holes. Who knows? Maybe my kill count will reach 180.' You try to aim for the door, but your body is frozen solid with fear. Now, a sense of dread and hopelessness encompasses you as you finally give up and think of one final thought, 'If it's gonna happen, just do it.' As you finish your thought, you shut your eyes and wait for the man to pull the trigger. A fourth shot echoes throughout the room. But strangely, you don't feel any impact from the revolver. You slightly open your eyes to find that the man didn't shoot the fourth bullet at all, but rather made a realistic gunshot sound similar to how Tarzan pointed a shotgun at Clayton and made a perfect gunshot sound before throwing it away. But why? Why didn't he shoot you for intruding his space? A small chuckle slips from the man's mask as he bursts out laughing. 'Pffffttt...!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! What, didja seriously think I was gonna go all bam-bam on your ass??!' he laughs and snorts, 'Aww, man! You shoulda seen the look on your face!' You get the feeling this wisecracking masked man is a nutcase, but he doesn't bear any ill will toward you. 'But... why? Is this some kinda--' 'Ehh, don't sweat it, kid! Trust me, I know every face on these streets. Danger lurks around every corner and the police doesn't do jackshit to keep things in order. They half-ass it 100% of the time.' 'W-well... Just who are you anyway?' you blurt out in the heat of the moment. 'Hehehe... Well, if ya really wanna know...' he directs his left hand towards the seat you just stood up from to get ready to leave. 'Sit down. Take a load-off.' You decide to stay for a bit longer to hear the masked man's story. Everything continues to happen all at once like a bad acid trip. 'Name's Deadpool. Detective. Deadpool...' he says, 'Or, if you prefer... just Deadpool will do.' The masked man introduces himself as Deadpool and proceeds to give a small introductory speech. 'Like I said, the police half-ass their job dealin' with crime and all that shit, so I'm the one who deals with bad guys who slip under their radar.' 'So wait... You're, like... a mercenary?' you ask Deadpool curiously. 'Part merc, part detective.' Deadpool replies, 'I'm what you call "The Merc with a Mouth."' Suddenly, it hits you. You've heard of this nickname before. A lot of kids at your school often tell stories about how they spotted the 'Merc with a Mouth' on the streets running after criminals and killing them in the shadows. 'So... you mean to say--' you begin your thought, which Deadpool quickly ceases. 'Ah-de-de-de-de-de-de-de-de-de-de.' Deadpool quickly stops you from finishing your next question, 'Lemme stop you right there, kid. I ain't a hero.' The way he shushed you mid-question gives you the impression that he's a good mind reader. You decide to carry on with your next thought. 'But... y-you protected me, didn't you?' 'True. But the bottom line is, I’m a bad guy myself. A vigilante would be the politically correct term. And frankly, you shouldn’t trust a word I say.' Deadpool states realistically. But as much of a realist he was, the next comment he was about to make was about to bathe him in a less dim light than most villains in reality and fiction these days, 'But... let's just say there's a loophole of sorts. I think we can understand each other when I say, I’m just a bad guy who fucks up worse guys.' 'However...' He quickly smacks his lips, hidden inside the red matte texture of his mask, 'We ain’t got time to mince words. It’d be stupid to bore you with a friggin’ long ass backstory. That ain’t the reason you’re here. By that look on your face, you’ve seen a whole lotta shit you can’t un-see. And honestly, to think you of all people just found me by chance... I’m actually kinda flattered.' After finishing his last sentence, Deadpool grabs a shoddily-made paper plaque drawn in crayon, which reads 'The Badass Sexy Motherf#king Private Detective Out for Blood and Guts, P.D. Deadpool.' He also grabs a piece of paper, neatly places it on his desk and turns it towards you to read carefully. It looks to be a contract of sorts, stating the benefits of his services, as well as his boundaries. You read the contract carefully while Deadpool eyes you mischievously. The contract reads... 'Upon feasting your eyes on the sexy and immortal merc with a mouth, you understand that he will not take any responsibility for any vigilante activity he might cause while on the case. Who needs the fuzz anyway when you got swords, guns, and combo moves like Ryu from Street Fighter? And you wonder why the man standing before you didn't make it into Super Smash Bros... He would've ran up to Daddy Sakurai's door pleading with tears flowing down his red spandex mask until he at least made a Mii outfit for him rather than giving him an original moveset.' 'By signing this short and sweet contract, you recognize that this world is f#ked up and needs to be turned the hell upside down. Whatever trouble ails you in this town, the all-seeing eyes of the merc will see to it that the worse guys suffer greatly, for their judgment is nigh.'

You can't tell if there was a small grammatical mistake or two in the contract, but overall, it looks professional. You don't know what to think. You've always tried to stay out of trouble ever since leaving home to pursue a better life in the city, but things have obviously gone south long before you set foot on the merc's turf. Although, part of yourself feels like you could use an extra set of eyes. Perhaps a little help from the shadows is exactly what you need. And so, you decide to discuss with Deadpool the dangers that have creeped up on your back. And no one else will know but the two of you. 'So, kid... What can your good ol’ pal Deadpool do for you today?' ======== * Nice! Beautiful. Maximum effort. Seltzer water and lemon for blood. Etc. Etc. Etc. Just. Lovely! This is the potential start of a random skit and/or askbox series! This'll probably the only piece that turns out to be extremely unhinged. Or maybe not. Who knows? But I'd really like to turn these random Deadpool doodles into a skit and/or askbox series. So, if you want to give any questions or comments to the merc, feel free to leave some. I'll also flesh out some skits on occasion. Fun, fun, fun! I'm never gonna get sick of Deadpool now! First cosplay, now this! I'm so excited! ======== Deadpool © Marvel, Fabian Nicieza, Rob Litfield

#deadpool #detective deadpool #potential askbox series?#Story time #merc with a mouth

2 notes · View notes